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the-sea-called-history02 · 3 years

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I Want to See My Little Boy

(Here He Comes)

(Song isn’t related to the content of the story, it just gives Hyunjin vibes to me. Don’t ask why. It just does.)

Hwang Hyunjin x gn!reader

Genre: Fluff with a good ol’ helping of angst (very sfw in my opinion)

Word Count: 1400

Warnings: fighting, cursing, frequent implications of mental health (depression, anxiety, panic attacks, low key reader has implied abandonment issues)

You know those days where every damn thing that can go wrong does? Why did today have to be one of those days? It wasn’t your fault everyone tried to cut you off in traffic, but your boss still yelled at you for being late. It wasn’t your fault that some clumsy idiot knocked your coffee onto the report you had been working on for weeks, but your coworkers were still furious about it. It wasn’t your fault that the one person who could make it all go away, your boyfriend, Hwang Hyunjin, was on tour with his members halfway around the world and wouldn’t be coming home for another three days, but you couldn’t help but want nothing more than for him to hold you close and tell you it would be okay.

Of course, it wasn’t in any way his fault either. He had been so excited when the tour had been announced, and you couldn’t help but crack a small smile while the memories of him excitedly bouncing around your apartment replayed in your mind.

“I can’t wait to see all of Stay again! It’s been so long and I’m just so ready to get back on stage and I hope they like our new songs as much in concert as they did on the album and I’m so nervous that they won’t like my choreography, and…” he rambled on and on about all the things he was going to say and do in every city they visited, and watching your normally quiet, reserved boyfriend finally get to return to the job he loved so much filled your heart with absolute joy.

“You’re coming with us, right, beautiful?” He had stopped running around and had grabbed you by the waist, the use of his favorite pet name for you sending butterflies straight to your stomach, “I mean, it’ll be a great time and we’ll finally get to travel together like we’ve always wanted to!” You wanted with your whole heart to say yes, but you knew your boss wouldn’t let you take two days off of work, much less the six months that the boys would be gone for.

“Jinnie, I can’t. I wish I could, but I have to stay here or else I’ll risk losing my job.” You peeled your eyes away from his hopeful gaze and looked down at your feet. Both of you were wearing the matching fuzzy socks you had gotten for your one year anniversary last month.

“What do you mean? You have to come! I need you there with me, and, besides, you hate that job. You can just come with us and find a new job when you get back.”

“It’s not that easy, love. Trust me. I’ve been looking for a different job for months and nothing that could even remotely cover my half of the rent is available.” You could tell he was getting frustrated because his beaming smile had fallen from its place on his pretty lips. All he had wanted was to share his favorite thing with you, but your stupid job had gotten in the way again. Just like it had on his birthday and Christmas and New Year’s. He knew he shouldn’t be this mad, but he was sick of it stealing the precious moments that he had spent his whole life dreaming of sharing with the one he loved.

“I’ve told you a million times that I’m happy to pay the full amount for rent, but fine. Stay here with your dead end job. You’d just ruin everything like you always do. I’d rather just spend the tour with the boys, anyway,” he spat, letting go of your waist and walking out of the living room and into your shared bedroom. You wanted to stop him, but you were so shocked at his words that you couldn’t have moved if you tried. He had always been so understanding of the fact that you were just doing the best you could to support him while also supporting yourself. Even if that meant that you had to miss out on a few important things to do so. Your once present smile quickly disappeared as the slightly painful memory concluded and faded off into the depths of your mind.

You had, of course, made up before he left, and you knew he still loved you just as much as you loved him, but for some reason you were still terrified. The three days had passed like a summer storm, and here you were, nervously picking at the skin of your fingers until they bled, at the gate of the plane Hyunjin was on. Throngs of excited fans were cordoned off behind thin ropes as security separated you from them. Stay had always been super supportive of your relationship with Hyunjin, which you were beyond grateful for, but the company still didn’t want to take any chances because without you, there was no Hyunjin. Even so, here you were. Standing between several large men in suits and replaying idiotic “what if’s” in your head. What if he found someone else while he was on tour? What if he decided that you and your awful job were too much of a burden on him? What if he didn’t love you anymore?

You were so wrapped up in your anxiety-fueled thoughts that you hardly noticed when the crowd started screaming, signaling the members’ return. You quickly snapped back into reality and straightened yourself. One by one, the boys walked out with their carry-ons, surrounded by guards who were dressed identically to the ones around you. They looked tired, but, more importantly, they looked happy. Every one of them had this glow about them as they sluggishly trudged down the ramp. A glow that only comes when someone does something they love and that makes them feel whole.

Seven of the boys had met up at the base of the ramp, but none of them were your boy. The boy you loved so deeply, it hurt. It really hurt. Maybe that was why you were so nervous. Loving him hurt, but you knew that losing his light would plunge you into the darkest place imaginable and that wouldn’t just hurt. It would kill you. Or maybe you were just so excited to have your beloved boyfriend back, that it just felt like a panic attack. You honestly couldn’t tell, but still, you focused your eyes on the plane intensely. Just then, a tall, slender man appeared at the top of the gently sloping exit ramp and proceeded gracefully down towards his brothers.

