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sallyf4ce · 4 years ago

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wolves

chapter IV

-> sally face x f!reader

-> enemies? to lovers

-> previous | next

cw: drugs, cigarettes, violence, homophobia

*does not follow original plot of sally face*

summary: (y/n) and travis make up (ish), (y/n) gets hurt again (you really shouldn’t be surprised), larry gets a little moody (i don’t think he likes (y/n) very much), sal makes a move on (y/n) (although he doesn’t know he did)

“You’re (y/n), right? New kid?” Travis looks at you as you press the wet cloth to your nose. You nod.

“How’d you know?”

“Sal said it. he muttered. The disgusted look on his face was proven a facade by the blush on his cheeks.

“You’re in love, buddy.” you laugh.

“No i’m fucking not! You’re so fucking stupid, what the fuck? Who could love a faggot like Sally f-” you cut him off my shoving his head into the wall roughly. You don’t know what came over you, but being homophobic is still homophobic even if you’re in denial. You convinced yourself that it wasn’t about sally, it was just you being an ally. Way to kill the mood, travis.

“You pull that shit one more time and I'll leave you without teeth, blondie. Or would you rather i tell your dad that you hit girls?”

He squirms underneath your palm. “Sorry.” he looks at you with a pleading face.

You sigh and let him go. “S’fine. You need to learn how to control your anger, though, fuckface. You’re not gonna get anywhere with that attitude.” stuffing the bloody towel in your bag, you lead him out the door.

“I hate you.” Travis scoffs.

“What did i say?”

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><

“Larry, she’s already closer to travis than she is to us and they just met. Travis is a full-on dick, and they’re being all friendly! I didnt even know that was possible!” Sal chucks his bag in his locker. He hasn’t known you for long, but longer than travis! Plus he’s way nicer, too! Why’d you have to go and get all friendly with his bully?

“I don’t fucking like it either, sally face. Maybe we should just stay away from them.” Larry crossed his arms and leaned against the lockers.

Sal didn’t want to stay away from you, though. You were sweet, he was sure, just a little distant. Plus you just sort of intrigued him. He wanted to know why you were like this, what happened to you, why you had a prosthetic. Maybe it was hypocritical of him, though. He's only told Larry and Ashley about what happened to him, so he shouldn’t be picking at your trauma. you’ll tell him when you feel comfortable with it, but you’d need to be comfortable with him for that. and right now, it seems like you’re pretty comfortable with his bully.

“let’s go, dude. class starts in 5.”

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><

After grabbing your schedule with Travis, you set your stuff in your new locker (which smelled pretty good, surprisingly.) and began walking to your first class, math. Travis laughed at you when you read your schedule outloud and you gave him a whack on the head. What an idiot. He headed off to his first class, english.

you opened the door to the classroom and coughed to get the attention of the teacher, Mrs. Packerton.

“Ah, lovely! Class, say hi to (y/n) (l/n)!” she smiles as you awkwardly wave.

“You’ll be sitting in the back, right beside Sal.” an inaudible groan leaves your cracked lips as you make your way towards him, trying not to make eye contact.

“uh, here.” he moves over. you plop yourself down next to him and open your notebook.

“we’re doing a test right now. i’m pretty sure you won’t have to do it, since it’s your first day and all.” his blue hair bounces as he looks over to you again. it looks fluffy.

“you wanna touch it?” he chuckles. you don’t want to come off creepy, but he’s offering, right?

you reach out your prosthetic hand but quickly pull it back and switch it, realizing you can’t actually feel with it. he chuckles at your mistake and leans in to your touch.

you were right. it felt like clouds, puffy but still silky. it wasn’t combed properly, though.

“Mr. Fisher and Mrs. (L/n), you little lovebirds. hands to yourselves, please.” Mrs. Packerton laughs a little. “Ah, young love.”

you quickly pull your hand back and flush.

“stupid old lady.” you mutter.

“Mrs. P’s nice, she’s just a little… enamoured in her students’ love lives.” sal laughs.

“stop, you’re making her sound like a pedophile!” you cover your mouth to suppress your laugh and sal’s face heats up even more. He made you laugh!

You both quieted down as Sal continued his test and you doodled in your sketchbook.

“are you okay? after travis, you know.” he hummed, a mix of concern and jealousy swirling in his eyes.

“uh, yeah. i’m fine.”

“You sure? Your lips look pretty busted.”

“It’s all good.”

“why do you hang out with him, anyway?” he turned his test upside down and faced you again.

“what do you mean?” you’re confused.

“he hit you in the face first thing in the morning. If i was you, i wouldn't really like him.” sal gripped his pencil.

“are you jealous?” you question, a smirk on your face.

“No.” his expression is hidden behind his mask. you look into his eyes, trying to make him blush.

the blue is a different blue than the one you saw yesterday. it’s lighter, almost like a porcelain blue.

“whatever you say, porcelain face.”

“porcelain face?”

“your mask, and your eyes, i guess. they’re like a porcelain doll’s.”

he hums.

“what are you then? metal hand? cyborg? fist of steel?”

“you forgot iron fist.”

“iron fist?”

“sure.” you grin. sal’s heart flutters again.

“Alright children, please hand in your tests and nicely file out the class. The bell will ring any moment.” Mrs. Packerton smiles sweetly and starts collecting tests. You grab your bag and leave the class.

Sal looked around the room for a bit, looking for you. A flash of (h/c) hair leaving the room catches his eyes. He tries running after you, but you’re already heading towards your next class.

•Lunch time•

“Shut the fuck up, Trav. I said she was stupid, not stupid hot. I don't know where you got hot from! I literally never said it.” You shoved his shoulder. He just snickered and continued teasing you.

“Hey, (y/n)! Come have lunch with us!” Sal saw you walking with travis. He waved you over from the cafeteria. Travis immediately stopped laughing and sneered. He quickly began walking over to sal, raising his fist.

“Leave us alone, fucking fag-” travis swung at sal but you stepped in front of them, raising your arm to cover sal’s face since he was taller.

Travis throws punches like a wrestler, You already knew that. Maybe you shouldn't have used your real hand to catch it.

His fist slammed into your forearm roughly and you flinched.

“Fuck- travis, go cool off. Now. Leave.” you hold onto your arm. It stings, but it's not broken. You’ll be fine.

“You’re all a bunch of-” he stops mid sentence as you give him a glare. It sort of said ‘you’re gay too, dumbass.’ he scrunched his eyebrows and walked off.

“Oh my fucking god!” a girl with brown hair ran over to you and lightly grabbed your arm.

“This her, sal? Are you (Y/n)?” she looked at you. She seemed very sweet. Kind of reminded you of your cousin.

“Uh- yeah- can you let go?”

She smiles in apology and lets go.

“You didn't have to do that, (y/n).” sal scratches the back of his head. You’ve gotten hurt twice because of him. How are you supposed to be friends if the only thing sal does is hurt you?

“I think maple might have an ice pack in her lunch. Can you come sit with us?” He hopes you say yes.

“Yeah, okay.” you needed the ice pack and travis was nowhere to be seen, so you didn’t really have a choice.

“Hey, (y/n).” Larry grumbles as you walk to their table. It seems he’s upset with you.

“I just saved your buddy from travis. Not to your liking or something?” you look up to him. If something’s wrong, he should just fucking say it. Not beat around the bush like a pussy.

“Yeah. you and travis seem to be getting along well.” he finally makes eye contact with you. Sal and the girl seem uncomfortable.

“We all got our issues, asshole. Some of us just know how to deal with them better than others.” You sneer. He’s allowed not to like Travis, but he’s not allowed to be a bitch to you because you actually understand his actions and choose to help him instead of ignoring him.

“Whatever.” he spits. You turn to sal.

“I’ll get my own ice.” you begin walking away. “Also, watch your dog.” you hear sal chuckle as larry groans. He walks up to you before you can leave, Larry throwing his arms up in the air in disbelief.

“Hey, uh, (y/n)? I’m sorry you got hurt. Could- could i make it up to you somehow?” his hand is on yours. It’s warm, he’s probably blushing hard under his mask.

“Sure, sally. How would you do that?” you spin around to face him. You can see his mask rise a little and his smile peaks through.

“Do you have a phone?” he pulls his cell out. It’s just a simple black flip-phone with a few paint splatters.

“I do, it’s in my locker. I dont have my number memorized, though. Stupid area codes.” you mumble. “You wanna come get it with me?”

Sal looks back to his friends. Ash is nodding frantically while Larry twirls a cigarette through his fingers, still mad.

“Alright.”

taglist: @purelydarling @deadpoetsandhoney @ghostfacefricker6969 @percyyzz @whatsurgamertag @kiillian @potatochic2003 @beingaweebishell @glitterydonutangel @izzydrawsandwrites @angellicbitch @elebeleb @dream-of-eros @mr-bombastic

#sally face x reader #ashley campbell #larry johnson #sal fisher x reader #sally face #sally face smut

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astradrifting · 4 years ago

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This is kind of inspired by this recent ask I sent to @esther-dot about Jon’s characterisation and Jonsa shippers’ apparent disregard for it, because it made me think of another part of Jon’s characterisation that is really integral to who he is. Mainly, that Jon really loves his brothers. Especially Robb. His rival and best friend and constant companion. Jon envies him, competes with him, buried a formative traumatic memory where he was deeply hurt by him... but ultimately loves him. Complex relationships with his brothers, both the Starks and his Night’s Watch brothers, are a running theme in Jon’s chapters.

Speaking of Jon’s brothers...

Aegon VI and Robb have a lot of potential parallels, actually. The “Young” moniker, red-haired counselors who are also their parents, trained to be the heir to a great kingdom from a young age, the barely younger half-brother Jon borne of their father’s dishonour of their mother… one that they might both have a good relationship with despite that?

The show tried to play with Jon ‘accepting’ his Targaryen lineage through the jonerice romance, very unconvincingly because it was simultaneously undermining it at every opportunity, in what was maybe a half-assed attempt at Pol!Jon (”They’ll all come to see you for what you are” isn’t anything but a threat in all contexts).

Jon will ultimately choose the Starks over everything else, that’s not really a question. But if Jon were to genuinely connect with another Targaryen, it’d likely be easier for him to find kinship with a half-brother than with an aunt - he has a basis for positive relationships with trueborn half-brothers, while the only aunt figure he’s ever known about is a) long dead and b) actually his mother. I think it’d both make more sense and be more compelling for GRRM to leverage Jon’s existing complex relationships with brotherhood by having him interact with and build a relationship with Aegon, than a rushed and out-of-character romance with Dany.

Jon also is already primed to believe that Aegon is the real deal, that he was saved as a baby, because he’s already done the exact same thing himself - he swapped out a baby of royal blood who was in danger for a common-born boy, and then sent him halfway across the world for safety (side note: if Septa Lemore is Ashara, and if the baby was actually Ashara’s son as theorised here by @agentrouka-blog, that would just strengthen the parallel, because it would be his body double’s mother caring for him, as Gilly has to do for Mance’s son).

They’re definitely going to come into conflict first - politically, Jon will likely be in a position of power in the North by the time they meet, maybe as the KitN through Robb’s will or regent for Rickon, and probably will fight for Northern independence, while Aegon is fighting to be king of the Seven Kingdoms, not 6. Personally, it will be hard to get past the fact that Jon is the direct result of Rhaegar dishonouring Elia, plus that the Kingsguard who should have been protecting her were all stationed in Dorne, guarding Jon’s mother (in whatever capacity). But these interactions, a conflict and eventual friendship/brotherhood between them, would all be a lot more layered than jonerice can really offer. If a relationship between Jon and Dany was truly all that GRRM has been building up to, then there would have been no need for R+L=J - it adds nothing to that storyline, it doesn’t even make it a forbidden romance, because aunt-nephew is hardly the worst incest the Targaryens have engaged in.

It’s almost inevitable that Da*nerys is going to kill Aegon VI/Young Griff in the books, likely by burning him with dragonfire, in the Second Dance of the Dragons. The weird Dragonpit meeting in the show was very contrived, but it does make sense for Dany to meet the ruler on the Iron Throne at least once in a semi-peaceful context. In the show, she used her dragons only to intimidate Cersei, but she didn’t have a personal grievance with her. Aegon is in much more danger during such a meeting. After all she will think he is a pretender, and she doesn’t much care for the rules of safe conduct, as she showed to the envoys from Yunkai.

Dany shrugged, and said, "Dracarys."

The dragons answered. Rhaegal hissed and smoked, Viserion snapped, and Drogon spat swirling red-black flame. It touched the drape of Grazdan's tokar, and the silk caught in half a heartbeat.

[...]

"You swore I should have safe conduct!" the Yunkish envoy wailed.

"Do all the Yunkai'i whine so over a singed tokar? I shall buy you a new one... if you deliver up your slaves within three days. Elsewise, Drogon shall give you a warmer kiss." She wrinkled her nose. "You've soiled yourself. Take your gold and go, and see that the Wise Masters hear my message."

(ASOS, Dany IV)

"Ah, there is the thorn in the bower, my queen," said Hizdahr zo Loraq. "Sad to say, Yunkai has no faith in your promises. They keep plucking the same string on the harp, about some envoy that your dragons set on fire."

"Only his tokar was burned," said Dany scornfully.

(ADWD, Dany VI)

So Dany will burn the Blackfyre pretender, and everyone will be happy and cheer to see the rightful queen, the last Targaryen, Slayer of Lies, Breaker of Chains, Insert-The-Million-Other-Titles-Here. Right?

Except how would she prove that he’s an imposter? She can’t exactly roll up with an Alt Shift X video pointing out that Illyrio has said some weird things about Aegon. Is Varys going to have an attack of remorse and explain his whole plot, complete with Blackfyre family tree? Or maybe she’ll explain that she went on a vision quest in Qarth and Aegon totally matches up with the vague symbolism that a bunch of drugged up warlocks told her before she set them on fire?

I don’t think it’s going to matter if Aegon is fake or not, and we might never find out either way. The mystery of his identity isn’t his main narrative, and all of his significance to the story and to multiple other characters is removed if he’s proved to not be Aegon VI. Him being proved fake would just make this plotline a weird, unnecessary digression on Dany’s journey to being the righteous and true queen, his death just another #girlboss moment for her. That’s definitely going to be her perception of it, but once she reaches Westeros we won’t have to rely on only her POV of her actions. History is written by the winners, and no one’s going to miss that it’s a lot more convenient for Dany if the boy with a stronger claim than her turns out to have been fake all along. Arianne and the Dornish are definitely not going to take it lying down, and neither is Jon. He’s not going to fall in love with the woman who murdered his brother, especially by burning him alive. ADWD has plenty to say about how much he hates death by fire.

“Men say that freezing to death is almost peaceful. Fire, though … do you see the candle, Gilly?”

She looked at the flame. “Yes.”

“Touch it. Put your hand over the flame.”

Her big brown eyes grew bigger still. She did not move.

“Do it.” Kill the boy. “Now.”

Trembling, the girl reached out her hand, held it well above the flickering candle flame.

“Down. Let it kiss you.”

Gilly lowered her hand. An inch. Another. When the flame licked her flesh, she snatched her hand back and began to sob.

“Fire is a cruel way to die. Dalla died to give this child life, but you have nourished him, cherished him. You saved your own boy from the ice. Now save hers from the fire.”

(ADWD, Jon II)

Funnily enough, the same fire as a kiss imagery from Dany burning the envoy’s tokar appeared there too, also used as a threat.

If he is not a kinslayer, he is the next best thing. [...] What sort of man can stand by idly and watch his own brother being burned alive?

(ADWD, Jon IX)

So Aegon’s death is not going to be a triumphant victory for Dany, after which everyone proclaims her the true queen. It’s likely to just solidify opposition to her, from every corner of Westeros. If it happens during a summit or negotiation, it’d be even more of a tragic parallel to Robb and the Red Wedding; the young king murdered off of the battlefield, at an event where he was promised safe conduct. Featuring Dany in the role of Roose Bolton and Tywin Lannister. Tywin’s already died a very undignified death, and Roose Bolton looks to be on his way too.

I think the tragedy of Aegon’s death would also hit harder if we see it through Jon, as a main POV, or at least the aftermath of it. Jon was integral at the Dragonpit meeting after all, and probably would be at a peace summit or negotiation between the leaders of Westeros and the invading force.

In ASOS, there’s a curious lack of Jon’s reaction to Robb’s death. We see his initial reaction to Bran and Rickon’s supposed deaths when he gets back to Castle Black, but he doesn’t even know about Robb’s death until Stannis arrives to defeat the wildlings, and we’re not shown the moment he’s told about it. He barely even thinks about it, not even a mention until he meets with Stannis on top of the Wall:

“Your brother was the rightful Lord of Winterfell. If he had stayed home and done his duty, instead of crowning himself and riding off to conquer the riverlands, he might be alive today. Be that as it may. You are not Robb, no more than I am Robert.”

The harsh words had blown away whatever sympathy Jon might have had for Stannis. “I loved my brother,” he said.

(ASOS, Jon XI)

And that’s literally all we get that is specifically about Robb’s death - the rest of Jon’s chapters, his guilt and grief is about the loss of all his siblings, and the idea of stealing Winterfell from them. It doesn’t really make sense for him to not think about it at all, considering how close they were. This reminds me of how he has a non-reaction to Sansa’s marriage to Tyrion as well, as talked about in this post by @agentrouka-blog. Part of this could be Jon’s tendency towards denial and suppression of all his feelings, but it also points to GRRM explicitly obscuring his reaction - perhaps because he’s going to explore it in the wake of another brother dying a very similar death? One that this time he’ll be there to witness?

