#seeing so many people say so many dumb things is staggering and also sad?? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hhjs · 4 years

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forget me not.

♡ based on — "During times of war. I want to say: I only love you, And I cling you, Like the peel clings to a pomegranate, Like the tear clings to the eye, Like the knife clings to the wound." and the song nightlife by daydream masi.

♡ summary — Hyunjin's unsure of the tingle in his gut, why it's happening. But he thinks, just for a second, it feels a little like hope.

wherein, putting your heart on the line for the sake of doing favours isn’t a frequent component in your schedule. But what happens when this favour is asked for by the boy you may or may not have fancied for far too long?

You accept it.

For a very embarrassing reason, really, which is — you think Hwang Hyunjin needs you.

♡ pairing— hwang hyunjin x reader

♡ word count— 8.8k whoopsies

♡ genre and alternate universe — angst, fluff + hanahaki au.

♡ author's note— this was supposed to be a drabble and then i sort of lost my fucking mind ehe...also this is easily the worst thing i have ever written im so sorry aaa but this is a lil present from my end hahaha

♡ warnings— suggestive content, vomiting, mention of blood. allusions to depression and heartbreak.

Amongst other things, you're extremely bad at saying 'no'. You don't mean the word per se...but the underlying connotation of this very monosyllable which may come at the expense of letting another person down.

It's sort of stupid, you understand, your friends have constantly voiced their worries for your extremely complacent nature more often than you'd think actually. But it all goes over your head. See — old habits really do die hard.

When you're eight, this very defect takes you to dreadful saxophone lessons your mum spoke so highly of. When you're 15, it gets you called to the principal's office for flashing Jeongin trigonometric functions in Mister Choi's pop quiz, when you're older, things are definitely no different.

The passenger seat is occupied, Hyunjin's holding a tangled muffler to his suede jacket clad chest. At 21, he's become someone you used to know. A friend of a friend, Felix's to be very specific. But the man in question, who was supposed to be his ride, passes off this duty for kegstands and you just happen to be the designated driver for the night, shuffling Jisung beside Changbin and Chan, who claims to be 'sober' even though he's half asleep.

Hyunjin is uncharacteristically quiet.

There's a polite smile on rendered your way as your eyes meet. A small curvature along his plump bottom lip, tighter around the edges. Still this simple formality is so beautiful that you feel something inside you come alive.

When Jisung starts snoring, you flip on the radio and Pink Floyd's Wish You Were Here comes on.

Your fingers feel numb when they come to tap out a rhythm to the track. It's nice. Tingling guitar riffs swelling, David Gilmour's gruffy voice pours in from faulty speakers. The more the song progresses, the more you find yourself attempting to think about anything that will distract you from the boy beside you, in the flesh no less.

So late at night, the main road is eerily silent. Cobblestones reflecting the sound of tires thumping against its layout, streetlights blinking at you from their drooping heads. Across the street, a baker is tucking away leftover bread and buskers are packing up their beat up guitars, a man in his late 50's pulling his blanket to his nose as he rests a head full of gray hair on the cold pavement.

You glance at Hyunjin from the corner of your eye and find that his staggering smile has completely disappeared. Now there's a distant glaze in his eyes. It's like he's here, in this moment, with you, but at the same time, he's somewhere else.

Under the impression you've done something wrong, you immediately begin to panic. But the thing is, you don't actually know if you should ask. Would it constitute as crossing a line if you had anyway?

Hyunjin covers his mouth with a sleeve, muffled retching building beyond fabric.

The reasonable assumption is obvious. It's not abnormal to be nauseous when you've got one too many drinks in you. He motions for you to pull over, incoherent sentences practically melding together, words forming and dissipating between choking fits.

You scramble to dig out a bottle of mineral water you habitually deposit in the glove compartment, offering him the tissue first. Ears perking up in satisfaction when a garbled thanks escapes his parted lips. But then... something weird happens.

As your eyes flicker to unintentionally glance at the contents discarded on the pitch grey sidewalk, you freeze in your seat.

You were never a big believer of superstition, not someone who buys into myths only meant for the fiction genre. Sure, you can be gullible sometimes...but what's happening falls no way under the realistic category.

The lethal Hanahaki disease, only inherited by some unlucky descendants, every moment in your head prior to this one, was something that's obviously non existent.

Yet... there's so much blood, too much blood attesting to your blatant ignorance. The petals are of a white rose, smudging together in swirls of grotesque crimson in mimicry of a sheen of red sticking to the inner corners of his lips. It has happened before, you can tell, from just how unsurprised he looks.

Hyunjin's stare flits to commit every detail of your to memory, in what only seems a quick study of gauging your forthcoming reaction, though even before you can produce a coherent thought, he says,

"You can't tell anyone." His voice drops a few octaves as though he's afraid your snoring friends in the back might've noticed. "Please."

Hyunjin's face softens by the slightest, contrary to his firm demand, there lies a desperation you couldn't overlook.

In retrospect, what you're about to tell is ultimately a promise that'd come back to bite you in due time. However, see now, you're extremely bad at saying no. Somehow you're even worse when it comes to Hyunjin. So you blink, turn the radio off and say,

"Okay."

—

The pool is preheated. For that you're most thankful.

Frankly, you couldn't imagine what it'd be like being pushed into a chilly body of water mid winter. Not that it's pleasant otherwise, you can't swim.

Well at 15, you hadn't quite learned to. The other kids have scurried inside to hog freshly baked Snowman biscuits Seungmin's mum is renowned for.

Then and you think you'll never quite forget it, Hyunjin's wearing an orange power ranger t shirt, it's darker now that it's wet, his glasses are marked with uneven splatters. His face scrunches up at the sudden splash of wetness engulfing his body. He wasn't planning to get in the water.

"Hold on tight." He says, wounding your arms around his neck, your calves tighter to his sides to support your shivering body. Back then Hyunjin's hair was black, cropped short and swept to the side, he smells like fabric softener and skittles. A water donut is discarded in the middle of the pool.

Everybody you know and don't know, from the birth of superheroes stuck in comic books to valiant protagonists behind fuzzy television screens, has this inherent desire to be saved. From the world, from themselves. No, no, it doesn't have to be a grand gesture, swooping them off of their feet from the grasp of surly men in dark alleys, sometimes it's really just simple. Sometimes people save you in the most ordinary way there is.

The weight of your form on his bright pink water donut while he stood on his toes to merely rest his elbows so the item wouldn't flip, a small act, certified this very claim, had not the nimble touch of his cold fingers, brushing away wet hair from your face, to anxiously ask if you're okay met the purpose. He talks to you like the sound of his voice has the power to injure you.

You nod slowly. Like this, it feels like you're going to be.

Hyunjin pouts, looking perfectly unconvinced. He paddles the pair of you to steel stairs spiraling into the pool, so he can stand without just his nose peeking out of the water, he looks at you once again, a wrinkle between his dark, arched eyebrows and says solemnly, "Jisung's such an idiot sometimes, isn’t he?"

But isn't he your friend? You want to ask. Something stops you though —his tone tells you you aren't the only one to fall victim to Jisung's practical jokes. Not that they were offensive or anything. Han Jisung, the same person who twiddles his thumbs when he wants the last chicken nugget and cries every time you watch Howl's Moving Castle together, genuinely doesn't mean any harm. It's just that...when he's comfortable with people, who aren't many, he tends to do a lot of dumb things. Dumb, endearing things that Minho will kill him for someday.

"A little bit," You mumble under your breath. Heat rising to your face at the possibility of Hyunjin being concerned for you. He sounds almost angry. "Thanks by the way."

It's rather pitiful to remember. Because with time, Hyunjin's world becomes so big that your interaction stands to be too insignificant to not forget. Before you know it, he's the shooting guard of your school's basketball team, just a handsome face who dates better girls, makes better friends. It's superficial and a little sad.

No, no, a little sad is an understatement actually.

To see someone you understood intimately, a boy who always described details too much just to stray from the main story, a boy with too many emotions bubbling to an awfully animated surface; someone who was passionate, sensitive and so nauseatingly big hearted...change into a man who is indubitably untouchable...is tragic. At least.

Yet funnily enough — you can't quite imagine a world without Hwang Hyunjin. His ringing laughter rippling through loud ambiences, his distant humming of Christmas carols whilst he absently skimmed through spines of children's novels and his eyes glimmering in adoration whenever he spoke of something he loved — Without him, you imagine, there would be a massive deficiency in your world, in the world. Like if birthday cakes came with the biggest slice carved out.

Hyunjin grins, a big sort of candid grin that turns his eyes into upturned crescents. His previous temperament long forgotten. Suddenly, this utterly atrocious happening seems to not be so bad. Suddenly you don't mind that Jisung is an idiot sometimes.

"Of course."

—

Hyunjin is not perfect. Hyunjin is no prince charming.

People don't know this. They don't understand this.

He ends up paying for dinner when he's out with a big crowd even though they were supposed to split the bill, he ends up crying when he gets angry and he is an abysmal liar, in every sense of the phrase. Hardly ever succeeding to hide his emotions when he should. When he was a kid his parents reminded him that it's a good thing to be unapologetically himself, that being honest is a good thing.

But as your eyes meet from across an ocean of people quagmired by crunchy leaves, sticky remnants of rain and his ex girlfriend who he now claims to be okay with being friends with, on her toes to poke his cheek whilst Chan's arm wraps around her waist, the soft white roses ornamented on a bow she loves wearing all the time, he thinks it's far from an agreeable trait to have.

Actually whilst you balance a newspaper under your arm and bring your coffee to your lips, it's like you're looking through him, past his skin, his flesh, something secret inscribed on his bones, embedded into his soul. You know everything, you know everything, you know everything.

The thought itself... surprisingly enough, doesn't appal him.

Hyunjin raises his palm in the air, feeling the autumn prickling against his skin. He waves at you.

—

Working at a library can be taxing. But it sure has its perks.

You can just about turn the place upside down and put it all back together without getting in trouble. Albeit another reason, besides your profession could be that Minho owns the place. Frankly, he may or may not have been the only cause behind your employment. It's hard to tell now that your co-workers really do recognise you've a knack for arranging things.

But to you, your job is very personal. A precious thing which relieves you from various worldly tensions. Velvety spines under your roughened fingertips, the burst of minted pages hitting your face every time you walk in, your love for reading, for a world of stories is so immense that you think you wouldn't have traded it even if your life depended on it.

For a disease that's not very well known, it's ironic how an entire section of mythology is dedicated to it. Past closing hours, amongst many novels mounted on your desk, you fixate on the one that made most sense. There's a few things you've picked up in common from all of them though — the hanahaki disease is extremely rare, it doesn't affect all those who suffer from the qualms of unrequited love.

Possible remedy according to findings entail

growths can be surgically removed, if the patient consents to eradication of memories of their loved ones.

Clanking of keys alerts incoming and you pause your tapping pen to look up.

"Burning the midnight oil, are we?"

Minho leans against the doorframe, he's half yawning, half talking and fully concerned for you.

"Yeah, looks like I'm gonna be a while." Your monotonous tone provides that you are not paying a lot of attention. You blurt without looking up. "Are you leaving?"

"No, still haven't finished archiving for that Pfizer project...But I'm going to get a bite to eat..." His inky eyes remain on you as his tone falters, "You want anything?"

"I'm fine. Thanks."

"Wow you're like...really uh invested." He tilts his head in thought, "You seeing someone again?"

You know Minho long enough to know he has a teasing side to him, from diaper days to play dates ending in pillow fights because he kept offering you his last Pringle just to pop it into his stupid smirking mouth — but you have no idea where he's going with this.

So you look up, finally. Furrowing your brows.

"No. What does that have to do with anything?"

He shrugs, "I haven't seen you concentrate so hard since you dumped Jeongin."

Your right eye twitches. Because you know exactly what he's referring to, and simultaneously, for the sake of your well-being, you much prefer being in denial. "What?"

"C'mon. Remember how you always ended up doing his homework?" He reminds you. "It's like when you like someone, you go out of your way to do charitable stuff for them. But...this? Too much. Even for you."

You ignore Minho's comment. To the world, Hwang Hyunjin's place in your life is not significant. After all this is the most natural undulation in the vicissitudes of life — for someone who once was your friend to eventually drift apart, to become a has been. It's too hard to explain why you care. After all this time.

"I was just being nice." You narrow your eyes, unimpressed. "Clearly this concept is lost on some people."

"Sure you are, bud. If being 'nice' is synonymous with whipped." Of course, there's a smug grin gracing his pouted lips that tempts you to fling something at him. Not that you can though. Seeing as Minho breaks out into a full fledged sprint, his singsongy voice a thinning echo bouncing off of shelves and windows and doors.

Still somehow his footsteps manage to travel through walls, permeating into your office with such great amplitude that you could be bamboozled into thinking he hasn't left at all. Or maybe you've stopped paying attention, your eyes zoom in on any other helpful detail you can put to use in wrapping your head around what you have witnessed firsthand.

At the same time, you can't really ignore how hungry you're feeling just from the mention of a bite to eat. So when Minho's shadow forms again on the page you've been 'reading' for the last few seconds you sense a gigantic wave of relief washing over you.

"You know what I changed my—" slamming the book shut, you blink against scanty provision of light, with raise your head and a bleary vision, recognise him in an instant. Except...it isn't Minho. "mind..."

The only source of brightness is a small emerald lamp perched on the corner of your desk, light green catches onto one of the ornamented corners and speckles of golden caress his supple skin gently. You hadn't realised how cold it might've been outside until you see how heavily dressed Hyunjin was, a long overcoat worn over woollen sweater, a Santa hat and muffler pulled to his chin. It's no one other than your boss himself who has given him directions to your office, you know this, Hyunjin has never been inside before.

So when he marvels absently, you sense yourself feeling a little self conscious about not cleaning up. All around you, a comforter and love seat pushed against the window, cigarette butts discarded in ashtray and then...the books strewn before you tell him you practically live here.

For some reason, Hyunjin only seems to loosen up at the spectacle.

"Hi." He says finally.

"Hi..." you arrange the reading materials quickly to one side so you can rest your elbows. A small (successful) attempt made to hide your research. "Something up?" You say, but what you really mean is, what are you doing here?!

Did he suspect you were going to tell on him? Right that's it, that must be it, you tell yourself, believing, knowing, of all the years Hwang Hyunjin has known of you he has never been one to care about your whereabouts.

"I just...um," He starts, forwarding his mitten clad hands. It's the back of a crumpled coffee cup on which straight handwriting reads a bucket list...of sorts. You immediately understand that his coming is an act of impulse. Urgency of living every moment like it's slipping through it's fingers, that he just needed to tell the only person who knows, be it by accident.

Hyunjin clears his throat. "I wanna do all this before I die."

In lieu of giving an instant response, baffled, you gawp at him. Despite knowing, hearing Hyunjin say it out loud somehow makes everything...too real.

It's as though someone's reached inside your throat, pulled your heart out and crushed it with their bare hands. Hyunjin, the boy who smelled like fabric softener and skittles and wore power ranger shirts, the boy with the fantastic smile and cold fingers, is dying. You won't let him. You can't let him.

You thumb along the numbers scribbled in hasty penmanship, look up and blink rapidly, "Okay," you say, a small whisper, barely there words. "That's okay."

Even with the hat covering tips of ears, you could tell the same faint blush coating his cheeks had rushed to that particular area. His eyes drift off to the sight of pens discarded inside a wooden holder because he can feel your gaze on him. "and I...I need your help."

"Alright."

Hyunjin's eyes widen to a great degree, he sits straighter, as if he hadn't expected you to comply so quickly.

And honestly? Neither had you.

It's quiet. Awkward.

"You know it's not like I haven't thought about dying. I just figured I'd get to grow old first, settle down, have kids and all that," A wry laugh escapes his parted lips. "Everything's happening too fast."

You hesitate, thinking he's making a mistake. Frankly he shouldn't feel obligated to give you an explanation.

"You...you don't have to tell me."

"No—I mean...can I?" He gives you a sheepish look, disliking his own whimsical tone, somehow endearing still. You find yourself wondering how long he had to keep his burdens to himself, not just pertaining to his illness, but everything. His dreams, his hopes, his fears. Anything which requires a certain amount of depth. And you almost ask him, the question sitting at the tip of your tongue, yet the realisation rather simple, stops you. Maybe you've mistranslated 21 year old Hyunjin all along — moulding himself into someone who's convenient around people who only liked him for who he appeared to be, maybe even with all that popularity, parties and glamour, he's just...lonely.

You push your reading glasses into your hair, press your knuckles under your chin and hum in consent.

He shifts in his seat, "Have you ever... been in love?"

You release an amused huff. Let your eyes linger on him for a long minute.

"Once."

Hyunjin half expects you to laugh. Poke fun at him for his melodramatic backstory. That's the sole reason why he doesn't tell his friends (funny, for people he considers close, they seem to know not much about him or care to know, that is. ). But you... you look at him with something in your eyes that tells him the rubbish reasons he posited makes all the sense in the world. Hyunjin's unsure of the tingle in his gut, why it's happening. But he thinks, just for a second, it feels a little like hope.

—

Midnight rendezvous.

As someone who has lived a fairly extraordinary life, Hwang Hyunjin's bucket list is bafflingly ordinary. He's more of a finding joy in small things kind of a person, punctilious at best.

Things change. People notice. They hesitate, whisper about you and last night while you were out on last minute cheap wine run, the grocerer, a girl who looks around sixteen asks you if you're dating Hyunjin. Underneath the thinly veiled curiousity, there's something like anger dripping from her words.

You furrow your eyebrows in simple insinuation that it's weird for a stranger to take interest in your life. Maybe it was written on your face, the fact that you're a dying man's beck and call is for reasons far more complicated than it looks.

You go to his parties. Greet him as a friend would and not just for the sake of maintaining formalities. He comes to the library more times than he does, waits for you to get off work so you can check something off the list at least. People notice. People understand. Hyunjin's different around you. He's bright, talkative when he forgets to contain himself. You sense your heart swelling with pride just at the understanding that he can be himself around you.

You drive to the beach, sit in your trunk and drink straight out of the bottle.

Hyunjin laughs a little. Suspends his feet in the air. With time, he's gotten paler, exhausted. "Rough day?"

You hum.

"Very. Our children's collection is usually low in stock around the weekends."

Hyunjin crosses his arms over his chest. Curious.

"And?"

"And if I say I got yelled at by a toddler would you believe me?"

Hyunjin feigns contemplation, even with the realisation that his body is becoming less and less cooperative, he manages to remain perfectly cheerful.

"I can actually," he grins, "At that age, I was a real pain in the ass."

"Were?"

Your smile is just a slight curl against the bottle's mouth as he grumbles under his breath about your 'insensitive' remark.

You think of your life after Hyunjin, think of his absence like a gaping hole you'll never be able to fill out. It makes you sick to your stomach.

—

Bake something from scratch.

Hyunjin's face twists in apparent thought, eyebrows rising. A pink tongue poked against his cheek, whilst he chews carefully, trying really hard not to flash an accidental reaction whilst you clasp your butter and oat flour soiled hands together, some of the batter on your cheek, neck to anticipate his answer like your will to live depends on it.

You ask yourself how it got to this. Why you didn't care that you were awake so early on a Sunday morning with flour powdering every kitchen appliance in sight in spite of being awfully restrictive about who you let into your kitchen. But it doesn't matter, it doesn't matter because it's nice like this.

Hyunjin has his hair pulled away from his bare face, a mole under his eye, a small birthmark on the back of his ear.

When you first met, you thought he was a kind of handsome that couldn't be real. Something formidable about it. Only destined to exist behind fuzzy television screens and flashy magazines.

But in retrospect, you realise, that that's not true at all.

If you look close enough, if you really pay attention, there's a softness underneath, something goofy, something warm, the sharp jut of his nose circling into a soft button, his eyes are big, black and his mouth jutted out into a natural pout, he looks innocent, like he doesn't quite realise the extent of his charms.

"It's..." His soft voice pulls you out of your reverie, and you look up to find his eyes glimmering jovially. Every time it surprises you, the lack of regret in them and the abundance of nonchalance. You wonder what it means to love someone like that, to love someone to the point of martyrdom. It shouldn't be like this. "perfect,"

"This is like, the only batch we didn't burn, right?"

You snort, "Yeah." Fully turn to him, "You know what they say, fifth time's the charm."

Hyunjin's laugh, you think, is so contagious that it makes it an imperative to smile in return. In shaky compartments the sound comes, like being 8, laying wide-eyed in a paddling pool and staring up at a crayon blue sky, raindrop rippling beyond all that noiseless water. His eyes curve to upturned crescents, an unconscious hand covering up the seams of his lips whilst he shakes his head. You don't even notice when he starts speaking again.

"Huh?"

"I said you got a little...something..."

You almost lose a fraction of your sanity when his nimble fingers come to wrap around your wrist while you hold onto the spatula employed into the whole snickerdoodle batter mixing business, a liberated hand coming up to gently wipe your cheek. It means everything to you. And nothing to him.

Later, when you're alone at night, really alone, you put your palm to your chest and feel the unsteady beat of your heart. A warning, a reminder. I can't. I can't. I can't.

—

You hold Hyunjin's hair up. His hands resting on the cold toilet seat, he's whimpering and bleeding. It happens every time he sees Haseul, or something which reminds him of her. Like the song.

This time she's drunk. And it's because she impulsively rises to her toes and presses a tender kiss to Chan's lips.

Hyunjin's just a feet away, across students and solo cups and streaks of neon falling irregularly through his line of sight.

He can never confess, not to her. The last thing Hyunjin wants is for her to feel bad for him. To say she feels the same as an act of service. He tells you. You understand. Somehow... you always understand.

They met in college, Hyunjin and she. And Chan was an upperclassman who seemed to be good at...well everything. At first, he couldn't figure out why it never occured to him before, the fact they were getting together maybe before, after or during the length of their relationship.

Though the answer is simple.

Hyunjin thinks the pillar to good relationships is trust. Call him a sappy romantic or whatever but he had seen true love manifest from it through generations before him and his parents and their parents. To think a different fate was woven for him...used to be unimaginable.

How ironic is that?

Hyunjin presses his cheek against your chest because he doesn't want you to look at him when he cries.

Then for the first time....he tells you he's scared. He's scared of what will happen to him. Of what is happening to him.

He's falling apart.

You cradle him, press him closer to your body like you're trying to put him together. People can't fix each other. Not really. But sometimes... they're worth the try.

"Hey...hey...it's alright," You shush him, run your fingers through his hair. Your voice almost breaking, faltering. Still this, this you mean it with every fibre of your being. "It's okay to be scared."

—

Self bleach hair.

It's Christmas and you're late for a late night dinner he's putting together. (As reluctant as he was about getting along with Hyunjin, he seems all too eager to make invite him whenever a get together takes effect.)

His apartment smells like floor cleaner. There's a queen sized bed pushed against an electric blue wall, a Fleetwood Mac poster taped to his door, small reading desk where Canon EOS New Kiss rests, polaroids of things checked off the list littered all its wooden surface.

You pick up the only photo he hasn't labelled, it reminds you that your friendship isn't just based off a pursuit. This is natural. Pizza box discarded between you two, on your roof top. It's a little too dark, you're holding a cigarette between your fingers, you're laughing and Hyunjin looks like he's going to complain the minute he's done taking the picture. (And he does.)

You smile, pressing your fingers against it like the touch could transport you to a simpler time.

"Ready to go?"

Hyunjin rakes a tentative hand through his newly dyed hair, grey (a suitable colour he says.). You can tell he's put a lot of effort into cleaning up, his usual hoodies and sweats alternated with a red satin shirt tucked into dark dress pants and a coat of the same colour. Hyunjin is beautiful. Perhaps even more like this. In fact, the extent of this quality is so Goliath-like that it obliges dolled up attendees to marvel up in awe. While you fully agree with their unsaid ponderings, you really do, you find yourself missing a less sophisticated version of him.

"Yeah, but first..." you fish out a wrapped squarish material from the depths of your pocket. Hyunjin's eyes widen, two bunny-like teeth showing for the extent of his grin.

"You got me a present!" He all but rips it out of your hand, shaking the material eagerly. He’s a Christmas person, a supreme holiday enthusiast if you will. The sheer excitement in him projects itself in every physical aspect possible. Slight jumping on the balls of his feet. "It's a cassette...?"

You speak too much, nervous he doesn't like it. "It’s a Christmas mix. I thought...since you like carols. I know it's a little old school, I'm sorry if that’s not what you were hoping for—"

Hyunjin pulls you into a big hug, wrapping his entire body it feels like; his arms around your waist, he squeezes you tighter against him, "Thank you." He whispers into your hair, it's not just about the cassette, you can tell.

There's a small light bulb dangling from his ceiling, he hasn't fixed it since the first time you pointed it out. You can tell with your eyes closed, you've begun to know more intimately than your own home. It's safe here. A place that deludes you into thinking that he's not running out of time, that even in his absence in the world, whenever you should walk into this room, it would be an imperative to find Hyunjin lazying about in its confines. Familiarity can be quite tricky, can't it?

His gratitude is not unknown to you. It's in the guilty smile that threatens to show every now and then, it's in this and it's in that. In many ways, it is not something you're a stranger to.

And yet the words manage to tears your heart at the seams. Just a little.

—

Make a snow angel.

From above, he imagines, he may appear to look like a chunk of cookie dough in an ice cream pint.

The snow is not as comfortable as it appears, its frigid temperature seeps into Hyunjin's clothes (and what feels like his internal organs, if that's even possible). He waves his hands and legs inward, outward.

Your head tilts towards him. Face twisted in annoyance. "You're getting on my wing!" You say. "Have you no respect for personal space?!"

Hyunjin narrows his eyes jovially. And people tell him he's the one with a penchant for theatrics. He leans closer in rebuttal, waving his leg around your design with more purpose. You give up. Sit on your knees, fumble with the snow. He’s still in the same position. Smug as ever...

"This is what happens when you disrespect your elders." He fake-warns. "Oka—"

What he doesn't anticipate, however, is the snowball you launch on his stupid grinning face. Now it's your turn to laugh. You clutch your stomach and point at him whilst he glares at you having barely managed to blow the snow off of his mouth.

"Oh, you're gonna get it now!"

You let out an animalistic screech, Hyunjin’s already trapped you under his weight, his thighs wound around your waist, hamstringing your plan to escape, now you're merely squirming. His fingers come down to attack your sides, digging into the flesh so mercilessly to the point you’re not sure if you’re laughing or crying. It's like there's a wildfire inside your lungs.

For a moment you forget, you let yourself forget what's to come.

“Alright, alright I’m sorry!” you press your palms against his chest in an attempt to push him off, Hyunjin has a dumb smile on his face that seems to give the impression of a hanger stuck inside his mouth. But... there's something behind his entertainment as the sound of his laugh dies down, chest heaving with exercise. His smile drops.

You can count each lash, each freckle and line on his face. The dark in his eyes. The pink of his lips. Your sweater's ridden to your ribs. And the warmth of his fingers shifting against your bare skin hits you with an earthshattering force.

Hyunjin kisses you. For a fleeting second, you freeze. Rigid with shock. Then it passes as soon as it comes.

You let out a noise of content,indubitably grateful that your neighbours forgot to put on their porch light for the night. See it’s like this, the act of kissing is not as special as is the person himself, you muse, you can kiss anyone, you can touch and be touched by anyone. But none of that truly compares to this. Not when they aren't him.

You’d be lying if you said you never thought about it. Just like you’ve thought about a lot of things. But just the realisation that the boy you’ve harboured in your heart for more complicated reasons than you disclose, to yourself even, touches you with so, so much care...it’s tearing you apart.

It’s too good to be real.

You suddenly push him away. The tugging and pulling at your heart too much to handle. For the fact remains — Hyunjin doesn't love you. He doesn't even like you. You never expected him to. Actually, you've never felt what you feel with that condition in mind either.

See when the feeling of having everything you could ever want is cradled between your palms...it ought to be hard to let go. (Maybe he’s just doing this because he feels bad for you, the little voice in your head says. You listen.)

Hyunjin speaks up first.

“I love Haseul.” he tells you, but it sounds more like he’s telling himself. “That’s why...that’s why, all this...I love her.” Not you.

