#(( (do not get me wrong tho those feet still have grip strength to them too)
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(( I know I seldom draw them or draw angles where you can see them, but it is SO charming and silly to me that Miranda actually has pretty large back feet. To the point of, when I do draw them, I worry that people will think she’s digitigrade.
But no!! She’s not!! She’s fully plantigrade!! She just got silly flipper feet, like a crocodile or a penguin!! They’re even webbed too!!
#Most secret royal advisor || OOC#Given by Divine Right || Headcanons#(( im sketching her again and im just SO enthused by it all#(( fuckin SCUBA DIVER FEETSIES....#(( (with pawbs and claws too!!!)#(( which tbf i think i decided faiiiirly recently that her back feet should be larger than her hands?#(( mainly because i was thinking about how merfolk would work in water with their updated armfin structure and that made more sense to me#(( shes like. combination crocodile and sea turtle legs#(( its so silly i love her#(( (do not get me wrong tho those feet still have grip strength to them too)#(( (she is made to scale Living Mountains do not test her)#(( aquatic animals are just so silly and they delight me
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bad guy | tsukki
“There was no place in heaven for someone like him. But damn it, Tsukishima would do his best to earn his place with you.”
pairing: tsukki x reader
warnings: angst angst angst akjsjkskja slight fluff at the end tho
wc: too many i think jk 2127
Tsukishima has never claimed to be a good person.
He’s arrogant and mean. He’s never been the openly kind and caring type. He had a nasty habit of provoking people, and often found himself rather enjoying making fun of them. He’s also been told that he intimidates people very easily. Tsukishima is pretty sure these things don’t make him your usual run-of-the-mill good boy. He didn’t gain the nickname ‘Suckyshima’ among his teammates and friends for nothing.
But at the very least, he’s always thought that when it really mattered, one could find goodness at his core.
He knew you believed it, too. He could see it in your eyes; could hear it in the tone of your voice, the way you spoke to him; could sense it in the way you relaxed your shoulders and laughed so easily around him. Tsukishima never understood why. Nobody has gotten close to him as easily as you did— not even Yamaguchi. You were, by all accounts, his polar opposite. You only ever had kind words, and rarely scowled at anybody. You were polite, sweet, and his mother just adored you. You had sharp edges too, sure. Everyone did. But you were the goodest person he knew.
Which is why it kept him awake, every night, remembering what he did to you.
“What are you talking about?” you asked, trailing after him as he walked away from the gym. There was a tremble in your voice and he hated it. “I don’t understand why you’re being like this, Kei.”
“I’m saying this as simply as I can,” he replied over his shoulder. “I don’t want to be with you anymore.”
“But why?” He could hear your footsteps coming closer. “You just keep repeating that, but you don’t tell me why.” He felt a hand wrap around his wrist, tugging him backwards. Tsukishima sighed and stopped in his tracks. He wasn’t sure he’d make it out of this alive if he turned to look at your face. So he didn’t. He shook your hand away, sighing.
“Don’t you love me anymore?” Tsukishima was completely certain you were crying.
“No, I don’t.” He replied. Tsukishima heard your breath hitch, and his heart stopped. He hated this. He hated this.
“No,” you told him. “I don’t believe you, Kei. I don’t believe it.”
“Fine,” Tsukishima said, pushing himself forward. “Don’t believe me. I don’t care.”
You lunged after him, throwing your arms around his waist. Tsukishima’s breath stopped. “I don’t believe you Kei,” you repeated, tightening your grip. “Not for one second.”
He took a breath and spun around, mustering as much strength as he could in that millisecond. “What’s wrong with you?” He spat, pushing you away in one swift motion. “Don’t believe me, that’s fine. But I’m telling the truth, I don’t want to be with you anymore.”
“You’re a liar, Kei,” your voice was just barely above a whisper now. Tsukishima was almost certain this was worse than having you yell at him. “Look at me. Look me in the eyes. And tell me that again.”
“I don’t owe you anything,” he replied, trying to keep his voice from trembling too. “But if this will make you stop, sure.” He took a breath. “I’m tired. No, I’m exhausted. Between you and volleyball, I just can’t keep up. You always expect so much of me, and you never leave me alone. Do you know how tiring it is to be with someone who constantly needs reassurance? Who always needs me around? I’m sorry, I just can’t do this anymore. I don’t want to be with you anymore. ”
He was sure that the look in your eyes at that very moment would haunt him for the rest of his life. Tsukishima has never hated himself as much as he did right then.
“Fine,” you muttered. “That’s fine. I understand.”
Tsukishima turned on his heel and silently walked away from you. This was the worst thing he had ever done. If he’s ever believed that there was any good in him before, now he was certain there was none.
Tsukishima tried to convince himself that it was the right thing to do. If you hated him, it would be easier for you to move on. You would be free. You’d be better off without him. He’s never been any good for you in the first place anyway. He couldn’t give you what you deserved.
It’s been three weeks since that evening. Tsukishima had become angrier, more bitter. He could tell from the way his teammates walked on eggshells around him. Kageyama wasn’t snarky with him and Hinata brushed off his back handed comments. Bokuto had tried reaching out to him, odd as that was. Daichi and Sugawara had tried to talk to him too, but he brushed them off. He knew they all meant well, but they wouldn’t be able to make it go away anyway. There was no grace in heaven for someone like him.
Tsukishima only ever saw you in the halls. When Yamaguchi made excuses not to walk home with him after practice, Tsukishima knew he was going to meet with you. He tried to tell himself it didn’t bother him. Maybe you and Yamaguchi would fall in love. The thought made his chest tight and his throat burn, but Yamaguchi was better for you than he could ever be. It wouldn’t be so bad. It didn’t bother him. It was better this way— or at least, that’s what he told himself.
But it did bother him. All of it did. It bothered Tsukishima that Yamaguchi got to look at you, hear your laughter, walk you home, and do all these things with you that Tsukishima would never get to do again. It bothered him that you would never look at him without sadness in your eyes ever again. It bothered him that he knew he would never love anyone else, because he would rather be lonely than hurt anyone again— than hurt like this again.
Tonight, it bothered Tsukishima that his hands were cold. He shoved his hands as deep in his pockets as he could. He thought about stepping inside Coach Ukai’s store for a bit, maybe warming his hands and belly with a meat bun. But even as he was a good distance away from the store, Tsukishima could already hear the bellowing laughter of his teammates. He knew that if he stepped inside, the laughter would slowly quiet down and they would start throwing him these sympathetic looks. He didn’t want to spoil their fun. So he kept walking.
Tsukishima kept his eyes trained on the road in front of him. The music streaming in from his headphones blocked out pretty much most of the sounds around him, keeping him locked inside his head. That was fine. If he was lucky, a car would come crashing towards him and he wouldn’t be able to notice until it was too late.
That’s why he didn’t even notice you until you were right in front of him.
Tsukishima stopped dead in his tracks. Those shoes were very familiar. He looked up at you, his heart thumping in his ears.
“Hello, Kei,” you said, slowly. The gentleness of your voice took him aback. Tsukishima spent many late nights imagining what it would be like to run into you for the first time since the breakup. He imagined you would either completely ignore him, or yell at him. He wasn’t sure which was worse, but he knew for sure that he deserved both from you. He wasn’t expecting this, though.
“Have you been well?” No, he hasn’t. Tsukishima found himself unable to speak. He averted his gaze, feeling the shame crawl up his spine. Even without looking at you, he knew you would be wringing your hands behind your back— it’s what you did whenever you were nervous. He knew you would have your hair done the same way it’s always been, pushed up your forehead with a ribbon and falling down your shoulders. He knew exactly how beautiful you would be, even under the dim yellow light of the street lamp. And most of all, he knew there would be tears in your eyes. So, no matter how much he wanted to meet your gaze, he didn’t.
“Alright then,” you conceded after a few seconds without a reply from Tsukishima. “It was nice seeing you, Kei.”
You stepped sideways in an effort to avoid him, but as you walked past, Tsukishima’s arm shot out. His hand desperately wrapped around your wrist. He hated how much it reminded him of how you did the same thing the night you broke up. His heart had risen up to his throat, and he felt like he was going to vomit. Tsukishima couldn’t breathe. He didn’t know what he was doing, but he didn’t want you to leave.
“I haven’t,” he croaked. “I haven’t been well.”
You looked up at him, surprised. Tsukishima’s cheeks burned, suddenly feeling silly for acting on impulse. He let go of your wrist. “I’m sorry,” he said, finally looking at you. “I don’t know what came over me.”
“It’s alright..” you said, slowly. “I haven’t been well, either.”
Looking at you hurt him. You looked so small and fragile, standing in front of him with that look on your face. It made his chest constrict, and he hated that he was the reason you looked so downcast. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. Before he knew it, his feet propelled him forward, carrying him away from you. Apparently, this was all he knew how to do. Walk away.
Tsukishima couldn’t sleep that night. He tossed and turned, replaying every second of your earlier interaction in his head. The image of you, small and vulnerable in front of him, was burned into the back of his eyelids. He couldn’t stand seeing how he’d hurt you. But somehow, he couldn’t stop picturing it. Part of him knew he needed to make it right, that he needed to apologize. An even bigger part wanted to take it all back. To beg for your forgiveness, to say, screw it— everything’s just no good without you. And if you would still have him, he would do everything in his power to deserve you.
But he knew he had no right to do any of that. Tsukishima sat up and put his head in his hands. This must be what going crazy feels like.
Tsukishima pulled on a hoodie, and made his way downstairs. He slipped into his sneakers, convincing himself he’d just go for a walk. Only to clear his head. But he’s never really been good at convincing himself. Before he knew it, his feet were taking him down a familiar path. One he’d walked countless times before. And he couldn't seem to stop. He only did when he came up right at your door.
“Kei, it’s two in the morning,” you swung the door open, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. Tsukishima looked at you, and it occurred to him that he didn’t know the right words to say.
“It’s cold tonight, huh,” he said, shoving his hands sheepishly into his pockets.
“Yeah…” you answered, rubbing your arms to keep warm.
“It’s been like this ever since that day,” Tsukishima continued, nodding to himself. “Cold as winter, every single day. I mean, not literally, but like, that’s how it felt…” he couldn’t believe what he was saying. He shouldn’t be here. But it’s too late to turn back now. He swallowed the lump in his throat. “That’s how it felt to not have you in my life.”
“Kei…” tears were welling up in your eyes.
“And I’m sorry,” Tsukishima continued. “I’m sorry for everything that I said. I didn’t mean any of it.” He took a deep breath.
“Then why—”
“I was terrified.” Tsukishima could feel the wind brushing against his face and pulled his hood up. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him look this vulnerable.
“I love you so much,” his voice was soft. “The stars pale in comparison to how much I do.” His breath hitched, and he could feel tears welling up in his eyes. “And I didn’t think I was good enough for you.” Tsukishima chuckled bitterly. “I was right.”
“Oh, Kei..” you reached out for him, taking his face in your hands. It was the first time you’d ever seen the great Tsukishima Kei cry. “I’ll spend the rest of my life being sorry that I hurt you,” he whispered. “And if you’ll let me, I’ll spend every day making it up to you.” There was no place in heaven for someone like him. But damn it, Tsukishima would do his best to earn his place with you.
#haikyuu#haikyu x reader#haikyuu x reader#tsukishima x reader#tsukishima kei#tsukki#tsukki x reader#haikyuu!!#yamaguchi tadashi#haikyuu angst#haikyuu fluff#tsukishima angst#pain#just so much pain
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Hinata x reader
warnings: angst, self doubt, its just sad man, fluffy ending tho :’)
Summary: It doesn’t matter how positive you are, after a loss as devastating as this one you’re bound to doubt yourself.
A/n: I rewatched the Seijoh vs. Karasuno match from s1 recently...safe to say I totally forgot how painful it is to watch.
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The entire gymnasium was a buzz.
