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justagalwhowrites · 1 year

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Lavender - Ch. 8

On the run from infected at the dawn of the end of the world, you fight to keep those you hold dear safe. A continuation of Lavender Ch. 1-7 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller X Female Reader

Length: 5.3K

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, character death (not reader), miscarriage, Sexual Assault/SA (coercion or blackmail). No use of Y/N. 18+ Minors DNI

A/N: See note at the end of the chapter please. Trying to avoid spoilers (beyond what's in the warnings) and want to contextualize the story choices. Feel free to read first before reading the chapter if you want as long as you don't mind some spoilers!

Tuesday, September 30, 2003

“The Princess Pat”

“Lived in a tree”

“She sailed across”

“The seven seas”

“She sailed across”

“The channel too”

“And she took with her!”

“And she took….”

“Hello!”

You threw your arm out, forcing Jessica behind you, and raised the shotgun. Your heart was pounding.

It had been 2 days since you’d last seen another person, possessed or otherwise. You’d stuck to the woods alongside the main road, hopefully far enough away to not be easily seen while staying close enough to follow the route. You were heading steadily east. You figured eventually, you’d reach the Atlantic, orient yourself and go from there.

On Saturday, you’d shot six people. Almost people. Former people? You weren’t sure how to count it, but you’d killed six people who were trying to rip you and Jessica apart. It made you sick. “Don’t let anyone take you from me.”

You tried to justify it. Jessica and the baby made it easier but it was hard. Could you possibly be worth that many lives? What if whatever was wrong with them was temporary and you’d murdered them? The only way you could live with it was by thinking of Jessica and the baby. You could kill for your child and the girl you’d come to think of as your niece. You could live with that. Or you thought you could, at least.

Saturday, you’d come across a sporting goods store. There was one possessed person inside, someone had locked them in a storage room and you’d been stupid enough to open the damn door looking for more ammunition. You’d been so surprised it took you a moment to get a shot off and the first one missed. You kept shoving Jessica back, the thing lunging for you and snarling until you hit it with the butt of your gun, forcing it far enough away that you could shoot it. You stood guard while Jessica found some clothes and you were able to take your sweatshirt back. It probably would have been smart to change the shirt, when you thought about it, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. It was one of your UT sweatshirts, one that said “alumni” on it. Joel had gotten it for you as a graduation gift. It didn’t matter that it was bloodstained now. You needed something from then. You packed a bag for her, too. The store had been pretty well looted but the possessed person in the storage room had left the stock in there intact and you were able to find some useful stuff.

You ran into three more possessed people on your way back out of town. You were pretty certain you were traveling about a day behind the military - or some military like force, anyway. Did the military actually exist anymore? Did America? But you kept coming across near mountains of bodies. You weren’t sure if they were people who had been possessed or if whoever was in charge now was just wiping out anyone they deemed as a potential risk. There were two more possessed as you made your way into the woods again.

On Sunday, Jessica woke up crying. It took some time to calm her down. She didn’t want to tell you what she’d dreamed about that made her so upset but you could guess. When the day started quiet enough, you started trying to get her to engage a bit. Pointing out different trees as you walked, signs of different animals when you saw them. You tried to think of something else to talk about with her - something that would take her mind off of the fact that you were pretty sure the world was ending without reminding her of what you thought was entirely lost. You resorted to singing NSYNC.

“That’s not how it goes,” she muttered at one point.

“What isn’t?” You asked, knowing perfectly well what you’d gotten wrong.

“It’s ‘I wanna see you out that door’ not ‘Go walk on out that door,’” she said.

“Well, I’ve never been a good singer,” you shrugged, still keeping an eye out for possessed people.

“Yeah, you’re really not,” she snorted. “Heard you and my mom singing in the kitchen once. I think you were drunk. It was real bad.”

“We thought you were asleep!” You looked over your shoulder to her. She smiled a little.

“Yeah, I had my GameBoy,” she said.

“You little shit,” you smiled. “We were that bad, huh?”

“You are always bad,” she said. “It was way worse then. I was embarrassed and there wasn’t even anyone else to hear you it was that bad.”

“Well then you demonstrate, rock star,” you said. “Seem to recall you doing pretty good hairbrush karaoke.”

She was quiet for a minute. You were trying to think of something else to get her mind off things when she started signing a Spice Girls song. You smiled. She was quiet at first, almost under her breath. You didn’t press her. She got louder as the day went on.

Monday you hummed the Beetles to see if she’d sing along. She did.

Tuesday, you suggested some of the songs she’d brought home from Girl Scout camp over the summer. She’d sung them for three weeks after spending two weeks a few hours away, horseback riding and swimming and boating. You were half sure she was singing because she knew it was annoying the shit out of her mother. The other half of her just really loved summer camp. She sang the songs so much, you’d learned them, too. You could even lead them.

Which is how you ended up singing Princess Pat somewhere in the woods along the highway in New York State.

“Who’s there?” You yelled, gun up.

“I’ll come to you!” It was a man’s voice. You tightened your grip on the weapon.

“How many of you are there?” You called, looking around for some sign of whoever was talking but you couldn’t see them.

“Just me!” He said. “Please… please don’t shoot me?”

“I won’t if you don’t give me a reason,” you called back. “But I’m keeping the gun up.”

He came from further into the woods and you moved in front of Jessica, gun up. When he got about 20 feet away, you stopped him.

“That’s close enough.”

You looked him over. He was young, probably not even 20, tall and gangly. All limbs. He hadn’t grown into his body yet. His hands were up and his eyes were wide. One of his arms didn’t look right.

“Lift your shirt,” you said, gun still up.

“What?” He frowned.”

“I need to see your waistband,” you said. “Make sure you don’t have a weapon. Lift up your shirt and turn around in a circle, slowly.”

He did as he was told. No gun or knife that you could see. You lowered the gun. He lowered his hands.

“Hi,” he smiled, looking like he was about to cry.

“Hi,” you smiled a little back. You nodded to the misshapen arm. “What happened there?”

“I fell,” he said, cautiously stepping closer to you. “I was running, my parents…”

“How’d you escape?” Jessica peered out from behind you.

“By falling,” he said. “Down a cliff. It was short but they stayed up top. What the hell is going on?”

“I don’t know,” you took your pack off and started rifling around for the first aid kit. “But I can set your arm for you.”

His name, you learned while aligning his bones in the way you’d read about in medical texts, was Andrew. You were right on his age, he was 18 and from a small town not far from there. He’d been wandering alone since Sunday.

“I haven’t seen any people,” he said. “I mean, I’ve been hiding but I thought I’d see someone. Anyone. I was hiding from… I wasn’t trying to hide from people. Where is everyone?”

You weren’t sure what to say. You knew what little you’d seen but you weren’t sure if that was true anywhere else but where you’d been. And you weren’t sure if telling that to a teenager would make it any better.

“We haven’t run into anyone in a few days either,” you said, tying off the makeshift cast you’d put on his arm. “Feel better?”

“Yeah,” he said, bending his elbow a bit. “Thank you.”

“You can travel with us,” you said, repacking your bag. “But you have to do what I say when I say it. I can try to keep you safe but I can’t do that if you’re a wildcard.”

“I can listen,” he said quickly. “I won’t be any trouble, I promise.”

You got moving again.

You made it to another small town that night, the bodies all piled in the center of the little downtown area, a heap of flesh in front of a pizza parlor. You tried to protect Andrew and Jessica from seeing it. You weren’t sure it worked. You set up for the night in a pharmacy, tucking yourselves away behind the counter and pulling down the gates. You stocked up on water, pain killers, bandages and broad spectrum antibiotics before you left.

You were walking until Wednesday afternoon when you saw the first sign of people.

There was a man in a military uniform dead on the ground. So it was military.

“Stay back, guys,” you said, waving Jessica and Andrew off. You looked around for a moment. “Andrew, have you ever used a gun? Hunting with your dad or anything?”

“Yeah,” he said, voice shaky. “But I’ve never shot a person…”

“Well I hope you don’t need to today,” you said, handing him the gun. “But keep an eye out for me? If you see someone coming, I’ll take it back, OK?”

He nodded once, taking a deep breath. You went to the body.

Someone had shot him in the head, blood splattered over his camo. His body was still warmer than the air around you, but not by much. Whoever had gunned him down was in a hurry, his weapons were still on him. You took his guns - a sidearm and a rifle, both with some extra ammunition - and his knife. You looked over the rest of him. There was a vicious looking bite at his wrist. You were busy looking at that when something moved out of the corner of your eye.

It was like the tentacle that had reached out of your grandmother’s mouth coming out from between the man’s lips.

“Holy shit,” you leapt back as the fibrous thing stretched for you. Eventually, it stopped, just sitting there. You looked at it, frowning.

“What is it?” Andrew yelled at you.

“I think…” You leaned in a little closer. “It’s a fungus.”

The thing reached for you. You backed up again before getting up and getting away from the body entirely.

“A fungus?” Andrew asked.

“Yeah,” you frowned, standing beside him again. “Which both makes a lot of sense and none at all.” You held the guns out that you’d just picked up. “Pick your poison.”

He chose the rifle. You took back the shotgun and tucked the sidearm in your waistband.

“What do you mean about the fungus?” Jessica frowned. “Also, I don’t have a gun.”

“Yeah, you don’t need a gun,” you said. “You don’t need to be shooting at anyone, you’re 13.”

“It’s the end of the world,” she said flatly.

“Not yet it’s not,” you said. “No gun. Let’s keep moving.”

“Fine,” Jessica said. “But you need to explain the fungus thing because I don’t think mushrooms are doing this.”

“There are lots of different kinds of fungus,” you said, starting down the road. “There are some we eat, some that does stuff like make your toenails yellow… And there are some that take over host bodies and control them in hopes of spreading.”

“What the fuck,” Andrew said, taking up the rear. “Like people?”

“Well, no, that’s the weird thing,” you said. “We’re too warm for those fungi. They live in insects, take over the bodies of ants or wasps, not mammals. But that’s what that looked like. It doesn’t make any sense…”

“None of this makes any sense,” Jessica said.

You kept walking.

That afternoon, you found people. Two of them, in uniform guarding the road, a military truck parked broadside over the lanes so no one could just drive through.

You were back in the tree line and you signaled for Jessica and Andrew to be quiet, but you stepped on a stick, snapping it. The men spun, training their guns on the trees.

“Who’s out there!” The one closer to the tree line yelled. “Respond or I start shooting!”

“We’re not possessed!” You yelled, signaling for Jessica and Andrew to get behind you.

“Come out here!” He yelled. “Now!”

“There are three of us,” you called back. “We’re armed but we will lower our weapons if you lower yours.”

He hesitated. “I’ve got two kids with me,” you said after a moment. “Teenagers. We’re healthy.”

“I’m keeping my gun out,” he called. “But I’ll point it down.”

You aimed your gun toward the ground and cautiously walked toward the road.

“What are you doing here?” The man demanded.

“Trying to find somewhere safe,” you replied. “What’s going on? How widespread is this?”

“It’s the whole world,” he said, looking you up and down. “It’s everywhere.”

“What do you mean it’s everywhere,” you frowned. “How can it be everywhere?”

“You’re trying to get somewhere safe?” The second man came and stood beside the first, looking you up and down, too. You nodded. You could sense Jessica and Andrew behind you. You wanted to tell them to run. Something about these men didn’t feel right.

“There’s a base of operations in Boston,” the first man said. “We’ve been told to send survivors there, people who aren’t at risk of infection.”

“We’re not infected,” you said. “We haven’t had any contact with any infected person in days, we’re not a risk.”

“We can help you get to Boston,” the second man stepped closer to you. “But I’d want something in return.”

“She’s a doctor,” Jessica said quickly. You shot a glare over your shoulder.

“No, I’m a science teacher who’s been training to become a doctor,” you said quickly. “But if you’re injured, I might be able to help. We also have some food and water, pain killers…”

“Not what I’m interested in.”

It took you a second to realize what he meant. His eyes were on you, ranging hungrily over your body.

“Not sure the next time I’ll see a woman who isn’t infected,” he said. “Want to make sure I enjoy it.”

He adjusted the grip on his gun.

You considered your options for a split second. There was no way you’d be able to kill both of them before they killed one of you. And even then, could you live with killing two people - two people who weren’t infected or possessed or whatever it was - if it was anything but a last resort?

“You can get us to Boston?” You said.

“There’s a code,” the man said. “I’ll give it to you. If you give me something.”

You glanced behind you. Jessica just looked confused. Andrew seemed to get it. Your stomach turned.

“Fine,” you said, taking off your pack and passing it back to Andrew. “Give me a minute.”

You handed him the gun, too.

“If he goes for either of you,�� you said quietly. “Kill him.”

He gave you a nod. You turned back to the man.

“Let’s go.”

You followed him into the woods. He was still armed.

“What do you want?” You asked, standing there, trying to not think about what you were about to do.

“Take off your shirt,” he said, still holding the gun. You obeyed, pulling off your sweatshirt and t-shirt at the same time, hands shaking.

“Good,” he smiled. “Bra, too.”

You took that off, too.

“Fuck you’ve got nice tits,” his hand went to his crotch, feeling himself through his pants. “Waist down now. All off.”

You shakily stepped out of your boots and peeled off your pants and underwear, glancing back toward the road, thankful you couldn’t see Jessica and Andrew.

“Lie down.”

You got down on your back. The leaves and pinecones scratched your bare skin. Your stomach turned. Until now, Joel had been the only man to have seen you naked. He’d been the only man you ever wanted to see you naked.

The man stepped forward, his penis in his hand, still fully clothed, working himself. You looked at it for a second before staring up at the tree canopy. He was smaller than Joel. You were thankful for that much, at least.

He got on top of you without preamble and you tried to push your mind elsewhere, anywhere but here. He started trying to work his way into you, forcing his way inside.

“Jesus, you’re tight,” he grunted. You stared past him.

You thought about Joel. Not about sex with Joel - you didn’t want to connect any part of that with this - but just being around him. How he made you feel safe. His smile. The way he tried to pretend he didn’t like the movies you picked but you caught him sitting forward a bit more in his seat when the story reached its climax. The man over you was making your back drag along the ground and your vagina hurt. You tried to ignore it. Joel playing guitar in the backyard. Sarah making fun of him for his choice of song. There was a cluster of three pinecones over your head. The man’s pace increased. Joel making burgers in the summer. He was so picky about the meat, looking over every package at the store until he found just the right one.

“Fuck,” the man grunted and stilled before going limp on top of you. He breathed heavy for a second before rolling off you.

“Done?” Your voice sounded strange. Weirdly flat. He reached over and patted your stomach. You tensed. You took it as a yes, getting up off the ground. You brushed yourself off quickly and got dressed as fast as you could, the man watching you as he panted for breath. He put his penis away and got up. You looked up at him. “You said there was a code.”

“C’mon,” he jerked his head back toward the road. You followed. He went to the back of the truck and ripped off a scrap of paper. He wrote down a name and a number and handed it to you. “Give that information at the checkpoints between here and Boston. They’ll let you through.”

You nodded once, reading the paper and trying to memorize it. McCarthy. You looked at the name on the uniform. It matched. You pocketed the paper.

“Stick to the road,” he said, looking you over again, almost affectionately. Almost like he thought what had just happened meant something. Like he was invested in you now. “Now that you have that, it’s safer that way. Lots of crazies and infected in the woods between here and there, road is better. It’ll take about a week to walk to Boston from here.”

You nodded once and went and got your bag from Andrew. He was staring at you. You put the pack on and took your gun.

“Let’s go.”

You led the way again. No one talked. No one sang. You stared straight ahead. Your hand went to your lower stomach. You tried to focus on what was important. You threw up a mile later.

Sunday, October 5, 2003

“It’s my birthday, you know,” you whispered to your stomach. It was late, about three in the morning. You were on watch, Andrew and Jessica were asleep. You ran your thumb over yourself. There was a bump there now. It was small, if you didn’t know to look for it you wouldn’t notice it was there, but you could feel it. “Last one before you’re born, little one. Sorry to be bringing you into such a shit show.”

You leaned your head back against a tree, cradling the little bump, and sighed.

“Maybe it will be better by April,” you said. “Maybe this is just a crazy blip. I can tell you the insane story one day. About everything your mom did to get to your dad.”

The amount of infected had grown as you’d gone down the road, getting closer to Boston and more civilization. You’d killed a dozen more people. Andrew had killed three others. You’d tried to make it so he wouldn’t have to shoot anyone but you’d been nearly overrun at one point and he’d been forced to. He was sobbing after, his whole body shaking. You tried to hold it together enough to comfort him.

It was hard to believe that it had been just over a week since this started. It felt like an eternity. Two weeks ago at this time, you’d been asleep in your bed at home. You’d gone to bed that night after giving up on finalizing your lesson plans for the week, leaving Thursday and Friday to deal with during your planning period on Monday and mad at yourself for procrastinating. You were still debating about whether or not you wanted to tell Joel about his child. It all seemed so silly now. You’d die to go back to those kinds of problems.

At four, you roused Andrew. He groggily got up and took over the watch, you laying down beside Jessica. She sighed and pressed herself back against you. You put an arm around her, tugging her close to you. It was easier to sleep, having someone close.

You got up and got moving right away in the morning. You were expecting to hit another checkpoint that afternoon or evening, you wanted to put some miles between it and you before stopping for the night. The code from McCarthy had done what he’d promised so far. They took your word that you weren’t infected after a quick once over and didn’t demand any more ‘payment’ for passage, instead just sending you down the road. You were thankful for that much. But you didn’t trust the men at the checkpoints. You wouldn’t be able to relax, knowing they were close by.

You’d been walking six hours when it happened.

Your gun was out but held low. You heard the odd, guttural sound only a split second before they came from the tree line.

There were more than a dozen of them, all of them running for you, strange husks of human beings now driven by one thing.

“Run!” You screamed, raising your shotgun and firing, catching one in the chest and sending it flying back. You’d gotten better with the gun since the world collapsed, knowing that you had to plant your feet to keep from falling, knowing how to stand to aim and not stumble back. You stood in one spot, firing off the four rounds in the shotgun and taking down three infected before you ran, too, Jessica frantically looking back over her shoulder at you. “Go!”

You did your best to lodge the depleted shotgun between your pack and your back while pulling the sidearm from your waistband, turning and firing almost blindly behind you. Three shots, another infected fell. You looked forward and saw it before Jessica or Andrew did.

“Jessica!” You shrieked, an infected launching at her from the other side of the road and tackling her to the ground. It pinned her for a moment and Andrew ran up on it, slamming the butt of his rifle into it, sending it sprawling before shooting it. He gave Jessica his hand and yanked her to her feet. She clutched her hand to her upper arm and ran with him.

You weren’t sure how the hell you were going to get out of this, firing behind you, barely outpacing the infected as it was, your lungs starting to ache, when you saw the checkpoint up ahead.

“Help!” You yelled. “McCarthy sent us on! There are infected!”

The two men at the checkpoint ran forward, rifles drawn. It only took a moment for them to start firing. You instinctively ducked your head but kept moving, hoping it would keep you from getting shot.

The men and their rifles made pretty quick work of the hoard of infected, the bodies littering the road. You panted for breath, stopping at the truck that blocked the lanes.

“McCarthy sent you through?” One of the men asked. You just nodded and pulled the code from your pocket. The man took it and nodded, handing it back to you. “Those the first infected you’ve seen lately?”

“No,” you shook your head. “But first since the last checkpoint.”

He nodded once and started looking you over.

“Clear,” he said, nodding Andrew forward. He did the same with him before calling Jessica up. He sighed, stopping at her arm.

“I’m sorry,” he said. He sounded sad. Genuinely sad. Jessica frowned. “You’ve been bitten.”

You all but jumped up from where you’d been leaning against the truck, going to Jessica’s arm. He was right, there were distinctly human teethmarks on her arm.

“Shit,” you muttered, sliding your pack off to get out the first aid kit. Jessica’s eyes were wide. “We’ve got the stuff for this but you’re probably going to get a pretty cool scar…”

“What the fuck!” Andrew yelled. You looked up. The man was aiming a gun at Jessica. You stepped in front of her, your arms spread wide.

“Woah!” You said. “Gun down, we’re not a threat!”

“She’s been bitten,” he said. “Stand aside.”

“No!”

“I don’t want to die,” Jessica was sobbing. “Please…”

“I will kill you too,” the man aimed the gun at you. “Don’t make me.” You made the decision before really thinking, lunging for the man. He fired the gun, the bullet glancing off your shoulder, and turned the weapon so he could slam the butt of it into your stomach. He put all his weight behind it, sending you sprawling to the ground before he starting aiming again. You scrambled to your feet and tried to grab the gun as he tried to throw you off. The other soldier grabbed you by the collar from behind and threw you against the gate of the truck, the metal slamming into your stomach. You felt a sickening jolt just as the gun fired.

“NO!” You shrieked, the man holding you down, your face against the metal. You fought to look to Jessica, to get to Jessica. “Let me go!”

The man listened, letting you up and you ran for her. Andrew was over her already and you shoved him back. There was a gaping wound on her stomach.

“It hurts,” she whimpered. She was crying. You tried to stem the bleeding but there was so much blood.

“Andrew,” you were panting, gasping for breath. “The first aid kit, in the pack…”

Jessica sobbed. Andrew was frozen.

“Andrew!”

“I’m sorry,” he was crying. “I’m sorry…”

You looked down at her. Her eyes were wide.

“I’m scared,” she said. “I don’t…”

“It’s OK,” your face was wet. You delicately, gently, pulled her onto her lap. “You’re going to be OK sweetie. It’ll be OK, you’ll be OK, it’s OK…”

You brushed her hair back. She grabbed your arm.

“My mom,” her eyes searched yours. “My mom…”

“You’ll get to see her again,” you tried to smile. “I’m sure she’s missed you, probably thinks I’ve been corrupting you all this time. It’s OK. It’ll be OK.”

You felt her die, a strangled cry ripping through you as you collapsed against Andrew. He cautiously put his arms around you, Jessica’s body still between you.

“Why!” You turned to the man who killed her. The gun was still in his hands. He didn’t say anything. You set her body down, gently, like you would a toddler who had fallen asleep against you, and got to your feet. Your head spun. You stalked toward him. “Why would you kill her? She was a child!” You shoved him. You didn’t care that he had a gun. He stumbled back. The other man raised his weapon for you. You didn’t care about him, either. “A CHILD!”

You threw your whole body at him and he fell down.

“She was infected!” He yelled at you, breathless. You fell to your knees. “She was infected. That’s how it spreads, through bites. Once someone’s bitten, it’s just a matter of time - sometimes just an hour or two - and they’re like them. There’s nothing anyone can do. It was better this way. I’m so sorry.”

You sobbed. You felt Andrew’s hands on you, pulling you to your feet. He started moving you down the road.

“Her body,” you turned, reaching for her.

“That other guy wants to fucking shoot you,” he said quickly. “We have to keep moving, she’s gone, it doesn’t matter now, we have to go.”

You weren’t sure how long you walked before he took his hands off you. It could have been five minutes or five hours. He’d grabbed the backpack, your shotgun. You stared straight ahead. You’d promised to keep her safe. You’d told her you were going to get her through this. And now she was dead.

You kept running the attack over in your head again and again. What could you have done differently? What would have saved her? You catalogued every way you failed her, every way you let her die.

Andrew said your name. You barely registered it. He said it again.

“What?” You asked, looking back at him.

“You’re bleeding.”

You looked at your arms, your torso, but didn’t see anything.

“No, like…” he paused. “I think you started your period but… it looks like a lot of blood for that. I have…had sisters, it looks like a lot of blood….”

Your hand went to your lower stomach and you stopped in the street, right in the middle, a yellow dashed line in front of you, one behind.

“It’s not a period,” you said, putting a hand between your legs for a moment and examining it. It was slick with blood. You wondered how you hadn’t felt it. You registered the cramping then, the sharp, stabbing pain of it breaking through the numbness. “I’m having a miscarriage.”

You kept walking, the blood running down your legs. You put both hands over the small bump. You wanted to feel it as long as you could. Your child. The piece of Joel you carried with you. You’d failed your child, too.

Andrew pulled you off the road as it got dark. You were in a daze. You couldn’t bring yourself to get cleaned up or pull a sleeping bag out of your pack. You lay down in the dirt and stared into nothing.

“I’ll keep watch,” he said. “I can pull an all nighter. You sleep.”

“It’s my birthday today,” you said softly. You cradled the bump.

