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cristalconnors · 4 years

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TOP 20 SONGS OF 2020

20. “BELOW THE CLAVICLE”- EARTHEATER

“The meaning hasn’t come up yet. It’s still under the surface below the clavicle.”

It isn’t just Alexandra Drewchin’s ear splitting soprano when she hits that impossibly high B, practically shrieking out the “cle” syllable of clavicle, though that’s undoubtedly when I first knew that Eartheater’s avant folk was for me- it’s also the cinematic, lush strings, both bowed and plucked (is that acoustic guitar or harp? I genuinely can’t tell), deepening and complicating the sonic texture of Drewchin’s study of parsing through emotions you aren’t ready to make sense of yet.

19. “PUSSY TALK”- CITY GIRLS, FT. DOJA CAT

“This pussy so ghetto, this pussy speak ebonics”

“WAP”’s funnier, classless Irish twin, though it’s important to note “Pussy Talk” came first. Yung Miami and JT enlist Doja Cat to expound on everything their pussies deserve and will absolutely settle for nothing less than. And why should they when they’re spitting out verses this inspiredly hilarious with such confidence and flow?

18. “LICK IN HEAVEN”- JESSY LANZA

“Once I’m spinning, I can’t stop spinning...”

Jessy Lanza is talking about losing your cool, letting your emotions get the best of you and lashing out instead of letting cooler heads prevail, but when that earworm of a chorus hits- “once I’m spinning, I can’t stop spinning” - I can’t stop spinning. I’m that woman on the single art, a wine mom lost in the delirium of the dance floor and in Lanza’s hypnotic, fragmented rhythms.

17. “GASLIGHTER”- THE CHICKS

“Boy, you know exactly what you did on my boat!”

“Gaslighter” finds Natalie Ames and her Chicks at their most simultaneously ruthless and ebullient, ripping Ames’s ex-husband Adrian Pasdar a new asshole and ratcheting up the righteous anger of “Goodbye Earl” tenfold, channeling it into a glorious wall of sound in what might be their most rousing, emotionally resonant chorus in their storied career.

16. “HANNAH SUN”- LOMELDA

“Hannah do no harm...”

While “Hannah Sun” begins as an exquisitely observed rumination on grappling with long-distance, pining for someone who’s a continent away, it gradually becomes clear that Hannah Read blames herself for putting the distance between her and the subject of her longing, and that the distance isn’t strictly literal. Skittering synths (or is that distorted flute?) complicate and enrich the texture of the song, allowing it to build organically and stunningly towards a heartbreaking plea to herself- “Hannah, do no harm.”

15. “FIRE”- WAXAHATCHEE

“And when I turn back around will you drain me back out? Will you let me believe that I broke through?”

When I’d drive back and forth between Dallas and Austin over and over again when I was in college, I’d often get off I-35 past Waco and take the back roads through towns I’d never heard of, the sun setting spectacularly behind the titular hills of Hill Country that were beginning to roll out in earnest. I think about that a lot when listening to “Fire,” a song dripping in rural Americana that was, unsurprisingly, inspired by a road trip. We’ve probably all been Katie Crutchfield as she crossed the bridge into West Memphis- alone in the car, awed by the simple beauty of the American countryside, making speeches to ourselves about our past mistakes and figuring out a way forward.

14. “3AM”- HAIM

“On the screen and in my jeans, just make me feel good.”

On an album full of genre departures and decidedly darker themes than we’ve typically heard from Haim in their near decade of syncopated bubblegum pop rock, “3AM” stands out not only as their most effective stab at pastiche, slipping into the trappings of contemporary R&B with shocking ease and gusto, but also as their most unabashedly fun track in their entire oeuvre. “I think you can hear the amount of joy and laughs we had making this song” Alana Haim tells Apple Music, and you absolutely can.

13. “QADIR”- NICK HAKIM

“We’re sinking down a hole without thinking about our loved ones who might be shrinking...”

I often wonder if I’m putting enough effort into maintaining my relationships with friends I don’t see regularly, who live several time zones away, living their own lives while I live mine. When the thought of sustaining simple correspondence becomes overwhelming, it’s easy for months to go by before you realize you haven’t spoken to one of your closest friends. “QADIR” plays less like a eulogy for a friend gone too soon (though of course it is that) than a plea to the listener to put in the work. It’s worth it. You never know when it’ll be too late.

12. “LEVITATING”- DUA LIPA

“Glitter in the sky, glitter in our eyes shining just the way we are.”

Just a few bars of that delightfully bouncy, extra-terrestrial beat is enough to launch me into space. It’s so refreshing to hear a song that remembers that pop is supposed to be joyful and is best when it’s a bit silly. When discussing this track with Apple Music, Dua Lipa cites Austin Powers as inspiration, elaborating that “if I do a video for this, Mike Meyers has to be in it.” Can’t you just see them together, performing a farcical pas de deux of seduction like the spiritual successor to “Beautiful Stranger?”

11. “RIQUIQUI”- ARCA

“Love in the face of fear! Fear in the face of God!”

Arca’s made a career of harnessing chaos and somehow making sense of it. On an album that finds her embracing more traditional, accessible song structures, “Riquiqui” is a reminder that even when working within an AB structure, she’s still breaking rules left and right and having a blast doing it. She’s also never sounded so ferociously empowered in either her femininity or in her Venezuelan identity, rattling off local colloquialisms with affection and verve without a second thought as to who’s going to understand it.

10. “FANTASY”- AGAINST ALL LOGIC

“I think about you all the time...”

Or, the musical embodiment of this gif:

When Nicolas Jaar’s tormented synths and crunching beats give way to Beyoncé’s unmistakable alto, it is indeed quite the shock. But should it be? Even if 2017-2019 finds him ditching the dancefloor in favor of more severe, unforgiving soundscapes, his already varied career has shown us nothing’s off limits to him. So why not reinvent Beyoncé’s iconic “Baby Boy” into an industrial, vaguely sinister certified bop that arguably surpasses the original?

9. “PEOPLE, I’VE BEEN SAD”- CHRISTINE AND THE QUEENS

“If you disappear, then I’m disappearing, too.”

“People, I’ve been sad” plays out with the vulnerability and intimacy of a tumblr text post you put out in the middle of the night, only to hastily delete later when it gets no notes. It forgoes flowery language in favor of just getting to the point. “I’ve been sad.” Héloïse Adelaïde Letissier blows up this deceptively simple sentiment with richly layered textures and a big screen gloss not to offer any remedies but instead to offer solidarity. We’re all in this hell together.

8. “DESCRIBE”- PERFUME GENIUS

“Can you just find him for me?”

Mike Hadreas has never sounded so hopeless. Utilizing harsh, rattling guitar that would make Kevin Shields swoon, he conveys the experience of being so estranged from happiness and joy that you need to rely on others to describe the sensation to you. But how, when exploring darker textures than he ever has before, does he make despondency sound so divine?

7. “4 AMERICAN DOLLARS”- U.S. GIRLS

“No matter how much you get to have, you will still die and that’s the only thing.”

Meg Remy picks up where she left off on “4 American Dollars,” reviving the subversive pastiche she mastered on In a Poem Unlimited, this time harnessing the power of funk to dismantle the fallacies we’re taught about the virtues of capitalism. Heavy stuff, but Remy makes it less didactic than joyous, ensuring the listener will be singing “I don’t believe in pennies and nickels and dimes and dollars and pesos and pounds and rupees and yen and rubles” until they start to wonder if maybe they shouldn’t, either.

6. “STUPID LOVE”- LADY GAGA

“I freak out, I freak out, I freak out, I freak out!”

Due to a healthy spirit of contrarianism mixed with a touch of internalized homophobia and genuine bafflement at her universal appeal and praise, I was a proud Lady Gaga hater for as long as she’d been a cultural entity. I just didn’t get her at all and loved that about myself. Annoying, I know. 2020 was the year I was finally ready to let that all go. Just before the world fell apart in March, I was out at Flaming Saddles (RIP) with friends the night this song came out and by the sixteenth time it played, I understood why it was inducing such hysteria. This was a cultural shift. After a frustrating near-decade of Gaga subverting expectations so thoroughly that she was actively working against her strengths and sabotaging her cultural ubiquity in the process, coupled with the most frightening era of political upheaval in our lifetimes, she was finally ready to save us and be Lady Gaga again. Booming synth, drag sensibilities, absurd thematic conceits- all was right in the world. For the first time in a long time, people had something to be hopeful about, and as I danced that night, I felt that hope, too.

5. “SHELLFISH MADEMOISELLE”- RÓISÍN MURPHY

“How dare you sentence me to a lifetime without dancing?”

As soon as that bass starts (the funkiest bassline in the history of music?) it’s like Róisín Murphy’s snake charming oboe, coaxing even the most stalwart curmudgeon onto the dancefloor and keeping them there, dancing frantically and involuntarily like the citizens of Strasbourg in 1518, trying their best to keep up with Murphy who isn’t even breaking a sweat, commanding the masses with a sultry remove, beckoning you closer, pulling you inexorably deeper into the mass of gyrating bodies and whispering in your ear “come and have a dance with yer mum.”

4. “PARTY 4 U”- CHARLI XCX

“I only threw this party for you...”

As PC Music / Bubblegum Bass / whatever you want to call it enters its second decade, Charli XCX proves not only that there’s still new textures to explore within it, but also that no one can exploit its artifice to get down to emotional truths like she can. How can she make something this slick sound so vulnerable? “I only threw this party for you” she croons over and over again over glorious syncopated synths that build exquisitely, reaching their climax only to immediately fall away, until it’s just her and her trusty autotune, pleading with the subject of the song to just come to the damn party. But they won’t, of course. They never do, do they?

3. “WAP”- CARDI B, FT. MEGAN THEE STALLION

“I want you to touch that lil’ dangly thing that swing in the back of my throat!”

Sometimes you just immediately know you’re living through a significant cultural moment. No, not COVID. I’m talking about the experience of hearing Cardi B and Megan Thee Stallion’s instant classic “WAP” for the first time, a titanic meeting of the minds that finds both of them at the apex of their cultural influence and at their most undeniable. Can the argument be made that these two aren’t the two best rappers in the game right now? How could you hear this inspiredly filthy sex positive juggernaut, where Cardi and Megan are trading the sickest verses of their careers, and not think these two deserve the world?

2. “KEROSENE!”- YVES TUMOR

“I can be your baby in real life, sugar. I can live in your dreams.”

If the 2010′s were all about the pop-ification of all music, trading in live instrumentation in favor of polished synths, 2020 forcefully announced the return of the electric guitar when Yves Tumor and Diana Gordon’s back and forth lustfully submissive declarations of desire suddenly gave way to that nasty guitar rip lifted from Uriah Heep’s “Weep in Silence” to announce yet another cultural shift in a year chock full of them- rock and roll was, indeed, here to stay.

1. “I WANT YOU TO LOVE ME”- FIONA APPLE

“I move with the trees in the breeze, I know that time is elastic.”

We live and we learn. Years spent soul searching and on self-discovery shape us into better, smarter people, progressively knowing and understanding ourselves and the world around us more and more clearly, but Fiona Apple knows that none of that can quell the ferocious desire to be loved by someone. By anyone. By you, whoever that is. We can know that time is elastic and that when we’re gone all our particles will disband and disperse and then we’ll be back in the pulse, and we can know that none of this stuff actually matters, but still- we want, we want, we want.

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scripts4dreamers · 4 years

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I literally JUST sat down, pt.2

Part One, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven

AN: The case stalls, but no one’s willing to give up on you just yet. Characters: Spencer Reid, Penelope Garcia, Derek Morgan, Aaron Hotchner, Jennifer Jareau, David Rossi.

Pairings: Spencer Reid x reader

Spoilers: None

Warnings: Mentions of crime and violence, alcohol

(Again! Massive shoutout to @pirateismywayofspeaking for the constant support and ideas! And lemme know if you want to be added to the taglist!)

—————————-

It’s a well known fact that there are three certainties in life; death, taxes and the willpower of one Penelope Garcia. In less than an hour she had somehow organized to get all your clothes and personal possessions delivered right to the BAU, packed in your favorite suitcases and all. A couple of things had to be kept in evidence because the UnSub might have come into contact with them, but all the important stuff was there. It was comforting, having your stuff safe with you and, as you sat through the long and rigorous process of being interviewed, you felt better.

“And you’re 100% sure that none of your employees could have possibly done this?” Rossi asked, “Maybe someone you recently fired? Or someone who has a history of violence?”

You gave him an incredulous look, “Rossi, come on. Do you really think I’d be stupid enough to hire someone with a violent past?”

“You checked everyone out?”

“Full background checks on all three employees,” you agreed, “the harshest thing on any of their records was a parking ticket and a decade old charge for underage drinking.”

Hotch sighed, rubbing his temples right where you knew he got headaches.

“We know the poem is significant to the UnSub. It’s an old love poem, so it’s got to be someone who has some sort of connection to you,” he repeated, “it's personal.”

You shook your head, “Hotch, I don’t know what to tell you. I haven’t had a romantic relationship in years. There’s not a lot of time when you work 14 hour days.”

“Don’t we know it,” Rossi agreed, “so, a stalker, maybe?”

“That’s a hell of a way to make first contact,” you scoffed, “a phone call would be less risky.”

“And less effective.”

You conceded the point with a head tilt, and then looked back at Hotch, “Hotch, can we take a break? We’ve been at this for hours.”

“Of course,” he agreed, “get some rest, Y/L/N.”

“No, it’s okay, there’s work to be done here. I can stay,” you assured, stretching your stiff limbs.

Hotch shot you a look, but said nothing, obviously sensing that you weren’t going to give in without some sort of fight. Instead, he just gave you a terse nod, and walked out, leaving you with Rossi.

“You’re impossible, you know that, right?” He said.

You smiled, shrugging, “What can I say, Ros? I learned from the best.”

He chuckled, shaking his head and ruffling your hair as he walked past you, “Good to have you back, kid.”

The bullpen was busy when you walked back in, suitcases in hand, striding your way over to your old desk. It’s scary how little had really changed in the year since you’d been gone. Aside from Spencer’s semi-annual hair evolution, everything was the same; the smells, the sights, even the comforting clack of Garcia’s heels against the floor. It was comforting, almost painfully so but, as you reached your old desk, you noticed something was wrong.

“Whose stuff is this?” You asked, gesturing to the stacks of files and piles of paper scattered all over the surface.

“Mine,” Emily said, not even looking up from her work.

“But...you have a desk,” you pointed out.

“And now I have two,” she replied simply, “you can sit somewhere else.”

She was being stubborn and you felt a lick of irritation flare up inside your chest. Emily Prentiss had been one of your closest friends for years and, when you’d left the BAU, she’d taken it the hardest. Any other time, you would have understood her resentment but, given the circumstances, you weren’t feeling particularly generous.

You crossed your arms over your chest, “And where do you suggest I sit?”

Emily shrugged and gave you a sickly sweet smile, “You can share with Reid.”

You felt yourself flush with heat. Emily had known about your feelings for Spencer, she’d even encouraged you to act on them. You knew she’d never actually betray your trust, but even that subtle dig was enough to make you want to argue. You opened your mouth but, before you could say anything, Spencer interrupted.

“Here, Y/N,” he smiled, patting a spot beside him, “I’ve got space.”

You pressed your lips together, but relented when he took the time to pull an empty chair over for you to sit in.

“Thanks, Reid,” you said, taking the offered seat.

“So, did you and Hotch figure anything out?” Spencer asked.

You shook your head, “Nothing we didn’t already know. Rossi thinks it might be some kind of stalker?” You offered.

Spencer frowned, “A stalker? That doesn’t make any sense, what kind of stalker starts off their pursuit with a murder?”

“A very, very desperate one.” Emily offered.

You wanted to snap something like; ‘oh, so now you’re talking to me?’ but you bit your tongue. You knew you were on edge, and now wasn’t the time to lash out at the only people who could really help you.

“Or very deranged.” Spencer suggested

You shuddered, picturing a faceless man in all black running his blood soaked hands across your walls, drawing a jagged smiley face above your bed, memorizing the faces in your pictures. You exhaled and pushed the thought away.

“Does this even count as an escalation?” You asked, “I’m not sure there’s really anywhere to go from here.”

You were met with stony silence as Emily and Spencer inspected their respective files. You knew what they were thinking, what everyone was thinking; whatever this was, it was bad news.

“Do we know who our victim is, yet?” Spencer asked.

“Nope,” you sighed, “the UnSub burned off his fingerprints and removed several of his molars before he dumped the body, the ME is doing her best to get a DNA match, but it’ll take time.”

“The mutilation is odd, considering there wasn’t any evidence of torture on the victim before they died,” Spencer said.

“It’s gotta be a forensic countermeasure,” Emily agreed, “but it’s extremely sophisticated. Our UnSub must have experience with law enforcement.”

“But as a perp or a cop?”

You sighed and buried your head in your hands, letting the familiar back and forth wash over you like white noise. You’d had this conversation before, many many times, and it never got any easier. Usually you lived for the puzzle but, now that you were the one under scrutiny, it felt like your brain was rebelling against you.

“Y/N/N?” Spencer asked, touching your shoulder gently and snapping back to reality.

“Mm?” You replied.

His face softened as he took in the exhaustion radiating off your body.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

You nodded, “Just a little drained, that’s all.”

The clicking of heels against the floor drew your attention and you looked up just in time to see Garcia swooping in with her purse.

“You ready to go, crime fighter?” She smiled.

“Go where?” You asked,

“Home!” She smiled, “I have the honor and privilege of hosting you tonight.”

“Garcia-“ you started.

“No! No arguing.” She insisted, “I’ve already found us a lovely little Thai place for dinner, and there’s a bunch of episodes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer lined up on my DVR.”

You groaned, rolling your eyes fondly, “I hate how well you know me.”

She smiled devilishly, “Sounds good, right?”

“It sounds incredible and you know that because you’re a super genius who knows literally everything.” You teased, pushing yourself onto your feet, “Okay, Wonder Woman, let’s go.”

As you made your way out of the office, you cast one last look over your shoulder, smiling when Spencer met your eye and gave you a small wave.

————————-

“Okay, Sugar Plum, spill,” Penelope pushed, handing you a full glass of wine, “how’re you really doing?”

“With what?”

Penelope shot you an incredulous look, “With, you know, all of it. The murder, the mystery, being back at work, the Spencer Reid of it all.”

You spluttered through a sip of wine, “The what? ‘Nel, you can’t be serious.”

“What? I’m just asking,” she insisted, “he followed you out earlier, you’re sharing a desk now...it wouldn’t be crazy if maybe your old crush came creeping back in.”

“Penelope” you started, “some creep dropped a dead body in my bookstore and broke into my apartment and you think I’m thinking about Spencer?” She didn’t answer, just raising her eyebrows and you sighed, sliding down the couch, “Okay so I’m pathetic.”

“No you’re not!” She insisted, “You guys were like two peas in a pod, back in the day. Plus, you’ve seen like a thousand dead bodies, you’re probably just desensitized.”

“Still,” you sulked, “I can’t believe I’m still thinking about Spence.”

“Naaaaaaaaw,” she swooned, squeezing your knee, “you called him ‘Spence’, you haven’t done that in ages.”

“Fuck off, Nel” you said without any real malice, burying your face in your hands and sighing again, “please tell me I’m being ridiculous.”

Garcia smiled, a knowing glint in her dark blue eyes as she sipped her wine and watched you squirm. She’d kept in touch with you when you left the BAU, insisting on weekly brunch meetups and girls nights and a million other things that you’re not sure you would’ve survived without. She’d been like a lifeline in those first few months and, because of that, she was the only one who really knew how hard leaving had been for you. She’d been the one who sat through the hours of crying and panicking and wondering who you were without your job, who’d held your hand when you went to get a small business loan, who’d sampled your cookie recipes and helped you design uniforms. Penelope Garcia had been there for all of it. You had a photo of the two of you together at the bookstore next to your bed. It was one of your most treasured possessions.

“Now, Sugar Plum, you know I’ve always had a soft spot for you and the Boy Wonder. He’s lovely, you’re lovely; he loves you, you love him, I love you both, it’s a match made in FBI heaven as far as I’m concerned-“

“But?” You prompted with a rueful smile.

“But,” Penelope agreed, “he took it really hard when you left, and I’m not sure how he’ll handle losing you a second time.”

You frowned, “He never lost me. None of you lost me, I just got a different job! It’s not my fault that basically no one bothered to keep in touch.”

Penelope’s face softened and she smiled at you sympathetically, “Pumpkin, you know it’s not like that. When you’re in the BAU, it’s like we’re living in our own little crime bubble, everything outside just kind of….fades, you know?”

“I know…”

“And with Spencer, well, you know he’s never been the best at dealing with abandonment, the poor thing’s been through so much already,” Penelope continued, “he tried to keep in touch. He really did, and he talked about you all the time.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

She sighed, “I don’t know. I guess I just-“ she shrugged and squeezed your knee again, “I don’t want you to think that he forgot about you, that’s all.”

You felt a small smile tug at the corners of your lips, and you gripped Garcia’s hand.

“Thanks, Nel.”

You knew she was right. Life in the BAU wasn’t like life on the outside; you lived by different rules, took different risks, valued different things. It was strange and intoxicating and you really couldn’t fault your teammates for continuing to play the game the way they always had. You’d chosen to leave and you had to live with the consequences of that.

“Can we talk about something besides boys now, please?” You asked, “I want this girl’s night to pass the bechdel test.”

She smiled and clapped her perfectly manicured hands, “Oh do not fret, ma Cherie because I’ve got so much to catch you up on-“

You listened with rapt attention as Garcia filled you in on the last twelve months of FBI gossip. You laughed together, ate Thai food and just relaxed together. With every Perfectly Penelope story, you felt a little more of your tension slip away and, by the time you made it to bed, you were feeling almost normal.

Penelope had made up the couch for you, complete with pillows and blankets and a homemade quilt. It was comfortable, too comfortable. So comfortable, that your brain had way too much time to mull over what Penelope had said earlier.

Spencer hadn’t just forgotten about you. What did that mean? He’d taken it hard when you left...the questions bounced around your mind like wasps, keeping you awake. Without meaning to, your mind started to drift, sifting through the years worth of memories you’d kept locked away in a box in the back of your mind.

————————

“You are the most insufferable person I’ve ever met,” you laughed, “I’m fine, Spence.”

“You’re not fine, Y/N, you got shot.” Spencer reminded you, his eyes still sparkling with the relief of seeing you alive and in good spirits.

You were sitting in the back of an ambulance, a throbbing pain resonating from the wound in your shoulder as the police searched through the nearby crime scene and Spencer inspected your face. It was cold and dark, but the sirens and flashing lights meant that it was anything but peaceful, and you knew it would still be many hours before either you or Spencer got any sleep.

“Yeah well, we’ve all been shot,” you pointed out, “and, statistically speaking, we have a 100% survival rate.”

Spencer rolled his eyes, but he was smiling so you knew he wasn’t too mad.

“You’re bastardizing my beautiful statistical analysis and using it for evil. Remind me why I’m bothering to check on you, again?” He teased.

“Because you loooooove me,” you teased back, jostling his shoulder with yours, “and because I just took a bullet to the shoulder for you.”

He chuckled but avoided your gaze, focusing on his shoes, “Yeah that would explain it.”

Something in the atmosphere changed and you looked over at Spencer, noticing the way he worried at the inside of his cheek with his hands in his pockets. His brow was furrowed too, like he was sad, and something in your chest pinched.

“You alright there, doc?” You asked.

“Don’t do it again,” he said, looking up and catching your eye.

You paused, “don’t do what?”

“Take a bullet to the shoulder for me,” he explained, “get hurt trying to protect me. Promise me you won’t do it again?”

You pressed your lips together, recognizing the same feeling of fear and guilt in Spencer that you, yourself, felt any time someone you cared about was in danger. You reached out, pulling one of his hands out of his pocket and giving it a gentle squeeze before letting go. Spencer held on for a second longer, his dark eyes filling with something as he took you in.

“You know I can’t promise that, Spence,” you said gently, “if we’re ever in a situation like this again….no way I’m just letting you die to avoid a couple of stitches.”

“No, you don’t-” he paused, getting himself worked up, “you don’t get it. I watched my girlfriend get shot right in front of me, I-I’ve lost so many people that I care about, Y/N, and I can’t lose anyone else. Not for something as stupid as my own life.”

“Your life isn’t some insignificant thing, Spence,” you insisted, “it’s important! To me, to the team, to everyone. We’re a family, Spencer, families have each other’s backs. Always.”

He took a deep breath and nodded, carding his fingers through his hair like he was agitated.

“Just-” he started again, “just promise me you won’t do it again.”

“I can’t.” you insisted, “I can’t make that promise.

He turned to face you, looking more tired than you’d seen him in weeks, “Then promise you’ll be careful. Promise me I won’t lose you too?”

Your heart ached, and you longed to reach out and wrap him up in your arms, but you restrained yourself.

“How about this; I’ll promise that you won’t lose me, if you promise that we’ll always be best friends, and that you’ll try to start valuing your own life as much as you value mine or Morgan’s, deal?” You offered, extending your hand for Spencer to shake.

Spencer frowned, opening his mouth to argue but, before he could, an agent interrupted.

“Agent Y/L/N? Dr. Reid? Agent Hotchner is looking for you.”

———————————-

You snapped back to reality with a jolt, and realised you were lonely. So much time had passed since that night, but you remembered it all perfectly, every detail. It wasn’t an especially meaningful night, there were a million moments just like it, but something about it had stuck. Maybe it was the potential, the wondering, that thing that he never got to say. You wish you’d gotten to hear it now.

You fumbled around in the dark for your cellphone, typing out a message and pressing send before you could think better of it. It was short, and to the point, and you would be shocked if he responded but, once it was done, you felt something in your chest loosen, like maybe you’d been wanting to send that message for a really long time.

To Spencer Reid: Hey, Reid? I’m sorry I left, I never meant to break my promise.

With the heavy weight of remembering suddenly lifted, you realised how tired you were, and you let sleep drag you under. If you’d stayed awake a little longer, you might not have missed the way Spencer kept typing, typing, typing away some message he never sent. Or the eventual response, which only came in three hours later:

You never broke your promise, Y/N. I broke mine.

