#if nothing else this kind of reads like one of my guilt spirals and writing it out made me realize how batshit insane i must sound | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

alphabravocharliedelta · 3 years

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Therefore I Am | Russell Adler x Bell! Reader X

Series: Call of Duty: Black Ops Cold War

Therefore I Am | Russell Adler x Bell! Reader

Word Count: 7500+

[Chapter IX] [Epilogue]

Summary: After somehow reconciling with Adler, Bell and the team are left to continue their pursuit of bringing down the undercover spy ring, but it proves to be more of a challenge as Bell struggles to move on from their Perseus-affiliated past.

Content Warning: mature content, vulgar language, straight up agony, self-deprivation

Notes: I kind of tried to explore/experiment with Adler’s character in this one, it’s one of my favorite chapters (although a bit slow). The next installment is going to be the epilogue, so be prepared. Also, Writing’s on the Wall by Sam Smith. Thanks for reading!

January, 1984

New Jersey

Bell...

Bell!

Listen to me.

I need you to calm down and relax.

You're in the hospital, not in the lab. Remember the mall?

Good. You're in bad shape, and the doctors are trying to help you, so you need to listen carefully…

I need you to stay still.

It'll be over in a second, Bell. They're just going to sedate you, okay?

They're not here to hurt you.

When you wake up, I'll be right here. Just like I promised.

Yes, good.

See? You're fine.

It'll be over before you know it.

Adler watched as you stopped fighting against the nurses. Your hand released itself from a woman's scrubs before dropping back to your side, your stare never breaking contact from him.

“Strap them down,” one of them instructs.

He didn't even have time to object. It was apparent that you were frightened, and he couldn’t even begin to imagine what was going through your mind, and instead could only hope that it didn’t stir up any past trauma from before. The look in your eyes was something that stuck out the most— You were practically begging him not to go.

Just seconds ago, they exited the ambulance just right outside the ER. Everything was a blur as they struggled to tend to your injury while rolling you down the white halls. All the medical talk threw Adler's head in a spin, and he eventually became lost on what they were going to do with you. Any attempt to ask what was going to happen was ignored.

Then you suddenly awoke, petrifying both him and the nurses, and as a result, you began to freak out uncontrollably in paranoia, opening your wound even further. Adler immediately went to your side, pushing aside anyone in his way while he attempted his best to quell your confusion.

When you came through, he couldn’t do anything but witness the medical personnel get to work in the aftermath. The nurses scrambled to put pressure over your open laceration, causing you to wince. A sedative needle was stuck into your arm.

The urge to hold your hand arose once again as a result. He wanted to grasp it on his own, while saying sensical words of reassurance, and anything else to comfort you. In the end, he wasn't allowed to. His part was done.

Security guards then pushed the large metal doors open, and the medical personnel rolled you down the long white hallway as the main doctor spewed out instructions.

Agh, fuck!

What was wrong with him? Adler immediately regretted the decision of staying behind. His feet that were stuck in place started to move on their own, about to follow them, only for the two officers to step between him and the door. He could only stand idly as it closed on its own, leaving him to peek through the tiny rectangle window.

"Sorry, sir, but only authorized personnel are allowed beyond this point."

"I'm part of the CIA—" He digs in his pockets, looking for his identification, only to be stopped by a hand. The look in their eye was condoling, and it only made him feel worse.

"Even so. Please, just let them do their job."

You'll only be a burden.

They didn't even need to say it.

0000

Adler was exhausted from the mall operation, with muscles aching. After the hospital staff parted with you, he was escorted to get some proper treatment. His face stung as they wiped his face clean and strung some cuts closed, but he could only stare at the wall in defeat.

With each step he took, he could feel his strength leave. Leaving the room, his face was covered with various sizes of padding, and a few of his fingers needed a splint. The rest of the squad didn't obtain any serious damage either; although the operation nearly cost their lives. It was a wonder as to how they all made it out in one piece.

Adler attempted to make his way to your surgery room, only to be once again stopped by more staff. Why couldn't they just let him see you?

Waiting for any news about your condition was gruesome, just breaching hour three before Adler was forced to leave. Tight lipped and firm, everyone that he encountered reminded him that he wasn’t even allowed to be there with you, and was instead situated out in the waiting room on a cold, cushioned chair. And when they ended visiting hours, he was made away from the premises, and returned to the team’s temporary base of operations just at upstate New Jersey, where everyone else awaited his arrival in the gathering area.

"Well?" Woods demanded. "How's Bell?"

"Don't know."

The first thing that stood out was the tone. Why did he sound so distant? It was like he had lost any hope for your recovery, and was already mentally preparing himself for isolation, as if you were already confirmed dead. It made Woods' blood boil. That apatheticness was the same he heard prior to the mission, and it continued to persist. Had he no shame?

Repulsed by the thought, he seizes Adler by the shirt.

“Woods—” Zenya attempts, only to be held back by Bulldozer, who shook his head. They both watched as Woods shoved their leader against the wall.

"How fucking dare you!" he seethed. "You lectured me about letting Bell run through the line of fire, yet here's your sorry ass back at the compound. Bell needs you, and yet you return here."

"I don't have authority to stay overnight, Woods." Adler pries the hand off of him. “Staying would just cause unwanted attention.”

Woods scoffs. “'Unwanted attention'? Cut the bullshit, since when did you care about that?” He flicks his hand multiple times in an attempt to get feeling back to his fingertips. Adler’s grip was way tighter than he estimated. “Fuck that. The moment you’re allowed back there, I better see your sorry ass next to that hospital bed."

He storms off.

"I'm sorry, Adler," Zenya utters empathetically.

"I had it coming."

It took a few hours before Adler got the appetite to eat again, but even then, food that once tasted good presented itself to be bland and discouraging. During times like these he would have thrown it into a container later for anyone to grab, or even offer it to you if you were still hungry, but he just slid the remains into the trash.

He crashed the moment his head hit the pillow but the horrors of recent events followed him through his dreams. Three hours later he was shocked awake, the bed sheets and his own shirt sticking to his skin thanks to sweat. Adler could only stare blindly into the pitch black darkness of his resting quarters with an arm thrown over his forehead, thinking why everything always went wrong.

Maybe he shouldn't have stuck with the plan. Adler should have instructed someone to investigate the shops and restaurants upon entering the mall instead of everyone following the damn beeping noise. But, there were only four of them, and it turned out that they were outnumbered by a long run. They should have brought more people instead of Hudson's team on standby. It was lucky enough that Woods found you when they got separated, but CIA reinforcements took a while to arrive, and by then you were already—

Enough.

He tried not to dwell on it whenever he was awake, but it didn't help that whenever he washed his hands, he could only remember the extreme warmth of your blood that coated them. The first time he purged his hands in water post-mission, it felt like the red would never disappear, spiraling down the drain in a never ending cycle. As a result, he scrubbed slightly more vigorously at his already dry and callused skin, and every following instance he did, he would always think back to the mall.

There was the light that seemed to fade as he watched your lids fall to a close, and the limpness of your hand as he tried to let it cradle his cheek. How you didn't even flinch as he continued to apply pressure over your stomach. His once pristine orange scarf now turned an entirely different shade. The crimson that continuously kept pouring out like a leak, with no signs of coagulating or stopping—

Stop. Everything's going to be fine.

For a man great at reassuring others, it did nothing to benefit himself.

The bathroom was just an opportunity for his survivor's guilt to come at him. Even if it was a place of weakness, Adler would still open the fucking door and walk in even if he didn't have the need to. It was the only place he could really wallow in pity without the concerned gazes of others. They didn't need to know.

After washing his hands, he would then throw water onto his face before drying it with a towel. His eyes would drift up to the mirror, focusing on the stripes on his face. The scar was just another part of his character (nothing special about it anymore) but it was on this occasion that he would stare at himself in the mirror.

What did you see in him? There was nothing about him, that he believed, that it was worth sacrificing your own life for. You didn't need to do it.

Adler knows clearly that he already caused you more than enough trauma, and even so, you were gracious enough to once again work side by side with him. An additional bonus of platonic activity was thrown in there as well. It was all he could have asked for but, at the same time, within the deep depths of his mind, he knew he didn't earn the honor of any of it. Yet he acted against that, taking another shot at intimacy with you.

So, why?

Just what was it about him that compelled you to commit yourself as a sacrifice? You did the exact same thing in 1981— you aimed your sidearm at him, yet never fired, even with the skill to.

He couldn't understand you, nor could he comprehend how you managed to make him feel in such a way.

Did he even deserve to see you? He failed you. He couldn't protect you.

He was—

No.

He is a coward.

"Fuck!"

A fist met the mirror, creating a web-like system on the glass.

Adler's reflection crinkled, segments of his face becoming misaligned. Tiny shards fell into the sink as he ignored the stinging pain at his knuckles. It was nothing compared to what you have gone through and he didn’t even dare to flinch or complain. Unable to bear the sight of his own patheticness, he shut his eyes, and a single tear fell and rolled off the side of his face, unacknowledged.

There were very few instances that these types of emotions would be let loose from its bottle, and this time he couldn't even compel himself to screw the cap back on. He could feel his throat begin to constrict as more tears dared to form, so he held his breath, trying to force it back down like all the other previous times.

Woods was right. Adler should have fought tooth and nail just to stay at your side, and to be there right behind the doctors as they operated on you. This was probably one of the most petrifying experiences of your life, and he wasn't even there to support you through it. He didn’t take the opportunity when he subjected you to the injection, and when the second chance rose, he didn’t even bother to fight for it. Third luck was the charm, but to wish for such an event was anything but.

And if you were to die in that hospital while he's lounging about back at this makeshift base, then everything you both built up during these past months was all for naught. He wouldn't even have the chance to say goodbye before your final breath.

With that, a single notion came into mind:

How long would it take before he unintentionally abandons you?

It was a question he couldn't even answer, and a shy knock coming from the closed door behind instead.

"Adler?" Bulldozer's voice comes through. "You good?"

Snapping his eyes back open, Adler turns on the faucet, pulling away from the mirror and running his knuckles under the water.

"I'm fine."

He was fine being alone, but being lonely was different.

0000

“We headed into the mall. The doors were blocked off, so Jones had to breach it. Right in the middle of the place was the collection of the Nova Six, rigged to explode.”

General Haig sat across the table, drumming his fingers on top of a blue folder. Placed nearby were matching files of reports and collected evidence from the Pines op. “How many?”

Adler shrugs, withdrawing an irritated huff from being let out. “I couldn't get an estimate. They were everywhere.”

Even with the unsatisfactory answer, Haig didn’t falter. “The operation after-action report states that the Nova Six canisters were successfully disarmed. You reported that Frank Woods had thrown a knife, which lodged itself into Kuzmin’s skull.”

It wasn't Woods that did the deed, but there was no need for correction. All credit would have been given to you, but your current existence was listed as MIA, and Adler fully intends to keep you a secret until he had the full capabilities to forge the documents needed to make you a genuine CIA special operative agent. Until it happened, he was going to shield you from any further authorities. Already he had to draw a line with Emerson Black with the follow up email, and he would do it again if someone ever decided to poke their nose into your business. It was the least he could do for you.

“Hudson made it clear that the orders given were to prioritize the gas, Stitch being second,” Adler responds overtly. “I fail to see the issue at hand here.”

“There was failure to confirm Vikhor Kuzmin’s body. It wasn’t there during the final run over.”

He takes a long drag of his cigarette, before exhaling the plumes of white through his nose. It was his third one within the span of ninety minutes. “Your point?”

“The point is that he could still be alive. If there’s no body to recover, then where do you suggest it is?”

Fishing through the mass of folders, Adler plucked out the most recently dated one. It appeared to have never been opened, the paper clips still fastened at the top, holding everything together.

“Sir, with all due respect, I find it improbable that a man who took a military-grade knife to the forehead would be walking about. And for someone that’s the General of the U.S. Army—” he condemns, flipping through the contents. He stops at one of the plastic bags secured between a few papers. Opening it, he takes out the one on top before tossing it on top of the table. “—You clearly don’t look through everything we give you.”

It was a photo of Stitch, who laid sprawled on the ground with the murder weapon right where you chucked it into. The colors were a bit dark with low saturation, but it was possible to depict the unmistakable build of Kuzmin. Haig returns a look of bewilderment as he plucks it from the desk. “When did—”

“One of Hudson's men happened to have a camera on them. This was before the clean up crew came in an hour later. It took a bit to process, given everything else we needed to wrap up, but I believe that should answer your question.” Adler leans back in the chair, gaining some pleasure seeing Haig’s confliction. “Happy?”

To be called into a room to have a meeting with the General of the U.S. Army, only for it to turn into a mini-interrogation, wasn't taken kindly by Adler. He was already in a labyrinthine state, and to be subjected to useless questions that could be answered if someone simply knew how to use their eyes didn't help his mood. It was already difficult enough holding up the image of a functioning being that wasn’t on the verge of snapping.

"Your methods are, like always, unconventional," Haig finally lets out, setting the photo back down. "I suggest you tread these waters carefully, Adler. Your reputation may be great, but there's only so much we can do to keep you out of the light of the public."

"For you to think of me in such a way is an honor on its own, sir. But, your preferences have been noted for consideration."

He receives an apprehensive glare. "This isn't a subject we can afford to—"

A knock came from the dark brown door behind them. After a few seconds, a man in a suit enters and holds a phone out to Adler. "It's for you."

He raises an eyebrow, tapping his cigarette out on the tray in front of him before taking the call. "Adler."

Haig could only wait and listen to the short and abrupt statements Adler delivers to the person on the other end. Whatever the context of the conversation was, his face didn't even contort, remaining stone-like with a couple nods. The call lasted half a minute before Adler hung up.

"Well sir…” Handing the phone back, he rubs the cig out before placing his hands on the wooden desk, pushing himself up to a standing pose. "As much as I would love to continue our talk, it seems that it'll have to be cut short.

"We're not finished yet, Adler."

"I got you the results you wanted. There's no need for further discussion." Adler slips back into his coat, making a beeline to the door that was held open for him. He turns to Haig at the last minute, as if to add further insult to injury. "Now, if you excuse me, I have someone to visit. Adieu, sir. Have a wonderful fucking day."

0000

Adler walks up to the front desk, flashing his CIA badge. The receptionist nods, flipping through the stack of papers on her clipboard, before handing it to him. After filling out the forms, he makes his way to the direction the doctors last rolled your gurney through before he was kicked out.

"Wait, sir!"

He freezes in his tracks, before pivoting back around back to the desk, where the lady from before looked at him sheepishly.

"Is something wrong?" Adler asks. He hoped to whatever god was out there that nothing had happened while he was out. If something did, Black better cross his fingers that he wasn't going to retire on the spot. There was enough bullshit as is.

Fuck! What if something did occur?

A string of swears began to fill his head as his heart began to wrangle itself at the mere thought of you passing. The call he had earlier said the surgery was finished and you were stable enough, so there shouldn't be room for speculation. But, on the chance that something did happen just mere minutes ago right before he arrived—

"We moved them to a new unit."

He releases a long sigh, not realizing he held his breath. Adler nods as a thanks, while silently cursing them for the build up as he strides towards the direction they pointed to.

Fast forward a few minutes later, a couple of wrong turns, and resisting the urge to just yell, Adler now stood under the doorway of your assigned hospital room. There was no nameplate, or any other bed. It was just you in the center as a nurse quickly catered to your form and filled out the chart on the clipboard.

He lingered for a moment, watching them work. The doctor came in shortly after, explaining what happened during your surgery, and he nodded along silently.

You were unrecognizable at first glance with half your head covered, still sleeping under the mass of bandages that covered your body but his own dog tags gave away that it was you.

You had his dog tags with you? And wore it?

The nurse and doctor take their leave and he sits next to your bed in one of the chairs. You didn't stir at his presence, not awake, but it was understandable.

As time elapsed, Adler spent it watching your chest rise and fall at a slow even pace with the assistance of a breathing mask. His hands flipped the cassette tape in his hand anxiously, observing for any signs of you waking up.

Your figure looked so frail against the medical equipment around you. Half of your head was wrapped up in bandages, covering up your left eye. Crawling out underneath them was a long gash that went down your face, sewn to a close with medical thread. It shook him to the core, just looking at the state of you. He's seen worse injuries, sure, but seeing you lying down on the hospital bed was different.

There were so many things that were left unsaid between you and him. It took him a while to realize it, but he eventually came to terms that he was starting to develop feelings for you. It was something he hasn't felt for the longest time. Adler couldn't pinpoint exactly where his love for you started to bear its fruit, but it was clear to him that you meant something to him. And that kiss you shared was proof of it.

All those missions you went on with, he automatically knew that you both were a dynamic duo. As you had his back, he had yours. How you were just able to tell what move he was going to take next, or how easily you adapted to a change of plans was something he had admired about you. It was extremely upsetting, knowing that you had both met under unfavorable circumstances, but he had no choice back then.

The mission came first.

That's what Adler always told himself. It was the words he lived by for the longest time he was on the force. Many sacrifices had to be made, many soldiers left behind, but in the end it was a stride towards keeping America free.

You were originally just some Soviet that was converted into a little science project. Everything he learned, every motto he always followed, only to face the fact that he's become blind, driven by the force to stop Perseus— Whatever it takes. That's why he followed through it all. Yet, at the same time, nothing could have warned him about the magnitude of influence you would come to have on him. With your simple existence, it made him doubt those beliefs of patriotism. Your willingness to so easily challenge orders, or your determination, no matter what the circumstances, changed him. The longer he worked alongside you, the more difficult it was to hide his feelings. Adler came to care about you, despite you being the enemy.

And he didn't know what to do.

It was the same confliction he felt after executing you on that arctic mountain. The CIA was something he devoted his life to, and for Adler to choose his job over love, and everything else he once cherished, was nothing short of easy. Leaving behind those types of emotions became less difficult over the years, as the things that he threw away for the sake of freedom never came back to bite him in the ass. If there were another alternative than MKUltra, he would have taken it, but he still stood by the decision and was fine if you are never able to forgive him. Shooting you on that cliff took a lot of willpower, but he had to do it.

So, the moment he laid eyes on your figure after two years, the moment he let you cave his face in, he couldn't think about anything else but you. Adler had to come face-to-face with the results of his actions, and from that point on it was always about you. You were no longer the person he left behind. Your act in the mall was the representation of the person you have grown to become, and what you were willing to do.

Whatever it takes.

It was beyond his understanding as to how you were even to move, much or less stand. The injuries that you sustained were way worse than you presented it to be, and yet you toughed it out, and managed to pull yourself together. You saved his life.

And, despite everything he's done, he was let off with a slap of a wrist, while you always seemed to receive the punishment in his stead.

Now, he could only fiddle around endlessly with the cassette tape in his hand, flipping it over and over, sitting in a chair as he waited for you to stir. Adler never really did thank you enough for the things you do for him (when was the last time he did?). With that, showing his appreciation immediately skyrocketed to top on the list of "things he should first say when you wake up."

Except you never did.

You never woke up.

He waited patiently each day at your bedside as if a dog was waiting for its owner, ready to be there the moment your eyes fluttered open. Adler had to convince multiple people to even get consistent access to your room, and did what had to be done in order to avoid getting penalized for overstaying. Days turned into a week, and then one week turned to two...

You were still sound asleep in the comatose state, giving out no indication of coming back to consciousness.

Whenever there was an opportune moment, Adler would jump into the car and drive to the hospital. He would make frequent mental notes on the songs that played on the radio as he pondered which ones you would like. Lyrics was something he didn’t pay much attention to originally, but now it was something he found himself reciting and playing back.

For someone stingy like him when it came to money, Adler was quick to head to the gas station every few hospital visits. The nurses, receptionists, and cashiers from the ER and nearby stores had already adjusted to his spontaneous appearances, giving him a pitiful nod each time.

Each paper he filled out, whether it be work related or visitation requirements, Adler lost motivation to think about it thoroughly. Sure, it served as a great distraction, but once it left his hands, reality swooped back in.

How many times did he walk in and take a seat on this old creaky chair?

A knock came from behind. Looking back, Adler sees Lazar standing at the door with a handful of balloons. He was wearing a dark green scarf with a dark grey vest jacket and black jeans. Dark circles were under his eyes as well, it seems like no one had gotten some sleep since the mall.

"You came here lookin' like that?" Adler muses loudly.

"C'mon Adler. Like you look any better."

He was right. Adler hadn't gotten as much sleep as he wanted ever since he first arrived at the hospital with you. Nor has he shaved the past few days, only taking time to half-ass his hair for a pathetic assurance to others that he was perfectly fine. But, how could he, knowing that you were practically playing roulette with Death? The mere thought of you never waking up, or never seeing you again scared him.

Lazar walks over to your bedside table with the balloons trailing behind him, and Adler watches in small amusement as it dragged along the roof. "How'd you even get in here?"

"Told them I was Bell's brother."

Adler shakes his head with a dry chortle, at least finding some humor in his colleague’s words. "You two look nothing alike."

"Good thing the desk lady was old then." Lazar's eyes lingered on your bedridden form, and a pang of regret hit him. The image of you back at Pines was ingrained in his memory, and it was awful. "Anything new?"

“Same old. You?”

“Could be better.”

Unable to find a good place for the balloons, Lazar just ties it to the side of your bed. You didn't stir a bit, the only signs of life being the constant beating of the heart monitor and the fogginess of your ventilator mask. A tense silence instilled itself in the room.

"The rest of the team is worried about you," he relays somberly.

"They shouldn't be."

A part of Lazar partially blamed Adler for all of this: he was the one to kickstart your entire spiral down the pit of chaos, and for things to turn out the way it did was thanks to Adler's part of incapability to go against orders. If he never shot you on the cliffside, would you now have been lying in a comatose state in a hospital?

There was something with your eyes, he noted, that seemed to glimmer brightly and confidently despite the horrors you've both been through. Yet, behind it was the cold, dead feeling, with nothing but a shell of your original self, now filled with the horrors of war and leftover remains of brainwashing.

Lazar sighs. "We're always here to talk, you know."

Albeit at the same time, he couldn’t bring himself to constantly project his anger at Adler. He must have been suffering in his own way as well. Their leader was a mess during the exfil, and Woods had to pry Adler’s hands away from your body just so they could put you on a stretcher. There was a collective inaudible agreement amongst the rest of the team members that to see him in such a state of distress and defeat was something they should tread carefully on.

"I think I'm good."

Yet for a guy who acted in such a way then, Adler sure didn’t do much to comfort himself. As far as Lazar knew, Adler didn’t even mention your name or have an outburst, as one should in his position. Those that approached him had to lead the conversation and get specific with questions. Everything was so complicated when it came to Adler, and the easiest solution for people like him was to just suck it up and keep it all in.

"How can you just sit there?" he blurts out in frustration.

Adler raises his eyebrows. "What are you on about?"

"Are you a brick wall?" Lazar lets out an irked groan. "Cry, hold Bell's hands, go talk to them. Anything but just sit there, because moping around and feeling guilty isn't going to help anyone. So do everyone else a favor, and just spit out whatever you want to say to Bell. At least spare them the courtesy of waiting for you."

Adler sat, appalled to hear Lazar berate him in such a way. "Are you suggesting romantic relationships on the job? If that's—"

"Who cares?" he interrupts. "Stop avoiding it, I see you. Just because you made some shitty decisions in your lifetime doesn't mean you get to die alone. Bell likes you, Adler. And I know you do, too. And you're just killing us here by not acting on it."

"I don't like them."

Did he just say that? How could he lie through his own teeth? Why was he acting like this?

Lazar throws his hands up and rolls his eyes. "Your fucking kidding me. The entire safehouse knows how you two look at each other."

How do I look at Bell?

He clicks his tongue at the thought. "No idea what you're talking about, Lazar."

