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allbark-no-bite · 9 months

Text

i’ve been meaning to tell you.

icemav (wc: 4.4k)

summary: to love a man is to tear the other apart and ruin each other ruthlessly. OR the fic Ice’s dad is the worst and Maverick loves Ice anyway

warnings: 18+ smut, mentions of violence, blood, homophobia, and vomiting

authors note: i’m sorry guys, the little gay pilots just do it for me. apologies for the half ass ending. title taken from Taylor Swift’s ‘seven’

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What a lot of people tend to forget about Maverick Mitchell is that he grew up a younger brother. So not only was his old man knocking him around— that is when he was actually around— but his older brother too. Mav had to learn how to defend himself by whatever means necessary, whether that meant kicking and screaming or taking a swing. He's got just as much scrappiness in his body as a hungry stray dog. It tends to get him in trouble.

Today in the locker room is no different.

They've all just been released from training for the day and have flocked to the locker room to shower. Today's flight didn't go particularly well for Maverick, but that's not totally unusual. They all have bad days, and he's just so happened to fall upon a streak of bad luck. But unfortunately enough, a bad day in the air for Maverick means a good day in the air for Tom Kazansky. And the blonde pilot is not about to let him forget it.

The shit-talking begins the moment Maverick enters into the locker room. He intentionally allows the door to swing shut behind him in the feeble hope that it will catch the pilot who is hot on his heels behind him.

Much to his disappointment, Ice catches it with his palm right before it hits him in his perfect face. "You're pathetic, honestly, Mitchell. I mean were you even trying out there? I got a lock on you faster than if it was my grandma flying out there."

"Isn't your grandma dead?" is the comment that comes from the obnoxiously tall, lumbering oaf of a man beside him.

Has he also mentioned that he hates Slider's dumbass face? He's nothing but a dick with legs. Maverick is beginning to think the RIO shares a brain cell with his pilot because he's never heard Ice say something without Slider parroting along with his own smart ass comment.

The remark is too much for Goose— who Maverick is constantly having to remind himself that he adores— and even at the expense of his best friend, can't contain himself. He latches onto Maverick's shoulder in an attempt to keep himself upright whilst his head falls back into the shrieking laugh that is reminiscent of his call sign. If Slider wasn't so insufferably stupid, Maverick might would hate him a little bit for it. Instead he shoves his spindly RIO away from him and slams his locker shut to face Ice.

"You know, maybe if I screwed up your face, Slider here wound't be so keen to kiss your ass all of the time."

Ice takes a step towards him so that they're face to face, even if he does have to look down to be eye level with the brunette pilot. Maverick has to shove down the urge to rise up on his toes just so that they're even. He would never hear the end of that. So instead he plants his feet into the ground and steels himself against Ice's looming presence.

Ice sneers down at him, bearing his teeth just how he does when he smiles, taunting and cocksure. "We'll have a go when you learn how to make a fist, Mitchell."

Maverick smirks. "Wouldn't you like that, Kazansky?" His green eyes are blazing with what anyone watching might would interpret as righteous anger. He and Ice both know it's something else. It's all a game. A game that is so synchronized and well rehearsed that neither of them are willing to give it up just yet. Because when you know the rules, when you know just what buttons to push without it blowing up in your face, the game is safer that way.

It took them a while to get to this point, to realize that they didn't actually hate each other. There was a lot of growing pains and moments of uncomfortable realization. Mav came into Topgun with a chip on his shoulder and everything to prove, and then there was Ice, who had it all. He was charismatic and smart and funny— everything Maverick was without the debilitating strain of an estranged father who fucked off into the sky one day and never returned. And Maverick hated him for that. Hated him until he walked into the locker room one day and heard Ice's dad screaming at him over the phone.

"—no goddamn son of mine will call themselves a homosexual. As long as you have my last name—"

Ice had hung up as soon as he heard Maverick behind him, choking out a "Look, I have to go, Dad. I'm sorry— Yes, sir. Yes sir, I understand. Bye."

Maverick had just stood there at first, pretending he didn't see Ice wiping his eyes, didn't even comment as Ice cleared a sob from his throat. After that Ice just stood there staring at him, as though just waiting for Maverick to bring it up.

Finally, Maverick just laughed. "Guess we both have some pretty mean old men," was all he said. He never brought up the part about Ice's dad calling him a homosexual, but after that it was just kinda understood.

Ice was gay.

And that— that changed everything. They were still always at each other's throats. Still taunted and teased and took things too far, only for a different reason now. With DADT in place, it was the only thing they could do.

It's just that now they've been playing this game for far too long, without it ever resulting to anything, and the tension between them has built up thick enough to be cut by a knife.

Ice seems to realize this because he somehow grins even wider. "C'mon then. What're you waiting for, Mitchell?" He adds, "Hell, I'm sure you could do it if you tried hard enough."

Maverick passes his tongue over the bridge of his teeth, and turns his head away, as if he's contemplating the invitation. To everyone around them, it looks as though Maverick's going to backdown. Really, it's to conceal the smile that has crept onto his face. Everyone should know by now that it's not like him to backdown from a challenge.

As his best friend and RIO, Goose should have seen this one coming.

Just when it looks like he's going to step away, Maverick shifts his weight on his heels and swings. Ice flinches back just a fraction of a second too late, and Maverick's fist connects with the left side of his jaw. It sends a shock ricocheting back through Maverick's arm and radiates from his knuckles all the way up to his elbow. Because the blonde pilot does have some size on him, it's not enough to send him toppling over, but Ice does have to catch himself, his hand lifting up to grab his jaw once he recovers.

It feels so good that Maverick hardly notices the clamor of the other pilots around them or Goose grabbing at the sleeve of his flight suit. He watches as Slider and Sundown rush over to help Ice, but he shrugs them off. When he straightens, there's a mar of red on his jaw where Maverick's fist had been, and his bottom lip is busted, already swelling up purple and staring to bleed.

Maverick stares at him, breathing hard in satisfaction. Despite the pain that is still sparking though his knuckles, he knows he's not above the rules of chivalry, and he offers Ice his hand—

—And finds himself sprawled out on the ground a mere second later. He must blackout for a moment because when he comes to, Ice is crouched down in front of him and there's pain pulsing from his cheekbone. Maverick squeezes his eyes shut, already feeling the beginnings of a migraine, and he wonders if he might have a concussion. Now that would really be something.

When he opens his eyes, Ice is still in front of him. The blonde pilot is smirking, his blue eyes alight with amusement despite just having been nailed in the face. "I warned you didn't I, Mitchell?"

Most of the attention their fight had originally drawn has dispersed, the pilots around them likely sensing that Ice had dutifully settled the score and that there was no more to be seen. Ever faithful, Goose is lingering just a few steps away, waiting to intervene should he be needed.

Slowly, he looks back to the pilot crouched before him. As much as Maverick hates to say it, Ice looks good when he's a little roughed up.

"Is that really all you've got?" he manages. What he means is, I'd let you punch me any day of the week if only it meant that we got to be this close.

"Maverick—" comes Goose's worried sounding voice of reason.

Ice just smiles, humoring him. "Tell you what, Mitchell. If you can even stand up straight, we'll go again."

They both know that's not going to happen. His head is pounding so hard right now that he might would be sick if he tried to stand up. Still, Maverick snarls at him comically though the pain. "Coward." But there's no bite to it.

Again, all Tom can do is smile. "C'mon," he says. He offers Maverick his hand and pulls him to his feet, throwing the brunette pilot's arms around his shoulders to take on most of his weight. "Let's go find you some ice."

Goose can only shake his head and watch them go.

And that was how it went. That was how they got by without losing their minds. If they couldn't love each other then they'd hate each other enough to make up for it.

They both know the risks. One wrong word and they're dead. All it takes is for the wrong person to hear the wrong thing, interpret an interaction the wrong way.

No one talks about it but everyone know what happens to sailors who let on that they're too friendly with their shipmates. Maverick's heard it before, some poor lieutenant screaming in the middle of the night, drug from his own bed and beaten until he's unrecognizable, and all you can do is roll over and pray for the screaming to stop. Because if you intervene you're just as guilty.

It happens more often than anyone would think, the Navy just keeps quiet about it. It's called don't ask don't tell for a reason.

It's probably the same reason as to why no one has questioned the fact that the Iceman has not once gone home with a girl from the O-Club in the entire six weeks that they have been stationed at Topgun.

His disinterest is almost comical. At any given second of the night, the blonde pilot has got girls crawling all over him. There is almost always one hanging off of his arm, gazing up longingly at him as he tries not to spill his drink, another with a delicate hand to his chest as she giggles and laughs at something he didn't even think was that funny.

Ice doesn't seem to mind the attention, but he doesn't care to feed into it either. Not even the feel of the girl to his left placing her hand a little too high up on his thigh is enough to stir his dick in his pants. It's been a long time since he's been with a girl, probably since his freshman year at the academy. Before he realized that he was gay. And even if he was hankering to get laid, which he isn't, he wouldn't consider taking one of them home. Unlike a lot of guys at the bar, he had morals, and that meant not pretending to be into it with some poor girl just to get his dick sucked.

Regardless, Maverick thinks it's really fucking distracting.

Them with their wandering hands all over Ice, it really makes his blood boil. Who were they to get to touch him like that in front of everyone.

Ice glances over and their eyes lock for a brief moment. Cheeks flaming, Maverick has to tear his eyes away. He hadn't realized he was staring until Goose swings an arm over his shoulder and places a beer in his hand. "You keep staring and he's going to come over here and beat your ass again."

Maverick sputters. "Wha—? I wasn't—"

Smiling knowingly, Goose pats his chest. "I'm just saying. No one's going to say anything about two guys having a drink together at the bar. But if you keep up with whatever the hell all of this sexual tension filled staring is about, people are going to notice and he's going to knock your lights out for real this time."

Maverick glares at him. Goose had figured out that Maverick was bi pretty early on, way back in their roommate days at the academy, but it had taken him until last week in the locker room to realize that the brunette pilot's apparent hate for his wingman was really just a hopeless middle school crush disguised by toxic masculine bravado. Now Goose has taken it upon himself to get them together. Of course that's what any good best friend would do, but if Goose has to watch the two of them flirt with each other like a bunch of sexually frustrated peacocks any longer, he might wash his own eyes out with bleach.

"Now here's what I suggest you do—"

"Maverick."

Freezing, they both slowly turn around. Maverick already knows who it is. He would recognize that voice anywhere.

Ice is standing behind them, a fresh beer in his hand. The girls from earlier are now nowhere to be seen, Maverick notes. "Ice," is all he says back, every other word in his vocabulary seemingly lost.

Really, if Goose hadn't just been in the backseat of a multimillion dollar aircraft that Maverick was flying just a few hours before, he would think the man was incompetent. Goose pats Maverick's chest before removing his arm from around his shoulders and excusing himself. "Guess that's my queue to leave, kids. I'll be over there. Way, way, over there." Before Maverick can stop him, he's disappearing into the sea of white by the bar.

And then it's just them standing together off to the side of the bar.

Ice clears his throat. "You wanna step outside, get some air?"

And because he doesn't know how else to respond to that, because he's certainly not going to tell him no, he shrugs. "Sure."

They walk outside together, or more like Maverick follows Ice out like a confused looking duckling, and Ice brings them to a stop just in front of the railing of the porch. And then he just stands there, looking out into the parking lot. Maverick lingers a few paces behind him, wondering whether or not he's supposed to join him. He tries to tell himself to relax because like Goose said, there's nothing wrong with two guys having a drink together, and maybe that's all that this is, but it certainly hadn't felt like it when they made eye contact back in the bar.

Finally, Ice asks, "Mitchell, your old man ever hit you for no good reason?" The way he asks it, it feels more like a confession than a question.

Shoulders dropping, Maverick lets out a breath of air that he'd been holding onto, and it kinda comes out as an amused laugh. "Yeah, man... Y'know sometime I think he did it just for fun. My brother too."

For the first time since they've walked outside, Ice glances sideways at him. "You've got a brother?"

"Yeah, I was younger by like six years though."

Ice's mouth twitches up into a smile. "That explains a lot."

Maverick shoves him, not hard, but it's enough to make the blonde pilot beside him sway a little to the side as he moves to lean against the railing beside him. Once Ice settles, they're shoulder to shoulder, their sides pressed into each other. Too close for explanation should someone question them.

"What about your old man?" Mav asks. He's not sure he would have ever brought up Ice's father under normal circumstances but this isn't a normal conversation.

Ice just shakes his head. "We don't talk all that much anymore unless he's calling to yell at me... You heard."

Maverick nods, taking in what Ice is telling him in. Of course he's known or at least assumed all of these things, but it's different hearing them out loud.

"Maverick, you know I'm... That's why my dad—"

Maverick straightens and Ice stops talking and follows him, the two pilots turning to face each other.

"You trying to tell me something, Iceman?" Maverick asks, smothering a smile.

Although they're not quite the same height, they're eye to eye, and for once it feels like they're equals. Ice's blue eyes glint dangerously.

Maverick's heart is pounding in his chest.

"It's Tom. And yeah, maybe I'm trying to tell you something."

In the barely lit front porch of the bar, where he's sure no one can see them, Maverick reaches out to touch him. His fingers skim along the crisp white fabric of Tom's uniform, tentative at first, until he's sure he is actually going to let him touch him. When the blonde pilot doesn't immediately pull away, Maverick's fingers curl into the fabric at his side, tugging him forcefully closer so that their bodies are pressed together and he can lean up to connect their mouths. As if equally as prepared to reciprocate the kiss, Tom's hands fist into Maverick's uniform, half untucking his shirt in the process. Their mouths clash together, forcing the other open while their tongues fight for a taste.

There's nothing glamorous about it. Maybe if they hadn't been so desperate for this moment it would have been, but there no stopping them now. Ice kisses him with every ounce of emotion that he's been keeping inside, and Maverick reciprocates it with the same vigorousity, chasing after his mouth when Ice draws away for a breath. No sooner than he does and they're kissing again.

Ice is so engrossed in the taste of Maverick's mouth, the warmth of his swollen lips, that he nearly jumps out of his skin when he feels Maverick's palm at his crotch. He doesn't even have the time to be embarrassed when the other pilot snickers at him because his dick is reminding for the first time in months that it actually works. Ice's hips roll into Maverick's palm, begging for more.

If Maverick had been waiting for permission, Ice's response is all he needs. He palms him again, firmer this time, and feels Ice hardening in his hand. At the same time, Maverick runs his tongue along the pout of Ice's bottom lip, catching it gently between his teeth when Ice groans into his mouth. His hand rubs at the now bulging crotch of Ice's uniform, and it makes the blonde's hip stutter.

Maverick is pushing him back, polished black shoes walking forward, one between Ice's legs to nudge him backwards and the other one flanking his hip. He's still all over Ice, mouthing sloppily at whatever is within kissing distance, his hand groping at Ice's dick through his pants, the other fisting his blonde hair, both of them breathing hard.

Ice's body is on fire.

It's like something primal takes over him, and before Maverick can back him against the railing, the fists he has clenched at Maverick's chest shove the brunette backwards. Ice follows, the wall catching Maverick before he can stumble completely backwards, and Ice reconnects their mouths without a moment to recover. His teeth catch at Maverick's jaw, scraping against skin until Maverick finds his mouth again in a bruising kiss.

It's a type of madness that Ice feels. It's uncontrollable and burning through his veins, every muscle in his body. Every neuron in his brain is more alive than it's ever been. It's been a long time since he's had anything this good. Because you can't do this with a woman. You can't ravage her, tear her apart the same way you can a man. You have to be considerate and thoughtful and slow. You have to attend to a woman, practice and play her like an instrument.

It's an art.

This is a whole other beast.

It's adrenaline rushing, being intimate with someone who is your equal in just about every way. It's as vulnerable as rolling over to show your belly to someone as dangerous as yourself and trusting them not to tear you apart. Someone who's after the same high as you. Someone who won't take any of your shit.

Ice gives it and Maverick gives it right back, teeth biting, lips sucking, fingers bruising. They're so close that Ice can feel the slide of muscle against his chest as Maverick breathes, his chest expanding wide with every breath. He's sucking a bruise into Maverick's throat, swirling his tongue against the other pilot's flushed skin and tasting iron.

Maverick's fingers find the button of his pants, the zipper, and then he's slipping his hand inside. Ice hisses at the intrusion of Maverick's cold fingers into his boxers, his dick jumping at the contact. Maverick wraps a hand around his throbbing cock and tugs upwards. A strangled sound leaves Ice's chest. He repeats the motion, this time using some of the precome leaking down Ice's shaft to obtain more of a gliding motion. With the lubrication, he falls into more of a rhythm, enabling Ice to match it with the rut of his hips.

Every jerk of Maverick's hand makes a sickening sucking sound, and something in the back of Ice's mind tells him he should be worried about someone hearing them. It invites a sort of adrenaline-filled fear within him. The same fear that flying gives him. Maverick swipes his thumb over the head of his cock, and he almost cries, the thought gone from his mind.

They haven't spoken this entire time but their noises of pleasure say enough. Ice is panting into the junction of Maverick's neck, muffling cries when he twists his wrist just enough to make Ice's jaw go slack.

One more tug of Maverick's hand around his pulsing cock and Ice's head goes fuzzy, followed by the most mind-shattering orgasm he's ever had flooding through him. He comes in Maverick's hand, spilling into his palm and the front of his boxers. When his coherence returns, the dead weight of his body is supported almost entirely by Maverick, almost certainly crushing him against the wall. The other pilot doesn't seem to mind, one hand around Ice's waist and the other lazily ghosting over Ice's flushed cock, sticky with come.

Ice's heart is pounding, and he's never felt more alive in his own body.

When he gets his bearings about him and the feel of Maverick stroking his sensitive cock becomes too much, he pulls away just so that there's a bit of space between them. Maverick lets him go, remaining with his back pressed against the wall.

Finally, Ice finds his voice. "Fuck, man."

He feels light headed and euphoric and full of bliss all at once.

Then his stomach churns. He's going to vomit.

Ice stumbles a few feet to lean over the side of the deck and retch, earlier's alcohol burning in his stomach. He heaves, the sudden burst of nausea coursing through him without warning. Stomach turning, Ice doesn't recall ever feeling this violently ill in his life.

When the nausea finally subside, there are tears in his eyes and an empty pit in his stomach that isn't from the vomiting. He doesn't trust himself to move away from the railing just yet, but he does look over his shoulder to find Maverick.

The brunette pilot is standing quietly behind him, a towel in one hand and a bottle of water in the other. He must have slipped inside and nabbed a few things from the bar. Ice isn't sure how he had the time to do that, but he also isn't sure how long he was bent over the railing puking his guts out.

This time he gasps out, "What the fuck was that, man?"

For some reason that Ice isn't following, Maverick chuckles. "That, my friend, was the best orgasm of your life. The thing that you're experiencing right now is called guilt."

When Ice just stares at him blankly, Maverick continues. "Happened to me too the first time I got with a guy. You spend your whole life being told that something is wrong, and then you get it and it's the best thing ever. Then you come down from the high and you're disgusted with yourself for enjoying it so much because you know you're not supposed to."

His dad's voice flashes through his mind.

Stomach churning again, Ice covers his face with his palms and groans. Maverick, who seems to be enjoying Ice's misery all too much, just chuckles again. "Here, sit down and drink this," and he holds out the opened bottle of water to Ice.

Ice, feeling too queasy to argue, removes his hands from his face and takes the bottle. He sits down on the front steps and Maverick follows. They sit shoulder to shoulder, once again too close should anyone come out and find them.

Hands clasped together in front of his knees, Maverick watches as Ice takes a few small sips of the water. He remembers feeling the way Ice is now all too well. Remembers the feeling of euphoria like never before, followed by the nausea and spiral downwards. If you think about it, it's kind of funny, having such a visceral reaction to something you want so bad.

Once Ice has gotten down about half of the bottle and no longer looks like he's going to vomit, Maverick continues. “This—thing—between us. Fuck, Ice, I want it. I want it so bad. And I know that this might be harder for you than it is for me because of your dad but—Tom, I want this.”

He hears Ice shudder out a breath beside him. He’s been awfully quiet this entire time, and for a moment Maverick thinks he’s going to refuse him. Instead the blonde pilot places a hand on Maverick’s knee, his thumb smoothing over it through the fabric of his pants. “Damn you, Mitchell.”

He’s smiling and Maverick laughs, a full body laugh that has his shoulders shaking as he leans further into Ice’s side. It’s one of the greatest laughs Ice has ever heard in his entire life.

#top gun maverick #top gun fic #topgun maverick #top gun iceman #tom iceman kazansky #icemav #pete maverick mitchell #maverick x iceman #top gun 1986 #top gun fanfiction

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thegreygale · 1 year

Text

Munsters Origin Story rewrite: Working Title: “My Kind of Monster”:

Characters:

Annabel Wolfgang Munster

Nickname:

. Sweetpea

. Bel

Appearance:

. Long black hair with white streaks along either side of her head, usually worn up in a 60s style ponytail

. Bright, gray eyes

. Often, if not only wears a long midnight blue dress with nightshade and other poisonous flowers embroidered on it. Along with an array of bat motif necklaces.

. Is always surrounded by the scent of Lily of the valley

.Slightly green skin

. Stitches

Personality:

. Cheerful

. Sweet

. Innocent

. Dark

. Introspective

. Slightly oblivious/ blasé

. Mischievous

. Mercurial

. Loves her father but thinks he can be a bit much sometimes.

. Has an affinity and love for poisonous flowers (encouraged by Lily)

. Loves science

. Has a strained relationship with The Count at first due to his not approving of Herman but they iron it out as he learns how nice it is to share the lab with someone with thumbs.

