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ichorai · 3 years

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cellmates ; five ; j.wy

pairing ; jung wooyoung x reader

summary ; stuck in jail after stealing a necklace off the princess, what happens when your new cellmate with an impossible escape plan comes along?

themes ; fantasy, angst, slowburn, action, adventure, medieval, pirates, magic, elves, mermaids, royalty

words ; 8.9k

warnings / includes ; character death, blood and grime and injury and everything in between, reader being tied/chained up :(, vulgar cursing, crying, rowdy pirates, "keep the love interests away from each other" trope <3, ✨pure confusion✨, me torturing my characters once again yikes, ateez cameos !!, cellmates to (future) lovers !!

a/n ; uhm. hi. first off, i apologize for taking so long with this series KWHJKSDFK and second, i am also so sorry for what you're about to read o.0 this one's a real angsty part folks :') i swear i swear it gets better don't be too upset :(( i love writing this series so much (it's prob my favorite original story) and im so excited to hear yalls thoughts :D

cellmates masterlist.

a map of this universe is included at the end of the chapter !!!

Cerulean beaches never quite looked like real beaches to you. The sand was as white as snow, the gentle lapping waters so bright they looked to be molten sapphires. It was all far too perfect to be naturally authentic. You were pleased to find that your boots left shallow imprints in the sand, disrupting the once pristine terrain.

Night was creeping upon you once again, and you were in desperate need for a good sleep. You were lucky that Yunho didn’t live very far off, also pleasantly surprised to find that you could even remember the way back (though admittedly, it took a considerable amount of backtracking).

The front of his little cottage was just as you remembered, albeit dark and somewhat dingy. None of the candles or oil lamps were lit and the curtains were drawn. The large expanse of his garden seemed somewhat unmaintained, weeds starting to sprout from between the wilting, once bright flowers.

You knocked against the door thrice, clasping your hands behind your back while you waited. How would Yunho react upon seeing you? What if he blamed you for losing Wooyoung? What if he didn’t believe you? What would you say then? Much like the first time you came to Yunho’s little cottage, tumultuous questions and irrational thoughts churned about in your mind.

It took a long while for you to realize that nobody had answered the door yet. You blinked, mystified, and raised a fist to rap on the wood again. You grew impatient rather quickly, knocks progressively becoming more frequent and hurried.

“Yunho?” You called out after about five minutes of waiting. By then, it was obvious that the man was either not home or avoiding you on purpose. And considering how friendly and sweet the pink-headed giant was the last you saw, you doubted it was the latter. “I’m coming in!”

The door opened in a fluid motion, knocking against the wall behind as you swung it open. You stepped inside tentatively, peering around with widened eyes. It was completely dark inside. So much so that it took you a few minutes for your eyes to properly adjust to the ill-lit hallway. Just as you had remembered, the small living room was to your left and quaint kitchen to your right, the winding staircase situated in the corner. The familiar scent of maple wood was still lingering in the air, although faint and almost imperceptible.

You shut the door behind you and toed off your boots, shuffling into the kitchen.

“Yunho?” Your voice eerily echoed in the empty cottage.

And so you made your way up the staircase, peering into the bedrooms. A heavy feeling gripped at your chest when you glanced into Yunho’s bedroom. That was where you and Wooyoung kissed… you could still remember the feeling of his arms wrapped around your waist, his warm breath on the back of your neck. You wondered what would’ve happened if you hadn’t stopped him. How far would the two of you have gone?

Shaking all thoughts of the past away, you bounded back down the stairs. There was no sign of Yunho at all. Just where could he be? You tried your best comforting yourself; perhaps he had gone out for a walk. Surely he’d be back soon.

Much to your dismay and gradually rising concern, Yunho didn’t show up at all. Not when the sun started to rise again, not when you passed out in sheer exhaustion on a kitchen stool (you couldn’t bring it in yourself to go back up to the bedrooms), and not even when you stirred back into consciousness, the late morning sun glaring at you harshly through the slivers between the curtains.

Your bones cracked and popped as you stood up and arched your back, rolling your stiff neck from side to side. From the pirate ship, you had brought little else than a knapsack full of gold you found in one of the cellars, food that could last you a couple days, water skins, and two sheathed daggers. Everything else on the ship was practically worthless, or too heavy to carry.

With a heavy sigh, you splashed water onto your face using the kitchen tap and patted your sleep-ruffled hair down. The skin around your wrists were still raw and stung when you rinsed away the crusted blood. You wished San had given you that coconut extract lotion; you couldn’t seem to find it anywhere on the ship. Guilt-stricken, you turned off the water and slung the knapsack over your good shoulder.

If Yunho was gone, then where else could you go? It seemed wrong to stay in his home without his knowing.

Air. You just needed air to clear up your mind.

Stepping outside felt like a mistake. Under the bright sunlight, you felt your head throb dully in agitation. The garden looked even more lamentable now than last night, the flowers drooping so far that their browning petals grazed the dry soil beneath. The air felt thick and heavy, and you huffed out several breaths to relax your tense muscles, shutting your eyes in the process.

“What are you doing?”

The voice was so sudden and unexpected, you couldn’t help but shriek, flinching back against the cottage door. You were met with an old man standing just shy of Yunho’s unkempt garden, his gaze confused and somewhat judgemental.

“W-What?” You muttered once regaining your scattered thoughts.

“I said,” the older man shot you an exasperated look. “What are you doing, waiting by that house? Nobody lives there.”

It felt as if cold water was dripping down your spine, and you crossed your arms over your chest, shivering slightly. “But… that can’t be true… Yunho lives here. He’s a, uhm, a baker, I think. This is his house.”

The old man regarded you like someone would look at a madman. There was something in his tone that told you that he wasn’t taking you seriously. “I’m sorry to say this, but nobody’s lived there for years and years. I’ve never heard of a baker named Yunho in this area.”

“No… but I was just here a few days ago with him…” Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip in thought. What was going on? Where could he have gone? What could’ve happened to him?

In your peripheral vision, you saw the old man hobble away, but not without stopping to glance back at you with narrowed eyes every few steps.

And then you remembered with a sharp intake of breath. You and Wooyoung were thrown into jail to fade away into nothing but legends… and now nobody believes you really exist… Wooyoung was thought to be dead by everybody… could the same be happening to his innocent, pink-haired friend? A dark, tar-slicked hand reached out into the confines of your chest and curled its slimy fingers around your palpitating heart in a steely grip.

They took Yunho. The realization had you slapping a palm to your mouth, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. It all made sense; the untended garden, the old man saying nobody’s lived here for years… it sickened you to think that the only reason you could remember him was because you weren’t in Cerulea when he ‘disappeared’.

“Oh, no. Oh, god, no!” You leaned against the door, overwhelmed. If they took Yunho, would they have Wooyoung, too? Did Wooyoung even come back to Cerulea? If he wasn’t here, then he’d be the only other person who remembered Yunho.

Just what the hell are you going to do now?

It felt wrong to stay in Yunho’s empty little cottage with your newfound realization. The pirate ship was the second best option, but even that was much too far for your trembling legs; you doubted you’d even make it to the beaches, much less get in a small boat to row back to the anchored ship. Besides, the memory of San jumping off the side was one that you weren’t very keen on reliving.

And so, that was how you found yourself in front of an inn, only two cobbled roads away. The heavy door whined as you gently nudged it open, shuffling inside. Your heart was thumping against your ribcage so loudly that you could barely hear anything else. For once, you were glad that your name had faded into legend. To them, you were probably just another nobody.

The inn held the thick aroma of cheap alcohol and spritzer perfume. You glanced around curiously, noting the few people poking away at their breakfast and chugging down their frothy ales.

What looked to be the owner of the establishment was standing behind a counter, looking bored. He caught your eyes, and despite your head telling you to turn around and walk back to the pirate ship, you found yourself shuffling forward.

“What can I do for you?” The innkeeper asked, eyeing your haggard appearance.

Feebly, you pulled out a handful of gold coins and dropped them onto the wood of the counter. “Can I just get a room for the night? Will this be enough?”

The man across from you stared at you incredulously, his gaze flickering from the gold to your wide eyes. “Where’d you get all this money from? You didn’t steal it, did you?”

You blinked twice, shrugging your shoulders slightly. “They’re my savings.”

He looked upon you dubiously, but accepted the coins nonetheless. “You can have breakfast if you’d like. It comes with the room.”

Shaking your head slightly, you replied, “thanks, but I just want to get settled in for now. I’ll come down for luncheon.”

“Suit yourself,” the innkeeper quipped, sliding over a rusty key with eight engraved into its dull metal. “Head upstairs, turn left.”

And so that’s where you went, the wooden stairs creaking under your weight. You slotted the key into the lock of a door that had a large metal eight clearly displayed, and heaved the door open. By now, it felt as if your muscles were on fire. Everything seemed to be aching.

The first thing your eyes laid upon was a small bed, a thin, lavender-hued fleece wool blanket draped over the lumpy mattress and a single measly pillow propped up at its head. It took everything within you not to dive into the warmth of the woolen layer, but you managed to bide your time, even if it was just a couple minutes.

You toed off your boots, the soles of your feet practically numb. The pack that hung on your shoulder was next to come off, sliding down your arm and onto the bedside table. There was an unlit candle by the windowsill, but still more than enough light streaming in, seeing how it was still quite early in the morning.

The air smelled of breakfast from downstairs; consisting of, from what you saw, honeyed oatcakes and fruit tarts and rations of fried eggs and sausage. Your stomach was still quite empty, but you didn’t have the heart to go back. You needed time to think, time to rest.

After you nursed a few sips of water from a bottle in your knapsack, you finally allowed yourself to sink onto the bed, sighing out in contentment.

Everything felt so quiet, so still. This all felt like one of the stories you’d make up back when you were still in the cell. Perhaps it was all a bad dream, and you’d wake up in Wooyoung’s arms in Yunho’s little cottage, his lips littering soft kisses down the column of your throat until you stirred back into consciousness. A shiver ran through your spine and you sluggishly tucked the blanket up to your chin.

But since this wasn’t a dream, you found yourself at a loss.

“Oh, Wooyoung,” you whispered. “What should I do? Where are you?”

It was so quiet that you could imagine Wooyoung’s voice in your head saying, “Don’t worry about me. Just go. Get back on the ship and sail away and never look back.” You frowned at the thought, curling onto your side so that your knees were pressed up to your chest.

“I love you,” were the last words imaginary-Wooyoung murmured, before your mind grew blank. The silence that followed was what ultimately lulled you into a tranquil slumber.

You were awoken partly from the light from outside angling directly into your shut eyes, and partly from the agitated growl emitting from your stomach. Blearily blinking the sleep away, you glanced around the room, fumbling for the bottle in the knapsack. After gulping down enough to quench your thirst, you slid out from underneath the purple blankets.

And following digging your knuckles into your eye sockets, you stumbled towards your boots, shoving your still-sore feet in. You didn’t bother lacing up the loose threads. After all, you were just going down for lunch, anyway.

Downstairs, the inn seemed far more crowded than it had been in the morning. A twinge of paranoia sang its trill song in the back of your mind, but you pushed the thoughts away, moving to sit on a dark stool in the corner.

“Slept well, I presume?” The innkeeper grinned slightly, raising an eyebrow at the state of your rumpled hair. “What’ll you have for luncheon, then?”

“Anything you have, I suppose,” you replied in a raspy tone, clearing your throat slightly.

A bowl of steaming rice and battered fish cubes slid across the counter, along with a side of warm bread and a slab of light canary-hued butter melting off the top. You were quick to tuck in, eating at a pace that would most probably have your stomach complaining in the near future.

The innkeeper looked like he wanted to ask you something, but ultimately didn’t get the chance as an influx of customers poured through the doors. You barely glanced upwards, wanting nothing more than to finish up your meal and head back upstairs to properly plan out what you were going to do. The growing crowd’s noise was starting to make you feel a little antsy.

A solid five minutes later, your bowl was already empty, save for sticky rice kernels stuck to the bottom. You dropped a gold coin next to the half-eaten buttery bread as a token of thanks for the innkeeper.

And when you hopped off the stool and looked forwards, you could practically feel your heart lurch into your throat. The sight of him was one that you never thought you’d see again, nor did you want to. You’d recognize him anywhere. He looked unchanged, the same roughly-shaven beard covering the expanse of his squared jaw, the jagged scar that trailed over his sallow cheekbones. Those damned stormy eyes, the same color as the princess’ silver necklace.

The man that had guarded your cell for God knows how long surveyed the chatting crowd with an ugly scowl imprinted onto his features, nose upturned as if he misliked being amongst the common folk. He moved away from the door, shoving past the common civilians milling about. The innkeeper was the first to notice the burly man’s presence, raising a questioning eyebrow.

“Hello, sir. How can I help you today?”

Completely skipping over any need for niceties, the guard held up an unfurled scroll, “We’re searching all nearby premises for a dangerous criminal. Looks like this.”

From your position, you couldn’t see what he was showing the innkeeper, but it was quite obvious that it was some sort of rough artistic rendition of you. Dread trickled into you as you watched his face morph into one of slight recognition.

You needed to leave. Right now.

The busy throng of civilians were used to your advantage as you silently weaved through the crowded inn, people you bumped into ranging from deliriously drunk to slightly tipsy. Your heartbeat was thundering far too loudly, to the point where you couldn’t hear what the guard was growling out. You were a couple meters behind him now… if he so much as looked backwards, you would be a dead person standing.

Shit. The knapsack. It was still in your room. You probably wouldn’t last two days without it. And so, you set off for upstairs, pace steadily growing quicker, in tandem with your palpitating heart rate.

Grab your pack, leave from the window, repeated itself over and over in your head, a mantra of panic and dread. Downstairs was too much of a risk.

You were running so quickly that your boots caught onto the wood of the stair steps, and you just about face planted against the bunt of the hard surface. Pain blossomed across your nose bridge and temple. Slightly disoriented, you pushed yourself back onto your feet and rushed away. No time. There was no time at all to get hurt. You needed to leave. What good were you to Yunho, to Wooyoung, if you were thrown back into a cell?

Utter relief sank its greedy claws into you as you burst into your room. No time, no time, no time, your own voice echoed in your head. You grabbed the knapsack and pushed at the window and—

“Shit!” You cursed angrily when the window didn’t budge, the cold panes wedged tightly against the wooden slats. It was then that you noticed the bolted lock clipping the window pane and wooden framing together. “Oh, fuck.” Your breaths came out as tight, staggered pants.

Before you could decide on what to do next, you heard shrill screaming come from downstairs, the terrible sound of steel against flesh reaching your ears. There was nowhere to go from here. You were trapped.

Practically hyperventilating at this point, you scurried back to the door. Perhaps if you went downstairs and blended into the crowd, you could get out without anybody else noticing.

But alas, you never got the chance. Because just as you turned into the hall, you were met with the horrendous sight of the stormy-eyed guard, the very same one that you saw every single day you were in that rotten cell, an appalling look of triumph splayed across his rugged features.

A leering grin twisted his ugly features in such a horrid manner that it took all you had in you not to retch. You noticed the way his sword was unsheathed, a ripe shade of carmine trickling down its sleek blade. No doubt that’s the innkeeper’s blood, you thought solemnly.

Before you could react, the guard’s calloused hand shot out to grab your forearm, pulling you along with him so roughly that you stumbled onto the floor, hands and knees scraping against the wood in a manner that had your skin torn and bleeding. Feebly, you attempted to grab at anything to hit him with, to hold on to out of desperation. With no remaining patience, the monster of a man yanked you upwards by the throat. Choked gasps left you as your hands darted up to claw at his clenching fingers, but you immediately stiffened when he snarled out something that had your blood running cold.

“The Gods have been kind to you today, girl. I would have you speared right here… have you bleeding out until all the life has been drained right out of you.” His putrid breath fanned across your neck as you struggled in his iron-clad grip fruitlessly. “Lucky for you, the princess has personally requested you be brought back alive.”

It was dark outside when Wooyoung cracked his eyelids open for the second time. Through the window across from him, he could see a plethora of stars speckled across a blanket of raven black, glinting and winking at him through the glass. The room he was in was beautifully decorated, stone arches elegantly curving just below the ceiling and intricate flame holders spaced out on the pristine walls. The candles bathed the room in a gentle honey-like luminescence; calming and tranquil, almost a sedative. All of his previous aches and pains were now dulled to gentle numbness.

Where am I?

“Glad to see you’re back awake. You’re not going to pass out on me again, are you?”