The building slightly warmer than usual due to the athletes bustling back and forth like ants. Everything about this moment in time was alive, the air felt as though it were shaking from the cheers and yells echoing off the walls. The loud "thwack!" Of the ball being sent from one team to the other ignited your nerves as you helplessly watched the desperate attempts to achieve a point.
It was the 3rd set with Seijoh at match point.
You shook with anticipation, gripping onto the railing of the balcony like your life depended on it.
'They'd be fine, they can win the points back and take the set!'
A loud noise snapped you out of your thoughts.
Hinata had just spiked only to be blocked by three Seijoh players.
You watched in horror as the ball ricocheted off the block and sailed to the floor, Kageyama, Asahi, and Noya all diving for it.
Your heart sank.
It felt like you were just dropped into the middle of the ocean, the heavy water muffling all the sound around you.
Y-you just saw it wrong! Your eyes are playing a trick on you. T-they couldn't have actually-
The soul-crushing sound of a whistle reverberated around the gym.
No
Reluctantly, you looked over at Shoyo.
He was knelt on the ground unmoving, it looked as though all life had been stripped from him leaving an empty vessel behind.
The burning sensation behind your eyes built as Karasuno looked up to thank the crowd. The pressure in your head increased as you fought the urge to cry.
You knew if he saw you cry he would feel a thousand times worse, so you mustered all your strength to resist.
Shoyo avoided you for the rest of the time the team was at the gym, which was fine with you.
He needed to be with his team right now, he needed to be with his brothers.
It was around 9 now, you were starting to get worried. Shoyo still hadn't contacted you.
No call or text....nothing.
Shoyo makes it a point to text you by 8 o'clock every night to make sure you've eaten and wish you sweet dreams; he's never skipped a day. Since the day you accepted his confession his nightly texts have been a constant in your life, something was very very wrong.
In a moment of impulse, you were grabbing a hoodie from you closet and slipping on some worn sneakers. You called out to your mom Telling her where you were off too then you were out the door.
The chilly night air stung your nose as you hurried down the street in the direction of Shoyo's.
You knew he would be heartbroken over the loss but you expected him to at least say something to you, this was definitely not his usual behavior.
You walked up to the front door of the Hinata household. Usually, the home held a warm, welcoming atmosphere; the sunny personalities of the three people residing in it pouring out of the doors and windows. You hadn't even entered the house yet but you could feel an immediate difference, it felt like all joy had been erased or a large, gray storm cloud had blocked all light out.
Hesitantly, you reached up and knocked on the door. You felt like you were gonna explode from all the suspense.
A wave of warm air and light hit you when the door opened. Hinata's mother looked at you with a sad expression and hurried you inside.
"He's been sitting on the back porch for hours," she whispered leading you into the main room, "He wouldn't even eat his dinner."
Now that was concerning.
"I'll talk to him," his mom squeezed your shoulder reassuringly then left to go put Natsu to bed.
You took a deep breath and pushed open the sliding door that led to the back, tentatively stepping out and closing the door quietly behind you.
He was sitting on the edge of the wooden platform, knees drawn to his chest and head resting on his arms.
You sat next to him, your feet hanging off the platform, occasionally your shoulders would brush.
Everything was quiet, aside from the chorus of crickets singing away in the night and a sniffle from the boy beside you every now and then.
You turned your attention up to the sky, leaning back on your hands to watch the clouds lazily creep over the twinkling stars.
"It doesn't feel fair does it?" You breathed out.
You turned to your right to see him peeking out from where he hid his face in his arms, you could just see his eyes, red and glimmering with unshed tears.
"You come so close to your dream, it's right there in front of you just a few steps away... But when you reach out you can't go near it, it's like...it’s like there's a glass wall separating you from that goal. You can see it, it's right there staring you in the face but you can't grab it...and you're forced to just watch."
You felt Shoyo scoot closer to you and you could see tufts of fluffy, orange hair in your peripheral vision as he layed his head against you. You wrapped your arm around his shoulders holding him as close as you could.
"It's my fault," he meekly whispered, "If only I had made that final spike."
Hot tears ran down his face spilling onto your hands as you attempted to wipe them away.
"Sho.." you turned and cupped his face in your hands, his cheeks were damp and blotchy and his lip quivered as he tried to hold back tears. "I don't want you to ever think it's your fault... What happened, happened and there's nothing you can do to change that now."
"Your team has only played together for a few months and look at how far all of you have come...look at how much you've grown as a player in this short time. Think of what you guys are gonna accomplish once you've really synced up, think of how much more you'll be able to do once you start understanding and using your potential... because you have it in you Sho, you're meant to fly! I just know it..."
At this point, his quiet tears had transitioned to hiccups and choked sobs. He wrapped his arms around your neck and tucked his head into your chest. You both sat there like that for a bit, your hands running up and down his back in attempts to calm him down.
Those sentences pierced your heart. Hinata Shoyo was one who always looked to improve and challenge himself, hearing the fear and doubt in his voice broke you.
"D-do you really believe that?" He rasped out, the words slightly muffled from his position against your chest. "Do y-you really think that? Do you really think I'll ever be able to get as g-good as everyone else?"
"Of course I do! You love Volleyball don't you?" You felt him nod against you, "Well, as long as you love it and put your heart and soul into what you do you have the potential to become anything."
You placed one of your hands on his head, playing with the soft waves in his vibrant hair.
"Sho look at me"
He pulled away from your chest and stared you in the eyes. You reached out to brush the last remaining tears from his warm cheeks then held his hands in your lap.
"One day there’s gonna be kids who'll be in the same position as you are now, kids who love Volleyball with all their being but are cast aside for not being tall, or fast, or powerful...and you know who they're going to look to for inspiration?"
He furrowed his brows, "Who?"
You let out a small laugh, "You silly! Kids just like you are gonna hear your story and feel inspired, they'll push themselves to be just as good as you and never give up on volleyball because of that."
He looked down and mindlessly played with your fingers, "You really think I can do that?"
"I know you can do that."
He smiled then pulled you into a hug, he felt much more relaxed and at ease now.
"Thank you"
You turned your head to kiss his cheek.
"You're welcome Shoyo."
#haikyuu!!#hinata x reader#shōyō hinata#hinata shoyo#hinata#hinata fluff#hinata angst#haikyuu x reader#hinata scenario#hinata imagine#hinata oneshot#hq x reader#hinata x y/n#hinata x you#haikyuu#hq#haikyū!!
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WARNING : Graphic description of BLood and Violence. A Mild description of Panic/Anxiety attack ....
And Not Beta Read. Sorry if there’s a mistake.
Click link to read on AO3. Click Keep Reading to read on tumblr~~
Chapter 1 3
Chapter 2
Word count : 2.4 k
From time to time their hangouts on Fridays become less frequent. Tim had already made meeting with Jason -a regular civilian- hard enough with his lifestyle. Back then, Jason would always seek Tim, just taking him out of that busyness for a chill night out. Or just because he misses Tim, and wanted to see his face.
Jason doesn’t do that anymore.
They used to meet once a week, that turned into once in a while, and it’s been two months since Jason saw him last. They would still text regularly though, because even though it’s hard to meet Tim face to face, Jason never wanted to cut Tim off, never. So texting and calling it is, and it’s so much easier than seeing the person physically.
Jason loves when Tim sends him pet pictures. Tim would send a picture Titus the great dane snuggling with Alfred the cat, and it was the cutest sight he’s ever seen.
Sometimes he would check on Tim, asking if things are well. They would call and chat about petty things at work or things they’re mildly annoyed with. Or sometimes just banter about politics. None of them know how they got into that, but they did.
Jason would ramble about novels and Tim about a newfound manga. Talking and chatting like that is easier than meeting Tim, but it gets less and less easy for Jason.
Sometimes their call will be interrupted by someone. Sometimes Tim sends a couple of pictures with Superboy. Sometimes Tim didn’t reply for a month because of a mission, and Jason can’t do anything but to pray to the void and the universe that he’s alive at least.
He hated those days without hearing from Tim. There are times that his hands will start to shake whenever he was reminded that he hadn’t heard about Tim. His mind just whirls into the worst possibility ever and it’s swirling down too fast for Jason to stop.
It gets dangerous when he would drop heavy things in the middle of work. A car engine, a box of tools, his phone, and as a bonus, sometimes they land on his feet. Or when he sees bad news from a villain on TV, the world would spin a little and it’s harder to breathe.
He wanted to check up. He just wanted to walk to Wayne manor and demanded to know where he is.
To calm himself, he reminds himself that Tim has superheroes friends on his side. A Kryptonian as a soulmate too. Tim will be fine.
But sometimes those train of thoughts backfires.
They really have grown up after all. Jason promised himself that he’ll never let Tim grows away from him, but knowing the path he takes, and the soul mark on his body, some things are inevitable. Even so, Tim will be fine. With or without him.
As ridiculous as it sounds, Jason is anxious because there’s nothing to be anxious about.
“Jason!”
The ground is so close to his face. When did he get down on his knees? No, not on his knees anymore, he’s sitting on the side of his hips. He sees his open hands on the grease-stained ground, and they started to double into four.
“Breathe, Jason. Come on, follow my lead.” It’s Mrs. Knope’s voice. Feeling her hand rubbing soothing circles on his back and following her commands to inhale and exhale.
Jason is getting his composure back, enough to look back to the TV hanged on the wall.
A swarm of robots attack in central Gotham. Red Robin is the first to respond. Tim’s bleeding, thrown to the ground, but he keeps getting back up. Jason wanted to run there, to help, to do something.
His friends came in. Superboy carries Red Robin away.
And Jason sighs at ease.
Tim is safe.
Tim will be fine.
++++++++
[Two Months ago]
Tim
Saw you on tv todya
Today
I rly thought you gonn die if not for your bf saving your dumbass so many times
Get back to me after you’re conscious you mad lad
[One Month ago]
I hope you’re on a mission rn and not purposely ignoring me
Or are you still recovering? you better be having some fingers cracked for not replying to me
Jk tho heal faster bitch I need some Alfred’s fluff belly pics
[Three weeks ago]
Tim what’s going on?
[Two Weeks ago]
Hey, dude, I’m just checking in
Saw you in crime alley
You’re dressed as a girl but you ain’t fooling me
[Two weeks ago]
Nvm it’s not you
Where are you tho?
[Yesterday]
Tell me you’re okay at least
Just something
Anything
Tim
++++++++
It struck like a bad feeling. Like a ghost going through your body, sending chills down your spine that can only mean nothing but bad. He’s started shaking like a scared rabbit. The ground under his feet feels like moving like a boat through a storm, he lost strength in his grip and his legs.
He lands himself on the side of the car he was working on, leaning there until he gets his ground again. From far away he can see Mrs. Knope coming over to him.
“Jason, it’s okay,” she turned the TV off, knowing it’s one of Jason’s trigger.
It’s not. Not this time, and the reason is something Jason couldn’t explain. He holds on to her, and regain his breath like the practice she taught him.
“Mrs... Mrs. Knope,” Jason said after finally catching his breath, “I have to go, right now, I’ll work on weekends in return.” Then Jason takes off without looking back.
“What- oh you better!” she scolded before she’s out of Jason’s hearing range.
Running aimlessly, Jason found himself in the depth of Crime alley, trying to look for Tim there and it is as crazy as that sounds, but his mind is awry from rational thoughts to think any differently. So, there he goes running like he’s a scared tourist. Then, after regaining some of his sanity, he calls and texts Tim even though his chat from two months ago hasn’t been read yet. Unsurprisingly, Tim didn’t pick up.
Bearing no fruit from running around, the only reasonable place he can look for Tim is the Wayne manor.
He has absolutely zero fucks at the moment that it’ll make Batman know that Jason knew about their identities. That’s a problem he’ll deal with after he calms his sudden anxiousness. It sounds like a petty reason but currently, Jason feels like dying.