You swallow, “I know.” Your hands come up to dust your pants. Hyunjin’s still on his knees, as if the answer to his conflicts are deposited under all the snow. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not, it’s not okay. I shouldn’t have, I shouldn’t have done—”

Now you hear it, the hint of pity in his voice. You don’t mean to sound as bitter as you do. Seeing as you’re usually very good at keeping calm , breaking that very reputed front frustrates you even more.

“Look just forget about it, okay? We don’t have to talk about this.”

Hyunjin looks like he didn’t expect this side of you to exist. At least, you think, at least it got him to stop talking.

—

Learn to skate.

"If I fall, I'm taking you with me."

"You say it like I have a choice."

Hyunjin shoots you a warning glare even though you can't see. His choppy skidding steps supported by the vice grip he has on your arms. You haven't skated since you were in highschool. But when you're pretty good at it still, the smooth blade of your beaten skates gliding through ice with much dexterity, it's like floating, freeing, the wind hitting your faces, snow catching in your lashes. It's peaceful, you try not to think about the warmth of Hyunjin's arm circling around body, the vague rhythm of his heartbeat against your back. His laboured breaths on your neck. It's torturous. But spending so much time with him has taught you to hide your feelings better.

The park welcomes a large crowd around holiday season, children with toothless grins, tugging onto their mum's coats, small chin resting onto a parents' head, teenagers moving in together in school uniforms. It's the happiest time of the year. When you move past an elderly couple, they smile and tell you make a wonderful couple.

You're just about to make a correction. This puts you in an awkward position... doesn't it?

But then Hyunjin grins toothily and says, Thank you, like it's the most amusing thing in the world. You ignore the wrenching inside your chest.

Hyunjin leans forward, his plump lips brushing against your ear. "Where did you learn to skate so well?!" There's something like excitement in his kiddish laugh aside from admiration. It's not much of a question as it is an exclamation.

"I am pretty good, aren't I?"

He laughs, doesn't let you go. "Yes, yes...really good."

Out of breath, you slow down, move your feet steadily, careful not to lose balance.

"Oh my God! It is you!"

You raise your head, blink against flakes hindering your vision. Jeongin's voice used to be thinner before. As far as you remember. Now it has a weight to it.

You let out a nervous laugh.

"And it's you..."

Jeongin's eyes travel to the arms around your waist, to the stiffened figure behind you and you immediately liberate yourself. Moving to let Hyunjin use your arm as purchase, you don't fail to notice the pinch in his forehead, a frown on his mouth.

"This is my friend Hyunjin. Hyunjin, this is Jeongin—"

"We used to go out." Jeongin smiles, forwarding his hand, which is returned with an unenthused shake and a demure reply. Hyunjin never speaks to anyone this way, not even people he claims to hate.

The former male looks to you again, "I was, uh... wondering if you'd like to go out for a cup of coffee sometime."

Things between you and him ended amicably at the event of his departure for further studies, which deprives you of awkward tension which is expected when exes meet.

Besides, a cup of coffee never hurt anyone.

Right?

Without thinking, you nod slowly, "Yeah that sounds good,"

"Text me anytime."

"Sure."

“I'll be out of your hair then," he beams. "It was very nice meeting you too, Hyunjin."

"Right."

Hyunjin, you realise, has released your arm. He leans on barricades fencing along the skating area, smiling briefly. You know it’s wrong...yet you sense that you almost need him to be upset.

Then he tilts his head back towards you, "He seems like a really nice guy," he whispers, genuinely meaning every word. Your heart sinks. "I see the appeal." Underneath the lurid glare of fairy lights brandished overhead, Hyunjin's ash hair glints like it's threaded out of silver. You wonder what he's thinking.

—

Watch every Disney movie ever made.

You never end up texting Jeongin back. Just stalling for when you're ready, you tell yourself. Even though that's not true at all.

"This brings back so many memories. My parents used to belt out A Whole New World with me, like every time we watched Aladdin."

Hyunjin wipes his face with the back of his hand, technically you’re not very sure what he’s saying exactly because he’s mumbling into a paper napkin you've passed over for the umpteenth time. You find yourself picturing a small but happy family of three, of Hyunjin in Scooby Doo pajamas and gap between his teeth. (Contrary to your previous convictions, he hasn't changed all at much, save for the teeth bit. ) It's cute.

He looks to you expectantly. Can't be the only one telling embarrassing stories.

You shrug, "I had a thing for Simba. Let's just say my mum and dad were nice enough to indulge me."

Hyunjin reaches for the remote and pauses the ending credits of Lady and the Tramp. He turns to you fully now, gives you a judgemental stare. "Simba...?" He says, "Like the...lion?"

"What? It's normal to crush on fictional characters, okay?!"

"Okay,sure," Hyunjin snorts, putting a pillow between you and him so you can't kill him. "furry."

A part of you is tempted, obviously. But the much bigger part is more invested in how he looks happier, healthier. You want to think that means something.

—

Hyunjin invites you over for movie night. It's getting colder and you keep poking him with your cold feet. There's an extra set of blankets in his cupboard, he informs you, he isn't sharing his with you — and that's when you see it.

The deflated pink donut folded to the side, his and yours sharpie inscribed initials on one side.

"Found it yet?"

You don't even notice when he comes to stand behind you. So the question effectively makes you jump out of your skin. Hyunjin has a bowl of popcorn pressed to his chest, there's a pink hair band holding his hair away from his forehead. For the lack of a answer he takes it on himself to find the source of your silence. As if you've been caught red handed.

You think this is where he'll ask you to leave, that or he'll least scold you or something. You prepare for the worst.

Hyunjin just smiles, it's a big smile that succeeds in bringing out the small dimple indented on the side of his cheek. You've never noticed before. It's kinda weird. Because when it comes to him, your attention hardly ever falters.

"You probably don't remember. That’s from Seungmin's 15th birthday,"

You want to scoff under your breath. All this time you had told yourself that you were the only one to be affected by your estranged friendship growing up. Now...the same logic colours you every bit of ridiculous.

You blink away, swallowing. Voice solemn.

"I remember." Hyunjin's gaze is heavy on your shoulders. An emotion you can't quite put a finger on crosses his delicate features. It's something between surprise and relief... something else too. You don’t understand it.

—

It's disconcerting that he can’t remember the last time he got sick. Not the usual discomfort inside his chest, not the blood, not the thorns or petals. Hyunjin's just gotten so used to it, you know? What if he gets his hopes up for no good reason? What if it just comes back?

There's no possible explanation, he explains over a hasty 3 A.M message he had to leave on your answering machine because he's freaking out.

Then Haseul texts Hyunjin, tells him she misses him. Everything's adding up. Everything's falling into place. This is what he wanted, isn't it? She loves him, she finally loves him back. That must be it. He doesn't know what to say.

But he tells you, and when he does, it sounds a lot like an apology.

—

Kiss underneath a mistletoe.

“Chan and I broke up.” She says it like it’s something he should be happy about. So when he remains quiet, it only prompts her to speak more, fill up the big mighty silences.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Look Jinnie, I know I made a mistake, but...can’t you give a second chance? Just this once?”

Hyunjin has thought about this particular moment a lot. Kissing her instead of producing a response, pulling her off of her feet and mumbling of course, of course, of course. Back then, there were little doubts in his head pertaining to her, back then he believed that she was the only one for him. The love of his life at the wrong time, in the wrong place.

Now...something doesn’t feel right.

The thing about wounds, sometimes, of the heart in particular, is when they close up, it’s hard to make head or tails of the kind of person you become in their wake. Hard to adjust. Like when he suddenly shot up 7 inches in ninth grade, a late bloomer at that, and the weight of his new sneakers felt..odd.

He glances at her and also understands what it’s like to be lonely, the constant need to compensate for it by grasping at the last straw. He used to be in her shoes too. This isn’t any different. Albeit, he isn’t exactly taken by her presence. Just that he doesn’t know if what he’s doing is right. He looks over your table a few feet away from where he’s standing. Having gone out to take a call. You notice his absence and then from your seat, do your best to locate him. (he thinks of kissing you on a bed of snow, thinks of the sizzle of your skates against ice, thinks of his list on a coffee cup and his pink water donut and it’s okay to be scared. Why did it have to be you of all people, through everything? It’s not really a work of coincidence. Not at all actually.

Maybe he just wanted it to be you.)

When your eyes do lock...seeing him with his hands in his pockets, her standing beyond the barrier as she tries to say something, you smile, even if it’s a little sad. Hyunjin thinks to the conversation some nights before. Thinks of you reminding him that there's nothing to lose at this point, that he should do what his heart tells him. That it’ll be alright, if he just takes a leap of faith. Hyunjin smiles back. Through the glassy exterior and mini water fountains running down its slanted form. The realisation is not as dramatic as he thought. It’s just late.

He tears off the false mistletoe decoration glued along the periphery of an arch.

And like always.

He takes your advice.

—

Cohorts of guests pour into the colossal hotel, heads turning in quiet admiration for bejeweled arches breaking out against buttery white architecture, the roof is impossibly naked, translucent glass baring a starlit sky to your watchful eyes. Showing little mercy to a frail chute held over your head,costumed characters wade through oceans of gossamer, twinkling silver and swaying movements to slow jazz. You prop a heeled foot up on the bar platform, which strangely resembles a pedestal, in a futile attempt to catch your breath, with clammy digits settled atop the risky surface of a marbled counter. A soft voice speaks over the ambience, uttering your name with much care. You lift your head. And there he is.

Jisung is scouring through the Spotify playlist you’ve put together for New Year’s Eve. He’s complaining about the lack of Beyoncé while your friends go around the buffet table. When he calls you, you’re sipping your drink, laughing at something Changbin is saying, his eyes brighten just at the sound of your laugh. Hyunjin isn’t surprised to see his friend taking a liking of you even though he hardly knows you. That’s just the effect you have on people.

Excusing yourself, you allow him to walk you to a less densely populated area where a stone pillar faces expensive paintings of nameless painters. With the effect of alcohol settling in and your inhibitions effectively lowered, your steps sway a little. You lean against the massive build rising from tiled floor. “So what’s up?” you murmur, the lump in your throat thickening just at the thought of him speaking the good news into existence. “I take it went well?”

Hyunjin doesn't answer. He looks distracted for a bit. Then in an instant he snaps out of his daze. “What did you mean when you said ‘once’?”

Your brows come together in inquiry.

“What?”

"When I asked you if you have ever been in love, you said ‘once’." He persists, his fingers come up to your shoulder, grazing slightly as if they’re trying to carve out words against the skin. "You weren’t talking about Jeongin.”

He knows. He’s always known. Hyunjin can’t believe he’s been so stupid.

“Took you long enough.” You let out a sardonic laugh.“Well, it doesn’t matter now, does it?”

"It matters to me..." Hyunjin sounds offended, you gather, but he manages to quell his temper for the sake of coaxing your confession. Is he purposely embarrassing you? "I don’t think...I love Haseul anymore...I didn’t realise...I haven’t for a long time."

A big chandelier beams over withering plants pushed against the ceiling, in this poor supply of light, you can tell exactly how he looks, eyes glimmering adoringly, you've spent something-teen years of your life wondering what it's supposed to mean. And it still manages to confuse you.

"Why are you telling me this?" you ask, albeit you already know. Because funnily enough, before he got his braces removed and dyed his hair a scandalous blonde, before bucket lists and heartbreak, he was just the boy who told you he liked your stupid reindeer sweater even though it had officially made you the 7th grade laughing stock. You remember being fifteen and in love with Hyunjin. And you've never actually stopped. You need to hear it to believe it.

It drives you crazy. The way Hyunjin brushes his fingers against your cheek, shifting strands away from your eyes. But you can't help it, you've always wanted this. You lean into the caress, peering up at him as his large hand cups your jaw, thumb traversing from your tilted chin to your glossy lips like he's trying to smooth out all the creases. His voice is small, a whisper.

"Because I need you to know I think I’m falling in love with you.” he says. His palm opens and there’s a plastic mistletoe nestled between his fingers. You’re smiling and sniffling whilst his forehead comes to press against yours. Hyunjin grins. “And there’s still one last item on my list.”

“Are you seriously asking me to land one on you now?”

“Oh hell yeah.”

—

"Move."

You press your fingers against the slick, sweaty skin.

In rebuttal, Hyunjin grumbles under his breath. Only half awake, half aware that he was mumbling in his sleep. His naked chest seems to be, if it’s even possible, glued to your bare front as he sprawls out like a starfish over your body, using his gangly arms to accommodate the strange position.

Though and you know he knows it too — it’s anything but uncomfortable.

See by now, you aren't exactly a stranger to Hyunjin's sleeping habits. Or really, any habits of his.

All the windows are cracked open, moonlight percolating through a thin sheet of curtains in rendering evidence that it’s still night time. You can make out the faint sound of honking in the distance, a few stray dogs here and there, probably producing strings of complaints about the blatantly unbearable heat.

The strong stench of sweat and an aftermath of what happened before is a quick reminder of where you are, what you’re doing and that your arm’s going cold for a lack of circulation under his weight. Beads of sweat collected against his skin and trickle down the side of your face, the crook of your neck, which only prompts you to apply more force to the pads of your index and pointer — albeit it did nothing to move him, "Gross." You groan. "You're sweating like a pig!"

This comment, of all the things you've tried to get him to sleep on his side, succeeds in making Hyunjin raise his head, his grey hair matted down, a few rogue strands pushed out to fall over the unamused look in his eyes.

In an unprecedented minute of absolute clarity, something inside your stomach started to churn at the shocking sight. You’re impossibly, absolutely and nauseatingly in love with Hwang Hyunjin and the funny thing is, you don’t have to think twice to know he is too.

"Gross?" Hyunjin lowers his face to brush his pouted lips along your jaw, grinning when you let out a shaky but involuntary breath and as if he is looking to make a point with his digits traversing from your bare stomach, just along the hem of your underwear, "After all that?"

"I hate you." You say — but more like, stutter. The sound of his giggles eliciting a strange sensation in you, reverberating against your chest, knocking against his ribs and your skin, like it’s trying to reach out to you, like your bodies insist on melding into one.

"I don’t think you’re being honest, baby." He laughs, squeezing your side, coming up to plant a warm palm to your butt to repeat the action, which in turn, drew a mewl from you. “Because you looove me.” Hyunjin smirks, his finger thumbing along your throat to your chin. You think this is what all those great poets meant in endless litanies of lovers torn apart by time and war woven together in a simple caress, like a longing, like a secret. Guarded from prying eyes, greedy hands, and you keep it, you keep it. For him. With him.

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parismystere · 3 years

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Hoping that the finale (or maybe season five if the whole thing about season four having a shocking/sad ending is to be believed) will have a point of showing that no matter how many people she recruits by her side she can’t replace her actual partner, who was all she needed all along. The other half. Maybe predictable, but I really do miss when it was just the two of them as well.

oh, anon, how do i answer thee without being salty (sal-thee?).

if you had asked me this summer (i mean. this blog didn't exist this summer, but moving on), i would have said that's exactly what's going on and what the show is trying to do with the rena storyline. i would have subscribed to the popular theory that chat blanc caused the rift in their relationship. i would have told you to keep an eye on the end of the season, perhaps even the 100th episode. well. what can i say, i love clowning.

remember when the script leaks for 'ephemeral' came out, and all of us thought that since ladybug needs only his cataclysm, then maybe that's a sign that there would be a ladynoir fallout, or that adrien is so hurt that he refuses to show up to akuma fights, blah blah? welp. that came and went.

hm, my controversial opinion is that perhaps ml just isn't the show we signed up for anymore, and it's up to people to decide if they want to keep up with it and enjoy the ride, or move on. because let me tell you, i've been seeing bits of s1 episodes the past few days, and the difference is staggering. i don't blame anyone for not liking ml anymore.

i'm just personally saddened about it, i guess, because, once again, ladynoir supremacy, and because to me ml is losing its charm, kind of. growing up, i had all the female protagonists i could want. i refused to watch things without girls in them. i had the superhero teams, the trios, and so on. what i didn't have was a cartoon whose sole point was the romance, because i was desperate for romance for at an early age, and children's shows didn't expand on that front, or relegated the romance to a subplot for a few episodes here and there. so ml felt revolutionary for me, because, holy shit, it's a CARTOON and its whole plot is ROMANTIC LOVE??? where was this when i was a kid??? and they'd be super daring with the ladynoir flirting, them falling on top of each other and other visual cues and so on, once again, WHERE WAS THIS??? i love it so much. it's exactly what little me needed and would have loved.

but what's the point in including the fifty-eleven superheroes, the ginormous cast of side characters and so on, if the idea is that they have to be discarded in the final season for... what? for ladynoir to triumph stronger than ever? they were already as strong as it's possible. and i just dislike it because it turns into your run-of-the-mill superhero show. the idea of the franchise, the 328718349 miracle boxes, the american superheroes and fei, whose existence i blocked out, isn't my tempo, and idk. i don't know if anybody even watches ml for that stuff, since the love square is the drawing point of the show, and maybe the agreste mysteries keep some of us occupied.

i understand that they wanted to make ladybug the leader (idk how you can be a leader of a partnership, but what do i know, please, astruc, tell me how i'm a dumb woman again) and make her the central character in the show, and that's fine. the yin and yang thing is for purely aesthetic purposes, it seems like. but at this point... what is the difference between chat noir and the other heroes, in terms of powers? ladybug is the only one essential. chat noir's cataclysm is usually seen as a hindrance in battles with sentimonsters. the bee can actually freeze them. i don't think that people were overdramatic about rena this summer, because she also has one power only like chat noir, but was allowed to showcase this strategic acumen that chat never did, except maybe in 'miracle queen'.

i think that either the show doesn't know what it wants to be, or it started as one thing, and is going to end up as another. i'm going to refrain from judgement because, hey, i do try to be a graceful person and i do have a lot of hope, but i'm also a lil wary of how things are going, and i hope nobody misconstrues this as me being salty. i think i'm just confused with what the idea is.

#sorry for the long reply #ask #anonymous

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smol-and-grumpy · 4 years

Text

EUPHORIA - Chapter 22

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: He’s Dean Winchester, owner of a shady night club. She’s a journalist who has been asked to write an article to expose the indecency and debauchery that’s going on behind closed doors. But he’s also Dean Winchester, the boy who sat next to her in class. The boy who was too cocky for his own good.

Chapter Warning: NSFW, flangst

WC: 3229

A/N: This chapter fills my ‘Impala sex’ square for @spnkinkbingo

Beta’d by @deanwanddamons <3

THIS SERIES IS COMPLETE ON PATREON

Series Masterlist ~ SPN Masterlist

Become a Patron ~ Buy me a coffee

It’s unfamiliar to drive with a bandage around his hand and it would be in the way for what he’s planning to do, so Dean takes it off mid-drive. He’ll tell her that he had to do some things at the club that involved him having to take it off. He doesn’t mind holding still for her to put another one on him. Preferably with her in his lap, because that shit’s really good, and he enjoyed every minute of it.

He snorts out a laugh and shakes his head when he thinks back to her asking him if she’s a good fuck.

Jesus, how could she even think that she’s not? She’s all he thinks about since he sank his cock into her pussy. She’s the one he sees when he closes his eyes to rest. Dean could fucking live in her and if he’d go out that way, he wouldn’t even fucking mind! He’s sure that going out while being inside of her might be on the cards for him, because his heart beats so fast every time, it makes his fucking head spin.

It’s true, he fucking loves fucking. He probably would not own a sex club if he doesn’t like it, but fucking with her is something else. Sure, she’s not that experienced, but maybe that’s just the thing that triggers his fancy. And maybe, just maybe, it’s because it’s her.

Dean knows why she might think that, and knowing it, makes him even angrier. It gets his blood boiling and fucking Cole can die in a fucking ditch.

The Impala rumbles to a halt in front of a little one story house. The lights inside are on.

As soon as Dean gets out, Balthazar hurries out of his own car to come greet him.

“You gave him the nosebleed, boss?” Balth grins and Dean sends him a glare, to which the other man quickly shuts his fucking mouth.

“He harassed her, Balth, that’s what fucking happened!” Dean growls low and the other man looks down to his toes, unable to look Dean in the eyes.

“You called the cops on him?”

Dean snorts out a laugh, “Nah, I’ll do it my way,”

“Dean, no,” Balthazar breathes out.

“Dean, yes,” Dean’s grin grows wider.

Well, yeah, Balthazar’s not wrong. Maybe he should have called the cops, but again, they don’t really have any proof and Dean thinks that he has the upper hand.

He looks to the house and asks, “Is he alone?”

Balth nods, “Yeah, his girlfriend left for work two hours ago. She won’t be back til dawn.”

Dean shakes his head. Cole’s a fucking leech. He gets angrier when he thinks that maybe Y/N had to work for the both of them too? Jesus, he gets nauseous just thinking about it. She definitely did not deserve that. Not that anyone does, but she especially doesn’t.

He nods at the man before making his way to the door. Dean rings the bell and raps loudly against the wood.

Strangely enough, Cole opens with not a care in the world, widening his eyes when he sees that it’s Dean. Just who did he think would come knocking at this time of the night? Some fucking dealer? Yeah, maybe some dealer. It wouldn’t surprise Dean.

Cole’s quick to slam the door shut, but Dean’s hand is already pushing against the door and his foot is blocking it from closing, “I just want to talk, look, I’m sorry man,”

“Yeah, right,” Cole snorts, “Talk. Like that’s a thing you do.”

Cole’s not as dim as Dean thought, he has to give him that. Nonetheless, Dean pushes his way in. That fucking loser doesn’t stand a chance it’s almost too easy, he thinks, and he grins that cocky grin of his, tongue darting out to wet his lips as his hand goes around the other man’s throat, pushing him further into the house, and pins him to the wall.

From up close, Dean can see Cole’s swollen nose, the area around it has started to bruise. Dean can’t help but admire his work a little. Maybe he’ll break Cole’s jaw next, depending on how he feels.

He switches his hand with his elbow and is applying more pressure. The other man claws at his clothed arms while sputtering something incoherently.

“You listen to me, Cole,” Dean whispers low, “You go near her again, you’ll be dead before the cops can fucking help you.”

“T— the fuck!” Cole spits out, and pushes Dean away with all his might, making Dean stagger back a couple of feet and he feels the other man’s fist connect with his shoulder, missing his face by seconds of good thinking on Dean’s part.

Dean manages to get the upper hand. It’s not that hard. Cole’s shorter than him, shorter than Sam and Dean normally always win against Sam. Cole also has less strengths. He throws punches like a fucking kid and it’s really pathetic of him to think that he could overpower Dean.

With a blink of an eye, Dean sits on Cole’s back and pins one of his hands behind it. The other man winces in pain. He’s wriggling and squirming beneath Dean. It’s almost sad that he doesn’t put up more of a fight.

“Get the fuck off me!” Cole calls out, “I’m calling the cops!”

“Yeah, you do that. Tell them that you fucking broke your restraining order while you’re at it, will ya?” Dean snarls and applies more pressure, pulling at Cole’s hand. Maybe he’ll break it? He hasn’t decided yet.

“What do you fucking want?” Cole mutters, his breathing ragged.

“I want you to fucking leave my girl alone!”

“Or what? You’ll kill me?” Cole snorts and Dean clubs him over the head. That fucker just really doesn’t know when to shut up.

“You know what?” Dean smirks darkly, “I might do just that, yeah.”

“And you think you can get away with it?”

Seriously, that dude just doesn’t know who he’s talking to. Probably was never the brightest star on the horizon. Which makes Dean really wonder how the fuck someone like Y/N ended up with someone like Cole.

“I don’t think that,” Dean says calmly, “I know that. I have friends in high places, Cole. You do as I say or you’ll see what happens. It’s your choice.”

Dean gets off him and helps the man up before he pats Cole’s shoulder, “I have people watching you. You get too close to my girl one more time, I’ll hunt you the fuck down.”

Turning, Dean walks to the door but he’s aware of Cole. Would feel if the man lashed out at him. His senses are sharp.

But instead of lashing out, Cole starts to laugh, “Your girl? Man, she’s not even fucking worth i—”

Dean’s fist connects with Cole’s jaw and it breaks with a loud crunching sound.

He looms over Cole, who’s holding his jaw and Dean crouches down, lowering himself to whisper into Cole’s ear, “Nobody touches what’s fucking mine, understand?”

As Y/N is finishing up the page and sends it out for print, her phone lights up.

D: I’m sorry, there’s a hold up at the club. I’ll be there in 10.

She smiles a little at the message as she sees that it’s exactly two hours to the dot since he left. Thinks it’s absolutely cute how he doesn’t want her to think that he forgot about picking her up.

Y/N: No worries, take your time. I’ll probably even need another 20 to clean up everything here as I will be out for the next few days.

That’s not even a lie.

Ugh. She has to go to Washington. And she’ll be there for two nights. Two fucking nights without Dean. She honestly doesn’t know if she will survive. He’s quite addictive if she can say so.

When she shut down her computer and packed away her laptop her phone lights up.

D: I’m waiting down in the foyer.

Y/N smiles to herself and says goodbye to the last remaining colleague before she takes the elevator down.

When the elevator opens up, Dean’s talking to the security guy. They seem to be in deep conversation but when Dean notices her, he turns his head and greets her with a bright smile.

His hair is a little messy, and he’s dressed in casual jeans and a simple black shirt, a plaid shirt thrown over it. It’s still a look she has to get used to. She wonders, though, why he changed? It also seems like he showered and the bandage is off.

“Hey,” Dean greets her, bending down a little to kiss her, “Sorry, it got a little messy and I had to take another shower.”

“Did it?” She asks, and it might have come out more accusatory than she intended.

He frowns at her, knowing exactly what she thinks, “Jesus, baby, are we still discussing this?” Cupping her chin between his fingers, he points it up to look at him, “How many times do I have to say it? I’m not fucking anyone else, alright? Not when you fuck me so good already anyway,”

He grins down at her and god, how could she think things like that when he’s been so helpful and she can really see that he cares for her? She feels dumb.

“There was an accident with the champagne fountain, you can ask Cas.” He whispers, before he molds his lips to hers and how can she not believe him now. It’s not really fair that he uses his charming techniques to get her to calm down. It’s not fucking fair that it actually works either.

Dean breaks the kiss to take her bag from her hand and walks her out of the building, his other hand firm around her waist.

“When do you have to leave tomorrow?”

“My train’s going at 9am.”

“Good,” Dean grins as he opens the trunk and drops in her belongings, “Get in, I wanna take you somewhere.”

After about another thirty minutes, and a drive through their old neighborhood, Dean stops at a place she only knew from hearsay.

It’s by the back entrance of the big park. The car park is surrounded by big old trees, making it a perfect place for teens to meet and do all kinds of naughty things. She never knew because nobody ever brought her here. Y/N heard that they were illegally drinking and smoking here, heard that some had sex in their cars as well.

Dean kills the engine and looks at her, one eyebrow raised, “You know where we are?”

She snorts out a laugh, “Yeah, why are we here?”

“Because,” Dean says and reaches under his seat to roll the bench seat back to the max, “It was always my fantasy to bring you out here.”

He tugs at her arm, flinches a little because his hand is still hurt, but he wouldn’t let it slow him down and she finds herself straddling him, his arms are around her waist, holding her tight while he cranes his neck. Their noses touch.

“You wanted to bring me out here?” Y/N whispers, rubbing their noses together.

“Uh-huh,”

“Yeah?”

Dean chuckles, “Yeah.”

“What did you want to do? Get me drunk? Get me high?”

“Nuh-huh,” He mumbles and tries to kiss her but she pulls her face away with a grin.

“Nuh-uh?”

“No,” Dean breathes out, “Wanted to do just this,” He kisses her and she lets him, lets him tease along her lip with his tongue, “Kiss myself stupid on your soft lips, wanted to feel you wriggling in my lap,”

“Ah,” She giggles and it’s her who kisses him now and Dean leans his head back, letting her rain kisses all over his face, his jaw, his neck. She licks a stripe up his throat to his ear, sucks in the lobe and he groans out low. His breathing is heavy, his heart is beating as fast as hers.

Y/N grinds in his lap, feels him hardening in his pants, thinks that she’ll ruin it if she doesn't stop because she’s getting wetter by the second. She breaks the kiss and Dean’s mouth chases after her.

She chuckles out in a whisper, “Dean, your pants,”

“What’s with my pants?” He’s frowning a little.

“I’ll soil them.”

Dean grins, it’s all cocky and wide, “Take it off,”

“Here?” Her eyes widen.