“I’m so sorry.”

You considered the gun tucked in the waistband of your bloody pants. You knew that, if you tried that way, you’d succeed. It would be easy. Just one twitch of a finger and you could be done here.

“Don’t do it alone.” That’s what Joel had said, when you’d told him about the way you felt sometimes. About the time you’d tried to die before. “Tell me. Always tell me.”

“Don’t let anyone take you from me.”

You took a deep breath.

“I’m sorry, too.”

You cried, closing your eyes, letting the numbness swallow you.

A/N: Hi y'all. I'm so sorry for this. I know there's a ton of misery in this chapter, but here's why. I'm not just brutalizing my characters for no reason. Kid is meant to be Joel's mirror. She carries much the same trauma as him. She loses someone in her care and she loses her child. She was willing to do anything for Jessica and her baby and she still lost. What she does with that grief and pain and what Joel does with his are very different. They are two sides of the same coin, bound by trauma and love and loss. I hope you stick with their story in spite of the sad stuff and thank you for reading <3

#joel miller x oc #joel miller fanfiction #fanfic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller #joel the last of us

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thommi-tomate · 1 year

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The first column of Holger Badstuber !

Hello football friends!

Who will be the German champion, just FCB or BVB Borussia? The cup showdown is imminent in the Bundesliga and I am happy to be able to write my first column for you.

But before I present you with my prediction for Matchday 34, I have to think back eleven years, because these are the images that come to mind these days.

Absolute silence reigned around me, I looked at my feet in front of me, my thoughts were spinning wildly in circles. I felt bewilderment, humility, but at the same time an incredible challenge. On May 12, 2012, Borussia Dortmund beat us 5-2 in the DFB Cup final.

The defeat was so painful that it cheered us up. It was already clear to us in the dressing room in Berlin: the summer break would not be a break. We couldn't go on like that. We knew we had what it took to win titles, so we immediately felt the pressure and the desire to keep working immediately, on ourselves, on the culture, to be right there again at the start of the new season.

"The season was a season full of interference."

It was the great advantage of our team. Now it's the tenth anniversary of what we then achieved at Wembley, among other things.

Setbacks are part of professional sport, whether as an individual or as a team. It is important then to draw the right conclusions, make the necessary decisions and work hard.

That still applies and especially to the current situation at my former club, FC Bayern . The season was a season of interruptions that combined to become a conflagration.

There was no recognizable clear line in the management of the club, communication with the outside seemed inconsistent, there were too many off-field issues that caused unease. In addition, there were too many goals conceded. The result is a team that is not intact and does not deserve to win titles.

"Everything has to be questioned."

Coach Thomas Tuchel is the right man in the right place. He is hard on himself, hard on the team: this mentality is needed now, everyone at Bayern needs this mentality when reflecting on this season. You have to question everything: board, club management, transfers.

But it is also important to stay positive, to think positively. FC Bayern has always had a strong winning mentality, a good culture of debate and cohesion both internally and externally. That should be the focus.

Despite all the undisputed soccer quality in the squad, I could no longer recognize this mentality at FCB.

"Bayern just fucked it up."

So my prediction for Saturday is: BVB will be German champions because Bayern did so. With seven defeats, it really wasn't a standout performance of the season by Dortmund , while BVB completely fell behind. Bayern just screwed it up.

Actually, it's not bad for football in Germany that FCB's long championship era is coming to an end. Excitement until the last day of the championship fight means a big plus in attractiveness for the Bundesliga, a gain in charisma. This is urgently needed because it has suffered so much in recent years.

In 2012, BVB and FC Bayern were the two best teams in Europe. To re-establish them, regain international respect and advance back to world class, both the Bundesliga and DFB decision-makers will have to invest a lot of work in the future.

Winning the title for Dortmund could be a start in the right direction.

Source:

#well I agree with some of Holger's opinions 🤔#holger badstuber #fc bayern münchen #Bundesliga deutscher Meister #holger badstuber columm

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acknowledgetheabsurd · 2 years

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Your letter of Saturday, Sunday, Monday. It's all over now, my darling, everything is back in place, to love, to certainty. Relax too. Let yourself go to me and to us. I kiss your forehead, your dear hands, taboo closed, gently. I knew you'd find yourself in Dora. It's you, without any difference, as far as the soul is concerned. Then it may happen that you lose yourself, like those days when you're a stranger to who you are, but it can't be for long. I can hear your cry of the end from afar. It is the soul that twists and turns. That which in itself is not imitated, can it cease to be so?

Don't forget to tell me the effects of the serum on your father. I'm very anxious to know more. And don't worry about your little aristocratic crisis either. It's not a crisis, by the way. You're an aristocrat. And your taste for the humble is an effect of generosity alone. You'll never be a communist like the concierge. So? Resign yourself. Not everyone can be a janitor. That said, it's both just and unjust that intelligence can limit the heart. It limits it in small circumstances, or for distant things, never or almost never in great circumstances. There are beings who do not know how to live very well ... but who would know how to die very well.

Little girl who asks for the pity and generosity that you are already overflowing with! No, you're not evil. But I'm just like you. This very Parisian milieu develops a certain contempt. That's what makes it bad. And then, as we go on, we can't stand those we've chosen. Desire! What are you saying? Go to sleep with it, wake up with it! It's a deaf rumor throughout the days. I hadn't known that either. It's very hard. The mouth is dry in certain images, one wishes for a shower of voluptuousness. You, everywhere, your taste, the twisted, welded bodies, at certain moments it's an obsession. I hope it will pass. But at the same time, it's your warmth that accompanies me, as if I had your hand on me. And I love that burning and suffering.

But I want to talk about something else, my temples are pounding. I don't know the actors you're talking about. Choose for yourself, darling. You're the only one I can trust, and I can't do anything so far away. If you phone, do it around 11 o'clock and don't forget that the phone is in the common room and I probably won't be able to shout my love and emotion. What an ordeal! Anyway, tell me exactly what you decide. All night the wind has been blowing. This morning, rain, hail and snow. I stayed until noon, worked (I have almost finished my preface) and waited for your letter. She was there, faithful as love. O my darling, what gratitude! Yes, jet'aime, of love, tenderness and desire. Hurry this moment when we will flow together in the love so long held back! But until then I keep intact the heart that belongs to you and I kiss you right here, unreasonably.

Albert Camus to Maria Casarès, Correspondance, January 17, 1950 [#133]

#albert camus #camus #absurd #absurdism #maria casares #correspondance #love letters #love #kiss #soul #generosity #heart #unjust #just #intelligence #evil #suffering #desire #tenderness

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wrienne · 1 year

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My Cheating, Amnesic Fiancé

Chapter 38: May 30th

Traffic wasn’t exactly sparse, but Jong-Yeol had already been circulating the block for the last half hour or so out of fear for your safety. He therefore managed to arrive where he had left you within a few minutes. Before entering the car, you half-drunkenly mumbled byes to the members of BTS, all except for Jungkook and Jimin, who was helping the former in his search upstairs still. Though it felt a bit weird just leaving without telling everyone goodbye, it was, perhaps, for the better that you didn’t see Jungkook again - at least not that evening.

Because you were forced to wipe your eyes more times than you could count on your way home. Not even the dullness of intoxication numbed the wretched pain inside your chest.

You stumbled straight into bed when you arrived home and fell asleep instantly. After some hungover deliberation during the next day, you came to the conclusion that you might as well make your trip to Osaka about something more other than just Jungkook and his hyungs’ concert. You decided to make it a trip for yourself, too, and since Se-Eun was unable to come along due to her own hindrances in life and Jung-Hyun still hadn’t answered you from the day before, it truly was a trip for your own sake.

Thus, it wasn’t with a particularly heavy heart that you called the university to apply for five days of non-attendance, meaning you would be gone for an entire week of lectures and classes. Even though you felt a little bad for exploiting your parents influence on the school, you felt exhausted, through and through. You needed a vacation, if only briefly, and somewhere you wouldn’t have to be reminded who you were. In Japan, you hoped to escape, ever so momentarily, the burden you had been born to wear.

And the curse of harboring feelings you refused to acknowledge yet couldn’t seem to deny toward someone who would never be yours.

Yes, all you needed to do was endure. Endure the feeling of having all your emotions tugged and drawn into a thin, thin string just a little, tiny bit longer. Over the course of three months and more that string had remained intact - it must not break just yet.

Three days. Three days after which you could finally rest and allow yourself to heal, permanently this time.

Saturday evening, you videochatted with your parents on KakaoTalk while booking a plane ticket to Osaka. Initially, your mother stood reluctant as to your long leave, but your father eventually convinced her to let you go, and you were told some nice places to stay, eat or simply visit. It was clear, however much they tried to conceal it, that they were concerned for you. And deeply so. None of them said it out loud, but you noticed it in the way they exchanged glances with each other, or in a question disguised as another.

It didn’t matter, though. As long as you could have this week, you would be fine.

Or so you fervently wished.

Since you didn’t want to lag behind due to your vacation, the rest of the weekend was dedicated to studying. It wasn’t until late Sunday evening came around that you felt an uneasiness creep up on you. Jung-Hyun hadn’t gotten back to you ever since Thursday afternoon and though he wasn’t exactly a talkative guy, he wouldn’t just ignore your messages. Something could have just happened to his phone, however, and so you disregarded your concern for him as a mild case of paranoia.

And then it was time for you to call Jungkook about the details surrounding the concert.

His familiar voice filled your ear within fifteen seconds of the call. “(Y/N),” he said hushedly, sounding strangely out of breath. “Did something happen?”

For a moment, you contemplated whether or not to tell Jungkook about your recent shortage of communication with his brother. But then, deciding your earlier prediction was the most likely cause of Jung-Hyun’s lack of response, you simply smiled as you curled up into your chair and hoped you would sound completely normal when you spoke. “Why do you ask that? Can’t I just call you to see how you’re doing?”

“Well,” he began, his tone stiffening. “I’m kind of in a situation right now…”

Before you could ask him to specify his “situation”, you heard a female voice in the other end. It took away all the warmth of hearing Jungkook’s voice and burned away the blurry memory you had of Jungkook the evening with his group members - to be more precise, how good it had felt touching him and have him touch you while carrying your drunken self downstairs.

No, not even the most masochistic part of you enjoyed what you heard next.

“Who is it, honey?”

It sounded close, far too close in your ear for her to merely be in the same room, even less nearby Jungkook. Her voice trickled into your ear like old orange juice, sweet and pungent and sticky, and resounded as loudly and clearly in your head as if though she were pressing her mouth right next to the microphone. The way her lips moved, you could see it before you, and the way she smiled, you could feel how it affected him, and the way she probably was lying beside Jungkook, touching and caressing him - it was all too apparent, too explicit. Too thinkable .

You thought you were going to throw up.

“It’s just Jimin.”

It was a curt, precise answer. You barely registered that Jungkook had lied before Park Yi-Jae pressed on.

“Really? Why was the caller ID so weird then?”

You gulped. You had forgotten completely about the apparently weird name you had in Jungkook’s contact list, and hadn’t bothered checking it when you had had the opportunity.

“I got annoyed at him this morning so I decided to change it.” Jungkook lied as smoothly as if he had been prepared for her continuous pursuit.

“What does he want?” you heard her ask, her voice lowering for some reason.

“He… he was wondering when I would return.” Jungkook had spoken almost reluctantly, as if he didn’t want to say it, which struck you as odd since it was just a lie anyway. But then, you realized why - Jungkook didn’t want you to know how long he probably had remained with Yi-Jae.

As to why he didn’t want you to know about that fact… one could merely guess at, considering what he had told you yesterday.

She giggled. “I guess I’ve stolen you long enough. Jimin-oppa,” she said abruptly, causing you to almost fall off your chair, “I’ll send him back to you now! Good night! And I’ll see you on Tuesday!”

You almost thought you were going to have to fake Jimin’s voice, which you in no way knew well enough to even come close to mimicking, when you heard a rustle of what must be fabric - clothes or sheets? - and then Jungkook’s voice.

“I’ll call you again in five.”

He cut the call immediately, without waiting for your reply. You didn’t mind it though - you were paralyzed with shock.

Had you just called in the middle of… or after… or in the beginnings of… something you had absolutely no intention of calling anyone - least of all Jungkook - in whatever stage that so were or had been?

You had to cleanse your throat with some cold water. Your pajama pant pocket buzzed just in time for when you had brought your nausea under control, but you were still forced to inhale deeply before answering.

“Yes?” you said.

“Sorry about that,” said Jungkook quickly. “Must have been really awkward.”

“Something like that,” you replied. “I was just calling to ask about Tuesday - the wheres, whens, hows and so on and so forth.”

You almost couldn’t believe how normal you actually sounded. The words ran right out of you nearly automatically, and you didn’t feel a thing inside. It was neither cold, nor hard, nor warm, nor soft. Your heart was merely there , pounding evenly and obediently to keep the rest of your body alive.

Had it reached its limit?

“I was just thinking about calling you about that, too,” he said, something akin to relief in his voice. “Would you like to come to rehearsals and watch?”

“No,” you answered instantly. “I mean, I wouldn’t want to distract you or disturb preparations by being in the way.”

“Please, we’ll be performing before thousands. And I’d actually like it if I had some kind of audience during practice. To warm up in front of, you know. And in an arena with more than fifteen thousand seats, you should find a spot where staff won’t be bothered by you.”

“Sure then,” you decided, still feeling a bit detached from the situation at hand.

There was a pause before Jungkook asked, “Do you have time to be on all three of our concerts? They’ll be straight after one another.”

“No,” you said, a half-lie. “Only the May 30th one.”

“A shame,” said Jungkook, his voice genuine. “But I guess education is important.”

“You guessed right.”

He chuckled. “I’ll text you the address to the arena. And time when we’ve received our schedules for the day.”

“Perfect.”

Strangely, Jungkook left you hanging for a while. You almost felt how he was readying himself for something, and consequently did the same.

“Yi-Jae will be there as well.”

“I heard,” you said casually, somehow. “Seems I’ll get to know another incredibly influential and popular idol.”

“It’s alright with you, then?”

You snorted. “What would you do if I said I weren’t?” you said jokingly.

Jungkook didn’t respond. You tried not to think about what his silence entailed, and swallowed before continuing. “Of course, I don’t mind. I’ll get an excellent opportunity to get to know her.”

The sentence had barely left your lips when you realized you weren’t joking anymore. You did want to know who exactly Park Yi-Jae was. Not only because you now were supposed to be Jungkook’s closest friend and therefore had a duty to look out for him as well as get along with his girlfriend.

No, you wanted to know what he saw in her, a girl you had met a total of two times - both with devastating results.

It wasn’t on a jealous or masochistic basis you had founded your new idea. No, really, it wasn’t. Frankly, you were curious of her character, seeing as she was the catalyst for everything that had happened that February night at the stadium. Because you could have sworn she had planned the whole “chance” encounter between you and Jungkook, which thereby had led up to the accident and the amnesia in the first place. It wasn’t something you could exactly prove, but remembering the way she had behaved and spoken… something was definitely fishy.

You didn’t think Yi-Jae had planned that Jungkook would throw a drunken tantrum afterward and get run over, not judging by the awful way she had acted in the parking lot of Asan Medical Center, but she was definitely not an innocent bystander. Yet, you knew she hadn’t been aware of you and Jungkook’s engagement, which had been made clear by both Jungkook himself and what she had told you after he had figuratively thrown her out of his hospital room.

Additionally, you hadn’t forgotten about what Yoongi had told you when you two had privately met. Namely, about the incident involving Yi-Jae and that actor guy having met up earlier this year in ways that, for the paparazzi, appeared suspicious. And although photographs and articles from tabloid reporters were about as realistic and honest as Se-Eun’s stance on romance, you remembered Yoongi saying how Jungkook had lied about how steady his and Yi-Jae’s relationship was.

Park Yi-Jae had been the first domino brick. Yet who was she? Who was the person that had initiated all the drama and all the stupid mess that came out of Jungkook’s amnesia?

Who was the person responsible for all of your pain?

“(Y/N)?” someone said for the fourth time.

You jolted, having completely forgotten about the phone conversation while absorbed into your thoughts. “Yeah, sorry, I accidentally pressed mute.”

“And you call me the idiot?” he asked incredulously.

“Don’t try to tell me you haven’t done it, too, at least once.”

“Nope.”

You grimaced even though you were glad he didn’t appear to see through your lie. “Shoot. There goes my most embarrassing secret.”

“I can think of a number of more embarrassing moments. A large number.”

“I have to go,” you said, intentionally ignoring his comment.

“I bet. I’ll see you on Tuesday, then.”

You nodded. “See you on Tuesday,” you echoed before hanging up.

It was a night of restlessness before you woke up early the next morning in order to catch the first flight of the day to Osaka. Jong-Yeol grumbled as he drove you to Incheon, also evidently reluctant as to your one week long absence despite your greatest attempts at reassurance. Still, he helped you check-in your bags and admit your ticket, following you all the way to the security controls where he was simply forced to let you go.

“I’ll see you in a week,” you said where you stood fifth in line to the security measures. “And stop worrying,” you added when he clenched and unclenched his fists. “I know Japanese better than dad. I’ll just ask around if I get lost, or just use my phone.”

Standing next to you, Jong-Yeol sighed. “I know,” he said. “You’re an adult now. You should be able to handle yourself. But I still don’t like the fact that you’re going alone.”

“Jungkook and his hyungs and their staff will be there, too,” you pointed out as you shuffled a few centimeters forward, the line of people behind you following along.

“He’s no good,” he replied with another sigh. “If only Jung-Hyun would have accompanied you.”

“Oh, yeah,” you uttered, recalling the issue with Jungkook’s brother. “I haven’t heard from him since Thursday last week. Do you know if he’s gone somewhere?”

Jong-Yeol shook his head. “Nothing. Do you mean to say you cannot even reach him by phone?”

“Yeah.”

“Something must have happened to his phone. He’s a busy man, (Y/N) - he’ll get back to you when he can.” Jong-Yeol gently patted your shoulder. “There’s nothing to worry about, I promise.”

You gazed down your engagement ring. “You’re probably right.”

It took another ten minutes before you were able to get through security, from which point on you were completely on your own. You waved a silent goodbye at Jong-Yeol before heading into the duty free shops and boutiques, and while nothing came remotely close to being “too expensive”, you found yourself losing interest rapidly and it wasn't long until you became bored. Since it was still two hours left until the plane would lift, however, you decided to find your way to the gate and read or browse the news or talk to Se-Eun for the remainder of the time.

Se-Eun was thrilled for your sake - and very much frustrated over her mother having vetoed her attempt at tagging along with you - yet you could hint worry in her tone, too, a worry similar to your parents and Jong-Yeol’s. You noticed how she tried to hide it behind her usual glad disposition, but when you told her you had to leave for the plane, she finally cracked.

“(Y/N),” she said earnestly, causing you to sit down onto the black leather sofa in the first class lounge again. “You’re… you’re coming back, right?”

Your eyes widened, both in surprise and dismay. “Don't tell me you're thinking what I think you're thinking,” you said, tone sharper than perhaps necessary but useful nevertheless. You couldn't believe what you had just heard.

“I’m not!” she blurted, obviously guilt bearing down her tone. “I just want you to know, (Y/N)...” She hesitated.

“What?” you asked, one eyebrow quirked. “What do I need to know?”

Se-Eun inhaled deeply before continuing. “Don’t do something you’ll regret. Please,” she added before you could interject. “I care too much about you - I won’t be able to stand seeing you unhappy.”

“I’m not unhappy,” you said firmly. “And I will return to Seoul, I promise.”

“I hope so.”

You didn’t know which ones of your statements she had addressed, nor were you sure you wanted to know.

“Look, I can’t talk anymore,” you went on hastily as you heard the second call for passengers to enter. “I’ll call you when I’m in Osaka. See you next week!”

You knew she was contemplating whether to be a bother or not and insist on the conversation at hand, but she eventually conceded. “Bye!” she said cheerily. “And take photos this time, seriously! High quality ones while they’re on stage!”

“I’ve got my camera with me, don’t worry.”

“And try to get a few snaps on… you know .”

You rolled your eyes even as you smiled, both relieved and glad the mood had lifted between you two. “I’m not taking pictures of Jimin and Jungkook’s legs. Or sweaty necks and exposed foreheads. Or crotch silhouettes,” you added quickly, a grimace manifesting on your face.

“What about making those pictures my birthday and Christmas gift combined? Pretty please?”

“No.”

“Come on, (Y/N)! You have the kind of opportunity most fangirls would kill a man for! Or two!”

“Pervert.”

“Okay, okay,” she said, laughing. “Scratch the other stuff. Just give me one photo of Jungkook and Jimin’s thighs each. No, actually, if you can squeeze in both into one single picture--”

“No,” you said as you bit down a laughter of your own. “I’ll send you as many pictures as I’m allowed, but nothing weird.”

“Damn it.”

“Seriously, Se-Eun,” you said as you grabbed your purse and jogged out of the lounge area. “I have to go now.”

“Yeah, I can hear the announcer,” she said. “Have fun in Japan, (Y/N). Seriously, you need it. I don’t want to see your under-eye bags ever again. It doesn’t fit someone as rich as you.”

You entered the line of people heading into the drawbridge connecting the airplane with the airport. “Thanks. Or something along that line.”

“By the way, if you find your way to an anime and manga store--”

“I’ll buy you as much merch as I can carry,” you said with a smile.

“Do you remember my favorite characters?”

“How can I not?” you asked as you tucked the phone between your cheek and your shoulder while rummaging your purse for ticket and passport. “A blonde cyborg, that dude in blue uniform who can make fire by snapping his fingers and that one guy from that titan show. And there’s that white-haired boy with some weird arm as well as that other white-haired boy who eats people.”

The last made the male flight attendant give you an obvious deep frown, but as soon as he read your name and spotted your first class ticket, he pretended as if nothing had happened. And so did you - things were simpler that way.

“You suck,” she said with a giggle. “But if you somehow can manage to figure out who they all are despite your obvious cluelessness, I won’t protest.”

“I know them when I see them,” you said defensively. The flight attendant gave you back your ticket and passport and you started into the drawbridge. “I’m literally boarding the plane right now, though, so I’m going to have to hang up.”

“Take care! And send the pictures as soon as you can!”

“I will. See you in a week, Se-Eun.”

Two hours later, you arrived at Kansai International Airport. You found yourself scratching your arm an awful lot during the time it took you to get to your hotel, which was a five-star establishment located in central Osaka and not even twenty minutes away from the arena Jungkook was performing at. Yet, excitement and, perhaps most importantly, a sense of joyous wonder was building inside your stomach with each step you took in this new environment.

It felt nice blending into society for once, neither the taxi driver nor the woman in the hotel lobby taking you for anything other than a young citizen. Wealthy, obviously, and someone unfamiliar with the area, but thanks to years of rigorous tutoring, you didn’t even have an accent. People didn’t look twice at you, and you weren’t getting hounded by paparazzi. You therefore felt quite confident journeying out, even by yourself, after first getting settled in the hotel.

Osaka was a concrete jungle with various patches of green in the shape of obviously man-designed parks, and the climate wasn’t much different from Seoul’s. Also, since you mastered the language, there wasn’t much of a mystery wandering around discovering. Yet, the charm of being a tourist during a period that wasn’t a holiday or a usual time for students to have time off lingered with you, and as you decided to have late lunch at a cheap, automatized ramen shop, you felt a sort of profound happiness at the simplicity of it all. The kind no amount of money in the whole world could buy. It was the calm before the storm.

One day left until May 30th.

The remainder of Monday was dedicated to browsing the rest of the area nearest the hotel and taking photos of the urban environment. You managed to find a hobby shop dedicated for anime merchandise and bought dolls and small figurines for Se-Eun before heading back, and made a quick detour to a corner shop for some snacks as well. All your tension had melted away after a hot shower, and you were relaxing on your bed in a thick bathrobe two sizes too large, watching TV for hours upon hours. You had meant to change into your pajamas, but accidentally fell asleep before you could bring yourself to.

And briefly, you floated in a darkness where no real life drama could harm you.

The buzzing in the other end of the room was what jolted you awake. Stiffly, you scrambled out of bed and toward the desk you had put your phone to charge upon before showering, and blinked rapidly to regain your vision. It was surprisingly bright outside, but you didn’t spend much brainpower considering it.

Not until you, half-blind, raised your phone to your ear and heard Jungkook’s voice slip through the line.