Wooyoung nearly screamed at the sudden voice from beside him, flinching so hard that the crown of his skull knocked against the bed’s headboard. He hissed in pain, face contorting into a grimace.

The elf (Yeosang was his name, Wooyoung faintly recalled) muffled a snort underneath his breath before swiftly pulling up a chair and sitting beside him, “Does it still hurt anywhere? I tried to heal your wounds with sarcio essence, but seeing that you’re human, it’ll take a bit longer for you to recover. You took quite a beating, you know.”

Wooyoung tried to speak, but the dryness in his throat made it hard to speak.

“Oh, here.” The attentive elf poured cold water from a pitcher into a small cup, handing it over to Wooyoung. He gingerly drank, swallowing with great effort.

“Where… where am I?”

After pursing his lips in thought, Yeosang bowed his head slightly, glancing at the tight bandages wrapped around the dark-headed man’s torso. “You’re in Nymaeden.”

“Nymaeden?!” Wooyoung just about shrieked. His bruised features twisted in agony. Perhaps he shouldn’t have shouted. Then, in a much softer tone, he mumbled out, “how did I get here?”

He was, most likely, all the way across the world from you. Although his mind was still heavily clouded, you were still fresh and prominent in his mind. He hoped you were okay… left tied up on that pirate ship… Gods, this was all his fault… What a fool he was, thinking you’d be okay after all that you’d gone through. You probably thought that he was dead.

The blond elf arched an eyebrow. “You don’t remember?” When Wooyoung shook his head in hesitant denial, Yeosang continued on patiently, leaning forward.

“It was just three nights ago…”

The waters were cold, seeping into his flesh and bones, filling every one of his orifices, the salt trickling into him like sand down an hourglass. He could feel it drip into his lungs. Bubbles of his life slipped past his cracked-open lips and Wooyoung, with what little energy he had left to spare, lifted his fingers and tried to catch the small globules of air. The sticky blood that clung onto his skin like honey dissipated into the ocean, staining the waters a darker, sinister hue.

Wooyoung closed his eyes. His limp body sank further and further down. This was the end.

But was it?

Mermaids, being curious and spirited creatures they were, watched the injured handsome man drift across the ocean, crimson blood seeping out of his wounds. They had seen how he was thrown off the ship, how he had fought when he was onboard. They took pity on him. Even unconscious, a pain, far deeper-rooted than his physical cuts and gashes, was quite obviously splayed across his features. It was the face of a man with an utterly broken heart. He had just lost something very dear to him, that was made abundantly clear.

The small group of mermaids glanced at each other worriedly, almost immediately reaching a mutual consensus. In a swarm of colorful scales and wispy locks of hair, they swam towards the unmoving body.

One of them shamelessly prodded at him, ogling him with widened eyes, and they waited with baited breath. Wooyoung did not awaken. And so, two of the elegant creatures wrapped their arms around his leaking torso, and jolted into a brisk swim, carrying him across the oceans. Wooyoung’s raven hair pulled away from his face, revealing the deep gashes across his paling skin. A thinning trail of his blood followed them. They had to be quick; this man was just on the verge of greeting death.

They were taking him to Nymaeden, the land of the Elves. The elvish folk were the best healers they knew, and they were rather fond of the mermaids. Perhaps they would be willing to heal this unfortunate soul.

“We found you on the beaches,” Yeosang said in a discolored tone. “You were… you were practically dead. It was a miracle we got your heart rate back up, really. You’re either an incredibly thick-skulled fighter or… you’re just a coward afraid of death.”

Wooyoung winced at the elf’s stinging remark. Which was it? Was he running away from what was inevitable? What was he fighting for?

Y/N, the small voice in his head chimed. Wooyoung swallowed heavily.

“These mermaids… could I speak to them? Maybe they saw where the pirate ship went!”

Almost immediately, Yeosang shook his head. “I’m sorry, the mermaids are long gone now. They’re due up North, and I doubt they’d come back anytime soon.” There was a whicker of sympathy hidden behind his molten hazel irises. “Do you have any other plans? We can’t exactly keep you here in the medbay for all eternity.”

For a second, Wooyoung’s ragged breathing stilled.

“Pirates,” he murmured under his breath unsurely, just loud enough for the elf to pick up. “Where can I find them?”

Rearing back, Yeosang hissed out, “you must’ve hit your head harder one too many times, human. You were almost in death’s bony grasp, and now you want to go back?”

“I don’t care!” Wooyoung erupted, flinging his hands upward, despite his muscles screeching in agony. “It’s not about me anymore. I left her on that ship… and I have to get her back. Please, Yeosang. Please.”

There was a beat of tense silence. Yeosang was no longer looking at the pleading injured man, but his head angled towards the window, gazing at the pale moon that decorated the night’s horizon in deep thought.

“You mustn’t tell anyone,” the blonde elf warned, narrowing his eyes. Wooyoung nodded vehemently. “Elves and pirates don’t mesh well together, I’m sure you know. Pirates are nowhere to be found in this country, they know well enough to steer clear of our waters. However… if you head westward past our nation’s border, you’ll find yourself in Cinisia. It might look like a small, harmless country, but I’m afraid you’d be gravely mistaken. Cinisia is perhaps the most dangerous country on the maps. Along their west coast, there’s an illegal trading market. Pirates swarm the coast like ants would spilt honey. If you’re looking for pirates, I’d bet all my silvers they’re there.”

Wooyoung took a moment to contemplate this. “How do you know of this market?”

“I’ve got into muddy territory with pirates myself,” he uttered with a stormy expression. A muscle ticked in his jaw. “I have said this before. Elves and pirates? Not the best of friends, I can tell you that.”

Releasing a shuddering sigh, Wooyoung asked one final question. “Do you think I’ll find them? Do you think I’ll get Y/N back?”

Yeosang leveled a cold gaze with the dark-haired man, before gracefully rising to his feet and striding towards the door. “I’ll get you a map and traveling clothes and rations. You can leave at first light, so get some sleep. You’ll be needing it.”

A sinking feeling weighed heavily in Wooyoung’s stomach. He hadn’t answered the question.

Right before he left, Yeosang paused by the arched doorway and spoke once more without even turning to look at him. “And just so you know… if you make it out of that market alive and empty handed… I want you back here in Nymaeden. There’s something I want to offer you.”

The elf left in a blur of sage fabrics and soft flaxen locks. The honeyed flames of the candles withered inwards with his departure, faint tails of smoke dissipated into the air. The room faded into darkness, but Wooyoung was far too afraid to shut his eyes.

He was scared of dreaming of you.

That morning was one of the toughest he’s ever had. Yeosang had handed him a pack of traveling rations and equipment, bidding him adieu with a stout nod of his angular face. His muscles groaned and screamed with agony with his every step. The trek to Cinisia took hours upon hours, with hardly a break. Wooyoung was far too jittery to stop. He had to keep going. Creeks babbled with glowing water and the trees whispered poems in the wind, their alluring shadows offering a tempting sanctuary.

The contrast between Nymaeden and Cinisia was startling. Whilst the former was a luscious country of opals and forestry and pale elegant fortresses climbing to the sky, the latter was… well, it was quite hard to tell what anything looked like past the thick red smog lacing the horizon. The air stank of ale and smoke.

Definitely pirate territory, Wooyoung surmised grimly.

The shrill noises of whistling and hollering was a telltale sign that he was close. Wooyoung stepped over weather-beaten rocks, peering around the rocky cliff ledge to see hundreds, perhaps even thousands of ruffians gathered together in a colorful flurry of stolen fabrics, foods, and riches that seemed all the more glorious under the sweltering sun. Now, it smelled strongly of stale fruitcakes and gunpowder and sweat. Not the best of aromas, that was for sure. There were also pirates yelling out indiscernible prices that seemed to climb with every shout. He was pretty sure he saw a couple of them scuffling in a fight, some landing a couple square punches (most missed because they seemed to be too drunk to aim properly) on the nose before brushing their injuries off as if it were nothing.

What an awful place. Wooyoung could only hope you weren’t here. Well, no, that was a blatant lie. He’d do anything to see you again.

After digging his knuckles into his eye sockets to wipe his weariness away, he blinked the colored spots away from his vision with a melancholic sigh. Gods, he was tired. Unfortunately, he had little time to lament, so he pushed himself onwards.

Wooyoung seemed to blend in just perfectly; he was thankful Yeosang decided to pack in a tattered cloak. The rest of the pirates didn’t seem to bat an eye. Standing in the middle of a throng of filthy seamen, it was hard for Wooyoung not to double over and retch. His roiling stomach didn’t aid his precarious state one bit.

Though everything seemed to be a cacophony of rowdy pirates and the clattering of illegal trade, Wooyoung picked up on a particular chunk of dialogue exchanged between a gaggle of men.

“Have you heard of the siren incident? Yeah, it happened near the Isles of Odralle! Can you believe? Ship was fuckin’ headed to the capital of Odralle, but they had a sudden change of plans; suddenly wanted to go to Aurecia. Cocky bastards think they can sell anything to anyone nowadays, yeah? Good thing the sirens took them. Wonder if they were tasty, though. Stupidity fouls the meat, my father used to say,” one of the pirates rambled as he slurped on his ale.

“Your father was a jackass,” another snorted, pounding on his chest with laughter. “What the fuck is a ‘siren incident’? I swear you lot gossip ten times more than me wife does.”

A third pirate shoved at his shoulder, a look of incredulity painting across his tanned features. “How have you not heard? A famous pirate ship - maybe one of the most famous ones in history - got lured into siren territory! The whole crew’s gone. Ship wreckage hasn’t been found. Nobody’s heard or seen them at all. My guess is that they made a calculation mistake and went off navigation charts once switching from Odralle to Aurecia. Then the sirens… got the best of ‘em.”

This elicited a gasp from the fourth in the group. “Wait! The big ship with the peg-leg captain with just one eye? Damn, just hearing stories about him gives me the creeps. Legend had it that he defeated not one, but two fuckin’ krakens during a storm! His ship flag is, er, the red and gold one… with a skull, right? And the skull’s laying in blood and swords?”

Wooyoung felt his blood run cold.

He knew that flag. The flag they were describing… was exactly the one he saw before they took you… before they threw him out for the sharks…

And before Wooyoung could even think it through, he found his body jerking forward, pushing past the bystanders and throwing himself into the gossip circle with all but a mangled growl escaping his throat. He yanked the last pirate to speak forward by the collar until the tanned man’s face was so close, his nose brushed against Wooyoung’s. The rest of the gang immediately quelled their incessant yammering, eyes growing wide in interest. Some placed their hands onto the hilts of their curved swords as a precaution, but they didn’t want to do anything hasty. After all, they loved a good fight.

“WHEN WAS THIS?” Wooyoung was glad his voice didn’t crack as he yelled, shaking the stricken pirate by the collar. “There was… there was a woman on that boat. She can’t be gone! She can’t be dead!”

They all looked at him as if he were crazy.

And after a second longer, Wooyoung’s grip loosened. It seemed he was a little rougher than first anticipated, because the fabric around the tanned pirate’s neck was crumpled and one of the pearly buttons came loose, dangling by a thin thread. He staggered backwards two steps, painfully sucking in lungfuls of rancid air.

Were you… were you gone? Was that it? Had you succumbed to the siren’s sweet song of death?

“Mate,” the tanned pirate spoke up with a lilt of sympathy in his tone. “There was never any woman on that ship. And besides, the ship hasn’t actually been found yet.”

The fire of hope that once burned brightly within the hearth of Wooyoung’s chest, was now but a dying ember. However, the man’s words gently blew on the warm ash until a new flame ignited. This was a different kind of hope. Who knows, maybe you had managed to escape the sirens. For all that was good on this planet, Wooyoung hoped you were still alive.

It was then that the most peculiar thing happened.

A man (if he could even be considered a man) - perhaps one of the ethereal beings he’s ever set his eyes upon - strode up to the circle of pirates, leveling his stormy gaze with Wooyoung. His hair was a shocking shade of pink, laying in loose strands across his forehead. A dirtied tunic hung over his shoulders in tatters, ripped and frayed in too many places to count. The belt that cinched around his waist was lopsided and unbuckled, dangling to the floor. The trousers he was wearing, a dusted shade of raven’s wing, was in the same state of disarray as his tunic. He was a mess, and Wooyoung could see a thick film of distraught glazing his eyes.

“My name is San,” he rasped. “And I was on that pirate ship.”

The marble was cold beneath your scraped knees. Your eyes studied the golden rivets decorating the pale white floor, splintering off into branches of aureate, though it was quite difficult to see through the bruises and unyielding blood obscuring your vision. If your hands weren’t bound behind your back, you would’ve at least tried to staunch the crimson seeping out of the fresh cut you sported across your temple. The guards had thrown kicks and punches everywhere they could reach until you had stopped struggling, every fibre of your being felt nothing but raw pain and the kind of anger that left you completely and utterly exhausted.

You just… you wanted it to all be over.

However, with the King and Queen sitting tall and proud just meters in front of you, you highly doubted things would be resolved at the snap of a finger. Beside their majesties sat the rest of the royal bloodline, dainty crowns of lustrous tawny and glinting silvers resting upon their regal heads.

They made you sick.

“I must say,” the Queen purred at last, placing her chin on her palm while gazing at you with a malevolent smile, irises of amethysts glinting in the cold light. “It’s impressive how you managed to escape the dungeons in your condition. Even got yourself a pretty little boat and everything.”

You could feel yourself blanching. How did she know about the pirate ship you left by the beaches?

“As I’m sure you’re aware by now, Y/N is only but a legend. Though nobody truly believes you’re real, you are still very much respected throughout the nation. And since you’re regarded so highly amongst the common folk,” the King rumbled, clasping his hands together with a smug leer tracing his lips. “You’ll be made a lowly servant for the lovely Princess, Amarelia.” He gestured further down the line, to a sweet young girl barely of age. The Princess was a frail thing, with skin of dove’s wings and lips of sweet peaches and lashes that kissed the apples of her cheeks. She somewhat resembled a fawn, what with her large eyes and innocently placant features. Her curled sienna locks were gathered into an elegant updo, showcasing the glimmering silver laces on her dainty neck.

The very ones that you tried to steal so long ago, and the entire reason you were even here. That necklace was what made you a well-known myth in Cerulea.

Anger broiled deep within you, but you kept your mouth clamped shut. There were guards ready to strike if you moved even a centimeter, and you decided to play it safe for now.

There was something you were practically dying to ask, though.

What did you do to Yunho?

“To welcome you into servitude,” the Queen surveyed you with hooded eyes. “Crawl to Amarelia and kiss her shoes. Thank us for not having you executed on the spot. Perhaps it shall give you an idea of your rank in this castle. You are nothing to us.”

“Mother!” The Princess gasped in protest with something akin to pity and horror melding into her soft complexion. It was clear that the sweet dove wanted nothing to do with this. In a way, you felt sorry for her as well.

Nobody paid her any mind.

With a heavy heart, you started shuffling towards the Princess. Pain and humiliation blossomed across your skin like flames crawling over oiled wood. A part of you considered standing your ground, lifting your head high, refusing to obey any of her commands. And you would’ve, truly. But… Yunho. If there was even the slightest chance he was alive and kept hostage because of you, you needed to remain on your best behavior. For his sake and even perhaps for your own.

Once in front of her, you dipped your head to quickly brush your lips against her fine cream flats, immediately straightening your spine with a grimace afterwards. Amarelia regarded you with a sympathetic look.

The guards stepped forward to roughly drag you back to your original spot. Your mind barely registered the cold sensation of metal clamping around your neck, the rattling of chains a ghostly echo in your ears. The Queen was grinning so widely it was a wonder her face didn’t split in half. It took everything you had in you not to spit onto the floor in defiance.

When they started tugging you towards the grand double doors, you realized that you couldn’t just sit around and allow them to throw you around like a ragdoll. You kicked out your feet in resistance, ignoring the cinching pain of the metal around your neck, boots thudding against the smooth marble surface. The guards swore under their breath, pulling you along ever harder.

“WHERE’S YUNHO?” Your hoarse voice ripped across the throne room. “DID YOU KILL HIM? DID YOU KILL YUNHO?! LET GO OF ME! YOU MURDERER!” The small quirk of the Queen’s perfect eyebrows had you spouting out obscenities, rage bubbling over your struggling form.

Double-doors swung open, and with that action brought the largest crowd you’ve ever seen in your life. There must’ve been thousands - no, hundreds of thousands of people out there. And they’ve all come for you. The myth and the legend. Y/N L/N.