As he reached them, he began quickly looking around the airport lobby that they had been waiting in. You saw him ask Chan something and that Chris didn’t hesitate to point directly at the spot where you were standing, unconsciously fidgeting with your sleeves and tapping your feet. Hyunjin peeked around his leader and when his eyes met yours you could have sworn he had just seen an angel descending from the sky, the way his face lit up. He broke away from the group and started bolting towards you with the purest smile on his face. You started to panic in a different way as he approached you, seeing as he didn’t show signs of slowing down any, and you weren’t a particular fan of being trampled, but as he reached you, he picked you up and swung you around, pressing a passionate kiss to your lips.

“I fucking missed you, beautiful,” he whispered in a voice so soft and gentle you wouldn’t have heard it unless you were the one whose lips were still softly touching his, which, thank God, you were.

“I fucking missed you too, sweet boy,” tears threatening to spill over as you held him tightly in your arms. You realized then and there that there was no way that this man was going to just find someone else and leave you without warning. Too much love radiated from his entire being for that to ever be a possible scenario. You gratefully held him in your arms. Your little boy. Sure, he was bigger than you in pretty much every sense of the word, and there wasn’t a snowball’s chance that you were in charge in the bedroom (most of the time, but that’s a different story), but, when push comes to shove, he is, and always will be, your little boy, and you wouldn’t ever want it any other way.

Hey! So this is the first fic I’ve ever written, and I’m actually kind of proud of it. That said, if anyone has feedback, I would really appreciate it! Okay, love you!

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hiscyarika · 4 years

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Some Things You Just Can’t Speak About

Word Count: 2.5k

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader

Summary: Reader and Javier work through the emotional baggage that comes with their jobs in Colombia. (Unofficial Prequel to When It’s Finally Over)

Warning(s): Heavy Angst, Hopelessness, Grieving, Mentions of Death, Blood, Mentions of Violence/Terrorism

A/N: So like a lot of people, I’ve fallen in love with Taylor Swift’s new album folklore. And when I heard the song “epiphany” (which I highly recommend you listen to while you read. I would link it but I’m afraid the post wouldn’t show up in the tags. The hellsite has been weird about that lately), it immediately sparked the idea for this oneshot. I just hope that this hasn’t been done yet, because I’ve already seen that a couple of authors have used songs on the album as inspiration. I really hope you guys enjoy this. It’s taken a couple of days to get it just the way that I want it. And a special thanks to @bestintheparsec for beta reading this for me! I love you Lauren! ❤️

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Gif by @pascvl, originally from this post. Please let me know if you’d rather me not use the gif! I’ll take it down immediately with no questions asked.

The thing about Colombia is that even after the smoke clears, the blood remains. It’s a crimson river that runs through the streets of Bogotá, then dries as a deep, lingering stain. The blood of men, women, and children. Guilty and innocent alike. And so long as Pablo Escobar lives, the stain will never wash away.

Even the sky burns scarlet with the dying sunset when you finally step out of the hospital. Ambulance sirens glow bright as paramedics attempt to bring more people into the already overwhelmed building.

Early in the afternoon, over two hundred pounds of C4 had been detonated outside of a crowded shopping center. Dozens were killed on impact and the death toll has continued to rise throughout the day. For hours, you haven’t stopped moving, trying desperately to save those who’d survived long enough to get to the hospital to be treated. Fortunately, recovery will be possible for some, but what weighs more heavily on your shoulders are the countless others that you could do nothing for.

Even now that you stand outside with a chance to breathe, your lungs can’t draw in enough air. The sharp stench of antiseptic still burns your nose, turning your stomach in violent knots. Every muscle is sore with a bone deep ache as you force one foot in front of the other in the direction of your car. But none of it compares to the stabbing pain in your soul, the helplessness and defeat that throbs more fiercely with every passing second.

You climb into your car, meeting your own eyes in the rearview mirror. You tear the nursing badge from your scrub shirt and toss it onto the passenger seat, not caring when it slides off the vinyl and onto the floor. Immediately, you have to close your eyes at the sight of the bloodstains on your clothes, a gruesome token of a day spent battling death.

All your years of schooling never prepared you to fight this war. You know how to read vitals. You know how to staunch bleeding and stitch wounds. You know how to intubate someone, to breathe for them. These are all things that can be taught. And you’ve learned them well.

But watching a woman die on the table, one close to your own age, is something entirely its own. You never get used to the shrill cry of the heart rate monitor as it flatlines. Nothing can prepare you for standing in front of an elderly woman, telling her that she’s outlived her daughter. They can’t teach you how to crouch down in front of a six-year-old boy and explain to him that he’ll never see his mother again. There’s no way to gently shatter someone’s world. As their reality crumbles, it takes a piece of you with it, and you only have so much of yourself to give.

The drive back to the apartment passes in a blurred haze, your mind on autopilot as you navigate your way in the growing darkness. You repress every emotion that threatens to bubble to the surface of your consciousness. Forcing numbness is far easier than letting your humanity tear you apart.

The last of the light dies from the sky as you pull into the parking lot, right next to Javier’s Jeep. You find your only solace in the fact that he’s home. In what little news you’d been able to hear, you’d learned that the DEA had been called to the scene. Escobar had never claimed responsibility for the attack, but a confession wasn’t necessary to know the truth, so you knew Javier would be part of the investigation.

