#god forbid i have a hobby that doesn’t turn into a job | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

eyeofthedrgn · 3 years

Text

I have finally decided on a title for this multi chapter Rowcan fic: A Heavy Battle Symphony. Inspired by two Linkin Park songs (Heavy{feat. Kiiara}, Battle Symphony) that seem to fit the bill of the overall tone of the story. Since it deals with such dark topics and mental health, it just works. I wasn't intending for this to be song inspired, but here we are.

Also, I'm bad at summaries, but here we go:

Set in a modern high school AU. Lorcan was forced to live with his Aunt Maeve and boyfriend James Perrington, both of which are abusive. Once they move to Orynth, Lorcan's life is thrown into disarray when he meets Rowan.

Trigger warnings : language, mental abuse, verbal abuse, physical abuse, violence, depression, anxiety, panic attacks, self harm, self-esteem issues, sexual abuse (only alluded to briefly in future chapters), just a lot of trauma, angst, smut - lots of lovely gay smut

Word count: just over 2k

Chapter 1 - Numb

Lorcan Salvaterre has had a pretty shitty life for only being 17. He's been to so many different schools, he doesn't remember them all. His mother died long ago, he didn't have a father, and he was then forced to live with his despicable Aunt Maeve when he was five. Lorcan didn't remember his mother anymore, all he knew was the cruelty of his aunt and her boyfriend, James Perrington.

Maeve's job required them to move every few months. Which meant his schooling was rather poor and often overlapped from school to school. He was always the loner and easily overlooked, at least until his growth spurt last year that catapulted him to be six and half feet tall.

He'd never had a friend in his life. No one would ever want to be friends with him in the first place. He always had a scowl on his face, wore black, long black hair, head down, his skin was a beautiful deep olive, his eyes dark as onyx. He was rather strange. And since his growth spurt, his hulking frame kept everyone away.

He never smiled, he rarely talked. To anyone. Not that he had much to say. He had no hobbies, no pleasures. All he was allowed to do in this meaningless life were chores, his homework, and lay in his room staring at the ceiling.

The way Lorcan had grown up was brutal. There were beatings for not finishing chores, misbehaving, or most of the time, just existing. He never got three meals a day, on the very rare occasion, he would get a small dinner, but generally, the only meal was usually lunch at school or when they were traveling. Even then, Maeve would order the smallest meal for the boy, gods forbid she had to spend more money on him than necessary or look bad in front of people.

That also meant that if he needed new clothes or something for school, he had to work extra for it. A lot of the time, he felt like a severely more abused Cinderella. His aunt made him do some of the most tedious chores in payment for his necessities.

The chores he could handle, sometimes they were even relaxing. The beatings on the other hand were less than desirable. Especially when most of the abuse wasn't even a result of Lorcan's supposed incompetency. But every beating was recorded in Lorcan's journal and accompanied by self harm.

Lorcan's mental health was far from healthy. He wished he had the courage to slice his wrists deeper, but if he failed to finish the job, he couldn't imagine how Maeve would react and what she would make Perrington do to him. So, he settled for the scars.

His wrists and forearms were covered in scars. Every shirt he had was long sleeved to cover his coping habit. He didn't want questions or people staring, he hated being pitied. Honestly, he hated pretty much everything.

---

The new apartment Maeve had rented in Orynth was just like the rest of them. Lorcan's room was the smallest and also used for storage. Not that it mattered to Lorcan he only had a few things anyway, but it did mean that either his aunt or her boyfriend would barge in, whenever they wished, to grab something. Since Lorcan realized they were never going to stop and they always removed the lock from his door, he took to changing in the bathroom.

Lorcan was exhausted. He had spent all day moving every single box Maeve and Perrington had into the new apartment, making sure he put the boxes in the correct rooms. And setting up his room to give himself some semblance of privacy with the way he piled the storage boxes.

A sleeping bag, a duffel bag full of worn and faded clothes in various shades of black, a few well worn books, a journal that he used to record every beating and every cut, and a fraying backpack full of school supplies were all of Lorcan's belongings. He didn't even have a real bed. Or a pillow.

Almost asleep in his sleeping bag, Maeve barges into his room and starts yelling at him.

"Lorcan! Where in the gods' forsaken apartment are my hair products!"

Lorcan had no idea why she needed them at midnight. "They're in your bathroom." Obviously.

"If they were, I wouldn't be here, you useless piece of shit!" She grabbed him by the hair and pulled him up, then shoved him into the hall. He knew better than to fight as he stumbled down the hall, he did his best to keep his face neutral, but fuck, that hurt.

Resisting the urge to rub his poor scalp, he stalked to Maeve's bathroom and opened the box labeled MAEVE'S HAIR PRODUCTS. Lorcan sighed when he was greeted with her towels.

"I already looked there, you little welp," she snarled. "Now find my shit!" She stormed out and slammed the door.

Lorcan hung his head and looked around the room. He just wanted to sleep. It wasn't his fucking fault she mislabeled her fucking boxes. Again. Finding the box labeled MAEVE'S TOWELS, he opened it and sighed with relief as he set eyes on her missing items, and set the box on the counter. He informed Maeve of his discovery before heading back to bed.

---

Five hours later, Lorcan woke up, like clockwork. He released a heavy sigh and rubbed his eyes. Hel, he was tired. Time to start an exhausting day of learning a new school and schedule.

Every morning was the same, up at five, shower, get ready for school, make breakfast that he wasn't allowed to eat. Only the adults were allowed breakfast. He'd get a knee to the gut if he attempted to snatch a strip of bacon or a link of sausage, or even a piece of toast. So, his stomach would growl until he got to eat a pathetic school lunch.

This morning would be slightly different from the rest, though. Maeve would have to take him to school and make sure he was registered. She always acted the caring aunt in public. It disgusted Lorcan. Especially when she would go the extra mile and kiss his cheek.

After Maeve left without a word to Lorcan, he stood in the main hall with his schedule and map in hand. This school was huge. Much bigger than most of the other high schools he had been to. That was to be expected, though. This was Orynth High after all, the biggest high school in the biggest city of Terrasen.

He looked over his schedule. He had no idea how he made it to senior year with all the holes in his education.

Fuck, why was pre-calc first? At least he was good at math.

He looked at the clock at the end of the hall, he still had half an hour before school actually started. Rather than wasting time, he found all of his classrooms in order, twice, and then went to the library to grab the necessary textbooks.

By the time he left the library, the halls were filling up. Kids all around him were chattering, he was either ignored or kids looked at him with scared eyes and scurried out of his way.

He tugged his hood up and shoved his hands in his hoodie pocket and made his way to first period.

---

Since it was the start of a new semester, most teachers ignored that Lorcan was new to the school. That was fine, he didn't want the attention anyway. But in his last class of the day, creative writing, they had to split into groups for an assignment. Lorcan hated group assignments. He was partnered with the smallest teenager he had ever seen.

"I'm Elide. You're new here aren't you?"

His nod was barely perceptible.

"It's Lorcan, right?" He nodded again. "Where are you from?" Her eyes were filled with pure curiosity.

He cleared his throat. "Originally from Doranelle, but I don't remember it. My mother died when I was five. My aunt took me in and we move a lot." He blinked and shook his head in confusion at himself for telling a complete stranger something he hadn't told anyone else before.

How did this petite young woman bewitch him to talk more than he had in weeks? Lorcan felt exposed under her gaze. It felt like she could read him like a book. It was unnerving.

"That sounds rough. I hope you like it here and I hope we can be friends." She finished with a smile.

Lorcan just turned back to the assignment.

The class passed without much other conversation besides about the assignment they had to do together.

Finally, the bell rang signalling the end of the day.

The first day at this school was done and he was exhausted and hungry. Lorcan was so focused on packing up his supplies into his ratty backpack that he didn't realize Elide was talking to him.

"A group of us are going to the park to hang out, wanna join?" He was zipping up his backpack, not hearing a word she said. "Lorcan?"

"Huh?" He looked up, confused. She giggled. His cheeks heated just slightly.

"Do you want to hang out with my friends and I after school?"

Why would he want to do that? Lorcan did remember saying she hoped they could be friends, but he thought she was just being polite. Now, she was trying to follow through.

But there was only one answer.

"No."

---

Elide adjusted her bag on her shoulder as she walked to the park to meet her friends. She could see Lorcan walking on the other side of the street away from her. His hood was up, head down, hands in his hoodie pocket, his posture slightly hunched. She thought he could almost pass for a shadow if his black clothes weren't so faded and worn.

She remembered looking into his eyes during class and seeing deep pools of onyx, they would have been gorgeous, but instead, they were dull, and lifeless. He had been so hard to read. Elide had guessed that he didn't have a good home life and they were poor, by the state of his clothes and backpack. She had seen the scars on his wrist when he reached into his bag for an eraser. It broke her heart. Watching him walk away, she noticed how awkwardly his clothes hung off of him. He was definitely too skinny for his frame.

So lost in her thoughts, she didn't hear one of her friends come up behind and loop his arms through hers. Elide yelped and then realized it was her friend, Rowan Whitethorn. He had silver hair and pine green eyes that were always bright.

"I didn't mean to scare you! I called your name, but you were off in your own little world!"

"Sorry. I was thinking about the new kid that you will probably end up having a crush on." Rowan scoffed, Elide just laughed.

They walked a bit in silence until Rowan made his confession.

"He is hot! He's in my gym class. Tell me everything, my precious Elide! I want to know!" Rowan was so excitable, it was infectious.

"He's in my creative writing class and we were partnered together. He said he's from Doranelle, his mother died when he was five, and his aunt took him in. And apparently, they move a lot." She also told him about the assumptions she made from her observations.

Rowan soaked up every word.

---

Lorcan was doing homework at the kitchen table when Maeve and Perrington came in with take out. It smelled good, Lorcan's stomach rumbled. Damn it. To his surprise, Maeve set down a small Chinese take out box right in the middle of this textbook. He blinked at it, and then up at his aunt, she looked kind for once. "Thank you." It was barely a whisper, but he knew she heard it because she nodded before walking away.

Sometimes he actually thought she loved him..

After his studies and meager dinner, Lorcan laid in his sleeping bag, using an old hoodie that didn't fit anymore as a pillow, trying to sleep. A sigh left his lips and he rolled over.

He couldn't sleep even though he was exhausted, so he pulled a well worn novel from his duffle bag. It was The Hobbit. Lorcan had read it many times. The spine was broken, pages were dog eared, some of the pages weren't even glued in anymore. But he enjoyed the adventure.

Lorcan was halfway through his book, when his window started lightening with the new day. He groaned and his stomach growled.

++++

Rowan couldn't get that new dark haired boy out of his mind. Lorcan Salvaterre. He had soaked up all the information he could from Elide about his new crush. Concentrating on his homework was so hard.

"Ugh." Rowan ran his hand through his hair and smacked his cheeks a couple of times to get himself to snap out of it. He still had homework to finish.

"Rowan, love, would you like some hot chocolate?" His mom leaned into his room. "You seem distracted today."

His mom, Barb, was the sweetest lady and the best mother one could ask for. They talked about everything. And he swore she had eyes everywhere because she always knew everything. Sometimes, Rowan hated that his mom was so observant.

"Yes, please." He got up from his desk and followed his mom to the kitchen. He enjoyed his cocoa with marshmallows. After taking a few sips, he told his mom about the new kid in school. She just smiled knowingly at him.

"Elide says he moves a lot. But I don't know exactly what 'a lot' means. Also, he's probably not into guys." He quirked his lips to the side.

"You should probably start with actually talking to the boy."

Rowan whined, "Mom!" She just laughed and kissed the top of his head before retreating to the living room, leaving him with his thoughts and empty cup.

_____

Thanks for reading! I'll probably post the next chapter next Thursday or Friday.

#rowcan #rowan x lorcan #lorcan salvaterre #throne of glass #rowan whitethorn #linkin park #heavy battle symphony #fanfic #rowcan fanfic

14 notes · View notes

thiswasinevitableid · 3 years

Text

The Bachelor

A birthday gift for @bellafarallones. Part 3 of the TAZ Amnesty Bachelor AU (sternclay and indruck were the first two) AKA what Vincent was up to. Apollo is from my Amnesty Super Hero fic

The entire United States to choose from and this is the best the producers could find? He’s going to win this thing with his eyes closed. Then it’s a hop, skip, and jump to some endorsement deals, his own spin-off, and then a prime time hosting slot.

Oh, and a marriage. But that should be easy; any guy would count themselves lucky to have him.

God, that pool will be great for Instagram shots. Luckily the producers knew their biggest draw when they saw him and agreed to let Indrid continue his work as Apollo’s personal photographer and assistant. He may be a disappointment to the Cold name, but he’s good with a camera and has no interest in being recorded for the show. And if, god forbid, Apollo comes down with a cold during filming, someone will be there to bring him Day-Quil. After all, if he lets anyone see Apollo in a vulnerable state, Apollo will just have to send their father an email about Indrid’s latest failure.

“It’s times like this we should be grateful for our genes. I know I am.” He glances at his twin, pausing his gaze on his silver hair and tattoos.

“You dye yours too. And I think there are more than a few handsome men here, so don’t get cocky.” His attention shifts for a moment as a man dressed like Smokey the Bear passes them.

“Oh come on, even with those pretentious glasses you can see I’m a cut above.”

“If you say so. And if you want to do shots of you in your suit, we need to start soon, so kindly find your room so we can get on with it.”

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

Not only is this easy, it’s fun. The cameras love him, and most of his fellow contestants yield to him after one remark. He’s been watching Vincent, the bachelor for this season, closely during group interactions, and it’s clear he’s already developing favorites. Annoyingly, two in particular--Joseph and Duck--are more inclined to push back at him. But it doesn’t matter; everyone has weaknesses. He’ll find theirs soon.

Tonight is his first formal date with Vincent. They’re at an Italian place with good lighting, and Vincent is perfectly nice to look at in his lavender dress shirt and silver tie. Apollo’s done his research; Vincent is ten years his senior, took an early retirement from a position in the department of defense and now runs two consulting businesses; one for banks and museums and one for domestic violence shelters, health clinics, and other places where doing good draws enemies. The first business subsidizes the second. Vincent enjoys tennis and running, has no Instagram presence, and is an only child.

Apollo has his plan of attack; the trouble is, Vincent isn’t interested in sitting there and being flattered (though he does blush when Apollo says the tie makes the grey in his hair look all the more distinguished). He wants to know about Apollo.

“When you’re not taking photos, what do you like to do?”

He doesn’t correct him about who takes the pictures, smiles, “I, ah, I go to the gym.”

“I have to say it shows.” Vincent winks. It’s so corny, but Apollo can’t find it in him to hate it, “any sports, or just things like weights and cardio?”

‘

“No, but I played football in high school. I was star running back.”

“I played my freshman year, but baseball suited me better. So when you're not ‘pumping iron’, what do you do for fun?”

There is no answer that won’t make him look too shallow or too...no, he can’t even think about that option. Damn it, he must have a normal hobby. He hedges with the truth and hopes the editors cut it for time.

“I like movies. I, ah, I’ve been working my way through the Criterion Collection of the birth of cinema and it’s fascinating. Did you know there was a silent film heartthrob who predates Valentino?”

“Sessue Hayakawa?”

“You know about him?” He leans forward.

“I read a biography of him last year that was riveting. I still have it if you’d like to borrow it.”

“Yes, yes absolutely. We, we could even watch some of his films together, and the ones they inspired, you know they, they…”

Fuck, he’s acting like Indrid, bumping the table and yammering about things that will get him nowhere. He sits back, grabs his wine and sips to cover his error.

“I’d like that.” Is all Vincent says as they’re entrees arrive.

“Enough about me. I was reading about your business and, ah, well, how do you even do something like that?”

Vincent describes his process, how he picks clients and what he considers when evaluating a space. Apollo fully intends to zone out with a smile.

He hangs on every word. All too soon, Vincent is asking for dessert.

“Is your meal okay?”

Apollo looks at the plate of spaghetti carbonara he’s been poking at, not wanting to be caught in an ugly expression while eating, “Yes, it’s delicious.”

Dessert arrives in the shape of a chocolate lava cake with sparklers, a detail which delights Vincent. It’s such a ridiculous thing to smile over. Apollo smiles back, and let’s his date feed him a bite of cake.