There’s no public transport to the rich residential area, but there’s a stop near there so he takes it. Annoying the people on the bus with the tapping of his foot. He calms himself, thinking about good things, positive things. That maybe he’s just imagining things, that Tim is fine and maybe on a prolonged mission, and he’s making a fool of himself.
That must be it. He just needs to know that Tim is fine, even though going to his home is stalker-ish, it’s just something Jason needs to do. His embarrassment will have to wait.
Jason runs there as soon as the bus’ door open, powered with adrenaline and anxiousness. Soon, Wayne Manor came into view, and he spams the bell by the gate until someone finally speaks from the speaker in a British accent.
“Wayne Manor, state your business.”
“I need to see Tim,” Jason demanded.
“I’m sorry sir, but Master Timothy is still at work.” Oh, that’s good, now he just needs to go there.
“Where? Tell me the adress.”
“And what is your business with Master Timothy?”
“I just need to see him, he’s not returning my calls and texts the past two months. So, just tell me where he is!” Jason is getting impatient.
“Pardon me, but I don’t like your threatening tone, please contact Master Timothy himself if you’d like to meet.”
“No! Mr. Pennyworth I’m sorry just listen to me,” Jason called his name, and the static noise means the butler hasn’t disconnected yet.
Jason felt like his breathing is getting hard, but, oh god, not now...
“I need to see him,” Jason’s breath is getting shallower, he doesn’t want to do this, but Pennyworth is stalling, deflecting, now Jason knows something is wrong. “I know you know who I am, and I know...” Jason gulps, “I know.”
There’s a pause from the other end, and the gates open.
“Please come in Mr. Todd.” The speakers say before it’s off.
Jason runs through the pathway to the grand 4-meter tall door. A butler opens it before Jason has a chance to knock. Face stoic and head high. A balding drey hair, matching thick mustache, judging eyes and dressed in a pristine black suit and white shirt. The old butler moves away from the door and gestured Jason to come in.
The room inside is warm and cozy, but so big that it feels uneasy for Jason that used to tight spaces. Carpeted floor, a high ceiling with a chandelier in the middle of it and a massive family portrait at the end of the wall. Tim is in it, along with Bruce Wayne, the first adopted son Richard Grayson, the second adopted daughter Stephanie Brown, and the blood son Damian Wayne.
“Master Tim had gone off-grid for an hour,” Pennyworth informed, “The others are trying to find him at this moment, we could wait together if you’d like, to calm yourself from having an attack.” The butler eyes him knowingly, eyes fond and understanding.
Jason grits his teeth, impatient, “No, where is the last point he’s offline.”
“If you have any intentions to find him, I’m afraid I can’t tell you.”
“You have to,” Jason stares down at the butler with fist clenched, “Depends on the area, he may not make it.”
“I assumed you knew about Master Timothy’s capabilities, I guess I assume wrong.” The butler shows his deprecating face towards Jason, and he’s not having that.
“Oh I know Tim can kick-ass, but I know these people even more, and their reputation underground. You don’t know how deep those villains connection runs. The people down there will do anything, only for a few bucks, or just something to eat. And you bet they would kill and conspire, and they won't care who they kill.”
Then, the butler’s expression is finally something else than calm stoic, but he stays silent.
“You don’t need to tell me anything else, just what his alias is, and the last time he’s visible. Please,” Jason begged, and it’s hard to control the croak threatening at the back of his throat.
“He’s last seen on Fulton street,” that’s near Crime alley, “his alias is Cal Corcoran.”
Jason sighs a relieved breath, “Thank you, and one more thing, don’t tell them that I’m looking for Tim.”
“Why is that.”
“Because he won't like my way, and I don’t want him to hold me back.”
Pennyworth’s face twisted in regret, but before the butler can say anything. Jason holds his arm in a firm grasp, eyes sharp the other’s pair of old wise eyes.
“I know you don’t trust me, but you have to believe in me. I’ll find him.” He’s filled with unshakable tenacity, newfound courage and an absolute determination to do anything. “Even with my life on the line.”
Pennyworth doesn’t move even a muscle on his face, then he holds the hand on his arm.
“Please bring him home,” the butler finally says.
Jason nods gratefully and runs towards the city. He knows exactly who to see first.
++++++
Jason had never been back here for years. When he left, he never looks back. How many years has it been? Yet everything is still the same. Still so easy to pick the door open. The room still smells foul, and the furniture is just as old and scarce.
An old man sprawled the couch, a beer on his hand and the tactical gear on his body means that he just returned from ‘work. He looks even older as if that’s even possible compared the state Jason last seen him.
“What are you doing here,” his dad slurred in his speech, not even bothered to stand up.
“You are going to tell me the list of your friends and where I can meet them.”
“And why do you think I would tell you?” He smirks, and he laughs, like a drunk. Then he throws the bottle of beer, aiming for Jason’s head, which he gives credit to his dad it was pretty close.
But he avoids it with ease, and the bottle breaks on the wall behind him.
“Get out! Get the fuck outta--” His dad finally shuts up, thanks to Jason’s knife against his throat.
His dad twists his face in outrage, “You don’t have the balls to--” Jason takes the knife away, leaving a red mark on the neck, and sink that knife on his dad’s right hand and through his thigh when Jason sees it grabbing into something in his pocket. The man only screamed for a millisecond before Jason shoved a bundle of cloth on his old man’s screaming mouth.
There are tears rolling down his sunken eyes. Jason never saw him cry before, not even when his mom died.
Jason left the knife there, and pulls another one and place it on a red line on his neck. His dad twitch away, he tried to, but Jason’s knife presses his neck hard against the couch. There’s no compassion left in him for his dad, not ever fear or guilt when looking at the man’s terrified and pained face.
“I will and can kill you if you’re not useful. I can get the names from anyone else, but I figure... You’d like a chance to do your son at least one favor, wouldn’t you?” Jason doesn’t frown, doesn’t show any expression. He doesn’t want to grace his dad with any expression. The knife sinks into the think fled on his neck, and Jason mercilessly drags it towards his Adam's apple like cutting a cake, leaving a trail of red that leaks blood.
“Wouldn’t you?” Jason says more firmly, pressing the knife even deeper.
His dad is shaking, eye blown wide in terror, and finally nods.
“Good, and along with the names, I’m going to need your guns and stash of drugs.”
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Writer's Block Person #40: "Too Much Time Inside My Own Skull" Part Two
Last time:
From within the helmet came a voice, swallowing, struggling to get the word out. "Skull..." They threw their head back and howled. "SKULL WRITER'S BLOCK PERSON!"
Now [still early March 2018]:
"Oh, heck." Whisperion pushed herself up with her staff and got to her feet. Something not-so-nice had actually come out of Writer's Block Person's psyche. What should she do?
Keep her word. Fight alongside it. She pointed her staff, and energy flowed into her friend's distorted form; she could feel it distorting along the way, but they shook themselves out and howled again, replenished.
The monstrous man rose up, tilting forward as if pulled by strings, and stared into Skull Writer's Block Person's burning gaze. "Ohhh, I see." The sneer came through. "You think your anger is special--"
"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" With two long steps, Skull Writer's Block Person crossed the distance between them, ramming their shoulder into the monstrous man and knocking him askew. "I DON'T CARE!"
The monstrous man staggered back. He laughed, but it had a haggard, stressed edge. "Yeah you do. Yeah you do."
Skull Writer's Block Person ROARED! Their claws lashed out, and sparks burst from the monstrous man's chest. "People like you just keep fucking with us and making things hard for no goddamn reason and I can't stand your bullshit anymore! I! Don't! Know! Why! You! Just! Don't! Be! GOOD!"
The monstrous man let out a grunt of pain, but it turned into a sardonic chuckle. Shadows surrounded his fist and he took a swing at Skull Writer's Block Person, who blocked it with a solid arm, then swung that arm out in a powerful, spark-flaring attack.
Holy cow. If nothing else, this transformation was having an impact. Whisperion focused on the battle, channeling the different flavors of darkness curling around Skull Writer's Block Person into light and life. Maaaaybe this was okay?
In Writer's Block Person's head, it was not okay, and at the same time, it was glorious. It was fire and rage and righteousness and truth and helpless shouting at the void. And then they heard the void whispering back.
There's so much pain to this, it whispered. The pain of people's suffering. If you let go of it, you could have this fire, this strength, without the pain... you could be strong... I made this one strong, but you could be stronger... get it?
For a moment, Skull Block Person stood, smoldering in place.
"Yeah," they said. "I get it."
With both hands, they grabbed the monstrous man, gripping the plates of hardened material on his chest, and ripped them away! "I GET that you want to FUCKING use me like you USED everyone in the FUCKING WORLD, you ASSHOLE!"
The man shouted in pain, real pain, sounding helpless, stumbling back. The unprotected-- material? flesh? was red-gray, and shadow streamed from it. Skull Writer's Block Person lashed out along the unprotected flesh, and it bled bright, bursting in lines of blazing sparks. "You want to turn us all into your pathetic machines to make money or what-the-fuck-EVER and for WHAT? NOTHING!"
No... whispered a voice.
Whisperion's head jerked up - she heard the voice - recognized it, or rather, the way it threaded through the wrinkles of her brain - this was a demon.
For everything... For power... all the power in all the worlds... you could have it... could be mine... ours...
"Get. The fuck. OUT OF MY SKULL!" Skull Writer's Block Person grabbed the monstrous head, stared into its glowing green eyes, and blazed. Their eyes burned a red whose color went beyond the physical operation of rods and cones, an impossible hyperbolic ultrascarlet that burst right through the electromagnetic spectrum and into the metaphysical.
There was a sound that didn't exist, sheet metal being ripped apart overlaid with heavy static. The demon was screaming. The man's body was frozen in a rictus of shock, his face tight, without the glee, without the power.
Skull Writer's Block Person let go of his head, and he fell, boneless, to the pavement and the grass. They spread their arms and screamed at the sky. "STOP DOING THIS TO ME!"
"Drew, it's okay!" Whisperion tossed her staff to the side and raised her hands. "It's done, you can stop--"
"NO I CAN'T!" They covered their face with their claws, panting, great ragged breaths. She could see the tension in their arms, the little twitches that accompanied every movement. "It's not done, I, Whisperion-- you can feel it, right-- I--" Their shoulders went up and a series of shudders wracked their body. "Min-young, I gotta-- they're so awful and maybe I can fix it and maybe I can fight it because they're all out there and they're HURTING us and I HAVE TO STOP THEM!" They threw their head back and screamed, and leapt into the air, and out of sight.
Shit, thought Whisperion, this has officially gone Too Far. Someone had to snap them out of this. ...unfortunately, she didn't know how. Maybe if the demon--
She looked and nope. The monstrous man was gone. Well, double shit!
Okay, keep it together. Her staff blazed with light and she cleared the last of the darkness out of her system, clearing her head. They had a lot of allies; who among them would be best to stop a Writer's Block Person who had gone off and--
Oh, duh. Whisperion looked around. Which one of these was Distraction Damsel's house?
...well, probably the one with the lawn gnomes in hot pink and banana yellow, the snow sculpture of humanity swordfighting God, and the big sign that said "NOT THE HOUSE OF DISTRACTION DAMSEL, THAT'S FOR SURE" on the roof. Must be nice to live in a neighborhood without a homeowner's association.
Whisperion picked her way across the crazy-paving walk and knock-knock-knocked on the door with the window painted on it. "Hoy! Alarums! Calls to action! Distraction Damsel, I need your help!"
The intercom (disguised as a fake rock with a fake key under it) crackled. "Look," said Distraction Damsel, "I told y'all. I don't fight bad guys, I just fight heroes when they need fightin'."
"No, no, no," said Whisperion. "It's Writer's Block Person! They've gone berserk!"