“Morning, (Y/N).”

“‘Morning’?” you exclaimed. “You must be kidding me.”

“Why would I?” he asked, the confusion in his voice quickly sharpening into alarm. “Shit, don’t tell me you’ve missed your plane!”

“No!” you amended hastily. “No, I actually came here yesterday. Decided to take an additional day--,” or five, “--off. I just… I must have fallen asleep. Didn’t wake up until now.”

“Well,” said Jungkook, his tone deflating. “Thanks for terrifying me. I almost thought you weren’t going to come.”

His concern made you smile, ever so slightly. “No problem.”

“Anyways,” he began, his voice trembling with anticipation and joy with each passing word. “We’ll start rehearsing at eight-thirty. It’ll mostly be a rundown to see how things work technically, and we probably won’t be doing the concert in its whole until sometime after lunch. You can come anytime you want - I’ve told the manager-hyungs you’re coming, so you should have no trouble getting in.”

“Alright,” you said. “I’ll get there in an hour or two.”

“Great. And thanks again for coming.” He paused. “You… you have no idea how much it means to me. Especially considering how bad our relationship used to be. I cannot thank you enough.”

“Don’t get all soft on me now,” you reprimanded gently, your heart aching at the genuine nature of his sentence. “Let’s celebrate and get sentimental afterwards instead. Who knows - I might just hate the show.”

Jungkook chuckled and his voice turned normal. “I’ll make sure you don’t.”

After telling you some final details surrounding the preparations for the concert, you calmly got ready for the day. You weren’t going to rush, even though a part of you direly wanted to see Jungkook as soon as possible.

Because there was another part of you, more dominant than the former, that dreaded seeing him with Park Yi-Jae.

It was nearing your “an hour or two” when you finally exited the cab outside Osaka-Jo Hall. There were a few girls waiting at the entrance already, chattering happily about the concert and the members of BTS. You were quick to put on a mouth mask to conceal your identity, and wandered up to where they stood, wary of the curious glances they sent you when you tried the glass doors. A moment of general awkwardness filled the area when you discovered that you weren’t able to get in, and you felt your cheeks grow warm underneath your mask as you texted Jungkook that you were there. His reply came surprisingly quickly.

*10.01 - Walk along the eastern side of the arena until you see a pair of metal doors with green and white writing on them. Someone will come get you.*

You did as instructed, and soon disappeared out of range from the girls’ vision. It wasn’t long until you found double doors that matched Jungkook’s description, and you rolled your eyes when you read what it said: machine room, beware! You doubted it was there “someone” would come to find you, and instead continued along the wide, asphalt path that led around the arena. Eventually, you saw another pair of metal doors that were also slightly ajar. The sign on the doors read: staff only. Glad that you had decided to follow your instinct - or logic - you approached them, ready to call Jungkook should it be necessary for him to confirm your identity - when a familiar face poked out between the doors.

“Kim Sejin!” you said with a surprised smile. “I expected someone else!”

“I can see that,” said Sejin as he returned your smile. “How are you?”

He pushed up the door for you to enter, and quickly shut it after you had. You found yourself standing in a slim, windowless corridor that seemed to stretch endlessly in two directions. The air smelled of rubber and cool concrete, and the fluorescent lights that traveled across the gray ceiling, parallel to a white line across the floor, gave off a pale, eggshell-colored illumination.

“I’ve had better days,” you said as you gingerly rubbed your neck. You had definitely not slept the way you used to. “But I’m far too excited for Jungkook to be bothered.”

Sejin gestured for you to follow him down one end of the passageway. He didn’t look half as tired as he used to, and you fleetingly wondered whether you consequently looked worse than you had when you first met him. If Sejin noticed, he didn’t mention it, at least. “I can’t believe you succeeded, (Y/F/N),” he told you. “I’d say Jungkook is just as good as he used to be, if not better! In three months, no less! It’s a miracle.” He shook his head. “No, you’re a miracle. I can’t even imagine what would have happened if you hadn’t been there to help the kid.”

His words moved you, but you tried to shrug it off. “It was my fault he ended up in an accident,” you said, grimacing at the bitter tone. “The least I could do was to help him get back on his feet.”

“Still, he owes you a lot. I do, too, since I would have probably lost my job if Jungkook never recovered.”

Your eyes widened at this. “Oh, he hasn’t recovered,” you said, causing Sejin to furrow his brows. “We tried that memory thing you told me about, but it didn’t really work out. So, Jungkook decided to practice and relearn everything he’s forgotten.”

“In a little more than three months?” asked Sejin incredulously.

“Probably in less than that.”

“Unbelievable,” muttered Sejin as he grasped his forehead. “I… I thought for sure he was--” He cut himself off, and his frown deepened as he scrutinized you briefly. “No, he’s definitely changed. I can’t deny it.”

You averted your gaze. There was a knowing in the man’s eyes that you did not feel comfortable addressing.

Mostly, because you weren’t sure if you even could.

“I was wondering,” you began instead, hoping to steer the conversation down another path, “if I could take some photos during the concert… and perhaps even before? Backstage, pre-show things.”

The western wall suddenly opened up to a set of stairs leading up and, judging by the direction, toward the center of the arena. “I’ll have to call the director about backstage things,” said Sejin as he started up the steps. “But since I’m guessing you have no reason to use the pictures for monetary gain, it should be fine. Take as many as you’d like.”

You followed him. “Thank you. And no, I won’t sell them.” However, you would share them with Se-Eun.

“Good.”

The stairs led to a heavy door that swung open to reveal another seemingly endless corridor. However, this one was wider and had windows that showed the outside, and faint music periodically permeated the walls. Sejin led you onward, and greeted passing staff in a set of polite but repetitive Japanese sentences, which you mimicked. The staff didn’t take any special notice of you, and so you took it as a sign that you could take off your mouth mask.

The music grew louder with each step you took, and it wasn’t long until you recognized it.

“My blood, sweat and tears…”

You felt a shiver run down your spine. Not out of fear or concern, but out of remembering the decisive evening in February when you first had heard those lyrics.

This was it. This was the beginning of the end.

By the time you and Sejin exited onto the empty stands in the eastern side of Osaka-Jo Hall, the music was blasting. Sejin left you to yourself after a female personnel had approached the two of you hesitantly, wishing to speak with the manager about something backstage. He apologized for having to leave so abruptly, but you assured him that you would be fine. Frankly, he could have departed without you even noticing.

Because there were seven male figures dancing in the center of the brightly lit stage that you couldn’t tear your eyes off. Or to be more specific, the one dressed in gray sweatpants, a loose white t-shirt and yellow brand boots.

Jeon Jungkook.

Last time you had seen him dance, you had honestly been appalled. Not purely because he had been bad, but because you had once seen him dance like there was not even a thought in his head other than the stage and the audience and the rhythm of the beat. While performing, on stage, Jungkook had been a completely different person--no, he had transformed into a different being altogether, something more than just human. His singing and dancing had weaved a spell so utterly intricate and appealing, you had been beyond shocked, beyond simply attracted or intrigued.

You had thought him beautiful. For the first time in your life, you had looked upon another human being with nothing but pure, unadulterated wonder. His stage presence had practically swept you off your feet and punched you in the guts at the same time.

And it was just that sensation that recurred when you watched Jungkook dance on stage for the second time.

You almost had to sit down as you stared at him. He had no need for fancy clothes or makeup or stylized hair. It was refreshing, actually, seeing him in comfortable clothes, face bare, dancing as if though nothing else truly mattered. His moves oscillated constantly between the calm assuredness of practice and the fiery intensity of his will and passion, though that in turn created a sort of balance that was absolutely captivating. It rendered you wordless.

You could watch Jeon Jungkook dance for ages, but then, that wasn’t what you were there for.

None of the seven members of BTS noticed you even as they finished the song and the stage director shouted that they needed to go through the song routine again. The music restarted, and you began uncovering your camera. You snapped a few shots - mindful, of course, of the flash setting, which you shut off before you started taking photos - as you approached the stage. Unwittingly, you managed to capture a few images where members exposed a strip of naked skin either around their midsection or their neck and shoulder area, and decided to keep them a secret from Se-Eun until you needed to cheer her up some extra. Other than that, you kept the photographing to a minimum, and eventually sank down onto one of the many plastic seats, your eyes still glued onto the dancing guys.

“(Y/F/N)? Is that you?”

The blood ran cold through your system. You slowly, very slowly, craned your neck backwards, and despite having heard her voice, despite reason telling you that she was very much present, you had to muster every ounce of self-control as not to jolt in shock when she entered your vision.

“Park Yi-Jae,” you said with a smile that tasted like ash and brackish water. “Nice to see you.”

Park Yi-Jae had stopped mid-stride, and turned fully toward you, her eyes round with genuine surprise. She was wearing an oversized, pink hoodie that made her delicate, bare legs look even thinner by comparison, and unpocketed her phone from the front of her white jeans shorts before taking the seat next to you. The air suddenly smelled like strawberry candy and hairspray.

“Likewise!” chirped Yi-Jae as she beamed at you. “But when did you get here? I didn’t even know you’d come!”

She ran her fingers through now long, straightened blonde hair, which you took as a sign of nervousness. Her nails were meticulously polished and cut, and jewelry dangled from her ears and tiny wrists. You tried not to look, but forced yourself to search for it - and you found it. Draped around her pale neck was the necklace you had bought for Jungkook’s graduation. Immediately, reflexively, you braced yourself for the immense agony of being reminded, of seeing the betrayal, of reliving the wound Jungkook had inflicted upon you that fateful February night.

But instead of pain, all you felt was emptiness.

“Oh, I arrived yesterday,” you told her, your voice completely light and normal. You sounded glad, really - somehow - while you strained to be heard over the music. “Jungkook invited me to come almost a month ago.”

“Did he?” Her smile remained on her face. “Well, I’m so happy to see you again - we didn’t exactly part on the best of terms.” She lowered her gaze ashamedly. “I was horrible toward you. I’m so sorry about that. I just… I was scared to lose him and hurt. I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”

Yi-Jae both looked and sounded honest. You didn’t know if you believed her, but you knew you had to appear as if though you did. If only to keep the conversation at a reasonable level. “Of course not,” you said sympathetically. “I get it, it must have been horrible hearing him say what he said.”

“Yes, but still…” She touched her bracelet, her eyes remaining downcast. “I’m sorry. I threatened you like a madman and I even accused you of not caring about him. I honestly thought you only wanted to use him for your family business.”

“But why would you think that?” you asked carefully, making sure your voice was calm and reassuring. It wasn’t difficult, seeing as you weren’t angry or annoyed at all. In fact, you felt absolutely nothing while talking to Yi-Jae. Someone could have shot you in the leg and you wouldn’t even have flinched.

You would have been terrified of yourself, but not even fear could overcome the total and complete numbness infiltrating your emotional state just then.

Yi-Jae glanced up at stage, where the members of BTS were still dancing. “Jungkookie told me a lot of things about you that weren’t exactly… flattering. I allowed that to cloud my judgement when I was angry with you, which was wrong in the first place.” Her eyes flitted nervously over to yours before quickly darting away again. “I’m so sorry, (Y/N). I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart for bringing Jungkook back to us and the way he almost used to be.”

This piqued your interest. So not only Sejin had noticed that something was different with Jungkook.

“There’s no need apologizing,” you said while you mused over what she had said. The horrifying feeling of emotional voidness was still present inside you, like a vile, corrupting sickness that no medicine or treatment in the world could cure. It was worse than jealousy, a hundred times worse, because it felt almost as if it were a different person talking. As if you were merely watching yourself, unable to do anything. “I completely understand you. I would have behaved the same in your shoes.”

A lie. An utter, utter lie. Fortunately, Yi-Jae didn’t seem to notice that.

“Thank you so much for accepting my apology,” she said as her eyes shifted back toward yours. She smiled. “I’d like us to be friends, (Y/N), if I can call you that.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?” you wondered.

Yi-Jae giggled. “I know we didn’t exactly start off right,” she replied, “but I still think we can make it work. We’re both tied to the same guy, and I don’t want to make this a case where he has to choose either you or me.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, your eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Why would he have to choose? He loves you.”

Again, where you anticipated pain, there was nothing. You lifted your hand to rub your throat and tried to discreetly find your pulse. It was steady, pounding in an even rhythm, strong and alive.

Why, then, did you feel as if you were buried three feet under ground?

“Ah, yes,” she said with a short laughter. “But still. I love him too much to see him have to struggle between me and his friends. You are just friends, right?”

It took all your remaining willpower not to laugh. It would have been a cold, harsh laughter, but a laughter nevertheless. So, that’s what her point with the conversation was. Yet, you couldn’t confront her about it, not as long as you wanted to be friendly with her for Jungkook’s sake… which meant you could potentially be keeping silent about it until she and Jungkook died, what with the lie you had told Jungkook regarding the engagement ring you had once worn.

Shoot.

“Yeah,” you said nonchalantly. “That idiot is lucky to have someone who cares so much about his well-being as you.”

You managed to not sound sarcastic, but it was only barely. Yi-Jae must have sensed it, too, but she kept up appearances. “Thank you, (Y/N),” she said with a bright smile. “Let’s make a lot of good memories together. Just wait, in five or ten years, we’ll all be gathered around someone’s dinner table and just laugh at this.”

You felt your mouth move into a stiff smile. “Yup,” you replied. “It’ll all be like a bad dream.”

Yi-Jae nodded, and opened her mouth to respond when someone interrupted her. You hadn’t noticed the music stopping for a brief water break, even less the tall, sweaty guy regarding the two of you where you sat.

“(Y/N)!”

You looked in the direction of his voice and spotted Jungkook standing a few dozen rows away. Around him, the six remaining members of BTS were scattered across the seats, faces sweaty. They raised their hands wearily and called out a few greetings, which you returned with a smile. Yoongi was the only one who kept looking up at you after the guys resumed talking among themselves, except for Jungkook, who was grinning right at you.

“There you are!” he shouted. “I was calling you for the third time just now! Why couldn’t you send me a text that you were here? I almost thought you had been kidnapped!”

Warmth filled your chest, but it was only a spark, a weak flame, compared to what you used to feel when Jungkook smiled at you. You truly were emotionally injured, you fleetingly acknowledged as you rolled your eyes at him. “I thought you had eyes, you idiot!” you called back. “It’s not like I’m sitting right in front of you. Wait, but I am!”

“I’m actually getting my eyes checked soon,” he responded loudly, a chuckle following afterward.

“It’s probably all that gaming, you know!”

Jungkook shrugged, but his grin widened. You tried to discern any kind of unease or awkwardness in his posture or tone over the fact that you were sitting with his girlfriend, but he seemed unmoved.

He was moving on.

While chugging his water bottle, he returned focus to his hyungs. Yoongi, however, was still sending occasional glances your way, none of which you were able to interpret, yet you smiled at him to assure him you were alright. Another lie, of course. You were all but alright.

“Do you and Yoongi-oppa have something going on or…?”

Your jaw slackened, and you stared incredulously at Yi-Jae. “What?” you exclaimed, unable to dampen your shock. “Of course not!”

Yi-Jae tapped a finger against her chin and smiled apologetically at you. “Sorry, it just looked a little suspicious.” She leaned closer, the smell of her strawberry perfume infiltrating your nose even more. “Come on, we’re friends now. You can tell me.”

You were tempted to tell her very firmly that friendships didn’t work like that, and even more so the prospect of just punching her straight across the jaw. But you managed to restrain your impulses, and merely shook your head. “No, really,” you said as you discreetly moved away from her. “There’s nothing between him, or anyone else in the group, and me. Trust me - I couldn’t lie to save myself even."

Now, that might have been an exaggeration. You could definitely lie, only not to people who knew you somewhat. Yi-Jae seemed skeptical, but she let it go, flashing you another brilliant, sweet smile you had seen in CFs and posters so many other times. “Okay, but you’re not interested in any of them or so?” she asked gently.

“No,” you said, doing your best not to grit your teeth. “I’m not interested in anyone at the moment. University is work enough already.”

Yi-Jae giggled, but she sounded almost too content when she replied. “That’s unfortunate,” she said as she let out a wistful huff of air, her eyes locking onto Jungkook’s back. “I wouldn’t know what I would do without my honey.”

You guessed it was supposed to sound romantic, and perhaps it was. But you couldn’t even imagine having to depend on another person, especially your significant other, to that point. If the roles had been reversed, you wouldn’t have been able to handle an overbearing partner.

But then, you weren’t particularly successful in the dating realm, were you?

Perhaps a girl like Yi-Jae was all that guys wanted. Pretty, petite and pure - the perfect combination.

“Let’s do ‘Not Today’!” A man wearing glasses and a lightweight headset, presumably the stage or concert director, shouted instructions from stage to people in the area. “Performers, please take your starting positions!”

Jungkook gave you and Yi-Jae a quick smile over his shoulder and saluted before following his hyungs back up to the stage. You waved back, not really feeling like you wanted - or could - smile. Yi-Jae called out to him, however.

“Fighting!”

A whole hour passed before you excused yourself from Yi-Jae’s company. She didn’t seem to mind, as she had been talking to and laughing with someone on her phone for the last thirty minutes or so. Hoping Jungkook would be too absorbed into the rehearsals, you hurriedly left the same way you had come. Fresh air, or really anything that didn’t reek of candy and strawberry, was something you had run a shortage of, and you were practically panting when you found your way to a small lounge area and shut yourself in. You had barely sank down onto a worn, leather armchair when you felt the tears prickling behind your eyes.

“No!” you grunted as you balled your hands into fists. “Don’t you freaking cry now. You can’t break just yet, not until--” Your voice broke, painfully so.

You shook your head and closed your eyes, refusing to give in to the urge of relinquishing control - control was all you had left to cling onto, at least until after Jungkook’s concert. All this time, you had been nothing but unyielding in your belief, your conviction that you were doing the right thing both for you and Jungkook and everyone involved. You couldn’t just let more than three months of hard work slip through your fingers, not when you were so close to the freaking finishing line.

After the concert, Jungkook would have proved his worth as an idol again. He would be able to continue pursue his career - his childhood dream - together with a circle of people you now knew supported him more than you had ever been able to do. His hyungs: Namjoon, Seokjin, Yoongi, Taehyung, Jimin, Hoseok - Jungkook would be in good hands continuing forward. And what his band members might not be able to provide for him, he could always find in Yi-Jae.

He had his life back together now. You had fixed the damage caused by his accident, which in turn kind of had occurred because of you. Your debt was paid, your duty was done - you could walk away from Jungkook now with a smile on your face and a straight back. He was glad, everyone around him was glad, and his life was going to continue where it abruptly ended due to his amnesia. It was all you had ever wanted when you first decided to help Jungkook.

Yet why did your chest feel so hollow? Why did your eyes yearn to bleed saltwater? Why did you want to punch something until you couldn’t punch something ever again?

Why were you being so difficult when you desired nothing but Jungkook to be happy?

You had kept your eyes close while struggling with your thoughts, and before you knew it, you had fallen asleep, exhausted still from the travel yesterday. It was your furiously vibrating jacket pocket that later roused you, causing you to shoot up from the armchair.

“Yes?” you answered.

“(Y/N)?” Jungkook let out a loud, exasperated exhale. “Where have you been? Yi-Jae said she hasn’t seen you since around lunch time! It’s an hour minutes before the show!”

“I’m on my way,” you said as you hurried out of the room. You saw staff running in all different kinds of directions and scratched your nose. “Uh, where am I supposed to go?”

“I’m in one of the private changing rooms for the performers. Wait where you are - I’ll send a manager to bring you.”

“I can just ask around,” you said as you started hesitantly toward a young woman, who was heading in the opposite direction.

“You know Japanese?”

“I know English, Chinese and a little French, too.”

He snorted. “I should have known. Well then, if you’re nearby the arena, it shouldn’t take you long to find me.”

You signaled for the woman’s attention, and her eyes found yours. “Alright,” you said rapidly. “I’m hanging up. See you in a bit.”

After some explaining, the woman was kind enough to show you all the way to the green room, where you found Namjoon, Seokjin, Jimin and Taehyung waiting in each foldable plastic chair, phones in hand. They had all been primped up from head to toe, similarly to when you had seen them on stage the first time, and you knew instinctively that you had a golden opportunity to take a picture of them when they were still unaware yet still nearly photoshop perfect. However, and despite almost hearing Se-Eun beg for you to do it, you weren’t just going to snap a photo of someone - even someone as famous and comfortable with cameras like BTS - without them knowing about it.

“Hi,” you said as you entered the green room, which wasn’t particularly green. It was concrete, much like the rest of the building and Osaka altogether, and smelled strongly of hairspray, deodorant and lotion.

Jimin, who had been weighing himself on the two back legs of the chair, responded fastest. “(Y/N)!” he blurted as he sat properly. “Where have you been? You missed lunch.”

“There should be some left,” said Namjoon as he gestured toward a corridor that started in the other end of the green room. “In the second room, next to all the water bottles.”

“I’m not hungry,” you said truthfully, though you gave both of them a grateful smile for considering you might be. “Where are the rest?”

“Yoongi and Hoseok are still getting their makeup done,” said Seokjin as he lifted his gaze from the phone briefly to meet yours. “Jungkook is fixing some clothing issue.”

“He lost more weight than he should have,” said Taehyung, a strain to his cheek as he spoke. He then pointed down the same corridor Namjoon had indicated earlier. “You’ll find him third door to the left.”

“Thank you,” you told Taehyung, who nodded curtly in response. “By the way,” you added hastily as you picked up your camera. “Can I take some photos of you? It’s for a friend.”

“The shy ones always say that,” said Seokjin though he straightened his posture. “But sure.”

“Wait,” said Jimin as he checked his reflection in the screen of his phone. “It’s bad lighting in here, actually.” He grimaced.

“It’s just a normal picture,” you assured him quickly.

That didn’t seem to calm Jimin, or in fact anyone of them down. You had to take at least ten pictures until all four of them were satisfied, since if one of them complained, another one complained at the next picture you snapped. When they were all content, Hoseok appeared from the corridor and insisted on being a part of the suddenly lengthy photoshoot. Twenty pictures later, all five of them disagreed on the picture in question, and so, with a sigh, you left the camera with Taehyung so that you at least could leave.

“Jungkook?” You knocked on the third door to the left, just as Taehyung had told you. “You in there?”

“Yeah, come in.”

Jungkook was looking himself up and down in a floor-to-ceiling mirror. His brown hair was fashionably tousled, and he was wearing enough makeup to even cover the slight scar he had on his left cheek. There were titanium in his ears and around his fingers, and he was wearing a red bomber jacket over a turquoise shirt with print. His legs were wrapped in tight, tight black denim, and he wore brand sneakers to complete his look.

“Hey,” he said as his eyes found yours through the mirror.

You pushed past a movable clothes rack that was draped with various expensive-looking shirts and jackets. “No white t-shirt? What happened?”

Jungkook chuckled. “Sorry to disappoint you,” he replied as he straightened the collar of his shirt. “Where the hell were you by the way? I searched everywhere for you.”

“I was in a nearby shopping mall,” you lied as you did your best not to scratch your arm. “I’m actually feeling a little sick. I don’t know if I’ll be able to be here for the whole concert.”

Jungkook spun around. “You have to be,” he said, desperation clear in his tone. He approached you and put his hands on each of your shoulders. “Do you need some aspirin? Water? Have you actually eaten lunch?

“No,” you admitted as you averted your gaze. You couldn’t look into his eyes when he was as close as he currently was. The smell of him, mixed as always with soap, was enough to make you want to just lean your head against his chest and breathe it in.

“You need to take care of yourself, (Y/N).”

“As do you,” you said while studying the floor. “Taehyung told me you lost more than just five kilos.”

“Almost nine,” said Jungkook quietly.

You would have liked to look into his eyes to bring a little more weight to your sentence as you responded. “Seriously, don’t be an idiot. Your fans love you for what you do and who you are, and I believe they would like you to be healthy before all. So do that. Because if you don’t take care of your health, who will?”

“You know, if I didn’t know better, I’d almost say you were concerned about me.”

You felt your lips tug into a reluctant smile. “Of course I am. I’m your friend, Jungkook. Why wouldn’t I care about your well-being?”

“Why then, won’t you look into my eyes?”