As far as Adler knew, there wasn't any prolonged staring or obvious daydreaming that would indicate to the team members that he, to an extent, coveted you. What, then, gave it away? Did they catch you with his belongings? Or maybe it was the time when he tagged along with you to the practice range… No, it had to be the one where he shared his dinner with you back in October. So much happened within the last quarter of 1983 that he lost track of the time. He made sure to restrain himself, therefore lacking in deep physical affection other than bumping hands or shoulders because he was secretly afraid of it developing into something more.

Yet, now he came to realize that he came to crave a bit more than just passerby contact.

"Face the facts, Adler. Enough lying to yourself. You can put up this nonchalant and detached character for all I fucking care, but you know damn well that there's no way to avoid those feelings inside of you." Lazar's voice softens up, "Don't become the monster they make you out to be.”

Before they're gone.

He never got the chance to get that drinking date with Park. No drinking the beer she called "horse piss". Lazar didn't even have the chance to fully confess what he thought of her, only leaving it up to the flirtatious attitudes and conversations that continued to bug the rest of the crew. And now, with her gone, there was that loose end that will never be finished, leaving him to deal with whatever he could scavenge.

And he didn't want Adler to go through the same thing.

“...Monster. Huh.” That was a title he hasn’t heard for a while.

Even then, what would Adler talk to you about? There was nothing about himself he found interesting, nor did anything of importance stir up as of late. Bringing up work related subjects was contraband, so that would leave civilian life and whatever he did in his free time.

Lazar notes the struggle, retracting back his anger. "Don't think about it too hard. Why don't you read a book out loud or something? Actually, Bell likes music right? How about you sing—"

"You did not just suggest that I sing, Eleazar."

"Hey, it's all up to you. Maybe Sims still has that radio he tinkers around with."

The radio was the one no one was allowed to touch. But, Adler could perhaps find a way to convince his friend to hand it over. "I'll think about it."

"Like I said. If you need ideas, just ask." With a satisfied nod, Lazar takes a look at his watch, only for his eyes to widen. "Shit, papers are due. Did you—"

"I already submitted mine."

"Damn it, and no reminder?" Lazar heads towards the door in a rushed manner, tugging at the ends of his jacket to tighten it over his chest. Lazar pauses right under the frame, shooting Adler a final look. "Do you want me to bring you anything, or…?"

"No." Adler pauses. "Actually, wait. Since they're sending a few people back to the warehouse, tell them to find Bell's jacket. The black bomber. Fairly new, started being worn after Christmas. There's fur around the neck and inside—"

"I know what it looks like. Isn’t that the one you gave them?"

Such an article of clothing was hard to forget and easily identifiable with the patches sewn onto the sleeves. It became commonality for you to wear it every time you had to go out, and with the frequency of its use, it was almost like it was specifically made for you. The jacket practically became a must-wear whenever you left the safehouse.

"...Don't you have papers to tend to?"

Lazar gives him a cheeky grin, savoring the small victory for putting Adler on the spot, before exiting.

0000

"Hey. You're back early."

Adler sheds his jacket, before tossing it over his shoulder to let it hang. "Just came to pick up some stuff."

"You holding up okay?" Sims asks, holding out a styrofoam take out box to him.

"Couldn't be better."

It was an obvious lie, but Sims didn’t pry any further.

The whiteness of the hospital was starting to become an eyesore, and sitting in a chair sulking wasn't going to get anything else done. Adler could wait by your side as long as he wanted, but the world around him moved on, and he needed something to occupy himself. He prided himself in the inability to get bored easily, yet sitting in that hospital with no changes did some damage to his sanity. Seeing how there was little to nothing left he could do for you, he was left with the choice of paperwork or seclusion.

He would take that time to drive around the neighborhood, staring at the city night lights as rush hour traffic started to dwindle. This time, after refueling gas, he returned back to base at around 7 p.m..

To have such emptiness follow him around was draining. Everything he did felt like routine, just letting a ghost lead him around to wander about while he submerged himself in overthinking and brooding. It wasn’t healthy by all means, but it made time pass in a blur. Three weeks wasn’t much in a long run, but in the waking moments it felt like an eternity.

“Where’s everyone else?” Adler inquires, taking a bite.

“Just down the hall, drinking. Since you're here, though…” Sims hands him a medium sized shipping box. Setting down his dinner and rummaging through it, Adler found a book, the radio, and your jacket, folded neatly and recently washed. “Don’t break my goods now, I spent a good chunk of my time fixing that player.”

“I'll think about it. What's the book for?”

“So you don’t get bored. Are you going to join us for a couple shots?”

0000

It was morning. The sun that just made it out of the horizon gave the skyscraper windows a nice white glare while a light drizzle came from above. With the hospital window open ajar, Adler leans on his elbows placed on the window sill, looking out to the street below.

His glasses were propped on his head, a cigarette placed in his mouth as he let the ashes fly away. A persistent headache kept pounding at the Adler’s temples from the amount of drinks he had the night prior.

Although temporary, the alcohol managed to relieve the stress he had continuously built up the past few weeks. He put down his barriers only for that moment, intaking more gulps than he knew he could handle to get wasted, just purging everything out of his head. For once the rambunctious noise of the rest of the team members settled his unrest. He knocked out eventually, getting a somewhat decent amount of sleep in.

Now it was back to reality.

Adler looked down at the book that rested open on the window sill, dusting away the remaining ash from the pages and continued reading a paragraph. He wasn't an avid reader, nor were the contents of the novel Sims provided all that attention grabbing, but it was enough to keep him engrossed for a short while.

A nurse walks in, about to go through the usual routine. “No smoking sir.”

Disposing of the stick without objections, he attempts to continue reading, only to lose track and get distracted by movement just right outside his peripherals. Instead, Adler shuts the book closed and walks over to the side table, flicking on the radio and beginning to fumble around with the knob. He watches as the red line slides up and down the station markers, trying to get an efficient signal.

The nurse eyes him as he does. “There’s a theory going around that music can actually aid in patients’ recovery."

Adler wasn't in the morning mood for small talk, but found the hypothesis worth paying attention to. “Really?”

“Having a familiar stimulus for them to listen to is thought to evoke increased brain activity.”

“At least there’s one thing I’m doing right.”

He continues to flip through the stations, listening to the ocean of static and incomplete sentences as musical notes cut off to their own accord with each adjustment. Upon first meeting you, Adler didn’t associate you as being the type of person who takes pleasure in submerging themselves into music, but after he gave you the Walkman, you proved him wrong. It was only recently, around early November, that you informed him that it helped you tuned out voices that visit sporadically.

Actually, what was your favorite song? All the ones on the mixes he gave you were a compilation of his personal tastes. Now he had another question he looked forward to asking.

Unable to come to a conclusion, Adler releases the knob and plops back into the chair, listening to what the radio had in store. The nurse takes her leave without another word.

A spokesperson with a low and pleasing voice spoke barely above a whisper, reading off the name of the arrangements before letting them play. It wasn't a displeasing genre to listen to. Quite the opposite, actually, but there was always that strange eeriness behind the musical notes.

Clair de Lune by Claude Debussy.

Erik Satie’s Gymnopedie No. 1.

Nocturne in E Minor by Chopin—

If anything, it was good for sitting in peace and falling asleep to. He couldn't catch himself in time, eyelids already drooping.

0000

Adler's eyes snap open abruptly. He didn't even realize that he had fallen asleep, but at this point it should have been no surprise. It happened practically everyday now as he waited for you, and he did his damn hardest to have his eyes open, just in case. Considering the multiple results from his lack of supervision of you, there was a growing phobia that if he were to look away, something bad might happen.

What time is it?

9:04 am.

Out for two hours. He has about thirty minutes to spare before having a meeting with Hudson.

Adler conjures up a sigh, and leans back to study the ceiling, waiting for the energy to kick back in.

So much happened in such a short span, and Adler had to give you credit for your hardship and ability to withstand it all. It was a dark thought, and he hated himself for it coming into bloom, but the current state that you were in was probably the best outcome. You didn't have to worry about work, you didn't need to hold a weapon. You could just rest.

How would you react if you woke up and no one was there? Adler felt revolted at himself for just even fathoming the idea of abandoning you here— cut off all of your ties with the CIA, so you can live a new life. But no, he couldn’t do that to you. He wouldn’t dare to.

If he did announce that you were no longer under the reigns of the CIA, what would you do? As far as he knew, there was no other place for you to return to, and he knew for a fact that the entire safehouse had become like a strange family to you.

So, what were you seeing behind those closed eyes of yours? Were you scared, floating in darkness? Or were you dreaming of a better tomorrow?

Adler could only surmise to himself, only hearing stories of coma patients and their experiences. It's something he came to think as of late, thoughts repeating over and over as he could only wait for an answer that no one could provide except yourself.

No use dwelling on it.

He gets up from his spot, the past couple hours uneventful like the previous days. He runs through a couple stretches, feeling his bones pop a couple times.

It was nearing 9:20 am. Adler eyes drift back to your bed, about to take his leave and give an unspoken farewell, only to do a double take.

Your current position was different.

It was way off from before.

Comparing it to the previous days, you were now more upright and apparently well. You were sitting up.

Face turned away and out the window, looking at the morning dews and drops that slid down the glass.

Outside, the sun was in a higher position, sunlight streaming through the clouds as it highlighted your white covered form. There were a few minor adjustments, some equipment no longer attached. The radio that was turned to a low right before he passed out was now clearly audible.

Not only that, but the heart rate monitor he became so used to hearing was now at a different tempo that indicated activeness. How did he not notice it right from the get-go?

No fucking way.

"Bell?" he manages to force out. It came out as a whisper, in awe and in skepticism.

Adler sees you practically brighten up at the mention of your name, the red line earning a sudden spike.

You turn towards him with a smile that he thought could compete with the happiness of a child waking up to the morning of Christmas, and he could feel his breath leave.

"Hey Russ."

#the ending for this chapter ends so abruptly I—#like it's just sudden but I couldn't really picture it any other way #anyways yeah woot final chapter next time #russell adler x reader #russell adler x bell #call of duty x reader #adler x reader #bo:cw #black ops cold war #cod black ops cold war #call of duty #fanfic #abcd briefing #text #russell adler #bell

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jungshookz · 3 years

Note

cee cee i have an idea!!! what about Cool and Cultured bookshop owner! tae and dorky y/n walking past the store everyday and one day goes in and strikes a conversation about a fancy book like catcher in the rye and talks about the symbolism of rye in the book and tae's like :0 das wildly inaccurate but you're kinda cute so here's my number so we can talk more about rye and y/ns like :0

➺ pairing; kim taehyung x reader

➺ genre; wowowow handsome & well-read bookkeeper!taehyung, fluff!!!! the kind of fluff that makes you feel like you’re wrapped up in a warm blanket sipping on a mug of hot chocolate on a nice autumn’s day when the leaves are just starting to turn red and orange, y/n’s kind of a dummy but in a very loveable kind of way, featuring namjoon the (sort of) wingman

➺ wordcount; 6.2k

➺ summary; the catcher in the rye? oh, sure - of course you know that book! it’s about catching loaves of bread, right?

➺ what to expect; “i called it catch her in the eye, joon.”

➺ note; our (first??) drabble of the month as voted by you guys! i finished writing this the day after it was decided that bookkeeper!tae was the winner because that’s how excited i was about him >:-) enjoy!

»»————-　➴　————-««

“and… open your eyes!” you exclaim, throwing your arms up into the air excitedly as namjoon takes his hands away from his eyes

he blinks owlishly before looking up and-

“you brought me to a bookstore!” he gasps, a smile immediately spreading over his features as he claps his hands together, “oh, this is great! usually, you bring me to those awful rock-climbing places, or that horribly violent paintball gun place, and even when you brought me to the movie theatre the tickets were for that gory r-rated horror movie-”

“okay, let’s not get carried away-” you hold a finger out to shut namjoon up before he can list out moRe reasons as to why you seem more like you hate him instead of love him, “the point is: this time, i brought you to a bookstore!” you smile proudly before crossing your arms

not to toot your own horn or anything but you did a pretty good job with this surprise

you even did tons of research to find the best bookstores in the city!!

which was difficult because namjoon’s been to like.,,. EVERY bookstore in the city

but not this one!

to be fair, it was a long forty-five minute car ride to get here so you understand why he’s never come out here himself

“…this isn’t like… a weird bookstore or anything, right?” namjoon narrows his eyes in suspicion before taking a step back and looking up at the name of the store again

the secret garden

oh!!!!

like the book!!!!

how clever :D

“what do you mean?” you frown, placing your hands on your hips before glancing back up at the name as well

the secret garden

kind of a lame name for a bookstore

“like a…” namjoon trails off before clearing his throat, “you know, like a bookstore that’s actually a sex dungeon or something like that-”

“ew!” you immediately make a face before shaking your head quickly, “wha- why would you even say that?!”

“well, i don’t know!” namjoon holds his hands up in defence, “i’ve never been to this bookstore before-!”

“this is a regular ol’ bookstore, joon. i promise!” you clap your hands on his shoulders before giving him a squeeze, “just the way you like it! old, dusty, and full of nothing but boring books.”

namjoon beams

that’s exactly what he likes to hear

see, today is your seven year friendaversary with namjoon

you guys have known each other since middle school and noW the two of you are in your final year of university which is crazy

and so, for the past seven years, you’ve gone out on this day to celebrate your beautiful friendship because honestly you’ll take whatever excuse to go to a restaurant to try to get free dessert (“yeah, we’re celebrating our anniversary! so, i’ll take three orders of your chocolate lava cake-”)

you guys usually take turns where one year one of you will plan an entire day of fun activities for the other, and then the next year, the other person will do it because that seems like a relatively fair system

last year, namjoon took you to this cute pottery place and you ended up making these adorable matching friendship mugs

they’re both a little lopsided but that’s just part of their charm!!

namjoon painted his a beige-brown and you painted yours a BRIGHT purple and then you traded mugs (so that when he comes over to your apartment, he has his mug, and when you go over to his apartment, you have your mug!)

he also insisted that you guys carve your guys’ initials on the bottom of yours and draw a heart around it which you thought was a little much but you are… very fond of namjoon so you’d jump off a cliff if he asked you to

admittedly, most of the things that you’ve planned during your years have been catered to your own personal desires so you’ve been a little unfair but namjoon’s always been too much of a sweetheart to say anything about it

and for the most part, he’s a pretty good sport even though it’s blatantly obvious that he’d rather chop a toe off than spend the afternoon doing your chosen activity

the last time it was your turn two years ago, you took him to a go-cart track and spent the entire two hours practically driving circles around him because he was driving like ten kilometres an hour

the only reason why he wasn’t driving like one is supposed to drive on a go-cart track (i.e. like a maniac) is because he was worried that if he went too fast he’d get a ticket or something

and kim namjoon does not get speeding tickets

not on the real road and most certainly not on a man-made road either!

for the record, he definitely didn’t appreciate you calling him a slowpoke and telling him to eat my dust, bitch! and he still brings it up from time to time whenever he wants to guilt you into doing something with him (“i’m not switching muffins with you. it’s not my fault you don’t like yours!” “…hey, remember that time you called me a slowpoke and told me to-” “take the muffin.”)

anyways

he’s glad that this is just a normal bookstore and that he doesn’t have to worry about whether or not one of your activities is going to end in him losing a limb for the first time

what a wonderful way to end the day!!

actually, you guys still have to grab dinner after this where you’ll try to squeeze as many free desserts out of the restaurant as possible as per usual so this is a wonderful way to almost end the day

the little bell hanging above the door chimes as the two of you step in and almost immediately you’re greeted with the warm smell of what you’re pretty sure is hot chocolate??

“i love this place already.” namjoon breathes out, his jaw dropping in awe, “i wanna live here!”

“okay, keep it in your pants-” the door starts to shut and you nudge namjoon forward to keep from getting your butt nipped by the door

you don’t even get a chance to say anything else before namjoon suddenly darts off

so much for keeping it in his pants

you pause when you get a good look at the place

huh

for some reason you feel like a lot of instagram pictures have been taken here

it’s obviously an antique place but it’s like one of those trendy antique places

a brass chandelier hangs from the ceiling, the (fake) candles casting a golden glow over the entire store

there’s a spiral staircase that curls up to the second floor

the walls are covered with floor to ceiling shelves stacked with, duh, books, but even for what you thought would just be a dusty old bookstore… it’s pretty nice in here!

there’s even an archway in the centre of the place that leads to what looks like a pretty cozy reading space for customers which is a nice touch

and there are people sipping on mugs of hot chocolate too!!!

you can’t help but wonder if you need to be reading a book in order to get a mug of cocoa

you like the hot chocolate part but you’re not as excited about the reading part

“y/n, come on!” you look over to see namjoon - who already has three books cradled in his arms - waving you over enthusiastically, “check it out! it’s a vintage boxed set of the chronicle of narnia series! and they’re leatherbound-“ he practically moans before nudging you towards it, “help me take it out?”

“narnia?” you snort, tilting your head so you can look at the titles pressed into the spine of the book, “isn’t narnia, like… for kids?”

the last time you read the lion, the witch, and the wardrobe was when you had to read it for a book report in like the fourth grade

you glance over your shoulder to look at namjoon who now has an unimpressed frown on his face

“what??”

“…you insult me.” he sniffles, “just help!”

you roll your eyes playfully before turning back to pull the thick set out of the shelf and-

“hello!”

“-!”

the sudden sound of a stranger’s voice nearly makes you drop the set but you manage to prop the edge of the box back up onto the shelf before it falls and breaks all the bones in your foot

you turn to look at whoever-

oh my

hello indeed

“welcome to the secret garden.” he smiles kindly, tilting his head at you, “did you need any help with that, miss?”

oh good god

his voice makes you feel like you’re wading through a river of warm caramel

and you’d happily let yourself drown in that river

two seconds go by where you don’t respond at all and instead you continue staring at mr. caramel with very obvious hubba-hubba eyes

“i think we’re good, thank you!” namjoon clears his throat, elbowing your back gently before offering a smile of his own

“oh, alright! well, my name’s taehyung,” taehyung reaches up to adjust his glasses, “please let me know if you need assistance of any kind - i’ll just be up at the front. if you’re just here to relax and read, i’d be happy to whip up two mugs of hot chocolate for the two of you!”

“awesome! thank you.” namjoon nods all while you continue smiling at taehyung dazedly

he waits until taehyung disappears before turning back and looking at you

“…what’s wrong with you?”

“i’m good, thank you…” you whisper your very delayed response and namjoon moves his head so that he’s blocking your view when you lean back a little to try to look at taehyung sitting behind the front counter, “holy moly. i’d let him explore my secret garden-”

“oh, now look who can’t keep it in their pants-“

“hey, you should look at this as a good thing!” you grunt as you adjust the hefty box in your arms, “now i’ll willingly drive you back here… whenever you want.”

namjoon’s eyes immediately light up

»»————-　➴　————-««

you and namjoon end up returning to the bookstore about two weeks later

last time, namjoon wanted to stay longer (and so did you, honestly) buT you were pretty close to losing your dinner reservations and you weren’t about to give up your free chocolate lava cake just to stare at the cute bookkeeper from afar like a creep

so you had to leave!

namjoon ended up leaving with the boxed set and a couple other books so suffice to say, he was pretty happy

and when you suggested visiting the bookstore again this week… well, namjoon had to jump on that opportunity, didn’t he??

you?? offering to take him to a bookstore?? again??

you’re obviously only using him as an excuse to go into the bookstore so you can spend hours watching taehyung like a weirdo but he’ll take it

namjoon hums happily as he takes a sip of his hot chocolate before licking a little bit of whipped cream off his top lip

he wonders if taehyung would be willing to share the recipe to it because this is honestly the best hot chocolate he’s ever had

namjoon looks up from his book when he hears you let out a sigh for the tenth time in the last two minutes

oh god

look at you!

“oh… and he’s good with kids, too?” you sigh blissfully as you prop your elbow up on the arm of the sofa chair before leaning your cheek against your fist

you watch fondly as taehyung gets down on one knee, holding two fists out for a little girl

she taps his right hand shyly before quickly wrapping her arms back around her mom’s leg, peeking at him from behind it shyly

taehyung flips his wrist around and uncurls his fingers to reveal a single caramel, his face lighting up briefly as she takes it from his open palm into her little hand

“i don’t know why you can’t just go up and talk to him-” namjoon snorts at how lovestruck you look before peering around the corner of the archway to look at taehyung too, “it’s not a big deal. he’s really nice!”

“i can’t just go up and talk to him. are you kidding me?” you frown, shaking your head, “what am i supposed to say??”

“tell him you need help finding a book!” namjoon states as if it’s the most obvious thing in the entire world (because it is) before slapping the book on his lap shut, “just out of curiosity - what book would you ask him to help you find?”

you lean back against the sofa chair before twisting your lips in thought

book?

what book…

what was the last book you read…?

ooh!

“esio trot!” you perk up, namjoon’s eyebrows knitting together in confusion because he has no idea what just came out of your mouth-

“esio- oh my god, esio trot as in the roald dahl children’s novel??” namjoon frowns, “no! you can’t go up to taehyung and ask him to help you find esio friggin’ trot-”

“okay, you don’t see me making fun of you for buying what you bought last week, mr. chronicles of narnia-”

“you did make fun of me!” namjoon gawks, “in fact, you’re still making fun of me for it-” he waves his hand to cease the conversation, “listen to me. from the very few times that i’ve spoken to taehyung, it’s clear that he’s… cultured, you know?”

“cultured… like yogurt.” you joke, slapping your own knee gently, “get it?? because yogurt is cultured? cultured yogurt??”

namjoon resists the urge to roll his eyes

see?

this is exactly what he’s talking about

“…yes, y/n. i get it. anyways, as i was saying- taehyung is just very…” namjoon kisses his teeth as he tries to think of how to phrase his words, “…well-read… intelligent… scholarly… refined…”

you tilt your head in curiosity as namjoon continues listing out a bunch of snooty sounding adjectives

wait a minute

“are you-” you scoff, straightening up in your seat, “are you calling me dumb??”

hey!!

you’re not dumb!!!

it’s not like books are super complicated to figure out or anything

all you have to do is read what’s inside of it and you certainly know how to read!!!

and sure, sometimes you still don’t know if receive is spelt receive or recieve or if business is spelt buisness or biusness, but that doesn’t mean that you’re dumb!!

“no, no, i’m not calling you dumb!” namjoon shakes his head quickly, “i’m just saying that if you had a choice, you would choose a movie over a book-”

“well, yeah - obviously i would choose a movie over a book.” you snort, “why would i waste eight hours reading tiny little words on stiff white pages when i could be watching a movie that compresses the entire story in a convenient one hour and a half??”

“i’m your friend, and i don’t want to watch you make a fool of yourself!” namjoon argues, “because if you do, then you’ll be too embarrassed to ever come back here again, which means that i’ll never be able to come back here again-”

“what’s stopping you from coming here by yourself?”

“because every time i tell you that i’m going to the bookstore, you’re going to ask me a bunch of taehyung related questions when i get back-”

okay

that’s a fair point

that sounds like something you would do for sure

“alright, fine!” you huff before crossing your arms, “what book do you suggest i go up there and ask him to help me find?”

namjoon twists his lips in thought

hm…

“catch her in the eye!” you chirp, folding your hands behind you book as you smile brightly at taehyung

namjoon feels his own face flush at how confidently you just said that and he immediately slaps a hand over his mouth to keep himself from screaMING

he told you to ask taehyung to help you find the catcher in the rye

NOT CATCH HER IN THE EYE

“the catcher in the rye?” taehyung nods, “sure! of course i can help you find the catcher in the rye.” he returns a smile as he steps out from behind the counter, “follow me, please!”

you shoot namjoon a big thumbs up and a faT grin as you pass by the entrance of the archway and he gives you a weak one in return before turning back and slumping against the couch

oh boy

…he’s never going to come back to this beautiful bookstore, is he?

“you were here about two weeks ago, weren’t you?” taehyung asks as he looks over his shoulder, the two of you trotting up the spiral staircase, “with your… boyfriend, right? you guys bought the boxed narnia set.”