Sucking in a deep breath, you try to prepare yourself for whatever state of mind he might be in. Javier brings work home in the form of endless files and a guilty conscience. Both he processes with whiskey and sleep deprivation. But you understand. You’re fighting with him on the front lines of this war. Losses are shared just the same as victories. Even the hard ones.

You drag yourself from the driver’s seat, locking the car up once the door is closed. The stairs to the apartment seem so much steeper as you stare at them now, and it takes what little remains of your perseverance to make it up.

The usual squeal of the front door grates on your nerves as you enter the apartment, more so than it normally does, anyway. You stop for a moment in the doorway, toeing off your shoes and listening carefully for any sign of Javier. From where you stand, you can see the soft yellow glow of the lamp in the living room and after a moment you realize that the voice you hear is coming from the television.

Padding quietly into the room, you feel your heart clench when you see what’s playing on the screen. It’s one of the local news stations, replaying footage from earlier in the day. You’re too tired to mentally translate the quick Spanish that the news anchor speaks, but when the numbers appear next to her to note the casualties, it’s not something that you can ignore. There are more than you thought.

You lose yourself in that news report, your mind running back through all of the trauma that you’ve seen. The shouting and screaming and crying becomes the soundtrack of your thoughts, all blended together in a somehow deafening cacophony despite the fact that it’s all in your head. You see that little boy again, the confused look he had given his grandmother as he asked her when his mother was going to come back from heaven. Oh, how her tear-filled eyes had pleaded with you to give some kind of an answer. And you’d tried. You really had.

You’re pulled from the violent reverie when the news report is replaced by a commercial. You pay it no mind, instead looking around the room for any sign of Javier. It doesn’t take you long to find him.

He’s passed out on the couch, sitting up with a glass of whiskey still in his hand. Even in sleep, his brow is furrowed, and worry lines cut deep into his forehead. Upon further inspection, you find the liquor bottle and a messy array of manila folders on the wooden coffee table in front of him, just as you expected.

You shake your head slightly, though he can’t see the action. The ache in your heart grows stronger as you watch him, his lips parted slightly as he breathes deeply and evenly. You suppose it’s the one thing that you have to be grateful for. As closely involved as he is with the hunt for Escobar, every night he comes home is a blessing. And for him to be sound asleep despite the day’s tragedies is truly invaluable.

You decide to leave him. Better for him to rest uninterrupted than to wake him. And though you know it’s better to work through the horrors you’ve been subjected to before you sleep, you don’t have the energy to face any of it right now. So you step closer to Javi, carefully prying the glass from his hand. Against your better judgement, you finish it off. You wince at the way it burns down your throat as you place the empty glass on the coffee table, but the warmth in your chest that follows is a welcome relief.

You scan the room then. It takes you a minute, but eventually you find the remote on the floor by his feet, probably dropped after he’d fallen asleep. You don’t hesitate to press the power button on the TV, and it brings you a bit of peace to watch the screen go black. Silence falls over the room, interrupted only by a soft snore from Javi.

You turn back to the coffee table, making sure that there’s a paperclip in each file to mark where he’d been. All the while, you try to avoid reading over any classified information, not that your brain could truly process a word of it in your current state of exhaustion. You then close the folders and stack them neatly on top of each other, letting out a heavy breath as you push yourself to stand upright again.

Your face falls in sympathy as you look at Javi once more. Even in sleep he looks exhausted. Your own emotional turmoil aside, it pains you to see the way that Colombia has worn him down. Every day he grows more desperate to find the man responsible for so much suffering, and with each day that passes, you know it only seems like he’s getting further and further away. You wish there was something more you could do to ease his mind.

After another moment, you take the blanket that’s draped over the back of the loveseat, unfolding it and gently covering Javi with it. Your movements are slow and cautious in an attempt to keep from waking him. Once you have the blanket situated, you cradle his cheek lightly in one hand, leaning down to press a tender kiss to his forehead.

You close your eyes at the contact, the first and only gentle interaction of your day. As your eyes flutter shut, you feel your chest begin to swell, and emotion wraps around your throat like barbed wire. Your lips linger for a few seconds longer than necessary as the dam inside you cracks, threatening to give way to a flood at a moment’s notice.

But as you pull away, you feel the feather light brush of eyelashes against your cheeks. You open your eyes, finding soft, tired brown eyes staring back at you. You’re frozen in place as he takes a moment to rouse himself, and once he’s more alert, his eyes trail down your body, catching sight of the blood on your scrubs. When he looks at you again, there’s a knowing glint in his eyes. You don’t have to tell him what you’ve seen, because he already knows. He’s seen it too.

Javier places his hands on your hips, gripping them gently as he tries to pull you closer to him. You brace yourself against his shoulders, resisting him while you’re still wearing your scrubs. Your chin falls to your chest in defeat. It only takes a moment to understand, and he carefully pulls the shirt up and over your head, making sure to keep the bloody fabric away from your face. Once it’s off, he tosses it carelessly to the floor.

You collapse into him as the dam breaks, and he takes it in stride, cradling the back of your head as you bury your face in his shoulder. Your knees land on either side of him, and with his free hand he guides you into a more comfortable position against him. In any other context, this arrangement with you straddling his lap would be carnal and passionate, but all Javier can feel now is the same pain that you force from your body with each gut-wrenching sob.