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

Was the beach trip self-serving on Vincent’s part? Indeed. Has it also given him valuable intel? Yes, yes it has.

He now knows who’s going home next; Nico is such a fraternity-bred asshole that he should have sent him packing weeks ago. Honestly, all his comments about Barclay this morning were awful. Barclay is masculine and sweet in a way Vincent adores. He even helped Joseph during the cliff dive, which bumps him even higher in Vincent’s eyes.

Joseph stealthily knocking Nico’s hat from his head with a frisbee was also a high point; goodness, Joseph reminds him of men he used to work with who he never, ever, admitted his feelings for (they were often his subordinates, and he prided himself on keeping a safe department).

Then there’s Duck. Vincent would like an award for not spending the morning asking to rub sunblock on those arms. He’s been treated to a closer view of them the last half-hour, Duck sitting next to him in a Hawaiin shirt that shows off his biceps. The ranger just now excused himself (“gotta give the other fellas a chance to impress”) to go keep Indrid company during dinner. Polite and friendly to the core, that’s his favorite bear.

And then there’s-

“Hiiii Vincent.” Apollo slides into the spot closest to him on the restaurant deck.

Were Vincent choosing for an evening, Apollo would edge out even Duck. He suspects getting the younger man under some comfortable sheets to praise and fuss over him would be very nice indeed. Apollo may posture and insist to the others that he’s the dominant one in the bedroom, but this isn’t Vincent’s first go around; he knows someone who longs to be spoiled and submissive when he sees one.

But he’s here to choose his husband, not a hook-up.

He initially assumed he’d send Apollo home after their first formal date. He knows these shows sometimes attract people who want their fifteen minutes of fame, and Apollo is one of them. But then his meticulously built image cracked, just a little, as they talked, and Vincent is so taken by what he saw that he can’t bring himself to send him home yet.

The older man slides the younger one an oyster, “try one, they’re local.”

There’s no appealing way to eat an oyster on camera, but Apollo lifts a shell and downs one. He does an excellent job masking his grimace.

“Another? Or would you like one of the grilled scallops instead?”

He watches him run a calculus. Then he slides his sunglasses down, “Scallop, please.”

Maybe there’s hope for him yet.

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

“Indrid, Vincent hates me!”

Indrid blinks at him.

“One of the other contestants got them to show him a bunch of footage of me putting the other men in their place and now he hates me.” Genuine panic rises in his chest as Indrid gives him absolutely no expression to work from.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Talk to him, tell him that I’m not-”

“What you actually are? Vincent is here to choose a spouse; he has a right to not choose you.”

“Fix. It.” Apollo snarls.

His twin stands, regarding him from across the rug, “I will speak to Vincent, on one condition; you do not go after Duck ever again.”

“Traitor, you should be on my side, not his.”

Indrid shrugs, sits back down and picks up his book.

“I’ll, I’ll tell father you’re sabotaging me.”

“You think he’ll like to hear you’re being out done by his inferior son?”

“....Damn it. Fine, fine. I’ll leave Newton alone. Now go.”

His brother has the audacity to grin at him, “I will, right after I finish this chapter.”

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

He’s sitting with Duck and Joseph, asking their opinion, when Indrid enters the living room.

“Did Apollo send you?” Vincent picks lint from his cardigan.

“Yes. He’s asking me to intercede on his behalf since he thinks you hate him.”

“Oh dear, I don’t hate him. I just said I was disappointed in him.”

“Ah” Indrid perches on the arm of Duck’s chair, “That’s our father’s code for ‘I hate you.”

“Jesus.” Duck mutters.

“I suspected he was exaggerating. That’s why I agreed to talk to you; I’ve learned it’s best to verify anything he tells me. In truth, I can’t do much for him. If it’s not obvious, he takes after our father and our father is...not a good man. We each survive him in our own way; Apollo chose to mold himself into what he demanded we be. That does not excuse him. But perhaps it puts him into perspective.”

Vincent knows he’s not sending Apollo home this week; it’s still Nico’s turn. And his heart that taps his chest to ask, “Do you think he could change?”

Indrid says nothing. Duck is keeping his mouth shut, but his frown suggests his answer.

“This is not to defend him but” Joseph looks at Indrid, “you grew up under the same conditions and chose not to replicate them. That suggests it’s possible.”

“I just didn’t want to end up like him.” Indrid murmurs.

“And ‘possible’ don’t mean probable.” Duck adds.

Vincent rubs his temples, “You’re right. All of you. I...I think I need some time to decide how many chances to be the person I think he can be I ought to give him.”

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

Apollo isn’t sure what to expect. The last time Vincent asked to see him, it was to scold him. Three guys have gone home since then, and he’s been fighting back his impulses to torment and gloat, focusing instead on making Vincent like him instead of undermining the competition.

The door opens on a room with a bed, lots of candles, and…

“Is that whale song?”

“Yes. I picked a ‘soothing’ playlist to fit the mood.” Vincent is in linen pants and a button up short sleeve, pats the bed with a smile, “I thought a nice massage might do you good. Non-sexual, of course” he tips his head at the camera.

Apollo isn’t shy. His thirst traps are legendary. But he lays on his stomach the instant he’s down to his underwear. Vincent hums as he starts on his shoulders, checking in now and then about pressure. It would be nice if Apollo’s skin weren’t starving for gentle touches. He keeps letting out pathetic sounds, almost like chirps, as Vincent rubs him down.

Then the worst thing happens; he gets hard. At first he tries just keeping his hips still but no, just Vincent’s touch is enough. So he tenses in hopes of not giving it away.

“Is it too hard?”

“No, I’m fine.”

The hands leave his skin and he whines like a kicked dog.

“Would you gentlemen let us do the rest in private? I’m sure the viewers get the point.”

There’s shuffling feet and shutting doors, and then a gentle hand rolling him onto his back.

“Apollo, what’s really--oh. That explains it.”

He scrambles to sit up, tucking his knees to his chest, “I’m sorry, you said you didn’t want it to be sexual, I didn’t do this on purpose, I swear-”

The bed squeaks along with him as Vincent sits, “Sweetheart, I’m not going to get angry with you for this. If, um, if it helps to know, the feeling is very much mutual.”

It should feel like a triumph, but his cheeks burn and he hides his face against his knees.

“Does that bother you?”

“No! No, not at all. I wouldn’t be wooing you on T.V if I didn’t think you were attractive. Blech, I sound like one of Indrid’s romance novels. Not, not that there’s anything wrong with Indrid...liking...silly things.”

Vincent cups his face and he leans into it, wants to glue his cheek there, “Apollo, I’ve noticed you’re trying to be less...unkind since our little talk.”

“I’m trying. It’s just so very, very hard.”

“I’ve also noticed you’re letting your persona go now and then. That means a lot to me. I’m not interested in the man you think you should be; I’m interested in the man you might become, the man you are when you stop trying to be better than everyone. I like that man, I’d like to get to know him more.”

Apollo shivers as Vincent kisses his forehead, “I’ll do my best.”

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

“The nerve of Joseph to say things like that to me!”

Indrid doesn’t look up, “It’s a genuine concern; Vincent is older, there will likely come a time when you’ll be the one caring for him. Are you certain you’ll have the patience for that? Be willing to put your needs and wants on hold for the sake of someone else?”

That’s really what would happen? He, he could do it for Vincent, he’s certain. But could he? What if it’s hard, without glory or gain, does that make it foolish?

He chases those thoughts in dizzying circles for fifteen minutes until they crash into the solution.

“I solved it! I don't have to worry about taking care of Vincent as he ages because he'll divorce me once I reach thirty-two.”

“That is the bleakest possible conclusion.” Indrid flips his sketchbook closed.

“Just let me have this!”

“I hate that I even have to say this but Vincent is not our father.”

“Father said he was doing what any sensible man would do.”

Indrid levels him with an unusually firm stare, “Do you not want Vincent just because he’s over thirty-two?”

“Of course not! He’s great! I, brother for goodness sake just tell me how to care for him.”

“I literally cannot do that. You have to figure it out for yourself what care looks like for you.”

He’s about to repeat his demand when his phone rings.

“Hi, Vincent.”

“I'm so sorry, but I have to break our date tonight. I was out for a run and twisted my ankle. I just got back from the doctor; he says I sprained it, so I might be on bed rest a few days.”

Perfect.

“Oh no, I’m glad it’s not too serious. Would, ah, would it be alright if I came to see you?”

They agree on a time. Then he remembers the problem that preceded the phone call.

“What do I do?”

“What do you want to do for him? Or, if your positions were reversed, him to do for you?” Indrid asks flatly.

“Call you so he doesn’t see me looking frail.”

“assume I am dead and thus no longer dealing with your nonsense”

“That’s not fair.”

Indrid flops on the bed, “I'm dead, Vincent is the only one who is coming to take care of you, what do you want him to do?”

“Tell me it’s okay and spend time with me and…”

Indrid grins, “And?”

“And watch PBS in bed.”

“It’s a start. Now please get out of my room.”

An hour later he pokes his head into Vincent’s bedroom; the older man is reclining, reading a John Grisham paperback in a robe that makes him look very suave

“How are you feeling?” He sits next to him, rubs his knee. .

“Oh, I'm fine, just feel a little silly. It used to be I could twist an ankle and come up fine. Aging is quite the adventure.”

“I, um, I'm glad it wasn't too bad. I, I don't like the thought of you getting hurt. Bot that you'd be bad if you did! I accept that we are all very fragile beings trying not to die.

(Too dark, Cold, pull it back).

“I mean, um, is there anything I can do to help?”

“I'd be happy to have you stay awhile.” Vincent takes his hand, let’s him lean on his shoulder as they talk. They’re midway through a discussion of famous film disasters when a small burst of black and red lands on the windowsill. He doesn’t catch his excitement in time and Vincent asks him what made him perk up.

With a courage he did not know he possessed, he points to the bird.

“Oh! How beautiful. What kind is it?”

“Scarlet Tanager” he mumbles, “they’re not common here.”

“Do you know a lot about birds?”

He nods.

“There are some feeders just on that balcony. And I think the binoculars a friend gave me last Christmas are still in the closet, if you’d like to use them.”

“I would” he stands, heart bubbling with terrifying warmth, “thank you, da--ah, dear.”

Mischief sweeps across Vincent’s face, “Is this where you tell me you’ve had lots of older boyfriends?”

“No. I, ah, I’ve made out some but I never dated.”

“Not even a highschool sweetheart?”

“My father made it so no teenager wanted to go near our house. Or us.” The binoculars are magnificent, the best money can buy, “I always wished I had a date to homecoming. It looked so fun, asking someone or getting asked and then having matching outfits and going out to dinner and taking pictures together. I even picked out an outfit just in case someone asked. I think Indrid snuck out to meet his burnout--, um, meet his friends. I just sat in my room.”

“You could have asked someone yourself, couldn’t you?” Vincent makes room for him on the bed once more.

“And risk getting rejected in front of the whole school? No thank you.” He stares at the binoculars, afraid of what he might see if he turns, “I'm sorry, you don't need to hear all this. I’m supposed to be here taking care of you.”

Vincent opens his arms, pulling Apollo into a hug, “You know care can go two ways at once, right?”

“Not really” he mumbles into silver silk.

“Oh, sweetheart.” A kiss on his cheek, hands running soothingly up his sides, and those weak, silly noises slipping from his mouth.

“I want it to be, I’ll be so good, I’ll take care of you, just please...please say you’d do the same?”

“Of course. That’s what love is.”

He tucks his face against Vincent’s neck, “Will you make fun of me if I say I’m frightened?”

“Never.”

“I don’t know how to do so much of this. I don’t know how much of me can change.”

“Are you willing to try?” Vincent kisses the shell of his ear.

“For you? Yes.”

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

“I choose…” Vincent looks between Apollo and Jonathan. Apollo cannot wait to spring into his arms.

“I choose neither.”

“What!” Ned yells off camera.

“I’m sorry to both of you but I simply can’t. Jonathan, you’re a very nice man, but our connection is ultimately lacking. Apollo” Vincent meets his eyes and he forces his gaze to stay placid, “I care for you more than words can say. I know you’ve worked so very hard to change. I also know that people can easily revert to their old, cruel ways under pressure or difficulty. Marriage often involves those things, and I’m not sure you can be the man I need you to be. With those misgivings, it wouldn’t be fair to propose to either of you. I hope you understand.”

They both say the do, shake hands, give hugs. And he does, he truly does understand. He understands that Vincent made the choice he had to, that even though he got better he is still a rotten, cruel creature who doesn’t deserve him. He was taught he deserved the world; some good that did him. It lost him the only person who might make the world a less miserable place.

“Apollo!” Vincent jogs after him, catches up to him in an empty hall, “Apollo I-”

His heart is breaking; his old ways twine like vipers around it, “I, I’m glad you didn’t choose me you, you boring, pathetic man. No wonder you have to pay people to go on dates with you! I don’t need anyone, least of all you!”

Vincent steps back, face falling as Apollo storms off. The last thing he hears is, “And here I thought I made the wrong choice.”

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

He deletes his Instagram. Gets a job as a personal shopper. Goes to therapy because he will not let Indrid outshine him when it comes to unlearning how they were raised.

It helps. Three months after the disastrous finale (for him, not for the network) he’s feeling, if not better, like he might actually try dating someone soon. He also writes two apology letters; one to Indrid and one to Vincent. Then he tears them both up and just tells Indrid that he’s trying to be less of an asshole and that he’s sorry for all the time he was one. He leaves Vincent alone; if he doesn’t want to see him, the least he can do is respect that.

It’s migration season, so he’s hiding in his favorite, super-secret birdwatching spot. It’s near a pond, so lots of birds come to drink and bathe, and he’s seen several on his list.

Branches crack, sending nearby jays into a flap. Damn it, he’s never seen someone else here; the only person he ever told about it was-

“Hi, Apollo.”

“Vincent!” He almost falls off his stump, “how, why?”

“I’d been meaning to explore this spot ever since you spoke about it. But I, um, was also hoping I might see you in the process. Pathetic, as you might say.”

“I did, didn’t I.” Apollo stares up at him, clutching his binoculars so hard they might become disparate spyglasses, “Vincent, I am so, so, so very sorry for how I acted when we last saw each other. I was hurt, all I want is to make someone else hurt more so I stop feeling so vulnerable and powerless. I, I’ve been working on it in, in” he winces “therapy. You said once that you wanted to meet the man I might be. I realized I wanted to meet him to, to be him, not to win some show or even to get you to like me but just because I don’t want to be the other Apollo anymore.”

Vincent sits next to him, “You don’t give up, do you?”

“I, I just want to un-fuck what I can. I, how have you been?”

“Doing lots of thinking. I still know I made the right call not proposing during the finale. And that I’m ready to start dating again.”

“I hope whoever you go out with knows how lucky they are.” He says without any motive but the truth.

Vincent plucks a late-blooming wildflower and offers it to him, “It’s not a rose, but then again, this isn’t a proposal. It’s just a date, if you still want one.”

“So badly.”

The older man leans in, kissing him softly as his spine turns to soup, “I’m looking forward to meeting the, um, latest version of you.” He snickers at his own phrasing.

Apollo pulls him into a second kiss, “Me too.”

#bachelor au

12 notes · View notes

alice-in-wonderart · 4 years

Note

Hi! Could I request some affection/cuddling hc’s for the junior quartet? The fluffier the better 😍. Thanks in advance!

Hello, dearie! Here is your requested dose of #Xtra fluffy hcs about THE BEST dumb dumbs of ancient China. ❤️✌️ They seem to get a lot of love on here, so affection hcs are right about the most suitable. 🙌 (cuddling included ofc)

Lan Sizhui

Growing up in Gusu for most of his life, Lan Sizhui is pretty touch starved, so affection is something fairly new to him. In fact he's never gotten much further than the occasional pat on the head from Lan Wangji. So when you came around, at least at first, he was unsure of what to do.

But don't confuse his hesitation with disdain. He is 100% loving each and every touch. He secretly longs for closure, he just prefers not to outwardly show it.

Cuddle sessions with Lan Sizhui are the dictionary definition of Heaven. He always emits a soothing aura, which engulfs you completely whenever the two of you snuggle. He loves to just hold you close, play with your hair, or gently stroke your sides. While his touch always holds a hint of sensuality, MOST of the time his intentions are completely pure.