Backstory:

Annabel was built in a lab in Transylvania by Dr. Henry Augustus Wolfgang, who she calls her grandfather, after Herman requested a companion to help with his loneliness. She was built from the parts of strong women in history. Her brain is from a famous Transylvanian suffragette; botanist ;and author, her limbs are from women athletes, her heart is from a young humanitarian, and her fingers are from a famous violinist. In 1982 when he was 30 Herman started to get lonely and reached out to Dr. Wolfgang, who had also moved to Transylvania to make sure that Herman wouldn’t cause too much trouble/property damage, and requested that he create him a pet. Unfortunately Herman ended up being allergic to the reanimated dog that he was given so instead Dr. Wolfgang decided to use his revised plans for his next try at perfecting his reanimation experiment. After multiple failed attempts Annabel Wolfgang was officially created on October 13th, 2000. In 2002 after excelling in her studies and quickly learning how to function in the world Annabel began to notice how other people she’d met had two parents instead of one, prompting her to ask her Father why she didn’t have a mom(this earned a panic attack from Herman). After meeting Lily and seeing that she and her father clearly liked each other Annabel decided to help Lily and Herman get together. After encouraging Herman to pursue Lily Annabel proceeds to bond with her prospective Grandfather over their shared love of mad science despite being at odds over the relationship between Herman and Lily. At their wedding in 2005 Herman and Lily announce that they will be moving the family to America. super close with Eddie when he’s finally born, and considers Marilyn the closest thing to an older sister that she could have. Dr. Wolfgang sent her Spot as a birthday present for her first birthday in America, stating that he had figured out how to finally give Herman a hypoallergenic pet and that she deserves something big for her first birthday overseas.

Herman Wolfgang Munster:

Appearance:

Same as the movie.

Personality:

Same as the show, but with a dash of over protective father.

Backstory:

Was made by Dr. Augustus Wolfgang in Germany in 1952. Left Germany in 1967 and moved to Transylvania now with the name Herman after an incident in which he was going through customs and the man behind the desk said “And your name is Herr…MAN ALIVE!” which Herman misheard as “Herman Alive” and corrected him that his last name was in fact Wolfgang not Alive. Of course years later he realized that he had been called “Herr Man Alive” but Herman had such a nice ring to it that he decided to keep it. Briefly joined a band called The Skeletons in the Closet in 2001. Met Lily in 2002 while playing in a small club and felt an instant connection (zinged?). Despite being resistant at first, half because he was shy and half because he was a little worried about leaving Annabel on her own at only two years old despite her maturity, after being encouraged by Annabel Herman and Lily started dating. After dating for three years Herman proposed to Lily in October 2005 and they had a Halloween wedding at Lily and The Count’s castle and Lily handled the seating since most of the family were on her side. Lily had Annabel as one of her bridesmaids along with Marilyn and her sister Phoebe Mundane as her matron of honor. After discussing behind the scenes with Lily and Phoebe Herman made the announcement at the wedding that his family along with Marilyn would be moving to America in hopes of getting a better life. Herman was honestly none too pleased when The Count, now dubbed Grandpa by Annabel, showed up on the day of their departure declaring that he would be joining them. After being called “Munster!” by the man at customs Herman decided to take that as his last name (in actuality he had been called a monster but hey). After having some trouble getting a job Herman Munster was finally able to get employment at a funeral parlor.

Casting:

Jeff Daniel Phillips

Lily Munster

Appearance:

Same as movie

Personality

Same as the show/movie minus the “60s housewife” vibe

Backstory:

Was born Lily Dracula in 1954 in Walachia, Transylvania. Growing up in Castle Dracula with her siblings, Lily grew up surrounded by love. Despite her father’s expectations of her growing up and becoming a mad scientist like him Lily chose to invest her time in music. After a series of failed romances Lily met Herman in a small club and felt an instant connection in 2002. Despite her father’s insistence that their relationship wouldn’t work Lily pursued the relationship, eventually forming a mother-daughter relationship with Annabel. After dating for three years Herman proposed to Lily in October 2005 and they had a Halloween wedding at Lily and The Count’s castle and Lily handled the seating since most of the family were on her side. Lily had Annabel as one of her bridesmaids along with Marilyn and her older sister Phoebe Mundane as her matron of honor. After discussing behind the scenes with Lily and Phoebe, Herman made the announcement at the wedding that his family along with Marilyn would be moving to America in hopes of getting a better life.

Casting:

Sheri Moon Zombie

Count Samuel Dracula, AKA: The Count

Appearance:

Same as the movie

Personality:

. Sarcastic

. Loving father but not Hotel Transylvania level protective

. Disapproving of Herman on the grounds that he’s not smart or classy enough for his daughter

. Judges Annabel at first but forms a tight bond with her while they’re working together in the lab

. Enjoy’s Igor’s company but it’s nice to have someone in the lab who has thumbs

. Very judgmental of Marilyn’s appearance because he worries about what other “monsters” will do to her if they think she’s human but still loves her dearly as before Annabel she was his only grandchild

. The only one in the family who has a little bit of an idea of the fact that they aren’t entirely normal

. Loves Lester but thinks he’s a bum and refuses to indulge him

. Wholeheartedly believes that Ann Rice ruined it for vampires because not all of them can pull off the sexy brooding vibe

Backstory:

Born in Walachia, Transylvania The Count was actually born human, being the son of a Christian father and a Jewish mother. His father was Vlad Dracula and he raised his son to be a devoted Christian, however upon being bitten by a vampire The Count was excommunicated due to the belief that he had lost his soul. The Count was bitten at the age of 22 and it was only due to his mother‘s insistence that he maintained his social standing, being given the title of Count. He met Lily and Phoebe’s mother when he was 25, shocked to have met another Vampire. He quickly became proud of his Vampirism and found himself enjoying the company of other so called monsters, especially other vampires. His wife died after giving birth to their youngest child, a werewolf named Lester(the werewolf V. Vampire genes depend on whether the mother favors the wolf or bat form while pregnant (Lily had just recently gone on a run as wolves with Grandpa and Lester before telling them about being pregnant with Eddie). This loss lead him to turn bitter and slightly vindictive, but when he meets his first grandchild, Marilyn his heart softened a little. Though as Marilyn aged and her very human appearance became more and more obvious he quickly grew concerned for her safety while she was in the company of other monsters and began to “help her look more like a witch should”. His first impression of Herman is that he’s an oaf, this causes him some issues when he learns of Lily’s affection for him. But after spending time with Annabel, or more accurately being held hostage by her in his lab he begins to change his mind about him “after all no oaf could raise such an intelligent young woman”, not that he’d ever admit it. Upon learning that Marilyn will be leaving for America with the future Munsters The Count, fearing for his granddaughter’s safety, elected to join the exodus, with or without Herman’s permission. (Loves What we do in shadows)

Casting:

Daniel Roebuck

Marilyn Mundane Munster:

Appearance:

.Long blonde hair that covers her face

. Bright, Blue eyes

. Wears a black dress with lace sleeves(bridesmaids dress)

. Wears a long, loose fitting black dress

Personality:

. Very self conscious

. Has very low confidence

. Loves her family but wishes that they were a little more accepting of her

. Considers Annabel the little sister she never had

. Wishes she could get a boyfriend

Backstory:

Marilyn Mundane is the daughter of Lily’s older sister Phoebe and a Warlock named Adam Mundane. Having been born a witch Marilyn was expected to look like a witch: warts, green skin, crooked nose, at least stringy black hair but instead she was born with pale skin, blonde hair, and bright blue eyes. This led to her family both isolating her and unintentionally tearing down her self esteem by constantly reminding her that she looks “wrong”. When Marilyn finally meets Annabel, who sees absolutely nothing wrong with her appearance she begins to gain confidence.

Casting:

Meg Donnelly

#the munsters #my kind of monster AU #lily munster #herman munster #grandpa munster #marilyn munster #my oc character #Annabel Munster

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retro-radio · 2 years

Text

Missing Piece.

Maritza took a long drag of her cigarette and leaned against the wall of the dusty and dirty alleyway behind the hardware store in their town. She was waiting for something to happen, even if it was just a dog running into a tree with a little old lady trailing after it. Trinity was probably with her ‘boyfriend ’ Maritza scoffed at the word it felt sour and foreign on her tongue. Like that one time when Ezo had dared her to eat a whole lemon when they were at a house party. She took another drag. The town was decently quiet with virtually no people around, only the wind that ruffled her shirt and hair. She had drenched herself in rose-smelling perfume for some strange reason and was regretting coming here but oh well. She'd made plenty of bad decisions in her life. Maritza was confused by the world and why she wasn’t some perfect robot the American government had tried to shape. She wasn’t a traditional girl and she was certainly not going to be a ‘housewife’ married to some man who just wanted kids. She would spit on anyone grave who dared tell her what to do with her life. Maritza stopped to think for a second she didn’t know why she didn’t want a husband or any man for that matter. Why she gagged at the thought of a boyfriend and the thought of a husband she had always felt like something was missing deep inside her. Maybe she wasn’t meant to fall in love, maybe she was never going to have that honour. She always felt jealous if she ever saw Trinity with her boyfriend or with anyone other than her. But her heart would sore and her stomach would fill with butterfly-like feelings like she was going to be sick but in a nice way if that made sense? Maritza searched in her pocket for her phone and pulled it out her lips pursed as she flicked through her contacts trying to find someone to text and maybe annoy. She flicked the bud of her cigarette against the wall the ashy paper falling away.

She brought it up for another drag when she heard a faint cough from behind her. She turned her head and spied Trinity who had streaks of mascara down her face. “Hey Mari" she said voice cracking Maritza felt her heart leap she walked forward and flicked her cigarette away she gently cupped Trinity’s cheeks he eyebrows knitted in concern. “What’s wrong? I thought you were with yo-” she was cut off by Trinity’s whose tears splashed on Maritza's hands “I…I’m not with him anymore” she took a shaky breath in and bit her lip “he cheated on me”. Maritza felt a wave of anger come over her and she grit her teeth “he what!?” she didn’t care what anyone said she was going to strangle that little good for nothing- “Mari please stop” Maritza snapped out of her racing mind and looked at Trinity who was staring at her. “Pease I don’t want any trouble”. Maritza calmed down. Tho her anger didn’t go away she leaned forward slightly and said “sorry... I just got really upset”. Trinity let out a laugh and led Maritza back into the ally and pushed her against the wall. “Anyway…” she started but trailed off “I don’t think he was the one”. Maritza froze her brain trying to process what was happening. Her stomach felt as if it was on a rollercoaster. “w-what do you mean?” she asked. Trinity smiled and cupped her cheeks and leaned in their lips meeting. Maritza melted into the kiss she tasted like ice cream and bubblegum. Trinity closed her eyes and kept kissing before they pulled apart “I think I was meant to be with you” Maritza smiled and went back in for another kiss. Love was a puzzle and Trinity was the missing piece she was the part of her that was missing.

#Martize x Trinity #They deserve love #Martize doesn't give a shit about gender norms #Boys make her gag #Trinity's boyfriend is a dickwad #lesbian #lgbtq #It's cute #Trinity is bi and Martize is just gay #Both need some happiness #smoking #cheating #no one here is straight #allyway #make out

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doppopoppo · 3 years

Note

Could I get uhhhhh number 5 with Usahara? Pls and thank

Perfect Match?

|| Usahara Daily Headcanon ||

|| Warnings: None ||

|| Usahara • GN!Reader ||

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*💖

Part of the Halloween costume party guideline was to wear face masks. Something about “hiding our identities” said Derkida. However, it was extremely easy to recognize some of my coworkers even with their masks. Uramichi’s desolate demeanor seeped through any disguise honestly. Kikaku was well, Kikaku. While Utano rejected the game since she already has a boyfriend. I’m sure she could’ve still joined the fun but no ones interested in dancing with someone they may not know.

I wasn’t sure where Kumatani and Usahara were, so I did my best to find someone of their height. Who knew we had rather tall coworkers. Sitting alone at the table became boring and watching Utano cry while singing was plain sad. Fortunately, not long after the questionnaires were distributed to us.

I wonder what kind of answer Uramichi or Eddie would give. I rather lie and get paired up with them than someone I didn’t know. Or Uebu, but I can’t even tell if he came or not.

What quality do you think is best in a partner?

- Honesty - Humor - Charm

What aspect should a partner have?

- Money -Loyalty - Cooking skills

What do you do during your free time?

- Play games - Read class novels - Go out

Do you like savory or sweet?

- Savory - Sweet

Favorite animal?

- Cat - Dog - Bunny - Bear

Do you prefer tea or coffee?

- Tea - Coffee

That wasn’t too bad. Though I might’ve lied about one or two things, maybe three. I just wanted to put whatever answers Uramichi might’ve put honestly. Maybe he wouldn’t have put ‘bunny,’ but a cat. They’re a lot less work to take care of. Ugh, whoever I get I just hope they’re not a creep.

“Okay! Well reveal the matchups!” Utano cheerfully announced.

Someone sitting on your table sighed, “can we just get this over with?”

‘You and I both, buddy. You and I both.’ I thought to myself.

Everyone received a little card with a number on it. Whoever has the matching number is your partner for the night. I walked around and spotted Uramichi hiding behind a plant by the corner. I quickly walked strutted over, hoping he had the same number as I did. He looked so defeated despite doing nothing and nothing happened to him.

“What number do you have?” I peaked over his buff arm.

“26417…” he sighed. “You?” He looked my way.

I felt deflated, “26465.” So close!

“Good luck.” He patted my back.

“Thanks. Scoot over a little. Your arm is sticking out.” I walked away.

I leaned against the stairs railing. Not bad, I rather hangout by myself than dance with a stranger. I felt someone standing next to me.

“Trouble finding your partner?” He spoke. His voice sounded calming.

“Yup.” I answered. “Same here.” He ruffled his hair.

Under the dark lights, it was difficult to tell what color it was. I couldn’t figure out which one of my coworkers I was speaking to.

“What’s your number?” I bet he was trying his shot. Might as well. What are the odds anyway?

“26465.” I told him. “You're smiling and I’m scared to find out why.” I backed away a little.

He showed me his card. I sucked in my breath, “I’m 26465 too!”

I chuckled nervously, “what are the odds…”

“Well, shall we dance, partner?” He bowed.

At least he’s a gentleman, “sure.”

At least he wasn’t a bad dancer. So far I’m having a pleasant time on the dance floor. He complimented my dancing which is a plus point. Except maybe not that smugness weaves into his tone.

When the slow song came on, some partners decided to do the traditional slow dance while others proceeded to dance woth some distance. Good choice, never know who you’re dancing with. Unfortunately, 26465 decided to pull me in. All I could do is offer him a tight smile. While dancing, the spotlights began moving around. That’s when I caught a glimpse of his hair. Blonde streaks! There’s only one guy I know with blonde streaks at the work and it’s the last hopping boy I wanted to be paired with!

I pulled on his arm and tugged him to the corner by a plant. “Usahara??” I whispered yelled.

“Shhh, Y/N, it’s supposed to be a secret.” Usahara shushed me. Wait a minute. “You know it’s me?” I stared at him bewildered.

“Of course I recognize that figure and dancing skills anywhere, Dancer oneechan~.” He cood at me. How could I have not noticed sooner?

“How’d I even get paired with you?” I groaned.

“We put the same exact answers.” He replied ecstatically.

“But you gamble!” I pointed out. “How could you have put ‘honesty’ as a trait for someone. And ‘reading classic novels’?? You don’t read.” I tapped my foot.

“I lied okay.” He admitted. “I just wanted to be paired with someone good. And I was.” He smiled.

I blushed but that didn’t mean it was okay to lie. Well… I lied too, “fine. I guess we’re both in the same coffin. I lied too.” I sheepishly admitted. “It’s our lie that matched us up!” Usahara jokes.

From the corner behind the plant, Uramichi sulks as hears how awful Usahara’s pick up lines are. He prays for Y/N’s safety and hopes her common sense stays intact after tonight.

Author’s Note:

GUESS WHOS BACK FROM THE PITS OF DEATH CUTIES!!! A decent writer, that’s who! I’m back for a bit, school and interning really drained it out of me.

It’s finals and I’m almost done so what better way to celebrate then to use my newly found free time to finish up the extremely overdue requests! I’m sorry a few of you didn’t get your requests in time for Spooktober.

I do have a few more left to post, after that I’ll be taking more requests! I’ll have the free time to handle it. I hope you’re all still enjoying yourselves and have been well ^_^ please feel free to send me any asks in my inbox (not requests) but perhaps questions and such. Would love to interact with my followers! 🥺 can be about anything related to anime or a simple how are you!

Enjoy! 💖

#life lesson with uramichi oniisan #usahara tobikichi #life lessons with uramichi #usahara x reader #uramichi omota #daga iketeru #uramichi #kumatani mitsuo #kikaku hanbee #anime x reader #uebu saito #usahara tobikicki headcanon #big brother uramichi

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ghostinthelibrarywrites · 3 years

Note

For the prompts, could you do Eskel/Triss with number 9?

9. "I fed your pets while you were away."

Triss still isn’t sure what she was thinking when she offered to watch her best friend’s brother-in-law’s animals for a week while he was on a trip with his brothers and his niece. Well, she knows what she was thinking. Hngh, which is usually the only thought in her mind when presented with Eskel’s sweet smile and his shoulders and his low, deep voice. Still, she’s not sure why she thought this would be no different from offering to watch Geralt’s dog, Roach, once in a while. Eskel has a small farm, including a dozen chickens, four goats, two horses, and a passel of barn cats.

It would probably be labor intensive, but not overly stressful, if not for Lil Bleater.

“Spirited,” Eskel called her before he left, which was apparently code for “an escape artist from hell.”

Lil Bleater has gotten loose three times in the week Triss has been watching the farm. This latest time, she got into the neighbor’s compost heap. Triss makes her way back to Eskel’s house with an armful of filthy, smug goat, her dress covered in muck and things she doesn’t even want to think about matted in her curls.

Which would all be bad enough if she didn’t arrive to find Eskel climbing out of his truck.

“You’re back early!” Triss’s voice comes out far too high pitched. Eskel wasn’t supposed to be back until the morning, after Triss already had all the animals fed and the bra she has drying on a hook in the bathroom packed away.

“Yeah, Ciri got a touch of food poisoning, so we wrapped it up a day early.” Eskel’s gaze flickers between Lil Bleater and Triss. “I tried calling you.”

Triss thinks of her phone, probably sitting on the kitchen table next to the relaxing glass of wine she was indulging in when she saw the telltale streak of brown and white dashing across the yard. “I was otherwise occupied.”

“I can see that.” With a sigh, Eskel lifts the little goat from Triss’ arms. His knuckles brush her forearm and she feels the touch throughout her entire body. “Bleats, I thought you’d grown out of this.”

The goat looks entirely unrepentant.

“I hope she wasn’t too much trouble,” Eskel adds to Triss.

Triss’ brain seems to have shorted out at the sound of a gorgeous man with an adorable, albeit filthy, goat cradled against his strong chest. “Not at all.”

“Don’t think I believe you.” Eskel flashes that sweet, crooked smile of his.

Triss’ own lips tug into a grin in response. “You shouldn’t.”

Eskel chuckles. “Come inside and I can order dinner while you clean up, if you’d like. Seems like the least I can do.”

There’s a glint of something that looks like hope in his eyes and Triss feels an answering spark in her chest. “I already opened a bottle of wine.”

His smile widens. “Perfect.”

Maybe pet sitting won’t be such a disaster after all.

#the witcher #trisskel #eskel x triss #triss x eskel #eskel/triss #triss/eskel #eskel #triss merigold #my writing #prompt fills

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heliads · 4 years

Text

Goodbye in C Minor

Luke Patterson was dating this incredible girl, Y/N, until he died along with Alex and Reggie. Now that he’s been stuck in the present day, he doesn’t know how to move on from the girl he left behind in the 90s.

masterlist

A girl leans against an open doorway. She takes in the band playing around her, the black and white Sunset Curve banners streaked with color. Her eyes flash over all members of the band in turn, but they tend to linger on the lead singer, a boy with a shock of brown hair and enough passion for an entire band of his own.

In fact, he doesn’t even notice that the girl has arrived until the song ends and he looks up, finally snapped out of his reverie. Instantly, a smile shoots across his face and he jogs over to her, unslinging his guitar strap from around his shoulders and setting the instrument down on a nearby stand. He picks her up and twirls her around in the air. The girl laughs, and her eyes meet his again once her feet touch back down on the ground.

One of the boys from the band shouts something to her from across the studio, his voice hopeful. “Did you bring us lunch?” The girl turns to face them, attention finally diverted from her boyfriend. She holds up a plastic bag full of boxed containers. “I did! Takeout, hope you don’t mind. And yes, Bobby, some are vegetarian.” A light-haired boy, Alex, does a silent fist pump. “You’re the best, Y/N. Honestly.”

Y/N hands the bag of food over to the hungry bandmates, and all except one hurriedly dig in. Luke stays, interlacing his fingers with Y/N’s. “You didn’t have to do that, you know.” Y/N waves his concern away. “I absolutely did. You’ve gotten me into the Orpheum for your upcoming show, the least I can do is make sure you’re all properly fed. If I can’t help with music, I can at least help with this.”

Luke grins. “Trust me, I think the food is the best thing ever. By the way, Reggie wants me to tell you that we’ll invite you to every show on the planet if it means he keeps getting free lunch. Although technically you don’t have to worry about that- I want you by my side every step of the way, lunch or no lunch.” Y/N laughs. “That’s one of the most romantic things I’ve heard all week. Maybe you should put that into a new song. ‘I’ll love you even if you don’t bring me takeout.’”