“Yeah, come on, there’s nobody around,”

Well, he’s not wrong about that. But still. Sex in a public place? She definitely has never done that. Which is the reason why it’s probably so fucking appealing. She can’t lie that it doesn’t turn her on.

“‘K,” She smiles at him and her hands work on his belt buckle before they pull at his zipper.

“Good girl,” He lets out a groan, kisses her cheek and jaw and licks at her earlobe while she’s concentrating on getting the zipper down. His one hand goes below her shirt, fingers tweaking at one of her nipples. Distracting is what it is.

She opens his jeans wide enough to take his cock out of it’s confines, leaves the elastic of his underwear just below his balls and she actually bursts out laughing when she sees his cock.

Dean gasps, “That was not the reaction I was expecting, but okay,”

Y/N’s still laughing when she kisses him, “You did that for me?”

“Only for you,” Dean grins and sinks his teeth into her bottom lip, “I was hoping you’d be delighted. Did not expect to get laughed at my dick, though.”

“‘M sorry,”

“That’s okay but never laugh at my cock again, okay?”

“Promise,” She giggles as she wraps her hand around it, it’s hot and heavy in her hand.

Dean wears a cock ring. The same one she held up for him last time. The one that has a little vibration thingy attached.

“Come on, turn it on and ride me,”

There’s a wide grin on her face and she does what she’s told, pushes at the little power button on the side and Dean groans when it jumps to life.

“Fuck,” He chuckles, “Don’t know how long I can hold off, though.”

Y/N smacks her hand against Dean’s chest, “I swear if you come now, I won’t talk to you again!”

“I would never do that,” Dean lets out a whine as he bucks his hips and she knows that she needs to hurry to get on that before it’s over.

Lifting herself on her knees, her hand goes beneath her skirt and she hooks her finger into the crotch of her underwear, pulls it to the side while holding her skirt up with her other hand. Dean already has his vibrating dick in his hand and threads the head through her slick as she lowers herself some more.

“Jesus, you’re so wet baby,” The slicking sound of wet skin rubbing together can be heard in the car, even above the vibrating sound.

She throws her head back a little, closes her eyes when she sits down further, impaling herself on Dean’s cockhead. The vibrations from his cock travels to her cunt and already it clenches, making him curse and grunt.

Taking him further, she slowly sits down, moaning out when she’s fully seated, the vibration is right at her clit.

“Oh my god, fuck—,” She grits her teeth before taking her bottom lip between them, biting down on it because she knows that she can’t make too loud a sound.

Dean notices her grimacing, knows that she wants to moan and he quickly places his hand on the back of her neck, draws her down and kisses her. He drinks up her moans, sucks in her tongue and she’s doesn’t think she can even breath because it feels so fucking great.

He parts with a peck on her lips, leaves his hand on the back of her neck and holds her there, “Grind on it, baby, make yourself come,”

She nods her head at him and starts to move her hips, slow at first. God, it feels really great, the vibration hits her right and Dean lets himself sink lower, lays the back of his head on the seat and she braces both her hands on either side of his head on the seat, fingernails digging into the leather.

“You look so beautiful,” Dean says and he looks at her like he’s really in awe. She thinks that he’s lying because nobody can look good from that angle. But she can’t dwell on it, she’s so close to coming.

Dean’s big hand grabs at her ass cheeks, kneading and spanking down on them, making her yelp and giggle. She can feel that one of his hands has less strength and she makes a mental note to fix it up once they get home.

The windows of the car start to fog up, and she’s sure that their movement can be seen on the outside, the car must be rocking. It’s just... since she’s with Dean, she cares less about these things, she’s more daring because she trusts him. She absolutely can’t say that she doesn’t love the new person she has become.

“Does this come close to your fantasy?” She’s breathing heavily as she looks down to him, sees him looking back at her with a bright smile on his face.

“Better,” He whispers, “God, you have no idea how many nights I stayed awake thinking about you.”

He thought about her? A lot? If her face wouldn’t have been flush from the fucking, she thinks it’s would be even more now.

“Can you come for me baby?” Dean swallows hard, “I can’t fucking hold out any longer.”

Y/N thinks it’s weird. She thought that cock rings should make the guy go on for longer, but apparently, Dean’s dick doesn’t work like that.

“Uh-huh,” She mumbles, starts to grind on him faster and Dean’s hand are on her hips, helping her move as good as he can, “God, you’re so deep and the vibrations, fuck— I’m coming, Dean, I’m—”

“I got you,” He whispers, and he lets her bury her face next to his, as he bucks his hips, driving his dick deeper in.

Her legs start to tremble, her cunt clenches as she gushes around him. He comes too, grunts out some curses that she can not understand, while his fingertips dig into the flesh around her waist, holding her tight as he bucks his hips a couple more times.

“Fuck,” Dean chuckles, tilts his head to kiss her forehead. He moves his hand in between them and down to the ring, switching off the vibrations. Dean kisses at the place where her neck meets her shoulder, licks at her flesh, “Better than I could have ever imagined.”

She chuckles into his skin, and they stay like that for a while longer. Y/N already dreads him slipping out of her. She hates the feeling of the emptiness she feels after sex. Especially with him. Dean knows that too, because she can feel that he wants to hold out for as long as possible too.

There’s a sharp knock at their window that makes her hold her breath and sends her heart racing.

Chapter 23

Please share your thoughts with me, I’d love to hear your feedback.

#euphoria #spnkinkbingo #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean x reader #dean x you #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fan fic #dean winchester fan fiction #nathalie writes

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thebluestbluewords · 3 years

Text

New Fic!! Get it while it’s hot!

Core four, complicated polyamory. Warnings for underage drinking, referenced child abuse, general sad backstory. This chapter is mostly fun things though, I swear!

“You know how, like, you had those dumb games you played as kids?” Ben asks, letting his head fall on Evie’s shoulder. It’s dark out, and there’s not many people sitting in this particular corner, so they’re fine to be sitting together like this. Couple-like, even though they aren’t, not really. Couple-adjacent. Dating once removed, maybe. Evie doesn’t really like boys, even though she cares about some of them a whole lot. Spiderweb-dating is what Mal has been calling it, where they’re all in the same web but not necessarily sharing the same strands.

It’s a pretty weird looking web when you plot it out, but it’s the best they’ve got so far. Evie and Ben might not be a couple in the strictest sense, but they’re close, and they’re definitely something that feels more intense than just ordinary friendship, so.

Evie reaches around Ben’s shoulder to pet a hand through his hair. It’s a little sticky. Gross. “Yeah.” she says. “What about them?”

Ben leans into the touch. “What if we just all started playing games again.” he says, dreamily. “Like. We could do that!”

Evie gives him a pat, and reaches over to pry the bottle out of his hand. “I think you’ve had enough of this.” she says, unwrapping his fingers from around the neck. “Come on--”

Ben clings, but he’s laughing, and it’s not bad. He’s pink-cheeked and cute, flushed with it.

“Come on, give it up!” Evie says, shaking the bottle a bit as she slides it away and captures her prize. It wasn’t a very strong drink to begin with, because most of the current junior class are only casual drinkers and won’t bring anything really good to campus, but it’s a bit emptier than it probably should be for this point in the night.

Ben is sliding down Evie’s shoulder. “I like feeling fuzzy.” he tells Evie’s collarbone, where his face has ended up. “It’s nice.”

Oh, this sweet boy. “I know, babe,” Evie says, letting her sweet drunk boyfriend-adjacent-person flop over completely into her lap. “But you’re not going to like it if you keep going.”

Ben sighs when Evie’s hand finds its way into his hair again. “You don’t have to babysit me, you know,” he tells the leaves of the trees they’re hiding under, in their little dark corner away from the fire. “I’m not that drunk.”

Evie scratches gently at his scalp with her nails, and Ben practically melts. “You’re a little bit drunk.” she says, amused.

Ben shivers. “A little.” he admits. “Feels nice to not have everything be-- so much. It’s always just a lot, and now it’s not so much anymore. And I’m like, kinda spinny?”

Evie laughs, but doesn’t stop scratching. “Yeah?” she asks, going along with it.

Ben sighs, and tips his head so that he can rest his cheek on Evie’s leg. “It’s just nice. Different. I like it. Like being dizzy, only it’s fun.”

“I can see that.” Evie says, swirling the rest of the bottle around and around until the deep gold liquid makes a little whirlpool at the bottom. “You like this stuff, huh?”

“Doesn’t taste bad, yeah. Wine tastes so bad, Eves.”

Evie takes a swig from the bottle. “I know. You have a little baby taste in drinks, and that’s okay.”

It’s only another swallow or two before the bottle is empty, and can sit safely on the ground without risk of spilling all over. Evie likes these shoes. They’re red suede booties, and she’s spent the past few days sewing a black and red silk into the lining so that it shows when she turns the tops down. She has put too much effort into these shoes for them to be ruined by spilling a drink on them during their debut party, so it only makes sense for her to finish it off before anything untoward can happen.

Ben pouts. “I’ll leave if you’re mean to me.” he says, without moving. “I’ll find someone else to sit with who won’t be mean.”

“Who are you gonna find, babe?” Evie asks sweetly, ruffling his bangs back into place and giving one cute little flushed cheeks a pat. If she liked boys she would be eating this one right up, that’s for sure.

Ben presses his face into the touch. “Uh. Someone who isn’t mean to me?”

Evie has to laugh. “And who do you think that’s gonna be?” she asks “Mal?”

“Uh, no. You could just be nice instead?” Ben offers, like it’s a great idea for everything in the world to be nice to him just because he asks..

Well. It’s been working out pretty well so far.

“You’re too sweet.” Evie tells him. He is, and it’s almost a problem except for how it keeps working out for him. It breaks Evie’s heart sometimes to think about what could have been, if here were there or there were here and their lives had gone just a little bit differently up to this point. They might never have met, sure. That would be a fuckin’ tragedy, but her crew could also have had the chance to grow up as sweet as the boy in her lap right now, and wouldn’t that be something. “Were you telling me something about games?”she asks instead.

Ben perks up. “Oh, right!” he says, with a little excited gesture. A spread of his hands, for proper royal emphasis. He’s so physical, this sweet boy. “Yeah. Like. Remember when we could just hang out and play like, spoons all the time? And like, tag and stuff?”

Evie can’t imagine that the games of her childhood, the ones she can remember hearing about and seeing in the schoolyard from before and after her banishment, are going to be the same ones that Ben is remembering.

“We had tag, yeah.” she says gently. “I don’t know spoons.”

Ben sits up at that, like it’s so critically important that Evie understands the amazingness of this childhood game that he can’t even explain it sprawled out over her lap.

“It’s a card game,” he says seriously. “S’fun. You take sets-- like, the leader takes a card and it goes around until you get a set and then you grab a spoon and everyone grabs a spoon and there’s one man out--”

Oh. Actually.

“You mean daggers?” Evie says. “That sounds like daggers.”

“Do I?” Ben asks, alarmed. “I don’t think that would be safe.”

Evie has to laugh. “Oh, it wasn’t. We used to play this game, it sounds like the same thing, where you would pass cards around until you got a set of four, and then when you got a set you took one of the knives in the center, and the last person who didn’t get one was out.”

“Sounds the same, yeah.”

“We used to play it for keeps, too.” Evie tells him, remembering. “The first person to grab a knife for the round would get to keep it, and we would keep going down that way until we were out of players or fingers or both.”

“Fingers?”

“Oh, no, I’m teasing!” Evie says, reassuring. She’s pretty sure that Jay and Mal both still have scars from the game, but they never lost any fingers, strictly speaking. It was usually the losers they had to watch out for anyway, rather than the game itself. Not that she’s going to tell Ben that. “Nobody really lost any fingers. We had some near-misses, that’s all. Everyone has all of their fingers, look,” She wiggles them in front of his face. “All here, see?”

Ben blows a warm breath over Evie’s hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think--”

He stops.

“What?” Evie asks. “You can ask, it’s okay.”

Ben shakes his head, then stops rather abruptly. “It’s not about that. I just-- didn’t think I was this buzzy.”

Ah. That makes sense, then. Their boy isn’t usually a fan of giving up control, even if it’s just over his own tongue. “You’re feeling it now, huh,” Evie says sympathetically. It’s always odd, the moment when you realize that you’re actually drunk now, and not just a bit warm in the face. “Do you want to come find Mal with me?”

Ben perks up almost immediately. “Is she still here?” he asks, excitement just bleeding off of him.

Evie laughs. “Oh, you are too cute. Yes, she’s around here somewhere. I made her promise to tell me when she’s leaving, so she’d better not have snuck out on us.”

Ben is already halfway up, kneeling with his feet half-under him as he scans the crowd of students milling around between the bonfire and the beach. “Is she by the fire, there?” he says, pointing.

Evie squints. Mal hates people, usually, but she does like fire, so-- yep, that’s a definite splash of purple, on the very edge of the fire crowd. “Yep. Good catch, babe. Come on, up you get.”

It takes a good tug to get Ben upright, but he moves easily enough, just a little stagger-step as Evie gets him steady. It could be nothing more than his leg going numb from sitting on the hard ground, except for how it’s not.

Ben laughs at himself as he catches his balance on Evie’s shoulder. “Ooh, that’s--” he puts his face in her hair for a second, resting there. “That sure is something.”

Evie can’t help but laugh. Of course she would find this boy, who even when he’s loose and stupid and drunk just wants to play games and be a child again, and have his hair petted, and oh-so-gently cuddle his partners in return. “I know. You should see Mal when she drinks sometime, it’s funny as hell.”

Ben seems steadier now, but he’s still looking at Evie like she hung the moon in the sky. “Does she get really dizzy like this?”

Evie guides him through the crowd, ever so gently. “She gets impulsive, if you can imagine that.” she says drily. “One time when she was really in it she decided that she wanted to drop paint bombs on people in the market, and we ended up with purple paint all over the roof of the fish shop. It took a long time for that to wear off.”

“Wow. Is she--” Ben starts, and then loses the train of thought entirely when he catches sight of Mal again.

#my fic #descendants #descendants fic #descendants fandom #complicated polyamory #I don’t have useful ship tags to add to this lol #mal bertha #evie grimhilde #ben florian #malvie #technically #I keep writing Malvie as part of a larger pairing because They Are In Love #but also I like to explore other relationship dynamics #so that’s fun for tagging #ao3 link will be added in a reblog but the whole chapter is up on ao3!!#its not sad yet this is the fun chapter

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90spumkin · 4 years

Text

Unexpected Switch (Final)

Summary: Tessa has been caught. Can reader handle it? What does Spencer and the rest of the team really think of reader?

A/N: Okay so I know I was going to write at least two more updates, but while writing this I felt if I tried to drag it out any longer I would abandoned the storyline. So here it is my first series has come to an end. Thank you to everyone who has read it, liked it, and reblogged it!

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

Warnings: swearing, criminal minds talk, mental health talk

Word Count: 2319

One would think after chasing Tessa all this time and all the terrible things she had done, that it would be easy for me to see her arrested and interrogated, but that wasn’t exactly the case. Watching through the glass as Matt and Luke interrogated my sister there was a feeling of guilt consuming my chest. I clutched a hand over my chest; I shouldn’t feel guilty. She’s a murder! The feeling didn’t cease no matter how many times I chanted those words in my head.

This of course did not go unnoticed by the profilers standing beside me. Rossi shot me a concerned look while Emily placed a hand on my arm and asked, “Are you okay? You don’t have to watch this.”

I just shook my head and straightened my shoulders. Emily furrowed her eyebrows in worry, but just nodded in understanding.

Tara and Spencer joined us not long after. Spencer’s presence in the small room instantly relaxed me. He managed to wedge himself between Emily and I, his shoulder bumping mine. He gave me a sad smile before turning towards the interrogation and asked, “Has there been any progress?”

Rossi huffed, “She’s only admitted to stalking and harassing. She plays dumb very well when it comes to the murders. However, she said something that makes us think there was an earlier murder.”

Right after Rossi finished updating Spencer, through the speaker we heard Luke ask, “Okay so if you aren’t the ones who murdered those people. Then at least tell us why you stalked and harassed your sister.”

Tessa just rolled her eyes as she responded, “Aren’t you fellas the big FBI agents? Shouldn’t you know this already?”

Matt spoke this time, “Enlighten us. Please.”

Tessa leaned forward placing her arms on the table, “Well since little Mrs. Perfect decided to forget me as she was handed the new wonderful life, I thought ‘Hey why not have some fun with the snobby bitch’.”

Luke was about say something but was cut off by Tessa. It was like her hatred for me just began to flow out of her with every word she said. As she spoke her whole-body language began to change like she was getting ready to defend herself.

“You know she’s not as perfect as she leads people to think. Y/n has secrets. Dark secrets. And I mean how can someone be that great when they purposely forget and leave behind their twin.” As she continues, she looks towards the two way mirror; all she sees is a reflection but to me it’s like she’s looking straight at me as she says, “She’s such a selfish bitch that she got her parents killed.”

I sucked in a sharp breath at her words and couldn’t seem to let it out. I felt a hand grab on to mine at my side and looked down and then up at the one person who could make me feel better at a time like this. Spencer leaned down and whispered in my ear, “If you start to feel an attack coming on give my hand three squeezes. But don’t let her get in your head, we know the truth.” I nodded and tried not to let a tear escape.

Matt and Luke pushed on a little longer, but Tessa seemed to have the perfect answer to everything they threw at her. After getting no where they left Tessa and joined us on the other side of the window. My sister just sat there with a devilish grin plastered on her face as she stared at her reflection.

Spencer’s voice brought my attention to the conversation between the profilers when he said, “I think I may have an idea. What if we play on her anger? She’s a narcissist based off the fact that her anger for y/n is solely based on her achievements. She wants to be noticed and I think I can make her crack.”

Emily was nodding a long with everything Spencer was saying, “That could work. But Spence it’s going to be like a Cat Adams scenario. You’re going to have to lay it on thick.”

Spencer glanced at me quickly before saying, “I think I can do that.” He began to walk towards the door but was met with resistance. I hadn’t even realized I was holding his hand in a death grip. He pulled me into his chest and hugged tightly. Once he pulled back Emily was once again at my side and grabbed ahold of my hand and reassured Spencer, “I got her.” Tara was there to grabbing my other hand and giving Spencer a quick nod.

Spencer nodded and gave me a longing look. A longing for what, I wasn’t sure. He retreated to the door and my eyes never left him as he walked into the lion’s den.

-------

Spencer had only been talking to Tessa for maybe 5 minutes and I had to leave. I couldn’t watch him flirt back with her and agree to the belittling things she said about me. I knew it was a mind trick to get her to feel comfortable to then start comparing the two of us to get her flustered. It was all too much. I was being silly even if the flirting was real, I had no right to be jealous or upset.

I don’t know how long I had been in the little conference room in the local police station before I slumped into a chair exhaustion taking over my body. I felt weak and like there was no need for me to be there anymore they had caught her the BAU team would tie up all the loose ends just fine.

I was so lost in thought I didn’t hear someone open and shut the door as they entered. So, when a hand was placed on my shoulder I jumped completely out of my seat and l let out an involuntarily squeal. I turned to see Spencer trying to cover a smile while I tried to slow my erratic heart rate.

“Jesus Christ Spencer! You scared the hell out me!” I leaned against the table facing him. Spencer just chuckled, “Sorry y/n. I just wanted to come check on you and let you know what happened.”

I turned my gaze to a spot on the wall not wanting to make eye contact with him any long. I shook my head, “I can’t handle a play by play.” Then scoffed at myself, “God you all probably think I’m so weak. I can’t watch an interrogation without needing someone to hold my hand. And the flirting I- “I cut myself off realizing what I was about to say. I dared to look at Spencer. He was looking at me intensely but there was softness around his eyes.

“We don’t think you’re weak. That’s your sister in there. Though you may not really know her that is still hard on anyone.” He moved closer but not touching me. A smile played on his lips, “And for the flirting. It was hard for me, but since you both look so similar, I just told myself I was talking to you.”

I looked up at him with shock written across my face, “Really?”. I couldn’t help but to let out a giggle, “I thought my crush was making me read to much into things”. Spencer moved even closer, his body pressing against mine causing me to push back into the table. He put a finger under my chin and lift my head. His lips were breath away from mine and they ghosted together as he said, “Not in the slightest.” Then his lips were fully on mine. The kiss wasn’t rushed, but slow and beautiful like a dance. We both smiled into the kiss before pulling apart. He laid his forehead against mine and let out a breathy laugh, “Didn’t anyone tell you I was a germaphobe? I don’t hug or hold hands with just anyone. The number of pathogens passed between hands is staggering. It’s safer just to kiss.”

This made me let out a real laugh that shook my whole body, “Well I think I can handle the kissing.” Spencer laughed and said, “Oh me too.” His lips were back on mine and this time the kiss became a little more heated. Spencer’s hands were on my hips pulling me as close to him as possible. Before anything could progress, there was a knock on the door followed by Matt poking his head in, “Hey guys they just- oh. Oh!” Damn that man and his terrible timing!

Spencer and I pulled away. Our faces flushed and our lips swollen. Spencer spoke before my mind could catch up to what was happing, “Thanks Matt we’ll be there in a sec.” Matt nodded and as he was shutting the door, I thought I heard him say, “Damn it I owe Luke 20 bucks.”

Spencer must have heard him also because he looked at me and we both were lost in a fit of laughter. Once we composed ourselves Spencer said, “We better go out there.” I nodded in agreement. Right before he opened the door Spencer grabbed my hand like it was a natural thing for him to do. As we walked out the team was waiting near the door and was giving us knowing looks. Emily and JJ did this weird thing with their eyebrows which made me giggle. In that moment I didn’t think about why we were all there and what had led to me meeting this team of amazing people. In that moment I was happy.

-------

A year passed since Tessa uprooted everything in my life and I couldn’t be more thankful for it. That day Spencer interrogated her she admitted to everything and even three other bodies we didn’t know about. I asked him how he did it and he just told me that he was glad I didn’t stay to watch. I of course just left it at that.

Once Emily had everything settled for Tessa to be transported to the prison where she would go to await her trial date, we headed back to Quantico. She pulled me into her office and offered me a spot on the team. My whole life had been turned upside down and I felt lost, but when Emily made me that offer, I felt home and haven’t looked back since.

We were away on a case when Tessa’s long-awaited trial was taking place. My mind was so wrapped up in trying to catch this psychopath who got his kicks from mutilating children that when Emily’s phone rang, I didn’t think much about it. It was the solemn look and her soft “Y/n.” That made it all come crashing back down. Spencer was right beside me though always being my biggest support. I felt his hand in mine as Emily continues, “The judge sentenced Tessa to life in prison without possibility of parole.”

A sigh of relief left me. Yes, she is a terrible person and deserved to rot in prison, but she was also my sister and I don’t think I could have handled her being given the death sentence. Spencer and Emily both hugged me. Once they both were sure I was okay, Emily went to tell the others the news.

Spencer hugged me again and rested his chin on top of my head. I could have stayed there forever just listening to the beating of his heart. His chest rumbled as he spoke, “You know in a way I owe your sister a thank you.” At that I pulled back and gave him a very confused look.

He chuckled and pulled me back into a hug as he said, “If she hadn’t done those terrible things, not saying I would thank her for that part, but I would have never had met you. I would never have known I could love someone as much as I love you.” I smiled at his stumbling over words and hugged him tighter, “I love you too pretty boy.”

Spencer groan at that, “You just had to ruin the moment. No more hanging out with Derek.” We pulled apart and started to walk back to the team hand in hand. I gave him a sly smile, “In my defense I was calling you that before I ever met him.” Spencer nodded and said, “Y/n that is my point exactly.” I barked out a laugh as we entered the room where the team was gathered. I was given shoulder pats and hugs due to the news Emily had delivered to them. I assured them all I was fine, and we set back to work.

We caught the guy with little to know hiccups and saved two little girls. The ride home was quiet like it always is after a case dealing with kids. So, when we landed Emily told us to go home and get some rest that the paperwork could wait till in the morning. Of course, none of us were going to complain.

We were almost to the double glass doors when I remember I left my keys in my desk, “Spence hold the elevator please I forgot my keys.” He nodded and gave my hand a squeeze before letting go and making his way to the elevator.

As I was getting my keys, I noticed the picture of us from a family dinner at Rossi’s that I had framed. I looked at each smiling face and thought back to how a year ago I was working a job I hated and had friends who no longer speak to me. Now I have a wonderful boyfriend and a real family. There’s a quote Spencer told me once and I think it is so fitting for everything that has happened, ‘Life takes you to unexpected places. Love brings you home. Melissa McClone.’

@criminalmindzjunkie @hendersonsshadow @brooklynxnicole @martinafigoli @misschil3 @rainsong01

#spencer reid #spencer reid fic #dr. spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #fanfic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst

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chicago-reeed · 4 years

Text

Detroit Evolution

These are some notes that I took while I watched DE for the first time. It’s a lot. Like, six pages, a lot. I decided I should probably spare everyone’s dashboards and put it under a cut.