“hm? oh!” you let out a little laugh, “yes, that was us, but joon- namjoon’s just my friend. um, that day was actually our seven-year friendaversary and he’s a real dork for books so i thought it’d be nice to bring him here-”

it’s in that moment that you suddenly hear namjoon’s voice in your head reminding you that you’re supposed to act like yoU like reading too

“i mean-” you clear your throat, “i, too, really like books, so i- you know, it was a mutually pleasant experience for the both of us t-to be here-” you chuckle nervously

hopefully you were able to save your own ass there

that was a close call!!

you trail behind taehyung as the two of you weave in and out of the bookshelves

you didn’t get a chance to come up to the second floor last week

but it’s surprisingly nice up here!!

there’s a lone sofa chair in the corner with a little coffee table sitting next to it

very nice for customers who prefer to read alone

“ah, well, that’s very thoughtful of you!” taehyung nods before suddenly pausing, “i’m so sorry-” he spins around and you nearly bump into his chest but you manage to stop yourself just in time, “i just realised i never got your name.”

“y/n. i’m- i’m y/n.” you stick your hand out quickly for him to shake

you feel a little zap! travel from your fingertips to the rest of your body as soon as taehyung takes your hand in his

he gives you a gentle shake before squeezing your hand lightly and then letting go, “well, it’s very nice to meet you, y/n. now, give me a second to find the catcher in the rye for you…”

taehyung turns to thumb through the books on the shelf and you feel your heart flutter in your chest as how pretty he looks from the side

wowie

you can’t help but take your bottom lip in between your teeth as you continue to admire taehyung’s features from the soft swoosh of his hair to the rosy pink of his lips

how can one man be so pretty?

“ah- here we are!” taehyung pulls a book out of the shelf and you quickly snap yourself out of your daze, “the catcher in the rye… a novel by j.d. salinger.” he hands it to you and you take it before blinking down at the cover

…the catcher in the rye?

what happened to catch her in the eye???

“it’s a great book.” taehyung hums, “have you read it before?”

“oh, i… i have!” you scoff, making a face, “duh, of course i have. i mean, it’s… you know, it’s such a… um, a powerful novel…” you clear your throat before reaching up to scratch the back of your neck, “i mean, the last time i read it was actually in… high school… so… you know, i’ve forgotten most of the details but i figured it’d be nice to get a refresher, you know?”

(you never read this in high school.)

((you just made namjoon summarise the entire book to you in the form of a poorly drawn stickman comic and even then you still didn’t fully understand the story.))

“absolutely! there’s nothing wrong with revisiting old friend from the past,” taehyung chuckles lightly, “in fact, i was reading animal farm the other day- what kind of literature do you typically read?”

you press your lips together tightly

oh god

namjoon didn’t prepare you for additional questions

literature??

quick!

what kind of literature do you typically read??

…

tell him you read all kinds of literature!

that sounds like a legitimate answer, right?

“i... read… all-”

you’re cut off by the sound of a bell chiming from below and you let out a breath of relief when taehyung scurries past you to peer over the balcony

“i’ll be right there!” he holds a finger up at the customer waiting by the front counter before spinning around to face you again, “was there anything else you needed, y/n?”

“wha- i-” you stammer, unable to come up with a non-creepy reason to keep him up here with you, “no! no, this was-” you give the front cover a hearty slap, “this was all i needed-”

“perfect!” taehyung claps his hands together, “well, let me know. you know where i am!”

he disappears down the staircase before you even get a chance to thank him

the smell of his cologne lingers in the air as you make your way down the staircase and you can’t help but beat yourself up over how your interaction with taehyung went

it wasn’t a bad interaction or anything

in fact, you think you did a pretty good job at acting like a bookworm!!

it’s just that…

you don’t think it was a particularly memorable interaction for taehyung

that was just a typical customer interaction for him

you were supposed to charm him!!!

impress him!!

sweep him off his feet!!!

tickle his brain!!

“hey, buddy…” namjoon coos as you plop back down on the sofa chair, “how… did it go?”

he’s afraid to hear your answer because it certainly looks like it didn’t go super well

damnit

he knows this moment is about you but now he’s thinking about how he’ll probably never be able to taste this delicious hot chocolate ever again

“got the book.” you grumble, tossing it onto the coffee table before shaking your head, “i called it catch her in the eye, joon.”

“yeah, i… uh, i heard you.” namjoon nods understandingly, crossing one leg over the other before leaning back against the couch, “i don’t think he heard you say that, though! i mean, he knew what you were looking for right away.”

namjoon knows you well enough to see that you’re currently spiralling down a self-pity hole right now

oh boy

“hey, you know what’ll make you feel better?” he leans forward to give your knee a comforting squeeze

“what?”

“how about i buy this for you so you can read it and fully impress taehyung next time with your newfound knowledge-“ namjoon points to the book you’ve abandoned on the table, “and then we can go for chocolate lava cake!”

your eyes widen slightly

“free chocolate lava cake?”

“no, not free-“ namjoon snorts, getting up from the couch before reaching back to pick up his bag, “i mean, i’ll pay for it. my treat! so, yeah. i guess it’s kinda free for you.”

“that sounds nice!” your frown is almost instantaneously replaced by a grin, “if i get more free things from you just for being sad, i’m going to be sad more often-”

“what?? no! do not pretend to be sad just to get me to pay for things-”

taehyung glances over from the front counter when he hears a twinkly laugh and he can’t help but smile lightly at the sight of you giggling away in the sofa chair

your nose scrunches slightly as you let out a little snort and he presses his lips together to keep himself from beaming too wide

y/n, huh? cute.

»»————-　➴　————-««

(taehyung can’t stop thinking about you and your absurdly cute face.)

»»————-　➴　————-««

it’s another two weeks later that you come back to the secret garden - but this time, you come alone.

and to be honest, you… don’t know if this was a good idea or not

because joon was with you for the last two times and you were definitely using him as a security blanket so now you feel like you’re about to dive into the deep end of the pool without any floaties

you were going to ask if he wanted to come with you but you felt like this was something that you had to do alone

you swallow thickly as you tuck your car keys into your pocket

namjoon can’t be your bookworm wingman forever, right?

the store is almost suspiciously quiet as you step in, the little bell ringing above your head as per usual

your classes ended a little later today which is why you weren’t able to come in the afternoon

pluS you had to find a way to get namjoon to go home without you without raising any eyebrows so that sucked up a little more of your time

you were going to tell him that you were going to stay on campus to study at the library but even you couldn’t believe that

so you told him that you had a group project to work on which was why you couldn’t have dinner with him tonight!

you jump in surprise when the door suddenly slams shut behind you from the breeze

it’s a little chillier now that it’s november but it’s nice that you get to wear cozy cardigans and snuggly sweaters now

“i’ll be right there!”

you hear taehyung’s voice ring out from the second floor and you swallow your nerves as you stand up a little straighter

fake it till you make it, right?

i love books

i love books so much

i love books so much that i would fuck a book if i could!

...okay, maybe not that one.

you glance around the store - there doesn’t seem to be anyone else here

which makes sense because the sign says that the store closes at 7pm on weekdays and it’s…

6:50

wow

so you’RE the asshole who comes into the place ten minutes before closing time

good one!

“so sorry for the wait, i was just-” taehyung pauses on the steps, his face immediately lighting up when he sees you, “oh, y/n!”

“hi!” you chirp before reaching up to scratch the back of your neck, “sorry i came ten minutes before you’re supposed to close… i wanted to come earlier, but i had a thing…”

“oh, don’t even worry about it!” taehyung snorts, tossing the dirty rag over his shoulder, “i was just doing some dusting…”

you feel your mouth go drY as soon as you notice what he’s wearing

he’s wearing a henley tee (except all the buttons are undone and aLso he has his sleeves pushed up to his elbows), dark wash jeans, and a pair of tattered black converse sneakers

it’s just the casualness of it all that makes it so sexy

“so, what can i help you with tonight?” taehyung tosses the rag onto the counter before pushing his glasses back down from the top of his head

he adjusts them slightly before blinking at you and you find it awfully cute that his doe eyes now look a little bigger through the thick lenses

what can he help you with tonight?

…yeah, what can he help you with tonight?

the downside of not telling namjoon about your solo mission is the fact that namjoon’s usually the one who plans every little detail out for you

and you just came here on a whim

you don’t have a plan

you don’t have a plan at all!

your plan was to just come to the bookstore to see taehyung because you wanted to see taehyung

“i…”

“oh, by the way-” taehyung perks up suddenly, “how was your little trip down memory lane with the catcher in the rye?”

the catcher in the rye?

the catcher in the rye!!!

ah! yes!!

that’s definitely something to talk about!

…wait a second

you-

you didn’t read the book

oh god

you had two weeks to read the book and you didn’t read the book

almost immediately you feel your anxiety sPike back up and you can’t help but scold yourself for not bringing namjoon along with you

if namjoon was here, you’d just get him to say all the main points and you’d stand right next to him throwing in the occasional ‘yes, very good point!’ and ‘of course, i completely agree’ every now and then!

“the catcher in the rye!” you blurt out, suddenly aware that you haven’t spoken in like ten seconds, “i- yes! the book was- it was great. i thoroughly enjoyed it. i would definitely read it again!”

“hey, that’s great!” taehyung laughs lightly, “you know- i mean, i have to ask because i always ask this question to people who’ve read it- what do you think the main theme of it is?” taehyung hums, “because i’ve always thought it focused a lot on alienation, you know? i mean, a loss of innocence is obviously another theme, what, with holden wanting to be sheltered from the harshness of adult life- i really think it can actually be seen as some kind of social commentary… like a critique of the superficiality in society-”

“of course, i completely agree!” you nod furiously, “those are very good points-”

“i’m sorry, i’m probably sucking up all the oxygen in the room-” taehyung smiles sheepishly before shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans, “so what do you think?”

if there was ever a moment for a black hole to appear in the floor and swallow you whole… you’d want for it to happen right now.

actually, you’d want it for it to happen whilst you were driving to the bookstore so that you wouldn’t have even gotten the chance to say hi to taehyung

“i think… well, i… first of all, i agree completely with everything that you just said about aliens and… you know, a loss of innocence and how hard adult life is…” you stumble over your words, your face beginning to flush from how idiotic you probably sound, “i just… i have to talk about my favourite part in the book! you know, the part where holden- holden, that’s the name that you just mentioned- he… he does such a great job at catching those loaves of bread. i thought that part was hilarious.”

you clear your throat at the end of your mini-review

taehyung’s eyes flicker slightly and for a second you think you’re in danger of being called out for obviously noT having read the book but…

he nods slowly and brings his hand up to stroke his chin thoughtfully, “i mean… yeah. i completely agree! that part always gets me! why don’t you go on? i’m interested in hearing more of your thoughts.”

oh!

hey, would you look at that??

phEW

maybe you’re better at improvising than you thought you were

now knowing that you’re on the right track gives you a booST of confidence and you give yourself a mental pat on the back

you can’t wait to tell namjoon about this

he’s going to be so proud of you!!

you grin before nodding enthusiastically, “of course! i have a lot of thoughts to share on the book. i mean, i personally think it was an interesting choice on the author’s part to choose rye as the main ingredient, because he had… so many other options that he could’ve gone with! and also - did he go with light rye or dark rye?? because throughout the entire novel, he never actually specifies what kind of rye bread he’s referring to-”

taehyung leans back against the counter and crosses his arms, smiling politely as he continues to listen to your rye bread rant

it’s obvious that you definitely didn’t read the book but he was genuinely curious as to what you would be able to pull out of your ass which was why he asked you to go on

he doesn’t think anyone’s ever gone into a full-blown ramble about how the catcher in the rye is actually a narrative on the benefits on rye bread for lil ol’ him before

but, for the record…

it’s really cute how much effort you’re putting into your analysis to try to impress him

“i’m sorry, i need to- i need to interrupt you-” taehyung giggles, cutting you off right as you’re about to dive into a discussion about the number of loaves holden caught in the novel, “as much as i would love to hear more… everything that’s coming out of your mouth is wildly inaccurate, y/n.”

what

...

oh my god.

“wh-” your throat goes dry and you choke a little, “what?”

“be honest- did you read the book?” taehyung asks flat-out and you feel your cheeks burning up again

uh-oh

“i…”

okay

forget it

you can’t do this anymore!

it’s too stressful!!!!

“…no.” you press your lips together before shooting taehyung a sheepish grin, “there’s no catching loaves of bread in the novel, is there?”

“not even one loaf.”

“oh, god-” you groan quietly, reaching up to cover your hot face with your hands at the realisation that you just very confidently ranted about the importance of rye bread in this novel for the past five minutes, “not even one?!”

mortifying!

absolutely mortifying!!!!

well

it’s time to tell namjoon to find a new favourite bookstore because you are nevER bringing him back here agai-

“hey, it’s totally fine!” taehyung laughs lightly, stepping closer to you so that he can pry your hands away from your flushed face, “i actually think it’s really impressive how long you can go talking about bread-”

“you let me- you knew that i hadn’t read the book yet you let me continue talking about bread-?!” you gawk, taehyung now bursting into a full-blown chortle as he throws his head back, “how could you??”

“i couldn’t help it!!” taehyung wheezes, reaching up to flick a stray tear away, “i’m sorry! i’m sorry, really, i am-”

even when he’s laughing at you, your stomach can’t help but feel fluttery

“you’re lucky you’re pretty-” you snort, shaking your head gently, “otherwise i would be way more mad at you…”

taehyung’s laughs dwindle down into light chuckles and you swallow thickly when he takes a small step closer

“you’re lucky you’re pretty.” he retorts playfully, reaching over to move a strand of hair away from your eyes with his pinky finger, “otherwise i wouldn’t have let you talk my ear off about bread for five whole minutes…”

...he thinks you’re pretty?

“oh yeah?” you challenge, reaching over to jab your finger into his chest

taehyung reaches up to wrap his fingers around your wrist before offering you a particularly boyish smirk, “mm, yeah.”

you don’t miss the way his eyes flicker down to your lips for a split second and you know it’s way too soon but you really want him to just lean down and kiss you…

“hey, do you like dessert?” taehyung pulls away suddenly before turning to make his way behind the counter

“de- dessert?” you ask dumbly, still a little dazed from... that

what was that?!

“mhm!” tae leans down slightly and flips a couple of switches underneath the counter, the chandelier light shutting off first before the other little lights begin to switch off as well, “there’s a little diner about a block away that makes really good strawberry cheesecakes.”

“i love dessert!” you nod, “and strawberry cheesecake sounds really yummy.”

“good! in that case, would you be interested in sharing a slice of cheesecake with me and perhaps delving deeper into your rye-based analysis?” taehyung teases as he grabs his coat off the back of his chair, his keys jingling in his hands

you snort lightly

“i would love to share a slice of cheesecake with you but i refuse to embarrass myself further, so we’re going to have to find something else to talk about-”

taehyung holds the door open for you and you immediately shiver as you step out, the chilly air a stark contrast from the warmth of tae’s cozy store

you jolt in surprise when taehyung reaches down and slips his fingers in between yours (which he later explains he only did because his hand was cold and definitely noT because he just really really wanted to hold your hand) before beginning to tug you along next to him

“well, we can talk about the fact that you thought the name of the book was catch her in the eye-”

“i knew you heard me! i knew it!!”

help me help you make your wishes come tru (aka send me a request)

why don’t you explore the rest of the library while you’re here?

or perhaps you want something shorter to read?

491 notes · View notes

monodipita · 3 years

Text

Acts of Love (Yandere!Josuke Higashikata x Reader)

Word count: 4,078

Warnings: YANDERE CONTENT. GORE WARNING.

"Please, no! Don't leave me, [Y/N], I'll make everything right! Just give me a chance!" Josuke's voice was scratched raw from the crying and pleading he did. His knees hurt. His heart hurt. "I'm sorry, Josuke," you spoke softly to him while you helped him off his knees, "but I can't keep going on."

You were moving away from Morioh. As good of a town as it was, there were bigger opportunities for you if you moved to Tokyo. It was heartbreaking. You didn't have the heart to tell him- all you said was that you were leaving him. A long-distance relationship couldn't work between you two. You didn't want him to break away from school to focus on being with you, either, so this was the only way you could actively get him to stay away from you once you broke up. It was horrible, yes, and it hurt you to do it, but you had no other choice.

As you pulled him in for one last hug, you felt his arms tighten around you to the point that he acted more like a snake rather than a human being. "Josuke!" You cried out his name while you squirmed within his grip, "let me go!"

"No... I don't want to!" Josuke yelled back. When he lifted his head from your chest, you could see the tears in his eyes that threatened to spill over again, the warm streaks of tears on his cheeks. The raw pleading that left his lips echoed the desperation in his purple orbs. It was tearing you apart... but you couldn't admit the truth to him. "If you leave me, I'll--"

He never got to finish his sentence.

Your hand collided with his cheek. "That's enough!" You yelled at him. For some reason, you were angrier more than you were upset. Maybe it was the fact that he was behaving so irrationally.

His grip loosened on you, and you took this opportunity to remove yourself from him. He collapsed onto his knees again - the cycle began anew - but you couldn't bear witness to what he was doing again. You hated to see someone you knew as the confident one to begin breaking down. For good reason, but you didn't want to think that you alone were enough to make everything shatter.

You felt your hand be pulled into his. His other hand collapsed on top of it as he weakly tried to pull you down into his arms, but to no avail. You tugged away from him just enough to make sure that you wouldn't fall into him. "Please... will you let me write to you at least? Please??"

"..." if you were only breaking up with him, then why did he want to write to you? Did he not understand that you didn't want to see him anymore? But you couldn't bring yourself to say no to him. "Yes... you can send me letters... Josuke. Please, I have to go now." You began to pull yourself away from him completely. You couldn't bring yourself to say that you wouldn't be receiving any of his letters past tomorrow... the way that he looked already described how he felt about being able to stay in contact with you. There was a smile on his face that stretched from ear to ear, which created an eerie sight when you saw the tears still streaming down his face.

"Thank you, [Y/N]... thank you."

Over the next couple of days, there was a surge of letters sent to your home while you packed to leave. Each letter was stacked neatly on your desk until your desk was packed up, then moved to your seat in the moving truck. You followed your parents into the truck and sat down in your seat, then pulled the slow-developing stacks of letters to your attention. You carefully opened up the first one and took the time to read what it said. Your eyes scanned over the beautiful handwriting carefully...

'Hi! This is the first time I've ever actually written a letter that was going to be sent to anyone. You know about when they make you write to Santa or the Prime Minister about dumb stuff. Well... I'm thinking about what I should put in these kinds of letters, but for now, I'm saying hi! And Okuyasu says hi too. Maybe I'll talk about stuff like my day and how everything went... maybe you'd be interested in reading that?'

The second letter.

'I haven't seen you around school lately, and I've been wanting to go to your house to see if everything's alright.' You furrowed your brows. This one didn't quite make sense. If this was on the second day after you gave him your address, then this meant you were only out of school for a day. 'But I respect your privacy... we aren't together anymore, after all. I'm still worried about you. Just let me know that you're alright when you read this letter, okay?'

The third letter.

'I waited for a really long time this time in hopes that I would see you. I waited until the night. It's 2 AM, I'm growing nervous. Are you sick? I want to check on you but I know I can't. If you get this letter, please write me back and let me know you're ok.'

A deep sigh left your lips as you read the words before gently folding the letter and putting it back in its envelope. You stared at your name printed in beautiful letters on the front while you tried to think about how much time had passed since this letter was given in to you. Guilt began to set in. You were so busy with packing that you never bothered to pick up a pen and write back to him. How did he feel about this?

You glanced back down to your lap. There were two more letters to go. One dated from yesterday, and one dated for today.

'I decided to stop by your house when no one was home. I looked through the window and saw that there were boxes everywhere.

You're moving.

Is it because of me? Is this why you're not writing back to me? Why are you leaving me? Is there someone else??'

You could sense the desperation in his words. His emotions must've gotten the better of him, as his writing appeared to be jumbled. Ink smudged at the end of the sentence and made the last question hard to read. He found out. You promptly lifted your head up to see if you would see Josuke anywhere, in the event that he was casually waiting around to greet you before you went to move. However, you didn't see anything. So ... you turned your attention to the last letter in the stack. Like in the last letter, your name and address were written as if he was in a hurry to get elsewhere. You reached into the envelope and swallowed thickly, hanging your head and gathering your bearings before reading this last letter. You were afraid of what was going to be written.

"Do you have everything, [Y/N]?"

You looked up from the envelopes on your lap and nodded your head. "Yeah, and if I don't, the moving company should be able to give me what I've forgotten." You affirmed them with a smile on your face. "I'm good to go."

Saying those words made you feel uneasy. Everything about reading these letters now happened to make you feel incredibly uneasy. But you needed to read the last letter... so you pulled it up to your eye line.

'I'll find you'

The words were so simple. So frightening. So sobering. You regretted to notice that you were witnessing the detailing of someone spiraling into an obsession, and that signs of it dated as early as when the two of you broke up. How could you imagine that someone who seemed like a regular, devoted boyfriend, turned out to be ripped apart by obsession?

You closed the letter and folded it back up, then placed it back into the envelope. Even with it out of sight though, the words haunted you. I'll find you. He meant it, didn't he? He was going to look for you. He was going to go out of his way to find your whereabouts and where you lived...

...but the more you thought about it, the more you realized that it seemed impossible. There wasn't a way he could reach you - you were going far away from Morioh. As much as it pained you to admit that, you just knew there was absolutely no way he was going to be able to reach you anymore. At least he might've found some solace in writing these letters out to you... as troubled as they sounded, you would cherish these final letters. You could rest, even if it was only a small bit.

Months passed since the incident. Morioh was a town that was far behind you now. You were attending a new school, surrounded by new people and new friends. Though new life was great and easier to get accustomed to in a bigger town as there were people that were more like you, nothing about them spoke volumes to you like Josuke did.

Josuke...

You wondered how he was doing.

"I'll see you later, [Y/N]!" Your best friend's hand went high in the air with excitement as she waved goodbye to you. You waved in turn and headed off the bus. You headed inside and let out a hefty sigh. "[Y/N], love, were you expecting any mail?" Your mom asked as she held up an envelope. You stared up at it in half-shock before you walked over and nearly snatched it from your mother's clutches. You stared at the name and address on the front of the envelope... this handwriting was eerily similar to Josuke's.

But how?

"Is everything alright?" Your mother asked worriedly. You swallowed some of your anxiety to be able to speak to her and put a smile on your face. "Yep!" You grinned, before you hurried away from her to reach your upstairs bedroom. You locked yourself into your room and ripped the envelope apart to see what the letter inside would entail.

'I FOUND YOU'

Your eyes immediately trailed to the window as if you would see him out there, standing and staring at you once you read those words. But to your half-expectant surprise, no one was there. Still, you were anxious. This ominous letter was real. You remembered the letters because you read them on his birthday in remembrance of the memories you shared with him - and if his past words were anything to go by, then these words were real.

You tried not to let the words get the best of you, though. So what if he found you? Was he truly bold enough to act upon his findings, or was he going to stay behind and continue to send you letters, now that he knew where you were at? The latter sounded more plausible in your opinion. Josuke was a level-headed individual who had a grip on reality, at least, that was what you thought. You couldn't let your paranoia impede the date you were going on with your best friend. It was the first one! You couldn't have been more excited. It was going to be a nice day on the town to go to the mall, things that you couldn't do in Morioh, like walk through a park or shop at multiple outlets - basically, you were going to do what you could in the weekend before you had to go back to school.

Your phone rang.

"[Y/N], it's for you!" Your mother yelled from downstairs. Who could it be, you wondered to yourself as you walked over to the phone on the wall. You picked up the phone and held it to your ear. "Hello?"

"This is [Y/N], right?" Their voice was unfamiliar and distorted. It sounded like they were speaking in a room full of people. "Umm, yes?" You responded, "who is this?"