You inhaled deeply before raising your chin. Jungkook was tall, not as tall as Namjoon or Jung-Hyun, but he was tall enough for you to have to strain to look up at him, especially now that you were standing so closely together. He wore a soft expression on his face, his familiar brown eyes filling you with warmth - and you almost cried. The voidness that had numbed your feelings earlier, crept back across your senses with a ferociousness you now came to appreciate while you fought back your traitorous tears. You wouldn’t look away, however. You kept gazing up at Jungkook, hoping he couldn’t see how difficult this really was for you while you battled with your feelings.

“(Y/N)...” began Jungkook carefully, his voice low and hesitant.

“Forty-five minutes left until the show!” an unfamiliar voice called out from the corridor, cutting off Jungkook in whatever it was he had meant to say.

“Where’s Yi-Jae?” you asked as you stepped away from him. The weight of his palms on your shoulders remained, like imprints in the sand. “Shouldn’t she also be here to support you?”

“She’s in the bathroom and has been for a while now,” said Jungkook, his tone neutral. “She ate some bad salmon. Sejin-hyung caught it too.”

“Guess I should be glad I didn’t stay for lunch,” you muttered. “I love salmon.”

“Are you sure you don’t want some aspirin or something?”

You shook your head. “I’ll manage. And pills make me sleepy, anyways.”

Jungkook pulled up his phone from the bomber jacket - since he probably couldn’t even fit a coin in his pants - and held it out to you. “Could you take a picture of me and the hyungs so I can send it to my parents?”

“Sure,” you said, even though you lifted your eyebrows in surprise. You tapped in the code, 1024, yet nothing happened. “Did you change the password?” you asked.

“Sorry, I forgot about that. It’s 1738.” He glanced at his reflection in the mirror again, adjusting his sleeves and his hair before turning back toward you, and pointed ahead. “Let’s go.”

You hung your purse over the clothes rack before heading out. Laughter could be heard all the way to the green room where now all seven members of BTS were visually ready for the concert. The laughter came from Seokjin and Jimin, who was watching Taehyung clutching your camera as if it were his own and taking pictures of all the members while shouting random English words. Taehyung had seemed to gotten really into character while he forced Namjoon, Hoseok and Yoongi to pose differently, using both chairs and the various equipment lying nearby. You could hear Jungkook sigh, but when you looked up at him, he was grinning as widely as the other guys.

“Come here,” ordered Jungkook, causing everyone to look at him. “(Y/N) is taking a group photo of us.”

“Group photo?” said Taehyung in heavily accented English. He said it in a confused way, as if he himself hadn’t understood what he just had said, which caused an upheaval among the others.

“Yeah,” said Jungkook as he stifled a laughter. The others didn’t. “Come here, all of you.”

You had to unlock Jungkook’s phone twice before all six of his hyungs finally obeyed him. Perhaps, if it were another day, or another life, you might have joined in on the laughter and found it funny how Jungkook spoke without even the slightest honorifics while ordering the members around, but you knew this would be the end. And so, it was with a pensive smile that you took the photos.

When you were finished, the seven guys flocked around you to browse through the images, several of which would have belonged in a comedy sketch. They settled down after that, though if it were because of nerves or because they needed to save their energy, you didn’t know. Taehyung returned your camera to you before he went to stretch together with Hoseok. You unfolded a chair, too, and sank down on it as Jungkook patted you on your arm.

“I’ll be right back,” he told you. “If anyone needs me, I’m in the bathroom.”

You nodded. “Okay.”

“And (Y/N)...” His fingers squeezed around your bicep gently. “Thank you, again, for everything. You really are the best kind of friend I could have ever asked for.”

“Save the sentimental stuff until after the concert,” you said as you struggled against the burning in your eyes. “Who knows what will happen. Break a leg, by the way.”

Jungkook chuckled as he left you. “Heartless,” he muttered over his shoulder.

It wasn’t until he had left that you realized you were still holding Jungkook’s phone. Remembering the weird caller ID your phone number had according to practically everyone, you felt your curiosity increase exponentially with each passing second. You tried to resist the urge, knowing that you had no right to be browsing around Jungkook’s phone just because he had told you the password. Yet, when you realized that this would be your final chance to find out, you decided to sneak a peek. How dangerous could it be to just snoop around one last time and for something as innocent as a caller ID? Not at all, you reckoned.

You believed wrong.

What you thought would have been the last time you would directly interact with something connected to Jungkook for your own sake turned horribly wrong. For when you found your number in Jungkook’s contact list, you couldn’t believe what you were reading. You bolted up the chair with enough force to startle everyone in the green room with you, including the members of BTS. Yoongi’s gaze weighed especially hard upon your neck as you bolted toward the dressing room you had left your purse in, but you ignored everyone. Even as Hoseok called after you, concern in his voice, you rendered yourself deaf. All you knew was that you had to get out of there before--

“(Y/N)! What’s going on? Did something happen to your father again?”

You froze. You wished you hadn’t, you wished you had been able to sprint out of the dressing room and merely push past the person standing behind you just then, but you couldn’t. You were petrified.

“(Y/N)? Can you hear me?”

His steps thudded across the floor, hasty, worried. Yet it was you who were filled with apprehension after Jungkook forced you to turn around and look at him, hot tears running down your face.

For Jungkook fell to the floor, gripping his head with both his hands until his knuckles whitened.

Seconds, days, hours, years - it was all arbitrary. Time felt as if it had ceased, yet simultaneously ran faster than ever. People, both familiar and unfamiliar, gradually filled the doorway to stare at you and Jungkook. Nobody dared step over the threshold. Not even Jungkook’s hyungs moved when they heard him grunt and groan in agony where he was crumpled onto the floor.

All you heard were your own heartbeats. Fluttery, light, as if to compensate for the unmoving time. You wanted to help Jungkook, you wanted to stop his suffering no matter the cost.

But that was not something you could do. Not when you were the cause of it.

Eons could have passed - or a few milliseconds. But the amount of anger in Jungkook’s eyes as he looked up at you, mixed with the kind of cold scorn he had regarded you with the last five years, made you believe in the former. The way his lips formed into a thin line, the way he set his jaw, the way his brows were slightly furrowed - they were all a part of the Jungkook you had shared your latter teens with. They were all a part of what had made you despise him so much during the last couple of years.

They were all a part of the expression Jeon Jungkook had worn when he discovered you with Park Yi-Jae after the concert in Seoul that Sunday in February.

You couldn’t look him in the eyes anymore. Instead, you darted out of the dressing room, the spectators parting like the Red Sea before you. Not even Yoongi’s slim dark eyes, which were brimming with sympathy, lent you any consolation as your walking turned into running and then sprinting.

Jungkook’s snarled after you, voice colder than ice. It lashed into your back, harder than a physical whip, almost making you trip. Yet despite the pain, your legs didn’t stop. You wouldn’t stop moving.

You didn’t know what would happen to either one of you if you stayed.

And so you continued, even as he repeated the sentence, the agony coursing throughout your body and your very soul doubling. Even as you felt his familiar brown eyes pierce into your back, like salt in open wounds. Even when you would have rather been torn apart by real weapons and bleed real blood.

Because nothing hurt as much as hearing Jeon Jungkook yelling after you with enough contempt, disappointment and disgust to poison the ground you walked on.

“Why the fuck did you lie to me, (Y/F/N)?”

#MCAF #Ao3 #Wrienne #bts fic #bts x reader #bts fanfiction #bts jungkook #Jeon Jungkook/Reader #Characters:#Jeon Jungkook #Reader-Insert

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quietpagan · 1 year

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Trollhunters: What Falls and What Grows Ch 22

“As one grows older one should grow more expert at finding beauty in unexpected places, in deserts and even in towns, in ordinary human faces and among wild weeds.” ― C. C. Vyvyan

A/N: The only warning I have is for the overly-long and utterly useless descriptions, due to being briefly possessed by Victor Hugo, who is a bit miffed that I always skipped over ‘A Bird’s Eye View of Paris’ and has now taken his revenge.

Also on AO3

The Trollhunter’s recently bandaged hands made carrying things difficult, but she still seemed determined to tote around the little orange whelp as they made preparations for their journey, peering at Blinky’s hoard of supplies while she rocked a dozing Sellah.

“Is there anything we’ll need to prepare for? It’ll be a lengthier trip, this time,” asked the Trollhunter quietly.

Blinky reached over the spread of supplies that AAARRRGGHH had helpfully dumped across his library table and unfolded a thick sheath of paper, peering at it at arm’s length; Vendel’s hands were notoriously steady with anything except a stylus, and though Blinky was one of the few able to read his writing he still found it rather difficult.

Alexandra watched him expectantly as he moved the map closer and farther from his face, occasionally turning it both over and upside-down.

“There is one issue that we shall have to navigate,” Blinky finally managed to parse. “The Parisian gyre tunnels have flooded completely. They are the most direct line to the Heartstone in Turkey and given that several other routes have been affected by flooding as well, we may as well stay with the shortest one. There is a temporary tunnel for travelers to walk until they can reach intact tracks. It will increase travelling time, but it may be the only option at this point in the repair efforts.”

“So we will have an even longer trip…” Blinky re-folded the map as Alex tapped her fingers on her thigh.

“We may need to depart a bit earlier. I’ve got an appointment to keep Saturday noon, if possible.”

“If we stay on schedule, this may take most of the day. I suggest we begin no later than midnight tonight,” said Blinky. “I need to make a quick run Upstairs then. I’ll be back in a little bit.”

AAARRRGGHH ducked his head to allow Alexandra to transfer the whelp to his hairy shoulder, where she curled into his mane just as Draal had done when he was a child.

Alexandra returned from Upstairs in a little over an hour, and they left with minimal fuss a tiny bit after ten in the evening.

The gyre trip to Arizona and the London Bridge progressed the same as it had on their previous venture, though they did not stay in London for more than a half-hour, pausing only for a snack and a diaper change before taking another gyre on the route to the Paris underground.

AAARRRGGHH had flattened himself against the back seat and Blinky had to feel rather sorry for his friend; he could have made the trip with Alexandra by himself, of course, but in the wake of the polymorphic Changeling debacle neither troll was enthusiastic about being away from the other for an extended period of time, and so along AAARRRGGHH came, nausea and all.

Alexandra kept little Sellah calm and unafraid by holding the baby nestled under her chin, singing a tuneless song to distract her. Blinky had to wonder at her familiarity with the whelp. Had she tended to children before, in her human life? Humans were so prolific and child-rearing was so traditionally pushed upon the fairer sex that Blinky could easily imagine it so, although Alexandra as he knew her would have been one of the last people he would have guessed to be happy to babysit.

Being part of an older, larger, and more extensive network mean that the European and Asian gyres travelled somewhat slower, allowing their passengers to more easily stop at waysides and admire the geography and artistry put into the tunnels and tracks. The paths shifted and turned as they sped along, changing from the sparkling London clay to the chalk and limestone of Dover, to the quiet route that ran under the English Channel. From then they entered the extensive cave systems under Normandy, which branched out to various parts of France and from then, to Spain and the rest of Europe. Blinky kept them on the main route to Paris.

The collapsed tunnel approached suddenly: Blinky hauled on the breaks just in time to avoid smashing them against a wall of cracked boulders half-submerged in filthy water. The gyre wobbled, then stopped.

“Ah, Master Alexandra? It appears that we have reached our roadblock,” Blinky said, leaning over the controls to look.

The entire gyre tunnel was caved in, glowing ‘Danger!’ signs dotted over the blockage and shimmering in the floodwater. To the left was a large, crude channel, obviously bored with some haste. The group disembarked their gyre and took the tunnel as it led through a dripping cave system closer to the surface, occasionally having to climb on AAARRRGGHH’s shoulders to avoid shallow pools of water. The way was not easy; AAARRRGGHH especially had a difficult time, both in fitting through the narrow tunnels and with walking on the damp, unsteady floor.

“According to my map, the flood damages stretch throughout the entire city. The temporary tunnel will take us to the other side, with a small detour around the actual occupied catacombs. Apparently the Parisian underground has become quite the tourist destination.” Alexandra adjusted the child in her arms, walking in silence for several minutes.

“How long will it take to walk the whole tunnel?” “According to Vendel, about nine and three-quarter hours.”

The Trollhunter sighed and kept walking. Blinky stayed close to AAARRRGGHH, watching how the vivid neon light from distantly-placed troll-signs bounced on the oddly luminescent limestone that the city above was well known for. At sparse intervals, tiny grates had been cut into the ceiling, angled to allow travelers to see if it were night or day without actually having the sunlight directly enter the tunnel.

They encountered nearly no one for over an hour, only seeing one extremely bored-looking vendor at the outskirts of Paris city. Alexandra handed over some of her many cat-wares and bought everyone lunch, thanking the vendor in passable French.

Whereas Blinky and AAARRRGGHH were content to walk in silence, Alexandra occupied the whelp by telling stories. The whelp – and the two other adults as well - listened with wide eyes to tales of vast oceans and grassy plains filled with hairy buffalo, of trees taller than mountains and rain through the leaves of a forest, of a fox hunting in a snowy field, of what sunlight looked like when dancing over water. Blinky noticed that few of her stories contained any people, probably because the characters would most likely be human.

Once they were just under the city, the noises of the traffic and construction above began echoing through the sparse grates through layers of rock and floodwater. Alexandra followed the trollsigns to an access tunnel that led to the surface, where she then handed young Sellah to Blinky. “I’m going to rent a truck,” she said, to Blinky’s utter astonishment. “If it’s going to take all day to get through a bunch of janky tunnels we may as well drive.”

“But! Master Alexandra, it is daylight. Do you know where to go? Have you the correct currency? I understand the walk may be tedious, but – “

“Ten hours, plus the five or so for the gyre trips and the London Bridge and so on, won’t be too bad for us but Sellah is a baby. A long trip away from a Heartstone or any blood relatives of hers may not damage her permanently but still can’t be healthy. We can probably make it in under two hours if we drive. I’ll be back in a bit.”

Alexandra continued to ignore Blinky’s half-hearted protests (for he truly was gaining excitement at the prospect of having a real automobile adventure) and bent down to nuzzle Sellah’s head, gently nudging the youngling’s chin before climbing out of the tunnel with a flash of crackling green light that Blinky only just remembered to shield the whelp’s gaze from. He turned back in time to see a boot-clad human leg withdraw, before she sealed the door to the tunnel behind her.

AAARRRGGHH rumbled, smiling as he settled down on the damp floor for a nap. Blinky watched the entrance for a few moments more before giving in and sitting down next to him, adjusting Sellah so that she nestled within AAARRRGGHH’s mane. He pulled a novel from one pocket but only played with the pages, hardly bothering to open it.

“While I appreciate her confidence, I am not quite used to her assertiveness. It almost makes me long for her first days as Trollhunter, when she deferred to us on every little matter.”

His dear friend apparently found the sentiment rather amusing.

“Shyness, fear,” he said ponderously. “People-pleasing, fear. Take charge, no fear.”

As usual, AAARRRGGHH always knew exactly how to say it.

“I believe your point hits, as it were, the nail on the head. She deferred to us out of dread that any major disagreement would cause suspicion or turn us against her. Ironic, is it not, that the more trust she shows the more argumentative and bold she becomes?”

AAARRRGGHH pillowed his head onto his folded arms, shifting until he could tuck his knees against Blinky’s legs.

“Bold safe now. Secret out, friends still here. Safe to be Alexandra.”

In truth, it reminded Blinky of AAARRRGGHH’s first century as an ex Gumm-Gumm, when he had worked very hard to hold back any negative emotion and tried to do whatever anyone told him, for fear of reprisal if he were at all obstreperous. It was not a comparison that Blinky enjoyed making, and the thought kept him up until Alexandra finally returned, a flash of green light the only herald of her arrival.

The Trollhunter dropped into the tunnel, rooting through AAARRRGGHH’s hair to find where Sellah had buried herself. The whelp protested at the removal but settled when the Trollhunter allowed her to use her own navy-colored hair as an alternate blanket. Her feet and hands were soaked with water.

“We’re going to have to backtrack a bit. I parked the truck in a more secluded area. We need to move, I don’t want the sun to get too high.”

She then hurried then up and ushered them back down the tunnel, jogging at a fair clip to another surface access a half-mile away. Water on the other side of the hidden door made opening it a challenge; AAARRRGGHH held it open for Blinky, who only had a brief moment to glimpse a dark, cobblestone alleyway, their portion of it covered in brown water that rose nearly to Blinky’s knees. Directly in front of the tunnel door gaped the open back of a windowless van, just barely wide enough to fit AAARRRGGHH and lined with a few soft blankets. The alleyway was otherwise deserted, but on the tops of the surrounding buildings the daylight gleamed bright, and the windows above made Blinky nervous. He hastily climbed into the van, squeezing himself against the grate separating the back from the cab in order to make room for AAARRRGGHH. It was the work of a few short moments, between opening the door, piling three trolls and a Changeling into a truck, and sealing the entrance to the tunnels again, the door seamlessly blending into the rest of the wall. Blinky felt a jolt, then a rumble of the engine; a suddenly human (human!) Alexandra opened the grate and handed Sellah to Blinky once more, who numbly settled the whelp on a nest of blankets that had to have been placed there just for her. She quickly closed the grate without looking at him or AAARRRGGHH.

And then they were off, continuing on their mission in a way that never could have happened with any other Trollhunter.

The sounds of traffic were only vaguely muffled by the walls of the van, and Blinky was quickly able to determine when they were driving on dry ground versus driving through water. It wasn’t the automobile experience that he had always dreamed of, but for a first time it was enjoyable enough. AAARRRGGHH did better with the slower speed and gentler turns, but he still was not a fan of being trapped inside a moving object, and so lay down flat on the floor, one hand braced on the wall with his back pressed against the other side. There really wasn’t much room with him, and so Blinky settled atop his friend’s shoulder, leaning against the grate so that he could peek out at the streets beyond. Alexandra was kind enough to warn him of upcoming patches of sunlight.

Blinky had known, of course, for quite a while now of Alexandra’s Changeling nature. Had discovered it, in fact. It was known. But there was a distinct difference between knowing and seeing, and witnessing the human face of their Trollhunter for the very first time jarred him, to say the least.

He dealt with his unease in the typical way.

“Paris, you know, has been famous for its floods. Why, in the Great Flood of 1910, the river Seine rose nearly thirty feet, overcoming large parts of the city for over a week. And did you know that the luminescent limestone that attributes to the city’s fair name, La Ville Lumière, has a unique mixture of marine sedimentary deposits and is a very appealing building material among the human population above?”

Thrown off course by the events of the past hour, Blinky inevitably began to ramble.

“As there is no nearby Heartstone, trolls only visit Paris for its gypsum mining and its enormous amount of refuse, although there is a population of gnolls – surface-dwelling collectors and traders – who actually inhabit the city itself.” “Are they not bothered by sunlight?” Alexandra asked, making a very gentle right turn. Blinky subtly peered through the grate, examining the minor differences between her normal voice and the one affected now. It really sounded only a little bit softer, no change to the depth or pitch. Alexandra glanced back and Blinky hastily turned around.

“Er, not particularly, no,” he said, adjusting Sellah’s blankets absently. She really had been a very good whelp, content to sit or lay wherever placed, though he noticed that she had moved so as to be settled once again within AAARRRGGHH’s immense mane of hair. “The gnolls cover themselves with every article of debris they can find, until a large portion of it is adhered to their living stone. Sunlight does not bother them simply because no actual body parts are ever truly exposed to it.” “Huh,” was the only response. Blinky couldn’t help himself, and peeked again. She had a somewhat brutish face for a human woman, large of jaw and angular in the planes. The many breakages in her nose were evident, and the scar from Bular’s blade, already horrific on her trollish visage, looked even worse when stretched across human skin.

She took a sip from a paper cup that smelled of a mild tea, moving her jaw in a familiar tic, as if unsettled by the lack of proper trollish teeth, though he did notice somewhat of an underbite.

“How’s Sellah,” Alexandra asked, after a solid twenty minutes spent in tense silence as Blinky didn’t bother to pretend that he wasn’t examining her and Alexandra herself stalwartly refused to shy from his study. Blinky glanced down to make sure that the whelp was still sleeping, which she was, curled within her blankets and half-hidden in AAARRRGGHH’s hair. Alexandra had tucked a snack of glass shards in a matchbox into the blankets, which the quiet whelp had munched on before going to sleep.

“You seem…remarkably comfortable looking after the whelp, I must say,” Blinky murmured. The Trollhunter craned to looked back at the little nest, her face still and almost relaxed. Silence reigned for a very long time again before she spoke, but Blinky and AAARRRGGHH were both very, very patient trolls. Or – Blinky was. AAARRRGGHH was very nearly asleep; he had never cared for the drama and inner lives of other people, firmly believing their business to be theirs and his to be his. Blinky, who wanted to know everything and could hardly rest until he discovered every secret, found it to be a most admirable and confusing trait. While AAARRRGGHH was content to let Master Alexandra have her secrets, if they did no harm, Blinky was nearly driven insane, especially since she was finally offering up the tiniest tidbits here and there, far and wide. Mostly to Draal, but still. He hoped he’d get another little detail from her now.

After several minutes of what looked like quiet contemplation, Alexandra finally sighed and grumbled without looking at him, taking a swig from her cup of tea.

Blinky, out of decency, pretended to be absorbed with his book, but he watched with one eye as she drove, occasionally signaling to turn or stop. It was even longer that she sat in silence, until Blinky almost believed that she would drive the entire way without answering him.

“I’ve looked after a lot of children over the years,” she – at long, long last – whispered. “It was expected. A married woman would take care of her children, and an unmarried woman would look after others’. Human customs have changed in recent years, somewhat. I was…I always enjoyed taking care of the kids.”

She took a sip of her tea, munching quietly on the teabag, allowing the soggy leaves to spill into the water.

“It shows,” Blinky said gently. “Your care over Sellah is admirable.”

The Trollhunter fiddled with her cup, tapping at it with her scarred but surprisingly dainty hands. Blinky looked over at AAARRRGGHH, who appeared more ‘sleeping’ than ‘pretending’ at the moment, before slowly unlatching the grate and placing a hand on her shoulder, mindful of the sunlight angling through the window. The muscle jumped under his hand; a reaction he knew she would never have allowed herself to display before he’d learned her truth.

“You do not owe me the depths of your heart, Master Alexandra,” he said. “Secrecy about some things has caused us danger, yes; but you are allowed the details of your past. I will leave you be.”

“No, it’s fine,” she replied. “It’s not a real secret. I just don’t want to talk about it.” She toyed with her tea a moment longer before draining the cup and eating it. Blinky felt a brief flare of triumph at her display of more trollish appetite, until she turned the truck down a side street and parked it.

“I’m going outside to get a few things,” Alexandra said, quietly talking over his attempt to stop her. “I’ll be back in a half-hour or so.” “I will, er. Keep watch, then – “

She was already gone, doors locked with a click. Blinky attempted to enjoy his book, curled into AAARRRGGHH’s solid warmth with one eye on the partition and one eye on the child. Alexandra returned in fifteen minutes, and tossed a tiny rectangle at him.

“A cellular device? What possible use could I have for one of these?”

Leaning through the partition, Alexandra took it gently and turned it on. “Don’t eat it, they’re handy. See the little letter icon down at the bottom? Send me a text, here, this is my number…” Blinky amused himself with the phone for the next hour, until the sun was high and his eyes itchy, teaching himself how to send messages and how to call; discovering the Internet and apparently one could just? Research things? Instantly? He changed the ringtones twenty different times on his and Alexandra’s phones until he was satisfied; and he finally, finally, found the origin of a song fragment he had heard from the other side of a sewer grate. It was absolutely fascinating, if somewhat tedious to navigate with such a small screen and a rather patchy cell signal, and Blinky, who had always been rather talented with devices and mechanisms alike, tap-tap-tapped away until he fell asleep, the soft repetition of ‘two bros chilling in a hot tub’ echoing until Alexandra finally reached back to snatch up the phone and turned it off again.

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Vendel’s map led them to a golf course beyond the reach of the swollen Seine, where the Trollhunter parked on an empty tree-covered street and quickly shooed them down a storm drain, the outside of the grate graffitied with trollish symbols. The tunnel below was, thankfully, dry and clean. They paused briefly for a diaper-change before walking twenty minutes or so to the temporary gyre station. Alexandra seemed relieved to be back in her trollish skin and took Sellah in her four arms, still wrapped in a blanket to ward off the chill.

The gyre was waiting for them when they arrived, and without a backward glance the four were off to their destination, hurtling under France and Slovenia before making a sharp right at the Bulgarian turn-off and sliding into the polished marble tunnels under the Sea of Marmara. From there it was a straight-shot to Yanartaş in the Antalya province of Turkey, and the troll population within the mountain.