A loud squee came out of the intercom, and then it went silent. Whisperion heard a door open and slam shut on the other side of the house, and Distraction Damsel ran out from behind a stand of rainbow flamingos. "Eee!" she said. "Kismessitude! :D"
Hey, wait, has Distraction Damsel been described yet? Wow, no. Okay, I'll do that now: She's a lanky black girl, speckled with vitiligo, with foofy pink hair, wearing purple glasses, a holofoil bodysuit, and oversized golden gloves and boots like in anime or Mickey Mouse. She wears a purple cargo utiliskirt with oversized pockets full of distractions; glitter, confetti, inflatable dolls, just one more episode, ponderings on the ineffability of existence, and so on. Right now she is very happy so let's continue with that.
The two of them got on Whisperion's moped and sped over to where all the yelling was coming from. Skull Writer's Block Person was standing outside a (thankfully closed) restaurant, yelling at a "NO LOITERING" sign.
"...trying to make it illegal for people to EXIST, or just to be POOR!?" In a single blow, they slashed the sign to ribbons, scoring the brick beneath with clawmarks. The one janitor who had been in the place exited quietly out the back door because they sure as hell weren't dealing with this today.
"Yikes." Distraction Damsel flipped off the moped and ran her hands thru her hair, making it extra foofy. "This is gonna be easy, tho."
"Seriously?" said Whisperion, raising an eyebrow. "They look pretty focused."
"Watch and learn." Distraction Damsel pirouetted up to Skull Writer's Block Person. "Hey, nerd!"
They spun, claws at the ready. "Viv! Nrrrrgh--" Their hands went to their head. "Keep back, I gotta-- gotta focus, I can't--"
Before Skull Writer's Block Person could finish their thought, Distraction Damsel pointed at them and said, "Why don't you just put the whole world in a bottle??"
"Er..." Skull Writer's Block Person lowered their hands, and their burning crimson eyes blinked in confusion. "What?"
"Whoops, wrong one." Distraction Damsel pulled a stack of index cards out of her pocket and leafed thru them. "Here we go..." She tossed them over her shoulder and pointed at Skull Writer's Block Person again. "If you're fighting the bad guys with your new powers, when are you going to have time to write?"
"Uh... well, I guess I'm gonna have to rest sometime, so--"
"And if you're doing that when are you gonna have time to hang out with people?"
"Er, well, if they want to fight evil with me--"
"And if you're doing that what about those books you wanna read,"
"Um--"
"and what about going to those community meetings you're always talking about,"
"Uh--"
"Or organizing your stuff better, or learning to draw, or having a sexy time, or--"
POP-hwoosh! In a burst of crimson light, Skull Writer's Block Person de-transformed, and Drew tumbled to the sidewalk. "...ow..."
Distraction Damsel mimed blowing off a pair of six-shooters and stuck them in her belt. "My job here... is done!"
"Oh, right," said Whisperion. "They de-transform when they can't figure out what to do. I forgot it worked that way."
[Half an hour later...]
Writer's Block Person finished their turkey on rye and drank their glass of water. "Thanks." They leaned back. "I feel a lot better."
Whisperion nodded, clearing away the plates. "Good!" She deposited them in the kitchen, then came back and stood in the doorway, arms crossed. "You gotta take care of yourself, you nerd, or else shit like this happens."
"Ehe..." Writer's Block Person rubbed the back of their head and smiled. "You're right."
"Seriously, I was really worried about you." She took a step forward. "You really can't do shit like that. You're going to really hurt yourself and... and..." She ran across the room and swept them up in her arms, one around their back, one around the back of their head. "And you're too important for that. You're too good."
Writer's Block Person made a "mrhf!" noise as she embraced them, surprised but welcoming, and put their arms around her as best they could. She pressed their head into her shoulder, and they nuzzled in, standing there for a few minutes, cuddling, breathing.
Eventually, she let go. They gave her a little kiss on the neck, and took a step back, though their hands were still on her sides. "Sorry for worrying you, hon."
She chucked, smiled down at them. "It's okay."
"I dunno if I'm actually important, tho. Like, Comic Book Resources would probably call me a C-lister."
Whisperion snerked. "You're important to me, nerd."
Writer's Block Person smiled. "Fair fair. Then I guess, since I love you and all, I gotta take care of what's important to you. Which means..." They let go of her, spinning to point into the distance melodramatically. "It's time to activate... The Zero Closet!!"
Whisperion gasped, then clenched her fist. "Good luck!"
"Thank you!" Writer's Block Person leapt over to the closet, tossed the door open, then spun dramatically to look at her. "I'll need it!"
Whisperion held up her fist for a moment, trembling... then broke out in guffaws. "Heeheeheehee. Okay, weirdo." She blew them a kiss. "Have fun, I'll hang out and finally get some reading done."
Writer's Block Person giggled. "Thanks, hon, you're a peach~" They stepped into the closet and closed the door behind them.
This had originally been a hallway, back when this building was a set of deluxe luxury apartments for the robber-baron-era Pittsburgh elite. Now, it was a big-ass closet with several smaller closets along the walls. It was also an excellent space to be alone with one's thoughts.
With one flip of a switch, the closet was bathed in light from several full-spectrum lamps. Writer's Block Person sat on the floor, leaning against the wall, letting the light fill them.
Slowly, the wisps of seasonal depression rose out of their mind. They inhaled slowly, exhaled slowly, letting the random activity of their mind settle down. When it felt like they'd reached some kind of equilibrium, they reached up and turned off the lights.
The darkness was a closet, a close, confined space. And Writer's Block Person took their mental model of the space, and made the walls fall away. It stretched off, now, in all directions, their surroundings one part of a vast space.
In the space, a door rose up - not like the one on the depths, but familiar, solid, the door that you can open and say "I'm home!" And with a little creak and a jingle, the door opened. Two figures stepped through.
One was an anthropomorphic bull, long-horned with orange, shaggy fur. She was six feet tall, muscular, and wearing a flannel shirt and magenta-pink denim overalls. Through her nose was a ring in the shape of a Venus symbol.
[Bedelia Dunaidh. Highland Cattle bullwoman. Strong and warm and proud of you. Playful and powerful. Horn-y on main.]
The other was a woman whose paleness was the hard-earned result of many days spent inside. She wore a black crop top, a holofoil skirt and wraparound reflective shades, plus dark blue glittery lipstick.
[Nyx. The ultimate '90s hacker. Sparkles and neon and scrolling green letters. Snarky as hell. Loves to not give a fuck.]
Bedelia closed the door behind her, and with a wave of her hand, it slipped down into the endless mindscape. She stood, relaxed and confident, a pillar of strength.
"Well!" said Nyx, leaning back against the wall with a smirk. "That didn't go well."
"Now, now," said Bedelia. She knelt down and put her hand on Writer's Block Person's shoulder. "How are you doing, love?"
They sighed. "Well, not as bad, but..." They shook their head. "God, I could've really hurt someone. I mean, I did hurt someone, but someone who, y'know, wasn't physically attacking me. ...which I still feel guilty about, anyway."
Nyx rolled her eyes. "You were halfway to burning yourself out as it was. You would've taken a swipe at an innocent rando and keeled over from anxiety."
"Well, maybe." Writer's Block Person rubbed their upper arms, looking oddly comforted by the idea. "Still... ugh." They shook their head again, looking down at their feet. "I was so hungry to do things, so hungry to unleash my anger on a deserving target..." A lonely howl sounded from far away. "I still am."
"That anger's still in you," said Bedelia, "though it's cooled, now that you've released it. And that's no bad thing; there is much in this world to be angry about. The trick, of course, is keeping your own will and compassion in the face of it."
Writer's Block Person sighed. "Yeah... mnnnngh... bleh. I just want to be effective." They ran their fingers thru their hair. "It's so hard to feel like I'm really doing anything. Like, people are suffering in ways I can't help them with, because of what somebody did to them, or what somebody's doing to them now. Even inside my cute little bubble, sometimes." They sighed, looking up at the invisible ceiling.
Bedelia stepped behind them and sank her fingers into their hair, rubbing their scalp. "You are being effective. You're supporting people, every day. You don't always see the results immediately. Sometimes they seem unaffected, sometimes they just get frustrated at themselves or the world, end up screaming or burned out. But that doesn't mean they are unaffected. Every little gesture of support matters. It creates a pattern of support; it becomes part of people's lives, a feeling like there is support out there, even if it isn't available right now."
They sighed. "I know. It's just hard when I can't see it."
She smiled. "You're a dandelion."
They tilted their head back, looking up at her. "...thank you?"
Bedelia laughed, rich and husky. "You want to plant the seeds of people's stability and goodness, but you don't realize you already are. You're just planting them willy-nilly, like dandelion seeds blown by the wind, letting kindness float out into the world. Your reckless love lands and grows all over the land. And you really don't need to worry that any one gesture of support falls flat, because there's a dozen more growing tall and strong and nigh-impossible to root out."
"...awh." Writer's Block Person took a deep breath, let it out. "That's... really good to hear."
"Excellent, you deserve good things."
They sighed. "Still don't really know how to deal with this anger, tho."
"That's my cue." Nyx stepped forward... and flopped down lazily over Writer's Block Person's lap, making them oof. "So nerd, one question." She snuggled into place, relaxing. "Why you gotta be so angry?"
"Well, 'cause of all of this awful stuff, I thought I said."
"Nah nah nah." Nyx stuck out a finger and booped them on the nose. "You're not listenin'. Why do you have to be angry? Izzit fixin' the problem?"
"I mean... not really. But I just am angry."
"Yeah, but that's the thing." She sat up, putting an arm around their shoulders. "You've got those feelings, but you don't gotta feel them all the time."
"That's true," said Bedelia. "You're trying to deal with every bit of it at once."
"Yeah, but..." Writer's Block Person slumped back, boneless. "I worry that, if I don't make sure I feel all of the bad things as they come up, I'm going to fall back into a place where I can't feel them, where they're just lurking below the surface, fucking with me unpredictably." They sighed. "I've worked so hard to get outta that place..."
Nyx sat up in their lap. "First off, yeah, yeah, fair." She wrapped an arm around their shoulders. "Second... you're an idiot." She pressed her fist down and gave them a noogie.
"l;fgljkfd!" They flailed!
"You did work stupid hard, and you're not gonna undo all that work just by takin' a break from feeling it!" A-noogienoogienoogie and Nyx let go.
"I, bu, I..." Writer's Block Person attempted to words and failed.
"It's true," said Bedelia. "Distancing yourself from your feelings in the moment can absolutely be healthy, as long as you let yourself work through those feelings when you have the time and the focus."
Nyx nodded firmly. "I know you hate all that '90s ironic distance bullshit, but there's a reason people liked it." She mussed up Writer's Block Person's hair and they wiggled. "It's okay to fuckin' enjoy it, nerd. 'S not going to ruin your precious emotional vulnerability."
"Yeah... I guess so." Writer's Block Person ran their hand thru their hair and smiled.
Bedelia grinned. "Well then." She leaned down, picked both of them up in her arms together, and squeezed them in a tight hug. Nyx acked and flailed. Writer's Block Person was squished between them, and for a moment, was crushed in comforting self-love.
Nyx managed to wriggle out and hop down, and Bedelia put Writer's Block Person back down on the floor, and smoothed out their hair. "We'd best let you take care of things now."
Writer's Block Person shook themself out and nodded. "All right."
Bedelia waved her hand and the door rose back up out of the darkness.
Nyx hopped up. "Remember when this series was all about getting an issue done in a day? Hah!"
Bedelia opened the door, releasing a breath of summer. "Take care, dear," she said. "Remember, we're always with you."
"I know." They smiled. "I can feel you cheering me on."
"Right, 'n just so you don't forget." Nyx pulled off her sunglasses and gave them a toss, with a spin that landed them directly in Writer's Block Person's lap. "Catch ya on the flipside~"
The door closed. Writer's Block Person sighed, and opened their eyes. The darkness was just darkness again. They flipped on the the light - not the sun lamps, just the regular lightbulb. The closet was just a closet again.
But the sunglasses were still in their lap.
Whisperion looked up from her book as the door to the Zero Closet creaked open and Writer's Block Person stepped out. "How'd it go?"