He loves it when you just lie in each other's embrace, turned to one another. He gets to see your beautiful face and bury his face in your soft hair. It's his ideally spent afternoon.

Out in public, any kind of affection is left at a bare minimum, after all he is a Lan. That often leads to Sizhui throwing you longing stares, or intentionally brushing against you. In all honesty, he just isn't sure how to go about asking for affection.

The moment you two are left alone, he becomes much more relaxed, playing with your hands, hugging you and leaving sweet kisses on your forehead.

Speaking of kisses, out of the Juniors, his kisses are the absolute best. They are always sweet and meaningful, always true. And he loves kisses, too. Most often, he leaves longing kisses on the back of your hands, your palms or knuckles. It's a small gesture of love he shows you. Kisses on the cheek aren't uncommon as well.

But nothing beats the sweet kisses he leaves on your lips after being away for a while, or perhaps after a long day full of chores.

He isn't overly affectionate, his love is shown through small touches and the time spent with you. To him, simply being with you is more than enough.

Lan Jingyi

Lan Jingyi is a powerhouse of enthusiasm and energy, so cuddling with him is NEVER calm. You expected to lie down with your lover, snuggle into him and slowly drift off? wrONG. He won't let you relax, ever.

First of all, the boy is fidgety as hell. He would be nearly constantly moving around, trying to get comfortable. (much similar to how he sleeps) Good luck staying in one position for more than 5 minutes. And once he does find a comfortable enough position, joking ensues. It's always light-hearted and sweet, after all - his goal is to put a smile on your face, but you should be prepared to kiss resting goodbye.

Tickle fights aren't a novelty either. It's just so tempting for him to wrap his arms around your waist and bring you to tears from tickling. And sometimes, tickle fights go a whole other direction.

Most of his affection is the equivalent of a storm. One moment he's pulling on your hair, saying you gotta brush it once in a while, the next he's tenderly holding you in a big bear hug, whispering in your ear how much he absolutely adores you. And you never know what to expect. The perfect definition of everything a gentlemanly Lan must not be.

If Lan Sizhui holds the title for best kisses, Lan Jingyi holds it for best hugs. Whenever you feel down, or you're tired, or perhaps you just need a little love, he'd come up to you, wrap his surprisingly strong arms around you and pull you in for the most loving, most comfortable and most sincere hug.

He loves giving you back hugs, it makes him feel manlier. You'd be cooking, or perhaps talking to somebody when he'd sneak up to you and hug you from behind, burying his face in your hair.

Truly, he's a little awkward with love. He is a child at heart, so openly showing affection is a tad too new for him. PDA isn't a crime in his eyes and he'd gladly hold your hand (or rather drape an arm over your shoulders, but oh well - semantics) but showing you off, or kissing you in public would be left only for moments when he'd feel a little jealous. Otherwise, longing kisses, gentle caresses and jumbled sweet nothings would be reserved for the comfort of your home.

He isn't exactly the most gentle cuddler, but he has no problem expressing his love for you in any and every way he sees fits. Survive his tickle attacks and you'd get the cuddles and loving of a lifetime.

Ouyang Zizhen

Out of all the Juniors, affection comes the most naturally to Ouyang Zizhen. In fact, he is the biggest, most devoted fan of anything involving cuddling, holding hands, or generally being close to one another. He has no problem showing off your love, even in public.

His favourite hobby is cuddling you. It's his own personal little heaven. He tries to act tough and manly for you, but in reality he is one big teddy bear. His obsession with cuddles has become so bad, that he cannot fall asleep without snuggling next to you. There is nothing that relaxes him more, than hearing your calm heartbeat and feeling the warmth of your body next to his.

Speaking of cuddling, Ouyang Zizhen is ALWAYS the big spoon, no questions asked. It's not about manliness, but about his inner desire to be your protection. Knowing you're safe in his embrace allows him to let loose. Although, if you ask him, he'll only deny it, stating it's his 'job' to be the big spoon, or some other half-assed excuse you wouldn't quite make sense of.

Now, Ouyang Zizhen LOVES PDA. Kissing you in public is no problem. In fact, whenever you're outside, he loves to just touch you all the time. From holding hands, to playing with your hair, he wants the world to know, thst only he's allowed to do it. Respond to his little advances and he'd be on cloud nine. You're his lover, so why not show it.

The best way, in which he shows affection is massages. This fluffball of a man is a warrior through and through, and he uses his strength to massage your stress away after a long day of being away from one another. With a personal collection of essential oils and herbal mixes, he'd occasionally indulge you in a personal spa evening. It's his way of telling you he cares. He'd run you a nice bath, massage you, while leaving sweet kisses along your spine, he'd even brush your hair for you. Afterwards, whether you two would leave it at that and snuggle up to fall asleep, or decide to indulge in one another in other ways, would almost always be your decision.

Likewise, give him a nice, relaxing massage after working all day, and he'd be absolute putty in your hands. He'd be willing to give you everything.....after you finish fighting with those difficult, aching spots on his body.

Ouyang Zizhen doesn't understand the taboo of showing affection in public and it shows. After all, he's a modern day man in Ancient China™️

Jin Ling

Tsundere.

Oh Tsundere.

Jin Ling? Showing affection? Being sweet? Blasphemy. He is a man, he doesn't need love, he's not a child. Wait where are you going? You shouldn't run away like that. Here. Grab his hand, so that you don't get lost.

Truthfully, Jin Ling absolutely loves affection, he just hates the idea of it. To him, cuddling and kissing are a sign of weakness. Such loving gestures are much too intimate to be seen by the public or him and must be kept in private. He is a sect leader, what if somebody decides to target you??

Public display of affection is death. The moment you two so much as brush your hands, his face would turn 50 shades of red and he'd forget how to function. And god forbid you hug him, or kiss him, he might explode. In the later stages of the relationship, he'd open up a little more to the idea of physical touch. He'd kiss you on the head for hello and and on the lips for goodbye, (oddly specific much?) but he'd never stop blushing everytime he does it.

Hugs are pretty intimate with him too. They mean he trusts you enough to drop his guard and let you into his personal space. He usually hugs you when he's afraid, upset or he hasn't seen you in a long time.

Cuddling is strange to him. He grew up with his strict uncle, who didn't dote on him too much. So, having you stay so close to him, on your shared bed, is still so ...new. He is lowkey the little spoon, but don't mention it, or he'll outright refuse to cuddle you for the next two weeks. He secretly adores to lie on your chest or thighs, to have your scent engulf him completely. You are his safe space, after all.

Play with his hair and he's a goner. Something he inherited from his father is the hidden love for a gentle touch. Brush his hair, play with it all you want. At first he might complain, but worry not, he actually enjoys it profusely. It makes him feel loved.

Simply, cuddling is his religion, though he'd also deny that. Everyday, he awaits that moment, where you get to lie in each other's embrace, enjoying the comfortable silence.

Mostly, he shows his love and affection through constant nagging.

"Be careful. You'll trip." "The soup is too hot."

Even in cuddling, his overprotective nature shines through. "Your arm will fall asleep."

"You can't breathe." "Yes I can." "No, you can'T."

Give him time. The more you let him ease into the idea of affection, the more he'd open up to you. He has lacked physical love all his life, he is harsh because he doesn't know how to act differently, so be patient with him. Sooner or later, he'd find his own way to show you how incredibly much he actually loves you.

Thank you for reading~

158 notes · View notes

taexual · 4 years

Text

i’d love you to stay but that’s simply insane // JJK (2)

jungkook is an uncontrollable lead vocalist of the campus band, and you’re a goal-oriented top student that’s known his rich and complicated family since childhood. you don’t want anything to do with each other, until each other is exactly what you want to do.

pairing: jeon jungkook x reader

genre: college au

warnings: sassy!jungkook vs sassy!MC, mentions of drunk driving

words: 5.2k

chapter two

The hospitals were usually glum and even off-putting and yet when you showed up to pay Jungkook an obligatory visit the next day after the party – because for reasons beyond you, you felt like you had to see him at least once to make sure he really was okay even though the paramedics that pulled him out of the totaled car had already told you he’d be fine – it felt like you were on set of a medical drama.

The entire hallway where Jungkook’s hospital room was located was full of people who weren’t there to visit but rather to make sure that the sole heir of JJ Holdings was not disturbed or, God forbid, photographed. The tabloids were already speculating what had to have happened to him to make him crash his car so close to his own house, and, frankly, there weren’t a lot of answers that made sense.

And yet, despite that, Jungkook’s family fought their hardest and denied every accusation, claiming that their beloved son, their youngest family member, could never drive under the influence and that it was, really, the horrible weather conditions to blame.

It had been a clear night – albeit a little windy – but you knew better than to get involved in this.

You had assumed that this situation had to have set Jungkook’s family on edge but then his mother enveloped you in a warm hug as soon as she saw you, so maybe not. You’d always liked her – it was Jungkook’s father that intimidated you – so you didn’t mind the fact that you hadn’t seen her since you went off to college three years ago.

“It’s so sweet of you to come,” she said kindly, but she seemed surprised to learn that you knew of her son’s accident.

It took you a while to understand why that was – as it turned out, in the wild chaos that erupted when Jungkook was brought to the hospital, no one bothered to ask who had called the ambulance. And it didn’t really matter anyway, you supposed. Maybe you shouldn’t have even come.

“It’s nothing,” you said with a polite smile. “How is he?”

“Oh, he’s alright,” she said and, just like with Jungkook last night when you’d asked him how his mom was doing, her answer was automatic. He could have been in a grave condition and she’d have still smiled and said that her son was doing just fine.

His family was constantly playing a role for other people. Most of the time, they acted like they walked on paths covered entirely in rose petals, and that nothing could ever inconvenience them.

It was painful to see that she felt the need to keep the act around you too, but, then again, your mother was now the only one that was still in touch with Jungkook’s family, so that made you an outsider.

“Can I see him?” you asked, starting to feel more awkward by the second. “I brought some comfort food. Even though I don’t know if he even likes this anymore—”

“He’ll really appreciate it,” his mother cut you off and, maybe it was just wishful thinking on your part, but it sounded like she meant it. “His dad is there with him right now but it’s been a while, so you can probably go in there, too. Maybe they both fell asleep.”

You doubted that very much – the Jungkook you used to know never lowered his guard around his father, at least not enough to fall asleep in his presence – but you swallowed whatever objections you may have had and simply nodded.

“Okay, thank you,” you said and walked past her towards Jungkook’s hospital room.

You had to round a corner to reach it and, as soon as you did, you felt yourself exhale in relief. You’d forgotten what it was like to be around Jungkook’s family. Constantly participating in their game of we-are-a-perfect-family-please-oh-please-believe-us was exhausting.

You were about to knock on the door, the chocolates you’d brought for Jungkook clutched tightly in your hand – you felt stupid to have brought them now because, really, what were the odds that he still liked the same candy as he did when he was 12? – when you heard talking inside and stopped short.

Clearly, Jungkook and his father were very much awake and, by the sound of it, currently in the middle of a very heated discussion (because the Jeon family never argued, they just talked louder than usual sometimes).

“I’m tired,” his father was saying. You debated if you should walk away or just wait it out in case their exchange was coming to an end. “I’m sick of this, you hear me? How many times have you tried to sabotage everything we’ve worked for? How many times—”

Inhaling sharply, you pulled away from the door and leaned against the opposite wall instead. You hoped you couldn’t hear them from over there but, unfortunately – or, perhaps, luckily – you still could. And, before you even considered returning to Jungkook’s mother to wait with her, you were already too curious to move.

Yes, you were the cat, and you knew you were about to get killed. But, oh, the satisfaction!

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook said quietly inside of the hospital room and you could almost see the shame all over his face. He had never lived up to his father’s expectations but this seemed to be the last straw.

“Listen to what I say because I am not going to repeat myself,” his father said as a nurse walked past you and you had to pull your phone out to pretend that you weren’t being nosy. “You can forget all about the company – hell, you can forget all about your own future if you keep going like this.”

“Dad—”

“You’re still so young but it’s like you’re purposefully looking for a tragic end of your life,” Jungkook’s father continued, not letting his son interject, “you’ve been acting like a completely brainless idiot ever since you started high school and, you know what, now it’s time you stopped. You’re in college now and I’m done watching you destroy yourself and our legacy.”

“I’m an adult,” Jungkook said, sounding very much like a child, “you can’t tell me how to live my life.”

His father laughed and you could have shivered if you weren’t so busy pretending not to be listening as nurses and doctors coursed back and forth in the hallway.

“You’re also my son,” he said then and it would have been a very nice gesture if he stopped there. But he didn’t. “And the heir to our family’s company. What you do is a reflection of us, and your latest stunt will certainly paint us in the most beautiful colors. So, you can think you’re the only one responsible for your life all you want, but the truth is, you’ll always be tied to the rest of us.”

“Right,” Jungkook lost the previous restraints he had, “so, what? Will you have me drop out of college so you can supervise my every move, starting now?”

“Absolutely not,” his father replied. “You went to university to learn how to run a business, to gain leadership skills, to learn how to be a proper grown-up. You might be an heir, but that doesn’t mean you’ll get to sit back and relax while money falls from the trees around you.”

“I know that,” Jungkook said and you knew he meant it. His parents had taught him to work hard since day one – surely not a lot of toddlers learned how to read even before they stopped using the potty.

“You don’t know anything. Don’t embarrass me by saying you do,” his father countered. “You haven’t put any actual work towards your future. You’ve got that band of yours, which is all good, there’s nothing wrong with having a hobby—”

“It’s not—”

“—but if that’s the reason why you’re in this situation right now,” his father continued, not even hearing Jungkook object, “then maybe it’d be better if you focused on your studies instead. Otherwise, I don’t see the point why you should join the company this summer.”

It was quiet for a while after that and you thought they finished talking. You even put your phone away, ready to head down the hallway and act like you just got here, but then Jungkook spoke up again.

“The things that I do in college,” he said slowly, “will not interfere with my job at the company.”

“You can forget that job – and any other job, actually – if you don’t pull yourself together,” his father said.

“Well, what should I do, then?” Jungkook asked. “What do I have to do to prove to you that I don’t need to pull anything together because I’m fine? It’s just that you--”

“Admitting that you’re not fine would be the first step.”

“I-I’m serious,” he said, sounding a little more discouraged now. “What should I do?”

“Well, you’re an adult,” his father said, using his own words against him. “Why don’t you figure that out yourself?”

The room fell silent again and, a few moments later, you heard footsteps approaching the door of Jungkook’s hospital room. Jumping away from the wall, you jogged down the opposite hallway and only turned around when you heard the door open. But Jungkook’s father left the room and walked away without bothering to even glance your way.

When he disappeared behind the corner, you stopped behind Jungkook’s open door, not daring to enter just yet. You felt even less confident about being here now that you’d overheard his conversation with his father but you only had yourself to blame for that – you could have walked away as soon as you realized they were still talking.

The saying should have mentioned that curiosity may not have necessarily killed the cat, but it certainly made it feel very uncomfortable.

Taking a deep breath, you braced yourself and gave the door of his room a gentle knock before poking your head inside. Jungkook was laying down, his eyes fixed on the ceiling, but he lifted himself up on his elbows when he saw you.

“Wow,” he said and a smile crept up to his bruised face, “you’re the last person I expected to see here.”

If you hadn’t just witnessed the fiery scolding he’d received from his father, you would have never been able to tell that something happened. Acting must have been in his blood as he continued to smile while you entered the room and closed the door.

You had to admit, he looked much better today – excluding the saline drip next to his bed, the fresh stitches on his forehead, and the several cuts and bruises scattered all over his face, of course – but that had to be due to the fact that his face was no longer stained with fresh blood.

“I felt like I had to come since I was the one who called the ambulance and then refused to ride with you to the hospital,” you explained yourself.

“Thanks,” Jungkook said, teasing. “I appreciate that.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you’d expected this reaction, “it was already awkward enough to talk to you after so long, I didn’t think we were close enough for a ride in the ambulance together.”

“But we’re close enough for you to visit me in the hospital?”

“Like I said, I felt bad.”

“You should,” he said with ease. “I could have died.”