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Taglist: @ourfavoritesergeantbarnes, @confused-and-really-hungry, @word-scribbless, @reidloversisforever, @ashookykooky, @l0ve-0f-my-life, @shilohpug, @tangerinenotions95, @petitchatonbleu

#jordsie #jordsie writes #cm #cm imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds headcanons #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid headcanons #matthew gray gubler x reader #matthew gray gubler imagine #matthew gray gubler x you #matthew gray gubler #Penelope garcia #penelope garcia imagine

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bugsandchatons · 4 years

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when you weren’t mine to lose (2)

Summary: Change is a scary thing, especially when it feels like nothing has stayed the same.

It’s been a year since Marinette became the Guardian of the Miracle Box - a year of struggling beneath a burden she never asked for, a weight that has her leaning on her partner more and more as the hours fly by, of letting him come to her, too, when he needs a soft place to land. A year of falling for the boy who takes on the world by her side with a smile made of sunlight, and fighting the growing urge to tell him what he means to her.

After all, they’ll have time enough for that when Paris is safe.

But when the unthinkable happens, Marinette learns the tragedy of loving someone quietly, and the lines she’ll cross to save him.

A/N: thank you SO MUCH to everyone who reblogged, liked, commented on the first chapter! That first response was incredible and so encouraging and I love all of you so much!

*****

[[on AO3]] {from the beginning}

[two: for me, it was enough]

When faint, barely-there morning light filters in through the slatted blinds and sneaks in from the skylight overhead, Marinette blinks awake to a solid warmth at her back and an arm slung over her hips. A bare arm, no leather gloves in sight.

Marinette sighs. It’s happened again.

She keeps her eyes forward - ignoring both the press of his uncovered palm to her skin and the static prickle of awareness that follows his unconscious touch - and finds what she’s searching for in a little black blur, curled up around Tikki at the furthest edge of the pillow. He might even be snoring.

“Plagg,” she hisses. “Plagg. Claws out.”

He yawns with a luxurious and unconcerned stretch. “Hmmm. No.”

Marinette reaches out and pokes him. “Get him out of here.”

Plagg groans and opens one slitted, bleary eye. “When are you going to put us all out of our misery and tell him, Pigtails?” Tikki tries to shush him but he only hums, thoroughly unrepentant. “Oh, just think of all the extra sleep we’ll get then!”

When would she tell him? Marinette bites down on her lower lip. The weekend, maybe. Next week, absolutely. The perfect moment had to come eventually.

At her telling silence, Plagg sighs, loud and dramatic. He ignores both Marinette and Tikki’s protests for him to be quieter. “Fine, fine.” He floats off the pillow, waving one small paw. “You know the drill, ladies.”

Tikki zips out of sight as Marinette drops her head back onto her pillow, takes a deep breath, and feigns an award-worthy sleep.

Right behind her, Plagg murmurs to Chat - no, the boy who wears Chat Noir’s mask, the boy whose arms she sleeps in several times a week but whose uncovered face she’s never seen. She feels him stir against her back, hears his flustered stammering as snatches his rogue hand back and he pulls away. The green flash of his transformation stains the back of her eyelids. Then, Chat’s clawed fingers brush her hair off of her cheek, so softly she could almost pretend it was part of a dream. He rises, carefully tucking the blanket back into his vacated place.

They’re playing with fire, she knows. Most mornings, Chat is gone before she wakes - Marinette can’t imagine how he hasn’t spotted Tikki yet - but the days she has to kick Plagg into gear are surely the most dangerous; Chat is right there, sleeping against her back, and all it would take is a stray glance. Just an accident and everything they’ve fought to keep in the dark would unravel.

They should have stopped months ago, and yet…

“See you later, Marinette,” Chat whispers. The affection there, the gratitude, makes her heart ache. It’s why she can’t turn him away, why she can’t call it quits.

The mattress shifts with his weight, the terrace hatch creaks, and then he’s gone.

With a heavy sigh and something raging in her stomach she can’t find a name for, Marinette rolls over and checks her phone. She doesn’t have to be up for school for at least an hour. She lets her eyes fall closed as she sinks back into the pillows and pulls close one in particular; the one that carries the faintest trace of sunshine, like the boy she knows best. If not by name, then at least by heart.

***

An hour and a half later find Marinette in a mad dash from her closet to her desk, with a shoe in hand that doesn’t match the one already on her left foot. Tikki chases after her with a hair ribbon.

“Have you seen my other shoe?” Marinette drops to her knees to scan under the desk. Her school bag greets her, gaping open and spilling contents onto the floor. She huffs and pushes her hair out of her face. One problem at a time.

“Hold still,” Tikki says, before zipping around one of Marinette’s wild pigtails, looping the ribbon somewhat haphazardly through her hair. Satisfied, she points. “Now, check under the chase.”

“Thank you,” Marinette gasps, making a dive for the correct ballet flat before reaching back to pull the ribbon tight. “What would I do without you?”

Tikki only smiles. “The time, Marinette!”

Marinette groans. “I’m so late.”

“If you had gotten out of bed when Chat Noir left, you would have had plenty of time.” Tikki’s observation pulls Marinette to a halt, frozen while precious seconds slip away.

“I...I can’t get up when he goes,” she argues, knowing even as the words leave her that they make very little sense. Tikki gives her a skeptical look, and Marinette can’t even attempt to start finding words to explain.

The picture comes to mind of what it would be like, rising when Chat does. Of him and her together, rolling out of bed and preparing for the day ahead, of shared glances and shy smiles, gentle teasing, and sleepy affection. Fingers in her hair and kisses pressed to cheeks in goodbye. The scene is so unbearably intimate, somehow even more so than going to sleep to the sound of his slowing breaths. It would, undoubtedly, take them across the still-somehow-platonic borderline they’ve been hovering on for months and dump them solidly into uncharted territory.

No, it’s safer to prevent the opportunity from arising at all. The simple truth of it is this: if she falls back into sleep after Chat Noir leaves, it keeps him caught somewhere firmly between sleeping and waking, a dream she can tuck away when daylight comes.

Marinette frowns, patting her hands to her suddenly too warm face. Tikki gives in first, breaking the standoff and bumping sweetly into Marinette’s cheek before diving into her purse. “Come on Marinette, let’s go!”

In what might be considered record timing, Marinette scoops up her school bag and books and dashes out the door and down the stairs. She skids past her mother with a hasty goodbye and out into the front of the bakery, past her papa as he organizes a package for a customer. He calls out a quick, ‘Slow down, Marinette!’

As soon as she glances over her shoulder to reassure him, she runs straight into something solid, something that grunts on impact.

“Oof. Oh, hey Marinette.” Adrien’s hands come up to cup her elbows, always catching her before she can fall.

Of all the boys and bakeries in Paris, he walks into mine. Marinette scrambles backward, her face flaming. “Adrien,” she gasps. His hands fall away from her. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t - what are you doing here?”

His cheeks redden and for a moment, Marinette stares. He seemed almost flustered by her question, but Adrien being flustered by her is a ridiculous, impossible thing.

“Not that you can’t be here!” She hurries to add. “It’s a public place! It’s just - this isn’t school! And you’re supposed to be there, not here, and I’m late, which means you’re late, and…” she trails off with a hopeless flail of hands.

Adrien watches her outburst with the beginnings of a smile. “I’m going to miss our first class, but I should make it to school later. My cousin is arriving today for a visit and Father is letting me go with Nathalie to meet Félix's train.

Papa steps up behind and passes Adrien a box of pastries over Marinette’s head, accepting his thanks with a grin. He claps a massive hand down onto her shoulder, making her jump. “Marinette, you’re going to be late!”

Before she can open her mouth, Adrien speaks up. “We could give you a ride. The car’s waiting just outside.”

“I-” Marinette hesitates. Papa simply steers her towards the door and out onto the sidewalk.

“Thanks so much, Adrien! What a good friend you have here, honey,” he adds to his daughter, giving her shoulder a squeeze. “Have a good day!”

As she’s all but shooed to the car with Adrien, Marinette takes a breath and reminds herself that’s exactly what they are. Friends. Good friends, even. That was enough.

Adrien, she’d come to learn, was like the sun in the sky. Endlessly warm, bright, and oh, so easy to love - but far away and forever out of reach. She could only drift so close before she burned.

The front passenger window rolls down and Nathalie nails them both with a look more severe than Marinette has seen on akumatized villains. Adrien meets it, unfazed, as though he’s slain monsters far worse. “Marinette’s running late and we’re passing the school anyway, right?”

There’s a beat of silence, a twist of Nathalie’s lips, but she nods once and disappears back behind tinted glass. Adrien offers Marinette a radiant smile and opens the car door for her. She reflects it back at him and climbs inside, mercilessly snuffing out the flutters in her chest as she goes.

He slides in beside her and as the car starts moving, he fidgets - adjusting his seatbelt, drumming his fingers on the bakery box, or reaching up to fiddle with his hair. She stares, certain she’s never seen him so unsettled before.

“Are you okay?” Marinette asks. He jumps, just a little.

“Oh, yeah.” He puts on his front-page cover smile. “A bit nervous, I guess.” At her silence and raised brows, Adrien gives in. “Well, last time Félix visited, he deleted the messages you guys sent to me, then pretended to be me and got our friends akumatized.”

Marinette looks down at her school bag and picks at the zipper teeth with her thumbnail. She remembers all too well - it was her last real attempt to confess her feelings for him before deciding maybe it just wasn’t meant to be. After all, the one time she’d found a way to shape the words, they’d never made it to his ears.

But being Adrien’s friend was enough. She was lucky. He had so much fondness to hand out he practically burst at the seams with it, and stepping out of the shadows of hiding from him and into the light of his high esteem was a lovely, wonderful thing.

“I just hope he doesn’t cause trouble this time around,” Adrien adds in the face of her silence, his hand going up to scratch at the back of his neck.

Marinette offers him a sheepish smile. “Well...he can’t do much worse now than he did last time, right?”

Adrien blinks and laughs, unbridled and free, like she’d startled the sound from his chest. “Yeah, I hope you’re right.”

When the car comes to a stop outside Françoise Dupont and Adrien’s bodyguard gets out to open the door for her, Adrien turns to face her. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

“I’ll take notes for you,” she offers.

He gives her that smile - the one so soft it melts her defenses away to nothing. “Thanks, Marinette. You - you’re, ah. A good friend.”

She barely registers the sting of it these days. If anything, this time the words bring with them a flicker of recognition, a hint of something that flirts with her memories and dances just out of reach. She makes it out of the car and halfway up the steps before glancing back, watching Adrien’s car as it turns the corner and leaves her sight.

Tikki zips up from Marinette’s purse to her shoulder, taking shelter behind her hair. “You okay, Marinette?”

She sighs. “I just...sometimes I don’t know what I’m doing anymore, Tikki.”

Tikki offers a sympathetic hum. “About what?”

Marinette waves a dramatic hand in the direction Adrien disappeared in. “I mean...there’s Adrien. And most of the time, I think I’m just fine, but then he smiles at me, and I…” she trails off, chewing on her lower lip. “But then there’s Chat.”

Then there’s Chat. Those words could define her life. He was an ever-present shadow, woven into her heart in a knotted mess she had no idea where to start untangling.

Tikki stays quiet for a second before saying, “I think it’s okay to love them both, Marinette. If there’s anything I’ve learned about humans, it’s that you have such an endless capacity for loving, and I think that’s beautiful. Can that ever truly be a bad thing?”

It was our love that did this to the world, my lady.

The memory comes to her as it often does, unbidden and with force enough to steal her breath. Marinette shakes her head fiercely, as though the nightmare itself could be so easily dispelled. “Maybe it could be,” she whispers. “Chat Blanc-”

“Might never happen again,” Tikki interrupts, her little voice firm. “That was just one possibility out of hundreds - thousands, even. The future isn’t set in stone, any little thing could change it. So letting your fear stop you from telling someone you love them...that’s letting Hawkmoth have control. And who knows,” Tikki adds, brightening, “if you and Chat Noir do share your identities, it might make things-”

“There you are, girl!”

“Alya!” Marinette squeaks. She swipes a hand through her hair, scoops Tikki into her palm in a move she hopes is inconspicuous, and lets her escape back inside her purse. “Hey!”

“With just a minute to spare,” Alya teases, looking up from the time on her phone as she falls into step with Marinette and leads the way into the classroom. “Guess what? I think I’ve almost managed to convince Carapace to give me an interview for the blog!”

From the corner of her eye, Marinette sees Nino shoot them a surreptitious glance as they pass. She grins. “Oh yeah? Have you been stalking him?”

“Only in the name of journalism,” Alya says, a mischievous smile in place. “I see Adrien was at the bakery this morning.”

Marinette slides into her seat. “Stalking him, too?”

“You’re one to talk. No, he posted it.” Alya holds up her phone and shows Marinette a picture of a box with her T&S logo, complete with Adrien’s caption - Sweetest place in town!

“He’s going to get into trouble with his father for the free advertising,” Marinette notes, though the observation does nothing to quell the blooming fondness in her chest.

“Until your parents start designing clothes instead of cupcakes, I think it’ll be okay.” Alya tucks her bag away under their bench before asking, “So, how was that?”

Marinette doesn’t need to ask what she means. “It was fine, Alya. We’re friends.” She’s been saying it so often over the past few months she might as well have the mantra tattooed somewhere plainly visible. To head off Alya’s inevitable protests, she adds, “Besides, I’ve been, uh, sort of talking to someone else.

Shit.

The speed with which Alya whips around to face her would have been funny, had Marinette not just thrown herself to the wolves without a means of self-defense. Alya’s scrutiny alone is a force to be reckoned with. “I thought you and Luka gave up on all that months ago.”

“We didn’t - first of all, we’re friends,” Marinette stresses. “We decided we’re better off that way. And it doesn’t matter, it’s not Luka.”

“Ooh, been holding out on me, Dupain-Cheng?”

Marinette regrets ever opening her mouth. “No. It’s nothing. We’re taking it slow - I mean, its uh, not even worth mentioning. Really.”

“As if you’re getting out of this that easily. Spill. Do they go to our school?” Alya’s already scrolling social media on her phone.

Marinette sighs. “Alya, slow down-”

“Do they have an Instagram?”

The idea of Chat Noir running an Instagram has Marinette biting down on her lip to hide a smirk. What a cat-covered, pun-laden nightmare that would be. “Oh no, Chat - ah, he’s shy.”

“Chat?” Alya demands, something sharp in her gaze.

Oh, no.

“Chad!” Marinette hurries to say. “It’s Chad, of course. Chad, uh, Norway.”

Alya blinks, arching one perfect eyebrow. Marinette blinks back, guileless. She hopes her face isn’t as red as it feels.

“Chad Norway,” Alya repeats, drawing the name out. “Do you know a Chad Norway, Nino?”

Nino glances at them, opens his mouth, then catches on to the gleam in Alya’s eye and seems to think better of it. He waves his hand frantically, a clear ‘I Do Not Want To Be Involved’, and turns back around in his seat, pulling on his hat down over his face for good measure.

Marinette could have hugged him, but Alya is not so easily deterred. She takes her boyfriend’s abandonment in stride. “So where’d you meet this Chad Norway?”

Marinette glances at the door. She’d take anything - the teacher walking in to start class, an Akuma barreling through the window - anything to end this ridiculous conversation she’d plunged herself into. “The - bakery! He, uh...comes in on the weekends, sometimes. He doesn’t live around here, which is why you haven’t met him, of course,” she forces a laugh.

Alya just stares, endlessly skeptical. Marinette pastes on a smile. “Well,” Alya starts, “you’ll have to introduce me to this Chad Norway next time he comes to town.”

“Oh, sure, yeah.” Marinette flaps her hand, feeling every bit the liar she’s become. Between secret identities and complicated relationships, she’s told plenty. When Ms. Bustier walks in, Marinette can finally breathe, despite the dagger-sharp side-eyes Alya keeps throwing at her.

It isn’t until much, much later, after an interrogatory lunch break and afternoon classes and she’s walking home alone, that Marinette realizes Adrien never did make it into class.

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug fics #ladynoir #marichat #ml fic #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #adrinette #fic:when you weren't mine to lose #you guys are amazing have an update a day early #this is the peace #before the violence

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pleasantwizardphilosopher · 3 years

Text

Blooming

This is chapter 4 of my current fic, I am posting them here as well as in AO3 just because, I really hope you like it, let me know if there are mistakes and your thoughts overall.

Supergirl arrived at Zor-El headquarters like a speeding bullet, almost breaking the sound barrier, out of sheer excitement. Things with the CEO went beyond her wildest dreams, not only was the joint project approved, almost, since Lena still has to sit down with the same old misogynists and make them approve the budget, however, the Maiden of Might has no doubt that the green-eyed genius will make them bend under her gaze. She herself, felt her knees growing weak every passing minute in the woman’s presence, she is now certain that the CEO can bend steel *wink *wink. Furthermore, the Kryptonian has gotten the opportunity of working side-by-side with Lena (isn’t that a beautiful name?), the same one she has been in awe with for several years; watching the CEO work up close was something the Kryptonian never even dared dream of, as it was something she always thought to be quite impossible, because although their companies aim for similar purposes, their markets and social statuses are entirely different.

Moreover, she is certain that there is something bonding them together, what, she isn’t sure exactly, there is just this itching crawling under her skin, making all her nerves tingle with excitement, wanting to grab the Irish goddess and hold her close, to protect her, to know her entirely, to pull a smile from crimson lips, to make sure that she feels safe, validated and supported in a way the Girl of Steel is now certain Lena has never experienced, she also wants to tear down all the walls she has built around herself and know the real Lena, the one that’s deeply hidden behind years of trauma and abuse, and it frightens her, her whole life she’s always wanted to make friends, sure, she’s friendly by nature, but this, this depth, she has never before encountered and albeit the horizon seems promising, scary as well but first and foremost promising; it’d imply bringing to light many things that she’d truly rather not. However, as they say, time will tell, and she definitely wants to see what lays on the other side.

The first thing the Superfriends get to after receiving the good news from Kara is to slightly modify the organization of the company’s headquarters; during the last year of their superheroing endeavors they installed a vigilance room to allow their crime-fighting activities to go smoothly (ish). Said room is in the basement, the vault where they keep their prototypes is still there, occupying one full corner; however multiple monitors and computers had been installed as well, to keep track of Nia and Kara while they’re on the field; there are several chairs, and a platform is installed on the middle for debriefing and planning. There are also four suit holders, where Dreamer’s and Supergirl’s suits are, as well as prototypes for Winn and Brainy’s, in case they ever want to join them on the spot. Since they are one of the most innovative tech companies, many of their security and communications prototypes are firstly tested by them on life-saving missions, taking the devices to their tipping point, that way they ensure that every single device and software launched works perfectly under their prompted circumstances. What they added were a few biometric locks to avoid being discovered and a false wall that hides the elevator leading to the lowest floor. The rest of the building remains the same. Safe for the fact that Nia and Brainy have their own office and lab, respectively, on the third floor and on the second floor, where Winn’s supercomputing lab is, they’ve added a med-bay, after several injuries on the field and only a little bit of alcohol and cotton to treat them, some of their most successful medical equipment are used there.

The first time the two of them actually get together to work on the project, or more specifically, to go through the details of their work together; Kara arrives at the CEO’s office with a paper bag filled with doughnuts and two coffees on a cup holder, she's done her research (aka asked Jess) and now knows that the green-eyed woman likes her coffee black, which is something she honestly doesn’t get the fuss of. The Kryptonian thinks it's a great way to start this project, this working-relationship, starting with the right foot and all that, especially considering that she'll put forward her own lab for them to work on the project, is more private than the L-Corp tower, brimming with scientists and business people; and she'll feel a lot more comfortable there, having her friends and colleagues close and being a few steps away from her suit, in case her assistance is needed, is a lot less likely that the genius woman finds it suspicious, she just had to make sure that no scribbles in Kryptonian were left on her desk and project board, the ones she did have were (not) carefully folded (more like threw) in a locked drawer, away from prying eyes.

When she's let into the office, after giving Jess a couple of doughnuts for her invaluable help with her ‘getting to know Lena’ research; she cannot help but be struck dumb (again), and surprisingly it never gets old, at the sight of the Irish woman. The CEO is standing facing the city through her office’s windows, her silhouette highlighted by the sunlight flooding the office, she is wearing a crimson red three-piece suit that fits her perfectly, after she turns around, Kara can see that underneath she’s wearing a black button up, and her signature red lipstick, the whole outfit paired with dangerously high heels. She gestures for the hero to sit down on her very white couch so they can thoroughly review the information they have and design their project’s timetable and budgets, her eyes are glinting like light reflecting from beautiful emeralds, unblemished, there is curiosity written all over them and she smells wonderful, the strong smell of the coffees the blonde is still holding do nothing to diminish the smell of cinnamon and a citric perfume coming from the CEO.

Lena, on the other hand, finds herself to be intrigued by the woman sitting in front of her, she’s wearing a white and black flannel paired with khaki pants and a simple belt at her hips, her hair is braided perfectly and falls over her shoulder; and the whole outfit makes her look so young and innocent that the CEO has to refrain from wanting to hug her, which is not a common circumstance she finds herself in, for someone as touch starved as she is. The scent of the coffees she’s brought still lets a scent of vanilla and lavender get to her nose and she feels at ease, for the first time in who knows how long. She should be worried, about someone having such strong effect on her, but she honestly isn’t, it feels as natural as breathing, there is something about those cerulean blue eyes that settle her heart and even her breathing, like coming home after a long day at work, or falling asleep into a mother’s embrace, she finds it to be really easy to just let go and be.

Both of them engage in shy smiles and deer eyes for a few moments, all boardroom meetings and upcoming deadlines forgotten. With the information they have now they know for sure that current solar panels are very inefficient, you can power two computers and a light bulb tops with the best ones available on the market, and not for a very long time, as their reliability is quite low. But with the system proposed by the Kryptonian who, with huge compliments to Alex, for helping her with the cellular growth and with her help as medical specialist to analyze the results; has spent the past two months thoroughly evaluating her cells solar absorption. The system will work as follows, the nanoparticles oscillate when solar radiation hits them, this is due to a quantum phenomenon called surface plasmon resonance that enhances the radiation through the oscillation of the particles, as a result of their electromagnetic fields, to the wavelength of certain radiations, solar now, and hence, the energy obtained is higher than that of the incident light, then, this enhanced energy in the form of light will go to the circuitry, which will do... something, Kara isn’t entirely sure as to what exactly, even with her engineering background the circuitry she can think of will be huge and inefficient; to turn the radiation into current and voltage so it can be stored in batteries and transported, if necessary.

Lena laughs softly at the woman’s circuitry perception and pipes in, explaining her own vision for the circuitry, she has been thinking about it for the past months, getting all her knowledge together to develop the best system, she proposes to build nanobots that will act as small transformers, turning raw energy into voltage with the aid of electron energies, which are directly bound to voltage, jumping from one orbital to another, however, now that she understands the blonde's idea better, she had been quite secretive about this, she thinks they can add a cobalt isotope battery that would allow the system to store the energy for further use and for long periods of time without any significant decay; the system would allow power to be distributed evenly with no current peaks or voltage drops. They also agree on having the nanobots programmed with a failsafe to prevent the system from supercharging. As enraptured as they are in their little science discussion, finally having someone who gets their brilliant minds and has more ideas, challenging one another, time flies for both of them, and suddenly they have to part ways to keep with their day, having been discussing ideas and details for several hours, there are now several pressing matters that they need to attend. As she is walking out of the office, Kara spears one more look at the green-eyed genius, who is now checking something on her laptop, after turning on the TV in mute, if she didn’t know better, she’d say she’s smitten, but that is a dumb idea.

When Lena is left alone in her office again, she feels light as a feather, in a way she had forgotten one could feel, this project holds many expectations, for both of them, nonetheless, she can finally let her mind free, without being afraid that someone may feel threatened by her intelligence. Smiling softly to herself she turns her attention to her laptop, in order to keep going through accumulated emails and paperwork; remembering then to do something she takes out her phone to call Sam, her CFO and best friend, to let her know about the project and the fact that although she will still be working as CEO and taking care of whatever fires need her attention, the rest of the every-day paperwork will go directly to her, as well as any boardroom meetings (thank God for that), as she herself will be busy with the project.

They are animatedly talking about a certain blonde when a streak of red and blue on her TV catch her attention. Supergirl is rescuing several kids from a severe accident, where their school bus was pushed out of the road and down a cliff by a lory speeding out of control, the images are startling, the destruction left behind by the bus rolling down the hill shows very bad premonitions for the kids’ safety and overall health. However, Dreamer and Supergirl are giving all they have to rescue them as soon as possible, the blonde hero is flying the children to safety five at a time, while Dreamer is holding the bus with blue-energy constructs, to keep it from sliding further into the ocean, from the images being shown, she can tell that the young hero is struggling, even though the Super is taking them out at an impressive speed. Emergency services have started arriving and providing first aid to the more severely injured ones, most of the kids have several bruises and cuts, but she can tell, even with how far the camera is, that some are at actual risk, the few ambulances that have arrived and the traffic piling on both directions are a bad premonition to those who were pierced by metallic pieces or have broken bones, particularly broken ribs.

Kara is gritting her teeth together, trying to keep herself as focused as possible, which is hard on the light of the events. The bus had twenty-seven five- to ten-year-olds, most of them managed to hold onto something the moment their transport was pushed off the road and only show minor scratches and bruising. However, there are a few who are severely injured, and Nia is struggling greatly to keep the bus from keep rolling down the hill and into the ocean, as it is quite heavy and the dirt she’s standing on is very unstable, making her slide further helplessly, hence, she cannot fly to a hospital those whose life is at risk, because even though she can fly extremely fast, human composition and physiology wouldn’t withstand such extreme conditions. She can only hope for the best and try to pull them all faster, one problem at a time.

Without thinking twice, the CEO activates a few codes on her computer and a swarm of aid drones are launched from a nearby warehouse. On screen she sees how the drones arrive on site, giving first aid to anyone that needs it and allowing kids to jump out of the bus by their own feet, the older ones helping those who need it or are too young, the bus driver is the most injured one, nevertheless, she has improved her drones from the first time she presented them, and now they can assess a person and act accordingly faster, by the time Supergirl gets to him, his life is no longer in danger, albeit he’s still pretty beaten up. Through the camera of the drones, she sees the hero waving a thanks and then speeding off with the driver to the nearest ambulance, rushing afterwards to move the problem-causing lory out of the way, so that ambulances may leave as fast as possible, otherwise, all the effort put forward by them, the rescue teams and Lena, would be for nothing. Finally moving to Dreamer’s side to lift the bus back into the road where cranes can dispose it properly.