"I feel better," they said, looking down at the sunglasses. "But... I'm not sure what my next step is."
"That's fair. Wanna hang out and chew it over?" Whisperion patted the couch next to her.
"Yes please." They sat down on the couch, their legs over her lap, and relaxed. They got out their phone and started checking their messages. Ah, Edwina was on another ramble about proofreading on the Discord server.
| ...and, as no messaging client as yet supports the "new paragraph" symbol, I propose that it be created as a transparent image and included in our server's list of custom emoji.
Thank you for your time. - Ed. (UE) |
"...THAT'S IT!"
"Please don't scream in my ear," said Whisperion mildly.
[A couple days later]
Whisperion and Distraction Damsel were having a nice picnic. It was a bit chilly for it, but the sun had come out and most of the snow had melted, so they didn't care. They sat on a blanket in the park, and snacked on sammiches and chips.
Writer's Block Person stood in front of them, bouncing from foot to foot. They were already transformed, and holding their sparkly purple transformation pen in one hand. "So, I had to practice this a lot, but I think I got it down. You ready? Um..." They bounced a bit, caught between excitement and politeness. "Need any more food, or... anything?"
Whisperion laughed and shook her head. "We're ready!" She gave them a thumbs-up.
"One hundred percent up for learning your strategies so I can take advantage of it later!" Distraction Damsel gave two thumbs up.
Writer's Block Person giggled. "Okay, then..." They held the pen out at arm's length. They took a deep breath and...
...reached down inside, down deep, it was easier this time, finding that door. They took the knob and they didn't have to fling it open, they could open it just a crack, hold their position and just feel what they wanted, what they could handle...
Click! "EMOTICONVERSION! CUSTOM CODE POINT! SKULL WITH COOL SUNGLASSES!"
A flat CGI image appeared in front of them, of a cartoony skull wearing sunglasses. It flew into their form and exploded in CGI flames, and when the flames died down, they'd transformed.
Their armor was shining white with bright red accents and a simple black bodysuit. Along the sides and back of their chestpiece were vents. Their cape was red, with a line of white fire running along the bottom. On their head, atop their helmet, was a white trilby hat with a black band, held in a rakishly tilted position, and their visor was shaped like sunglasses as well. In place of their belt buckle was a bright red lever, and In the center of their chest was a ruby with the silhouette of a skull wearing sunglasses.
"Yessss!" They pumped their fist. "Okay, and now..." They held out their pen again. "PEN IS MIGHTIER! BONE OF MY SWORD!" Click!
In a fiery flash, the pen transformed into a curving white sword with a sparkly purple grip. Bony protrusions curved out of the pommel, and in the middle, a skull-with-sunglasses-shaped ruby was mounted.
"Ooooh!" "Ahhhh!" Whisperion and Distraction Damsel applauded.
Writer's Block Person grinned under their mask. "Right, and..." They started going through basic sword exercises, stepping back and forth, the blade slicing through the air, fighting against an imaginary opponent.
As they practiced, memories floated into their mind, and they let them come. Memories of the monstrous man, and the things he'd said. Memories of the times they hadn't been able to help. Memories of the people who seemed to sit, apathetic, in the face of suffering. They held their position, letting the anger through as a natural flow, not an explosion of pain...
And as the anger rose in them, the bone-white blade began to glow. Gradually, it heated up, turning a lurid red. Writer's Block Person's movements became more forceful, more decisive, the sword swings accompanied by plumes of steam. They spun and danced, the anger rising and rising, and they used it, and they used it, and it became almost too big to use and...
Their off-hand went to the lever at their belt. They raised their sword for a decisive strike, and pulled the lever; and the anger in their body exploded out into the world, and steam burst from their vents, and the sword flashed a brilliant crimson, and they brought it down in a burst of blinding light.
When the light faded, Writer's Block Person was kneeling on the ground. The sword was white again, wisps of steam rising from the blade and from their vents. For a moment, all that was audible was the wind...
Then they bounced up and shook themselves out. "Whew!" They de-transformed, put the pen away, and ran their hands thru their hair, grinning. "That's better. Sometimes ya just gotta let off some steam."
Whisperion laughed, standing up and pulling them into a hug. "That's great!"
"Good job!" said Distraction Damsel, munching on chips. "Lots of color, ten outta ten."
Writer's Block Person laughed and hugged. "God. I feel so much better."
"Yeah?" said Whisperion.
"Yeah! I can live in this world, face its awfulness, without freaking out. And..." They turned, and looked off into the distance, fist clenched. "When that guy comes back for a rematch-- I'm ready!"
[June 2018, over three months later]
"...REALLY, CAPTION BOX?" Writer's Block Person, in a Squirrel Girl T-shirt and a light summer skirt, flopped over Whisperion's lap. "Uuuugh. I'm worried about that guy."
"He did try to kill you," said Whisperion, petting their hair.
"Yeah and probably I killed him. Probably I straight-up killed him gaaaaaaah." They rolled over, mooshing their face into a pillow.
Whisperion rubbed their back. "Hon, he disappeared straight away. Probably went off to recover."
Writer's Block Person propped themself up on their elbows. "I guess, but why's it been so long? Ugh, I also hate the idea of him just lurking out there, doing shit..."
"He also seemed to be pretty focused on you, as an enemy." Whisperion pet their hair. "I'm sure you'll get that rematch."
"I guess..." They sighed. "I just don't want someone else to suffer for my personal development. Even if it's a demon guy."
"That's fair. But you can't affect it right now. The worry's not useful right now, so put it away and live your life."
"Yeah, you're right." Writer's Block Person sat up, and stretched out, and looked out the window. "For now, it's a new day, and we keep moving forward."
"That's right." Whisperion handed Writer's Block Person a roll of paper towels and a bottle of spray. "And you can move forward by cleaning the bathroom grout."
Writer's Block Person blinked in surprise, then snerkgiggled. "Awwww, but I'm having an emotional moment!"
"Look," she grinned, "you *told* me to make you do it, so I'm makin' you~"
"And what are you gonna do if I don't? Spank me?" They stuck out their tongue.
"No, I'm gonna TICKLE YOU!" She leapt on them and began the torment.
"EEEEEheeheeheeheenoooo..."
On the corner of the dresser, a pair of sunglasses glinted as the sun began to set. Life went on.
----
Author's Note: "Min-young" is a Korean given name. Whisperion's is specifically spelled with the hanja pronounced "min" that means "clever" and the one pronounced "young" that means both "flower petals" and "heroic". Distraction Damsel's first name is Viviana. It doesn't have any especially relevant meaning, I just liked it - which seems perfect for her.
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a bitter truth (part one)
this is an angstier version of a post-scarif fix-it verse, much more than this series. don’t worry tho, there will be some good rebelcaptain action. 👌 hope you enjoy!
read it on ao3!
It should have happened like this:
Jyn faces off with Krennic, eyes narrowed, teeth bared. She tells him that she is Galen and Lyra’s daughter, that she is the one who’s going to transmit the plans to his precious Death Star to the Rebellion.
He tells her that she’s lost.
It should have happened like this:
Just as Krennic moves to shoot her and Jyn gets ready to charge, Krennic falls at her feet with a hole in his chest. And there stands Cassian, against all the odds, with a smoking blaster in his hands.
In that moment, Jyn thinks he’s the most beautiful sight she’s ever seen.
It should have happened like this:
Together, they transmit the plans. Together, they limp off the data tower and into the elevator. Cassian asks her if she thinks anyone’s listening and she replies yes, someone has to be. She refuses to think that this whole suicide mission has been in vain.
They fall on the beach together, embracing for the first and last time. She holds Cassian as tightly as she’s able to and he does the same, taking comfort in human contact. Maybe in a different life, they could have been something other than partners.
The Death Star fires. She watches the wave of fire get closer and closer, and in this moment, she’s not afraid to die. When the blast hits them, it’s only a few seconds of agony before they’re turned into stardust together.
In a better world, they die together on Scarif.
Instead, it happens like this:
Cassian doesn’t come for her. He leaves her alone at the top of the data tower.
She hadn’t expected him to, but a small part of her had assumed he would. Especially after he did on Jedha and Eadu, and especially after he had rallied almost all of the members of Rogue One. The pain of his absence stings sharper than it should, but Jyn’s used to people abandoning her by now.
Maybe he’s given up on her. Maybe he’s run into some trouble and he’s on his way. Or maybe he’s dying alone at the bottom of the tower, unable to move and hoping that she’s able to finish the mission alone?
(does that mean she’s the last person left standing? that she’s killed everyone else on this little suicide mission of hers, all in the name of a rebellion she barely believes in?)
It doesn’t matter. She can’t afford to think about these things right now.Cassian isn’t here, but when she turns around to transmit the plans, the man in white is. He looks the same as he did all those years ago when he took her father and killed her mother right in front of her.
In this moment, all Jyn feels is rage. She doesn’t think about Cassian. Instead, she thinks about surviving, with her fists clenched and ready for a fight.
(in a better world, this would be different. cassian would be there with her. though is it really a better world if they all die at the end?
at least then they were together, even in death.)
Jyn charges him before Krennic even realizes she’s moving, but as she tackles him to the ground, red hot fire laces through her gut. While he hits the floor, she hits it harder, wheezing and wrapping an arm around her torso. Her hand comes away sticky with blood.
it hurts it hurts it hurts.
She tries to hoist herself up but fails, reaching up for the guard rails. Her bad leg, already hurt before coming up here, crumples beneath her. Krennic gets up before she can and aims the blaster at head. She freezes, eyes locked on his.
“My, my,” he tsks, giving her a once-over. His mouth twists in displeasure at the state she’s in, all broken and bloody. “I should have known that Lyra’s daughter would have so much fire.”
The plans, she thinks desperately, trying once again to get on her feet. But it’s so hard. Her insides feel as if they’re going to fall out but she needs to get up and she needs to transmit the plans to the Rebellion.
“Don’t even bother with that. You’ve lost, Miss Erso,” Krennic smiles, and she wishes she had enough strength to punch that smug look off of his face. “You’re coming with me. After all, we do need information about your little Rebellion and this is the perfect opportunity.”
Her stomach is on fire and there’s blood in her mouth and she can barely think straight, her vision darkening, but if there’s one thing that Jyn’s always been, it’s rebellious.
As a Star Destroyer appears in the corner of her tunneling vision, Krennic turns ever so slightly to watch its arrival. Jyn takes that moment of distraction to use all of her remaining strength and grab the small vibroblade she had shoved in her thigh holster during the flight. Saw had taught her that there’s no such thing as too many weapons.
When Krennic turns back to her, she lunges upward and stabs him in the thigh, digging the blade as deeply as she can.
It’s not enough to kill him, but she feels a grim satisfaction watching him curse in pain as blood trickles down her leg. She falls backward, suddenly exhausted and her head hits the floor with a dull thud. Her heart is pounding quickly enough that she thinks it might explode and the wound in her gut pulses in time with her heartbeat.
Even in the light of her small victory, she can’t find it in herself to feel anything except guilt. She’s failed. The plans haven’t been transmitted, Cassian and the rest of her crew is dead or dying, and she’s about to die at the same hands that killed her mother and father.
“You bitch!” Krennic snarls. He rips the blade out of his thigh and tosses to the side. Jyn watches it fall off the data tower until she can’t see it anymore. When she turns back, Krennic has one hand over the wound in his thigh and the other is pointing the blaster back at her head again. “You’ll pay for that.”
Jyn grins, teeth bloody. “Fuck. . .you,” she wheezes in a final act of defiance, before Krennic’s eyes darken and his blaster cracks across her forehead.
I’m sorry, Papa. We’ve lost and you’ve died for nothing. I failed you.
When the darkness comes to take her, Jyn Erso welcomes it with open arms.
It should have happened like this:
Cassian climbs the data tower just in time to save Jyn from Krennic.