There are no words he can give you that will ease your pain. It’s something he knows from experience, repeated experience that he wishes you didn’t share with him. He knows what this constant fight against death and injustice can do to a person. He’s not blind to the ways that he’s changed in the years since he came to Colombia. Javier would do anything to make sure that you don’t suffer the same fate. You’re too good to have your gentle soul torn to shreds.

But he knows that all he can do for now is hold you. He can let you cry and mourn and release every emotion you’ve had to keep caged since you first stepped into the hospital this afternoon. And as you wrap your fists around the fabric of his shirt, he only holds you closer, clutching you tightly as his own pain begins to bubble back up into his chest. He’d tried so hard to drown it in booze and escape it in sleep, but Escobar had taken it too far this time. The saving grace is that the rest of the country agrees.

Javier cries silently with you, and though the manifestation of his grief is much quieter than yours, it’s by no means trivial in comparison. This is the straw that breaks the camel’s back. And break he does, in the safest place that he possibly can. He knows that there’s no judgement here, and that there never will be. So he closes his eyes and presses himself closer to you, your proximity being the only thing that could possibly soothe him.

Time is rendered tangential as you mourn together, though eventually you both fall quiet again with no more tears left to shed. Only when you stir against him does Javier lift his head and open his eyes. He manages a halfhearted smile as you meet his gaze, gently wiping away the remnants of your tears with the pads of his thumbs. In turn, you do the same for him, and he turns his head just in time to press a kiss to the underside of your wrist before you pull away again.

He watches you intently, and for just a moment you seem to hesitate, but then you capture his lips with yours. Javier lets out a soft breath in surprise, but soon melts into your touch. You are the salve to his very being, soothing his soul in a way that no one and nothing else can. At the end of the day, when the smoke has cleared and it’s time to count the dead, he thanks whatever god looks down on him, because he has you. Never will he march into battle alone. And he’s grateful, because he knows that he would never survive the war without you by his side.

You pull away again, and the look in your eyes says far more than words ever could. Because in your eyes is the same reverence for him that he holds for you. It’s night like this where you question why you chose the life you did, why you endure more anguish than any one person ever should have to. But then you look at Javier, and you know that you’re fighting the good fight. You know that with him, you can keep going until you reach the end of it all.

Javier presses a quick, soft kiss to your forehead, then shifts again to turn out the lamp light. In the dark, he carefully maneuvers you with him to lie down on the couch. You’re both still in work clothes and the couch is far less comfortable than your shared bed, but that’s not important now. What matters is the feeling of his heartbeat under your cheek as your head rests on his sternum. In just a few hours, the sun will rise again and you’ll both be forced to return to the battlefield, but for now you can find just a glimpse of relief in each other’s embrace.

Permanent Tags: @bestintheparsec @hail-doodles @aerynwrites @murdermewithbooks @themandjalorian @longitud-de-onda @readsalot73 @lovingtheway @talesfromtheguild @mystical-934 @tiffdawg @lokiaddicted @adikaofmandalore @blue-space-porgs @forever-rogue @acomplicatedprofession @fleurdemiel145 @cable-kenobi @opheliaelysia @pedropascalito @creamysacrilege @bandofmarvels @paryl @phoenixhalliwell @agentmoonshine1 @randomness501 @starlight-starwrites @keeper0fthestars @stilllivindue2spite @hdlynn @theocatkov @coonflix @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @wickedfrsgrl @frietiemeloen @liadamerondjarin @pancakefancake @someplace-darker @dontjudgemedude @mistermiraclee @pynch-bug @kaetastic @chrisbostonevans

#javier peña #javier pena #javier pena x reader #javier peña x reader #narcos #narcos colombia

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cuddlepilefics · 3 years

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Hii I really like your fics so I have another request.. A fic where Hyunjin is sick with a stomach bug (emeto) but he's alone at the dorms then he gets really sick and calls Changbin for help

Thank you

A hyung to help

Fandom: Stray Kids

Sickie: Hyunjin

Caregiver: Changbin

Noone’s POV.:

Hyunjin had been tasked with creating the entire choreography for one of their main tracks on the upcoming album. He felt honored because that was usually a task for his hyung Minho, so to prove his capability, the dancer vowed to himself to put in at least twice the effort. Knowing his determined side, it came as a surprise to no one when the dancer holed himself up in the practice room, barely replying to anyone’s texts and coming home late at night. Although Hyunjin got scolded by Chan multiple times, the leader couldn’t do much about it because his own behavior wasn’t any better. This was probably the only aspect in which he was a terrible role model. The entire group watched on with a frown, quietly observing how their friend run himself into the group.