Letting out a breath she didn’t know she was holding, the raven-haired woman drops on her chair, just as the news shift from the rescue efforts to a report on how "a xenophobic group declares war on all aliens", according to an anonymous letter that was sent to the news channel, this groups seeks to fight for their planet, to avoid alien invasion and for humans’ rights, as “aliens are a threat to our way of life”. She feels all blood draining from her face, that sounds an awful lot to what her twisted family believed in, it cannot be though, after Lex was incarcerated, she pulled several strings among the board members, with hard evidence on how Lillian posed a threat to the company, resulting from sharing the same world-domination ideals she pushed onto her son; and thanks to her friends, Sam, Jack and Andrea, helping her buy shares from her mother through shell companies, the woman started losing her spot on the board, eventually being left with absolutely no power over L-Corp, as she owns only about 0.2% of the total shares. That way, Lena prevented her twisted mother from using the company’s resources to do something along the lines of what her brother did, and also from her getting enough money to fund whatever twisted idea of patriotism and ‘right or wrong’ she has. But this, this could very much be their doing, she’ll have to dig into it and make sure that her sick relatives, have nothing to do with it, maybe even find out whoever is actually behind it and put a stop to this nonsense. There is a dread deep in her stomach, that tells her otherwise.

Lena parks her car at the entrance, she is at the direction Kara gave her. She’s wearing black jeans with leather boots and a deep green turtleneck sweater underneath a thigh-high grey coat, as it is the beginning of January and this year’s winter has been quite cold, she can see the puffs of her breath condensing on the air in front of her every time she exhales; the building she’s in front of are the Zor-El Technologies headquarters, she isn’t sure what she was expecting, but it definitely wasn’t this. The building is big, from the outside she’s certain that they would need a few hundred people to fill it, it has huge floor-to-ceiling windows on every floor, and the glass is, she’s certain, bulletproof (the fuck?), which is quite startling, and polarized, so that someone from the outside can’t see what’s happening on the inside but without preventing sunlight from streaming in, however, from the inside you could clearly see the outside. The only detail that differentiates this building as the one from a tech company is the huge Z hanging on the front from the rooftop. She approaches the glass doors, which slide open as soon as she nears them, and is stunned to see that there is no one, no secretary, no front desk, no security detail; there are a few cameras and the lobby is clean, open-spaced, with dark wooden floors and a few paintings hanging from the wall, in the furthest wall, there is an elevator, and coming out from it, is Kara.

The cheery blonde is wearing denim jeans with heeled ankle boots, making her look a few centimeters taller than the CEO; a light pink polo shirt covered by an open lab coat. She hands the green-eyed woman a card with her name on it, which she assumes is her access card, and is quite surprised to see the easiness with which she was given access to this building, family name aside and knowing that she may not have access to all floors and stuff, it’s still refreshing in a way. She is then led to the elevator, where she swipes her card and presses the button to the first level, where she now knows Kara’s lab is, and where she will be spending a lot of time until the end of this joint project. When the doors open, she gives herself a moment to observe.

There are several workbenches across the space, underneath them all are cabinets that contain chemicals and solvents, she assumes; there are tools scattered messily over some tables, screwdrivers, LED’s, tweezers, mixed oddly with Erlenmeyer flasks, hot plates, test tubes and other glassware. On the furthest left corner, right in front of the windows, is a desk, with a small lamp and a laptop, beside it is a cork board filled with scribbles, notes and drawings from other projects the blonde must be working on. There is soft music playing from a couple of speakers next to the elevator and a big painting of a sunset, she thinks, because of the red-ish color of the sky, on the wall to her right. Again, she’s surprised by the easiness with which Kara has let her into her space, her life, because, as a scientist herself, she knows how hard it is to open the doors of her lab to just anyone, so this small gesture amazes her and fills her with warmth, she feels welcomed, there is a knowing feeling that from now on she’ll feel a lot like that.

Research is hard she knows this, even though the background check, patents, recent developments and discoveries; is already done, the first months of their project have been a bumpy ride, to say the least. Their first experiments have been disastrous, to put it nicely, the nanoparticles vary in size to a level of polydispersity were they don’t fulfill their purpose, the nanobots the genius woman has been trying to develop don’t work, not only do they not do what she’s programmed them to, but they don’t do anything at all and is fucking infuriating. She should be able to do this, designing this kind of technology is not new to neither, particularly to the Irish genius, who has actually developed several nanotechnologies to improve life quality. In spite of that, good things have come up, the aching to know each other better, to find out more about them, paired with their constant failures has given them window to actually do so. And it’s heartwarming.

It starts with an invitation to get lunch together from Kara, after another very terrible outcome, they get on Lena’s car and drive downtown, which is only a few kilometers away from the warehouse. They eat at a Chinese restaurant, the best on National City, according to Kara. Engaging into small talk with the blonde, is easy, Lena finds, there is no judgment coming from her, she just listens, sapphire blue eyes earnest and filled with interest, honest interest, making her feel like she’s the only thing that matters; and gives reassurance whenever the Irish woman needs it, even without her actually voicing it, she just notices. What was meant to be a short lunch, became hours of them talking about everything and nothing, the outside world and that stupid project, vanishing for them. Lavender and citric coffee. Green and blue. Kara finds herself lost in kryptonite green eyes, warm and glinting, and a soft smile, the way her hair falls in dark waves only adding more and more to the softness of the woman in front of her, who has suffered and lost so much, she unknowingly and silently makes it her life’s mission to protect this beautiful human being, vowing to no one but herself to always stand up to that promise.

After a few more lunch dates they start getting close, the pull their hearts experience, stronger than ever. The first time Kara goes forward with a hug as a way to greet the raven-haired genius, Lena stiffens as a rock, not being used to such closeness, it takes her a few more attempts at physical contact but when she gives in, she finds her new favorite place, in the blonde’s arms. There is something about the way Kara hugs her that makes her feel at ease and safe, like a small precious creature that needs to be taken care of, as if she were fragile and invaluable, the scent of vanilla and flowers that she has now come to associate with the woman, dizzying, and her warmth, protecting. She feels certain that no one has ever said so much and yet so little with the simplest wrap of arms. She surely has gotten a little enraptured by her hugs. And her eyes, she’s not sure she’s ever seen bluer eyes than those, and she finds captured by them every single time. At first, she felt like they could be deceiving, however, as time went by, she has come to realize that she can read them like an open book, whether is worry or affection, she knows what Kara is feeling, and she’s now certain that the woman can also read her with that same easiness.

Will she ever get used to this woman’s presence? Somehow, she truly hopes not, is addicting the way the baby hairs at the base of her neck seem to electrify the moment she gets into Lena’s eyeline, how her breathing becomes shallower and everything else in her line-of-sight fades. After more than six months working together, she still loses her bearings every single time the raven-haired woman crosses the doorstep of her lab, it’s been natural, the way she seems to exist in her space, the way the move around each other as if they’ve been doing this for years instead of a few months. She has become attuned to the sound of her heartbeat, knowing the precise instant she arrives at the door of the warehouse, to her constant smell of citrus and coffee, she is now an addict of. Moreover, she’s addicted to her smile, her laugh, the way her dimples show whenever she is actually letting herself feel, long gone is the mask of the no-nonsense, cold-blooded CEO every newspaper feasted on.

Lena, on the other hand, has devoted her entire mind to this project, after the first months of failure, they both started gaining momentum and now they seem unstoppable, the device will still take some time as it is groundbreaking and will move Earth’s technology forward several years; however, their progress is excellent and is going ahead of their own agenda. The Luthor is so enraptured by the project that whenever she’s not working on it, her mind is reeling with possibilities; she can’t help it, she is so excited that whenever a new idea or pathway pops into her mind, she springs out of bed and drives to their lab, Kara’s lab, to keep working. After a few times Kara caught her in there, she made it her new purpose to make sure that the woman eats and sleeps properly, becoming aware of her terrible work habits. For Lena, it’s grounding in a way, the fact that someone actually cares for her, is new, and at first it scared her, but she’s come to realize that it’s deeply rooted into the blonde, she truly cares, and her kindness is blinding.

They have become accustomed to each other, and have started opening more, mostly Lena, since Kara still has a super big secret, she’s yet to come clean. The Kryptonian now knows about all the abuse Lena has endured throughout her life. How even though Lillian never actually hit her, she would still make her hate towards the green-eyed woman very well-known, criticizing every single detail, from her posture, to her eye-color, her freckles and every little imperfection she could find; humiliating her for sins she never committed, like that one time she decided to go to a party, during summer, and returned home soaking wet, as a downpour had broken lose, and Lillian made her cook for her and Lex, with her clothes soaked as punishment, and then berated her for dripping water on the floor, forcing her to clean with a rag and a bucket, on her knees. Kara’s heart broke that time, so badly that she couldn’t stop herself and hugged the woman trying to convey all her support and care. Running her fingers through black strands, whispering tenderly into her ear that it wasn’t her fault and that she is worthy.

Kara knows about the huge betrayal her brother committed that time when he went rouge and tried to kill Superman, using one of her own inventions to synthesize kryptonite and embed it into his Lexosuit. She has never trusted anyone after that. Simultaneously, Lena knows that Kara is adopted, she hasn’t given a lot of information about her life prior to the Danvers, but she’s certain it was horrible and traumatizing, she doesn’t want to pry, but she can tell from the way the light in those blue eyes seem to vanish, like a suffocated candle, the way there is a red glint to them, whenever she mentions that she failed, that she should’ve been better, smarter. And Lena holds her, rubs her back and lets her crumble and cry, she’s certain that this personification of the sun had nothing to do with whatever happened and she needs her to understand that, it’s hard. Without them knowing, their hearts started opening, giving the other a soft spot, always there, prevailing, waiting.

Kara has a drawer filled with snacks. Lena is not ever sure why she is surprised by that when the woman is literally always munching on something, how she doesn’t gain weight, she sure as hell doesn’t know; but there is just something about opening her desk’s drawer, which surface is always filled with scribbles, experiments records and calculations, and find it filled to the brim with snacks, from Poky’s to chips and… is that one of the pastries she bought last month? The CEO shakes her head in disbelief, a loving smile forming on her lips, and tries not to think about it too deeply, she absolutely doesn’t steal a chocolate bar. Sitting on a stool in front of the prototype she’s currently trying to make work, her thoughts inevitably drift to how her life has been for the past months. When she first started working in this lab, she got to know all of Kara’s friends and colleagues, and she was impressed again about the easiness with which they let her in. But being alone in Kara’s lab is something else entirely, it is not the first time this has happened, the blonde sometimes remembers she has to do something last minute and gets to it, leaving Lena on her own. Is a small gesture, but it never fails to turn her into goo, being trusted so blindly by someone so caring, she has seen the blonde playing with kids and eating unhuman amounts of ice cream, she is certain that the woman is the impersonation of goodness and the sun, and it makes her feel something she hasn’t given the time, nor wanted to for that matter, to analyze, shoving everything in little mind boxes, her life is pretty messed up without the added weight of feelings, especially with the whole anti-alien campaign.

She pinches the bridge of her nose to try and lessen the upcoming migraine she can feel the beginnings of. Whoever is behind that letter has been working from the dark, pulling strings here and there and planting the seeds of hatred towards aliens. National City has been one of the main destinations of displaced aliens and there were already growing sentiments before this whole thing, nevertheless, there weren’t any actual actions towards them, there are now. A few protests against the recognition of aliens as citizens has arisen, and there are now several youtubers who ‘state facts’ on how aliens are a threat to the human race, a speech about how aliens are taking their jobs and invading their spaces, how they will come and conquer, and who knows what other bullshit. At first she was sure this little uprising was going to end quite fast, and never really gain strength or followers, she was wrong, it turned out that a lot of humans had resentments towards aliens and this has just spurred them to the surface, many other humans who have lost their jobs to aliens have also joined and now is a very wide movement throughout the city that doesn’t seem likely to go down in the near future and is worrying, this kind of hatred-guided obsessions always escalate to more violence from both sides and who knows what could happen.

Sighing and hoping for the best, she turns around to keep working in her nanobots while Kara arrives and drags her to grab some dinner, smiling to herself at the thought of their now usual routine, where they work together all day, Kara always bringing something for lunch for them and at the end of the day she’d drag the raven-haired genius to either her apartment or the blonde’s and they’d have dinner, if Lena was in the mood she’d cook for them, not letting Kara touch anything, being remitted to chopping, if not they’d just simply order something and then watch some Netflix or another rom-com that Kara needs Lena to know (is general knowledge Lena). It fills her body with goosebumps the way they have gotten close, understanding each other easily, as if it had been always them, forever each other. She’s not usually this cheesy, though.

#supercorp #karlena #lena luthor #supergirl #i am supercorp trash #kara danvers #idiots i swear #please give me feedback #they are actual dorks #we love them

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zims-left-shoe · 4 years

Text

Agent Mothman (Dib x Male Reader)

Like most of my other fics, characters are aged up to high school. Plus, a friendly reminder that my request box is open!!

The silence was overwhelming. The pressure of everyone's collective held breath was almost palpable, your chest reactively tightening for no good reason. As you looked around you, eyes were wide, jaws were set and clenched in preparation to cringe. The only two who stuck out from the crowd were Zim and Dib, when did they not? Zim looked lost in thought, mind seemingly several thousand galaxies away, hands folded together neatly in front of his face, his chin resting on them. Dib, on the other hand, appeared to be over the whole ordeal. His posture was slouched as he stared ahead at the board through half-lidded eyes. As the quiet persisted, an anxious energy settled over your classmates (besides the two previously mentioned, of course). Eyes twitched, fingernails scraped the tables, feet began to tap restlessly on the floor.

"Y/n." The teacher finally spoke, bringing the whole class to sigh in relief, the building pressure suddenly released all at once. Many students leaned back in their chairs, high fiving each other. "Y/n, you will be partnered with Dib." You shrugged your shoulders as many looked to you in pity, some even whispering their sympathies. You had never aligned yourself with any group in particular throughout your school year. Granted, you were only a few months in, but you had switched schools so much you had learned to play the field. You avoided Dib considering his stigma, enabling you to be tolerated by the majority, however you were never mean to him. In fact, you rather liked him. You only chose to silently observe him rather than act upon your curiosity.

"But wait, who's going to be paired with Zim?" You heard a student groan, everyone's breath being held once more. You let your gaze drift over to your partner. He seemed relieved, a slight smile settling on his lips. This was probably the best case scenario for everyone. No one else had to work with Dib, and you were the only one who never picked on him for being just a bit different.

Once your teacher had finished reading names, you were all asked to sit with your partners. Without an ounce of reluctance, you sauntered over to Dib's otherwise empty table, taking one of the many available seats surrounding him. You needed to figure out a plan quickly, considering you only had one night to do the project. The project wasn't super taxing, in fact it seemed almost like busy work that would promote socialization at the same time, but it wasn't like your time frame was ideal.

"Dib, right?" You held up your hand in a slight wave. "I don't think I've officially introduced myself. I'm Y/n."

"I know. The new kid who has no real friends yet is somehow still deemed acceptable by the popular kids? An anomaly for sure." Red painted his face, his eyes widening as he realized how his words may have came off as. "Shit, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound rude. Or creepy. You know what? I'll just stop talking." An awkward chuckle escaped your lips as his eyes fell to his sneakers. After a slight pause, Dib spoke again, his tone much more reserved than before. "I can just do the whole project and you can put your name on it if you want. It's not that hard." He was giving you an out, not wanting to piss you off. Reaching an arm out, you slugged his shoulder lightly.

"Nah, come on. I don't roll that way. Besides, I want to hang out with you a little."

"You...want to hang out...with me?" Dib pointed a finger to himself, eyes wide behind his large glasses. An incredulous expression was etched into every single feature of his face, as if he couldn't believe those words left your mouth.

"Yeah." After that syllable, the bell rang, dismissing you from school. You stood up, gathering your things. "Anyway, I'll be at your place after dinner. Just text me your address or whatever." You quickly scribbled your digits down on a scrap piece of paper that was laying around, passing it to him. "See ya!" You dashed away, sneaking one last glance back to see Dib still sitting in his chair, as still as a statue, not believing that this was even happening.

Your stomach felt as if it was full of butterflies, and you couldn't shake the grin that had spread across your face as you began your walk home.

God...he was even cuter than I thought... You were embarrassed by your own thoughts, pinching yourself on the arm. Truth was, you may or may not have been stalking him a little. He lived in your neighborhood, and you just couldn't help it. You had always been a hopeless romantic of sorts, and all it took was one look at him in class giving a presentation on the gremlin in his backyard and you were in love. You didn't even need his address, you knew where he lived, but you didn't want to make him feel uncomfortable, so you asked for it anyway. Plus, it was a way to sneak him your number. And it wasn't as if you were actively trying to find out where he lived. It was pretty much impossible to ignore him and Zim screaming at each other as they ran back and forth between their houses all day.

"This is going to be a long night." You sighed out, foot striking out to kick a rock, the satisfying skittering sounds it made calming your nerves a small amount.

You drew in a deep breath as you brought your fist to the door, rapping on it a few times. Rocking back on your heels, you clutched your notebook and other supplies tightly to your chest, internally cringing at yourself. Everyone at school thought you were incredibly cool, but on the inside, you were just a lovesick gay who was overflowing with big dumb energy. The door swung open, bringing you to jump and be pulled from your motivational speech that was being given inside your head.

"Come on in. I'm surprised you showed up." Dib stepped aside to let you in, gesturing past the living room to the kitchen where a purple-haired girl sat at a table, picking at the remaining food on her plate. A floating monitor hovered near the table as well. "We're just finishing dinner, but you can follow me if you want." Nodding, you padded behind the social outcast wordlessly, taking a seat next to him at the table. "Gaz, this is Y/n, my partner for my project. Y/n, this is my sister Gaz."

"Hey." You waved to the girl. Her expression remained squinty as she continued to pick at her food, eyes dancing between her plate and a Game Slave which was charging on the counter.

"Whatever." She grumbled, never even directly acknowledging your existence once. You began to wonder if Dib was actually the most normal out of his entire family, which was saying something. Dib awkwardly cleared his throat as he pointed to the floating monitor, which displayed a man in a lab coat and goggles furiously working on something.

"Oh, and this is my dad. He's at work right now, like usual. When he can't be with us for dinner, he either videocalls us from his lab or plays a pre-recorded video reminding us of chores and dinner instructions." Despite how sad the things he had just said sounded, not an ounce of bitterness was up for display on his face. Instead, his eyes shone with pride, happy to have a dad who was making a difference in the world, even if he could never really be a conventional father. "Anyway, just let me clean up and then we can get to work." Dib stood up, bringing his own plate over to the sink and running it under water, placing it in in its respective place in the dishwasher afterwards. Waving for you to follow him, he led you down the hall to a room that was clearly his. The door was covered in posters and stickers of aliens and other supernatural creatures, a good sized "Keep Out" sign the centerpiece. You wondered what would be inside, becoming excited. You figured you were the first person besides his own family to be seeing his room. He twisted the knob, casually pushing the door open, allowing you to step inside.

"Wow..." You trailed off as you glanced around. There was so much to look at. Your eyes darted from one thing to the next, barely able to take it all in. There were several computer monitors surrounding a desk that was littered in papers and catalogues for supernatural hunting items, a few prototypes of possibly his dad's inventions scattered there as well. His room was lined with posters of aliens and other entities, an important looking briefcase thrown haphazardly onto his bed. The one thing that held your gaze the longest was a ginormous cork board. Several photos, drawings, diagrams, and hurried scribbles of notes were tacked up there, filling it to the max. Each paper was connected with color coded strings, things circled in colored pen seemingly at random, although you knew better. It was the definition of organized chaos. In large, bold, red letters, one word was scrawled on a paper at the top of the board: ZIM.

"I'm sorry, I tried to clean it as best I could. It's still kind of a mess." Dib hurriedly stacked papers together on his desk, trying to make it look presentable.

"It's fine, don't worry about it. You should see my room. Half of my shit isn't even out of boxes yet, and we moved in months ago." You laughed, sitting down on his floor. "So, alien invasion, huh? Isn't Zim that kid with the skin condition?" You asked, gesturing to his cork board. His shoulders tensed as he unplugged his computer and brought it down to the ground, taking a seat beside you.

"Could we just get to work? Please?" He seemed to want to sweep that subject under the rug, and you decided that you would let him.

"Okay...so anyway, this research poster. You got a topic in mind?" Your prompt drew him out of his unsociable shell, albeit hesitantly.

"Personally, I was thinking Area 51, but if you wanted to do something else..." He genuinely appeared to not want to upset you, despite usually not caring about how he came off to others.

"That sounds great, Dib. Interesting too. You think they're really hiding aliens there?" Laying down on your stomach, you rested your face in the palms of your hands, gearing up for a long talk. A smile crept onto your face as immediately his eyes lit up.

"I'm glad you asked."

"I think we have the essentials. Now we just need to get them onto the poster, which is probably the most time consuming part." Dib stretched his arms towards the ceiling while you yawned and cracked your back. You didn't know how long you had been sitting on the floor for, but a glance to the clock by his bed told you it was 8:01 pm. The two of you had spent the last couple of hours researching, organizing notes, and mainly just talking about yourselves. You had no idea why everyone constantly was ragging on him. You found him to be incredibly interesting and entertaining, hanging onto every single word he spoke. You weren't really sure if you believed in all of these supernatural creatures, but you also didn't think that they couldn't exist.

"I think so too. You ready to start on the poster now?" Reaching out, you gathered the posterboard and construction paper Dib had brought in from his garage together.

"Yeah, in a minute. I have to use the bathroom and then see what Gaz is up to, I'll be back in a few." You hummed a response, Dib standing up and exiting, closing the door softly behind him. Deciding to take a closer look at the Zim conspiracy board, you pushed yourself to your feet, leaning close to try and decipher the grainy images. One in particular caught your eye. It wasn't in color, and everything seemed fairly blurry. Zim, or what was supposedly Zim, was hunched over something that looked to be a robot. Except, as you looked even closer, Zim seemed to have these buggish eyes and long, skinny antennae in place of his hair. Rubbing your eyes, you flopped down onto Dib's bed.

"God, I must be seeing things." You had managed to convince yourself that you had been staring at computer screens and papers for far too long, and that your eyes were playing tricks on you, showing you what Dib wanted you to see. Closing your eyes for a minute, the rise and fall of your chest turned slow and steady, and you could feel your grip on reality loosening.

A ringtone of sorts snapped you back from your almost-doze, and at first you thought it was your phone, but after waking up a bit more, you realized it was coming from one of Dib's monitors. It appeared he was getting a call. The monitor showed nothing besides a logo of some sort of eye, as well as an option to accept the call or decline. Filled with curiosity, your feet took you to his desk where his monitor sat. You barely felt in control of your body as your finger swiped at the screen in the direction to accept the call.

"Agent Mothman-" The voice coming through the monitor was distorted, but you got the impression that it was on purpose. The image displayed was a dark silhouette of what seemed to be a man. "You're not Mothman."

"You mean that cryptid from West Virginia? No. I'm not." You took a seat in Dib's desk chair, which was very comfy. You assumed he spent a lot of time in it when he wasn't hanging out with Zim.

"Who are you and what do you know?" The voice was menacing, and you vaguely wondered if Dib was involved in something more serious than you thought. Quirking an eyebrow, you tried to not let any miniscule amount of fear you were feeling show.

"I'm, we'll just say Agent, uh...Nessie." Feeling uncreative, your mind drifted to the Loch Ness Monster.

"You're not Nessie either."

"You got one of those too? Ugh, fine. What about Agent Chupacabra?"

"Well, no, but...you're not any agent we know of."

"But I could be! Agent Chupacabra reporting for duty!" You brought your hand up to your head stiffly in a mock salute.

"But you're not a member of the Swollen Eyeball! What are you doing on Mothman's computer?"

"The Swollen what now?" You were smiling stupidly, only because you couldn't really grasp what the current situation was.

"Hey, sorry, Gaz decided to hound me over drinking the last soda, so I took a little longer than I thought-" Dib opened the door to reveal you sitting in his desk chair, trying to look all spooky for the guy in the monitor. You thought he'd laugh at your stupidity, but he was not in the least bit amused. "OH MY GOD AGENT DARK BOOTY!" Slamming his room door, he darted over to where you were sitting, almost tripping and falling on his face. He made a strangled noise as he noticed the disappointed expression that rested on the silhouette's face.

"Who is your little friend, Agent Mothman?" The distorted voice was cold, and you could feel Dib almost shrink next to you.

"Listen, I can explain-"

"I thought we stressed secrecy, and the fact that you are not allowed to have outsiders sit in on our important meetings."

"Meeting?" All of a sudden, several of the other monitors sparked to life, various other silhouettes coming into view. Just in one glance, you could see that Dib wanted nothing more than to fade away into a cloud of space dust in that moment. You stayed silent, knowing that Dib was in some serious trouble because of you.

"We had a meeting at 8:30 pm sharp, Mothman. You knew this. And you had a friend over?" Dib's face, already pale, turned even more so. Any lighter, and you thought for sure he'd become a ghost on the spot.

"I am so sorry, I had a school project, and he's my partner, I lost track of time." He looked absolutely helpless, and without a word, you stood up and gathered the poster supplies. Snapping back to his senses, he turned to you and began shoving you out of his room and herding you to the front door.

"Dib, I-"

"You really need to go!" There were no other words said between the two of you as he quite literally slammed the door in your face. A sigh slipped past your lips as you clutched your project items in your arms, dragging your feet across the pavement on your walk home. You lazily stumbled through your front door, mumbling a greeting to your parent(s) as you headed to your room, gearing yourself up to finish the project before morning.

"Thank you to Y/n and Dib for their, erm, informative...presentation on Area 51. That was your last one, so enjoy your last five or so minutes of class." Your teacher went back to their desk as you and Dib retreated to your own table. You hadn't talked much since the incident last night, and quite frankly, you were tired from spending hours of your night creating the visual portion of your project. Dib's lips were tightly pressed together in a thin line, and you guessed there was something he wanted to get off his chest.