Warning: overuse of the fuck word because I am a dramatic little shit who gets overwhelmed easily

- Alright here we go. I don’t know if I’m mentally prepared to go through this hhhhh

- THE CINEMATOGRAPHY I NUT

- fuck he smellin the flowers good

- “hey tin can :P” “good morning gavin :P”

- I’m actually fucking crying IVE HAD TO PAUSE SO MANY TIMES JUST TO BREATHE AND IM ONLY AT 1:25

- FUCK ITS 1:27 AND HES FIXING HIS COLLAR HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO WATCH THIS WHEN MY VISION IS BLURRY WITH TEARS

- “I don’t need to breathe” BAZINGA

- *slaps my face repeatedly* keep it together bitch

- “I like the way you look<3” aaaaaaaaannd here I go again

- HAHAHA HE WAS DAYDREAMING SAME NINES SAME

- oh god oh god witty banter WITTY BANTER I CANT FUNCTION

- C H R I S IM SCREAMING

- detective motha fuckin chris I don’t need to see any more I got what I came for

- Honestly all they need to do to calm down the protestors is get nines out there so he can say “please stop you’re being very mean >:/“ and they would probably just go home ngl

- “I’ve never been intimidated by people who hate androids” OH MY GOD NINES WITH THE BAZINGA’S TODAY WHAT A LEGEND

- can I just say the white jacket is such a power move I can’t believe nines invented fashion

- Gavin bein soft and reaching back for Nines in the crowd🥺homygod

- Gavin “no one calls him plastic but ME” Reed

- The only time I will support police brutality™️

- Gavin is so OP we stan

- Nines “you raise a fist, then I get PISSED😡” RK900

- “y’all have a nice day” Protect Detective Chris Miller at all costs

- Nines sees Gavin’s scars as charming PUT ME TO DEATH

- ADA OH LORD SHES STUNNING IM SOBBING

- Okay I need to pause and breathe again the cinematography got me chokin

- Uh ooohhh someone is jeeaaalouus😛

- Nines really said “no worry fam I’ll airdrop the case files to u”

- Ada: *exists*

- me: I hope this doesn’t awaken anything in me

- HA GAV DEFINITELY JEALOUS RIP

- And nines back at it again with the sass I AM LIVING

- Chris and Gavin’s reactions to Nines imitating Ada is the best thing I’ve seen all year

- “I can do your voice too” HIS FACE IMDBDHDJKDJD CRYIGGGSBSN

- oh ;-; shit Michael really finna make me cri

- God damn the intro credits are so beautiful

- TINAAAAAAA BABYYYYY

- Real coffee hours with the sharktreuse mug🦈

- “our boy” SHIT IM CRYING AGAIN

- Tina knows Gavin was absolutely feral before Nines appeared at the DPD

- Half An Asshole squad please stand up we ride at dawn

- Gavin with the knockoff timbs WE STAN😎

- maybe “thank god, I hate you, you love me, move your feet, oop” will be our always

- I’m living for the whole “criminal minds” vibe goin on here

- Bruh Gavin got the hook-ups fr fr

- ❤️WITTY BANTER WITTY BANTER WITTY BANTER W❤️

- The level of reed900 is staggering

- I’ve had to pause and breathe so many times it’s pathetic I’m not even 15 mins in

- GAVIN SAID mwah<3🖕IM FUCKING DIED

- 850% godt damn Nines got that IOS 50 update

- NINES PUT CHRIS’ PROMOTION PARTY IN THE CALENDAR WHAT A GOOD DAD

- maybe “our calendar” will be our always

- Chris “wingman of the year” Miller

- Who’s that Pokémon??? It’s JEALOUS GAV

- The way Nines said “I don’t feel anything for her.” I see you bud

- insecure Gavin needing reassurance™️

- Im fucking dying I fucking died bro BRO WE ALL KNOW WHO YOURE TALKING ABOUT, NINES, WE ALL KNOW

- Asexual Nines FTW👊😤👏👏👏❤️He gives zero fucks of ANY kind

- AN ANGEL HAS APPEARED WITH A GLOWY BLUE SCARF

- BREAKING NEWS: affection-starved Gavin™️ is literally begging for love

- GAVIN REED STOP BEING MEAN TO GAVIN REED OR ELSE

- “But there’s much more to admire about you than to detest, I think.”<333

- JJ not being suspicious at all nope no way Jose

- Lazzo has said two words and I love him already

- I don’t think I’ve seen this episode of COPS before🤔🤔🤔

- We all know Nines secretly wants to wear those fun glasses

- “Officer I swear I’ve never seen that arm in my life, it’s my friend’s he just asked me to hold it for him, Android arm what android arm heh”

- “Like robot arms, not gun arms.” You’re doing great sweetie🥰

- HAND TOUCH HAND TOUCH HAND TOUCH H

- Chris “the interrogator” Miller😎

- THE CINEMATOGRAPHY

- soft n sleepy gav™️ is soft n sleepy

- FUCKING SLEEVELESS SWEATSHIRT IVE BEEN TALKING ABOUT GAV IN A SLEEVELESS SWEATSHIRT FOR SO LONG AND NOW IT’S REAL IM

- You can wear my😋😘sweeaatshiiiirt😝😁🤗 (I’m sorry I had to)

- inconspicuous loving glances™️

- #GiveAndroidsFuckinHealthcare2K20

- AAAHHHHHHHH I CANTT BREAF

- HEAD>ON>SHOULDER

- INCONSPICUOUS LOVING GLANCES™️

- Gavin has not slept in 80 years

- He really said “I’m fine” BITCH

- Bed time for brats™️ no later than 8:30pm

- hell yeah sleepover time

- “stop lookin at my insides n shit” I want that on a t shirt

- ANDROID DREAMS

- Nines is so soft I might die

- But he’s somehow equally suave as fuck how is this fair

- Oh my god dream!gavin is like Nines’ conscious this is so presh

- “What do you think Gavin was gonna say?” nsndJSKDOFIWKDBDNDNSJDBBDJDJDJDNDJXJNDIFUIFIEKWN HES STILL THINKING ABOUT THEIR CONVO

- dream!gavin you sly dog

- “To have this. Out there.” DONT FUCK WITH MY HEART LIKE THAT THIS INNER-MONOLOGUE FLUFF IS SO SWEET

- Nines being insecure™️

- Listen to dream!gavin, Nines, he has big brain

- The fact that Nines subconsciously KNOWS that irl!Gav “just wants someone that doesn’t hate him” but he’s STILL like alas, I can never be what gavin needs :’(

- nu babie don’t be sad🥺

- oh my god they’re both train wrecks protect them at all cost

- c r i p e s❤️the reed900 hurt/comfort we all needed

- FUCK

- Concerned boyfriends™️

- Maybe “I’m fine” will be our always

- GAV🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺💔💔💔💔💔💔

- Insecure boyfriends™️

- Nines “I’m not going to get any closer to Gavin because I can’t help him but also I want to cuddle with him because he had a nightmare” RK900

- did someone say c a t

- dumb babie gav jus spoon the dumb android so you both feel better

- Me: *rubs evil hands together* aha here comes the angst

- cue tragic backstory

- oh

- tragic backstory indeed

- YES DAD!FOWLER WE LOVE

- Gavin is so desperate for anyone to care about him I’m crying tears

- SHIT IT’S CUDDLE TIME™️ NOW IM REALLY FUCKING CRYING

- Alexa this is so god damn sad play despacito

- YES

- HAND>HOLDING

- HEAD>ON>SHOULDER

- NINES’ SKIN RETRACTING WHERE THEIR HANDS ARE TOUCHING THIS IS LIKE EVERY REED900 STAN’S DREAM COME TRUE

- Oh shit it’s about to get domestic I don’t think I’m mentally prepared

- YOU CAN WEAR MY😝💪SWEEAATSHIIIIIIRT🤪🔥🔥🔥 (I’m never letting the sleeveless sweatshirt thing go)

- Uh oh NO FUCK I’ve read enough fan fiction to know that this is where Gavin’s fucking trust issues kick in and he decides pushing nines away is safer than getting closer to him SHIT

- AND NINES GETS CONFUSED AND HURT

- AND THEN GAVIN GETS HURT

- I feel angst in this Chili’s tonight

- “I need you to leave” aaaaaaahhhhhhhh here come a whole different kind of tears

- frick dude that ouches

- Insert sad babie noises

- Oml the tension☠️poor Chris and Ada are like😑😑

- Chris could solve this case all by himself change my mind

- Gavin and Nines = (ò///-///ó)

- Chris = :D~oblivious~

- HELL YEAH PARTY TIME

- BEST WIVES TINA AND VALERIE AHHHH

- reed900 who??? I don’t know her. I only know ❤️valerina❤️

- I can’t believe Gavin and Nines invented angst

- I went and got blue gatorade just so I could pretend I was drinking thirium like Nines

- #DetectiveChen2K20

- real sad gavin hours

- Ruh roh Gavin bouta die from the ‘rona virus because rat man smokes hella

- CINEMATOGRAPHY CHEEEEECK HOLY SHIT

- my entire aesthetic in a single shot jfc

- Aaaaahhhh Nines trying to be a supportive bf just makes me ;-; [takes damage]

- HES ACCEPTED GAVIN AS MORE THAN A PARTNER🥺that, my friends, is what we call character development

- We stan the otp aggressively talking about their feelings

- “I’m not going anywhere.” FUCK™️

- SMOKE>FACE

- Aaaaand they’re back at square one. It’s cool it’s fine it’s all good we can work with this.

- Gavin: I don’t need you ò-ó

- Gavin: *immediately after Nines leaves* fuck ó-ò

- “It’s fine”™️

- I love Ada so much hhhhhh she said 🤨

- “Basic Instinct” TINA WITH THE HEAT OMG

- *nervous laugh* haha Ada sis maybe chill a little bit ha ha

- oh no I have a not good feeling

- ADA CHILL ADA CHILL

- WHY IS HE FOLLOWING HER INTO AN ALLEY AFTER THAT SKETCHY TALK

- AAA FUCK FUCK FUCJDJEMNSNDJDNXU FUCK I FUCKING KNEW IT FUCK SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT FUCK

- 😖x1000000

- Oh my god this is so fucking sad Alexa play The Sound of Silence

- Nines got fucked up and Gavin is CONCERNED

- aayyyyy bro Nines full on nakey

- Tina and Gavin sad bro huggin👊😔

- ADA HOW DARE YOU. HOW VERY DARE YOU.

- Uh oh Nines is fckn PISSED

- he MAD mad

- Tina speakin straight facts I love her

- WOOP GAVIN FINALLY ADMITTING HE NEEDS NINES

- f u c k right in the heart

- I don’t want to attempt writing any notes at this moment because my thoughts are completely incoherent I am a MESS

- “I need you to come back, Nines.” DONT PLAY W ME LIKE THAT

- HAND HOLDING FTW

- Did Gavin really almost bring Nines back through the power of love I am SHAKING

- Dream!Gavin speaking truth as ALWAYS

- These damn flashbacks making me feel some type of way

- OH SHIT HE AWAKE

- that actually low key jump scared me

- God damn these sets are so fucking pro, I’m so happy

- REUNION

- Tina really say “Chris ;) ;) lets go get some ;) coffee ;) ;) ;) ;)”

- CHRIS’ REALIZATION FACE FUCKING LAID ME OUT I HAD TO PAUSE I WAS LAUGJINB SO HARD

- You Undead Asshole™️

- Gavin: ( ⚆ _ ⚆ ) fuck he actually heard me talk about my feelings n shit

- Nines: You literally told me you fucking needed me like five minutes ago

- Gavin: huh weird that doesn’t sound like me I actually hate you

- ooOOHHH S H I T

- REALLY IS THIS REALLY HAPPENIGN

- woah shit sorry I blacked out for a second what happened

- MY POOR LITTLE FUCKING REED900 HEART IS EXPLODING AND IMPLODING AT THE SAME FUCKING TIME

- CAAAAAAAAN YOU FEEL THE LOVE TONIIIGGHTT

- holy shit I actually gave myself a bloody fucking nose because I smacked my face too hard in excitement

- ❤️💘🧡💞💕💘💓💚💛💘💞💓💛💛💞💘❤️💚💘💜💕💖❤️❤️💕💓💗💘💖💚💝❤️

- FUCK

- “What dipshit programmed you to do that?” 🥺🥺🥺❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️FUCK

- My aunt came in and told me she heard me shouting then asked why I was crying

- HAHA FUCKING CHRIS IS MEEEE

- shit I need to like..,,,,physically recover from that

- whew okay break time is over let’s fucking go

- Nines in the cheeky turtleneck I SEE U

- #DETECTIVECHEN2K20

- Gavin: I’m ready to take this hoe DOWN

- Initiate protocol: SAVE ADA FROM HERSELF

- I could listen to Tina talk to dispatch for hours🥰❤️❤️❤️

- WHITE TRENCH COAT WHITE TRENCH COAT WHITE TRENCH COAT WHITE T

- Gavin being hella concerned boyfriend™️

- FIGHT SCENE™️

- omfg that crowbar really went *CLANG* when it hit Ada’s steel fkn abs what a legend💪😎

- Hell yeah epic Nines gif moment

- no Ada don’t choke Gavin it only makes him stronger

- CHRIS THE MOTHER FUCKIN GOAT😎👏👏👏he really said “fuck ur monologue I’m here to get shit done”

- ADA QUEEN YOURE OKAY SWEETIE

- That character development godt damn

- I might be reaching but Gavin is now wearing a white/off-white shirt/gray that kINDA RESEMBLES DREAM!GAVIN’S SHIRT. Coincidence? I THINK NOT. THATS SYMBOLISM IF I EVER DID SEE IT.

- “buyer’s remorse, huh?”

- “I can’t be everything you need.”

- That awkward moment when you realize the person you were hiding your feelings from has also been hiding their feelings from you.

- “a year of that fuckin’...Ken Doll face smirkin’ at me every day” BE CUTER GAVIN, I DARE YOU.

- naked hand = love

- CHEEKY BASTARDS

- FUCK FUCK FUCK ME

- THAT WAS SO DAMN BEAUTIFUL

- So my review of this film could be summed up by saying that I basically cried for an hour and fifteen minutes.

- Holy damn

#fun game: watch the film and try to guess what each of these crazy ramblings is referring to #im still reeling from all of that #I think I need to watch it again #yes that sounds like a plan #this is kind of like a review #if it were written by an emotional crackhead who got zero sleep last night #also #happy easter babes #if u celebrate it of course #what did we do to deserve this film #jfc there are still tears in my eyes #I need to watch it again asap #Detroit evolution #octopunk media #reed900

144 notes · View notes

trensu · 5 years

Text

Episode 6: the One Where LWJ is Drunk and Gets Married

YES, GUYS GALS AND NB PALS, WE ARE AT THIS MOST WONDERFUL EPISODE.

OUR FIRST INTRODUCTION TO DRUNKJ!LWJ

AND THE HANDFASTING THAT INSPIRED A MILLION FICS

Okay, to set the scene, we’ve got JC, NHS and WWX having a sneaky drinking party with Forbidden Alcohol

Obviously, LWJ can spidey-sense when a rule is being violently broken so he appears at the scene of the crime to BREAK UP THE PARTY (or possibly a threesome?? He’s not sure but he’s gonna put a stop to that immediately)

HIS SERIOUS BB FACE IS SUPER ADORABLE HERE, GUYS

LIKE, I’M MORE PARTIAL TO WWX BUT UGH, LWJ IS SO CUTE HERE???

IT’S AWFUL

WWX: *bounces right into lwj’s space* join us for a drink lan zhan!! We earned it after defeating the Haunted Water!!

LWJ: *stares over wwx’s shoulder* alcohol is forbidden in the cloud recesses

WHY WON’T YOU LOOK HIM IN THE FACE, LWJ?? IS IT BECAUSE HE’S SO CLOSE TO YOU SUDDENLY???

WWX: chill out dude *playfully tugs on lwj’s sleeve*

Oh man, the glare that lwj shoots at wwx’s hand here could have started a fire. I mean, it must have at least burned a little with how quickly wwx lets go

LWJ: Report to the Punishment Chamber

Did they have to call it ‘punishment chamber’??

It sounds like some kind of kinky sex dungeon, which, like, to each their own,(i’ll read some kinky sex dungeon fic every once and a while, myself)

But this is Ancient Fantasy China summer school…seems a little inappropriate in context

ANYWAY

WWX again tries to coax LWJ in to having a drink with them. He doesn’t understand how someone can just…not drink alcohol. Oh wwx, you budding alcoholic you

And here WWX nobly sacrifices himself to save his drunk buddies by distracting lwj (who was about to call for backup, like a narc) and pins some sort of mind-control talisman on him

Wwx: sit and have a drink with me!

Lwj: *sits down and takes a shot*

Lwj: *passes out*

Wwx: omg i killed him. WAKE UP YOU CAN’T STAY HERE!! YOU HAVE TO GO BACK TO YOUR ROOM!!

Wwx: *proceeds to gently guide lwj onto the bed*

You know after that initial panic, wwx looks too damn pleased with himself, especially after he gets lwj to call him wei-gege

Wwx suddenly notices that lwj’s ribbon is off kilter and informs him of it bc that’s what friends do

Wwx: your ribbon is crooked

Lwj: *scandalized gasp* crooked??

Why’s he so adorable when he’s drunk?? LOOK AT HIM TRYING TO SEE HIS OWN FOREHEAD AND GETTING ALL CROSS-EYED, WHAT A CUTIE

Wwx: i can help!!

Lwj: *slaps wwx’s hand* Go Away

Wwx: you’re making it worse!!

Lwj: *slaps wwx’s hand away harder* DON’T TOUCH! THE RIBBON IS ONLY FOR FAMILY AND SIGNIFICANT OTHERS

And now we have a way to measure their queer queer love for each other without making the censors mad

How does this show do it?? This is gayer than most of the stuff aired in the US and the US doesn’t even have that kind of censorship laws media producers here are a bunch of COWARDS, disney i’m looking at you

Wwx: lol, significant others, really?

Lwj: what’s so funny

Wwx: nobody’s gonna marry into the lan clan with your thousands of dumb rules and chronic allergy to fun

LOLOLOL BOY HAS NO CLUE. JUST YOU WAIT WWX, YOU’RE GONNA EAT THOSE WORDS

Wwx: nope, you are gonna be Forever Alone

Lwj: …that’s fine

This is actually kind of heartbreaking tbh

He’s so resigned and pretending so hard not to care!!

HE TRULY BELIEVES HE’S NOT LOVABLE *UGLY CRYING*

Idk how the actor did it bc lwj still has a very placid expression on his face but it somehow manages to convey like, a sense of loneliness while still looking adorably drunk?? Idk man, i think black magic might be involved

All this to say POOR BB LAN ZHAN, COME HERE SWEETIE AND LET ME HUG YOU. YOU’RE GONNA BE FINE, I SWEAR.

Wwx is so incredulous at this response. Like he totally believes lwj would be okay staying alone forever but he doesn’t understand it

Bc wwx is a dumb teenage boy who doesn’t yet have the emotional intelligence to see that lwj is just saying that bc he’s scared and hurting

Now we get to see an acute case of Foot-in-Mouth Syndrome like we did back in episode 2!

Wwx: your mother must be so bored here all the time

DAMN IT WWX

WHAT IS IT WITH HIM AND BRINGING UP PEOPLE’S DEAD MOTHERS???

LWJ: i don’t have a mother

He says flatly HIDING HIS SORROW

*UGLY SOBBING*

HE’S SO SAD AND LONELY GUYS

IT HURTS TO LOOK AT

WWX: you can’t not have a mother! Somebody gave birth to…oh.

There’s a crack vid somewhere on youtube with this scene voiced over “it was at that moment he realized…he Fucked Up”

And it’s true

Dumb boy

Here WWX makes up by sharing his sad orphan story with LWJ. it’s so sweet

THEIR SONG IS PLAYING IN THE BACKGROUND WHILE THIS EXCHANGE HAPPENS

UGH THIS SHOW

LISTEN, ALL THIS HAS HAPPENED ALREADY AND WE’RE BARELY 10 MINUTES INTO THE EPISODE

LIKE, WHAT??

HOW. HOW CAN YOU GIVE ME SO MANY FEELINGS IN TEN MINUTES. THE FIRST TEN MINUTES OF THE EP EVEN.

WWX: my parents died when i was four and I can’t remember their faces–but i do remember getting chased by feral dogs

POOR BB WWX

HE CAN’T EVEN REMEMBER THEIR FACES

OH, but we do get to see Actual BB!wwx in a brief flashback (within a flashback, remember this summer school business is not present time, how weird is that) and he’s riding a donkey while his mama and papa walk beside him. It’s adorable.

And after all that Emotional Vulnerability, he’s like “i’ll drink to that bro!” and makes a toast

I actually kind of like the toast he makes here with lwj tho

He tells him “may we never forget what is worth remembering or remember what is worth forgetting”

Idk if that’s like, a traditional toast or something he made up on the spot, but i like it

We get a brief moment of plot development here.

AND OOOOH, THEY’RE ABOUT TO GET IN TROUBLE!!

So some Lan SNITCH barges into the room where lqr and lxc are at and is all “we caught wwx drinking Forbidden Alcohol!” and lxc’s expression is all gently amused

but then Lan Snitch continues “LWJ was with him!!” and lxc’s amused expression quickly morphs into Very Alarmed

(right before that all happened tho we get to see lwj fall out of bed, still passed out drunk and wwx laughs at him. I can’t even hold that against him bc i totally laughed at lwj too)

The camera now shows us some frankly HORRIFYING beating sticks (paddles?? Do they qualify as paddles?? THEY’RE HUGE AND SCARY AND MADE OF NIGHTMARES)

And bc LWJ is too honorable for his own good

Lwj: i am at fault and accept my punishment!

And goes on his knees to willingly get beaten. STOP THAT LWJ

WWX IMMEDIATELY steps in to take the blame, like no, it’s actually my fault bc i forced him to drink when he didn’t want to. LAN ZHAN SHOULDN’T GET PUNISHED!!

LQR: (proving that lans are all Dramatique) ARE YOU TRYING TO RUIN CLOUD RECESSES??

Take a chill pill, old man. A teenager getting drunk is not gonna start the apocalypse (probably)

And here lwj completely ignores wwx’s attempt to absolve him and is all no, I Made a Mistake and Must Get Punished

Wwx: STOP ASKING FOR PUNISHMENT YOU IDIOT

So the punishment is kind of…harsh, but also lol bc as soon as wwx sees lwj take the beating without flinching or even staggering under the strength of the hits (lwj is truly a stronger man than i; one look at those Nightmare Sticks I would’ve run for the hills), he grits his teeth and forces himself to stay steady

Wwx: *internally but you can totally read it in his face* i’m not gonna let that bastard one-up me!! I have WAY more experience taking punishments. I am the punishment KING.

Okay so that all happens and afterwards WINGMAN LXC STRIKES AGAIN

LXC: wwx, you should definitely visit the family’s private cold spring

LXC: you know, so you can heal faster and not miss class

LXC: not for any other reason

I’D LIKE TO TAKE THIS MOMENT TO THANK GOD AND ALSO JESUS FOR THE UPCOMING SCENE

WE ARE AT THE COLD SPRING

LOOK AT WWX RUNNING TOWARDS LWJ

WET, HALF-NAKED LWJ

Wwx: *leans coquettishly against a tree thing and pouts* why didn’t you tell me about this spring? Friends don’t keep secrets from friends!!

wwx, you’re so clever, how can you be so stupid – boy is flirting at max level and doesn’t even realize it???

Lwj: HOW ARE YOU EVEN HERE *frantically robes up like some virginal maiden which he kinda is*

Wwx: your brother told me!

Lwj: *internally* brother why

And here wwx gets into the cold spring

Wwx: so cold so cold, let me get close to you where it’s warmer~! *dives right into lwj’s personal bubble*

Lwj: *takes a HUGE step back*

Wwx: *pouts* you know i didn’t like you much before but after our Romantic Moonlit Sword Fight and our Sword Fight By the Waterfall, i’ve decided i like you a lot and we should definitely be friends forever

Lwj: *doesn’t even look at wwx* That’s Not Necessary

Wwx: before you reject me, let me show you all the ~benefits~ to being my friend! *starts to strip*

(I’M NOT EVEN KIDDING YOU, HE LITERALLY SAID BENEFITS AND STARTED TO GET NAKED)

LWJ *is Horrified in a Repressed Gay Way* WHAT ARE YOU DOING

WWX: getting naked?? To heal better?? I thought this was obvious???

LWJ: *determinedly walks away*

WWX: wait don’t leave!! I’ll keep my clothes on! Anyway you should definitely visit me in yunmeng and i can pick lotus seeds for you. That’s totally what i meant about benefits.

LWJ: no

WWX: i can also introduce you to all the pretty girls there!

I CRACK UP EVERY TIME AT THIS. WWX, THAT IS A WHOLE GAY BOY YOU’RE TALKING TO, OH MY GOD

Then it turns out the cold spring is actually Haunted Water 2: This Time It’s Personal and tries to drown them

See this is why i don’t trust any bodies of water

They’re all out to get us

AND NOW WE GET TO THE CAVE OF WONDERS (or cold pond cave, whatev)

Wwx: what is happening

Lwj: *is fascinated by the cave of wonders*

Lwj: *internally* ooooh Magic Guqin!! (BECAUSE HE’S A NERD LOLOL)

Magic Guqin: NOT TODAY SATAN *attacks wwx*

Wwx: WHY IS IT ATTACKING ME, I DIDN’T EVEN DO ANYTHING YET!!

brief pause here to point out that we meet the bunnies now!! Hello bunnies!!! Everyone in the fandom loves you~!!! 💗💗💗

Okay so Magic Guqin continues to attack wwx but wwx is a Clever Boy and figures out that it’s only attacking him because he doesn’t have a sacred lan ribbon

Wwx: lwj, quick, give me your ribbon!

Lwj: *FLIES RIGHT OVER TO WWX and proceeds to bind their wrists together with the SACRED RIBBON ONLY FAMILY ANd S.O.’s CAN TOUCH*

Then the camera zooms in on the metal piece of the ribbon that is now swaying gently between them like, Subtlety? Never heard of her!

Camera: yep, this is totally a straight thing that straight bros do together

So now that they’re bound together for eternity the boys approach the Magic Guqin

Lwj slaps wwx’s hands away from the guqin here – just bc i let you touch the sacred ribbon doesn’t mean you can touch the magic guqin that tried to murder you

BC LWJ IS A MUSIC NERD AND IS TOTALLY GEEKING OUT OVER THE PRECIOUS MUSICAL HEIRLOOM

LWJ proceeds to reverently play the Magic Guqin and we have this moment where he’s like, floating in space surrounded by glowy blue lights??

Idk man, it’s weird but we’ll roll with it

This is the first time we see him communicate with spirits using music, btw.

Now we meet Lan Yi!! Who is a badass and important for plot reasons but the Valid Reason she’s mentioned here is because SHE OFFICIATES THE WANGXIAN WEDDING (bc we’ve already established that we’re not here for the plot lol)

the boys are tied together with the sacred ribbon and then they bow to a clan elder. How is that not, bare minimum, a handfasting???

Okay, technically, lwj bowed to the elder first to show respect while wwx stood there all stunned until lwj reminded him of the Importance of Manners. Then wwx bowed. But I’m pretty sure that still counts.

“You two being here must be destiny!” lan yi says, “i’m gonna do some plot exposition so pay attention.”

Thankfully we are not lwj or wwx so we don’t have to pay attention at all!!

At some point, wwx makes a clever comment and lan yi is all “wwx you’re as smart as i thought!!

Yes yes i definitely approve of you marrying my great great great grand-son/nephew/whatever the heck he is, idk i’ve been in this cave too long with only bunnies for company" (🎶bunnies are better than people, buns don’t you think that’s true~?🎶 I AM SO SORRY FOR THAT REFERENCE, DISNEY YOU STILL SUCK I JUST HAVE POOR SELF-RESTRAINT)

Okay, she for real complimented wwx’s intelligence (bc I guess everyone’s hot for WWX’s big brain? Idk) but i’m pretty sure she was thinking the rest of that really loudly in her head

Then more plot stuff happens and the episode ends!!!

Beautiful, phenomenal episode. One of the MOST IMPORTANT Wangxian episodes we have!! 100/10 stars, would watch again.

Return to Masterpost

#WangXiantics #wangxian #the untamed #this is my valentines gift to the fandom #well #this episode and the next one #it's not much #but it's all I have!#I MADE IT WITH LOVE AND I'VE BEEN ASSURED THAT THAT'S WHAT MATTERS

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reis-and-yays · 4 years

Text

Amaryllises For Two

Hanahaki AU

Tsukishima Kei x Kageyama Tobio

2.3K words

Part 2: here

Summary:

Lungs stop breathing as you hit the ground, and a flower pops out of your mouth. You’d rather risk death than confess to him. What could this be, other than mere pride?

--- In which Volleyball Freaks Kageyama Tobio and Tsukishima Kei are struck down with a disease of unrequited love. For each other. The main problem? They would never admit it, taking the phrase "I would rather die than do so" literally.

Ticking time-bombs of a disease, useless pride and pure stupidity simply spells a whole mess.

Chapter 1: Can Sunflowers Be Red?

To say Kageyama Tobio was a talented player would be an understatement. A brilliant setter, he was crucial in many of Karasuno’s victories. Which is why it was strange.

It was strange that the usually brilliant setter was making blatant rookie mistakes and fumbling his way through routine practices.

This gave the captain, Sawamura Daichi, a massive headache. If it was just Kageyama messing up, there wouldn't be too much of a problem, the ever-reliable setter Sugawara Koushi would make up for it. But it was not just one of his regulars suddenly acting like they barely touched a volleyball, it was two.

Tsukishima Kei was a shoe-in as a regular on the team due to this staggering height of 190cm. He wasn’t put on the team just for being a relative giant though, he was a skilled up-and-coming blocker. But here he was, jumping a second too late or almost stumbling over after leaping up several times now.

But if anyone were to ask them if there was anything wrong at all, both would deny it vehemently. Such an example happened earlier with a curious Hinata Shouyou, after failing to hit an admittedly poorly set ball, came running up to Kageyama who was panting heavily.

“Kageyama! What’s wrong?!”, he yelled at the setter who was now crouching down. Normally he would take this failure as a chance to push in some snide remark that would remind you of Tsukishima but the look on Kageyama’s face drained the color off Hinata’s face.

“Kagaeyama, are you dying?!”

But before Hinata could fuss over him more, Kageyama shoved him aside with all the strength he could muster and muttered out a “Mind your own business, dumbass” before shuffling away.

On the other side of the court, a similar incident was happening with a worried and indignant Yamaguchi Tadashii fussing over Tsukishima.

“Tsukki! Stop telling me to shut up! You need to go to the infirmary!”

But all of Yamaguchi’s nagging fell on deaf ears, Tsukishima was determined to get his best friend (though he would never admit he thought of him that way) off his back. The last thing he needed was Yamaguchi worrying over him. Yamaguchi wasn’t scared of Tsukishima like how Hinata was of Kageyama, so he stayed right behind Tsukishima even with him pushing him stubbornly away.

Tsukishima could feel it rising up, the soft petals pushing up against his throat, struggling to break free from him. He used up all his might to push it back down but he knew he couldn’t hold it down much longer, so when he laid his eyes on the cheery first-year manager of his team, his tired brain sparked a brilliant idea.

He turned back at his nagger of a friend and could hardly contain his smirk, which was truthfully a half-wince thanks to the pain. “Yachi is looking for you.” he said, knowing Yamaguchi will bite the bait. And bite he did, hard.