The end of the gyre line was marked by a vast portico of carved limestone, delineated from the tunnel walls by the intricacy of columns and arches that surrounded the gate. Like in Arcadia, trollsigns lit the interior of the domed cavern, but the colors did not flash and clash with each other in the same way; rather, the light bounced gracefully between arches, settling artfully among the carvings. AAARRRGGHH and Alexandra disembarked with wide eyes, admiring the effect as Blinky did as they stood before the gate and requested entry. A guard bid them welcome after Alexandra explained their purpose, having been warned previously of their arrival, and let them in.

The Turkish Heartstone of Chimeria was truly beautiful; a magnificent specimen of multi-colored diaspore crystal, the colors of which changed from pink to orange to pale green as they moved throughout the caves and arcades surrounding it. The grey caverns were carved very delicately for trollkind, supported by unnumerable thin columns and towering arches and lit by countless technicolor lamps and lanterns, in both trollish design and in the more modern styles of the human cultures above, all of which dotted the walls and ceilings with glowing spots of color. At the base of the Heartstone, fire burned from multiple open vents, heating and lighting the cavern and the hallways that wound around it. The effect was utterly stunning and Blinky was immensely glad of his six eyes, able to take in multiple views at once. AAARRRGGHH looked around in open amazement, stopping at many points to study the pattern cast by a lamp or warming his fingers against a natural flame that sprouted from the ground, something that vendors and homeowners within the Heartstone made ready use of for cooking and craft-work.

Blinky observed his companion’s awe with a searing fondness. Arcadia was known for many things, but its beauty lay mostly in the Heartstone, not the art or architecture, and the Darklands weren’t exactly the height of artfulness. AAARRRGGHH’s tastes were commonly comfortable and simplistic, but Blinky wondered if a deeper part of him marveled at the expression of light and color intuitively. They really weren’t that far from AAARRRGGHH’s own Heartstone. The Krubera caves from which he hailed were darker than any other, lit only minimally by the natural luminescence of the Heartstone and the trolls within, distinct patterns of color shining within the black. AAARRRGGHH’s quarters in Trollmarket were much the same; darker than usual, lit only by a few colorful crystals and bioluminescent algae formed into swirling patterns. Blinky decided then that he was returning home with a pretty lamp or two, to give to his friend.

The air was more fragrant than what Blinky was accustomed to and he recognized with a pleased start that several vendors were making sweets and coffee – good, trollish coffee, as favored as the Upstairs equivalent, and which the scholar had enjoyed many times but not since moving to the United States. He hoped that Alexandra would be in a mood to stay for an extra hour or so, to sample the hospitality.

The Chimeria trolls were warm and vibrant in complexion, ranging from dark red to yellow to the occasional pale blue, most with manes around their heads and shoulders and sprouting a thin, winding tail from their lithe bodies. Blinky and Alexandra stood out, with their very boxy, upright and many-limbed torsos, and there were many whispers as the group made their way through the caverns, particularly when their precious cargo became visible.

Sellah, Blinky noticed, had emerged from Alexandra’s hair to stare at the Heartstone in open incredulity, even climbing down to reach for it from the Trollhunter’s arms, the most animation he had seen from the child yet. It made his hearts reach for his own Heartstone, which he had not seen since his early adulthood. Though the crystal in Arcadia was one of the largest and most powerful in the world, no other Heartstone could compare to that of a troll’s original clan, a call that the whelp appeared to be experiencing. Both of her parents had hailed from Chimeria Heartstone, and it called to her as strongly as Arcadia’s stone did.

The elder of Chimeria Heartstone welcomed them to a tall dark antechamber, where Sellah’s paternal grandparents were waiting to greet her. Sadness showed on their faces, but their voices were warm and arms gentle and loving as the Trollhunter carefully transferred the tiny whelp to their care. She immediately clung to her grandmother, burying her face in the older troll’s hair with a soft series of chirrups. Alexandra stepped back to rejoin Blinky and AAARRRGGHH without hesitation and he watched as she chatted with the family, offering condolences and comforts in a soft voice before saying goodbye to the whelp with a nuzzle, and turning to talk to the elder.

Blinky was happy to hang back and watch with AAARRRGGHH, ready to step in should Alexandra make a cultural faux-pas or hint at things she shouldn’t, but the Trollhunter performed her roll with confidence. Blinky was quite aware of how nervous she was, having grown used to looking for her few tells, but she let nothing show. She was the model of a caring, patient Trollhunter, and Blinky couldn’t help but feel pleased at how she had grown into her roll in such a short amount of time.

They were invited – how lovely! – to chat over coffee, a stiffer and more bitter brew than what the humans enjoyed. Blinky quite relished the ceremony of it, exchanging the latest announcements and information with the elder’s second, who was the record-keeper for Chimeria. The job was notorious for drawing gossips and Blinky was no exception, so as AAARRRGGHH gently spoke with Alexandra and Taylan, the elder, Blinky confirmed various births and deaths and prodded a bit for information on shady or interesting happenings.

The eternal flames that sprouted all over the interior of the mountain were also evident on the exterior, and drew people from all over the world. When a human stopped to examine or brew tea or cook a small treat on one of the flames that sprouted from the ground, one of the Chimeria archivists inside would do the same, sharing the company and ceremony in secret and listening to the conversations as the humans walked around, before relaying their findings to the record-keeper. It was an information-gathering system unique to Chimeria and Blinky wondered if he ever could do similar once they returned home; watching and listening from the grates and manholes without fear of injury or death via Bular. As one of the few trolls in Arcadia with human interests Blinky doubted the usefulness beyond personal curiosity, but the idea was interesting. Perhaps if he employed a network of gnomes…

Blinky and the record-keeper, Beren, amused themselves with the potential of gnomes as spies and information-gatherers until Alexandra tapped Blinky on the shoulder, apparently ready to go. Blinky said his goodbyes amid a frantic scramble to get to the vendors in the market outside, and after a mild delay they set off again, laden only by two colorful lamps, a hamper of delicious foodstuffs, several scrolls and books, and one very large rolled-up tapestry carpet that AAARRRGGHH had to carry himself, but in Blinky’s defense, imports were expensive and really, when his large companion had kept running his hands over the fabrics as they passed the stalls, how was a troll to resist?

Plus, Alexandra was paying.

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With the difference in time zones working in their favor, barely, Alexandra was just able to keep her appointment with the Changeling leader, Strickler. Now aware of their pathways and modes of transportation, Blinky was more able to enjoy the car trip, especially since Alexandra was a bit more inclined to speed, given that their precious cargo had been delivered to her family. Blinky and AAARRRGGHH only waited a short time for Alexandra to return the rented truck before she came barreling into the gyre tunnel still in her human skin, Changing as they sped away toward London.

Blinky was glad of the sudden shift in the Trollhunter’s covert nature, but he was not entirely comfortable with it yet; the Otherness, the feeling of distrust and separation toward Changelings had faded with acquaintance but not disappeared, and having her binary nature displayed so suddenly and openly was disconcerting to him. He drew his comfort once more from AAARRRGGHH, ever steady and unflappable, and resolved to school himself more thoroughly, researching what he could in the confines of his library, though he truly wasn’t certain whether the writings he had available on Changelings were going to be negatively biased or not. Before now, it had never been a concern.

Alexandra hopped off the gyre as soon as they were on familiar ground, patting AAARRRGGHH on the arm as he unsteadily disembarked, and immediately began to head down the tunnel.

“You know how to reach me if something pops up,” she called back. Blinky, four arms laden with his prizes, had AAARRRGGH dig the horngazel out of his pocket and open the gateway to Trollmarket. Just inside were two guards, who tapped both trolls with a gaggletack and inspected their packages. Blinky waved a finger, and the doorway disappeared, leaving Alexandra behind in the darkness of the tunnel, the glow of her amulet vanishing as the entrance closed.

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Walter Strickler picked up the kettle and made his tea; cream, no sugar, with a small slice of lemon. Lawrence often accused him of being a tea snob as he chugged down the black tar that passed as coffee from the godawful machine in the breakroom, but out of all the teachers at Arcadia High the actual title of snob went to Uhl, who only drank one specific brand of imported coffee and was so picky about his tea that he actually had his relatives in Austria send him a local blend. Strickler, who had been around and about the world for centuries and had racked up the tastes that such mileage afforded, was not nearly as particular, but he still preferred his own way of making it. Tea-time in the mid-morning between classes was one of his favorite parts of the school day, even when it was interrupted by the front office receptionist.

“Mr. Strickler?” said Ms. Broadstaff, a mostly-competent but ultimately useless young woman who served as the primary note-taker and appointment-maker of the head office. “A call came in for you, from a young lady.”

Strickler sipped at his tea and stood, taking the sticky note out of her hand. Nomura had his cell number, he knew, she kept sending him obnoxious pictures of sliced and rotten avocados. Who was it this time? Gladys?

“Thank you, Ms. Broadstaff. Did the young lady mention her name?” Ms. Broadstaff fiddled with her glasses.

“She said that she was your niece. She lost her phone and wanted to give you her new number. A Miss Trudy Hunter?” Hunter.

Hunter.

The hand on the teacup did not shake, did not. He couldn’t allow himself to have a reaction, despite the sliver of ice that slipped down his spine. The Trollhunter had made contact. And she knew where he worked.

Strickler thanked the receptionist again and removed himself to his private office, cursing the rest of the school day as he stuffed the sticky note into the inside pocket of his coat and gathered his things for his next class. He’d have to wait the whole day to reach out to her and then what? He hadn’t expected contact so soon. The little piece of paper felt like a burning coal in his jacket, searing his skin for the rest of the day. Even if it was stolen or found on him, there was no name on it, nothing to indicate his treachery. But still it burned.

Strickler waited, patient as a rock, until school was finally released, until he’d safely parked his car, until he was locked inside his house, until he had closed the door to his office and locked that too, before taking out his phone and carefully adding the phone number to his contacts, under the sobriquet of ‘Pest Control’. He sat in his office chair, staring at the blank contact for ten minutes, utterly unable to think of anything to say.

He hated this. Despite the ball, as the saying went, being in his court, the controlling partner in this situation was quite firmly the Trollhunter, and not Strickler himself. Whatever they discussed or did not discuss, whatever was decided or undecided, Strickler had no hand over her, nothing to use in his favor except, perhaps, information, which would only be useful for him if she didn’t already have it. He didn’t know her identity; he didn’t know how deep she had been in the Janus Order, or what information she already possessed, or what she would demand from him.

And yes, he was rather a man of action, ready and willing to go forth with his plans, but. It was so soon. He’d barely had time to even get his thoughts and feelings in order, much less start acting on the very, very dangerous conclusion to, er. Commit treason. Gently. This was stupid. What was he to say?

Heavily debating the merits of finding an opening salvo in the bottom of a wine glass, Strickler typed in,

[I suppose I have you to blame for the recent disappearance of our many-faced acquaintance.]

He then shoved the phone into this pocket and made himself a cup of very strong tea, shuffling restlessly around his kitchen, the cold stone in his stomach turning away any thoughts of dinner. He hated this, and wasn’t that a juvenile thought, worthy of any of his adolescent students? He hated many things, and dealt with them with grace and aplomb as was befitting his station –

The phone chimed and he nearly dropped the teacup, fingers fumbling in his pocket.

>>{I’m afraid that their body will not be among the others. Their antics rather spooked my protectorate and as such their remains were very thoroughly destroyed. Hope you weren’t too fond of them.}

Strickler understood the statement. Otto’s actions in Trollmarket, whatever they were, must have caused a lot of paranoia, and any new attack would be dealt with swiftly and brutally. The ‘hope you weren’t too fond of them’ was an opening for Strickler to distance himself.

[I assure you that he was not under any order to remain behind. His actions, and the consequences thereof, are his own.

I believe you wanted to talk to me.]

It was a weak attempt to get back control of the situation, but Strickler had to try. He didn’t like the notion of being under the Trollhunter’s hand just as he was under Gunmar’s, and partially under Bular’s, for all that he had some authority to push the brute around.

>>{Given your schedule, Saturday noon at the outlook to the east of town should suffice for us both.}

[That will do], he typed. [I hardly think that I need to impress upon you the importance of absolute secrecy in terms of this meeting.]

Strickler let out a breath. They would meet in a bright, sunny place where absolutely no trolls could accompany them, secluded enough that they wouldn’t be interrupted. A prime location for a secret talk. Or an assassination.

The phone chimed while he’d been staring at the wall, and as he looked down his breath stopped.

It was a well-lit photograph of the side of a troll – Draal, the previous Trollhunter’s son, if he could guess by the blue color and crystal inclusions – superimposed by a hand clad in Trollhunter armor that was lovingly flipping Strickler the bird.

A human hand.

I’ll do as I like, the image implied, under the astonishing display of a troll’s knowledge of a Changeling Trollhunter. If Draal knew she was a Changeling, it was likely that the other two seen with her -Blinky and AAARRRGGHH – did as well. Where did it stop? Did it stop? Did Trollmarket’s elder, Vendel, know? Did the entirety of Trollmarket?

Strickler stared at the picture for a long, long time, as the light from his office window slowly dimmed into the night, until he was left in a dark house, the only illumination coming from an impossible photograph on the screen of a phone.

He committed the picture and the conversation to memory before finally dumping his cold, untouched tea down the sink and deleting the entire exchange. There was much to consider.

Damn. He hated this.

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“I’m coming,” said Nomura the second Strickler told her he’d made contact. He had stopped by her house after school the next day, under the guise of discussing Janus Order business, given that she was now his second-in-command. She lived close enough to the museum that they didn’t need his car, and they walked at a companionable distance along the main thoroughfare, heading toward what was becoming a routine venue.

Strickler took the moment to consider it. Nomura, as a former trainer in the Darklands, would have a higher chance of recognizing their Trollhunter. Most Changelings were trained under her. It was a good idea, if only the Trollhunter would go for it.

“Well, she didn’t mention that I should come alone,” he murmured. “Although such a courtesy is usually implied.”

“Just ask,” Nomura snarled, pretending to examine a well-dressed mannequin outside a storefront. She fiddled with the gauzy scarf, watching it fall between her fingers. “I’ll even stay by the car. The worst she can do is say no, and then we’ll just hook you up with a wiretap so that I can see later.”

Strickler held back his remark on Nomura’s mention of a wiretap, given her general incompetence with modern technology, and took his cell phone from his pocket before she could dig it out with her sharp little fingers herself. It would comfort him to have a second, even if it was someone as prickly as Nomura. But Strickler had centuries upon centuries of dealing with prickly and difficult people on a daily basis, and Nomura was small potatoes in comparison to others.

[I should like to bring my second-in-command], Strickler typed to his new contact, as Nomura dropped the scarf and they began to walk again. [They have agreed to remain at a distance but wish to see for themself the veracity of your claims.]

Finally arriving at Benoit’s, Nomura claimed their usual table just as it was being cleaned up (they now had a usual table, oh dear) and ordered for them both, not just tea but a light meal as well. Strickler would be annoyed at her presumption if she hadn’t known his tastes so well.

He occupied himself by people-watching, as usual, noting the patterns and rhythms of the town around him. The table in front of him held an elderly couple, regulars that he saw in town often; the old man had a distinct limp, and carried a cane. At the food truck on the corner was a tall woman toting several shopping bags, struggling to adjust them as she carried away her boxed lunch and fountain drink. Across the street two youths with colorful hair examined a box of discount LPs set outside of the music store, the girl laughing as the boy hip-bumped her. All quiet, all serene, all perfectly normal and oblivious, as it should be. Usually people-watching relaxed him, as it was a simple mental exercise that nonetheless expanded his knowledge and understanding of his surroundings, but lately everything just felt off. Like seeing a tree grow upside down, or biting into something normally hot and finding it cold. Anything could be wrong, anything could be different, and suddenly Strickler couldn’t see it.

Their tea and sandwiches arrived just before his phone pinged.

>>{Tell Nomura she’s welcome to come, so long as she keeps her scimitars to herself.}

Nomura apparently thought that Strickler’s stress was funny, because she grabbed his phone as he choked.

“Well, well, well – the Trollhunter knows more than we think,” she said as he snatched it back. “This is good. I’ve trained more Changelings than you have – if she’s in her troll form, I’ll know it.”

Strickler pocketed the phone and turned to his late lunch to avoid having to agree. It pinged again, just as he’d gotten his fingers all greasy.

The next message was accompanied by another photograph, this one just as startling as the one from last night.

A close-up shot of Strickler himself, biting inelegantly into his ham-and-cheese, with Nomura across from him glaring into her teacup. It was bright, cheerful, and clearly had been taken fifteen seconds ago.

>>{Enjoy your sandwiches. I’ll see you Saturday.}

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Strickler and Nomura arrived at the outlook at a quarter to eleven on the bright, sunny Saturday morning, having bid Bular a good rest (perhaps not in so many words) and indulging in a light breakfast of tea and tension at their now-regular restaurant. The goblins were snoozing, their Dark Prince was passed out face-down in his nest at the museum, and they were about to commit high treason by meeting peacefully with the Trollhunter.

All in all, not the worst Saturday that Strickler had ever endured, but it was probably going to make the top-ten list.

He parked his car in the shade but not out of sight, wanting to look open and receptive even as he scoped out the treeline for the most viable hiding spot. The Trollhunter would surely show early, in order to do the same spying that he and Nomura were doing, although Nomura’s idea of watching for their guest apparently consisted of stealing the driver’s seat and hanging out the window like a bored child.

Strickler conducted himself with dignity, and firmly planted his arse in a shrubbery. It had an excellent vantage point of the hill leading up to the cliff, and the back was covered by the hideous garbage container that had been dumped into the clearing years previous in hopes of halting the accumulation of litter left by drunk and canoodling bar-hoppers. Normura just sneered at him.

The other point of hiding in the bushes was to give himself privacy, and by the Pale Lady he needed a moment to relax. Yes, Strickler had met with shady businessmen and corrupt politicians and violent mobsters and PTA mothers all without breaking a sweat, but that had been in the service of their Dark Underlord (mostly) and therefore had very little chance of ending up with his head bitten off (…mostly).

It was different. Even though Strickler had been casually undermining Gunmar’s control for years, building up his own power and forging connections for his own disposal, actually meeting. With. The. Trollunter - !

At exactly 11:59am the Trollhunter walked boldly into the clearing, standing in the open with relaxed arms and watchful eyes. Stricklander observed her from his hiding place, under no illusion that she did not know where he was and what he was doing. She had remained in her troll form – most likely to keep her human face a secret, with the bonus point of having a physical upper hand. It was jarring to see a Trollhunter, fully-clad and utterly trollish, appearing in broad sunlight.

Her stance was open and her face unperturbed, no weapons in her hands – a deliberate flex. I am unbothered by you, her posture said, I am not threatened. I have nothing to fear here, unlike yourself.

She was of a somewhat unconventional form. Most prospective Changeling whelps were taken from clans that more closely resembled humans, to avoid too much complication and depersonalization between bodies. Troll and human anatomy were different enough without adding extra limbs or eyes, and this Changeling had both, a highly unusual choice. Stricklander had no memory of such a strange form being part of his horde, but with the number of Changelings that came and went over the centuries he could hardly be expected to remember everyone, particularly since he had usually delegated the more mundane meetings and check-ins to a lesser contact. The mark of the Darklands, however, was clear in her fierce appearance, in the subtle changes that made her look just a little bit different. Whatever she was, whoever she had been, Stricklander wasn’t afraid of her.

Not a bit.

Nomura, who had been occupied with the goblins during the attack on Trollmarket and had managed to escape before the rest of them were captured, hadn’t had a good look at the Trollhunter then. She sat demurely in the driver’s seat, calm as anything, but Strickler was counting on her skills in observation. Her eyes tracked every movement the Trollhunter made, watching the other woman as a cat would a flittering bird.

The Trollhunter gave her a little wave as she walked past the car.

“Lovely as ever, Nomura,” she said, in a low, unaccented voice. “Strickler, is it necessary?” Strickler, who had emerged from the trees the instant her three working eyes were turned away, huffed and brushed off his coat.

“You’ll forgive me my caution, I’m sure,” he said with a grimace. “You have us at a certain disadvantage, as I know you know.”

“Quite well,” the Hunter replied pleasantly. “I’d rather just get into it. Gunmar is terrible, yada yada, everybody’s been hit with a clue-by-four and so on, let’s figure something out. What are your expectations, Waltolomew?”

Just beneath his left eye, Strickler felt a nerve began to pulse. Negotiations were supposed to be rather subtler than this. “I should like full immunity for myself and any of my Changeling brethren who decide to abandon Gunmar,” he stated. “And protection in the case of retaliation, from both the loyalists and Bular himself.”

Behind them, Nomura hissed quietly.

“Anticipated. And what would our assurance be, that the defectors were genuine? My protectorate are distrustful of Changelings for a reason.” “What would you like us to do, parade ourselves to your trolls so that they might identify any spies?” “I was thinking a piece of the Killahead Bridge, each.” There was silence upon the hill. Strickler himself felt mildly electrified. “Are you mad?”

“The Bridge is nearly complete, I’m aware. It’s in everybody’s interest that it remain incomplete.” “Bular won’t simply accept that suddenly rebuilding had been delayed, especially since he’s privy to your nature. He’ll begin to suspect us of siding with you!”

Strickler was gesturing now, beginning to pace as his temperature rose. Was she totally oblivious to the risks he was taking? “And what would happen if everybody simply…left? You and Nomura leave town and abandon him, kill the goblins or take them with you, I don’t care. How far do the cracks go, and how many are willing to break away?” “You must understand that I simply cannot get that information with just a simple phone call, I can’t just go up to every Changeling in the city and ask them on their feelings toward defection – “ “I wouldn’t trust their answers anyway. It would be better for-“

From the Trollhunter’s pocket suddenly rang:

The Trollhunter slapped a hand to her hip, frantically digging for a cell phone.

“Excuse, I need to take this – “

“Blinky, I’m busy.”

There was a tinny sound of frantic speaking. Strickler, watching as the Hunter backed away a few paces, had the interesting experience of seeing all of the blood drain from her face, turning it an ashy shade of turquoise. He’d give almost anything to be able to hear what Blinkous Galadrigal was saying that spooked the blasted woman so badly, though Strickler reluctantly had to admire how her hands and voice did not shake.

“Thank you for telling me. Delay them for another hour, I’ll be back soon.”

She hung up and waved to Strickler, already turning to go. No! They weren’t finished! He hadn’t even had time to inquire about the Changeling bodies still moldering in Trollmarket’s basement, she couldn’t be leaving yet!

“Duty calls. We’ll talk more later. You have my number, if anything comes up.”

“Hold on – “ The Hunter nodded to Nomura, who merely flashed her eyes in return, and then she disappeared in a burst of blue light. Nomura startled, banging her elbow on the steering wheel.

“They can teleport now?” she hissed. Strickler was already getting a headache.

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A/N: Well, this chapter lasted absolutely forever. Was it all necessary? No. Was any of it beside the last segment actually relevant to the furthering of the plot? Nada. Did I waste forever and a day researching cave systems and flooding disasters in Europe and natural everlasting fires and crystals native to European countries for several thousand words of irrelevant filler? Absolutely. Why did I write this chapter, how was them getting around Parisian catacomb flooding at all necessary to describe, why have I done this to you and myself? I really want to do another fight scene but I felt like I’d just been piling them up one after another, so. Here’s the latest chapter, and it’s mostly travelling descriptions ffs.

Yanartaş, Turkey, is a real place, famous for its everlasting fires and its connection to the legend of the Chimera. I had an immensely good time imagining the trolls and Heartstone underneath it; Turkish art is some of the most beautiful in the world, and I’m glad to have a chance to write about even a little bit of it. Most people think about the mosaic lamps, but don’t forget about the intricate pottery and tilework, beautiful geometric architecture, calligraphy, wood and metalwork, ahhhhhhhh

I visited a Turkish art shop recently and was drawn into a two-hour coffee break and this is my homage. The food was delicious, the shop and the art within was absolutely gorgeous, and the conversation was very thought-provoking and I quite enjoyed the experience. I know a lot is going on in Turkey and Syria and surrounding countries at the time of this writing and I absolutely want to encourage y’all to donate to relief efforts if you can, spread the word to help if you cannot, with love and hope to all effected.