There was no response.

"Hello?" No response.

Your stomach began to flip. Over, and over. The longer they took to respond, the more your stomach began to hurt. "J-Josuke?" You tried his name, and the person on the other end hung up immediately. Dread filled your entire being. "What..." you were baffled. He even knew your phone number, but how? Who did he get this from? You were so far away from Morioh now, how was he able to do anything that he was doing?

"Who was it?" Your mom asked. You couldn't tell her. "No one," you responded, "must have been a secret admirer or something."

You couldn't sleep that night. What happened weighed heavily on your conscience. Paranoia made you close all of your windows, shut the blinds and close the curtains, so your room was disgustingly hot. Compiled on top of losing sleep to fear, you were left feeling clammy and restless when your alarm went off. Maybe a shower will do. You were going to meet your new best friend in two hours, so you had plenty of enough time to take a shower and maybe get in a quick nap.

The phone rang, startling your otherwise eerily quiet bedroom. You turned your attention to the phone on your wall. Who could be calling at seven in the morning??

"Hello?" You asked into the phone. "[L/N] residence."

"You're going out today, aren't you?"

"How??" You asked, "how did you know where I was at??"

"I searched for someone, or anyone who could overhear you talking about your plans to move. I asked everyone at school, even the people who didn't know you, the teachers, the janitors. I must've looked like an idiot, but I don't care, because I finally got into contact with you."

"Who told you??" You couldn't remember talking to anyone about it... someone must've overheard you, but then again, who would you be speaking about it with in earshot of students in the school? No one should've known but the principal... did Josuke really have the gall to ask the principal? "You don't need to worry~. Can you answer my question, please?"

"...I'm going to hang up." You furrowed your brows. "Please leave me alone."

"You wouldn't make me force my hand just to come and see you, would you?" Josuke asked. "I know you're going out ... I just needed a confirmation. And it's with that girl, isn't it?"

"H-how do you know all these things?" Why haven't you hung up yet? The power of his threat couldn't be verified. But... you just found yourself being glued to the phone. You wanted to know what was going to come next. "Does she make you feel safe? I see how close you are with her. You're mimicking the same feelings you felt when you were with me. She can't replace me, [Y/N]. No one can replace me,"

You immediately pulled the phone from your ear and slammed it on the ringer. You began to pace, as you were far too antsy to stay in one place. There were so many things wrong with what he said... what he knew. You needed to cancel the date... you worried for her, but it was far too early to call her, and you didn't want to show up just to cancel the date, because then you'd be wasting everyone's time. What did you do? You walked over to your bed and sat down on it, putting your face in your hands. This wasn't happening, was it? You hoped it wasn't. You wanted everything to be a dream.

"-?!"

You threw your body up in a moment of panic, forcing yourself awake. For a moment you felt dizzy, but you didn't care enough to stop yourself from rushing to get out the door. You threw on whatever could be appropriate for a hot day and headed out to go meet your best friend. You were late - no shit, you were horribly late. The time read 13:21 by the time you looked at the clock on the way out. There wasn't exactly a way to reach her, so the only way you could find her was by meandering the streets in hopes that you'd find her.

You ran down the street as quickly as your tired body could permit. Panic filled your being. What if he caught wind of what time you were supposed to meet her?! What if he did something to her?!

"No!" You shouted aloud. People that were walking nearby were already drawn to you because you were running down the street, but the fact that you were talking to yourself seemed to add extra icing on the cake. You tried to ignore their stares and focused on trying to get to the nearest telephone booth. Maybe you could call her house and see if there was any way of finding out where she could be right now.

You spotted a telephone booth, thankfully, and headed into it. You reached into your bag to retrieve some yen to be inserted into the payphone, then crudely shoved whatever excess you had back into it. You dialed the number to her house and waited with bated breath as you heard it ring multiple times. Her mother picked up the phone. "Hello??"

"Hey!" You blurted, "is [best friend] around? I know I kind of bailed on her, but I wasn't having a good night." You explain and rub the back of your neck.

"Oh! No, she's still out on the town! I hope you're feeling better, [Y/N]. If she comes home, I'll call your home and let you know, alright?"

"Alright. Thank you, ma'am." You hung up. Your heart felt like it was going to implode. This wasn't a good thing - Josuke was still out there, and so was your best friend. He probably already reached her and now he was doing all sorts of despicable things to her ... no. No, you couldn't think that way, not yet. There was still hope... you just needed to find her, and the first place you should check is most definitely the mall. So, you removed yourself from the telephone booth. You exited the claustrophobic space and began your anxious trek to the mall as quickly as traffic could permit it.

Coming face to face with the mall was enough to make you collapse onto your knees and vomit up what you (didn't) eat. Your palms were clammy from the night before, and you must've reeked of sweat and anxiety. You paled before the mall's imposing stature, and swallowed thickly, before you pushed your way inside. She had to be in here, right? But the question would be where, and then who was she with, and if he was there with her...

You began your search. The mall was filled with people, young and old, weak and strong, men, women, and nonbinary people alike. The walkways were cluttered on both sides, which made you increasingly nervous. Even though people recognized you for the mess you currently were as the new student [L/N] [Y/N], you couldn't recognize them. They were nothing more but passing faces that would occasionally stop you and say that they would see you at school. You didn't care about them, you cared about your best friend. She was around here somewhere.

But so was he.

Seeing him in the corner of your eye made you feel increasingly paranoid, but every time you took a double, then triple, then quadruple take, he was there. Your eyes didn't fail you... no, he was right there. You'd recognize that pompadour-donning young man anywhere Leaning on the corner, head bowed, but you could tell those fiery purple eyes were staring at you, following your every move. He wanted you to go to him. No... you wouldn't.

However, he caught up with you before you could walk away from him. Your heart reached into your throat and threatened to choke you as your gaze went over to him.

His hand grabbed your arm and wrenched it tight, making your body flinch in place. "You're looking for her, aren't you?" He asked, "come with me. I'll take you to her."

"..." You narrowed your eyes, "how can I trust you?"

"You want to find her, don't you?" His purple eyes looked... different. They no longer held the spark of life in them, even though his voice sounded no different from what you remembered of him. You tried not to look into them for too long. "...yes."

He began to pull you along. This part of the mall wasn't isolated by any means... so you wondered... how they couldn't hear this girl gargling on her own blood. In the janitor's closet, you stumbled upon the horrendous sight. Your stomach caved in and you lost it, doubling over on her poor shoes and letting loose while Josuke's hand rested "lovingly" on your shoulder, holding it with a grip that would make abusive lovers envious. She was unrecognizable. The only way you could even tell that it was her was because of her hair, and even then, had there not been a familiar pattern you'd noticed from being around her so much in the earlier weeks of your friendship, you wouldn't have recognized her.

"Yes... I know, this looks incredibly bad on me. But I can fix things... and I will, if you just come back. All of this can disappear. She can going back to being a normal girl, you can go back to Morioh, and I can go back to being your loving boyfriend." He squeezed your shoulder. "Do we have a deal?"

"Y-you... you're a monster! Y-you can't fix this!!" You yelled at him. His eyes widened for a moment, and his brows furrowed. He lost his cool for a split second before he calmed down and sought to reason with you again. "But I can, my love. Just watch."

You didn't bother to look... merely turning your head away from this gruesome scene. Your heart was heavy, your throat was scratched, and your knees felt like they would give in at any moment now, but his grip on your shoulder kept you grounded, if that did anything to help at all. "Look at her, she's all brand new. Why don't you look at her, [Y/N]?"

You reluctantly turned your head to see what he did - and he was right. Her face looked... normal. She was no longer this amalgamation of destroyed flesh. She was your best friend, just as you'd last seen her. "And she can stay this way," his hand reached up to cup your chin, using his hand to gently pull your head to his. You were forced to stare into his eyes as he spoke again. "As long as you come back. If not, she will just have the same thing happen to her - and she'll lay in this closet until someone finds her, and then you will be painted as the killer for vomiting all over this poor girl's shoes. You don't want that, do you?"

You didn't respond. You tried to - but you just didn't know what to say in response to the atrocities he'd committed in the act of obsession.

"You don't want to watch her be subjected to relentless torture for trying to be my replacement, do you?? You don't want to hear her crying out for help while you can't do anything but watch, do you? Answer me, [Y/N]!!"

His other hand cupped your face and squeezed it tight, pulling you closer to his body. Your noses were mere inches away from each other. You could smell his cologne... and in that moment of pure lunacy, you had to wonder if you even smelled good.

"N-no..." you squeezed your eyes shut. "Please just leave her alone..."

"Hey, hey, don't cry," he pulled your face into his chest and stroked down your back lovingly, "I'm not a bad person, baby, you know that. You just have to come back to me... all you have to do is let me be your boyfriend again, and all of this will disappear. We'll go back to being together like we rightfully should be, okay?"

"...okay." You squeezed him, "okay."

#jojo x reader #josuke x reader #yandere josuke #josuke higashitaka #diamond is unbreakable #jojo's bizarre adventure #reader insert #gender neutral insert

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thetypedwriter · 2 years

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The Reckless Kind Book Review

The Reckless Kind Book Review by Carly Heath

Hello everyone! First, I wanted to apologize for the long gap between this book review and my last one. I actually finished writing my novel! A lot of my time has been spent editing and reviewing it along with other people’s manuscripts. So I’ve been reading more than ever, but just not published novels.

Hopefully one day I’ll be able to share my novel with all of you.

I also might have re-read the Foxhole Court trilogy for the fourth time but no one needs to know that…

That being said, the book I finished reading is called The Reckless Kind by Carly Heath.

This novel suffers from having wonderful ideas, but less than excellent execution.

The whole story revolves around three main characters—Fournier, Gunnar, and Asta. Asta is a young woman who suffers from being “odd” looking in a very small, traditionalist town as well as deaf in one ear. Her whole life she’s been told to obey men and that her dream is to get married and have children.

Except Asta doesn’t want that. Asta wants to act in the local theater with her best friend Gunnar and their friend Fournier, she never wants to get married, and she has no interest in anyone romantically.

Fournier is a wealthy, beloved son of French parents who moved to the town. However, he gives up everything, his inheritance, his family’s love, his future, and throws it all away to be with the man he loves—Gunnar. He uses his betrothal money to buy a small house up the road and away from the city.

Gunnar is the last of our trio. Oddly enough, even though a large chunk of the novel revolves around him, he’s the only character out of the main three that we don't get POV chapters from. The inciting incident is when Gunnar gets injured on his family’s farm, leaving him with a missing arm, a dead mother, and a concussed younger brother.

Gunnar’s life spirals into one of self-loathing, depression, and guilt over what a burden he’s become on the people that love him. Another accident involving protecting Asta leaves his legs paralyzed as well.

The three main characters deal with their own vices and woes, as well as try to navigate love and life as being cast from the town because of their “wicked” ways.

When Gunnar’s family farm is threatened, the three of them team up with other local villagers who don’t despise them in order to win the Christmas horse race, win the prize money, and save the farm.

There’s lots of ups and downs, character moments, and despair and hope throughout the novel.

That being said, what I said at the very beginning of this novel still rings true: it’s got a lot of good ideas that were presented in less than ideal ways.

The three main characters are fine. I like the representation and the understanding that no one is perfect. Everyone is fighting their own battle and that’s a powerful message, especially when you pair it up with the idea that letting the people who love you help you is not weakness. It’s strength.

All of the good things aside, the book was rather predictable and fell a little flat for me.

The time period (1900’s) made the book feel old and outdated for me personally. The characters seemed defined by their individual troubles, and the whole plot point of winning the horse Christmas Race wasn’t interesting.

Prejudice of a small town back in 1904 isn’t a new concept and I don’t think anything Carly Heath did here was anything extraordinary. Again, she has good themes and the writing was fine.

However, nothing in particular made this book stand out to me in any way that hasn’t been done better somewhere else.

The representation of different sexual orientations was wonderful, but too much of a focus, and the plot wasn’t interesting or engaging enough to pull the story forward. People in the village were either terrible homophobes or perfectly accepting and the black and white scale to me came across as unoriginal and boring.

Overall, the book was fine. It wasn’t the best read and it certainly wasn’t the worst.

I wanted more from this book, but gleaned the best attributes that I possibly could.

Recommendation: If you’re really interested in LGBTQ+ YA reads, especially representation of asexual characters, this might just fill your niche. However, if you want a story with a powerful, moving plot, engaging, complicated characters, and nuances of social perception, you’re best off looking elsewhere.

Score: 5/10

#the reckless kind #carly heath #YA Books #YA Book Review #ya book rec #book blog #book review #Book Recommendations #LGBTQ fiction #lgbtqbook #Popular Books #popular fiction #5/10

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unjourjeseraideretourpresdetoi · 3 years

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9/10 Chapter 1 - Malt

I started writing a bit of a Harry/Kim fanfic??? Because why the hell not. Anyway, here’s the first part of it. I’m kind of just making it up as I go with a few specific ideas scattered in my head. Spoilers for various plot points. Here’s a sample before the cut. Feel free to send any suggestions or critique, since it’s been ages since I have done much writing. Still working on getting a feel for Harry’s skill voices.

YOU — After a little while, your voice finally returns. “Why are you so nice to me?” KIM KITSURAGI — He takes a long pause and leans back in his chair. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m just stubborn too.” PERCEPTION — You turn to look at him as you finally untangle yourself from your chrysalis of arms, and he looks different somehow. You don’t know if it’s your eyes being sore as hell, or the dull ambiance of the hazy bar lights. Somehow, he looks so light. His bomber jacket is slightly pulled up by his folded arms behind his head, seeming to break the bulky illusion it usually projects over his slim torso. Like suddenly seeing a gap in a suit of armor. SUGGESTION — You should tickle him. ESPRIT DE CORPS — He will kill you in mere seconds if you do that.

ANCIENT REPTILIAN BRAIN — Hello again, Harry boy. The midnight train to Fuck-All-Borough is boarding once again, and you’ve pre-paid your seat. YOU — Okay. ANCIENT REPTILIAN BRAIN — Yes, that’s right. Let’s drive right into the sweet, succulent sopor of oblivion. Let no feelings come to pass, no sensations, just the pure bliss of the radiating void. YOU — But aren’t you here? ANCIENT REPTILIAN BRAIN — That’s just it, Harry. I’m nothing. I am the pale of the mind, I am the deafening silence, I am the black canvas that stretches taut when you close your eyes. I am the swaddle that cradles the mind and the ocean you will drown in. I am born of you and someday, you will die in me. LIMBIC SYSTEM — But not yet—something still stirs in this weighted sack. Something heavy, and sore, and full of noise that steadily rises into a crescendo.

PERCEPTION — And then you open your eyes. And it fucking hurts. PAIN THRESHOLD — Dear god, it’s like a jackhammer on a pogo stick on another jackhammer. PERCEPTION — You realize there’s a smell you haven’t smelled in a few weeks now that’s uncomfortably emanating from your form. Al Gul. COMPOSURE — Oh. You finally did it again. You fucked up.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY — So we got a little smashed. Who cares. You know what’s a great way to stop feeling sorry about it? Getting smashed again. AUTHORITY — No. YOU — Why am I always fucking things up? HALF LIGHT — Because life is terrifying. LOGIC — He’s right about that one.

YOU — What was I doing last night? ELECTROCHEMISTRY — Like I said, getting smashed. CONCEPTUALIZATION — Painting the world with a palette of sugary booze and sad, old rock and roll for sad, old rockstars.

YOU — Who did I hurt this time? DRAMA — Mostly, just yourself. VOLITION — A small miracle, if so. You’re used to self-immolation. YOU — But why? Why now? We were doing better. ELECTROCHEMISTRY — Speak for yourself. LOGIC — You do know that you can’t just ride out two decades of practiced chemical drowning on a workhorse of piety and guilt, right?

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT — This ceaseless dependency on cocktails of narcotics and spirits has weakened you shamefully. PERCEPTION — You look around your dimly lit bedroom, eyes half-closed anyway to quiet the searing pain in your cerebral cortex, slowly putting the pieces back together as the rest of your body wakes up.

YOU — I was having a shitty day. I was stuck on a case and my mind just kept drifting into half-remembered past mistakes. After work, I decided to do it. I called her again, like an idiot. I thought to myself, I can do this, I can let her go, and I’ll tell her I’m finally over it (almost). INLAND EMPIRE — But that is not how it went. She had prepared for the next time you would call. The last time was terrifying enough, torn awake at 3 in the morning, listening to your desperate lies, digging through past trauma.

YOU — “Hey, uh, Dora. It’s Harry. I’m sorry—“ PERCEPTION — A sharp sigh breaks your concentration. DORA — “Let me stop you there, Harry. Because I’m tired of this. You’ve been doing this six years now but it feels at least twice as long. So since you can’t put an end to it, I am. Don’t call again. You won’t be reaching me at this number anymore.” PERCEPTION — Before you can react, there’s silence. And a dial tone. YOU — Fuck. Fuck shit fuck.

COMPOSURE — You stumble through dialing the number again, fingers slipping the first time from nerves and connecting the second, with no answer. You try again. And again. And then you stop trying. It takes everything in you not to smash the phone where it sits. PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT — You need to smash something. If we can’t smash the phone, we HAVE to smash something. REACTION SPEED — Your feet are already taking you away from the pay phone, one thought ahead of the rest of you. You barely round the corner into the alley before you plant your fist full force into the nearest brick wall. PAIN THRESHOLD — Your hand spirals into a fractal of pain, blood dripping down your busted knuckles, slowly running down the dirtied wall. You can feel the cracking of your knuckles, like a brittle lacework of glass strapped down only by the leather of your worn-out hands. HALF-LIGHT — Get out of here. ELECTROCHEMISTRY — Now that you’re done smashing your fist, it’s time to get the rest of you smashed. YOU — “Fuck it. I’m getting a drink.”

CONCEPTUALIZATION — From there, it was a blaze of sweet, hot fire down your throat and back up again, run ragged from shitty karaoke and mild alcohol poisoning. But the film reel is running thin, and you’re struggling to get anything else from your memory bank.

YOU — How did I get back? I don’t remember walking home. ESPRIT DE CORPS — You asked for help.

HAND-EYE COORDINATION — You pat at your pockets, searching for the right one, not quite remembering what you’re doing but knowing the answer you thought of for a fraction of a second is somewhere in there. After a moment, you find it, carefully tucked away but nevertheless damp with sweat from your slacks.

“If you need to talk— 005-93-88-651 Lt. Kitsuragi”

INTERFACING — Your hands are a bit shaky, but you dial out the number on the slip of paper in your hands. PERCEPTION — It rings once. Twice. A third time. And then you hear the receiver click. KIM KITSURAGI — “Hello?”

SHIVERS — In a small apartment in Central Jamrock, not too far from Precinct 41, and not too far from the Jamrock Public Library, Lieutenant Kitsuragi sits on his bed, some light reading in hand, winding down for the night. His new apartment is still filled with cardboard boxes here and there, in no particular hurry to be unpacked. The lights of the city pierce through like little pinpricks in the glare of his bedside window, still insistent on their presence even in the quiet of a cool spring night.

YOU — “Hi, Kim, I uh…” Your voice shakes and you lose your words for a moment, because some part of you really didn’t expect him to pick up. KIM KITSURAGI — “Detective? It’s after midnight.” DRAMA — It’s already that late? You must’ve woken him up. A bad start. YOU — “Uhh… sorry, I uh. Wasn’t looking at the clock. We can just talk tomorrow—“ KIM KITSURAGI — “You’re drunk.” COMPOSURE — Fuck. There’s nothing coming out of your mouth anymore. Another bad phone call. It takes everything in you not to cry. You do anyway.

KIM KITSURAGI — “Where are you?” YOU — You manage to croak out enough to say “Sunshine’s Hideaway. Bar on 12th street.” KIM KITSURAGI — He pauses a moment, thinking. “...I’ll be there in a few minutes.” ESPRIT DE CORPS — He’s thinking about the best route there. LOGIC — He doesn’t have his motor carriage right now. He’s going to have to walk it, and it’s cold out. YOU — “I… you don’t have to do that, I’ll just—“ KIM KITSURAGI — “Harrier, just shut up and park your ass somewhere warm until I get there.” AUTHORITY — He’s doing it! He’s doing the eyebrow thing but on the phone! I didn’t know he could do that! YOU — “Yessir.”

It probably takes about 15 minutes for him to arrive, though each minute feels like five. You feel like a child waiting for their parents to come pick them up at school. You’re pretty sure everyone is staring at you. You can’t really see through the blurry bokeh of your stupid tears. But you can just barely make out the door of the bar opening, followed by a silhouette marked by orange slipping through. Lieutenant Kitsuragi spots you after a moment, and you quickly try to wipe your eyes like you haven’t just been crying the whole time as he approaches. KIM KITSURAGI — You can hear him pull at the chair next to yours, calmly settling into place. “Hello, detective.”

YOU — You try to pull up some words, but you just find yourself nodding appreciatively as you try not to grimace. COMPOSURE — Somehow, the moment his eyes fall on you, you feel like someone just ripped the rug right out from under your feet. You slide down on your elbows, face pressing down onto the table in humiliation, locking your hands together on the back of your neck, like you’re trying to hide in a little tomb of your own arms.

KIM KITSURAGI — You hear the lieutenant take a deep breath and sigh. He unzips his jacket, stifling him in the warm interior of the bar. “That rough, huh?”

YOU — You don’t want to say anything, but your mouth opens before you can stop it. “I’m such an asshole, Kim. I keep fucking everything up, over and over, no matter how hard I try. I just. Keep falling back into my bullshit.” Your voice shakes as you get the words out. “Is this just as good as it’s gonna get at this point? Have I fucked up entirely too much, entirely too long, am I just… this constant trainwreck now and forever? How much of myself have I wasted away into nothing, doing this shit? Acting like a child. Acting like an animal. It feels sometimes like all I have is more downturns. More hurting people. More hurting myself. And I’m so, so fucking tired… and I don’t wanna do this anymore. If this is how it is, I don’t want to… be.” Your voice stops making any noise by the time you reach the end of that.

HALF-LIGHT — And then there’s silence. You know this silence. It’s the sound of someone deciding they’re sick of your shit. This is the moment he realizes he really, truly does not know you and you don’t know him. And he knows he has to get out of here, before you take him down with you, like you’ve done to so many others. EMPATHY — But then there’s a hard pat on your back. Thumping against a hollow drum, ringing through your electrified lungs. KIM KITSURAGI — “It’s okay, detective.” PERCEPTION — His voice is soft and careful.

KIM KITSURAGI — “Honestly, it’s astonishing you’ve held out this long. It’s barely been two months since Martinaise. Since the Whirling. Throughout my time in the RCM, I have seen many good officers break over less. I didn’t know you before March. I don’t really know what kind of officer you might’ve been before that. But who I am familiar with is the Lieutenant Double-Yefreitor Harrier Du Bois, the officer I met two months ago, who is probably the strangest man I’ve ever met, but he is also the most relentless, the most stubborn, the most annoying, and honestly, the most sincere man I’ve ever known to grace the RCM. He is a man who cares enough to find the time in his busy workload to help people he just met, whose troubles he sniffs out like a bloodhound, offering them the help that no one else would. No matter how trivial, or how complicated. I don’t know if this selflessness is something you picked up because you don’t know how to help yourself, but I do know there’s a real effort in there. There’s a real, true love for the people of Revachol. And I know how much this job takes out of people. You can’t turn every mistake around in just a few months. Probably not even a few years. But I think what matters is that you are trying, and I can see how much it hurts you to feel like you’ve failed in that. Please don’t think that tonight is a sign that you can’t do better. Tonight is a dam breaking in the expectations you’ve built up for yourself after staring down your own potential.”

PERCEPTION — Are you laughing? Or is that crying? INLAND EMPIRE — It feels like there are ghosts escaping your every breath. Like parts of you are desperately rushing to the surface, tearing through flesh and bone, clawing at a chance for freedom. The lieutenant’s arm still rests heavily on your back, the only anchor your spirit has left as it dissipates into vapor and rushes through the night.