It was all so sudden. You didn’t even remember how you got to the front of the highrise platform, being forced back onto your knees with a grunt. There were common folk and wealthy lords alike littered about the ocean of heads. Some looked to be terrified, others watching on with hanging lips of awe.

You swallowed heavily.

“Behold!” The King bellowed from somewhere behind you. There was a sneering lilt to his tone that made you want to spring upwards and knock his teeth out. “Your beloved Y/N!”

The crowd in front of you erupted into pandemonium. It was a strange and overwhelming cacophony of displeased boos and excited screams.

“A legend and a hero to some of you, I’m sure,” the Queen hummed, somehow instantaneously quieting the buzzing mass of people. “Now diminished to a mere servant. Y/N L/N is nothing, and acting like they are worth any bit more than scum will lead to treason. I’m truly sorry to disappoint some of you.”

She didn’t seem sorry at all. The crowd practically roared at that, most especially the commoners at the back, yelling curses until their throats were raw as they threw moldy apple cores at the guards.

You hung your head in shame, gaze trained to the wood slants of the stage. Hushed murmurs travelled about the rest of the crowd like waves gently crashing against shore. You were alone on this beach, it seemed.

Truly, utterly alone.

You must’ve had the worst luck in the world.

No matter how much you’ve fought, struggled, resisted, it always ended up the same. With you kept captive. That musty jail cell because of a damned necklace, then bound on the pirate ship to be sold off in Aurecia (a part of your heart sunk at the memory of the friendly fairy-pirate San jumping overboard)… and now a different cell, your wrists chained to the cobbled wall behind you. Your arms were sore yet numb, almost having lost any feeling in them, but that was the least of your concerns.

It was bright here, unlike your first cell. Back then it was always dark, and always cold. There was a crackling fire across the room, licking hungrily at the burning wood, casting amber phantoms across the expanse of your place of confinement. It wouldn’t be long until the fire died out and you’d be shivering once more. There was also a small window, but it was far away from your reach, and you wouldn’t even bother to try, considering your arms were laced above your head.

Being back in the castle had your mind racing. Everything had been so loud outside. But now that you were alone with only your own thoughts to accompany you, it almost felt suffocatingly quiet. The silence was deafening, roaring awful things into your ears.

You missed Wooyoung. What would he do in your position? You hoped he wasn’t here, truly. He deserved to be happy elsewhere. But you couldn’t deny that a small part of you wished he was back here with you.

Face it, he’s not coming to save you, the snarky voice in your head spat out. Nobody is. You’re on your own. You have to save yourself.

It was at that moment the door creaked open. A man with silver hair slid in, grimness splayed across his defined features, like the wiry shadows of tree branches marring the warm light of the room. You spotted the medical kit he clutched in his sure hands.

He was the royal healer. It somewhat surprised you that the King and Queen sent him. Perhaps it was Princess Amarelia’s doing; she seemed to have a pure enough heart. Her parents, on the other hand…

“Are you alright?” His voice was a soft thing, a mere whisper, almost lost to the loud snapping of the fireplace. Hesitance was evident in his tone, accompanied with stinging sympathy. “I apologize, that was a foolish question. Of course you’re not, that’s why I’m here. My name is Seonghwa, I’m the royal healer for this castle. May I?” He brandished a bottle of strange blue ointment and cotton patches. You had just been humiliated and degraded in front of thousands of people, and now a royal healer was apologizing to you? He was certainly giving you whiplash.

After pausing for the slightest of moments, you dipped your head just slightly, still waiting for something bad to happen.

“Sarcio essence,” Seonghwa murmured gently as he doused the patch with the blue liquid. “Ceruleans steal it from the elves of Nymaeden. Its healing abilities are unlike anything we’ve ever seen. Ever since magic, of course. But that’s a thing of the past now. Magic is illegal in Cerulea. Not sure if you heard while you were down there in your cell.”

That made a frown flicker across your face. Cerulea, the ever-perfect country, needing to steal things from other kingdoms?

And with another stout nod, Seonghwa leaned forward to swipe at your fresh wounds and bruises, cleaning away the dried blood with nimble movements. It stung at first, restrained hisses escaping your lips as you squeezed your eyes shut. It felt like your skin was burning, and everything was on fire and the silent monsters were screaming your name.

“It’s a good thing if it stings a little. That’s your body working to put itself together.”

It was silent for a long time. You had to clamp your teeth down on your bottom lip so as to not let him hear your pathetic winces of pain.

The healer seemed to notice this, brows furrowing. “You don’t have to try to be strong around me, Y/N. You’re hurting, and it’s okay to show that. I won’t think any less of you.”

You eyed him with somewhat of a dubious aura, before bobbing your head for the last time. “Thank you,” you muttered brokenly.

Seonghwa hummed softly in response, screwing the cap back onto the sarcio essence.

The familiar creak of the door swinging open floated across the rooms, and you snapped your head upwards. Even the healer appeared to be surprised, bowing his head low at the newcomers. Also known as, if you had to put it eloquently, the true and utter banes of your existence. If you were the single flickering candle, they would be the tornados constantly whispering your flame good night.

It was the King and the Queen, draped in a waterfall of golden lace, diaphanous silver silks, and striking tones of mauve matching the hue of their angry irises. They held their heads high, looking at you as if you were the shit stuck on the bottom of their fine shoes.

“Leave us,” the Queen commanded Seonghwa without even glancing in the direction of the medic. She kept her gaze trained on you, and only you. Silently, he left the room with not another word, shuffling out of the door, unable to spare you one last sympathetic glimpse.

After surveying you, the Queen graced you with what seemed to be a smirk, and beckoned towards the guards behind her.

“Bring him in,” she said, practically dripping with delighted malice.

What happened next had you choking on your own gasps, tears immediately rimming your eyes like frost sitting atop tree branches on a harsh wintry morning. It had your stomach curling into itself, nausea climbing up your throat, begging to escape. A scream, so disgustingly raw and broken that it didn’t sound like your own voice echoed throughout the room.

They threw a peach-haired man in front of you, and he crumpled to the ground as if he were nothing more than a stringless puppet. If you thought that you were hurt, it was absolutely nothing in comparison to the sweet baker that you were so very fond of. He looked to be half dead already, bruises mapping the expanse of his pallid skin as abundant as there were stars in the sky. His once-bright pink strands of hair now looked a sullen grey, as if all the life had been seeped out of him. Dried blood crusted his cuts and gashes, littered all over his shivering form. You swore, with every fiber of your being, you were going to kill whoever hurt him.

“YUNHO!” You cried, heart lodged in your throat. The soft giant who had once been so boisterous, laid unmoving on the cobblestone floor. Kicking against the wall, you yanked away at your manacles fruitlessly until your wrists grew raw, wanting nothing more than to fall to your knees and crawl to him and ask if he was alright. It didn’t matter that you were hurting yourself in the process, you just… you wanted to get out of these chains, out of here, away from everything.

How dare they?

Tears were rolling down the apples of your cheeks, conjoining at your jaw and dripping mercilessly onto the ground. A constant drip, drip, drip of your pain made loud and clear to everybody else in the room.

You were so furious, so heartbroken, that you had forgotten anybody else existed for a short second. It was a shame that you were only reminded when one of the guards stalked up with the King’s nod of approval, gripping Yunho by his faded locks and yanking him upwards. His face didn’t seem to even flinch, numb and desensitized.

Was Yunho gone? No… no, he couldn’t possibly be…

A confusing concoction of sobs and desperate pleas and hiccups tumbled past your lips far too quickly for even you to understand yourself

The events that transpired rushed by in an indecipherable blur. You could barely pick up what the Queen murmured.

“This beloved baker friend of yours…” she cocked her head to the side in mock-thought, purple eyes flashing dangerously. “He is strong, I’ll give you that. However, he seems quite adamant not to give us any information about the other prisoner, Wooyoung. They were childhood best friends, no? I’m sure you remember him, don’t you?”

Your heart stopped at the sound of his name.

How dare you? How dare you? How dare you? The mantra reverberated in your skull until it was all you could think, staining your mind with an inky, poisonous black.

The mocking sympathy evident in her tone had you thrashing against your bonds all the more. “And alas… I’m afraid we no longer have any use for him.”

Just like that, the guard holding Yunho upwards drove his longsword clean through the gentle baker’s abdomen, dropping him to the floor. An ungodly wail tore from your vocal chords, resonating across the room and painting wicked smiles across the two royal leaders of Cerulea. Much to your horror, Yunho uttered no sound, merely dropping onto the stone with a thud. Crimson pooled at his wound so quickly, that the rose-hued ichor grazed against your feet in a matter of seconds. You stopped struggling, the drumming of your heart loud in your ears.

Since your gaze hadn’t left Yunho’s unmoving body, you didn’t even noticed the Queen sidestepping the puddle of blood, forcing your eyes away by gripping your slick face with one of her cold hands. You tried to pull your cheeks away, but it was as if her fingers were steel. Her purple eyes were so close to yours, you could see the flecks of aureate gold embedded within the enticing lilac. The Queen flashed you a charming smile, as if she hadn’t just murdered your friend in cold blood. It seemed she noticed your pounding heart rate, because she murmured an incantation in old Cerulean that you couldn’t quite pick up. In an instant, you could feel yourself relaxing in her grip, wrists going slack in the cuffs, the muscle in your chest thumping slower and slower. A part of you was afraid it would grind to a stop.

Her pearly whites flashed as she grinned evilly. The lavender in her eyes darkened drastically, to the point where any trace of gold disappeared completely.

“We didn’t kill Yunho,” she leaned closer and whispered into your ear, her tawny locks tickling the side of your face. “Killing is barbaric.”

There was an old story of a gingerbread man and a fox crossing a river you often heard retellings of during your childhood. The fox swore up and down that he wouldn’t eat the gingerbread man whilst helping him cross the river. As suspicious as the gingerbread man was at first, he eventually climbed onto the sly fox’s back, naive with hope. The fox arrived at the other side of the river alone and with a full stomach.

It seemed you were the foolish gingerbread man and the Queen was the fox. The Queen’s magic seeped into your being, clouding your mind in a dangerous haze you could no longer fight.

You believed her.

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isobel-thorm · 3 years

Text

OC Basics

Tagged by @risenlucifer. Thank youuuu :3. Gonna follow suit and do all the FC5/ND kids

Name: Junior Deputy Nicolette Harper Raylan Alias/Nicknames: Nic, Rook, Wrath Gender: Female Age: 29 (c. 2018) Zodiac: Pisces Abilities/Talents: Sniping, Persuasion Alignment: lawful / neutral / chaotic / good / neutral / evil / true Sins: envy / greed / gluttony / lust / pride / sloth / wrath Virtues: charity / chastity / diligence / humility / justice / kindness / patience Languages: English Family: Isabella Raylan (Mother), Thomas Marlow (Father, estranged/denounced), Earl Whitehorse (Stand-in Father) Lincoln James “LJ” Raylan (Older Brother), John Seed (Husband), Sharky Boshaw (Husband) Jace Seed (Husband in one ‘verse), Cal Raylan, Lennox Boshaw, (Sons), Willa Raylan, Ariadne Raylan, Charlie Boshaw (Daughters) Friends: Grant Lyons, Alice Riley, Rick Cain, Matt Rook, Eli Palmer, Adelaide Drubman, Mary May Fairgrave, Jerome Jeffries, Grace Armstrong, Sydney Crane, Thomas Rush, Roger Cadoret, Faith Seed (No Cult AUs only) Sexuality: heterosexual / bisexual / pansexual / homosexual / demisexual / asexual / unsure / other Relationship Status: single / partnered / married / widowed / open relationship / divorced / not ready for dating / it’s complicated Libido: sex god / very high / high / average / low / very low / non-existent Build: slender / average / athletic / muscular / curvy Hair: white / blonde / brunette / red / black / other: Eyes: brown / blue / gray / green / black / other Skin: pale / fair / olive / light brown / brown / dark / other Height: 5′3″ Scars: Wrath on her chest, a mark on her forehead from the scufffle with her father when she was 15 dogs or cats || birds or bugs || snakes or spiders || coffee or tea || ice cream or cake || fruits or vegetables || sandwich or soup || magic or melee || sword or bow || summer or winter || spring or autumn || past or future Five songs that remind you of them: “Little Toy Guns” - Carrie Underwood, “America’s Sweetheart” - Elle King, “Problem” - Natalia Kills, Human - Rag’n’Bone Man, “White Flagg” - Bishop Briggs

Grant Lyons

Name: Deputy Grant Emmerson Lyons Alias/Nicknames: Cowboy, Pride Gender: Male Age: 36 (c. 2018) Zodiac: Pisces Abilities/Talents: Explosives/bomb diffusing, Survival Skills Alignment: lawful / neutral / chaotic / good / neutral / evil / true Sins: envy / greed / gluttony / lust / pride / sloth / wrath Virtues: charity / chastity / diligence / humility / justice / kindness / patience Languages: English Family: Rose Lyons (Mother), Rhett Lyons (Father), Matthew Rook (Husband), 5 Kids Whose Names Escape Me at the Moment Friends: Nic Raylan, Rick Cain, Jerome Jeffries, Grace Armstrong, Earl Whitehorse, Staci Pratt, John Seed (in no cult AUs only) Sexuality: heterosexual / bisexual (leaning towards preferring men) / pansexual / homosexual / demisexual / asexual / unsure / other Relationship Status: single / partnered / married / widowed / open relationship / divorced / not ready for dating / it’s complicated Libido: sex god / very high / high / average / low / very low / non-existent Build: slender / average / athletic / muscular / curvy Hair: white / blonde / brunette / red / black / other: Eyes: brown / blue / gray / green / black / other Skin: pale / fair / olive / light brown / brown / dark / other Height: 6′0″ Scars: Various scattered ones on his body from having a building come down around him during an ambush in his time in combat Overseas. dogs or cats || birds or bugs || snakes or spiders || coffee or tea || ice cream or cake || fruits or vegetables || sandwich or soup || magic or melee || sword or bow || summer or winter || spring or autumn || past or future Five songs that remind you of them: “Blood on My Name” - The Brothers Bright, “Behind Blue Eyes” - The Who, “Problem” - Natalia Kills, Human - Rag’n’Bone Man, "Survivor Guilt” - Rise Against, “I Am Strong” - The Empty Pockets

Name: U.S Marshal Rick Cain Alias/Nicknames: Cowboy, Marsh, Sloth, “Your Man With the Fitting Last Name” Gender: Male Age: 42 (c. 2018) Zodiac: Leo Abilities/Talents: Stumbling into trouble, denial, hating Cameron Burke Alignment: lawful / neutral / chaotic / good / neutral / evil / true Sins: envy / greed / gluttony / lust / pride / sloth / wrath Virtues: charity / chastity / diligence / humility / justice / kindness / patience Languages: English Family: Eric Cain (Father), Marsha Cain (Mother), Joel (Little Brother) Friends: Nic Raylan, Grant Lyons, Earl Whitehorse, Joseph Seed (formerly) Sexuality: heterosexual / bisexual / pansexual / homosexual / demisexual / asexual / unsure / other Relationship Status: single / partnered / married / widowed / open relationship / divorced / not ready for dating / it’s complicated Libido: sex god / very high / high / average / low / very low / non-existent Build: slender / average / athletic / muscular / curvy Hair: white / blonde / brunette / red / black / other: starting to switch to salt and pepper Eyes: brown / blue / gray / green / black / other: hazel Skin: pale / fair / olive / light brown / brown / dark / other Height: 6′0″ Scars: One on a knee when he fell in the garden as a kid dogs or cats || birds or bugs || snakes or spiders || coffee or tea || ice cream or cake || fruits or vegetables || sandwich or soup || magic or melee || sword or bow || summer or winter || spring or autumn || past or future Five songs that remind you of them: “Fuck This Shit I’m Out” - The Theme Song, Totally Fucked - Jonathan Groff, “Someone That I Used to Know” - Darren Criss, Matt Bomer, “Battle Cry” - Imagine Dragons, “Smalltown Boy” - Orville Peck