The previous night, Hyunjin and Chan had coincidentally come back home at the exact same time, running into each other. “Jinnie, I thought I told you not to overdo it?” – “You did but you’re here at the exact same time that I am. Anyways, I just wanted to finish this up quickly. I’m done now and I’ll send you the video in the morning so you can judge”, the dancer yawned, dropping his practice bag in the hallway. They said goodnight and went to bed, not even showering but Hyunjin at least forced himself into a fresh shirt before falling into bed. He was out like a light even before his head hit the pillow, sleeping like dead. Waking him the next morning was a whole new level of difficult and it took everything out of his roommates to get as much as a hum and shrug out of him. Minho, who hadn’t had his morning coffee yet, felt his mood drop by the minute and at some point, just gave up, leaving Seungmin to drag the other’s lazy ass out of bed. The vocalist was a bit more patient with his hyung and gently pealed the blanket back before shaking the dancer’s shoulders again. “Come on, Jinnie-hyung. Everyone else is already up, we’ll be late. Plus, Minho is already pissed”, the second youngest of the group pleaded. His voice was at a normal volume, causing the other to whimper: “Stop, please. It – it hurts so bad.” – “Hyung, what hurts?”, Seungmin whispered worriedly, “Should I go get Chan?” – “Please, Minnie, please”, the older begged, close to tears. Promising, he’d be back as soon as possible, the vocalist hurried to find their leader with a very bad feeling in his gut.

“Hey, Seungmin said you weren’t feeling too great. What’s wrong mate?”, the leader asked sitting on the edge of his dongsaeng’s bed. Seungmin and Changbin were watching anxiously from the doorway, as the oldest tucked Hyunjin’s hair out of his face to get a better look. “I-I can’t move, everything hurts so much. My head is pounding”, the dancer confessed, biting his lip guiltily. Chan rested the backs of his fingers against the younger’s fore head before pulling away and speaking up, making sure to keep his voice low: “You don’t have a fever, so my best guess would be that you outdid yourself yesterday. That’s why your muscles are so sore and achy. The headache might just be exhaustion or you might be dehydrated from sweating and not drinking enough.” Hyunjin whimpered quietly, burying his face in the pillow and fighting back the tears threatening to spill. “I’ll talk to our manager to let you rest today, okay? Make sure to drink lots and maybe stretch or use a foam roll a bit later, if you can manage. I just need you to send me the video of the choreography so that we can go over that and try to maybe already learn the beginning, then you can teach us the rest when you’re better”, Chan continued, rubbing the younger’s shoulder comfortingly. The dancer nodded weakly, picking up his phone as Chan got up to make the phone call to the manager. As soon as he hit send, he turned the screen off again to avoid it hurting his head more.

Seungmin who had been watching the entire scene was now in a hurry to get himself ready for the day’s schedule. Changbin, who had been at the door too, was already prepared to head out and quickly fetched a bottle of water and a sports drink from the fridge, taking them back to Hyunjin’s room. “Hey, hyung said you need to drink. Do you think you can sit up?”, the rapper whispered, not sure whether Hyunjin was still awake or not. The younger was still awake, in too much pain to fall asleep that easily. With great struggle he tried to push himself into a sitting position, grateful for the older’s hand supporting his back. They sat there, side by side, as Changbin gently massaged his dongsaeng’s sore neck with his knuckles. The rapper spent the remaining minutes he had left till they needed to leave trying to sooth the dancer’s aches as much as he could before helping him lie back down and apologizing: “Sorry, none of us were allowed to stay behind with you.” Hyunjin hummed in acknowledgement. He had already expected this but still couldn’t help feeling a bit disappointed. “I’ll make sure to keep my phone on me and check my messages often, ok? Just try to sleep some more, you won’t even realize we’re gone”, Changbin chuckled, tapping the other’s pouting lips till they formed a small smile, “Get better, Jinnie.” – “Please be back soon, Binnie-hyung. I hate being lonely”, the younger yawned, cuddling back into the warmth of his bed. The rapper promised before leaving to follow his schedule.

It had been a mere two hours of Hyunjin drifting in and out of sleep when the dancer was awoken by a cramp in his abdomen. He drew his knees up to his chest, despite the protest of his sore muscles, reminding himself to breathe through the pain. His best guess was that he was suffering from hunger pains after skipping breakfast this morning, so he sat on the edge of his bed, waiting to gather the strength to walk to the kitchen to make himself some food. Sitting there, he shoved his phone into the pocket of his sweatpants, as a wave of heat washed over him. The dancer broke out into sweat, realizing it wasn’t hunger pains that were twisting his intestines in an irongrip. A wet burp made its way past his plump lips, bringing the ridiculously artificial taste of the sports drink with it. The fear of throwing up in his room and having to clean up later gave the poor boy the strength to scramble to his feet and stumble to the bathroom. He didn’t quite make it to the toilet, gagging a thin stream of blue liquid into the sink before his legs gave out. Choking on a sob, Hyunjin used his elbows to crawl over to the toilet. With one hand he fisted his hair at the back of his head to prevent it from getting puked on, while he gripped the toilet seat with the other hand, holding onto it like his life depended on it. His muscles burned as he tensed with another gag, the small amount of liquid he had consumed that day spilling past his lips and burning his throat. By now, his shirt was sticking to his sweaty back but he couldn’t care less, as retch after retch tore at his throat, barely bringing anything up but small, bitter amounts of bile. He really should have eaten something with his members this morning, at least he’d have something to bring up now. After a few minutes, the heaves slowly died down, leaving the dancer dizzy and breathless. Too weak to move, the sick boy fell asleep with his head on the toilet seat.