You rolled your eyes. “Your injuries weren’t that bad. The car took the brunt of it.”

“How do you know that?”

You asked the paramedics, that’s how – although, that was a massive understatement. What you really did was cry and beg them to tell you if Jungkook was alive – you even pulled on the sleeves of their jackets like a child, demanding attention – but you’d never admit it out loud.

In your defense, Jungkook’s entire face was bloody when the paramedics pulled him out of the car – courtesy of the nasty cut on the upper corner of his forehead that the doctors have stitched up now – and he was unconscious so, really, your reaction was completely rational, all things considered.

“I asked before they took you away, of course,” you responded simply. “I’m not heartless.”

“Well, that’s good to know, then,” he said. “And, for what it’s worth, I would have definitely taken the ambulance with you if our situations were reversed.”

“It’s not worth anything because there’s no way our situations would ever be reversed. I’m smart enough not to drive when I’m drunk,” you said and he was the one to roll his eyes this time, “and, anyway, you had your members in the ambulance with you. It would have been suffocating with me there, too.”

He didn’t respond but kept his eyes on you and the same awkwardness you’d felt in the hallway outside of his hospital room returned.

You couldn’t seem to find a place to settle in – there was only one chair in the room and it had his jacket laying across it; you didn’t dare move it – so you stood still, switching your weight between one leg to the next, while his eyes burned into you.

“I… I brought you something,” you finally managed to say – mostly because the chocolates in your hands were now in danger of melting due to how hard your palms were sweating. “It’s not—”

You had extended your hand to put the candy on the cupboard next to his bed and, as soon as he noticed them, he didn’t even wait for you to finish.

“You remembered!” his cry reminded you of the nine-year-old Jungkook who’d stuff his face with these chocolates until he couldn’t even breathe anymore. You stopped and turned to look at him in surprise. “Oh, man, I haven’t had these in so long. Where did you even find them?”

“I know a store,” you said with a soft smile. You put the candy down and took a step back, feeling even more out of place now that your hands were empty. “I—”

“Well, sit, have one,” he encouraged, leaning out of bed to pick his jacket up from the chair, and tossing it on the floor instead. The catheter in his hand must have strained his skin as he did that but Jungkook didn’t let it show. “Mind you, I said one. I’m selfishly saving the rest of them for myself because I am barely getting fed here.”

You chuckled. “That’s okay, you can have all of them. Is the hospital food really that bad?”

“Oh, don’t get me started,” he groaned, unwrapping the candy and putting it in his mouth while you sat down on the now empty chair.

He closed his eyes as soon as the chocolate touched his tongue, leaning back and sighing blissfully – but just loudly enough so you’d know how much he had missed the taste – in a way that made you look down and swallow heavily, your nails digging into the soft material of the chair.

“This is heaven,” he spoke up after a moment and you didn’t dare to tell him that it wasn’t the candy that was heavenly but rather the sight of him enjoying it so much. “It completely makes up for you abandoning me when I was dying.”

You groaned but Jungkook saw the small smile that managed to make its way to your lips. “You weren’t dying. Why are you being so dramatic?”

“Because I need pity,” he confessed, making it all sound like a joke even though you had a feeling there was more than just a pinch of truth in his words. “None of my friends came to see me. Looks like I really fucked up this time, huh?”

That surprised you. “What do you mean? They went with you when they took you to the hospital.”

“No, I don’t mean my members,” he shook his head, “they were here this morning but I made them go home and clean. I meant my other friends.”

“Oh,” you looked down, unsure if you were in any position to comfort him. “Maybe they’re busy?”

“Please,” he scoffed, unwrapping another chocolate, “it’s Saturday. They may be hungover but they’re definitely not busy.”

“Well, in that case,” you said, “maybe they’re not really your friends.”

“Yeah, I came to that conclusion, too,” he said, toying with the candy instead of putting it in his mouth. Bits of chocolate stuck to his warm fingertips and he licked them off before turning to look at you only to catch you watching him. You looked away when your eyes met, though, so you didn’t get to see the pleased grin that appeared on his face. “So, what are you up to? I thought your schedule was full until graduation?”

You smiled, recalling your words at his party.

“Your drunk-driving incident made me push some things around,” you played along, not missing the chance to scold him. Jungkook just rolled his eyes and popped the chocolate into his mouth. “So, you should consider yourself special.”

“I definitely do,” he said, putting the wrappers down on the cupboard next to his bed. “It’s weird to see you like this. I don’t mean here, but just… not in a hurry, you know? I thought you had classes every day of the week, weekends included.”

You had no idea he ever gave your schedule any thought – and hearing that he did made your stomach twist in ways you’d rather it didn’t – so you weren’t prepared for this. Taking your silence as uncomfortable, Jungkook tried to ease into the conversation differently.

“Are you still thinking of owning your own business?” he asked.

He remembered that and suddenly it was like your stomach had decided to tear itself into two.

“Sure,” you said with an awkward chuckle. “It’s definitely still one of the few things I’d like to do after graduation.”

“Good,” Jungkook said simply and, thus, reminded you of how long it’s been since you had last talked. Usually, whenever the topic would turn to you, wanting to own a business of your own, he’d always say, ‘you’re so bossy, so it would suit you.’ Now, however, he added a very considerate, “I know you’ll get to do it. You’re the kind of person that makes her dreams come true.”

Lowering your eyes – because you’d found that praise was hard to accept when it came from someone you were close to but it was even harder when it came from someone whom you used to be close to – you mumbled, “thanks.”

“It’s just the truth,” Jungkook replied with a shrug of his shoulders – it was an attempt to make you feel less awkward. He could see the way your whole body tensed up as soon as he mentioned how weird it was to see you.

“So, what about you?” you asked, turning the spotlight away from yourself. “Do you still want to be a worldwide famous superstar?”

He laughed, his childhood dream sounding ridiculous now. “No. I’m fine where I am right now.”

You smiled but your mind returned to the conversation you’d overheard before you came here.

Slowly, so as not to pour salt on an undoubtedly fresh wound, you asked, “what about the, uh, family company?”

Jungkook sighed. Not because he was angry at you for asking this question, but rather because it was a very natural question to ask, so – naturally – everyone around him always brought it up.

“What about it?” he asked you.

“Well, it’s a family business,” you shrugged, not wanting to put any extra pressure on him. “Your parents were always sort of prepping you for it.”

“Yeah,” he wasn’t looking at you anymore as his eyes settled on the corner of his hospital room. “They’re changing their minds about that.”

Feeling like you were committing a crime by sitting here and acting like you hadn’t just heard him talk to his dad about this, you proceeded nevertheless.

“What do you mean?” you asked.

“I mean… well, my mom definitely wants me to take over the business one day,” he said and, just like you remembered, his voice softened when he spoke about her, “she’s constantly talking about how proud of me she is – but you know my mom,” he paused to give you a knowing look and waited until you nodded before he continued, “she always had a lot of love to give so she wanted to have a lot of kids and, after that didn’t work out, she focused all of her love on me.”

“Yes, go ahead and blame your mother as the reason why you’re spoiled,” you teased.

“It’s the truth!” he insisted with an unexpected smile. “Anyway, she always wanted me to work in the company and—”

“What about you?” you cut him off.

Already lost in whatever he was going to say to you, Jungkook didn’t catch your question. “Hmm?”

“What do you want?” you asked again.

“I…” he considered this for a moment, not quite used to being asked about his own wishes when he lived in a family that essentially decided everything for him, “I guess I just don’t want to let her down,” he said finally. “My dad, however… he—well, let’s just say he doesn’t really think I’d make a suitable employee, let alone a CEO.”

Unable to resist it, you bit, “hmm, I wonder what could have lead him to feel that way.”

“I know, I know, there’s no need to sound so condescending,” he rolled his eyes – in that same bratty way that you remembered; no one could ever tell this boy anything without him getting offended – and then sighed. “I haven’t been the ideal son.”

It was hard not to allow your memories to overwhelm you – because of how many times you’d been in this same position before: finding Jungkook cooped away somewhere after an argument with his father and trying to cheer him up with his favorite chocolates – but you tried to focus on the present.

“I’m sure you’re trying your best,” you ended up telling him because that was something you were supposed to tell someone who was having a hard time.

Jungkook chuckled at the optimistic statement.

“Not really,” he said then, “I’m not trying at all. I’ve just been doing whatever I want to do and, I don’t know, I guess I wasn’t really thinking of the consequences. Or, rather, I didn’t care about them because—well, because I was satisfied with my life,” he continued to talk and you were starting to feel your pulse in your throat because it’s been seven years – seven fucking years – since you’ve heard him confess something so personal and it was almost suffocating, “but then my dad—oh, you should have heard him today. It was one of the more severe variations of the Jeon Concerto in A Major.”

The comparison got you to smile despite the seriousness of the conversation. “It was that bad?”

“Worse,” Jungkook assured you. “He kept going at it for hours. Actually, he left, like, two minutes before you came in, so my head is still sort of pounding.”

You knew that, of course, but you didn’t say so.

“Are you sure it’s not from the hangover?” you asked instead.

He took the jab with dignity, smiling as he nodded, “that, too.”

Gathering his thoughts for a moment – as he played with the frayed edges of the hospital blanket – Jungkook stayed silent and, when he started to speak again, his voice made it clear how desperately he was trying to make light of a situation that had clearly wounded him much more than the accident last night had.

“My dad, uh—he told me to suck it up and get my shit together,” he said. “And that’s almost a direct quote, by the way. I think he’s been holding it in for a while now and today he just exploded.”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t given him reasons to yell at you before,” you said.

“Oh, no I’ve given him plenty of reasons,” Jungkook said, “you know he’s not one to refuse a good yell. I just didn’t give him any opportunities,” he stopped and, just when you began to frown in confusion, he explained himself, “I… I moved out of my parents’ house in my junior year of high school and I’ve only been home a handful of times since then.”

It hurt to hear that for some reason. You hadn’t heard much about him ever since he stopped talking to you in the ninth grade but you figured that was just your mom filtering out any information about Jungkook that she learned from his mom. You had no idea that it was really because Jungkook was deliberately distancing himself from his whole family, not just from you.

It hurt because you were once best friends and then you went seven years without speaking to one another only to end up talking again in a hospital room.

It hurt because of how easily the two of you returned to your natural rhythm, how simply you recognized each other’s facial expressions, how normal this felt.

“What about your mom?” you asked in a croaked voice. Your throat was closing up and there was no concealing that. “Doesn’t she miss you?”

If Jungkook noticed the ball in your throat, he didn’t make it known.

“She probably does but she’s never said anything. I think she understands that I had no other choice,” he said instead. “I’d have gone insane in that house with my dad. You know we never spoke the same language.”

“Yeah,” you nodded, “but maybe it’s because neither one of you ever tried to understand the other.”

“Maybe,” he sighed, laying back down on the bed and shuffling around under the blanket until he got comfortable, “probably.”

“That’s a good place to start, isn’t it?” you said, your tone far too hopeful and optimistic – all because you were trying to refrain from getting emotional. “To get your life together, I mean.”

“What?” he turned his head on the pillow so he could face you. You looked down immediately. “You mean, listen to my dad and obey him blindly?”

“No—well, not necessarily. Just… talk to your parents more,” you shrugged, “find a way to communicate with them both and let them know what’s going on in your life. I think you really hurt them by disappearing on them like that and then resurfacing again in the hospital.”

You lied. You didn’t think. You were sure. Because he didn’t just hurt them, he hurt you, too.

Your first conversation in seven years ended with him drunkenly crashing his car into a tree trunk – or was it a lamp post that he didn’t notice? – and now you had to clutch the seat of the chair you were sitting on with all of your might so you wouldn’t start crying. You couldn’t even understand why your eyes were getting watery but they were and you really needed him to look away.

“Hmm, I—I didn’t really think of it like that,” Jungkook admitted and – mercifully – looked back up at the ceiling.

Sniffling as quietly as you could, you added another teasing dig, “maybe also consider drinking less.”

“Yeah, no, funnily enough, I figured I’d have to do that myself,” he replied and you snickered, only daring to look up again when you were sure your tears, that had rushed to the surface, finally receded.

“Good to know you do have a functioning brain despite making it seem like you didn’t last night,” you told him – because you had to – and he glared at you instead of replying, but he did hear what you were saying. He understood.

You wanted to properly lecture him about his reckless behavior but right now you weren’t in the best position to explain your aggressive need for him to start thinking before he acted – and, technically, you had no reason to care about him that much, anyway – so, you took a deep breath, blinked several times to make sure you really weren’t going to start crying, and then started to speak.

“I hope that… uh, no matter what you decide to do and however you choose to handle this thing with your parents,” you swallowed and the words were unexpectedly hard to say, “I hope that you don’t get behind the wheel of a car while drunk again.”

Jungkook looked at you for a long time before speaking and you lost yourself in his eyes like you had done countless of times before. And how could you not when you were faced with his already legendary gaze; the one that controlled entire crowds at Parental Advisory gigs?

You couldn’t see your reflection so you didn’t know, but Jungkook had noticed the redness of your eyes. He noticed the slight puffiness that appeared on your cheeks. He’s seen you cry before, he knew all the signs.

But he was also aware of the gap in your friendship and the tightrope that the two of you were walking over it – he didn’t dare to bring your crying up and risk throwing both of you down into the pit of not-talking again.

“I won’t,” he said instead, his voice gentle. “I promise.”

As he said this, you realized that, perhaps the reason why you felt like crying was because you knew that the second you’d walk out of his hospital room, the two of you would go back to your seven-year-long silence.

Even though you’d had no problems reconnecting today, it was just one day. It would end tomorrow and, eventually, the connection that you’d had and the friendship that you’d developed as kids, would turn into a distant memory. You’d return to your world and he’d return to his and, even though you both lived on the same campus, you might as well have lived on two different planets.

But, even though that hurt, perhaps it was for the best. It was painfully pointless to carry hopes of a restored friendship when it was almost doomed to end eventually. He’d stopped talking to you once, he could do it once more.

So, you wanted to cry now and then put this weekend-from-hell behind you, so you wouldn’t have to cry later, after losing Jungkook again.

keep reading | masterlist

#bts #bts fanfiction #jungkook #jeon jungkook #bts reactions #bts imagines #bts scenarios #college au #bts college au #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook au #jeon jungkook fanfiction #bts angst #bts fluff

627 notes · View notes

kiruuuuu · 4 years

Text

Thank you for both your kind words as well as that wonderful mental image, anon 💝 :) I’m hella excited you enjoy this ship as well, so I hope you like reading about Blackbeard slowly going mad! (Rating T, BB sure loves rambling, ~4.8 words) - this contains references to underage sex!

Goyo is slowly but surely driving him insane.

The man is a fucking enigma. He might as well wear a question mark as his face because it’d tell Blackbeard just as much about his current mood or thoughts or expectations or hopes or fears as his actual face does (though he’s glad Goyo’s face is his actual face, seeing as it’s quite nice to look at, which isn’t to imply he’d like Goyo any less if he had no face, but it’d make kissing him a lot more complicated).

When he met him, Blackbeard thought him to be one of those quiet, cool guys who are just good at their job, and when they’re not at their job, they phase from existence because their job is all they are. Which is fine with Blackbeard. Some of his colleagues are like that: when anyone asks them about their hobbies, they’re hard pressed to come up with a reply since work isn’t a hobby, and neither is preparing for work.

But the moment Goyo first opened his mouth, Blackbeard realised his first impression couldn’t have been more wrong, because he sounds calm and sophisticated and confident and it instantly throws him off kilter. No, this isn’t some genius, this is one of those dudes who can’t take a joke, who think themselves better than everybody else, who react to things they deem profane not with honest opinions but rather thinly-veiled condescension, and they’re the worst. They’re the ones with whom Blackbeard has never gotten along, seeing as he was never sure whether they kept him around to secretly make fun of him, or out of misplaced pity, or to become more popular, or because they’re too awkward to be openly rude.

They’re the ones he can’t read. They never laugh along. They quietly sit next to him until someone calls on them and then they effortlessly trump him with whatever they have to say.