Luke pouts, and Y/N giggles at his mock sadness. “I’m kidding. Mostly.” Luke leans forward to kiss Y/N. “You had better be.” From across the room, Alex yells something at them. “If you guys keep making out in the middle of practice we’re going to ban you from the studio.” Y/N waves her hand at him. “I brought you food, you can’t ban me! I’m too important to the future of the band.” Reggie shrugs. “She’s right, you know. We might starve.” Alex swats him on the shoulder, and Y/N turns back to Luke with a slight smile.

“I can’t believe you’re playing at the Orpheum in a week. That’s so exciting!” Luke nods fervently. “Sometimes it doesn’t even feel real. Like I’ll wake up and find out we were actually booked to some other place, not the actual Orpheum.” Y/N smiles at him. “You’re going to do great, and that’s final. I can’t wait to see you guys perform.” Luke absentmindedly runs his fingers over Y/N’s knuckles, tapping out the beats of half-written songs. “I know we’ll do great. I’ve got my muse. All of my songs are about you, you know that.” Y/N raises an eyebrow. “Even ‘My Name is Luke?’” Luke groans. “Okay, maybe not that one. Almost all of my songs are about you. How about that?” Y/N beams at her boyfriend. “That sounds perfect.”

Luke jolts back to reality. He’s still standing in that same studio, but he’s back to the present day. He’s not in the 90s anymore, and it’s been decades since he was writing songs with Sunset Curve, preparing to take on the Orpheum for the first time. He’s standing in the exact same place as that one memory, when he’d been talking to her. They’d both been so happy, so exhilarated at the prospect of Sunset Curve’s Orpheum performance. Neither of them had known that Luke, Alex, and Reggie would die that night, permanently taking Luke away from everything he knew best. Away from her.

There’s a slight motion next to him, and Luke freezes before remembering that he’s not alone in the studio. Alex has just walked up beside him, although his friend’s gaze softens when he sees the troubled look on Luke’s face. “You’re thinking about her, aren’t you? You’re thinking about Y/N.” Luke sighs. “Yeah. I just- I can’t believe that all this time had passed. She isn’t here with us, and she didn’t eat those street dogs, so she must not have died. That means she grew up and she’s probably older now. I don’t know what to think about that.”

Alex nods slowly, placing his hand on Luke’s shoulder in a show of comfort. “We left so much behind that it’s hard to think about. If you ever want anyone to talk to, you know we’re all here. Julie too, although that might be more of a difficult conversation.” Luke blows out a slow breath. “That’s the problem. Things are going so well with Julie and the new band and everything that I feel like I should be happier, and I am, and then-” His voice trails off. Alex finishes the sentence for him. “And then you remember what life used to be like.”

Luke walks over to a photo tacked onto the wall. Julie had found some old snapshots of Sunset Curve and set them out in the studio. They were nice to see, but sometimes they tended to hurt instead of inspiring fond memories. One in particular catches his eye- the band and a couple of friends, mere hours before the Sunset Curve show at the Orpheum. It’s a faded Polaroid, showing a group of beaming teenagers pointing up at the Orpheum’s sign glowing in neon lights above them. Look what we’re about to do, they seem to say, look what we never got to finish.

Luke’s eye strays on the far right corner. He’s standing there, arm wrapped around a girl. Y/N. They’re both smiling, although in this shot neither of them are looking at the camera. Instead, they’re both turned towards each other, as if delighted by the simple fact that both of them are together. Luke remembers the details of that night in perfect clarity. They’d all arrived at the Orpheum and taken the photo, and then the boys had headed back to begin their sound checks. Y/N had watched them perform, making friends with a girl who worked at the venue. Rose, who Luke now knows is Julie’s mother.

Y/N always had this easy way of making friends. One smile, a few words, and it was like she’d known a stranger all their life. She and Rose had both cheered when Sunset Curve had finished their warmups, and then looked down at her watch in surprise. She’d said something about how she had to run and do some final checks with the venue staff, and she’d be right back. Y/N had kissed Luke quickly before dashing out the door with a promise that she’d be back in a second. Luke, Alex, and Reggie had disappeared down the block to get some street dogs. By the time Y/N had gotten back, papers and signatures held triumphantly in her hand, it was too late.

Luke doesn’t know what happened after that. He’s not positive that Y/N was there when he died, maybe arriving a few minutes after the fact. He’s not sure if that makes it better or not- although she’d be furious with herself for not being there to save him, Luke knows there was nothing she could have done. Would it have hurt more to be next to him, unable to do anything but watch as he breathed his last, or to have missed the entire thing? He supposes Y/N has had years to think the issue over.

Luke turns away from the photograph. His legs are itching to take him away, his heart racing to find something to do. The band doesn’t have practice today, so there’s nothing to distract him from the awful loneliness beating against his chest. He has to do something to get away from all of this, from the memories and the photographs and the knowledge that he had left the girl he loved behind and there was nothing to do to get her back. Luke mumbles something to Alex about how he’s going to take a walk, then poofs out of the studio, no clear destination in mind.

Luke reappears in the middle of a path. At first, he’s not quite sure where he is. There’s a line of pavement under his feet, leading away in front of him. Spring green boughs wave overhead, framing the way before him. The trees eventually clear out to form a clearing, and only then does Luke realize where he is. It’s the local cemetery, the place where all of Luke’s family have been buried. The place where surely he, too, lies at rest. His head must have some twisted sense of humor to bring him here.

Luke wavers one last moment, then decides to take off down the path. He’s never actually visited his own grave, as it seemed too morbid an activity to actually set out and do, but if he’s already here he might as well see it. There’s some sort of curiosity affixed to seeing your own headstone, weird as that may be, and at least now he can glance at it once and forget about it.

Luke passes between the long lines of gravestones, reading through the names. It’s late afternoon, and there’s almost nobody here at all. At least, there isn’t anybody here except one woman, who’s crouching before a headstone in the middle of the cemetery. On second thought, she appears to be around the place where Luke’s family is buried. As he walks over, he realizes that this woman is actually next to his grave.

She’s speaking quietly. “Nothing much happened today, but it’s a Saturday, so I had to drop by anyway.” Her head drops. “You’ve been gone for 25 years. Can you believe that? 25. I miss you still.” A bittersweet smile cracks her lips, and Luke’s heart twists at the pain in her voice. “I have children now. They’re just beginning to enter double digits. At some point, they’ll be older than you. I wish you could have met them, Luke. I think you’d like them a lot.”

Luke’s head flies up when she says his name. The way she said it sounded so familiar, like he’s heard this woman before. Like he knows her, and knows her very well. The woman freezes slightly- she must have seen his small motion out of the corner of her eye. But that doesn’t make sense, because lifers aren’t supposed to see ghosts like Luke. Yet the woman still stands, lightly brushing dirt off of her legs. “Sorry, I’ll get out of your way. Didn’t see you there.”

The woman turns to face Luke, and her eyes widen. She stands for a moment, staring, and then her voice comes again, faltering and weak. “Luke?” She looks away from him, studying her own hands as if expecting them to be ghostly and translucent. “But you’re dead. How can you be here- Am I dead?” Luke shakes his head. “No, you’re not dead. I mean, I am, but I’m a, uh, ghost. You’re not a ghost. At least I don’t think so.” Luke’s voice trails off when the woman looks at him again. When she’s finally turned towards him, her face seems so familiar. It takes him a moment, and then he realizes who she is. “Y/N.”

It has to be her. There’s no way around it. Indeed, the second her name passes through his lips he knows it’s true. The Y/N standing before him is far older now, maybe in her late thirties or early forties. That would make sense, wouldn’t it? They were teenagers when he died, and if it’s been 25 years since then, she would have to be older. A slight lump forms in Luke’s throat. What would it have been like if he hadn’t died? Would he have been like this too? Would they have grown old together?

Y/N rubs a hand over her face as if in shock. “This makes no sense. I mean, you sound just like yourself and everything but-” Luke laughs quietly. “But ghosts aren’t real.” Y/N gestures loosely with her hand. “Exactly.” Her eyes flicker over him again, taking in every detail of his face as if committing it to memory. This small action itself is so strange to see- Luke remembers Y/N doing this at shows and practices, and it doesn’t feel right to see this similarity in a version of Y/N that is so much older, especially when Luke himself is still a teenager.

Luke’s voice is quiet. “Do you always visit my grave?” Y/N nods. “Every other Saturday. I think your mom and dad come all the time too. I try to give them some space.” She looks back at him, as if she can understand what he’s thinking. “We haven’t moved on so easily. There was a time right after you died when I thought we never would. I didn’t see how the earth could keep turning without my boys. And then the years kept passing by, and although the pain never got any easier we learned how to be happy too, how to keep the grief but remember you with brighter memories instead.”

She smiles, although her eyes are tinged with pain. “I’m married now.” She holds up her hand, and Luke’s gaze is drawn to the ring on her finger. “I think you’d like him a lot. We have two children, a boy and a girl. They know your parents well, we get together all the time. They supported me when I was in over my head, they pulled me out of a well when I was drowning in grief. I check in on them, and they check in on me. We were trying to do right by you.”

Luke feels like his legs are about to collapse underneath him. To see Y/N like this, so much older and calmer, feels like an earthquake tearing him apart. He doesn’t know why, but some part of him had almost assumed that she wouldn’t grow old either, that if he looked hard enough he could find her and they could be the same again. He knows now that he was wrong, although the sight of Y/N is still so reflexively exhilarating that he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

Luke forces himself to speak. “Are you- are you happy? Now, with your family?” Y/N nods, a radiant smile breaking out across her face. “I’m incredibly happy. Things are good now, and they’re going to keep being good for a very long time.” She looks at him, seeing the questions he’s too afraid to ask. “I’m sorry that things happened the way they did. I would have liked nothing more than to see you shine on that stage and have your star career the way that we always planned. I have a feeling that you’ve got a new chance now, a way to move on. I’d take it. You’ve always been able to stay on your feet and keep running forward. Don’t let that go.”

Luke nods. “Thank you, Y/N.” They exchange their goodbyes and then Luke disappears back into the trees. After a moment or two of walking, he poofs back into the studio. Luke walks on leaden limbs towards his songwriting notebook, flinging it open and reaching for a pencil. He turns to one page in particular, a song he’d begun writing for Y/N a few days before their performance at the Orpheum. He changes some lines, adds new chords, transposes the song from a major to a minor key. He doesn’t know how long he sits there, but when he looks up at last, the song is finished.

The title sits at the top, a blurry gray after recent erasings. ‘Goodbye in C Minor.’ The beautiful start to a love he never got to see through.

#luke patterson #luke patterson imagine #luke patterson x reader #luke patterson imagines #jatp #jatp imagine #jatp x reader #jatp imagines #jatp oneshot #luke patterson oneshot #jatp luke #jatp luke imagine #jatp luke x reader #jatp luke imagines #jatp luke oneshot

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ikeromantic · 3 years

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Mad Dogs

A Mitsuhide Akechi fanfiction. This scene occurs at the start of Ch. 12 in the romantic route! Approx. 2600 words.

First: Mitsuhide and the Maiden

Previous: Keeping Secrets

Mitsuhide sat beside his little mouse, sharing space at the desk in their rooms. A packet of letters sat open in front of him, missives from Kyubei and his distant intelligence network. They were closing in on the shogun’s location. Ashikaga’s hiding spot was down to two holes he might have crawled into. Both had features to recommend them.

Nearness to reliable roads, distance from well-maintained lands. Space to accommodate his collected forces. Mitsuhide closed his eyes in thought.

“I’ll ask for some tea,” his little one said, and gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek.

“I thought I was the mindreader,” he smiled.

She laughed softly. “Another skill I learned from you, hm?”

Mitsuhide felt a burst of warmth, and would have pulled her into his arms had he not caught the soft chime of bells on the stairs below. His smile turned sharp as he stood, placing himself between the door and his beloved.

“What -” she started to ask, interrupted by the door sliding open and the sound of a harsh, wild laugh.

“Motonari works fast,” Mitsuhide muttered. “This will be our next ally.” He hoped. This meeting was an even bigger risk than Mouri had been.

He heard her whisper under her breath. “I hope we get a cleric. Someone with a lawful alignment, at least.” It was an odd thing to say, but strangely accurate, considering.

“Special delivery,” Motonari called out as he entered the room and presented the figure behind him.

“I assume you’ve called me here to perform your last rites, Mitsuhide Akechi.” Kennyo’s voice was low and smooth. Like an underground river, steadily dissolving the stone. Unstoppable, unchanging. He was as solid as ever, his wide shoulders filled the doorway. His mouth was set in a grim line, and his eyes were twin fires, giving heat but no light.

Mitsuhide met his gaze, acknowledging the shared history of violence between them. “Welcome, Abbot. I have been looking forward to this meeting.”

The chatelaine’s eyes went from Kennyo to Motonari, clearly trying to weigh the greater threat. She lingered on the monk, her eyebrows rising with a flash of recognition.

Mitsuhide wondered what she was thinking. Was it only surprise at seeing the man in person after all the rumors and stories she’d heard about the Abbot? Or did she have yet another secret she hadn’t shared with him? The need to know was a dangerous distraction and he worked to force his attention back to the immediate problem. “My dear, you should wait next door.”

She stubbornly shook her head. “I’m staying right here.”

He wanted to argue with her but Mouri dismissed the problem of her presence. “Forget the girl, kitsune. Let’s get to business, savvy?”

Kennyo’s glare rolled from Mitsuhide to Motonari. “I am not here for business.” He pulled his prayer staff apart, revealing the slim, sharp blade hidden within.

Mitsuhide pulled his own sword the second he caught the reflected lamplight in its metallic sheen. It was a good thing he did as he only barely managed to block the Abbot’s strike. “What a very sensible weapon.” He gave the monk a tight smile.

“I am not here to listen to you talk,” Kennyo growled. “I am here to send you to hell where you belong!” His advance was like a boulder coming down the side of a mountain. Inexorable.

The monk brought the blunt end of his staff up. Mitsuhide caught the blow on the flat of his blade, but the force of it shivered up his arm and left him open. Open to the glistening tip of Kennyo’s sword as it swept toward his throat.

The chatelaine lurched forward, her hands flying up as if to stop the monk’s sword.

Mitsuhide moved back and the strike that would have killed him only left a small pearl of blood at his throat. His attention wasn’t on the wound or even his near-death blow. It was on his little one, who stood awkwardly in the midst of drawn blades, her hands still extended. “Get back, now,” he shouted, his voice cracking with panic held barely in check.

If she was hurt . . . if . . . he couldn’t finish the thought. His little mouse turned her head to look at him but didn’t follow his order. Mitsuhide grabbed her arm and pulled her behind him and into a corner. With a wall on two sides, leaving him a smaller area to guard.

Kennyo’s scar pulled at his face, twisting the grim smile he now wore. “You are afraid, Akechi. Good. May your death bring a measure of peace to your victims.” The Abbot prepared for another strike.

Motonari’s shrill laugh split the tense air. “Come on! Yer not tryin’ ta leave me outta the fun, are ya?” He pulled his sword in one hand and his pistol in the other. His grin was manic and feral as he looked between possible targets.

Mitsuhide felt sick with anxiety. Against one madman, he was sure he could keep his little one safe. Against two? And one armed with a pistol? He would need to disarm or kill Mouri first. Kennyo was a deadly opponent, but predictable. The move would leave him open to the monk, but made it less likely that his beloved would be hurt. He shifted his stance, readying himself.

“Thanks fer gettin’ the party started.” Motonari laughed again. “I was feelin’ lonely over here.”

Mitsuhide leapt at Mouri, giving the pirate no time to move into a better position. But Kennyo wasn’t going to wait for his turn.

The Abbot stepped between Motonari and Mitsuhide, shoving the kitsune warlord back. “I will not be cheated of your death!”

Mouri struck at the monk, forcing Kennyo to turn and block his blade.

Mitsuhide took advantage of the distraction, knocking the pistol from Motonari’s grip. The sharp edge of his sword left the skin of Mouri’s hand split open and weeping redly. He chanced a look back at his beloved. She hadn’t budged from her spot in the corner. “Run!” Mitsuhide kicked Mouri’s pistol further from him. “Run while you can!”

The pirate laughed even louder, moving as quick as an eel to dodge Kennyo and turn his aggression toward Mitsuhide.

The chatelaine shook herself from her shock and darted around the edge of the fray. Mitsuhide felt a spike of worry but in a moment she’d reach the door, and safety. But before she was out of danger, she stopped, turned.

Mitsuhide recognized the expression on her face. Naive resolve. That stubborn streak he loved and hated.

Instead of running, she shoved herself into the middle of the combat. “STOP! Stop fighting this instant!”

Motonari’s cackle rose in volume and pitch as he laughed at her bold - and foolish - move. But Kennyo’s sword armed dropped.

“That’s right! You heard me! Cut it out!”

That was perhaps not the best choice of words, Mitsuhide thought. But it seemed to work. At least, it brought a moment of calm as the monk and the pirate watched her. He calculated his next move should they resume the attack. At this distance, he could easily get his little one out the door, though it would leave him painfully open. Worth it, but he’d take a wound or two. Probably not enough to kill him. Not quickly. Plenty of time to take them both down . . .

The chatelaine put her fists to her hips, staring them down. Even Mouri felt the weight of her disapproval. His laughter died off. “You. Are acting like children. I thought this was a meeting of men.” One hand rose, finger extended like a weapon toward the Abbot. “And you! Aren’t you a monk? Attacking your host?” Her voice was hot with outrage. “Where are your manners?”

Kennyo took a step back, his eyes wide. “Are you . . . rebuking me?”

Her lips were set in a firm line, cheeks red with anger. Hot eyes swept Mitsuhide and Mouri up together. “And you! Don’t think this doesn’t apply to you. Did you want help? Or not?”

Had they not had an audience - and a deadly one at that - Mitsuhide would have kissed her. Battle-lust still sang in his veins and all that energy needed an outlet. He could imagine crushing her against the wall, his lips taking hers while his hands tore open that kimono to . . . he coughed. His little one was . . . entirely . . . too distracting.

She seemed oblivious to his thoughts as she crossed her arms. “Well? You have about three seconds to put up your weapons and prove to me that you are men. Otherwise I’ll - I’ll turn this party right around!”

Motonari’s lips turned up in a muted smile, unusual for him. Mitsuhide did not like the light in Mouri’s eyes as he regarded the chatelain. After a long moment of silence, the pirate sheathed his sword and picked his pistol up.

He put his own blade away and heard Kennyo do the same. He chuckled as she watched them obey her order. “To think, after everything it is you that now lectures me.” He bowed to her and then to his guests.

“Perfect,” she chirped, flashing the three men a tight smile. “I’ll get some tea.”

Mitsuhide could tell by the way she stepped toward the door that she was a breath away from falling over. Her firmness was an act. Convincing, but short-lived. He caught her by the elbow and helped her to the door.

She leaned against him taking strength from his closeness.

He kissed her cheek and whispered. “I am sorry to put you in danger like that. It seems I - I lost my cool.”

“It’s because of me, isn’t it? You never let anything disturb you before.” Her troubled expression broke his heart.

“No,” he shook his head. “I don’t want you to think about that. My actions are mine alone. Only I bear any blame.” He bit at his lip before continuing. “I couldn’t handle seeing someone pull a weapon so close to you.”

Behind them, Kennyo cleared his throat. “Who is this young girl, Akechi?”

Mitsuhide turned, his arm still around his little mouse. “She is a princess of the Oda, the chatelaine of Azuchi castle and my - my fiancee.”

“Your . . .” The Abbot’s expression was one of surprise. His hard eyes focused on the chatelaine. “Young lady. I have a question for you.”

Motonari leaned back on the wall, looking as if this had been the outcome he wanted all along. “Finally ready to talk, eh?”

“Quiet. I’m not speaking to you.” Kennyo’s gaze did not waver. “Why are you here, girl? With Mitsuhide Akechi on the dawn of his march against the shogun?”

With a deep breath, the chatelaine stood up straight, removing herself from the warmth and support Mitsuhide offered. She met the Abbot’s eyes without flinching. “Officially, I’m here to get in Mitsuhide’s way. To stop him from being reckless.” She smiled wistfully. “At least, that’s my job until the battle starts. But up to that moment, I plan to be by his side.”

“I see.” Kennyo’s gravelled voice sounded uncertain, a tone that rarely came from the demon-monk.

“If you’re done talking to my lit - ah, my fiancee, I’d like to speak with you about my proposal,” Mitsuhide interrupted.

The Abbot’s expression hardened. “I have put down my weapon at the request of this young woman. Do not take that for interest in whatever game you play, kitsune.”

Mitsuhide glanced at Mouri in annoyance. “I had hoped your former ally would put a little more effort into persuading you.”

“Pfft. Be thankful I even brought ‘im,” Motonari snorted.

Kennyo’s squared his shoulders. “I am leaving. Be warned that when I see you again, I will not show mercy.”

“Please. A moment more, Abbot Kennyo.” Mitsuhide thought courtesy and respect would buy him just a little more time to soften the monk to his plot. “You have reason to disdain an alliance with me, but you share a need to see the shogun dead.”

The Abbot raised one eyebrow.

“Your follower, the one killed in the Azuchi dungeons?” Mitsuhide assumed Kennyo would remember the recent loss. He saw the Abbot give a slight nod. “He was murdered on Ashikaga’s orders. Yoshiaki used that death to try and make it seem that you and I were connected.”

Kennyo’s low growl sounded more demon than man.

The chatelaine nodded agreement. “Yes, that’s right. He admitted it at Honno-ji.”

Mitsuhide watched the Abbot carefully. This was delicate work. “That death came after days of gruesome torture as he was forced to lie, and falsely confess we were allies.”

“Why . . . why are you telling me what I already know?” The words tore from the Abbot’s throat, a rumble of warning like the snarl of a rabid dog.