“Y-Y-Yacchan?!”, he sputtered out and instinctively turned to look at the girl who gave a brilliant smile back. That lapse of attention was enough for Tsukishima to give him the slip. You can always count on crushes to make people into bigger fools, he thought smugly to himself, but as the glow of self-satisfaction from tricking his friend faded, there was nothing to distract himself from the pain growing in his chest.

In an alleyway between the school gym and another building, a bright red flower popped out. One, two, they kept blooming into the beautiful flowers they were, as they fell from the haggard boy’s mouth and onto the ground. His glasses had dropped to the ground from the violent motions of his cough, the brilliant red of the flowers blurred together from the view of his imperfect vision. He looked like he had coughed up a puddle of blood rather than a mess of flowers. But what these deadly plumage signified was exactly the same as blood; his impending death.

Hanahaki, even the thought of the name of the disease had left a sour taste in Tsukishima’s mouth. He’d rather get a heart disease or whatever is killing most of the population now, rather than this humiliation of a disease. Crushes make people into bigger fools indeed, if Yamaguchi was a fool then he must be a total dumbass. He felt the ground for his glasses, groping petals along the way. Each touch with the petals, made him grimace, it made him face the reality of his disease. After a few moments, he completed his little hunt and restored his sight. He got more than a shock right after that though, what he assumed to be mere petals, were full-bloomed flowers, Amaryllises, he recognized. The common knowledge was that full-bloomed flowers didn’t have much time left, and neither did he.

This hallowing realization has him stumbling out of the alleyway, lost deep in his own mind. Trapped in a nightmare of his own thoughts, he hadn’t realized he had bumped into someone else till he actually hit the ground. In typical Tsukki fashion, he was about to cuss that clumsy bastard out, that was until he realized who that bastard was.

Kageyama.

Now he wanted to cuss him out even more. He expected the usual combative Kageyama, but all he got from him after he had rubbed his head was a “Look where you’re going, dumbass.” before he weakly got up and walked away. Tsukishima was irritated. He was the last person he wanted to see, well, who wanted to see the source of all their problems anyway? His attention was shifted away when he saw a red petal where Kageyama had landed and hoped desperately that the setter hadn’t spotted it.

After all, there were no red flowers in school, other than ones coming out of a love-sick boy.

Unbeknownst to him, there was another source of all the flowers.

Kageyama cursed under his breath. He had no idea what to feel. In the first few weeks of his suffering, he was sure that he was coughing up lumps of conjugated blood. He hadn’t suspected they were flowers at all, though they were soft to touch and pleasant to smell. But not like Kageyama was the brightest when it came to things outside of his expertise. Hanahaki, it was the first he ever heard of it. It didn’t have anything to do with volleyball after all. All he could do was stare at his doctor, dumb-founded when the news was broken to him. A disease of unrequited love? What is love anyway? And the biggest question he thought to himself, who exactly did he love?

So he went, to unburden all these questions on to his ever-reliable senior, Sugawara.

Sugawara was a little startled at first when his junior abruptly pulled him to a corner and expected a volleyball related question. Hence he had an utter look of bewilderment when he heard,

“What is love?” coming from his junior who had a completely genuine and serious face on him.

“Is this a reference to that old meme?” was what Sugawara reflexively said in return. Kageyama tilted his head, he didn’t understand what he meant but decided he should provide some form of context.

Throughout Kageyama’s explanation, Sugawara made a range of expression that went from shock to mild delight to sadness, all mirroring what he felt. He never expected his straight-minded volleyball freak of a junior would fall in love, not at this stage in his life at least. He was amused that even Kageyama could get into the springtime of his youth and he was certainly sad at the prospect of him losing his life. Finally, he expressed understanding, it would explain how he much he had to sub for Kageyama lately even if he was slightly slyly happy about the extra court time. His mind wandered off a bit to his other junior who also has been underperforming lately but forced his thoughts back to first deal with one in front of him.

As much as he greatly wanted to help Kageyama, how could he give advice on his unrequited love when the boy himself had no clue. He shrugged to himself, the only way was to wing it then. “Well,” he dragged out that word as he put a hand on his chin to demonstrate that he's thinking, “love is a complicated feeling but usually, it's the person you can’t take your eyes off, the one who you think is like your ray of sunshine, someone who you want to be yours.”

Kageyama nodded after each point, with an absolute look of sincerity in taking all the advice in.

Wanting to lighten the mood for a bit, and maybe even just to fool around; Sugawara, with a gleam in his eye, said with a slightly cocky grin, “I mean I would know, I’m quite the casanova y’know?” and in return, Kageyama’s eyes lit up like he hit the jackpot. To think his senior was even more reliable in these matters than he thought. Sugawara gulped, he could tell from that glint that Kageyama bought it all but he didn’t want to suddenly take it back and dash his hopes like that, despite his only experience being that one time in elementary school where he held a girl’s hand on a field trip. When the teachers told them to. Well its probably harmless to let him believe this, right?

Kageyama, taking all of Sugawara’s advice to heart, walked back into the gymnasium, ready for more practice, and more importantly, observation. He willed his breathless body into action. As he struggled to keep up during practice, his mind was also in overdrive as to who met all the mentioned points.

As Kageyama was doing his little investigation, Tsukishima couldn't help his eyes from wandering to the aforementioned setter. He cursed at himself from doing that time and again, while forcing himself to focus on the other practice team on the opposing side, he was the blocker after all. But like a train wreck, he couldn't tear his eyes away, and each glance at the sight of him sent a twang of pain through his chest, as if the flowers were struggling to burst out again. Even as much as he was observing Kageyama, his lagged body could not move out of the way in time when Kageyama came tumbling down on him after a misstep.

Their chests pressed together and their legs entangled; Kageyama was, in summary, wholly on top of Tsukishima, where the latter was struggling with utmost effort to not show that he was fully enjoying the contact. His ears red, he tried to sputter out a usual sassy remark but all that came out was a rather weak “dumbass”, complete with an arm trying to desperately hide his face. “That’s a classic Tsundere pose.” thought Yamaguchi who witnessed the entire thing up to this moment. He paused for a few moments as if taking this new bit of information in. After which, he looked as if he had a lightbulb flash moment, he had Tsukki figured out. Now he just has to help him.

Back to the center of the mess, Kageyama shot back a rather defiant, “No, you’re the dumbass!”, even though he knew full well he was the one at fault. But Tsukishima just brought out this side of him more than anyone else did. Tsukishima just made irritates him and makes him mad, which must also be why his whole face feels hot, he reasoned. Before he could get more heated, Hinata interrupted him with questions filled with concern. From Kageyama’s view, looking up to Hinata, from the ground, the light from the ceiling of the gymnasium made his orange hair looked as if it was glowing.

Kageyama squinted. It set some gears turning in his head before he annoyedly swatted Hinata away who in return yelled that ‘Kageyama was acting like he’s king again!” and started swatting back.

This then set of Tsukishima who begrudgingly felt jealousy towards their interaction. Luckily the situation was quickly diffused; “Alright, alright, no arguments”, Daichi chided them with an exasperated expression while picking them both up by the arms. Dealing with not one, but two regulars acting like newborn fawns was stressing him out. “I want to pull you both out-”, but before Daichi could even complete his sentence, Kageyama began to protest but the captain raised a hand to stop his oncoming tirade. “But I know you both want to practice but the moment another accident occurs, practice is over for the both of you, got it?” He ended with a ‘smile’ that sent shivers up their spines. The captain can always be counted on to set his kids straight.

During the rest of the practice, Kageyama tried to pierce the remaining ‘clues’ together. He was doing way more thinking about something non-volleyball related than he usually does. He had no idea if he was drenched in cold sweat from all this thinking or from his stamina rapidly draining. It was most definitely the latter but to Kageyama, the first was a likely option. Feeling as if he was an ace detective, he mentally linked back to the points Sugawara imparted on him to what he observed.

He noticed his eyes always going to a certain someone he wanted to toss to and he wanted that someone to be ‘his’ weapon. It made sense, he always tracked him with his eyes and wanted him to be his in a way, that person even glowed like sunshine (though that was more due to his hair colour than anything). Kageyama felt like a detective who cracked a mystery, he stopped dead in his tracks, his mouth forming the shape of an ‘O’. One of the sides of his fist hits the other hand’s palm, signaling that he got it. He had his deduction.

Hinata is the cause. Hinata is his love.

#TsukiKage #KageTsuki #haikyuu!!#tsukishima kei #kageyama tobio #hanahaki

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last-minute-hero · 4 years

Text

Men Walk Where Gods Play.

I couldn’t keep my balance. The ship was rocking and digging into the shore, bombarded by the angry sea and unyielding land. People were screaming. I was soaked and I felt frozen to the core. Sluggish. The temptation to just … lean against the wall was almost overwhelming. Just a moment of rest. Rest my eyes.

The ship slammed into the ground again, the forward hull digging a trench in the ground as lightning arced across the sky. The reality of screaming, crying, and fighting were suddenly a reality in my head again. Gravity also doing a reality check, as momentum from the impact sent me forward and through a wooden doorway. My body slid across the floor as I rolled out to the deck, having been taking a sad attempt at hiding on the second floor of the galleon.

Hiding. A stowaway. On a slave ship, in this day and age. As a very recently retired young pirate, I was keenly aware of the shipping routes. I knew what happened. I wasn’t innocent. Maybe this was punishment, whatever god had decided to fuck us into the shoreline. Well. Whatever the case was, the Slavers were not interested in who I was. The yelling and screaming were not directed at me. The clashing of steel on steel was not mine. The innocents crying out.. The children.. They were not mine. Not my responsibility.

Rain pelted my skin as I quickly got to my feet, bracing myself against the flagpole as I took in the violence around me. We had definitely been attacked. I saw no Limsan colors. I did, however, see a dark figure darting here and there to Pirates, knocking them overboard or out. Probably both. A mercenary. The ship rocked again, kicking up the screaming again. I finally looked towards one of the sources, and saw a family. Soaked. Pathetic looking. Huddled together and chained to a steel cage that wasn’t big enough for them, but had managed to spit them out during the assaults. They were still attached.

I was no hero. Not my responsibility. I was a damned Pirate a week ago. These people would have been cargo. Teeth gritted again as I trudged through, grabbing an axe off of the deck of the ship as I reared it backwards on approach, the dad going to protect his family. Brave man. Foolish man. But brave. The blade came down on the chain. It took a few more hacks, and they were free. I didn’t even know what I was doing anymore. This certainly wasn’t me risking my life for others. I should have just grabbed a lifeboat, and hoped for the best.

Lifeboat. I barked out orders, screaming over the fighting and other screams. “ Over there! Go! Wait until more people come before you lower it! I will send more! GO! “ That didn’t even sound like my voice. Gods I sounded desperate. Of course I was. I was going to die. Run through by the crazy attacker, or a slaver. The next family was saved, and the next. Slavers became fewer and fewer. But gun shots had started to join in with the thundering of the storm. The slavers were scared. Then I heard a scream. An order. Stop the white haired man. Well. I had white hair. My body didn’t listen, though, as much as I tried to coax it. Gotta get the next slaves. Still life boats. More shots. It felt like time decided to fill me in on the actual amount of trouble I was in. I looked to my side. Like time slowed down just to fuck me patiently. Four Slavers running towards me, one had fired a rifle at me. Did the bullet hit me? Did I just not feel it? Did he miss? Time relented, and a figure landed in front of me, wielding the very essence of Light in his right hand. The ship practically glowed in the thunderstorm with its radiance. A Miqo’te. Dark haired. He was shouting something. It didn’t work. They all stopped and fired at us at the same time. He never left his spot in front of me. Protecting me, or the family. I didn’t know. I didn’t care.

He made a slicing motion in the air in front of him, and the bullets.. The slavers were just.. Gone. An arc of light .. I’d never seen anything like it. The flagpoles had all been sliced in half from the width of the attack. They fell over as I blinked, staring at him. Crying. The family. I snapped out of it, and went back to freeing the family. “ Lifeboat. Run. Go. “ It felt robotic. Something about witnessing that made me question reality. I looked back to the miqo’te. He was covered in blood. Why hadn’t he just used such a weapon right off the bat? Why was he trying to knock people out instead of just killing them? Why be so strong if you’re not going to go all the way? I had so many questions.

Then I felt a two children run into my leg. Crying. I picked them both up, the miqo’te giving me a look, but not saying anything as I questioned them both. Parents? Sleeping and not waking up. Dead. I was opening my mouth to finally thank this guy for saving my life. Then an impact on my shoulder as I staggered forward, and the cry of a child. The miqo’te caught me from falling as he lowered me down. Shot. I knew the feeling. I coughed as I looked down, and saw entirely too much crimson. It wasn’t all mine. The child. The bullet had gone straight through my shoulder and hit the child's head. The other child was all alone in this world now. The miqo’te looked down in horror at the child, he didn’t have to ask. Me, or the child. It was obvious who would be fine.

My right shoulder was slowly going limp, as I let the child drop to the ground, trying to stand with the surviving sister. A small miqo’te girl. She wasn’t crying. She already looked mentally gone. But I wouldn't let her die. Not today. “ You have… to get.. off of this ship. GO! “ I blinked, clearly he intended to leave as well? The slavers were regrouping. Hell, I was surprise the one that had shot me wasn’t taking another pot shot. But the look he gave me.. Those eerie white hues.. They were just as bright as that sword. His teeth were bared. Gods, he was growling. It was terrifying.

I held the girl to my chest with one good arm, and ran towards the lifeboat. I heard shots, but I didn’t turn around. One last boat. Save the girl. Last boat. Save one more life. I climbed on, and set the girl down.. Who still hadn’t spoken another word. I was fighting for my breath before I looked back towards the Miqo’te. Dead bodies of slavers surrounded him, but they still came. I started lowering the boat down into the water, only to be greeted with the sight of the man leaping high above the ship, his sword drawn. A roar. A swing. A long arc of energy erupted from the great katana. Lightning flashed. As if the elements fought over who was more dangerous. I would have put money on him. Then nothing. I came to with my back on the sand, the ocean lapping at my soaked feet as I sputtered. Girl. Girl! I looked down, she was at my side. Still wordless. Ok. She was still alive. I heard hissing. What sounded like two waterfalls, and water hitting something extremely hot. I slowly sat up. Dozens of survivors littered the shore, any slavers that lived were tied up, or being beaten. Whatever justice the mob had decided to unleash upon them. But the Galleon had been sliced clean in half. A straight lined hole had been dug into the ground beneath the waves, which water was still cascading into. God. Had his sword done that? What the hell was he? Was HE a God? Crying. The girl wasn’t at my side anymore, I was so dumb founded by the scene before me, I hadn’t even noticed her sudden absence.

I slowly got to my feet in what I imagined in my head to be in a hurry, still feeling like I was in some sort of foggy dream, and I’d wake up from this land of Gods and swords that scared the shit out of me. But my dream took me to a miqo’te male, who’d been placed on wooden wreckage, crimson from his wounds mixing with sweat and sea salt. God, his whole upper body was covered with scars. Was he dead? I fell to my knees beside him, putting my head to his chest to listen for a heart beat. Still there. He was still breathing. The sword was in the scabbard beside him, almost in a death grip.

The more I stared, the more questions I had. I could almost make out blue pulsing lines under his skin. Who was this man? WHAT, was this man? The small girl had found a canteen, and was pouring water on his face. Not the first thing I would have done, but it worked. The man coughed, and shot straight up, breathing quickly as those creepy white hues looked at us, then around. “ Everyone… is safe? “ He said it between breaths, this was a very sharp contrast from his tone earlier. Almost light hearted, filled with concern. Caring. Earlier, that growl.. I shivered at the memory, but nodded. “ Aye. Everyone.. Well, most everyone made it to shore.. I can’t say for sure.. If.. “

He looked at me, as if to stop my words in front of the girl. I looked at her, complying with the visual request. The three of us surveyed the damage before he slowly stood up, me and the girl doing so as well. “ Who.. the hell are you? “ The miqo’te was standing there. He was wounded. He should have been seeking medical attention. But he was speaking into something. . “ Medical Assistance will be here soon for you, and the others. Try and keep them calm, until they arrive.. also.. make sure none of the slavers get away. “ My teeth gritted, feeling abit ignored. “ I said who the HELL are you man?! Ya just exploded a ship! Yer shootin’ .. GODS knows what from your damned sw* “ His voice was light as he spoke, and the asshole had the balls to smile at me. “ Ruke. Yours? “ Mine?! If I had the balls to deck him right there after all he’d done, I would have.

But I answered. “ Hutch. “ I said it simply, but I tried to inch in some audible annoyance. He didn’t seem to notice. He was definitely injured. He was not one of the Gods. That, or Gods could be put through galleon planks, and take damage. “ Hutch.. Were you a slaver? “ I froze. Of course I wasn’t. I was a stowaway ON a slaver ship, a pirate stowaway. I thought of how to explain this before he continued. “ It doesn’t matter. You.. risked your life to save those people. I saw what you did. The will to put others above yourself.. Is a rare trait. “ He said it simply, his voice quiet again. “ We need more of that in this world, Hutch. We also need forgiveness. Second Chances. "

I stared at him, trying to absorb all of this. Second chances. Hell, in my head, what I’d done was stupid. Reckless. I felt the little girl hug my leg. I was all she had left. I was going to protect her. The feeling came so freely, it was scary. A daughter all of a sudden. Ruke smiled at me, a sad smile. A guilty look in those white hues. He blamed himself for those deaths. I knew it. I felt the same. Was this supposed to be a good feeling? She squeezed my leg again, but still said nothing. “ Alright. “ I answered softly, I knew why his voice had lowered. I didn’t like this feeling at all.

“ I’ll find you.. We’ll find you.. A better path. For you. “ His words got more hoarse as he spoke, almost wavering on his feet. Then I saw a group of others running down the beach. A small miqo’te woman, what a commanding presence she had, for one so small. I could feel it from here. Any pretense of business disappeared from her yellowed gaze when she saw the shape of Ruke, however. She called out to him, her voice hitching as she ran to us. To him. Right on time, he fell over, and into her arms. She cried out for someone named Jaxx. The others that had come with them were passing out medical supplies, and a red headed miqo’te male ran over, checking on her and Ruke.

I left them. I took the girl. I didn’t know her name, and she didn’t talk. I couldn't feel. Great combination. I headed to Ul'dah with the girl the next morning. I wonder if I'd ever meet him again.

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thestudyfeels · 6 years

Text

How To NOT Be Depressed.

(Or If You Prefer — How to Be Substantially Happy About Life.)

WARNING: This is one rollercoaster ride of a post. Proceed with extreme caution. For some, the staggering levels of insight may induce true purpose and re-establish their warrior spirit. For others, side effects may include grammatically incorrect hate or aloof eyerolls. We advise exiting if the said group includes you, for we're very tired of cleaning vomit off the seats.

Step aboard at your own risk.

If you’re one of the brave souls who stayed back to join us, I congratulate you for even I am scared of how crazy this post truly is. Alrighty then, kick back and relax folks, today we’re having a mature, adult conversation. Merely another cheery afternoon spent talking about life and its realities. Not too bad, eh?

Before we begin, spoiler alert! For those of you already turned off by the mention of 'depression’ and packing their bunnies to leave, sit tight. This ISN'T really about depression. This is about HAPPINESS. No clickbait. That got your attention, right butterfly? Nice, now stay.

A welcoming, maybe demanding A/N: Do me a favor and read this in one go. Maybe even plug in those headphones and listen to the songs dedicated to each part as you read. It's long, you have the new Riverdale episode to catch up on, but don't hop away just yet because (I had a couple moments writing this, alright) it's life changing. You'll prolly cry a few tears of realization, nod all nod-able body parts in agreement, beat your chest at random instants 'cause the hype’s too real, and perhaps, if it isn’t too much to hope for, finally go change your life for the better. In case you've forgotten, this'll remind you that there’s always hope, that you're a born conqueror, and you were made to THRIVE, not survive. Convinced? Kay, roll the cams.

To clarify first-hand, no, I'm not depressed although I’ve experienced mild depression for a period before. Glad to say I'm out of it but I still struggle with tackling what I'm about to detail next.

Insert bitter voice, it’s this: My life is nowhere near I want it to be. Though I know vaguely what I wanna do, I haven't yet figured out how the hell I’m supposed to get there, or how my dream life is to be sketched out. It’s all a blurry mess. Which, to put it bluntly, hurts. I HATE feeling powerless and worthless, roaming about aimlessly.

There are many such moments where I hit the brakes to wonder why I’m not living THE Life already. There have been several times when I curl up and cry a frickin’ Amazon. There are horrible nights where I'm shaking with emotions, but they won't release, leaving me choked. (…not in that way, you hoes. Um, just ruined the dramatic mood with a lame dirty joke, sorry.)

They say talking helps and that's why I figured I'd drop in. But perhaps more importantly, I wanted to hang because no matter how unfocused the lens may seem at my future, I don't consider myself a dopey loser incapable of the crazy dreams or wild bucket lists I fantasize about– and I thought I'd skip along to remind you that neither should you. (Or maybe I just came to sniff the new appetizers, who knows?)

PS: I also broke a sweat listing six ways to get outta depression– alternatively, to be more of a conqueror– because y'all are always pestering me with asks that go “how do I conquer omg send supplies” (Like, imagine a conqueror saying that! Oh, the crime, the atrocity!)

So yes, you're welcome. Have a feast with this litness.

The main reason behind people being so frightfully sad, I’ve found, is a huge lack of fulfillment. We don't do what we love, for either— [ 1 ] we aren’t living life the way we want to (since we keep doing things we feel we're supposed to do) OR [ 2 ] because Mama, Papa and Mrs. Carter next door feel that struggling is the only way, and project their traditional beliefs onto us. Either way, whether or not we consciously realize this, subconsciously, we're all hurting because of it. Badly.

That lingering feeling of emptiness never seems to leave. You feel drained every night when you drop into bed, not because you gave it your all, but because you couldn't. And so, we do the next best thing. Drugs. Maybe not literally, but figuratively. We numb out this subconscious pain by binge watching Netflix shows. We deaden ourselves to that discomfort by reading smut in the bathroom or by playing dumb video games all day. We try (and fail) to extinguish this feeling of not ‘being enough’ by having silly flings or fake friendships.

And ultimately, we NUMB ourselves out to LIFE for we can't bear to live the way we're living. There's a reason why “How to Stop Procrastinating” posts are so popular (they’re a blogger’s most foolproof way of paying the month’s rent, and yes, even I'm guilty of a couple). We’re constantly having FOMO and tuning into others' highlights on social media– completely missing out on our own lives in the process. We fail to realize that the culprit is lack of genuine purpose more than zero self-control (or maybe it’s both, but that’s a tale for another day).

[On a side note, obviously I did generalize a bit– video games can be a passion for you, watching shows a way of winding down. But for most, they’re only DISTRACTIONS, just another way of ignoring the calls of life by hanging up the phone.]

And here's the bitter truth about depression: The longer you wait to start living authentically, the more you start tuning out the inner cries wanting change, the faster your dreams start to ebb away, and the more you'll want to become insignificant. And to me, that's the scariest part of this journey to my dream life.

Nothing frightens me more than knowing that the moment I stop pushing, the very moment I give in to distractions and fears, my goals will stop manifesting themselves and I'll be stuck in this small town with its small people eternally. And THAT, I'm certain, won't be any more fun than working your way through a soggy ham sandwich, ironic as soggy is what life has become. (Yes, I have a thing against soggy sandwiches. They were a kid's worst lunch nightmare.)

If you relate, and I’m sure you do (it’s probably why you stopped scrolling through cheesy fanfic for ten minutes to read this, I know you amigo) — here are six ways to NOT be depressed. Or more accurately, to gift wrap yourself some sweet ol’ happiness.

You're a Samurai and the Following Be Your Katanas —

Hol’ up. The second you reach the End Card, I want you to drop your Cheerios and implement at least THREE of these six strategies. Just follow the Takeaways, I've made this really simple. And as a rule, one of them has to be this one. (Look, don't whine. If you wanna climb outta that dark hole, you gotta put in some effort. So pop that booty, and let’s get down to business!)

Here’s the most truthful, though cheesy thing I’ll ever say: I would be nowhere I am today without this blog. If not for it, I would most likely be weeping in a dug-out hole somewhere, drowning in my salty little pond of tears and chiming every loser’s favorite words (“there's no point”). Creating this blog gave me a definite purpose – putting out fiery content, dipping myself deep into my newly found passion for writing and influencing, and connecting with other conquerors on the platform.

I meet a lot of folks, whether at Sad School, Mouldy Mall, or Boring Bus stop, who always seem to be in a state of death-inducing boredom. When asked about their favorite thing to do, they’ll mumble “sleep” or “food” like Siri narrating your cat’s evening routine. And then you see adults, dragging through life mindlessly. Utterly clueless, floating like a piece of driftwood in an ocean bubbling with life. My sympathy quota gets overdosed everytime I think about it.

To spell it out, find something to do. Anything! Learn a language, try some ballet, take pictures of your neighbor's rose garden, make an art piece and show it to your mom, stitch buttons onto shirts for fun, heck, make an entire shirt out of buttons, take a break from reading smut to write your own, frutify your farts, WHATEVER, just get up and move.

And here’s why – nay, not to keep you engaged or make you feel less worthless, not that bullcrap. It’s to put in gear the journey of figuring out what is the shite that you love doing. Too often we get stuck thinking about what our oh-so-great passion is. Get this, passion is energy. A spark for something. A magical fortune cookie which, when cracked, seems to explain everything, gives you the very reason for being alive. You can only feel that fire, that wild love, when you actually do it. So get cracking is all I’ll say!

Takeaway:

Attempt something. Nah, scratch that, imagine you’re in a sweet shop with shelves lined with free samples and try everything. Pick up that Polaroid cam, take that dreaded history course, buy that children’s cooking kit– in short, start working. Pull out all the stops, get curious, and get creative. In the process, if you promise to try hard enough, you WILL (money back guarantee) find out what makes your little heart burst with mad happiness and would willingly do for free, if needed, because you really are that crazy about it. And that, my dear, will be your oh-so-great-indeed passion. Have no doubt, you’ll never be “bored” again.

Real talk, having a dream is a big deal. And unfortunately, I’ve witnessed, rarely anyone has one to begin with. They’re either more dead than the cheap skeleton I bought for Halloween or believe they have a dream, but in reality, it belongs to mom, dad, or Uncle Sammy. Listen, doing something for someone you love (my Uncle Sammy used to supply me with cold cash whenever he came around, loved that guy) is great! YET, if you’re willing to throw away your life to fulfill others’ expectations, convincing yourself it's because they love you, even when YOUR lonely heart craves bigger things than just a marketing job, then you, my friend? Are the biggest fool. Don’t get offended, we both know it, this girl needn't ramble.

Recently, my relatives were over (nope, sadly not Uncle Sammy) and my cousin and I had a chat about life (correct, I grab every opportunity to do so). It wasn't very exciting I must say, he kept staring off into the distance (I wonder why), but what he SAID is what I'll talk about. After I’d gushed about my dreams, he asked skeptically if being an influencer would still be an ambition two years from now when I graduate. I raised my eyebrows, mock hurt, like eff you son, I ain’t giving up on my dreams! But that question got me thinking.

Life is wild. Unpredictable. An unexpected call, a single person, a random BLOG POST (cough) – can turn your life upside down, sometimes in the affirmative, other times not. This variability of life isn’t uncommon, and everyone experiences some part of it– unpaid student loans, failing startups, talent and art going unnoticed in industries dominated by wealth and connections, you name it. If all of that doesn’t make you run for the Himalayas and abandon any dreams, throw in a quick side dish of dysfunctionale famiglia with a sprinkle of self-image issues.

It ain’t easy, darling. The world is one cruel headmistress; it loves slapping awake the daydreamers and wishful thinkers. That hasn't ever actually stopped the dropouts and class clowns from building castles in the air though. And the common blueprint you notice they follow? Let me introduce you to… Madness. Obsession. Maniacal obsession, to say. (Yes, I'm done playing with my words.)

I struggled writing this point. A pestering voice in my head kept mumbling – They'll go back to doing the same sad shit anyway. Um, does anyone even read your posts? Lol, call yourself an influencer, hun. Hesitation started creeping in. Then the irony of the situation struck me. I laughed, shook my head and got back to typing.