Instead, it goes like this:
Cassian lays gasping on the cold, metal ground. Every breath burns in his lungs and there’s a coppery taste in the back of his mouth. Hot blood leaks out of his shoulder where Krennic shot him and there’s something wrong with his back. His leg hurts too and he hopes that it’s nothing more than a sprain. He can’t afford it to be anything worse.
At this moment, lying at the bottom of the data tower and staring upwards, there’s nothing he wants to do more than just lay here and die.
But he needs to get to Jyn. He promised himself that he wouldn’t leave her behind. He promised himself that he wouldn’t abandon her like her mother or father or Saw had.
(he’s only known her for a week but jyn erso compels him in ways he never knew possible.)
He forces himself to a sitting position, crying out when something in his back shifts. When he coughs, blood stains his teeth and he knows that he doesn’t have much time left.
Get up. The mission isn’t over yet.
It feels like forever before he drags himself to his feet, leaning heavily on the data tower. His ribs ache with every movement and it’s a far way to climb, but he has to try. He can’t rest until he’s completed the mission, and as far as he knows, it’s not over yet.
He places his other hand on the archives and tries to pull himself up. This sudden movement jars his battered body so badly that he loses his grip and falls back to the ground with a stifled moan, unwelcome tears pooling in his eyes.
it hurts it hurts it hurts
“Come. . .on,” he grits out, forcing himself to his feet once again. He so badly wants to give up but he knows that he can’t. There’s more at stake here than what he wants. The Rebellion needs him. “Come on!”
Slowly, almost pitifully, Cassian climbs the data tower. At one point, he almost falls -- his hands are too slick with his blood and his head is spinning so fast that he thinks he’s going to pass out, but he digs his fingers into the handhold and rests his forehead against the tower, waiting for it to pass. When he gets the dizziness in check, he keeps going.
At this point, stopping isn’t even an option for him anymore.
When he pulls himself up to the top, barely conscious, Jyn is gone. She didn’t make it and it’s all his fault. If only he had been faster, if only he had shot Krennic before he had shot him --
Stop. The mission. He needs to focus on the mission. He can mourn Jyn later, if he survives all of this.
(by the way he’s feeling right now, the chance of that is slim.)
He stumbles to the console. Everything’s all set up for him -- all he has to do is pull the lever. She’s done everything else for him. Cassian laughs quietly, though sounds more like a wheeze. Leave it to Jyn to do all of the hard work. He lets his fingers rest on the lever before pulling it down as hard as he can.
Thank you, Jyn. I’m sorry.
When the screen lights up and the plans begin transmitting, he slides down the console to rest, sticking his bad leg out in front of him. His job is done now. The mission is over. Finally, he can sleep. He thinks that after all he’s done, he deserves a couple moments of peace.
Just as his head drifts forward and his vision darkens, hands start shaking his shoulders. Blearily, he tries to swat them away but finds that he can’t move his arms anymore. This would bother him if he didn’t feel so tired.
“Captain Andor! You need to stay awake!”
It’s done, he wants to tell whoever is shaking him, but he can’t seem to make his throat work properly. Let me rest. I’ve completed the mission. We did it. Please, just let me rest.
The last thing Cassian Andor feels before fading into unconsciousness is two arms pulling him upwards, and a sharp pain. Then -- nothing.
Jyn wakes up bound to a chair.
She thinks that she must still be in the Star Destroyer because she can just barely hear the vibrations of the ship through the floor. She can’t see much in the room that she’s trapped in, but she knows that she still must be in the hands of the Empire. After all, it’s very unlikely that the Rebellion would tie her up after she tried to save their asses.
(but she doesn’t know. she’s not even a member of the alliance, not to mention that she took some of their best operatives and went rogue, killing all of them on what was supposed to be a win for the rebellion.)
The blaster wound on her stomach is hastily bandaged, but there’s blood leaking through the bacta patch. Her captors haven’t done anything for her leg, but she doesn’t think it’s anything worse than a sprained ankle. Her head is what worries her the most; she can feel dried blood crusted on her cheek and her forehead throbs in time with her heartbeat. Every so often, her vision goes dark and she has to swallow down a wave of nausea.
How the hell is she going to get out of here with a concussion?
Weakly, she tugs on the binders around her wrists. They’re notched one slot too small and are digging uncomfortably into her skin. To get out of this, she’s thinks she’s going to have to break her thumb and dislocate her shoulder, but the very thought of that makes her head spin.
The door to her dimly-lit cell opens before she can think too much about it. Light floods in, making her head explode in pain, and she has to close her eyes until the door shuts once more. When she looks up, Krennic stands in front of her, with two guards flanking him. There isn’t an IT-O droid with them and at that small mercy, Jyn lets out a small sigh of relief.
“You’re finally awake, I see,” Krennic says, taking a step closer to her. He doesn’t limp and there’s no sign of the wound on his leg -- she know that the Empire has more bacta than the Rebellion ever will. At least now that supply has been slightly depleted because of her actions. “I thought we might lose you. And we can’t have that, now can we? You’re the last surviving Erso.”
She says silent, appraising him the same way he’s looking her over. She takes note of the blaster strapped to his hip and the dark bags under his eyes. She doesn’t know how long she’s been out, but it doesn’t look like he’s slept since before Scarif.
Krennic doesn’t seem perturbed by her silence. In fact, he keeps talking. “You know, we’ve been trying to find you for years. You’re extremely good at hiding, Miss Erso. I’m sure you imagine my surprise when you revealed yourself on the data tower. Just where have you been all these years?”
“Hiding from you,” she spits, leaning forward to get as close to him as possible. Her wrists scream as she strains on the bindings. “What, did you think I would just come out and let you take me prisoner? You’re a lot dumber than I thought you were, Krennic.” A slow smile crosses his face at that. Jyn doesn’t like the look of it. “Maybe if you had, your father wouldn’t be dead right now. He died on Eadu. Did you know that, Miss Erso? Your precious Rebellion killed him with their bombs.”
The pain of her father’s loss hits her all over again, like a sharp knife driven right through her heart. She hasn’t had the time to properly mourn him since the battle on Eadu and she has to close her eyes to ward off the grief.
She failed him on Scarif.
“In fact, now that I think about it, I’ve knew you father better than you ever did,” he muses, jolting Jyn back out of her thoughts. “We met a long time ago. Shame you didn’t get to know Galen better. He really was a good man. Well -- at least, if you excuse the flaw he built into my machine.”
“What do you want?” Jyn snarls, sick of this idle conversation. She knows the answer to her question, but she doesn’t want to talk about her father with the man who took him away from her all of those years ago. He doesn’t deserve to have known him better than her. “What the hell do you want from me?”
Krennic doesn’t bat an eye at the change in conversation. “Information. You tell me what you know about the Rebellion and I’ll let you die quickly. If not, well.” He shrugs, then folds his hands in front of him. “I think you know what happens then.”
She does, in fact, know what happens. This isn't her first interrogation.
“Come on, then,” Jyn bares her teeth, slightly feral. Adrenaline courses through her veins. They both know she’s not going to talk. “Let’s see what the Empire’s got.”
Krennic returns her smile, though it’s full of malice. He motions to the two guards behind him to move forward. “Then let’s begin.”
Cassian wakes to the sound of beeping.
His eyes fly open of their own accord and he’s met with the blurry sight of a pristine white ceiling and a woman sitting next to him.
It can’t be. It’s impossible. And yet --
“Jyn?”
“Captain Andor,” the woman replies and he blinks, trying to focus his vision. Her accent isn’t anything like Jyn’s crisp Coruscanti one. “It’s good to see that you’re finally awake.”
“Your highness,” he croaks, finally recognizing the figure in front of him. The last he heard, Leia had been on Alderaan with her parents. For some reason, she’s here, sitting at his bedside. Her outward appearance is immaculate, like always, but the dark circles under her eyes tell a different story. “What. . .?”
What happened?
Somehow, he’s back on Yavin 4. His hair is damp with what he assumes is bacta. While he’s still in a considerable amount of pain, it’s much less than it had been on Scarif. Someone must have rescued him and taken him back here.
“One of our pilots noticed you on top of the tower before the Death Star fired,” Leia twists her hands in her lap but keeps her chin up high. He can tell that something’s bothering her. “Do you remember anything else that happened on Scarif?”
He remembers too much. Losing K-2SO, falling off the data tower, transmitting the plans. And -- Jyn. The sting of both of their deaths is too strong for him to deal with right now, so he locks those memories away, pushes them to the very back of his mind.
But he doesn’t remember the Death Star firing. If Jyn had been alive on Scarif before that, then there’s no way in hell she survived the blast.
(he should have been the one to die. with everything he’s done, he knows that he deserves it.)
“The plans,” he rasps instead, sitting up as much as he’s able to and watching her face. He needs to know. “Did you get the plans?” Leia nods, and a small, sad smile crosses her face. She doesn’t look as happy as she should. “The Death Star was destroyed hours ago.”
At that, Cassian falls back and closes his eyes. They did it. They got the plans. All of those deaths -- Jyn’s death -- those hadn’t been in vain. But despite the relief that’s bubbling up in his chest, he can’t quite tamper down the guilt.
He’s the only survivor. He’s alone.
“We’re being to evacuate the base. You’ll be on one of the first transports out of here. Get some rest, Captain; you deserve it.”
As she leaves, he feels as if there’s something she isn’t telling him. But a medical droid is at his bedside and he’s feeling too tired now to call out to her and ask about it.
The next time Krennic comes back to her cell, he brings an IT-O droid with him. This is when Jyn finds out that the Rebellion has destroyed the Death Star.
And even though the droid is injecting something in her neck that makes her blood feel as if it’s boiling and there’s a big part of her that wishes she died back on Scarif, she laughs. When he asks her where the rebels are going now and backhands her across the face, all Jyn can do is laugh.
They did it. Somehow, they did it.
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Chapter 2
From birth, the new generation has been forced to follow the new regime. There were only two basic laws to follow; do not disobey the regime and, you are to live with & only love the person that matches your serial number.
But for Jungkook & (Y/N) that was never an option. They never agreed with the new regime and now there’s a reason for both of them to fight back.
Read on AO3
Pairings: Jikook // (Y/N) x Surprise member
Prologue / Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7 / Chapter 8(coming soon)
**
Fear, that’s all that she could feel running through her body. The guards were running after her and she had to get away as fast as possible. This wasn’t her life on the line, it was her best friends.
Pain.
Blood.
Weakness.
(Y/N) looked down at her stomach to see that she had been shot at. Desperately trying to save her best friend she kept running amidst the pain & blood loss. Soon enough she had grown too weak to continue. All she could do was scream out “Run Jungkook!!” The guards were now at her side, pointing a gun at her face, “You’ve betrayed The Elite. You WILL be punished.” “Do whatever you want to me, but you won’t ever find him.” “Wanna bet?” Suddenly a different guard appeared dragging Jungkook by his hairs, “W-wait no. No don’t hurt him!” “Say goodbye to your friend.” “(Y/N)…” he said fearfully. “No please, don’t do this! NO!”
(Y/N) screamed out as she sat up in her bed, covered in tears, her hands were shaking and all she could think about was her horrible nightmare. Someone tried to kill her best friend. Her arms enclosed around her legs as she sobbed and tried to erase the vivid images from her head. Around 10 minutes later she gathered the courage to take a peek at her phone. 3:08 AM. She couldn’t help herself, she needed to check in on him… make sure he was ok.
(Y/N): Kookie? Are you awake?
Jungkook: Yeah. Why?
He’d never tell her that he always wake up at this time to speak to his lover; the only time where they could both hear each other loud and clear with no interruptions. Of course (Y/N) writing him as an indication that something wasn’t right and; being her best friend, he wasn’t going to ignore her. Despite his lover’s jealousy.
(Y/N): Just wanted to make sure you were ok
Jungkook: Is there a reason for me to not be ok?
(Y/N): It’s nothing... just a stupid dream.
Jungkook: You’re sure?
(Y/N): Yeah.