"Look, Dib. If there's something you want to say to me, just do it. I'm sorry for answering your call, that was not a good move on my part, and I also apologize for getting you in trouble with your, uh...society." Running a hand through his dark hair, Dib shook his head.

"No, that was my bad. I forgot I had a meeting. I'm also really sorry for kicking you out and then forcing you to finish the project on your own." Your expression softened, unable to resist forgiving him.

"Yeah, that was kind of a dick move." You elbowed him jokingly, hoping he would loosen up now that bygones were bygones.

"No, seriously. How can I make it up to you?" He looked as if he wouldn't be taking no for an answer. He had gotten a taste of what having someone who genuinely enjoyed being around him was like, and he wasn't willing to let that go. A sly grin tugged at your lips, and almost immediately an idea came to mind.

"Consider yourself forgiven if you take me ghost hunting, or whatever it is you do." His shoulders tensed, but relaxed when he realized you weren't making fun of him.

"Well, you're in luck. I just received a case file investigation last night on a bigfoot lead. I'll pick you up at eight, if that works?" His words were cautious, almost as if he still believed you were phishing.

"It's a date!" You cheered happily, already excited about getting to spend more time with him. A faint blush dusted his cheeks at your wordage.

"Of-Of course." He stammered out, grateful for the bell that rang not even a second after.

"See you tonight, Dib!" You waved as you made your way home, wanting eight to come as fast as possible.

"He knows the project is over, right?" Torque Smacky raised an eyebrow, questioning Dib and wondering why someone as cool as you would be hanging around with a guy like Dib by choice.

The doorbell rang, and you sprang up from where you sat on the couch, overjoyed to head out. Practically throwing open the door revealed Dib in all of his trench coat glory, albeit a bit nervous looking and sweaty.

"Alright Mr. Mothman, where are we going?" You grabbed onto his arm, eventually linking it with your own. He cringed at the nickname, but resisted nothing else.

"To the park. Apparently, some woman saw bigfoot there the other night. Also, fun fact, I saw bigfoot in my garage one time. He was using the belt sander." Your eyes widened, and you immediately realized why everyone called him crazy. You took it upon yourself to believe him. He obviously believed in himself, so why shouldn't you?

"Interesting. You see any other spooks in your time here?" He shrugged as you walked.

"I mean, I think a few ghosts and, well, aliens of course, but we've been over that. Also, I have vague memories of being abducted by aliens as a kid. I think they were trying to experiment on me to create some sort of genius super baby or something." You couldn't help the laughter that tumbled from your mouth. It wasn't necessarily laughing at him, more so that you weren't sure how else to respond. You didn't want to put him down, but at the same time, his story was very out there. And although you weren't 100% on board with the whole supernatural thing, you believed in him and his words. If that was his truth, you would stand by it. "You ever see anything supernatural?" You pointed a finger to yourself, as if to ask, 'me?'.

"Well, I mean...I did live in West Virginia for a while when I was younger...a lot younger. And then we moved around a lot." Your eyes instinctively narrowed as you tried to recall those times with you and your neighborhood friends. "And, you know, Mothman was like the local legend. He's basically a celebrity down there."

"No way! Did you actually, like, see him?" If you didn't already have it, you sure had his full attention now.

"No. I believed in him for a while, but we never saw him, and as I got older and distanced myself from there, I just kind of figured it was bullshit. My friends and I, we would go out at night trying to hunt for him with flashlights and stuff. Sometimes we'd bring lamps onto the porch and plug them in, building little 'Welcome, Mothman' forts to sleep in." You chuckled, remembering how much you had believed in all the spookies and specters as a child.

"That's adorable." Dib's lips were parted in a smile as he continued to lead you deeper into the park. You weren't sure when you had actually gotten there, but you weren't really paying much attention.

"Well, maybe we could do that together some time. I know Mothman isn't really big in this part of the country, but who knows. Maybe he'll come." Softly bumping Dib in the side, you were pleased to see his smile only grow.

"I'd like that." The nice moment was interrupted by rustling of the trees, and Dib turned on his flashlight, pointing it to the treetops. "There!"

"I thought bigfoot was more on the ground!" You called as you raced after him. You both came to a grinding halt, your feet skidding in the grass to try and avoid ramming straight into Dib's back. The boy you were with aggressively pointed his flashlight into the tree, resulting in a loud hiss from whatever was up there. "Maybe it's just a cat, Dib!" You tried to pull him away, not really liking how riled up he was at the moment.

"Zim! What are you doing here?! What evil things are you planning?"

"Zim?" You looked upwards, following the beam of the flashlight. Sure enough, there was a green body hunched in a tree branch, a robot of some sort next to him.

"None of your business, Dib-stink!" Zim spat, turning to face your friend. It was then you got a good look at his face. It wasn't the slightly abnormal one you were used to seeing every day. His eyes were red and buglike, sleek, black antennae sprouting from his head.

"Holy shit, Dib. You're not crazy." You flicked your flashlight on as well, aiming it at who you thought was your classmate. "He really is an alien!" A strangled cry came from the alien sitting atop the tree branch.

"GIR! Do something!"

"Yes, master!" The once cheerful-looking robot suddenly turned much more serious, dropping down from the branch to where the two of you were standing. You yelped, unsure of what this thing was capable of.

"Relax, his robot is pretty much usele-" Dib began, but his sentence came to an abrupt end when several missals and other weapons emerged from his head.

"How do you like GIR's new adjustments, Dib? I finally got his behavioral chip fixed to where he's responsive, but not too serious." Zim smirked, and with the point of one of his clawed fingers, his robot was on the two of you.

Simultaneously, both of you let out a scream, reaching desperately for each other's hands as you ran for your lives back to Dib's place. Your feet pounded the pavement, lungs feeling as if someone was raking knives down your throat and organs, yet despite all that, you both refused to look back. Only when you were on his porch did you feel comfortable sneaking a glace behind you, only to find an empty street lit up by streetlights. Breathing heavily, the two of you leaned on each other for support. Dib looked very worse for wear. He didn't seem to be too athletically inclined.

"I think...we lost him..." You spoke between gasps for air, grinning all the while. He nodded vigorously, still wheezing. After the two of you had regained your breath, you both managed to catch each other's gaze. You felt every portion of your brain that was in charge of thinking shut down as you leaned in closer to him. You were barely even aware of what you were doing as you pressed your lips to his. His eyes looked as if they were about to burst from his skull, but after a moment, they eased shut as he relaxed into the kiss. You pulled away, feeling heat rush to your cheeks, almost as if your face was on fire. Your stomach was tied in too many knots to even look at Dib, but if you had, you would have seen that he wasn't fairing much better. In fact, he was probably in worse condition. "Thanks for the night of fun, Agent Mothman."

"Uh-huh." He mumbled out, and his brain looked miles away. You decided just to go home before you did or said anything else that could be classified as stupid. As you power-walked away, Dib's hand found its way to his lips, where the feeling and warmth of your own still lingered.

#invader zim #fanfic #fanfiction #dib membrane #dib x reader #invader zim x reader #invader zim fic #invader zim fanfiction #oneshot #one shot #invader zim oneshot #invader zim one shot

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treeni · 4 years

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Necessary quiet

Fanart of the absolutely lovely story as the birds love the sky by peachsneakers / @candied-peach.

Summary: Janus is just feeling down. His boyfriend comforts him.

Honestly if you’re feeling down and you need to be cheered up, I suggest checking it out. If you’ve seen any of my posts recently, you probably know I can’t praise peach enough, but their work is honestly amazing if you’re looking for suggestions.

Story time:

I had just tried to go to sleep at 6:30 am on Saturday. The sort of existential dread has been setting in recently and it was the first day I had sort of been able to fight it off and feel like myself in a while. In fact, I felt so good that I was overridden with ideas and spent the whole night jotting them down and organizing them all so I could maneuver them later. I had just laid down and at 6:45 I get a text asking for my help. Our dog Natalie needs to go to the vet. Without hesitation I got back up, threw on some clothes and my partner readily joined me. I was ready faster because I had clothes ready for the early morning walks I take the dogs on everyday. I rushed from our basement apartment to the main house as my partner finished getting ready to find that my aunt’s worry had gone from moderate to extreme.

Natalie, who looked like hell, but had been still walking around that morning, suddenly went toward her favorite room to rest. When she found the door closed, she just...collapsed against it and made no move to get up. Something was very very wrong.

We knew in the past few days she seemed a little sick with something that seemed like no more than a stomach bug. We also knew she was in decline, but was diagnosed with kidney failure, but it wasn’t complete failure yet. The vet predicted we would have a while yet because of the nature of the diagnosis. She was dying yes, but just Tuesday she had raced up the hill on our walk and scarfed not only seconds, but thirds at dinner time.

I know that every pet is important to their family, every pet is important, but Natalie was uniquely important to me in a way no other pet had been. You see just a few months after my aunt adopted her, she offered me a place in her home, a sanctuary away from the toxic situation I was in within my parent’s home. Natalie was there to welcome the hollow, broken teenager who had been barely stopped from committing suicide just months prior by a stranger. When my aunt had gotten me a special welcome dinner at my favorite bbq restaurant, me and Natalie went halvsies because she had the biggest, sweetest puppy eyes that were impossible to resist and she spent the entire day by my side, acting as the anchor as I was absolutely turbulent and lost. I was in a state where I was afraid of myself, of being in the way, afraid my existence itself was somehow a bother. Yet, Natalie sensed my hesitation was a constant source of comfort, leading me at every turn, every struggle and heart break, and admission of my past trauma, she was always there. Whenever I was upset, and I truly mean whenever, she would simply walk up to me, hovering close and patiently. She understood my touch aversion when I was distressed and so she would always wait, with big soulful brown eyes and a sweet smile. When I was ready and reached out to pet her, she would inevitably lean into the touch, then stretch her neck out in a way that was an invitation for a hug. She was absolutely brilliant and deeply empathetic.She absolutely considered herself to be as good as a human and honestly I have to agree.

She started showing GI symptoms, late Tuesday night, but we didn’t think much of it. She had been at the vet the day before and it honestly wasn’t that uncommon for one of the dogs to pick up something during their visits. Our other dog stopped eating too on Wednesday, which just confirmed the diagnosis in our minds. Thursday my aunt called the vet and couldn’t get an appointment. They said if she got worse to take her to the emergency vets.

She seemed to be doing better on Friday. She spent the day smiling and hanging around everyone. She ate a little bit and generally seemed to be back in her usual spirits. Then Friday night somehow she started getting sick again. The tropical storm was passing over us at the same time too, making rushing off that night dangerous. She was vomiting again and my aunt asked me if I’d go with her to the vet the next day, either the regular or the emergency depending on if she could get an appointment. The text asking for my help came long before the regular vet even opened.

My partner came up only two minutes after me and carried the collapsed dog into the car. To make it as easy as possible for the vets to get to her, the front passenger seat was pushed all the way forward while me and my partner drove behind. When we left, I wasn’t certain we would be coming home with her that day. I feared the vet would give us the terrible news that they would recommend putting her down. The drive was less than 20 minutes. She was dead before we arrived. They think she had undiagnosed cancer.

I didn’t even get to say goodbye.

Returning back, most of the day was spent comforting our other dog, Juno, who seemed absolutely convinced we were getting rid of her next. It didn’t give a lot of time to process.

My partner forced me to eat dinner that night and we returned to our apartment after. Having been up for the greater part of 36 hours, I finally sort of collapsed into my bed. Still absolutely shell-shocked and not completely in my own head, I messaged @candied-peach with a request for a story. The request was... generic at best with no real details beyond hurt/comfort and something I can’t imagine I would have done in a different frame of mind. I am absolutely awful at asking for things even with all of the progress I’ve made. I knew they were working on several WIPs and had several requests to plow through. I thought at best mine would be pushed to the back of the list and handled... eventually, maybe after they got through with the others? Then I closed my tablet and sobbed until I finally fell asleep.

I woke up to it already in my inbox.

It was just lovely. I read it and left a comment, that I’m sure didn’t mean much because I was trying to type through crying (I’m still trying to type through crying). A few hours later I went back to it again and then again that night. Mind you, they had also released the first chapter of a large fic we had been discussing for ages, so they absolutely must have dropped everything to write it for me and that realization just... knocked the air out of me.

It was one of the sweetest gestures anyone has ever done for me.

The picture above is the result of my overwhelming need to do something in return and pay tribute to the little story that is now my absolute favorite story.

I honestly don’t know how to say thank you enough peach. Your kindness just blows me away.

#ts roman #ts deciet #roman sanders #janus sanders #rociet #princeit #fanart #fanfiction #longpost #deceit sanders #personal story #under the break #candied-peach #after the break #cw death #cw dead animal #cw true story

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katehuntington · 4 years

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Title: In Bad Waters - part five Word count: ±4250 words Episode summary: Still in possession of the Winchesters’ belongings, Zoë meets up with the hunters on her next case. When it turns out to be a little more complicated than anticipated, she accepts their help in order to make an important deadline. Part five summary: Sam tries to find out more about Zoë’s past, but when he meets up with his brother again, he never thought he would have to reveal his own. Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only! Descriptions of domestic violence/child abuse. Drug use/addiction. Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and medical procedures/resuscitation. Swearing, alcoholism. Supernatural creatures/entities, mentions of demon possession. Descriptions of torture and murder, drowning. Illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks. Author’s note: Beta’d by @winchest09 and @deanwanddamons. Thanks, girls!

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist

S1E02 “In Bad Waters” Masterlist

Paragould, Arkansas June 16th, 2005 - Five months ago

A shrill whistle reverberates over the training fields. Children stop in their tracks and run back to the teacher, bursting with energy. “Alright! Good job, everyone! Red team wins!” A woman, probably around her thirties, smiles as she is surrounded by her class. Like they always do after practice, they sit down on the grass in a circle, looking up at their teacher, waiting for her to give the cue to head off to the dressing rooms. The sun shines brightly and stands high in the blue sky, shining down on them. Birds chirp, hopping from branch to branch in the trees surrounding the fields, while the American flag flutters from the frontage of a school building.

“Looking forward to summer break?” the teacher asks, laughing when her question is answered with loud enthusiastic cheer. “Aren’t you even going to miss me?” she pouts. “We’ll miss you, Mrs. Dawlson,” one of the little boys speaks up. More kids agree with him, causing their supervisor to smile, humbled. “I’m sure you will do fine at Oak Grove, Roy. You’re all going to middle school! Fifth graders already, my boys and girls are all grown up.” She observes her class, pride in her kind eyes. “I tell you what. Next Friday we are going to play lots of fun games, alright?” The faces of the children light up and they happily beam at each other, already excited for next practice. Their teacher lets them off the hook. “Be safe, off you go!”

All get up and bolt for the dressing rooms, challenging each other to get there first. Some squeal and laugh as they play tag along the way. All but one. The joy disappears from Mrs. Dawlson’s face as she watches one of the girls, who slowly strolls back to school. Despite the warm weather, she’s wearing a long sleeved shirt and blue sweatpants. Mrs. Dawlson sighs, clearly caring too much about her children to let this slip. “Laura?” The little girl looks over her shoulder, her expression blank. She carries her long, chestnut hair in two braids, her bangs cover her eyes. “Could you come here for a second?” Mrs. Dawlson asks, gently.

Laura drags her feet with her head hanging down, like a dog who has done something wrong and is now called back to get punished. The teacher sits down on her heels to level with the little girl, making sure not to talk down to her. But Laura doesn’t look her in the eye and keeps staring at her feet. “How are you doing, Laura?” she wonders, her voice friendly and calm. “I’m fine, Mrs. Dawlson,” she replies, politely. The coach hesitates for a moment, figuring out the best way to approach her pupil. “Well, alright. But if there is anything you want to talk about, let me know, okay?”

The young girl looks up and Mrs. Dawlson startles at what she sees. She can detect a dark bruise through her bangs, right above her left eyebrow. With her fingers, she carefully sweeps away Laura’s hair and reveals the injury underneath. Scared, the student backs out and turns her head away. Quickly, but without hurting her, Mrs. Dawlson grabs Laura’s wrist and pulls up her sleeve. What she sees then, would make everyone’s stomach turn; her entire arm is bruised. “How did you get these?” Laura’s teacher questions, a bit firmer than before. “I fell,” she lies. “Tell the truth, Laura. Who did this to you? It’s alright,” Mrs. Dawlson tries to convince her. “No one! Please don’t tell anyone!” The little ten year old begs as she pulls herself loose. “It’s safe with me. I promise,” her teacher assures. “No, I - I can’t,” Laura stammers.

By now she’s crying. Big tears stream down her porcelain cheeks. It seems like she is going to cave in, but suddenly she turns around and makes a run for it. Mrs. Dawlson lets her go and straightens her back. With a sigh, the teacher places her hands on her waist and watches the girl leave the field. Disapproving, she shakes her head and closes her eyes, swallowing thickly. “Poor girl…” she whispers to herself.

Paragould, Arkansas November 26th, 2005 - Present day

It’s still early morning when Sam pulls over at 2310 West Kings highway and enters the parking lot of the Ramada Inn. He left Zoë still asleep; apparently she really needed her rest. Last night, he wondered what was going on in her head and what she’s been through, as he went over the database she developed during her years of hunting. He could tell from the file properties that she didn’t just accidentally stumble on a ghost and got curious. He doesn't know the entire story behind her possession, but something happened. Something bad.

The first file was added over four years ago, containing information on a Diligo Vesco. ‘Diligo’ can be translated to ‘love’ in Latin, ‘Vesco’ meaning ‘eater’ in that same ancient language. A demon who served directly under the devil himself in the early years, one of Lucifer’s creations, if you believe the lore. Not your ‘casual’ black eyed rat from hell, like the ones Dad dealt with every so often. No, this one was much worse.

The name fits, because that’s exactly what it does; it literally feeds on love, by possessing someone and slaughtering the host’s loved ones. The demon doesn’t just kill them, though. A Diligo Vesco is one of the most vicious and sadistic of its kind. It’s been reported to take its sweet time torturing the victims, before actually killing them. Sam found case reports in Zoë’s database that described the gory details. Limbs severed, organs ripped from bodies, missing parts of the brain. Arson, waterboarding, skinning, mutilation. Ways of torture he had never seen before. One of them was called Blood Eagle, where the demon would cut open its victim’s back, break all the ribs and twist them upwards, giving the poor soul ‘wings’.

Since the beginning of time, these creatures are responsible for unexplainable and brutal murders within families and close circles. The Ade family murders in 1874, where the children were cut up and set on fire. The Green Family massacre in 1994, in which the mother of three slaughtered her children with an axe. These smart monsters play the game well, framing the vessel for the blood that the demon sheds.

The Diligo Vesco is only able to show its true face when the host is physically close to someone he or she loves. Until that time it holds on like a leech. An exorcism would be the only way to spare the life of the possessed, but this is where it gets tricky; the demon can only be exorcised when it manifests. By the time a hunter picks up its scent, it is usually too late. Most of the time the damage is done and the thing is long gone. When it does come to driving out the demon, the host nor the exorcist rarely survive. Killing these demons is close to impossible without harming the person it's controlling. Yet this is what his father and Dean must have accomplished, since Zoë is still walking amongst them.

Curiously, Sam had compared Zoë’s online database with his father’s journal, but the case happened to take place in a period of time from which a couple of pages of the book are missing. Zoë does not elaborate on the details of her own case either, but whatever happened, it triggered her to become one of the best hunters in the country. The list of creatures that she slayed after her possession is impressive. Zoë ended more supernatural spawn from Hell in the past four years than some hunters manage to kill in a lifetime.

Still pondering over this newfound information, Sam gets out of his brother’s car. On his way over to Paragould, he and Dean talked about this new Sullivan girl. The youngest Winchester couldn't help but to be curious about her motives, her past. Dean doesn’t get why Sam even gives a damn. He said it’s none of their business and if Zoë doesn’t wanna share, why dig further and risk getting your eyes scratched out?

While rummaging in his pocket, he enters the motel lobby and makes a left turn to the main corridor. The red carpet underneath his feet is stained and the wallpaper has come off at the corners, a sheer contrast to the Hampton Inn, where Zoë is staying. Here, the coffee machine in the hall spits out the most horrendous brew, they need a flashlight in the bathroom because the light is broken and the air conditioning sounds like a generator, but doesn’t actually do jack shit. But then again, he has a feeling that not even a freezer could have cooled down the rabbits inside of room 106.

Just as he takes out his room key, he sees that he won’t need them; Dean is already at the door with the blonde he picked up the night before.

“Call me,” she tells him, as she saves her number in his phone. “I sure will,” Dean smirks. They kiss once more. Both can barely keep their eyes off each other as the young lady parades away in last night’s clothes with a flustered grin on her face.

Sam passes her in the hallway and looks over his shoulder. He can see where Dean’s coming from; she’s beautiful. Dean has spotted the look upon his brother’s face, though. “Forget it, tiger. She’s mine.” “Had a good night?” Sam chuckles, hoping he will skip the details. Dean yawns and saunters back into the room. “Did I have a good night? I barely got a chance to sleep.” “Okay, already more than I wanted to know,” Sam cuts off, before Dean spills the goods.

He follows his older sibling into the room, finding one bed untouched and the other a complete mess. An empty bottle of Sauvignon lays on the ground, while a dirty glass still stands on the cabinet next to a half a bottle of Jack Daniels. The window is wide open, the heavy curtains wave in the wind slightly, but despite the fresh air, the room still smells like sex. Seems like they had one hell of a party.

“Let’s get going,” Sam announces. Dean looks aside at his little brother, frowning. Since when is Sam the one who gives the orders? “Already?” he replies, bummed, clearly hoping for a rendezvous. “Yeah, I found our stuff,” Sam informs. “Ah, so you found Sullivan,” Dean chuckless, raising his eyebrows.

Sam huffs and rolls his eyes, but his older brother doesn’t pay attention to it, tipping over an empty bag which once contained potato crisps. Apparently he’s hungry. “Yeah. It didn’t take me long to find her. Her bike was parked outside a hotel. She’s working a case,” Sam explains, acting casual, but Dean can’t help himself. “If it didn’t take you long to find our shit, then where were you all night?” Reluctantly, Sam sighs before he answers. No way in hell his brother is going to respond maturely to what he is about to say. “I spent the night at her place.” Dean laughs out loud, throwing his head back. “I knew it! You cheeky bastard!” “Nothing happened, Dean,” Sam states with a tone. “Oh, come on. Not even a little smooch?” he teases, but Sam denies. “A look then? You know, one of those cheesy Notebook moments.” But again, Dean’s brother shakes his head, although he can’t resist to comment on that. “You saw The Notebook?” “Well... no. So I’ve heard,” the oldest corrects uncomfortably, quick to turn the conversation back around. “But let me get this straight; absolutely nothing happened?” “That’s what I said,” Sam confirms.

After opening a pizza box that - to Dean’s disappointment - is empty, he stops searching for food. Then he turns to Sam, who is clearly annoyed with the interrogation. “Are your eyes fucked up?” Dean wonders in disbelief. “Honestly, I'm a little disappointed. I thought I taught you better than that. How can you spend the night with a woman like that without making a move?” “That’s it. I’ve had it.” Sam squares his shoulders and stares at Dean, furiously. His brother pissed him off, but Dean can hide his victorious grin. For weeks he has tried to push Sam over the edge, to trigger him to let it out. To yell, cry, take a swing at him if that was what his little brother needed to do to feel better. Anything to get him out of the dark hole in which he’s currently hiding up.

“Did it ever occur to you that I might feel terribly guilty if I would just head off with some girl for a one night stand like you always do?!” the youngest of the siblings exclaims. “I have no idea, Sam. You never talk to me about it, so how the fuck am I supposed to know how you feel?” Dean bounces back.

“And you think it’s strange that I don't talk about what happened?! My girlfriend was murdered, Dean! I was going to ask her to marry me, for fuck’s sake!” He pauses, growing even more furious. “I had everything planned out! Law school, Jess, everything!” By now Sam paces from one side of the room to the other, restless and upset.

“You were gonna marry her, really? Sam, with your background the chances of the American dream coming true was close to zero. You should’ve known that,” his brother reminds him. “I was just trying to move on, I was trying to be happy! And you know what? I actually was!” Sam halts in front of Dean and raises his voice even more. “I loved her, Dean! I still do and I can’t get her out of my fucking mind! She died because of me!” Dean looks at his younger sibling, sympathetically. “Don’t do that to yourself, man. It’s not your fault she’s dead.” “It is. I didn’t warn her about the danger out there!I lied to her--”

Sam intends to ramble on, but Dean intervenes. “- What makes you think that telling her the truth would have made a difference? Whatever killed Jessica, wasn’t just some ghost, Sam. Hey, listen to me.” The older brother grabs Sam’s shoulder and forces him to look down into his eyes. “That same thing killed Mom, and probably a whole bunch of other people. It’s powerful, and if Dad has trouble stopping it, no offence, but you wouldn’t have stood a chance.”

“I’m not talking about stopping him at that moment, Dean!” Sam pulls himself loose and turns away. An unpleasant silence fills the room as Dean waits for a follow up, but his brother doesn’t continue. “What then, Sam? Talk to me,” he pleads.

Again that silence. The younger Winchester doesn’t move and stares at the wall with his hands placed on his waist. He swallows apprehensively, his jaw tensed. Then Sam sighs and turns around for Dean to see his eyes glister. “I could have prevented it,” Sam claims, his voice soft and broken now. Dean observes him, thinking through his next question first before he shoots. He has a feeling there’s more to this than just guilt. “How?” Sam bites his lip and averts his gaze. Then, after a month of silence, Sam finally opens up to his brother. “I dreamed of Jessica’s death, days before it happened.”