It wasn’t long though, when Hyunjin woke up, shivering in his sweaty shirt, the pain in his neck amplified by sleeping in a weird position. He couldn’t hold the tears back anymore, sobbing quietly as his head pounded from dehydration. His hyung had lied. He had slept twice now and was still alone, not feeling remotely better but so much worse. Shifting positions slightly, the dancer felt his phone in his pocket and pulled it out. He cringed as the screen burned his eyes but put up with it in order to call for help with his finger shaking over the dial button. It only took Changbin two rings to pick up. “Hey, feeling better after some more sleep?”, the rapper greeted cheerfully, only to be taken aback at the hoarse broken sobs on the other side of the line: “Can you please come home? I feel really bad…” His face dropped, as he jogged over to Chan telling him he’d need to go back to the dorm. “Why? What’s going on?”, the leader frowned, watching his dongsaeng hurriedly pack his things. “I don’t really know but something’s wrong with Hyunjin”, Changbin rushed, then much softer, directed at the phone he held between his ear and shoulder, “I’m leaving right now, can you tell me what’s wrong?” But he got no reply, repeating the question twice more till he heard the other’s phone clatter to the ground followed by a muffled heave. The rapper cursed, heart racing in his chest as he picked up his pace, jogging the few blocks back to the dorm building. Since the other didn’t pick his phone back up off the ground, Changbin ended the call, dialing Chan instead. Breathlessly and with as little words as possible, he explained why he had run off, while his feet pounded the sidewalk.

Hyunjin had pulled himself up into the same position as earlier, phone abandoned on the floor beside him. He was completely depending on the one trembling arm to hold him up, while the other had to keep his hair out of his face. After what felt like an eternity, he felt the hand in his hair replaced with someone else’s, carefully combing back a few strands that had strayed. “It’s ok, I’m here”, Changbin soothed, struggling to catch his breath. The dancer hadn’t even heard the front door open over his retches, desperately trying to bring something up despite not having anything in him anymore. After a few minutes of Changbin whispering sweet nothings into his dongsaeng’s ear, while supporting his side to stay upright and holding his hair, the younger finally caught a break, sinking into his hyung’s chest, spent. The older held him close, massaging his neck gently as the dancer cried into his shirt. “Hey, shh. It’s ok, I got you. Seems you were sick all along, hm? You’ve definitely developed a fever by now. Good you didn’t come with us”, Changbin rambled, trying to comfort the other, “Come on, I’ll take you back to bed.” Hyunjin nodded with his eyes closed and allowed the older to pull him to his feet. Almost as soon as he was upright, his head started to spin, knees buckling. “Whoa, don’t pass out on me!” The rapper’s voice sounded distant in his ears and he felt himself being lifted into a pair of strong arms.

The next thing he felt was being placed down on his bed. Dizzily, the dancer blinked open his eyes to meet his hyung’s concerned ones. “You with me?”, the older hummed, “You’re really pale. The younger only shuddered helplessly, bringing up his arms to hug himself against the cold. “Let’s get you out of that sweaty shirt and into something warmer. Don’t worry, I’ll help you”, Changbin promised, gently pulling the damp fabric off and replacing it with a large hoodie of his own. He guided Hyunjin’s achy arms through the sleeves, understanding they felt way too heavy for the other to lift them himself. “Binnie”, the dancer muttered, “Why does everything have to hurt?” – “That’s probably the fever, Sweetie. It makes you achy all over”, Changbin cooed, easing his dongsaeng back down and covering him with his blanket. “Do you think you can stomach some water?” As expected, Hyunjin shook his head, wanting nothing more than to sleep off what was making him hurt. Sensing this the rapper whispered: “Rest. Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere. Do you want me to rub your back or stomach?” – “C-Could you rub my back? Just please don’t touch my stomach”, came the sleepy reply. Of course, the older complied.

It had been almost three hours and Changbin had put his time to use, preparing some plain rice porridge. He knew how depleted his dongsaeng was of both fluids and nutrients. Before he had fallen ill, he had pushed his slim body to the limits, neither eating nor sleeping enough in relation to the endless hours of dancing he put it through. With the bowl in one hand and Gyu in the other, the rapper made his way back to Hyunjin’s room, expecting the other to still be asleep. Instead, the dancer looked at him with watery eyes, believing his hyung had left, despite his promise. “Hey, you’re awake”, the older smiled, placing the bowl onto the nightstand next to the bottle of water that was still there from the morning, “Do you think you can handle some plain porridge? Your body needs the energy to recover, plus, if there was something in your stomach, I could give you some painkillers.” Again, another sad headshake: “I really can’t eat that right now. It’ll just come right back up.” Changbin sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed, holding Gyu in his lap. “Look, I brought you some company, Jinnie. Yeah, I know it’s ridiculous but he always makes me feel better so I thought he could do the same for you if you cuddle him for a while”, the dark rapper explained, blushing and looking at his hands before handing the plushie to his dongsaeng, who accepted it with a small smile. “Thank you, hyung, I bet he will”, the dancer mumbled.