This would either win him to their side or provoke a renewed attack. Mitsuhide took a small step forward, just to make sure he could easily push his little one out the door if it came to that. “What other agents of yours might the shogun already know about? Perhaps another spy in the Oda forces? One my informants tell me is currently pursuing the shogun as we speak?” The image of bright, troubled eyes and a sweet smile accompanied the words as Mitsuhide thought on the subject of their discussion.

The Abbot’s expression shifted to one of surprise and barely suppressed rage.

Yes. Now they had him. Mitsuhide kept his expression neutral. “I am right, am I not? Your faithful pet, the one you snuck into Azuchi some time ago . . . he is the one you’ve set to hunt the shogun.”

Mouri chuckled. “Damn. You even know about the kid, huh?”

“You hellspawn,” Kennyo rumbled. He grabbed Mitsuhide by his clothes and lifted him up as if to shake him.

Mitsuhide knew he’d won this round. “Perhaps? But as you may know, my memory is quite poor. I find myself often confused . . . forgetting all kinds of things . . .” The Abbot had only to accept his defeat now. “I suspect that as long as I have proper allies in my fight against the shogun, this little detail will have quite escaped me by the time I return to Azuchi.”

Kennyo did shake him then. Still refusing to see the inevitable conclusion of this meeting.

“Abbot . . . tell me, didn’t you come tonight because your own fight against Ashikaga was going harder than you expected? Didn’t you wish for some assistance? Be honest with yourself, if not with me.”

Motonari straightened. “Come on, Kennyo. It’s not like yer marryin’ the kitsune. This is all just temporary. We can kill Akechi the second we put the shogun down.”

“You are both vile men.” The Abbot lowered Mitsuhide to the ground and released his grip.

“An’ vicious, mad, bloodthirsty,” Mouri went on, his grin widening until his teeth shone.

Mitsuhide straightened his clothes. “Yes. We are all birds of a feather. And to kill a man who barely grants others their place as fellow humans, it falls to monsters like ourselves.”

Kennyo’s nod of agreement was barely a tilt of his chin. “Do not expect camaraderie from me. The moment the shogun’s head leaves his neck, I will again seek Nobunaga’s life. And yours.” The twin fires of his eyes burned like banked coals.

“Your terms are accepted. Now. We have much planning to do.” At that, the three sat on the floor, together, but apart. Hands near weapons, tense shoulders, and terse words.

“I’ll ah, go get that tea then,” the chatelaine mumbled.

Mitsuhide flashed her a small smile. He was so proud of her. And so troubled by her. How could one little mouse leave him such a mess?

Next: Unexpected Gifts

#ikemen sengoku #ikesen mitsuhide #ikesen motonari #ikesen kennyo #Mitsuhide Akechi #otome boys #otome #fanfiction #fanfic

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dark9896 · 2 years

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Little Dragon [Dog x Reader & Pokémon AU]

This sweet little fic was requested by anonymous 🍎

You couldn't help but feel a little nervous during the car ride to the prison. Sure, you were safe, but Dog's boss was still the intimidating sort. Not that Klaus would hurt you, he was just so dang tall and quiet. He wasn't menacing, but you definitely didn't want to see him in a bad mood.

And even approaching him to ask if he could arrange for you to even see Dog today had been nerve wracking. Though this wasn't a normal visit, no. Those happened at least once a month, but you couldn't trust yourself to not forget by the time you'd be able to visit. Not to mention that Warden Alice probably wouldn't like you randomly giving Dog any Pokémon without her permission first.

So it was safest to ask Mr. Reinherz about it when you noticed him at that little café, and thankfully he had been in a good mood. And walking down the hall, shoulder to shoulder with the warden while she talked to Klaus... complained really. You couldn't help but feel a little guilty.

"Honestly, how did I let you talk me into this one Klaus?" She scoffed, "Another Pokémon for the double S class prisoner."

"Is it truly right to punish Dog for what Deldro has done?" His tone was even as ever, "Especially in matters like this? [Name] has submitted the Applin for several security tests to ensure neither could escape by using the little Pokémon itself."

"Yes I know!" Alice was rather snippy about this, "But this isn't exactly a place for Pokémon to be either."

The more it went on the worst you felt. You knew Dog technically shouldn't have Pokémon at all, and that he had willingly given himself over to serve Deldro's life sentence. That you were acting more on desire than anything else and causing problems between Mr. Reinherz and Miss Alice, especially with Mr. Reinherz almost constantly defending you.

But it was too late to turn back, that would make things worse. And you didn't want this to be for nothing.

Entering a large open room by yourself, a room you were sadly familiar with because of Dog's good nature. But getting squeezed in a hug by your lover was always worth it. Knowing he chose to be here for the right reasons.

"Sugar Cube!" Dog's voice had a weirdly deep echo with you pressed against his chest, "What is it? Did something happen?"

You shook your head, sort of nuzzling into his chest. Barely able to raise your arms to put your hands around his waist because of how he pinned your shoulders.

"Warden said you requested this visit. So something must be up."

"I just wanted to give you a Pokémon." You finally drew back, "Since this month is our anniversary and all."

Dog's adorable smile could melt steel, you were sure of it.

"And they're okay with this?"

You nodded, pulling the Pokeball from your bag, "I made sure it could pass all the security tests already and got the a-okay."

He was a bit nervous to see what kind of Pokémon you had in mind, but Dog knew that if you were the one giving it to him then he would cherish it forever. And in releasing the Pokémon...

Dog gasped at the tiny, shiny Applin in his palm. It was hardly taller than his fingers and looked so cute with its green apple shell. Though Dog could see the tiny red streaks at the base, some Pokémon had traces of their 'normal' colorings after all.

"Dewbear, you didn't have to go through the trouble of hunting down a shiny!" Dog had swept you back up in a tight hug, "It's so cute!"

You sighed a little in contentment, "It was purely luck that I found a shiny honey. I had barely entered the forest and this little guy popped right out. He was so sweet and friendly I immediately thought of you."

Setting you back on the ground and letting the Applin crawl up to his shoulder, Dog nuzzled his chin against the top of your head.

"If only I could go out and catch one for you." His voice lowered a little, "Cause then it would be perfect."

You stood there for a few more minutes, just enjoying the hug. Before Miss Alice would undoubtedly ask you to leave again.

#bbb #kekkai sensen #kkss #blood blockade battlefront #dog hummer #ask

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plainlo-inthemorning · 3 years

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A Loki TVA / Lokane fic that snatched a tempad. Rating T.

Previously: Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 (of 6)

Shine a Light, part 4

This time around, he feels but the faintest glimmer of surprise as he steps out of the doorway and onto a busy sidewalk in Midtown Manhattan.

A few people stop dead in their tracks when the door materializes out of thin air, but the throng of commuters headed to and from Central Station is so dense, Loki’s appearance goes mainly unnoticed.

Dull resignation washes over him.

The tempad is officially broken. Its coordinates locked onto this little planet where, in his own timeline, he has known nothing but defeat.

Without bothering to look for a newsstand, he reasons there’s a strong probability it’s the year 2014. It would seem the damn gadget is slowly counting backwards, while refusing to take him anywhere else in the universe.

Above his head, a billboard flashing on the side of a high-rise building confirms his suspicions.

Incredibly though, the tempad still not out of “juice”. The battery life seems to be making a mockery of his failed attempts to direct the itinerary.

Taking a step out of the moving sea of people, Loki sees little in way of construction sites along the street.

On his timeline, this would have been two years after his attack on the city with Thanos’ army, but if that ‘highlight’ of Loki’s less than acclaimed villainous career took place in this reality as well, the mortals have effectively tidied up after him.

He tries not think of the countless faces frozen in terror that had looked up at him.

Of the lives lost because of his crazed ambition to prove himself - and to destroy something of Thor’s.

Almost if Loki had been transformed back into the chronically jealous five-year-old child who once stole his golden, annoyingly joyful, perfect brother’s favorite model toy - a grey wolf made of clay - and deliberately let it roll down the steps of the throne when their father (his NON-father) had been away.

The toy had broken into pieces and Thor had been inconsolable. Gripped by immediate remorse despite his initial intent, Loki had tried to fix it with his budging magic powers. Only for the wolf to melt to a sticky puddle on the stone floor.

Thor had wailed so loudly, a passing servant had thought him seriously injured and called for their mother, and Loki had been made to apologize, his usually pale cheeks burning scarlet. Then he had been grounded for the remains of the day.

The humiliation had stung, and so had the regret that his magic had failed him.

Not for the first time, the anger had turned, unwarranted (Loki knew then too), towards his brother.

From then on, it had just gotten slowly worse and worse and more malicious right up until that horrible moment of rage no more than a few days ago (a week?), when Loki had driven one of his daggers into Thor’s side on top of the Stark tower.

And twisted it.

The mix of bottomless sadness and shock in his brother’s blue eyes had cut through Loki’s heart with such force he might as well have sunk the blade of his other weapon into his own chest.

But instead of abandoning his pathetic scramble for power and hold Thor, instead of attempting to heal the wound with his magic that has become so formidable in adulthood, Loki had let the poison drown the remains of his sanity.

Of course, shortly afterward, the green monstrosity had effortlessly and repeatedly smashed him into the concrete floor of Stark’s living-quarters until Loki had thought he heard every bone in his supposedly immortal (right!) body break and his skull crack open.

To the outside, it had surely been a suitably entertaining show of retribution, but as he had lain there in the crater of rubble, unable to utter a moan, it was as if all the anger had been knocked out of him.

The link to Thanos’ ungodly servant had been severed and Loki had felt more like himself than he had in a long, long time.

When Thor, looking grimmer than ever, had dragged him to his feet in front of the ragtag band of ‘heroes’ and cuffed him, Loki had found himself strangely elated, on the verge of giddy.

His legs had been so shaky from the beating that Thor had had to hold him by the arm so he wouldn’t fall, and Loki had felt the heat of his brother’s huge hand penetrate the many layers of his own armour.

For a few delirious seconds, Loki had wanted nothing more than to lean against his brother’s strong frame and just close his eyes.

Instead, he had started cracking jokes until Thor had slapped the muzzle on him, as if he were some dog (that gesture had embarrassed him more than anything that had gone before). Unable to keep up his sarcastic commentary as they rode the elevator down, Loki had fleetingly wondered if he was suffering from a psychosis or actual brain damage.

Now, standing on the street so close to where it happened, the memory oozes fresh guilt.

But he redeemed himself.

In his mind, Loki goes through the TVA reel once more to remind himself of the images of his brother later in life, smiling at him.

Right before the end came.

If he is to spend the rest of eternity on Midgard - or at least until the multiverse crumbles - he will try to find solace in the good his future self managed to accomplish.

For Thor and, in another, brighter reality, for her.

The riddle of her part in his life now remains unsolved, but as hard as Loki tries to release the ghost wrapped in his arms, it merely squeezes itself closer to his chest.

He could try to find her here, on this timeline.

She will be with Thor, that much is certain, but since the reel of Loki’s fate had shown him only his own path, he knows not whether Thor and Jane shared a life on Midgard, or somewhere else, up until the brothers reunited (for lack of a better word) on Asgard.

What would Loki even say to her?

That, while at the bureau that controls all space and time, he saw her face on a roll of film of his supposed life, and now he aches for her more than anything? That on an alternate timeline a few hours ago, she kissed him?

Thor would not approve of that exchange.

Also, with Loki’s luck, Thor might be a frog in this reality.

He could still try to use the tempad to transport him to Svartalfheim and his own life’s story, seeing as he is now only year from where he feels so strongly he must go.

But finding the proper timeline is like shooting an arrow into the endless vastness of space and hoping it’ll hit the right comet.

He realizes that now.

An arrow.

Somehow, somewhere, on two timelines no less, variants of him had …

Loki’s head jerks up.

The tower.

It’s a desperate idea at best, but from the (very) little Loki knows of his character, Stark’s superior technical skills go hand in hand with an endlessly hungry, inquisitive mind. And pride.

Much like Loki, Stark is a man who needs to be the smartest man in the room. And like Loki, he probably is, most of time (in fact… no. Don’t go there).

Maybe Stark will listen.

Perhaps he can even help make sense of the tempad if Loki can somehow win his trust and appeal to his curiosity and (he winces a little) heroism.

Was it not Loki’s actions who had helped Stark “realize his best potential”, as his TVA file put it?

He spots the imposing structure further up the street, noticing the huge “A” at the top (is that new?), and sets off towards it at a brisk pace, darting in and out of the crowds on the packed sidewalk.

Here goes nothing.

As he reaches the large glass doors he briefly experiences a dizzying deja-vu, when suddenly a man’s voice calls out to him.

A frighteningly familiar, agitated voice.

… With a particular brand of anger bubbling underneath, that Loki had hoped he’d never have to witness up close ever again.

“What the hell are you doing here??”

His dark, curly hair has a few more streaks of silver. The checkered shirt is slightly crumbled, the glasses a bit askew. He clutches an armful of papers to his chest.

And he’s wearing a furious expression although, thank the Norns, a mortal complexion.

For now.

“Didn’t Tony explicitly tell you not to come here?! Are you that intent on causing everyone to lose their shit again?!”

Worry is all over Doctor Banner’s screwed up face.

“Seriously, Loki, is this funny to you? Clint is actually in the building right now and, in case Tony didn’t already inform you, he’s made it very clear that he’s quitting the team if you were to stroll through the front door!”

The Avenger has started shaking, his eyes wild (too wild).

This is heading in the wrong direction fast.

Mustering all the calm in the world despite his racing pulse and the nauseating sounds of bones breaking echoing in his head, Loki puts on his most courteous and, he dearly hopes, un-cocky charming smile.

“Bruce, please relax. I assure you, I’m not here to cause trouble. Not for you or anyone else.”

“Right, you just happened to be in town and wanted to stop by for coffee? Loki, this …”

Loki gently interrupts him.

“I merely came here to have a conversation with S- … Tony. Perhaps you could let him know I’m here? I promise you, I will not set foot inside. In fact - “

Loki adopts the form of one of the security guards he can see pacing inside the foyer.

“… I’m not even here.”

Bruce jumps a little and clutches his papers even tighter.

“Oh god, I hate when you do that, man. If you think showing off that trick makes anyone any less nervous around you…”

“Doctor Banner - Bruce. I have something …”

Loki searches for the words, quickly trying to decide on how much to reveal to the man-beast who’s now looking at him with urgent expectancy.

He sighs and bets it all.

“Okay. Bruce, what I’m going to say will sound mad.”

The man scoffs.

“Coming from you, I’d expect nothing less.”

Bruce shakes his head and looks to the sky in exasperation.

“Please - please - don’t tell me you’ve gone and changed your mind about the whole not conquering Earth business. Really, Loki, none of us understand how transforming you into ‘an asset’ became Tony’s pet project over this past year, or why Fury went along with it. But I’m sure both are going to be pretty damn disappointed if their new alien BFF decides to embrace his inner psycho again.”

Loki almost chuckles. It’s all too ridiculous.

“I won’t … embrace my inner ‘psycho’, I swear.”

“Then what?”

The God of Mischief draws in a deep breath, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. Or rather, the security guard’s nose.

Then he surrenders to the absurdity of the situation.

“Bruce, I kindly beg of you, is Tony here? Or … (is there hope?) Thor?”

Bruce still looks at him with deep disdain, but his immediate anger seems to have subsided.

“No, Tony’s out of town. Took Pepper somewhere on holiday. They’re not to be disturbed for at least a week. Her words. And Thor … I should think you of all people know perfectly well why he’s not likely to hang around at the time being. Jeez, you guys and your endless family soap opera … I can’t even.”

Naturally, the universe again blankly refuses to extend any hands to Loki and his doomed quest. Sadly, once again, he is not surprised.

Wait - what?

“What do you mean, ‘soap opera’?”

Bruce looks like he’s about to throw his hands over his head and all the papers with them.

“Oh, come on! What is this?! You want approval? Confirmation of your little victory? Doesn’t the very lovely embodiment of that currently walk around in your apartment or wherever it is you live now? Loki, I’m done here. You have to leave. Bye.”

To hell with Stark – Loki wants to grab Bruce by his shirt collar and shake the little man till he explains what in all of Yggdrasil he’s talking about.

But he cannot afford to tempt the beast. Quite literally.

“Then … can you and I go somewhere to talk? Bruce, you’re a man of science. This is science … related.”

Loki feigns a smile.

Bruce sizes him up. No doubt considering whether to let the other guy continue the conversation.

Then his shoulders drop.

“Okay. Okay. For a creepy megalomaniac, you somehow tend to end up with some very cool people defending your case. Just know that those people are absolutely the only reason, you and I are still talking. Ugh, I’m too nice … “

Bruce casts a glance over his shoulder into the foyer, appearing to consider their options, when a man exits the glass doors – and shuffles up to them.

“Bruce! How nice to see you. You look well.”

The old man (those eyes …) grins warmly and pats Bruce on the back, then looks from him to Loki and back again.

“Everything alright out here? Is there a security issue?”

Bruce composes himself and smiles back.

“Hi, Lee, good to see you too. All fine. Earl here was just updating me on, eh, the new security procedures.”

He shoots Loki a stern look.

“Ah, yes”, Loki nods seriously. “Doctor Banner had some trouble operating the intricate open and close mechanism of the doors. The elevator doors, especially.”

He can’t help himself. It’s somehow both immensely tragic and life-affirming.

“Oh?” The old man raises an eyebrow (he looks … but he’s not quite …something is off).

“Will I have to get a new security card? I rarely come in these days, but in case …”

“No, no, that won’t be necessary, Lee. Because, because … like you say, you’re hardly ever here, so …”

Still smiling awkwardly, Bruce waves a dismissive hand, almost dropping the stack of papers (the man’s a terrible liar, Loki thinks).

“Speaking of”, Banner continues, “you must be enjoying retirement up there, huh, Lee? Must be nice to live by the sea. Good … air quality?”

Loki sighs inwardly.

The dog sniffing at his ankles looks up at him.

He stares down at the round, fluffy thing as if seeing it for the first time.

Which he is and he isn’t.

The old man is saying something to Bruce about the countryside, when he notices the dog wagging its tail at Loki’s feet.

“Oh, he likes you. You’re lucky, he normally doesn’t care for strangers. No, you don’t, do you Fenris”, the man coos.

Under coats of thick white fur, the animal looks eagerly from owner to Loki.

“Okay, well, I’ll be off,” the old man says, finally. “Come see me sometime, Bruce. My neighbor actually just put his house on the market, in case you’re looking for a weekend retreat…”

He nods at Bruce, then at Loki who barely notices. The dog whines unhappily at being dragged away.

It’s the same timeline.

Of course, it is. The tempad has locked itself on a sequence.

But why the different locations …?

“Yes, thank you, Lee. Take care now. Earl, shall we?” Bruce signals to Loki to follow him round the side of the building.

“We can continue our discussion about the security issue in the garage”.

“So, let’s hear it. Tell me what you came to say, so I can tell you why it’s a catastrophically bad idea.”

Bruce sits himself across the small table from Loki and dumps the stack of papers in front of him. The top sheet is covered in coffee mug rings.

They are in an anonymous, windowless office somewhere below the vast tower parking lot and numerous in-house repair shops.

The place is a gigantic maze and Loki has just shut himself in a tiny room with the very monster that turned him into ragdoll. The deep slash on his forehead has only just healed.

He does not fear many beings in the universe, but the mild-mannered doctor’s alter ego makes the hit list with the worst of them.

Ignoring the way the hairs on the back of his neck stand up (why did this seem like a good idea?), Loki drops his disguise and takes a seat on the cheap plastic chair. Not much of that flashy Stark glamour down here.

“Okay.” Loki takes out the tempad and puts it in the middle of the table.

He is not quite sure where to start, so he decides to begin with the purely technical aspect.

Bruce might appreciate being given a few ‘scientific’ details before any mentions of giant smoke monsters and alligators.

In fact, the fewer magical creatures and castles in the sky, the better.

“This is called a tempad. It’s a device that makes it possible to travel anywhere in time. You type in your destination, and a doorway opens. I did not make it myself. It was, er, given to me by a large and very powerful organization … in space.”

Bruce is leaning forward to get a better look at the tempad but makes no attempt to reach for it.

As he’s says nothing, Loki continues.

“This is where it gets, uh, weird, but try to believe me when I tell you, I’m not the Loki you know. I’m from another, similar timeline and -“

“Stop.”

“Excuse me?”

“Just stop, Loki.”

Bruce is leaning back on his chair again. He looks tired.

“I don’t know if you’re supremely bored of domestic bliss already, or just being your supremely annoying self, but I won’t engage. You’re not Loki but a time-traveler from space? Yeah, it’s -“

“No, Bruce, I am Loki. Trust me, I know this seems -“

“Trust? You wanna talk about trust again?” Bruce takes out his phone.

“Okay, we can do that.”

He taps a few buttons, then holds the phone to his ear.

“What are you doing?” Loki’s voice has a sharper edge to it than he intended.

The Avenger stares him down.

“Oh, I’m just calling someone. This guy I have in my contacts under God of Lies”.

Please, no …

Briefly, Loki considers whether another variant of him – the one he encountered at the house by the ocean, most likely – would actually be of more help.

Or if he, the variant, would try to kill him.

It was one thing reasoning with and trying not to get killed by Loki variants who at least understood the concept of variants, but how would he have reacted upon being confronted with a twin before the TVA?

No, not a twin … Because this variant has her.

None of the variants in the Void – the grown-up, human ones – had mentioned versions of her.

Either this variant has successfully taken out every Minute Man ever sent by the TVA to arrest him (in which case, Loki concedes, he may be the superior Loki), or this whole timeline has only just blossomed at the opening of the multiverse.