We ran out of juicy gossip weeks ago, so here’s your tea served cold: insecurities and self doubt WILL get in the way. That whiny voice was just a mild version of what you face when you go all in. Fear traps you in its cage, and those who prattled behind your back now progress to talking shit in your face. Criticism and self doubt resurfaces, so unless your defenses are strong, you'll be crushed. Destroyed REAL quick.

When hell breaks loose (oh honey, and it WILL), your self defense comprising of maniacal obsession must be well learnt. Let them attack, mock, heck, drag you away from the desk and hurl you at the top of a damn mountain, but you better STILL hike back down, show them the middle finger, and continue working. That's how bulletproof you've gotta be. That's how madly do you have to love your dreams. And if you really think this will be a cake walk or want to continue complaining about Stuart being born with a silver spoon, hop off the train already. Your destination isn't on the tour list.

Look, my dreams terrify me. But they certainly make me feel more alive than complying with what every parent said about getting good grades and holding together a roof on my head. My ambitions set me free, give me a reason to fucking live. And yet, every now and then, something makes me question them. A fear engulfs me, some doubter proclaims I suck, someone I love is so blinded they can't see my vision. And that's okay. My defenses are way stronger. The next day rolls round, and you'll find me hustling again, thriving again. All because I know that even if no one reads my posts (the worst case scenario, I know y'all love me lol), someday in the future, someone will. I know that even if I’m not an influencer yet, if just one reader becomes a conqueror because of my words, it would be a win. A big win. I'd have done my job. All because I’m wildly, yes maniacally, obsessed with my dreams.

So hey, cousin? This influencer thing? This will be my dream long after I've graduated. Till the day I die, and maybe even then I'll rise from my grave to give a dead pal a lively pep talk. My watchtower has just been upgraded, so thank u, next.

Takeaway:

“General, we've arrived!” Finally! Position those cannons, Martha, let’s talk them through the defenses. All aboard? AHOY MATEY! (wait, that was one for the pirates). Step one, dare to create a dream in your mind’s eye. The bigger, the crazier, and the scarier, the better. Doesn’t matter how impossible it is, don’t care how many voice their opinion against it, just imagine, keep a million possibilities in mind.

Once you see the life you truly want (you’ll know, everything will seem to zing)— have a sip. Become OBSESSED for that life. Thirst after that vision, itch to manifest it, and pine for the satisfaction that’ll come to your soul once it’s made a reality. Fall madly in love with the process and how magical it feel when you do it. And THEN, bellow a loud war cry and charge headfirst into battle, shields held high at all the criticisms. We conquerors never cared much for them anyway.

(play ♬) Picture this: forehead stamped with beads of sweat. Calloused hands working their fingers to the bone and eyebrows furrowed in deep concentration. Conjure an image where powerful beats are pulsing hard in your ears, synced with your own elevated heartbeats, and you’re thriving. Performing. Winning. Guess the secret to that? Preparation. Champions prepare. You can’t throw anything to the winds or rely on ‘luck’ or chance to conquer.

Tough days are in everyone’s calendar, be it your extra cheerful neighbor, Sally, or lone wolf classmate, Derrick. We’ve all found ourselves sulking over an awful situation, scooping into mint ice cream to forget mistakes, errands, and ghosting exes. Yet guess what? The solution isn’t the proclaimed “be positive!” or “It all happens for a reason, don’t you worry” - the key is coming up with a method to dodge the discouraging effect these hiccups have on us.

So every bad day, I bring out a mason jar containing a knot of chits and one secret letter which is, on most days, kept hidden on the top shelf of my cupboard. I make myself comfortable on the bed, read all my bits of paper carefully, including the letter addressed to yours truly, close my eyes, and mentally fight back whatever’s bringing me down.

A short while later, I get up, now a warrior, and go slay the rest of the day like it was my last one on this planet. That jar is my jar. A Conqueror’s jar. One look at those powerful reminders, and I’m grounded once again, the beast within me now unleashed to kill.

Takeaway:

Honey, go get yourself a jar. Along with some papyrus and ink. Then start jotting down. Document past victories, future visions, fears that mean zilch to the person you’re about to become, batty goals you’ve still gotta chase, reminders that the majority will never understand what it is you’re tryna do here, and how that’s perfectly alright 'cause you'll find your conquerors, your squad one day. Create your victory jar. And then go knock ‘em down dead. Bad days stand no chance against you. You’re a winner, a fucking rebel. Go take what’s yours.

Y’know, I’m perfectly aware that many muggles reading this will whine that dealing with depression ain’t no piece o’ pie and it’s hella hard to get up and take the crown when you feel like a pile of dino dung.

Stop it. Get some help. (See what I did? Like Michael- ok ok, calm thyself.) For real though, and I’m tired of repeating this with my kitten stamped microphone (but I’ll keep at it ‘cause it’s that significant) – whining is WORTHLESS. It saps up precious energy that could be used to make life a scrumptious smoothie. (Loothie? As in life + smoothie? Right, yes, I’m shutting up.)

And even THEN, we find denizens complaining about slow WiFis and thin crust pizzas and how the market’s down and the government’s incompetent. Because blabbering makes us feel important. Heard. But keeping yo’ trap shut and actually doing stuff? Hustling for your dreams when nobody’s watching? Actually walking the talk? C’mon, Emma, don't be naive, ain’t nobody getting recognition for that.

Trust me, I get it. The world is yet to become a feminist, turns out your boyfriend was cheating on you while you were looking up wedding dresses, mommy’s a drunk loser, and idiots are being voted into office. It’s a lot to handle. But thanks to our immense and ever increasing population (we folks really love our rumpy pumpy, can you tell) — there will surely be one chum, facing exactly the same misfortunes as you, but still turning up at every party and bulk-spamming his friends with puppy pictures while you sit and wail. (One Moaning Myrtle is enough, thank you very much.)

Look, I’m not undermining your worries or obstacles. I’m only reminding that you have the marvelous choice of positivity. To CHOOSE hope and a better future when others won't. To FIND (and it's always possible) something to look forward to even when the to-do’s a big snore. To KNOW, deep inside, that you're a magnificent conqueror, no matter what mess you’re in at the moment, and that the world dances to your rhythm. Realise that it's up to you to let yourself be happy. At any moment, you have the very say-so to get up and start rocking. Dumbledore said it himself, “It is our choices, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities.” So choose better, and you’ll unconsciously do better as well. And yes, that being said, this is the last HP reference, don't fret. Be positive instead. (Edit: Ha, look at these quips, the girl's all grown up now.)

Takeaway:

Your new occupation is to be a sunflower. If you think back, you'll probably recall Miss Honey rattling on about phototropic movement in AP biology. No? Me neither. Point is, sunflowers always face the sun. Put them ANYWHERE, hide them in the dungeons, throw them in a trash bag and shoot it off to the moon, they’ll still turn around and face the sun. No matter what. And taking inspo from that, you too can stop scripting creative soliloquies for being depressed. Happiness is YOUR right, YOUR priority, don't let anyone take it away from you or diminish its importance. DON’T let sadness ruin your vibe, do what you've gotta do to protect yourself. Track happiness in yo’ journal, set 84 reminders on your phone, and tattoo “Long as you’re beaming up at the sun, all the shadows will be left behind” on your boobs. Do whatever, just don’t turn the corners of your mouth down. You’re so pretty this way.

The other day, I was doing the deathly Plié Alternative Heel Lifts (these names, I swear) and my legs felt dead. Gone. Put to sleep like the Wicked Witch of the East. Now obviously, the timer wasn’t not even halfway done yet, but my cheeks were already flushing red like dear Santa, and NOT because I was high on choco chip cookies. I sighed, and at that point, I was so over giving up. All this while, I’d been whining and protesting because my muscles felt sore, but in that moment, I made up my mind. I bit my lip and kept going. On and on. Keep pulsing, you got it, don't stop, was the mantra I kept chanting.

Won’t sugarcoat it, I honestly hadn’t died this much since that time Miss Honey buried me alive with trig assignments. My legs were now basically Play-doh and I was shaking, fighting for balance. A few seconds in though, something crazy happened. My legs went numb. My grumbling mind quietened and the pain vanished. That evening, I had the upper hand, not my physical perceptions of myself. I was powerful. Flawless. (Hey Santa, do you even lift bro?) Real talk, I was in the Zone, bitches.

I’m not sure if that was the result of excessive pain or because Wonder Woman’s spirit possessed ma bod, but staying loyal to my love for metaphors, I’ll use the experience to explain what I’m tryna get at here.

Look, here’s the real deal — if all of the greats gave up the second things got frowny, we probably would have no one to worship. Nix role models, nix inspirations, none to stalk on Insta - we’d all be bumbling about like Sad from the even sadder Emoji movie (no shade, emojis be lit).

And that'd be very sad (pun definitely intended). Hence, cue some tangible ways to boosting your grit, so that you can be your own superhero:

1) Get yo’self a goddamn motto,

2) Know your “Why,”

3) Repeat the cycle till it’s in your blood. Btw, Shawn, if you here, I’m still a single pringl—HEY PAL I SEE YOU, DON'T SCROLL.

Seriously, don't brush these prime steps aside. We're always going for the advanced modes, and deeming these basic levels a waste of time. Well guess what, compadre, YOUR LIFE IS A GODDAMN WASTE O’ TIME IF YOU DON'T HAVE YOUR BASICS RIGHT. Excuse my outburst, but listen. You can’t do a hundred bicep curls on your first workout if you haven't lifted anything more than a crisps packet. Likewise, if you simply jump into Life one day, and decide “ok, here it is, 12 habits to build, sleep schedule to fix, man to ask out, let's go,” you ain't getting nowhere, chum. Start small. Take baby steps. It's clearly not as fun (definitely negates the bragging on Facebook part of it) but it'll stick. You’ll create a consistency that not even Grandma's cake batter can achieve.

1. Talking mottos — For context, a motto that I always mutter (my mom thinks I'm cursing, oh what a bad child) every time I spill milk while making coffee is “Do more. Give more. BE more.” Not only does it help me stay right on track for the rest of the day but it helps me clean up my mess, figuratively and otherwise, or I’d just be sitting in a puddle of spilt milk, cursing adulting for real this time and with more laundry to do.

2. Why you need the Big Why — Owning up, I’m guilty of attempting to learn Welsh for less than 48 hours because I hadn't a single reason to speak the language. A similar thing happened with half of my 2018 resolutions, which had a bunch of rubbish like “Floss daily”, something my eyes got trained to skip because, um, who the hell flosses every day?

Lame humor aside, I still workout almost daily because I have my Why straight. 1) I want to feel good about my body and get closer to the confident badass I envision my future self to be, 2) I simply HAVE to sustain my health to live to build my legacy and fulfill my dreams of opening a bakery at 90 and 3) Because I’m an influencer, and want to walk my talk and be the inspiration people need. Those are the reasons as to why I turn up to my yoga mat everyday, shut my jabbering mind, and keep on pulsing. This “Why” strategy applies to everything. Wanna get outta depression? Why? Wanna lose 20 pounds? Why? Wanna listen to your dentist’s desperate pleadings and floss already? WHY EH? Unless you know your intentions, you’ll give up at the first chance you get to not act on your goals. And watch out, because there'll be a LOT of those.

For me, leaving a legacy behind means more than having a slice of cake or missing a workout because there’s a fun movie playing. Find what's important to YOU, make it your why, and go marry your goals.

3. And then, Repeat — Bear in mind, if you're not living your best life yet, there are NO weekends. NO work-shy days. No weak days, no pick-me-up days, no eat-candy-do-nothing days. Everyday is a damn Monday. EVERYDAY is life or death. Every holy day you wake up is a chance to push your limits, challenge your mindset, and see how far you can go. And every 24 hours, when the cycle starts again, it’s your mission to race to build a stronger, wiser and crazier you.

And who knows, perhaps one day, you and I will just be casually sipping tea in our dream home, laughing at how the milk is still being spilt but knowing, proudly, fiercely, that we’ve come so far, even though there’s still more left to do, more to give and so much more to be.

Takeaway:

Quit quitting. You're, guaranteed, 20x stronger than you think. I doubted I could go through with the workout, it seemed beyond my present physical capabilities. But I did, because I treated it as life or death. Understand this, the second you start making excuses, for being depressed, for taking an unnecessary day off - you give away your power. You are a very powerful being. You're limitless, capable of everything.

I'm not throwing these words around to make you feel cute, I actually mean AND believe them. There’s so much that's been done already— the iconic four minute mile by Roger Bannister, invention of the light bulb, cars, toothpaste and other junk, people who lost both legs and climbed Mt. Everest, we sent a man to moon in frickin’ 1969 (50 YEARS ago), some ran a 26 mile marathon with zero training, love and hope is still strong in this world, oh let's also add coffee and motivational music— and YOU think you can't finish a workout or get outta depression or meet your idols or marry the man of your dreams or become the artist you wanna be? Ridiculous. Don't give away your power that easily, this ain't no charity shop.

(play ♬) Having personally dealt with unwelcome yet familiar feelings of emptiness quite often, I’ve now reached a point where each bad day is simply a reminder of how long my journey ahead is, and just how badly I want to reach my destination.

We finally near the end of this novel of a post (thanks for sticking around, bud), and my best advice would be this: Rather than wallowing in self pity and throwing one-man parties because your life is so awfully dreadful, know that even when life throws you to the floor, long as you can look up, long as you can read an entire book about defeating depression (cough)– you can GET UP too. Let those emotions of sorrow and frustration blaze up into a roaring, crackling fire that doesn’t consume you, but instead, urges you, fuels you.

Lately, no matter how much shit I go through, how many arguments I tumble into, or how barren my dreams look sometimes, I don’t break down. And no, it wasn't always like this. I never even had aspirations to name two years ago. Six months back, it had become a night routine to cry. Not anymore.

Now, every setback and every failure only pushes me to be stronger and give more than I ever gave. The day I made the decision to Conquer (truly, madly, deeply, with all of my heart) was also the day I said a big, loud ‘fuck you’ to every resistance that was to cross my path. I had finally understood that life was nothing but a battle of WILLS, that it was all in or nothing, and I made up my mind once and for all to NEVER give in to depression, or to society, or to anyone who tells me I cannot make it.

I had conquered depression. There was no looking back now.

Takeaway:

Here’s something no one will tell you: the key to bringing depression to its knees is seeing it positively. Pretend that it's a friend continuously sending strong, aggressive signals urging you to be happy. And what do you do when a caring friend throws some holy light? You listen, push past your ego, and follow accordingly.

And if that parallel seems unconvincing, here's another one (sup, DJ Khaled. This post is turning musical, sorry): it's scared of you. Depression is scared shit of you. Y'know how bullies are, right? Majorly insecure, self-loathing too perhaps, hardly fans of self love, and always trying to numb all that subconscious pain by inflicting pain on others. Depression has the same instruction manual. Your fears and doubts are your (pathetic) bullies, and depression is the big ol’ crony who does the dirty work for 'em.

Whenever you decide shit this is it, I'm going for it, they go paranoid and try stopping you because they've seen no better. And if they succeed, BOOM, you're depressed, paralyzed, your qualms reigning over you again. Don't let them in. I'll say it a thousand times if I gotta because I want (HAVE) to see you conquer – you're so much stronger than you think you are. You can do so much more than you think. It's all in your head! Don't just sit there, click away, and go back to living a sad life. You’re better than that. DO better than that. You’re meant to freaking CONQUER, straight-up dominate, my pal. Pay heed to that voice craving freedom. You got this. And you better know it.

One thing’s fixed like the (beloved by all) proportionality constants in Physics, you will come across depressing mornings and sluggish evenings even in the future. I assure you. Lots o’ bad hair days in the calendar, sis. But here's what you’ll do: you'll deactivate the miserable thoughts, keep a cool head, remind yourself that this is yet another test (better, rap your new mantra) and USE that hurt, pain, and anger to create a fervor and passion that wreaks havoc on its obstacles and drives you to accomplish EVERYTHING you've ever wanted to do. The easy choice would be to just give up, bellyache about the situation, and want sympathy for your worries. Yet, what you'll never do is… exactly that.

Rule 1) NEVER give up. Stand your ground. Have faith in your strength. Know that you'll have your way soon enough anyway. Rule 2) NEVER complain. All it does is drain your energy, that precious fire you could to high jump your way into the clouds. Makes you a pathetic wimp too, definitely not something you want on a warrior’s resume. Lastly, Rule 3) NEVER seek validation. From anyone. It sure feels nice to be acknowledged and encouraged, but grasp this— this is your journey. YOUR life and YOUR vision. Validation won't get you anywhere, for there'll never be enough of it.

Cuz Marty, if you're tryna bring something new, different, and authentic into this world – you'll most likely be hated on badly, before you'll be loved madly (hi, me a rapper). Learn to invite hate instead—IMPORTANT: hate from others, not yourself. Sounds counterintuitive, but this is the real tea: hate is good. It means you're standing up for something, refusing to fit like a puzzle piece in society, and being UNAPOLOGETICALLY yourself. And it’s certainly a sign that you’re on the right path if you can ignore that hate and stick your tongue out at it.

Yet another reason to never seek validation is simply this: you have to fight for yourself. In order to meet your own expectations, reach the doorstep of the best version of you, and transform this world, you'll have to go wildly IN. Toil and hammer away. Shut out all the haters and non-believers, listening only to your gut. Importantly, learn to accept the rejection slips, validating yourself not with what Molly says about it being okay, but with the reminder that your time is coming soon. Depend on yourself. Validation will NEVER be enough.

I get it, it's a lot of homework, but perhaps you already realize that it’s THIS work that'll change your life forever. Not “how to not procrastinate, Jesus take the wheel” or “HELLO, life's a mess so here are ten things to do (you won't believe number four!)”. Clickbaits don't work, stop believing that a fancy planner is going to be your savior. There is no rule to making your life a masterpiece. You'll have to get to know yourself and your dreams (journaling, meditation, silent pondering), build the work ethics and the mentality needed (lots of work in this one, yet no strict framework to go about it) and GET GOING.

AND with that firework, I'll begin to slip away now. Again, I won’t say it’s easy, that’s cock and bull. Life’s no fairytale. You will never feel ready to start bringing your dreams to fruition. But, my darling (I’m being so nice yo, follow me), you must. You must force yourself to work for the future you want till it becomes a habit, an obsession. The world badly needs heroes; confident people who can stand for themselves so that others can stare at first, maybe even hate a little, but then follow because they seem unstoppable and are, truthfully, having the most fun at life. YOU'RE one of them. No validation, just plain facts.

You see, conquering is a LOT of blood and sweat (K-pop, anyone? BTS? Lmao, this is me tryna clickbait y'all to read). Even getting up will seem huge when you're just starting out, and this is one long road, dear pal. Still then, I have enough faith in you to hope you don't give into your fears, I hope you willingly chase discomfort, and I hope you find the courage to do all that you want to do, while that heart's still beating.

I hope you conquer. I'll do too, and I'd really like to see some familiar faces during the ride.

Peace, amigo.

A loud ass A/N: And now, we come the most important part of this post. WAKE UP Luke, stop snoring, and take some notes. Remember kids, I won't accept anything but an A.

If you couldn’t identify yourself throughout this post and currently are scoffing like um woman, that's not really why I'm depressed, hang in there a sec. Yes, you can stop singing It Ain’t Me now. You've a very nice voice by the way.

I'm not a doctor, and I don't have enough exposure to know why so many earthlings are depressed today. HOWEVER, by talking to many, following their stories, watching and reading stuff – I do know with firm conviction that a majority suffers from severe unfulfillment. Don't believe me? A study shows 85% of the working class worldwide hate their jobs. Do you realize what that actually means? EIGHTY-FIVE PERCENT of the THREE BILLION PEOPLE employed today, hate being employed in the first place! They do it for prime survival, to sustain themselves. And that's just jobs. I won't scare you, but 50% (yes, HALF, you heard that right) of students HATE going to school. Kids waste SEVEN hours of their life every day going somewhere they dislike, doing something they hate. Who's singing now?

People find themselves trapped in golden handcuffs, taking the paycheck despite the passionless job. They push aside the art and business they love, to become a slave of good ol’ cash. Several surround themselves with negativity and get frustrated when unable to escape the choking (no, not THAT kind again, hello someone pour holy water over this post) atmosphere. An innumerable are forced into taking up courses that they don't care about under parental pressure. The reasons are endless, and I don't think I'll amuse myself listing all the sad excuses.

This has always been the story. Hundreds of influencers have preached the same words I’m tryna put into your head here and you’ll yourself say you’ve heard this a million times. YET, you’re dissatisfied. YET, you feel like crap everyday, feeding yourself the same lie that the next day will be better, that you’ll get up tomorrow– while you let life beat the shit out of you.

That’s why, all of my words, everything you’ve read today - all of that boils down to just one single question. A difficult but necessary choice. Will you let this happen to YOU? Will you, seriously, even after this wild ride together, go back to doing nothing and being nothing? Will you, for real, continue deceiving yourself, sacrifice your happiness for the sake of pleasing everyone else, and remain a statistic on a website?

(play ♬) If you’re not sure of your answer, read: Look, making you feel guilty is not my intention, because that’s not how this works. I need you to understand instead. Guilt wears off, it’s only understanding that brings about change. So, just for old times’ sake, I’ll rant a bit more (ik, just can’t seem to leave y’all).

You’re so, so young right now. More than half of your life is yet to be experienced. None of this probably makes much impact right now but it will the day you die. Remember, on your deathbed, you won't EVER look back and say, “Damn, wish I'd spent more time at the office. Saved up just one more dollar. Could’ve got that promotion before Amy.” Nay, it won’t even be on the calendar. That day, one foot in the grave, you'll reflect and wonder why the heck you didn’t let yourself be happier. Why you took up that lacklustre, soul-sucking architect job when all you've ever wanted to do is keep laughing. Why you didn't ask your crush out, why you were so afraid to walk up to that audition, because dammit, you could’ve been running your own comedy show by now. Why you dragged around a karaoke machine all this time instead of singing your own song. Why you couldn’t love yourself. Why you submitted. Why.

And the moment you realize that you hadn't lived a life for you, you’ll be crushed. Broken. The arthritis in your grannie joints won't even compare and neither will the mild dissatisfaction you’re feeling right now. Those whys will haunt you, they'll terrorize you, break you. It'll hurt tremendously to know that there isn't a single thing in your long life that you could call completely your own.

With every death today so many dreams are left unachieved, crazy things left unchecked on the bucket list, and unique potential left unexpressed.

DON'T let that be you. Please. I'm still a mess myself, struggling to reach class on time and studying subjects that aren't exactly fun, when all I want to do is create content (read: fireworks) that is at a level of insanity, influence folks to do better, hold crazy world tours and meet-and-greets to give hugs, and get an adorable puppy so I can create a dogstagram (yes, I'm that mom). Sure, I could declare it's too hard, hang onto small-minded and negative people who whine endlessly, and follow the crowd, getting lost in it, with ease.

But I won’t because I can’t take the burden of those regrets. That painful unrest and discontent that nothing could cure, not drugs, alcohol, buddies, not even true love. For then I’d be just another drone, my controller in the hands of society, forcing me to see the world through its eyes. I can’t give in because I’m scared, terrified even, of wasting away this one life doing the bidding of others- folks who won't even notice when I’m gone.

It’s easy to be depressed and crib your entire life. It’s easy to think you’re worthless and that trying is pointless since nothing ever goes your way.

But perhaps, if you rise, if you simply DECIDE to have the audacity to fight for what you believe in, if you work and focus on becoming better, things will go your way. Life will bend to you, in awe, at your incredible relentlessness. Life will take one look at you, wonder who the fuck is this person? How the fuck are they so incapable of giving up? And back right away. And then perhaps, life will be such a blast for you that depression would become the past you never had.

I know you can get there, conqueror. It’s time you knew it too.

🌚🌝 Further reading? 🌝🌚

Last Post :— How To Get Back Into The Creative Process – For you, if you're in a creative rut. Get outta it and go create magic!

5 Reasons Why You're Unhappy — To help you identify & cut out CURRENT sources of sadness so that you can spice up yo’ life with some happiness instead. Definitely recommend reading AND implementing.

The Bubble Trap & How To Get Out Of It — One of my classics. Everyone is in one of these 'bubbles’ till they consciously do something about it; that's just how it is. Are you still in one? (Someone teach me marketing, lmao.)

The 5 Biggest Regrets of The Dying (from Greatist) — I LOVED reading this. Pretty much all you need to cut the crap and do meaningful stuff. Read it, memorize it, work it.

++ Want to request a blog post? Leave your request in my ask box! I'll get back to you with a reply, along with the average time I'll need to birth that magical idea.

Thanks for dropping by! It was a pleasure to have you around. If you wish to stick for a bit, I'd suggest picking one of the related posts mentioned above.

If you wanna check out my blog, here's a little something about me (y'all know I love the attention). What do I write about? Three arenas I dominate, Work, Lifestyle and Life, they are, my mate! Take your pick!

I post new blog posts bi-weekly, and my wins, & journal entries throughout the week, so follow me if you're into conquering life, leaving a legacy and being the baddest badass you can possibly be. I'll be your side pal, cheering you along.✨

And that was it, it's a wrap! Martha, shut the cams, Henry, pause the audio, and Nandita, I know you're pretending to be deaf, but Mom's yelling something about doing the dishes. Better skip along.

And you, fellow conqueror? Keep slaying life, doing the work and making it count. I hope you're well, stay strong and go conquer life. ✧

I'm sending you so much love, see you soon.

— Nandini 💌 (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡

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solerey · 5 years

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So, I just saw Rise of Skywalker for the third time, and I think I like it more overall each time...but also the things about it that do bother me bother me more each time.

Why is Chewbacca meekly walking up the ramp into that ship? Why is he not THROWING PEOPLE and ROARING and TEARING ARMS OFF and having a proper Cloud City Carbon Freezing Chamber-style fit? There should have been discarded stormtroopers lying all over that sand. They should have been electro-prodding, pushing, shouting, and dragging his furred ass into that ship. Most out-of-character moment in the entire new trilogy. No. I refuse to acknowledge this nonsense.

I really hope eventually we get to see whatever deleted scene happened between Rey and Kylo Ren’s duel on the Death Star and Leia dropping that communicator and staggering off to sacrifice herself. Because it’s just SO sudden and random. Also Leia deserved a better death in general...but I accept that they were limited in what they could do with the footage they had. So that isn’t something that bothers me so much as it just makes me SAD. But I still want the expository bit before it.

They could have cut the whole weird “not a Force Ghost” scene with Han and simply had Kylo Ren throw the lightsaber away. Would have gotten the same point across in less time, without the weird “is this a memory? a ghost? a hallucination? wtf?” thing they had going on there. I mean, I know that Adam Driver isn’t the best at emoting with his face, but that was a pretty simple concept, he could have pulled it off...

“We need to pull some Holdo Maneuvers!” Oh really? REALLY? We need to shove our heads up our asses for roughly eighteen hours while the enemy picks our ships off one-by-one and we do nothing, then pull a parry-of-two-widows on their biggest ship, leaving all our friends defenseless under the guns of the rest of their fleet while we go out in a blaze of idiotic and pointless “glory” that ultimately ends with almost 400 people dead as a result of our “clever plan” that was so clever and sensitive that we had to keep it a secret even from our own forces okay...but tell me, Meriadoc, how the FUCK is that relevant to what we actually need to do? Because it seems to me that the Ackbar Slash would be a much more useful strategic choice in that situation and oh yeah is in fact basically what Poe Dameron actually has them do. “Pull a Holdo Maneuver” my entire ass.

General Pryde: Use the ion cannons! Sith Fleet: fires all of their turbolasers and zero of their ion cannons. Me: why the hell didn’t you just re-record that line of dialogue? What’s the point of having him say “use the ion cannons” and then NOT USE THE ION CANNONS??

Speaking of the Sith Fleet...no. Too many ships. Stop. Go home JJ, you’re drunk. I’m not even talking about the feasibility of having that many ships (and people to run them???) built and staffed in secret and then hidden on an all-but-impossible-to-navigate-to planet (bet it’s fun bringing in supplies for those huh?) but even just the LOOK of the thing is ridiculous. It’s TOO many. This is the Death Eater army from Deathly Hallows all over again: instead of an “overwhelming display of force” it just looks silly. Stooooooop.