Name: Jason Seed Alias/Nicknames: Jace, “The Champion” in the Herald AU Gender: Male Age: 36 (c. 2018) Zodiac: Leo Abilities/Talents: Persuasion/Manipulation, Technology Alignment: lawful / neutral / chaotic / good / neutral / evil / true Sins: envy / greed / gluttony / lust / pride / sloth / wrath Virtues: charity / chastity / diligence / humility / justice / kindness / patience Languages: English Family: Old Man Seed (Biological Father), Mrs. Seed (Biological Mother), Joseph, John, Jacob (Brothers), Ian and Hannah Jabonski (Adoptive Parents), Nic Raylan / Valerie Holm (Wife, depending on verse) Friends: Nic Raylan, Sharky Boshaw, Sexuality: heterosexual / bisexual / pansexual / homosexual / demisexual / asexual / unsure / other Relationship Status: single / partnered / married / widowed / open relationship / divorced / not ready for dating / it’s complicated Libido: sex god / very high / high / average / low / very low / non-existent Build: slender / average / athletic / muscular / curvy Hair: white / blonde / brunette / red / black / other Eyes: brown / blue / gray / green / black / other Skin: pale / fair / olive / light brown / brown / dark / other Height: 6′0″ Scars: Emotional only dogs or cats || birds or bugs || snakes or spiders || coffee or tea || ice cream or cake || fruits or vegetables || sandwich or soup || magic or melee || sword or bow || summer or winter || spring or autumn || past or future Five songs that remind you of them: “Hey Brother” Aviici

Name: (Former) Deputy Cole Crawford Alias/Nicknames: N/A Gender: Male Age: 35 (c. 2018) Zodiac: Libra Abilities/Talents: Hand to Hand Combat, Handguns Alignment: lawful / neutral true / chaotic / good / neutral / evil / true Sins: envy / greed / gluttony / lust / pride / sloth / wrath Virtues: charity / chastity / diligence / humility / justice / kindness / patience Languages: English Family: Elizabeth Crawford (Mother), Unknown Father Friends: John Seed, Jacob Seed Sexuality: heterosexual / bisexual / pansexual / homosexual / demisexual / asexual / unsure / other Relationship Status: single / partnered / married / widowed / open relationship / divorced / not ready for dating / it’s complicated Libido: sex god / very high / high / average / low / very low / non-existent Build: slender / average / athletic / muscular / curvy Hair: white / blonde / brunette / red / black / other: Eyes: brown / blue / gray / green / black / other Skin: pale / fair / olive / light brown / brown / dark / other Height: 5′11″ Scars: One on his arm from when a home improvement project went wrong dogs or cats || birds or bugs || snakes or spiders || coffee or tea || ice cream or cake || fruits or vegetables || sandwich or soup || magic or melee || sword or bow || summer or winter || spring or autumn || past or future Five songs that remind you of them: “The Self Preservation Society” - The Pearly Kings

Name: Callan Earl Raylan Alias/Nicknames: Apocalypse Baby (as a child), Cal, Simba, The Shepherd Gender: Male Age: 18 (c. 2035) Zodiac: Pisces Abilities/Talents: Archery, Persuasion Alignment: lawful / neutral / chaotic / good / neutral / evil / true Sins: envy / greed / gluttony / lust / pride / sloth / wrath Virtues: charity / chastity / diligence / humility / justice / kindness / patience Languages: English Family: Nic Raylan (Mother), John Seed (Father), Willa and Ariadne Raylan (Little Sisters), Lennox Boshaw (Half Brother), Charlie Boshaw (Half Sister), Carmina Rye (Girlfriend, Future Wife), Nick and Kim, Joseph Seed (Uncle), Ethan Seed (Cousin) Friends: Tommy Stone, Sydney Crane, Bean Sexuality: heterosexual / bisexual / pansexual / homosexual / demisexual / asexual / unsure / other Relationship Status: single / partnered / married / widowed / open relationship / divorced / not ready for dating / it’s complicated Libido: sex god / very high / high / average / low / very low / non-existent Build: slender / average / athletic / muscular / curvy Hair: white / blonde / brunette / red / black / other: Eyes: brown / blue / gray / green / black / other Skin: pale / fair / olive / light brown / brown / dark / other Height: 5′ 7″ Scars: Has one on his shoulder from the Bear Fight his uncle told him to participate in that he’s still not sure was totally a hallucination, lines up with one on his chest from his fight with Ethan dogs or cats || birds or bugs || snakes or spiders || coffee or tea || ice cream or cake || fruits or vegetables || sandwich or soup || magic or melee || sword or bow || summer or winter || spring or autumn || past or future Five songs that remind you of them: “We Are One” - Cam Clarke, Charity Sanoy, “Into the Unknown” - Panic at the Disco, “Bad Liar” - Imagine Dragons, “Come Back to Me” - David Cook

Name: Security Captain Sydney Crane Alias/Nicknames: Syd, Cap Gender: Female Age: 34 (c. 2035) Zodiac: Aries Abilities/Talents: Negotiation, Hand to Hand Combat Alignment: lawful / neutral / chaotic / good / neutral / evil / true Sins: envy / greed / gluttony / lust / pride / sloth / wrath Virtues: charity / chastity / diligence / humility / justice / kindness / patience Languages: English Family: Tina Crane (Mother), Leo Crane (Father), Mila (Daughter), Thomas Rush (Ex-Husband, got back together), Roger Cadoret (in one verse) Friends: Kim Rye, Nick Rye, Roger Cadoret, Nic Raylan, John Seed Jerome Jeffries, Grace Armstrong, Sexuality: heterosexual / bisexual (leaning towards preferring men) / pansexual / homosexual / demisexual / asexual / unsure / other Relationship Status: single / partnered / married / widowed / open relationship / divorced / not ready for dating / it’s complicated Libido: sex god / very high / high / average / low / very low / non-existent Build: slender / average / athletic / muscular / curvy Hair: white / blonde / brunette / red / black / other: Eyes: brown / blue / gray / green / black / other Skin: pale / fair / olive / light brown / brown / dark / other Height: 5′2″ Scars: Small, scattered, from her time on the Train dogs or cats || birds or bugs || snakes or spiders || coffee or tea || ice cream or cake || fruits or vegetables || sandwich or soup || magic or melee || sword or bow || summer or winter || spring or autumn || past or future Five songs that remind you of them: “We’re Not Gonna Fall” , “Used To” - Daughtry,

#Deputy Nic #Deputy Grant #Captain Syd #Rick Cain #Cole Crawford #also this is proof that #Cal Raylan #is just a Disney Prince

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hyperfixationation · 4 years

Text

me ideas relating to boots n bombs but it’s a list for the world to see

Disclaimer that these are all cross-faction (RED demoman BLU soldier because WAR! comic is good stuff) and i cannot promise that they make sense because over the months of writing/yeeting ideas/rambles at myself and sal ( @/0-salty-potato-0 shoutout to her for being my ramble sponge) also in part because i’ve kinda developed BLU and RED team members independently fjskds

summary of summary: perfect world, modern, established relationship, timetravel, royalty, amnesia, mermaid, and then some (20 ideas in varying summary length in total lmao) underneath the cut (if tumblrs a butt and does not cut i sincerely apologies)

Perfect world au Tavish and Jane spend their days fighting each other, belonging to two different teams yet thick as thieves in the bright of day. Their jobs are fun and engaging, their teams close as families, and late nights laughing together over a few bottles of beer to look forward to on the empty battlefields. They’re happy, they have everything they could want and everything is perfect. So why was Tavish saying it’s not?

Modern au where Tavish lives in the affectionately (or not) named RED cul-de-sac, given from the fact that all the houses had some sort of red color tint or highlights. An interesting neighborhood, with even more interesting neighbors. Life fell into an odd but familiar routine since he moved there, life was comfortable. That was until one of his neighbors crashed one of Conagher’s barbecues announcing that his twin brother none of them had ever heard about was going to be living with him for the time being. This wouldn’t have been much of an issue, if Tavish didn't live in the house right next to Solly. (In a vaguely similar vein theres also one where Soldier’s a ghost/eldritch being haunting a house that Tavish buys

Established Relationship AU where BLU Scout stumbles across his Soldier and the RED Demoman being buddy buddy’s not long after the WAR! after a long battle in Dustbowl, confused and a bit betrayed by the Soldier’s actions, he runs back to his base only to be intercepted by none other than the RED Spy. The Spy asks for secrecy, after some persuasion Scout agrees reluctantly. But, how long could the Scout keep a secret anyway? Story deals with both teams reaction to their teammates relationship with an enemy merc

Timetravel au where the RED Demoman drunkenly begs for a chance to fix a great wrong and he’s sent into the past by Merasmus. Only he’s sent far into the past, right in the middle of the WAR! between him and the enemy Soldier. Tavish has to navigate this old world, interact with teammates with years of familiarity gone, without bringing too much suspicion upon himself. All at the same time trying to make sure the future never goes the way it does. It’s almost too much, but he was the bloody Demoman, he’ll persevere. He had to. Even if it meant reliving one of the worst fights in his life against a man he could no longer bring himself to harm.

Mermaid au where the ocean had always called out to Jane. An odd sense of anxiety settles inside of him when the company he’s been working for to fend off supernatural beings from american lands stations him to protect the coasts. And it was fine, he was born to kill monsters. That was what they told him. So why did one of the enemies, a deadly siren with a missing eye, know his name? Why did he seem so relieved to see him? Claiming to know him from a past he had forgotten?

Royalty AU okay i have like 4 takes on royalty au but one of them is that RED and BLU are enemy kingdoms but a sudden out of the blue truce that the RED court is informed of via BLU sending some members of their court as ambassadors, suspicions and tensions are naturally high and they both have to learn to deal with it, however the BLU general and RED prince seem to be getting along surprisingly well after a few spars

Amnesia AU talked a bit about it in that ask anon sent, general concept one day the BLU Soldier goes missing, nobody is able to find him until one day the RED Demoman, Sniper and Spy get stranded in a nameless off the map town. Finding a man who looked, sounded and acted just like the missing Soldier in a bar, only he showed no recollection of them.

Another spin would be the whole BLU team goes missing, also with more of those brainwashy-culty vibes

Classic 5+1, five firsts and one last that details their life together before, during and after the WAR!

Post MVM pre-comics setting where the former BLU Soldier confronts the former RED demoman at his own home, age old lies are uncovered and old bridges rebuilt as the two learn to live together

Canon comics except Jane’s also there, whats on the tin when Miss Pauling goes to recruit Demoman to find the australium for the Administrator she was expecting an immediate yes. She planned for it. Yet the Demoman hesitated, and soon she saw the reason why. Tavish would only go if Jane could come along, car ride’s a bit cramped but it would have to be a minor inconvenience

Idk name of ones/random drabble ideas:

Self indulgent Jane is brainwashed by Gray Mann after the gravel wars, after Gray Mann is defeated he sends Jane (“General”) to protect and hide Olivia Mann so that the company stays his, post comics red team + Pauling have been looking for them but Tavish was the first to find them while reminiscing in Gravel Pits and basically “jane the fuck that kids a devil”

During Scream Fortress where Jane and Tavishs long buried guilt and self hatred regarding their relationship with each other takes form as living nightmares as mountains of gibs and sea of heads

Fusion au except idk how to write fusions so it’d focus more on the vibes

After red v blu wars but Before MVM tavish goes to have an actual talk with jane for the first time in years

BLU Soldier gets turned into a kid and somehow stumbles into RED base

Misunderstanding with Merasmus gets tavish and Jane bodyswapped

Undercover, RED’s protecting some random guy and BLU’s there to kidnap/kill in a fancy rich person ball sort-of setting

Wings au

Soulmate au

Honestly just she-ra au, let them be princesses

#demosolly #boots n bombs #tf2 #rye rambles #BIG rye rambles #fdskjds this is again just summaries of most of the stuff i've been thinking about/drabbling since i started hyperfixating #on this mess of a ship #some of these have some unfinished/messy drabbles but most are concepts i just work on if i feel like it #i usually dont share my ideas like this because of a really weird paranoia/anxiety that people will steal them but also like #pspspsps at fellow demosolly shippers

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nastyatticman · 3 years

Note

1, 11, 13, 15, 16, and 17 for the oc thing!

1. What’s your oc’s most irrational fear? Is there a specific reason this fear came about?

Sidney - That at any moment he’s broken some law and wouldn’t know it until he got arrested for it. Except for being a serial killer, he’s a tax paying law abiding citizen. His public persona is so inoffensive, and he’s somewhat conventionally attractive (and constantly trying to fit in or please people), so he could probably get away with some minor crimes. This fear comes from a childhood full of getting in trouble for minor offenses, things that weren’t his fault, or things he was never told were wrong by his toxic parents. And, perhaps, some subconscious guilt around all the actual crimes he commits.

Chance - That he’ll randomly throw out his phone, wallet, or other important items. It’s because he gets bad intrusive thoughts sometimes, and even after he learned that those are okay and don’t reflect his inner character and desires, he still worries about dropping his stuff. Some of his intrusive thoughts are related to harming himself or others, which he knows he won’t do, but can he be so sure that he won’t throw his phone out of the bus and into oncoming traffic when all the windows are open?!

11. Does your oc have any interests/hobbies that they hide from everyone? Why do they hide these interests?

Sidney - Musical theatre, drawing furries, collecting souvenirs from his family “vacations”. He’s very concerned with his public image and he’s embarrassed he feels so strongly about shows like Cats! and High School Musical even though they don’t have a good plot etc etc. He’s afraid if people hear the word “furry” they’ll assume he’s some kind of sex freak. Maybe he is, but you wouldn’t be able to tell from him doodling little bunnies and warrior cats in the margins of his notebooks. And last, you may actually see some of the grim tokens he takes to remember his exploits. His family’s pretty well off so no one bats an eye at him coming back from winter break with a new jacket, much less a keychain or something small. It’s just that kidnapping and killing is generally discouraged, so only he knows how he really got them.

Chance - He doesn’t have too much shame when it comes to his hobbies etc - he either uses his wacky hobbies to get attention or weed out the people who judge him for things. However he probably has a big interest in stuff like selfshipping and x reader fanfics, but he doesn’t like to share that unless he can spin it as something wild and funny he does. Otherwise people tend to see this nerdy little guy and think, “oh, that’s kind of sad, he can’t meet anyone in real life”. Sometimes they say that to his face.

13. What’s your oc’s dream home like?

Sidney - Somewhere remote, with a bit of a cottagecore vibe. He loves the cabin his family visits twice a year, and how it’s still close to a small town with everything he needs. Prefers an area without the noise and traffic of the modern world. ...He still wants perfect WiFi though.

Chance - Somewhere big and spacious. Closer to the city, with everything he needs in walking distance. Ideally he wants to live in a nice house with a vegetable garden and plenty of space for him & his future partners to pursue their passions. He’s a bit of an introvert at times, even when it comes to his current roommates, so he doesn’t mind if things are very spaced out. Like, everyone having their own room and bed to make their own, and they can take turns sleeping with each other or something.

15. What’s your oc’s morning routine like?

Sidney - He gets up bright and early, takes a shower and does a little skincare. Then eats a healthy breakfast and starts his day. A real morning person.

Chance - Not a morning person at all. Probably clicks snooze on his alarm and spends a few minutes dicking around on his phone before he absolutely has to get up and get ready for the day. Probably grabs a quick breakfast or just buys something when he gets to school or wherever he’s going.

16. What’s your oc’s nighttime routine like?

Sidney - He sleeps kind of early, on a somewhat strict schedule. A little skincare, dental care(?), getting into comfy pajamas.

Chance - Night owl. Typically he washes off any makeup or blood on his face, brushes & flosses, and showers. Gets cozy in bed with at least one extra blanket. Spends a maybe concerning amount of time on the phone before finally sleeping lol.

17. If your oc had a social media page, what would it be like? What would they post about? How much personal information would they feel comfortable posting on it? How often would they update it?

Sidney - He has a couple! Most of them are very professional or social, in a just in case people Google him way. Like, a LinkedIn, Facebook, and an Instagram with highly curated and inoffensive pictures of him. Mostly pictures of him during milestones like his high school graduation. Doesn’t use them often but you’ll see people comment wishing him a happy birthday. He’s too shy to post much about his interests there though, even the stuff that doesn’t involve murder. Has smaller accounts on other websites where he posts/interacts with darker content anonymously. Like a dark aesthetic tumblr with pictures of forests n caves n shit. On the flip side he probably has a Pinterest, with 0 personal info abt him but several boards dedicated to cute stuff and drawings reference, that paints a picture of who he is.

Chance - He is, begrudgingly, on Facebook to keep up with boomer family members. He’s a paranoid bitch (and rightfully so), so he’s mostly on Tumblr since their data tracking and algorithm is run by a hamster on a wheel. Chance is much more personal there but also impersonal - no pictures of his face or specifics on his location, but he feels free to talk abt his kinks and shit. He’d have an edgy nsfw blog but his main blog is for fandoms & true crime. (Well, “true” in universe. He uses it to keep track of rumors about killings and potential slasher sightings.)