Why else would he, who apparently also gave his phone number to Bruce Banner, get to live a life so vastly different from the typical arc of a misguided Jotun prince?

Loki feels light-headed.

On one hand, he wants to know everything there is to know about his double, on the other, he fears what and who he might find.

You don’t belong here. Find your own timeline. No more Lokis.

Focus. Explain.

He raises his one hand in a placating gesture.

“Give me a little time to try and explain this, Bruce, and then, then … You can call whoever. Call everyone! But please just -“

“Oh, what do you know,” Bruce puts his phone down, “there’s no answer. What a surprise.”

He crosses his arms.

Loki inhales and tries again, speaking as evenly and as calmly as he can while his frustration mounts:

“There is no way of telling you all or any of this without it sounding utterly ludicrous, so you’ll have to hear me out. Five minutes uninterrupted from now, okay? Yes, we’re talking time travel, but compared to what’s really at stake, even time travel is a pretty basic technicality. Also, I promise you, in a few years’ time from now, the concept of time travel won’t seem all that laughable to you and Stark in particular. Provided this reality exists in a few years’ time seeing as -“

Bruce sighs dramatically.

“Yes, okay, so”, Loki continues, “Two years ago, I attacked New York, right?”

“If you’re about to roll out some outlandish excuse – another one! – I don’t care to hear it.”

The other man is narrowing his eyes as a fresh look of undistilled loathing creeps into his features.

So it did happen on this timeline as well.

“No, it’s not that. Or, I mean, let’s save that. When you captured me, in my timeline, I escaped from the lobby with the Infinity stone. I know it seems impossible from your end of events but - “

“Impossible?”

Bruce gives him a strange look Loki can’t quite interpret.

“Yes, S… Tony dropped the briefcase with the Infinity stone, and I picked it up and -“

Bruce pushes his chair back. The plastic scrapes loudly against the stone tiles of the floor.

“Loki, I can’t. I thought I had the patience to at least indulge you but turns out I don’t. I can’t tell if you’re losing your mind, but either way, you’ll have to take it – this, whatever it is – up with Tony instead when he gets back. Maybe bring that sweet lab partner of yours along if you’re going to talk time travel. With her field of expertise, I’m sure - “

“WILL YOU SHUT UP AND LISTEN TO ME!”

Without thinking, Loki slams both his hands into the table. Papers go flying and Bruce staggers backwards.

Horror dawns as Loki realizes his error, but it’s already too late.

Bruce doubles over in spasms and a deep, much too deep, growling sound escapes his lips. He grips his head with his shaking hands as if trying to contain the explosion within, and Loki feels his own brain go numb with panic as one of those hands triples in size and a sickly green hue rapidly spreads.

There is no way out.

Bruce is blocking the door and soon his bulk will be taking up the entire room. He falls to his knees, arms thrashing wildly and his shirt ripping across his back. The table sails over Loki’s head, one of the chairs lodges itself in the soundproofed ceiling, causing the panels of fluorescent light to flicker madly.

Are there no security cameras?!

There are screams, but they no longer sound human.

Loki has nowhere to hide.

He has to gather his magic around him, but terror is completely scattering his focus, cold sweat breaking out all over his body.

It is a matter of seconds before the transformation will be complete and the monster attempts to tear him limb from limb. With no heroes to stop it.

Cold.

He has only consciously reached for it once before, but now the thought barely registers before ice rushes through him as if by instinct. Bruce is not the only one with an abomination lurking under the surface.

He doesn’t have the casket of his birth father, but he has strength.

There is no time to consider if it’s enough or nothing at all. No time for crippling self-loathing or shame.

In front of him, the Hulk lifts its crazed, bloodshot eyes to meet his.

The green creature cannot stand upright in the office, and the first fist goes through the ceiling with the force of a wrecking ball. The next lashes out at Loki, who dodges it just as his own skin turns a deep, brilliant blue.

Little black ridges and markings rise on his arms and face and though his sight doesn’t falter, he feels the instant his eyes go from green to bright red. The fabric of his clothes chafes his new skin and waves of adrenaline surge through his body. Multiple foreign senses come alive and drown his fear.

But he has not a breath to spare to get used to his true form before the Hulk shoves him against the wall so hard, the bricks shift against his side as if they were made of a child’s building blocks.

The impact makes him gasp for air, yet the pain … the pain he can manage.

He just has to last long enough get out of here. And the cold is crystalizing his focus to let the magic flow easily, powerfully through his hands.

His blue hands.

If he had used this when …

Loki pushes himself off the wall (out of it) and almost collides with the Hulk (there’s no space left to maneuver in) who, instead of smashing its way out, seems hell-bent on squashing the only living thing in its line of sight first.

Loki swiftly crouches down on one knee, puts his palms together and, faster than the blink of a brilliant crimson eye, conjures a rotating orb of ice and chaos energy that explodes in a blinding flash of white light as he hurls it square into the monster’s chest.

The Hulk falls back, breaking through the wall to the parking lot on the other side and crashing into a row of cars, while a sheath of ice spreads from its chest and up its neck. The being that is not Bruce howls and claws at its skin, but the smooth ice thickens and as it reaches the head of the beast, it slides right into its eye sockets – and momentarily blinds it.

It will probably only last seconds but it’s all Loki needs while the Hulk shakes its head furiously.

He makes to flee when he spots the tempad on the cracked floor.

He can’t leave it.

As Loki dives for the gadget, the Hulk simultaneously knocks itself in the face with both fists, splintering the ice into a rain of tiny spikes. With a roar to match the sound of a spaceship engine taking off, the creature lunges.

Loki’s fingers close around the tempad.

He feels a buzz.

The door appears in front of him.

He doesn’t stop to think before throwing himself through it.

The Hulk punches into empty air.

Part 5

#loki #loki series #tva loki #lokane fanfic #lokane ff #lokane #loki x jane #marvel #loki ff #loki fanfic #shine a light #plainlo inthemorning #loki laufeyson

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jungnoir · 4 years

Text

destiny | 09;

⇢ summary: you’re just about ready to give up on life altogether; your love life is in ruins, you’ve lost your job, and your family couldn’t care less about you… and then you meet your blushing guardian angel, and maybe life isn’t so bad after all.

⇢ relationship: jeon jungkook/reader, min yoongi/reader.

⇢ genre: supernatural, angel!au, demon!au, romance, thriller.

⇢ words: 6.5k words.

⇢ warnings: mentions of depression, violence, vomiting. slightly nsfw toward the end.

previously | next

a/n: happy new year! I know it’s been quite a while (literally an entire year since I’ve updated) but I’ve had this chapter pretty much ready in my drafts and just hadn’t gotten around to finishing because. everything. regardless, I hope this sort of makes up for it. love you all! hope you’re doing well. also WOW I swear a lot in this one.

His hand on your neck is meant to silence any screams that might slip out. He applies the perfect pressure to avoid crushing anything vital (and just by the feel alone, you know he’s got quite an amount of strength to pull that off) while simultaneously stealing all your air and forcing you to cower in fear. You don’t have to be a rocket scientist to know this guy isn’t someone to be fucked with, and all you can think about is the fact that Jungkook is right outside and has no fucking clue what’s going on. The very thought fills you with dread.

“Then again, you’ve got someone helping you.” What once was just a particular, calculated press against your skin becomes a deliberate act of violence as he begins to choke you harshly. You know the pain of his grip might last for weeks, and that’s only if you don’t die in the next minute. “Just makes me wonder what’s so special about you.”

“Nothing!” You rasp out, clawing at his hand now in some weak attempt at breaking away. If you could make enough noise, enough commotion, surely someone-

-but the stranger has already stopped you quick. You aim to throw the door open or something but his free hand quickly apprehends you until you’re just a squirming mess on the verge of passing out. Even your legs are pressed firmly to the wall by his own body, holding you fast so that you can’t help letting a few tears fall. There was no doubt in your panicked mind that this was Seokjin, the angel who’d been trailing you from the shadows for what felt like centuries. His grand act of approaching you, something you’d dreamed up to be a major climactic brawl in a battlefield made for a spectacle, turns out to be so simple. Perhaps that’s what you got for thinking biblically. Why go through all the trouble when he could just squash the problem the minute a chance presented itself?

Now, all you can think is “I can’t die like this”. A sobering thought of pure contempt. Drowning in the river was preferable to this.

You muster what breath you can, eyes blazing, “How does it feel… being God’s lap dog?”

Seokjin is, funnily enough, stunned for a moment. All bravado slips through a teeny crack in his demeanor when you say that, and even though it’s a low blow, it’s also enough for you to thrust a semi-powerful kick to the dressing room door to make the entire thing shudder like an earthquake. That sound, coupled with your comment, makes Seokjin release you in a panic. You hear some gasps from outside, a few people inquiring if you’re alright. An employee sounds most worried amongst the voices. You’re just shy of swinging the door open and forcing Seokjin to be revealed or to disappear all at once, but then he’s grabbed the back of your collar as you scream in frustrated fury. Seconds later, you’re no longer in the dressing room anymore.

Instead, you fall flat on a rough, sandy surface. You’re overwhelmed with nausea, pain, and fear, so your whole body is struggling to pick up on the most important things outside of that, but you do realize quite fleetingly that it’s sweltering. It takes you a few seconds as you curl up on the ground to peek behind your hands that shield your face and discover that it’s blindingly bright where you are, almost like a…

For fuck’s sake. “Of all the places…” You whine with a sore throat, coughing right after from the strain.

Seokjin stands above you and uses his foot to kick you onto your back so that you’re staring up at him and the baby blue sky. His hair color plays against it in an unfittingly gentle contrast, “I thought we might need somewhere safer to discuss things. Oh, and speaking of discussion,” he waves a hand near you and you instinctively flinch back before you feel the pain in your throat subside. You wait a few seconds, but it seems whatever he’d just done had no effect on the rising bile in your throat, so you assume that’s something you’ll have to deal with on your own. What an ass. “Feel better?”

“Fuck you! Maybe if you hadn’t choked me out in the first place-”

“You’d have listened?”

“Maybe if you hadn’t hunted us down to kill us, we would have!”

Seokjin frowns, “I didn’t bring you here to talk about you and that boy, I brought you here to talk about you. I am only concerned with you.”

Whatever that entailed did not sound good in the slightest.

You scramble to your feet and immediately regret the movement as it makes you sick again. The more than 100 degree weather does nothing to fix that either, the sun beating down on you and bouncing off the dusty white sands directly into your eyes. You’re feeling something nasty rising up from your stomach, ready to projectile…

Just as the scene changes, you paint a Victorian rug with streaks of your vomit.

Seokjin immediately groans out loud, placing a rough hand at the back of your neck like one would grab the scruff of a kitten. You’re far too weak to protest, rubbing at your mouth with the back of your hand, so you let him toss you into a chair. The jerkiness of the action should have sent another eruption out of you, but you recognize the relief that has overwhelmed you from the touch of his hand. Had he fixed that too?

“Never the matter,” the angel growls, waving his hand and making the mess evaporate from the very fibers of the rug, “you’re all very fragile. I should have prepared you first.”

“How can you do all that…?” You couldn’t recall Jungkook or Jimin showing off any power like that, and whether it was because of Seokjin’s status or their modesty (and adherence to rules), you were unsure. Most likely both.

Instead of answering right away, Seokjin reaches forward a moving cart and you finally notice there’s a glass pitcher of water (hopefully) next to an array of empty glasses. You take the time he spends pouring some water for you to examine your surroundings.

It looks like a secret room in an old English manor house. The walls are painted a deep charcoal and with the absence of natural light, you could mistake it for the void. The only light that does exist is a strangely dim white light coming from the ceiling. What looks like a rather ornate shell of a skylight (sans the window to actually reveal, well, a sky), seems to hide said white light somewhere in it. It’s such a vague glow that you can’t pinpoint if it’s coming from a lightbulb or magic.

The rest of the room is just as ornate as the “skylight”, filled with deep oak bookshelves, golden artifacts, and shining decorations that already look like they cost more than your house. It doesn’t really matter the longer you think about it. All of it has to be an illusion… right?

A glass is placed into your hand and you break out of your thoughts to make eye contact with Seokjin. He hovers over you with narrowed eyes and when you look back at your surroundings again, you notice all the little decorations have disappeared. Why had he- “We can negotiate those bits of the deal later if you so wish.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” You ask, hesitant to drink the water despite how much the heat of the desert had made you crave it.

“Like I said before, I brought you here to discuss you. I’ve been watching you and lover boy for a while and it has become clear to me that you’ve been pulled along for quite the ride. I’m sure it’s all very daunting.”

“It wouldn’t have been so bad if you hadn’t shown up.”

“How much do you know about our Lord and Savior?”

It was tricky to say the least. You’d grown up on tales of him, an over-powered being of immense stature. No one could come close to him, not even the devil. However, you’d learned bits and pieces from Jungkook, Yoongi, and the others to the point where your ideas of the figure had become skewed. There was no linear understanding of him. You honestly had no idea, “Probably not enough.”

Seokjin huffs, taking a seat from across from you in a chair similar to yours. Crossing a leg over the other, the angel stares you down, “Do you know why I’m after you both?”

“You want to kill Jungkook. Because he committed your sin.”

“Jungkook is my main target, yes, but it wasn’t my sin. My sin was sullying myself with a demon. Jungkook’s sin was sullying you.”

You frown, “He did no such thing! You had a fucking child! Jungkook saved my life!”

“You mean to say he ruined it. You were supposed to be dead a long time ago.”

You’d known that much, Jungkook had told you already. Even if he hadn’t, that had always been the plan. “It was… it was my choice and I wanted it then, I admit it. But I was hurt. I was overwhelmed. I wanted it because I was scared there would be no reason to keep going.”

The angel angles a brow upwards, “And the fallen was that for you? A reason to keep going?”

“It was- it was a lot of things. I was reminded that I existed, and that there are people who can love me the right way,” frustrated at the situation, you glare at him, “what the fuck? Is this some fucking therapy session?”

He has the gall to smile, “God knows you need one. I’d like to be the one to get inside that mind of yours.”

Shit. What if you’d given him just the right information to use against you?

You snap your lips shut and sink back into your chair, bubbling with more dread. He notices your sudden resolve and appears to want to ease your worries, “I’m not doing this to break you. Unlike God, I find you, as a person, quite redeemable. A gentle, pained soul who fell victim to the perversion of her guardian angel. It’s all very sad.”

So God did think you were a lost cause. Jimin had been right after all. However, you don’t want to keep talking when you’re so close to getting the information you’ve been waiting for. It seems even Seokjin isn’t fazed by your silence, continuing on without missing a beat. “You see, usually these angel and human matters can be chalked up to the angel getting too big for their britches. They think they can change things like fate: God’s very flawless plan from the beginning. They are simply… glitches in the matrix, you could say? That’s where I come in. I make sure these issues are handled and that everything goes back to normal. You see, God loves his humans. Truly. He has a bit of a temper, but it’s justified, you know? He loves you all so very much that seeing you stray from a holy and righteous path is heartbreaking for him. He can only excuse so much.

“So he doesn’t. But… sometimes I help him. I change his mind. Even Jesus had to convince God not to blame his executioners. The big guy gets real impassioned about those he loves. It’s all part of the territory of being in heaven’s sovereignty,” at this, Seokjin shrugs, “you were an unfortunate casualty of it. However, I brought you here because I think that you could be saved. You’re simply confused. I’m sure I could convince God to rethink... his punishment for you.”

Your eyes widen, nearly dropping your glass, “He’d do that?”

The angel nods, pleased, “Of course! After all, he just wants you to repent. If you show that you will, well, I could put in a good word for you. He and I are very close.”

“But only for me.”

Seokjin’s smile dims some. He was so sure he’d had you on the hook just then, “Well… yes. There isn't much I can say about angels. Humans are born sinful, but angels are born knowing better. If they succumb to sin, I cannot do anything about that. But… if you feel that you’d be leaving Jungkook behind, and if that would cause you to feel guilty, I can assure you that that would be taken care of. Your memory of him would be wiped clean and you’d receive another guardian angel in an instant. You’d be granted everything you ever wanted. You’d be able to live out a new path of life contrary to the one your fallen so selfishly carved out for you.”

At this, you begin to frown deeper than you ever have. It’s not out of confusion but deep, deep understanding. Seokjin’s deal was asking you to sell Jungkook out and in return… he’d make you happy. You’d forget all about what had happened and carry on a new person, virtually safe. You could only assume that meant forgetting Yoongi too. Everything you’d accomplished so far would be rearranged until the you that you’d become would be so unfathomable you wouldn’t ever consider it.

What scares you the most is that you actually consider it.

This all could end right now and you’d get out alive, maybe all the ordinary people you knew would get out alive too. You’d be completely removed from the situation. You’d just have to forget Jungkook.

“You asked me how much I know about God,” you start, thumbs twiddling, and Seokjin perks up, “the stories humans told of him always kind of scared me. He’s so powerful… he knew everything before it was even created. Nothing can get past him. And yet, he let humans have free will and the right to choose what their path in life would be. That part always boggled my mind. God’s supposed to love us unconditionally, but if we don’t return the favor, we suffer eternally. It seemed like a pretty big plothole in the otherwise ‘flawless plan’ you claim he made.”

“Yes, well, it’s not God’s fault that Lucifer’s so conniving.”

“But it is. Isn’t it? God created him. Lucifer is the one who brought sin upon the world but God is the one that created him. If he knows everything, why make him in the first place? It’s a fallacy,” Seokjin’s eye twitches just a bit as you lean forward, “that God knows everything. Isn’t it? He wouldn’t be so stupid. He had no fucking clue what he’d made when he made Lucifer.”

“I’d watch your tone. God hears all.” The angel’s ominous reply is all that you need to hear. He doesn’t tell you that anything else you’ve said is false or not. Of course not. You know as well as he does that you’re spot on.

You’re so stunted by the arrogance of it all that you have to laugh, “Allegedly.”

In that same moment, the white light above begins to flicker. A distant rumbling sounds from somewhere and that fear you’d felt earlier comes back with a vengeance. Seokjin looks annoyed, if anything, “I only have so much time to sit here with you to chat.” He stands up and walks over to you, seizing you by the arm, “So I’m telling you now that you still have a chance. No one else has to die. Do me a solid and make that a reality.”

Did he really not want to kill you? He’d had so many chances to. Even now, he could just… what did you have that made him hesitate? “You think I believe that?”

The ground rumbles underneath you and then you fall through, Seokjin’s grip slipping off your arm… or maybe being pried off.

Where you land next isn’t as disorienting as the last few times, but it doesn’t feel any better to be ripped away again without so much as a warning. For a moment before you land, you halt, almost floating. Then your feet make contact with stone and then your knees follow under the sudden press of gravity. A quick look around tells you that Seokjin is nowhere to be seen… and that where you are looks vaguely familiar.

The stone continues up the walls to the ceiling, creating a naturally cold room that expands no more than the size of a restroom (no toilets in sight, however). The furthest edge of the room from you is completely dark, while the other is helped by a fire stretching from one long, narrow wall to the other. There is no wood crackling beneath it though, nor is there an actual controlled area for it to burn. Flames simply lick up the bottom of the wall as if commanded by magic. While the rest of your body feels chilly, the warmth of the fire keeps your head warm like a fever.

You lay crumpled up on your knees and hands, staring into the flames with the most bemused expression, wondering what to do now. You’re definitely not intent on travelling to the other side of the room in fear of being met with something sinister you can’t see, but the fire only illuminates so much of the place and there doesn’t seem to be a door in sight. If Seokjin wasn’t here, you doubted this was a place he wanted to be.

Maybe he was torturing you? Intending to keep you in a dark, scary room in order to break your resolve? You didn’t know the extent of power he was allowed to wield but this whole transportation thing was starting to get really annoying. You chance a meek, “Hello?”

Your voice doesn’t echo like you expect it to. It sounds like it’s right up against your face, like you’d spoken into a pillow, the sound eaten as soon as it came from your mouth. Where the hell were you?

“...not exact, okay?!”

You pick up on a voice to your right and turn over with such speed that you land on your ass. Some stones move on the narrow wall, and then the room is illuminated from an entirely different source of light. It takes you a few moments to gather your bearings as your eyes attempt to adjust. Voices are frantic and coming closer, you can hear that much. You pick up on one instantly, “Jungkook.”

Your voice is weak with relief just as he comes into view. He looks an absolute mess as he throws himself at your feet and wraps you up into a bone-crushing hug. The strength of his hug doesn’t even bother you as you cling back with just as much force, grateful tears beginning to gush out of your eyes. You didn’t realize until then just how terrified you’d been, really. It was always there underneath the surface, but something about Jungkook’s sudden presence makes the reality of it all hit much harder. He smells like your shampoo still.

After a couple of minutes in his embrace, you pull away to examine his face, “Are you okay?”

He laughs and the way his tears have clogged up his throat make it sound more like he’s choking, “Who cares about me? Are you?”

You smile, tucking some of his hair behind his ear, “Better. With you here. Where are we?”

“Limbo, hell’s limbo.”

You’re not sure what to say in response to that. After what you’d been through in the last… however long it’d been, that seems the most plausible to you. “Is that like purgatory?”

“No,” another voice speaks from above you and only then do you realize that Yoongi is here too. He looms over the both of you but his gaze is fixed heavy on your face, “purgatory is where the dead go on their way to heaven. This is where the living come on their way to hell. Was a hell of a ride trying to get your ass down here.”

“Yoongi…” You peel back from Jungkook and stand up, a little wobbly as you lean against the wall, “...thank you. How did you do it? The places Seokjin took me… I felt like we were in a dream.”