He justified his own actions with the excuse of ‘at least I’m being sincere’ for the longest time. He doesn’t like them, and so he shows it, meaning everyone knows where they’re at. After he’s declared his dislike, some kind of arrangement is made, and they never have to speak to each other again (only he had trouble keeping away because it is kinda gratifying to watch them squirm in discomfort) – and clearly, it’s better than putting up a front made up of false niceties and fake smiles which doesn’t hold up for a second longer as soon as they’re not in the same room anymore.

These days, he’s come to a different conclusion. They simply worried him.

Some of them bested him in various disciplines, causing him to push himself harder because he didn’t want to be left behind and because he can’t let someone he doesn’t like overtake him. Their indifference towards him left him insecure since he’s a people pleaser at heart, wants to be loved and admired by everybody and simply had absolutely no fucking clue how he could get them to like him. And he always thought this sentiment was universal: everyone wants to be popular, don’t they? All humans want to be liked. Only these specific people’s very existence threatened this world view. They didn’t want to be liked by everybody. So what did it mean that they got to the same place as Blackbeard, when he obeyed all the rules and played all the games? Conventions exist for a reason, and shouldn’t be ignored like that.

So yes. Goyo was one of those.

Except he wasn’t. Thermite found him hilarious. Pulse developed a sudden interest in Goyo’s field of expertise. Ash invited him out for drinks. Valkyrie appreciated his earnest nature (and really, what the hell?). The only one with whom Goyo pointedly didn’t interact was Blackbeard.

And they kept going on about how friendly he was, and how well he fit in, and Blackbeard didn’t understand. Stared hard at this mystery of a man and just didn’t understand. Goyo wasn’t stand-offish. He obeyed some rules and played most games, just not Blackbeard's favourite ones, and neither did he let him provoke him, which deprived Blackbeard of the satisfaction of making him uncomfortable as well. What the fuck was he supposed to do with that?

But there was another problem. He’s gay.

It’s a can of worms he’d prefer not to open – if his mind was a house, then he’d shoved all of… that down the stairs into the basement, never to be seen again, collecting dust and sitting untouched. (It’s only recently that he’s begun clearing some of it out, airing it, finding use for it in the living room or somewhere else.) And whenever he learnt that anyone in his vague vicinity was gay, the door slammed open and something yelled at him really loudly the two words which would haunt him for a few weeks:

WHAT IF.

Dumb. Useless.

Disruptive, even, it’s not like he’d do anything, it’s not like the guy would do anything, it’s unlikely to be a topic between them, and still he wonders what it’d be like to kiss whoever was unfortunate enough to haunt Blackbeard for a while. This happens with everyone. Intrusive thoughts he can’t for the life of him control. They do fade the longer he knows the person, fortunately, but in the beginning, whenever the name is mentioned, his brain flashes him a question à la what would it feel like to hug him. Never has he acted on it, nor has he confessed this to anyone, which… likely made it worse, alright, now he knows it, but as a terrified navy officer, his main concern wasn’t whether he might regret neglecting that unwanted basement in his head later in life.

He made a point of never joking about it. Not he himself, at least. Not about this. If anyone ever noticed, they didn’t mention it to him.

In any case, there was the fact that Goyo was there and not going to go away any time soon, and he was gay, and really handsome. The tingly kind of handsome. The car crash kind, making it impossible to look away, with his stupid beard and the weird, sexual way he sits, and how he twirls his pens around without even realising. His smile is…

Blackbeard didn’t want to label him with anything past handsome, not pretty or attractive or (god forbid) hot, because it fell too well in line with the WHAT IF still regularly being screamed at him, despite the weeks they’ve spent as acquaintances already, and for some reason, this time, it doesn’t go away.

With other colleagues, it vanished very quickly, but Goyo? Goyo starts appearing in his dreams. Just once or twice, really, nothing compromising, a few words exchanged or a laugh (and he’s seen him laugh in Valkyrie’s presence, and dear fucking lord), but it has an uncomfortable side effect.

His brain convinces him he has some kind of claim on him. Nothing insane, not like he thinks Goyo owes him anything, and yet… He knows Goyo is single, so he should appreciate any offer he gets, and Blackbeard is certain Goyo would prefer if they got along better anyway, and besides, Blackbeard is a catch, right? He’s good-looking, funny, skilled, forthright, adventurous – nothing to scoff at. Surely it’s enough to warrant a try.

And when he’s instantly shot down, he realises that he can’t read this man at all.

Unfortunately for both of them, it’s a recurring theme in their interactions. Even after a while, even after Blackbeard has noticed Goyo’s lips thinning when he disapproves of something, or that his ‘yeah it’s fine’ is sometimes nothing more than a passive-aggressive ‘I’d prefer something else’, even then he doesn’t know the source of it. Because Goyo just doesn’t fucking talk to him.

The basics are there.

Not only that, the basics are great and Blackbeard is fully aware of it: both of them are putting effort into their relationship. He once heard it’s the single most important aspect of anything meant to last, and his prior relationships seem to support this claim – and hands down, both of them are committed to this. There’s not a single day without any type of contact, whether it’s texting, a short call, or meeting up, Goyo keeps track of what he likes to eat and cooks accordingly, Blackbeard brings small gifts, they pay each other compliments which are heartfelt and earnest, and they compromise on how they spend their time together. They’re comfortable around each other. He looks forward to seeing him every day that he does.

And there’s the whole… other stuff. All of which leaves Blackbeard flustered whenever he even thinks about it, and he’ll say this much: Goyo is infinitely more passionate than he would’ve expected. Generous, too. And really, really good.

That said, this is where the ‘but’ comes in (and no, he’s not referring to the fun part anymore).

Goyo can’t fucking communicate. It’s driving Blackbeard up the walls. He’s totally incapable of putting his emotions into words, which makes no sense at all. Once they started dating and Goyo opened up more, the complaints began, and honestly? Blackbeard was delighted. Because Goyo didn’t just nag, he pointed out aspects which bothered him in a constructive way and either suggested a solution or appreciated it when Blackbeard corrected it himself – or he was satisfied with a compromise. Maybe not always satisfied, there are still unresolved issues like him being inept to show up on time, ever, and insisting he’s in the right, but even then he doesn’t make a big fuss over it. Banter, yes. Some teasing. Remarks delivered with a grin. Tongue-in-cheek comments. Blackbeard does exactly the same, so he respects it.

In the past, it’s happened a few times that his current girlfriend was unhappy about something but didn’t mention it, not really, not to the point where Blackbeard would’ve realised it to be as serious as it turned out to be. Instead, her dissatisfaction grew and grew, in one instance accompanied by contempt, and eventually came an outburst he couldn’t have prevented if he tried, seeing as he knew nothing about it. Having a partner this vocal about problems is refreshing.

But there are certain topics Goyo doesn’t mention. Or moments where he simply clams up. It’s impossible to tell when it’ll happen or why, but now and then Goyo gets utterly lost in his own thoughts (or at least that’s what Blackbeard thinks is happening), and then he either loses the thread of their conversation entirely, or takes forever to reply. Blackbeard gets incredibly antsy whenever he receives no reaction, so his boyfriend doing it to him is twice as bad. He’s aware Goyo lives inside his head a lot of the time, sure, and as a result, almost everything he says is well thought through and genuine (at least the non-sarcastic bits), but for him, it’s difficult to deal with nonetheless. He often panics during those pauses and wonders whether he’s done something wrong and Goyo is currently trying to work out how to break it to him.

And when it comes to Goyo’s feelings, he’s a lost cause. Blackbeard doesn’t doubt for a second that Goyo spends a good portion of his time analysing himself and introspecting, it’s just… he doesn’t seem to be very good at it.

That, or he also has a basement full of dusty, forgotten, pushed-away objects.

Goyo thinks himself ‘sociable enough’. It’s how he himself expressed it. Blackbeard begs to differ, and strongly so: Goyo hardly ever seeks out other people, regularly turns down invitations as well and is awfully quiet in groups, not to mention he takes forever to warm up to people (and there’s the not-so-small matter about his lack of punctuality too). Blackbeard finds his behaviour quite rude a lot of the time and is pretty sure the others only give Goyo the benefit of the doubt to be nice.

He says of himself that he’s not very demanding, only to keep demanding things of Blackbeard. More touching. More housework. Less gym time. No shaving. More spontaneity (and he seems to overlook the obvious irony in telling someone to be spontaneous).

This is another thing: he keeps disrupting Blackbeard's daily schedule without feeling a shred of guilt over it. Calling at inopportune times, trying to keep him in bed in the morning, suddenly wanting to eat lunch a specific place, changing plans they made weeks ago a few minutes before leaving. It’s like he’s testing Blackbeard's patience and adaptability.

And the worst thing of all is simultaneously also the best thing: Blackbeard really, really, really likes him.

If he were a dog, his tail wouldn’t stop wagging for a second in Goyo’s presence. His brain fills with exclamation marks any time he sees him. Any compliments Goyo has ever paid him play on repeat, his smile is the last image Blackbeard sees before he goes to sleep, and he’s the first person he texts whenever anything happens. He has no idea what caused Goyo’s change of heart, what made him give Blackbeard a chance, but he’s endlessly grateful it happened. The fluttering in his stomach still hasn’t stopped when they’re spending quality time together, and his heart thumps twice as fast whenever they kiss. It’s the worst crush of his life and he doesn’t even know how it developed.

When he wants to be, Goyo is exceedingly witty, charming, supportive, empathetic, patient, loving, trusting. They’ve had a long conversation about sexuality which corrected some of the preconceptions Blackbeard still held, and at no point did he feel patronised, alienated, or uncomfortable. It’s probably what keeps them together: the knowledge they respect and trust each other. Goyo knows he’d never knowingly hurt his feelings, and he believes the same of Goyo. Jealousy is no topic between them, and boundaries are regularly drawn, re-drawn, negotiated, accepted. (Though not nearly as often as Blackbeard would’ve liked. He’s aware Goyo can feel suffocated sometimes and would prefer them to talk it out properly, but it’s one of the topics Goyo usually deflects.)

With how communicative Blackbeard is, he’s suffered from the lack of outside feedback on their relationship. Asking for advice is out of the question as no one else knows he’s dating anyone, and not being able to gush about the way Goyo sometimes wraps himself around him when they’re watching something on his bed kills him a little inside. He wants to share it all, the good and the bad, seeks reassurance on everything he’s doing and desires normality. A state where he can throw in ‘oh yes, my boyfriend mentioned it the other day’ without earning any kind of odd reaction. A world where the others ask him about how Goyo is doing, and whether they’ve been to this restaurant yet, and so on.

He knows that he himself is the only obstacle in this, but his track record in Rainbow hasn’t been the best and he’s worried the girls will call him out on hitting on them with no intention of starting a relationship. Which wouldn’t actually be far off the mark, unfortunately. Valkyrie is his best bet since they’re thick as thieves, but she’s been side-eyeing him for a while already and he’s pretty sure she suspects something. He hates when she can go ‘I told you so’ and be right about it.

Regardless, he’s going to explode if he can’t talk about Goyo to someone soon, and Vigil will certainly not want to hear about how ticklish his Mexican colleague is.

“Meghan, I need to tell you something”, he blurts out, startling his best friend and nearly causing her to drop her beer. They’re on Buck’s balcony, holding on to cans as if they were their lifeline to what little bit of their sanity is left after everyone heard Maverick suggest bodyshots earlier (only half jokingly), and then Castle murdered everyone by showing off photos of his newly adopted puppy. Even Blackbeard was squealing like a little girl. He really should look into adopting a dog himself. He wonders whether Goyo likes dogs.

“Don’t tell me you want to join Sanaa on her odyssey”, Valkyrie interrupts his thoughts, looking worried. “They’re all trying to deter her for a reason, we don’t need you encouraging -”

“What are you talking about?”, he interrupts her, aghast, and once her words have sunk in, he repeats: “No, really, what are you talking about? That sounds amazing. I wanna be a part of it. Where is she going?”

“Craig.”

Odd. Goyo sounds almost the same whenever he’s displeased. Blackbeard should text him about the dog later. “Yes. Where was I?”

“You made a vague threat.”

He blinks at her for a moment, mind blank. Goyo has said before that alcohol causes his brain to misfire, and he’s beginning to believe it. “Oh. Yes. Meghan, I’m dating someone. And don’t be smug, okay? I can’t deal with smug right now.”

Valkyrie’s lips twitch in amusement. “Would you like supportive? That’s great! I’m so happy for you! I hope it’s going wonderful, you really deserve it!”

“You’re the worst”, he informs her, prompting a laugh.

“It’s been a while already, hasn’t it?” He nods. He supposes it’s obvious to anyone who knows him well enough, and Valkyrie certainly does. After all, he can’t stop smiling on some days and must look like a lunatic. Maybe he should send a nice text first so Goyo knows he thought of him. “I figured. How is it going and why is it César?”

He chokes on his beer. She doesn’t even have the grace to look guilty while he’s busy coughing his lungs out, and when he makes an inquisitive sound, she even smirks. It was bad enough to learn that Smoke and Mute found out about their relationship (and he’s still not entirely sure about whether they found out on their own or Goyo helped a bit), and now it turns out Valkyrie knew all along?

“Don’t worry, no one else knows. But neither of you were very subtle about it to me. You kept asking about him, he kept asking about you… plus you’ve been really nice to him recently.”

Oh. He asked about Blackbeard? This is relevant information. He opens his mouth to inquire some more, but Valkyrie adds casually: “And he at least is openly gay. Very open. Remember how he mentioned his male ex-fiancé on the first day? He really didn’t allow for any ambiguity.”

And hold up. Blackbeard's brain struggles to process what it just heard. Wait.

Wait what.

There are two cans cooking on the stove.

Blackbeard is failing to grasp reality right now. He dumbly stares at the two unlabelled metal cans sitting in boiling water and doesn’t understand what’s happening. He doesn’t understand much of what’s going on at the moment anyway, and he’s fairly sure it’s not just the alcohol’s fault. The water bubbles happily around the objects, and time and space are collapsing around him.

“Hey, Bee”, comes a familiar voice from behind him and he’s embraced in a tight hug, lips planting themselves on his shoulder a few times before he’s released again. “You’re back early.”

“Jack’s apartment flooded. A few went with him to help, but Meghan dropped me off here. The hell are you making? Tin-flavoured soup?”

Goyo laughs and though the sound would normally flood him with endorphins, right now he just eyes the other man with a frown. “No, it’s dulce de leche.”

Blackbeard tries and fails to put the delicious caramel-like substance in any relation to what’s happening before him, though he does file something away for later perusal: he should ask Goyo to speak more Spanish around him. He might be onto something there. “How?”

“Sweetened condensed milk. When you boil it long enough, it turns into gooey ambrosia. You mentioned how you were looking for new ideas for ice cream – swirl this into anything and blow everyone’s minds.”

Oh. That does sound delicious, and the fact that Goyo is staying up late to do him a favour is also heartwarming, but the question burning on Blackbeard's tongue will not sit idly for a second longer. He asks: “Why did you never tell me of your ex-fiancé?”

Goyo, checking out the timer next to the pot, responds with another question without lifting his gaze: “Oh. Which one?”

He can’t be serious. Blackbeard waits, fully expecting him to be joking, but he seems genuinely surprised at Blackbeard's dumbstruck expression when he finally does look up. “I’ve had a turbulent past involving a few poor decisions”, he admits and something tells Blackbeard there’s a good possibility this is a massive understatement. “Is that a problem?”

Is it? He’s not entirely sure. The fact that he had to hear about it from Valkyrie might be one, and then there’s his crumbling impression of Goyo as someone largely sensible. He comes across as well-mannered, composed, logical – though Blackbeard has noticed most of these waver over time. The deeper he dives, the more of the iceberg he sees. “You just… seemed like someone who has his life together”, he says weakly. Goyo has friends and family who care about him, is comfortable in his own skin, good at his job.

His words are mulled over for a while with pursed lips, until Goyo decides: “I suppose I do. Except for my love life.”

“You did say at one point that all relationships you had were long, meaningful and deep. So I figured…”

“My relationships were mostly great, yes. Anything that doesn’t fall into that category, well”, and Goyo makes an uncertain hand gesture which, once again, fills Blackbeard with a sense of foreboding dread as it screams understatement. “I did start out by paying a guy to fuck me.”

Blackbeard has no clue how to react, and so he chooses to stare at his boyfriend in horror.