Who the fuck were the thousands and thousands of robed Sith Cultists? Where did they come from? Where do they LIVE? I mean I didn’t see a lot of arable land on Not-Korriban so it’s not like it’s going to be a self-sufficient community there; are they also being fed with the mysteriously convenient supplies brought in for the fleet? Who are all these people? Where did they come from, why are they here? Why are there SO MANY of them? So much for the Rule Of Two I guess. Also: once again it’s so many people that it just looks dumb. Dial it down a little, boys. Please. Would have been much cooler if they’d kind of wavered in and out of existence like they were a mixed crowd of living cultists and the spirits of dead Sith hmm?

If gravity no longer affects hyperspace in this new canon --because apparently it does not-- then why do the “gravity wells” of Exogol make it hard to navigate to? Can’t you just drop out of hyperspace right above the planet on the other side of all the nasty navigational hazards? I mean...I’m not saying I like that idea, but if that’s the world building you’ve decided to use.......

Also this isn’t something that bothered me--quite the opposite!--but it’s something I noticed the very first time I saw TROS but I wasn’t sure about until this third viewing when I looked very specifically and yep: Billie Lourd is not there in the Resistance Mourns Leia scene. And I just...yeah. Of course she’s not. Because that’s her mom. And that would be too fucking real. And I am fucking HEARTBROKEN guys okay? Okay. Thanks.

#rise of skywalker spoilers #tros spoilers #star wars spoilers #rise of skywalker #nicky does not liveblog Rise of Skywalker because she's not rude enough to take her phone out in a movie theater #so let's see how good her memory is lol #rian johnson salt #ooc ramblings

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catsundercherryblossoms · 6 years

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|Ch. 12: Thunderstorms| Her Forgotten Past //Attack on Titan Fanfic//

"What’s happening?" I asked. My voice was surprisingly delicate and high. Not to mention terrified.

We were in a... house? No, a loft. It was dim, poor, and bare with little to no furniture.

Violent threats were being shouted from outside. The door trembled from all the pounds it was receiving.

"Open the door!"

"Daddy, I'm scared!" I said, tears rushing down my cheeks.

A man hurriedly picked me up in his arms. His face was blurry... I couldn't distinguish any features whatsoever. All I could pinpoint was the deep, gravelly voice that issued from him as he held me tight to his chest. We rushed towards the only window in the loft.

"You're going to be okay. I promise. Dadda promises." He said, positioning himself on the edge of the open window. The street below was a landing we could never survive. "Now, hold on tight!"

Crash! The door broke down.

"There he is! Kill him!"

We jumped out the window.

I opened my eyes. The first thing I saw was the ceiling of my bedroom. My heart thumped like I had received a burst of adrenaline, even though I knew full well that I had been in bed sleeping this whole time.

Did I have that dream again? It must've been the same one as always. There were many similarities. Except, in greater detail.

I rolled over in bed. I hugged the pillow, not really awake but not really asleep either. I kept thinking about the dream.

'Daddy, I'm scared...' I remembered with a pang.

Dad? In the dream, I said that? Was that man my father?

What if this dream... this dream that's haunted my sleep for years... what if it's not a dream at all? What if it's a memory?

This whole time... has my subconscious been showing me my past?

BANG! The door to my room flew open.

"Wake up!"

I was already sitting up, rubbing the tiredness out of my eyes. "What is it? What's going on?"

Petra stood by the door, her face ashen and her eyes frantic. "Come quickly."

I didn't even bother putting on my uniform. All I knew was that something terrible had happened. It didn't take a genius to figure that out. Petra led me down the many corridors of the castle headquarters, going down several staircases until we arrived at the first floor. I kept looking this way and that way, trying to find any disturbance. But there was none. That's when I noticed she was leading me outside to the courtyard. Huh... isn't this where Hanji runs her experiments?

The problem was big. Big enough for anyone to see.

It was Titan-sized.

I joined the accumulating crowd. Through the steam, we all watched as Hanji made a complete meltdown of herself, screaming and crying in front of two Titan carcasses. All that was left were the large bones, and those were disintegrating also.

I spotted Eren and approached him.

"It's too early for this shit." I sighed, rubbing my arms due to the early morning cold. I was still in my pajamas.

A tender look donned Eren's face. He chuckled softly. "Here," he took off his cloak and held it out for me.

I looked at it up and down. Was he serious? "Gee... thanks." I smiled appreciatively. A warm sensation flooded my cheeks, and I hoped to hell that I wasn't blushing. Lately that's all I ever do when he's around.... it's stupid and I didn't understand it, but it had to stop.

I mean... it's not like I....

'Impossible, Johanna', I shook the theory away.

I immediately felt warmer the second I threw on the cloak. Without meaning to, I noticed it smelled... nice. Like boy. But good, clean-smelling boy.

Smells are hard to register, okay?

'I must be out of my fucking mind to be thinking of stupid shit like this... Get a grip!' I berated myself.

"So, what happened here?" I asked, trying to occupy my thoughts with something else.

"Those were her Titan subjects, Sawney and Bean. She talked to me about them endlessly last night. I didn't get a wink of sleep." Eren said, stifling a yawn. He held a troubled gaze as he watched Hanji continue to wail. "But they were like her children... and whoever killed them didn't exactly benefit humanity. Sure, maybe they had a craving for vengeance after what happened in Trost. But now all of Hanji's research has gone down the drain. Not to mention, it'll probably be years until the Survey Corps can replace them. They're not easily captured."

What he said enlightened me. It's certainly not what I expected to hear from him. I looked at the barely-there, steaming carcasses. "Hm... You're right. I guess I never thought of it that way." I then smirked. "She really did a number on you, didn't she?"

He sighed tiredly. "She wouldn't shut up. It's good to see things from her point of view, though. But, fascinating species or not, I still hate these bastards." He glared at nothing in particular.

"Same here." I said softly. Soldiers were now trying to calm Hanji, to no avail.

Who could've done this? Who could've deliberately punched the Survey Corps in the gut like this? Well, whoever the culprit is... it was a dirty move on their part. And I have a feeling an act like this won't go unpunished.

A hand gripped my shoulder and I jumped. It was Commander Erwin, the last person I expected to see. He was leaning between us, and I saw he had his other hand on Eren's shoulder too, creating a huddle.

"Take a look around..." he said lowly. "Who do you think the real enemy is?"

My pupils sharpened at such a staggering question. What the hell did he mean? Erwin Smith, commander of the Survey Corps, the brilliant mind always working to fight the titans, and he was asking us... who the real enemy is?

There was something unsettling about the way he said it. It made me uneasy. But most importantly, it made me question my worldview. It was such a ridiculous and obvious question. But maybe... that's the point.

Could he be implying that after all these years, we were wrong? The Titans aren't the real enemy? If so, then who is?

"My bad. Loaded question." He muttered, and with that, he walked off.

But Eren and I shared equally suspicious looks. We both knew the Commander was being perfectly intentional.

* * *

The rest of the day was spent learning the formation for the 57th expedition. It was a shock to everyone when Erwin announced that it would be very soon. Tomorrow, to be exact. Everyone was nervous, including me. I wasn't necessarily wary for myself, but instead other people. Seeing a couple deaths was a guarantee. There was no such thing as an expedition without casualties.

I needed to mentally prepare myself for the gore. Especially since I was placed in one of the most dangerous flanks. I would be seeing a lot slobbery, glassy-eyed titans. But I believe in my skills, so I should be fine. If worse comes, I'll defend the other soldiers too.

I was on my way to meet Eren at the stables when Hanji approached me out of nowhere.

"Hey!" She said cheerfully.

"Oh, hi. Sorry about your loss." I told her, although she didn't look mournful in the least. Not anymore. But then again, people have different methods of dealing with grief. So who am I to judge?

"Yeah, pretty tough. But I'll always carry their memory right in here..." She patted her chest wistfully, right over her heart. "Ah... I'm gonna miss seeing Sawney's foaming smile every morning as I sip my coffee. But anyways!" She suddenly exclaimed, making me jump. "I'm here because I need something from you."

That can't be good. I narrowed my eyes. "What do you need?"

"A blood sample, of course!" She took a needle and a small vial out of her pocket.

"Excuse me?"

"Oh, don't worry too much about it. It's just for your registration file. I had to take a sample of Eren's blood, too!" She said. "Now, give me your hand."

I hesitated, but figured the quicker I get this over with, the quicker I get to meet Eren to do stable work. I extended my hand and she pricked my index finger with the sharp needle. It barely hurt, surprisingly. She collected a red drop or two inside the vial and hurried off, practically running back inside HQ without saying so much as a goodbye. I shook my head and didn't think much of it.

"Hey," I greeted Eren in the stables. "Thanks for helping me. Just make sure Corporal Levi doesn't find out, or he'll be pissed."

"It's no problem. A whole month of stable work is too much for one person to handle." He said, shoveling manure into a trash bag.

I began replacing the old, weather-beaten hay in the stalls with new fresh loads for the horses to eat. These were the faithful animals that would be taking us on the expedition tomorrow. They needed to be well nurtured. As I worked diligently, I soon became lost in thought. Mainly about the dream- or memory- from this morning. It was still a mystery to me. And I don't like mysteries.

"Hey, Eren... this might seem weird and personal." I said, "but... what do you know about your Dad?"

He tilted his head, puzzled, and shoveled more manure. "You mean, what do I remember? Well, he was always very private. But besides the fact that he hid the secret to saving humanity in our basement, he was a good father. Most of the time he was on the road curing sick patients. He was the best doctor in Shiganshina, after all. But I was always happy when he came home. In those private moments, he wasn't Doctor Jaeger anymore... to me he was just Dad." He wore a sad smile. "Why do you ask?"

"Oh, nothing. It- It was a dumb question..." I shook my head lightly and focused on the work at hand. I've only ever talked about the dreams with Jean. I don't know if I'm ready to share them with another person.

"It's okay, you can tell me."

"I'm fine, I prom-"

"Johanna." He said pointedly. I could already sense the concern building up inside him, so strong that it made him frustrated when people didn't explain themselves right on the spot. I've seen it happen with Mikasa and I was seeing it happen now with me. It was a unique mix of emotions that only Eren could possess. But I knew it was cause he cared.

I sighed and gave in. "Well, you know I can't remember much of my past. Or anything at all, actually. The first memory I have is from when I was... nine years old, I think? I woke up under a bridge in Trost not knowing who I was or who my parents were, or what the hell I was doing there. I was mindless. The only thing I owned was a blanket with my name on it and the clothes I was wearing at that time. It was a dark period in my life. I was very lonely..." I petted a spotted, caramel horse's mane. "Then Jean found me and he took care of me. If it wasn't for him, I don't know what would've become of me..." my gaze hardened. "But I've always had this dream. It comes to me at random, usually when I'm in a deep sleep. And in the dream... there's this man. And he's promising me that everything will be okay. Then there's shouting and all sorts of noise, and people trying to break into our home- but the point is, Eren... I think that man is my father. And I think this so-called dream is actually a memory."

He seemed genuinely interested. "Do you ever see the man's face? The man you think is your father?"

I smacked my lips, irritated with myself. All the frustration and hopelessness that I've accumulated for years suddenly came back. "No. The memory is always too blurry. Dammit, if I could just remember!" Without thinking, I kicked over an empty bucket.

"Woah, woah! Relax. Hey... it's okay." Eren assured me, gently placing his hands on my shoulders. "Stuff like this has happened before. There have been many cases where people suffer an accident, hit their heads, and wake up with amnesia. Then there's also me... when I Titan shift and lose control I can't really remember- but anyways, we know you're not a Titan. You don't steam up when you get physically hurt." He let out an embarrassed chuckle, but quickly returned to being serious. "What I'm trying to say is... the fact that you're remembering fragments of memory in your sleep is good. That's progress. So don't beat yourself up about it. And if you ever need someone to talk to... I-I know we haven't been friends that long. But I'm always here if you need someone to listen."

Perhaps it was a trick of the shadows, but Eren's irises seemed even more breathtaking than usual. Anyone who's met Eren knows that a wildfire inhabits him, forever burning anything and anyone that comes within sight. But what everyone doesn't know is that whenever he looks at me, that fire seems to cool down significantly. Almost like he doesn't want to burn me.

Like he sees me differently from the rest.

I noticed it the time he hugged me on top of the wall. I noticed it when he caught me in his arms yesterday. And I noticed it this morning when he gave me his cloak.

And now, as we stood face-to-face, completely alone except for the horses, it was happening again.

Perhaps it was just my imagination... but Eren's face appeared to be getting closer to mine with each passing second...

"WOOO! GET SOME, EREN!"

I rolled my eyes. "Shut up, Connie." But quickly realized... "Wait, Connie?!"

Apparently, we weren't completely alone. We turned and saw, to my surprise and mild embarrassment, our 104th comrades standing at the entrance to the stables. What were they doing here? I vaguely remember the Commander mentioning that new recruits would be joining today, but never in a million years did I think this many would show up...

Eren and I hurried to greet everyone.

"Reiner!" I gave the tall and buff blonde a hug. Then I hugged Bertholdt. Or more like his stomach. Geez, the man seemed to only be getting taller and taller... "I thought you two were joining the MPs? What happened?"

Reiner took the lead and answered, as usual. "The MPs are overrated. A true soldier does his best to help humanity, right Bert?" He nudged his friend in the ribs.

Bertholdt shrunk a little, rubbing his side as though it hurt more than intended. Once again, Reiner had underestimated his own strength. "Y-Yeah," He sounded rather unsure, "a soldier..."

Its probably just anxiety... this is the Survey Corps, after all. Its not exactly a fun-fest... I thought. "So... Annie left, I suppose?"

Reiner nodded a little sadly. "Yeah... there's no convincing her. She's been a lone-wolf ever since day one. Always doing her own thing."

Of course. I was stupid for thinking she could've had a change of heart. Annie's one and only wish was to join the MPs. I'm not disappointed... or at least, I'm trying not to be. We could still write and send each other letters. But I would definitely miss her. That emotionless bitch... who knew I'd grow so attached to her?

I guess its just Reiner, Bert, and me now.

"Hey, um..." Reiner said lowly. His expression suddenly darkened. "What were you and Eren doing here together?"

I took a quick glance over at Eren, currently talking to Mikasa and Armin. "I got into trouble so I was assigned stable work. Eren was nice enough to help me." I said casually.

He watched Eren intensely. "Really? Funny, it seems he was trying to clean your face more than anything else."

"What do you-"

I felt a tap on my shoulder, interrupting me. I turned to meet the person and almost gasped. "Jean!"

It felt like ages since I last saw him. In reality, that wasn't the case. But still, it felt wonderful to hug him tightly again.

Except something was wrong.

Call it intuition or whatever... but the hug was lacking something. Yes, he was here. But something was troubling him. I just knew it.

I parted- practically pushed him away. I stared at him and waited for him to explain himself. Where was Jean? The overweening, bláse Jean that I knew wasn't the one hugging me back. No... That look he had on his face... was frighteningly mournful.

"What is it? What's wrong?" I was already one step ahead of him. It had to be bad news. Nothing could convince me otherwise.

"Oh, hey Jean." A voice came from behind me. It was Eren, and he was walking up to us. "So you joined too, huh?"

But Jean cut right to the chase. "Marco's dead."

Those two words grabbed everyone's attention. But I had a feeling they all had received the news already, and Eren and I were the only ones shocked at the moment.

Marco... his kind, freckled face popped into my mind, and it was hard to believe none of us would witness his gentle-hearted smile again.

"I'm so sorry, Jean." I said solemnly. "You knew him better than any of us, I can't imagine the pain you-"

"What are you saying? Marco's not dead..." Eren said rather harshly. That's when I saw the denial spreading across his face.

I sighed. "Eren-"

"You're just kidding around. Its just a sick joke, right?"

"I wish I could tell you he died heroically or nobely. But the truth is, we don't know how he went out. Nobody was there to see it." Jean said. "But how about you, Eren? I heard that when you Titan-shifted, you tried to kill Mikasa. Do you mind telling us what that's all about?"

"You're wrong!" Mikasa stepped in. "He was swatting away a fly, nothing ha-"

"I wasn't asking you." Jean said as gently as he could. But clearly, there was a grudge building up inside of him.

Eren lowered his head, disgraced. "Apparently, its true. I tried to kill Mikasa." He admitted.

"Apparently?" Jean said indignantly. "As in, you don't remember? So what you're telling me is you can transform into a fifteen-meter Titan at will, but when you do, you don't actually have full control over it?"

I expected Eren to stand up for himself, but it seemed he planned to take the criticism without argument. "Thats right." He said honestly.

Jean sighed through his nose, the vein in his forehead bulging. He then turned towards everyone else. "You see that, guys? What a fine situation this is. Our lives and the fate of all mankind rests on his shoulders. I'm guessing we'll probably end up like Marco, dead before Eren even knows it."

"Stop it. Whats the point in chastising him now? Just give it a rest." Mikasa piped up again..

Jean eased a little. It appeared he was growing tired of hearing the same old story coming from her. "Listen, Mikasa... Unlike you, the rest of us aren't willing to throw our lives away for him on a whim. We need a reason. The truth. We need to know what we're laying our lives down for. What we want is a guarantee from Eren. Show us what you're worth. Prove it to us. We're asking you to make us believe you're worth dying for." He turned to Eren sharply. For a moment there I could've sworn he was going to throw a punch, but I was pleasantly surprised to see him putting his hands on his shoulders, gripping them firmly. "Do you think you can do that? If you can, then we're with you. All the way."

Ah... there it was again. The courageous fire blazing in Eren's eyes was enough of an answer.

* * *

Later that night

Funny how nature's loud, booming sound can put a person on edge.

Another bolt of lighting struck down, its white light flashing against my bedroom curtains. I turned over in bed, quickly pressing my pillow against one ear, and awaited the thunder.

BOOM!

I trembled a little. I wish I could say it was from cold, but its better to face facts and admit... the weather has got me quite shaken.

It was midnight, and the thunderstorm didn't look like it would be stopping soon. I wondered how anyone else could sleep through this. Especially when it so closely resembled...

'No, don't think that way... thats just your mind playing tricks on you.' I sighed and turned onto my back again, staring up at the ceiling. I clutched the blanket I've had since childhood, the one with my name knitted beautifully in purple. I still sleep with it at night out of habit. But tonight, I doubt I would ever get some sleep.

'I guess it wouldn't hurt to explore...' I thought, knowing full well that this wouldn't help my case at all. There's an expedition tomorrow in which my life and other's might hang on the balance, and yet, I already knew the possibility of sleep was nonexistent. Not in this weather.

I got out of bed and took the blanket with me, leaving my room behind as I stepped out into the dark hallways, going nowhere in particular, simply where my feet would take me. Speaking of feet... I was barefoot. The floorboards were cold and hard against my every step. Strangely enough, the feeling of being barefoot was nostalgic. Which didn't make sense, since I don't know from where or what time. Perhaps it was just another one of those vague deja-vu's buried in the untapped parts of my brain, deep where the memories of my past struggle to surface...

I'm sick of living this way. I feel like I barely know myself. My true self. But I also don't see anything I can do about it. Maybe it'll get easier as I age. That is... if I don't die at the hands of a Titan first.

I stopped in the middle of a staircase heading down, and I looked around. Thunder continued rumbling outside, and lightning flashed against the nearest window. It seemed to be getting louder and more violent. Another crack of thunder echoed throughout the castle and I jumped. Crap... Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe I should've stayed in bed after all.

Dammit... where am I? I couldn't recognize my surroundings. Wonderful. Thats what I get for being too immersed in my thoughts... now I'm lost. Oh well, when in doubt, keep going down?

I arrived at the first floor, but not any area that I recognized. Was I in the east wing, or the north wing? Or maybe the south wing... I truly had no idea. I wandered the open space, the chilly draft raising goosebumps on my arms, and after what seemed like hours, I finally encountered a door.

About time... I thought exasperatedly. But when I opened it, all I felt was disappointment as a set of spiraling stairs heading downwards was revealed. Ugh, great... more stairs. Just what I needed. I descended two steps, but not before I realized something critical. Wait a minute... does this lead to the basement? Isn't that where Eren sleeps?

Ten minutes later...

I must be crazy. I must out of my damn mind... I thought once I reached the last step, finally standing on flat ground again. The hallway ahead of me was straight and narrow. There were also, to my misfortune, many doors. Maybe he's just as chicken as I am and he can't sleep either... I looked for Eren's room, which was technically a dungeon. This proved to be easier than I originally thought. I came to a stop at an oak-wood door. It had a tiny, medieval look-through window, the perfect size for a pair of eyes to peer through. And inside, I could see the faint glow of candlelight.

I leaned into the door too much. It creaked open and I jumped back. What, no lock?

I debated going in or not. He's the only person I know well enough to talk to. Otherwise, I wouldn't be here in the first place. Besides... this was Eren. Why was I so fidgety?

The floor was even colder now when I entered. I tiptoed around the dark. The candle burning in the corner struggled to keep its flame alive, barely allowing me to see where I was going. Worst comes to worst, I'd ram straight into his bed and fall on top of him. And then... Well, then I would have some serious explaining to do.

I stubbed my toe on something and felt a sharp pain. "FUCK!"

"Wha- Who's there?" Eren's alert voice called out into the darkness.

Seconds of awkwardness, which I'm sure must’ve been full of confusion and fright for him, settled between us as he struggled to light a new candle. When the wick blazed with a bright, newborn flame, the room was still dimly lit. But good enough to see.

Eren was in his bed, disheveled and wearing a set of plain white pajamas. "Johanna?" He said, beyond surprised. He watched as I hopped around on one foot, grimacing. "What are- What time- I have so many questions..."

"Sorry, sorry. I know this is stupid. I didn't mean to wake you," I sighed and shook my head. "Don't get the wrong idea. I never meant to- You know what? I should just go." I turned towards the door, clutching my blanket in my hands tighter than ever now.

"Wait! Are you having trouble sleeping? Is that why you're here?" He asked.

I stopped defeatedly. I'm already in too deep... why lie myself out of this one? I didn't see the point anymore.

"Yeah." I admitted, and turning slowly, I stood at the end of his bed. I kept my eyes focused on everything in the room except him, embarrassed. "The thunder kept me awake. It, um... It sounded too much like titan footsteps. But down here is nicer, I guess. Its not as loud." I finished just as another boom of thunder announced itself. It crackled and echoed, but the sound was slightly muffled now, thanks to the depth of the basement. And yet... it still scared me anyway.

He rubbed his bloodshot eyes sleepily, a smile tugging the corner of his mouth. "Well, you can always sleep with me, if that'll make you feel be- Wait, no! Sorry let me rephrase that..." He laughed nervously. "You can sleep next to me. There's space here. Anyway, given how small you are, I'm sure this'll be enough room..." He shifted to the side.

Despite that last part, I raised a brow interestedly. "Really?"

"Sure, why not?"

Hesitant, I approached the side of the bed and sat down. Stupidly, I felt as if I were testing rough waters. I carefully laid down and turned onto my side facing him, getting comfortable. He threw the sheets over both of us and laid down.

Another rupture of thunder. I flinched a little.

"Hey, its okay." His voice was smooth as silk. "I'm here."

My head sunk into the pillow and all the tension in my muscles relaxed. Weirdly enough, the thunder didn't seem so scary anymore.

"Hey, Eren?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

* * *

"Congratulations. Its a match."

End of chapter 12

#Eren Jaeger #eren yeager #eren x oc #levi ackerman #levi heichou #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #snk #aot #anime #herforgottenpast #aot fanfiction

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fabermemorialrink · 7 years

Text

some mistake, part 5

When exactly is something going to happen in this story, you may ask. Soon, but the pacing will be super weird, I tell you. In other news, to answer a question that I am too dumb to understand how to tumblr-reply to, this story isn’t yet on AO3 because it’s very unfinished, but hopefully someday I’ll get it together! Thanks for reading so far!!

Derek’s first year at Phillips Andover finally draws to an end, and it's as he’s locking his dorm room closed that he takes a deep breath and decides that yes, he's got this. He can make it through the next three years.

Summer passes in a blur of lazy days spent lounging at the Met trying to find inspiration for his summer writing assignment and hot afternoons on the balcony looking out on the city. Derek rides four different airplanes and swims in two different oceans; he visits family down the east coast for the Fourth of July and hits up Chowder in early August to see all the local sights in the Bay Area. Chowder takes him to San Francisco where they walk along the wharf and gawk at fish at the aquarium. He drinks milk tea full of custard and eats enough egg tarts to last a lifetime. They go surfing and Derek manages to trip while underwater, causing Chowder to go into heroic lifeguard mode even as he's shrieking barely censored profanities in alarm. C helps him pick out a tiny orange crab keychain for Dex that Derek wraps protectively under several layers of tissue paper.

Derek returns to New York to hang out with his parents before their schedules de-sync again. Mama takes him to the ballet while the other two are busy. He goes with Mom to Central Park where they eat ice cream and people-watch for an entire day. Dad decides they should try a glassblowing class together while he's not needed for a few blessed days at the company. Derek makes a clear paperweight with a golden-red heart, like a flame suspended in crystal. It's pretty and pointless and it makes him think of Dex, who'd hate to know what Derek's comparing him to. He wonders what Dex is doing for the summer. Is he working somewhere else, or still doing his odd jobs in the forest? Derek can imagine him working in a hardware store half the week and on the docks for the other half, plus baby-sitting duties on top of it all. Dex has never talked about his family, but he seems like he would have siblings. Derek's never asked if Dex is home-schooled, though he suspects it might be the case. Why else would he have so much time to spend in the woods? He figures he'd have learned by now if Dex went to Andover High. Maybe he attends the technical school in town?

There are a lot of things he still doesn't know about his best friend. It's sad, he realizes as he watches sunset dip into twilight over the skyline. He knows little things, like Dex's favorite cookie and that he likes all bugs except mosquitoes, and that he knows how to ask for a glass of water in French and Russian. He knows that Dex is afraid of the undertow in one of the forest's brooks, and that he has a collection of odds and ends that's been bestowed upon him by the forest crows (which Derek maintains is the most YA protagonist shit that he's ever heard of).

But none of the big stuff. Where Dex lives, what his parents do, how many siblings he has. What his hobbies are and what his dream job was when he was a little kid. Whether he's ever broken a bone or his favorite Halloween costume or the first person he gave a real valentine's card to in middle school. Who he is when he's not with Derek. Who he is when he's not in the woods.

Derek doesn't even know Dex's real name.

That's a part of the rules though. Derek knows that, but it doesn't stop him from wanting.

Early at the start of sophomore year, Derek finally takes Chowder into the woods with him. Chowder waffles between being excited to meet Dex after so long and wary of all the rumors that still float around the school.

“Do you think Dex knows about all the ghost stories?” he asks as they trek across the field. “Do you think he’s ever seen a ghost?”

“Even if he has, he probably wouldn’t admit it to me,” Derek says. It seems like the kind of thing Dex would remain tight-lipped about. Dex can talk for hours with Derek about fly fishing and carnivorous plants and the nitrogen cycle, but important subjects like Dex’s birthday and rumored exorcisms have him clamming up before Derek can even think of an objection.

“Maybe he’s shy because he thinks we won’t take him seriously! Nursey, you’ve gotta tell him that I won’t laugh at him. I mean, unless he does something hilarious. He sounds like a funny guy.”

Derek isn’t sure where exactly Chowder got that idea from, but Chowder does have a hidden streak of schadenfreude under his naturally caring personality. He and Dex probably have that in common. Derek’s been chirped enough times by both of them for injuring himself whilst just trying to live his life.

Shit. What if they get along too well? Not that Derek’s jealous or anything. He just doesn’t wanna get ganged up on by these two terrors.

They enter quietly, with Chowder making a suppressed fuss over every cool thing they see. Derek brings him to his hollow tree, where they huddle together trying to listen for ghosts, or birds, or any other sign of life. Nothing appears, as always, so they lie there trying to decide if they should take digital photography or sculpture next year.

“But think of how sick it would be if you woke up and were like, ‘oh I sure would like some wheaties-’”

“C, wheaties, really?”

“ ‘-wow am I glad I can eat out of this mad awesome bowl I made in sculpture with my buddy Chowder!!’” Chowder’s New York accent is so exaggerated it warps into Jersey, Appalachian, and leprechaun by the time he's done.