I know that the vine reference was a bit cheesy but honestly, I couldn’t resist. There’s been at least one tumblr post attaching that particular vine to Blinky and it was just too good, I had to.

https://www.tumblr.com/tench/156785795298/i-think-youre-starting-to-forget-that-im-in

Alexandra’s been running her entire life, and now it’s time for her to stop. There’s a lot going on very quickly, and her dishonesty toward people that she needs to trust has to come to an end. It’s not necessarily going to be pretty and well-received and she’s going to have to learn how to be unpopular to a majority of people while still being able to do her job. Most of her adult life throughout the centuries was dedicated to being liked by everyone, so that nobody would want to turn against her if something happened, but that’s not her real personality, and constantly people-pleasing might be good in the short run but this isn’t a situation that she can leave after ten or twenty years when people notice she’s not aging and she has to move. This is permanent, and she can’t burn herself out while dedicating all of her time making sure that everyone likes her.

Did you notice the tiny mention of Douxie and Zoe? That’s all you’re getting of Wizards, by the way.

I’m rewatching the series and Strickler, when he is genuinely frightened and out of control, is the biggest drama queen and petty as all get out. So I’m having fun putting Mr. Pompadour down a little bit and making him squirm. It wasn’t the best negotiation scene by a mile but they can talk later.

#trollhunters #what falls and what grows #blinky #aaarrrgghh #draal #fanfic

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awkwardkindatries · 2 years

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Hello my lovelies!

Just an quick PSA that there won’t be a kinky Friday this week. Unfortunately, I live in Georgia and hurricane Ian is on his way. By tomorrow night we should be seeing rains, by Thursday and Friday he’ll be right on top of us and until Saturday evening the rains and winds probably won’t stop. For anyone who might also be effected please stay safe and I hope your food, power, and water remain alright and intact!

Please be safe and my thoughts will be with everyone until the storm passes🖤

#hurricane ian #be safe #admin awkward #awkward babble's

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the-firebird69 · 1 month

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Making it FLY! 😱| RC Star Wars Millennium Falcon💫

youtube

He said if you get those little propellers inside it you're going to have one hell of a ship for sale and they make smaller ones so you can put like five in and they said and then you can put like one in the back like super charge it with like four or five they have small ones so they said that sounds awesome we don't know if they did it no we do he did it nothing kicks ass feels like 120 miles an hour and this one of the fastest and this car is going to be incredibly fast and a real station too and they know about the sensors and it'll have GPR and you can put a weapon in there I really this car is going to be great I think it's awesome he's got to do some things and get ready for sleep we have one announcement hopefully

-we have about 5 oz 5 announcements one is the pseudo empire is getting attacked it's like the eastern hemisphere in the southern hemisphere in the West they're probably up to 95% in tax no they're about 70% as you go upwards there's a base here and there there's a bunker here and there until you get to the northern tundra for the pseudo empire it's true they don't have too many in the South or none in the Midwest and Houston they are not any bunkers in the east or west I'm so appreciate up there you ever been West is 50% emptied of pseudo empire and the bunkers in the upper Midwest of theirs are 35% of capacity in the West Canada and the West except for the two states they are 20% capacity the two states are embroiled and I'm being attacked the bunkers have not been breached yet the bunkers in Northern New England are intact but in Canada they're about 20% the basis in the Western hemisphere being attacked so far they're 50% still the areas of interest or areas of operation really are at 70% and their areas they're intermingled are at 80%. So let's try to hear and there are a series of tax plans the mass of contingent has not attacked yet and then they have a c attack plan for at 3:00 or 4:00 a.m. their shells can reach here from the ocean if they're on the West Coast no if they're on the East Coast they're massive and they have to stay off because of that but they can get within about 400 MI and scholarships for the rent they're going to try and do that but we do not want them firing in this direction at all if they try to we will hit them and it's been going on forever and they've been getting hit other news

-there are about 70 people who have noted they want a falcon supercar or hypercar or a fly car and their bosses and they're getting bossy with their own and they want them to make it and I don't have something nice it's going to be fun titanium alloy and a coating and they all say it I want to be fast and they're going to be very very fast in this we're going to go ahead an award our son and daughter the award for design again and we do understand why and there'll be several operational falcon up before Florida's supercon in Miami and the other one in Tampa and they said it too and that's intense and everybody wants to grab him in one and yeah Harrison Ford looks American and there's a problem here they say is that okay

-we have a huge number of people who are ready to fight just about anyone we need them out of here right now I'm sending it

-you have some news we do and Saturday is slow but there's news about housing starts now it is about battles the one over the giants has increased probably tenfold people can hear conversations and they go nuts the battles are ensuing down below foreigners and Max are going out very hard the max have lost 30% of their caverns and the large ones not the Continental caverns and it started last week they are fighting in every tavern.

-along with the stuff going on there is a certain error of arrogance it's in the air and really it's horrible and we don't know anybody who has this problem

-couple more things getting tired the battles are waging the areas of the Giants are becoming covered with people and they're grabbing tons of the clay by tomorrow at the area about 10x10 mi will be down 10 ft they're taking it by hand and then ramp up and the drive out and they're testing it and they're fighting it's way too strong and there's a panic about the empire they're saying her son is right and damn lucky he found that stuff and they're moving out and they're going to go down and more this area is a madhouse and we're coming in regardless of what happens we have to we're going to announce more shortly

Thor Freya

Olympus

#Youtube

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idleglowingpixels · 1 year

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HEY HELLO HI, I HATH RETURNETETH \(OoO)/ AND WITH AN UPDATE! (probably not one you all expect tho)

Unfortunately I have a teensy bit of bad news, but for good reason, let me explain:

TL;DR, the job I had gotten in February around XYY Chapter 1's release didn't really work out. And I only just started a new one this week, so it's been pretty hectic in my personal life lol, not gonna go into detail but sometimes it just be like that! XD

But because of that, I haven't had the chance to really give Chapter 5 a proper overview & edit, which every other currently released chapter has gotten and deserves imo, so Chapter 5's gonna be a bit delayed. :'(

At LATEST it'll be held until June 14th, but I have this Saturday off of work, so I'm gonna make sure I dedicate time to going over it and making sure it's how I want it to be. If you want to know why this particular chapter is gonna take a second, read the next few paragraphs at your own discretion.

Also, if this is your first exposure to my fic from the great beyond that is Tumblr, you can check out the first 4 chapters of XXY here!

(SPOILER ALERT) This chapter introduces some new characters, including two of the updated 2016 reboot villains, who I want to make sure I introduce properly. I have the tag "Updated 2016 reboot villains" or something like that on the fic and I PRAY that wasn't a turn-away for people! Most of them are minor characters, who are one-offs for an arc of chapters, but there's one or two that recur as antagonists.

A lot of older fans reading the fic might not recognize them, think they're OCs, or do know them but not fondly (XD), and I hope the changes I make to them will have readers a bit more hyped about them. In earlier drafts of the story, I wasn't going to use any of the 2016 characters, but it's a teen AU for the Puffs/Ruffs, I try not to make OCs if I don't have to, and all of the other baddies are older in age --I'd imagine some of them got other stuff going on 11 years after the events of the original show HAHAH!

I scrolled through the fan wiki as well as recalled a couple from my attempts at watching the reboot, found some newer baddies I liked conceptually and took a peek at some of their episodes, and found ✨ POTENTIAL ✨ XDDD (Also shout-out to Shadow Streak's videos covering every episode of the reboot, I still have yet to watch every single one, bless him :'D XD)

The newer characters all have general-to-major changes from the reboot, but their main character gimmicks remain intact. They're also completely separate from the way they're written in the reboot, practically different characters haha (Given I'd never write characters the way the reboot did lol, it had its moments but they were few & far between). (END SPOILER ALERT)

It's a pretty long chapter tho, and considering it's in Boom's POV I'm happy I could give him a big chapter length since he's one of the more difficult POVs for me to write (aka not one of the Reds LMAO they're so easy for me to write for dgvvdfvdcsc).

Big apologies for not dropping it tonight or updating sooner! I didn't think the new job would tire me out so much, and I've been doing a ton of unrelated things in the background that have kept me busy as a bee. :')

Like I said, the latest this chapter will release is next Wednesday on the 14th, but may release sooner depending on my time schedule. This will not affect updates for Chapters 6 & 7, which will still be released on the 7ths of July and August respectively.

Thanks for all of your support 🙏 See you soon, stay hydrated, and have a wonderful day or night!

#linposts #xxy #ppg #powerpuff girls #update?#ao3 #fanfic writing #writing #fanfic authors

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ledenews · 1 year

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Only Memories and Remnants of the Riverside Restaurant Remain

She recalls frozen drinks were a favorite during the days she was a bartender at the former Riverside Lounge and Restaurant in the 1990s. Pina coladas, strawberry daiquiris, and loaded margaritas were a few of the top sells while Lynne Walton was behind the bar at the establishment that was inside the Best Western Wheeling Inn. Walton began working at the Riverside in 1994, and at that time, country music’s most popular still were playing inside a nearby theatre called the Capitol Music Hall each and every Saturday night in downtown Wheeling. The hotel’s 80-plus rooms consistently were full of out-of-towners, and local residents frequented the establishment, too, because of the terrific views of the historic Wheeling Suspension Bridge and of the Ohio River. Or maybe it was the frozen drinks. “My favorite times there were when I was behind the bar with Mick (Webster), Julie (Thames), Kathy (Sutton), and Terri (Tennant). That really was the most fun because we worked really well together, and the place was always hopping. It was really popular,” Walton reported. “The place was always full of people from the Wheeling area and with the people who were staying at the hotel. The reason for the name of the establishment is obvious once walking out on its deck area. “That was almost 35 years ago but I can still remember how much of a blast the place was,” she explained. “And it seemed like everything I was making was with a blender. I think those blenders were going from the time I walked in for work until I walked out. One after another, the frozen drink was the thing back then just like martinis are now. Back then, though, everyone wanted something frozen with a bunch of whipped cream and a cherry on top.” The structure that housed the former Wheeling Inn was purchased a few weeks ago by the Wheeling Convention and Visitors Bureau for $1.7 million after the business was deemed a nuisance in May 2022 by Wheeling Police Chief Shawn Schwertfeger. The hotel was constructed in 1962, and the property was bought in 2005 by NALINI LLC for $1 million. That company never operated the restaurant or the lounge and the areas since have suffered heavy water damage. “And what a shame, too, because the place was always crowded, and the money you would make back then was crazy, it really was,” Walton said. “And the banquets were great, too, because once they closed Fabulous Fannies, they made that whole area for banquets, and that money was nuts, too. I think the only bad part about working at the Riverside was how far away the kitchen was. It seemed like it was a half-mile away some nights. “George Boury and the managers at the Riverside were fortunate because a lot of their employees stayed for as long as I can remember. Most of them were still there even after I left to start a family,” she said. “It was a well-run place, though, and there was money to be made every time you went to work, so it’s no wonder the employees stayed around as long as they did.” Currently, there is standing water resting on tarps inside the former restaurants. The Food and The Fun George Boury joined his two brothers, Ellis and Mike, to create the legendary Elby’s Family Restaurant, an empire that grew from the first eatery on National Road in Wheeling to 73 locations in four states. The company also had a hotel in State College, Pa., Fabulous Fannie’s in the Wheeling Inn, and a stake in TJ’s Sports Garden. But it was the Riverside Restaurant and Lounge that allowed George to create a place for fine dining and nightlife. “People loved the food there, too. I really don’t remember anyone complaining about it at all,” Walton said. “But to be honest, I really don’t remember much of what I ate there because we always seemed to be too busy to sit down and actually eat a meal. It was more like picking at something in between this and that every shift. The Riverside’s bar is still intact today but water damage has ruined much of the infrastructure. “But it was a place for special dinners for special occasions, and I can’t tell you how many people have told me that it was their favorite place to go in the valley. So many people would come up from Glen Dale and Moundsville, and they would come down from Steubenville, and so on,” she said. “I do remember that everyone loved the burgers there, and they enjoyed all of the entrees, too. We served a lot of burgers at the bar, and people would compare the food to where they were from in the area.” The menu, Walton recalled, was completely different than what most people recognized as offerings from an Elby’s. “I know that was important to George. He told me that many times during those three years,” she said. “And when people said something to him about that, he was really proud of it. I know he was a big fan of Ernie’s Esquire and a lot of people compared the menu to what they served up on the hill (in Bethlehem). “Just like everyone else my age who grew up in this area, I was very familiar with Elby’s. The Big Boy, the Slim Jim, and that stuff, and the Riverside had nothing like that on the menu. It was strictly upper level,” Walton remembered. “That’s probably why we were always crowded, and not just on the weekends. The current state of the bar inside the Riverside Lounge would not pass a Health Department inspection. The Best of Times When purchased in the late 1970s, the Wheeling Inn was called “The Downtowner,” but two years’ worth of interior and exterior improvements later and the new Best Western franchise opened to much fanfare. A decade later is when Walton moved from her home in Moundsville to Wheeling Island, and initially, she was employed by two different restaurants in the same building. First, it was Applejack’s that was located at 329 N. York Street before the restaurant was transformed into La Docs. That restaurant closed in early 1994. Several years later is when Golden Chopsticks opened for operation at the same address. “I worked at a couple of places in Wheeling before I started at the Riverside, and I met George Boury back then because he always came into those places during the evenings,” Walton recalled. “So, I talked to him a lot and once the place where I was working closed, I didn’t know where to go next. I love bartending because it was a terrific night job so I wanted to find a new place. The roof for the Riverside deck has leaked fir many years. “But I knew George Boury so I asked him and he said yes,” she said. “The funny thing was, though, that when I went to the Riverside that first day, George wanted me to work in every other position first before I went behind the bar. So, I was the hostess, I waited tables, I made tossed salads, and everything else before I started bartending. It made sense, too, because you usually have to do everything when you work in a place like that back then.” Walton has bartended in a plethora of places since and she still is employed part-time in a couple of establishments today, but the Riverside Restaurant and Lounge always will be one of her all-time favorites. “I have bartended in a lot of places here in the valley, but the Riverside was definitely one of my favorites because of the people, the money, and because it was really a lot of fun. Some places frown on taking time with customers and things like that, but not at the Riverside. George and the managers encouraged it,” Walton explained. “And the people from out of town? That’s why they came to Wheeling … to have fun. “Those Jamboree weekends were nuts, just nuts, and we got so slammed in the Riverside that there were some nights when I wouldn’t get home until 4-4:30 a.m. because those country music fans would just want to stay up as late as possible on those Saturday nights,” she added. “I do miss those days because the Riverside was the place to be back then. Now, everyone in town can’t wait to see that eyesore come down and go away, and that’s just so sad.” The deck area once was a very popular place to sit while eating at the Riverside Restaurant. The blue booths inside the restaurant now are stained from dripping water. The bar stools were not where to be found inside the former bar and restaurant. This area for the former hotel has been soiled by a plethora of water leaks. https://ledenews.com/wheeling-ohio-county-cvb-buys-former-wheeling-inn-property-for-1-7-million/ https://ledenews.com/an-open-letter-to-author-the-art-of-the-deal/ https://ledenews.com/a-fat-cat-a-kid-named-paisley-and-a-hotel-across-the-street/ Read the full article

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just-here-for-the-moment · 3 years

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FRIEND!!

May I humbly request Pero Tovar and "every inch of you is the most beautiful thing God ever created."

Heat level up to you.

Thankyou!

YES!! You absolutely may request it, and I hope that you're okay with me turning it into Part 2 of The Innkeeper's Daughter, because, damn... I'm loving that man!!

The Innkeeper's Daughter, Part 2

One MILLION "thank yous" to @fandom-blackhole who let me take inspiration from This Ask for the original Anon and This follow-up Ask from me, and let me run wild with the premise of Pero Tovar falling in love with a woman who works at an inn.

The Innkeeper’s Daughter, Part 2

Part 1

Word count: 3000+

Rating: Explicit, 18+ only

Outline: Pero Tovar x “You” (OC cis/het female reader, “blank canvas”/no physical description/no use of “Y/N”)

Warnings: Reader’s first time (but this is NOT meant to be a ‘virgin kink’ fic); mature and vulgar language; euphemisms; slow-burn; Pero Tovar being super sexy and caring; kissing; vaginal fingering; oral sex/F receiving; unprotected P/V sex; a little bit of morning-after insecurity on Reader’s part

You broke the kiss and leaned your head back against the wall, breathing heavily and thoughts running wild. Pero’s face was still so new to you, up close. You were learning to read him better. His stony scowl seemed to make up the bulk of his expressions, and other than the pure hatred and anger that had twisted his face after the other man had called you a ‘whore,’ he only seemed to have a softer version of the scowl. On anyone else you would have called it a frown, but on Pero it practically registered as a glow.

You looked up into his eyes as he brought one of his broad thumbs to your cheek to sweep away a tear.

“I have to finish serving the customers. I can’t leave Father alone on a Saturday night.” You kissed him again, and then another before you found the strength to pull yourself away again. “But I want to see you tonight. After I’m done.”

Pero nodded and tilted your chin up with his calloused fingers. “Tonight. I will come to your room.” He kissed you deeply, then scattered a trail of kisses up your nose to your forehead. He pressed his lips to the top of your head and then murmured. “Until then, mi alma.”

You broke the embrace reluctantly, steadying yourself with a sigh as you walked away, smoothing your apron down. You looked back once at Pero where he stood at the end of the hall. His face looked soft, and the hint of a smile tugged at one corner of his mouth as he gazed at you. You fought the urge to abandon your post and run back to him, and you lifted your fingers in a little wave as you re-entered the barroom.

Thankfully all of the guests had returned to their own affairs, resuming their raucous drinking and eating, the bar brawl entirely forgotten. Your father looked at you with an arched eyebrow and you smiled and shook your head, reassuring him that you were fine. You busied yourself with attending to customers, tucking coins into your pockets and ferrying empty plates and mugs to the kitchen.

Your chest ached every time you inhaled, desperate for the evening to end, to see if Pero would fulfill his promise of coming to your room. You weren’t nervous, far from it - you were eager and willing and excited. You weren’t a high-born lady, required to keep her maidenhead intact in order to form an alliance with some prince. You just hadn’t had the opportunity yet. None of the young men in the village had been interesting enough for you to want to steal away to a hayloft or secluded part of the forest with. But Pero… he was different. Mysterious and well-traveled, closed-off until he had bared his soul to you in the back passage. You were ready, well past an age where you could make up your own mind, and you had said yes, grasped the opportunity to lay with a man who excited you.

You weren’t sure exactly what would happen after tonight, whether Pero would stay in the village or leave, ask you to come along with him or insist that you stay put. You dared not think too far ahead, letting your immediate tasks occupy you as the conversations of the guests flowed, filling your head with a buzz that blessedly distracted you from the clenching and throbbing in your gut.

Finally, after what seemed like eons, the last customers dribbled out of the door, laughing and shouting their way down the lane. You washed the final stack of dishes, wiped the tables, and handed Father the last of the coins from your pocket. Your beaded brow had nothing to do with the exertion of your labor, and everything to do with thoughts of the handsome Spaniard who had promised you a visit.

You fairly flew to your room at the top of the stairs, discarding your soiled apron and dress. You poured fresh water into your basin, adding a few dried summer wildflowers from the sachet in your drawer, and used part of a cake of fine soap that Father had gifted you at Christmas. It was nothing like the exquisite ointments or fancy perfumes that ladies used, but when you were done your face and body were scrubbed clean, and you were certain that Pero would be enamored of your efforts. He had noticed your dress, after all.

You donned your cleanest nightdress and then hesitated. Should you get into bed, or sit in your side chair? You decided to tuck yourself under the covers and read for a bit by the lamp. You heard no noises from the rest of the house, though you listened with eager ears, only half-attentive to your book. Time dragged on interminably. Just as you were growing a bit drowsy, you heard a tap at your door. Your pulse raced and you swung your legs out of bed, dashing the few steps to the door.

“Who is it?” You whispered.

“Pero, mi alma.”

You swung the door open, beaming up at him. You reached one hand out to take his and pulled him into the room, almost not believing that he had come. But as you closed the door and he crowded you against it to kiss you again, you sunk into the reality of it. He was here, he was real, he was yours.

You felt a sense of urgency, the desire to pull him into your bed immediately and get right to lovemaking. But you fought against the urge to hurry, tried to memorize every one of Pero’s kisses as he held you tight between him and the door, one large arm wrapped around your waist while the other cupped your jaw tenderly. You found yourself almost whimpering as he kissed you, his tongue sweeping your mouth with passion. This was heaven. If this is how men made love, you could get used to this.

At length, Pero pulled away from you, gazing deep into your eyes. “Mi alma… you are a maiden, yes?”

You nodded, feeling suddenly shy. He had guessed as much in the hall downstairs, telling you that he would show you everything you needed to know, show you how to please a man. Now that it was a matter of actual discussion, your lack of experience felt like a burden. Would you be able to please him? Would he still be in love with you if you were clumsy or awkward?

Pero tilted your chin up and spoke low, serious in tone. “I will be gentle. It may hurt at first, but after that you will feel great pleasure. I will make sure of it.”

You breathed a sigh of relief, realizing that Pero’s question wasn’t meant to embarrass you, but rather to ensure that you would be comfortable and safe. Your shyness ebbed away, replaced by a glowing pride that you had chosen such a careful man to be your first.

“I trust you, Pero. I am ready.” You smiled and leaned up to kiss him once more. He stepped back and you took his hand to lead him to your bed. He sat on the edge and you paused for a moment.

“Should I put the lamp out?”

Pero shook his head, that gentle smile tugging at the corner of his mouth once more. “No, mi alma. Leave it lit. I want to see you.”

And there was that eagerness again, your heart pounding against your ribs as Pero took your hand and pulled you to stand between his knees where he sat. He placed both hands on your hips and gazed up at you with the same expression of hunger that you had seen on his face downstairs when he professed his love in the passageway. A quiet moment stretched long and sacred between you.

Pero dropped his hands to the hem of your nightdress and lifted it, looking up at you for permission. You nodded and he pulled it higher, skating the material against your thighs and hips, until it reached your waist. You took the fabric in your hands and lifted it up and off your head, dropping it on the floor at the foot of the bed. You felt as if you should be shy, but you couldn’t find it in yourself. The way that Pero gazed at you, the way his hands stroked from your thighs to your hips to your waist, the fact that you could see his erection straining against the thin material of his trousers - it made you feel powerful and special.

Pero wrapped one of his hands around to cup your butt, bringing you closer against him. You draped your hands over his strong shoulders. He cupped one breast and brought his mouth to the nipple, licking and then suckling against you, his tongue hot against your skin. You felt desire stirring, a throbbing between your legs that mirrored your heartbeat. You tangled your fingers in his hair and moaned softly.

“Oh, Pero. That feels wondrous.”

He let go of your ass and brought his hand to your front, softly stroking your thigh and nudging your legs apart. He cupped his hand there, holding it firmly against your sex, and you nearly wailed at the sensation, the delicious contrast of Pero working his mouth at the same time that his hand was touching you so intimately.

You closed your eyes and threw your head back, feeling his fingers explore you. He stroked your center softly with his largest finger, bringing wetness forth and then pushing it back between your folds. You felt your pleasure building, something below your navel twisting itself higher. Then Pero’s finger found your sensitive bud and he began circling it, building the pressure until you felt the dam burst. You brought the back of your hand up to your mouth and stifled a moan as you felt your cunt throb and quiver, stealing your breath and sending your head reeling.

As the sensation began to slow, you felt Pero stroke you again and then insert his finger up into your folds. It felt amazing, like it belonged there. He probed you gently and then pushed it further in. You felt the breath return to your lungs and then you looked down at him. He released his mouth from your breast and placed a kiss to your stomach.

“Is this alright, mi alma? Am I hurting you?”

You shook your head. “No, Pero. It felt good. It feels good.”

He smiled and then released you. “Lay down for me.”

You lay in the center of your small bed, looking up at him expectantly as he stripped his tunic off. You nearly gasped at his beauty, his golden skin marred by scars, his broad shoulders muscled after hours and hours of fighting. And when he peeled his pants down from his narrow hips, you were astonished at his cock, bobbing proudly up and erect. You wondered again at your lack of shyness, finding only that you felt womanly, proud of the way that his body was making his desire for you so apparent.

Pero kneeled on the bed next to you and surprised you by peppering kisses across both of your ankles and shins. His soft scruff tickled your skin, and you giggled at the sensation of it.