#noises from the attic #canineofdoom #thank u so much for this ask bro #Sidney Jade Leong #Chance the slasher fucker

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4biddenleeches · 5 years

Note

Pls pls pls I beg you for more birb!Julian lemon juice. I just want to shower him with love and affection and pleasure. He deserves it ;0;

i’m so sorry I know i teased more birb!Julian awhile ago but life got in the way

please accept this preview with my apologies, the world needs more reversed!julian and I am determined to deliver

In the center of the tavern, Julian hangs upside-down, suspended by ropes and knots meticulously tied around the ceiling beams. His arms are bound behind his back, his wings folded between and behind them; his hips hover a few inches above the floor, with only his shoulders and his head resting back against the floorboards. One of his legs is tied long and straight, running along the same line as the rope; one great diagonal, from the ceiling down to Julian’s narrow hips. The other leg is tied to itself, bright red knots binding thigh to scaled greying calf. His legs are spread; his sex, exposed.

Already he is swollen and trembling, bulging with spend. He had sat so perfectly still for you while you tied him, moved with such reverent obedience when you commanded him onto his back, to lift his legs, to spread them for you. Now as you watch him, inspecting your handiwork, there’s a zen-like bliss on his face. In all the time since you’ve found him here, you’re not sure he’s ever looked so peaceful.

‘It’s because like this, he knows he can’t hurt you,’ you think, sadly. ‘By now, he knows the strength of your knotwork.’

(He had complimented you on it once, all those months ago, the first time you’d tied him up—when he had still be four limbs and no wings, all pink smooth flesh without feathers. ‘You’d make a great sailor, with knotwork like that.’ You had always dreamed of sailing away with him. Maybe now, you never would. But that didn’t mean the future was forfeit entirely.)

‘You look so peaceful because you think this is the only way to keep me safe. Because you cannot help yourself. But I know you, Julian Devorak, and I look forward to the chance to prove you wrong about yourself—again.’

For as long as you have known him, he has been a good man: kind and courageous, and far more selfless than he gives himself credit for, and far more gentle than he’d ever likely admit. But now, he is dangling on a string in the center of the room; now, at last, he will let you touch him the way you want to. You won’t waste anymore time.

You reach for his straightened leg, raised like a ship mast, and lay your palm flat against the muscle of his calf. “Julian? Are you alright?” Your fingertips massage circles into his skin, drawing him back from the heady trance of calm and comfort that the rope binding has lulled him into. “Does everything feel okay—nothing is too tight?”

On the floor, Julian’s eyelids flutter open, his eyelashes beating against his cheeks so prettily as he comes to. “Mmm. What was that, darling?”

Darling. That word and the way Julian says it contains the answers to all his questions. It warms you just the way it used to, the same way it did the first time he’d called you by the pet name. It’s in the tender way he says it, when he’s too blissed out to be censored by his guilt. Darling, dearest, doll—if you are still all of these things to him, then how could you look at him any differently? Julian wonders why you have stayed, but now, with his grey eyes cracked open and his body taut and ready for you, you can’t fathom why you would ever consider leaving.

“The ropes,” you tell him, drawing your hand over his leg, over the knots, from his calf to the inside of his knee. “Are they okay? Nothing pinches, or pulls wrong?”

Julian grins up at you, the cheeky cavalier grin he used to give you. (Behind the safety of his mask, in the back of the community theatre: ‘You don’t have to be gentle with me.’ ‘If you’re going to bite me, do it here.’)

“Nothing bites worse than it should,” he reassures you, his words a low purr in the back of his throat. He breathes in deeply, deliberately expanding his chest, straining against the knots before he settles back against the floor with a satisfied smile on his face. “Just a good as it used to be. You haven’t lost your touch at all.”

#reversed!julian #spoilers #leeches answers #leeches writes #lemon

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secret-rendezvous1d · 6 years

Text

D E C E M B E R 5 T H

REQUEST Could you do maybe a sadder one after Ellie and Alfie’s miscarriage and for Christmas they all cheer him up

A little bit of a sad one.

Edited from the request but still following the concept.

We haven’t really gone in too deep with Alfie and Ellie’s miscarriage so that may be something we need to talk about in the new year; it’s a massive part to their storyline, therefore a huge part in the missus and Harry’s storyline so, as sad as the topic may be, it would be something I’d like to delve deeper into. To give you an insight to that part of their lives.

I know a lot of you are eager for some smut to commence and those stories will soon be posted for you to read; keep bearing with me as Blogmas progresses.

!! TRIGGER WARNING; THIS STORY CONTAINS AND MENTIONS ELEMENTS OF MISCARRIAGE !!

If this is one topic that you are don’t want to read, can’t handle reading or don’t feel comfortable reading then please SKIP this story.

Feedback is welcomed, as always - please let me know what you think of my pieces, send me any constructive criticism you think would help out, any ways to make my writing better, anything. It really helps me and keeps me motivated to write and we get to work as a team to make things better, for me to write and for you to read.

Enjoy! x

D e c e m b e r 2 0 t h 2 0 1 8.

YN had always loved big, family Christmases.

Ever since she was a little girl, when she was old enough to know what Christmas was all about, she had always loved when her parents got everyone together for the twenty-fifth of December; old family friends who they had asked round to celebrate, her grandparents who they invited round for a big dinner in the afternoon and her aunts and uncles who they had asked to come round to enjoy a buffet tea in the evening. Seeing those family members and those family friends that she and her parents rarely saw through the year but had always missed and would look forward to seeing when the time came along with hatter filling a home that was usually quiet and empty from the masses of people and wasn’t commonly filled with drunk laughter filling the rooms from silly stories and the cracking of horrendous jokes being shared throughout the house.

When Harry had walked into her life all those years ago, when she was a new teenager in and amongst the hustle and bustle of London town, each Christmas that they spent together had lead to even bigger celebrations that what she had been involved with when she was a child; Anne and Robin were now a part of her life and had table-places at her parents’ kitchen table for when they planned a dinner, Gemma and Harry had a place in her home like they were another pair of children in her parents’ lives and, sometimes and when Anne had nervously brought it up after much apprehension because she thought it was cheeky of her, his grandparents were welcomed to spend time with them and were given their spare room because it was never fair to send the elders to an unfamiliar hotel.

That was exactly how she wanted to spend Christmas with her own children and with her own web of family that came through partnership and marriage. A full home with all the people she had grown up with and met and grown to love over the years, surrounded by love and laughter and fun and excitement, gorging on the delicious food she had cooked and drinking wine as the seconds ticked passed. Playing board games and singing Christmas songs before cosying down with hot chocolates and cups of tea as Christmas specials showed on the television.

The knocker upon the front door knocked three times, the harsh sound breaking the silence of the lower level of the house and startling her from her place at the kitchen sink, the faucet switched off by her sopping wet hands that she soon wiped on her apron, soap suds popping and disappearing on their own. The sleeves of her jumper hanging over hands as she jogged through the living room and burst into the porch, pulling the door open with abrupt speed, to reveal the only person she was expecting. Her son. Standing tall upon the top step and dressed in a thick coat, with his unruly curls peeking out from underneath his beanie and accentuating his earlobe - one ear homing an air-pod with his other looked empty - and his wind-bitten cheeks matched the rim of his eyes, that were watering from the chill in the air. A bag of Christmas presents by his feet and an envelope tucked into his pocket, sticking out from beneath the wool-polyester flat, topped with a black button. A smile on his chapped lips.

“Hi, mum.”

“Hi, sweetheart,” YN crooned, wrapping her arms around her son’s shoulders and welcoming him into the warmest hug she could muster up. To keep him warm from the bitterness of the December air, the winter bite already nipping at the exposed skin showing from the hems of her tweed trousers and tingling her hands, fresh and clean after spending hours preparing a dinner at the kitchen counter and having stripped vegetables from their skin and chopped potatoes up for her signature mashed potato dish. Her apron still tied around her middle and a knot was situated at the base of her neck, just beneath the messy bun that she had pulled her hair back into. “Oh, darling, it’s so good to have you home.”

“It’s good to be home. Love being up Manchester but it’s lovely to back here with everyone. It’s not as lonely,” he hummed with delight and melted into the soft hug from his mother’s arms. Chin resting upon her shoulder as he took a deep inhale of the smells filling the house, beanie loosening from the tight grip it had upon his head and showing the tops of his ears, curls slipping out from underneath the folded brim and his fringe flopped loose. Meat cooking, which he guessed were mince to be mixed with whatever else they were having to eat, and the smell of steaming vegetables wafted through the door. “It smells good in here. Shepherds pie?”

“Shepherds pie,” she confirmed, pressing a kiss to his wind-bitten cheek before pulling away, bumping the front door closed with her heel and letting it shut with a band, “how are you doing? Me and your dad were going to pop up to Manchester to go see your Nana Anne, the other day, but he was hit with the flu so we had to postpone it. He’s been upstairs for the last two days trying to get better,” she snorted, helping him take his coat off and hanging it on a hanger so he could kick off his boots and set them underneath the porch table. “Gemma travelled up there to pick her up so she can spend Christmas down here with all of us. It wasn’t fair to let her come down alone,” she said, leading the way through to the kitchen and flicking the kettle on as she passed by, “what time is Ellie due here?”

“I said six but she’ll probably be through soon. I’ve only just got off the phone with her,” he smiled. He snagged a raw carrot from the colander in the sink before hopping upon an empty space of the counter, his cheeks tingling from how warm it was and his fingers gaining their senses back as they wiggled under the heat of the atmosphere. A crunch coming from between his teeth as he bit down and chewed. “Her parents are still good to come for Christmas Day, right?”

“Of course! Me and Joan have been planning away on who’s doing what,” YN laughed, wiping down the surface with the sleeve of her jumper.

For the last six years, she’d been inseparable with Ellie’s mother and had always had a story to share about what they got up to when ever they went out and about together. If they went to a coffee house, Joan had always ordered one of each cake because she could never decide what to eat with her latte. If they went shopping, YN had always done something clumsy and silly that people ended up staring at them, which only caused Harry to perk up with a rebuttle of how she had always been clumsy - their first meeting being the basis of where his retort came about. If they went to the cinema, Joan had always ‘almost’ dropped the popcorn and YN had always ‘almost’ spilt her drink. At first, the two teenagers thought it was the worst idea - their parents becoming best friends? What would happen if they split up and had come to a brutal end? A friendship would have been over and they would have felt the guilt. But as the years went by and they realised they were strongly compatible and had a bright future ahead of them,

“We’ve got Jack coming for Christmas, too. I think he said that his parents were away on a trip around the holidays so he and Seff are coming up from Southampton together in a few days.”

Silence fills the room and YN rather enjoys it.

It wasn’t a silence that sounded eerily quiet and made anyone crave for noise; it was a silence that felt full because her little boy, her only boy, was home from university, home from living so far up north, and taking up his space in the house. It wasn’t anyone else’s to have. Irreplaceable. A space that had been left behind when he had packed up his belongings and had gone to stay in a dorm up in Manchester. A silence that the twins couldn’t fill, that Persephone couldn’t fill when she popped up for a night or two, that Gemma couldn’t quite fill when she popped through for a cup of coffee, that Harry couldn’t fill with... no matter how hard they tried, nothing seemed to feel right without Alfie.

She stood on her tiptoes and reached for three mugs of tea; one for her, one for Alfie and one for Harry because the floorboards were creaking upstairs so she knew he was walking around and dressing in something a little warmer to keep himself nice and cosy. The occasional sniffle and chesty cough echoing through the ceiling. To Alfie, he sounded rough but it was an improvement, so to speak. The china clinked as she set the mugs down on the counter, the kettle still whistling on its own as it boiled enough water to fill up three mugs, and she busied herself by gathering the carton of milk from the fridge and the sugar-pot from the middle of the kitchen island since Harry had left it there after sprinkling some upon his porridge that morning.

“Alfie-”

Alfie couldn’t help but dryly roll his eyes because she was speaking in that tone again.

The tone that screamed worrisome and concerning... and she had every right to be worried and concerned, and a little sad and upset, too. Because her son and his girlfriend had gone through something so terrifying, that not many teenagers would have to experience, at seventeen years old. A miscarriage was tough on anybody who had ever gone through that trauma but for a young boy and his girlfriend? Who had barely hit adulthood? Who weren’t quite independent and still depended on their parents to help? Who were so far apart from each other because of university?

He didn’t have the time to grieve properly and YN knew that, he didn’t have the time to cry properly and YN knew that and he didn’t have the time to take in what exactly had and was happening and YN knew that.

“Mum, I’m fine. Honestly,” he interrupted, half of a bitten carrot rolling between his fingers before he slipped it between his lips and chewed upon the orange vegetable. Eyes staring at the ground as he swung his feet, back in and back out, heels tapping the cupboard door beneath him. “Me and Ellie, we’re doing okay. At least, I think she’s doing okay. We’re not back to normal but, we’re doing okay.”

“Joan said that Ellie took it harder than she had expected. Said that her strong little girl was someone who looked like she had the world taken away from her,” she frowned, spooning two spoonfuls of sugar into the three mugs, upon the teabags that were set at the bottom, “it’s a whole kind of different upset when you go through something as traumatic as a miscarriage. It’s not like you lost a piece of jewellery or a shoe or your mobile phone. You lost a baby and it’s a huge thing to get your head around, as it is, but to lose what you were so excited for, it chips away at your walls,” YN sighed softly, spoon tinkling in Harry’s mug as she left it behind and walked across the stretch of empty space, leaning up to hug him. Her arms winding around his neck and he ducked down to hold her tightly, his face pushing into her collarbone, sighing heavily, “when you told us, god, me and your father didn’t know what to do. We felt angry because it was such a reckless move for you both but we felt happy and excited for you because babies are so amazing and they make you feel so great and you second-guess yourself but we felt so scared for you and for Ellie. Your futures would have been jeopardized.”

“We would have made it work, Mum,” Alfie informed her, pulling away and looking down. Her eyes holding a look of disbelief as he smiled warmly, “we would have, Mum. I would have given up everything to make sure Ellie had someone by her side. To know she was happy and looked after.”

“We raised you right, didn’t we, huh? You are your father’s little boy, to a T,” she sighed and pinched his chin with her fingers and thumb, holding his jaw with her palm. From the green eyes and curly hair to his gorgeous personality and stealthy height, no matter whether they were close or strangers, anyone would comment on just how alike Harry and his son were. How Alfie resembled the good guy that Harry had always proved himself to be; how he stood out in a crowd and how he lit up an empty room from just his laughter and his smiling face; how he was so kind and charming and respectful to everyone he came across, no matter how he was being treated. Anne had said it, Gemma had said it and YN had said it - “the world needs more Harry’s living upon it” and Alfie was one of the minimal number of blokes that could be categorised under that. “Everything we ever wished you would be, you are, and we’re so proud of you, Alf. We’re proud of all of you kids. You make us feel so lucky, every single day, to be your mum and dad.”

“Would I have been a good dad, Mum?”

YN’s face fell. Her palms cupping his cheeks and stroking under his eyes, wiping the moisture away, with her thumbs.

“If you’re anything like your father in that aspect, you will be an exceptional dad, sweetheart. The best father to your little ones,” she pressed a kiss to his cheek and swiped her thumb beneath his eye, “you’ll do just fine, I promise. You might have you dad’s charm and his witty behaviour but you’ve got my brains. All you kids have-”

“Heeeey,” Harry whined from the entryway, a rasp in his throat and a sniffle sounding around the room, “I’m smart, as well. Would like to think I have input in your brains, somewhere along the way.”

“Of course,” YN grinned, turning back to her son and winking, “dad’s pretty smart, too.”

There was something different about being back in London...

His family and his girlfriend and his best friends were there, for starters. The scenery was different in London than it was in Manchester; from the journey down, it changed from a city centre to plentiful countrysides before changing to a busy city centre that seemed much busier than where his temporary location had been. In an Uber on the way home, there were more streets than he had remembered driving down. From the balcony in m his parents’ bedroom, he could see street lamps that lined streets that were miles away in the distance and the town of Hampstead that was just a short walk down the road, to the left.

But there was a homely feel that hit him when he walked through the door. The feeling that was missing when he left London town.

“Here you are.”

Alfie lookee over his shoulder and took in the look of his bleary-eyed girlfriend, with two glasses of mulled wine in her hands, a warm smile on her lips.