VOLITION — You cry until there’s nothing left in you anymore.

KIM KITSURAGI — After a moment, he realizes you’re staring at him, then adjusts in his seat, leaning forward and settling his arms in front of him. “How are you feeling? Do you think you can walk?” YOU — “I uhh... probably. My leg doesn’t hurt as much right now.” KIM KITSURAGI — “Mm.” He mutters, getting up from his seat. “At least there is that small grace. How far is your place?” PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT — You’re pretty sure he’s offering to walk you back. You’re not a child, you can get home perfectly fine on your own, thank you. YOU — “Ten blocks.” COMPOSURE — You quickly try to rise to your feet, but it becomes immediately apparent that the floor has been replaced with a rickety old carousel, and you promptly lose your footing. REACTION SPEED — Before you can even attempt to figure out what is happening, you realize that Lieutenant Kitsuragi has wrapped one of his arms around your back. PERCEPTION — His grip is tight and you can feel the muscles tensing in his forearm against your back. Once again, its presence stabilizes you, a beacon for your twisting senses to converge upon. It takes a few moments for everything to slot back into the correct place. KIM KITSURAGI — “Are you sure you’re alright, detective?” DRAMA — His concern is quite sincere. YOU — “I just gotta sleep this off.” You say as you steady yourself back upright.

KIM KITSURAGI — “Let’s get going, then.” He nods to you as he zips up his jacket again, then stretches his right arm out behind your back. PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT — No, dude, fuck that shit, you’re sick of people propping you up because of your stupid leg, we can do this shit on our own! YOU — “Thanks.” You steady yourself against his arm and extend your left against his back as well. PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT — Hey, what! DRAMA — By now, the lieutenant knows when you’re just trying to bullshit and act like a tough guy. It’s time to drop the act, for now. He knows you need the help. You wouldn’t have called him if you didn’t.

CONCEPTUALIZATION — That’s all I got. The rest is just black. YOU — Ugghhhhhh damn it. Like Kim hasn’t seen enough of me making an ass of myself by now. EMPATHY — On the bright side, his mental image of you can probably only improve. Hopefully. Maybe. YOU — Whatever. What time is it? PERCEPTION — You look around for your alarm clock, and find it knocked onto the floor beside your bed. It says 9:53. YOU — Shit. Did I have work today? ESPRIT DE CORPS — No. Your hours have been temporarily reduced during your recovery period. YOU — Right. Okay. I should probably get up and do something about this headache.

You throw the blanket off of your body and gradually roll yourself out of bed, bones creaking with aches and pains, limping across the room and dodging various discarded clothes and shoes that litter the floor. You twist the doorknob and open your bedroom door, making your way across the living room, towards the bathroom.

REACTION SPEED — Wait! There’s someone… on the couch? PERCEPTION — A figure of a man lies on the couch, covered with an ugly patchwork blanket, still sleeping. Next to the couch, an orange bomber jacket rests. Wait… is that Kim? HALF-LIGHT — OH MY GOD, you’re half-naked, GET BACK IN YOUR ROOM AND PUT YOUR PANTS ON BEFORE YOU HUMILIATE YOURSELF. SAVOIR FAIRE — You quickly backpedal, trying not to make any noise, and press your door shut firmly, hoping that you weren’t noticed. YOU — Why is he here??? I thought he just walked me home? HALF-LIGHT — Stop thinking and get your damn armor on! VOLITION — Armor? We didn’t find any armor pants in Martinaise. DRAMA — He’s being metaphorical. You hurriedly stuff your legs into the closest pair of semi-clean trousers before peeking out the door again.

PERCEPTION — The lieutenant is still asleep on the couch. SAVOIR FAIRE — Alright, go time. You sneak through the living room and into the bathroom, carefully trying not to creak the medicine cabinet as you get yourself some painkillers. ELECTROCHEMISTRY — Down the whole bottle! Party time! VOLITION — No. We are not doing that.

After taking the recommended dose of painkillers, you peek out into the living room again. PERCEPTION — Lieutenant Kitsuragi is still resting quietly on your couch, lying on his back, tightly wrapped in the ugly spare blanket from your linen closet. You suddenly realize there’s something different about the living room… such as, there’s less garbage everywhere. EMPATHY — Did he clean the room up for you? Or maybe for himself?

You exit the bathroom and slowly cross the living room, stopping halfway through, looking at the lieutenant again. PERCEPTION — He looks peaceful, and his face relaxed and still. With his glasses off, you notice more of the shape of his brow and his tired eyes. His breathing is slow and measured, with quiet sighs. One of his arms dangles out from under the blanket, his hand just barely off the floor. His fingers are thin, bony, weathered from work, with little scars and blemishes that have mostly faded away.

SUGGESTION — Hold it.

YOU — What?

No one replies. You stare for a moment, feeling a tension in your chest. Curiosity snakes through your skin. You step closer towards the couch, then slowly crouch down, meeting the lieutenant’s eye level.

SUGGESTION — Hold it. Please.

You reach forward, and the lieutenant suddenly stirs.

KIM KITSURAGI — “Mmnh…” His eyes flutter open. “Oh, good morning detective.” YOU — “Uh, yeah. Good morning.” You casually withdraw your hand and rest it on your leg. “Why are you here…?” KIM KITSURAGI — “You don’t remember?” He asks with a hint of concern. YOU — “Well, mostly. I remember you helped me walk home, but after that, it’s fuzzy.” KIM KITSURAGI — “Ah, so just the normal amount of alcohol-induced forgetfulness.” The lieutenant nods at you, then sits up on the couch. He reaches for his glasses on the side table, then folds them open. “I decided to stay here on the couch, just in case...” He trails off. EMPATHY — To keep an eye on you. In case you started doing worse.

YOU — “...Thanks. I’m sorry for interrupting your night.” KIM KITSURAGI — “No need to apologize,” he says with a slight smile. “Honesty, I’m… glad you asked for help instead of isolating yourself. That would have been…” He pauses, looking for the correct words. “Not ideal. What time is it, anyway?” YOU — “Bit after 10.” KIM KITSURAGI — “Already that late? Good thing I’m not working today.”

YOU — “Sorry to make you clean up after me.” You say, glancing across the room. KIM KITSURAGI — “Well, no, it’s not your fault or anything. You didn’t expect company.” He seems a bit self-conscious suddenly, looking away. “I suppose it’s more like I don’t know how to leave a mess alone.” SUGGESTION — You’re not sure which mess he means—the apartment, or you. EMPATHY — It’s both. You feel a slight embarrassment tingling across the surface of your skin and decide to change the topic.

YOU — “You said you have the day off?” KIM KITSURAGI — “Yes, I have a few errands to run, part of some loose ends to clean up for my transfer to 41. But I can get those done any time during the day.” SUGGESTION — You should— YOU — “Do you wanna go get breakfast? I know a good place down the street.” You say it before you can even finish thinking. KIM KITSURAGI — The lieutenant sits quietly for a moment, adjusting his glasses. “Hmmm… sure, why the hell not. I’ve got some time to spare.” SUGGESTION — Jackpot! YOU — “I’m gonna go get dressed, you’re welcome to the bathroom if you need it.” KIM KITSURAGI — “Sounds good.”

You walk into your bedroom and shut the door behind you.

CONCEPTUALIZATION — Time to get stylish! LOGIC — Not that stylish, it’s just breakfast. Don’t make it weird. INLAND EMPIRE — Hey, weird is our thing! YOU — I think I’m just gonna wear whatever’s clean and doesn’t smell repulsive. CONCEPTUALIZATION — Oh, sorry, didn’t know we were Boring Cop today.

After taking a quick glance at what’s available, you decide to just go with a simple, pastel gingham button-up and a fresh pair of jeans. Glancing at your coats, you grab a blue blazer with a checkered lining.

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT — Oh my god you look like a nerd. RHETORIC — No, he looks smart. Ready to have a battle of the wits. PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT — Yeah, like I said, A NERD!

You quietly ignore the high school bullying going on inside your head as you exit the room. Lieutenant Kitsuragi glances at you from next to the couch, in the middle of putting on his jacket.

KIM KITSURAGI — “No disco today?” He says with a slight smile. YOU — “All my disco’s due for the wash.” KIM KITSURAGI — He tugs at his collar and settles his jacket into place. “It’s almost odd to see you in something so… tame.” YOU — “I mean, I still got the jackets from Fuck the World and Piss F****t if you change your mind.” KIM KITSURAGI — “Somehow I doubt the waitstaff would be understanding of the artist’s statements at breakfast.” He lets out a small chuckle. EMPATHY — There’s a surprising softness in his response. KIM KITSURAGI — “I’m all set to go if you are.”

The two of you head out of your apartment and set out down the road, your destination just two blocks away. The streets of Jamrock are already lively with pedestrians and motor carriages milling about. Before long, you arrive at a staircase with a weathered, striped canopy hanging above, quietly announcing its presence with simple text saying “The Lazy Daisy”. You and the lieutenant head down the stairs and enter the little eatery, pushing past the door and being met with the sweet and salty smells of this morning’s meals. You wave to the waitress and take a seat at a little table in the corner.

KIM KITSURAGI — The lieutenant takes his seat across from you, his eyes studying the surroundings. “You know, I never noticed this place before.” YOU — “Yeah, it’s easy to miss amongst all the other businesses on this road.” KIM KITSURAGI — “But you remembered it?” YOU — “I think my feet did.”

WAITRESS — A cheerful, pudgy woman in her forties wearing a striped apron walks over to the table, little menu books in hand. “Good morning officers! Thanks for stopping by the Lazy Daisy today. Can I get you something to drink while you look over the menu?”

YOU — “You wanna get a pot of coffee, Kim?” KIM KITSURAGI — “Sure, that sounds fine.” WAITRESS — “Alright, I’ll give you a moment to look over the menu!”

You already know what you’re going to order: skillet hash with a side of toast. You watch the lieutenant look the menu over and find yourself wondering what he’ll order. YOU — “You seem like an Eggs Benedict kind of guy to me.” KIM KITSURAGI — “I was thinking about trying this malted waffle actually. It’s been a while since I had a good waffle.” He replies, not looking up from the menu. “But you are correct, I do enjoy a good Eggs Benedict.”

YOU — “Can’t go wrong with either one.” WAITRESS — The waitress returns, a full pot of coffee in one hand and two mugs in the other. She gently places the pot of coffee at the center of the little table and places the mugs down on either side. “Alright, so what can I get for you boys?” YOU — “I’ll go for the skillet hash with a side of dry toast. And the lieutenant here…” KIM KITSURAGI — “I’ll take a malted waffle with a side of bacon.” WAITRESS — “Sounds great! I’ll bring it out when it’s ready.”

You turn your attention to the coffee and partially fill both of the mugs, absent-mindedly adding a sugar cube and a little cup of half-and-half to yours and stirring, watching the color spread and blend. You look up and notice the lieutenant surveying the restaurant again.

KIM KITSURAGI — “Hmmm… yes, this place certainly seems your style.” YOU — “What, sad and old?” KIM KITSURAGI — He smiles slightly, but his brow betrays his discomfort. “No, I was thinking more along the lines of… eclectic, stubborn, lively.” He glances at the walls covered in various posters, art, and rock and roll memorabilia. YOU — “Disco.” KIM KITSURAGI — “Disco.” He nods affirmatively.

You absently stir your coffee and lift it to your mouth to take a sip, mulling over topics of conversation. RHETORIC — Go for a standard sort of icebreaker, what’s the latest with him, that sort of thing. ESPRIT DE CORPS — Let’s talk work. Trade some gritty case stories with him! INTERFACING — Maybe you could talk torque dork to torque dork? EMPATHY — Neither of you have motor carriages right now. That would just be a bummer. INLAND EMPIRE — Ask him to tell you a secret! AUTHORITY — That one never works.

YOU — “You just moved into your new place, right Kim? How is it?” KIM KITSURAGI — “Hmm, it’s not bad. I had to make a few concessions but… there’s a bit more floor space than my last place. I finally have a good space for a proper desk.” He takes a sip of his coffee. “Now the only trouble is getting a desk up three flights of stairs.”

YOU — “I can lend you a hand with that if you want. I have reason to suspect I may be a former gym teacher.” PERCEPTION — You can’t really hear it, but judging by the steam rolling away from the mug at his lips, you can tell the lieutenant let a light chuckle out through his nose before taking another sip of coffee.

KIM KITSURAGI — “Maybe I’ll take you up on that when I find something suitable.” RHETORIC — Great job! Look at you! You’re so good at talking like a normal person!

KIM KITSURAGI — The lieutenant casually withdraws his notebook from his jacket and starts perusing it while he slowly sips his coffee. YOU — “Hey, no working until we’ve had breakfast.” KIM KITSURAGI — He barely moves, glancing upwards at you and cocking an eyebrow. AUTHORITY — It’s fine, that brow is only operating at about 25% capacity. You got this. YOU — “Take a break, lieutenant.” You place your hand on top of his, gently encouraging him to lower the notebook onto the table. He nonchalantly relents, quickly withdrawing his hand and tucking it under his other arm, which rests casually on the table. His glance wanders away from you and out towards the windows. EMPATHY — It’s hard to tell if he’s annoyed or just playing up indifference. Perhaps you shouldn’t have grabbed his hand like that.

You take a moment to look around the restaurant, passively taking in the surroundings that feel intensely familiar to your instincts, but strangely recent to the rest of you. It’s a weird feeling, one you’ve been experiencing just about everywhere you go in Jamrock. Places that you know but have never seen. Drifting shadows of the person you once were, and still are, half-buried in a haze. Your head fluctuates in the pressure, a mix of pristine images just out of reach and faint illusions gripped tightly in your palm.

KIM KITSURAGI — The lieutenant’s low voice suddenly pulls you back to reality. “Everything alright, detective?” INLAND EMPIRE — There is a hole in my brain. YOU — “Yeah, sorry. Just thinking about the usual.” You pause, contemplating your next words. “Grinding the bourgeoisie into sausage for the proletariat and whatnot,” you lie. KIM KITSURAGI — “Ah, so nice of you to join us, Comrade Mazov.” YOU — You quickly bust out your trusty finger guns and fire off two shots, clicking your tongue as you snap your fingers. KIM KITSURAGI — The lieutenant is unphased by your reckless discharge of live rounds that undoubtedly rain chaos upon the once peaceful restaurant. DRAMA — C’mon, he probably thinks it’s at least a little cool. EMPATHY — It’s not, man.

RHETORIC — Let’s get back to the list. What else can we talk about? YOU — “Tell me a secret about yourself.” KIM KITSURAGI — He sighs. “This again?” YOU — “You know it.” KIM KITSURAGI — He pauses for a moment. “No.” YOU — “Aww, come on.” KIM KITSURAGI — He raises one eyebrow. AUTHORITY — Oh god, we have full capacity brow-raising. I repeat, full capacity!

KIM KITSURAGI — His brow lowers slightly, offering a challenge. “You’re terrible at keeping secrets. Maybe if you can think of a single piece of personal trivia you haven’t already divulged entirely unprompted to any random passerby, we can come back to this topic.” ESPRIT DE CORPS — He does not believe that his terms can be met. He is secure in that. SUGGESTION — Challenge accepted! YOU — “Deal.” DRAMA — You’re gonna need to work on this for like, at least 8 hours probably. Maybe more like 20.

WAITRESS — The same woman reappears with a tray in hand, radiating the unmistakable smell of hot, fresh breakfast. “Here you are, sirs!” She gently slides the plates in front of each of you. “Let me know if there’s anything else you need! Enjoy your food!” PERCEPTION — You notice the name on her apron: Denice. YOU — “Thanks, Denice.” WAITRESS — She offers a polite smile before leaving.

You immediately start digging in, shoveling the mixed bits of potato, egg, bacon, and cheese into your mouth, savoring the salt and fat of a hearty breakfast. It’s your favorite meal, but you don’t always have the time or energy to get anything decent most mornings.

SUGGESTION — Hey, I just had a great idea! Offer Kim some of this shit. YOU — You finish the bite you have in your mouth quickly. “Hey, Kim, you wanna try some of mine?” KIM KITSURAGI — He blinks. “No, thank you. I’ve got plenty here.” He looks down at the colossal waffle on his plate, barely dented. YOU — “Yeah but this is like, stupid good. I’ll even let you have some egg yolk.” KIM KITSURAGI — “Very generous of you.” He smirks, then studies your plate for a moment. “Hm… sure, why not.”

You slide your plate a bit closer to him. He holds his fork up, surveying for the ideal sample size. Then, he strikes, claiming an entire egg for himself.

YOU — “Woooow.” You feign offence. KIM KITSURAGI — “Sorry, detective. I’ll need to confiscate this. I believe it may be connected to a case I’m working on.” He tries to keep a straight face but the corner of his mouth is slightly turned upwards. In seconds, he files the evidence into his mouth and promptly destroys it.

YOU — “Can’t believe the corruption I am witnessing here.” In a counter-attack, you jab your fork into one of the untouched corners of the lieutenant’s waffle. KIM KITSURAGI — The lieutenant stabs his knife down across from your fork, as if ready to engage in combat. He stares you down, brows furrowed with the illusion of authority. “Detective, I would tread carefully if I were you. You have entered enemy territory, and I have the high ground.”

PERCEPTION — You can feel your face turning red in the heat of the incredibly stupid breakfast battle you have entered. AUTHORITY — Do it! Let loose the dogs of war! Get that fucking waffle! KIM KITSURAGI — The lieutenant narrows his eyes at you, his concentration unwavering. The authority levels are building in his brow. They are charged to 50% capacity. DRAMA — I have an idea, sire.

YOU — You relax back in your seat, looking behind Kim. “Oh, hey Captain Pryce, here to enjoy the best breakfast in Central Jamrock?” KIM KITSURAGI — He quickly turns his head to look behind him. SAVOIR FAIRE — In an instant, you slice a corner of the waffle free from Kim’s plate, casually sliding it onto yours. KIM KITSURAGI — Realizing the feint, he snaps his attention back to you, glaring.

YOU — You pull your plate back, then pick up your mug, gesturing towards the lieutenant with a slight smirk. “Truce?” KIM KITSURAGI — Studying you for a moment, he reluctantly picks up his mug and clinks it against yours. “For now.”

#disco elysium #de spoilers #disco elysium spoilers #fanfic #koko fic #de fanfic

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theassthatquits · 3 years

Text

In the Margins Ch 4

You can read the first three chapters here.

Notes: This was a tough one for me to write because I kept wanting to jump back in time and tell the story of what happened, so now I have a bunch of writing about the specifics of their experiences and might turn that into something, lmk if that is interesting to you!

The text from the book is in bold and Barry’s notes are italicized.

40 years is not a particularly long time for an elf, but it has been a very eventful and long 40 years. Lup doesn’t remember a lot of things and will often go through the journals Lucrecia keeps in the common room to remember specific things. Sometimes it’s like she’s reading a biography about someone else, not her or the people she loves.

Reading this textbook was kind of like that.

This was from very early on, maybe 5 cycles in? They were still new to the whole regeneration thing and despite spending every waking moment together for half a decade, the crew didn’t fully trust each other yet. They weren’t the family they are now and their personalities clashed a lot. While Lup and Taako were pretty sociable, they didn’t get close with people. Revisiting this year was a reminder of who they were before they found their family. It was uncomfortable to remember those feelings, yet satisfying and heartwarming to know how far they have come and what they have created.

The first thing that Lup noticed about this book was that Barry’s name (his real name) was written in the cover: Sildar Hallwinter. And underneath that, in parentheses, was scrawled in newer ink: (Barry Bluejeans). She smiled to herself and grazed her fingers over the older print, as if attempting to feel the spirit of the man who once wrote that. Lup and Taako weren’t the only ones who have changed in the last several decades.

The first chapter was all about the history of the celebrations: The plane was in constant strife, people weren’t happy. Then the 7 deities came down from the Astral Plane and claimed to have the solution to all of their problems. Everyone was desperate for a reprieve and followed everything they said. Each God had their own lesson and thus the seven celebrations were born:

The Day of Sacrifice

The Day of Humility

The Day of Honesty

The Day of Reconciliation

The Day of Love

The Day of Warmth

The Day of Dance

It was easy to tell which notes were made by Sildar and which were made by Barry. (Her Barry she thought subconsciously and then shook the thought away because he isn’t hers, necessarily).

The older notes were in more faded ink, its age clearly showing. They were also more focused on the academic side of history, adding in details that he had learned from the residents or theorizing about different things. The newer notes were in crisp, dark ink and they told the story of what had actually happened during those different celebrations while they lived there. It seems Barry was recently doing quite the walk down memory lane.

Flipping to the first celebration, Lup tried to recall any specifics about this year. She remembered having a lot of fun at the different parties and events they went to, there were some weird ones and uncomfortableness, but she remembered mostly positive feelings. This was the year she and Barry started to become actual friends, she’s pretty sure. They fought side by side against the hunger at the end of that year, backs pressed up together shooting off spells as the Starblaster took off. She was stabbed through the abdomen and collapsed in his arms. The last thing she remembers of that year was staring into his eyes as he yelled her name while holding her tight, even though they were about to regenerate on the ship in a matter of minutes.

This was something she wouldn’t find out about Barry until much later in their journey - he felt everything, and he felt it incredibly deeply.

----

The Day of Sacrifice

Tedes, the God of Humility, had watched over the town very closely for a long time. He had observed how they tended to use their best traits and strengths against one another, instead of using them to come together. After some consideration, he thought his lesson would be to take away what they valued the most. These were not material goods that were so casually ripped away from everyone’s being; Tedes took away the sense of self.

He took traits, abilities, memories that were so intrinsically tied to everyone’s being and simply took it away for the day.

On the side, Sildar had written what each of them lost:

Davenport - Confidence/Ability to lead

Taako - Taste

Lucretia - Writing ability

Magnus - Strength

Merle - Healing powers

Lup - Fire Magic

Barry - Desire to learn

Oh, yeah. It was starting to come back to her, waking up that morning and everyone realizing that they had lost something. Taako was first, he woke up the ship with his distressed wail about not being able to taste his morning iced coffee. They had just thought he was catching a cold, nothing to be super concerned about. Davenport brought Merle over to try to maybe help but no matter how hard he tried, Merle couldn’t cast any healing magic. Things just spiraled from there until Lup, in her fury to figure out what the fuck was going on, found this book. She remembered being angry at Barry, that he didn’t seem to want to know what was going on and why. The horrible realization that she couldn’t cast anything, couldn’t defend her and Taako. She was afraid it would last forever, having to rely on the other members of the group for their magical abilities. Magnus went through something similar, the man designated to protect them all could barely lift his weapon.

It had been a tense day, full of snark and attitude. Lucrecia had decided to go back to bed, hoping to sleep through the day. Taako furiously whipped up every potent recipe he could, throwing his spoon across the kitchen every time he tried to taste something and couldn’t. Barry just….actually, she wasn’t sure what Barry did during that day. She didn’t remember seeing him after snapping at him for not helping her.

A little pang of guilt showed up in her chest, she was pretty nasty to him that day. He didn’t deserve that. Maybe she could make it up to him somehow.

The first Day of Sacrifice was chaos. Everyone panicked, losing something so important to them without knowing for sure if it would ever return was devastating to so many. Then something remarkable happened - they turned to each other. That night, after arguing and fighting and mass panic, the village gathered in the center of town and simply talked. Those who could still cook brought food and the townspeople, who had been so divided just hours before, told stories of their past. What they lost and what that had meant to them. What they would do if it never returned.

This is an exercise in trust, Sildar had written. Trust others enough to be vulnerable in front of them, trust that others will help when it is needed, trust that what was lost will be returned. It took a long time for us to figure this out. Talked with Magnus, Lucrecia, Davenport, and Merle. I think we are stronger for it now. I only made the connection after Lup threw this book at me.