#astra rambles #meta #speculation #half speculation half 'my wildest dreams and hopes'#anti daenerys targaryen #anti jonerys #jon snow #aegon vi targaryen #jon and aegon #anti got #because i do dunk on the show a lot in this lmao #i've spent far too long on this and had to delete five tirades against the show already

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searchingwardrobes · 4 years ago

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Ivory Runs Red: 5/6

First off, massive thanks to the @cssns, my beta @demisexualemmaswan, and my artist @cocohook38. Cocohook created this amazing cover art, and she is working on something else too to go with this story. The rough sketch made my jaw drop, so I can’t wait for ya’ll to see it!

This part is going to be a little long, but I need to address something that I got multiple comments about. Just bear with me; this is the only way I can think to clear things up. I was really surprised to see that some people were angry at David and Mary Margaret for not doing anything to find Emma and/or "allowing" her relationship with Neal. Others simply expressed things along the lines of "I hope you explain what David and Mary Margaret did about all this." The reason this reaction surprised me so much is because I thought it was clear that they HAD done something. Why would the Golds need to get rid of police files if the Swans never reported Emma missing? Why would issues of the newspaper be missing from the library if Emma's disappearance wasn't reported on? Obviously, David and Mary Margaret did something! As for Neal, they had no idea Emma was seeing him. If you'll recall, in a previous chapter, Emma told Killian she had to sneak out at night to meet Neal. So that wasn't Snowing's fault either. Also, how would any of these characters know what David and Mary Margaret did or didn't do for their daughter? This is almost a hundred years later, and Emma's memories are dulled from being a ghost for so long. The only way I could spell out clearly how Snowing handled their daughter's disappearance would be some sort of convoluted info-dump, and I didn't want to destroy the tone and mood of the story to do that. But just so everyone knows: Yes, Emma's parents were devastated. They did everything in their power to find her, never giving up hope (which is so in character for them!). They died still believing she was either still out there or that crimes against her had gone unpunished. It broke their hearts. The Golds spread rumors that Emma was some kind of slut who ran away with a guy, and the people of Storybrooke overall thought the Swans had gone crazy. So there it is, that's the back story that I just couldn't figure out how to fit in the story, lol.

I'm not mad at the questions, to be clear. I was just surprised by them. I guess I blame the show for ruining these two as parents the last couple of seasons. Maybe that's why everyone jumped on them so fast. I was also honestly worried that ya'll would be upset with me for not addressing the topic, hence this long explanation! No one was rude by any means, so don't go trying to defend me from nonexistent trolls, lol! My feelings have NOT been hurt. I simply wanted to address the questions that were asked and the misplaced anger toward Snowing. (Not anger towards me - but fictional characters!)

Okay, now that I've cleared all THAT up, let's get on with the next chapter, shall we? And I'll go ahead and warn you: this is gonna hurt . . .

Summary: When ebony flashes gold, blood runs cold. When ivory runs red, you’ll be dead. Killian Jones had heard the old rhyme his entire life. Every child did in Storybrooke, Maine. They heard it whispered in the dark at sleepovers as children; taunted as a challenge as teenagers. Killian never believed it was actually true. Until that fateful night …

Rated M for graphic depictions of violence, abusive relationships, and major character death (I mean, it’s a ghost story ya’ll, people are dead. BUT I promise, there is a happy ending. Trust me? *peeks from around a corner*)

Length: 6 chapters, complete, updated every Friday

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four

Also on Ao3

Tagging the usuals: @snowbellewells @whimsicallyenchantedrose @kmomof4 @xhookswenchx @let-it-raines @bethacaciakay @tiganasummertree @shireness-says @stahlop @scientificapricot @spartanguard @welllpthisishappening @resident-of-storybrooke @thislassishooked @ilovemesomekillianjones @kday426 @ekr032-blog-blog @lfh1226-linda @ultraluckycatnd @nikkiemms @optomisticgirl @profdanglaisstuff @ohmakemeahercules @carpedzem @branlovestowrite @superchocovian @hollyethecurious @vvbooklady1256 @winterbaby89 @delirious-latenight-laughs @jennjenn615 @snidgetsafan @itsfabianadocarmo @lassluna @distant-rose @courtorderedcake @winterbythesea @thesschesthair @killian-whump @thisonesatellite @batana54 @it-meant-something @xsajx @therooksshiningknight @gingerchangeling

Chapter Five: Run

“You’ve got to tell them what you saw - what you’ve learned,” Killian pleaded.

Graham shook his head, his curly hair falling in his eyes as he stared at the slender hands he clasped in his. His eyes were bloodshot, his jaw sported far more facial hair than it normally did, and Killian didn’t have to ask if he’d slept in the past forty-eight hours.

“They won’t believe me.”

Killian’s jaw clenched in frustration. “But if I saw Emma, and you saw her, then maybe they’ll believe -”

“That Belle saw a ghost push Mike Gaston off the troll bridge? They’ll believe that? Really?” Graham let out a sarcastic, bitter laugh. “You really are just a naive kid if that’s what you're thinking.”

“But you’re a cop!”

“I’m still only nineteen! They’ll think we’re just over-imaginative teenagers.” Graham paused, reaching up with one hand to trace the curve of Belle’s cheek as she slept in her drug-induced prison. “That will land us in rooms just down the hall with our own IV full of an antipsychotic cocktail. How will I help her then?”

“You’ve fallen in love with her.” It wasn’t a question.

Graham sighed. “How could I not? And how could he -” He broke off, his blue eyes flashing. “I’m not sorry he’s dead. If I’d been there and saw him hurt her -”

“Shh, I wouldn’t say things like that. Not here.”

Killian’s gaze fell to the bruises around Belle’s neck, and he didn’t blame Graham at all. It terrified him to think what could have happened if Emma hadn’t shown up.

“History repeats itself,” he murmured under his breath.

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

Killian had scarcely arrived at the bridge when headlights blinded him. He turned away, blinking, stumbling, refusing to be stopped.

“Emma! Emma!” he shouted. He tripped and dropped his flashlight. It broke as it hit the ground, rolling to the edge of the bridge. Now all he could see was ebony before him and radiant luminescence behind him.

His palms scraped against the asphalt as Liam hauled him to his feet. His brother gripped his upper arms so tightly it was almost painful, and he gave him a brief shake.

“You’ve got to stop this!”

Killian fought him. “I have to see her!”

Liam had always been broader than Killian with an unfair advantage in all their childhood tussles. Even now, Killian was no match for him as he lifted him bodily with one arm and hauled him over to his car.

“You need help!” Liam literally tossed him into the backseat.

“I’m not going home!” Killian tried to scramble out, but Liam just shoved him back inside.

“Good, because I’m not taking you home.”

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

“Why won’t you be straight with us, kid?”

Killian glared at the detective with a cynical sneer. The psychiatrist on the cop’s left frowned at Killian’s attitude. The choice of words was cruel considering he was in a literal straightjacket. His vision of the two men was obscured by the long strands of dark hair before his eyes. Haircuts were apparently seen as a luxury on the psych ward.

“I’ve answered all your questions,” Killian finally told them wearily, “you just don’t like what I had to say.”

“Because we want the truth,” the psychiatrist, Dr. Archie Hopper, said gently. He was clearly playing the part of “good cop.” Or “good doctor.” Whatever.

“I told you the truth.”

“There’s no such thing as ghosts.”

Killian snorted a laugh. “Tell that to Mike Gaston.”

The detective’s voice took on a harsh, warning tone. “Mike Gaston was the victim of murder.”

“The victim!” Killian cried, his voice snapping up. “What about the bruises he put on Belle? Or the fact that I nearly died when he tied me to that bridge!”

The detective’s lips curled up in a lewd sneer as he lit a cigarette. “If some horny teenager likes it a bit rough, that’s none of my business.”

Killian fought his bonds, his jaw clenching at the detective’s insinuation. He was as bad as Neal Gold, maybe worse. He had to be pushing fifty at least, and a pot belly strained at his button up shirt. His eyes widened as Killian raged.

“Bothers you though, I see.” He leaned forward. “Nobody blames you for wanting her, kid. Nobody blames you for being jealous. But murder? That’s a different story.”

“I told you I had nothing to do with that!”

The detective glanced at Dr. Hopper, and the soft spoken psychiatrist took over. “Killian, start at the beginning for us. What did Belle say when she called you that night?”

“I’m telling you, she didn’t call me, she didn’t come to my house. I saw her early that afternoon at the library. That was it. Then my brother got a phone call that there had been an accident, and we came to the hospital.”

“You and Belle were at the library together a lot,” Hopper said softly, “what did you two do there?”

Killian rolled his eyes. He hated the patronizing way the man asked the question. “We studied. Did our homework. We were friends.”

The detective snorted again, and Killian wanted to scream. “Drop the act, kid. You really expect us to believe that you spent all that time with her, all that time with a hot chick, and you never fucked her?”

Dr. Hopper recoiled at the foul language, and Killian thought his own jaw might actually break.

“You’re just as much a misogynistic, narrow-minded, neanderthal as Mike Gaston.”

The detective grinned and slapped Dr. Hopper on the knee. “You were right, shrink, this kid’s smart.” He took another puff of his cigarette as he eyed Killian. “Smart enough to plan an elaborate murder with your knocked-up girlfriend?”

“That’s the most ridiculous - wait - did you say knocked up?”

“Hm,” the detective mused, leaning back in his chair and rubbing at his five o’clock shadow. “You didn’t know?”

Killian was horrified when a laugh slipped past his lips. Another bitter laugh followed, then another, until before he knew it, he was shaking with them. He was laughing hysterically while wearing a straightjacket. That thought made him laugh even more, and if he didn’t seem like a lunatic before, he sure as hell did now.

“What the hell is so funny?” thundered the detective.

Killian’s laughter stopped abruptly and he leveled the man with an intense stare. “History repeating itself. That’s what’s so funny.”

A smile that he knew bordered on manic curled his lips. Yes, history had repeated itself, and this time, Emma Swan had won.

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

They didn’t have enough to charge him, or Belle, or anyone else really with Gaston’s murder. It was officially declared an accident, and theoretically, Belle French and Killian Jones were free to move on.

Killian wouldn’t say it was easy for Belle. She had severe trauma from that terrifying night, and she ended up losing the baby because of it. Nevertheless, she had Dr. Hopper’s patient help, her father’s support, and Graham’s unwavering devotion. Soon, though it would be a long time before she was truly healed, she was able to go home.

Killian, on the other hand, didn’t really want to go home. For one, he, unlike Belle and Graham, refused to stop talking about Emma - refused to lie and say he made it up. He didn’t fault his friends for it; didn’t take it as a betrayal. He even understood their reasoning when they begged him to do the same and just play along, damn it. He simply couldn’t do it. Emma was too real, too precious. He knew her in a way they never would. He knew the feel of her skin, the taste of her lips. He wouldn’t - couldn’t - let that go.

The psych ward wasn’t so bad. The drugs numbed him to the point that he sailed on a sea of oblivion half the time. He’d stopped fighting, so there was no more straight jacket, no more bed straps.

And she came to him. Sometimes the drugs meant he wasn’t lucid enough to really carry on a conversation. On those nights, she curled up next to him on the bed. She ran her fingers through his hair and caressed his cheeks. She pressed kisses to his lips, and sometimes he could respond in kind.

Other times, though admittedly rare, they would talk. About everything and nothing at all. One night, they talked about their dreams for later, after high school, and suddenly Emma began to weep.

“I know,” he soothed, brushing her forehead with a kiss, “you fear you can never have that. But maybe we can figure it out. If we somehow get the truth out. About your murder -”

Emma silenced him with a finger to his lips. “That isn’t it, Killian. It’s you. I have no more tomorrows but you can.”

His brow furrowed, and she sighed and soothed the lines away with the pad of her thumb.

“But not if you keep holding onto me.”

His arms instinctively pulled her closer. “I’ll never let you go.”

She sighed, and sadness filled her eyes. She slipped out of his embrace and rose from the bed. Her skin grew white, her gown floated in an ethereal way at her feet. He frowned and scrambled to a sitting position.

“I have to say goodbye,” she told him. She said it with an edge of discovery in her voice. Her lips turned up in a soft smile even as a tear slipped down her cheek.

He shook his head and tried to reach for her, to leave the bed, but he had just enough drugs in his system to make his movements sluggish and ineffectual.

“I won’t let you see me again.”

“No, Emma, please! I love you!”

“And I love you. That’s why I have to do this.”

She was already fading away. Killian made a fist and slammed it into his thigh. Tears stung his eyes.

“Be happy,” she told him, “for me.”

Then she was gone.

#cs ff #captain swan ff #cssns21 #captain swan supernatural summer #ghost story #horror #strange lieutenant duckling #lol trust me #happy ending of sorts

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antiloreolympus · 4 years ago

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6 Anti LO Asks

1. i would actually get the idea people look down on the underworld gods bc like yeah theyre scary and unwelcomed, but like its undercut by rachel making them the most desirable and most powerful for?? reasons?? like she wants them to be underdogs while at the same time being the best at everything, which is her issue with persephone too, she also has to be powerless and humble but also the most unique and powerful. she wants us to root for them when they have no actual struggles.

2. i dont take reviews for anything, tbh. the "professional" reviews LO got were all by people who are also at the same printing house, so theyre literally paid to say something nice for marketing even if they dont like it (i work in publishing, we do this all the time), and amazon reviews arent regulated, so of course LO stans will flood it to fluff it up. thats what let's play fans have been doing too for years now too, despite it being wattpad markipiler fanfic.

3. I know comparing characters isn’t right but honestly LO has enough wrong going on I won’t feel bad. Persphone isn’t interesting on her own in LO. A lot of her character is having things happen to her except for flirting with Hades and killing mortals (and maybe running away as a reaction to Zeus). Persphone we are told she is smart, naive, powerful but powerless. Her character literally is whatever RS thinks fits the chapter the best. Persphone has no clear goals other than wanting Hades, what’s her major? What was the next step after college? Do the other gods go to college? Why doesn’t she know what sleeping to the top means but knows so much about flirting with a man who has a gf? What was she suppose to be doing if she never met hades?

Although the other female cast may not be likeable, they do actually do stuff that drives their own character

Minthe may have fallen into a shitty relationship with Hades, but she feels sick about the ring and treats Hades because he doesn’t listen to her. She leads Persphone to the wrong location cause she doesn’t like her. She fights hades (not a good thing but does something to the plot)

Daphne has Persphones background, grew up in the mortal realm. However she’s a lot more interesting. Demeter probably isn’t strict with Daphne, but Daphne is now and influencer with business deals and when forced to Dave Apollo bits and threatens him. And even before with Apollo wanted to find out her own opinions on the guy.

Hecate isn’t a main character but enjoys to be in the plot and leaves the plot as she pleases, she’s support but also seems like there more to her than shown. She likes chaos, gardening, and expanding her knowledge.

Aphrodite, drove the plot with the drugs and car thing, NOT A GOOD THING but actually did something. Was looking for her husband, testing her son may not be the best character but actually leaves marks on the story telling despite not showing up a lot.

Artemis, invites Persphone into her home, has always been this sliver footed hunter, was doing fine before persphone, but also has her own family issues

Demeter fought in a war, has her own morals and ethics when raising a daughter, may have messed up but again actually contributes to the plot

Hera pushes HXP together and apart, has her own interesting drama, seduced Kronos and paid for it gravely, DID have an affair with hades. Not good things but contributions.

Thetis manipulates people

Persphone just doesn’t do much herself in the comic. She didn’t want to go to the party, she didn’t want the job, a lot of the plot is having her having something happen to her. The drugging, the Apollo the offers, Meg offering her clothes even. She doesn’t drive the plot other than flirting with Hades even knowing about Minthe, killing those mortals, and turning Minthe into a plant, but none of those things are even framed as wrong. It’s like even when she does make a “mistake” it doesn’t “count”

4. DID HADES ACTUALLY REALLY HONESTLY SAY ZEUS' RAGE IS MISMANAGED!?!

5. Since we’re talking about self-inserts, hell, I have like 3 characters in my book that can be argued to be my self inserts. But the difference is that while I project onto them plenty, I still remember they are my CHARACTERS, not me. I give them flaws, I write them how I would any other, and I make them suffer consequences when needed. There’s a difference between that and whatever the hell RS is doing with Persephone

-----FP Spoilers-----

6. Not to beat a dead horse but even with Hades saying he misspoke in calling Persephone his wife - considering they arent dating and have only known each other for a short time period, it still sounds weird, right? Like in the newer chapters (I think) Hades and Persephone discuss going on a "first date" after the trial is over which would be fine - except A). It sounds as though even if Persephone gets a punishment (like lets say its a Prometheus treatment kinda thing) that they'll just go behind Zeus' back + authority to go on dates anyway, regardless of punishment or not, and B). Hades calling Persephone his wife indicates that despite not even being on a proper date or even knowing her all that well that he already thinks of her as such, which seems a bit presumptuous considering everything thats been happening.

Also ive seen claims far and between that months have passed if not a year since Persephone went on the run / the beginning of the comic - does anyone have a source for that? (The timeline makes everything confusing).

Also, I was told that the trial doesnt take place in the underworld - that it actually takes place in Olympus?? Anyone got a source? Pls and thanks.