“Wondered where you were. Said you went for a wee but never came back. Your dad thought you’d fallen in the loo,” she giggled, walking over to him and stretching an arm out, offering a glass of mulled wine to him, “are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m just thinking about things. Uni, bow this year went, you and me, our holiday next year,” he said, pressing a kiss to her forehead and taking the glass from her, “do you ever think about what life would have been like if-”

“If I never miscarried?”

Him falling silent was all Ellie needed to know that that was exactly how his sentence ended.

“I don’t know,” she murmured, taking a seat at the table and setting her glass down and gripping the lapel of her jacket, tightening the garment around her shoulders, “we wouldn’t be going on a holiday next year,” she smiled quickly before looking down at her lap and twiddling her thumbs, “we would have had a baby, Alf. Our own little bub. Our life would be so, so different and- and I wish they weren’t taken away from us.”

“It was cruel,” he muttered, leaning on the balcony and dragging his fingertip around the brim of his glass, “it wasn’t fair, El. Our baby, they were taken away from us so unfairly. So horribly. We never got the chance to see them or hold them, got to see who they looked like the most. We never got to become parents,” his voice sounded wet, eyes glistening under the light that came from the patio beneath them, “they gave us a baby and then they took them.”

“Oh, Alf.”

“Ellie, we were going to be a mum and dad,” he laughed bitterly. She stood from her seat, forgetting about her glass, and wrapped him in a warm hug, ducking her face into the warmth of his neck. Inhaling a deep breath, smelling the musky scent of his cologne before exhaling a deep sigh. Her arms tight around his middle as he squeezed her with one arm; his other making sure that his glass didn’t spill down her back. “I miss them.”

“I miss them, too,” she whispered, straining away and looking up, kissing his chin softly, “but there will be a better time. A better place to have a baby, yeah?” He nodded softly and pressed a kiss to her nose, “we’ll try again when the time is right, baby. We will.”

#blogmas 2018 #harry styles #harry #harry styles imagines #harry styles blurbs #harry styles prompts #harry styles concepts #harry styles writing #harry styles preferences

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rkxsungwoon-blog · 5 years

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☆ mga5 auditions ; june 14 ; hanlim multi art school ! — part five; second skill choreography: my my my! - troye sivan ( 0:03 - 1:01 )

it would be safe to say that dancing was once sungwoon’s ultimate nemesis. the bane of his existence. the joker to his batman. the one thing he, no matter how hard he tried, could not master. most days he didn’t want mastery over it, just to not suck. when he’d come to the second skill part of his audition last year, the thought of even doing his practiced routine made him sick with dread. he expected to fail before he even made an attempt, anticipating messing up the moves or falling out of sync with the music.

that persistent fear dogged him throughout the mgas, right up until his elimination. your dancing needs a lot of polishing. sungwoon would like to pretend the words didn’t hurt—if he accepted his own weaknesses before someone pointed them out, they theoretically couldn’t be used against him—but the comment about developing through hard work stuck. even though he told himself he was in a band and had no use for the skill, the criticism sat heavy on his shoulders and eventually propelled him into signing up for dance classes.

it’s almost been a year since his first beginner dance class. sungwoon still remembers the confidence boost he’d gotten once he realized he wasn’t the worst person there. learning new choreographies every week during the show had helped him somewhat, though he didn’t realize it at the time. the first time his instructor told him he wasn’t as bad as he made himself out to be in his head, sungwoon was floored. in retrospect, he credits that moment for helping him move past a major block he didn’t know he had.

(somewhat fittingly, the first choreography sungwoon worked hard to perfect was the stay performance from the mgas, the one that sent him home. his instructor didn’t understand why sungwoon was so attached to it, but sungwoon insisted he needed to overcome this obstacle before he could move on. and he did, so that’s one point proven—if only to himself).

he doesn’t think he’ll ever love dancing the same way he does singing. there are too many variables, too much he’s needed to work through, too much that doesn’t come naturally to him. and while he’s no stranger to hard work, singing is his refuge in a way dancing will never be. but he’s no longer afraid or waiting for himself to screw up. sungwoon’s fought hard to reach a point where he’s comfortable with his abilities. he understands what to do with them. hence the thought of the second skill improvisation doesn’t frighten him.

unlike some of the other people here, he knows what to expect after the break. the benefit of experience, he supposes, though sungwoon feels a twinge of guilt holding that knowledge as well. at least he and daniel did their best to make sure woojin, kenta, and minhyun were prepared for this. he’d feel awful if they were sporting the same terrified, confused, and anxious expressions as some of his fellow hopefuls. were they all this young last year too? half of them look like students at the school, not merely here for an audition. sungwoon almost feels bad for competing against them, but—well, he’s not going to leave either.

sungwoon spends some time scrolling through the playlists on his phone before his name is called. he’s not sure if he’s in front of the same panel of judges or not, but bows and quickly introduces himself anyway. “my second skill is dancing,” he explains, a wry twist to his mouth. no one needs to know how amusing that is except for himself, really. “i’ll be performing to troye sivan’s ‘my my my’,” he adds, before taking his position. the song choice is more fitting now than ever, perhaps, and that definitely helps him get into character.

from the first notes, he’s comfortable and assured of his movements. the choreography his instructor helped him come up with is not the most complicated, but sungwoon delivers it with confidence. smooth and polished, he still has to think about what he’s doing unlike when he sings, but it’s not the frustrating sort of tangled mess in his head. more than anything, he’s having fun with the music, with the choreography, and with his performance. a bright grin splits his face as he launches into the chorus. his expressions are matched to every line in the song and he knows that—no matter what his ability is—if he believes he belongs here, in this moment, other people will too.

sungwoon finishes just under the one minute mark, chest heaving as he maintains his ending pose for a few seconds before sinking into a ninety degree bow. with how much he’s been doing that all day, he’s surprised he isn’t permanently stuck in the position. “thank you for the opportunity!” is all he manages to throw out before he’s led out of the room and told he’s free to leave. he can’t really till minhyun’s done, so sungwoon gathers up his things and hangs around for a while, shooting a quick message to the empty enigma to ask if they want to get drinks and dinner. he needs to know how things went over at their audition venue, but sungwoon wants to unwind as well, just chill and hang out with his friends and celebrate their accomplishments.

he’d left dejected last time, vaguely ashamed at having ended the day on the terrible note of his dancing. this time around, sungwoon is exhausted, but it’s a pleasant feeling, one born out of a day’s hard work than anything else. he doesn’t know enough about how it went to be confident he’ll make it through—he hopes so, but nothing is ever certain with these kinds of things. there are thousands of reasons why sungwoon might not make it past this point. just because he did before doesn’t guarantee a repeat performance.

but god, he wants to, if no other reason that he’s not done yet. this is it: his last chance, his one opportunity to do something of this magnitude with his friends before real life has to set in. graduation, enlistment, the end of one dream and the beginning of the rest of his life… it’s daunting to think about. even if this amounts to nothing, if his future plans don’t change, sungwoon wants to go out with a bang and not a whimper.

he hopes he’ll be allowed to.

#rkmga5 #rkmga5audition5 #( c: solo )#( wc: 1074 )#( my shortest solo?? )#( but this is the last of them omg )

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juju-on-that-yeet · 6 years

Text

With Friends Like These, Chapter 3/5

Wow, something good happens, astonishing! :0 This isn’t much of a spoiler considering the first sentence of this chapter lmao

Tags: @spookyscarydarky @monster-king-gavin @chaotic-cri-art @peribloke

No warnings this chapter.

Read on AO3!

Read on Tumblr: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

Enjoy!

When Yandere wakes up, he feels foggy. His mind is swimming and he can’t open his eyes. For a long moment, he wonders if he’s dead.

No, if he were dead, he’d ironically be in a lot more pain. Not that he isn’t already in pain; the side of his face is throbbing, and his neck feels like he slept on it wrong for a hundred years. He moves his tongue around in his mouth and feels stitches, gauze, a few holes where teeth used to be, and something metal attached to his gums. He recognizes the groggy, numb feeling caused by morphine in his systems, making him drowsy. Eventually, he opens his eyes, and almost immediately closes them against the bright hospital lights. That’s when he hears movement from beside him, and then a voice.

“Oh, sorry hon, let me just…”

Yandere hears a few footsteps, then a light switch flicking off.

“There, that should be better. Can you open your eyes again?”

Yandere does, and he sees that the room is indeed dimmer. He also sees Dr. Iplier sitting in a chair beside his bed. Some of the tension Yandere wasn’t aware was in him drains away; he’s in the clinic, he’s safe. Dr. Iplier smiles at him and ever so gently strokes his hair, keeping his hand on the uninjured side of Yandere’s head.

“I’m so glad you’re okay, kiddo,” Dr. Iplier murmurs, “You were in pretty bad shape.” He shakes his head. “Skull fracture, shattered jawbone, concussion, missing teeth and lacerations, not to mention the bruising and the tear in your esophagus.”

That must have been the burst Yandere felt in his throat before, and the strange, uncomfortable sensation he feels in it now.

“I don’t want you trying to talk right now,” Dr. Iplier continues, “You wouldn’t be able to talk much, anyway, with everything going on here.” He gestures to the injured side of Yandere’s face. “If you were a human you’d never talk right again, but even as a figment, you’ll be recovering for a while.”

Yandere would frown if he felt he knew how to with half his face out of commission. He settles for furrowing his brow instead.

“I know, hon,” Dr. Iplier says in response, smiling sympathetically and giving Yandere’s hair a gentle ruffle. “I promise you’ll be able to talk a bit in a few days, but we’ll have to see how you heal. In the meantime, I did get this…”

Dr. Iplier pulls away from Yandere to grab something on the nightstand. Yandere is handed a plain red notepad, with small tear-away pages, and a retractable pen.

“I know you like red, so this was the best I could do without leaving the clinic,” Dr. Iplier says.

Yandere clicks the pen, writes something, and holds it to Dr. Iplier:

Thanks, Dad :)

Dr. Iplier beams, but also looks like he might cry.

“Aw, no problem, sweetheart,” he murmurs. He takes one of Yandere’s hands in his, the one not holding the pen, and brings it to his lips, softly kissing Yandere’s knuckles. “I love you so much, son.”

Warmth surges through Yandere’s body, overcoming the pain for a brief moment. It doesn’t escape his notice how careful Dr. Iplier is being with him. He can’t help but smile a little automatically, even if it stretches the bandages uncomfortably and makes his cheek ache. He uses his free hand to write on the notepad again.

<3 <3 <3

It’s about as close to how Dr. Iplier's words make him feel as he can get.

“You're too cute,” Dr. Iplier laughs, letting go of Yandere's hand. “Now, can you tell me what happened? I want to see if you’re experiencing any memory loss.” He pauses. “That, and I do actually want to know what happened. We walked into quite the scene earlier.”

Yandere's brow furrows again as he writes.

We?

“Everyone at the meeting could hear the noises coming from the dojo,” Dr. Iplier explains, “Dark and Google got there first.” He shakes his head. “They'd still be there yelling at each other if I hadn't shown up. They wanted someone to blame for what happened to you and Chrome, but they couldn't exactly ask you two what was going on.”

Yandere definitely remembers what happened. He begins to write, laying the notepad on his lap for Dr. Iplier to read each word as it comes. Yandere shudders a little as he writes, thinking about Chrome's hands around his neck and that damn kanabo he should've realized was loose from the wall.

We were sparring and a kanabo fell off the wall! It’s like a big baseball bat with spikes. It hit Chrome in the head and hurt him really bad. He started glitching and I think his objectives got scrambled or something? He got this really blank expression on his face, and he chased me down and fought me and strangled me! I probably could've defended myself because he kept glitching, but I didn't want to hurt him worse! Especially since I'm the one who slammed him into the wall, and I didn't notice the kanabo coming loose, and I tried to get help but he pulled me back to the dojo and I couldn't

“Hey,” Dr. Iplier says softly, placing a hand over Yandere's furiously scribbling one, stilling it. “It’s okay, it wasn't your fault. You can't predict the future, you didn't know all that would happen.” He rubs his thumb over Yandere’s hand as he continues. “I had a feeling it was some freak accident that got you two hurt.”

As much as Yandere feels comforted by Dr. Iplier's hand over his, he moves out if his grip to write again.

Is Aka-kun okay?

“Well, he’s not dying,” Dr. Iplier says, “But he's as bad off as you. The–” He looks at Yandere's notepad again. “–Kanabo did a number on him, according to the other Googles. It might take him longer to heal than you, just because of all the complicated parts he needs fixed and replaced. They probably won't wake him up until he's nearly repaired.”

Yandere writes again as a sinking feeling spreads through his stomach.

It hurt him that bad?

“It wasn’t just the kanabo,” Dr. Iplier admits, “There was also…well, I might get in trouble for telling you this, but Dark threw Chrome into the wall when he found you.”

Yandere whips his head towards Dr. Iplier, so fast it sets off a new wave of pain in his neck. The shock on his face is somewhat cut by his wince, but his feelings are clear all the same.

“In his defense,” Dr. Iplier explains, “Chrome was still strangling you when he got there. He wanted to protect you, but he certainly wasn’t gentle about it. Chrome’s head injury is worse, but getting thrown into the wall still did some damage.”

Yandere frowns, as much as he can with his bandages.

Are you sure he’ll be okay?

Dr. Iplier smiles sympathetically as he reads Yandere’s words.

“I’m sure he will,” he says, leaning forward and kissing Yandere’s forehead. “He’s even tougher than you are, and the Googles know what they’re doing.” Yandere continues to stare at the doctor expectantly, so he sighs and continues. “And his time was still blue, kid. If I thought he was dying, I promise I’d tell you.”

Yandere feels a lot better to hear that, but there’s still guilt lingering in the pit of his stomach. He can’t help but feel like the whole thing was his fault, that he should’ve seen that kanabo was close to falling. He could’ve stopped Chrome from getting hurt, and he could’ve stopped himself from getting hurt, too. And who knows how Chrome will feel when he wakes up? Will he even remember what happened? Yandere almost hopes he doesn’t.

“How about I let Dark and Wilford know you’re okay?” Dr. Iplier asks Yandere, snapping him out of his reverie. “Dark’s pretty worried, and Wilford, well…he’s not that worried, to be honest, but you know how he is. He’ll be glad to see you awake. Dark is out in the waiting room, and so was Wilford last I checked.”

Yandere gives a small nod. Hearing their names makes him realize how much he wants to see them, too.

Wilford ends up coming in first, hugging Yandere tight and practically lifting him out of the bed.

“There you are, kiddo!” he laughs, “I knew you’d be alright.” He pulls away enough to look at Yandere and wink. “Dark and Doc are old worrywarts, but I did my best to set them straight!”

“For God’s sake Wilford, be careful with him,” Dr. Iplier scolds, “The poor kid’s still healing; swinging him around like that isn’t going to make him feel any better.”

As happy as Yandere is to see Wilford and get one of his bear hugs, he has to admit that it’s made him pretty dizzy and set up a dull ache at the back of his head. The happy yet dazed expression on his face reflects that.

“Fine, Fun-Ruiner,” Wilford huffs, putting Yandere back on the hospital bed. Dark approaches as Dr. Iplier helps Yandere get back under the covers.

“Have a little decorum, Wil,” Dark sighs, “Yandere’s been through a lot today.” When he looks to Yandere, his gaze is warm, and Yandere’s heart flutters at the sight.

“Well, I’m gonna go back to my studio,” Wilford says, “Where I can do things without getting yelled at.” He pats Yandere on the head, miraculously avoiding his injury. “Get well soon, kiddo. Studio work is more fun when you’re there!”

Yandere beams, or tries to, anyway, as Dark and Dr. Iplier roll their eyes at Wilford’s petulance. Wilford teleports away, leaving the three alone.

“I’m glad you’re alright, love,” Dark says, giving Yandere a gentle smile as he sits in the chair beside his bed. Yandere scoots closer to him without even thinking about it, eagerly snuggling against him as Dark wraps his arms around him. Dark doesn’t make any sound, but Yandere can feel the chuckle rumbling through his chest against his cheek. Yandere can’t help his smile as he feels Dark kissing the top of his head. He then lifts his head to address Dr. Iplier.

“How is he right now? I’m already aware he can’t speak…”

“He’s on some pretty good painkillers, so the pain should be minimal,” Dr. Iplier answers, “Though, I wouldn’t say he’s comfortable. He hasn’t exactly complained so far, little trooper that he is.” He grins at Yandere, and Yandere returns it as best he can. He pulls away from Dark so he can write on his notepad again, tearing off the old page to start a new one.