You reached a hand out to touch his shoulder. “Pero, what are you doing?”

He paused and looked at you, "Every inch of you is the most beautiful thing God ever created." Pero laid a kiss to one kneecap and then the other, continuing his trail up your thighs. “It would be a grave sin if I failed to worship every inch of you with my lips, mi alma.”

He kissed across your belly and ribs, your arms and breasts, and finally came to a stop at your lips. When you tangled your fingers in his hair, he brought his hand once again to stroke your sex, bringing a moan from you that he matched with his own deep growl.

He pulled away and positioned himself near your knees.

“Open your legs for me. I want to kiss you there, mi alma.”

You smiled at Pero and shifted your knees apart, watching his face grow darker with lust as your legs fell open. He whispered a few words in his native Spanish and licked his lips before leaning down. The first laps of his tongue were gentle, and you watched him close his eyes in satisfaction. His tongue grew more insistent, and you soon closed your own eyes, biting your lip to keep quiet as you tossed your head back in ecstasy.

Pero worked his tongue across your sensitive bundle of nerves, pausing only to insert two fingers into you before he continued to lick you with vigor. You felt your climax building again. With a few strokes of his fingers inside of you, Pero brought you to the precipice before your pleasure overtook you, throwing you over the edge as you clenched hard around his thick fingers.

When you opened your eyes, you found him gazing up at you, lazily stroking your hip before dipping his head to place a kiss there.

He shifted himself to kneel between your legs, stroking his proud length a few times. You looked up at him through your haze of desire, reaching your arms up to circle around his neck where he leaned over you. He dipped his head to kiss you once.

“Open your legs very wide for me, hmm?”

You nodded and propped your feet wide apart, knees bent up. You felt Pero position himself against your folds, then a slight pressure as he entered you, stopping just inside. He searched your face as you took two deep breaths and nodded up at him, encouraging him to continue. He slotted his mouth against yours, tongue working deep into you as he slid his cock inside of you the rest of the way. You inhaled sharply through your nose as Pero continued to kiss you. It did feel painful, but the feeling lessened as he moved inside of you and back out.

Pero pressed his forehead against yours. “Are you alright, mi alma? The first time is the worst. After this you will only feel pleasure.”

“I’m alright, Pero,” you whispered. “It did hurt but it’s getting better. Keep going, my love.”

He kissed you again and kept his pace even, thrusting into you again and again. As the pain ebbed away you started to feel another pressure building, and this time you knew what would happen when the dam broke.

You closed your eyes and let the feeling of Pero’s cock brushing against your sensitive bud carry you into your third climax. At the first throb and clench, Pero buried himself deep and stayed there, reaching one hand down to thumb at your clit. The thrumming in your core intensified, and a deep groan issued from Pero’s throat at the feeling of you squeezing around him. This third climax was the best one yet, slow and steady, and you felt it from your scalp to your toes. You wanted it to last forever, and you were sad when it burned itself out with a whisper.

Pero kissed you deeply, then nudged your chin up with his nose to place kisses along the column of your throat.

“Better, mi alma?”

“Yes,” you whispered. “So good.”

Pero hummed against your skin and then thrust into you a handful of times more before he unsheathed himself and sat back on his heels. His face was intense, almost a scowl as he stroked himself to completion, catching his spend in his open palm.

He unfolded his legs and crossed to your basin, wiping his hand on your damp linen washcloth before coming back to where you lay on the bed.

“Do you want me to stay, or to go, mi alma?”

You sat up and reached a hand out to him. “Please stay.”

The next day dawned bright and sunny, the light from the thin curtains streaming across your face. You smiled at the warmth of it, mirrored by the warmth of Pero’s bulk pressed against your back, his solid arm slung over your midsection. Were it not for waking to his presence, last night might have been a dream.

You rolled over to face him, finding his face relaxed. You pressed a kiss to his soft mouth.

“Pero,” you whispered. “Wake up.”

He cracked one eye open and grunted at you. You laughed softly and kissed him again.

“Was I good?” You whispered to him. “Last night, I mean? Were you happy?”

Pero opened both eyes in surprise and regarded you with confusion. “Yes, mi alma. But why are you asking me that?”

You felt a bit shy but answered him honestly. “I was worried. I thought that if I was not experienced at coupling with you, that you- well… you might not be pleased, and you would fall out of love with me.”

Pero sat up and pulled you to rest against his chest. You heard his heart beating and closed your eyes. He would not be doing this if he were displeased. He would not have stayed the night with you.

“I told you in the passageway, mi alma, that I had fallen in love with you. But that was not the truth.”

Your breath caught in your throat. If that was a lie, then why had he come to you in the night? Why had he done those things with you?

Pero continued, “The truth is that I fell even more in love with you last night, when you gave yourself to me so openly and let me bring you pleasure. If you will let me, I will spend the rest of my life between your legs, mi alma. I want nothing more than to pleasure you every day for the rest of my life.”

Tears sprang to your eyes. Was he proposing marriage?

“Pero, I-”

“Mi alma, if you will have me, I want to be your husband.”

You drew your head back and looked up into his deep brown eyes. His face was the most open and relaxed you had ever seen it, the scowl entirely wiped from his visage.

“Yes, Pero. Yes.”

He released a breath you didn’t realize he had been holding, and then Pero rolled you down into the sheets to kiss you with abandon.

---

Pero Tovar character masterlist

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“Everything bagel” tag list: @quica-quica-quica @anaaaispunk @justanotherblonde23 @gracie7209 @nicolethered @honestly-shite @driedgreentomatoes @dihra-vesa @1800-fight-me @the-queen-of-fools @juletheghoul @kesskirata @honeymandos @silverwolf319 @mourningbirds1 @greeneyedblondie44 @spacedilf @maxwell–lord @anxiousandboujee @cevvie @sherala007 @writeforfandoms @libellule2001 @deadhumourist @mandoalorian @javierpinme @eri16 @mandocrasis @pilothusband @bastillealmighty @eri16 @jitterbugs927 @babiiface95 @toomanystoriessolittletime @yespolkadotkitty @fisforfulcrum @prettylilhalforc @mswarriorbabe80 @littlemisspascal @wildemaven @coreychick @castleamc @coreychick @astoryisaloveaffair

#pedro stories #pedrostories #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pero tovar x you #pero tovar x reader #pero tovar fic #pero tovar fanfic #pero tovar fanfiction #the great wall fic #the great wall fanfic #the great wall fanfiction

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gilbirda · 2 years

Text

The man with a thousand faces

He was the man with a thousand faces, but in the end, he didn't like any of those.

Prompt: What's Amorpho's story? He has a preoccupation with his actions being noticed but staying out of sight, and I just think he needs more attention. How'd he come to be? (PR102) by @ghostlyhabato

For the @phicphight

My AO3 series

[Read on AO3] [Read on FF.net]

There was once a man. They called him the man with a thousand faces.

This man was an expert in his field, you see. This man was known by all, and yet unknown, because this man wasn’t famous because of his looks or his money or his name. And he loved it like that.

Because this man was known for his work. The best in the field, they said. He came out of nowhere and stood on top of his peers, everyone wanted a piece of him, everyone wanted to be his friend. Soon, he became the most popular man alive.

The man was a god of special effects.

It was the era of monster movies; of mummies and Frankenstein's monsters, of vampires, of swamp creatures. It was the time where the most prized crew member was someone with good hands and creative talent.

Ohhh, this man didn’t just make creatures come to live - he also could transform your features into someone else’s! He could do actual magic with silicone and paint. He could morph people into practically anyone else.

He wasn’t vain, but he knew he was the best and he liked to be noticed. His work was a form of art and he liked to be named next to the actors, because good acting was just as important as costume design and characterization.

This was until the accident.

It had been just a normal Saturday night and he wanted to go home, change, and go to the party with the designated arm candy he would ditch halfway through the night. Dating wasn’t his thing but that didn’t mean that keeping appearances wasn’t as important as his talents.

He was distracted. He didn’t see where he put his hand. He didn’t see where the very volatile and inflammable paints poured close to the lamp he needed to see the details better.

When he woke up in the hospital everything hurt. Smiling for the cameras hurt.

It hurt more when he saw what he looked like.

He wasn’t vain, but he knew what Hollywood did to people that looked like he did. It didn’t matter the talents, it didn’t matter that his hand was still steady, it didn’t matter how good he could transform anyone else’s looks.

Nobody wanted to be touched by the amorphous freak.

Nobody wanted anything to do with him. Nobody thought he was a genius anymore, even if his mind was intact after the accident. He didn’t care about the money, even if it was worrying how he was tapping more and more into his savings for the treatments of his burns.

He would show them what he could still do, he promised himself.

So he became someone else. He used masks. He used silicone prosthesis on his face. He used practiced accents and voices he did on the mirror.

When he was ready, he came back to show his talents. It was going to be great - charm everyone into his ability to transform people not only into monsters, but also into other people. He didn’t want to be forgotten. He didn’t want to be the star that burned into oblivion, quite literally.

He wanted to show them, but everyone knew what he looked like under the mask. Everyone looked at the border of his eyes where the burned skin was faintly visible under the silicone - he put on sunglasses to hide it. Everyone looked at the hairline of his wig or how fake they looked - he wore a hat. He hated feeling sweaty but wore a four piece suit with a cravat to hide the burns of his neck and chest.

He tried to explain that his hands were fine, that his nerves were barely damaged in the fire. He tried to explain that he didn’t want to stop working as a special effects artist. But nobody listened. Everything the people wanted to know, wanted to see, was the man under the disguise and how horribly he was disfigured, as if he were some kind of circus freak.

They didn’t let him show them what he could still do. But the man devised a plan, a last stand, a desperate move that could prove he was still in the game.

He suited up, despite his aversion to sweat, on a rather warm April day. A heatwave, they said, so the man wasn’t looking forward to taking off the suit and the prosthetics he wore - but it was a needed evil. He needed a big hit, he needed to get back to his life, he needed to be the recognized genius he once was.

His knees wobbled a few times as he walked up the Studio’s main office. His friend would be there. He was very influential, and he was sure that if he knocked his door his friend would help him, give him the chance that nobody else wanted to give him.

The sun hit him harder the closer he got to the building. He ignored the looks, of course. He was dressed as a gentleman, he wore the face of a gentleman, he had to behave like one and keep his head high.

His wide black hat did nothing to shield him from the heat, but he was close enough to the shade of the entrance of the building to not cave in and remove it to fan himself a little bit. Because then people could see how his wig was hastily glued to his forehead.

He took another step, and the world was tilted.

He tried to take another, but the ground was closer than he expected.

The man found himself on the floor, and found that he couldn’t breathe. His mouth was dry and his head hurt. When was the last time he ate? His mother always told him to drink water and eat or else his migraines would get worse.

He was too hot, he wanted to take off everything. He was so close to the door of his opportunity. He was so close to getting everything back…

His lungs refused to function.

He was so hot. He hated sweating.

He hated wearing his own work.

He hated that everyone on the street was crowding him, talking to him. He couldn’t hear the words, but there was so much noise.

He hated that he knew he was dying. Not taking care of his own body had finally taken its toll.

And worst of all, he hated dying with another man’s face.

He may have been the man with a thousand faces, but he didn’t like any of those. He liked his own, but he had been robbed of that.

He tried to take another breath, finding out that it was futile. Ambulance sirens roared in the distance, but he knew this was it for him.

He closed his eyes, feeling the silicone peeling around the edges.

He thought, This is pathetic for a last performance. Another take, please.

And then, everything became black.

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#danny phantom #danny phantom fanfiction #amorpho danny phantom #amorpho #phic phight 2022

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nataliedanovelist · 3 years

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GF - Mabel’s Worry

Collab with @clownwry! They’ve been super sweet and very nice, and after getting inspired by this post, I decided to write a full on-fic about it... but then it spiraled out of control, so enjoy an angsty story featuring the sweater twins!

~~~~~~~~~~

Mabel sat up quickly, breathing just as heavy as an Olympic runner. She shook her head to clear it and she hugged her knees in self-embarrassment. It was just a stupid nightmare. Vague, no real plot, but still carried the overall message, the fear, anxiety, and still made Mabel’s blood run cold and sweat sparkle on her forehead. She needed to calm down, get herself together. Milk. Warm milk.

And so she quietly got out of bed and left her shared attic bedroom for downstairs. Despite being gone for nine months, she still knew this dark home by heart. She could walk it blindfolded if needed, but the moonlight leaking in through the triangular windows helped her in her journey. That and a small light coming from the living room. Like a moth to a flame, Mabel sleepily dragged her socked feet to the room and peaked through the doorway, half of her face hidden by wood and shadow.

Grunkle Ford was sitting in the armchair, reading a book in the light of a lamp. Mabel’s spirit was lifted, relieved and happy to see him, but she was hesitant to bother him. He was happy with his book, she really shouldn’t bother him with her own stupid problems. She should probably just go get her drink and go to bed and leave him alone. But then Grunkle Ford’s instincts alerted him of a spy and he looked up and instantly smiled.

“Mabel,” His blissful facial expression dropped suddenly remembering that she went to bed a few hours ago and it wasn’t quite daylight yet. “What’s wrong? Is everything okay?”

This really wasn’t like her, for words to fail leaving her mouth, for her to be silent or non-vocal. But all Mabel could do was barely step into the light, hands behind her back, and shrug with her eyes to the floor. She was silent because she was afraid of what she would say if she dared to give herself the opportunity to talk. Ford grew more concerned, but he knew what to do; he had more practice under his belt now than he did months ago. He smiled softly at his niece, closed his book and sat it on the dino skull, and patted his thigh. “Come here.”

Mabel looked up and bit her lip. The dame broke over her uncle’s kindness. With watering eyes she ran into his lap and clung onto him tightly, burying her face in his chest and whimpering as tears left her eyes. Ford hugged her back tightly and petted her soft long brown hair. The girl might be thirteen, but that doesn’t mean she would stop having nightmares or no longer need comfort. Moses knows, as much as he would deny it, Ford still had nightmares and still needed reassurance. Not to mention it was well-earned after everything he and his family had been through… everything he put his family through…

Mabel was mumbling something into his maroon sweater. Ford thought it was moans, sobs, but as he listened he could actually make out words. “M’sorry… m’sorry…”

“Hey, hey.” Ford said softly. “There’s nothing to be sorry for, my dear.”

“... didn’t mean t’bother you…”

“Oh,” Ford cooed as gentle as a lamb. “Oh, sweetheart, you could never bother me. Never.”

Mabel sniffed. “M’sorry.” Whether she was still sorry for bothering him or sorry for being sorry was a bit unclear, but Ford decided it didn’t matter.

“It’s alright.” Ford eased. “It’s alright, my dear.”

After a few minutes of letting Mabel cry into his chest, Ford could feel Mabel make a sharp shiver in his hold. He got a pretty good idea, and so he gently had Mabel let him go. She whimpered like a puppy denied a treat, but she watched with sparkling eyes as Ford slipped off his maroon sweater, revealing a thin long-sleeved white undershirt, and he sweetly pulled it over Mabel’s head and smiled at her. She helped him by slipping her arms into the correct holes and she grinned as she now wore Ford’s old red sweater. Nearly every day he wore a Mabel Sweater she had made for her, whether she mailed it to the Stan O’ War while they were apart, or she gave it to him in person. Only every so often did he wear his old sweater, but they were both glad he did.

Mabel allowed her head to sink deeper into the worn yarn. Her senses and lungs were drowned in Ford’s scent, which brought along happy memories and good emotions. She hugged Ford again and he happily held her, petting her hair and just being there.

A few minutes of silence passed, and Ford made a prediction that it was a good time to check on her verbally. “Feeling better? Mabel?” He looked down and Mabel was asleep, one arm still around him, one hand holding onto his undershirt. Ford chuckled warmly in his chest, slowly stood, and carried Mabel to the attic to tuck her in.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Dipper, they’re ready!” Mabel called.

Dipper hurried up the stairs and ran into his shared bedroom, plopped on the beanbag, and Mabel started the call on the laptop they had on the floor between the two beds. The grunkles answered at once, sitting at the table and grinning.

“Well hey there, gremlins! How was your week?” Stan greeted.

“Pretty good, just the usual school stuff.” Dipper answered.

“Did you get the package?” Mabel asked.

Ford grinned and picked up the large sealed box and placed it on the table. “Yes, perfectly intact! We picked it up in Pevek two days ago.”

“What?! And you haven’t opened it?!”

“Oh, well we thought we should wait until…”

“You two will freeze!” Mabel shook her head and smiled. “Open it and get warm!”

Stan rolled his eyes as he pulled out his pocketknife and cut the tape. “Sweetie, in the last two years we’ve been sailing you’ve sent us three trunks full of blankets, eight pairs of gloves, at least a dozen sweaters for each of us, six scarves…”

“Not that we don’t appreciate it, we always love your packages, my dear.” Ford interrupted. “But you work too hard. We’re never cold thanks to you.”

“Good. Let’s keep it that way.” Mabel said firmly.

“Oh wow! Mabel!” Ford gasped happily as he pulled out a new green sweater-vest with golden diamonds and a long-sleeved salmon button up. “This is beautiful!” Ford also pulled out a regular dark-orange turtleneck.

Stan noticed there had been two stacks of things. Ford had already taken out his stack, so the old conman grinned as he plunged his hand into the box and grabbed his new baby-blue sweater with a sailboat on it. “Sweet! And look here!” Stan pulled out another sweater, this one being a warm cream color with tiny pinetrees on the neck and wrists and waist of the sweater. “Wow, Mabel! Just when I thought your sweaters couldn’t get more impressive… this is so cool!”

Mabel blushed over the compliments. “I’m glad you like them. There’s still…”

“Oh, my dear, this must have taken you ages!” Ford pulled out one last item: a large knitted blanket to go with the others, this one made with very thick yarn that was as soft as the melody of youthful days. It was very large and could easily cover both men, and it resembled the sky perfectly, being dark blue with white specks.

“Thank you, pumpkin, this is amazing!”

Mabel grinned and said, “Just please stay warm.”

Ford smiled and nodded. “Of course we will. We’re always careful, my dear. And thanks to you I think I’ve forgotten what it’s like to be cold.”

Mabel wasn’t sure if she bought it, the number of times she saw their chattering teeth, tight jaws, and rosy cheeks and noses in pictures, but she decided not to fight it and she just smiled.

~~~~~~~~~~

There are some benefits to living in the glorious year of 2014. Many different forms of communication allow people to keep in contact, no matter how far apart they are. So not only did Ford, Stan, Dipper, and Mabel, text every day and send pictures and emails, they always had their Saturday night/Sunday morning video call. Always. So, of course, Mabel and Dipper were a little concerned when no one responded to their text messages to ask if they were ready for the call.

“Hey guys! Ready?”

“Rise and shine, sleepy heads! Can’t wait to see you guys!”

“Are you guys okay? We understand if you can’t make it this week.”

“Is something wrong? We’re not mad, but could you please text us.”

“Guys, seriously, this isn’t funny…”

“If we don’t hear back from you guys I will call the FBI! The CIA!”

“You guys do know how to use your phones, right?”

“Are you guys hurt?! ARE YOU DEAD?!”

Dipper looked up from his phone and across his bedroom. Mabel was in Sweatertown on her bed, buried in her favorite nightgown. Dipper sighed and moved to sit next to her. “Mabel, it’ll be okay.”

“They’re jerks.” Mabel mumbled from within the maroon yarn.

Dipper smiled and nodded in agreement. “Yeah, we’ll get payback when they finally answer.”

Mabel lifted her head just enough to peek at his twin. “But what if they never do…” And tears formed.

Dipper rubbed her back and said, “They will. I swear.”

But they didn’t. As time ticked from ten o’clock at night to midnight to even three o’clock in the morning, Dipper and Mabel stayed awake, waiting for a response, both of them knowing any attempt to sleep was futile. And when Mabel’s phone buzzed and rang for a video-call, they both dove and Mabel clicked the green button with a shaking hand.

~~~~~~~~

Stan gave his brother the mug of warm water. “You’re an idiot.”

Ford snorted and sipped the warm drink. “This isn’t coffee.”

“You don’t need coffee, you need to get hydrated.” Stan collapsed into the couch next to his brother. His eyes landed on the wall-clock, and he shot up quickly and ran for the bedroom. “DAMN IT!”

“What? What is it?!” Ford gasped.

“It’s Sunday!”

Ford groaned and slapped his forehead.

Stan grabbed his phone and found a dozen text messages from each kid and some missed phone calls. “Ah jeez, I know you’re wiped out, Sixer, but we gotta talk to these kids.”

“I don’t care if I’m on my deathbed, we’re calling them.” Ford hollered back as he loosened the grip of his blanket and Stan entered the room. His brother sat next to him and called Mabel’s phone.

At once Stan’s phone lit up with two distressed looking kids, both with wide eyes but missing their bedheads. “YOU’RE OKAY!” The two teenagers cried out.

Stan winced. “Kids, we’re really really sorry…”

“What happened?!” Mabel gasped. “Grunkle Ford, are you okay?! You don’t look very good, are you sick?!”

“Mabel, sweetie, I’m okay.” Ford eased. “I… erm, I fell overb-...”

“YOU FELL IN THE OCEAN?!” Mabel yelled in horror.

“Ssh, Mabel!” Dipper hissed, eyeing the door.

“Are you okay?! Are you on your way to a hospital?! Do you need anything? We can hitchhike…”

“Mabel, Mabel, please, I’m alright, Stanley’s been taking excellent care of me.” Ford said firmly. “I’m sorry we scared you, sweetie, but…”

“Well, good!” Mabel snapped, visibly angry and now full-on scolding. Stan and Ford glanced at each other nervously, getting flashbacks of scoldings from their mother. “You should be, knuckleheads! We can’t tell if you’re even still alive unless you tell us! Don’t you ever scare me like that again, you hear?! If something happened to you… I’m glad you’re happy and doing what you love, but PLEASE don’t kill yourselves doing it!” Mabel bit her lip as she realized she was yelling, and she used the long sweater sleeve to wipe at her damp eyes. “Sorry, I didn’t mean…”

“Aw, pumpkin, it’s okay.” Stan replied calmly. “You’ve got every right to be mad at us. I’m sorry, I should have at least texted you. But I honestly didn’t cuz I was busy keeping this dork alive.” Stan teased, elbowing Ford and making him smile. “So, yeah, that was really scary and that wasn’t fair, but he’s gonna be just fine and we’re both okay and you know that now. Right?”

Mabel held her knees and sunk her face into Ford’s old sweater, only her eyes and the top half of her face visible now, but she wasn’t looking at them. “Yeah… Yeah, okay…”

“Mabel,” Ford said firmly. “Mabel, look at me.” He waited until her eyes were on him, and he smiled softly and said, “We’re okay. I promise, we’re both okay.”

Mabel couldn’t help but return the smile. “Okay… okay…” She sniffed and lifted her head a little, but her chin was still happily buried in red yarn. “So, tell us what happened? Was it the Kraken again?”

Stan grinned at the opportunity for a story, and the kids happily sat and listened.

~~~~~~~~~~

Almost fifteen-years-old. Dipper should know better than to run off into the woods after a dangerous anomaly, but he did it anyway. Mabel stayed home to make sure the monster didn’t come back, and was soon reunited with her boys as they arrived, breathing heavily. Dipper was okay for the most part. His arm was hurt and he had a black eye, but he was okay, and their grunkles were only a little scuffed and there was a leaf or two in Ford’s fluffy hair.

Mabel hurried to Dipper, but instead of hugging him like the three guessed she would, she smacked her brother over the head.

“Hey!”

“Mabel!”

“You KNUCKLEHEAD!” Mabel screamed. “Don’t you EVER do that again, you hear?! Don’t you dare! What were you thinking?! You just HAD to go after it! Couldn’t go inside like a normal person!”

“Good to see you too, sis.” Dipper muttered. “I had it under control.”

“I don’t care! What if you never came back…”

Dipper blinked and interrupted her. “Aw, Mabel, that was never gonna happen.”

Mabel bit her lip, held herself, and looked away.

“M-Mabel, I’m really sorry…”

“Here, let’s get you cleaned up first, and then we’ll talk about this, okay?” Stan eased, sensing that they needed a time-out. “C’mon, kid.”

Dipper sighed and followed Stan to the bathroom where they kept the first aid kit, leaving Ford alone with Mabel, who was well prepared to talk to her.