From OP, not Anon: From the episodes currently on FP, the trial does take place on Olympus. The underworld is in a constant state of darkness and the place where the trial is being held shows it's visibly daytime. Also, it hasn't been months or a time skip. Some people were confused by Hades's wording because he said 'months'. Saying weeks would've been way better and less confusing.

#anti lo #anti lore olympus #lore olympus critical #lo critical

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solange-lol · 5 years ago

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hiii in celebration of AUctober, what are some of your fav solangelo AUs?

Anonymous said to solange-lol:

Hi! Kinda a random question: do you have any favorite riordanverse fanfics that you’d suggest reading? I’m looking for ones to read, but I’ve been having trouble finding new ones! Thanks!

rec list #1 | rec list #2

all recs can be found under the tag ‘lizs solangelo fic recs’ on my blog!

technically its past auctober now, but better late then never to drop my third solangelo rec list!! especially considering the state of the world rn ... lets just say its a celebration of me actually participating in sw for the first time in a while

rec under cut as always!! its not all aus but its the count that thots

Find Another Place to Stay by @unwieldyink

personally i think breakup fics are incredibly underrated, and i also think annie is incredibly underrated, so enjoy ur little cry if you read this one (tw // violence in this one)

Hershey’s kiss by @unwieldyink

we love a godswap!! it’s actually been a while since ive read this one and i reread this while making this rec list and can i just say that zeus!nico and hermes!will are both such valid concepts and this just has a rly good dynamic to it

Actors by @buoyantsaturn

i could talk about this fic for hours but lets just say ao3 has told me ive visted this fic 40 times. im not kidding. fake dating is just a godtier trope

start of something new by jinniefic

if you know me, you know that i fricken LOVE high school musical, and this is literally just the start of the first movie but solangelo and honestly a little more iconic please read even if ur not a hsm fan

paper/plastic by @rosyredlipstick

the fact that this is from 2018 and took this long to get into my rec list is tragic because i think about this fic a lot... a lot. mortal au. very chill, strangers to lovers, very good vibes, will be rereading soon (everything rosy writes is amazing we already knew this)

10:37pm by @buoyantsaturn

surprise another cj fic! fun fact she debated with us for a good half hour about what to title this fic so go read it so you can tell her you like the name (and the fic itself... its a very good fic) (tw // alchohol and drug use for this one)

Sunflower by ChiseHatori

3 days in the infirmary is probably the easiest trope u can find in the solangelo tag but i have to say this one really made me soft just bc it feels a lot more in character than some of the others ive read, and it basically picks up right where they ended in the books

Will You, or Will You Not? by @thebluesideofmyworld

marriage fics... also very soft. just boys bein boys. dual engagements. mortal au. all that good stuff vv soft i loved it

let your heart win by @justanothervampiregirl

this one is short but its also probably one of the most in character fics ive ever read and i really like this style of writing mixed with canon compliance so :)

The Magic of Naomi Solace by Sweetymomo

naomi solace, underratted legend. i aspire to have her relationship with will. lots of familial background if you like that!! and its set at a bnb!!

forget all the shooting stars and silver moons by itotallyreadthatbook

when i saw this in the tag i was SO excited bc we love high school aus here and it was!! very good indeed!! this trope is one ive never seen before and i recommend 10/10 good banter

They won’t always live by Phantomxlegend

will overworking himself and coping with loss always makes me :(( so if ur okay with some will angst then buckle up

“I am fully capable of kicking your ass” by @unwieldyink

i remember i saw the email notification for this one and immediately was like yup absolutely im in and it 100% lives up to its title we love capture the flag solangelo

the night we met by peachyytomlinson

a lil ooc but also very angsty and did make me emotional when i read this late at night. i think i wrote something similar a while back but i just aaaaa will angst man

“look how hard i can cry FWSHHH” by @buoyantsaturn

call me biased bc i like to claim that i originated the idea of demeter!will and cj dedicated this fic to me but like BRO its so soft and i love it here nico leave the plants along challenge failed

femboy hooters, or the time percy jackson failed to keep a secret by luciethebean

its all fun and games until the fic turns out to genuinely be really good. like, yes the title is exactly what you think it is but it doesnt matter bc its so fricken well written im^@*#&(*)($_$#&^@$(@*)* yeah

Of Ties and Significant Annoyances by seokjinvilla (@thechampagnecocainegasoline)

we dont support jkr in this household but what we do support is this bc this plot is genius and i love it

everything’s going swimmingly by tsunamiroll (@catboy-ethan)

fun fact i posed the idea of a sports/team prompt to the sw mod crew literally just so someone would pull through and write a swim au and ethan DID without even knowing. i love them and their writing style is so !!!! please read it

when you smile (the whole world stops) by tsunamiroll (@catboy-ethan)

another ethan fic!! this is the perfect fic for a rough day where u just want some cuddles bc thats literally the plot of the fic. i love this one with my entire heart its very fluffy 10/10 do reccomend

pumpkin spice (i hate it, it's not nice) (ok maybe it's a little nice) by tsunamiroll (@catboy-ethan)

ethan fic part 3!! bc i binge read these all in one night!! literally again their writing style is so amazing and the witty banter!!!! also we love a retail bookstore au

Burnt Plastic (and Other Bad Ideas) by More_of_This

so this one isnt exactly romantically solangelo but it is hilarious in my opinion and i absolutely adore well written college aus and while i know nothing about college this fic is so funny to me (if you read the tags there is, in fact, a raccoon involved) (tw // drinking for this one)

all because you kissed me goodnight by @buoyantsaturn

i have been WAITING for a mortal counselors au and im sure theres some out there already but y’all already know im a cj stan! lots of slowburn, friends to lovers, coworkers, all the good stuff (and i named this one and offered cj a lot of materials from my own camp so this one especially hits!! i reccomend for those good ol summer vibes!!) (tw // drinking for this one)

Waiting With You by @buoyantsaturn

oh boy buckle up if u want an angst ride because this fic tore me apart. i keep threatning cj with “dont pull another waiting with you”. that being said, very much feels like a movie while youre reading it, very fluffy in the middle, we love mutual pining.

Little Italian Boy by @buoyantsaturn

stream little italian boy by grace gilmore. youll get it. thats it.

The Clues by @thebluesideofmyworld

secret dating when done well is legit one of my favorite tropes of all time and this!!! this!!!!!!!!! its outsiders perspective also which is another one of my favorite tropes, and just little views on nicos life and i love it

So Come On, Talk it Out (your voice brought me back from the dead) by @buoyantsaturn

will solace, sponsered by kitkats, cj edition

no but if you read tower of nero you’ll really like this missing pieces pre-ton fic this is a really soft little fic with a bunch of easter eggs from the book in it, so i highly recommend! if you havent read ton yet and are still avoiding spoilers, come back to this one!

reaching for the sun (you, you, you) by moonswords (@tortadelimao)

i just read this one about 2 hours ago for the first time and i am Still thinking about it. its like the getting together that i literally feel like is canon and the vibes are Immaculate (also william “what about me looks straight” solace)

“Are we on a date right now?” by @unwieldyink

overworked will, nico helping out in the infirmary, first dates & hikes, canon compliant, we love to see it (also its an annie fic so ur required by law to read it)

Outrunning karma by Phantomxlgend

more will angst! featuring angry overworked will!

Everlasting Ring by minyoongurt (@blueblackslowtown)

i was Very excited when i read the summary of this one, and i think minyoongurt did a really good job!! healer will, injured nico, the whole dynamic. also i love the idea of nico only knowing “thank you” “go away” and “fuck you” in sign language. im pretty sure thats canon

The Little Thing by Rainbow_Mess

i belive this is also a pre-toa fic thats just exploring all the stuff we found out about will in ton and its very short and sweet :)

and of course, a few of my recent works for your consideration

who is he (and what is he to you?)

just doing my silly little tasks

i don’t need three bars to tell me we’re meant to connect

truly, madly, deeply

#solangelo #will solace #nico di angelo #pjo #heros of olympus #lizs solangelo fic recs #mine

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torque-witch · 4 years ago

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Exactly three years ago I was on day three of being admitted to the hospital for my entire colon bleeding from prolonged inflammation. Had to do a colonoscopy on my birthday and was doing a regimen of Tramadol every 4 hours and Morphine every 6 until they found it was Crohn’s and switched me to IV steroids. My legs essentially turned into sausage tubes from continuous IV fluids and I had to be checked for clots bc I couldn’t move a lot. Lost a 40 hour paycheck bc I wasn’t working at my last job for even 6 months at this point (no sick leave) and had to return 2 days after coming home so I could pay rent. (I had to practice walking for those 2 days so I could work)

Queue me being on oral steroids for 1 year and starting biologic therapy. Ripped off of steroids bc my at the time GI decided my case was too complicated (she was just honestly bad at her “speciality) and was handed over to a trial program through UPMC instead. Steroids were causing me to test at beginning fatty liver disease and being ripped off them too quickly caused me to be diagnosed with severe IBS on top of Crohn’s. My body essentially can’t function without steroids properly bc of prolonged use (another mishap caused by previous GI) so I was having 24/7 intestinal cramps and had to be put on a different drug to control it.

Every single doctor said I would be better. It’s only up from here!

And now I am officially 29 and can barely shower, eat, have energy at all and developed 3 co-morbidities after starting biologic therapy.

I’m only typing this because it’s 3am on my birthday and I’m having intestinal cramps and am off biologics still on like month 3 bc of insurance + waiting for after dose 2 of vaccine now. Took Valium bc it’s the only thing over the last 8 years that seems to work in emergencies. Feeling nostalgic in good and bad ways.

Yeah obviously I’m not hospitalized and that’s the point of lifetime med regimens, but I’m not better and I won’t be getting better anytime soon. Aside from not internally bleeding, I’m very certainly worse. And tired of being worse.

All things aside my life is good but I’m still well within my rights to complain. I had the best paying job in my field and was within the top 10 for best in company performance. Now I struggle to even complete orders on time that are WELL SPACED OUT and it feels awful. I have maybe 2 hours a day when I’m not nauseous or fatigued or panicked or in pain and that’s it. How did it go so far downhill in just a year?

I know that I wasn’t doing well. I know I only achieved that much because I pushed my body to its absolute limits. It was a pipe dream and a ticking time bomb since I was 22. And maybe I’m a little mad that I couldn’t overcome that and that every dream I ever had for myself was squashed. That no one appreciated the work and progress that I did make because it wasn’t “what we wanted for you” until I literally was internally bleeding and people saw how bad it really was.

But a year later I am free to be sick, at home, during a pandemic, with a loving husband and a wonderful community that supports me and has supported me through all of my seasons. And that makes me happy above all else.

#torquetalks #long post #you don’t have to read that #but if you did #thank you for listening #and I’m sorry I’m not great at reaching out #for like the entirety of 2021 #I have just about nothing left except spite #I hope capitalism burns someday #happy bday to me #health mention #hospital mention #bodily trauma mention #is that a mention?#goodnight

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melforbes · 4 years ago

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seaglass blue annotations

hello! i just posted the last chapter and thought i’d put together some ~fun context~ for that fic. it got way way more attention than i ever expected and for something i feel i didn’t put that much effort into i think i did in the end put a lot of effort into it so i might as well talk about it and answer some potential questions.

my favorite book of all time is the sunlit night by rebecca dinerstein (yes, that one) and something i find really compelling about that book is how sparing the prose is, forcing the reader to fill in certain gaps, and i think having to fill in those gaps makes the book a really acquired taste with which either you love it or hate it and there’s not really an in-between

i also really adore how in that book the natural world backdrop comes to life, something i find really challenging to write. recently i even read into thin air, the book about the 1996 mount everest disaster, and even though the writing was superb, i still had to google what the hillary step was because i couldn’t picture it on my own. i don’t know how people write nature because to me it feels damn near impossible, but this sparing approach really worked, so i thought i might try it out. i tend to be longwinded (gestures vaguely at this post) and wanted to have certain parts of this be a lot smaller and more contained without negating impact. whether or not i made it work is anyone’s guess. definitely not my normal style, so to speak

based on the comments i’ve received i think this might be everyone’s favorite part. in my mind age of consent by new order was playing in the background. in pretty much every fic i have a scene like this one and all of them are based on the poem first base gold by rh*annon mcg*vin from her book branches (censored because she has a tumblr and i don’t want her seeing this haha)

i absolutely can’t do the poem justice by describing what it’s about, but the simplest, most basic interpretation of the poem is that there is no better place to kiss than right here, right now, because of the past. i really like that imagery and tend to use it a lot. she as a writer has been a big inspiration for me and if you’ve read my fic true minds i should add that the nonfiction inspiration for that was directly as a result of one of her youtube videos. i particularly love how the last paragraph (stanza? im not a poet) is one big run-on sentence that’s jovial and tongue-in-cheek and colloquial and straightforward. it feels triumphant in a quiet way to me and i love how it’s done. obviously my attempts at something similar are nowhere near as insightful, but still, the most basic image of this is that there is no better place to kiss, and that’s how i felt about the two of them finding pudding in the supermarket

this part is autobiographical; while writing this last year, i went through six months of intravenous drug treatment, a month and a half of which involved long days of doctor visits on every weekday. when you’re on stuff like that for a long time you end up with a central line for better access (potential plot hole in all of this: scully never had one) but for a month and a half i got poked almost every day and strangely enough it got harder over time. the first couple you never feel, but a week or two later you start flinching, and if the needle goes in the same vein each time, it hurts the more it gets prodded. i reached a point toward the end of the in-office visits in which i would bleed a lot every time i got poked, and i can’t watch anything like that happen to me so i was looking away each time, and when i felt that the nurse was done, i would look back over, and sometimes i would be looking down at a pool of blood that i hadn’t expected to see. it’s weird, you don’t actually feel yourself bleeding, i would’ve expected a hot bloody feeling but instead it felt like nothing. and when i say a pool i mean that it would drip down beneath my elbow, stain the sheet they’d put underneath, and i wouldn’t get all of it off until i showered. i didn’t necessarily find it scary, but it was surreal and kind of pulled me out of normalizing the experience i was having. for a very long time needing iv drugs was my greatest fear and i was surrounded by that then and fine, and then, there was blood all over my arm, and like, haha, this is actually not fine. you’d think something else would’ve been scarier, but it wasn’t. and now looking back at this paragraph i wish i’d edited it differently but hey that’s life

i’d never really understood the purpose of religion as a self-driven part of life until i took anatomy in college. i was raised catholic and though culturally i understand having a religion and being raised with one, i’ve never really reached for religion when i wanted answers, and i haven’t personally understood why that’s someone’s first option. and i know there’s been plenty of commentary on the hypocrisy of dana scully as a catholic who believes in science, yada yada yada, i think everyone has read all of that by now. but what struck me while learning anatomy is that there is a kind of neuron we don’t know the function of. there are four kinds of neurons, and one of them is still a mystery to us. and then, there’s all of these different parts of human bodies that exist in a certain perfect way, but why do they exist like that? to support life, yes, but why is it that we can make comparisons? why were irises not the same color? and we name valves of the heart after religious figures. we are so hell-bent on meaning that something literal will never be enough. and all of that made me think that dana scully has god to fill in what science won’t answer, at least not yet. and there’s definitely a bigger conversation about science as denial of indigenous cultures that i am nowhere near qualified to start. after taking those classes, i think i would be more shocked if she wasn’t religious. you can ignore pretty much all of the paragraph above but it was important to me that at some point in this fic she willingly conceded that she didn’t know what would happen and that she didn’t have answers. with illness, there is no logic, there’s no thinking your way out of it, and i think that would plague her for a long time. to me, she only would accept her death when she could say she had no idea what would happen, she has no answers, there’s nothing filling in her gaps anymore, and she’s comfortable with that. and i put all of that in a paragraph about my thoughts on god because it made sense to me. there are times that just feel like you’re in a movie and there’s no one else you can say caused them. it’s not enough to build belief on but it’s enough to bring a certain kind of wonder. also one time my parents insisted on watching stripes because it was so funny and when watching it none of us found it funny at all and my parents grimaced and were like what were we on that made that good back in the day so that’s in here now haha

and now, the biggest question: does she die at the end? when i came up with the idea for this fic, i knew the beginning and ending but not the middle, and i posted this as a smaller project (ie: chapters below 3,000 words) while illness made my bigger projects harder to work on and essentially flew by the seat of my pants the whole time. i wrote the last line a long long time ago and have always seen the ending as written as the concrete ending. when i started writing this, i never intended for there to be a definitive answer to whether or not she dies. i like premature endings (the ending of girls burn brighter comes to mind) and i think that this works better without saying whether or not she lives. and i also have a hard time with giving a definitive answer because this fic very much is about death and having her die would, of course, be traumatic, but showing her living instead i think ruins any takeaways people could have. i’ve never had cancer but as a chronically ill person i think i can speak to how you never actually win with illness; the best you can do is tie, and sometimes, no matter how much effort you put in, you “lose” anyway, you lose spectacularly, and all of your effort was for nothing. i wholeheartedly believe that humans can’t emotionally or logically process natural disasters or illness, hence why much of the talk about illness in this is from mulder’s perspective as he experiences her terminal illness secondhand; that way, he doesn’t need to (but still likely will) find logic or reason or meaning for death from a terminal illness, so his discoveries and his coping mechanisms aren’t as urgently needed. had i written a chapter that describes how she lives, i think that the discussion of death in this would be voided altogether. and i also don’t believe the ending would be much different whether she lives or dies; there’s still the need for death acceptance and talking about dying, whether or not she lives, and none of the story in this fic would have happened had the characters known she would live. the whole point is not knowing.

for a little while i toyed with writing an unofficial sequel of sorts in which i spelled out what i think happens after the ending, but after realizing that that would end up being longer than the original fic and would also have some massive plot holes, i decided against it. i do have my own version and i don’t want to share that version because i never really intended for my version to be some kind of genuine sequel in which every question gets answered and everything is wrapped up and happy ever after and whatnot. it was just where my brain wandered in the same way it wanders when i watch an open-ended movie. all of that to say, if you think she lives, then she lives. if you think she dies, then she dies. it’s your decision. i’d much rather you choose than me. i never marked this as “major character” death on ao3 because, well, she doesn’t die in this fic. whether or not she dies after the fic ends, that’s for you to decide.

thank you for taking the time to read my writing. i never expected this to blow up (it blew up for me at least, for a while it was my most popular fic ever, with i think thousands more hits than anything else i’d written) and the response has been mind-boggling and wonderful. i don’t respond to comments often because it makes me feel like a pompous jerk (”thank you for enjoying this! i, too, enjoy this thing i have written! oh ho ho!” is how it sounds to me in my head, whereas when other writers respond to comments to me it just looks like thanks man have a good day, feel free to call me a weenie) but i’ve appreciated all of them very much. THANK YOU! i hope your new year is a Whole Lot Less Shit than 2020. i don’t plan on writing more msr because i don’t really have any ideas for them. thank you for making my last time special <3

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thedevilnamedlola · 4 years ago

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"Usually, I lie. At a party, someone asks the question. It’s someone who hasn’t smelled the rancid decay of week-dead flesh or heard the rattle of fluid flooding lungs. I shake the ice in my glass, smile, and lie. When they say, “I bet you always get that question,” I roll my eyes and agree.