“Yeah. Life was tough where I grew up. This super hot straight dude caught wind of me being a reliable source of cigarettes and asked me about it. I convinced him to fuck me for smokes – which I was buying with my allowance money, I think.”

“Allowance”, Blackbeard echoes stupidly. “Wait, how old were you?”

“I think fifteen, why does it matter, Bee?”

“How old was the dude?!”

“Early twenties? Thinking about it, he really should’ve handled his finances better.”

Blackbeard is in shock. “So… he took advantage of you. Lightly said.” Very lightly.

To his utter disbelief, Goyo simply frowns and shakes his head. “What? No. It was my idea. I had to talk him into it.”

“Yeah but – you were a minor. He was an adult, he shouldn’t have -”

“Did you miss the part where he not only sold his body for some cigs but also let a teenager get the better of him? What about that makes it seem like he’d fell any reasonable decisions in his life?”

“Did you report him? Did he get arrested?” He can’t wrap his head around why Goyo seems so calm talking about this.

“Huh? Not for sleeping with me, no. He was a thieving piece of shit though, so he did end up in jail.”

“Stop defending him, do you really think he did nothing wrong?”

Goyo eyes him curiously. “Do you think that he did?”

And of course. Of course he does, it’s not just personal opinion with this kind of shit, it’s a fact that an adult exploited Goyo and how does he not see it? How can he view it any other way? Blackbeard has trouble putting his outrage in words, so he attempts a different angle: “Are you saying you’d be alright with someone else who’s twenty sleeping with a teenager who’s -”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Generally, of course not. But we’re talking about me here. I know what happened. I can assess it from my point of view.”

“But you were too young -”

“You don’t get to rewrite my past”, Goyo interrupts him sharply and so Blackbeard shuts up, dissatisfied. Next to them, the kitchen timer erupts into frantic beeping, prompting Goyo to turn the heat off, pluck the cans out of the pot with a pair of tongs and put them on a wire rack to cool.

Meanwhile, Blackbeard tries to decide whether all this changes how he sees the man before him. He’s not sure.

“Laws are in place for a reason and I’d be the first one to tell any teenager not to do what I did”, Goyo continues, directed at the slightly steaming metal. “But what I did happened and it was what I really wanted at the time. We do stupid things when we’re young. You don’t get to judge me for it. Only I can, and I’m not.”

It’s hard to relate. Blackbeard wouldn’t say he grew up sheltered, but certainly privileged, and though there’s plenty of stuff he did which he’d advise against, there’s none he’d defend like this. Except Goyo might be explaining instead of defending. He refuses to condemn while still being aware of the shady circumstances.

“Look, Bee, no one got hurt. Quite the opposite. Let’s leave it at that and go to bed, hm?” Goyo kisses him briefly before exiting the kitchen, already pulling his shirt over his head and exposing his toned back in the process. The sight awakens a strong urge to touch, but not in a sexual way – Blackbeard is filled with a comfortable sense of belonging instead. He knows what Goyo’s smooth skin feels like and that he’s free to caress it as much as he wants. It’s one of his favourite perks of any relationship: being allowed to show physical affection.

A little lost and still dazed from their previous topic, he trails after his lover and watches Goyo strip down to his underwear in the bedroom. “I wasn’t planning on going to sleep immediately”, he says, knowing full well he’ll climb in after Goyo regardless.

“We don’t have to sleep.”

Blackbeard stares at him blankly, thoughts continuously trying to process their conversation.

“I’ll read a bit and you can text some people. You told Meghan about us, didn’t you? She sent me a single message an hour ago which just said good luck.”

It seems this would be all Goyo has to say on the matter of his sexual past for now, and Blackbeard belatedly realises that he avoided mentioning his ex-fiancé (ex-fiancés??) entirely, so he should prepare for a similar talk in the near future. It’s become a habit of theirs which he genuinely doesn’t like – they address a topic, argue, and then drop it without a satisfying conclusion, without being on the same page. Most of the time, it ends up merely postponing the issue as it inevitably comes up again, though he does suppose there’s some merit in being able to think it through on his own before tackling it again. Both of them can be quite stubborn, and a break to sort their thoughts (and in Blackbeard's case, engage some outside advice) is beneficial.

So maybe it’s not so bad to not ruin the night with something they’ll ultimately refuse to agree on, and instead cuddle in bed.

Goyo becomes a temporary magnet in these instances, impossible to pry off, and Blackbeard has no choice but to hold him tight and bask in his body heat. Not like he’d want anything other than exactly this.

“Was it scary?”, Goyo mutters into his hair while stroking his back. They’ll separate soon and wind down in their own way before sleeping, but right now they just enjoy each other’s presence.

“She already knew I’m bi. She likes you and I trust her. Why would it be scary?”

“Still. It’s fine if it was.”

Blackbeard is silent for a minute. “A bit”, he admits and feels Goyo’s lips stretch into a smile.

“I’m glad it seemed to have gone well. And I’m proud of you.”

And this, this is why Blackbeard basically fawns over this bastard all day in his head. His heart throbs and he pulls Goyo even closer, relieved that the prior revelations apparently don’t make a difference between them. Goyo is right, the past can’t be changed, but neither does it need to dictate the present. “It did go well, she said you’d be good for me on the way here. She also mentioned you asking about me.”

Goyo chuckles. “You know, the first thing I ever asked about you was whether you’ve got a wife.”

And it’s a relief to hear that not only Blackbeard used to be terrible at reading him.

#rainbow six siege #blackbeard #goyo #blackbeard/goyo #fanfic #thido #it's so much fun writing from bb's perspective #he sees himself not at all like goyo does #and vice versa #both are convinced they're the reasonable one in this

22 notes · View notes

aziraphaleandcrowley · 4 years

Text

Tldr: me word vomiting lots of random emotions and thoughts I’ve been having about my life. Would put under a read more but tumblr mobile is shite. Ignore if you wanna, I just needed to throw this into the world cos I’ve been so socially distant from everyone in my life that I haven’t spoken to anyone about this, and I’m not sure I would’ve even if I actually replied to my friends more than once in a blue moon

...............................................................

Me: honestly convinced I’m never gonna find romantic love cos I’m ace and probably aro - at the very least I’ve never been attracted to/interested in someone enough to want to date them and the whole being sexually attracted to someone and looking a people and wanting to have sex with them sounds fake and doesn’t resonate with me at all.

Me: is theoretically a very sex favourable and positive person but the idea of sex with someone I’m not dating is just so weird to me but damn do I wish there was someone who knew me and my likes and dislikes to be intimate with

Me: is super duper disappointed to not experience love/sex but is simultaneously doing literally zero to create opportunities cos I just don’t speak to anyone outside of my family and colleagues, and the one single guy I had any interest in at work is gay and has left.

Me: reads fanfic constantly and I’m now wondering whether it is beneficial in distracting me from my loneliness or enhancing it. I think both. I think I need a break from fanfic at the very least but honestly don’t know what I’d do without it cos it’s been my go to hobby for so many years and I legit read for 30+ hours a week and that’s soo much time to fill???

Me: really doesn’t want to have kids in the future cos I don’t understand kids in the slightest and pregnancy is terrifying and I still feel like a child myself and I know this is something which may change in the future but I don’t think so and my mum bringing up wanting grandkids on a near weekly basis recently is kinda starting to put me on edge cos I’m already starting to feel like a disappointment cos I’m an only child and I’m the only opportunity for grandkids - which I know is ridiculous but it how I feel and that’s valid

Me: with my grandad in hospital (he’s gonna be fine, he would be out of hospital if he actually did what the doctors and nurses said about doing exercises etc) it has made me think about the family I do have which is: my mum, my dad, my grandad and my uncle. That’s it. I have two other uncles and several cousins etc who I see maybe once a year but they don’t really count.

Me: has a handful of really amazing friends who I haven’t spoken to in months and I don’t even really know why. They’ve all messaged me and I just havent replied. I’m not trying to actively push them away like I did with a friend in the past who I just felt drained with in the end whenever we interacted, but honestly every time I get a message I just feel exhausted at the prospect of ongoing social interaction. And it’s silly cos I know exactly the kind of thing I could message people about to start a conversation, like I could talk to Emily about finally watching Hamilton and how it’s been two weeks and I’m still listening to song on repeat and how she was right about how good it is and yet it’s been a week and a half since I’ve thought about sending that message and yet I haven’t and just uggghhhh @me

Me: is horrified by the idea of being alone for life romantically, and knowing that between my ever dwindling family and me not talking to my friends that being alone if more likely that I ever want to think about

Me: wants to live a happy life of my own but don’t know how to. I want to move out but can’t afford to on my own and it’s super impractical when I can live with my parents for £20 per week for food. But god forbid if anything happens to one of my parents I’m gonna be stuck at home forever cos I have so little family and my parents have literally no one else to turn to.

Me: wants to do a masters in gender and sexuality studies writing about representations of asexuality on screen but I know I could write and entire book which would be great for phd level but I missed the deadline to apply cos June was crazy and all I’ve been doing recently is working 6 days a week then working on my car for a day before working another 6 days. And even if I did a masters and maybe eventually a phd I have no idea what I’d actually do with it? I have so little ambition for anything right now and the future is just a void of mystery in which I don’t even know what I want???

Me: is starting to think I might actually be kinda depressed. I’ve thought it on and off for longer than I’ll ever admit but I’d do quizzes online and they’d say I wasn’t so I didn’t really think too much more about it (and yes I know an online quiz is shit and means nothing but there’s no one I would want to talk to about it cos I feel like I have to be strong for the people around me and shit but yeah). I know I’m not happy, but that doesn’t necessarily equal depressed. All I know is I’m uninspired and I feel kinda empty. Doing stuff I do enjoy, if I actually do it, just makes me feel tired half the time so I end up trying to nap instead but then I don’t sleep great either, waking up in the night or when my dad is getting ready for work so I very rarely get a solid 8 hours of sleep. I’m irritable a lot too...

Me: even if I am depressed what does it matter? Like it does matter ofc, but my mum is on media for depression and it’s taking her weeks to get an appointment with the doctor to try and get a different dosage. I’m not a danger to myself or others, I’m unhappy, but who isn’t with COVID going on and there are people who need mental health services more than me. Which is really hypocritical of me to say cos I’ve told my best friend so many times that trauma and mental health etc aren’t competitions of who has it worse but it’s the truth. Also my mum and colleagues access the only mental health resources in town and I do not want to deal with interactions with people I know whilst trying to improve my mental health.

Me: I don’t know how many times I’ve said it in posts like this but something needs to change. I was set on a good course at the start of the year. I was getting out, socialising, doing new things, inspired to cook, learn to new music and change my lifestyle, and then COVID happened and since all of that has slowly drained away and I need to find a change to revitalise that. I’d hoped getting back to having driving lessons and working on my car would be a start, and to be fair it’s been less than two week since I restarted doing that, so maybe I can find a new spark of inspiration still. Within a couple of months I will pass my driving test. Hopefully it won’t take much longer than that to get my car finished and on the road (hopefully it’ll take two weeks to finish putting the rear end back together so we can finally get my car back on four wheels, then it’s just lots of little jobs which hopefully won’t take too long). The weather is supposed to be decent this week so I might work up the effort to go for a walk down the fields which always seems to relax me a little. And the cinema reopens at the end of the month so I’d finally have an excuse to get out of the house (I know COVID is not over and things should not be going back to normal any time soon, but I need to do something other than go work for 4 hours everyday and spend 90% of my time at home and most of that time in bed because I have nowhere else to go). I don’t know what else I can be hopeful for in the coming weeks but that’s a start and just listing them out here has made me feel a little better so.

I keep thinking about Patrick from Schitt s Creek, leaving his hometown to escape a life which didn’t fit him and finding everything he needed in a tiny town in rural Canada, and wishing I could do the same, but I know I’d just end up even more alone because I am not a social person in the slightest and don’t kno how to be despite knowing that me making changes is the only way to improve myself.

And then a line from Hamilton about death is easy, living is harder, and I want to make it abundantly clear that I do not in any way, shape or form want to die, but living is hard and I have an easy life. I have enough money that I was able to loan my dad the money to buy a car, and still have more savings after that than he does, I have a good that if not particularly well paid I do enjoy and I’m good at, my family live me in their own way, even tho I feel that part of my social distance and reluctantance towards others is because no one in my family is particularly socially inclined.

Maybe I just really need a hug.

I don’t even know where I’m going with this anymore but I just had so much build of of words in my brain that they had to go somewhere and this has turned into my go to word vomit place

Things will get better. I don’t know when or how but they will. But they won’t if I don’t get enough sleep for a starters. So off to bed I go. If you’ve read all this thank you, I guess, for listening cos I’m not sharing this with anyone irl just yet. And I’m sorry this is so long but tumblr mobile doesn’t let me put in a read now but I want this out in the world even tho no one will see it

#anyway ignore me #long post for ts #sorry #tmi #rebecca speaks #again #with the amount of posts i jave like this on here im really starting to think i need to find an actual person to discuss stuff with #not sure what therapy options there are in the uk cos all my knowledge come from here which is so us centric #but i think im gonna do some research #tomorrow tho #long post #personal

4 notes · View notes

taggedmemes · 5 years

Text

SENTENCE MEME ⟶ THE KIDS ARE ALRIGHT / 1.05 –– 1.08 always feel free to tweak the sentence to fit your muse.

“Don’t be silly. Your father is way too busy.”

“What’s he busy with? Keeping the couch from floating away?”

“I wanted some acknowledgment from the old man.”

“We were such different people.”

“He was confused by my aspirations, but to be fair, I didn’t much get his life either.”

“He had no hobbies, other than turning off lights.”

“Back then, it was considered wholesome exercise for children to beat the crap out of each other.”

“Maybe he finally realized he has a weird face.”

“His sudden interest in it was such an obvious and pathetic play for his attention.”

“The world isn’t up to your standards.”

“You walk around like a clenched fist.”

“That’s the closest he’ll ever get to hugging.”

“He’ll spend time with you if you’re willing to risk brain damage.”

“I think you’ll want deniability on this.”

“You obviously know a few tricks since you have somehow managed to keep her interested.”

“I see we’ve got our work cut out for us.”

“I don’t even ask with that kid anymore.”

“This is his way of trying to be interesting.”

“If he gets his nose bashed in, we’re not fixing it.”

“My large, loving family had taught me how to take a punch.”

“Nobody wants to read a movie. That’s why they turn books into them.”

“I was kind of a small kid and a bit of a scaredy cat.”

“Everything shouldn’t be about capitalism and oppression.”

“We’re only gonna get there by talking about it.”

“You’ve been laying this condescension trip on me all day, like you’re so insightful and I’m so dumb.”

“If you’re wondering if he’ll care about you any less after this, I can promise you it’s hard to say.”

“God forbid we ever let on we know more than they do.”

“Don’t let some silly fight come between you.”

“I’m just the guy that disappointed my dad.”

“What do you get out of being so mean?”

“I recognize passion when I see it.”

“I don’t really know who I am anymore.”

“That rough-housing and his income is why we can’t have any nice things.”

“I thought that was gonna be a better idea than it was.”

“I’m being a decent human being. You should try it sometime.”

“It’s very upsetting you know all that.”

“Who’s he trying to impress?”

“She has to love us no matter what.”

“He doesn’t have the imagination or dexterity.”

“The library is disgusting.”

“Intimate relations is this irrational drive with men.”

“I don’t like this notion that all men are just trying to get something and it’s our job to resist them.”

“Women should feel comfortable asking for what they want.”

“I’ve grown up so much, I already hate all the music these kids are listening to these days.”

“What happened to letting things work out for themselves?”

“Sometimes, we have to weigh in. Other times, we have to let these idiots make the dumb decisions they’re going to make.”

“She never leaves the house unless it’s an emergency.”

“By the way, I want those drugs again.”

“Is it weird you and I have never talked about how many kids we wanted? We put more discussion into buying a new toaster.”

“A toaster is something you can do something about. Kids just happen.”

“I’m gonna kill you!”

“You’re choking me to death!”

“You don’t always have to say things in a weird way.”

“You’re selling me on celibacy all over again.”

“It just feels like abstinence isn’t realistic for us.”

“I can’t even believe we’re having this conversation.”

“You do something fun, you’re supposed to get hit with a little suffering.”