Complete silence. While the air grows even thicker with tension, Dean stares at his brother, his eyes confused and stunned. Taken aback, he opens his mouth in order to respond, but can’t find the words he’s looking for. “Y-you mean, as in… a vision or something?” he returns disbelieving, chuckling nervously. Sam scoffs as he moves away, ready to leave this conversation already; he knew Dean would respond like this. “Never mind.” But Dean doesn’t let it go. “You’re telling me that you actually saw Jess die, like she did, in a dream?” His younger brother halts, turns back slightly and eventually nods his head. “I didn't think anything of it at first. I figured it was just a bad dream. Until…”

He doesn't need to finish his sentence. Dean says nothing, instead he just stares at Sam. Several thoughts rage through his head. What the hell is going on with him? What the hell could this mean? Why the fuck didn’t he tell me this before? The sheer thought that something might be terribly wrong with his little brother, has his stomach in knots. This isn’t ordinary. In fact, this is as far from ordinary as a human can get. He is stunned and overwhelmed by the idea, but his own brother might actually be something a hunter would keep a close eye on.

Sam swallows thickly, feeling exposed and embarrassed. “You’re looking at me as if you’re about to empty a bottle of holy water over my head.” For a moment Dean glares at the flask on the table. “Dude, you’re seriously considering?!” Sam shouts, frustrated. “You wanna tell me that this is normal, Sam?!” Dean counters, raising his voice. Sam shakes his head and turns around, already regretting that he brought it up. “Why didn’t you tell me before?” the older brother questions. “I don’t know,” Sam mutters, staring at the ground. “You don’t know? You’re psychic, right?” Dean scoffs.

The youngest of the Winchester boys grinds his teeth, but doesn’t say a word. The tension between the two of them is heavy and familiar; it feels the same as when they had the argument before Sam took off for college.

“Anything else I should know, Sam?” Dean pressures, clearly worked up over this. “I don’t know, maybe you can stop bullets or run super fast.” Dean steps to the other side of the room with his arms folded in front of his chest, making fun of the situation because he has no idea how else to deal with it. Sam eyes him, following his movements. “Funny,” he snaps. “Mature, too.” “It would explain a lot of things. The ‘S’ stands for ‘Sam’ and there’s your love for tights,” Dean provokes. “Stop it,” Sam hisses, but Dean isn’t done. “Can you fly? ‘Cause that would be fucking awesome.” “Dean!” Sam warns mad. “What?! Either I joke about it or I lose my fucking cool! Take your pick,” Dean returns. “One way or the other, it doesn’t help!” the youngest exclaims. “You see? This is exactly why I didn’t tell you, Dean! I knew you would give me this kind of shit!” “What did you expect? You kept this from me for over a month!” Dean brings to mind, hurt seeping past the words. “I don’t have to tell you everything I go through. I don’t owe you that,” Sam makes clear, venom in his tone. “And that’s where you’re wrong,” Dean turns to him, pointing his finger as he approaches his brother. “I am your fucking brother, Sam! So yes, you do owe me that!”

Dean stares straight into Sam’s eyes, his head tilted slightly backwards to look at his younger yet taller brother. Sam can see his words struck a nerve. “We used to tell each other everything. What happened to that?” Dean wonders. “It left, along with me.”

Sam breaks eye contact and walks past him. As Sam bumps his shoulder against his, Dean shuts his eyes and clenches his jaw. “I know you’re pretty damn good at it, but don’t you walk away from me,” he threatens, not brave enough to turn around to watch Sam leave. “Why wouldn’t I?” Sam tests, not impressed by Dean’s stern words. “Because this is not something you can walk away from! When will that finally come to you? When you’re in, you’re in. There’s no way back when you know about the things in the shadows, especially not when you have fucking visions about it!” Now Dean does turn to face Sam, who scoffs at the message. “So what then, huh?! You’re planning to hunt until you’re in a wheelchair?” “No, I’m planning to hunt until I finish the job Dad left for us to do and along the way, I will kill as many sons of bitches as I possibly can. Saving people, hunting things, the family business.” He pauses, staring at his brother with fiery eyes. “I intend to prevent people from going through the same shit we’ve had to endure, and if I don’t succeed, I’ll die trying.”

This time, Sam doesn’t have a counter ready. No stubborn remark, no smart answer, just silence. He’s not sure what to say to that. He has to admit, he respects Dean for his morals, his honor. It gets him thinking, too. About his own future, his own life. Because deep down he knows Dean is right. He can run from the supernatural all he wants, but it will continue to follow him, always and everywhere.

“Why should we be the one to sacrifice everything?” Sam questions, less hostile than before. “I don’t know,” Dean sighs. “It’s just the way it is. So we either feel sorry for ourselves, or we suck it up.”

Sam nods, admitting, but not at all okay with the inevitable. He can never have the life he wishes for. There will always be more to hunt, more to kill; this is a never ending story. And even if he does turn his back on the business for good, will he be able to forget about Jessica’s death? Can he move on without scanning every street, expecting something out of the ordinary around every corner? Right now, actually getting his law degree seems impossible, but then again, maybe he was being naïve when he went to Stanford in the first place.

“Shall we go?” Sam suggests. Dean looks up at the defeated man. The peace has returned, but brought a sense of devastation along as well. Accepting his fate is hard on Sam, he understands that. So Dean decides they had enough arguments for one morning and lets it go. He got Sam to talk to him; one step at a time. “Can’t we stay one more night?” Dean tries, carefully. Sam frowns, but then understands his reason for hesitation. “Denise”, he chuckles. “Or Demi? I’m not sure. Her name started with a ‘D’.” Dean’s typical grin appears on his face again, his eyes still soft, though.

“Listen, man. I’m not pushing you to hook up with some chick just to mess you up, okay? At some point it’s gonna be time to move on, and I just figured a girl might help with that,” Dean lets him know, somewhat apologetic. Sam eyes at his brother for a little while with an expression saying something in the line of ‘yeah right’. After a moment of who-gives-up-glaring-first, Dean caves. “Alright, I wanted to piss you off so that you would get it out of your system,” he admits.

The corner of Sam’s mouth twitches upward; he knew it. He’s not mad at Dean for playing that card, though. His older brother means well and he actually feels a little better now that he told him what is going on. “Seriously, man. Talk to me when something’s up,” Dean underlines. Sam responds with a nod of the head, then he gathers his stuff, apparently intending to leave. “Ah, come on. One night,” Dean begs. “There’s something ripping out hearts down in Texas, described by locals as ‘possibly coyotes’,” Sam offers. Dean rubs his unshaven chin and thinks it over. “Awesome werewolf hunt or awesome sex? Tough one,” he ponders. Sam can’t help but smile and waits for the final call. “Alright, let’s hunt some wolf,” Dean gives in. “Do you need to change in a phone booth before we go?” Sam gives him a death-stare once again, but his brother keeps a straight face. “No?” he checks, teasing.

Dean can’t wipe the comical smirk off his face and so Sam shoves his brother towards the door, triggering him to let out a laugh. Before he follows, the younger Winchester feels his pockets for his phone and freezes. Unpleasantly surprised he looks around. “Lost something?” Dean wonders. “I think I left my Blackberry at Zo’s,” Sam realizes. “Naturally,” Dean chuckles, failing to believe he didn’t leave it there on purpose. “Would you quit it already?!” Sam returns, feisty. “Okay, I’ll stop,” Dean promises. “We need to score some food anyway, I’m hungry.” “There’s a In-N-Out a block from Zoë’s hotel,” Sam mentions. Dean’s eyes light up, imagining the food in front of him already. “A Double-Double it is.”

Sam grins as Dean picks up a small duffel containing only the few things they carry around at the moment. He follows Sam outside, who locks the door behind them. A quick bite before they leave another town and move on to the next. They never stay long, but the last two stops have been extremely short. Dean likes Denise, or whatever her name is, yet he has never been the guy who sticks around long enough to get serious with a girl. To be honest, a wolf hunt already sounds more fun than doing the girl he already did last night. After that shapeshifter drama, and now this newfound information about Sammy, he’s up for something equally exciting and distracting. Dean is sure of it; Texas, here they come.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).

Read chapter six here

#Supernatural: the Sullivan Series #Supernatural series #Dean Winchester fanfiction #Sam Winchester fanfiction #Dean angst #Sam angst #Supernatural OFC series #Dean Winchester x OFC #Sam Winchester x OFC #stss #Kate Huntington

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lgchunji · 4 years

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MERRY CHRISTMAS, LGC MEMBERS!

merry christmas, lgc members! oops! this time you didn’t just send something to they mods, they also wanted to send something to YOU!! every single mod, below the cut, has something wonderful for you all to hear! (no, this is not the christmas present side event lol) our mods deserve all the love in the world, but the members all deserve a little extra love too! happy holidays and everyone have a good new years!

admin l, writer of @lgcxjun, @lgcmiso, and @lgcnami says: 1) what is your favorite part about being a mod? making the members happy. when we put out a new event or implement something new in the rp and members are super excited about it, that's what i like the most. 2) what is the most memorable moment from being a mod in lgc thus far? hmm.. i think it's when we officially opened the rp for reservations and they came flooding. we weren't expecting this. we thought it would take weeks before we get enough reservations to open and were pleasantly surprised when in 48h we had the 10 minimum. we never expected to have over 50 members, either. so this whole experience has been amazing for us 3) what is the best part about lgc members/writers (characters or muns!) seeing the characters grow right before our eyes, that's the part i love the most. seeing the progression of each and everyone of you all always make us happy. the admods are your biggest supports, i swear to god. i also love how our members aren't scared of giving ideas and participate in the growth and events of the rp! we always love incorporating our mun's ideas 4) anything else you would like to mention? thank you for being here with us <3

admin *, writer of @lgcdanbi, @lgcnathan, and @lgctaesung says: 1) what is your favorite part about being a mod? oh gosh… i can’t pick just one! honestly, it’s just being able to plan and create stuff for our members with such a fun and dedicated team like the one we have here! we have so much in store for everyone, and we just hope y’all are as excited as we are for the big things to come! 2) what is the most memorable moment from being a mod in lgc thus far?: for me specifically, it had to be my *first* trimester change as the head of graphics. i literally SLAVED lmfao over our Q4 2020 graphics, and it was so nice to see how much everyone enjoyed the roleplay’s makeover. plus, now that we’re getting closer and closer to Q1 2021, i’m both excited yet SUPER nervous about the aesthetics i want to put out for lgc in the new year! 3) what is the best part about lgc members/writers (characters or muns!): character-wise, i can tell everyone is genuinely invested in their muses’ development and careers here. even though idol krps aren’t anything new, it’s such a breath of fresh air to be a part of a group where people want to see success with their muses from the very start to finish. mun-wise, it’s gotta be activity check sunday’s! seeing people’s live reactions to the queue is DEFINITELY the highlight of my week. 4) anything else you would like to mention?: we’re a small team here (but i swear it feels so much bigger!), and we dedicate a lot of our time in running lgc behind the scenes than in writing for our own characters. it can be a bit of a bummer and can definitely take a lot of muse and motivation out of you, but we’re always so appreciative of how considerate and thoughtful our members are of us. we’re not perfect—no one is!—but despite our flaws, it’s so inspiring to see a place (a home?) like lgc last for over a year and still be going on strong. and we can only thank you guys for all of that! so! thank you!

admin g, writer of @lgchanbyul, @lgcjaesun, and @lgcyumi says: 1) what is your favorite part about being a mod? i have a strange love for lists and stats, and so i actually really enjoy the administration part of being an admin. honestly, i would be the type of person to start a roleplay just to do the logistics lol. i enjoy helping to keep things neat and orderly, though admin a. has been doing a really great job of making my processes even better. my strong suits are not events or graphics, so i leave those tasks to the rest of the team. i think because of that, we make a really great team, and i just enjoy getting to see the fruits of our labor week after week and seeing people excited over them as well! 2) what is the most memorable moment from being a mod in lgc thus far? there are many memorable moments, of course, and this might sound silly … but probably when we received our first application that was not from one of our og staff members. frankly, when we started this group, we were fairly certain no one would want to join, especially with so many other great roleplays around, so to have watched it grow over these last 16 months has been pretty incredible! 3) what is the best part about lgc members/writers (characters or muns!) i wish i could give a special shoutout to each person, but that will quite literally take me a year so i apologize that i’m taking the easy road out. i think the best part about our members is just their willingness to help, whether it be helping others understand the points process, what is needed for an event, or just any of the other logistics that might lead to confusion. it puts a smile on my face to see that teamwork and selflessness exhibited by so many of you. when we mention that we’re stressed, there is never a shortage of eager hands being raised to offer help, and we always appreciate that. i think it’s not easy being a big group, and it can be easy to feel left out, so i just continue to applaud those who really help to make people feel at home! 4) anything else you would like to mention? 2020 has certainly been a wild roller coaster ride, but it’s certainly been made better by getting to write and interact with all of our members. i hope that those i haven’t had a chance to write with yet that i will get to do so soon! thank you all for your continued support and i hope everyone has a happy holidays and a happy new year! may 2021 be a better year for all of us! thank you also to leaf for organizing this! you’re truly a trooper for putting together this special treat for our members ( and months ago for doing it for the admin staff as well )! always appreciate your thoughtfulness in spending the time to think of others. ❤️

admin a, writer of @lgcaeri, @lgceunhye, and @lgcsanghyun says: 1) what is your favorite part about being a mod? my favorite part is seeing people’s reactions to everything we do in lgc and using some of those elements to help build their character or celebrate their accomplishments. a good example of this are the events that have been revealed in the past and reading the reactions and feedbacks encourages us to think more about what kind of events we can make or improve on! 2) what is the most memorable moment from being a mod in lgc thus far? i’ve only been here for a short period so i can’t quite name a lot, but the one that i can think of on top of my head is during the end of the trimester. it’s usually the busiest time for us for several reasons, but it feels the most rewarding to me personally because behind the scenes, we really try to make sure that everything goes smoothly. add that everyone is so patient during those times and we really appreciate it! i personally want to take this opportunity to thank everyone for all of the positive messages and support you have sent to us! it really means a lot to us! ❤️ 3) what is the best part about lgc members/writers (characters or muns!) i mentioned this previously in the one year anniversary post, but i would say it’s the community that has been created and developed over time. it’s gone through a lot and the fact that we’re still active now still shocks me sometimes! aside from that, i would also say reading through the solos and posts that we see on the dash (and yes, we see what is going on 👀). while there is so much that i don’t know about everyone’s muses, sometimes it’s nice to just sit back and see what everyone has been up to lately.

admin c, writer of @lgcxking and @lgcjin says: 1) what is your favorite part about being a mod? for me it’s seeing members get excited about events that we put out, and creating new canons based off them. i don’t think i would be able to keep being an admin if i didn’t feel this sense of wonder and excitement coming from everyone! 2) what is the most memorable moment from being a mod in lgc thus far? i’ve probably mentioned it way too often by now, but when we created lgc we expected it to die off after a couple weeks/months. we never expected to last so long and it wasn’t easy in the beginning, but after a while, i’d say around october/november, we started welcoming a lot of new muns that have become such an integral part of the rp. the fact that we’d have enough members to form a lot more than one group for each gender is amazing in itself. and the 2020 family concert really had me realize just how far we’ve come! to see all of those muns and muses experiencing it for the first time even though they’ve been in the rp for so long and achieved so much. 3) what is the best part about lgc members/writers (characters or muns!) i don’t want to name anyone in particular because i’d want to talk about everyone and that’s impossible, but like i mentioned above, it amazes me whenever i see everything that the muses have achieved in a year. i think i realize now just how many events we put out LMAO. some muses are fairly new but are already on future dreams or lgc girls japan, others have begun acting, producing, hosting, etc. i always love to see the very detailed plan everyone has for their characters and even though it might take a while to happen ic, it’s important to set goals! some that might not even happen in a near lgc future, but it gives such life to muses. i also love seeing friendships form, relationships grow, suddenly being on dash and realizing that a muse FINALLY confessed to another, or sometimes just discovering important information through someone else because we can’t possibly read every single thread on dash (i’d love to, though, trust me). there’s a ton of people i haven’t interacted with yet on my muses, and i would sooo love to do it but with the amount of work that goes behind the scenes… let’s just say though that we love every single muse and i’m probably a bigger fan of them than you are!!!!! 4) anything else you would like to mention? small mention to you, leaf, for doing this! thank you for the love and care you put into these types of projects it’s very cute ;; we really liked getting messages from members last time too. also, to anyone reading this, just know that we’re glad you’ve decided to join us on this legacy journey!!!! why do i feel like i’m ending this too dryly but I LOVE YOU GUYS and thank you for all the support, patience, understanding and time investment <333

admin y, writer of @lgcjaehwa says: 1) what is your favorite part about being a mod? i'd say seeing members dropping random appreciation posts and messages would be my favorite part! there were times where i tend to overthink and become a mess. although it may just look like a simple ask, random messages like these really makes my day. 2) what is the most memorable moment from being a mod in lgc thus far? my first 'project'! its something i planned all by myself and to receive positive feedbacks makes me feel proud of it! i'm usually pessimistic when it comes to myself so this is really a big deal for me. this project is not out yet but will definitely be revealed in the future ;) 3) what is the best part about lgc members/writers (characters or muns!) the best part is of course the community!! i never expect myself to stick to a rp for this long. there is this saying, 'the muns keep the rp running'. without you guys, lgc will not be where we are today! 4) anything else you would like to mention? i just want to say that although i'm not close with everyone, i do hope i can get to know more lovely people here! and i thank you guys for staying with us throughout this journey. i'm sure lgc will still continue to stand strongly for the months or even years to come <3

#lgckrp #✧ .・゜゜leaf talks

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ladyfawkes · 3 years

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Desiderium by Trekkiehood and LadyFawkes Current word count: 13423 Current Chapter 8: The Useful Idiots Rated: T for graphic descriptions of violence, wartime, torture, things of a POW nature. ATTENTION/ACHTUNG/ATTENCION: THIS IS NOT A DRILL!!! [Nor a repost.] DESI HAS BEEN GIVEN ITS 3RD UPDATE IN LESS THAN A WEEK. WHOOPWHOOPWHOOP! It's also the first chapter in which I've flown entirely solo thus far. Doth my eyes deceive me, or does our hero make a reappearance??? Hold onto your butts, buttercups. You finally get to learn what Regis is all about. Eeeeep!!! This one's intense!!

Overall Story Summary: Desiderium: an ardent desire or longing; especially: a feeling of loss or grief for something lost.

Eugene and Rapunzel's lives are turned upside down when a war breaks out between Corona and Equis. As Captain of the Guard, Eugene is forced to leave his wife and daughter to fight on the front lines, where a tragic berserker attack leaves Rapunzel a widow.....or so she's been led to believe.

Now prisoner to a sadistic megalomaniac, our severely injured Eugene must fight harder than he's ever fought before in order to escape dire circumstances and drag his way back to his family.

With battles raging, the enemy advancing, too many fallen troops, dwindling supplies under siege, and especially absent their most trusted strategic leader, the only chance Rapunzel, Corona, and Eugene have is if the kingdom can still somehow pull off the seemingly insurmountable task of winning this forsaken war. Has dusk finally arrived for the kingdom of the sun, or will she rise victorious once more? Chapter Summary: Eugene finds "help" in the most unexpected of places. Javeen’s men had concussed the enemy captain in outrage and then tightly bound his wrists and ankles with ropes for transport. Naturally, nobody amongst them had consciously thought to put pressure on the enemy's wounds. On the contrary, most of them had gone out of their way to avoid such a thing…. Their reputation had always been annihilation of all opposition and a literal scorched earth policy. It didn’t leave much room, if any, for compassion or medical training; most of the time, it left even less room for common sense. Before dawn that day, Commander Javeen’s underling had initially volunteered to perform the honor of actually transporting the soon-to-be-captured prisoner, the captain in red. However, by this point, Avila was less than thrilled; Uhlan Avila didn’t want the loathsome enemy captain to leak his blood and other bodily fluids all over his opulent saddle. He’d spent good money on it, after all. This was an unforeseen complication for which the uhlan had definitely not volunteered. Now….he was stuck with it, however. Avila sprinted over to a fallen enemy horse nearby, loosened the saddle, and reclaimed the saddle blanket, padding, and two leather straps. Taking the woolen pad and folding it over a few times, he twisted up the enemy captain inside of it with the blanket around the outside, and then cinched up everything with the reclaimed leather straps. Uhlan Avila was pleased with himself for being so clever. It was that one action of vanity alone which preserved Eugene’s life past this point; as otherwise short-sighted as these bloodthirsty barbarians were, transporting the wounded -- even their own -- was not something for which they spared much thought or effort. And so Uhlan Avila threw the prepared prisoner over the withers of his horse and ultimately brought the prisoner, retching and puking, all the way back to Javeen’s encampment outside Equisian city walls. Thus the Equisian army had done the enemy commander a secondary favor by attacking before breakfast; one cannot puke out what one has not eaten. And thus we've reached our third unintended positive consequence that the uhlan mistakenly provided the enemy: Avila had rendered him virtually unconscious. It was a copiously merciful thing, remaining staunchly unable to recall waking memory of being hauled away so inhumanely, bound and profusely bleeding, with no way to brace or prepare oneself for the relentless jarring and jouncing motions on the arduously long journey ahead. The same afternoon Queen Rapunzel of Corona received her husband’s final impassioned missive, the currently defenseless abductee Captain Eugene S. Fitzherbert, Prince Consort of Her Majesty Queen Rapunzel, was presented to His Imperial Majesty King Regis the First and Terrible of Equis. Regis preferred just the one name of his, as ambitious as he was, wanting to further distinguish himself from anyone else yet in the history books. Fully expectant that his captive should be brought to him on a silver platter, King Regis was royally put-out when he was instead Summoned to Javeen’s encampment due to a quote unquote “slight problem”. However, he was determined nothing would spoil his mood for that day. That day had all gone off without a hitch, apparently, every carefully laid plan thus far. As well it should, Regis congratulated himself internally. Nothing would be better than his moment of being able to gloat in the face of this unworthy thieving interloper who had taken up such a plumb station within the neighboring kingdom. Regis

had heard all about Fitzherbert from his

cousin before his death. What idiots Corona’s former royal couple must have been, getting duped by the likes of such a wonton common thief. King Regis vowed he would die before he let such an accursed scourge back into his palace. King Trevor had regaled Regis endlessly about his woes with Corona, King Frederic, and ultimately, the insufferable thief Fitzherbert. And Regis….well, Regis was like Trevor multiplied one-thousand-fold. While they were close to the same age, Regis had had a lifetime filled with having the throne denied him. His gargantuan height of 6’11” made Regis tower over most everyone around him. Though he was tall, he was also toned and muscular rather than massive; though he could yell louder than most, he also had a silver tongue. His cruelty, selfishness, and vanity knew no bounds -- nor did his taste for ostentation. Unlike Trevor, who had a very pointy pinched look, he was exceptionally attractive, broad-chested, masculine, and “strong as a bear”, with his close-cropped beard and once-dark-hair turned a respectable salt-&-pepper. Yet beautiful as he was, every horrible family trait that Trevor had ever possessed -- and then some -- were magnified to abysmal new depths within Regis….which is why lately, he’d been experimenting around with giving himself titles of repute. “King Regis the Great”....no, too generic. “King Regis the Horrible,”...no. Again, too….pedestrian. “King Regis the Terrible”...? Slight improvement but still not good enough. King Regis brushed an invisible piece of lint off his shimmering blue ermine cape, readjusted his most opulent jeweled crown and sauntered through the massive tent flap that had been pulled aside in anticipation of his arrival. He strutted toward the back of the tent, where he saw his 2nd and 3rd in command, Commander Javeen and Commander Thaddeus. Thaddeus backed away at a steady pace upon seeing him, after bowing, saluting, and announcing his king's arrival. Regis picked up on an undercurrent of agitation between his leading men. As he approached Javeen and a heap of rags on the ground, he learned precisely why. It was not a mound of rags before him. Now abruptly seeing his Big Moment evaporate in front of his eyes, Regis rushed up to what was clearly a passed-out prisoner. Surely this could not be Fitzherbert….?? He’d expected him to be a bit sick and groggy via a pre-planned ride from Hades over horse’s withers but not….. And Regis roughly clutched at the hair of the prone individual and yanked backward on the head. And though this prisoner’s features were filthy, it was just as Regis feared: he was indeed looking at the face that had launched a thousand Wanted posters, his avowed newest enemy, Eugene Fitzherbert, Prince of Thieves. The enemy prisoner showed no outward reaction to him nor anything else whatsoever. He lay perfectly still, eyes closed and expressionless, his body completely inert. With fury clouding his vision, Regis tore at the saddle blanket wrapped around his prey. The blanket had all but adhered to those once-leaking wounds through Eugene’s torso. By this time, Cmdr. Thaddeus had backed away to a safe distance outside the tent. “What is the MEANING OF THIS!?!?” roared Regis, unclutching his once-intended target’s hair and crossing the tent to Javeen in less than half a second. “GRIEVOUSLY DAMAGING MY CHOSEN PREY BEFORE I CAN EVEN SEE HIM?!?! “My-My Liege,” stuttered Javeen, “I thought you’d be pleased to see him in such dire straits!” At this, even Regis was taken aback. Briefly. “To reiterate….you ‘thought I’d be PLEASED’," Regis made mocking air-quotes, “to see the very victim I’d been planning personally to accost now for months, suddenly in a position where nothing I can do can possibly torture or make him hurt enough, the way he should be!?!” At this, Regis twitched his wrist and an impossibly sharp filigreed 12-inch-length steel stylus slipped silently out of a concealed pouch in his sleeve. Now, the king was deceptively, eerily calm, ever-so-slowly advancing on Javeen, who was inching away. “Did it ever occur to you,”

Regis rapidly whip-sliced in an upward diagonal with the stylus, his impossibly-lengthy arm snaking out and away him, “that I might need to play with him first?” And then he whipped the whisper-quiet blade rapidly on an opposing downward diagonal, completing an X pattern across the chest of Javeen’s tunic. His second’s eyes bugged out and he continued to back away from Regis, stumbling and stuttering, "N-no-no, Si-sire." Javeen clutched at and tried pressing his tunic against the new fresh wounds underneath them to staunch the flow of blood. Gritting his teeth and trying desperately not to cry out, Javeen well knew how screaming and crying to Regis would only encourage him further. "This dirty thief has information I require, you fool,” Regis said low in his throat, with deadly calm, as he threw the stylus at the dirt and it pierced Javeen through his foot. His hapless second screamed in spite of himself and fell backward, his foot still pinned to the earth through his boot. “I pay you to kill, maim, and follow my orders to the letter,” Regis stood over him prior to leaving, “not to do my thinking for me.” "Un....underst-stood, Si-sire," whispered Javeen. As abject terror gripped him, Javeen still knew he'd gotten off easy. He was still alive and allowed to keep all limbs and sensory organs. After giving his original intended victim Fitzherbert one last longing glance, Mad King Regis knelt down and plucked his stylus out of the shocked man’s pinned foot as slowly and agonizingly as possible, making Javeen yell mightily again as crimson gushed out the new holes in either side of his boot. "You'd best hope he lives," Regis threatened pleasantly, nonchalantly inspecting the bloodied point of his stylus. Regis then wiped his stylus clean on Javeen’s trouser leg, and said loudly, “Cmdr. Thaddeus, Summon the surgeon or apothecary, whatever he calls himself. Tell him he has a new charge. JUST THE ONE,” he growled menacingly at Javeen, his implications crystal clear although he still addressed Cmdr Thaddeus. And to think, less than five minutes ago, Regis had been having such a fine day.