There are plenty of in-between stories to delve into; icky, miraculous ones and reams of the hilarious and stupid. I did, after all, become a paramedic knowing it would stack my inner shelves with a library of human tragicomedy. I am a writer, and we are nothing if not tourists gawking at our own and other people’s misery. No?

The dead don’t bother me. Even the near-dead, I’ve made my peace with. When we meet, there’s a very simple arrangement: Either they’re provably past their expiration date and I go about my business, RIP, or they’re not and I stay. A convenient set of criteria delineates the provable part: if they have begun to decay; if rigor mortis has set in; if the sedentary blood has begun to pool at their lowest point, discoloring the skin like a slowly gathering bruise. The vaguest criterion is called obvious death, and we use it in those bizarre special occasions that people are often sniffing for when they ask questions at parties: decapitations, dismemberments, incinera- tions, brains splattered across the sidewalk. Obvious death.

One of my first obvious deaths was a portly Mexican man who had been bicycling along the highway that links Brooklyn to Queens. He’d been hit by three cars and a dump truck, which was the only one that stopped. The man wasn’t torn apart or flattened, but his body had twisted into a pretzel; arms wrapped around legs. Somewhere in there was a shoulder. Obvious death. His bike lay a few feet away, gnarled like its owner. Packs and packs of Mexican cigarettes scattered across the highway. It was three a.m. and a light rain sprinkled the dead man, the bicycle, the cigarette packs, and me, made us all glow in the sparkle of police flares. I was brand new; cars kept rushing past, slowing down, rushing past.

Obvious death. Which means there’s nothing we can do, which means I keep moving with my day, with my life, with whatever I’ve been pondering until this once-alive-now-inanimate object fell into my path.If I can’t check off any of the boxes—if I can’t prove the person’s dead—I get to work and the resuscitation flowchart erupts into a tree of brand-new and complex options. Start CPR, intubate, find a vein, put an IV in it. If there’s no vein and you’ve tried twice, drill an even bigger needle into the flat part of the bone just below the knee. Twist till you feel a pop, attach the IV line. If the heart is jiggling, shock it; if it’s flatlined, fill it with drugs. If the family lingers, escort them out; if they look too hopeful, ease them toward despair. If time slips past and the dead stay dead, call it. Signs of life? Scoop ’em up and go.

You see? Simple.

Except then one day you find one that has a quiet smile on her face, her arms laying softly at her sides, her body relaxed. She is ancient, a crinkled flower, and was dying for weeks, years. The fam- ily cries foul: She had wanted to go in peace. A doctor, a social worker, a nurse—at some point all opted not to bother having that difficult conversation, perhaps because the family is Dominican and the Spanish translator wasn’t easily reachable and anyway, someone else would have it, surely, but no one did. And now she’s laid herself down, made all her quiet preparations and slipped gently away. Without that single piece of paper though, none of the lamentations matter, the peaceful smile doesn’t matter. You set to work, the tree of options fans out, your blade sweeps her tongue aside and you battle in an endotracheal tube; needles find their mark. Bumps emerge on the flat line, a slow march of tiny hills that resolve into tighter scribbles. Her pulse bounds against your fingers; she is alive.

But not awake, perhaps never to be again. You have brought not life but living death, and fuck what I’ve seen, because that, my friends at the party, my random interlocutor who doesn’t know the reek of decay, that is surely one of the craziest things I have ever done.

But that’s not what I say. I lie.

Which is odd because I did, after all, become a medic to fill the library stacks, yes? An endless collection of human frailty vignettes: disasters and the expanding ripple of trauma. No, that’s not quite true. There was something else, I’m sure of it.

And anyway, here at this party, surrounded by eager listeners with drinks in hand, mouths slightly open, ready to laugh or gasp, I, the storyteller, pause. In that pause, read my discomfort.

On the job, we literally laugh in the face of death. In our crass humor and easy flow between tragedy and lunch break, outsiders see callousness: We have built walls, ceased to feel. As one who laughs, I assure you that this is not the case. When you greet death on the daily, it shows you new sides of itself, it brings you into the fold. Gradually, or maybe quickly, depending on who you are, you make friends with it. It’s a wary kind of friendship at first, with the kind of stilted conversation you might have with a man who picked you up hitch- hiking and turns out to have a pet boa constrictor around his neck. Death smiles because death always wins, so you can relax. When you know you won’t win, it lets you focus on doing everything you can to try to win anyway, and really, that’s all there is: The Effort.

The Effort cleanses. It wards off the gathering demons of doubt. When people wonder how we go home and sleep easy after bearing witness to so much pain, so much death, the answer is that we’re not bearing witness. We’re working. Not in the paycheck sense, but in the sense of The Effort. When it’s real, not one of the endless parade of chronic runny noses and vague hip discomforts, but a true, soon- to-be-dead emergency? Everything falls away. There is the patient, the family, the door. Out the door is the ambulance and then farther down the road, the hospital. That’s it. That’s all there is.

Awkward text messages from exes, career uncertainties, generalized aches and pains: They all disintegrate beneath the hugeness that is someone else’s life in your hands. The guy’s heart is failing; fluid backs up in those feebly pumping chambers, erupts into his lungs, climbs higher and higher, and now all you hear is the raspy clatter every time he breathes. Is his blood pressure too high or too low? You wrap the cuff on him as your partner finds an IV. The monitor goes on. A thousand possibilities open up before you: He might start getting better, he might code right there, the ambulance might stall, the medicine might not work, the elevator could never come. You cast off the ones you can’t do anything about, see about another IV because the one your partner got already blew. You’re sweating when you step back and realize nothing you’ve done has helped, and then everything becomes even simpler, because all you can do is take him to the hospital as fast as you can move without totaling the rig.

He doesn’t make it. You sweated and struggled and calculated and he doesn’t make it, and dammit if that ain’t the way shit goes, but also, you’re hungry. And you’re alive, and you’ve wracked your body and mind for the past hour trying to make this guy live. Death won, but death always wins, the ultimate spoiler alert. You can only be that humbled so many times and then you know: Death always wins. It’s a warm Thursday evening and grayish orange streaks the horizon. There’s a pizza place around the corner; their slices are just the right amount of doughy. You check inside yourself to see if anything’s shattered and it’s not, it’s not. You are alive. You have not shattered.

You have not shattered because of The Effort. The Effort cleanses because you have become a part of the story, you are not passive, the very opposite of passive, in fact. Having been humbled, you feel amazing. Every moment is precise and the sky ripples with delight as you head off to the pizza place, having hurled headlong into the game and given every inch of yourself, if only for a moment, to a losing struggle.

It’s not adrenaline, although they’ll say that it is, again and again. It is the grim, heartbroken joy of having taken part. It is the difference between shaking your head at the nightly news and taking to the streets. It’s when you finally tell her how you really feel, the moment you craft all your useless repetitive thoughts into a prayer.

At the party, as they look on expectantly, I draft one of the lesser moments of horror as a stand-in. The evisceration, that will do. That single strand of intestine just sitting on the man’s belly like a lost worm. He was dying too, but he lived. It was a good story, a terrible night.

I was new and I didn’t know if I’d done anything right. He lived, but only by a hair. I magnified each tiny decision to see if I’d erred and came up empty. There was no way to know. Eventually I stopped taking jobs home with me. I released the ghosts of what I’d done or hadn’t done, let The Effort do what it does and cleanse me in the very moment of crisis. And then one night I met a tiny three-year old girl in overalls, all smiles and high-fives and curly hair. We were there because a neighbor had called it in as a burn, but the burns were old. Called out on his abuse, the father had fled the scene. The emergency, which had been going on for years, had ended and only just begun.

The story unraveled as we drove to the hospital; I heard it from the front seat. The mother knew all along, explained it in jittery, sobbing replies as the police filled out their forms. It wasn’t just the burns; the abuse was sexual too. There’d been other hospital visits, which means that people who should’ve seen it didn’t, or didn’t bother setting the gears in motion to stop it. I parked, gave the kid another high five, watched her walk into the ER holding a cop’s hand.

Then we had our own forms to fill out. Bureaucracy’s response to unspeakable tragedy is more paperwork. Squeeze the horror into easy-to-fathom boxes, cull the rising tide of rage inside and check and recheck the data, complete the forms, sign, date, stamp, insert into a metal box and then begin the difficult task of forgetting.

The job followed me down Gun Hill Road; it laughed when I pretended I was okay. I stopped on a corner and felt it rise in me like it was my own heart failing this time, backing fluids into my lungs, breaking my breath. I texted a friend, walked another block. A sob came out of somewhere, just one. It was summer. The breeze felt nice and nice felt shitty.

My phone buzzed. Do you want to talk about it?

I did. I wanted to talk about it and more than that I wanted to never have seen it and even more than that I wanted to have done something about it and most of all, I wanted it never to have hap- pened, never to happen again. The body remembers. We carry each trauma and ecstasy with us and they mark our stride and posture, contort our rhythm until we release them into the summer night over Gun Hill Road. I knew it wasn’t time to release just yet; you can’t force these things. I tapped the word no into my phone and got on the train.

I don’t tell that one either. Stories with trigger warnings don’t go over well at parties. But when the question is asked, the little girl’s smile and her small, bruised arms appear in my mind.

The worst tragedies don’t usually get 911 calls, because they are patient, unravel over centuries. While we obsess over the hyperviolent mayhem, they seep into our subconscious, poison our sense of self, upend communities, and gnaw away at family trees with intergenerational trauma.I didn’t pick up my pen just to bear witness. None of us did. And I didn’t become a medic to get a front-row seat to other people’s tragedies. I did it because I knew the world was bleeding and so was I, and somewhere inside I knew the only way to stop my own bleeding was to learn how to stop someone else’s. Another call crackles over the radio, we pick up the mic and push the button and drive off. Death always wins, but there is power in our tiniest moments, humanity in shedding petty concerns to make room for compassion. We witness, take part, heal. The work of healing in turn heals us and we begin again, laughing mournfully, and put pen to paper.

Daniel José Older"

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fragmentedink-archived · 5 years ago

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Hell to Pay: Part Forty

I, II, III, IV, V, VI, VII, VIII, IX, X, XI, XII, XIII, XIV, XV, XVI, IX, IX, XX, XXI, XXII, XXIII, XIV, XV, XVI, XVII, XVIII, XVIIII, XXX, XXXI, XXXII, XXXIII, XXXIV, XXXV, XXXVI, XXXVII, XXXVIII, XXXIX

cowritten by @lux-scriptum

A/N: hey how about that! there’s no trigger warnings to look out for in this chapter :’)

Amara leaned against the bedroom doorway where Nik was staying. “Good afternoon, sleeping beauty.”

Nik rolled over, squinting at her. “You’re still alive.”

“What, a few days of nothing but Cameron supposed to kill me?” Amara snorted, and flopped down on the bed beside him.

“The fact he hasn’t killed you in your sleep says something.”

“Says he needs someone to take care of before he turns into a literal skeleton, is all. But if I said that to him, he wouldn’t let me stay, now would he?” She plopped a bag beside Nik. “I brought you a gift, and it wasn’t a conversation about your alpha’s issues.”

“And what’s in the bag?”

Amara opened it. “All the supplies we’d need to cut and dye your hair back to it’s former glory. I even brought you plenty of colors to choose from if you want something new and funky.” Amara patted his head.

Nik wrinkled his nose at her. “Have you ever cut hair?”

“Yeah, sure I have.” Amara grinned. “Or I wouldn’t offer to cut yours, you peacock. This is how I know you’re related to Nate, you know.”

“If you’re suggesting Nate would let you cut his hair, he’d break your fingers,” Nik said.

“Oh, no.” Amara gave a laugh. “I’m saying you’re both vain.”

Nik had the balls to look offended at that. “Pot meet kettle,” he said.

“Yeah, yeah, we’re all pretty little birds. Now get pick some colors so we can go make you look presentable again.”

Nik glared at her, but sat up and started to rifle through the bag. “Were you expecting to dye my hair rainbow? I’m not Nate.” He eventually settled on a deep emerald green. “Here. This.”

“Good choice.” Amara pushed at him. “Now to the bathroom we go. It’s time for aggressive bonding to make up for the not being friends for months.”

Nik grumbled at her as she bullied him into the bathroom. She fully expected it when he went for the window, pushing it open. Amara set up on the clippers and dye while he got settled, and then turned to Nik.

“Put your pretty butt on the toilet so I can get to clipping,” She said.

“Make me,” Nik said petulantly.

“I will shave your head,” she threatened, waving the clippers in his direction. Her threats were empty, and she was sure he’d know it, but what was friendship if not a little bit of consensual bullying?

“Shave my head, and I’ll drink all your booze,” Nik retorted.

“Don’t have any. Reneé dumped it before she moved out, and I didn’t buy any more. Find a scarier threat or sit down so I can make you pretty again.”

Nik squinted at her, but eventually plopped down on the toilet. She hummed, pleased, and went to work. It was nice, being close to Nik again, and she knew, while he was here at Nate’s, someone was keeping an eye on him. Not that Cameron wasn’t, but Cameron was grieving too, in his own way. That might be impossible for Cameron to admit, but Amara knew it was true.

Nik sat through the trimming and the bleaching and the dyeing silently. She was gentle, and let him have his silence, even though the whole process took hours. Once or twice Nate popped in, but Amara didn’t call him out on his fretting. Nate had every right to be worried, even if Nik was in very good hands.

Nate poked his head in as Amara was finishing up. She turned off the dryer, and turned Nik around. “Well?” Amara asked. “What do you think? I do good?”

Nate looked Nik over, and then said with a smile, “He looks great.”

“I always look great,” Nik muttered.

“Yeah,” Amara said, running her hands through Nik’s hair carefully. “You do.”

Nik pursed his lips. “Don’t flirt with me.”

“Oh, Nate can compliment you, but when I do, it’s flirting?” Amara scoffed. “You of all people should know the difference between my flirting and my flirting.” She thought about ruffling his hair, messing it up, but instead she stood and started cleaning up her mess. “I should probably go. Cameron’s probably not gonna be happy if I miss dinner.”

Nik shot her an amused look. “Are you going to start calling him daddy too?”

“No,” Amara said. “But someone needs to keep him on his schedule, or he’s useless to me.”

Nik looked down at the floor. She squeezed his shoulder.

“Hey. He’s doing fine. But i’m also not gonna risk getting kicked out tonight.” She turned to Nate. “Get him in some sun. I don’t wanna see a day where I’m more tan than he is.” As if that were possible, but she really did worry about him cooping up in bed too long.

---

It had been several days now that Ash couldn't keep anything in his stomach. The dark magic cast that had clearly been a failure, had been soaked into the earth and he had spent the entire time in a cold sweat and vomiting his guts up regularly. It was only now that his body gave him a break.

He went to find Nate, who was holed up in his art studio. "So, I'm not currently dying," he said, leaning against the doorframe. "Wanna see if Lev's soul got shredded in that shitshow of a spell?"

Nate looked at him with a tired, irritated look, putting down his barely used paintbrush. “Tactful as always, Ash,” he sighed. “But, yes. If you’re up for it. I don’t want you dying on me. I’d rather not have another ghost haunting me. Especially you. Then I’d never get any sleep.”

Ash ignored that particular dig. “Then let’s get moving. The sooner we get any kind of confirmation, the sooner this ludacris business will be over with and I can move on with my pain-free life.”

Nate got up from his stool and moved to the center of the room to a paint splattered rug and sat cross legged. Ash watched from the doorway and he could taste the dark magic in the air- dark magic, but not… dark magic. Death was a shadowy world and Nate’s magic had the ability to snuff out life, even after death- to leave a soul nothing more than a forgotten memory.

Nate sucked in a sharp breath, eyes snapping open when he felt… something, a spirit ripped into space, nearly crashing into the floor.