So that’s what he was doing, holding a therapy session with the rest of the crew. A little jealous that she wasn’t involved, but she did take off into the woods soon after throwing said book at Barry. There was another note underneath that one, written by Barry many years later.

Trust that others will help when it is needed. I will trust her until the end of my days.

Still prefer trust fall exercises instead of this, though.

She blushed and smiled, heart skipping at the thought of him writing about her. Putting the book, Lup stood up and went to go find him, suddenly eager to be in his presence.

#blupjeans #Barry Bluejeans #Lup #lup taaco #taz balance #taz balance spoilers #the stolen century #in the margins

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shurisneakers · 4 years

Text

espresso [13]

Summary: In which your best friend’s brother begins to set you up on dates when you mention that you haven’t been in a relationship in years, but things don’t go as expected.

Warning: angst, pining

Word count: 2.1k (???)

A/N: hi ! all my love to @samingtonwilson for making me not sound like a 6 year old when i write this never-ending series and for being a true queen ! we stan an icon

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Previous part- Part 12 || Espresso Masterlist

To Bucky:

Can we talk?

From Bucky:

Coffee shop at 7?

To Bucky:

Okay.

It almost felt like déjà vu. But this time you were nervous, and not nearly as much as you were confused– a stark contrast to the meeting you had at this very location months ago to start this deal.

It was deserted– for now.

You knew the crowd would pick up gradually as students filtered in for their daily dose of caffeine, so you didn’t have much time.

You took a deep breath, pushed open the door, and let the bell above you jingle. A joyous sound for something so… jumbled up.

Bucky perked up at the noise, pausing momentarily from cleaning the counter.

I got this. I got this.

“Hey.” He sent a tiny lopsided smile your way as you took your place at one of the stools before the counter.

I don’t got this.

“Hey.” The confidence you’d felt just outside was beginning to slip away.

Fuck.

“Can I get you something to drink?” he asked politely, gesturing around to the menus in front of you. It was almost eerie how uncharacteristically silent your surroundings were.

“No, I’m good. Thank you though.”

He nodded as he pulled a stool towards him to sit. The counter separated the two of you. “We have about thirty minutes before the usuals start coming in.”

“Okay.”

Be brave. Be brave. Be brave.

“Did you read it? The letter?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

And it scared the shit out of me.

“Fucking hell,” you cursed, sighing lightly. “I’m so confused, James. It was so fucking confusing.”

“Why?”

“Because of the dates. Every time I thought there may be a hint of something more, you’d set me up on another date with some other guy who I didn’t even like. Did you do it on purpose?”

“No. Not consciously at least. I would never,” his voice slowly trailed off.

“But?” you pressed.

“But I did spend time thinking about it and… reflecting, I guess. And I think my defense mechanism or insecurities or whatever did have a role in it, but I never noticed until you pointed it out.”

“That’s a fucking dick move, you know.”

“I know,” he swallowed, tired eyes on the counter flitting up to meet yours. “I’m sorry. Truly. ”

“And what is it with these?” You pointed to the cups in front of you. “Why is everyone so obsessed with these?”

He leaned forward on his forearms. “I used to write little pieces of poetry whenever you came in. Or messages when you didn’t look like you were having a good day. Just innocuous stuff.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I thought you saw them but didn’t care. A bunch of times you threw them away pretty quickly so I kinda figured you were doing it to save me from humiliation. So I just stopped after a while.”

“I didn’t see them.”

“Yes, I know that now.”

“Do you remember some of the stuff you wrote?” you asked hopefully. “Do I get to read it now?”

“All of it.” He laughed and pulled away from the counter. “But you’re not going to see it again. It’s too embarrassing.”

“Why do you hate everything you write so much?”

He shrugged. “I tend to get dramatic a lot. And emotional.”

“That isn’t a bad thing.”

Wordless, he just picked up a cloth to wipe at some glasses he knew were already clean. Until, “Any more questions?”

“Why didn’t you like Rumlow?”

“Oh, come on.” He looked at you like you were kidding, disbelieving. His expression fell when he realized you weren’t. “Really?”

“Really. We’re getting all the skeletons out now.”

“Because-” a disgruntled sigh, “because he was absolute garbage! He was a fucking dick and I already hated him, but then he went and did that whole thing with Dot-“ he gestured wildly to make up for unfound words.

“-And after that I literally couldn’t look at his face without wanting to punch the living shit out of him.”

If it wasn’t clear by now, you could tell by the clench of his jaw that talking about Rumlow triggered something in Bucky.

Deciding to spare his anger before it spiraled through less important explanations, you pointed at the bandage wrapped around his knuckles. “What happened here?”

“Punched a wall.” That was a lie, you could tell. But you didn’t push it any further. “Pulled a Kyle.”

You rolled your eyes at his outdated joke, but he didn’t seem to mind, going back to wiping at the mugs in silence.

You just watched him breathe through it, his shoulders dropping tight tension as seconds passed.

“You know, you never actually told me what happened at the bar,” he spoke up, attempting to change the topic smoothly, but it didn’t go unnoticed.

“How much do you know?”

“Only what Dot told me, honestly.”

Fucking Dolores.

You groaned. “Dot? Fucking Dot knows about what happened?”

“She doesn’t know anything,” he interrupted before you had the chance to whine more.

You looked at him quizzically.

“It wasn’t my story to tell. She just said that your reaction made her realize there was some kind of history between you and Rumlow because no one leaves so suddenly in the middle of a conversation.”

You were gonna regret this but-

“Why was she in your room that day?”

He titled his head in confusion. “Which day?”

“Your birthday. I came to give you your present and she was wearing your shirt.”

It was like you couldn’t help yourself.

You cleared your throat after a beat, straightening your posture. “Actually, I’m sorry it’s none of my business. I didn’t-“

“Becca spilled her drink on her,” he explained coolly. Not defensive in the least. “I just gave her a shirt so that she didn’t have to stay in that for the rest of the night. Nothing happened between us.”

Oh. Becca had mentioned that she’d spilt her drink on fucking Dolores. Okay, maybe you didn’t connect the story. In anger. Maybe a little jealousy.

“I’m sorry, it wasn’t my place to ask.”

“It’s alright. I was going to clear it up that day but you left so suddenly.” You almost snorted as he continued, “She asked about you after the bar. She was a little worried.”

Slowly, the guilt of disliking her so badly was starting to creep into your mind. You’d always known there was no real reason to.

You owed her an apology basket.

Maybe two.

“What’s going on in your head? I can feel you thinking too much all the way here.”

“Who the hell writes people rejection letters, Bucky?” The thought was absurd enough to warrant a smile from you and a small laugh from him.

“Told you it was dorky.”

“Didn’t realize it was to this degree.”

“Yeah, well.” He shrugged, not saying anything to defend himself.

You glanced at the clock above the register. You had only ten minutes to go, and almost all the questions you had thought of had been answered.

Almost.

The one thing you wanted to know itched at you, aching to get out but you weren’t sure you had the confidence to just fucking ask-

“You good? Sure I can’t get you a-“

“Do you have feelings for me?” you asked directly. A straight shot.

His eyes widened slightly in surprise. To be honest, you were almost shocked yourself at how blunt you’d just been, but you were so tired. So tired. You wanted it done, out in the open. Clear air for once.

“Like, right now. This instant.”

“Y/N, I-” A sigh. A slow comb of his hands through his hair. A glance to the side.

“The letter, James.” You didn’t break your stare. Didn’t dare. Your heart felt two seconds from bursting through your chest. “You wrote it in the letter that you used to.”

No movement aside from a shift of his gaze downward, focusing on restless fingers. He pursed his lips, another sigh. But he said nothing.

Seconds of silence passed.

It almost felt suffocating.

Your eyebrows were knit together. “Bucky-”

“Yes.” You fell silent as his eyes met yours with little hesitation. “Yes. I do.”

You didn’t know what you were expecting him to say, but you froze. You opened your mouth but shut it again, unable to form any words. Well fuck.

His shrug was nonchalant, but the fall of his shoulders to a defeated slump was anything but. “Y/N, you have to know that our friendship means the world to me, and if this is going to change everything, then please, please stop me right now.” “I-”

“You’re my Mario,” his voice cracked but the corner of his lips tugged upwards. “I can’t afford to lose that.”

You didn’t know what to say. Of course everything it would change things between you. How could it not?

It’s not like you wanted to give up what you had with him. You didn’t know if you were being selfish, but the intensity of whatever it is that you were feeling was there and it hurt.

“Don’t-” he interrupted your train of thought with a restrained, almost forced smile. An attempt at confidence, perhaps. “Don’t overthink this. You really don’t have to say anything.”

“I just-” Bucky continued, another dramatic gesturing of his hands when words fell short. “Figured it was ‘bout time you knew. Properly.”

“Since when?” you sounded unsure.

“How long? Oh, man.” He laughed softly and shook his head. “Shits, I think it’s been a good couple of years now.”

Silently, you mulled it all over. Sat with it all for a minute.

He smiled, genuine now. No longer forced and tight, but relieved at the loss of the weight on his chest.

He set down the glass he was holding and swung the rag over his shoulder.

“I’m… fuckin’ shit at communication, Y/N,” he admitted as your lips pursed. “You know that. I couldn’t tell you, I couldn’t tell Dot. I couldn’t talk to Becca, forget anyone else. It’s so fucking hard for me to talk about-”

“Feelings?”

“Feelings,” he confirmed, nodding. “Emotions. It’s almost like I can’t. It’s easier just shut up and listen to others talk all the time.”

It made sense.

Even though he asked you not to overthink, everything he did was thought over, and then thought over again, and again and million more times just out of selfless concern.

“It feels selfish. And I hate feeling that way.”

You knew he wasn’t very open but this-

This was new to you. It didn’t shock you like you’d thought it would, but it was still… a little difficult to hear.

“What you feel is important too, you know. Not that you should feel that way, but it’s okay to be a little selfish,” you replied, voice soft.

“Yeah well-“ He paused before shaking his head. “Communicating is just something I have to work on, I guess.”

“Me too, apparently,” was your mumbled response.

All of this could have been avoided if you’d just had this conversation months ago. Like proper adults. Mature adults.

“We both have some serious issues,” he said lightly, cracking a smile at you.

You didn’t respond. You just played with the hem of your scarf, unraveling a piece of thread from the rest of it.

You could hear the sound of cars pulling up to the shop. A glance at the clock confirmed an incoming crowd.

But something felt incomplete.

You felt uneasy.

“Ah fuck, here they come,” he cursed, a quick smoothening his hair before pulling on his barista cap.

You took it as your sign to leave, gathering your few belongings that sat scattered before you.

“I’ll see you around Buck-”

“Y/N.”

You lifted your head to meet his stare.

“I know I shouldn’t really be asking this, but are we- We’re good, right?”

You stopped your own restless fidgeting.

You couldn’t tell him you weren’t sure, could you? Could you tell him that and that you were relieved?

Relieved that it hadn’t been in your head, that there were feelings on his end. Angry, though, that even if his intentions with the dates had been pure, what he did kinda sucked. That misunderstandings which could’ve been solved with a little maturity and a little communication lingered for so long, caused so many sleepless nights.

Could you tell him all of that and how it all hurt?

You knew he wasn’t looking for reciprocation. You knew he didn’t deem himself worthy of it. Even though he was good. Through it all, he was still good. Probably always would be. Too scared to hurt others, too scared to put the weight of his feelings on anyone else.

Maybe that’s why it was so confusing.

It was so fucking confusing.

His stare didn’t waver even as the bell above the door rang, signaling a new customer. Never a lapse in intensity.

“Yeah. I think we’re good.”

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #mcu fic #bucky fic #bucky barnes fic #bucky fluff #bucky barnes fluff #bucky angst #bucky barnes angst #college!bucky #college!au #college!bucky x reader #kumis5kchallenge #espresso fic

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zeebeebirdy · 3 years

Text

When Angels Fly

Summary: The Vault Hunters kill Angel, and Jack reacts as most parents would at the loss of their child. He doesn't expect however to take on her siren powers because...well, that's not how sirens work, right?!

(Alternatively: We were talking about siren Jack in a server and getting emo about Jack getting her powers after she dies and next thing I knew I was writing angst!)

[READ HERE ON AO3]

"Dad, I have to tell you something…"

Jack's panic is soaring through his veins like an unruly firework. He watches his daughter lay on the ground, staring up at the pixilated projection of himself, and tears begin collecting in his eyes finally. Her breath is laboured. Her eyes…

She looks too much like her mother.

"You're an asshole."

The scream rips through him involuntarily, full of rage and sorrow and regret. Angel falls limp, and Jack roars with such venomous hysteria, he threatens to tear his vocal chords beyond repair. He slams his palm down on the panel before him, turning off his projection into the chamber, and screams again.

He keeps screaming. His whole chest feels like it's shattering, the explosion of his heart having blown out the structure of his ribs. Every scream gets more hysterical, it burns so deep he imagines his lungs to be shrivelling up, turning black and crumbling as they weaken. Every coherent thought he might have been able to decipher before is now just tangled knots, taunting him.

This is a familiar pain, isn't it? He's known this before, this putrid, agonising darkness that consumes him, squeezes him until he's drained of any will to live. The thick melancholia infecting his senses, poisoning him beyond the point of death.

He didn't deserve it before. He didn't deserve to lose his chance at happiness. He didn't deserve watching his world be torn apart so easily after fighting for hope.

I'm not an asshole.

I was defying fate of breaking me.

He punches one of the metal walls to the room he's in, then rests his forehead following. Tears pour from his eyes like he's some kind of geyser, and the inability to stop just fuels his anger more. He's used to feeling anger, even if it's simply lingering, keeping him company, but this is increased tenfold compared to what he knows. This is terrifying, it stiffens his bones, expands to form cracks.

He didn't deserve it before. Did he deserve it now?

Did she?

She still sounds so close by. Her voice, infected in hatred, dripping with exhaustion, and it drowns his sanity. The sounds of her as an infant, babbling nonsense, they echo among her pained screeching. All her sounds, all his memories of her, they begin to blend together. They're blinding, they're deafening…

His arm is glowing.

--wait, his arm is glowing?!

Jack sees the shimmering blue peeking out the sleeve of his jacket, and quickly whips off the clothing in a frantic haste. He rolls up his shirt sleeve and jumper in one, and there, plain as day...her markings. The spiraling, icey blue that lit up her ghostly complexion, drawing itself into his skin. There's no physical pain that he can tell, but maybe he's just too heartbroken to even tell.

Her voice gets louder. It echos, talks over itself, screaming abuse at him, whispering for help, begging for release. He holds his arm up and stares at the tattoo as it continues wrapping itself around his arm. He can almost see his wide, glossy eyes reflected in the glow. Then he hastily unclasps his vest, unbuttons his shirt, and throws both to the ground. He lifts his sweater up over his chest and sees the same glow leading down his shoulder toward the top of his pectoral.

He opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out. He looks between his chest and arm, touches it with his other hand - it feels smoother than the rest of his skin, almost like flesh fused with marble. It's impossible, surely, he can't be a siren. There's only six sirens in existence at one time, and he knows three--

No. He knows two of them.

No. He is one of them.

No…

Then all of a sudden, an agonising pain electrifies it's way up his spine. He thrashes backward and slams his back against the metal wall, attempting to reach back, trying to touch whatever it is that feels like drills going through his shoulder blades. He shouts out like a dying animal, panting heavily when his lungs demand a break, and then he stumbles over and falls with a hard this on his knees. He braces his fall with both hands, and freezes in the undignified position.

More screaming. The pain is torturous. It feels as if someone is drilling right through the bone in his shoulders, angling the tool to expand the point of pressure. A burning chill shoots through his blood and punctures his heart, and he feels it then, the distinct fizzling of electricity. Small bolts rapidly shoot through his veins over and over and over again, it’s like he’s being drugged, being forced to overdose on adrenaline and fear. He grits his teeth, trying desperately to disrupt the pain. It doesn’t stop, it just grows more and more aggressive. The pain in his shoulders broadens, forces his bones to shift and break. It’s a nightmare.

Pain has always followed Jack around. Pain is his stalker, his ghost, the curse befallen upon his family. Pain knocks on every door he locks and walks in without a key. Pain isn’t a stranger, but neither is it a friend. It’s a visitor someone else invited over, and that leaves in their own time

When he tries to speak again, all that comes out are pained wails. His words like static on his tongue. He opens his eyes and gasps. The room is blindingly bright, and as he glances around, blurring trails follow his line of sight. It’s too much. His whole body is changing. Is he floating? It feels like it - he can’t seem to feel the support of the floor beneath him anymore.

And then, in the blink of an eye, it’s just white. All the pain disappears without any climax. It’s just nothingness.

Except for Angel. She floats before him, the emptiness almost swallowing her whole. She’s pale, and thin, and frail, but her tattoos are gone. The bluest thing about her now is the sickly undertone of her skin. All of Jack’s senses have been frozen, and all he has is sight. She has an angelic glow haloing her body, ironically, and he wants to reach out and touch her. He wants to acknowledge she’s real - he wants to stroke her hair, hold her face, kiss her forehead, squeeze her tight--

He tries to yell for her. He tries so desperately to scream, but there’s only absolute silence. His voice has been stricken from him. He can hear the pain deep in his core, the yearning that burns him up.

I’M SORRY! I’M SORRY, ANGEL! SWEETHEART, PLEASE, COME CLOSER! YOU’RE MY BABYGIRL-- I’M SORRY! I’M SO FUCKING SORRY!

But nothing. He can feel, in the vaguest sense of the word, the ghostly trails of his tears from moments ago, but there’s nothing actually there. He reaches out, clawing at thin air, straining to grab her- grab anything! It’s just more nothing. Endless amounts of nothing but her presence haunting him.

She says nothing, barely does anything either beside stare at him with such wicked discontentment. It’s otherworldly, and confusing, yet somehow even in this plane of existence, where he can’t even feel the dull thumping of his own heartbeat in his ears, and he remembers the scorching pain from mer seconds prior, her scowl is the most painful thing he’s felt so far.

He wonders, in whatever consciousness he’s given in this non explicit realm of existence, if maybe this is a punishment for the things he’s done in his life. Sure, there’s no hellfire and brimstone, but the absolute absurdity of it all, and the suddenness of his depression crushing him without warning, it feels like torture. Maybe the shock of watching his only child - the only family he has left, as far as he’s been concerned for years - drove him beyond what he even knew to be insanity. He could be passed out, drooling on the floor, just vulnerable and waiting for someone to put a bullet in his head. Weird things have followed Jack his whole life, admittedly, so perhaps this is just another unexplainable alien entity.

He really hates not knowing. Worse though is not being able to ask.

Angel begins to move closer. The quiet is eerie, it unsettles Jack more so than he already was. She comes face to face with him, inches away from their noses touching. Her face hasn’t moved from it’s scowl, in fact it looks like it’s intensified. She stares deep into his eyes, and bleeds him of all his apologies, replacing those dark corners of his soul he tries to ignore with heavy, deathly guilt. She plagues him with the pain he gave her, attaches the tumour that was being a siren and let’s it possess him now.

She looks too much like her mother.

Without a word, she gently lays herself down, and on instinct Jack catches her. She’s weightless, like air, but he doesn’t pull away. Her scowl falls away and she closes her eyes. He cradles her, almost akin to the days she was a new-born, afraid he’d break her if he moved too quickly.

The next time Jack blinks, he finds himself plunged back into reality. There’s the broken hum of the control core, the creaking of metal all around, and looking down in his arms he sees Angel, completely void of life. Her limp body pours blood, covering his hands and clothes.

He can feel the electric wings sticking out of his back.

He can feel the electrical current pumping blood throughout his body.

He feels regret.

#borderlands #Handsome Jack #angel the siren #angel borderlands #borderlands 2 #borderlands fic #my fic

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quickspinner · 3 years

Text

Month of Miracles - Moments of Wonder

Well my plans for this prompt month definitely tanked but that’s okay, I’m still gonna finish this Hallmark AU at least. I’m gonna try not to write a ten paragraph authors note detailing all my struggles with this piece and just say, I hope the intention comes through even with all the life interruptions.

Find the prompt list here!

“Spaghetti?” Rose screeched. “Luka, nobody looks good eating spaghetti. She’ll be uncomfortable. Make something else.”

Luka looked at the ceiling for a moment and prayed for patience. “It’s not like this is a date,” he muttered, going to look through the pantry to see what else he could make. Rose’s pestering was making him nervous, and his hand hovered over several options before he shook himself and picked up a bag of rice. Casserole seemed like such a homely option but—

Not a date , he reminded himself resolutely. He didn’t want to make Marinette uncomfortable. She hadn’t agreed to a date, so it wasn’t one, and he wasn’t going to let Rose’s fantasizing make him treat it like one.

“Casserole?” Rose said doubtfully when he got out the pan.

Luka groaned. “Out, Rose.” He grabbed the kitchen towel hanging on the oven rail and snapped it at her, making her squeak and jump back. She folded her arms with a pout. “Nope. Not gonna work on me,” he told her, flapping her out of the kitchen with the towel like a fly. “Get lost.”

“I’m just trying to help,” Rose wailed as she backed away.

“And stay out,” Luka told her shortly, and turned to go back in the kitchen. He leaned on the counter and sighed. He was a patient guy, and he liked Rose, and okay so she was right that he and Marinette would hit it off, but— enough , already. He was nervous enough about whether she would understand what he wanted to show her tonight, and not really sure why it was important to him anyway.

Maybe it was lingering guilt for disappearing without any real explanation or apology to his fans. Maybe if he could make even one fan understand, he’d feel better.

Orrrr maybe it has nothing to do with your fans and you just want Marinette to understand, Rose’s voice sing-songed in his head, because you liiiiiike her. Luka sighed.

He did like her. He liked her, and he wanted to know her, and the only way he knew of to do that was to invite her to know him. He sighed again, and went back to his dinner preparations.

Marinette knocked on the Couffaines’ door with so many butterflies in her stomach that she wasn’t at all sure she was going to be able to eat. It had been easy to accept the invitation with Luka there in front of her, with his relaxed smile and calm presence, but by the time she got back to her grandmother’s house, her brain had gone into a panicked spiral of overthinking that had her feeling jumpy and on edge. She always put thought into her appearance, but she’d agonized over it tonight, afraid of looking too...date-like. In the end she’d kept her pigtails and kept her makeup light, and worn a slightly oversized cream sweater over red leggings. Easy, seasonally appropriate, not unflattering but not aiming to attract, either.

When the door flew open, Rose’s excited, beaming face did nothing to ease her nerves. As Rose dragged her inside, bouncing a little, Marinette had an unsettling feeling like she had been caught in a trap of some kind, and it didn’t get any better when Rose introduced her to Luka’s sister. Juleka gave her a quick once over and smirked, and Marinette was struck by an urge to flee the premises.

Then Luka was there, taking her elbow gently and somehow getting everyone moving to the table. He wasn’t dressed for a date either, wearing a slightly worn navy pullover with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows and jeans that had seen better days. The look he gave her as he escorted her to the dining room said please ignore them, we both know better, and Marinette began to relax a little bit. That’s right. Rose might be scheming but she and Luka had already talked it out, and they knew where they stood. They were friends, and whatever he wanted to show her tonight had nothing to do with...with wooing her, or whatever Rose seemed to think was going on.

Dinner wasn’t fancy, either, and that made her feel better too. She managed to strike up a conversation with Juleka after Luka pointed out that many of the photographs on the walls were Juleka’s work. He turned all of Rose’s attempts to get them started on personal topics into casual conversation, and Marinette honestly could have kissed him just for making everything so... easy.

Not that she would. Not that he wanted her to. Not that she wanted to! Oh no, she was starting again…

Marinette nearly jumped out of her seat when a peppy tune blared out seemingly from nowhere. Luka put a steadying hand on her shoulder and gave her a reassuring smile while Rose pulled her phone out of her pocket, frowning.