His upper lip ticks up in a snarl, “It was. The place where you were is a void, heaven’s version of limbo. It’s where angels bargain with humans on the edge of death to repent. It’s an open playing field for angels to present themselves to their humans without them having to be dead or breaking a rule… not like the latter really applies to Seokjin, though. It’s only as strong as your will to be there,” with that, Yoongi reaches toward you and brushes what feels like sand off your cheek, or perhaps he just meant to touch you to make sure you were really here with the way it lingered, “and that’s the only reason I could pull you out.”

It was a lot to digest. You still couldn’t totally understand how he’d pulled you from heaven’s limbo if he was a demon, but that was beside the point. Right now, you just wanted to get out of this creepy box of a room for good. And it seemed you would be getting your wish.

Another figure became clear to you through the doorway, though this figure looked much more intimidating than the two by your side. Dressed immaculately with a sly smile that felt strikingly familiar, a man makes his way into the room, pressing a hand to his chest and bowing his head to you, “He had my help too, of course. A pleasure to meet you (Name), I’ve heard very little about you.” The man holds out a hand to you and you can feel both Jungkook and Yoongi stiffen on either side of you, but neither makes a move to stop him. This had to be another demon, no doubt.

You take his hand and shake it firmly despite your nerves, “T-Thank you for your help as well. May I ask who you are?”

The man grins wider, “You can call me Lucifer. Are you hungry?”

An entire array of human food is set out before you but you don’t have much of a stomach to touch any of it, though Jungkook seems right at home as he fills up his own plate. You can only guess he’s enjoying the hell out of having so much food at his fingertips without having to pay for it.

You can hear his delighted sound effects from the left of you as you both sit on one side of a long table. Lucifer sits at the head of the table to the right of you, also refraining from really eating anything. Yoongi sits right across from you on the other side with an annoyed expression on his face, fingers tapping the heavy oak table top in a rhythm you can’t decipher. It couldn’t be any more awkward.

“No appetite?” Lucifer asks, pointing to the food. There’s meat and vegetables and cheeses that you know and don’t know but none of it seems particularly appetizing to you at the moment.

You shake your head, “No. Actually, I have a few questions I’d like to ask you.”

“Ah, bet you’re bursting.” He chuckles and takes a swig of something you think might be wine. “Go ahead. I’ll try to recap the last couple of days as well as I can.”

“Days?!” You don’t mean to yell, you really don’t (especially not at the king of hell, but-), “It’s been days?”

Jungkook stops chewing to give you a concerned look, “Of course… how long was it for you?”

“Barely… half an hour, maybe more? But not days.”

“Yes, well,” Lucifer sighs, tucking his hands together in front of himself, “time works much differently in heaven and hell than it does here. Especially for those who end up in heavenly limbo. It’s essentially cut off from the rest of the universe which makes it that much harder to track those who end up there. Seokjin was smart in bringing you there than somewhere else on earth.”

Your head is throbbing at this point. If days had gone by, you could only imagine how much had changed since you’d been gone… “So… what has happened since then?”

“Apparently quite a bit, seeing as I was a last resort.” Lucifer’s tone almost sounds irritated. Like a petulant child, he glares over at his son with an unspoken tension that you would like to delve into much, much later when the important things have been moved out of the way. “These boys have been pretty busy trying to get you back. But we are all eager to know what happened while you were with Seokjin.”

Jungkook places a gentle hand on top of your knee under the table. For whatever reason, you note that his grip feels stronger than you’d grown used to. You’d thought the hug was just because he missed you so much, but even this simple touch was- “He… he found me in the dressing room, cornered me there and told me he’d been trying to get me and Jungkook alone. Somewhere he could really do some damage.” You recite all that you readily remembered, some details slipping as you focus on Jungkook’s touch. Yoongi’s eyes never stop boring into you. “He said a lot. He… he said he wanted to give me a second chance.”

Lucifer raises a brow at you, “At…?”

“Life. He said that if I… if I ratted out Jungkook, he’d work things out with God to set my life back on track. Memories wiped, a new guardian angel, the works.” You can feel Jungkook stiffen next to you.

“And did you take him up on it?” Lucifer inquires.

“No! No, I would… I would never. But he was so insistent… It sounded like he really wanted me to say yes. I don’t think he was planning to betray me if I took him up on it either.”

Lucifer heaves a heavy sigh. Folding his hands underneath his chin, the king of hell spares a glance at Jungkook, “He’s got a thing for innocents: those he believes did no actual harm in a situation. He’s always been soft that way. He has more of an affinity for humans than I ever did, but I have more reason to loathe humans than he does, so I guess it’s understandable.”

“He did… mention that none of this was my fault.”

“Of course! You were only following the path life laid out for you. It was the fallen angel you have beside you that decided to shake things up, and aren’t you lucky he did? It doesn’t surprise me one bit that you’re still alive. You’ve done nothing but suffer the consequences, it seems, against your own will.”

“But what about the demon he fell for? Or his child? Weren’t they killed so he could keep his spot in heaven?”

Lucifer leans forward, “I’m assuming your friends haven’t made it known to you yet, but they aren’t dead. They are both very much alive. In fact, the child in question was one of the people that helped in tracking you down. The mother… she is here, in hell, meant to stay imprisoned for all eternity. Or at least until the rapture,” with that, Lucifer drinks again, maintaining eye contact with your shocked stare, “but it was best that no one knew of their whereabouts. Only a handful of people even know that Inhui still exists. It’s become something of a legend amongst the demons and angels, shrouded in confusion. None of the angels would care for the mother, but the child would start an earthly war if they knew one still walked the earth. As far as they’re concerned, the child probably died from the natural complications of being an abomination.”

You frown, “How is that possible? An angel for every human on earth… that’s billions of angels and no one has even noticed the guy?”

“I was wondering about that, actually. He told us that he’d been walking the earth for a while now. Surely someone would have taken notice, right?” Jungkook speaks next, having abandoned his food entirely.

Yoongi snaps out of his bored stance, “Tae’s an anomaly. He’s forgotten everywhere he goes. His impression barely lasts long. Those people he encountered early on considered him a dream, or a hallucination, or a possession of the mind. His actual presence is… hazy. It’s easier to remember him by his name or his number, but everything else is-”

“Intangible.” His father finishes with a flourish. “No ordinary angel or demon could ever put a face to the name, only a feeling. Along with the rather excessive amount of glamours he employs when amongst the public, it is no wonder no one has sounded the alarm. Go ahead and recall his face in your mind, fallen. I’m sure you couldn’t piece it together even if you wanted to.”

Jungkook’s face screws up a little as an attempt, stricken dumb moments later when he can’t utter a thing. Your stomach churns at the thought, soiling your appetite even more.

It seemed like there was more to that story than you were being told, but you imagined that it would be quite a lot to relay to you in more than one sitting. After all, you still had no clue what you’d missed since you’d been gone, and it only hadn’t terrified you senseless because you were at least certain that the biggest threat to everyone’s lives had been right there with you the whole time.

“If you’re not planning to eat anytime soon, is there anything else you’d like to know? It’s not every day a mortal like you gets to talk to Lucifer.” With a small flourishing wave of his hand, Lucifer smiles at you, charming as ever. It was so strange. Yoongi acted nothing like his father, and yet you saw every bit of him in his expression.

You imagined Yoongi felt the need to distance himself as much as he could from his father’s intimidating image and had ended up creating his own in the process. Where Lucifer was inviting, however, Yoongi was… not for everyone. Even as he stares over the table at you, eyes hooded with what appears to be indifference rather than lasciviousness, you can’t help but see the other in him.

“I suppose not,” you murmur, “but now that I have the chance, I don’t really know what to say.”

Lucifer continues to smile, “Don’t fret! I’m sure after the doozy you’ve been in, you’ll need to rest up. You’re more than welcome to stay here until you feel it’s safe to go back topside.”

The thought of treating hell like a hotel to stay in was tickling to say the least. The minute you rise, Jungkook follows suit, nearly knocking his chair over in the process to follow you. “I’d appreciate that. Is there… perhaps a room I could cool down in? Maybe a bathroom?”

Lucifer had deposited both you and Jungkook in a rather nice room, fitted with all the things you’d find in a nice resort room overlooking somewhere like the Bahamas. The dark, brooding colors of Hell follow you even here, and what little light you are allowed in the room comes from fire or mysterious ambience. Still, it’s enough to splash your face with (what you’re definitely sure is) water in the ensuite bathroom.

Jungkook sits at the foot of the bed, watching you, “I missed you.”

Since the moment that the Lord of Hell and his son had left you to your devices, you’d become increasingly aware that something was off about your angel. You had imagined that it had been from the sheer worry he felt over you, but it was starting to feel different from that. Something not so easily explained. If only… if only you could figure it out.

You pat your skin dry and look over at him, measuring him up and down. Appearance wise, he still had the same haircut, same clothes, same shoes. It was the aura that felt different.

Slowly, you approach him from the bathroom and wish that there would be more light in the room to examine him with. In that same moment, what appeared to be a ray of warm light halos above you both, giving you exactly what you had wished for. When Jungkook looks up, he looks… radiant. “I missed you too…” You whisper, reaching out a hand to cup his jaw. At your touch, he shudders, melting into you, and those eyes then laser focus on your own. “Are you okay?”

“I am now.” He answers without hesitation, then turns to kiss your inner palm with such a sensual drag of his lips that you grow hot instantly. The surprise makes you yank your hand away and you swear you hear him whine at the missing contact.

“Y-You just look different.” You squeak, holding the aforementioned hand to your chest as if he’d burned you.

Jungkook’s bushy brows furrow. “Do I?”

When Jungkook had been an angel, he’d had a distinct glow about him that set him apart from others. It was cliche, but it made sense then. You knew that you were dealing with someone from another world. When he’d turned human, he’d felt softer, normal. He didn’t glow in any particular way lest the light hit him through the window just right. But now… that glow was back. In a way that didn’t feel familiar.

You reach your hand out again, but this time you let it wander. You push his fringe back from his forehead, then behind his ear, then down his neck to where a sweatshirt hides his collarbones. In a daze, you fall to your knees before his seated frame and push the fabric back some. You find… nothing. You don’t even know what you’re looking for. A vampire bite? What is so different?

Your hand starts to fall mindlessly as you wrack your brain, but it’s all for naught when Jungkook catches hold of it and intertwines his fingers with yours. His grip is warm and solid. But it’s still- “I thought he’d hurt you.”

You look back up into Jungkook’s eyes as he now leans over you with an intense stare. His hair curls around his cheekbones and twists away from his face at the nape, each strand fluttering as he inches closer until the longest ones are touching your face. “Not much. He healed what he did anyway.”

At that, your angel’s eyes narrow in their scan over you, “What did he do?”

You instinctively swallow. Perhaps because you remember the feeling. Perhaps because Jungkook looks like he could kill. “He… he had to get me to limbo. He had to…” You touch the skin of your throat the same moment you break eye contact, feeling the ghost of Seokjin’s fingers there. It wasn’t so long ago that it had happened after all. You could honestly still feel it.

The silence grows until it’s nearly unbearable, you eventually finding that Jungkook will say nothing while you continue to avoid his gaze. Against your better judgement, you chance a look up at him.

You don’t get very long to look. Jungkook takes both sides of your face and lunges forward like a man possessed and you are forced to follow. In your surprise, you stumble back onto your elbows and Jungkook slots himself between your legs, latching onto your lips in a searing kiss. It’s hot and fast and immature, the kiss of a person who has never kissed before and may never get the chance to kiss again. Youngho had never kissed you like this.

A gentle whimper escapes your mouth but Jungkook inhales it into his own. You feel something primal burn inside you when Jungkook growls out, crouching over you now like a predator cornering his prey, and he’s practically consuming you when you start to kiss back. Can you blame yourself? You easily fold into the feeling because it’s Jungkook and goddamn if you hadn’t wanted to kiss him badly before.

His inexperience does very little to dissuade from how good it feels too, and as you start to take over to guide him, he is all too eager to feel your reciprocated passion. The heady feeling he gives you in his sudden attack pushes all thoughts of Seokjin or the last few days out of your mind like a fast-acting asprin. All you can think of now is how tightly coiled you’d been and how Jungkook is loosening you up one press of his lips at a time.

He lays you on your back and you happily oblige, no cushioning found on the hard floor but you couldn’t care less. Jungkook is careful not to be too rough, aware of your needs as much as his own, and it’s jarringly sweet the way he cradles the back of your head to keep you from hitting it on your descent.

When he’s had enough of your lips (as if he could ever), he starts attacking your neck. He’s lapping at your skin and biting away as if he’s trying to remove all traces of Seokjin’s hands… as if he’s replacing the feeling with him and him only. “I’ll kill him,” Jungkook whispers, a foreign fury in his voice that makes your haze disappear in an instant while he continues to work at your neck, “I’ll kill him for ever touching you.”

Your hand shoots to his hair, feeling your heart beat faster from more than just the kisses, “Kook-” But any attempt at sobering up washes away when, to your surprise, he ruts against you. Youngho had never been that good at using his hips like that either. There was something definitely off with Jungkook.

As much as it pains you, you grab at his hair and yank back, ignoring (or trying to) the filthy groan that he gives in response before peeling away from your skin. You gasp for breath, absolutely winded, “What is going on?”

Jungkook pants past wet lips, “What do you mean-”

“Did Yoongi do this to you?” The sudden heated moment is over when you say that.

Jungkook’s blood has run cold. You have a very strong, haunting feeling that your mounting suspicions have proven correct. His eyes… as gentle as they always were when they looked at you, told you everything. He was not the same Jungkook you’d come to know. Something had happened to him. Something irreversible. You touch his face again and this time Jungkook does not move to embrace it. He looks like he’d rather be anywhere else in the world. “Why?”

In an attempt to escape your pitiful gaze, Jungkook’s eyes flutter shut, cutting you off from seeing him vulnerable any longer. It breaks your heart the longer he stays silent. There’s no denying it now.

A tear of his touches the palm of your hand instead of his lips this time, “How else could I protect you?” He chokes, weak, “I’m not your angel anymore. I can’t be like you. This is the only way... the only way I could stand to look you in the eyes again.”

#majwrites #jungkook scenarios #jungkook imagines #jungkook au #angel!jungkook #jeon jungkook #bts scenarios #bts imagines #bts au #yoongi scenarios #yoongi imagines #yoongi au #demon!yoongi #min yoongi #bts #jungkook angst #yoongi angst #angel bts #demon bts

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here4theheartbreak · 4 years

Text

Trouble (YoonKook)

AO3 Link Here!

✩ Relationships: yoonkook (Yoongi x Jungkook) ✩ Genre(s): fluff

✩ Rating: Teen ✩ Tags: fluff, established relationship, humor, (teen for vague mention of sex at one point)

✩ Summary: Jungkook wants a kitten. And what Jungkook wants, Jungkook gets... Even if Yoongi doesn't know it.

✩ A/N: Written for Anonymous for the drabble requests, prompt #2: When did we get a cat?

✩ Word Count: ~2.8k

Yoongi had loved Jungkook for nearly as long as he’d known the man. They had met in high college, when Jungkook was still an awkward freshman trying to figure out what he wanted to do in life, and Yoongi was near his graduation, already signed with a music company in the city as a producer. Despite their first few awkward dates as Jungkook struggled to come to terms with his sexuality and get comfortable in his skin, they stuck together, moving in with one another in Jungkook’s sophomore year.

Everything was the both of them. Helping Jungkook come out to his family, the tears when his father was far less than supportive, Yoongi still remembers the way Jungkook had kissed him after Yoongi went toe to toe with the man, preventing a further fight and earning his respect in one fell swoop.

Studying for Jungkook’s exams when he felt he couldn’t learn a single thing more, working on the request for Yoongi’s contracts and listening to tracks he’d spent hours on.

Their friends laughed at them because of just how well they got along. Despite their many years together, fights were minimal. True fights, where one or the other had to walk away, could be counted on one hand. Spats were normal, but never lasted more than an hour or two before they talked it through. Agreements were easily reached, each willing to meet the other in the middle in order to maintain not only a peaceful household, but a happy relationship.

Yoongi knew he was wrapped around Jungkook’s very beautiful fingers, if he was being honest. He didn’t mind at all. Jungkook never abused the power he knew he had over Yoongi, and not once did Yoongi feel stepped on. They were equals and their relationship was more solid than most that Yoongi knew with people their age.

There was only one thing the two continually argued about. Animals.

Jungkook, from the day they moved in together, had been pleading with Yoongi to adopt a pet. First it was a dog, which was easily shut down because the apartment complex they were in did not allow dogs of any kind. Then it shifted to a cat, which Yoongi was less opposed to, but he worried they were both too busy to care for an animal. And then a snake, lizard, or bird, all of which Yoongi ixnayed as quickly as Jungkook brought them up. The idea of sharing his home with a pet was terrifying. Yoongi wasn’t exactly sure why, and even after Jungkook graduated college and began working, Yoongi still argued against the idea whenever it was brought up. It had to have been the source of at least five of their bickers per month, and not something either was willing to budge on.

The normalcy and frequency with which Jungkook normally brought up the idea of a pet was startling. And that should have been Yoongi’s first clue that something was amiss in their house. Jungkook stopped mentioning anything about adopting a pet of any kind, or even bringing UP animals. Despite the oddity of the decline, it was sort of nice, not having the same regular argument.

The second clue to something not quite being right was the sudden increase in the amount of fish - specifically tuna - and milk that Jungkook was consuming. Jungkook ate a ton anyway, so Yoongi didn’t think much about it, assuming his exercise crazy boyfriend was on some new protein or calcium diet.

The third clue should have been Jungkook’s willingness to clean the apartment. He’d always been willing to do laundry or cover certain chores, but Yoongi had been coming home from the office at the end of the day to an entirely spotless home. Though they weren’t dirty men, they were young men, and that - despite their best efforts - normally left some natural mess… But not when Jungkook set to work. Yoongi hadn’t had to pick up more than his own shoes or shirt in the past month.

Yet, despite all of these clues, Yoongi thought nothing of it. He was happy, content, and living life as well as he had ever hoped he could, doing what he loved with the man he loved.

It was a quiet Saturday evening and Yoongi was tense. He was snapping at Jungkook over the littlest things, and knew he was being a general dick.

“What is wrong?” Jungkook finally asked, rubbing Yoongi’s tense shoulders.

“Nothing.”

“Yeah, there is. Talk to me.” Jungkook nuzzled over Yoongi’s neck and ear, kissing the soft skin there gently until Yoongi shivered.

“Just this new project. It’s a tight deadline and I don’t feel like it’s good enough,” he finally admitted, letting Jungkook begin to work the knots in his shoulders loose.

“I understand. I’m sure it’s fine, baby - but I also know you have that perfectionist streak that makes you so damn good at your job. It won’t let you rest until you feel like it’s ideal.”

“Exactly.” Yoongi let his head hang. Jungkook knew exactly where to press to turn him into mush.

“Well, why don’t you go into the office tomorrow? Spend a few times working on it and see if you can get it a little closer, or at least figure out what went wrong?”

“Sunday is our— Oh…” Yoongi sighed contentedly. “Our day.”

“And I’m sure I’ll be just fine spending a few hours by my lonesome while you work on something important. I’d rather that than have you tense and unhappy during our day together anyway. We can spend tonight and tomorrow night together instead.”

“Are you sure?” Yoongi asked.

“Of course. In fact…” Jungkook let go of his shoulders and began to kiss up the curve of his neck. “Do you want to make love tonight?”

Yoongi sighed deeper, his eyes fluttering shut. “If I ever say no to that, I’ve lost my mind.”

Jungkook giggled, a deep, playful sound that went straight to Yoongi’s stomach. “Then go take a nice, long, relaxing bath and get all clean. We’ll make sure you’re so relaxed you can’t even move until tomorrow morning.”

“You are… The perfect boyfriend,” Yoongi said. “I know. Go on.” Jungkook kissed his cheek and rose, heading into their bedroom.

Yoongi headed into the bathroom, stripping down naked. He turned on the water, letting it heat up before plugging the tub and pulling out a nondescript box from under the counter. Inside were a variety of bath bombs, different makes, scents, textures, colors, and oils. It was his guilty pleasure, and only Jungkook really knew his secret. He knew the guys at work would tease him to no end. The tough rapper and producer loving the feel of silky soft lavender essential oil and bright pink bath bombs when he lounged in his tub.

Speaking of bright pink. Yoongi plucked a neon pink cat shaped bath bomb from the box, unwrapping it and smelling it. Jasmine and some other floral scents… Perfect. He went over to the tub, turning off the faucet and plopping the little cat into the steaming water. It began to fizz immediately, and Yoongi grinned to himself. He settled into the water, sighing contentedly. With half closed eyes, he batted the fizzing cat back and forth through the water, watching it pump pink and orange foam, the color slowly spreading through the clear water.

The scent was soothing and relaxing, exactly as intended, and Yoongi let his eyes drift shut. He listened to the fizzing of the bomb as he sank lower, his chin resting just above the water. His body relaxed almost of its own volition, the soothing warmth of the water and the scent of the oils working together to draw the tension out of his body. He could figure out his music, it was just a challenge. Which was exactly what he loved in his job. Nothing wrong with working a little harder.

Yoongi didn’t know how long he laid in the warm water. Long enough for the fizzing to quiet, leaving him in silence save for the steady thump of his heart, strong in his ears.

Because of that silence, the soft thud near the toilet was as loud as a snap in the bathroom. Yoongi opened his eyes, blinking a few times to clear his vision when it fell onto the toilet. Surely, he was seeing things. He remained still, squeezing his eyes shut and open. Nope… Still there.

On the toilet, carefully traversing the rim of the open seat, was a small black, brown, and orange kitten. Yoongi watched it slip, nearly landing in the water of the toilet. He tensed, ready to leap out and rescue it. It recovered, however, and continued on its trek, pausing to swipe at the water. Yoongi could feel his pulse increasing, concerned for the kitten’s safety, but worried that moving too quickly would scare it into the water if it might otherwise be able to avoid it.