“We’ll have to steal a lamp or something to make it look like a burglary.”

“How are you not in jail?”

“I can pass any lie detector test.”

“My love can be purchased for a price.”

“It’s important to know that if it happened, it would be entirely your fault.”

“We hang in until the bitter end, until one of us stands over the other one and watches them die.”

“I’m coming back, as tempting at the sweet rest of death might be.”

“Never want to be disappointed by gifts again? Stop buying into the emptiness of materialism.”

“Stop trying to turn everything into a competition with him.”

“I’d hate to have to choose between you two.”

“I’ve been self-diagnosed with medically weak lips.”

“I had to tape cigarettes to his fingers.”

“He would literally murder me in my sleep, and then steal it.”

“With the current decline in literacy, do you really think we need a TV at all?”

“Okay, you’ve lost all credibility with that.”

“I’m flattered you came to me.”

“The damage to my brain is done.”

“We didn’t even bother coming up with excuses.”

“The hard part about coming into money is holding onto it.”

“I keep forgetting you don’t have children.”

“I didn’t know it, but I love you.”

#rp meme #roleplay meme #sentence meme #sentence starters #starter sentences #KIND / SENTENCE.#KIND / IN CHARACTER.#BASED ON / TV SHOW.

44 notes · View notes

chinarsi · 4 years

Text

( DACRE MONTGOMERY + HE/HIM ) — Hey, were you just talking to ANTONELLO LUCCHESE ? The THIRTY year old is a STRIP CLUB OWNER/UNDERBOSS who resides in MANHATTAN. HE has been living in NYC for TWENTY-SIX YEARS, and is known to be EFFICIENT and AFFECTIONATE, but can also be IMPULSIVE and PERVERTED. Word on the street is they’ve got some heavy ties with THE GUERRAS so I’d steer clear if you know what’s good for you.

**TW: **implied attempted murder, child abuse, abandonment; mental illness mention

First name: Antonello

Middle name(s): Giuseppe / “Pinky”

Surname: Lucchese

Age: 30

Date of birth: November 19, 1990

Religious values: Raised Roman Catholic but considers himself agnostic and a vitalist

Location: Spanish Harlem, Manhattan, New York

Occupation and length of time: Underboss/Strip club owner, 15 years

Affiliation: Guerra

Sexuality: Heterosexual

Relationship status: Divorced

Nationality: Considers himself Italian American ( fathers’ side is from Palermo, Sicily, mothers’ side is from Eastern Germany )

Languages known: English, Italian, German, Russian

Style of speaking: Politically incorrect

Birth Country: United States

Hometown: Crown Heights, Brooklyn

Parents: Bill and Teresa Lucchese

Siblings: Amy Lucchese

Pets: Amethystine python, Jinn, and an albino boa constrictor, Rasputin

Height: 5'11

Weight: 183 lbs

Eye color: Light blue

Hair color: Dark brown

Build of body: Stocky, muscular, aka a brickshit house

Tattoos: None

Piercings: Earlobe

Typical clothing: Business casual to very casual, button-downs/linen pants and vintage suits (*Three Looks by Jenna Marbles plays quietly in the background*)

Personality: “ Did you guys come by ? “ ( Ends at 8:32 ; it’s worth the watch, I swear lmao )

“ Como se dice ? How you say what happing ? whA HAPPING HEA. ” ( Starts at 2:52, ends at 11:36 )

Likes: Winning, music, Friedrich Nietzsche, indulgence, working out, and reading

Dislikes: Birds, uncertainty, technology, anything grape flavored, waiting, swimming in open water/the ocean, drama, younger generations

Pet peeves: Being ignored or interrupted, knuckle cracking, people eating with their mouths open

Hobbies/past times: Running, swimming, cooking, fencing, journaling, marksmanship, knife throwing, reading, avid glass collector and tobacco aficionado

Guilty pleasures: An old soul; loves red wine, Telenovelas, listening to either Nina Simone or Amy Winehouse, and pain

Talents: Can play piano, coronet, drums, braid hair and relocate an entire family in less than 48 hours

Education: Highschool dropout

Fears: Heights, dying alone, being asked to go to Italy

Goals: Settle the family dispute and to keep his ex-wife in the dark about what he does

General attitude: Quiet, reserved, snarky

General intelligence: Somewhat above average

General sociability: Average to below average

Illnesses (if any): Traumatized, most likely very depressed, bat shit crazy and probably a bit of a sociopath, but views seeing a Dr./Therapist is just as dangerous as becoming an informant.

Allergies (if any): Cats, amoxicillin/penicillin

Sleeping habits: Sleeps 3-4 hours normally, gets up early and stays up late, is sometimes up for days

Energy level: Depends on the day, could be moderate, low and very rarely high

Eating habits: Eats more than three times a day, mostly pasta, meat, bread, and sweets

Memory: Fair and remembers faces well but tends to repress quite a bit from his life/childhood, under certain circumstances it is poor

Any unhealthy habits: Overspending, binge eating, smoking, not getting enough rest, binge drinking, uses recreational drugs daily

Peaceful or violent: Unpredictable

Weapon (if applicable): Gun, golf club, curling iron, hands

Favorite types of food: Anything you put in front of him

Favorite types of drink: Water, wine and Ski soda

Favorite colors: Black, earth and neutral tones

Favorite types of music: 1. 2. 3.

Hobbies/past times: Running, swimming, cooking, fencing, journaling, marksmanship, knife throwing, reading, avid glass collector and tobacco aficionado

Guilty pleasures: An old soul; loves red wine, Telenovelas, listening to either Nina Simone or Amy Winehouse, and pain

Strengths: Efficient, passionate, observant, protective, loyal, brave, affectionate, poised, fair, chivalrous, playful, honest, romantic

Weaknesses: Intolerant, childish, negative, stubborn, short-tempered, impatient, perverted, aggressive, blunt, reclusive, paranoid, impulsive, secretive

Wcs: His ex wife, house mom/house dad/business partner, fwb, old friends, regular/associate turned bff, rival that manages to win & screw him over, fwbs that get involved/find out about his double life and are put in danger

Quirks/facts:

* Nicknamed “pinky” by a small group of friends when his now ex-wife found out he spent his life savings on a strip club and attempted to sever his pinky finger with a pair of thinning shears, also due to the simple fact, he never leaves the house without his grandfather’s gold teamster pinky ring placed on that exact finger

* In most situations he’s the extremely respectful, strong and silent type

* Extremely quick to anger, doesn’t take much to aggravate and provoke him, but he can also be an unpredictably warm, affectionate, goofy individual

* Agnostic and believes you should indulge in all of your desires but always in gentle moderation

* Has a machivelian yet moral mindset

* His respect for women knows no bounds

* Has a really loud sneeze and goes into sneeze fits

* Brutally honest

* Likes to go on late night/early morning shopping trips

* Gets too emotionally attached to people that shouldn’t matter

* Always carries a tiny notebook with him

* No shame in his game but cautious, composed, and always aware of his surroundings

* Has to move things around in a certain pattern before going to sleep

* Experienced alot but tends to keep to himself, there’s very few people that actually know him

* Bruises super easily

* Writes and eats with his left hand but is right hand dominant

* Likes to memorize numbers instead of saving contacts in his phone

* Gets homesick very easily

* Brushes his teeth up to five times a day

* Generous with his money, purely for selfish and superstitious reasons, but only for close friends and associates

* Likes to stay off social media

* Gets his heart broken too often

* Holds grudges like no other

* Will be loyal to the mob until he takes his last breath and would rather die than be forced to send anyone to prison

* Firmly believes in the healing power of sit-downs

* Would never take advantage of a drunk woman, but defintely would get drunk just to get taken advantage of

* Don’t fuck around though, has high libido and occasionally low stamina; a wrong look alone could get you pregnant

* Sanctioned hits directly from the boss have always made him uncomfortable and nervous, no matter who he’s working under

* Takes murder very seriously

Bio: Antonello Guiseppe Lucchese was born three months prematurely to Bill and Teressa on a chilly November night in Brooklyn, New York.

He doesn’t remember much from his childhood other than he never really had a mother and father, but figures he might have gotten luckier not having them around. Apparently, his mother worked numerous jobs to keep a roof over their heads for years, until dealing with the constant absence of his father became too much to bear. Then, at just the fragile age of three and four years old, both Amy and Antonello Lucchese were carted off to Crown Heights, New York to permanently stay with a mixed family of uncles, cousins, and loving grandparents, almost all the surviving members of the Lucchese crime family in a small three-bedroom apartment.

Most of their wives had passed away or left them by the time they’d arrived, so it was a lot like growing up in a dingy old bar but, both children grew up and learned quickly from their mistakes. Learned to use them to their advantage, but every once in a while there would be unnecessary punishments, overdramatic arguments, dinners missed and uneasy, awkward mornings, but. It was more than what anyone else could have given them, so they were grateful nonetheless.

Everything changed drastically for Antonello when he entered the fifth grade. Things became easier to deal with at home, but not exactly in the way anyone had expected. Especially not his grandmother. He’d always clung to her for guidance, support, and love but the moment the family exposed the young heart to their lifestyle, he broke away and heedlessly dove in.

No one had forced him into anything, but as the years passed, most relatives and himself included were absolutely convinced that he was made for it, and it was made for him. Although it was in his blood, after all, a large number of them also knew it marked the end of his innocence, and the beginning of ruthless trek towards a twisted, egotistical version of manhood and success.

In the span of six years, he’d become the youngest in the family to rise through the ranks in a proud, composed fashion and landed a spot right beneath his grandfather. He was creative, intelligent and respectful in a way that the elders of the Italian mob began to appreciate more than the efforts of his own immediate family, so soon after Antonello realized the long list of dead or incarcerated relatives were mostly rats, scumbags, and hypocrites, coincidentally, he was asked to leave.

Then while out at the local bowling alley, his cousins spotted one of his better friends groping his girlfriend. He didn’t even make it twenty-four hours after his grandmother had broken the news of the heartless eviction, and the younger boy spent almost two weeks in the hospital. Luckily, her grandson wasn’t around long enough to suffer any harsh consequences, or god forbid a life sentence but, one punishment that should have been totally unrelated, would slowly begin to ruin his life.

Out of pure fear of her older brother and grandparents, Amy Lucchese decided to finish her high school career at home and cut all ties with him. Shortly after the devastating blow, a family friend was contacted and made arrangments for him to stay in East Harlem.

Present: Has resided in East Harlem for the past fifteen years, staying moderately silent and unlocatable until being promoted to underboss. Currently works for the Guerra family, laundering money and holding meetings through his own business until the doors open every evening. He is recently divorced, lives alone above an old pizza joint and prefers a conventional lifestyle even though he loves what he does.

Although Show N' Tail opened in 2017, the wide variety of male and female dancers, elaborate drag shows, light shows, warm and cozy atmosphere, has made it one of the most decadent and revered clubs in the area.

#( about. )#tw

3 notes · View notes

r6shippingdelivery · 5 years

Note

I saw the hc asks and your hc page (like! Like! Like!) And was wondering what your hcs are for hobbies. For some OPs it's clear (Glaz does his art thing, what a surprise) but for others, like montagne or rook...? (I also see that Doc doesn't have any time for himself /for a hobby)

Hobbies for all ops and CTUs so far, you say? Sure! Buckle up, this might be long:

FBI

- Ash: According to her savta, shooting things is not a hobby, but Ash disagrees.

- Thermite: He grew up in a ranch and loves riding. He’s also good at chemistry and melting metal, so I propose: Thermites dabbles in forging/smithing stuff when he has enough free time.

- Pulse: He likes doing crossword puzzles and god forbid you try to help him! He’s capable to do it on his own and doesn’t like interferences.

- Castle: He’s a language nerd, studying/reading/practicing new languages is his hobby for sure.

SAS

- Thatcher: Aside from repairing his boat, he also enjoys fishing. Used to do that with his dad & brothers, tries to take the rest of the SAS fishing as a bonding experience. It doesn’t go very well

- Sledge: He knits AND crochets. It’s good for when he needs to de-stress and he’s made scarves for everyone in the base.

- Smoke: Boxing, it helps him focus all his chaotic energy.

- Mute: Flying drones, coming up with new and wild engineering ideas just for fun.

GIGN

- Montagne: He hasn’t had the opportunity to do so since he got in Rainbow, but Montagne loves fish-keeping and working on the perfect balance for his aquarium. It requires dedication and hard work and also patience, and he absolutely would name all the fishes.

- Twitch: Engineering IS her hobby and her life. It’s also part of her work. Twitch is a workaholic.

- Doc: He surely had some hobby, but he can’t remember it, or the last time he had free time for it. Doc is also a workaholic, although one that loves to complain about it.

- Rook: He knits and refuses to let anyone make him feel bad about his hobby. Has some sort of knitting club going with Sledge.

Spetsnaz

- Tachanka: He collects and repairs old weapons. Mostly soviet, but he has some interesting pieces from other countries too. And he dances surprisingly well.

- Kapkan: Hunting, of course, but he also carves wood figures. And gardening too, it’s like spending time in the great outdoors but at a smaller scale.

- Glaz: Quite obviously, painting. He’s an artist, and quite a good one.

- Fuze: He builds new weapon prototypes for fun. And tests them, if he can convince Six of it.

GSG9

- Jäger: Planes. Model planes, repairing old WWI & II planes, you name it. Piloting too, ofc.

- Bandit: If asked he’d say something vague and mildly vulgar, like drinking and fucking. Truth is he has some hobbies from his biker days, but those are playing pool and his beloved bike.

- Blitz: He was and still is an athlete at heart, and Blitz loves running.

- IQ: She likes engineering stuff, but she’s more self-aware and knows she needs to disconnect from time to time. So she turns to books, specially romance novels. If anyone ever makes fun of her for it, she’d break their nose. She and Bandit share and laugh over the occasional bad sex scene, or comment about the good ones.

JTF2

- Buck: He brews his own beer and cider. He ends up convincing Sledge to give it a try too.

- Frost: Sled racing, with dogs. She loves the snow, the survival aspect, and the doggies ofc!

SEAL

- Valkyrie: Swimming and diving, of course! She wanted to be a professional swimmer, but now it’s just a hobby. She still loves water and some people call her a mermaid.

- Blackbeard: He likes driving and going on roadtrips, and if he has to go on his own, then be it. He’ll take his car, whoever else wants to hop along, and drive until he’s sick of it, then stop at the nearest village or city. He loves discovering new places like this.

BOPE

- Capitao: He tried to write his memoirs and instead started planning a different novel, slightly based on some real life events from when he was young.

- Caveira: She loves her facepaints, and in fact is rather good with makeup too. She follows vlogs from body makeup artists and tries some of the concepts when she can.

SAT

- Hibana: Archery, and she’s incredibly good at it! She has won several competitions and proudly displays her trophies.

- Echo: I always imagined he’d be into e-sports and competitive gaming.

GEO

- Jackal: He plays the acoustic guitar/spanish guitar, and sings too. Thanks grain-crain-drain for the idea!

- Mira: Fixing cars is second nature to her. She also enjoys ballroom dancing.

SDU

- Ying: She kinda wants to get into racing, but not until she’s sure she won’t have her PTSD triggered during a race.

- Lesion: He has many interests and prefers doing stuff along with other people rather than alone. He goes fishing with Thatcher and whoever else wants to come along, plays chess with Kaid, and does origami with Vigil. And when he wants something more exciting, he knows he can count on Smoke to go wtih him bungee jumping. Thank you catfacedcryptid for helping with the ideas in this one! 💕

GROM

- Zofia: She has a recipe and cooking blog, which somehow turned into a half-personal journal as well, and she never expected it would get so popular. Yes, she includes anecdotes in between the recipes 😂

- Ela: She’s also an artist, although unlike Glaz she prefers digital art over traditional.

707SMB

- Vigil: When he’s stressed he makes origami figures. He has a shelf full of them.

- Dokkaebi: Hacking is her hobby, of course. She also has several social media profiles and is an active member in a couple of hacking forums.

CBRN

- Lion: His rebel years left him with an appreciation for rock music and a dream to be in a group. Lion plays the electric guitar 😄

- Finka: Pushed by her parents from a young age to try different sports, just like her siblings, she eventually discovered a strong love for fencing and ice-skating.