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wherevermyway · 4 years

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step out! do what you want (chapter ten)

pairings: reader/bang chan/han jisung, bang chan/han jisung side pairing: seo changbin/lee minho (referenced) rating: explicit | 18+ warnings (read please!): big fat warning for ambiguous HINTS of suicidal ideation, character deaths, mental instability, post-traumatic stress, profanity, use of firearms, graphic depictions of violence (fist fight, gunfight), blood, lots of smoking this chapter, mentions of sex, mentions of drug use, angst, drug dealer!au/organized crime!au. also, don’t drive this fast on the highway. word count: about 9,300 also on my ao3 here chapter/series navigation

chapter ten: je vois la fin avant le début | i see the end before it starts

recommended tracks: black swan by bts, can’t you see me? by tomorrow x together we go by stray kids, 777 by joji, the end/undead by hollywood undead and zero 9:36, simon says by nct 127, turn back time by wayv, begin by bts, tôt ou tard by eli rose, ew by joji, another day by stray kids. playlist can be found here.

note: I can’t believe this is almost done (thank god). I’m gonna warn you one more time: this story is dark as fuck and, if you thought chapter nine was bad, ten is also bad, and eleven is worse. eleven is going to have really triggering content (very explicitly labelled in several places) in it so please don’t hate me. I’m also turning off taglists for these last two chapters because I’m not comfortable tagging people due to the content.

disclaimer: any reference to persons in this work of fiction are purely coincidental. the characters referenced from Stray Kids are interpretations loosely based on their personalities in the group and do not represent the real people behind the personas. if this, or any of the content included in the warnings above make you uncomfortable, please stop reading now.

side note: for the love of minho’s cats, don’t mix party drugs or drugs with alcohol.

It would seem that, even though you’re back in the real world, returning to reality is proving to be difficult. Since returning to Christopher’s apartment, you’ve had a couple of panic attacks that you felt made both Christopher and Jisung questioned their relationship with you. Most of the time, things were fine, but there were moments and entire days where they treated you like you were a fragile piece of pottery with a big, neon warning label slapped on it that said “Danger! Will shatter if mishandled!” in fat, ugly, blocky, black characters.

After screaming and crying at your therapist for an hour and a half, you decided that you wanted to be alone and would take an alternative route home, sneaking out the back door so that Christopher didn’t see you as he waited out front in his car. You peeked through the glass front doors, seeing his car parked there, right on time. It was hard to make out details from so far away, but it looked like he was staring at his phone, mindlessly scrolling along.

Perfect.

You smiled to yourself as you turned away from the front door. The last time you were here, you recognized a service entrance towards the back of the building that appeared to be unlocked. Timidly, you make your way towards it and jiggle the handle. The door popped open with ease, and you walked through, quickly bolting through the alleyway and make your way towards the Mojeon bridge in Cheonggyecheon.

The walk to the bridge wasn’t very long, so you took the long way, weaving in and out of various backroads and alleyways. You loved taking in the environment of small shopping stalls and the scurrying of busy folk. What you had enjoyed the most was the ambient noises of the city life around you. It was night and day in comparison to the past five or so months had been like, trapped in the hospital, then trapped in Christopher’s apartment, leaving only to go to your thrice-weekly therapy appointments.

It made sense why you felt so lonely. Christopher had been keeping himself busy, constantly coming to bed not long before the sun came up. You knew he wasn’t purposefully avoiding you or Jisung, but something about it didn’t sit well with you, likely because it felt like he was just avoiding handling the loss of Changbin, now stuck with all of the stress of dealing with the family.

Jisung had to have been feeling it, too. Neither of them were going out on collection runs or handling deals; they had left it to Seungmin and Jeongin, as well as just sending jobs back to the hyung-nim. Jisung would occasionally spend a few late nights in the studio with Christopher, and he would always come back to bed more frustrated than he was before he went to go assist his superior.

There was one night a few weeks ago where you went to lay down early, settling into a book that you weren’t really committed to reading, but what the fuck else did you have to do, cramped up in this apartment? All three of you were tense from being cooped up inside, save for your therapy appointments. Jisung and Christopher were arguing about something, their voices travelling through the open studio door, bouncing around the open living room and kitchen, finally making its way in through the bedroom door.

It was impossible to completely make out what they were arguing about, but you really didn’t care at this point. Everything was all about hierarchy and other bureaucratic nonsense that had been completely upended with Changbin’s death. Jisung came angrily padding into the bedroom, a scowl on his face as he grumbled and flopped down on to the bed face-first. He let out a long, drawn out, frustrated groan into the blanket.

“You gonna be okay, Sungie?” You put your book on the nightstand, adjusting your position so that you’re able to run a calming hand through the younger man’s hair. “Sounded like you two were disagreeing about something again.”

Jisung huffs, then rolls over onto his back. “I'm never gonna be cut out to be a leader, am I?” He turns his head slightly to look up at you. “Chan-hyung has a hard enough time, and I never wanted to do this, but now I don’t have a choice.”

You roll your fingers through his hair, lightly scratching at his scalp, and smile at him. “You would be a good leader if you wanted be, but I think this entire situation has been stressful on everyone.”

A scoff leaves Jisung’s lips as he turns to face you full-on. “You’re starting to sound like a therapist.”

“Go figure,” you sarcastically grumble as you roll your eyes.

“You’d be good at it,” Christopher’s voice travels through the doorway, startling both you and Jisung. He walks into the room and worms his way around both of you on the bed. “I’m sorry,” he sighs out, “I’ve been so stressed this week with all of the exchanges of power and sheer amount of work that needs to be done. Jisung,” he sits up on his heels, draping his face over his junior. “I’m sorry if I made it seem like I was mad at you. There’s no excuse for that kind of behaviour and I’m sorry.”

Jisung softly smiles, grabbing Christopher’s face with both of his hands. “You can be a real jerk sometimes,” he croons softly, “but I know you don’t mean it, that you’re not taking it out on me, y’know? It’s been a long, chaotic few months. We’ve all had our moments of panic, and you’re unfairly shouldered with handling the family almost completely by yourself. “

Christopher sighs, turning his head to look at you before he grabs you by the waist and pulls you into an embrace, both of you unceremoniously flopping onto your sides. “How about I ignore all of the stuff with the family tomorrow,” he says, pulling you up against him tightly with one arm, reaching out to Jisung with the other. “We can have a day with just the three of us. Get some bad takeout, watch horrible movies, just kind of have a lazy day around the house?”

“I like that idea,” Jisung excitedly nods, then turns to look at you. “What do you think, bunny?”

You were happy with the idea, but you couldn’t find yourself to share the same level of enthusiasm that Jisung did, like you would in the Before Time, as your therapist coined it. Before, you would have jumped at the thought, with both you and Jisung likely driving Christopher somewhat mad. But now, things were just muted and toned down. Mellowed down, like food you would eat when you had the stomach flu. Everything now just emotionally felt like lukewarm, runny juk, when you were used to explosions of flavour and texture on your emotional palette.

“You okay, baby?” Christopher sits up, turning to look down at you. The expressions on his face and Jisung’s face fall flat with concern and nervousness. “Are you going to that headspace again?”

Suddenly, you come back to your senses. You couldn’t have them worry about you, after all. There was already enough, much more important stuff for them to worry about. Honestly, you were just some woman who got strung along for a wild ride, and now had to deal with something a bit more difficult than a modelling shoot being cancelled. You could handle this.

“I’m fine,” you say with a fake smile plastered on your face. That was one good thing that came naturally to you because of modelling: faking emotions well enough, for a short period of time, faking it so well that anyone would believe you. “I just got distracted with thinking about what we could do.”

Jisung flushes, clearly misinterpreting your intention. “Oh yeah,” he breathes out, “it’s been a while since the three of us…” his voice trails off as he alternates looking at you and Christopher, the blush on his face deepening as he awkwardly shifts around.

The blond-haired man rolls his eyes and scoffs. “Yeah, but,” he sighs, “that’s okay. It’ll happen naturally when we’re ready for it to happen, right?”

Luckily for you that night, the three of you were able to share an intimate moment together for the first time in literal months. It was fine and was fun, albeit muted like everything else lately, nowhere near how chaotic it was at the beginning of your relationship. At least you could get them off of your back for a little while longer.

As you reached the touristy area of Cheonggyecheon (when did you get here?), your phone buzzed twice in your pocket and pulled you from your hazy daydream. Nervously, you pull the phone out of your pocket, giving it a quick glance. Nearly all of the texts on your phone are from Christopher, unsurprisingly. There was nobody else, only Christopher and Jisung. Those were the only people you had now; everyone else either abandoned you, hated you, were outside of Korea, or had died.

16:47 | Running late? Figured you’d be done by now. 16:58 | Where are you? it's been a half hour 17:05 | seriously baby where are you?

His texts start to seem more panicked, his texting habits clearly more frantic.

It’s been over an hour since your appointment ended, and your phone won’t stop buzzing. You jam it back into your hoodie’s pocket and continue to ignore the barrage of calls from Christopher. He clearly got a hold of Jisung, because you’ve also started receiving texts and phone calls from him. A smirk creeps up on your face as you reach the Mojeon bridge. You quietly pace up to the middle of the bridge and poke your head over the railing.

It happens without even thinking. Almost mechanically, you take your phone out of your pocket and drop it down into the stream below you. It was almost ironic, honestly, that this was right above the spot where you got shot during Changbin’s funeral. It was a good area for your phone to die alongside where your sanity did.

You can’t help but cackle at yourself, earning some choice stares from passersby. There was no rhyme or reason to why you were doing this, but it felt good. The rushing water beneath the bridge was oddly calming as you stared at it over the railing. There was always something about the water that helped you feel grounded and calm. With all of this chaos around you, you needed something to stay constant.

As crazy as it sounded, the thought of jumping into the stream and letting it carry you out to the Han river did pass through your brain, but you managed to talk yourself out of it. “No,” you say aloud to yourself, “I couldn’t do that.”

The screeching of tires from the street adjacent to the walkway pulls you out of your thoughts. You turn your head towards the noise and see Christopher jump out of his car, haphazardly parked halfway on the sidewalk. He runs to you, yelling your name a couple of times, a horror-stricken expression on his face.

Your heart is about to explode out of your chest as you see him running at you. Part of your brain is telling you to run, but it would appear that your muscles have forgotten how to operate themselves.

Christopher slams into you, causing you to take a couple of steps back as you narrowly avoid being knocked down on to the concrete. His arms wrap around you so tightly, you’re afraid he’s going to pop your lungs. “Oh my god,” he cries out, “oh my god, where the hell have you been?” He puts a hand on the back of your head, gripping your hair, lifting his head to kiss yours with several small pecks, and you can feel his body twitch as he starts to cry.

“A walk,” you manage to quietly squeak out, “I wanted to go for a walk.”

Christopher pulls back, releasing you from his embrace and taking a step backwards. “A walk?” His bloodshot, glossy eyes open wide, his face red as tears streak down his face, and he shakes his head. “Why didn’t you just tell me? I would have -“

“I’m smothered,” you flatly say, not really able to allow yourself to process any emotions. “You and Jisung both have both been treating me like I’m just going to fall apart if you even look at me.” Christopher stares at you in disbelief as the pedestrians around you pointedly avoid getting close.

“Lover’s quarrel?” A hushed whisper travels on the wind.

“Youth always out here with their petty drama,” another whisper follows.

You and Christopher stand there, staring at each other for a while. He eventually runs his hands through his hair, turning to look down the stream as he wipes the tears off of his face. “A walk,” he whispers, repeating back to himself. “Smothered.” He sighs heavily and turns back to you, his brows furrowed in frustration.

“I thought you had been kidnapped, or that you ended up dead somewhere. Do you not understand that there are people out there that want us to suffer or, god forbid, kill us? You were shot right here the last time we were here, for fuck’s sake.” The tears continue to fall down his face as he puts his hands on his hips. “I don’t want you to feel like this anymore. I don’t know how to help you with that, but,” he pauses, dropping his hands from his hips as he takes a step closer to you, “if I could take away all of your pain, I would do it in an instant, even if I had to take it all on myself.” He pulls you into his chest by your hips and wraps his arms around your waist, a bit more gently this time.

“I can’t do this without you. You, me, Jisung: we’ve all gone through so much shit in the past six months and we need each other.” His phone starts ringing, but both of you deliberately ignore it. “Once we’ve dealt with Minho and Hyunjin, Jisung and I are gonna leave the family. I’ve got some connections in Australia that would make it easy for us to move there. Nobody would know us. We can get out of all of this and leave this behind. How does that sound?”

A hint of a smile creeps up on the corner of your face. “It's a good idea, Christopher, but,” you say, staring at a confused police officer standing over Christopher’s car, “you’re about to get a ticket and you might wanna deal with that first.”

“What?” Christopher gasps, pulling away from your embrace as he grabs your wrist and turns to look at the scene unfolding. “Oh, goddammit,” he whines, pulling you along as he walks towards his car. “C’mon, let’s deal with this and go home.”

The encounter with the police officer is uneventful. Christopher uses his charming charisma to talk his way out of it, even name-dropping some high-level official that he knows. Once the two of you are back in the car, he makes his way to an open parking spot and parks, pulling out his phone. He taps the screen a couple of times, and Jisung’s voice comes through the speakers of the car.

“Did you find her?” Jisung panics over the speaker, sounding as if he was nearly crying. “She isn’t answering my calls or my texts and I’m worried and I haven’t seen anything out here and I -“

“Sungie,” Christopher says, calmly, interrupting Jisung’s panicked word-vomiting, “I’ve got her, it’s okay.”

“I’m so sorry, Sungie,” you say, not really sure if he can even hear you.

“Oh my god, bunny,” he exhales, “are you okay?”

You open your mouth to say something, but Christopher interjects. “She’ll be alright. Go back home, and we can talk about it when we get back. We’ve got some things we all need to discuss.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jisung says with a deep sigh. “I love you, both of you.”

“We love you too,” Christopher smiles as he says it. He presses a button on the steering wheel, hanging up the call, then turns to you. He embraces your hand with one hand and grabs your chin with the other. “Do I need to take you back to the hospital?”

You shake your head.

“Okay, but if that changes,” he pulls you closer to him, and he rests his forehead against yours, “I need you to tell me. I can’t lose you, too. Promise me that you’ll tell me.”

“I promise,” you speak with feigned confidence. Liar.

“Good,” he tilts your head up with his hand, then gently kisses you on the lips. A repetitive chime comes from the centre console of the car, startling both of you, and Christopher rolls his eyes, letting go of your jaw and reaching out to press another button on his steering wheel. “Jisung, I swear, we’re -“

“Hyung,” Felix’s voice comes through the car’s speakers, cutting Christopher off. “Minho-hyung knows where we are. I don’t know if he’s coming here, but he knows where we are and I know he’s found out about Hyunjin and he is beyond furious.”

“Shit.” Christopher’s expression instantaneously sours and his brows furrow. “Did you call the hyung-nim?”

“Yes, hyung. He’s the one that told me. Can’t spare any extra bodies to protect us, though.”

“Alright,” Christopher tightly grabs his face and runs his thumb against his jawline. “You’ve got enough gear there? I’ll pick up Jisung and bring Seungmin and Jeongin with. We’ll be there in a little over three hours.” He lets go of your hand to grasp the gear shift, shifting out of park and into drive, merging his way into traffic.

“I do.”

“Understood. Call me if he shows up before we get there. I know there’s another group connected to the family that’s somewhere in Daegu that can probably help you out, but it’ll be the nuclear option and I don’t want to do it unless we absolutely have to.” Christopher deeply sighs, looking into the rear view mirror for a moment before focusing back on the road. “Hyung-nim’s already mad enough at us as is, but I’m not losing another brother today.”

“Will do,” Felix says with confidence, then cuts the line.

Christopher has a serious look on his face as he focuses on the traffic. He pushes yet another button on the steering wheel and tells the AI of his car to call Jisung. The trilling of the connecting line fills the car and everything feels tense.

“Hey, baby, what’s up?” Jisung’s voice comes through the speakers.

“We’ve got a problem with Felix and Hyunjin,” Christopher says calmly, but clearly concerned. “Minho knows they’re in Daegu and I’m assuming he’s on the way there.”

“Oh, shit.”

“Yeah,” Christopher grits his teeth and exhales with force. “I’m on the way to pick you up. Call Seungmin or Jeongin. Have them both meet us at the apartment, alright?”

“You got it.”

“I don’t want her to come with, but,” you hear Jisung whispering to Christopher in the studio as Jeongin and Seungmin grab a few things from the studio and bring them out to the kitchen counter.

“She ran off, Jisung,” Christopher quietly bites back, “I can’t spare any of us to stay out of this just to watch her. You know that Minho is -“

Jeongin interrupts your eavesdropping as he sits down next to you on the couch. “It’s a nice view, isn’t it?” Part of you is upset that you’re socially obligated to socialize now instead of eavesdropping, but at the same time, you didn’t want to know how much you were inconveniencing Jisung and Christopher.

“Yeah,” you honestly agree, turning your head to look out the window. “I’m not sure how Christopher managed to get a property out here, but it’s impressive.”

“It’s been a while since we’ve chatted with each other.” Jeongin turns to look at you, a slight frown tugging at his lips. “Hyung had mentioned you were having a hard time coming to terms with everything. I know we don’t really know each other well, but you can always reach out to either me or Seungmin if you need to talk to someone different for once.”

“It’s true,” Seungmin perks up from the kitchen, walking into the living room and popping a couple of grapes into his mouth before he sits on the chair opposite from you. “We’re more fun than them, anyways.”

You smile at their words, continuing to stare out at the skyline. How was it that they had gone through all of this and came out seemingly alright? Why was it just you that had difficulties coping with everything? Why did you have problems with every little thing lately, but everyone else was doing so much better than you?

Christopher and Jisung come out of the studio, both of them visibly frustrated, but Jisung at least tried to hide it as he walked into the living room. Christopher grumbles something under his breath, darting off through the kitchen and into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

“Hey,” Jisung awkwardly says as the door slams, closing his eyes tightly and sighing. “Are you all ready to go? We’re running a bit behind, so Chan-hyung is a little frustrated.” You knew that was a lie, that Jisung was just trying to keep the peace.

Seungmin lifts his eyebrows and cocks his head towards Jisung. He smirks, almost like he wants to make some sort of comment, but he shakes his head. “Yeah, I think we’re fine.” He turns to look at both you and Jeongin, then looks back to Jisung. “Hyung gonna be alright, or…?”

Jisung rolls his eyes, waving his hand dismissively in the air. “Yeah, you know how he gets. He’s just,” his eyes subconsciously dart to you, then to the floor as he stumbles over his words, “he’s got a lot to deal with right now. You know?”

Jeongin turns to look at you, gently placing his hand on your knee. “Are you ready?” You take a second to catch your breath, then timidly nod your head and he stands up. “Alright. I think we can get out of here.”

A loud clattering comes from Christopher’s room. The four of you exchange panicked glances with each other, and Jisung takes a step toward the bedroom, stopping as the door flies open. Christopher steps out of the room, now wearing a button up shirt and a thin tie, both in black. You notice he has black gloves on as he adjusts his necktie. There’s also an unlit cigarette in between his teeth, which you knew was a bad sign. He doesn’t bother looking at anyone before he grabs his car keys off of the island in the kitchen and making his way to the front door, slipping on a pair of black loafers. “Grab the shit and let’s go.”

Christopher chain-smokes for nearly the entire way to Daegu. He specifically asked you to sit in the passenger seat next to him, and you believe it’s so he could anxiously hold your hand. For the first forty or so minutes, until you get past Icheon-si, the air is so tense, nobody says anything. The bright LED of the dashboard reflects on Christopher’s face, illuminating the panic he’s trying to suppress as he takes another drag off of his third cigarette.

152km/h. That’s what you see when you turn to look at the big, bold digital letters reflected on the console. It felt much faster than you anticipated, and now you knew why, since the speed limit was 100. “You’re speeding,” you quietly say without thinking.

“Felix needs us,” Christopher says, his voice terse. “I don’t give a fuck about the speed limit. Nobody’s on the road right now.”

“Chan-hyung,” Jisung perks up from the back seat, pulling himself up with your seat to be in between you and Christopher, “you should probably slow down a little, at least. 150 is really fast.”

“Not happening.”

“Hyung,” Seungmin chimes in, “I don’t mean to overstep, but Jisung is right. We’re going to be no help if we -“

“Would all of you shut up?” Christopher shouts, letting go of your hand, flicking the end of his cigarette out of his window as he grabs another one from the open pack and the lighter in the cupholder. The speedometer slowly ticks up to 160 km/h, and the numbers change from blueish-white to yellow. “Nobody else is dying today, not if I can help it. We’ve lost too many people already. One person was enough. Changbin was enough.”

He lifts the cigarette to his mouth and his hands tremble as he flicks the black lighter a couple of times before the flame comes to life. The cigarette smoke always smelled terrible at first, until you got used to it about a minute in, but it wasn’t something you were overly fond of. Maybe once all of this was over, you could convince Christopher to stop smoking for good.

His left hand takes the cigarette from his mouth and he leans his elbow against the door, nervously rubbing his fingertips against his forehead. “Fuck,” he whispers under his breath. There’s another awkward silence as you feel Jisung let go of your seat, relaxing back into his spot. Jeongin whispers something that you can’t quite make out, and Christopher holds down a button on his steering wheel. “Call Lee Felix,” he says as the AI chirps at him.

“Calling, please wait.” the AI responds.

175 km/h. The numbers are now orange.

Christopher grips the steering wheel harder and harder the longer it takes for the call to go through. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he grumbles under his breath, eyes nervously darting between the centre console display and the road. “Fucking pick up, Felix.”

180 km/h.

“Yes, hyung?” Felix’s voice fills the car and you breathe a sigh of relief.

“Thank god, you picked up,” Christopher loosens his grip on the steering wheel just a bit, bringing the cigarette to his mouth and taking a drag from it. “Any word yet?”

“Not yet, hyung.”

“Good,” he exhales, and a cloud of smoke leaves his lips and is violently pulled out of the car through the window. “We’re on the way there, just drove past Icheon-si.”

“Icheon-si? Hyung, that’s…” Felix starts to say with a hint of concern in his voice.

“Don’t worry, I’ve been going a bit over the speed limit,” Christopher scoffs, “as it was kindly brought to my attention. Should be in Daegu in about two hours at this pace. Call me immediately if anything changes, understood?”

“Yes, hyung, but -“

“If you’re about to scold me, I highly advise against it.”

190 km/h.

There’s a momentary pause over the line. “Understood, hyung. My apologies for stepping out of line.” Felix’s voice sounds slightly dejected, but it’s barely noticeable.

“See you soon.” Christopher curtly ends the phone call by pressing the button on the steering wheel again.

200 km/h.

The display is bright red and there is a soft ding that brings Christopher’s attention to the dashboard. “Fucking shit,” he says, and the car slows back down as he moves his foot off the gas pedal. “I’ve never gone that fast before. Holy shit.”

You look at him, reaching a hand over to his hair, brushing it back behind his ear. It had gotten shaggier and curlier over the past few months, his dark roots starting to show more and more obviously as time went on, but it didn’t bother you. In fact, part of you was curious to see what his natural hair colour looked like.

“It’s going to be alright,” you softly whisper, rubbing your thumb against Christopher’s temple. He grabs your hand with his right hand and smiles.

“Thanks, baby,” he doesn’t look at you, but you know he genuinely appreciates the little ways you remind him that you care. He pulls your hand down from his face and gives it a quick kiss before he returns it to your lap, only letting go so he can hold the steering wheel when he ashes his cigarette.

145 km/h. That was tolerable.

It takes maybe an hour and a half to reach the safehouse in Daegu. The building is old, like it had been abandoned a while ago. Siding had started to peel off of the side of the building, making it look dilapidated.

“I recognize that vehicle,” Seungmin says with concern as Christopher parks the car.

“I do, too,” Jisung chimes in, and reaches for his phone. “Nothing. Have you heard from Felix?”

Christopher pulls out his phone, glancing at the screen as he turns the car off. “Shit,” he says, unbuckling his seatbelt and opening his door. “Minho just got here. Let’s go.” The five of you get out of the car, Christopher and Jisung out in front of you, hands on their pistols as Seungmin and Jeongin are on either side of you.

“Stay behind us,” Jeongin whispers as you go up the stairs of the building. “I don’t know if anyone’s told you, but Minho gets violent very quickly. He’s unpredictable; not to mention, he’s got to be exceptionally angry, given the severity of the situation. Both he and Hyunjin are good shots, so try to stay out of the way.”

You approach the top of the stairs, the sounds of shouting coming through the slightly ajar front door. Christopher throws his hand behind him, and everyone stops moving. He cranes his head around the doorframe, then walks in.

“Minho,” he says, as Jisung follows him inside. “You need to step back.” Seungmin and Jeongin follow their superiors inside, and you can’t help but poke your head into the doorway.

“Oh, of course,” Minho turns around at the sound of Christopher’s voice, laughing sarcastically. “Channie has to show up and save the day. What a hero, right? Or is it that maybe you wanted to have a little revenge on Hyunjin for taking away our Changbin?”

The way that Minho spoke made your stomach turn. Something about it made you feel like you were watching a dark psychological thriller film, like you needed to take a shower.