“Mabel, my dear, you have every right to be upset with him…”

“How could he do that?!” Mabel looked up at her uncle. “How could he think for a second it’s okay to just run off like that?!”

Ford chuckled a little to try to lighten the situation. “You know your brother. He has high ambitions and is extremely curious.”

“That doesn’t matter!” Mabel snapped. “It’s still stupid and selfish! I know he needs to do what he loves, but doesn’t he know how much I need him?! How can he just leave me behind?!”

Ford stared at Mabel. Her voice was cracking, her lip was trembling, and something in her eyes was screaming to be heard. Ford thought for a second, then dared to ask, “A-Are you talking about Stanley and I as well?”

Mabel sobbed. She yelled out in pain and collapsed on the bottom step, burning her face in her hands, and sobbed her heart out. Ford was stunned to hear her cry so hard, in so much emotional pain. She didn’t even cry this hard over any nightmares, and he had dealt with a handful of them. Poor Mabel was crying so hard and violently she gagged and retched occasionally, her body torn if she could cry or not but it was out of her control.

Ford got on his knees before her, but did not touch her. It broke his heart to see her so upset. And he and Stan had done this? Whatever it would take to fix it, he would do it. He was reluctant, but if sailing around the world with his brother was causing this much pain for their girl, then they would both agree to dock for good. “M-Mabel…”

“I understand…” Mabel mumbled through her tears and into her palms. “I understand why you had to go… why you both wanna go… b-b-but what if something happens to you?! How many times have you both gotten sick or hurt or nearly killed?! I miss you all the time and I’m always worried I’ll never see or hear from you again!”

“Oh, Mabel, sweetie…” Ford reached out a hand to put on her shoulder, but Mabel threw herself into Ford’s hold and he hugged her back tightly.

“I get it… I understand why you have to go… so WHY do I still feel this way?!” Mabel sobbed, clinging onto his uncle for dear life. “I’m so angry and scared and hurt! But I don’t want you to stop, I want you to sail cuz I know it makes you happy, but I need you to be okay!”

A lot of things clicked in Ford’s brain. Why Mabel always sent packages full of warm clothes. Why she always asked what they ate. Why she always checked on them. Why she was very observant and asked if they were okay if something was slightly off. Why she easily got worried if she didn’t hear from them. And why she always hugged them like she never wanted to let them go.

Ford blinked his stiff eyes a few times and forced himself to keep it together. “I’m so sorry, Mabel. You and your brother are everything to us. I love you two more than anything. If… If sailing causes you this much distress we can…”

“NO! No no no!” Mabel screamed in horror, holding on tighter. “No, please don’t stop cuz of me! I don’t- That doesn’t matter!”

“Mabel Pines,” Ford said firmly and readjusted his hold on her so he could look her straight in the eye. “You matter.”

“I-I know. I know.” Mabel breathed. “But… please don’t stop sailing cuz of me. Please. I don’t want you to stop. But… I want you and Grunkle Stan to be okay. I… I can’t lose you…”

A large lump was in Ford’s throat. He tried to swallow it away, but it didn’t work. He compromised and took advantage of the silence. He cupped Mabel’s right cheek with his left hand and wiped some tears away with his thumb. Mabel covered his hand with hers and turned her face into his palm.

“I understand, my dear. I do. And I’m so sorry. I swear, we won’t stop sailing unless we want to. You have my word. But I also swear to you that Stanley and I won’t let anything happen. We;re too scared of losing each other to let anything happen, believe me.” Mabel moved her eyes to his. “We will always come home. I promise.”

Mabel hugged her uncle again and cried into his shoulder, leaving him to rub her back and pray she would be okay. Ford opened his eyes and caught the sight of his twin at the top of the stairs. He must have heard Mabel’s screams and come to investigate, but decided to stay out of it. But a look from Ford told Stan that Mabel needed him too, so Stan climbed down the stairs, sat behind her, and hugged them both.

#GF #gravity falls #gift #collab #ford and mabel bonding #fanfiction #clownwry #sea grunks #angst #ANGST AND FLUFF

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acknowledgetheabsurd · 2 years

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“[January 14, 1950]

Awful sadness. Without a letter from you today, we have to wait until Monday. (Make sure I always get a letter on Saturday. It helps until Monday.) I've read your letters again. It all ends with the one I received yesterday, which moved me so much, and in which you tell me all your doubts (Marcel's story, and three or four details that make me feel the distance between us). Yes, heavy sadness. Now it's my turn, I suppose you can turn away from me. And when I think that two and a half months are still ahead of us... But I'll try to deny that.

At noon arrival of Janine Michel [Gallimard] Augusta and Anne*. I left them my room and emigrated to the other end of the floor in a smaller but nice room too. F[rancine] moved downstairs to the small office. The house lost its silence. But I arranged my room so as not to leave it. Anyway, it's better for my rest. And tonight, I feel tired of my whole body. You, only you, could make me happy and healthy right now. Do you hear, do you hear me at least?

[January 15, 1950]

Bad alarm clock. Beautiful day. I stay in bed, unable to do anything. Disagreeable with F [rancine], foolishly and unjustly (because she misplaced a prescription!). I end up apologizing. Again the bed and solitude. And I feel myself sinking down a slope that I know well, at the end of which I will find absolute loneliness, disgust for life and the inability to see a human face.

Finally, I jumped out of bed and decided to respond with work. I will spend today sending out my late mail, which weighs me down and is an excellent excuse to do nothing ("I have my mail to do", so I don't do anything else, and besides, I don't do my mail either). Starting tomorrow, I will try to sink into the work of closing my eyes and ears to ghosts and keep myself intact until spring. Repeating every morning: "We love each other. We will triumph over everything" and do whatever it takes to make me richer rather than diminished. It would probably be easier if every now and then I had your little hand in mine. But let's not dream.

Kim's leaving me tonight. His masters are coming to get him and I feel sad at the thought too. I had become attached to that beast. Maybe because it was attached to me. He never left me an inch, lying in my room and waiting for me to wake up to clean me up with his tongue as wide as a washcloth. The eyes of dogs, their infinite trust, their inexhaustible love ... I will miss Kim.

And you, my love? From Wednesday to today I don't know what you've been up to. A black hole. Tell me about it. I suppose you must have seen Marcel [Herrand] among others. Do you know how stupid I feel? The first time I understood Marcel's feeling was a few days before we broke up and we were having dinner in front of the Mathurins. You remember that evening, don't you? I told him that we were going to Mexico together, I think it was. And I understood. A few days later, it was over for us. Of course, it had nothing to do with that, and it still hasn't. But the heart sometimes blindly seeks suffering.

Tell me what you did. Tell me also what you think, everything you think in this story. Tell me also that you love me, and how you love me, and that you will love me to the end. I need it, it's water in the desert. My love, my dear love, I turn to you, without respite, with all my being, without exception. Forgive me for this rather dreary letter. It's your silence, perhaps. But my heart is alive and it is to you that it owes it. I'll get better, I'll work... But I'll never love you better, or more, now that I'm entirely abandoned to you. I kiss your eyes, your laughter, your neck under your hair... Oh what a shower of delight it would be to be able to hold you still under me, captive and warm... you and I, at last...”

Albert Camus to Maria Casarès, Correspondance, January 14-15, 1950 [#129]

* Anne Gallimard, daughter of Janine Gallimard.

#albert camus #camus #absurd #absurdism #maria casares #correspondance #love letters #love #sadness #silence #tired #happy #solitude #loneliness #life #dog #trust #kiss #laughter

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olivia-anderson-fanfic · 3 years

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Stalker X Stalker, Part 12

First

Perma taglist: @nathleigh @peachmuses

Stalker x Stalker taglist: @aespades @jayjayspixiepop @blueslushgueen @fan-written @seraphichana @nerd-nowandforever @toodaloo-kangaroo @khneltea @raeuberprinzessin

Tim had exactly zero idea what was going on.

Marinette had disappeared into the shower so he’d figured that, hey, work was over and he was 90% sure it was the day she usually shaved (something he knew because every time she shaved she excitedly asked him to touch her leg because it was smooth) so he had time to kill…

He walked over to her jewelry box.

He’d already bugged all of the new jewelry he had bought her but her old stuff was perfectly intact and he kind of wanted more insurance. Sure, they lived together now so it was unlikely she would have much reason to leave without him, but he was known for his millions of plans and contingencies and he wasn’t about to mess up when it was someone he cared about.

So, he went to work on the first necklace he grabbed. It had a tiny cat with green emeralds for eyes.

He looked at the tiny black pupils that the cat had. He pulled a tiny pick out of his pocket and carefully started carving a circle in it for the bug.

And then a bug-shaped god came flying out of the door for something.

There were a few beats as Tim and Tikki stared at each other.

Tikki broke it with a loud groan.

He watched her float past him for the towel hung on Marinette’s bedpost and then go back inside.

Shit.

He darted towards the bathroom, only to pause at the door. He really didn’t want to burst in while Marinette was probably naked, that was a huge breach of privacy, but he also didn’t want Tikki to tell him about all the bugs he was planting! Shit! He bit his lip, considering.

“Here’s your towel, Marinette,” Tikki said with a sharp edge to her tone.

“... are you mad?”

“Not at you. Where are the cookies you baked last night?”

“Uh, the fridge --?”

“Thank you.”

Why hadn’t she told her? Tim wasn’t complaining, of course, but he was a little confused. She was clearly mad about it and he doubted that Marinette had made some rule that said ‘you can’t tell me about people bugging me’ because that was oddly specific and not a very good idea… so… what?

He didn’t know. He was just going to thank the god of luck -- he was pretty sure that was Tikki -- and continue what he was doing.

Marinette didn’t have to struggle to keep everyone inside the first night. She liked that. More time to plan.

But how did she get herself let out, you may ask?

Remember how Tim had said that all-hands-on-deck situations are the only exceptions to the Stay Inside While Injured Rule? Well, guess what had happened.

Arkham had had a huge breakout and Marinette wasn’t going to complain… even if her kwami might be a little disappointed in how happy she was about it.

She was even happier when she’d found out that one of the people that had broken out was Scarecrow. She’d been meaning to tell him about her guesses about his brownie recipe for a while and she hadn’t really had a chance to do it when she was talking to him through a phone with a thick glass between them.

Batman -- Bruce? -- didn’t need to know that they’d broken into a bakery for the night to test out their theories before she had taken him back to Arkham.

He’d thank them when he got the brownies (the missing ingredient was Mexican cinnamon!). Or, at least, she hoped he would.

Tim had to say… Marinette's plan to get everyone in her house was working.

He could warn his siblings but, honestly, he found it kind of funny.

He was surprised to see Jason show up first. He raised his eyebrows at his brother. “Didn’t know you were in town, Flamebird.”

Jason did an exaggerated eye roll that Tim swore he could see despite the domino. “Marinette said she had something she wanted to show me.”

And she did. She walked over and dropped the Harry Potter books onto the window ledge beside him. “This is terrible and I hate you for making me read them.”

“It gets better later on --.”

“I read two books. That’s six hundred pages. If you can’t get your shit together in six hundred fucking pages then you don’t deserve my time.”

He scoffed. “They’re not that bad.”

“Oh yeah? Read it. It’s been years for you, right? Get to book three and tell me it’s good.”

Jason scowled and grabbed the books, taking a seat in the armchair.

Tim grinned and rested an arm around his girlfriend. “You don’t actually hate Harry Potter, do you?”

“Only the book version.”

He frowned. “I think we need to break up.”

“Nope. Not allowed to break up with me.”

“Oh, well, if I’m not allowed then I guess I won’t,” he said, leaning down to press a tiny kiss to her lips.

There was a groan from the window and they both rolled their eyes, turning to look at Damian.

“Why must you sully my good mood so early on with your disgusting displays of affection?”

“It’s our apartment, you just so happen to be here,” said Tim, glaring at his brother. “We can do what we want.”

Marinette, bravely, stepped between the two of them with a bright smile. “Now, boys, it’s not the time.”

“It is not the time for your libido, and yet...” argued Damian.

“Please, that isn’t even close to libi --,” Tim started, only to get elbowed in the stomach.

She gave him a look that told him to let her handle it and, while he didn’t think that was a good idea, he held up his hands in surrender.

“Robin, it’s unbecoming of you to argue with everyone you meet,” she chided lightly.

… did she speak Damian or something? Because Damian actually looked a little reprimanded at that and Tim needed to learn her ways.

Then, she leaned down with a grin. He could see her hands start to rest on her knees but she thought better of it at the last second. “I got some new stuff from the pet store and I wanted to know if you wanted to help test them out on Vanelope.”

Damian narrowed his eyes slightly. “What kinds of new things?”

“A bunch of cat toys.”

“... I suppose I can test them out for you.”

“I mean, I said you could help --,” she started, but Damian was already heading towards Vanelope without her.

Tim looked over at his girlfriend. She didn’t seem all that put out by this.

“You really had something planned out for everyone?”

She smirked and took a seat on the windowsill. “Yep. It should take Flamebird about two days to finish the first two books -- assuming he can even get through them that quickly -- and Robin is sure to be very thorough in his testing of all the cat toys.”

“Oh? And what’s your plan for everyone else?”

She shrugged just slightly. “Guess you’ll have to wait and find out.”

When Dick appeared she set him up with Beat Saber, saying that she was curious about why the VR glasses gave her a headache and wanted to see if he had the same problem. Tim knew the problem was that they were made for men and therefore sometimes had negative side effects for women, but he bit his lip before he could offer to get a set custom-made for her in favor of watching Dick select the poppiest pop song in existence and instantly get addicted to the game.

Tim raised his eyebrows slightly when Steph appeared, textbook in hand.

“How did you know everyone would show up?” He asked once Marinette had set her up with a particularly long and difficult worksheet to make sure she got the lesson.

“Well, Spoiler shows up every Saturday night for tutoring, Robin comes by every other day or more and he didn’t stop by last night, Nightwing pops by most weekends, and I called Flamebird over myself… speaking of which…” She pulled out her phone and tapped a few buttons. “Right, Signal said he’ll be here in ten minutes seven minutes ago… so, he’s almost here.”

Tim grinned. “You forgot Cass.”

“She only ever really shows up to get away from all of you guys so, with everyone here, she’d have no reason to come over.” Her face split into a sheepish grin. “Also, she’d see through me pretty quickly.”

“Don’t you want B to have no help?”

She shrugged. “It should be a light night since almost everyone important is in Arkham right now but that doesn’t mean that the two of them can deal with all of Gotham’s petty crime on their own. I give them until three or four before they crack.”

“... you might be a little scary.”

“You don’t last long as a vigilante if you’re not at least a little smart,” she chirped. “I just choose to turn my brain off most of the time.”

He smiled. “Oh? And the exception is what? Making you stay inside?”

She waved him off. “Kind of. It’s more that I only put effort into making sure I’ll never be bored. What’s the point of thinking about anything else? All that does is make you sad.”

Well that didn’t sound healthy, now did it? Tim was pretty sure that was just repression but, honestly, he had no clue. His family famously did not use therapists.

Before he could figure out how to address that there was a knock on the door.

Marinette grinned and opened it to reveal Duke, who was holding a computer.

Duke looked around the apartment, raising his eyebrows at all the people there. “Uh… should I ask?”

“I’m spiting Bruce.”

“Wild. Whatever. Ready for GBBS?”

“Sure. Tim, you gonna watch it with us?”

He hesitated. Steph had been sending him pleading looks since she had gotten her worksheet and he felt kind of bad for her… but then Duke and Marinette sat on the couch and she rested her head on his shoulder lazily to get a better view of the computer and Tim figured that Steph was smart enough to do the worksheet on her own if she really tried.

He took a seat beside her and smiled a little when she switched to lean against him instead.

“So, who’s your favorite person for the season?” He asked.

She thought for a minute before shrugging. “The guy that always wins but keeps being anxious about his bakes. Forgot his name, though.”

“Rahul?!” said Duke.

“Sure.”

Duke frowned. “I’m not sure whether to be happy you like at least one contestant, be proud it’s Rahul, or be annoyed you didn’t remember his name.”

“Character development takes time,” said Tim wisely.

Marinette scoffed a little. “Just put on the damn show. I’m tired of listening to you assholes talk.”

Duke grinned. “Fine. Fine.”

Time passed as the three of them watched the show.

Other family members slowly made their way over one by one. Damian brought the cat with him. Jason came over to give his brain a break after all the reading he had done (and then, when Marinette pointed out that you never take breaks while reading good books, had gone straight back to Harry Potter). Steph decided she didn’t want to pass her class and came to lay across the top of the couch. Dick eventually got tired and rested his body after the intense game that is Beat Saber.

… B released her at almost exactly three thirty. They ignored their comms in favor of continuing to watch the season finale.

Marinette bit her lip anxiously as she preemptively turned off the notifications on her phone. Tim did the same.

They typed up matching tweets about how they were moving in with their partners, tagged each other...

Their fingers hovered over the tweet buttons.

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. I’m sure one of my siblings will do something stupid in a few days and the media will leave us alone,” said Tim.

She smiled awkwardly. “That isn’t what I’m worried about.”

He frowned just a little and slipped his arm around her. “Well, can I help with whatever it is?”

She hesitated. It would be better to warn him, she supposed. “Not really. You’re going to get the ‘shovel talk’ --.”

“My dad is Batman, Bean, I’ll live.”

“-- by the person who currently controls the embodiment of chaos and destruction.”

His face paled a little (which is dangerous, considering he was already pale enough). “Does Chat Noir not know we’re dating yet?”

“Nope.”

“... so he’s going to find out through the media?”

“Yep.”

“Shit.”

She nodded her agreement, curling into his side and glaring at the phone.

Adrien was going to be pissed. Especially since he was going to learn through the media. Sure, that was the intention, she was hoping that Tim would be left more or less alone because her friend would be too busy being hurt about not being told to focus on his anger at her boyfriend… but, yikes, she didn’t really want to deal with that just yet.

Also, she thought with a wince, Adrien was going to be even angrier when he figured out that she hadn’t exactly given up, as he called it, ‘stalking’ the people she was interested in. Marinette was pretty sure that Tim already knew about some of it but she wasn’t completely sure and, just in case, she wanted to keep it a secret for a while… a few years, at least, and she wanted to be the one to tell him because she was sure that Adrien would be a lot harsher about it than she would. He already called it ‘stalking’ when it was clearly different, she didn’t want to know what he would say if she let him talk about it in more depth.

Unfortunately, though, Adrien wasn’t stupid. He’d eventually catch on. The longer they dated without him knowing the guiltier he would assume she was.

She sighed and took his face in her hands. “I’m leaving it up to you. I’m not sure. I’m leaning towards being public but...”

He bit his lip as he considered it. She fought the urge to stretch his face until he let go.

He smiled hesitantly. “Well, I’ve lived long enough, I think.”

“Don’t worry, darling, I’ll summon a lucky charm for you,” she half-joked.

He gave a puff of laughter that wasn’t quite real and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Thanks, Bean, but I doubt that’ll be necessary. This is Gotham, no one dies here.”

“We don’t know how long that’ll take, though,” she said with a pout. “I’d prefer to have you back as soon as possible.”

He rolled his eyes. “You’ll always have my siblings.”

“But I want you,” she huffed. “You’re my favorite.”

She felt his cheeks warm beneath her hands.

“I’m your second favorite,” he reminded her. “Cass.”

She snickered. “True. You’re my favorite until Cass accepts my proposal.”

“Hm. I’ll have to enforce the bro code to make sure that never happens.”

“Oh no! I guess I’ll be stuck with you forever, then. What a shame!”

He smiled brightly. Sometimes she lamented the fact that he didn’t give a lot of genuine smiles. The grins and smirks were nice, of course, but she liked to watch the way he would duck his head slightly to try and cover his face with his bangs. Still, in the privacy of her own head, she had to admit that the fact she could get such a smile out of him when few others could made her heart rate spike. He smiled for her. Who wouldn’t be flattered by that?

She pulled the smile that she loved so much down for a kiss.

The first time they stepped out the door as an official couple they were hounded by reporters.

Tim wanted to ask how they knew where they lived. He settled for asking them to blur the area around them.

It was more than a little annoying to be harassed on your way to the grocery store. They had just wanted eggs, milk (Marinette kept leaving it out for some strange reason), some cat food, and enough miscellaneous snacks to keep Cass occupied. They did not want cameras shoved in their faces.

But years of being public figures had trained them to keep pleasant smiles on their faces and to answer questions with as little information as possible.

Finally, though, they made it inside and a manager kicked out the reporters.

Marinette let her shoulders slump a little beneath his arm and Tim flexed the muscles in his face before it could get stuck in that awkward half-smile forever.

He squeezed her a little. “You alright?”

She shrugged as much as she could without displacing his arm. “Yeah. Just… hate reporters.”

He nodded his understanding. He pressed a kiss to her temple.

“Want to buy some Oreos while we’re here?”

Her face lit up. “Can we?”

“I’m rich. Of course we can.”

And, so, they did. He made a mental note to start buying oreos in bulk. All the flavors, just in case she ever got sick of the normal version.

They glanced out the door and, though they couldn’t see the paparazzi waiting just outside, they were sure that they would be back soon. They ducked through back alleys to try and get away.

Only to stop in the middle of a dark alley at the high-pitched cry of: “Give me your money or else!”

Tim sighed and set down the cat food to hand over everything in his pockets. A glance back at Marinette confirmed she was doing the same --.

And then he stopped short. He turned more fully to look at their mugger and then started to laugh.

“I’ll… I’ll kill you!” Said the mugger, who was just a kid. They might not have even hit puberty yet.

“With a pocketknife?” Tim said.

Marinette turned around as well at that and a grin spread across her face. “Oh my gods, that’s so lame.”

“It’s Gotham, you gotta do better than that,” said Tim. He reached into his pockets and pulled out a butterfly knife. He handed it over. “Here, have this, at least. Christ, that’s terrible.”

The kid didn’t seem to know what to do about the fact that his would-be victims were laughing at her and apparently helping her mug people.

Marinette handed over everything except for the necklace Tim had given her. “Here, kid. And get a mask or something to hide your face, it’s not nearly dark enough in here for you to just go with a hood.”

“Oh, and here’s my address,” added Tim. He typed it into his phone -- damn, he should have brought more than a pager -- and then handed it over. “We always have a lot of extra food, so if you ever need it just knock on the window.”

“... thanks?” said their now adoptive kid (they didn’t make the rules, this kid was theirs now).

“Yeah, yeah, no problem. Can we go now? One of his siblings is coming over soon and he will start our show without us.”

“Uh… sure?”

Marinette sat on the kitchen island, squinting at the cast on her arm. Was it worth taking off for the sake of doing work? Maybe --.

Tim’s voice crackled through her ear and she perked up a little at the sound, smiling. He was talking, greeting guests it seemed. Right. He had a meeting today, Janet had mentioned it earlier that morning.

Marinette sighed a little at the reminder that, while she might not care about her broken arm, her boyfriend did. Yeah. Tim would probably be stressed if she took off her cast before the doctor said it was okay. She settled to lay back on the counter, head resting on her good arm, and stare at the ceiling as she listened to his voice...

Only to dart up when she felt a tap on her arm.

She looked over, eyes blown wide, and only relaxed slightly when she realized she recognized the person.

Adrien stood over her, arms crossed over his chest despite the glasses/miraculous he had hooked to the collar of his shirt, but he apparently wasn’t angry enough to not accept the usual kisses on both cheeks that Parisians did as greeting.

He said something that she couldn’t really understand with the part of her brain still concentrated on Tim explaining some sort of chart.

She sighed and reached a hand to her ear to turn off the bug. “Hey, can you repeat that?”

He didn’t. Instead he squinted at her ear suspiciously. “Does your ear hurt?”

“... no?” She said slowly, a little confused.

“Whatcha listening to?”

She paled. Shit. He was going to be pissed (or, at least, more pissed than he already was) if he found out that her supposed ‘stalking’ was getting worse. She needed an excuse.

“Uh, that one rapper, uh --.”

“BS. You don’t listen to rappers.”

He held a hand out and, reluctantly, she handed it over to him. She might as well get her murder over with.

He set it in his ear and, after a few attempts, turned it on. His face soured even more, somehow.

“This better not be who I think it is.”

She gave a tentative half-smile.

That was all the answer he needed. He grabbed her by the back of her shirt and started dragging her through the streets.

No one helped. Not that she expected them to, it was Gotham, but it was still a little hurtful.

Adrien stopped suddenly after a few minutes of walking.

“... wait… where’s his office?”

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