Jungkook: I’m not buying that.
(Y/N): I don’t want to tell you what I saw. Not through here at least. We’ll talk during lunch tomorrow ok?
Jungkook: Sounds good. Get some rest alright?
(Y/N): Thanks kookie. Sleep well. Love you <3
Jungkook: Love you too. Night.
“Why am I suddenly feeling anxious and worried?” Jimin asked. “My friend… she just texted me-” “The girl?” “Yes, her.” “I don’t understand this relationship you have with her. I don’t like it.” “What am I supposed to do? Tell her I never want to see her again? Tell her the truth? I can’t do that to her.” “I have a great thing with you and I don’t want anyone to take you away from me.” “She’s not going to take me away babe, I promise. I don’t care for her like I do for you.” “You seem to be forgetting that we are connected body & soul. I feel your anxiety & your heart racing every time you see her.” “Stop. I don’t like arguing with you. You know that. My heart races because I hate lying to her; I have anxiety because I’m torn between telling her the truth & lying to her face. She hasn’t hidden anything from me-” “You don’t know that.” “Yes. I do. Please, trust me. I swear to you on her life and mine; there is nothing going on between us two.” “Please don’t play with my heart.” “I would never.”
The connection was dropped and not long after both young men fell asleep with nothing except the thought of each other on their minds.
The next morning Jimin woke up with a new sense of tranquility in his heart & mind. After his daily morning routine the young man made his way towards the bus station where he headed off to college. Checking his watch he realized that he’d be at least 45 minutes earlier than expected, taking advantage of this he headed towards a quaint juice shop down to block from his college. No longer than 10 minutes had passed, Jimin was now sitting down trying to contact his lover. Sometimes he’d manage to break through and hold contact with him but, it took a lot of his mental strength to do so. Other times Jungkook would initiate the conversation but, being the youngest (unbeknownst to Jimin) he couldn’t control the conversation all that well. “Jimin? Park Jimin?” A dumbfounded girl stood a couple of feet away from his table, Jimin was far from confused. “I’m sorry, do I know you?” “You’re such an idiot. Of course you know me. It’s me… (Y/N).” Jimin; still very confused, tried to remember who this young girl was. Is she from college? No. Is she an ex- wait no, that’s not possible. An old friend? And then it hit him. “Oh my god. (Y/N)? Little (Y/N) from the serial matcher event?” She let out a laugh and took a seat next to him. “Yeah! Sorry about that, my parents go overboard with trying to find my serial number match.” “You look so… different!” “Well I was 14 at the time, silly. How’ve you been?” Her arm reached over, pulling him into a tight side hug. Some people passed by staring at the two engaging in such loving way so openly. Jimin whispered, “What’re you doing? That’s not ok.” “Oh relax. I’m not gonna get you killed or anything. It’s just a hug.” Still, Jimin was uncomfortable and shrugged her arm off. “Ok ok, I’m sorry chim chim. I won’t do it again; can I still shake your hand?” “Chim chim? WOW, I haven’t heard that nickname in ages!” “I have a thing for giving my friends nicknames.” “Do you also hug them?” He smiled, teasing her slightly. “Some of them. They’re kind of like you, out of fear they refuse contact but I do have one friend, my best friend. He doesn’t mind at all.” “Well it’s good to know you found your match.” “My match? Oh no, he’s not my lover or anything like that. He’s only my best friend.” “Wow, you sure live on the edge. Aren’t you afraid of punishment?” “Why would I be? I’m not doing anything wrong.” Just like that Jimin & (Y/N) rekindled their old friendship also missing their first class of the day while doing so. (Y/N) laughed as Jimin told her about how nervous he was to meet her all those years back when suddenly she glanced at her phone. A loud gasp escaped her lips. “Oh no! I’m super late! I’m so sorry Jimin I really have to go! The bus takes at least an hour and a half to my college and the teacher-” she sighed, “-is gonna kill me! Here-” she messily scribbled her number onto a napkin and threw it at Jimin’s face (unintentionally of course) “-text me later! Bye!” (Y/N) zoomed out of the juice shop and flew onto a bus to head towards her college.
“Where were you?! You missed first period you idiot!” Hoseok scolded his friend. “Aish, don’t be so rude maybe he was busy!” His girlfriend Eun Ha said as she playfully slapped his chest. “Everything ok, Jimin?” “Yeah of course, thanks Eun Ha. Can I borrow your notes Hobi?” “Fine.” He grumbled. “Don’t be such a grumpy butt, Hobi.” She smiled softly at him and instantly he eased up. Jimin stared at the couple in front of his eyes. They were perfect for each other AND they had matching serial numbers. ‘I guess The Elite occasionally does make the right match’, Jimin thought to himself. “Yo? Park Jimin, you in there?” his friend slapped his forehead in an attempt to drag him out of his thoughts. “You asshole, I was thinking!” The two boys began running around hitting each other & laughing. “Try not to kill each other before 2nd period boys!” Eun ha walked away heading towards her second class.
Jungkook waited patiently near the fountain occasionally looking down at the watch on his wrist. He sighed, “Where is she?” worried, he decided to text (Y/N). It wasn’t like her to be late.
Jungkook: Where are you?
(Y/N): Ran into an old friend & lost track of time. I’ll make it in time for lunch! Can you ask Ji Ho for his notes please?
Jungkook: sure. Youre alright tho?
(Y/N): yeah im good (:
Lunch slowly came around and (Y/N) had made it to her last 10 minutes of class. Of course, no one made it to class late with any punishment and today it was her turn to have a shaking arm. Her mood was completely different in comparison to the morning. It didn’t help that she kept replaying the images of her nightmare over and over again in her mind. She dragged herself to the fountain where Jungkook & she would reunite to have personal conversations, her eyes not leaving the ground. ‘What if someone hurts him? What if I can’t protect him?’ each question she asked herself took a piece of her heart. She wasn’t in love with Jungkook but he was more family than her actual family was and that meant everything to her. “(Y/N)?” Jungkook stared down at (Y/N) immediately noticing her shaking arm. Angrily he grabbed her arm, “They fucking cuffed you?” “Oww, not so rough!” He instantly eased his grip and sat next to her. “Sorry. It’s just… I don’t usually see you being punished.” “It’s nothing. I’ll be fine.” “I thought I was the one that said that.” He smiled softly trying to get her to feel better but to no avail, she remained quiet. “What happened last night (Y/N)?” Her lips trembled slightly. Sure it was rough having to remember her nightmare but having to speak of it was a whole other emotion. “I… had a nightmare-” She spoke softly. “-about you.” “about me? What happened?” “I.. I don’t want to say it, Jungkook. It was awful.” “(Y/N), if it was bad enough to make you text me at 3 in the morning then you have to tell me.” (Y/N) took in a deep breath preparing to explain her nightmare. “Ok but please don’t interrupt me. I’m not sure I’ll be able to continue if I stop once.” He nodded. “I was near this alleyway and I’m not sure where it is exactly but I know it wasn’t in our area. I feel like it was…never mind. Anyway, so I was near the alleyway and I was running and I could feel myself panicking with adrenaline but also scared shitless. You know how dreams are weird so suddenly I felt pain and I mean like someone stabbed me and decided to carve a picture in my stomach or something. Apparently, I had been shot in my stomach by the guards while running away from them. I swear, I’ve never felt so much pain from a damn dream. Anyway, I touched the blood staining my shirt and it was sticky and just disgusting but nonetheless I kept running but, eventually, I lost too much blood and couldn’t keep going. I dropped to my knees and the guards caught up to me… that was when I realized why I was running. I screamed out your name and told you to run. I don’t recall what happened but somehow you were thrown right in front of me… down on your knees. You stared at me and I swear I never saw so much pain and fear in your eyes, it tore my heart. You said my name and I could feel your fear and it was just… it felt like you were saying goodbye. Right before I could see the guard's bullet go into your head I woke up screaming and well… you know the rest.” Jungkook stared blankly at his feet trying to take in everything (Y/N) had just told him. The two friends stayed quiet for at least 3 minutes before Jungkook spoke up with a question, “you… you said you felt like the dream was something... But then you stopped. What were you going to say?” “It’s nothing important… it’s a stupid thought.” “Just tell me.” “I...I thought it could’ve been a… premonition.” She looked at her best friend with tears in her eyes. “I know you’re not my boyfriend or anything but, you’ve accepted me more than anyone ever has and I’m just scared that somehow someone might want to hurt you. I don’t know how or why but you know you’re my family Jungkook. I can’t lose my family.” He had no idea what he could respond to make her feel better. There were no words. All he could do was lean in and hug her. They both stayed in their warm embrace for a while, gaining looks from their fellow classmates. Eventually Jungkook pulled away and held (Y/N)’s hands making her look at him. “We’re family, doesn’t matter if it’s not by blood. And I will always protect you just as I know you’ll always protect me. I’m not going anywhere, I’m not dying. And neither are you.” “I just-” “No.”
In the distance, a young man stared at the two friends holding hands. He quickly took a picture with his phone and made sure to walk away unnoticed. Thanks to him, things would soon change.
#jiook#jikook fanfic#jikook ff#bts#bts ff#bts x reader#reader insert#jungkook x jimin#jimin x jungkook
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I do not know if you keep accepting prompts, but if you do, what about Tucker taking care of Wash, because the fandom always needs more about your writing
[I STARTED WRITING THE FILL FOR THIS THE DAY I GOT THIS PROMPT. IT TOOK ME TIL TWO DAYS AGO TO GET IT FINISHED. THANK YOU FOR YOUR KIND WORDS. I’M SORRY I’M A FAILBOAT AT TURNING STUFF OUT. I HOPE YOU ENJOY.
also i know i said my next prompt fill was gonna be porn. i lied. THE NEXT ONE DEFS IS THO AND I AM ACTIVELY WORKING ON IT SO YAY!!!]
wash is standing in the kitchen at three am with a gun in his hand and tucker thinks he’s going to puke.
[rewind]
tucker comes awake with a sharp inhale, disorientated, and a vague sense of agitation pulling low in his stomach. the base is quiet around him and he lies in the dark waiting for his heartbeat to settle. the sheets are cool against his skin and he can hear the faint patter of rain against the roof, but his brain has decided on being awake, so he heaves out a sigh and rolls onto his back.
“tucker.”
he jerks away from the hulking shape looming over him so hard he smacks his head against the wall. cursing, he rubs the back of his head and glares hard at the shadow. “jesus fucking christ caboose are you trying to give me a heart attack?!”
caboose looks suitably chastised, but only for a moment. “something is wrong with agent washingtub.”
“something—what?” he squints at his hand distractedly. “i better not be bleeding.”
“i think he is having a nightmare.”
that catches his attention. “shit—are you sure? i didn’t hear anything.” but he’s already reaching for a clean(?) pair of pants. “dude you didn’t try to wake him up did you? you know he doesn’t want us anywhere—”
but caboose is shaking his head. “he is not in his bed.”
tucker pauses. “what?”
“he is in the kitchen.”
“he’s in—” tucker drags a hand down his face. “dude he can’t be having a nightmare if he’s not sleeping.”
“no, but tucker! i think something is wrong,” he says, twisting his fingers anxiously.
tucker sighs, “caboose…”
“i think he might be broken,” caboose says quietly, as if saying it too loudly might make it true.
the words slam into tucker, twisting something in his chest. “he’s not broken,” he snaps, standing and herding his teammate towards the door. “show me where he is.”
[fast-forward]
“wash?” he says quietly, edging into the kitchen.
the man doesn’t react, standing stock-still in the dim light, head tilted down and away. tucker can barely tell if he’s breathing. he’s not wearing his armour, clad only in his undersuit, but that’s not what’s making bile rise in the back of tucker’s throat.
it’s the gun gripped firmly in his hand. finger away from the trigger. safety off.
caboose makes a low whining noise from the hall and wash’s head swings towards them.
“caboose go back to sleep,” tucker orders lowly. “i got this.”