They stayed like this in comfortable silence till Hyunjin’s stomach gave a painful grumble. “Do you need to be sick again?”, Changbin frowned sympathetically. The younger shook his head, despite his skin losing color quickly. He really didn’t want to throw up again. The older had his doubts, so he assured: “It’s ok, if you need to get it out, get it out. There’s a trashcan next to your bed.” – “Will you hold my hair?”, his dongsaeng forced out between grit teeth, slowly losing his fight. “Of course. Hyung got you, don’t worry”, the rapper hushed, helping Hyunjin roll onto his side, who gagged weakly over the bin. As promised, the older kept his hair back, playing with it in a soothing manner. Expectedly, there was not much for the dancer to bring up, besides some stomach acid and bile. “Sweetie, I really think you’re done. There’s nothing left in you. Let’s lie back down”, Changbin cooed, drying his dongsaeng’s tears “I’ll be right back, I’m just going to clean this out. Can you hold onto Gyu for me?” The younger gave a teary nod, immediately opening his arms, as soon as Changbin returned. The rapper placed the trashcan next to the bed before settling under the covers next to Hyunjin, taking the sick boy into his arms. “You did so good, I’m so proud of you”, the older praised, slowly reaching for the water bottle, “Can you try to have a few sips for hyung?” This time the dancer relented, drinking a few tentative sips before cuddling back into Changbin. The rapper gently played with his hair, hoping for Hyunjin to fall asleep quickly before his stomach could decide to reject the small amount of water. The dancer soon drifted off in Changbin’s arms while holding onto Gyu. The rapper hummed ‘hyung got you’, cradling the younger’s burning body till the rest of the group returned home.

#sick #sickfic #skz #stray kids #emeto #whump #comfort #fluff #hwang hyunjin #seo changbin

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regrettablewritings · 3 years

Text

Modern!Jaskier x Reader Ship Meme

Prompts taken from this ship meme

Which one texts like a straight white boy?: Of course it would have to be our resident white boy. It isn’t even that he necessarily means to, there’s just an embarrassing amount of overlap between the messages a straight white boy tends to text, and those of your rising star boyfriend. You’d look more into it if it weren’t for the fact that you know there’s no actual malice in it, and because it’s just so sad that it’s funny. If one were to go into the photos saved on your phone, they would’ve surely come upon an entire album of screenshots you’d taken over the years, from when Jaskier would be on tour without you to when he’d just be resting at home while you were out at work. Things like: “Wat r u up to 2nit, cutie? ;)” “I’m probably just gonna play whatever’s on my Watch Later backlog on youtube until I conk out.” “Wild!!! anyway wat would u do if i was there rn~?” Or “Do u miss me? :(” “Of course I do ya dingus!” “Ok....Can we do a quickie over videochat?” “Jas i’m at the store.” “The point still stands.” Or “Watcha thinkin bout? ;)” “About how The Great Gatsby becoming public domain means there’s nothing stopping anyone from making a drag show interpretation called The Gay Dragsby.” “Aaww w/o me? ;)” “...” “WAIT NO I THOUGT YOU’D SAY YOU WERE THINKING ABOUT ME SHIT NO.” “BUT ACTUALLY DO GO ON IM KINDA INTERESTD.” If it were anybody else, you would’ve blocked them. But this wasn’t anybody else. It was your Jaskier: Your foolhardy, constantly horny, but never-short-of-loving Jaskier. And besides, not for nothing, at least they were something you could get a laugh out of.

Which one cried during a fucking Disney movie?: Once again, Jaskier is the guilty party. It’s no secret that he’s the more emotional of the two of you -- he wore his investment in Titanic with pride, after all. But it is a secret that the particular Disney movie to make him cry was Hercules of all things! Not Bambi, not The Lion King, not even Beauty and the Beast, but goddamn Hercules! (On another note, he also cried to Coco. But that barely counts: Literally everyone and their mother has cried during Coco. The only difference here was that Jaskier could relate to being a young man so in love with music while coming from a family that discouraged the pursuit of it.) This isn’t a knock on anyone who enjoys the movie, mind you, but let’s be honest: Out of the Disney animated canon, Hercules isn’t exactly the most . . . emotionally cathartic or heart-string-plucking of the bunch. But just because it didn’t go out of its way to create a crying frenzy doesn’t mean that it’s lacking in some humanity. It is, after all, still a Disney film. The problem is, Jaskier can’t even quite express why it made him cry the night you both decided to watch it. Maybe it had something to do with a young man most people took as a joke trying to achieve greatness? And to be fair, “Go the Distance (Reprise)” and “A Star is Born” differently when you’ve done some growing . . .

Who put a goddamned fork in the microwave?: It only happened once, but you’d never let him live it down. You like to joke that you’d left him to his own devices for just fifteen minutes so that you could take a shower -- of which was completely true -- and that was all he needed for things to go downhill. Nobody wants to think they’d be in the wrong for trusting a 20-something year-old to not be his usually somewhat distractable self. But that particular day, said 20-something year-old decided to occupy that little spot of time to himself with TV and a plate of leftovers. And normally this would’ve been fine and dandy. But normally, Jaskier would’ve just waited for the food to heat before searching for something to watch. It shouldn’t have been too big of an issue that it went the other way around that day, but apparently it was. As much as he wanted to (which honestly wasn��t by much), Jaskier just couldn’t tear his eyes away from the images flashing on the TV. The baby blues were set on the screen the entire while -- up until he heard a faint popping. Followed by a sound he normally only heard in a cheesy sci-fi movie. The problem was, he wasn’t watching anything even remotely science-fiction-y . . . All you were doing when you exited the bathroom was going to grab your lotion. That was literally all you had any expectations for. What you hadn’t expected to come upon was your boyfriend, hollering and diving over the sofa in order to scramble into the kitchen and stop that strange, not-good-sounding sound. Suffice to say, you had to put your shower on hold; it simply had to wait for you to finish fussing, then again for you to finish laughing your ass off. And again because if you entered the shower still laughing, you’d probably slip and break your head open and then Jaskier would have to deal with another possible emergency caused by himself.