I’m pretty sore, but it’s not too bad! It’s definitely not comfortable, no. Mostly because of all these bandages, I can’t even move my mouth that much without stuff pulling.

“Sounds about right,” Dr. Iplier says. He speaks to Dark again. “I told him already, but it’ll be a few days before he can start to talk. I’m not going to let him overdo it.”

“Good,” Dark replies. He looks back to Yandere. “I imagine you’re exhausted, so I won’t stay long.” He cups Yandere’s uninjured cheek with one hand, and Yandere feels it start to heat up with blush. “But I have to ask, love…what on earth happened?”

Yandere’s expression subdues as he takes up his notepad to answer. He’s beginning to realize how little he likes thinking about what happened.

A weapon fell off the wall and hit him in the head. It did something to his brain, his objectives got messed up and he didn’t recognize me. He attacked me and I tried to get to the control room, but he was faster, and I couldn’t defend myself without hurting him worse.

Yandere pauses for a moment, then scribbles on.

Speaking of hurting him worse, you didn’t have to throw him into a wall, Yami! You really hurt him >:(

“He told you about that, then,” Dark says evenly, eyes briefly flicking to Dr. Iplier before focusing back on Yandere. “I’ll admit that I was rather rough, but…” Dark takes Yandere’s hand, the one holding the pen, in his, and brings it to his lips. “…All I saw was Chrome on top of you, strangling you, and I simply reacted.” He lightly kisses Yandere’s hand. “Surely you forgive me, darling?”

Yandere blushes at Dark’s gentle touches, and nods with a soft smile. Dark lets his hand go, and Yandere writes again.

Of course I forgive you, Yami! <3 <3 <3

Dark smiles.

“I’m glad,” he murmurs, leaning forward and kissing Yandere’s forehead. “I’ll go and let you rest, but I’ll be back soon to check on you.” He bends slightly, towards the uninjured side of Yandere’s mouth, and so, so gently kisses the corner of Yandere’s lips. “Take care, love.”

Yandere, cheeks aflame, smiles as hard as he can and squirms in place, too charmed to contain himself. Dark chuckles before teleporting away, leaving Yandere with a warmth in his chest to contrast with the lingering chill of Dark’s aura.

“For once I agree with Dark,” Dr. Iplier says, approaching Yandere's bedside again. “You definitely need to rest right now. It'll help you heal faster, and…” Dr. Iplier grins. “…Let's be honest, there's not much else you can do.”

Yandere rolls his eyes at Dr. Iplier's cheeky smile, but he has to admit he could use a nap. He hasn't been awake very long but he already feels worn out and ready to sleep for a while. He snuggles into bed, getting as comfortable as he can manage with all the bandages on his face and head.

“I'll be working around the clinic so I might not be next to you when you wake up,” Dr. Iplier tells him, “But I'll check on you every so often, and you've done this song and dance before, you know how to get my attention if you need me.” His smile turns soft. “Sleep easy, hon.” He kisses Yandere's forehead. “I love you.”

Yandere is suddenly too tired to grab his notebook, but he hopes his own smile is enough of a “love you, too.”

A few moments later, Yandere is asleep.

#yandereplier #dr. iplier #darkiplier #markiplier fanfiction #markiplier #kristin says stuff #my writing #fanfic #i put a lot of character stuff into the way doc and dark interact with yan #there's a lot going on there #also psst: take a close look at dark's apology #or just ask me to elaborate lmao #i am That Guy who wants to explain their writing to people #not because i think you guys are dumb or anything #but because i just. really wanna talk about my writing #;w;

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chocopalustre · 6 years

Text

recovery

hi! im back with another lil bit of writing! i didnt draw anything for the nsfw prompt today but still wanted to do something for it, hence this fic! it is not nsfw tho skdfjsdlkf sssorry

day 3: caught in the act @yoosungweek

honestly its less Caught In The Act-y simply because i wanted to be mindful not to depict any explicitly damaging behaviors! i wanted 2 explore a lil bit of yoosungs depression which i feel like many people largely ignore hhhhh but id probably have to write Another fic to even feel like i did him justice in that respect. anyways! i hope at least someone finds this nice 2 read ;0;

words: 1827

warnings: slight angst, mentions of self harm

---

When Yoosung first found out, he hadn’t been entirely sure what to say. He was also a little confused; whenever you appeared in the chatroom, you always had your bright energy and genuine kindness in tow! He paused for a moment.

Then again, so did he.

But that didn’t dissipate his confusion; why would you would hurt yourself?

---

You had been dating each other for merely a few weeks now, but nobody could deny the truth that you and Yoosung were head over heels in love and devoted to one another. Following the first RFA party since you became the coordinator, you dedicated much of your free time to help with Yoosung’s recovery from his eye injury; you would drop him sweet texts every so often out of the blue and snap him pictures of you blowing kisses, hoping to lift his spirits. He had moped a little bit after being released from the hospital. It was obvious he was trying to stay cheerful, the following days filled with his playful whines lamenting how he wished he could see you with both of his eyes. But you knew behind his adorable pout, Yoosung was a little heartbroken.

He would have gone to Mint Eye and done the same thing a thousand times over, there was no question about that; however, he couldn’t ignore the guilt he felt whenever you looked at him with worry in your eyes, as if afraid he would disappear back to that ominous building, this time not returning. Try as he might to hide this from you, he knew you could see through whenever you shushed him and held him close. He loved you all the more for it, of course.

Yoosung discovered your habit of sleeping without pants one night, about a month after the party. You were finally spending the night with him, excited chatter exchanged between the two of you about what movies you should watch together and whether 11 PM was too late to order takeout.

He didn’t really register what it meant when you sought out the largest t-shirt he owned, making a bigger mess of his already unorganized drawers. Finally, you settled on an old shirt with a poorly rendered image of a dog on it, something he had been given after donating to his local pet adoption center. He debated whether he should find the matching cat one but was snapped out of his thoughts when you reappeared from the bathroom; he had to fight the flush rising to his cheeks at the sight of you tugging absentmindedly at the hem, almost missing your question about where the popcorn was.

He moved over to hug you then, unable to help it, and he sighed happily at your immediate return of his embrace. You quipped at him about the snacks, and he dutifully marched to the kitchen, gathering the appropriate junk foods while you set up your laptop. When he returned, you had settled comfortably into his bed, laptop in place and the beginning credits of the movie paused on the screen. He gave you a fond smile and hopped onto the bed into your open arms, placing the popcorn on the nightstand. He was too nervous to kiss you yet, though. He had to work up to that.

You started the movie and settled into Yoosung’s fluffy comforter, snickering a bit at his complaint that you were cuddling with your boyfriend’s blankets than your actual boyfriend. After a bit, you found yourself dozing off, Yoosung’s soft hands rubbing up and down your arms, soothing you into a near-sleep. You nuzzled into his chest, your legs thrown over his hips. Before you knew it, his movements had travelled downward and the rubbing caused the shirt to lift slightly.

Yoosung noticed the sudden stiffening of your posture, your body tensing up in his arms. What could cause such a shift in reaction?

He soon found his answer. The tips of his fingers were met with raised lines of scar tissue, the ridges a jarring contrast interrupting the otherwise smooth skin of your hips and thighs.

“MC…” Yoosung moved to sit up but found it difficult as you wouldn’t move.

“It’s fine,” you mumbled, face still buried in his chest.

Yoosung’s heart ached for you. He didn’t want to press and make you uncomfortable, but he didn’t want you to feel like he didn’t care, either. This was the first time since the bomb at Rika’s apartment that he had felt this worried about your safety. He had made sure to protect you then, and he wanted to be able to do the same now. Even if that meant protecting you from yourself.

He shifted to pause the now-forgotten movie, and you buried further into the blankets, hoping he would drop the subject. You peeked out at Yoosung as he turned around to face you, a small breath released from his throat. You avoided his gaze, and he frowned.

“MC, if you really don’t want to talk about it, I understand. But…” he trailed off, unsure of what to say next.

You feigned preoccupation as you played with the bedsheets, bunching them up just to smooth them down again. “There’s not a lot to say,” you mumbled, palms feeling clammy. After a particularly long stretch of silence, Yoosung tensed up, anxious if he should hold you close or give you distance. “It happened, and it’s done now. And I’m sorry, Yoosung, please don’t worry about it.” you finished quietly, closing your eyes for a few moments.

Yoosung shook his head imperceptibly, sad eyes flicking to your thigh before settling back on your dejected face. “Some of those look fairly recent, MC.” He tried to blink back his tears. How could he not have known? Where was he when you had needed his help?

“It’s not a big deal, I-” You paused and sighed, rolling to look up at the ceiling. Avoiding his gaze, afraid of his judgement, or maybe afraid of seeing disgust on in those normally caring eyes.

However, a sniffle and a hiccup made you turn to Yoosung in alarm, the sight of tears now rolling down his cheeks prompting you to sit up and move closer to him. “Why are you crying, Yoosung?” Your voice lilted higher in panic; you took his hand in yours, distressed.

Yoosung didn’t understand. He couldn’t fathom any reason for you to be hurt, let alone find a reason to hurt yourself. How long had you felt this way? He let out a choked sob, unable to stand the thought of you suffering. Gently, he squeezed your hands and pressed them to his cheeks. He looked at you with wet eyes, a glimmer attributed not to his tears but instead to a familiar spark of determination in them as he spoke his next words.

“MC, you deserve love and kindness. I… The next time you feel this way, I want you to talk to me. Please, MC. Promise me. I can’t stand the thought of-” He broke off with another meek sniffle, looking down at your trembling hands.

“I’ll try, Yoosung.” you whispered, resting your head on his shoulder.

“That’s all I ask, MC. I want to be there for you,” he murmured back, trying to slow his breaths. He didn’t want to cry, he wanted to be strong for you. To protect you like he wished he could have. Even if some of the scars had appeared years before you had walked into his life, he wanted to be the one to help them heal and fade a little bit in the future. He couldn’t make them disappear, and he couldn’t change the past, but he promised both himself and you that he would do whatever it took to ensure you didn’t feel like you’d have to do it again.

And suddenly, he realized that meant guiding you in a way that made you believe in your own worth. To surround you with love so genuine you couldn’t help but let it seep into your heart and allow you to feel it for yourself.

“You are so strong, MC. I love you, you are worth so much in this world. So much to me. And you deserve to believe it too, MC.”

“I… I want to try and believe that, Yoosung. I really do,” your voice trailed off with quiet trepidation. He opened his mouth to speak, but you cut him off. “I will, I promise. Try, that is. But on one condition-” Yoosung sucked in a breath, wondering what cost would have to be paid for an act he now realized would be extremely difficult for you. You gave him a reassuring smile. “Yoosung, I want you to be honest with me, too. I want you to tell me when you’re hurting, too.”

He blinked, tilting his head to look at you. “What do you mean?”

“Rika.” You paused at the name, gauging his reaction. “Mint Eye. School. I know that LOLOL is good, it’s fun, it brings you together with friends. But Yoosung, don’t you think… sometimes you use it to escape the pain you’re dealing with? Here?” You pressed your palm to his heart.

He looked into your clear eyes. The ache in his chest that he usually ignored and hadn’t felt in a while throbbed, a silent reminder. There you went again. His sweet MC always thinking about his well being before your own.

“I promise, MC.” he said fervently, heart warming at the sight of your smile.

He pulled you into his arms then, and you let out a giggle as he snuggled you into the bed. He fluttered kisses onto your skin, everywhere he could reach. He laced his fingers with yours, slowly bringing your hands to your hip. He was tentative when he kissed the fingers of his other hand before pressing them to the scars, but your soft breath and bittersweet smile let him know that it was okay.

The light of the screen dimmed, long forgotten as you murmured to each other soft I love you’s before slipping into a comfortable silence that led to sleep.

---

Yoosung understand a little better now. Even though it was painful to think about, he could connect with the blame and self-doubt that sometimes threatened to swallow you. It was also different, now, though, as you both tried to open up and be comfortable with the idea of relying on support, on accepting tender hearted words of care and love.

Yoosung looked over at you, typing away in the RFA chatroom, untroubled. You each had your own battles to fight, but you never had to endure the hurt alone, and when a large rush of gratitude washed over him, Yoosung couldn’t help but wrap his arms tightly around you and pull you into a firm, cozy hug. You laughed and playfully swatted his arm, accepting his kiss nonetheless, eyes shining.

“I love you, MC.”

#fic #yoosungweek #yoosung kim #mystic messenger

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endlessly-searching-for-you · 6 years

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Like I'm Gonna Lose You (2/4) (Jake x F!MC)

Summary: As their year and a day come to an end, Taylor and Jake find themselves reminiscing about their past and wondering about their future.

Rating: PG

Word Count: ~1,150

Author’s Notes: This is the second part of my "A Year And A Day" 4-part series. You can read the previous parts here:

Part 0: The Ties That Bind (it's not technically a part of it, but it serves as some kind of prequel)

Part 1: Don't Dream It's Over (NSFW)

It's set in my head canon AU where they made it off the island safely (well, somewhat safely) and even with a slightly bigger team. I stole the title from a song Like I'm Gonna Lose You, and I totally recommend listening to it to get into today's story mood :)

@cocomaxley, I’m tagging you at your request, hope you’ll enjoy this one too :)

I got lost in my thoughts and the landing was not as smooth as I wished. I could almost hear her soft voice, ringing with laughter.

“Hope you don't work for tips, Top Gun.”

I smiled at my memories. Well, to be honest, she had every right to doubt my skills after what I displayed on the island. We both knew the crashes weren't exactly my fault, but I couldn't blame her when she told me she's not going anywhere near the board of my plane ever again, even if she had to swim through the entire ocean or go barefoot through the jungle.

I wrapped my fingers around a ring I bought for her as an anniversary gift just before our fight. It wasn't anything fancy, but I didn't think she was the big stone kind of girl. When I saw it in the shop window, I immediately thought of her. It was a plain silver band shaped like a little crown and I just couldn't pass up the opportunity. She was my princess, after all.

Too bad we were nowhere near the happily ever after we promised each other.

I looked into the calendar to check my schedule and I froze. I lost track of time, drowning myself in work, flying to and fro between the various airports, trying so hard to forget, but the days passed anyway. I checked the date again on my phone, but there could be no mistake. Today was our anniversary.

***

Today was our anniversary. I couldn't believe I actually forgot it. If Diego hadn't texted me, the day would have passed just as any other. I was too ashamed to admit we fought so hard I basically kicked Jake out and there was no happy celebration he thought we had. I just texted him back with generic congratulations and wishes.

If I only knew the exact point when it started to go wrong. Maybe I could go back there and... I stopped and cursed myself. No, I couldn't. I had no more control over time. And I had no courage to say “I'm sorry,” either. I felt clueless and lost, and it wasn't a pleasant experience.

I tried to remember everything that happened over the last year. Maybe it wasn't such an utter failure I thought it was?

I knew we had some happy moments, I could see them right before my eyes. Our first Christmas together. The day when our son smiled for the first time and we couldn't believe how similar his smile was to Jake's. The pride and love in his eyes when he held the tiny bundle in his strong arms for the first time.

I brushed the tears from my cheeks.

The next memory that came to my mind was of us moving to our new house. When I saw it, I felt it was our home. There was no picket fence he so despised and it was barely furnished, but it was big enough to accommodate our soon-to-be family of three.

I tricked Jake into gathering the seashells for the path as he promised on our getaway, and it really took us almost a month. Well, we could have finished sooner, if we spent more time actually looking for the seashells instead of groping each other, but I couldn't complain about that.

Before we moved there, we lived for a while in his beach shack and shared a hammock at night. It was fun, too. I felt a little sad when we left — it was our first home, after all — but he told me there's time for everything, and right now it was the time to move on.

I kept searching through my memories until I reached the day of our final encounter with Rourke. That day I decided to listen to Vaanu and join myself with the rest of Island's Heart to save my friends and all they loved. That day I got back.

I remembered the pain I felt when I fell into million pieces, the confusion when I saw all the timelines tangling and merging together. I couldn't forget the fear when I started to doubt if my choice was the right one and the sudden darkness when everything disappeared. I still felt the emptiness inside me where all other pieces of me used to be.

I remembered waking up in a hospital bed with Jake pressed tightly to my side, his arms draped around my body as if he was trying to protect me from something. My stirring woke him up and he looked at me, his gaze intense.