GIS

- Maestro: Cooking, and boxing with Smoke. But mostly cooking.

- Alibi: She’s also a marksman, engages Ash in friendly shooting competitions.

GSUTR

- Clash: She took pottery classes some time ago, and she keeps honing her skills and trying new things.

- Maverick: Photography, mostly nature or candid shots of his fellow operators. I also think he likes horses and riding.

GIGR

- Kaid: Playing chess, he’s a good strategist and it shows. And while dozing off with a cat on his lap is not a hobby, he also loves that 😂

- Nomad: Traveling and keeping her travel journal, which includes some drawing and scrapbook making.

SASR

- Mozzie: Dirt biking, of course. The more dangerous the jumps and stunts are, the more he likes it. He knows his limits and works to surpass them.

- Gridlock: Robotics. She still wants to compete again in robot championships, just like she and Mozzie did so many years ago. She would consider that fixing cars and vehicles has become more part of her job than a hobby, but still loves it too.

#rainbow 6 siege #r6s #rainbow six siege #r6siege #headcanons #Anonymous

82 notes · View notes

thejokersenigma · 6 years

Text

Loki x Reader - Runes - Part 6

Ok guys, next parts ready-ish. I’m not a huge fan of this chapter, but I was desperately trying to find a way to worm in a half-decent explanation of my rune idea into the story. It doesn’t flow great, but I hope it clears a few things up? (Though I’ve probably missed some stuff out so let me know if you have any questions on it and I’ll try and answer if it doesn’t give away the rest of the story haha)

I have based the runes off real runes - the Younger Futhark runes. I haven’t used all of them and I know very little about Norse mythology. I have vaguely used their meanings, but everything I am doing with them is completely fictional and I don’t mean to disrespect them or their meanings in any way so I hope no one takes offence if I mess this up in anyway!

(I actually only came up with his whole fan fiction because I own a necklace like the ones in the story with one of the runes on it!)

Let me know what you think!

Let me know if you want to be tagged in anything!

MAIN MASTERLIST

RUNE MASTERLIST

The Asgardian tradition of a women’s rune necklace was something that had been around for longer than anyone could recall, and its reasoning long since lost to time. You were unfamiliar with anyone ever having challenged the custom in history – or anyone even questioning why it had only ever extended to the female population – but this mostly likely due to the varying wives’ tales that surrounded the soul binding.

And that was what the necklaces were, a part of a girl’s soul trapped away at birth until they were able to unlock it on the day of their marriage. You glanced down at yours now as you sat, your knees pulled up to your chest – a position you had often be chastised for by your mother – in the graveyard garden, the smell of smoke and smouldering wood still lingering on the air. You lifted the antler tip off where it always rested on your chest, now rotating it between your fingertips to examine, for the millionth time, the rune shape carved into it.

You knew the etching in the bone was made by using a piece of sunglass, and the antler then stained in beeswax to seal it, but the actual binding that took place between a person and the rune was a heavily guarded secret that even your extensive reading on the subject could shed very little light on. This was for good reason of course, binding a person’s mind to a vessel was powerful magic and not something that should be accessible to learn for any layman, hence why a small council had been formed that oversaw the practice for each girl’s birth, their methods secretive and their recruiting limited.

You fiddled with the antler piece, scowling at it. The soul runes were a subject that had frustrated and tormented you for most of your life. The bare basics of them were taught to a girl at a young age – they formed questions pretty quickly after all about the leather thong that was placed around their neck at birth – but you had taken a special interest in the topic, educating yourself further than any other girl would care to go. Most just accepted it. You had wanted to know why.

You put down most of your intrigue to the fact that your parents – unlike other children’s families – had refused to explain your runes meaning to you. You remember the other girls running around thrilled and proud about what their rune meant, how they would be this or that when they grew up. Of course, they would then ask you what your rune was – what you were destined for – and you hadn’t known. Neither had they though, when they demanded to see your rune – they had never seen the odd symbol before. That evening, they had run home, bursting with questions about the odd rune on their friend, seeking the answer of its meaning from their parents, but they too refused to speak of it and instead strongly advised that the child stay away from the girl and offered the same advice to any boy as well.

There were few who rebelled enough to ignore these words of wisdom, and before you knew it, your friendship pool had diminished to only a few chosen few - Yuliya always having been the one by your side consistently.

So, you kept your rune hidden from then on – quickly having pieced that together as the source of people’s discomfort around you – and quickly changed the subject If it ever came up. Your grandfather was the one who had helped you discover the true meaning of your rune.

You glanced to your right at the stone statue next to you. It was barely over two-foot-tall but the stone crow – its wings thrown open - was carved with such detail that it looked as though it might take off from its little dais at any point, or at the very least turn one of its cold eyes on you. It was the work of Yuliya’s courter – a blacksmith who dabble in stone work on the side – and you’d paid him with every coin you had and promised him several weeks wages despite his protests. It was a work of art after all – a thing of beauty - and exactly what you had wanted to place in memory of your grandfather. Since it had been laid a little over a year ago, a few weeks after his death, you always visited the spot once a week – more if you needed to. The garden was not a popular place like it once was, but even so, you had chosen the most private area for your memorial, a little hollow in the western corner which a tall willow largely obscured. You and your grandfather had always enjoyed peace and quiet – often not saying whilst you helped him, simply enjoying each other’s company – and you felt it was only right that his earthly reminder be kept away from the business of the world beyond the shrubbery and it, in turn, offered you a sanctum to hide at as well when you needed it most.

Your grandfather had been the one to point you in the right direction to discover the truth behind your rune. He was subtle about it, giving no answers outright - so not as to disobey your parents - but instead suggesting you peruse a certain book you would be able to find at the palace library where your studies took place alongside the other high-ranking children close to your age, including the two princes.

So, you sought the answers for yourself, using your free time to seek out the few books you could find on the runes and their translations. It became clear to you - as you had run your eyes over the pages - why certain runes suggested certain occupations and personalities and you soon made it a hobby of yours to learn and observe different types of runes and their behavioural affects.

There were ten different types of runes in total - some more common than others - and each predicted a certain path for an individual, foretelling their future personality and natural skills. It wasn’t that you were forced by law down these paths laid out for you, but more that these rune around your neck were in fact you – a part of you at least – and the reconnection with that part of upon the ceremonial burning of the necklace unleashed an area of your mind that you didn’t know existed – the part of you that was maternal, or judicious or a voyager, and then you understood your predetermined future.

It was whilst you poured over these books - scribbling notes whenever you found the slightly ‘new’ piece of information amongst a repetitive babble - that you had first met Loki in fact. You had seen him around the palace and in lessons, of course, but never had the two of you acknowledged each other’s presence. The prince had seemed almost as surprised as you upon discovering someone else in the library aside from himself. He had said nothing at the revelation however, but merely grabbed the book he had been searching for from the shelf and taken a seat directly opposite you at the central table.

You had fought the urge to glance up again, knowing for certain you were blushing a bright red, but you had felt Loki’s eyes on your face and the pages you now pointlessly turned. Eventually he had turned his attention to his own book and the two of you had sat in silence together for the rest of your study period. After that though, you had always made sure to hide yourself away in the deepest recess of the library where you definitely could not be found and your studying took on a almost desperate fever, the eligible age of marriage fast approaching and you praying to every god that the more you knew about your rune, the more you stood a chance of fighting against it and your so-called ‘destiny’.

“Look how that turned out.” You murmured to the crow, brushing a hand quickly over your eyes. You weren’t sure whether you regretted knowing about your rune or not, it had permanently altered the way you lived your life after all, but at least now you could stop it – or at the very least try to make up for it.

You glanced back down to your necklace where it just hung as a constant threat. Not everyone kept their rune as a necklace – although it was the most popular style it seemed – where occupations or job made a necklace cumbersome or annoying, some would merely keep the token in their pockets or adjust the leather into bracelets for their ankles or wrists. Anything was generally acceptable really – as long as it remained on your person. Not that there was any law that forbade the removal of a rune though, but it was strongly frowned upon - Gods forbid it break before your marriage after all. Not that anyone knew what would happen if it did – no one even considered damaging their rune – no one except you. You had never done it though – you did not even know if it was possible outside of the matrimonial flame - but you had considered it. You always wondered if it you broke it before your marriage, would that part of you simply disappear into the ether? Or, maybe the rune’s secret would simply be unleashed on you earlier than it should. That was the fear. That was the thought that had always stopped you from trying.

The sound of footsteps on the gravel path to your left now pulled you out of your thoughts. It was a public garden, it could have been anyone, but you knew who it would be – the only person who knew that this is where you sought sanctuary away from reality. You didn’t bother to lift your gaze though, your eyes still on the small tip of bone in your hand, noticing the branches of the willow being pushed aside out of the corner of your eye.

“Sol. Go.”

“I beg your pardon?” You asked, the croak in our voice giving away the tears you had wiped away.

“The rune. Its meaning. I know you still know it - go.” Yuli urged. You raised an eyebrow at her. Yuliya hadn’t always been thrilled with your obsession for the rune necklaces, but she had found the occasional entertainment in how she could question you on any other them and you were able to quote the translations straight back to her.

“Yuli, do we ha–“

“Call it a distraction, come on.” She insisted.

You sighed quietly. “Rune of victory,” You murmured, “Success and spiritual control. Often predicts a warrior’s heart.”

“Tyr?” Yuli suggested down to you. You rolled your eyes, pulling your cloak tighter around your shoulder at the evening wind chill.

“Rune of law and order.” You recited, “Foretells a passion in the legal system and ensuring justice through judgement.”

“Reid.”

“Rune of riding. Predicts wanderlust, a need for journeying – found most commonly amongst travellers and traders.”

“Oss.”

“Rune of communication, songs and words. Prophesises a scribe or bard occupation.”

“Ar?”

“Rune of timing, of knowledge and skill. Very general, can envisage anything from crafter to scholar to farmer. Presents the least direction and is seen as the most freeing rune.” You always added.

“That’s a personal opinion, not a quotation – keep it to yourself.” Yuli scolded you playfully, scowling like one of your old, stern tutors. You smirked. “Bjarkan?”

“Rebirth and purification, common amongst those in the medical profession – especially midwives.”

“Madhr.”

“Means man, family and/or clan connections. Predicts a caring personality and occupations reflect this…” You trailed off, craning your neck as you searched the recesses of you mind for the last part of that particular paragraph. “Can also been seen amongst seafaring folk.” You said quickly, nodding as you suddenly recalled it.

Yuli nodded, “Logr?”

“Water, cleansing. Another popular rune amongst sailors, but also in those that find strong devotion to the gods.” You said, fiddling with the collar of your cloak, the information easily flooding back now.

“Yr.”

“Rune means bow and iron. Also known as the death rune.” You quoted, “Often seen in those babies that die at birth and so often strikes fear in a parent. Despite its tendency to suggest a weak child, it can also suggest a stronger than average child both mentally and physically and predicts an archer or smith’s future.”

You didn’t miss Yuliya’s slight pause before she spoke the final rune, nor the flicker of concern in her eyes, nor the fact that she had purposely chosen to leave the particular rune till last. “Purs/Thurs.” She finally said, keeping her eyes firmly on you now as she waited for your answer.

The mere mention of the rune’s name always made your heart drop in your chest and your throat constrict slightly – always able to recall it, and all the extra information you had ever read concerning it, with ease. “The rune of power, strength and brute force.” You finally answered stiffly, “Used for bindings or magic staves to increase their power. Means torturer, cliff-dweller - giant. Foretells a future of harm and destruction.” You listed.

“Wrong.” Yuliya stated quietly but firmly after a pause. You let out a sigh, closing your eyes in exasperation, knowing what was to come next. “You always get that one wrong.” Your friend reminded you gently.

“It’s not wrong, Yuli,” You sighed tiredly, “That is, word for word, what every book states.”

“That is half of what the books says.” Yuli pointed out, “You always forget that the rune has i meanings. Two opposite meanings.” She stressed. “It may mean destruction. It can also mean protector.”

You rolled your eyes in exasperation and exhaustion, letting your head fall back against the willow you sat against. “I thought you said this was a distraction.” You growled. “That we weren’t to talk of it anymore.”

She sighed, sitting down next to you on the damp grass. “In an ideal world…” She admitted sadly, gazing out over at the garden visible through the trees drooping branches in front of you before turning her eyes back to you. “You could say yes, you know.” She murmured.

You closed your eyes, not about to question how she knew about the proposal, “Yuli, I could not do this to someone I did not love, let alone to someone that I do.” You groaned, “This rune is my burden now, but when I marry it becomes Loki’s as well - I cannot do that to the prince.” You insisted despairingly.

“[Y/N], you have to allow the prince the choice to carry that burden.” Yuliya explained, “He may well refuse,” She continued quickly before you could refuse, “and then you may carry on with your current state of self-pity –“ You scowled, “- but the prince may agree, [Y/N] - and then you could have your happily ever after.”

All you could do was shake your head hopelessly. You didn’t know what to say. Yuli was right, no one could predict the prince’s reaction to your rune, but if he was like anyone else he would simply turn and flee.

But there was a tiny chance he would not.

But that would require you confessing to Loki, and that in itself seemed like a near impossible task. You did not think you could stand the look you knew you would see on his face when the realisation hit him. “Yuli, I – I don’t think I can do it - tell him I mean.” You clarified, “I – I can’t see –“ the look of horror, you wanted to say - the look that confirmed to you he could not love you – not all of you. Not the part that had yet to show itself. That he could not marry you, in fear of what you would become. And, if he couldn’t marry you, you knew that he would not be with you period. He was a prince after all, which meant that no matter how much fun he may find with various ladies each night currently, one day Loki would be forced to settle down and marry. And it couldn’t be with you.

Whether your heart broke now or in a few years, it would have to break.

You groaned, covering your face with your palms now, pressing the back of your head harder into the bark behind you. Why had the prince proposed to you in the first place? In your mind it made no sense. None of the past few days did. Why had he insisted on accompanying you through the market? Why had he kissed you at the wall? Why – why on that very first day of all this, had Loki come to the tower and asked for something he could damn well have made himself?!

Loki’s behaviour was just as puzzling to you as yours likely was to him. “I just don’t know.” You groaned miserably, dropping your hands from your damp cheeks and glancing across to the stone carving again. It felt like its eyes were on you, telling you that you knew what to do, you were just too scared to do it.

“What would he have said?” Yuliya asked gently next to you, nodding to the raven.

“Probably the exact same as what you have said.” You admitted with a weak laugh, “Though, he would call me princess.” You added with a small shrug, a sad smile playing on your lips at the fond memory.

“You see,” Yuliya pointed out gently, “he thought you were princess material.” You smirked feebly. “He also knew what your rune was and didn’t shun you.” Yuli pointed out, “and neither do I.” She reminded you. “There are people like that out there, [Y/N] - like your grandfather, like me, and maybe like Loki – that do not care about your rune.” She insisted earnestly. You sighed tiredly. “I promise you, [Y/N], the prince is different around you - more genuine, honest.” She explained. “Maybe it is time you are that with him.” She pointed out.

You glanced at her in surprise. She was right really. Wasn’t she? You closed your eyes, grimacing as you looked away again. Were you truly considering this? You jumped slightly when you suddenly felt a hand on your own - a warmth against the cold skin of your healing frostbite still hidden under your bandages. “Stop trying to prove yourself to him,” Yuliya urged, “And give him a chance to prove himself to you.”

Tags for everything: @thatwriterizzy @arkhamsurviour @sheldonsherlocktony @beautifulbows924 @angelicshinigami @wanna-see-my-lease @minahraven @adaliamalfoy

Tags for Loki: @drakesfiance @vanyali07 @frostymoon11 @hakuoyuki @imagine-that-100 @lexiiiii28 @vgurl18 @jungwencantdie

Tags for Runes: @l0kisbitch

#loki #loki x reader #loki x reader fan fiction #loki fan fiction #thejokersenigma #thejokersenigma fan fiction #marvel fan fiction #avengers fan fiction #thor fan fiction #loki laufeyson #loki odinson fan fiction #loki odinson #loki laufeyson x reader fan fiction #loki laufeyson fan fiction #loki odinson x reader fan fiction #runes #runes fan fiction #runes part 6

44 notes · View notes