“Jungkook,” he called at a voice just below normal. The kitten looked at him, seeming to realize there was a human in the room with it for the first time. It froze, as did Yoongi, hoping it wouldn’t do something stupid.

It looked at him for a while, then began its trek once more, seemingly deeming him as not a danger.

“Jungkook,” Yoongi called again, a little above his normal voice. And a third time, just a little louder so he wouldn’t scare the kitten, “Jungkook!”

“What’s up?” Jungkook called from behind the half-closed door.

“When did we get a kitten?”

There was a very pregnant pause. “What?”

“A kitten, Jungkook. When did we get a cat?”

“We… We don’t have a cat, Yoongi.”

“We don’t?” Yoongi looked at the animal and then at the closed door. “Then mind telling me what this small furry creature is that’s currently trying to avoid falling in our toilet?”

Jungkook pushed open the door quickly, rushing in.

“No!” Yoongi cried. Too late. The kitten startled at the sudden movement and fell into the toilet with an unhappy meow and splash. Yoongi scrambled out of the tub, splashing his own water everywhere. He grabbed the kitten out of the water, wrapping it in the towel he’d intended to use to dry himself.

It struggled at first, but seemed to calm when it realized it was warm and no longer under water. Yoongi sighed and turned to Jungkook, his mouth a fine line.

Jungkook stood sheepishly, his shoulders sagging. He worried his hands in front of him, chewing his lip. “I’m in trouble, huh?”

“I told you we couldn’t get a cat, Jungkook. Please, explain why I’m holding a very wet one right now?”

“Probably because she fell in the toilet…” Jungkook tried to joke, his mouth drooping when Yoongi didn’t so much as smile.

“I know you said no cats. No pets. And I didn’t… I didn’t mean to. She was dying, Yoongi.”

“She looks fine.”

“Yeah, now. When I brought her inside she was starving and shivering.”

“When you brought her in? How long has she been in the house, Jungkook?”

Jungkook lowered his head further. “A month. I promise I didn’t mean to keep her. I was going to take her to the shelter. I still planned to, I just wanted to make sure she was healthy so they wouldn’t euthanize her. I’ve been keeping her in the laundry room and letting her out while you’re at work.”

“So that’s why you’ve been so eager to clean. Keeping me from finding something cat related.”

Jungkook nodded. He looked close to tears. “I didn’t want to lie to you, but I was so scared you’d make me give her up right away if I told you. I just wanted to nurse her back to health and then I was gonna give her away. I promise. I know you don’t like animals.”

“Take her,” Yoongi said, holding the bundle out to Jungkook.

Jungkook obeyed, holding her close to him.

“Get her dried off, she’s gonna get sick with that water. I’m going to clean up the mess in here.”

“Do you hate me now, Yoongi?” Jungkook worried.

“No. Go on.”

Jungkook’s shoulders sagged. He headed out, the kitten in tow. Yoongi sighed when he was gone, grabbing another towel to begin cleaning up the water mess on the floor. He drained his bath, lamenting the wasted time he could have spent relaxing. As he cleaned the floor, he thought back to the previous twenty minutes. What a brave little animal. And so carefree, didn’t even mind being in his arms when he was clearly frustrated. As stubborn as Jungkook, clearly. He thought to the way Jungkook talked about her, so clearly in love with the small animal. A little twinge of guilt hit Yoongi. He’d been snappy. Jungkook’s explanation was sound; he probably would have done the same thing in his place. He needed to apologize.

Yoongi pulled on his sweats, walking through the apartment. He found Jungkook placing the small kitten in a carrier.

“Is that where she sleeps?” Yoongi asked.

“What? Oh, no, I had a little bed made of blankets for her. I’ll wash them, I promise.”

“Why are you putting her in there then?”

“Well, to drop her off to the shelter. They have someone available during nights most of the time. I told you I’d planned on getting rid of her once she was healthy – I’m sure she’ll be fine and adoptable now.”

Yoongi’s heart sank. “Jungkook…”

“I’m really sorry, Yoongi. I know I betrayed your trust.”

“You did. And thank you for the apology, I accept it,” Yoongi said.

Jungkook straightened up, wincing when the kitten meowed forlornly in the carrier. “I’ll be back soon.” He headed toward the door. Yoongi stuck out his arm, catching Jungkook in the chest and stopping him.

“The pet fee is one third of our monthly rent. I can pay half of it if you can afford the other half. And she’ll need to be up to date on shots, so you need to get that taken care of no later than Monday.”

“What?” Jungkook asked, his voice barely audible.

“Do I really need to repeat all that?” Yoongi lamented, looking at Jungkook out of the side of his eye.

“You’re saying we can keep her?” Jungkook clarified, a hopeful lilt in his voice.

“I’m saying feeding and the litter box is your responsibility. I don’t want to smell that, it’s gross. I’ll help with shots and buying food as you need, I know you make less, newer into your position. We can go half on getting her fixed, I’ll cover it if you can’t afford it, and you can pay me back over time.”

“Yoongi—”

“I don’t hate cats, Jungkook. I never did.” Yoongi let his arm drop and looked at Jungkook. “At first I said no because we were so busy, and then I just kept saying no. No real reason why. That wasn’t fair of me either. If I was in your position and found a sick kitten, I probably would have done the same thing that you did. I don’t fault you for having a big heart, baby. It’s part of why I love you.”

“You’re not mad?”

“I wish you’d trusted me enough to tell me right away, but I understand why you didn’t. I’m not mad. Go ahead and let her out of there, she sounds sad.”

Jungkook grinned wider, crouching down and opening the door of the carrier. The kitten peeked out. She stepped out slowly, eyeing Yoongi before trotting off.

“What did you name her?”

“Trouble.”

“Fitting name.” Yoongi crouched, holding his hand out and making a soft ‘psps’ noise to call her. She moved toward him, sniffing him before letting him scoop her up. He stroked her fur. “She’s cute. You did good getting her looking healthy.”

“I worked really hard with her,” Jungkook said, reaching out to pet Trouble as well.

“I’m sorry I’ve been such a dick,” Yoongi said. “I should have been more understanding and willing to compromise on a pet.”

“I should have told you about her and trusted you to do stand by me,” Jungkook agreed. “You’re really okay with us keeping her?”

“No harm in it, really. We both work, but cats are independent. I’m sure she’ll be fine.”

Jungkook went forward, kissing Yoongi gently. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” He set Trouble down. “So I finished my bath,” he said, stepping up to Jungkook.

“Oh?”

“Mhm. I believe earlier there was a promise of making sure I was so relaxed I couldn’t move until tomorrow...”

Jungkook smirked, wrapping his arms around Yoongi’s shoulders. “I remember that.” He pressed gentle kisses along Yoongi’s jaw. “I should get started on that, hm?”

“Most definitely.”

Jungkook grinned. He let his arms drop and grabbed Yoongi’s hand, dragging him toward the bedroom. Yoongi laughed helplessly as he followed. He was weak for Jungkook, he knew it, and he was perfectly okay with it.

#thebtsficarchive #bangtanarmynet #thebtswritersclub #bangtanidx #btsguild #kwritersworldnet #networkbangtan #boymeetsmxm #bangtanxm #yoonkook #fluff #established relationship #animals #yoongi x jungkook #suga x jungkook #jungkook x yoongi #jungkook x suga #mywriting

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lvlyhao · 4 years

Text

「PART TWO: FEAR」

HUMANITY SERIES; Q.K

A/N: took me long enough to post, I know, but thank you to that last anon for reminding me of the series lol with school i tend to forget what i have and haven’t posted but i’ll do better from now on. i hope you like this :)

important: this chapter includes mentions of vomiting and though i’ve already put a warning for violence and gore in the masterlist, i’m saying it again: please don’t read this if you are not okay with that!!!!

word count: 2.1K

pairing: qian kun x reader

disclaimer: the characters in the story below do not reflect real people or present real facts. this is purely fictional, and you may not copy, change, translate or repost my work in any way. all rights reserved © cherry-hyejin 2021.

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“I’m heading out”, your hands fondly squeeze Taeyong’s shoulders from behind him. He does not look up from his task for a few seconds, counting rolls of gauze. Then, upon processing your words, he twirls to face you. His eyes trail up and down your figure, making a mental checklist of everything you need to be safe. Apparently, one thing is missing.

“Take Jaehyun with you”, he asks, “or maybe Yuta. Johnny is always good to have around, and so is Renjun. Those swords of his are no joke”, he rambles, losing focus. The way he places his hands on his hips and sighs tells you he’s absolutely drained. “Or maybe I should go with you—”

Shaking your head fervently, you pat his cheek for his attention, observing the streaks of noon sunlight across his face. He stares at you with concern and shifts his weight.

“You’re staying right here and so are the boys, Tyong. We haven’t found a survivor in weeks, and taking one of them is always more stressful than anything”, you reason. Recollections of how the boys attract trouble wherever they go cloud your mind, far too many to count. The air suddenly feels too chilly, with shivers running down your spine.

“Just stay here and maybe find a way to rest. You know Doyoung won’t mind keeping track of the supply for you.”

At this point, he knows it’s no use arguing.

“Just be careful… and get back before dawn”, he adjusts the collar of your jacket, thinking back to the weather outside of the grey walls of the dorms. “All I’m saying is you never know what you’re gonna find.” Giving you a tight-lipped smile and a nod, he resumes his job, and you leave him. Headed to the heavily locked iron doors guarded by the towering figures of Shotaro and Sungchan, you ask yourself if there was any hidden depth to Taeyong's words.

“You never know what you’re gonna find, huh", you mutter.

Now, roaming the deserted streets on your own and basking in the orange glow of the afternoon, you just think he was wrong.

It’s already been a couple of hours since you left: you’ve explored parts of the district you barely even knew before the virus, seeing all kinds of animals scurrying around your path. You’ve also eaten the rice balls Jaemin packed for you, and you’ve gawked at the decaying building that used to be your favourite theatre. It’s all the same as you imagined it would be. Not many walkers litter this part of town—just 7 or 8 you managed to avoid—and no people. No one worth rescuing.

Wandering like this, in silence, brings back memories you're not sure you like. Weekly game nights with your friends, attending Jisung’s dance presentations, playing in the park’s playground at night... All of those feel foreign to you, parts of life too good to have ever been yours. Still, the need for a shot of wistfulness takes over, and you sigh. Better now than when it gets late, then. With a shake of your head, you pick a destination and start moving.

You’re conscious of your surroundings as you keep one hand on the bow and make your way across the square. Dry, fiery leaves crunch under your boots, being the only sound you pick up. Nothing looks out of the ordinary, either. The same old abandoned stores seem to look down at you, their busted windows moaning in the wind. But, right then, something jabs at your gut. It's a silent alert to a threat you can't see.

Damnit. You better pick up the pace.

As soon as you make a turn to the left, spying the pizza place you used to visit, you freeze. Walkers, maybe 10 of them, whimper and try to get past the debris to reach something inside a pharmacy.

How could you not notice them earlier? They’re not a quiet horde, and the awful stench is not something you should have missed either. Have you been that lost in your nostalgia?

Whatever happened, you don't have much time. If the undead are making that much effort to get around the rubble, there has to be someone inside. A fellow human being—hopefully, a nice one. Someone you can help.

Acting out of instincts, you drink in your surroundings. Having your back hastily pressed against a tree trunk is not ideal, but it's what comes to you. While you can't call yourself a strategy master, jumping right into action is not the right plan when someone else's life is in danger.

Mind racing, you know you need a better shooting spot now if you want to make a move. Drawing them out to an alley is not a totally bad idea either. They wouldn't be able to escape, and maybe then they could flee.

As soon as you found a perfect corner for that, the screech of old door hinges catches your attention. A second later, shattering glass.

Shit. They broke in.

With no more time to assess the situation, you quickly climb up a rotting picnic table. The zombies, some missing a limb, slowly drag their feet towards a man in a plaid, blue shirt.

He's petrified, head lashing from side to side, looking for a way out. You know very well there is none, and soon enough it will be too late. He’ll be just at reach for those disgusting, putrid fingers. If they get a bite in, it's over for you, and it's over for him.

That’s when you take the stupidest decision of your life.

Screaming.

“YO, YOU POINTLESS MEAT SACK! WHY DON’T YOU LOOK OVER HERE?”

The boy might just get whiplash from how fast his eyes find yours. His are dark and desperate, but there is something else to them—to him. Something you will never find it in you to explain.

It could have been the way the stares right at your soul, or how his face displays every emotion from relief to terror. You could even say it was how his knees buckled under his weight or his fluttering hair in the wind. You can blame your reaction on a lot of things, but none of them startles you as much as yourself.

A cold hand grasps at your heart, squeezing it tightly in your chest. Blood drains from your face, and your frame shakes in the wind. You know this sensation all too well to have doubts, although it is what you swore never to feel again. Fear. Not for yourself, no, even when the undead start walking towards you instead. You don't—can't— care enough about your life, and you know it. It is all for him, the beautiful stranger you are going to save.

The first two arrows find their aim, speeding right through the undead’s skulls, but something shifts in your arms. The rest of your arrows now seem to swerve a bit to the sides, lodging themselves on necks or shoulders. In other words, not where they are supposed to.

Oh, how much you hate that the walkers will only die if you damage their brains.

“Annoying bastards, I swear—”

Falling into a state of near panic, you drop to the floor unceremoniously and race to the horde. If your bow won't do the trick, your other weapons will.

Momentarily thankful for their lack of agility, you pull out the knives hidden on the sides of your shoes. In a flurry of drive, you slash and stab everything around you. While throwing some hand-to-hand-combat here and there, your eyes start to burn. The walkers smell even worse from up close, you bitterly recall from past encounters. It's one of the things that make fighting harder—the urge to run away from them at every second.

The more daring among them clutch at your clothes, keeping your movement limited, but you manage to cut off their hands. The slick sound it makes is enough to make bile rise up your throat, but you swallow it back.

“C’mon, Y/N”, you pant, kicking what had once been an adult woman in the chest to send her down to the asphalt. “You’ve had tougher battles than this." With a breath as deep as you can manage, your knife cuts at another zombie.

It is true, you know. It's impossible to count the times you’ve been up against groups of 20 or more. You were always fine. Right now, though, wincing from multiple wounds scattered around your skin, you question how the hell did you do it.

Hurriedly glancing to your right, you notice 5 are already dead—well, dead-er than they had previously been. The lady you kicked struggles to get up, giving you a gap to spin and bury your knife into her scalp. She goes limp right away, and you stare. 4 more to go.

Just as you retrieve your blade and turn to face the other walkers, something bites your dominant hand. Hard.

With your knife tumbling down in a metallic clunk, fire shoots up your arm. The first thing you do is wiggle your hand back and forth. Some part of you thinks it was going to let go like it’s some sort of dog. You realize you were wrong when darkened saliva flows into the cuts, your mind going blank with agony.

You figure it was one of the undead you had pushed down before, only to lose sight of him later. And, yes, wiggling was a poor attempt at getting him to drop you, but you did it out of pure alarm. Fear is gradually taking over you now, freezing cold and impossible to fight.

With only your non-dominant hand free, you sloppily sink your blade down however many times it takes for the corpse to stop moving. The pain you feel is sharp, travelling through your veins like blue fire. As his grip slackens, the body slumps to the ground, a wet thud echoing. Despite the agony that threatens to blind you, you're aware of the other 3 walkers you have yet to take down.

One is easy enough, with an arrow embedded deep on one side of her neck, and another coming down on her brow bone. Repugnance swirls in your gut, and you have to look away. Their skulls are incredibly soft.

Your remaining enemies pace at either side of you, circling you with dead eyes and faltering strides. You keep your wounded hand close to you while the other clutches the leather grip of your weapon. It's time to put an end to this.

Choosing to go for the right first, you slash at his chest, grimacing at the black blood that oozes. It taints his shredded red hoodie and sprinkles at your front. The shudders that course through you in silent rage give you the strength to finish it off.

In one clean, powerful strike, your knife goes through an eyeball, but he collapses a bit too fast. You can't recover your blade.

Having no weapons on your hands, even for a second, is critical. The walkers are borderline sluggish, but it was easy to lose track of them: your severed hand was proof.

To your relief—or mild disgust—, hasty strides bounce at the pavement behind you, followed by heavy thuds on a slimy surface. It takes no more than 3 seconds for the last body to tumble by your feet, face down.

It's only then you see the skull, or better, what is left of it. Blood and brain flow over a gaping crack, done by something sharp. You could guess it was the heavy, black rock that you find before you, held in the hands of the man you are supposed to be saving.

From there, you realize his medium length hair is a faded blue, with dark brown at the roots. A grey university hoodie hugs his slim figure under the plaids, matching his cargo pants and busted sneakers. His face is all sharp angles and soft edges, but his gaze is nothing short of magnetic.

Wide, chocolate eyes glare at the body with such horror your own throat tightens. Then, with no words shared, he lets go of the rock and stumbles back like he cannot believe what he did. Your own eyes divert to the cloudless sky, hearing him vomiting on the concrete in a matter of seconds. Poor dude.

Pity, combined with the reminiscents of adrenaline and dread, settle in you. Your thoughts boil down to one small detail: the Sun is setting.

The throbbing on your hand momentarily vanishes, lost in the memory of Taeyong very clearly telling you to be back before dawn. Aside from that, the memory of what you did to get the walkers' attention still burns at your mind. That goddamned shout. Having a sense of hearing as acute as they did, you are sure any other zombies around you are coming your way.

You have fucked up big time.

-------

final notes: ik chapter one wasn’t all that exciting but i’m hoping this one is better wheeze two more to come, stay tuned <3

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clumsyclifford · 4 years

Text

i won’t forget you (but i may forget your name)

this is unforgivably stupid and entirely the fault of @reveriesofawriter who pointed out that because duke’s name was originally luke, if calum hadn’t changed his name, luke would’ve had to have been known as human luke. i have no explanation other than that. this is a gen fic i didn’t proofread it at all and all you need to know is that duke’s name is never changed to duke. the name luke is in this fic an obscene amount of times

i’m also so fucking sorry for giving this an actual title i really was just going to call it human luke but then i remembered this lyric from i’m ready by ajr so instead it’s being called that

WITHOUT FURTHER ADO: the human luke fic aka five times someone called luke human luke and one time he did it to himself

read it here on ao3

“What’s his name?” Luke asks.

Calum smirks. “Luke.”

“What?”

“His name.”

“Yeah, that’s what I asked you for, dipshit.”

“And I’m telling you, dipshit, his name is Luke.”

Luke stares through the phone screen. “No it’s not.”

“It is.”

“But you’re going to change it, right? You’re not going to keep a dog named Luke when you already have a best friend named Luke?”

“Quick to assume you’re my best friend,” Calum says airily. “Not very fair to Michael, I’ve known him longer.”

“You’re going to rename the dog, right?” Luke repeats emphatically.

Calum scrunches up his face. “But he looks like a Luke, Luke! It’s the perfect name for him.”

“We are in a band together!” Luke says, feeling vaguely hysterical and also kind of like this is some kind of fever dream, or possibly nightmare. “You see me every single day! You can’t just have a dog named Luke! You could rename him so easily!”

“But it’s about the vibes,” Calum says.

“Change the dog’s name, bro.”

“No, bro. The dog is Luke. You’ll just have to be Human Luke.”

“Absolutely the fuck not,” Luke says. “Under no circumstances are you calling me Human Luke. I was here first. The dog can be Dog Luke.”

“He’s already used to the name Luke, though,” Calum says, glancing off-screen at something. His features immediately soften, and he shifts for a moment, then sets his phone down. Luke frowns. When Calum’s face returns, it’s accompanied by a dog’s face.

Luke hates the dog on instinct, but he has to admit this soon-to-be-renamed Luke is super cute. His tiny snout takes up most of the screen, white with a black streak that climbs up onto his black head. He has a little beard, or whatever, tan fluff under his little cheeks and chin. Luke forces himself not to awww. This dog is causing problems.

“I’m already used to the name Luke,” Luke says, ignoring the way Calum is cooing over Dog Luke and kissing his adorable face.

“Yes, but it’s much easier to make you understand that you’re Human Luke than to make him have to learn a whole new name. Look at this face, Luke.” Calum brings the camera closer to Dog Luke’s snout. The dog’s deep black eyes stare innocently into it. “Just look at him. You wouldn’t deny this face his name, would you?”

“Easily,” Luke grumbles. “Easily I would. I am not being Human Luke.”

Calum gives him a look of sympathy. “Sorry, mate.”

Luke is not being Human Luke.

“So I went over to Calum’s house,” Ashton explains, “and Luke was just sat in the kitchen, and I was like, when the hell did you get a tiny dog?”

Everyone laughs, except Luke, who had momentarily zoned out only to be pulled back in by being mentioned by name. And they’re not even talking about him.

“Not Human Luke,” Calum adds, giggling. “My dog, Luke.”

“That must get confusing,” Elvis Duran says. “Having a dog named Luke and also a bandmate.”

“Yeah, you would think, wouldn’t you?” Luke puts in, shooting a glare to Calum, who’s decidedly ignoring him. “You would think maybe if you were in a band with a bloke called Luke you wouldn’t get a dog with the same name?”

Elvis chuckles, although Luke really hadn’t been joking. “So how do you guys tell them apart?” he asks, which is kind of rude. It’s not like Luke and Dog Luke look alike. “Or do you guys just say Luke and go with whichever one answers first?”

“Oh, we call Human Luke, well, Human Luke,” Ashton says, grinning at Luke’s put out expression. “He’s not a fan.”

“I maintain that I was here first!” Luke insists, as the entire studio breaks into laughs.

“Human Luke seems like it would work,” Elvis agrees.