“Okay, but consider this: you, fifteen years in the future, sitting at your desk coding or some shit. You look to your right, it's to a stunning framed photo of your beautiful spouse and your beautiful kids. You look to your left and see a gorgeous photo of yours truly that you keep on your desk to remind you of what a hella cool idea it was to let me convince you to take photography!”

“Pretty convincing, but why does ‘hella’ always sound so wrong coming from your mouth?” Chowder ponders, which is when Dex pokes his head into the hollow and observes them needling each other about regional slang, Chowder starting to put Derek in a headlock.

“Yeah, I think I'm gonna go,” Dex says blandly, ducking back out as Derek tries to pinch behind Chowder’s knees.

“No, wait, hold up,” Derek gasps out as Chowder lets him slip free. He falls to his knees, about to introduce them to one another when Chowder releases him like deadweight and springs to his feet outside the tree.

Chowder opts for a wave at the same moment that Dex reaches for a handshake, and they wind up swaying their hands around in that dance of indecision, until they settle on some sort of awkward introductory fistbump mush. Derek clears his throat to pretend he isn't laughing. Without further delay, Chowder jumps right into his spiel, full speed ahead.

“Hey, Dex! Nursey’s told me all about you. You can call me Chowder! I know you have these, um, special rules, but I swear I won't break them, so I hope we can be friends too. Not to pressure you or anything! Acquaintances is fine! People in casual acknowledgment of each other, or whatever! It's all good!”

He finishes by tossing up his arms in a mix of declaration - here I am! the famed chowder! - and apology, which Dex watches with a sort of baffled fascination in silence. He looks somewhat overrun, Chowder drops still after his stream of crescendoing words, and Derek has flip-flopped from being afraid they'd like each other too much to being terrified they won't like each other at all.

But Derek’s told Chowder all the rules before, made him promise to remember every single one or Dex would blow his fuse and murder them both, and it pays off, because all Dex does is take a deep breath before meeting Chowder’s greeting with his own slightly flabbergasted one.

“Hey...Chowder. Nursey talks about you all the time. But I didn’t realize you were, uh. So exuberant?” Dex scratches at the base of his skull, watching Chowder like he might solve him if he looks long enough.

“Oh my god, it’s too much, isn’t it? Shit, sorry, I know, I know, I'm way too excited, but like, Nursey’s my closest friend here? I still feel like the ‘new guy’ with everyone else, and you’re his best friend, and I just thought it’d be ‘swawesome if we could also be...something? I should just shut up, sorry-”

“No! No, ch- calm down,” Dex says, biting back the ‘chill’ that Derek is positive he was about to let slip. Derek cackles internally, expressed as a smirk, and Dex glares at him before continuing. “You’re fine. I just don’t hang out with people much. Besides this guy,” he says, jerking a thumb and Derek, and how he manages to make it sound both fond and contemptuous is impossible to understand. “I need to adjust, but it’s not a big deal. You're kind of refreshing.”

Chowder goes from raincloud to solar flare in under a second, beaming at Dex so brightly that the redhead staggers momentarily under his light. “Really? I mean, since you mostly talk to Nursey, and he’s a huge dork-”

“What,” Derek interjects.

“-I mean, I love him and all, but…”

Chowder stops to give him a pointed look, which Dex notices with a stifled laugh, and he claps C on the arm.

“Yeah, I know,” he says, the lines of his frame finally loosening up. “I’m with you on that one.”

Derek eyes them suspiciously. “Yo, are you two just here to slander my name, or-”

“Oh! I brought you a burrito!” Chowder interrupts, swinging his backpack around to present his prized offering to Dex, who accepts it with an unholy gleam in his orange demon eyes.

Chowder had wanted to bring a gift for their “host” because it’s only polite, and Derek has learned by now that Dex, despite being a self-professed unadventurous white American, will eat basically anything Derek offers. Junk food, spicy food, vegan food; “anything but bugs” seems to be the general rule. Regardless of his height and a fair amount of muscle from what Derek can make out under Dex’s loose flannels, Dex’s poor dietary choices can't be doing him any favors.

“Wow, thanks,” he says blankly, trying to absorb the burrito through its foil wrapper with his stare.

“Go ahead; we’re down to chill while you eat,” Derek says, and Dex tears into it, dropping to sit up against the roots of Derek’s tree. He's toting a canvas bag that he dumps in favor of food.

“What's in the bag?” Derek asks.

“Garbage,” Dex replies. “No, seriously, I was picking up litter,” he says when Derek tries to sneak a peek after that unsatisfying answer. True to Dex’s word, there's nothing but wrappers and styrofoam and cigarette butts.

“Whoa, that's great! Nursey says you’re really into nature and science, but I didn't know you were such an environmentalist!” Chowder, squatting next to Dex, bounces on his heels.

“It's not quite like that,” Dex says, words only a little muffled by all the food he’s crammed in. “I'm not planning to study this at college or anything, but- it's just something I do. I take care of the forest.” He scrunches his mouth on one side as he tries to find the words; Chowder waits patiently until he starts explaining. Both of their hands soon join in the conversation as Dex gives Chowder an overview of what he does in the woods all day. Derek watches as they string together movement and sound, orchestrating words with every sweep of their arms. There’s poetry in it, but Derek is content to let the words flow through him without trying to capture them.

He lets them talk without giving much input, happy to sit back and see where things go. Around him, the forest is quiet and light, an island of respite from outside. Conversation between the other two runs easy, a comfortable air already settling around them, and Derek lies down to rest his head on Chowder’s shin. He feels almost completely at ease.

He doesn't realize he's dozed off for a short while until he’s woken by the sound of his name from Dex’s mouth.

“Y’know, I'm, uh- I’m glad Nursey has you at school. He was- I think his first semester was hard for him. But you’re actually normal and nice, unlike all those dyed-in-the-wool old money jackasses. And me, who lives in the fuckin’ woods.” Dex’s voice is wry, but truthful, and Derek studiously keeps his eyes shut so Dex doesn’t stop talking. It feels slightly disingenuous to be listening in like this, but when else will he get the chance to enjoy Dex being the secret sap that he is?

Chowder, perfect as he is, hasn’t moved at all since Derek passed out on his leg. He keeps his legs still, though Derek can feel that his upper body must be moving as he speaks. “No, you're super cool! Living like a book character from one of those outdoorsy survival books like The Hatchet? And you're really nice too!”

“I’m really not,” Dex says around a smile; Derek can tell as much even with his eyes shut.

“Even better, then,” Chowder declares. “It's good to have at least one friend who’s kind of a dick.”

Dex’s laugh slips out, raucous and surprised, and Derek bites his lip to keep from laughing himself. “That's a role I can play,” Dex replies warmly, and for the first time in his life Derek is truly, legitimately glad he came to Andover, if only for the chance to meet these two.

With a loud yawn Derek visibly rouses, stirring on Chowder’s shins. He meets Dex’s upside-down gaze and crosses his eyes even though it makes him dizzy, just to see the way Dex’s mouth twitches as he raises an eyebrow.

“Good nap?” Chowder asks.

“Of course; you're the best pillow I could ask for,” Derek replies, and both his friends snort.

“Don't sugarcoat it, Nursey. I know I'm all bones down there,” C says, nudging Derek with his knee to drive the point home. “Good thing you woke up. I was just about to ask Dex for camping tips! He lives in the woods, you know. Oh, you probably do know - have you seen his house before?”

Derek, stretching his arms wide enough to almost punch Dex in the side, finally lifts himself off Chowder as he tells him, “C, he doesn't actually live in the forest. He just spends like 85% of his time here.”

“Ha, yeah, what he said,” Dex says hurriedly, taking another bite of his burrito. “This is really good; thanks, C,” he mumbles, cramming the rest in and tossing the tin foil ball into his rubbish bag.

Chowder goes supernova when he notices Dex using Derek’s nickname for him, and dives into an extended analysis about the burrito places he's encountered so far in the northeast, and how they can never compare to the ones back home. Dex, used to Derek’s rambling, impassioned treatises about food, flashes him a knowing smile and settles in to listen.

When sunset draws close, Dex walks them to the field. Derek stays behind a minute to dig up a few pieces of trash Dex didn’t notice: glass shards and what looks like a crumpled dryer sheet. Carefully, he wraps the glass pieces so he doesn’t cut himself and jogs to catch up with C, who is saluting Dex goodbye and starting to walk swiftly backwards out from the trees.

“Hey, wait for me,” Derek calls, but Chowder shakes his head, yelling back, “I’m not gonna get stranded in pretzel prison again!” as he hustles across the grass at an alarming rate while waving at Dex.

Derek resists the urge to pull a face, but Dex notices his displeasure anyway, asking, “Pretzel prison? What the heck is that?”

“Team movie night. Coach always buys these unsalted wheat pretzel sticks and someone gets stuck with the responsibility of eating them. Usually it’s last one through the door; C learned this the hard way.” Derek wrinkles his nose, then gets an idea. “Hey, you wouldn’t happen to-”

“I’m not going to pretzel prison for you, Nursey.”

“Weak.” Dex bats Derek’s thumbs-down away, his face a ruddy pink. Odd. “Why do you look like a Valentine’s Day candy display?”

“Shut up, that’s why.”

“Ooh, nice burn,” and when Dex just rolls his eyes, Derek decides it’s time for his customer satisfaction survey. “So, um, Chowder’s cool, right? You guys had a lot to talk about.” A flutter of worry lands on his chest at the thought of them somehow hating each other, regardless of any evidence saying otherwise.

“Yeah, he’s really- uh, he’s great. How do you handle it? He’s so...dazzling,” Dex hisses. He looks overwhelmed still, a tinge of pink on his cheeks. He keeps glancing away from Derek to return another little goodbye wave to Chowder, who's shuffled backwards quite a ways on the soccer field, waiting for Derek despite his fear of low-sodium snacks. Dex’s gaze won't hold for long though, and keeps skittering back to rest safely on Derek, who doesn't make him act like a shifty corner dealer. Suspicious.

“Holy shit, you have a crush on Chowder,” Derek accuses when he realizes the truth.

“I don't have a damn crush-”

“Your face is fluorescent pink right now, you liar-”

The color only worsens. “He gave me a hug, okay? I haven't hugged anyone in years, and he's good at it, so sue me.” Dex’s choppy robot arm movements aren't doing him any favors. “And you know I turn red at everything; it doesn't mean anything, Jesus.”

“Years?” Dex's family must not be big on physical affection. “You should've told me. I could hug you.”

“Why the hell would you hug me?”

Derek fixes him with his sternest frown. “You're clearly hug-deprived; it's my duty to fix that.”

“It's really, really not. Stay back, Nursey, don't you come any cl- aaaurgghhh!”

It's unintentional, of course, but when Derek latches on for a hug and unavoidably knocks them to the ground, Dex lands in a painful heap on a cluster of roots and rocks, and he groans miserably into Derek’s shoulder.

“Shh, shh, there there. I'm here now.” Derek uses one hand to pet gently at Dex’s hair; Dex wriggles anemically in his grasp for a moment before sagging into the ground, his face still buried in Derek’s shirt. He’s solid under Derek’s weight, all his sharp corners leaving Derek comfortably uncomfortable.

“Thanks. Now please leave.”

Derek already knows he’s going to be turned down, but he can’t help asking on the off chance that one day Dex decides to accept, so as they walk to the treeline he asks, “You sure you don’t wanna come crash movie night? We’re watching Toy Story 3. It’s supposed to be incredible.”

“They made a third one?” Dex looks pleasantly surprised, but he shakes his head. “You know me; I’ve got wood to chop and fires to extinguish. Maybe next time. Good luck on your math test tomorrow.”

Maybe next time is better than all the other previous rejections. Someday perhaps it’ll become a yes.

“Alright, Smokey Bear. I’ll save you some pretzels.”

By the time Derek catches up with Chowder, Dex has retreated back into the forest, but Derek is left pondering one glaring oddity about his friend that he’s wondered about before.

It’s been over a year, but Derek has never seen Dex cross the treeline before. At the very most, Dex will linger right at the edge of the wood, but Derek has never seen him step foot on the soccer field. That, he could attribute to some kind of superstition, but what he really wants to know is...

Does Dex actually live in the woods somewhere?

His stories - the ones about Bitty the baker and his boyfriend J, about Lards and Cam and April and the party girls - mostly seem to happen in the woods. Could it be that they all reside in some kind of wilderness commune?

Dex talks more about his friends than his family, and Derek would assume that Dex just has a shitty home life, or terrible parents, but the few times he does mention them in passing during vague anecdotes of his childhood, he always sounds fond. Sometimes he seems envious of the good relationship Derek has with his parents, but as if he misses them. Maybe his parents passed, or there's some other complicated situation with his folks, but Derek doesn't know how to ask without making Dex feel trapped and on edge, so he continues to keep his mouth shut and wonder about all the sad possibilities.

Because there are times he wants to ask more, wants to press his luck and tell Dex, hey, you're my best friend and I'm here for you; you can tell me anything. Like when Derek asks why Dex has such strong feelings about the fishing industry, or where he grew up, because sometimes his inflection and the draw of his vowels doesn't quite match any of the Massachusetts accents Derek’s used to.

Or when Dex traces those three letters on his hatchet, KAP, and his eyes go dark and wistful before shuttering when he notices Derek watching.

But Derek is patient, and if he needs to wait a lifetime until Dex is comfortable enough to tell him all his forest-kept secrets and the memories he holds close to his heart, then he will. He will wait until they're both ready.

#nurseydex #nursey #dex #chowder #omgcp fic #some mistake #hey i love the frogs

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ace-beef · 7 years

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The Young Ones monster!AU

Title: The Young Monsters Words: 2,818 Rating: T – Swearing and some violent/graphic content Description: AU where everything is the same except each member of the Young Ones is a monster of some form. Most people of this world are human, but they are aware that monsters exist and to see an angry werewolf chasing a terrified vampire down the street, screaming in a wolfish growl that the vampire was a virgin, was a completely normal and everyday sight. Contains a small hint of Rivyan.

“Vyvyan! You utter BASTARD! You’re using my ketchup on your cornflakes again!” Rick shouted angrily, pointing at Vyvyan with a pale, shaking finger. Vyvyan, who was sat at the kitchen table, rolled his eyes and turned in his seat to glare at Rick.

“Why does it matter? Why do you even have ketchup in the first place? You don’t even eat human food!” Vyvyan shouted back.

“He does have a point there, Rick,” Mike said coolly. He was sat at the end of the kitchen table, reading a newspaper. Rick’s pale face contorted through a mixture of emotions: rage, sadness, confusion, until it finally settled on his usual angry, childish pout.

“Well…maybe sometimes I like to feel human. I wasn’t always dead y’know,” Rick said awkwardly, shuffling on the spot and picking at his nails. Vyvyan didn’t know however, so he aggressively threw the bottle of ketchup at Rick’s head. Luckily for Rick, being a vampire meant that he had ridiculously quick reflexes, so quick that he could duck under the ketchup that had been thrown by a ridiculously strong werewolf. The bottle whizzed over his head at lightning speed and shattered against the far wall, splattering ketchup all over the wallpaper. Mike sighed.

“Now look what you’ve done. Rick! It’s your ketchup, you clean the wall,” Mike ordered, glancing up briefly from his newspaper with yellow eyes. Vyvyan snickered.

“WHAT?!”

“Yeah, Rick! Your ketchup, your mess!” Vyvyan said, a smug grin on his acne-covered face as he stuck up two fingers at Rick.

“But that’s not fair! I wasn’t the one who threw it!” Rick cried. He stomped his foot on the floor in anger, his hands clenched into tight fists and his arms pinned to his sides; behaving like a stroppy toddler. Mike looked up from his paper again to fix Rick with a stern stare. Rick tried to hold his nerve, his eyes flickering with a crimson spark, but he eventually buckled under the tiefling’s glare and sheepishly went to find a cloth and some soap.

At that moment, they heard the familiar sound of cloven hooves rushing down the stairs. Mike sighed once more and rolled his eyes, waiting for the satyr to start telling them about something that was apparently important. Vyvyan began to tuck into his ketchup-covered cornflakes and Rick started to grumpily mop up the ketchup on the wall.

“Guys! Guys!” Neil said, waving his arms about as he clopped into the kitchen. None of them seemed to notice him, but he continued anyway. “My guitar has gone missing!”. Mike looked up from his paper and turned his yellow eyes on Neil, who was standing in the middle of the room. He looked like he was about to cry.

“What was that, Neil?”

“My guitar has vanished,” Neil moaned. At this comment, Vyvyan perked up.

“Oh yeah, I remember now. Rick hit me over the head with it after I called him a poof,” Vyvyan said calmly, with a mouthful of cornflakes. Neil frowned in confusion, turning around to face Rick, who stopped cleaning the wall and spun round to glare wide-eyed at Vyvyan.

“That’s not true! You hit me over the head with it yesterday during one of your ‘pre-full moon mood swings’,” Rick spat, pointing at himself and bending forwards slightly when he referred to himself. Neil’s expression turned into one of confusion.

“Is that tonight Vyv?” Neil asked, turning back to Vyvyan who nodded. “But still, man, breaking my guitar is really uncool and heavy. It helped me communicate with nature.” Vyvyan rolled his eyes.

“God, you satyrs, you lot are such hippies. You have this dumb thing about talking to trees and nature,” Vyvyan sneered, turning his attention back to his cornflakes.

“Yeah Neil, you weirdo!” Rick added, trying to turn the attention back to himself and grinning smugly. Neil pouted and took a seat on a sofa in the living room miserably. Once seated, he lifted a leg up and preoccupied himself with checking his hooves. Vyvyan’s head snapped up after Rick made his comment and glared at him.

“Shut up Rick! It’s still your fault, you bumbag!” Vyvyan yelled. Rick’s grin was quickly wiped off his face and replaced with a mixture of shock and fury.

“How is it my fault? You hit me with it!” Rick protested, taken by surprise.

“You were in the way to get hit! If you hadn’t have been standing there I wouldn’t have broken it on your head!” Vyvyan argued back. Rick was visibly shaking with anger, the childish pout returning to his face and his eyes once again flashing with a crimson spark.

“But YOU made the decision to pick up Neil’s guitar! You could have hit me with anything else in this house!” Rick shouted, throwing his hands up in the air.

“There was nothing else around to break! Except your virginity, but I’m not touching that with a 10ft barge pole!” Vyvyan said, standing up from the table and trying to hide his smirk. He loved winding Rick up, and to get him to the point that his eyes were turning red, Vyvyan knew that he was ready to explode. At the ‘virgin’ comment, Rick had just about had it with the annoying punk; Mike saw what was going to happen and calmly stood up and took his newspaper outside into the back garden, making an exasperated sigh as he went. Neil also hastily vanished from the room by dashing upstairs…he expected things to turn violent and this time he didn’t fancy being picked up.

“Vyvyan…we’ve had this discussion before…I am NOT A VIRGIN!” Rick’s voice was at first calm and quiet, but by the end of the sentence he was screaming at the top of his voice. With this shout, Rick dropped the ketchup-stained cloth and leaped forwards at Vyvyan, large, dark wings sprouting from his back, the whites of his eyes turning black and his iris’ turning dark red. Vyvyan grinned menacingly, and casually stepped to the side of the furious vampire, causing Rick to crash face-first onto the kitchen floor. Vyvyan looked down at Rick, his grin turning smug.

“Yeah, and at the end of that discussion, you ended up agreeing with me. You even had a sign round your neck!” Vyvyan said. Rick jumped up from the floor, his large black wings curled round slightly, turning his furious red and black eyes to the grinning Vyvyan.

“That was only to make you shut up! You had a large gun pointed at my head!” Rick spat, wide eyed and shaking slightly. Vyvyan thought back on the memory fondly, before turning his attention back to the grumpy vampire, a sly smile creeping up his face.

“Ah HA! So you’re saying that you are a virgin, eh Rick?” Vyvyan crowed.

“Uh? Wha-a NO! That’s not what I’m saying at all!” Rick spluttered, before jumping forward once more to lunge at Vyvyan’s self-satisfied face. Vyvyan caught Rick by the shoulders and shoved him back down to the floor and Rick landed painfully on his tail-bone.

“Ow! My bottom!” Rick said, whimpering, his black wings shrinking away. His eyes were still the angry colours of black and red as Rick looked up at Vyvyan with a pout and tears beginning to form in his eyes. When Rick saw Vyvyan, he knew that he was in big trouble.

Vyvyan had begun to change into his werewolf form, as it often happened when Vyvyan wanted to have the upper hand in a fight or an argument. The fur came first, sprouting from his skin and growing at a rapid rate. Then his body began to contort as his legs and arms stretched, and he could only comfortably stand on the balls of his feet. Nails lengthened into tapering claws and teeth enlarged and sharpened. Vyv’s jaw jutted out into a snout as his ears stretched backwards and became more wolf-like. Soon Rick was looking up at a nearly 7ft tall, chestnut-coloured and yellow-eyed werewolf, which amusingly still had Vyvyan’s signature haircut and silver forehead studs. The werewolf grinned, showing many long and pointed teeth. Rick cried in fear and scrambled to his feet before quickly sprinting out the door. Vyvyan roared loudly and chased after the frightened vampire.

“Someone help me! I’m about to be eaten alive by this werewolf!” Rick screamed as he sprinted at a human pace down the road. Passers-by took a short glance at the commotion before ignoring it completely. This happened all the time, one would be chasing the other, the only difference being what form they were in. Sometimes a werewolf would be chasing a vampire, other times it would be a human chasing another human. Whatever form Rick and Vyvyan had chosen for their daily arguments, the surrounding neighbours didn’t care about their petty quarrels, just as long as they ended them quickly and didn’t cause too much damage.

After realising that, once again, nobody was going to help him, Rick picked up the pace into superhuman speed and spied the graveyard where they had nearly buried Harry the Bastard. His face lit up as he leapt over the fence and landed face-first in the mud, rolling to an uncomfortable halt. He quickly staggered back to his feet and scrambled up a tree, black wings once again sprouting from his back. Rick giggled childishly as he watched Vyvyan leap over the fence and land with ease and proceed to look around, appearing to have lost the vampire. A chestnut ear twitched in the direction of Rick’s giggling and the angry wolf head soon followed, snapping its head towards the direction of the sound.

“Come back and face me you virgin!” Vyvyan growled, his normal voice now distorted and gravely as he glared up at the frightened vampire with sharp yellow eyes, mouth spreading into a wide monstrous grin. Rick squealed and flapped his wings, leaping away to the top of another tree in the graveyard. He flapped about clumsily, rustling and shaking just about every branch he came into contact with as Vyvyan watched on in amusement as Rick struggled to become airborne. Rick was fairly new to this whole vampire business and he still hadn’t quite got the hang of his new superhuman abilities yet.

Vyvyan, somehow in all of the commotion, lost sight of Rick in the thick foliage of the trees but he could still hear him crashing about. Pointing his ears in the direction of the racket, the werewolf followed, hopping over graves and around tombstones with very little effort. Suddenly there was a loud crash, a thud and a cry of pain. Vyvyan chuckled to himself as he made a beeline towards Rick, who was lying face first on the floor, limbs spread out like a starfish.

The werewolf reached a clawed hand to grab the scruff of the vampire’s neck when something caused him to hesitate, maniacal grin fading. Rick hadn’t made any effort to move or to stand up and was still spread out on the floor. He was sobbing, face pressed into the muddy earth.

“Why can’t you just leave me alone Vyvyan? It’s hard enough trying to learn how vampires work without your constant prodding and poking! Can’t you just leave me alone and bother someone else for once?!” Rick cried, still facing the ground and taking deep shuddering breaths in between sentences.

Vyvyan couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt. He wanted to tease Rick and say something snarky like, haha! Look at you crying like a girl! Did you hurt yourself? Aww! or maybe kick him, or pick him up and throw him into the fence…but he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

Suddenly something cold tapped Vyvyan on the shoulder. The werewolf let out a yelp and spun round, swiping the clawed hand he previously had outstretched to Rick. He came face to face with a ghost and the claws passed straight through it, whistling through the middle of its pale and transparent abdomen. Vyvyan’s wide yellow eyes stared at the ghost in shock, frozen in place. Rick sniffed and stood up, wiping away tears and wondering why Vyvyan hadn’t begun to beat him up. He too froze with wide eyes staring at the ghost when he saw it. The ghost seemed like he had been dead a long time, for he was wearing formal Victorian-era attire, complete with top hat and extravagant moustache.

“Excuse me lads, but could you maybe keep it down? Or maybe go somewhere else? We’re trying to have our annual tea party here,” the ghost said as he gestured behind him, where a large, round and transparent table was set up. Around the table there were three other ghosts, all wearing similar clothes to the one who was standing in front of the nervous monsters. On the table, there were tea cups and a teapot, all matching in colour and pattern, some posh-looking silver cutlery, as well as cake stands complete with ghost cakes, scones, a jar of jam. A large Victoria sponge sat, untouched, in the centre of the table. The vampire and the werewolf stood stunned and frozen out of sheer terror…before they both screamed and ran away.

“Did we interrupt something, do you think?” One ghost with round spectacles said, sounding slightly confused. He was sat at the table and in the middle of putting jam on his scone, holding a jam-covered knife over half of a plain scone. The one with the moustache turned and returned to his seat at the table shrugging.

“I don’t know Henry, I hope they come to an agreement with their argument,” He said, picking up a knife and the jam jar and proceeding to cut his scone in half.

“Yes, I hope so too, because I thought they did make a lovely couple,” Henry said, adjusting his spectacles and continuing to spread jam on his scone.

“Are you mad?! A vampire and a werewolf?! That can never work out,” a third ghost piped up before taking a bite into his already prepared scone.

“Oh, I don’t know, I believe they would be rather cute together,” Gabriel said, smiling warmly at the thought before spreading jam onto his scone.

Mike and Neil had since returned to the living room once they were certain that the raging monsters had left. Mike had returned to his seat at the table, feet up and reading his newspaper. Neil was pottering around the kitchen trying to find some lentils to cook for the students’ lunch. Just as Neil picked up the open box of lentils from a cupboard, the front door crashed open and the terrified vampire and werewolf flooded into the living room, causing Neil to leap in fright. With a shriek Neil jumped and dropped the box of uncooked lentils all over the kitchen floor. Once recovered, Neil looked sadly down at the floor, his shoulders slumping forwards in defeat.

“Honesty guys, I don’t know why I bother sometimes when all you do is treat me badly. I do all of the work in this house and I would actually like some appreciation for everything I do for you,” Neil said, grabbing a large saucepan, getting down on his hands and knees and proceeding to scoop up the spilt lentils. Vyvyan and Rick both briefly forgot their terror and turned to face Neil.

“Shut up, Neil!” Their fanged mouths spat in unison, Rick’s voice with a slight hissing quality and Vyvyan’s still distorted and guttural. Both turned back to face each other and they suddenly recollected why they had returned to the house.

“Vyvyan! I don’t know how I feel with ghosts living in the graveyard so close to our house!” Rick said, his voice high and shaky.

“I don’t like it Rick! Ghosts make me feel funny,” Vyvyan replied, hunching his shoulders slightly. Mike now looked up from his newspaper, an eyebrow raised in bewilderment.

“Really boys? You don’t need to worry about anythin’! Rick, you’re already dead and Vyvyan they’re probably more scared of you than you of them. Plus…you’re surprised that there are ghosts…living in the graveyard?” Mike questioned. Rick realised what Mike was saying and looked a little sheepish, whereas Vyvyan’s wolfy face was scrunched in thought.

“Now that you put it like that, Mike…it all makes sense,” Vyvyan said, his features beginning to morph back into a human. None of them noticed this until Vyvyan was back to human form and standing stark naked in the middle of the living room.

“AH! VYVYAN! PUT SOME BLOODY CLOTHES ON!” Rick screamed, staring wide eyed at Vyvyan. The werewolf casually looked down at himself and grinned. Rick scampered away upstairs, Neil shielded his eyes with a hand and Mike raised his newspaper a little higher in front of his face. Vyvyan looked up at a wall as if there was a camera there.

“Oops.”

*end credits music plays*

#I wrote a thing!!#look!#this took so long omg #fanfiction #monster!au #the young ones #the young ones fanfiction #fanfic #rick #vyvyan #vyvyan basterd #mike the cool person #neil #rivyan #beef writes #beef speaks

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