“Well,” Ash said, “I’m guessing that answers that question.”

Nate reached over, taking ahold of the spirit, bringing it to a physical form. “Are you alright?” Nate asked, tiredly.

“What- happened?” Lev asked.

“Tried to bring you back to life,” Ash said. “It failed, dark magic made me sick for a week. Nik got his hair dyed, Cameron fainted because he didn’t eat for over a month. You know, normal things.”

Lev looked to Nate. “Is it supposed to hurt? Like this?”

Nate lifted his shoulder in a helpless shrug. “I don’t know,” he said, quietly. “Your soul just- disappeared. I was worried it got shredded.”

“How long was I gone?” Lev asked.

“A week,” Nate said.

“Spent the whole time vomiting, but you know. Like I just said. Besides, is your soul intact? Do you feel… something missing at all?”

“I feel whole… it just hurts. But it doesn’t.” Lev stopped, and gave a hysterical laugh. “Phantom pain.”

That got an unexpected snort out of Ash. “Okay, puns are my thing,” he said, feeling an uptick of a smile on his face. “But as long as your soul is intact, I see no reason why Amara would stop trying to bring you back.”

“She probably won’t,” Lev said, sounding very, very tired.

“Do you want to come back at all?” Nate asked, quietly. “If you don’t, I will make her stop.”

“What I want and what i should do are two different subjects,” Lev said, after a pause.

“Well,” Nate said, with that legendary patience. “I didn’t ask you what you should do. I asked you what you wanted to do.”

Stars, he could really tell Nate was Bay’s mate. They were both annoyingly similar sometimes.

Lev looked to him, looking very guilty. “I want it.”

“Well,” Ash said, rubbing his temples. “Don’t let me stop you.”

“I wish it didn’t hurt you,” Lev said. “It would make my decision a lot easier.”

“Don’t stop on my behalf,” Ash said, tiredly. “The others haven’t. You might as well join the majority.”

“What- Lev?”

Ash froze at that voice, cursing himself for not being able to hear Nik. He was too damned good at being able to move around like a shadow. Nik was staring at Lev, wide eyed. “What’s going on? And why am I never told a single fucking thing about it.”

Lev looked at Nate, a little stricken. “I’m not supposed to talk to him,” he said, almost a plea to not tell Bay; to not get in trouble with him.

“Yeah well,” Nik said, “Fuck what Bay says. He can get in line after you talk to me because everyone seems to get to talk to you except for me.”

“That would be because you’ve been a wasted train wreck who has been suicidal and nonstop drunk for the last four months while also taking heavy drugs, and oh yeah, overdosing on said drugs. So forgive me for not wanting to watch you have yet another emotional breakdown when your boyfriend must once again disappear into Ghost Land.”

“Ash,” Nate chastised.

Ash ignored him and kept his attention on Nik. “Be pissed all you want, but you know you would have gone even further off the deep end if we told you and you fucking know it.” When Nik looked moments from snapping back, Ash said, coolly, “Do not forget, I know when you’re lying.”

Lev gave such a quiet, “Ash please” that even he could barely hear.

Ash cut Lev a look. “Am I wrong?”

“No, but yelling isn’t going to make anything better.” Lev said. “It’s just hurting people.”

“Yes, hello,” Nik snapped. “You all seemed to have forgotten I am in this damned room and I am tired of everyone ignoring me and my wants. But hey, at least we’re all treading around me like I’m some delicate flower who needs their hand held. Lev. Talk to me.”

Lev slowly looked at him. “They didn’t tell me you dyed your hair green. It looks nice.”

“It’s queer coding for Nik is a train wreck,” Ash replied. “However, yes. It does look nice.”

Nik smiled just a little bit. “Four months and the first thing you tell me is my hair looks nice? I always look nice.”

Well, that was a lie, but whatever.

“Yeah but it’s a new nice. I haven’t seen green streaks in your hair before,” Lev said, to Nik.

“Looks good, doesn’t it?” Nik said. “Almost went for orange but… i don’t want that clashing with my skin… and my aesthetic… can’t ruin it. Won’t do it.”

“I think you would look very nice with orange streaks,” Lev said, loyally.

“Oh I’m sure you would,” Nik said, his smile growing just a little bit more. “Cameron, however, would not think your opinions on the matter are valid, considering you wear jorts. So.”

Nate had winced at that. Clearly Nate was on the same fashion spectrum as Ash and Cameron seemed to be.

“You’re bullying me again,” Lev said, petulantly, returning Nik’s small smile.

“Mmm. Am I?” Lev laughed a lil at that. He looked happy. Nik looked a shadow of it, not quite, but not the void he was. Somewhere in the middle. Somewhere between dead and alive. “Did- are you alone? Just watching us?”

“I have company,” he said. “Nate talks to me. I’ve been trying to not hover so much. It seemed to make you agitated.”

Nik’s face fell, seeming to fold in on itself. His scent changed, soured almost. “I’m sorry,” he said, voice more echo than true words.

Lev looked so guilty. “It’s not your fault,” he said. “I needed the space to think anyway.” When Nik didn’t say anything, Lev added, “Coming back is… complicated.”

Nik began picking at his bracelets and seemed to struggle with what to say. Nate looked to Ash meaningfully, and Ash chose this particular time to once again paint himself as the bad guy. “Alright,” he said, pushing off the doorframe. “I think visitation time is over. Lev tell your boyfriend goodbye.”

“Are you okay with that?” Lev asked Nik.

Nik’s breath was too shallow, and Ash didn’t think Nik was going to answer at all. Especially when he was still picking at his bracelets. He could tell Nik’s blood pressure was rising and he was going to damn well fight an anxiety attack to keep himself in this room with Lev. “No,” Nik said, tightly.

“Lev,” Ash said, sharply.

Lev looked from him back to Nik. “If you need me, Nate can get me.”

Nik didn’t say anything, Ash wasn’t sure he was capable of saying anything. The only response Nik had was blinking hard, tears slipping down his cheeks. He wiped them away harshly and turned on his heel, pushing past Ash and disappearing down the hall.

“I fucked up again, didn’t I?” Lev said.

“No,” Ash said. “Nik. Is grieving. You didn’t do anything.”

He didn’t wait for anything else from either Nate or Lev before disappearing after Nik. He found Nik in the kitchen and grabbed his arm before he tried looking for what he always did. “You. Cannot. Drink.”

Nik whipped around and glared at him. “And why not?”

“Because I said so?” When Nik tried arguing with him, Ash said, “Alright. How about because your alpha said so and one step out of line means you don’t get to go home. Nik. Please. Let’s go outside. Beach, maybe?”

Nik’s face fell faintly, but it was enough Nik stopped fighting him on it. He wiped at his face again. “Fine. But you’re buying me lunch.”

“Fine,” Ash said, relieved.

“Wherever I want.”

“Deal.”

----

Sorin poked his head in Cyrus’ study. It was even more a wreck than before. Where it’s chaos had been confined to the desk, now books lay scattered on the floor, and Cyrus was sprawled over piles of notes.

For days Cyrus had been cooped up, going over his notes repeatedly. Sorin had barely been able to drag him to bed. He was about ready to do so again, now, but watching Cyrus work, brow furrowed in thought as he chewed on a ring absently, made Sorin pause.

“I’ve stayed up too late again, haven’t I?” Cyrus finally said, looking up.

“A bit.”

Cyrus hummed, and then went back to staring at his notes.

“I’ll make you a deal,” Sorin offered with a wheedling tone. “I’ll make you breakfast tomorrow if you go to bed soon. Like, now soon.”

“That seems rather unfair. I get up earlier, and I cook the oatmeal better.” Cyrus smiled down at his books. “You’re going to have to offer better if you want a deal.”

Sorin snorted, but before he could figure out what to offer, Cyrus snapped his head up. Before he could process it, Cyris jumped up and kissed Sorin, hard. “You angry ginger genius,” Cyrus said, ruffling Sorin’s curls.

“I’m confused,” Sorin said. “What did I do?”

“Well,” Cyrus corrected. “I’m the genus, but you brought the inspiration.” He wandered to the desk, and pulled out a piece of paper. He scribbled a quick, ‘I have the solution. Bring Amara, either tonight or tomorrow’, and sent the paper away with a flutter of magic. “We need a better deal.”

---

Cameron had allowed AMara access to the front seat, provided she keep her mouth shut. He had the windows up for once, faint music playing, but that didn’t seem to stop her from sitting ramrod stiff like Nik did, except she was holding onto the safety bar.

“Would you like me to roll down the windows?” he finally asked, mildly.

“Won’t do anything, it’ll be fine,” she said. “I trust you to not crash the car.”

He did not want to sit next to this halfway panicked omega while he drove. “If you trusted that, then you wouldn’t be holding on for dear life,” he said. “What do you normally do to stop acting neurotic?”

“My instincts don’t always line up with logic,” she said. “Normally I drink, but I can’t do that right now. This is why I drive a motorcycle.”

“You have been in this car several times,” Cameron said. “And against my will at that. What do you do then?”

“Talk to Nik.”

“Then call him,” Cameron said, in a bored tone, digging out his phone, unlocking it, and dropping it in her lap. “I trust you to know his number by now.”

Amara did as told and called Nik. “What are you doing?”

“Amara?” he heard Nik, say a little bewildered. “...Why do you have Cameron’s phone. Oh stars, tell me you didn’t actually kill him.”

Cameron rolled his eyes.

“I didn’t tell Cameron I didn’t like riding in cars in silence,” Amara said, “And he doesn’t like talking to me.”

“Don’t like your voice, either,” Cameron said. “We must all make sacrifices.”

“Okay, but Cameron doesn’t like anyone,” Nik pointed out, not able to hear Cameron’s response.

“Just tell me what you’re doing,” Amara told Nik. “Distract me.”

Nik was quiet on the other line, just for a few seconds before, “Ash promised me the ocean. And food. I’m fucking hungry and apparently I’ve barely eaten in the last few days.”

Cameron sighed irritably. Maybe he should have nailed it into Nate’s head to make sure he fed his idiot brother as well. This is what he got for assuming Nate had common sense.

“I’d say I’d come and join you after we’re done, but you know how much I hate the ocean.”

“Well I didn’t say you had to swim, Mar,” Nik said, sounding petulant. “And just Ash keeping me company is going to make me drown myself. He’s trying to mom me.”

“You need to be momed,” Amara said. “You’ve been a wreck.”

“Okay, then come play the role of mami if you’re going to be like that,” Nik said, with the smallest hint of a smile in his tone. “Otherwise I’m going to slip the leash again.”

“I need you to hang in there,” Amara said. “I’ll be around more soon, I promise. I’m sure there’s something fun we can do that doesn’t involve alcohol.”

He heard Nik groan loudly at the other end of the line. “How soon,” he asked. “I’m all twitchy and you’re the only person i fucking know who doesn’t bother lying to me.”

“After I’m done with my field trip with Cameron, I’ll come over,” Amara said. She paused before adding, “Unless something dramatic comes up. Everything seems drama lately.”

“Fine,” Nik said. “We’ll be at the beach. Don’t forget sunscreen for your delicate skin. If you forget, we already brought some for Ash.”

“I’m offended,” Amara said. “My side of the family doesn’t burn. Well. Reneé does, but that’s because she’s a ginger.”

He could hear Ash scoff in the background.

“Mhmm,” Nik said. “I’m sure.”

They came up to the house settled in the woods. “We’re here. Tell Nikolas goodbye, Amara.”

“I gotta go Saint Nikolas,” Amara said. “Stay out of trouble and I’ll let you punch me for calling you that.”

Nik retorted something, but it was cut off as Cameron took the phone from her. “Behave,” Cameron said. “I’ll stop by later.” And with that he hung up and got out of the car.

He didn’t bother waiting for Amara to catch up with him before walking into the house and going straight to the study where Cyrus was waiting. “You summoned me?” Cameron asked, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“We didn’t offer anything in exchange.”

“Consider me shocked,” Cameron said. “Did you have something in mind? I’m sure Death doesn’t take monetary payment.”

“I figure it’s fair to give Death a life for a life,” Cyrus said. “Kill the man who killed him.”

“That would be my brother,” Cameron said.

“Well it’s not like Cameron’s going to do it,” Amara said. “When do you need him?”

When Cameron didn’t offer any input, Cyrus said, “I need to come with you. So I’d rather we wait until tomorrow, at the very least. I need to contain his soul so we can use it in the spell.”

“Anything else?” Cameron asked, mildly.

“Are you feeling up to helping me cast the spell?”

“I said I would,” Cameron clipped out.

“I didn’t ask if you would, I asked if you could.” Cyrus said. “I won’t do it unless you’re healthy enough to.”

“Well here I am,” Cameron said. “The picture of health. Anything else?”

“Is there anything we need to change about the spell? Setting wise? Process wise? Is there anyone else that needs to be present?”

“It will be done at my house,” Cameron said. “Nik will not be there. Neither will Nate or Amara, They’re both going to keep Nik away from here. Ash will be there to make sure his body is functioning, as neither you nor Sorin are healers, and Sazra is a demonic healer and Lev’s body will likely be too delicate to withstand demonic healing. Anything else you need to know?”

Cyrus shook his head. “Let me know when you guys plan on killing Destris so I can join you.”

Cameron picked at a nail, but nodded and turned on his heel and went to the car. He heard Amara behind him, and before she could start on her tirade, he said, “Backseat.”

“You’re not even going to discuss what I, a full grown adult, am going to do? I don’t mind keeping an eye on Nik, but you didn’t even ask.”

“No, I am not,” Cameron said, stopping at his car and looking her squarely in the eye. “As you keep reminding me, I am Lev’s alpha. You are not. Cyrus contacted me, and not you, making this my problem, and not yours. And since this will be done at my house, with my omega, you are going to listen to me, and if you do not, I will physically restrain you and keep you from stepping foot near me, Nik or Lev until everything is well done and finished. Understand?”

When she did not respond to him, Cameron got into the driver's seat and waited for her to obey him and get in the back. Only when she did, did he hear her mutter under her breath about this being her idea. Might have been her idea, but as soon as she opened her mouth, and her idea fai9led the first round, Cameron was taking it into his hands and not leaving this in the hands of an impulsive child who can babysit Nik for him while he made sure this went smoothly. “I will not be with you when you kill Destris,” Cameron said, pulling the car out onto the road. “And when you watch Nik, do not let him drink. Ash is very insistent on it.”

“I know.”

“You will call me when it is done,” Cameron said, flicking her a look through the mirror. “And I will make the necessary arrangements. I trust you can kill a demon without someone holding your hand.”

“Destris would be dead within twenty-four hours,” she said. “Do you want proof?”

Cameron thought about that for a few minutes, quiet and not saying anything. “No,” he said, “I do not.”

---

Nik laid out on the sand, eyes closed while he took in the sun, the sounds of the ocean and the people around him. Even with the beach swarmed, and with Ash next to him, he still felt eerily alone. And almost like the perfect timing did his phone buzz with a text from Amara.

Mar: Hey, a job came up, but if you still need me, I’ll come

Nik thought about it. However, he had the feeling if she did show up, her brain would be elsewhere and it wouldn’t even be like she was there to begin with. Might as well let her get on her way so she could pretend like she was actually there.

Nik: It’s fine. Do your thing

He put his phone back down and folded his hands over his stomach, closing his eyes. He felt Ash sit down next to him. “Do you want to swim?”

Nik was silent for a few moments. “No, I don’t think I want to. Just sit here and not think for a while.”

Ash settled in the sand next to him and Nik looked over, raking his eyes over Ash’s frame. “You going to put on that sunscreen so your pale ass doesn’t fry?”

Ash cut him a glare, and made a point about how he settled with his eyes closed. “I’ll heal. Still want to get something to eat afterwards?”

“Yeah,” Nik said. “Withdrawal has been a pain in my ass so I’m trying to get something in my stomach.”

“Probably wise,” Ash hummed, slipping his fingers in Nik’s hair, pulling it out of his closed eyes. “Anywhere you’re wanting to go in particular?”

“Guelaguetza, I think,” Nik said. “Miss being able to taste my food.”

“Whatever you want,” Ash said.

“You’re being suspiciously accommodating,” Nik observed, sneaking a peek at him.

Ash twitched his mouth to the side, looking a little amused. “Well, I did say you could choose. And since you’re not being a pain in my ass at this particular moment of time, I thought I would give you a treat for behaving.”

“Hmmm. Fine.”

“Mhmm,” Ash said, settling back down in the sand with a heavy sigh. “Fine indeed.”

----

The restaurant was full of color and food and sounds. Nik seemed pleased to be here, even if they did have a rather long wait. Nik seemed happy enough and that was worth the time spent waiting for a table. The happy chatter around them was filled with laughter and the lovely waitress brought menus for both Nik and Ash.

He had Nik order his food for him since Ash had no idea what to get, but Nik seemed to know exactly what he would want. Nik traced lines into the brightly colored floral print decorating the tables, humming a song Ash didn’t know under his breath. It had been- quite some time since he heard anything like that from Nik.

Their food was brought out to them and Nik happily started digging into his food. Ash started on his own, and he was surprised there was only a faint burn in his mouth. Nik gave him an amused, dry look. “I got the mild. Just for you.”

“I’m touched,” Ash deadpanned.

“Anything for you, vato,” Nik said, with a sickening sweetness.

Ash rolled his eyes, but watched him carefully while Nik ate. After a few minutes, Nik closed his eyes, looking away from his food. “You alright?” Ash asked, mildly, taking a bite from his food.