“You're back. Oh God, Princess, you're back.” He grabbed my hands and kissed my knuckles.

I smiled at him. “Thought you can get rid of me that easily, huh?" I tried to joke, but the tears in his eyes told me he was dead serious. “I'm back. I promised you a year and a day, after all.”

Someone told me later that what felt like a split second to me was actually almost a day for them. He spent the day shouting, cursing, wailing, begging for me to come back to him, crying his heart out until there was nothing but an empty and broken shell left.

Perhaps sometimes the universe listens. I did come back. He kept clinging to my lifeless body until the coast guard arrived, and even in the hospital he never left my side, afraid I could leave again.

Yes, that was the day that changed everything. We never really talked about it, he wasn't the type to talk about his feelings. I tried a few times, but he always brushed my concerns aside with one crude joke or another, and I never fully realized how hard it must have been for him. Not until now, and now was too late.

I closed my eyes and rested my forehead on the table, letting my thoughts sink in.

One day he had everything. His best friend was back from the dead, the girl he fell in love with married him, there was a kid on their way, he could finally clear his name and reunite with his family. The future seemed bright and happy until the next day came and took it all from him.

I was so happy to be back, I didn't stop to think he was the only one of my friends who lost his promised future. Yes, there was another one in its place, but maybe — it was a painful thought and it never crossed my mind before, but it still was a possibility — maybe if he was given the choice, he wouldn't have picked this one. Well, even if that was not the case, I certainly didn't do much to make it the future worth having. I felt a pang of guilt for being so selfish.

Thank God, our year and a day were not over yet. I can still find a way to fix it all and get him back.

===

Click here for the next part!

#playchoices #endless summer #endlesssummer #endless summer jake #endless summer fanfic #endless summer fanfiction #jake mckenzie #jake x mc #jake x taylor #jake mckenzie fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #choices #choices endless summer #choices stories you play #choices fandom #choices fanfic #choices fanfiction

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pethfics · 7 years

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ZUTARA WEEK DAY 3: STEAMY

Title: Balm for the Burdened

Read on FF.NET

NOTE: A prompt like this could probably be interpreted in a more racy manner. But I'm not so daring so I took this lighthearted route. And this is also a topic close to my heart so I figured I'd incorporate it into these week's entries. It's a topic I've tackled in other Zutara stories but one that I never tire of.

Just a simple, short one-shot for today (a bit cheesy too) but I hope one still worth reading.

Enjoy!

@zutaraweek

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Firebenders made the best tea.

Katara had come to believe this after having benefited from it many times. It had something to do with the way they controlled the temperature of the drink, keeping it from being scalding hot but maintaining a warmth that kept the flavor of the tea leaves and gave the drinker a soothing sensation.

Iroh, of course, was the expert at this and the Avatar's group had often been grateful for both his advice and his excellent tea-making skills. But his nephew had inherited some of this talent from him albeit reluctantly, and whatever the younger firebender lacked in knowledge of the vast variety of teas in the world and how to properly brew them he made up for in the sincerity with which he prepared the tea for people. And that was what Katara appreciated most.

The first time Zuko had brought her tea was late at night when the group was staying at Ember Island.

The waterbender's worries about the fate of the world had kept her awake and she sat on the porch of the old house, trying to calm herself by watching the small waves crash against the beach. The moon had shone bright but for some reason neither the proximity of her element nor the power of the Moon Spirit helped calm the anxiety that plagued Katara.

But she tried her best not to show this to the rest of the group. She knew very well that they depended on her to be the strong, stable one, to support them all in their moments of doubt and crisis. If she showed them her own fear, they might falter and she did not want to be the cause of any distress. So she kept her agitation to herself as best she could.

And yet, despite all her efforts, her apprehension had not gone unnoticed.

The aroma of jasmine tea caught her attention and she turned to see Zuko bringing a small tray with a teapot and two cups. She was surprised but not displeased to see him. He was more observant that she gave him credit for and she now realized that she was not as discreet as she thought she was.

But she welcomed the company and knew that the firebender meant well. The both understood the importance of their responsibilities and she knew now that he was likewise burdened by guilt and regret over his past actions and his father's cruel legacy. Such deeply troubled souls deserved a balm even as simple as a soothing cup of tea.

She smiled as he sat beside her and began to pour the tea into the cups. He did so with such care and grace, as if this simple act was a sacred ceremony of sorts. He handed her the cup of steaming tea as if it was a precious gift and she received it gratefully.

She held the cup to her lips and breathed in the fragrance of the tea leaves, taking comfort in the warmth of the drink before taking a sip. It was deliciously soothing and she suddenly felt some of her worries dissolve inside her.

Zuko had not uttered a word in all this time, content to sit with the waterbender in silence. It was not that he couldn't think of anything to say but because he felt that no words were truly necessary in the circumstances. He was content to see that he had brought the anxious waterbender some measure of comfort.

"Thank you," Katara said softly, as she gazed with gratitude and appreciation at the person beside her.

Zuko nodded and gave her one of his rare smiles, and this show of warmth calmed her even more.

Who knew that spending time with a firebender could be so soothing? she thought. Or was it perhaps only this firebender who could assuage her fears so effectively?

For a moment she was tempted to move closer and lean her head on his shoulder but she resisted the urge. She would be brave enough to do so one day, and eventually they would lose all their initial hesitation. But this was only the first of countless occasions spent with them sharing tea and supporting each other. Over the years, it would become a most cherished habit.

For now, it was enough for them to be sitting there together in the middle of the night, enjoying the cool sea breeze, sipping steaming cups of tea, and taking heart in knowing that however uncertain the future was before them, they were not alone.

#Zutara Week #Zutara Week 2017 #ZKWeek #ZKWeek2017 #Zutara #Steamy #Balm for the Burdened #the moment I saw this prompt I just knew I had to write about tea #familiar territory sure but still one of my favorite topics #enjoy and please leave a review

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weedbong · 7 years

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also the guy that might move in is apparently just some twentysomething whos parents are paying his rent. funny how this rando is in practically the same situation we are (parents paying for living expenses, trying to get adult life started) and is being treated as a perfectly legit adult, while cat and i are treated as lazy parasites.

funny how as a young person starting from 0 my status to society as “young adult with a bright future” vs “worthless moocher” depends p much entirely on my parents willingness (and/or ability) to pay a few hundred dollars a month towards getting me on my feet. funny how even though i know it’s NOT my fault i’m in this situation of being unable to pay my own expenses, i’m still saddled with feeling useless and inadequate for not already having a job.

i’m only 18 my dad should be paying my bills no questions asked!! but fsr when i was forced to move out my dad decided that i wasnt his responsibility anymore so i guess not being a self sufficient adult at 18 is now my own personal failing?? ofc ive said it before, i really wish i had more support(financial or otherwise). but man seeing that random stoner kid get treated like a Real Grown Up by cats mom just becos his parents will pay rent while cat and i get guilt tripped regularly for being in ..the same situation as mr scooby snacks over here, really uh, burns my biscuits?? maybe im just complaining too much or being annoying but WAHHHhh!! why do i have to play on hardmode!!

#this feels slightly incoherent...should i put it under a cut? i hope i'm not stinking up my blog by complaining too much im rly sorry :/#p

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ryodan · 7 years

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SasuNaru and the pin hole

(semi anti ending but not tagged as such as its mainly pro, so beware..vv semi tho)

@sasuke-prevails

Okay, so I’d reblog your post with a reply but my computer always freezes up when I do that and try to add pictures and I can barely use the tumblr app as it is so gaaaah. Plus, I’ve always wanted to make this post debunking everything SNS claim anyways. So here you go. sorry about the wait, i was so lazy..sorry about some shakey images i have GAD

First off, I’d like to say that when I say I am a Naruto fan, I don’t mean the character. I mean, don’t get me wrong I love Naruto too, but I am referring to the series. I genuinely love this series despite all of it’s inconsistencies, I am late on the band wagon but I prefer that since it allows me to think objectively. SNS tends to view the series with what I like to call pin hole vision where the entire series is naruto x sasuke, they are the center bond because they represent everything the series itself stands for. They are not together all the time, they haven’t had the healthiest relationship but they’re the centre bond because as proven by the first and final battles in the VOE, both at the end of part 1 and part 2 respectively it’s a ‘it boils down to this’ type of thing. However, when I say I am anti romantic SNS it does not mean I am anti their friendship. Do I think its unhealthy? Some aspects of it, yes. Problematic, yes tbh.

These are good examples I think. Narutos worst fears early shippuuden were disappointing his comrades, and this. Why is is problematic on Narutos side? I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it

I’d like to mention what naruto as a series stands for, and always consistently stood for.

‘Nande?’

‘Onagi dakara’

‘why?’

‘because we are the same.’

-Narutos first bond, Iruka

‘Konoha o mamoroto tsuyui ishi’

‘strong will to protect the hidden leaf village.’

-Hiruzen

‘sato wa nanda?’

‘what is a village?’

-sasuke, ill get to it

‘Kono hi no ishi mote oru kagiri kono sato no mono wa subete kazoku sono mono nanja’

‘as long as one has this will of fire everyone in this village is family.’

‘Iruka sensei? Nande hito wa hito no tameni inochi o kake- ah fuck this translation takes too long im sorry omg

‘Iruka sensei why do people risk their lives for other people?’

‘When one person dies, their past , their present and their future disappears along with them----those people who die have dreams and ambitions, but everyone else has something just as important. Parents, siblings, friends, lovers..those who are dear to them. They trust each other and help each other—that string gets which connects those people gets stronger and thicker by time. It’s impossible to explain why, those who hold those strings just do it, because it’s important to them.’

‘yeah. Somehow it’s clear even to me.’

-Iruka and Naruto when Hiruzen died protecting the village

‘When someone has something they want to protect, their true power comes along’

-Haku

It’s because we help out when they’re in trouble that we can count on them to come running when we need it.

-Shikamaru, about Suna

‘If comrades that you trust gather around you, hope can take physical form and become visible. That`s what I believe...’

-kakashi, to obito

I won't allow my comrades to die. I'll protect you with my life. Trust me.

-kakashi

The next generation will always surpass the previous one. It's one of the never-ending cycles in life.

-kakashi

If you don't share someone's pain. You can never understand them.

-Pain

‘A long cycle of hatred humans have come to call history’

Just by living, people hurt others without even realizing it. So long as humanity exists, hate will also exist. There is no peace in this cursed world. War is just a crime paid for by the pain of the defeated...

-pain

Now there's something I understand a little better. Hate, sadness, even joy. To be able to share it with another person... Naruto Uzumaki. From fighting him I learned that. He knew pain like I did and then he taught me that you can change your path. I wish that one day I can be needed by someone. Not as a frightening weapon... But as the sand's Kazekage.

-Gara

People's lives don't end when they die. It ends when they lose faith.

-itachi

‘ill never let my comrades die, those words and the conviction behind them are not lies, because neji was able to store those words in his heart. Brother Neji died! It’s not just you Naruto, we all hold those words and feelings in our heart.That is what binds our lives together and makes us comrades. If we all give up those thoughts and feelings Nejis final act would have been for nothing. And that is when your comrades truly die.’

-Hinata

The pain of being alone is completely out of this world, isn't it? I don't know why, but I understand your feelings so much, it actually hurts.

-Naruto

That void is something that everyone helps you fill. Just because you face adversity and hardships, is no reason to give up on this world. A person willing to throw away all those memories... of their friends and comrades, will never find peace of mind. Resorting to something like that isn't going to bury that hole. If you persevere and endure, someone will be there to support you!

-Kakashi, to obito

I love sasuke. I love all of his bonds, and despite the shit he dealt with in the series he really does represent the message of the series really well…an atypical antagonist, an incredibly well written character who fills not only his shoes in the story, but the shoes of many other characters.

You say Sasuke offered his food to Naruto because he cares about him and I agree, empathy stems from care. But going by your argument.

Despite this

He did wait for her to wake up, also risking elimination and a halting of his revenge plans.

It’s important noting that before any of this, their goals were very self centered and none of them were playing by teamwork..except sasuke, who boasted that he was better than them to Kakashi, but was still the only one who linked them together, by feeding naruto and by saying the whole ‘we are a 3 man cell aren’t we?’

That’s another thing I love about this guy, he really brings people together despite the fact that does not talk for 98% of the series. Taka developed because of him and so did 7.

A constantly relevant theme.

the first mission bought light to what their relationships would be like very early on, and also imprints these guys as personal bonds based on friendship and affection that sasuke shares, a feat that no one else in the series was able to do aside from his family.

From the tree climbing exercise that combined their rivalry and their friendship to this moment that made a grown ass man cry

ENCOUNTER WITH FRIENDS WHO CAN EASE HIM FROM LONELINESS!!

【仲間】「それまで恋や友情に見向きもしなかったサスケは、ナルトやサクラと出会い、少しずつではあるが、仲間を受け入れ始める。サスケにとってナルトは、いつの間にか互いの能力を高め合う良きライバルとなり、また大蛇丸の邪悪な呪印にのみ込まれんとするその心を、サクラに救われたことも．．．」

↳ 【COMPANIONS】 Though until then he had taken no notice of either love or friendship, after meeting with Naruto and Sakura Sasuke begins to accept them as nakama, even if only little by little. In Sasuke’s eyes, before he even noticed it, he and Naruto became mutual good rivals capable of boosting up each other’s skills - and also, when his heart was about to be swallowed by Orochimaru’s wicked cursed seal again, he was rescued by Sakura…

‘as they go on countless missions together, he sees her strengths and weaknesses and views her as someone he needs to protect’

「呪印の影響で暴走するサスケを身を挺して鎮めるサクラ。サクラのサスケを想う心が、邪な力を包み込む。」

↳ Sakura willingly and bravely calms the rampaging Sasuke under the influence of the cursed seal. Sakura’s heart, thinking of Sasuke, devours the wicked power.

For Naruto who was considered a failure, Sasuke was more than an annoying guy who got the best grades: he was also the rival that won Sakura’s heart, for whom Naruto is in love …! That’s why he always gets annoyed with Sasuke

Sasuke, who only had power for revenge, becomes stronger because of his companions. His true place would have been a future among them.

Growing distant, towards darkness. The one to appear before him as he began leave was Sakura. To the back of a Sasuke that tried to avert from what was being left behind, Sakura desperately conveys her feelings. Bright and earnest feelings - feelings that did not want to lose Sasuke. The one who filled his lonely existence with the emotion called love was Sakura. But, as expected, Sasuke cannot respond to those feelings. Sasuke was only able to leave a single word of thanks as word of parting.

Friendship and love, a future filled with warmth. But as long as he is there, he cannot make his dream come true. This is why he throws away a future with his friends. To make dreams of revenge a reality…

As is confirmed by the databook.

Sasuke risked his life for them both, and he would have done it again no thinking what so ever, partly because he is a selfless person and also because they already imprinted on his mind. Sasukes relationship with Naruto is given a rivalry mixed with friendship context early on and my friend who had 0 to do with naruto burrowed volume one from me and in school while she was reading asked me if sasuke and sakura end up together, because authorial context is clear

In fact this scene builds up a very good argument I have for this ship that I will get to, where we first learn of his entire stance in the story and sakura is like? Mind you, this was at a time before sasuke ever spoke about these things to anyone…he made me cry is not something he ever told anyone other than sakura. She was intuitive to he him, even during the war when she had a feeling he’d start shit up early on.

You could argue he is blushing bc he is embarrassed… but he has had girls thirsting after him since he was fresh out the womb. ‘he came off stand offish’ well, yes naturally when a person is suffering from trauma and survivors guilt they tend to isolate themselves and become reclusive and irritable. Now, add the fact that the trauma happened at such a young age and you have a sasuke. But he still, took out the time to say he’s emo (a joke ofc)

The only ‘romantic context’ ever given to Naruto and Sasuke was the ‘accidental kiss’ which ended up like this

Over the course of the series we see Sasukes attachment to team 7, in the same context given before. Best friend and rival, girl he feels protective affection for.

however, the context between sasusaku was always romanticized

Part 2 : http://sasukeuchihayas.tumblr.com/post/160820240389/this-comes-full-circle-in-the-gara-fight-when

Part 3 : http://sasukeuchihayas.tumblr.com/post/160820241909/if-we-do-a-time-skip-to-after-the-akatsuki-arc

#sasuke #pro sasuke #sasusaku #pro sasusaku #pro sakura #pro naruto #pro kakashi #anti sns #pro sns brotp #lol this person blocked me #can u believe

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