“Excuse me a second,” Rose said apologetically, “It’s work so I better see what they want.”

Marinette had to blink for a moment. She’d forgotten that normal people didn’t take phone calls during dinner.

“Sabrina, what’s up?” Rose chirped, dabbing at her mouth with her napkin as she held the phone to her ear and slipped out of her chair to walk into the other side of the room—not that it really made a difference since they could all still hear her. “Well, finally, what took so long? So, what’s the big deal?” There was a pause, and Rose frowned. “Come down there? Why are you being so dramatic, Sabrina, can’t you just tell me?”

That got Luka’s attention. He shot Rose an alarmed look, and Rose rolled her eyes at him. “Okay, fine. I’m on my way.” She hung up the phone and came back over to kiss Juleka’s cheek. “I have to go. There’s something up with the costumes for the children’s pageant and Sabrina’s making a big deal about it. I’ll come back after I find out what’s going on.” She grinned at Luka and Marinette. “Have fun without me.” She fluttered her hand and left the table, blowing a kiss to them all as she flounced out of the door.

Luka gaped after her for a moment. No, no, this was no good. Rose’s excited fluttering aside, she and Juleka were supposed to go do their own thing and get so distracted with each other that he could talk to Marinette in peace, but without Rose—Luka glanced at his sister, and saw her smirking at him. Luka tried to convey with nothing but his eyes that if she ruined this for him he’d never forgive her. Juleka just rolled her eyes and went back to eating.

“Children’s pageant?” Marinette was repeating next to him in confusion. “At the library? I thought that was usually a church thing.”

“Oh, it is,” Juleka smirked. “The church has one every year too, and Rose...Rose has a beef with it. Let’s just say they’ve had the same Joseph and Mary for the last three years and Rose doesn’t feel like it represents the proper Christmas spirit.”

“Oh,” Marinette said, blinking. “Huh.”

“Are you finished, Juleka?” Luka asked a little too quickly, standing up. “I can take your plate.”

Juleka gave him a look that said she knew what he was doing, but she got up too. “Yeah. Thanks. It was nice to meet you Marinette.” She went to the stairs, but couldn’t resist a parting “You two have fun,” before she thunked up them.

Luka sighed, and took Juleka’s plate and his own to the kitchen. He nearly bumped into Marinette when he turned around, standing behind him with her own mostly-empty plate. “Oh, sorry,” he said, taking it from her automatically. “I didn’t mean to rush you, if you weren’t done.”

“No, I’m good,” Marinette said, with a nervous little flutter of her hands. “I was done. Can I help you clean up?”

“Nah, Jules can get it later,” he said, opening the cabinet to dump the last of the food in the trash before he put the plate in the sink. “I cooked, so dishes are her job. Let me just put the leftovers in the fridge. Why don’t you come on into the great room while I do that?”

He led her out of the kitchen into the two-story great room, with its huge windows and exposed beams and the large crackling fireplace.

“Wow, this is lovely,” Marinette breathed, looking around.

“I like it,” Luka shrugged with a self-conscious smile. “Great acoustics in here, actually. Just have a seat wherever you’re comfortable and I’ll be right back. Watch your step, we’re...not exactly neat freaks, if you know what I mean.”

“It looks lived in,” Marinette agreed diplomatically. The furniture was all mismatched and...unique. Some of it looked so old and rickety that she wasn’t sure it was safe to sit on, and there were...boxes everywhere. Not really boxes, but old army footlockers, heavy-looking chests, and a dozen other things. They were mostly tucked in the corners of the room, leaving the floor clear for the enormous Christmas tree that took up an entire corner of the huge room.

Marinette made her way to one of the couches as Luka went back to the kitchen. It looked like an antique, with an old brocade fabric that was slightly faded but otherwise in good condition, and sturdy enough. Marinette perched on the end of it, feeling a little awkward. She looked around the room. Despite the size, it was cozy, with a rustic air, much like all the other buildings she’d been in around town, and though she’d been being polite, her statement was accurate. It didn’t look so much cluttered as lived-in, as if this room was used a lot by the entire family. As she looked at the Christmas tree, she had to smile. The decorations were a bit...eccentric. Several of the ornaments on the tree were little bats wearing tiny knitted scarves or carrying miniature instruments that looked like they might have come from a doll collection. Music seemed to feature prominently in the tree, she realized. Many of the figures had instruments, not just the bats (there were spiders, too, she saw with amusement). Some of the ornaments were cheap, clearly mass manufactured things, but others were carefully crafted and looked like they’d come from far away places. Guitars weren’t the only instruments featured, but they did outnumber the others by quite a bit. Luka wasn’t the only musical one in the family, she concluded. His father was Jagged Stone, after all, and boy there was probably a story there, but she’d never dare ask.

Her eyes widened slightly when Luka reappeared with an electric guitar in one hand. Marinette blushed, one hand fluttering up to fuss nervously with her hair. Surely he wasn’t going to play now? For her?

Luka smirked a little at the expression on her face, and winked at her as he set the guitar down in a stand she hadn’t noticed. “In a minute,” he told her, and Marinette wanted to sink into the couch and disappear. Could she act more like a starstruck fan? Luka crossed to a funny looking cabinet that turned out to have a CD player inside. “You know Blue Lightning, right?

“Yes, of course,” Marinette said, blinking. It was one of the singles off his most recent album—his last album, she realized with a pang.

Luka nodded as he put the CD he’d been holding in the player. “This was the demo I pitched to the label when I wrote it.”

He pressed play, and turned the volume up. He walked over to one of the windows and stuck his hands in his pockets as the music began to play.

Marinette’s mouth dropped open. It sounded so...different. Of course a demo would sound different, she’d heard demo tracks before and they didn’t necessarily have full instrumentation or backup vocals, but...the whole feel of the song was different. Peppier, more fluid, less...angry. Still a rock song, but not so...gritty, or harsh, as the version she knew.

Luka kept his eyes down as he switched off the CD player and closed the cabinet, and then went to sit next to Marinette on the couch. Only then did he look up at her.

“The execs said they loved it,” he told her softly, “but it didn’t fit my brand. They didn’t think it would sell. Later, they told me. When I was a bigger star, then I could put out something like that, but not yet.”

“That’s—” a shame, Marinette wanted to say, but instead she twined her fingers together and looked down. “Well, I guess they know what sells, right? It makes sense that you would take their advice.”

“That’s what I thought.” Luka nodded. “So I agreed to change it. And then in post production they ‘tweaked it’ some more, and…” He grimaced. “And then I had to go up on stage and perform it like that, and even though it made sense at the time, I just...hated it. When I complained, they told me I wasn’t bringing in enough sales yet to be such a diva and that if I wanted to make the music I wanted to make, then I needed to work harder.”

“It’s hard, isn’t it,” Marinette sighed. “But you have to make your bones, right? It’s the same with fashion. That’s just...part of the industry.” She glanced at him uncertainly.

“So they told me,” Luka gave her a wry smile.

Marinette looked back at her hands. “Well, if it was making you unhappy, then it’s good that you left,” she said, but she said it without conviction, and she knew that he could hear it.

Luka sighed. “Well. There was more to it than just that.” He got to his feet. “You’ve been to one of my shows, right? I think you said you had.” He picked up the guitar from the stand, and slung the strap across his shoulders.

Marinette nodded. “Mmhmm.” She watched as he rummaged behind one of the chairs, pulled out an amp cord, and plugged it into the guitar.

“Good,” Luka said, sitting down across from her in one of the rickety-looking chairs. Marinette’s hands moved involuntarily before fluttering back into her lap. He lived here; surely he knew the hazards of the furniture. She curled her fingers under and tried not to fidget. He grinned without looking at her as he tuned the guitar.

“It’ll hold,” he said, as if he’d read her mind. “I promise nothing around here is as fragile as it looks.”

“Right,” Marinette said, hunching her shoulders slightly. “Of course.” She didn’t know where to look, and she suddenly felt very stupid. Why was she here again?.

“Just relax,” Luka’s deep voice soothed, and she glanced up, color deepening. He sounded like Luke Stone in that moment, with the smooth, musical tone of his voice. “Just listen. If you don’t understand when I’m done, then...then that’ll be okay. But I’d like to try and show you what I mean. The difference between Luke Stone, and...me.”

He took a breath, blew it out slowly...and played. Marinette’s breath caught. It was just White Christmas, which she’d heard a thousand times over in a hundred different styles. Even so, it was beautiful, embellished with unique touches that face it the same evocative quality that had first drawn her to Luke’s—to Luka’s music.

Apparently he was just warming up, though, because he took another deep breath, and the music segued into a different tune—one she didn’t recognize.

It resonated somewhere deep inside her, touched a well of pain she’d been trying to ignore for months. Not only the music, which by itself was beautiful and seemed to vibrate in her soul—but the artistry. And when she looked at him—

Luka’s eyes were half closed, and his face was serene, with just a slight wrinkle of concentration between his brows. His hands, rough and abused as they were, moved easily and gracefully, with a confidence that Marinette suddenly realized was familiar. She’d had that once, back when she’d been young and inexperienced and thought too highly of herself. Before she’d learned better, and seen how far she still had to go.

She found that she envied Luka in that moment. It must be nice, to be away from all that pressure and just...create for yourself again. Not to be constantly questioning your instincts, because you only had yourself to please anyway.

Her chest suddenly felt tight, and her eyes stung. She swallowed hard and tore her eyes away from him, looking down at her hands. She closed her eyes and put her hand on her heart, determined to listen until the end.

It was so beautiful. Poignant.

She recognized now what he’d been trying to show her with the demo track. She had been too distracted at the time by the other differences, but...there had been so much more feeling in the demo version. Because Luka had loved it, she realized. He’d been excited about that song, and by the time the studio was done with it, that enthusiasm was lost. He played the studio version well, with all the technical skill he possessed, but it lacked the passion of the original. If anything, it sounded angry because Luka was angry when he played it.

That’s part of the process, though. It’s just part of the industry. Editing is important, even if it isn’t fun. Of course you’re tired of a project before it’s finished. You’ve still got to see it through. You don’t just quit or give up on a project because you feel pouty that people told you what was wrong.

It was the truth, so...why did watching Luka, and hearing him play, make it feel like such a lie?

The studio was wrong, she admitted to herself. Even if it was an objectively better song when they were done, even if the sales numbers said they were right...what they lost along the way was so much more precious than perfection.

Luka’s song ended softly, but on a questioning note, without really concluding. He looked up at her, and then came over to sit next to her on the couch, his expression concerned.

She wasn’t sure why until Luka reached out, and wiped away the tear trickling down her face with the rough pad of his thumb. “Are you okay?” he asked gently.

“Yeah, I’m—” Marinette began, trying to smile, but she couldn’t finish. Her face crumpled and she buried in her hands before she began to cry in earnest.

Luka put the guitar down, and came to sit beside her. His hands curled around her shoulders and tugged her to him. Marinette yielded, letting him pull her close. One arm wrapped around her back and one big hand gently cradled her head, guiding it down to his shoulder, and he held her, swaying gently, while she hid her face in his shirt and wept.

“I didn’t mean to make you cry,” Luka said apologetically, and Marinette shook her head without lifting it. He held her for a long moment, until she finally managed to pull herself together and pull away from him, sitting up and wiping at her eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” she muttered, embarrassed. “I’m so sorry, I was enjoying it so much, I can’t believe I just...lost it like that, ugh.”

“It’s okay,” Luka soothed, putting his hand on her shoulder. He squeezed and rubbed it lightly. “Do you feel better?”

“I...think I do, actually,” Marinette gave him a quick smile. “Thank you.” She was still embarrassed, but she meant it. It felt like a pressure valve had opened somewhere inside of her, and while nothing had really changed, it all felt just a little bit less oppressive. “I think I understand, at least a little. Why you left. But…” Marinette pressed her lips together, like she wasn’t sure she wanted to go on. Luka squeezed her shoulder again lightly, waiting for her to continue.

“I just...was quitting really the only way? Wasn’t it your dream? Wasn’t it worth fighting for?”

Luka swallowed and drew his hand back. He folded his hands together between his knees, looking at the floor, and hoped he could say what he wanted to without sounding like a pretentious drama queen or a weakling.

“What happened between us just now,” Luka began slowly, “Luke Stone could never do that. I didn’t mind the work, or the hours, or even the touring. It’s just, the more we ‘refined’ Luke Stone’s image, the less it felt like me, and it put up this...wall between me and the rest of the world. It wasn’t just the label interfering with my music, it was the image they wanted me to project. The brand. It was harder and harder to be somebody different off-stage, because after a certain point, there’s really no such thing as off-stage. Jagged, you know, he can turn it on and off like that.” He snapped his fingers. “He tried to help me, he really did, but...I just...wasn’t connecting with people the way I needed to, for the music to really flow. I felt so alone, and unhappy, and I was still making music but it wasn’t mine, anymore. It was just something I did to keep the label happy. Finally I decided that clinging to the dream for the sake of the dream wasn’t very smart if it didn’t actually make me happy, and it was more important to be me than to be a star.” Luka glanced up. Marinette was staring at him, her eyes huge in her pale face. He felt himself beginning to blush and dropped his eyes again. “So I told Dad I was done,” he went on quickly. “He was disappointed, but he understood. I finished out my contract and came home to figure out what in the world comes next.”

Marinette was silent for a moment. Luka swallowed nervously, and was trying to think of a graceful way to end the conversation when she finally said, “You’re really brave, Luka.”

He blinked, the words he’d been about to force out dying on his tongue. “What?” he said instead.

“I think it takes a lot of courage to admit that,” Marinette said quietly. “Even to yourself, let alone actually making the break and leaving it all behind. I’m glad you did it. I loved your music, but…” She reached out hesitantly, and slid her hand over Luka’s. He released his clasped hands to turn his fingers up to lace with hers. “I’m glad that you did what was right for you, instead of…”

“Flaming out and becoming an alcoholic drug addict?” he asked with a sardonic grin. Her hand was so small in his, he couldn’t help noticing.

Marinette giggled. “Something like that. I’m sorry if I made you feel bad. You really didn’t have to rehash all of that for me.”

Luka shrugged and repeated, “I wanted you to understand.” She had no idea how bad he wanted her to understand. He was grateful and relieved that she did...and at the same time, it was a little frightening. Things might have been simpler if she had scoffed and blown him off. Then he wouldn’t be sitting here, holding her hand and looking into her soft, beautiful eyes, feeling like all of the oxygen had been sucked out of the room.

Marinette bit her lip, and his gaze dropped to it. “I should...if it’s okay with you, I think I should go home now.”

Luka shook himself back to reality. “Of course. Are you sure you’re alright? Will you be okay to get home?”

Marinette nodded and tried a smile. It mostly looked steady, so Luka smiled back. He stood up, still holding her hand, and drew her up after him. “Thanks for taking the time to listen to me, Marinette.” Luka let her hand slide out of his. “It actually feels good to be able to explain it to someone.”

“Thank you for sharing it with me,” Marinette told him, and they didn’t say anything more as Luka got her coat and held it for her.

Once she was gone, he barely made it back to a chair before his knees gave way. He rubbed a hand over his face and then leaned into it, sighing. That had been…intense. All of it, not just Marinette, but...playing like that, when he hadn’t played for anyone but his family in so long, and trying to help her understand...he hadn’t realized how much it would take out of him.

He was still sitting there when Rose burst in. “Marinette!” she cried, looking at Luka with wide eyes. “Where is she?”

“She went home,” Luka mumbled, leaning back in the chair.

“What? No, I need her!” Rose exclaimed, throwing her hands up. “Why did she leave? What happened?”

“Nothing happened—” Luka began, but a voice from the doorway interrupted him.

“He made her cry,” Juleka smirked.

Rose whirled to look at her, while Luka glared at her over Rose’s head, but Juleka just grinned wider when Rose turned back and began to hit Luka in the arm over and over with her tiny yet surprisingly hard fist. “You idiot! You did not! You made her cry? What’s the matter with you?”

Luka put up his hands in defense. “Rose,” he whined. “Look, I told you this wasn’t a date, and it’s not going to happen—”

“Who cares about your pathetic excuse for a love life?” Rose roared, hitting him faster. “You can’t run her off, I need her! The pageant’s going to be a disaster!”

“Wait, what?” Juleka frowned, coming into the room.

“That’s what Sabrina was calling about!” Rose exclaimed. “The costumes that were in storage—they’re a disaster! Moths or rats or water or all three, I don’t even know. And here I made friends with someone who designs and sews and then like a bonehead I had to set her up with your stupid socially inept—”

“He played for her,” Juleka broke in, and Rose stopped hitting him long enough to look at her. It took a moment for the words to sink in, and then Rose’s eyes widened. She turned back to Luka and he flinched. “You did not!”

“I did,” Luka admitted, running his fingers through his hair. “I really did,” he realized, feeling suddenly weak again. He covered his mouth with his hand and tried to pretend like he wasn’t suppressing the urge to scream.

“Tell me everything right now!” Rose demanded, grabbing a fistful of his sweater and dragging him out of his chair and over to the couch. She sat down next to him with a determined expression. Luka looked up at Juleka pleadingly, but she just grinned.

That’s for eating all the cookies, she mouthed, and left before Luka could make a rude gesture.

Fiction Master Post | Month of Miracles

#quickspins #monthofmiracles2020 #lukanette #lukanette endgame #endgame lukanette #hallmark au #marinette dupain-cheng #luka couffaine #miraculousladybug #miraculous ladybug

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raevenlywrites · 3 years

Text

Okay, so. The point I wanted to make earlier was something like this:

TL;DR: Not knowing that hyperfixations were a thing hurt me, and cost me not only enjoyment of a thing, but more serious social and emotional growth potential. More kids need access to a broader range of what Normal is, and Normal needs to be opened up and expanded to include things that are perfectly harmless because the harm of excluding those things is immeasurable.

(Did I just put a tldr at the START of my post? why yes I did. why? because i’m about to drop this entire damned ESSAY under a read more because it’s dash destroying (think of it as an abstract on a scientific paper) ... (no, it is nothing like an abstract on a scientific paper. wtf did I say that) ... (anyways))

(Can you tell its an ADHD night? are there enough parenthetical asides in this yet?)

...

(no)

ANYWAYS

When I was a teen, I read a book called In The Forests Of The Night. I’m sure you’ve heard me mention it before, but believe it or not, it was only TONIGHT that it occurred to me that this book and its fellows is my hyperfixation. Because, for the first TWO THIRDS OF MY LIFE, I didn’t know to think of myself as someone with hyperfixations. Hell, I didn’t even know what a hyperfixation was. I am one of the countless adults who has self diagnosed as ADHD or autistic or SOMETHING, and this is the story of how not having a diagnosis growing up hurt me.

So. I read this book. My now-wife-then-unbeknownst-crush gave it to me as part of our ignorant teen courtship. You’ll like this, she said, trying to share an interest with me in order to bond. Thank you, I said, not knowing I wanted to smooch her face. Unimportant, but I like reminding myself when I look at back my teen years how queer I already was without knowing. And this story is mostly for my benefit of getting it off my chest, so smoochy thoughts included.

So I read this book. It’s short, 200 pages or so, and if I’m honest with myself as an informed adult, nothing spectacular. It’s not bad, but its not ground breaking. None of the books are. But they broke new ground in Me, and what grew out of them has literally shaped the course of my entire personality.

Raev, I hear you say, it’s not great to base your entire personality on a bit of pop culture.

Shut up, I said, I’m telling this story and anyways insert-edgy-media-here dudebros have been doing it forever. Anyways.

So I read this book. I read it again, and again. I read all the books that went with it, but I stayed especially hung up on Forests. Why? Partially because it was the first one I read. Partially because the MC and I share a name, and therefore in my little teen head a connection. It was the first time “Rachel” felt like an identity, instead of just an identifier, and one that way too many of my classmates shared. Rachel was a badass, stifled by her Christian upbringing and the expectations of the day on women. I was a badass, stifled by my Christian upbringing and the expectations of the day on women. Rachel became a vampire, spiteful and spitfire the entire way. She did it on her own terms (so my teen reading of the text went), spurning every attempt of her kind to show her the ways of the vampire. She had a nemesis, a clear, concrete reason for her pain, and took charge of that pain and overcame it to be a complete and utter badass by the end of the book (again, so my teen reading went. Part of the problem here was my teenness. Part of it was my neurodivergence, which I will get to (you didn’t think this would be a SHORT story, did you? I warned you I have ADHD and that this was my hyperfixation; how did you think this was gonna go?))

So I identified heavily with the protag, and with its shocking author. This lifechanging book was written by a teen, like me! Holy cats, I said to myself, why, if she can do it, so can I! I had just started writing my own first novel (a shameless retelling of Star Wars, hyperfixation of my grade school years), and immediately trashed it to write my own vampire thing. Because vampires were clearly IT and I was gonna be a cool badass author hero, just like the MC of the second book.

Then the shapeshifter books came out, and so did I.

It’s really unrelated, but that was a fun transition, and as previously stated, author-type. Anyways.

So I came out to my girlcrush, angsted about that a lot, and continued to gobble up the books. Did you know there’s a website, she said. There’s like a whole fan community and everything.

Now, part of the problem here was being part of the first generation on the internet. It was relatively new, and so stranger danger and not being entirely comfortable on the internet and all that had its part to play. But this is also where the hyperfixation finally comes into play.

I liked Nyeusigrube A LOT. A lot a lot. So much so that I made my own conlang, my own mythos, my own entire story universe patterned after this one but not exactly this one. For whatever reason, it never occurred to me to self-insert, just to shamelessly copy. That one I can’t explain, but this one I can now understand through the lens of an adult.

Nyeusigrube was my especially special interest, and I had no idea that was a normal, healthy thing.

So tangled up in all this was my raised-too-conservative freak out about being Not Straight. I had finally figured out I liked girlfriend, if not that I was incredibly bisexual yet, and that was a Big Deal. Super cool author I hero-worshiped was one of those “Do I want to BE her or just want her?” kind of idolations, but again, didn’t know that at the time either. So these two very normal things that I knew NOTHING about were getting tangled together in a rat king of Issues with a generous slathering of Shame glue to hold them all together. Add to it the paranoia/RSD/general not-great-at-social sides of my neurodivergence, and basically I had decided I was Too Weird and liked this book Too Much and if I so much as LOOKED at the websites/forums/etc, everyone would know and that would be Bad.

Did I have a clear idea of how that would look? Not really? I didn’t need to. Just the thought of checking out the fansites was enough to send me into a panicking guilt/shame spiral about how much I enjoyed the books. Everyone will KNOW, I thought, and it will be BAD. The End. It was Not Normal how much I liked the books and I will freak everyone out.

So.

If I had just KNOWN that hyperfixations were a thing, I might have still felt weird, but I don’t think I would have AGONIZED (and I do mean fucking AGONIZED) over how shockingly Not Normal my level of interest went. I might have still felt bad, because I didn’t have a diagnosis, and therefore probably wouldn’t have given myself permission of admit I had a hyperfixation, but at least I wouldn’t have wallowed in ignorance. Now, if I’d had the knowledge and the diagnosis, I probably would have still been too shy to interact, but I wouldnt’ have wasted hours of my life in panicked/guilt/shame spirals. If I’d have a diagnosis and a support group? If I’d had a diagnosis and been raised with the normalization of being queer? If I’d had medication, role models, a safe place to open up and communicate, so on and so on? Like, you get the idea, right?

I consider myself immeasurably lucky that my love of writing and vampires and high school girlfriend survived all this. (My equally intense boy crush of the time did not (not because I don’t like boys but because I fell down another hyperfixation spiral and no PERSON should ever be subjected to that but I digress)). As I said, this is my especially special hyperfixation. I can’t imagine how many hours of enjoyment I might have gotten out of the forums, the fan arts, the roleplaying groups, the FRIENDSHIPS, my gods, can you imagine the friendships? Anyways, what I’m really saying is that it caused me real emotional Pain and Trauma, thinking something was Wrong with me for my level of interest. A lot of people have regrets about like not trying out for the team or not asking so and so out or whatever, but mine is a stupid fansite. I have deep and palpable regrets about letting my fear and shame keep me from something so harmless and silly, and as I said before I don’t think I have a concise or tidy ending, but this was what I wanted to say on the matter so there it is.