“I think I ate too much, too fast,” Nik said, pushing his plate back just a bit. He seemed to wait, to see if his stomach would settle, but then abruptly got up and disappeared to the back.

A waitress seemed concerned and asked Ash if his friend was okay; if there was something wrong with the food.

“No,” Ash said. “It’s perfect. He’s just not feeling himself.”

She smiled at him, tan face bright and dark eyes sparkling. “I hope he feels well soon.”

Ash had the feeling Nik would not be feeling well any time soon, but he still offered her the same smile in return. “I hope so, too.”

Tagging: @incandescent-creativity @idreamonpaper @solangelo3088 @halstudies @alittleyellowdinosaur @caelisis

#writeblr #writers on tumblr #hell to pay #ch: cameron #ch: ash #ch: nik #ch: Nate

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macgyvertape · 4 years ago

Text

50 or so hours into Cyberpunk 2077

This should be roughly the correct amount of time, ive been leaving the game running as I get up to get food or do stretches. Quests are roughly in order I did them

non spoilers above cut:

i haven't found a single hat/helmet i like, and since you can't hide them I just am not wearing any. It matters that much.

I posted the other day about bugs, every few hours I play I find new bugs. some require me to go back and reload a save others I honestly can’t tell if it’s a bug or just really poor development

there are several perks that don’t quite do what the description says, like the Anamesis perk. Based on reddit and trying it out it seems to just not do anything.

sometimes in car chase segments the passenger will say “look out” as cars spawn in my path and hit me. Can’t tell if that was deliberate or a pop in issue

Yeah I’ve just totally given up on doing pacifist things unless required by a mission. Given up on doing stealth too unless a mission objective, except for sneaking around to set up a fight.

:readmore:

the delemain car quest is fun. From the shock of the one going "beep beep motherfucker" and doing a hit and run to start it off, to the GLADOS car i see a lot of people talking about. It was fun to explore the city when i might have missed places like the landfill apparently there is follow up on T-bug's death if you go back to the quick hack shop in Kabuki. It's not much but better than nothing I made the pass with Panam of "what if the room just had one bed". I know she won't do a wlw romance, which is fine since I wouldn’t have chosen her. I enjoy her as a character, don’t get me wrong, my V considers her as a friend, but it seems like theres always drama going on which would be tiring. I would have gone for a fling, i like her leotard-pants combo with all the straps

but also her questline was buggy as hell. Multiple cases of having to reload due to clipping into objects, including her in a driving section, or just insta-dying when collision physics with some rocks broke "your neural network can no longer function independantly of the chip" me slapping my desk: s y m b i o te!!! come on lets have some s y m b i o s i s

in the scene with hellman i really liked how Johnny moved around the room. It made him feel like he was really there. it was hard to follow the convo as I left the room, i would not have understood it without subtitles. But i guess Takemura fucking waterboarded hellman. :|

lol I hope the dialogue is different b/c i refuse to smoke for Johnny

i am level 18 and still can't beat the first opponents in the fist fighting quest. ffs

I looked up the romances options so I went to do the I fought the law quest as soon as i got it. ACAB, but like I literally just met River Ward 2 minutes ago, and I really like him. His earring and cyborg eye, his big fluffy coat. I'm definitely gonna sleep with him Ok i like how when River Ward is dealing with the tiger claws if you interject it leads to a fight. It goes better if you follow his instructions and let him deal with it. Seriously I enjoy that sometimes its good to not pick a dialogue choice.

during the red queen club part, there was no dialogue over the phone. So i reloaded a save and got myself spotted and attacked. Then River showed up to help me <3 and it was more enjoyable having him there. I honestly am not sure if him not going to the club level is bug or not.

then uuuuuugh the worst of irl police "cops are my family" from Detective Han. Again ACAB "FRATERNITY OF CITY COPS RESEMBLES A [Nomad] CLAN NOT AT ALL" ok a few minutes ago i was complaining about bugs, but the character modeling in this game is good (when they're there). You can see body posture, characters jiggle their legs when they are nervous. Like I though character A was just throwing a cigarette on the ground, but then character B flinches back; I realize Char A threw it at B as a fuck you

I'm honestly curious if "I fought the Law" quest will have any impact later on. My choices were that I thought there was more going on than Holt being the only person behind this (based on how complicated the main questline heist is, and keeping an eye on some of the in game news), and told him not to take it to internal affairs, and I loved his response of how he doesn't give a shit what we think, he's doing it anyway.

In the elevator to report in, Johnny said "this muck is deeper than you think, tell them nothing", so i just said that the case was complicated. anyway i love how much of a sarcastic asshole V is

I thought i was being nonlethal with the monk quest, but it seems i accidently killed someone. RIP, but thats kind of the problem with this game. Like when i do the non lethal cyberpychosis quests I equip my non lethal modded gun and hope for the est. I like how a go here kill things quest led to Charles the ripperdoc. He's getting all his parts from scav gang members so I felt obligated to take him out. I got a police bounty for it but w/e.

I merged the Delemain fragments with the whole. Guess he's the meta now. (Side note: some of my favorite rvb fanfic plots are Ai consiousness/memory merging with the humans, so I’m having fun with this game and look foward to introspective fanfic)

Honestly Jonny made some good points, the fragments didn't deserve to die; but also destroying the core and freeing the fragments, they couldn't really function alone.

I was able to rescue Saul fine with stealth. Using cameras and the synapse overload really made it easy. Can't use the sniper rifle reward b/c I don't have the stats for it, and while it has a silencer the fact that it's a ricochette weapon and not a shoot through walls weapons, makes it not as good imo; and theres a legendary one that is stats free for only 100k.

Lol made a pass again at Panam, and she immediately shut me down. I then did Mitch's quest and I love every time someone tells V they area good person.

I hacked the operation carpe noctem shard, and wow the corporations are using ai to make people have cyberpsychosis, or something like that. What a shocker /s, I've played Deus Ex HR before

lol driving through the unifinished interstate, past the fight from Panam's first quest I found a "batcave" with a very nice car, and a manifesto written by "muckman'. But here's my complaint about the loot, there is a legendary top, but it had 16 armor. My current top has 84 armor, like why would i switch?? then later i found a bunker with soviet spies in it. Wild

Doing River's second quest, love the timing of as soon as you ask, why are we breaking in, someone shows up to tell you he got kicked off the force. It's funny how Johnny comments how maybe River's into you, and V just doubts Johnny's words. Love how the first kid asks River if I'm his girlfriend. also wow like oof both the second parts of Judy and River's quest are SUPER fucked UP!! oof like i stopped doing first person mode on the braindances for those quests as soon as i could, just made me too uncomfortable seeing that in first person.

DRIVING IN THE GAME IS BAD! nowhere is it more apparent than the sinnerman quest, which took me 3 times to get the driving section done, as cars spawned out of nowhere to hit me. Then when you restart, there is a bunch of dialogue it doesn't let you fast forward through. The rest of the Sinnerman questline is interesting. My V took every option to tell the dude that he was messed up, and what he was doing was wrong. idk, I was surprised how much dialogue there was that let you buy into his whole "forgiveness thing" and how there wasn't any real dialogue to call him the fuck out, that in seeking forgiveness he continues to do harm both emotional to the mother of the man he killed, but also that he got the husband killed via cop. The later follow up quest, I told him that what he is doing is crazy, studio is just going to profit off this vid. Then I refused to join him prayer, and told him fuck no i wasn't going to hammer him to the cross, or even watch. Yes, the man is scared of dying, and the corporation is exploiting him, but he keeps creating burdens for others. I think the discussion on this quest will be interesting to read, it's definitely my own personal experience with religion coloring my view. Anyway back to a main quest, yeah i don't trust Placide, especially in that scene where he grabs my hand, then jacks in. I ran off to do most of the sidequests here and got some criticism from him. I do love how in the cinema the western movie switches to a mission brief as the netwatch agent talks. its a fun enviromental detail. I took the netwatch offer, i don't think he's being fully honest with me, but he didn't put a virus in my head. As I told Placide later, I didn't pick a side. I like how you can then talk with the agent, who is a fan of Western movies, b/c they show "a simpler time where all good guys carry badges" :eyeroll:, and then V recommends Unforgiven, which from the wiki summary goes against that theme.

Looks like the Voodoo boys all got killed by Netwatch, but I as revenge for them trying to set me up I'm fine with it. Honestly after speaking with ai!Alt I don’t believe their plan of trying to be on good relations with AI would work.

doing the johnny flashback 2, and wow Johnny really is an asshole. Like I had gotten so used to him in side missions I forgot how self centered and unlikable he was.You constantly get prompts to drink or do drugs, which I ignored. But i do love the goth/punk love Rogue and others have.

lol i called it, when Hellman said that the engram would seek to override the host, put V on the engram. I really like how as the relic malfunctions, you wind up in the chair with a cigarette, which you can either smoke and say you are turning into Johnny or throw away. My dialogue "your problem is the ends justify the means", which is true!!! He and Rogue detonated a nuke downtown, does anyone know that, and like ask Rogue about it????

(Funny you can ask Rouge about Johnny silverhand, over the phone, then the game bugs out and spawns her npc where you are. She doens't say much about the nuke, but she does say no one trusts you for jobs). The line of no one trusting you for jobs is pretty funny at level 46 street cred where im at “respected” status. really loving the family atmosphere at River's 3rd quest. Also his big strong arms, and the fact he is no longer a cop. I totally let the kids win, and wow the family dinner where they GRILL YOU over the relationship and try to set the two of you up, then the water tower scene!!!!! I don't love the first person sex cutscenes but they do have personality. I'm glad afterwards you got to tell River about the biochip and that you might die. Because he's so far removed from your personal plot. So I took that option to back out of a relationship.

I do love that you wake up with "river's tanktop" that says "fuck the police" It actually has extremely good armor stats, so thats what I'll wear now.

panam 3rd quest, when shes like why did you help me, I'm like "because it's important to you". Basically the closest you can get to "when a friend asks for help you help them", which as an ex-nomad backstory I really choose the nomad options when ever i can Paralezes quest part 2! I love the piano song but I always think of it as ocean's 11 music. It's also fun to see the computer and see Judy recommended you for the first quest. The emails talk about "forgetting" to hire a staffer, on the balocony a strange antennia was scannable, the color of the roses was remembered wrong... lol guess i was right with those giant wall screens. Its fun environmental details that spell things out before you can notice, and it ties into some other quests where people's behavior is being altered. Actually, this quest "Dream On" I love it! For a while I've been like "wheres the illuminati conspiracy! Here it IS! I chose to follow Elisabeth's wishes and not tell her husband he was being brainwashed. In best case they program him to forget again, in worst case he ends up dead. The gaslighting Elisabeth described is CHILLING, her husband describes a vacation she can't remember and she doesn't know whose memories have been messed with. On your way to the plaza you get a call from someone/something that says the know exactly WHAT you are, any you black out!!! It's such a great feeling of helplessness that you're just one person in a world so big that you can't fight every power. As Johnny said, could be a corporation, could be a rogue ai, either way Jefferson is fucked (and so are you).

#cyberpunk 2077 #mac plays video games #a lot of this journaling i do #so in a few years i can look back #and see my first impressions

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perfeggso · 4 years ago

Text

Noir (yutae)

Week IV pt. 2

Tokyo – fall of 1983: Nakamoto Yuta is quickly rising in the ranks of one of Japan’s most notorious yakuza families, and he’s poised to climb even further if he can stop himself from being ruined by the pretty Korean boy who’s shown up out of nowhere.

Glossary of Japanese words

Characters: Yuta x Taeyong + NCT ensemble, Twice J-line (for funsies)

Genres: Gang!AU, angst, smut, fluff, 1980s!AU

Warnings: graphic violence, swearing, minor character death, alcohol use, mentions of drugs, period-typical homophobia, xenophobia, BDSM

Rating: 18+

Length: 6k

In the days that followed, Taeyong declared that he was giving himself three short-term goals. “Oh yeah?” Yuta asked, raising an eyebrow in curiosity. “What would those be?” Taeyong elaborated: Goal number one was for Taeyong to get his friends, new and newer, to help him be a better gangster. So, Yuta arranged for Sicheng and Yukhei to take Taeyong to the training room for workouts and, once he’d confirmed Taeyong was comfortable with it, to have Ten give him more “lessons.” Yuta had sat in on their first session, watching in pained silence as Ten used one of his long metal pins to tether Taeyong to the ground through his shoe and then attacked him. Yuta then enlisted Dejun, Yangyang, and Kunhang to teach Taeyong (and Mark and Jungwoo for good measure – they needed some review) how to follow people effectively and avoid being followed. According to Taeyong’s recounting, it had been exactly like Yuta’s own training, each of the Inagawa members taking turns slinking around the backstreets of Kabuki-chō and getting critiqued by the Triads afterwards. Yuta let Taeyong hang around when he discussed strategy and finances with Doyoung, Taeil, Johnny, and Jaehyun. Taeyong didn’t really understand any of it, nor did he need to, but Yuta figured it was good for him to feel like he was getting the whole picture.

Taeyong’s second goal, he said with almost too much confidence, was to get Yuta to fuck him as much as possible without it becoming a distraction, and it’d been going well for both of them. Taeyong had slept over at Yuta’s place three out of the last four nights and Yuta started taking a kind of dirty pride in the way his regiment grew used to seeing Taeyong in his clothing. They’d started experimenting explicitly with dom/sub dynamics and their own kinks, one of Yuta’s favorite moments coming when Taeyong accompanied him home after a long day. He’d fixed himself a drink and sat, legs spread over his couch and arms elongated over its back, the drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Since that night, Yuta had to stop himself intermittently from getting half-hard at the memory of Taeyong trying to get off grinding on his thigh, Yuta more or less ignoring him as his clothes soaked through with his sweat and he cried in frustration into Yuta’s shoulder for him to just do something – touch him, degrade him, anything. Yuta even impressed himself with the willpower he’d used to keep Taeyong strung out like that. So yeah, Taeyong’s second goal was going just fine, Yuta would say.

Goal number three was the most complicated: It was for Taeyong to make up his mind about what he’d do after the Mitsubishi deal (hopefully) went through. As promised, Yuta tried to remain removed from Taeyong’s decision making process, even if Taeyong would sometimes come to him with questions. Would they be able to keep seeing each other? Whether Taeyong stayed or left, they could still be together, Yuta had answered, although part of him worried that if Taeyong left he’d find someone he liked better the minute they no longer shared a lifestyle. But that wouldn’t be the case if Taeyong left after officially joining, right? Taeyong had clarified. If he changed his mind too late? That’s right, if you leave too late, you leave everything for good. It’s okay, Yuta had told him, don’t force yourself into a decision until the deal’s been worked out.

Yuta’s goal, on the other hand, was simply to stay sane and focused, and enjoy everything while it lasted. Specifically, he wanted to enjoy cooking takoyaki, Osaka’s specialty food, for Taeyong one night after a rare day off, and he wanted Taeyong to enjoy eating it. He wandered around Taeyong’s kitchen, alternating between muttering to himself and asking Taeyong why the hell it was so hard to find anything in there. Yuta paused before his metal mixing bowl, trying to remember what the next ingredient for the batter was supposed to be.

“You sure you don’t want help, babe?” Taeyong asked, and Yuta looked over to where he was sitting on the little table he kept in the kitchen, swinging his legs over the edge and giving Yuta moon eyes. He almost laughed. Taeyong had been nervous to have Yuta over, endlessly denigrating his apartment to the point that Yuta would have thought he was being invited over to a literal shack if he hadn’t already seen the building once, so Yuta made a point of fawning over the small space the second he arrived.

“No, darling,” replied Yuta to Taeyong’s question. “I told you, this is my treat.”

Taeyong shrugged as a new Blondie song started to play from his record player in the living room. “Suit yourself.” Yuta stretched his shoulders, finally remembering that the egg was supposed to come next. He’d learned how to cook from his mom, but that meant that sometimes his recipes were more like distant memories from ten to fifteen years ago. Yuta hummed along to the music, turning to search for the egg carton in the fridge.

“So, can we go over this one more time so I don’t screw it up?” Taeyong asked. Yuta was losing track of the number of times Taeyong had already been briefed on their plans for Minatozaki Sana, but if he needed to hear it again to feel secure, Yuta supposed he’d play along.

“Sure,” Yuta confirmed, cracking one egg into the half-finished batter. “But there’s really not that much you have to do, Taeyong. I just told you the whole plan so you won’t be caught off guard by anything.”

Taeyong practically buzzed against the table below him. “Right, so basically I’m going to stand by her door while you and Doyoung convince her to flip on Yamaguchi. There’s a window in the entryway, so I’ll have an easy view out if anyone comes, but I need to be sure not to be seen from the other end.”

“Exactly,” said Yuta, whisking. The yellow yolk was swirling into the sticky mixture like streaks in hair. “I don’t anticipate it taking too long, but I can’t make any promises. If she resists, you just stay at your post and we’ll deal with her, unless she makes it all the way to her front door or something.”

Taeyong nodded, his legs knocking against the table’s. “What’s ‘not too long?’” he asked.

Yuta thought for a moment. “Twenty minutes to an hour.”

“Alright.”

“Alright?” Yuta finished mixing his batter and tapped the butt of the bowl against the counter several times, looking quizzically at Taeyong. “Is that all clear? Can we talk about something not work-related now?”

Taeyong smiled. “Yeah we can,” he agreed, and Yuta let out a sigh of a laugh. “Like what? Is gang talk stressing you out?”