“We decide together,” Christopher calmly says. “Trust me, I understand how angry you are at him, I really do.” Minho takes a couple of steps towards Christopher and his eyes widen, almost like he’s ready to throw a punch at his superior. The three men around Christopher take their pistols and aim them directly at Minho as Christopher tucks his pistol back into its holster and lifts his hands up. “Changbin was my best friend. I’ve known him for almost half my life at this point. Trust me, I get it.”

Christopher turns his head, looking at Hyunjin, who wavers a bit where he stands. “I’d want to make him suffer, too,” he turns back to Minho, “but you know that Changbin wouldn’t want that.”

Minho scoffs, closing his eyes and shaking his head, tilting it down. “Yeah, I know. Changbin was always the level-headed one out of all of us when it came to the family.” He lifts his head back up and a dark expression covers his face. “Changbin isn’t here anymore, though. So, if you and the boys don’t mind,” he turns his head back towards Hyunjin, “I’m gonna get revenge with my fists.” He lifts one of his hands in the air, “Don’t shoot me, though, I’m just gonna beat some sense into him, mano a mano.”

Christopher sighs, turning his head a bit back towards the men behind him, waving his hand dismissively to indicate that the guys should holster their pistols. “Let him,” he simply says, then moves to adjust his necktie. “If it gets bad, we’ll step in.” A part of you didn’t believe that Christopher was being sincere. With how much he cared about Changbin, it was likely he wanted to see Hyunjin suffer, but didn’t want to be the one to deal with it.

“No the fuck you won’t,” Minho snaps as he walks towards Hyunjin. “Pretty boy is mine to deal with.” He grabs the collar of the younger man and shoves him up against the wall. Felix takes a couple of steps around the men, walking over to Christopher and whispering something unintelligible from this far away.

“You know this is your fault,” Hyunjin says with a cocky look on his face. “If you never fell for Changbin after Shanghai, you know we’d be at the top now.”

Minho takes one of his fists and brings it to Hyunjin’s cheek, it slamming against his cheekbone with a thump. “If you hadn’t gotten so goddamn cocky,” he grips the collar of Hyunjin’s shirt again, shoving him into the wall a little firmer, “we wouldn’t have fucked up that deal. The Triads were fucking pissed at you and that’s on you. I wouldn’t have gotten shot if it wasn’t for your shitty fucking bravado.”

Hyunjin scoffs, drawing his head back a bit and colliding it with Minho’s with a heavy thud. Minho lets go of Hyunjin’s collar and grabs his head, moaning out in pain. “Fucking hell,” he grumbles with a slight slur.

“You were such a coward. Still are,” Hyunjin says, grabbing his forehead as he knees Minho in the stomach. “Temporarily left the fucking family because your precious Binnie was so worried about you. You really thought you were just gonna leave, go somewhere and start a happy family?” He scoffs and rolls his eyes. “As if. No one makes it out of here sane or alive.”

Minho growls as he reorients himself upright. He draws his arm back and literally leaps at Hyunjin, his fist colliding against his face again. This time, however, they land on the floor and throw fists back and forth until their faces and knuckles are bloodied. “If you never got involved with that fucking Triad girl,” Minho spits blood down onto Hyunjin’s face in anger, “we would never be here. Changbin would still be alive, the two of us would be out, then you could have had it all. But you went and flew too close to the goddamn sun, you fucking traitor.” Minho pushes himself to his feet and reaches for his pistol.

A chill runs through the air as Hyunjin calmly stands up, drawing his pistol in response. “It’s not my fault,” he says coolly, then turns to glare at you. “If it wasn’t for her,” he nods in your direction, then turns back to Minho, “Changbin wouldn’t have died. All I wanted to do was to give him a little warning shot so Minji and I could get out of there. But, you know your precious Changbin. Always had to be the brave, strong hero.” He squints his eyes and cockily smirks. “You loved that about him and you know that.”

Christopher tenses, sensing the shift in tone, and he grabs his pistol, motioning for you to get back, but it’s clearly too late to intervene.

It happens in an instant, time slowing down like the time that Christopher got shot in front of you. You see Minho’s arms raise up, aiming his pistol at Hyunjin, who responds in kind by aiming his pistol at Minho. However, he’s a bit too slow.

Minho fires his gun once, square into Hyunjin’s shoulder. The younger man shrieks and recoils, but manages to fire a shot into Minho’s stomach before he collides into the ground. The older man falls forward, crashing into the floor like a rag doll. Blood flies everywhere, painting the room and the men in splatters of deep crimson.

Hyunjin weakly coughs a couple of times. “Idiot,” he groggily whispers before his head rolls away from you.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” Minho coughs out, thick blood coming up from his throat. Felix immediately moves towards Minho, but the older man shakes his head once. “Let me fucking die.” The younger man stops in his tracks, nods, then moves to Hyunjin. He pores over the long-haired man, reaching up to his throat, letting out a deep sigh, shaking his head.

Minho lazily rolls onto his back, staring up to the ceiling. “I know you never would have wanted me to get revenge,” he scoffs, more blood coming up and spilling down his cheek, “but you knew me better than that. You were always the, ah,” he coughs a couple of times, “always the wiser one out of the two of us. I might have been older, but you were smarter.” He closes his eyes and lets out a shaky sigh. “I love you so much. You made me so much better. Sorry, baby. Hope you’re there on the other side. Heh. Hope there’s an other…”

A creaky groan comes from Minho, and that’s the last noise he makes. The room falls silent and nobody moves for a while. A few tears fall down your face. Minho may have been flighty and impossible to understand sometimes, but he showed you nothing but compassion and kindness when he first met you.

“Hi, I’m Lee Minho,” the memory of his introduction replays in your head. “Changbin’s probably talked about me by now.” You remember the way he softly smiled as he offered a slight bow to you. The way he looked at Changbin while he was half-drunk and high off of ecstasy, the way he whined at Changbin and pulled him into an embrace when he was half-asleep the next day. “Cuddle me and make it better.” There was no way he was truly a bad person, not by all of his interactions with you. He just loved Changbin and didn’t know how to appropriately act about it at times.

Your knees painfully collided into the ground and you just started sobbing. Sure, Minho had moments where he was absolutely insane, but the memories you had with him physically hurt as they passed through your head.

Daegu. You were in Daegu. You probably weren’t far away from where he and Changbin were for the Colourful Daegu Festival a long time ago. How happy they must have been when they were tripping on acid and listening to music. God, how much they must have loved each other. All of the happy memories they had, only to end in pain and misery and literal fucking death.

“Don’t let Channie intimidate you,” you remember him telling you the day that Christopher came home from the hospital, not long before Changbin brought him home. You were both on the couch, aimlessly talking about life as Jisung took a nap in the bedroom.

“What do you mean?” You had asked, turning to look at Minho.

“He’s a little intense sometimes,” he continued, folding his hands together and bringing them to the back of his head. “but he cares. Once he gets close to someone, he gets protective and it’s endearing. It’s usually just a bit intense at the beginning. I mean, you saw how he got when he found out you and Sungie had been together, but he cares. and just doesn’t know how to show it sometimes.”

You cocked your head to the side and mumbled in agreement.

“I remember when he found out that Changbin and I were dating. Wow,” Minho sighed as he rolled his head up to look at the ceiling. “Man, was he pissed. He yelled and yelled and totally reamed me. ‘First, you get shot for him,’ he said to me, ‘now you’re in love with him? With my best friend?’” Minho smiled at the memory. “That’s how I knew he really cared about Binnie. He wasn’t mad at me, he was just protective of his best friend.”

“Huh,” you mumbled out, then leaned back up against the couch, staring up at the ceiling with Minho.

“He gave me his blessing eventually,” Minho continued, “but he told me that if I ever broke Binnie’s heart, he’d break my kneecaps in two and make sure nobody found me at the bottom of the ocean.”

Your eyes widened and you turned to look at Minho in terror.

Minho tilted his head towards you and smiled. “Real charmer, ain’t he? Very endearing type. He falls fast. Probably loves you already, just doesn’t know how to say it. Be ready for it to come completely out of the blue.”

You run your hands through your hair, rocking back and forth as you sob so hard that your throat started to ache. Someone takes a few steps towards you, then bends down, pulling you into their arms. “It’s okay,” Jisung’s voice whispers in your ear, “it’s gonna be okay, bunny, I promise.”

Liar. Everyone was a fucking liar.

“I’ll take care of this,” Felix quietly says to Christopher as you and Jisung sit on the middle of the staircase. “Don’t worry about it, hyung.”

“You sure?” Christopher flatly questions, his voice devoid of emotion. “I can call the hyung-nim and -“

“Hyung,” Felix presses. “Do you know how many bodies I’ve dealt with over the years? All the time in nursing school? It’s fine. It’s just another part of the job. Besides, the hyung-nim is still pretty miffed at us. Can’t imagine how happy he’s gonna be to hear that two more of us are gone.”

Christopher sighs, and you hear them slap each other on the back. “Thanks, Felix.”

“Not by blood,” Felix starts.

“By the code.” Christopher finishes their pact with a deep sigh. “I want you to come back up to Seoul when you’re, ah,” his breath hitches as he speaks, “when you’re done. Alright?”

“Understood, hyung.” Felix says. “You’re buying the drinks, though.”

Christopher lets out a strained chuckle as he comes down the stairs. “Yeah, yeah.” He slowly approaches you, sitting down on the stairs behind you and Jisung. “I’m sorry you both had to see this. I’m sorry this went so badly so fast.”

“Chan,” Jisung turns his head over his shoulder, looking up to Christopher. “Are you going to be alright driving back to Seoul tonight? There’s the other safehouse, or I can drive down to Busan; it’s only an hour or so from here.”

“No,” Christopher says, probably shaking his head like he did when he pretended he wasn’t bothered by something. “I don’t mind. Just gotta stop somewhere, get an energy drink and another pack of cigarettes and we’ll be fine.”

You lift your head up from your hands, staring off into the horizon as the sun starts to come up. It felt like you had been here for an eternity. A burning, gnawing sensation burned in your stomach as you mentally pictured Minho laying on the floor, blood spilling down his face. A cold sweat broke out over your skin and your body started to tingle everywhere.

Oh, shit.

You were going to be sick. You bolt up to your feet, running down the last couple stairs and prop yourself up against the railing as you spill the contents of your stomach on the pavement, painting the ground in a disgusting shade of green.

“Ah, baby,” Christopher whines, coming up behind you as he rubs his hand on your back, pulling your hair back in a loose fist with his other hand. “It’s gonna be okay, I promise.”

Liar. Everyone was fucking lying again.

Footsteps trail up the staircase, disappearing into the building as you hear Jisung say something to Felix. Your stomach retches again and searing acid comes up and splatters onto the ground, causing you to cough in a panic as it felt like your throat was closing. The cycle repeats itself a couple of times, and by the time you’re almost sure you’re done being sick, Jisung is on the other side of you, rubbing your lower back and handing you a cold bottle of water.

“It’s okay,” he lies, because everyone’s lying. Nothing was going to be fine. Nothing would ever be fine ever again. “When you can, take a drink of this. We can take as much time as you need.”

You snatch the bottle out of his hand with disgust, standing upright and breaking the seal of the bottle, taking a swig of its contents. The pH of stomach acid fluctuated between 1.5 and 3.5, you randomly remember from your university days. Water was neutral at 7. The way the water burned going down your throat made it feel like it was at a pH of 1.

Everything felt like battery acid. The way the stomach acid burned as it came up, the way the water felt as it went down, the way that everyone was lying to you, the way that life seemed to absolutely abhor your guts - literally and metaphorically. Even though you knew that Christopher and Jisung were doing their best at just trying to console you, their hands felt like battery acid burning into your back.

You sighed as you tilted your head up to look at the sky. The sun was coming up, but there was still a deep shade of violet far off in the distance, white spots spattered against the technicolour backdrop. A single red spot in the distance caught your eye. Huh. Wasn’t that supposed to be Mars if you saw a red star?

A red star. A red spot.

Wait a second.

Oh shit.

“Don’t we need to go to a convenience store?” You say, turning to Christopher, trying to sound as calm as possible as you do some mental calculations.

“Yeah, how come?” He responds, tilting his head in confusion.

“I’ll grab the stuff for you. I wanna grab a snack and some things to drink for the ride home.” You lie, a fake smile plastered on your face. “It’ll let you and the guys talk about family stuff for a minute without me, you know? Not like I can run away if you’re right in front of the store, right?”

Christopher’s face falls into a frown and he shakes his head. “I guess that’s fine. Jisung’s going with you, though.”

Shit.

“Chan,” Jisung says with a scoff, “I’ll just wait outside. She’ll be fine.”

Christopher glares at Jisung, then turns away, rolling his hands in the air. “Fine, fine,” he sighs, walking towards the car, “if she runs, you’re going after her.”

Jeongin gets off from the trunk of the car, shoving Seungmin’s shoulder and startling the poor man. Must’ve been nodding off. “C’mon, Seungmin,” he quietly says, “looks like we’re getting ready to go.”

“Is something wrong?” Jisung says as he steps in front of you, calculatedly avoiding your artistic addiction to the pavement. “Something doesn’t seem right.”

“It’s just a lot to process,” it’s a half-truth, really, “figured you guys could use a minute to yourselves and I could use a minute to myself.

“You’re not gonna run, are you?” Jisung sounds concerned as he tilts your chin up to look you in the eyes.

“I’m not, I promise.” For once today, you were telling the entire truth.

Jisung doesn’t really pay attention to you as you wander around inside the convenience store. You grab a couple of snack foods off the shelf, not really thinking or caring about what you grabbed, too busy focusing on the real reason you were there. You walk around the store until you reach the more household-like items. Nervously, you roll your eyes up, checking to see if Jisung was still staring off into space.

Luckily, he still wasn’t paying attention. You eye a box, snatching it off of the shelf, then spin on your heel and grab a few drinks from the cooler behind you. As you walk up to the counter, you ask the clerk for whatever stupid brand of cigarettes that Christopher smoked, trying to hide the box from Jisung’s line of vision.

The clerk eyes you with judgement and shakes her head. She rings up all of the items, saving the box for last, but you grab it from her before she can place it in the bag and you shove it in the pocket of your hoodie. She cocks her head in confusion, then decides it must be too early to really question anything. “₩21,050.” You pull out a few bills from your pocket and slip them to her. She hands you some change then asks, “need the washroom?”

You turn to look at Jisung, who’s staring at you now. “Y-yeah,” you stutter out, “lemme just give this stuff to my boyfriend real quick.”

“First door in the back, to your left. Good luck.” The clerk scoffs, then goes back to her coffee.

You take a couple steps to the door, opening it and passing the bag off to Jisung. “Gonna use the washroom, be back in a second.” He opens his mouth to say something, but follows you into the store.

“I trust you,” he lies, otherwise he wouldn’t be following you, “but you know that Chan would kill me if I didn’t follow you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you tuck one of your hands into your front pocket and open the door. “I get it, just give me a minute.” You slip through the door as Jisung stares at you in confusion.

06:32. You make a mental note of the digital display as you get back into the car and slide your seatbelt on.

“You look a little pale, baby,” Christopher says as he rubs his finger on your face. “I know today has been a lot, but are you alright? You sure you wanna go back to Seoul today?”

“I’m fine,” you lie, swallowing down some of your panic. Subconsciously, your eyes dart to the clock again. “I’m just tired. It’s been a long day. Long month. Long year.”

Jisung sighs from the back seat. “You can say that again.”

Christopher leans in to kiss your cheek, then unwraps the plastic from the pack of cigarettes in his hand. He pulls one out of the package, lifting it to his lips as he rolls down the window. “Everyone ready?”

Nobody really says anything, so Christopher shrugs his shoulders, lighting his cigarette before shifting the car into drive and making his way through the streets of Daegu. He takes in a long drag from his cigarette and lets out a sigh.

06:34.

“What a fucking year,” he says, not really expecting anyone to respond. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do if something else happens to us. I just wanna get out of the family, you know?”

Jeongin chimes in, “Yeah, I think I’m about ready to call it quits, too. Maybe go back to school and get a degree in something. Be a productive member of society instead of whatever this is.”

Seungmin laughs. “I feel you on that. Kkangpae isn’t really a marketable skill on a resume, is it? Imagine how that interview would go. Yeah, I have some good business skills, sir, but you don’t wanna know how I learned them. I can tell you how much a single dose of molly will go for on the street, though. Did I get the job? When do I start?”

The guys laugh, but you offer a polite smirk as your keep your eyes trained on the clock. 06:36. Why was it that when you wanted time to pass faster, it always seemed to go slower? Why was life so paradoxically cruel sometimes?

“Chan-hyung and I are pretty good at music,” Jisung perks up, “maybe we could become some idols or something? I’ve got the face for it.”

Christopher snorts and rolls his eyes. “Yeah, like that would ever happen. I don’t want that kind of life, sounds too busy. Besides,” he looks over at you, then back to the road, “I don’t think they’d take too kindly to the fact that I’m already dating not only one, but two, people. Really wouldn’t like the fact that one of them is another dude.”

06:38.

“Good point,” Jisung says, probably rolling his eyes. “Life is a cruel mistress, isn’t it?”

“I just don’t get it,” Seungmin says, “like, why is it anyone else’s business what people do in the space of their own homes? If it doesn’t hurt anyone, who cares?”

Jeongin scoffs. “You’re just saying that because you don’t want people to find out about your collection of -“

“Shut up!” Seungmin pleads with a whine, cutting off the younger man. “Why the hell do we live with each other again?”

06:40. Good enough.

You tilt your head to the side, pulling out the piece of plastic, pretending you’re looking at a piece of string. Your face falls when you eyes see a bright pink cross staring back at you, as if it were another way for life to slap you in the face.

“You alright?” Jisung’s voice startles you as you jam your hand back into your pocket.

“Y-yeah,” you sputter, “just thinking about how life really is cruel sometimes, you know?”

You were pregnant and you were definitely not okay with the idea of that.

“It’ll be okay, though,” you say as you stare out the window.

Everyone’s fucking lying.

a/n: surprise! i literally cried writing this chapter too. chapter eleven is probably about halfway done as i post this, so hopefully you won’t need to wait too long for it. just a heads up, there will be triggering content in the last chapter, and it will be clearly labelled. the epilogue, step out! see you in the next life will briefly cover part of the ending of chapter eleven if you’re curious but don’t want to read it. thanks for sticking around for this wild ride. can’t wait to see you next chapter.

edit: mano a mano means hand to hand, not man to man btw. just found that out lol.

#tw: suicidal ideation #tw: death #tw: mental instability #tw: mental health #tw: ptsd #tw: firearms #tw: violence #tw: blood #step out do what you want

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raendown · 4 years

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Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 4126 Chapter: 42/42 Summary: Not all wars are fought on the battlefield. Some are fought at the conference table, with whispers in the shadows, or even in the bedroom.

In a world where the Senju and Uchiha traditional lands were too far apart to have ever made them enemies, Butsuma and Tajima are the ones who come together and sign a treaty of peace. Madara isn’t happy to have his life signed away for him in a political marriage to strengthen the bond between their clans. He is even less happy to have Tobirama make assumptions of him from their very first night together. What follows from there is a journey of healing, of learning, and finding the places to belong in the places least expected.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

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Chapter 41

Opening the door with several cardboard boxes in his hands was made twice as difficult by the stupidly complicated seals protecting it. Why Tajima had been so paranoid when his possessions weren’t any fancier than anyone else’s was beyond him but Madara was mostly disappointed in himself for forgetting to ask Tobirama’s help disabling these stupid wards. Stomping in and out a hundred times would be so much easier if he didn’t have to unlock the seals every time.

“Would you get out of the way, brat?” Susumu’s voice was the first to greet him once he finally managed to struggle his way inside, though thankfully she didn’t seem to be talking to him. For once.

“I’m not in the way!” Kagami’s voice shot back. “You’re making a mess, baa-chan!”

“Oh shush your face. Sometimes you have to make a mess to clean a mess.”

“That doesn’t make any sense!”

Madara paused in the genkan to shake snow out of his hair and gave some thought to leaving his boots on. It wouldn’t matter if the floors got dirty, after all, and they would all need a good scrubbing before the house was sold anyway. After a moment of thought he kicked them off anyway. If he left them on he just knew that he would inevitably kneel down and sit back on his own heels without thinking, soaking dirt and snow in to his backside. None of the people here were in any way above mocking him for doing so. It was much safer for his temper to simply avoid embarrassing himself as much as possible.

Rounding the corner brought him in to the middle of chaos. That was the only word to describe what had once been a very neat and orderly living room that now looked as though a localized tornado had come through. Which, Madara thought with a snort, could be a fairly apt description of Susumu-sensei. His teacher stood in the center of the madness with one hand on her hip and the other pointing imperiously from side to side as she directed a grumbling Kagami to pack which items in which box.

When she spotted her old student in the doorway her eyes gleamed and Madara was quick to start walking again.

“Coward!” she hollered after him. He stopped and turned back to stick his tongue out at her and then spun to hustle down the hall at double speed.

Izuna sat on the floor of their father’s bedroom when he entered, clothing and personal items all gathered in to organized piles here and there. His expression was somber as he stared down at the pendant dangling from a chain held in one hand. Dull silver did its best to catch the light as it spun, dusty and old yet no less precious than it had been when it was brand new.

“Do you remember this?” he asked without turning. Madara set his boxes down and sighed.

“Of course. Mother’s necklace; she wore it every day.”

“It’s almost strange that he kept it.” Bringing his other hand up, Izuna caught the pendant to trace the simple twisting shape with his thumb. “He was so empty when we lost her. I mean, I get it, that’s what the Sharingan can do to us. He broke because he loved her so much. But when he did it was like he forgot how to love anything, even her memory, so it’s strange to know that he kept mementos like this. Do you think he just forgot it was here?”

Madara shrugged as he settled on the edge of the mattress just beside his brother’s shoulder. “Can’t say. After he shut us out I didn’t exactly spend a lot of time with him.”

“I miss him. The old him.” His brother heaved a sigh that carried years of emotion. Then he easily leaned in to the touch when Madara reached down to stroke the top of his head, no other words needed to convey the understanding they shared.

“He was a good father until he wasn’t,” Madara said.

Nodding carefully so as not to displace the hand comforting him, Izuna grunted. “Even if I won’t miss the way he became it’s still really weird knowing he’s gone. I might not have been close to him anymore but he’s been a constant for my entire life. Almost two decades of having him over my shoulder; now I’m drifting on my own and it’s…a little sad, in a way. A little scary.”

“I suppose I can understand that, although I don’t know if I feel quite the same way. Sensei has been there for me a lot more than father was even before we lost him to the emptiness. It’s a shame you were never as close to her as I am.”

“She wasn’t my teacher.”

“True, still a shame though.” Madara stroked his hair again. “Maybe it wouldn’t feel as though you’d lost the last of your family.”

Reaching up to capture the hand on his head, Izuna wove their fingers together for a quick squeeze. “I still have you, Aniki. I know that I’m not entirely alone. Packing up all of his stuff just has me in a bit of a maudlin mood.”

“Understandable. Just don’t start weeping on anything, alright? We can’t sell it off if it’s all ruined by water damage.” It took quick movements to free his hands and dodge off the mattress before Izuna could smack him for that. Madara was happy to see an exasperated smile blossoming on his brother’s face even if it was accompanied by rolling eyes.

He was already halfway to the door and reaching for the boxes he’d carried in when the other blew a raspberry in his direction.

“Go on! I don’t have time for you if you’re going to be like that!”

Clearly he didn’t mean it but Madara hadn’t planned to stick around in there for much longer anyway. He had his own share of the sorting to do and lounging around with the others who had promised to help him would get none of it done.

Well, not entirely true. Their share would get done. Really the consequence he was worried about was the many horrors any of them might come up with if they realized that he hadn’t done his share. Spurred on by his own rather dark imagination, he wasted no time stepping in to what appeared to have been his father’s home office. Or so he assumed from the presence of a desk against one wall even if the thickness of dust everywhere indicated this might not exactly be the most frequently used room in the house. Much as he would have liked to disparage the man as lazy Madara knew it was because Tajima had a habit of spreading his work over the kitchen table so he could work while he cooked and ate or even look over some of it in passing while he cleaned.

Lacking any better place to start, Madara first wandered along the bookshelves and took in the titles to see if they needed any organization before being packed away. He was utterly unsurprised to see they had already been immaculately separated in to categories. That made it easier to simply drag one of the boxes over and begin emptying them all in, packing the rows as tightly as he could until he remembered that he was the one who would need to carry this all out later. Nothing would be more embarrassing than having to add a little chakra just to get one little box off the ground.

Some of the books he set aside in another pile and left the boxes he filled unsealed until Tobirama could look through it all to see if he was interested in adopting any of them. No sense in letting knowledge go to waste. Not to mention that he was probably one of very few who could make sense of them. Why Tajima had been keeping books on advanced fūinjutsu theory when he barely understood the basics was probably a question none of them wanted the answer to.

Once the bookshelves were emptied Madara turned towards the desk with a sigh. He could only guess what sort of idiocy had been gathering dust within those drawers and with the rising prevalence of storage scrolls it was impossible to say how much junk he would actually need to sift through. Staring at the desk wasn’t getting anything done, however, so with dragging steps he went over to push the chair out of his way and sat down on the floor, pulling the bottom drawer open. To his surprised delight there wasn’t much inside, a few folders containing papers relevant to clan business and a few to-do lists that seemed to be from the past spring when they all emigrated here. It was hard to believe that it had already been three quarters of a year since these lists were needed - and just as hard to believe that it had only been three quarters of a year.

Although lately it seemed like there was nothing else on his mind, Madara couldn’t help but think of all the things that had changed since Konoha was first settled. Barely a year ago he had shared a bedroom wall with his last surviving brother, tapping messages to each other in the dark of night when dreams woke them both. Like a wayward child he had spent his last few months as a single man roaming the forests around their territory with a perpetual pout as he bemoaned cruel fate for imposing an unwanted husband upon him. His duties had been no more than daily chores and a few administrative things his father didn’t care to do himself, dreams of love at first sight still dancing in the back of his mind, everlasting and easy as a summer smile.

How naïve he had been.

Now his days were filled from morning till night with duties for both clan and village, decisions and tasks to help lead the way to a brighter tomorrow, a future where children like Kagami could flourish without fearing for their lives on an early battlefield. Where even the adults slept safely without jolting awake at night and wondering if that was the sound of the wind or if their homes were being invaded by rival clans.