“Don’t get any ideas,” Luke says warningly. He says it like he’s joking so that he doesn’t get in trouble, but Elvis is grinning. “Yeah, the boys have begun their efforts to force me out of the band by bullying, but I won’t go down easy.”

“I don’t know,” Michael says thoughtfully. “He really doesn’t like being called Human Luke.”

“I’m the original Luke!”

Nobody will stop laughing long enough to let Luke defend himself any longer, and the interview moves on.

Calum posts a picture of Luke and Dog Luke on Instagram. Luke gets no warning, hadn’t even known about the existence of the photo. It’s a really cute picture, a candid taken from earlier in the week, when Luke had come over to Calum’s place and they’d had a swim together. The photo shows Luke cradling Dog Luke, standing waist-deep in the pool, nose buried in Dog Luke’s neck.

The caption reads: Luke and Human Luke, my two best friends <3 #cake.

Luke is going to kill Calum.

“You can’t just call me Human Luke!” Luke says when they’re in the studio later in the day. Calum smirks and says nothing.

“Move on,” Michael calls from the other end of the table, where he and Ashton have been plotting, heads together. “You’re already Human Luke. You can’t escape it. You may as well own it.”

“Never,” Luke says. “I’ll fight this until my dying day. And you,” he jabs a finger at Calum, “are the worst friend ever.”

“I called you my best friend!” Calum protests.

“If I was your best friend, you’d have changed your fucking dog’s name.”

“Think of it like this,” Calum says, placatingly. Luke already senses he won’t like what Calum is about to say. “You’re called Luke, and you’re cute. And he’s cute, so it makes sense to call him Luke.”

“But he,” Luke points out, forcefully, “is a dog.”

Calum shakes his head, like Luke’s entirely missing the point. From the other end of the table, Michael snorts. “Can you take the compliment, please? I’m making the best of a bad situation.”

“You’re living for this,” Luke accuses. “You fucking love this. You all love calling me Human Luke. Sadists, all of you. I’m getting a new band.”

“Good luck finding anyone else who will put up with you as much as we do,” Michael says. “We’ve been in the studio for an hour and all you’ll talk about is being called Human Luke.”

“Maybe you should write a song about it,” Ashton suggests. “Get your frustrations out.”

“Or you could just accept it,” Calum offers, slinging an arm over Luke’s shoulders. “It gives you character. Luke wishes he could have as much character as Human Luke has.”

“Worst friend on the planet,” Luke repeats.

Ashton FaceTimes while Luke is making dinner with Jack — not his decision, but Jack’s, determined that Luke learn to make at least something for himself, never mind that he can make scrambled eggs just fine, kind of, thank you very much — but they’ve just put the lasagna in the oven, so Luke picks up.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Ashton says, beaming. When Jack appears beside Luke, Ashton adds, “Jack, man, what’s up!”

“Just teaching this guy to cook,” Jack says good-naturedly. Luke passes his phone off to Jack so they can chat. “How are you, man? It’s been a minute.”

“I’m good,” Ashton says, grinning wide. “I’m good, yeah. Spent some time today with Luke and Calum, tried to get some writing done but Luke wouldn’t stop, like, trying to climb onto the couch and walking all over the pages and stuff. Eventually we just gave up and played with him.”

Jack’s face goes through several stages of confusion. “Uh, what?”

“Oh, obviously not Human Luke,” Ashton says, and Luke glances at Jack and sees sheer glee building itself on his face. “Calum’s dog, Luke.”

“Calum got a dog,” Jack repeats, a slow smile stretching the corners of his mouth out, “and named it Luke, and now my brother is Human Luke?”

“The dog was already called Luke,” Luke grumbles. “And don’t get any fucking ideas, you arse. If you call me Human Luke even once I will put all of your worst secrets on the internet.” He glares at Ashton. “See what you’ve done?”

Ashton doesn’t look even slightly regretful. “I can’t believe you don’t know about Luke,” he says to Jack. “He’s basically the only thing on Calum’s Instagram these days.”

“I don’t go on Instagram a lot,” Jack says. “You really call Luke Human Luke?”

“Enough of this!” Luke says loudly, wrenching his phone out of Jack’s hands. “I’m going to go catch up with Ashton, and you can call me when you need me to, like, whatever you need from me.”

“Have a good catch-up,” Jack bids him, smirking, as Luke leaves the kitchen. “Human Luke.”

“Twitter’s just begging to know about you bringing your teddy bear to uni!”

“Twitter doesn’t give a shit about me!” Jack calls back. “Tell them I’m only calling you Human Luke from now on!”

Ashton laughs. Luke gives him a piercing glare.

“You’re a shithead,” he declares. “You’re all shitheads. I need new friends. And a new family.”

“But you love us so much,” Ashton says, giggling. “You’re the only Human Luke I’ve got, buddy.”

“I will seriously hang up on you.”

Luke’s phone buzzes. He briefly swipes down from the top to read a text from Ben:

Ben Hemmings: YOUR BAND CALLS YOU HUMAN LUKE???????????

For fuck’s sake.

When Alex texts Luke asking if any of his band wants to grab a coffee this weekend, Luke is quick to accept. It’s been too long since he’s seen Alex, and they’re intersecting one weekend in L.A., so Luke sends out the invite to his bandmates.

On Saturday afternoon, Luke and Michael wander into a coffee shop somewhere in the mysteriously secluded part of downtown Los Angeles, eyes searching until they land on Alex and Jack.

“What’s going on?” Alex says, grinning and getting to his feet. He pulls Michael into a hug first, and then Luke. Jack does the same. “Feels like it’s been forever.”

“Well, you’ve been busy with Last Young Renegade, haven’t you?” Michael says as they all sit. “And we’ve got Youngblood coming out.”

“Yeah, suspiciously close release date you guys chose, there,” Jack says, narrowing his eyes playfully at Michael. “We know you’re, like, a million times more successful than us, but did you need to show us up like that?”

“Yeah,” Michael says. “We did, yeah.” He turns to Luke. “Wanna get us drinks?”

Luke stands. “What do you want?”

“Iced caramel coffee,” Michael says. “Honestly, Luke, you should know my coffee order by now, This is terrible for our image. We’re supposed to live in each other’s pockets.”

“Fuck you,” Luke argues. “It changes, like, every month.”

“Or maybe you’re just a terrible friend.”

Luke rolls his eyes and Alex and Jack chuckle, and he ambles over to the register to order for himself and Michael.

When he returns to the table, Michael’s mid-story. Luke slides back into his seat and passes Michael’s drink to him, and Michael takes it without breaking in his narrative. “So Calum is wasted, and Luke — Human Luke, I mean — is basically passed out, almost, and I’m just trying to get Calum’s fucking door open. This bitch,” he jerks his chin at Luke, “is heavy.”

“I’m just tall!”

“I basically had to feel Calum up to get the key out of his pocket,” Michael says gravely. “But we got inside. And then Luke wouldn’t stop making noise, of course, because he was so excited to see us after we’d been out for hours. You wouldn’t think such a small dog could make such a racket, but there you are.”

“Oh, Luke!” Alex says excitedly, and Luke thinks, for a second, that Alex means him, but of course he doesn’t. Nobody does, these days. “I keep seeing him on Calum’s Instagram. He’s so fucking cute.”

“Absolutely adorable,” Michael agrees.

“Did you just call Luke Human Luke?” Jack asks. Luke buries his face in his hands.

“Don’t even start,” he mutters. “They won’t stop.”

“That’s kinda hilarious,” Jack says. “Imagine if I got a dog and just called it Alex.”

“I wouldn’t blame you,” Alex says. “Alex is the best name ever.”

“Actually, if I was going to name it after anyone in the band, it’d be Alex, probably,” Jack concedes. “Zack’s kinda, like, too human. And Rian’s name is spelled weird, so obviously it couldn’t be that.”

“You have my blessing,” Alex tells him. “In fact, I dare you.”

“This isn’t a joke,” Luke says stubbornly. He takes a drink from his own iced coffee. “I’m being made into a mockery. I’m a serious musician.”

“So is Lil Dicky,” Jack points out, “and he’s called Lil Dicky. Like, on purpose. You could do way worse than Human Luke.”

“Human Luke would actually be a pretty sick rap name,” Alex says, laughing.

“It’s a futile effort, guys,” Michael says. “He’s dead set on being pissed off about it.”

“I’m the original Luke,” Luke says despondently. He’s said that so many times in the past couple of month he’s beginning to feel like a broken record. “I came first!”

“Aw, don’t worry,” Alex says, reaching over the table to pat Luke’s cheeks reassuringly. “You’ll always be plain old Luke to me.”

“Not me,” Jack says, smirking. “I’m calling you Human Luke now, for sure.”

“I’ll delete your number,” Luke threatens.

“You will not.”

Luke won’t — he’s not about to delete Jack Barakat’s number — but he sure wishes he could, just to make a statement.

Dog Luke is super cute. There’s no way around it.

It’s just, okay, his snout. It’s his snout! And his tiny paws, and his floppy little ears, and his soulful eyes. And, he can smile. He’s a dog who can smile, okay, how could you not find him just absolutely precious? Luke would challenge anyone to look at Dog Luke for five seconds and not fall immediately in love.

He and Calum are playing Fifa, but Calum’s just gone to the bathroom when Dog Luke stretches out. He’d been curled up, snoozing on the floor. Now he shakes himself out and pushes himself onto his hind legs, front paws on the couch, gazing at Luke.

Luke huffs. “Only ‘til Cal gets back.” He picks Dog Luke up and hugs him close to his chest. Dog Luke nuzzles his nose into Luke’s neck. Luke smiles despite himself. He actually loves this dog, whatever bitterness he might spread around. It’s impossible not to.

“Alright, let’s have a little chat, you and I,” Luke decides, laying down and cuddling Dog Luke up in his arms. “I don’t hate you, you know. I just hate your owner. Calum’s a shithead. You’re alright. It’s not your fault you’re called Luke.”

Dog Luke squirms in Luke’s arms, and Luke drops a kiss on the top of his head. This seems to satisfy him, enough to stop him moving. “I bet it gets confusing for you, though, having me here?” Luke hums, scratching mindlessly behind Dog Luke’s ears. “That’s why I have to be Human Luke, because that doesn’t sound like Luke. You’re Luke. When we’re in the same room, anyway. I forgive you for that. Can’t teach an old dog new tricks. Or a new name. Or anything new, really.”

Dog Luke just sneezes.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Luke,” Luke says. “I’m Human Luke. I’ll go by Human Luke for you.”

“About fucking time!” Calum crows, and Luke, startled, jolts upright. Dog Luke loses his balance and Luke only just manages to catch him from falling off the couch.

“What the fuck, Calum, a little fucking warning,” Luke says, heart still pounding from the shock. “Jesus Christ.”

“You just called yourself Human Luke!” Calum says triumphantly, crossing to the couch and taking Dog Luke in his arms. “Hi, cutie. Did Human Luke finally accept his name?”

“That was conditional,” Luke feels it necessary to add. “I just don’t want to confuse the dog.”

“Oh, absolutely.” Calum grins. “You’re so full of shit, Luke. Human Luke.”

“I wasn’t talking to you! That was for the dog!”

“You were talking to Luke,” Calum sing-songs, “and you agreed to be called Human Luke, and I won’t ever forget about it, and am going to absolutely tell that story next time we get asked about Luke in an interview.”

“I hate you,” Luke announces loudly. “I hate you, I hate you, you’re the worst friend ever and I hate you —”

Calum just hands Dog Luke back to Luke, and Luke can’t very well be scathing while he’s holding about fifteen pounds of pure sweetness.

“You’re perfect,” Luke informs Dog Luke. “I forgive you. I will never forgive Calum, but that’s something that you and I are going to have to move past if we’re going to be friends.”

Calum laughs.

#calum hood #luke hemmings #duke hood #5sos #5sos fic #fic #my fic #THISSSSSS IS SOOOOOOOOOOO FUCKING STUPID THISI S THE DUMBEST THIGN IN THE WORLDDDD #DUMBEST THING ON THE PLANETTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT #IT'S ALMOST 4AM!!!!!!! JESUS HCHRISTTTTT #this is the kind of shit i get up to when i do one (1) assignment #and this is meghna's fault and i LITERALLY cant bleieve i wrote this #i wish helen had written it she'd have done it so much better #but anyway heres this. here it is. i sure did write it. and now it exists. and now you can read it #and i HATEEEEEEEEE MYSELRFFFFF #not really i dont hate myself BUT this is so super dumb and stupid genuinely #muke!gelphie has been unseated. this fic claims the crown as dumbest thing ive written #win!!#ANYWAY

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tabbyrp · 3 years

Text

{Tropes in the Wild West, part 4} {Cont from [x]} @brooklynislandgirl @tarnishedhalo

Sleeping in the saddle required two things: skill and a steady horse. Sam considered himself reasonably adept at the fine art of riding and Red Wing, in his humble opinion, was one of the finest mares to grace the lands. Rattlesnakes didn’t spook her in the slightest. Streaks of lighting could split the heavens while thunder roared, and it would barely raise a flick of the mare’s tail. Not that her resilience in that regard had been tested lately. Along each step of this ride, started a goodly time before the first cock’s crow and continuing well past the sun’s zenith, the sky stayed clear and the ground bone dry, dust kicking up with each strike of the hoof. A current flicker of wind sent a near hand’s worth of grit straight up Sam’s nose, made him sneeze violently, and dragged him out from the otherwise pleasant doze.

As the cowboy righted himself, drawing brim of hat higher to survey his surroundings, it became possible the horse had roused him on purpose. They had reached the stretch of trail which led a winding path to the Riley stead, beaten down over the years by equestrian hooves, plodding cattle, and the occasional trip by cart or wagon. Sam knew it well, even if lately he had not travelled it as often as he should, matters between him and Riley being ever complicated since the incident. Complicated, but not uncivil. As horse and rider trotted towards the house, Riley was there to greet them, the setting sun causing two waiting glasses of whiskey to ascend into sparking gold.

Later, Sam reclined in one of the family’s chairs, still plump with padding despite a long journey from the old country. His stomach was full from a hearty meal and weary bones found comfort in the stillness. Miss Beth and the other guest had both retired gracefully once the plates were cleared, disappearing with lanterns and laughter that spoke of a secret joke between them. Sam was none the wiser as to how Miss Tabitha had come to be part of the residence. An innocent inquiry over dinner had been deferred by Riley and enforced with that certain set to his posture. The one that taught men quickly to keep civil tongues in their heads about Miss Beth. Miss Tabitha appeared to raise his same guard dog hackles, though Sam was wise enough to resist laying bait to see what Riley would bite over.

Their previous partnership had worked well for numerous reasons, one being Sam’s calm balance to Riley’s strong will. Caution tempering boldness, except for when those bold choices were exactly what the situation required, and Riley had always been willing to lead the charge. Fearless was how Sam had viewed his friend from the first moment they met, two young bucks about to learn how this wild land needed to be treated. Now, Riley appeared weary as he poured them both a fresh glass of imported drink, one that Sam took a light sip from, lest he give in to temptation and fall asleep right then and there.

Perhaps Riley took pity on him after the long journey, for he skipped the polite type of conversation that would involve asking how the cattle were faring and what the other cowboys had been doing whenever granted free time to carouse in the township. “Now that the ladies are gone to bed, are you going to explain why you’re really here? I know you miss my cooking and the wit of my conversation, but it’s a long journey for one meal.”

There… there… beneath the crooked smile, lingered a ghost of the Riley he remembered. It hurt Sam in the chest, for he was about to snuff it out before the flame had time to grow. “We’ve got trouble at the ranch.” He gave Riley the due respect by facing him square on, as was right when about to ask a man for aid. “The kind that only you and your sister know how to deal with.”

They left the following morning. The two men had spent time in discussion about the safest mode of transportation. A small wagon was slower, though it had advantages should anything untoward happen out on the trail and they needed to defend the women. Riley was prepared to begin greasing the axles when Miss Beth emerged from the stables, her steed in a trot while she led another by the reins. Miss Tabby, being from the town and used to working on her feet instead of in a saddle, had clutched the pommel tight to keep from lurching off, though she carried a grit of determination that Sam could find respect for.

Both were dressed ready to travel, supplies and bags strapped securely in place, with Miss Beth making statements implying that the men should hurry up before they were left behind. Riley was none too pleased, that much was plain, but arguing would only waste more daylight. Even a horse whipped until bloody could not complete the journey between sunup and sundown. Making camp at night always carried a risk, although there were certain spots on the plains where lingering too long meant not rising come the dawn, and Sam had no intention of becoming grub food. Not today, at least.

Compared to Red Wing, with her steadfast nature, Sam’s friends favoured more spirited equines. Riley needed only a light squeeze of thighs to send Sally into a rocking canter, man and horse in perfect unison as they scouted ahead for trouble. Miss Beth’s gelding was a restless creature, endlessly flicking his mane and resisting the reins, keen to break free from a plodding walk. On occasion she split off, never travelling far, mostly to examine a particular shrub or other object of interest. While the brother and sister pair were absent, Sam and Miss Tabby engaged in idle conversation. He learned she was not a whore, despite a residence at the saloon, and nothing more about what bound her to the other. For all Miss Tabitha demurred, she did so with a warmth that few white women ever offered Sam.

Miss Tabitha’s charisma, however, took a dent when it came time to stop for the day. After horses were fed and a fire stoked to life, she insisted on breaking off pieces of her dried apple and depositing them outside the edge of the stone circle which Miss Beth and Riley had lain around their camp. Protests about attracting animals landed on deaf ears. Even after the ladies fell asleep, huddled together nose-to-nose beneath woollen blankets, Riley suggested Sam leave things be. So, he did, until a pair of ruby red eyes appeared in the shadows and four claws, scythe shaped like a barn cat if not so large and twice as thick, dug into the offering.

Sam looked away, deciding it best if he saw no more if he were to cede to his friend’s request for restraint. Already a part of him screamed to wrench a log from the fire and strike the cursed creature away into the blackened landscape, if not send it screeching back to the hell from whence it came. “It’s gone now.” Riley’s low, steady voice drew him away from those malignant urges, and indeed, when he glanced towards the darkness, nothing stared back at him.

“Is she like you?” Sam’s question hung in the air. Riley sighed, reaching to toss another fistful of kindling into the fire before standing.

“You can take first watch.” The man clapped his shoulder, unapologetic for everything, and made his bed beside his sister. Stars spread across the night sky and a chill carried in the air, making it hardly scandalous for Riley to roll onto his side and tuck in behind Miss Beth, trapping in the warmth of her body. A few hours later, when it came time for Sam to stretch and rouse his companion, he equally made no mention of how Riley’s hand had drifted during slumber, one arm draped heavily over his sister and a lock of Miss Tabby’s hair twisted around his fingers.

The remainder of their journey passed quick enough, the foursome covering ground faster than Sam may otherwise have predicted. He estimated it barely an hour past midday when they crossed the invisible property border to the cattle ranch which he called home. Previous plans for expansion in both land and numbers were currently postponed. Waiting for better weather, the current herd needing all their attention in an endless hunt for blades of grass still holding moisture. A dam and her offspring had wandered away from the rest, nosing at the ground as the group rode past. Sam would have to round her up at some point. There were other matters to attend to, and Riley had expressed his desire to deal with those sooner rather than later.

Further within the boundary, while far away from everything else, stood a corral. The small collection of wooden beams and panels nailed tight together, if certain slants to joints suggesting a hasty assembly. Remaining atop their horses, Sam led them closer. Slowly, cautiously, for even steady Red Wing gave a nicker of protest at the approach. One of the other ranch hands had draped a circle of rope at roughly a yard’s distance from the enclosure, locking it down with heavy iron nails. That was where Sam halted them. Close enough for a clear assessment, far enough for safety.

It took a moment or two for the dozen bovines within to notice their presence. Leathery heads lifted, empty eye sockets unseeing and gaunt nostrils sucking in the air. Their hair was gone, every last strand, leaving behind bleached skin that clung to gaunt bones. Unlike the docile mother cow they had passed, these creatures shivered and swayed, endlessly shifting their weight from one spindly leg to the other. The largest of them rocked forward, pressing up against the fence. It licked the air with a decaying tongue, got a proper taste of the observers, and gave a guttural howl. Two more went flank to flank with the leader, catching the scent. Sinewy necks extended towards Sam and the others as far as captivity allowed, falling short, yet still teeth flashed as jaws snapped wildly, bone clicking against bone.

Miss Beth and Riley exchanged a look, the elder saying something under his breath. Sam possessed enough experience catching his friend’s muttered comments to piece together this one. It’s spreading. Riley raised his voice to ask what methods they had tried to dispose of the creatures with, impassive while Sam listed off lead bullets, noxious poisons, and an attempt with an axe which left the wielder with a broken arm. “Take Tabitha up to the quarters.” Issuing what was more order than request, Riley dismounted with his old engraved pistol in hand, his sister following and starting to unstrap certain bags from her saddle. “And bring a few strong men back with you, along with some shovels.” Being dismissed caused a protest from Miss Tabby, and it took another terse, private conversation between her and Riley until the lady relented.

Perhaps it was none of his business. Still, as he and Miss Tabby rode away from the corral, Sam took in the downcast twist to her expression, and said in a tone of someone making merely a passing mention, “He’s only like that with people he cares about.” She sighed, lips parting as if to reply, but whatever she may or not have intended to say was cut off by the sound of a single gunshot ringing through the air. A high-pitched scream, bestial and ferocious, came after, then another crack of the gun. Miss Tabitha covered her ears and Sam took her reins, leading the horse with the sounds of death following close behind.

#brooklynislandgirl #tarnishedhalo #the AU that just won't quit #au: on a steel horse I ride [weird west]#/all errors are my own/

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