Yuta sniffed the batter. It smelled like it had enough dashi in it, so he figured it was fine. Now where did Taeyong keep his soy sauce? He rattled through Taeyong’s drawers as he answered.

“Honestly, a little bit. This is the most responsibility I’ve ever been given, and I want it to go well.”

When Yuta looked back to Taeyong, soy sauce triumphantly in hand, Taeyong’s face had contorted to show his own worry.

“Wait, you’re really anxious about it?” he asked. “I was sorta joking.”

Yuta set the bottle down on Taeyong’s green plastic countertop, making his way to the table.

Taeyong pouted as Yuta’s palms pressed over his soft cheeks. “I’m a little anxious,” Yuta admitted, a warm feeling flashing through his chest at the sight of Taeyong’s face all squished up, “but I gave you your job description and worrying about my anxiety is not included. Got it?”

Taeyong smiled sheepishly. “Got it.”

Yuta let go of Taeyong’s face and returned to his cooking project. “Just wanted some time together where I didn’t have to worry about work.” He dumped some of the soy sauce into his batter and started to stir again. He registered a little giggle coming from Taeyong.

“Anything I can do to help destress you?” he asked slyly. Yuta mixed harder.

“Yonggie, now is not the time…”

Taeyong just shook his head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Yuta tried to ignore the not-so-subtle look Taeyong was giving him, opting to divert the conversation to ask where Taeyong’s takoyaki griddle was. Taeyong hopped off the table, mouthing the words to “Heart of Glass.”

“I’ll get it,” he offered, crouching next to the low cabinet where he kept his pots and pans and extracting the desired item.

“Thanks.”

Taeyong leaned against his counter and watched Yuta rub oil over and then pour the batter into the six half-spheres in the cast iron griddle. Yuta inserted the octopus bits, tenkasu , beni shoga , and sauce into the center of each raw takoyaki, conscious of every movement under Taeyong’s sticky gaze but trying to relax by listening to Taeyong’s whispery singing. Once sufficiently prepped, Yuta brought the griddle over to the table and turned it on, sitting to watch the food cook. Taeyong sat across from him, laying his head against the wooden tabletop and blinking as heat started to sizzle from the takoyaki.

Yuta sighed, thinking. Taeyong made him think a lot about a lot of things. Some of it was serious like, was their relationship sustainable? Was he blinded by his infatuation and risking too much for someone he’d know for barely more than a month? Was Taeyong going to end up hurt? Because if he did, it would be squarely Yuta’s fault. Mostly though, the thoughts Taeyong prompted in Yuta’s head were less dire but just as invasive. Yuta felt a rush at how gorgeous Taeyong looked like that, sleepily gazing and allowing himself to receive the care of someone else’s cooking. On second thought …

“Hey, so I know I just said now is not the time,” Yuta began, rolling his sleeves up as he registered the room warming and noticing Taeyong’s eyes on his arms, “but there might be something that would help me destress. But uh, you might think it’s a little early, I’m not sure.”

Taeyong sat up, smiling. “Oh?”

“I think it would be fun to spend a night at a love hotel,” Yuta admitted, and a splotch of oil jumped out of the griddle as if to punish him for being pushy. “ Ita !”

Taeyong just grinned. “Yuta,” he began, crossing his arms over the table, “why is that such a big deal?”

Yuta sighed, feeling like he was about to get laughed at. “Because, I don’t want to take you to just any love hotel,” he explained. He figured he’d gotten himself this far, he might as well finish digging his own grave. “I want to take you to the Alpha Inn.” To his surprise, Taeyong didn’t laugh, nor did he look confused; his grin only stretched wider, giving him crow’s feet around his eyes. Yuta wondered if he needed to clarify what he’d said. “It’s –”

“I know what the Alpha Inn is,” Taeyong blurted.

Yuta felt his face go small, the sizzling of the takoyaki turning to static in his ears. “Oh, then why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because,” Taeyong explained, “I was waiting for you to tell me why you were being weird about it.”

“Oh,” Yuta repeated, and Taeyong pressed on.

“So why were you? I mean, we’ve already kind of established that we both like that kind of thing, right?”

Yuta was beginning to feel like a first-class idiot. “Yeah,” he tried to backtrack, “but I think it’s a bit different from anything we’ve discussed. There are whips and stuff on the walls there and…”

Yuta hadn’t managed to finish his sentence before Taeyong was laughing in his face.

“Yuta,” he said, “have you been there before?”

“Yeah, I have,” Yuta explained, growing indignant, “but you’re different too.” Taeyong’s eyes rounded in curiosity. “You are! I haven’t had many relationships so when I’ve gone there it’s been, like, with hookups who are there for a specific purpose.”

Taeyong wiggled his eyebrows. “And what if I told you I’d been there with hookups before too?”

Yuta let out a breath of relief, settling into a more self-assured comportment. He honestly should have figured. Taeyong seemed to notice the change in Yuta’s body language, because he wiggled back into his chair, away from the table, and softened his face from the challenging aspect it had taken on before. Yuta smiled in satisfaction. “Then, I wouldn’t worry about anything but us enjoying ourselves,” he answered.

Taeyong smiled to himself as he looked at his hands in his lap. “So, letting you take me to a BDSM-themed love hotel: that’s what I could do to help you destress before next week. Glad I got that out of you.”

“But there are some things we need to discuss first,” Yuta said, figuring the takoyaki looked adequately brown and standing to find a couple plates and pairs of chopsticks.

Taeyong nodded. “Of course.”

Yuta returned, having found what he was looking for with surprising ease.

“First of which being that we have to change up the title, ‘kay?” He sat and turned the griddle off, using his metal chopsticks to pull out two takoyaki balls. “No more Shategashira during sex. I can’t be getting hard every time anyone talks to me at work.”

Yuta slid a plate of food over to Taeyong. “That’s fair. What should I call you, then?”

Yuta blew on his dinner. “Sir? Does that work?”

Taeyong smiled. “Yes, sir .” And Yuta smiled back.

“Perfect,” he remarked, hand reaching out to Taeyong’s hair on instinct. “You’re perfect.”

Taeyong nuzzled into Yuta’s touch, whining when Yuta pulled away. Yuta was happy to have taken back control of the situation, but he also figured he needed to change the topic of conversation if he was going to be able to focus on his food. Thankfully, Taeyong did it for him, picking up a ball of takoyaki and holding it near his face, expression contemplative.

“Smells good,” he said. He blew on it until it had stopped steaming, then nibbled experimentally after a quick "itadakimasu." Yuta still held off, all too familiar with the treacherousness of eating takoyaki.

“How is it?” he asked as Taeyong broke through to the molten center. He paused.

“Yuta?” Taeyong began, holding the takoyaki to show off the liquidy center. He started laughing and Yuta found himself hurled back into embarrassment. “I don’t think it’s cooked all the way…”

“Shit, sorry!” Yuta spluttered. “Here, give it back!”

Taeyong guffawed, letting some of the hot but nearly raw batter fall from his mouth to his cupped hand. “What?”

“Just give it here!”

“Okay…” Taeyong handed over the mangled ball and watched Yuta return it to its iron slot, switching the griddle back on and trying to look competent.

“Guess this will have to do,” he said, placing his own serving back to cook more as well. Yuta smiled to himself, propping the side of his head against his fist and his elbow on the table. Taeyong smiled back and said in a small voice,

“I thought you knew what you were doing, Osaka boy. I’m a good cook, you could have just let me help.”

Yuta shrugged. “Maybe I oversold myself. This’ll work though.”

Taeyong made a pained face (“I’m so hungry though”) and Yuta rolled his eyes.

He became suddenly hyper-aware of the silence framing their conversation, so he got up to switch out the finished album while the food got done cooking.

“What do you want me to play?”

“Kate Bush!” Taeyong yelled in response. “’The Dreaming’ should be sitting right next to the record player.”

Yuta replaced “Parallel Lines” with Taeyong’s suggestion, dropped the pin, and returned to the kitchen as “Sat In Your Lap” began to play. He also realized he forgot the mayo and the bonito for their dinner, and puttered around the kitchen again to find them, feeling like even more of a dumbass than he had for undercooking the food. The takoyaki came out much better the second time around, and once it had cooled off, it was gone in a fraction of the time Yuta had spent making it.

“Okay, I guess you do know what you’re doing,” Taeyong admitted, his mouth contorting around a particularly large bite.

After eating, Taeyong insisted on doing the dishes. Yuta took on Taeyong’s former position watching from the table, thinking to himself how lovely he looked in an apron, focused on getting everything spick and span. Fuck, it was so domestic, and Yuta hadn’t had anything like it in so long. Yuta was so shaken up about it he felt like the takoyaki in his stomach was trying to bust out through his belly button.

Taeyong glanced at his admirer as he scratched the suds from his hands into the sink. “Stop looking at me like that,” he said.

For a mobster, Yuta had kind of a bad poker face when he wasn’t focused enough on it. “Like what?”

“Like you want to…I don’t know, make me a housewife.”

Yuta rested his face in his hands. “What if I do?”

Taeyong chuckled. “First of all, that’s quite literally impossible. Second of all, it makes me feel weird.”

“Weird how?”

Taeyong dried the metal mixing bowl as he spoke. “Not sure how to explain it,” he said. “Kind of itchy. Like I want to hide?”

Yuta tried to calm down so he could stop the fascination from practically dripping over his face. “Sorry.”

Taeyong put the bowl away. “S’okay. I’m also flattered. Thanks for cooking, by the way – even if I gave you shit about it.”

“Of course. It was kind of fun.”

Taeyong finished drying off and putting everything away, took off his apron, and suggested they retire to the living room couch to listen to their music.

Yuta sat down and let Taeyong situate himself so that he was lying down, head in Yuta’s lap. Yuta played with Taeyong’s hair.

“Yuta?”

“Mm?”

Taeyong’s face had an air of stress about it, not like there was anything truly wrong, but more like he had a thought he needed to sort out.

“How did you figure out you liked guys?”

Yuta took a moment to process. That was not what he expected Taeyong to ask.

“Oh, um, I don’t know, how did you figure it out?”

Taeyong scowled. “I mean eventually it just sort of became obvious,” he said.

“Exactly,” Yuta confirmed. “So, that’s not really what you’re asking, is it?”

Taeyong shook his head, skull rocking against Yuta’s thighs.

“Guess not,” he allowed, “How old were you though? When you realized?”

Yuta pulled a strand of Taeyong’s dark hair until it stood on end. “I don’t know, late teens probably, when I really sorted it out?” Yuta chuckled, calling upon some well-repressed memories. “I had tried fooling around with girls at that point, and it wasn’t bad, actually. I was very sure I was straight. I liked the girls I was with – had a real fondness for most of them, but it was never very deep. Momo and I even hooked up once.” Yuta laughed wryly as he watched a look of shock and, maybe jealousy? flicker over Taeyong’s face. “Don’t worry,” he reassured. “It was alright for me, but she made it very clear that it was never to happen again.”

Taeyong hummed thoughtfully. Yuta wanted to grill him back, but it looked like he had another question brewing, so he stayed quiet. “So, who was the first guy?”

Yuta breathed a laugh. “Well, he was actually my boss when I was a Kumi-in…”

Taeyong’s eyes lit up. “Like us?”

“Kind of. He was older though,” Yuta clarified. He smiled, both in recollection and in amusement as he registered the dissonance between Kate Bush’s wailing singing and their quiet conversation. “I remember thinking to myself, oh, now I know what this whole thing is supposed to feel like.” By “thing” he meant to express the nebulous concept of attraction, love, relationships, lust; all those intangibles which tug at the heartstrings. He hoped Taeyong would understand despite his lack of eloquence. “He was the one who convinced me to go to the Alpha Inn the first time, but, uh, I was the one taking the orders back then.”

“What happened to him?” asked Taeyong, twisting the hem of his shirt in his hands.

“He decided this life wasn’t for him, so he left. And, you know, if you do that you get excommunicated, banished – whatever you want to call it – so I haven’t heard from him since.”

Taeyong looked like he wanted to say something, then didn’t.

“I’m sorry,” he said instead.

The apology made a pang of guilt run through Yuta. Here he was telling the sob story of his first love in front of poor Taeyong. If he got uncomfortable hearing about Momo, why would he want to know this? “Don’t be sorry. I have you now,” Yuta said with a smile, and he meant it deeply.

Taeyong sat up and sighed, eyes clouded over. “I just feel like this would be a lot easier if I wasn’t…you know…me.”

Yuta felt like he had cold water rushing over his skin. What was Taeyong getting at? “No, I don’t know,” he challenged.

Taeyong refused to make eye contact and Yuta thought he saw the other man’s skin tone draining a bit grey. “I keep thinking about Johnny and Mina,” Taeyong tried to explain. “They seem so normal. Like, they know what each of them is there for. I don’t know how to explain it. I just feel like if I were a woman it’d be easier and make more sense. I wouldn’t be weirdly wrapped up in your work and having to make all these dire decisions and putting you in danger. We could just see each other like average people.”

Yuta didn’t know if he wanted to cry or laugh. He settled instead for gripping Taeyong’s chin with his fingers and forcing their eyes to meet. “Taeyong,” he said softly, “I think you’re missing the point.”

Taeyong’s eyes looked glassy. “Which is?”

“Which is that if you were a woman A) we probably wouldn’t have met in the first place, and B) I wouldn’t be as interested in you.” Yuta searched Taeyong’s face, awaiting a response.

“You mean that?” he asked, finally.

Yuta let go of Taeyong’s face. “I do. Why would I be lying?”

Taeyong smiled slightly. “I dunno. Sometimes you lie for fun.”

“God, Taeyong, not about stuff like this.”

“Alright,” Taeyong said, letting his smile extend and settling his back more squarely into the couch cushions. “Sorry for being so insecure.”

Yuta took Taeyong’s hand. “You and me both, baby.”

“Houdini” started to play and Taeyong closed his eyes, mentioning absently that it was his favorite song on the album. When it was over, he spoke again.

“Mina warned me at the party,” he said, and Yuta was put on immediate alert by the threatening vagueness of the statement. “Back at Johnny’s bar, we started talking. She said I should leave as soon as possible and not get sucked in.”

Yuta stiffened, training his eyes on the stains in Taeyong’s rug and making a mental note to bring this up to Johnny. “Well,” he began, “that’s her opinion. It’s up to you to make up your own mind.”

“I know.”

Yuta laughed breathily, catching Taeyong’s drift. “So, she told you that and then you immediately turned around and landed in my lap; let me pull you in deeper. Was that a sort of decision?”

Taeyong nodded, squeezing Yuta’s hand. “Maybe. I just wanted it at the time. I wanted a real reason to stay.”

Yuta tutted. “I told you not to make me the clincher for such an important choice.”

“Yeah, but that was after,” Taeyong asserted. “I think I’d already decided early on, even if I didn’t want to admit it. Yuta?”

“Taeyong.”

He looked Yuta right in the eyes. “I’m going to stay. I invited you over tonight to tell you that I’m sure I want to join the Inagawa-kai. I just didn’t know how to bring it up until right now.”

Yuta could feel the adrenaline coursing through him, like he was a candle wick being sparked; like he was about to go on a mission. He was exhilarated at the idea that he’d fully gained Taeyong’s trust and admiration, that they would continue on as they had been; but at the same time, the possibility that Taeyong could get hurt or decide too late that he’d gone down the wrong path made Yuta’s blood run cold.

“You’re sure?”

Taeyong nodded. “Yeah, I am.” He looked at Yuta and smiled sideways. “When do I get initiated?”

Yuta didn’t know how to respond to Taeyong’s sudden burst of self-assuredness. “Well – uh – the Oyabun won’t let you until our current project is secured –”

Taeyong pouted.

“But!” Yuta had an idea. “But, but, but, if you want, we can do something fun right now that might help.” Yuta stood, about to head off to the kitchen until he remembered he didn’t know where anything was.

“What is it?”

Yuta placed a finger in front of his mouth. “It’s a secret,” he whispered. “But I need you to help me find some things.”

In a matter of minutes, they were back in the living room, couched in silence with the music having run out and kneeling at either side of Taeyong’s coffee table. Between them, Yuta had set two empty masu cups, a bottle of amazake (since Taeyong didn’t have normal sake), and the knife that Yuta always carried around with him: medium-size and gunmetal grey with teeth like the one in the Rambo movie that had come out a year before. Taeyong had stared at it almost in horror when Yuta took it out.

“Okay,” Taeyong said, eyes roaming over their spread. “Now will you please explain this to me?”

“Sure,” Yuta agreed, grinning at his own creativity. “So, you said you wanted to be initiated,” he began, “but you can’t technically do that for a bit, so I’m going to give you a little run-through; a rehearsal of sorts that can prepare you for the real thing while also making you feel more official right now.”

Taeyong nodded, looking sold. “Okay. What’s the knife for?”

“For when I sacrifice you to Amaterasu,” he deadpanned, and for a moment, Taeyong actually gaped.

“No, I kid,” Yuta said, cracking himself up. “We’ll get to what the knife’s for in a second.”

Taeyong let out a confused breath, making Yuta laugh even harder. Once he had contained himself, he went on.

“So, this will be the setup when you’re initiated. Ideally there’d be witnesses, but you know.” He shrugged. “Okay, and you should know that I am standing in for the Oyabun .”

“You’re Goro?” Taeyong clarified.