“will agent washingtub be alright tucker?”
he throws a grin over his shoulder and hopes caboose can’t tell how strained it is. “yeah dude i got this. i’m practically a freelancer whisperer.”
“that is good. wash needs more quiet things i think,” caboose says solemnly—like he’s not punching a hole in tucker’s stomach—before his hulking shadow disappears back towards his room.
tucker breathes out slowly, swivelling back around to stare at his teammate. “what is even going on in your head right now dude?” he mutters, not expecting an answer.
wash doesn’t move. his breathing is so slow and steady tucker wonders if he's—well, nightmare-walking is probably the more accurate description. his head tracks tucker as he slowly steps in a wide circuit around him, but his eyes are always a few steps behind.
his grip on the gun never falters.
[pause]
tucker doesn’t even know what the deal with wash is.
bringing home the freelancer was like adopting an abused pit bull. you expect the teeth and the mistrust, but then you get the shaking and screaming whimpering and you don’t know what you’re supposed to do with this mess that’s suddenly ended up in your lap.
and even though you had nothing to do with it, you still feel guilty and oddly responsible and somehow or other you decide you’re going to fix this broken thing come hell or high water.
tucker’s never said any of this out loud because the last thing he needs is wash hearing him compare him to a dog but either way the point is—
[play]
“you always have to be so dramatic about everything,” tucker says quietly, “it can’t ever be easy with you, can it?”
wash doesn’t blink, even as tucker moves away from the door and places himself in front of the window. its a strategic move on his part. wash has always been tetchy about windows, and tucker is hoping that the combination of an empty exit point and a covered weak spot will ease something in wash’s subconscious.
“whoever said that blondes have all the fun is full of shit,” tucker gripes, tone as casual as he doesn’t feel. “i’ve never had a blonde give me more trouble and i’m not even getting into your pants after all this. definitely seems unfair.”
tucker has no idea what’s going on in wash’s head. there’s not a single shift in his stance, and tucker doesn’t know if that’s a good thing or if he should be running for cover. swallowing hard, and hoping he’s not about to get himself killed, he slowly steps towards the freelancer, every movement deliberate and open.
“we can probably all head back to bed now y’know. you’ve done your badass freelancer shtick. no one’s here but us, dude. we’re all okay.”
wash still isn’t looking directly at him, but his eyes are tracking his feet so at least tucker won’t accidentally startle a fugue’d(?) freelancer. he makes sure to keep the window at his back and his hands at his sides, palms open and up.
“you can go back to sleep wash,” tucker murmurs, “i know how tired you must be.”
he’s in arm’s reach now, and tucker can feel his heart trying to rip it’s way out of his chest. training aside wash has never deliberately hurt him, but he knows how easy it would be for wash to… the last thing tucker wants is for wash to come out of this with blood on his hands. he forgets sometimes, when they’re all in their armour, just how much bigger wash is than him. he’s a full head taller, and while he might look lean, this close tucker can see how broad his shoulders are, the strength in his arms. even if he didn’t have the gun wash has the full advantage here and there are just so many reasons tucker cannot fuck this up.
“what do you say, man?” ever so slowly he reaches out, fingers brushing against wash’s elbow. “do you want to go back to sleep?”
wash doesn’t react and tucker swallows hard, curling his hand gently around his arm. even through the undersuit wash still feels cool and something in his chest twists, wondering how long he was standing here before caboose found him. his gaze flicks down to the gun in wash’s hand—safety still off. finger still away from the trigger—then back up, trying to catch wash’s eye.
his hand slides down. “we’ll go back to sleep wash, okay? but you need to give me the gun first. not very comfy to sleep with one of those. trust me, i’ve tried.”
he feels skin under his palm, the juts of wash’s wrist. his fingers brush against cool metal. wash’s head slowly tilts.
“give me the gun, wash,” he whispers.
tucker’s up against the far wall before he can blink, shoved, not violently, wash’s body caging him in. his breath escapes him in a quiet gasp, and he lets his body go limp. there’s a hand against his collarbone, thumb tucked into the hollow of his throat, and without thinking too hard about how fucking dumb it probably is, tucker tips his head back, exposing his neck and flicking his gaze down.
there’s a long moment, quiet, and tucker waits. but when wash does nothing more than loom, he risks a glance up. the freelancer’s gaze is still blank, half-lidded, fixed somewhere past tucker’s ear; breathing still as slow and methodical as it has been this whole time, but this close tucker can see how tight his jaw is clenched. can feel that while the hand against him is lax, there’s a minute tremor wracking his frame.
“wash,” he says quietly, voice wavering, “it’s okay dude, it’s just me. you can relax now.”
the thumb at his throat twitches, and rather than feel threatened tucker feels his shoulders slump. he reaches up, curling a hand around wash’s wrist, thumb rubbing soothingly over the rapid pulse he finds there.
“you’re so tired man, i know you are,” he reaches out with his other hand, brushing the backs of his knuckles against wash’s forearm. “but you’ve done good. we’re okay wash, caboose is okay. it’s time for you to go back to sleep.”
he clasps wash’s arm, repeating the same thing he did earlier, slowly dropping his hand down until he feels the cool press of metal against his palm. wash is trembling from head to toe now, and tucker feels a swell of relief when his eyes finally slip closed. their hands have been the only point of contact until this point, yet now wash lets his body sag forward, resting his forehead next to tucker’s against the wall.
tucker turns, pressing his forehead to wash’s temple, hand sliding down to curve around the gun. “can you let go now? i’ve got you wash, i promise.”
wash makes a noise low in the back of his throat, his first of the night, and it’s quiet and weak and crushes something deep within him. tucker manages a shaky breath, tightening his grasp around wash’s other wrist, wanting him to feel grounded and reassured—not knowing if he is. he pulls a little, encouraging wash to sink further into him, and humming encouragingly when he does.
tucker knows things are going to change after this. even if wash doesn’t fully remember tonight, tucker won’t be able to forget how wash felt shaking against him. the knowledge that even as broken and twisted as wash is, there is a deep implicit trust here that knocks the breath out of tucker if he thinks about it too hard. so he doesn’t. instead he noses at the bolt of wash’s jaw, cradling the beat of his heart in his palms.
“you’re safe wash,” he murmurs. “let go of the gun.”
slowly, ever so slowly, finger by finger, wash lets go of the gun.
[fast-forward]
wash wakes, warm and gentle, the sun high in the sky. tucker lying next to him. he isn’t as surprised by this as he should be, he thinks. they’re curved towards each other, parenthesis in the sheets. one of wash’s arms is lying between them and tucker has a hand curled around his wrist, thumb sweeping over his pulse, and in turn wash’s other hand is gently grasping tucker’s wrist—a tangle of reassurance.
tucker’s awake, eyes half-lidded and fixed on the knot of contrasting skin. wash spends a long moment watching him watch their hands, no desire to rise and begin the day despite knowing he should’ve been up hours ago.
finally tucker’s gaze flicks up, doesn’t seem surprised to see wash watching him. “hey.”
“hey,” wash replies, voice low and rough. “what time is it?”
“late.” tucker’s mouth quirks up into a grin. “i’m surprised you haven’t already thrown yourself out of bed to start running laps.”
wash ignores that bit. “you should’ve woken me up.”
“you needed the sleep,” tucker says with a shrug, “plus if the reds and their shit didn’t wake you up then i definitely wasn’t going to.”
he pauses, and now that he’s listening for it he can hear rhythmic clangs of metal on metal and the usual sounds of grif and simmons having a domestic. “what are they doing?”
tucker snorts. “fuck knows. what are they ever doing? they’ve been at it all morning so i’m sure we’ll hear all about it when caboose gets back.”
it occurs to wash that the base has been quieter than usual, no sounds of caboose clamouring around in the kitchen followed by ominous burning smells.
“besides,” tucker continues, eyes dipping to where their hands are resting, “one day off won’t kill you. all work and no play, yada yada yada.”
he falls silent, and wash finds his own gaze flicking down to watch tucker’s thumb trace shapes over the ghostly blue of his veins. it’s soothing, and wash finds himself lulled into a haze of half-sleep, listening to tucker’s breathing and absently realizing they’re in sync.
an indeterminable time later, tucker speaks up quietly. “aren’t you going to ask me?”
“hm?”
“what i’m doing here?”
wash cracks an eye open. “i had wondered. i’d just assumed i was finally wooed by the prowess of your pickup lines.”
tucker laughs, surprised, and wash feels himself grin in response. “i mean you wouldn’t be the first, but no. i…” he trails off, smile sloping downwards. “do you remember last night?”
“last night?” wash’s brow furrows. he remembers… he remembers being afraid. ghosts in the dark ghosts in his head. forgetting his own name and the overwhelming urge to protect his back because no one else will.
remembers tucker?
“i… you were there. i was having a nightmare? or—what happened?”
tucker lets out a long breath. “fuck if i know dude. sleep-walking maybe? caboose found you in the kitchen at like three in the morning.”
wash feels his pulse pick up. “he’s okay right? i didn’t—“
“no, no,” tucker interrupts gently. “he’s fine. i don’t even think you really knew he was there.”
he swallows hard, mouth suddenly dry. “and what about you? tucker if i—did i hurt you?”
tucker watches him, expression inscrutable and just when wash thinks he might be sick tucker shakes his head. “no. you didn’t hurt me.”
“you’re sure?” he rasps.
an odd expression flits across tucker’s face, gone too quick for wash to try and analyze it, but his lips curl upwards. “positive. you won’t hurt me wash.”
wash doesn’t know what to say to that. doesn’t know why his pulse is suddenly racing for an entirely different reason. so he does what he does best and ignores it, forces it down and awkwardly clears his throat. “so what happened than?”
tucker shrugs again. “i talked you down. convinced you not to stand and play honour guard til the sun came up. took you to bed—bow chicka bow wow.” he waggles his eyebrows when wash snorts. “i know you’re weird about us being around you when you’re sleeping but you—“ his eyes flick down to where wash’s hand is curled around his wrist, “I didn’t think you should be alone.”
he can feel the heat blooming across his cheeks, can probably figure out what tucker’s leaving out. knows that he’s pathetically starved for touch, skin-hungry in a way that he’d never admit to if you held a gun to his head. not that it matters when it sounds like he’s probably been attached to tucker all night.
“well,” he rasps, coughs, tries again, “you didn’t—i mean… thank you, tucker. it—it really means a lot.”
tucker grins, squeezes his wrist reassuringly. “no problem, dude. not the biggest hardship in the world to snuggle with a hot blonde all night.”
he winks, laughs when wash’s cheeks darken, is still laughing when they hear caboose clatter into the base, yelling something about croissants and rocket launchers. he knows he should let go of tucker now, make a move to leave, but he’s comfortable here, soothed by the continual sweep of tucker’s fingers against his skin. his limbs feel weightless against the mattress, the exhaustion that he wears like a cloak washed away in the pre-dawn hours.
he realizes his eyes are slipping closed again when tucker speaks up quietly. “i know that we’re not what you’re used to—not like your old team. but,” wash feels him shift under the sheets, “you’re one of us now, y’know?”
“couldn’t get rid of you if i tried,” he mumbles.
tucker huffs out a laugh. “nope. just remember that yeah? we’re your team.” something brushes against his temple and he nudges into it. “we’ve got your back, dude.”
the thought settles deep in his chest—deep down where it’s dark and aching. it curls there soft and glowing and wash curves around it, determined to protect this new thing. he thinks he likes it.
“i’ve got you wash, go back to sleep,” tucker murmurs against his hand.
wash hums, another thought settling inside him; but it slips from his sleep-heavy mind. it’s alright though, he thinks, as he sinks further down, he can find it later. tucker’s here.
[stop]
#rvb#tuckington#my shit#fic#prompt fill#i highly debated whether to end it before washs pov#but then i thought#well i didnt even make them kiss so lets put them in bed together at least#because we all know that these two do everything fucking backwards#youre welcome????#Anonymous
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