Sliding the first drawer shut with a quiet snap, Madara took a deep breath. It was nice to look back at all that was but he had always preferred to look forward instead. As one of two chief advisors to their new Hokage he hoped he could encourage at least a few people to do the same.

When he opened the second drawer his first reaction was to let the air back out of his lungs in a great exasperated rush. His worst fears seemed to have been realized; it was full of storage scrolls. The only silver lining was that they all appeared to be labelled with the contents so it was easy to put them in to piles as he pulled the whole lot out one by one. Some looked to be more administrative papers. One label made him cringe as he suspected it contained the entirety of the old filing cabinet that used to sit in his father’s office at the old compound.

It was the final scroll at the very bottom which gave him pause. Surrounded by piles of varying sizes, Madara reached in to the drawer and paused to see something unexpected labelling the end of this last one. His own name. His brows furrowed and he traced his fingers from one end to the other as he tried to think of what might be inside. His name could mean many things. Not all of them were good. After a minute or so of contemplation he took the scroll in a careful grip and hefted it as though the weight might belie its contents, a myth he’d already had disproved while he learned to draw this seal for himself.

Of all the many things he might have expected to appear when he opened the parchment across his lap to carefully apply a bit of chakra, letters did not even appear on the list. Yet that was exactly what he got, an entire stack of letters that wobbled and toppled immediately in to a messy pile between his folded legs. Each was written on identical parchment, penned with identical ink, similar formats though they were all of varying lengths. Two things stood out to him immediately.

First that these had all been written in a very familiar hand, though the neatly printed dates in the top right hand corners were all from before he and this person had even met.

Secondly that another familiar hand had busily scrawled an endless series of notes in the margins of every letter in a different color ink. Madara could remember his lessons as a young boy, writing papers to show how his vocabulary and literacy had grown, receiving them back from his father with blue ink in the margins noting all the places he could still improve or small thoughts on his turn of phrase. Now here it was again and Madara could hardly believe his eyes.

‘Not even their natures match, can they truly be happy?’ Tajima had written beside an inquiry in to whether any members of their clan were born with an affinity for water.

‘Madara knows nothing of such things’ had been scrawled in next to a rambling paragraph about sealing techniques, followed just below with ‘The clan could benefit from this knowledge’.

Another letter from a different day included carefully worded questions, the first tentative steps of a man getting to know his prospective spouse. Tajima had written in the answers with notes to remind himself to word them in Madara's turn of phrase. But what truly stole the breath from Madara's chest now was the final paragraph in which the original author had made his hopes known for a happy marriage and the lines deeply scored in to the parchment where Tajima had circled these words and written ‘Our futures depend on it’.

If he were honest Madara had all but forgotten the underlying reason behind their initial difficulties. Now he sifted through the letters that Tobirama had written to him before they ever met, reaching out with honest intentions, ignorant of the fact that none of the replies had been penned by the one he was writing too, and fell in love all over again. His questions were earnest, his heart already open. And from the notes in blue ink Madara could imagine that Tajima had taken some creative liberties with his responses in an effort to make him sound more receptive to the idea than he had actually been.

Not to sabotage them deliberately, he realized at last, but to give them the chance that he had been so adamantly against at the time. To draw Tobirama in and allow him to see the person Madara was, something which Madara could now willingly admit he would not have allowed. He had gone in to their marriage with his hackles up and on their own it would have taken months upon months for him to allow the other man in enough to know even the simplest things about him. Of course, Tajima had unintentionally caused a similar situation anyway but his interference had already laid the groundwork for things to eventually work out in the end. It wasn’t enough for Madara to forgive him his meddling, it didn’t make it okay, but it was good to finally have an explanation for things that had hurt him even if he had long gotten over such injuries.

It was good to know that, even while his father felt empty and cold in the wake of his beloved wife’s death, there was room in him to try. Perhaps not to care as he once had but to reach towards humanity with intentions that might be perceived as compassionate in his own broken way.

Dropping the letters back in to his lap, Madara lifted his chin to look around at the dusty unused office. He had watched his father change in strange ways since coming to Konoha but until this moment he’d never been able to come up with a plausible explanation for why. How could such a proud and intelligent man make so many idiotic mistakes? Now he wondered if perhaps Tajima hadn’t simply grown tired of life. After paving the way for a better future, then turning his eyes back towards the past. It sounded just like him to find a way to go out in a blaze of glory, to go to his final rest where he could be with his beloved and take with him the last obstacle between tyranny and true peace – Butsuma.

Of course, with the both of them dead no one would ever know for sure. It was only a theory and it didn’t matter much in the long run besides loosening the knots in Madara's chest ever so slightly. His feelings had been complicated ever since they lowered Tajima’s body in to the ground but it felt strangely easier to mourn him now.

Packing up the rest of the office was a task he completed with his head almost entirely lost in the clouds. One moment there was hours of work left ahead and the next he was standing in the middle of the room with piles of cardboard around him, empty shelves yawning along each wall as though hungry to be filled again. Izuna’s chakra had moved in to another part of the house but Susumu and Kagami remained in the front room, joined now by another. After glancing around at the work he’d apparently done Madara left the room and drifted naturally towards the one who had just arrived.

He expected to find Tobirama shaking his finger at the other two with a lecture on how to be more productive. It was a shock to instead find Tobirama flat out on his back pretending to squirm while Kagami held him down and declared himself the new Hokage for defeating his sensei, an incorrigible Susumu cheering them both on from the sides. With her head thrown back and one hand clutching her belly in laughter it was hard to remember the last time he'd seen her look so jolly, a sight that filled Madara’s chest with warmth in a way he didn’t expect to hit him quite so hard. Pausing in the doorway, heart in his throat, he watched the three of them interacting as though they had always been a family and thought to himself that he could never imagine anywhere he would rather be.

Surely there could be no other alternate universe where he was happier.

“Come on, you’re not giving any effort!” Susumu called. “Defend yourself oh mighty Hokage!”

“I can’t, he’s too strong.” Tobirama made an exaggerated show of trying and failing to push away the arms holding him to the floor. Kagami giggled and flopped bodily down over his teacher’s chest.

“You can’t move! I win! I’ll keep you trapped here forever!”

“But how will I eat?”

Kagami’s face was a masterpiece of surprise as he appeared to realize this very serious issue. If the two of them were busily locked in a battle of wills for the rest of forever how were either of them going to fill their tummies? The distraction was enough that Tobirama was able to pounce, rolling up in to a sitting position to throw the boy over his shoulder and follow the motion through to stand up fully, grinning openly while Kagami’s squeals filled the room.

“How the tables have turned,” he rumbled.

“Sensei! Put me down!”

“Oh? You can dish it out but you can’t take it?” Tobirama feigned an expression of surprise for Susumu, who only laughed harder and still offered no help to either side.

As he watched from the doorway Madara was glad of the chance to wipe at his eyes unseen. He would never hear the end of it if any of these idiots saw him misting over just from happiness; it would be the single most embarrassing moment of his life. Clearly he had earned mercy from one god or another since Izuna didn’t magically appear from nowhere to point and laugh. After a quick check to make sure his brother was still settled with no obvious signs of popping out from wherever he had squirrelled himself away, Madara drew in a slow breath and stepped forward.

With all the furniture moved around to clear the center of each room they had created almost an extension of the hallway leading from himself to his loved ones. Keeping his eyes locked on Tobirama, tracing the shape of that gorgeous smile, he couldn’t help but compare this moment to the moment when they first met.

The walk down this aisle looked infinitely less terrifying than that day. Where before he had seen nothing but a gaping chasm of the unknown he saw now the man he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. On the day they met they had stood together at the altar and known nothing but each other’s faces. The man he saw here was nothing like he could have ever predicted, nothing like the horrific things he had laid awake worrying himself with imagining. When Madara reached the top of this aisle it was to be greeted with such a gentle look in his husband’s eyes that for a moment he had no words.

“I came to help,” Tobirama murmured, blithely ignoring Kagami’s tiny fists where they beat against his lower back.

“Looks like you’re doing a wonderful job.”

Susumu-sensei let out one final bark of amusement and propped both hands on her hips. “He’s helping me work some energy out of this little half-baked tartlet. Have you come to ruin our fun, little one? Crack the whip and get us back to work?”

“Not at all,” Madara denied innocently. “I only wanted to suggest that if Tobirama holds him low enough he would be at just the right height for you to ruffle his hair.”

Kagami screeched with betrayal and shouted for them all to leave his curls alone. They ignored him, of course. Instead Tobirama bent his knees until the boy was just low enough for a good ruffling and grinned openly at Madara as he held the squirming legs in place with an iron grip.

Seeing him so happy and carefree had Madara's stomach flipping over itself in the best possible way. Eight months ago he would never have been comfortable expressing even mild amusement around any of them let alone smiling so widely. It was a testament to how well he had accepted this family as his own, a mark of how content he was in this life they had all built together.

It was everything he had ever wanted.

By some miracle he managed not to burst out in to a great sobbing mess of disgusting happiness but was somehow able to hold himself at bay and wait patiently until at last Tobirama had the mercy to set Kagami back down. The tightness in Madara's chest was not helped at all when the little mite immediately threw both arms around his teacher’s waist to beam up at him happily as though he had enjoyed the last several minutes of torture. When he let go he turned to shake a finger at Susumu and tell her off for attacking him so deviously, giving Madara the opening he needed to beckon his partner over. Tobirama slid in to his arms like a puzzle piece slotting in to place.

“Good afternoon, anata.”

“Hm, surprisingly it has been, yes. I thought this would be quite a dour affair but there’s been…a few surprises that kept me in high spirits.” Madara tossed the idea back and forth of revealing what he’d found in the office. Then Tobirama smiled down at him and he decided to leave it be. Things were fine as they were.

“By any chance was I one of those surprises?” His husband asked with a cheeky grin.

Surrounded with warm and happy chakra, held tightly in the arms that kept him safe from the pains of the world, and so in love that he could hardly stand himself, Madara could do nothing more than smile back and shake his head very slowly.

“From the moment I met you,” he murmured softly, “you have been the best and the greatest surprise of my life.”

#rae writes #madatobi #madara #tobirama #kagami #susumu #izuna #fanfiction #good lord is this done?#i can't believe this story is done #WHAT DO I DO WITH MY LIFE NOW???

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kaefandi · 4 years

Text

Day 2016

I haven’t had a panic attack in months… But there it was to strike me at midnight, as it never left. I did feel off before falling asleep, but I could not anticipate the strength and severity of that one. I knew it usually starts with elevated heart rate and hyperventilating. All I could think of was relaxation. But as your conscious control decreases during sleep, I was not strong enough mentally to simply relax. I turned over. Big mistake. I reached out to the wall on my left. Another big mistake. Reaching out for help from the outside is just playing along the attack - you looked at it and it looked right back at you. Gotcha. I released one moan of fear, another one of suffering, and in a second I was sitting up, slowly crawling on the floor. Moaning in despair, crying out dry tears, I was crawling to the other side of the room thinking I was going to die. Nausea. Panic.

“I am in Bulgaria. They will not understand. I don’t want to go to the local hospital. How will I explain myself? How can they help me? I am dying. I am going to throw up.”

Thoughts were flooding. Where was all that practical therapy knowledge about how to keep a panic attack at bay. Where were the breathing techniques? Where was the through alternation? I could not remember a single self-help piece of advice I used to remember by heart less than a year ago. That is what night panic attacks do to you - they catch you of your conscious guard.

I was exhausted. Down on my knees I was begging God to stop the torture, when the doer was actually within.

“Vomit! Vomit! Vomit!” - I was shouting to my husband disturbed out of his sleep. Was I vomiting? Hardly. One after another attempt to throw up was barely successful in regard to physical relief. Deep inside, convulsing my guts, I knew I did not have any poisoning or indigestion. Deep inside, that enlightened voice was screaming to my “dyeing” body that it was just an attack.

Water. Water. Water. Drinking water paces breathing, when the mind can’t.

Never underestimate the panic disorder. Daily doses of 150 mg of venlafaxine and 25 mg of quetiapine - do not keep the panic away. But you can. As Dwight Shrute said:

Learn your rules.

You’ve got to learn your rules!

If you don’t

You’ll be eaten in your sleep!

youtube

But on a more serious note, I have developed my own list of routine techniques of self-handling of a panic attack (in that particular order, adding each point according to the severity of the attack):

Breathing: inhale through nose/exhale through mouth; ⅓ (at least 8 sets);

Grounding ex. 1 (pat the body with your hands, including head, face and feet);

Grounding ex. 2 (rhythmic patting on the shoulders with hands pronouncing the personal mantra “I am safe”);

Bringing yourself back to now using the sense organs (name 5 objects you see around yourself, 5 smells you notice; five sounds you hear; possibly starting with “Here and now I see…, I hear...., I smell…”);

If possible, find a person to simply talk to, if attack strikes in a public place;

Right down what is happening in your diary/phone/piece of paper (follow the descriptive principle of

situation (what is happening? What was happening when the attack struck? Where? When? Whom I was with?);

symptom (what is happening to my body? What am I feeling in my body?);

thoughts (what am I thinking? what was I thinking that caused me to feel this way?);

behaviour (what am I doing? What were my actions as soon as the attack developed)

7. Acceptance; 8. Letting go of control;

And if all of the previous fail, just know, there is always -

9. Xanax (people diagnosed with panic disorder usually get a prescription, so it is a good idea to carry a chill pill with yourself “just in case”.

I have never taken xanax, for me it has always been the last resource. But honestly, I have been past point 8 and had a pill at the ready on multiple occasions. Nothing wrong with taking a pill. I am just scared of them. And I also enjoy self-torture a little bit.

P.S. So surreal to write about a panic attack like an expert. But so far I have been feeling that there is no such thing as becoming an expert in that field. It strikes just the same, you are never truly ready, it can happen any time anywhere. And it is going to get you off guard. And you are going to feel helpless, done, exhausted. And it will seem impossible to go on. And yet, many of us do go on. Suffering, but not giving up.

#panic attack #depression #panic disorder #learn your rules #dwight shrute #the office #quote #water #drinking water #self-help #therapist #xanax #breathing #exercise #diagnosis #psychology #psych2go #day 2016

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diyunho · 5 years

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The Joker x Reader - “John Wick” Part 3

Y/N left The Organization 3 years ago for the one reason strong enough to make her settle down: love. But after tragedy crushed her to pieces, she decided to leave The Joker and seek refuge with an old friend and mentor - John Wick. Needless to say The King of Gotham can’t accept his wife running away without a word, especially since he didn’t have a chance to tell her things she might want to hear.

Part 1 Part 2

The Joker listens at the bedroom’s door, impatient to have a conversation with you. It seems you are engaged into a fervent phone call with Winston and figured he shouldn’t interrupt.

“Please, anything you can discover would be a great help! U-hum… U-hum… Thank you,” and you hang up, which queues your husband to walk into the room.

You completely ignore him, scrolling through the numerous text messages you sent to your connections; several are already answering back and hopefully you can get some news soon. The more people are involved into the project, the more chances to find Kase and untangle the mystery of what happened to him after he was removed from the car.

“You left me there,” The Joker sneaks in and closes the door behind him. “Luckily we had Wick with us so he gave me a ride.”

No reaction. He takes a deep breath, trying to get your awareness.

“I didn’t sleep with Evelyn; sex wasn’t the reason why I kept visiting her. I know how that asshole made it sound and he was totally out of line!”

You quickly glance at him, busy replying to Ares since you feel you’re going to explode soon.

“The only skill I was interested in is the fact that she is an excellent painter and a popular art smuggler, OK?” J raises his voice, sort of annoyed you neglect to participate into his monologue. “I did not cheat, alright?” he approaches his wife. “First of all: I’m VERY picky! Second of all: why would I want a woman everyone else had?! I don’t like used toys. Third: nobody’s been polishing my gun as you tastefully addressed the issue! I have one Queen and I married her!!”

A little bit of doubt in your eyes and he utilizes the opportunity.

“You said you saw me going to her house? I did! The Bowery King asked if it was for the last 6 months? Yeah, I did! You know why?!”

At least now The Joker got your attention: you play it cool but he guesses you’re torn apart by his confession.

Many unfortunate events crammed in lately and hating the man you love made life infinitely more unbearable.

“Why…?” you barely muster the strength to inquire and he sees it as a possibility to mend a few broken pieces; although you can hide your emotions well, J can still read between the lines.

Maybe that’s why he answers with another question:

“Do you realize there are just three Monet paintings in circulation on the black market in the entire world? You admire his work and it took a lot of effort and a substantial fortune to acquire The Water Lily Pond painting. Evelyn Black helped with the transaction, then I had her make some modifications to the original masterpiece.”

You keep staring at The King of Gotham, uncertain about the stuff being tossed your way: is he lying or telling the truth?... In your line of work translating feelings is a huge part of the job; ultimately you had the best mentor to teach you the ropes when you started with the organization: none other than the legendary Baba Yaga. Despite his reputation and to your own amazement, John was one of the few hitmen with integrity and perfectly mastered the aptitude of not being a jerk. Such a rare gem… And blissfully unaware of it himself.

On the opposite end, The Joker is a jerk and flawlessly acquainted with his own “captivating” personality that made you fall in love with him anyway.

Also, doesn’t appear to be deceitful for the moment.

And you despise yourself even more for wanting to believe him.

“What… modifications?...” you throw him a bone and J is definitely not going to pass on the alternative of explaining his actions.

“I wanted to surprise you so I took advantage of Miss Black’s capabilities in the art field; I had her add small images to the authentic canvas: an evolution of you being pregnant, the nine frames culminating with a tenth: the new mother holding our son. Similar to a timeline,” he emphasize and you look intrigued, which might be a positive sign. “Needless to say it was tedious, difficult work, especially because she had to apply special pigments you can’t find at every corner of the street. Apparently you can’t mix old paint with contemporary shades, thus I had to order aged, special colors from Italy, Spain and France. That’s why I went to her place so often: I had to supervise the long process and make sure it turns out astonishing. Then…” and The Joker pauses,”…Kase was gone and I didn’t know what to do with my gift: bring it home or not? Would you have loved it? Would it make you sadder? I continued to drive to Evelyn’s and glare at the stupid painting for hours, undecided on what to do…”

J watches you bite on your cheek, then straightens his shoulders as you utter the words:

“… … … You ruined a genuine Monet?”

Your spouse might be a smooth talker when needed, yet he’s not wasting his versatility on this statement:

“I didn’t ruin it; I made it better!”

Silence from both parties. A good or bad omen? Hard to decipher the riddle with two individuals tangled into a relationship that somehow worked despite countless peculiarities meant to keep them apart.

“I have to talk to Jonathan,” you finally mutter and The Joker steps in front of you.

“Talk to me!”

“Unless you know the exact location of the suitcase full of gold coins he’s been safekeeping for me, I really have to speak to him. Or do you want to hammer the whole basement searching for it?”

Y/N walks out of the bedroom and J lingers inside, evesdropping on the conversation happening downstairs. He can’t understand the chat, but you are probably notifying John about the details your husband left out.

Might as well join the party, therefore The Clown pops up in the living room with a plea impossible to refuse:

“Hey Wick, can I stay here? I don’t care if you say no, I’m not going to leave.”

Your friend crosses his arms on his chest, focusing on the random topic:

“How could I deny such a polite request? Of course you can stay Mister Joker; my house is your house.”

You’re watching the free show unamused; usually it would make you smile…now you lack the depth for such connotations.

“Don’t get smart with me, Wick!” J growls and Jonathan pushes for a tiny, unnecessary quarrel.

“I’m not; although generally speaking, I fancy considering myself a smart guy.”

The Joker opens his mouth and you’re not in the mood for whatever the heck they’re initiating:

“I’m going to pump, then after you dig out the suitcase I’ll take half to the Bowery King,” you announce your plans to them.

“You can do that and rest; I’ll deliver the coins,” John immediately offers. “I can stop by Aurelio’s car shop and ask for his collaboration: he has a lot of associates, doesn’t hurt to get him involved. You have plenty of gold.”

“I have two more suitcases in the Continental’s safe and two more at The Penthouse. It doesn’t matter if it’s all gone as long as I can find my son.”

“I know gold coins are preferred; don’t forget we have a lot of money too,” J reckons with spite.

Is he reminding you or Jonathan?...

*************

Your husband spent the last hour in the garden, talking and texting with a lot of people; needless to mention he’s capitalizing on his network also. Winston disclosed Stonneberg’s contract is still opened, meaning the son of a bitch is out there; you have to scoop him before anybody else does.

“Y/N…” The Joker tiptoes in your quarters. “I thought you were taking a nap,” he huffs when he sees you at the edge of the bed.

You glare at the vial on the nightstand, sharing your idea for a future you wish will come true:

“I didn’t have my medicine in two days; I won’t take it anymore because if we get Kase back… I will nurse him. It all goes in the milk and I want to be able to feed my baby… Do you think his little heart is still beating?...” you sniffle and J is currently debating on a clever response since his mind is blank; one could deduce messing up is encoded in his DNA, but on such a huge scale… well, it gives new interpretations to the term even for him.

The grieving woman seeking reassurance for their loss is trying to make sense of the pointless occurrences that lead to Kase being an innocent victim and The Joker can’t render clarification: he has no clue why he asked her to marry him and why she said yes, it’s not that he’s husband material or a family man. Perhaps Y/N thought he could be… just enough to get by, that’s why she accepted his proposal.

Most women would have cringed at the concept. Most women. Not Y/N.

Most women would have flinched at the notion of having his baby. Most women. Not his wife.

Above all, she trusted J with their son and he treated the three weeks old like a trinket: didn’t drive him home because he had an important meeting, didn’t bother to assign escorting cars nor extra security. The King of Gotham took his child’s safety lightly and it definitely had severe consequences. Too late now to fix past mistakes... but he can attempt.

“You’ll be able to nurse him, OK?” he sits by you and hands over his cell. “Can you enter your phone number in here? Or am I not allowed to have the present digits?”

You’re hesitant and he slides the screen while you hold the gadget.

“Lemme help you,” The Joker sarcastically mumbles. “It should be the first on my list, right where the old number you canceled was.”

You exhale and fulfill his demand out of pure frustration when he squeezes in a second innocent petition.

“Chose my avatar.”

You grunt at his rubbish, scrolling through his folders for a picture anyway; J hopes the largest file will get your attention and that’s the point. How could Y/N miss it?!

Entitled “Baby”, the humongous cluster of pics contains 5,723 items. You open it quite absorbed by its size; what’s more puzzling is the collection depicting Kase’s ultrasounds, hundreds of frames with you being pregnant taken without you knowing: there’s a few when your ankles were so swollen you had to sleep with your feet up on 4 pillows, others with you munching on strange food you craved, more with you in the shower focused on your bump, a decent amount of couple selfies when you were sleeping and J had to immortalize the moment without waking you up and approximately 1,500 images of the newborn.

“You didn’t gross me out when you were pregnant,” The Joker reminds a teary Y/N. “Not sure why you would believe such aberration...” he pulls you on his knees and yanks the phone away, tossing it on the nightstand. “I would also like to underline I didn’t have an affair with Miss Black, alright?”

J lifts your chin up, forcing to look at him.

“Let’s put it this way: why would I fuck around with another woman when I have a wife at home that wants to kill me on a regular basis, hm? Where would the fun be? I mean, she didn’t pull the trigger yet but it’s exciting to hope she might. You know me: I’m a sucker for thrills!”

“Do I?”

“Huh?” J steals a kiss and you frown at his sleekness.

“Know you?”

“Yeah,” the green haired Clown acts composed while in fact his feathers are ruffled. Before you catch onto it he has to ultimately admit: “I’m sorry I didn’t drive the car… I should have…”

The Joker holds in his breath when your arms go around his neck very tight.

“I’m suffocating…” he grumbles. “I can’t tell if you’re trying to hug me or choke me to death,” J keeps on caressing your hair, prepared to block your attack in case you’re actually in killing mode.

This is the excitement he was speaking about: with you, one could never know until it’s a done deal.

“I bumped into Magnus at the Continental,” you give him a bit of space to inhale much needed air and The Joker is surprised at your revelation. “I had no idea about his scheme, otherwise I would have skinned him alive right on the hotel grounds! I wouldn’t have cared about the consequences!”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” J cuts you off and he can tell you’re getting mad; maybe you think he doesn’t give a damn but the reason is simple. “You would’ve been declared excommunicado for murder on neutral ground and I don’t want my wife to be the target of such punishment from the company she so proudly retired from. I need my partner!”

The King of Gotham touches your forehead with his as you whisper:

“I hate you!”

“Mmm, regarding this true love affirmation, I’m gonna need you to take a break from detesting me until we have Kase, then you can despise me full throttle again. Deal?” he extends the palm of his hand and you reluctantly shake it, not realizing you’re reacting to his nonsense. “Is that a smile?” J returns the favor with one of his creepy silver grins.

“No.”

“Liar,” he pecks your lips and can’t explain the weird feeling in his heart when you kiss him back.

*************

Jonathan enters the house and becomes suspicious after a few minutes: too much silence.

Omg! Did you and The Joker engaged into a brawling that ended up badly? Did you end each other?!

John frantically runs to the garage, nervous to see your car and J’s are still parked inside. Shit!

“Y/N?” he shouts, concerned about your fate; The Joker’s… irrelevant. Nobody in the garden, patio is empty also. Downstairs is deserted thus he rushes upstairs to your room. The door is not completely shut and he slowly pushes it, knocking.

“Y/N? Can I come in?”

The first thing he notices are clothes scattered on the floor, then he halts his movement at the sight of Y/N and her husband dozing off on the bed sideways: the naked bodies are covered with a blanket, but he can tell you’re snuggled in J’s arms.

Jonathan steps backwards, guilty of invading his guests’ privacy; he certainly didn’t expect to intrude in such a manner and softly closes the door, grateful it’s not what he feared.

You and The Joker are so worn out the sound of your phones vibrating on the nightstand doesn’t wake you from the deep sleep. Your numerous contacts keep replying back to the text messages, the most important one showing up on his cell: one of the people J reached to is Evelyn Black and the two sentence conversation lights up the screen.

“Let me know if you see Stonnenberg.”

“He’s here.”