Yuta nodded, pressing a hand to his chest. “Yes, I’m Goro, who I don’t think you’ve met yet, by the way.” Taeyong shook his head in confirmation. “Soon enough, then. You’re you, and what we’re going to do first is you’re going to hold out your cup to me and I’ll fill it halfway with sake.”

Taeyong followed directions, prostrating himself ever so slightly as he offered Yuta his cup and watched him pour the cloudy liquid inside. Then, Yuta did the same with his own cup, passing the halfway point and filling it to the brim, images of his own initiation six years earlier flashing across his vision. He’d been a baby in an ill-fitting black suit and Goro had looked more imposing to him than usual – like Mt. Fuji on a clear day. He picked up the knife, remembering the sharp taste of Goro’s blood in a particularly strong batch of sake.

“Now we switch cups,” he instructed, and Taeyong obliged, eyes trained on Yuta’s knife. They went wide when Yuta positioned his hand over Taeyong’s sake and cradled the blade so that it was invisible in his palm, although the implied pressure and discomfort made Taeyong’s face contort. Yuta sliced shallowly into his palm, careful to adhere to the lines of his old scar as much as possible. Taeyong’s gaze followed as a ruby droplet fell and dispersed into the alcoholic liquid.

“We could just get a raspberry or something if you have one and crush it into the other cup,” Yuta teased, “if you don’t want to do this.” He grinned when Taeyong shook his head quickly.

“No, I can do it, Shategashira .”

“Good.” Yuta wiped the blood from the knife onto a paper towel and handed the blade to Taeyong, who took it hesitantly. “Just do the pad of your thumb for now,” Yuta suggested. Taeyong hissed a bit as he cut into the flesh there and pressed down to force out a rivulet of blood. Yuta realized he’d made a slight oversight when he registered that each of them now had one bloodied hand. In the real ritual, this fact would have been ignored, but Yuta was already testing Taeyong and he didn’t want to also stain his nice bamboo cups.

“Gimme a sec,” he said, finding his leather jacket in the entryway and rooting around in it one-handed for another thing he always kept with him: bandage tape. He called Taeyong into the kitchen and they took turns washing up and covering their self-inflicted wounds. Yuta registered neutrally the kind of hazy and quiet state Taeyong was in. Finally, they returned to the coffee table for the next leg of the ritual, starting off by switching their drinks back so Yuta had a full cup with Taeyong’s blood and Taeyong had a half cup with Yuta’s.

“What now?” Taeyong asked.

“Now,” Yuta answered, “you take the seihai-gishiki ; the oath of allegiance to me, Hirai Goro.” They both laughed at that. “Repeat after me okay?”

“Okay.”

Yuta flexed his hand, still adjusting to the feeling of raw openness under the pink-tinged bandages. "I vow never to reveal the secrets of the organization.”

“I vow to never reveal the secrets of the organization.”

“I will never violate the wife or children of another member.”

Taeyong balked. “Wait, that’s kind of messed up,” he said, mouth poised to laugh. “Why is that there?”

“Aish,” said Yuta in mock disappointment, “good thing I’m running you through this – Goro would never accept this interrupting. Actually, the first ever yakuza clan in the 1700’s had a real problem with cheating and child molestation, so their boss had to make up this rule to stop it from turning into one giant super-illegal orgy,” he said matter-of-factly. Taeyong’s eyes went wide.

“Really??”

Yuta frowned. “No!! You need to stop being so gullible with everything I tell you.”

Taeyong bowed his head several times while laughing nervously. “Ah, okay, okay, Shategashira . Gomen , gomen . Got it.”

Yuta smiled. Taeyong was so damn cute it made his muscles hurt. “It’s okay,” he said. “In all seriousness, I have no idea why that rule is there, but it’s a reasonable expectation, anyway. Shall we move on?”

Taeyong nodded.

“Okay,” Yuta restarted, “I vow to have no personal involvement with narcotics.”

“I vow to have no personal involvement with narcotics,” Taeyong repeated.

“I will not withhold money from the gang.”

“I will not fail in my obedience to superiors.”

Taeyong blinked forcefully and gulped before echoing, “I will not fail in my obedience to superiors.”

“Last one, okay? I will not appeal to the police or other legal authorities.”

“I will not appeal to the police or other legal authorities. Now what?”

Yuta picked up his cup with both hands. “Now we drink.”

Taeyong followed his lead. “Kanpai.”

“Kanpai.”

The taste of Taeyong’s blood was less harsh mixed in with this sweet type of sake, mellowed and drowned out until it was nothing more than a heady undertone, like the scent of skin.

They put down their cups once they had finished and stared at each other silently for a beat. Then Taeyong broke into a grin. “Did I pass?” he asked.

Yuta guffawed. “Pass? This isn’t an exam.” He cleared his throat and put on his Hirai Goro voice: gravelly and low and embellished by rolled r’s. “But uh, yes, well done, Kumi-in. Welcome to the Inagawa-kai.”

***

After the elaborate rehearsal, they had a bit of cleaning up to do. Taeyong rinsed their masu cups in the sink as Yuta disinfected his knife and reinforced his bandages.

“The last vow reminded me,” said Taeyong, shutting the water off and setting the cups on the drying rack, “it only occurred to me after Johnny and Mina’s lesson the other day, but what if it’s not another gang that gets ahold of me? What if it’s the police? Wouldn’t they also interrogate me?”

Yuta burst out in laughter and Taeyong looked perplexed, leaning his lower back against the kitchen counter.

“Oh, sorry for laughing at you,” Yuta said, collecting himself. “You’d have no way of knowing this.” He walked over to join Taeyong. “You don’t have to worry about the police,” he explained even if Taeyong looked dubious. “I mean, if we like, killed someone in a public alleyway, sure.” Taeyong’s eyes flickered in recollection. Yuta continued. “But if you’re just going about your business, they won’t dare take you in. Most of them like us anyway – like that we instill a little fear and discipline into public life, that we rake in local tax revenue and do charity work, etc. I mean they’re just as much thugs as we are, too, and I guarantee you in every ten cops you’d find at least three former wannabe gangsters. Anyway, sometimes we get busted by national law enforcement, but you rarely need to worry about the local police; they only get involved if you kill someone, as I mentioned; if public opinion is especially bad; or if someone comes to them directly with proof of wrongdoing.”

Taeyong nodded heavily, taking in this new information with a mixture of horror and relief.

“I know. It can be a bit odd at first,” Yuta offered. “I imagine as a former street kid you’re not used to that kind of free reign.”

Taeyong shook his head. “Yeah, m’not,” he confirmed. “I used to get the cops called on me for standing wrong.”

Yuta hummed a chuckle. He didn’t doubt it. His face hovered closer to Taeyong’s, drinking him in, and he paused over the scar next to Taeyong’s eye. He still had never asked about it, so he did.

“Oh, this?” Taeyong said, pointing to the pitted skin. He demurred a bit, embarrassed, and Yuta suddenly felt bad for asking. “It’s not very interesting. I used to have atopic dermatitis and I picked at my skin a bit too much when I got a flare up there.”

“I see,” Yuta said. “Sounds irritating.”

“It was,” confirmed Taeyong. “Did you have a theory about how I got it?”

“I didn’t but Doyoung did,” said Yuta. “He figured you’d gotten it in a fight or something like that. I didn’t really know.”

Yuta thought he saw a shiver buzz up Taeyong’s body. “Do you guys talk about me often when I’m not there?”

Yuta laughed. “Only at the beginning,” He admitted, settling his elbows back on the countertop. “You were kind of mysterious to us.”

Taeyong looked shocked. “Me? Mysterious? Alright…”

“Well you showed up out of nowhere,” Yuta asserted. “In fact, I got asked on separate occasions by Jungwoo and Jaehyun how I was sure you weren’t a spy.”

Taeyong spluttered. “A spy? That’s too wild.”

Yuta only shrugged. If he was being honest, Taeyong was still a little mysterious to him. He still wanted to turn Taeyong’s earlier questions about sexual awakenings and such back on him, but that could wait. Taeyong pushed away from the counter and shifted so he was facing Yuta, his hands on Yuta’s shoulders.

“Want to dance?” he asked coyly. “Just like after Johnny’s party?”

Yuta slipped his arms around Taeyong’s waist. “How could I say no to that?” he teased, and they plodded like that back into the living room. Yuta let Taeyong go momentarily to put on “Three Imaginary Boys” by The Cure, scooping him back up the second the music began. Taeyong laid his head on Yuta’s shoulder and murmured into the base of his neck.

“I can’t wait to help you destress, sir.”

Yuta petted Taeyong’s soft hair with his bandaged hand and hummed. “You’re too perfect,” he said, and he meant it deeply.

5 notes · View notes

iphoenixrising · 5 years ago

Note

How d’you think everyone’s favorite threesome in the Doctor!universe would spent Christmas? Or perhaps just Christmas Eve, if they go to the manor for the big day? -🐉

Aww, hi babe!

Hm, we’re going to talk a minute about Dr!Tim? You know, after a bit of thought, I think Tim’s first Christmas after finding a vigilante on his fire escape bleeding out would have probably started out awful.

Let’s say he’s usually the one to work Christmas Eve and into Christmas Day whenever he could during his time learning under Tony Stark before he started his Residency in Gotham.

He didn’t have Stephanie and Layla or anyone else but Tony, really, so it was fine for him to take shifts so people with families could be off with the ones they loved.

Once he got to Gotham and met back up with Steph and pretty much became Uncle Timmy to Layla, he only took Christmas Eve or Christmas Day off when they weren’t out of town visiting with Steph’s mom. The years Layla’s dad has her, they run the Gauntlet together, and work until they’re sleep-deprived and delirious, laughing at crazy things while they stumble to Steph’s house to pass the fuck out for twelve hours or Tim’s penthouse to binge some boring nature show.

But last year Layla’s dad had her, so this year, his girls are off to Metropolis, waving at him out the back window. Steph offered a place for him, but he knows her mom’s place will be cramped as is, so he just watches them go with his heart in his throat, and no shift at Mercy General to keep him up and moving.

I think he spends Christmas Eve wearing the ugly sweater Layla got him, something crazy playing on Netflix completely un-Christmas related because he doesn’t really have good memories of the holiday, not even from when his parents were alive.

(One year, Mrs. Mac stopped by to check on him and bring him cookies, gave him a hug and a pat on the head before she left to be with her daughter and grandchildren. When he was really young, he can remember laying on his mother’s lap with the tree glowing gently, opening presents with them there, watching and laughing. The next year, they were on a dig somewhere exotic, just like the year after and the year after that until they were just gone, never coming back this time...)

So, he plans to keep himself busy and ignore all the movies and decorations, ignore the warmth and family and togetherness. He’s going to bury himself in research and tech articles, write on one of his articles for a medical journal, maybe hang out in his lab down the hall for a few hours, just let Christmas–

–go on without him.

The knock on his window at three a.m. is jarring, shocking because the city has been silent for hours at this point.

The second round is enough to make him stand up off the couch, wander closer to the window with squished brows, probably bleary eyed from staring at the screen for too long (probably also from those old memories rearing up).

When he moves the curtains, and those whiteouts are right there, he eeps and almost falls on his ass.

The window is nudged up by a gloved hand, Nightwing hanging upside down with a Santa cap somehow staying on his head when he swings in without hesitation.

“Timmy! Are you okay?! Geeze, I’m sorry. I didn’t even think you’d be awake at this time of night.”

“Wazzat, Big Wing? Got Timmers with that old trick?” Hood is right on his heels, calves wrapped around the wrought iron fire escape, the Elf hat probably on the helmet with double-sided sticky tape.

“Wh–?” Wide-eyed, looking from Nightwing to the Red Hood peeking in at him, he’s pretty much at a loss.

“We came to see if you were home! You weren’t working at Mercy tonight.”

“Sides, it’s Christmas, ya feel me, Baby Bird?”

Hood tosses a small sack inside before he’s through the window just that fast, he and Big Wing offering hands down to their sometimes personal physician.

“Oh, I mean, I tried to sign up for a shift, but the Chief of Staff said I couldn’t work another double,” he shrugs and wearily lays his hands in gloved ones, imagining the warmth of palms against his, lets them pull him to his feet.

“Mmhm,” Hood hums as he and N pull their doc to his feet, looks him over critically. “Looks like ya been up long enough,” the free hand thumbs the dark circles under his eyes.

The doctor quirks a brow at them, “well, let me at least make you some coffee before you have to go back out in the cold. Does anyone in the class have any potentially fatal injuries you’d like to tell me about before I have a whole lot of unconscious vigilante on my couch?”

Both vigilantes obligingly hold up their hands and turn in small circles to show off no punctures in the suits or injuries he can see. Nightwing is grinning softly at him and Hood gives him a thumbs up in an all good here.

They follow him to the kitchen, exchanging a glance after his back is turned, wondering where the Christmas Tree is, or decorations, at least. There’s only one sad little construction paper wreath on the end table by the door made by Layla, but that’s...it.

Gauntlets and gloves come off, helmet and holsters on the back of a chair while the coffee perks and Tim moves around his kitchen, talking idly about doing some research before bed, fervently hoping they don’t ask him the hard questions.

But, of course, Tim doesn’t talk much about his past with anyone, not even Ives and Steph, prefers to just keep moving forward instead of looking back. He might be a little more compromised tonight than usual, and pours coffee with a slightly trembling hand.

It might be the night Nightwing and Hood start taking more of a shine to their doctor than they should, considering how close to danger he is just by helping them when the injuries are bad and they’re in a bind. It might be how he obviously has no one to be with on Christmas, how he doesn’t have anyone to celebrate with, to decorate for, to have presents wrapped up, or leftovers from a good dinner in his fridge.

They’re detectives and the story is right there in every inch of the penthouse, in Tim’s awful sweater and pj pants, his slightly red eyes, the way he won’t really meet their eyes when they talk about the quiet night in the city because of the holiday.

They stay with him until dawn, drinking coffee and juice, watching awful fails on YouTube, waiting until Tim’s finally tired enough to pass out on the couch between them.

And dawn is just peeking on the horizon when Nightwing gently carries the doctor to bed, Hood pulling the sheets back, maybe lightly touching Tim’s hair before covering him back up.

The two ease out of the room and close the door behind them.

When Tim wakes up the next night, Christmas Day will be over in a few hours, and he’s grateful because the world can finally go back to normal. Steph and Layla will be back, and the Gauntlet will be waiting for them to try saving Gotham in their own way. Nightwing and Hood will get beat-up fighting the good fight and at least come to him when they need to. Robin will still tt at him, Tony will visit soon to just remind Tim he’s making awful life choices. Lucas will ride his ass about how much he works and Ives will be his safe haven. The world will somehow balance out again.

He won’t get stuck like this next year, just make sure he’s always on the schedule when his people have other places to go.

But when he finally pulls himself out of bed, gets his feet under him to stumble in and try finding something to eat in his kitchen, his gaze falls on something sparkly sitting on his bedside table. Something vaguely square and wrapped in crazy black and yellow paper with little bat signals on them, the ribbons Robin red and green.

He’ll gasp softly, his heart leaping into his throat, blink once, and then blink again.

The package is still there.

He tentatively touch the box with trembling fingertips, pull it against his chest, hold on a little too tightly with his eyes wet and a laugh on his face at the utter absurdity of it.

But damn if it doesn’t give him the strength to get his legs under him, and fucking stand.

(Jay and Dick don’t find out until next year that Tim never opened the present, wanted to keep it just like that since he hadn’t gotten gifts from anyone but Steph, Layla, and Ives in years. It comes out the next year when they drag him to the Manor for a few hours before riding back to the penthouse to meet up with Steph and Layla, when there’s a massive tree decorated with stacks of presents underneath. When his place has lights strung up all around and cut-out snowflakes from Batgirl, when the ornaments are Nightwing blue and Robin red, Jay and Dick drug him to Hobby Lobby to pick out. When the special one with three snowmen labeled Dick, Jay, Tim is right in the middle surrounded by Layla’s nutcracker, Dami’s picture one from school, and Lian’s ballerina. Steph managed to get a few picture of the three of them together wearing Santa hats and the picture is framed on the end table.

When they get home that night, cuddling on the sofa a year later, watching It’s a Wonderful Life and drinking eggnog Alfred sent with them, Jay will ask why he never used the little gift they left him last year. And Tim will get a little pink in the face when he admits he never opened it, he just put it away with his other good memories, not wanting to spoil the magic.

That earns him soft kisses and more cuddles since Dick is literally a cuddle machine, and Jay finds it so easy to fit their little boyfriend under his chin.

They’re on either side of him when he finally brings the box after some digging, and pulls out the bow.

The small device fits in the palm of his hand, easily fits in his doctor’s bag.

“A comm, in case you ever needed to contact us,” Dick tells him with a kiss to his temple.

“We started takin’ a shine ta ya, Baby. Thought ya might use it when we don’t come ta ya, you feel me?”

“Oh,” and he has to clear his throat, his voice a little wavery, his eyes a little hot. “That’s...even back then?”

“Merry Christmas, Timmy,” Dick replies gently in answer, palming the back of his neck.

“Merry Christmas, Sweets,” Jay’s deft fingers move the comm to thread their fingers together and hold on.

“Merry Christmas,” he chokes, face buried in Jay’s neck, squished between them while the lights from the tree glow and the warmth in his chest is so beautifully, perfectly fragile.

It’s certainly the best Christmas ever.)

#winter rambles #dr!tim #some sad but happy ending #pre and post relationship #tim drake #dick grayson #jason todd #dickjaytim

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