TL;DR: (hey, didn’t you already post this part? Yes, yes I did. I’m doing it again, but this time its the In Conclusion bit instead of the summary bit) ...(abstract. they’re called abstracts)...(this is still FAR from a scientific paper) (ANYWAYS) Not knowing that hyperfixations were a thing hurt me, and cost me not only enjoyment of a thing, but more serious social and emotional growth potential. I was stunted and harmed by this lack of education, and I guess my point is I hope no one else has to go through that. If my stupid little story can fix a thing, I want it to be that. More kids needs access to a broader range of what Normal is, and Normal needs to be opened up and expanded to include things that are perfectly harmless because the harm of excluding those things is immeasurable. Thank you for coming to my TED talk

#raev rambles

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cynicalrainbows · 3 years

Text

An incredibly late happy birthday fic for the very lovely and very talented @shut-up-heather-d, who has been patiently waiting for this for weeks. After you read this, you should also take yourself to AO3 to read her OWN writing too, because it’s really excellent.

But here’s some fluff in the meantime. The request was for Kitty being taken care of by Catalina and Jane, and Catalina being the stricter ‘parent’.

‘I’m dying-’

Kitty rolls dramatically onto her stomach and buries her face in the couch cushion, displacing Cathy (who falls off the couch with a squeak and retreats hastily to the kitchen for paper towels to mop up the spilled coffee from her shirt).

‘You’re not dying Kit.’

Kitty lifts up her flushed face and tries to muster up the energy to glare at Catalina.

‘I AM.’

Catalina raises an unimpressed eyebrow. ‘You’re not dying, you have cramps. And if you’d just take the aspirin-’

‘But it tastes HORRIBLE-’

‘So you keep saying.’

Kitty flops back down with another groan and Catalina carries on tidying up.

‘I hate today, I’m really stressed and I have to make that phone call to the bank, on top of everything-’

Catalina sighs. She isn’t really sure how to help and she doesn’t like it- it feels like Kitty’s blaming her for her not being able to fix it. Of course, she knows this isn’t Kitty’s fault at all, just her own stupid brain but still…

Even so, she’ll do the best she can, even if advice IS all she can do.

‘Well, maybe if you go and get it done rather than putting it off….and you know it’s going to hurt until you take some painkiller, so you’re only hurting yourself by putting that off too.’

There. Sensible and hopefully enough to spur Kitty into action.

Kitty though just gives her a slightly wounded look and rolls onto her side.

After a while, the silence stretches out a little too long. She returns to the couch.

‘Kit?’

‘Mmm?’

Kitty doesn’t move from where her head is buried in the cushions- Catalina gently tucks a few locks of hair back behind her ear to get a look at slightly more of Kitty’s face, and her fingers brush against dampness on the girl's cheek.

‘Mija, are you alright?’

‘’M fine.’ It’s more indistinct than it should be- Catalina frowns. She starts to feel the first gnawings of guilt in the pit of her stomach.

‘Kitty?’

‘- I’m sorry.’

‘Oh Kit.’

Catalina pushes a few cushions aside and makes herself a space at the end of the sofa. The guilt grows, and she wonders if maybe advice hadn’t been what was needed after all.

‘You have nothing to apologise for. It’s ok.’

‘’M sorry. You don’t have to take care of me.’ It’s so small and wavery that Catalina immediately feels like the worst person in the world. It’s not her fault- she isn’t used to this, she’s used to dramatics needing to be curbed, she’s used to plain speaking and advice. That’s what she’s good at. Kitty half sits up as Catalina sits down, as if she’s going to retreat to her bedroom, and Catalina sighs. She’s fucked up.

‘Come here mija.’ Catalina tugs until Kitty reluctantly rests her head against Catalina’s leg, and begins to smooth her hair back from her warm forehead. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be so snappish and unhelpful. I was trying to help and I think I just made it worse, didn’t I?’

‘It’s ok.’

‘I’m not actually cross with you, you know that don’t you?’

Kitty makes a small non-commital noise.

‘Don’t you?’

‘...I suppose.’

‘Good. Now what I can get to help you feel better, hm?’

Kitty’s face sinks into resignation. ‘I’ll take the aspirin. Is it still in the cabinet?’

It’s mildly painful to Catalina to actually witness this- how Kitty’s resistance, her own wants and needs, are ready to crumble in an instant if it means that she’ll be restored to favour (in the early days, she’d taken it for a pleasant compliance until Jane had set her straight.)

‘You don’t have to-’ Catalina stops herself; Kitty blinks at her warily, confusedly. She can see the question in Kitty’s eyes as to whether or not this is some sort of trick or trap. She doesn’t take it personally (mostly, usually)- she knows this wariness was bred into the girl a long, long time ago. ‘That is, I still think you should. But that wasn’t what I meant- I was just trying to think of an alternative.’

‘Oh.’

‘I could run you a bath? Or make you up a hot water bottle. The heat might help. Only if you want to though. You can stay here if you like.’

‘You don’t have to.’

‘I know. And you don’t have to either mija. But it might make you feel better.’

Kitty opens her mouth to give her usual polite refusal and then a cramp makes her tense- her eyes close for a moment and a nod is wrung out of her.

‘Ok. Thank you.’

‘You’re welcome.’

Catalina insists Kitty stay on the couch while she turns on the bath. (She intends to use some of her own special fancy bubble bath in it, as a sort of apology, but realises to her chagrin that she’s run out. She uses some of Anne’s instead and tells herself it still counts.)

While Kitty soaks Catalina decides to make the hot water bottle anyway. Save them having to do the same rigmarole over whether or not she goes to all the trouble of boiling the kettle or not.

If Kitty doesn’t want it, it can just go on the floor or something.

Jane comes home just as the kettles switch flips off. Her cheeks are red from the wind- or possibly just from the three supermarket bags she’s laden down with.

Catalina stares.

‘Are you sure you got EVERYTHING?’

Jane nods, opening cupboards and pulling out draws as she stashes boxes and jars.

‘I think so- probably.’

‘Jane, you were picking up milk and bread.’

‘Oh!’ Jane catches the sarcasm too late, as she always does and colour rises in her cheeks as it always does. (She does not however either fly off the handle at Catalina for teasing her- as she used to, in the very early days- or shut down entirely and go silent and drawn in on herself- as she still does on very bad days, although they happily are getting rarer.) ‘Well I KNOW- but then I remembered it’s Cathy’s turn to cook tomorrow and she probably won’t have time to get to the supermarket before supper-’

‘You mean she’ll keep writing til the last minute and then panic like last time?’

Jane ignores her. ‘-SO I thought I’d get some staples just in case. And they had some of that pate Anna really likes on offer, and it seemed silly to not take advantage of THAT. And Anne finished the last of the cereal this morning so-’

‘We have at least three different kinds of cereal in the patry Jane.’

‘Yes but not the one that she really LIKES. And there were fresh muffins in the bread aisle, and sometimes it’s nice to have a bit of a treat for breakfast even if it ISN’T a weekend day, and THEN I thought that it would be a good idea to get stuff for making that shortbread that Joan really likes because she’s having a bit of a stressful week, poor thing-’

Catalina smiles despite herself and starts to help put things away.

‘I see…’

‘Don’t be jealous Catty, I got you some green tea.’

‘I do have green tea already.’

‘Yes but this is a special fancy looking NEW kind of green tea because I thought you might like a treat. Also a mango.’

‘Did you get anything for yourself?’

‘Yes.’ There’s only the slightest of hesitations and Catalina resists the urge to ask what: they both know it’ll just send Jane into a spiral of defensiveness as she tries to justify her spending money on herself to the insatiable long dead ghosts of the past.

‘Good. Well done.’

‘Thank you.’

‘And thank you for my treats- and for everything else. The others will be thrilled.’

‘I hope so. I got some stuff for Kitty and I to bake with too, there’s a recipe we saw on Bake Off that Anna liked the look of and Kit wanted to try it-’

‘I don’t think she’ll be quite up to that for the moment.’

‘Why? Why not?’ Jane looks suddenly urgently panicked and Catalina hastens to reassure her.

‘Nothing to worry about. Period pain, that’s all.’

‘Oh the poor little thing.’ Jane’s face creases into sympathy even as the anxiety leaves it. ‘Where is she?’

‘Taking a bath. I’m going to bring her a hot water bottle when she’s done. Actually-’ They hear the rush of water down the drain rattle the loose guttering. ‘I think that’s her now.’

‘Has she taken anything?’

‘She didn’t want the aspirin…’

Jane nods. ‘She doesn’t like the taste. I usually just end up bribing her. What did you do?’

‘....I- um- I told her to stop complaining.’

‘Catty!’

‘Sorry! I didn’t say it exactly like that.’

When she glances up at Jane, she’s supremely relieved to see that Jane looks more amused than vengeful.

‘What’s funny?’

‘Sorry. Nothing. Just…’ Jane bites back a smile. ‘You looked SO guilty when you admitted that. I don’t think you’re as cut out for the strict parent role as you think you are…’

Catalina can’t help but smile back. ‘Maybe not. I do want to make it clear I did apologise. And I WAS about to make her a hot chocolate to take up when you came in.’

Jane chuckles and hands over the bag of mini marshmallows. ‘Better get started then.’

Kitty’s struggling with her wet hair- cursing herself for her ill-thought out decision to lay back in the water and wondering whether to just leave it and lie down with it wet- when Jane taps on the door.

‘How are you feeling love?’

‘You’re back!’ For the first time since being struck down, Kitty feels actually, properly happy: she can’t quite explain it, but somehow, having Jane in the vicinity during a crisis just makes things better. Easier.

It didn’t even mean things were fixed or solved- for that, all the queens agreed, you needed Catalina or Anne or Anna (or Cathy if the problem involved etymology or linguistics or the interpretation of scripture). Jane was not the person you had around to fix things, they all knew.

But Jane was the person you’d position yourself close to once the solution to the problem had been identified and needed putting into place.

(Her role in this respect- always fairly clear- had been absolutely cemented the day that Anna had come home to find Catalina miserably struggling through a phone call, her head in Jane’s lap while Jane did needlepoint and fed her white chocolate buttons. Catalina had been slightly flushed upon discovery but determinedly insouciant, and to their eternal credit, the others had refrained from commenting.)

Kitty struggles to her feet to pull Jane properly into the room. ‘I’m fine! How was your shopping trip?!’

‘It was alright. They had those special dark chocolate biscuits I was waiting for them to restock at LAST-’

(Jane isn’t quite sure why talking about things she’s brought for herself to Kitty doesn’t set off the same anxiety as it does when admitting to having done so to anyone else. It doesn’t, and that’s enough for her.)

Kitty knows better than to comment on the purchase, but she beams proudly at her all the same and Jane shoots a small, grateful smile back- which fades quickly when she notices how tense the girl is.

‘Are you sure you’re ok? Is it still hurting? Catalina said you were having a really hard time of it.’

Kitty blushes slightly. ‘Yeah. Did she tell you I was making a fuss?’

She looks so forlorn, Jane thinks it would almost be funny if it wasn’t so very sad. She makes her voice as gentle as possible. ‘Of course not, sweetheart.’ She wraps an arm around Kitty’s shoulders, guides her to sit on the edge of the bed and then picks up the abandoned comb. ‘She said that you were in pain and that she was concerned. That’s all.’

‘Oh.’ Kitty keeps her head down as Jane begins to patiently work through the tangles. ‘I WAS making a fuss though…’

‘Actually, she told me that she feels awful for not being more sympathetic at first.’

‘But she doesn’t need to! She ran me a bath and everything. And I shouldn’t be so whiney anyway.’

‘Love-’ Jane keeps combing, and Kitty unconsciously relaxes back into her touch, enjoying it. ‘Remember what we told you? You don’t need to feel bad about being taken care of sometimes. We all want to help. Especially if you’re not feeling good.’

‘But I’m an adult, I-’

‘Yes?’

‘I-’ Kitty bites her lip miserably. ‘I should be able to just...handle myself, you know?’

Jane shrugs. ‘Is that what you think the rest of us should do then?’

‘What?’

‘Like, I should just handle myself and stop bothering Anna or you when I need help doing a form? Or how Cathy should just get over it when she gets overwhelmed and keep going?’

‘No of course not-’

‘Or how Anne should just stop being late for things and finish jobs when she starts them?’

‘No! That would be horrible, that’s-’

Jane nods. ‘So why is it any different for you? Why wouldn’t we be just as eager to help you when we love you just as much? Hm?’

Kitty sighs in defeat, and then winces as the comb is tugged. ‘I know. I know that really. I suppose. It’s just….hard to know it properly sometimes.’

‘I know love.’ Jane leans down and kisses the top of her head, then begins to plait her hair back. ‘We’ll remind you though. As much as you need.’

Kitty opens her mouth to reply but she’s interrupted by another tap on the door- Catalina, bearing a tray and looking slightly awkward.

‘I thought you might like a hot drink-’ As she puts the tray down on the nightstand, Kitty sees that it bears one fuzzy hot water bottle, one plate of shortbread, two mugs of tea- and possibly the most decadent hot chocolate she has ever seen in her life.

She’d been about to apologise again- she still can’t quite shake the anxiety that Catalina might maybe still be annoyed at her despite her reassurances- but the elaborateness of the drink surprises a laugh out of her instead.

‘Catty! It looks-’

Jane’s laughing too. ‘That’s….oh my goodness!’

Catalina tries and fails to frown. ‘Hey! I worked very hard on this. It is NOT easy to get that many marshmallows into one mug-’

‘You look like you managed though-’

‘Just about-’ She glances at Kitty, slightly anxiously. ‘Is it ok? Do you like it?’

‘I love it!’ Kitty bounces off the bed to hug Catalina in gratitude and then winces. ‘Argh. Bad idea. Sorry.’

‘It’s ok-’ Catalina hands her the hot water bottle and Kitty presses it thankfully to her stomach. ‘Why don’t you get comfortable? It might feel better if you lie down.’

Jane starts to arrange pillows as Kitty settles onto the bed. ‘Jane, I’m not an invalid you know, I honestly can do it myself-’

‘I know love.’ She doesn’t stop. ‘But you’re sick so-’

‘I’m not sick.’

‘Being in pain is a kind of sick.’ Catalina chips in. ‘Just indulge us mija. Now, do you want some peace and quiet so you can rest? Or do you want company?’

Kitty hesitates. ‘It’s ok love, whichever you prefer. We won’t take it personally if you’d rather have some space-’

Kitty nods; Jane and Catalina wait a moment and then pick up their tea and start for the door. As Jane opens it, they’re stopped by a squeak from the bed.

‘Kit?’

‘Do- do you mind staying? If you’re not too busy?’ She squeezes the hot water bottle case anxiously. ‘Just, it really hurts and it’s nice to have a distraction and-’ Despite their reassurance, Kitty still half expects to catch an eye roll or a reluctant sigh. Of course they don’t want to stay really, of course they’re busy…

But instead, Jane smiles as she closes the door; Catalina squeezes her hand as she settles onto the bed.

‘Well done mija. I know that wasn’t easy.’

It’s a silly thing to need validation for but it makes the anxious bands that have seized around Kitty’s chest loosen anyway.

They get comfortable on the bed either side of her and Jane reaches for Kitty’s laptop.

‘How about some trash tv? That usually makes me feel better.’

Kitty settles back, letting her head rest against Catalina’s shoulder. It feels warm and comfortable, a good place to rest. ‘Sure. Not Love Island though, I feel too gross to enjoy watching people in bikinis.’

‘Fine.’ Jane pouts slightly and Catalina chuckles. ‘Bake Off?’

‘Ok.’

They watch in silence for a few minutes, as the sprightly music plays and mouth watering images of sponges and tarts fill the screen. Catalina hands Kitty her hot chocolate and it’s very bit as good as it looks; Jane’s arm around her is pleasantly soothing.

‘Catty?’

‘Hm?’

‘Thanks.’

‘You’re welcome mija.’

(Kitty doesn’t just mean for the hot chocolate. But she thinks Catalina probably knows this.)

#six #six the musical fanfiction #sixfic #six fanfiction

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ais-n · 3 years

Note

hello!! i just spent the past month or so reading all the icos books, scrolling through your account, and reading the notes you posted about the sequel on patreon. i’m absolutely amazed by this series and these characters, i don’t have words for how good of a time i had delving into this story. i started off loving hsin immediately and although it took me some time to warm up to boyd, he ended up being one of my absolute favorite characters that i’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing. i really think boyd and hsin and their story, along with the stories of all the other amazing characters associated with them, will stick with me for a long time. anyway sorry for the long message, but i just wanted to express my gratitude for these books—they helped me out a lot mentally after everything post-2020 haha. i did have a sort of question though!! how did boyd deal with the loss of one of his eyes? did he train with hsin to help adapt? how did he deal with the insecurities and frustrations that came with that loss?

Just in case - **ICOS SPOILERS / FADE SPOILERS** :)

Hi! Aww that's awesome! I'm so happy you enjoyed the series :) And that you were able to find all the content on it right away too. It's also really cool how things shifted for you over the course of the series - because that means it did its job with showing character progression :) I mean, not that it matters if people end up liking all the characters or not - but if you start feeling one way and end another, that's awesome because it means there was character development that resonated with you in anyone and that's one of my favorite things when I'M reading a book, so it's one of my favorite things for if anyone ever reads anything I'm involved in writing. So that made me really happy to hear, thank you <3

I'm gonna put my answer behind a cut just in case for spoilers :) Hopefully this thing doesn't disallow you from clicking the Read More link which once in awhile tumblr does.

Spoilers behind cut :D

Regarding his eye, it was obviously in many ways pretty life-changing for him. Even though Boyd and Hsin by that point were much better about communicating, and Boyd would want to lean on Hsin whenever needed, although I haven't written out anything from those time periods (so it may change when/if I actually do, as sometimes the characters do things I'm not expecting) -- I have a feeling Boyd tried to kind of hide as much of the downside as he could from Hsin. Not because he didn't trust Hsin - he did, unequivocally - but rather because Hsin had seemed so regretful and seemed to have guilt/worry when Boyd first woke up and learned he lost his eye. He didn't want Hsin blaming himself for it, and if Hsin saw it upsetting him too much he would have probably worried about how Hsin felt.

It did take him time to figure out some things - his depth perception was fucked, and he couldn't fight quite the way he initially had learned because of that, along with other things. He would have let Hsin see him relearning things when necessary because that's inevitable, but he would have tried to play off anything much deeper if possible. He would have wanted to see if he could handle things on his own first (in typical Boyd style) just so he could spare Hsin extra stress. He felt like Hsin had already lost so much; it didn't feel fair to pile anything further on him.

So Hsin would have helped with some stuff when needed, and obviously I'm sure they talked about things as needed too. It's not like the topic was taboo or Boyd was super sensitive to it. As much as it sucked, it was also just a thing he had to accept. So in some ways, he kind of just rolled with it the way he'd had to learn to roll with so much else in his life.

Where it really was most frustrating and upsetting for him was the way it affected his ability to work. Even though he felt and was fully capable of many things, certain jobs just would not hire someone with one eye, period. Their rules didn't allow it, or they just chose not to, or so on. Because they had to stay on the downlow, he already had limited options in the first place, and that made it worse. Then on top of that, having an eyepatch made him more memorable. Once he eventually got his glass eye, it helped a bit with that, but he'd always had an unusual eye color so without contacts and different hair color and all that, if someone were looking for him they could still potentially track him down. Hsin was also incredibly memorable so it was a worry for him as well. Especially when you put those two together.

I don't think we ever talked about it but in my personal opinion, I would guess that they probably talked about their plans for the different cities/countries they were in, whether one or both of them would stand out more, what sorts of income they could get, what sorts of things they could do, what sort of places they could live incognito, and so on.

I have always had in my mind that there was a period of time especially early on when Boyd was still healing and getting used to things, where he (as usual) tried to push himself a little too far a little too fast but Hsin stopped him because he knew how Boyd is and he knew if he was firm, Boyd would actually listen.

So for a time, Hsin was the main person going out to do things, get money, etc. There were hours Boyd would be alone wherever they were staying, and during that time all those doubts and frustrations and anger and insecurity and fear would come in. For awhile, I think he probably even drank when he was alone. Never to an addictive level or anything; just the actions of a man who felt depressed.

I'm sure some of his demons leapt on that--telling him shit like he wasn't ever going to have more worth than he did when he was used by Cyclone, or the Agency - shit like, maybe you're never going to be anything more than a valentine/whore for money in the future anyway. If people won't see you as anything other than the parts of you, and now the parts of you that are missing more than the parts that are there, maybe it's useless to think there's anything more of value in your life. That sort of negative thought process that you know isn't true but still buries its tendrils deep inside and twists.

The thing is, Boyd never really had much to call his own his whole life that people didn't attribute to others around him - one of the only things he had was his art. And losing an eye didn't make it impossible to do art, but in that beginning stage, it just felt extra awful to have lost something so integral to the one thing he had that was his alone, that hadn't been used and abused and destroyed by other powers in his life - it felt like maybe that just went to show he didn't have value other than what others assigned to him. Which is how the valentine stuff probably came to mind - through a bit of depression and also practicality, because he knew he could make money doing that if they needed it, even though it was the absolute last thing in his life he would ever want to do. But then the guilt would come in about not being able to do enough on his own, not pulling his weight, etc etc, and then the fear associated with all of these topics, and that's how the depression would have slid in and spiraled him down.

I always imagined that Hsin recognized how depressed Boyd was, even though Boyd tried to hide it, and eventually they would have had some sort of conversation about it all.

In my mind, somehow through that and any following conversations or actions or etc, Hsin was able to remind Boyd of all the things he could do still, rather than focusing on the things he couldn't. He would have reminded him that it was bullshit to think he had no value, and as for getting denied different jobs, it didn't matter - they were in this together, they'd figure it out together. He would have been able to remind Boyd to stop taking all the shit on himself and share the burden. And that Hsin didn't give a shit about any of that stuff - Hsin saw Boyd for who he was, and he loved him for that, and nothing would ever change that. Boyd would have probably told Hsin at that point he was afraid of Hsin blaming himself when it never had been his blame to begin with, and he never wanted to hurt Hsin, and etc. I imagine he told him that, but am not sure.

Either way, it would have reignited Boyd's stubborn streak and determination, and he would have been reminded of how much they could do together as a team. And how much they loved each other. And fuck the world, who cared what other people thought? He could do whatever the hell he wanted. He'd figure it out. He always had.

From then, he would have started working on things again - figuring out ways to fight that relied more on touch so his blind spot and depth perception were less of an issue (Hsin would have helped a lot with this), and he would have started painting and drawing again. It went from his offtime from Hsin being something dark and depressing to something largely productive. Obviously everyone still has bad days, but at least he was generally on the up. And they did eventually figure out jobs he could work too, or things he could do, so he wasn't just spending all his time alone when Hsin wasn't around. And so Hsin didn't have to have any pressure on him to do things alone.

I don't remember if I ever answered this question before and if I did, it's possible my answer was a little different. I often think about parts we didn't write down and I feel like I have an idea of how it would go, but until I actually write something down I never know for sure. We never planned for Afterimage, for example - but when we went to write past Evenfall, it became clear that was a thing that was going to happen, and so it did, and then things from that affected other things into Interludes, Fade, 1/27, etc.

So it's possible if ever any of these time periods are written down that maybe my view of what I think would happen ends up being completely incorrect or off. But right now, generally speaking, I imagine it went something like this.

Sorry for the long rambly reply!

#ask ais #icosbooks #icos spoilers #fade spoilers #in the company of shadows #icos

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