Who does the silly hands-over-the-eyes “Guess who?” thing?: You can both be guilty of it, but Jaskier without a doubt does it more. Sometimes he’ll emerge from “his cave” (aka the little nook in the apartment where he likes to mess around and write lyrics or arrangements) on a break and catch an unsuspecting you sitting on the couch or at the dinner table. Other times, it could just be when he comes back from running some errands or doing a quick interview at the local radio station. You don’t mind it much . . . Especially since you can get a rise out of him by purposefully guessing the wrong person. (“Hmmm . . . Could it be . . . my mail-order husband? Boy, that was quick. And all the way from Russia, too . . .” “Uh, no.” “The milkman, finally accepting my invitation to commence a torrid love affair?” “Okay, you know damn well -- ” “Or better yet: My hopes and dreams have manifested, oh, Waluigi, could it really and truly be you!?” “What in the absolute fuck --”)

Who puts their cold hands/feet on their partner?: Because it’s usually himself who presents as being the more mischievous of the two, and because he tends to run the warmest, it always shocks Jaskier when you decide to play dirty and put your cold limbs all over him. Is it childish? Yes. But are his reactions to the sudden feeling of icy flesh hilarious? Also yes. You love to creep up on him when he’s tuning his guitar or scribbling down lyrics, or just minding his own damn business by trying to actually turn in relatively early for once. You love even more to watch him jolt and release the most high-pitched yip a man of his build could ever even joke about making. You’ll still be laughing about it as he scowls at you, cursing your “ghoul hands” and demanding to know if he’s dating a corpse at this point. Of course, no matter how peeved he might be, you can always count on one other thing from his dramatic reactions: Him huffily grabbing your hands into his own and rubbing them warm, or him forcing a park of fuzzy socks on your feet. And just for extra measure, you can be sure that he’ll spend the rest of the night holding you close or cuddling you -- “For exchanging bodily heat purposes,” he will always reason.

Who had that embarrassing reality TV marathon?: You both are guilty of it, actually. The question should really be, who is the least shameful about it. As with most things regarding a lack of shame, it was, of course, our dear Jaskier. Being a musician with a growing following, the little attention whore just can’t miss out on an opportunity to show himself off to his awaiting public. A rising star with relatability and a taste for trash? People eat that shit up! So you’ve learned to be less surprised every time he decides to liveblog himself watching things like Love Island or any of the 90-Day Fiancee spin-offs. In fact, in more recent times, you’ve come to join in with him, adding your own corresponding Tweets and commentary. Though don’t be too shocked once he starts holding polls and letting the public decide what show the two of you should watch next.

Who laughs more during sex?: You do, completely through Jaskier’s own efforts. Jaskier’s always had a pretty lax view of sex. This didn’t change when he met you, of course, but how he specifically portrayed that laxness did undergo some metamorphosis. Before, the entertainer was much more intent on his bedroom experiences being a display of power and an ability to please. Something dramatic and to be taken seriously. He still sees the importance of satisfaction in the bedroom, mind you, but with you, he can’t help but feel more . . . comfortable. With you, it’s a little more okay if he accidentally makes a dumb noise that in no way can be salvaged as sexy. With you, it’s a little more okay if he struggles to get his or your pants off, or if he struggles with removing your bra. And with you, he’s come to find that he’s a lot more okay with sharing a giggle or being a little more loose about things. It’s fine if your fingers tickle him or if he struggles to think of something proper dirty. But it’s even more fine if you think something he says or does makes you laugh, but not in a way that discredits his efforts. When you laugh, it shows that you’re comfortable with him. Comfortable enough to be with him, and be truly vulnerable. So do forgive him if he can’t help but run his fingers up your sides in a tickling fashion, or sloppily string together an innuendo. He simply loves how golden your laughter sounds, even in the throes of passion, intermingled with sweet whimpers and pleas of his name. How the heave of your chest and rippling of your tummy bumpily sync in with the rhythm of his thrusts . . . He just wants to see your smile, your genuine mirth, and bask in it with you. Besides, it serves as excellent song inspiration for him . . .

Who is the little spoon?: It depends on the sway of the day, really. As a whole, you both take turns without much thought simply because you tend to just fall into your positions. Some days, you just happen to lay into him in a way that makes you the little spoon. Other days, he conks out next to you in a manner that most could consider would make you the big spoon (or jet pack). Neither side really fights how it plays out unless one or the other may feel small and vulnerable, or just plain tired and in need of comfort. You often find yourself playing the role of the more dominating position during those first few days after Jaskier returning home from either a quick tour, or after finishing a long week of hours upon hours in the studio, or whatever kind of press-related nonsense his management team told him he needed to do. For as much as your boyfriend loved the spotlight, the truth was he was still quite capable of burning out and needing time to himself. Or, at the very least, just time with you. Even if that means he’s asleep for most of it, with you clinging to his back as he drifts off into a much-needed sleep. He makes sure to return it tenfold when you need just the same. Sure, your occupation may not be of the same nature as his own, but that didn’t mean you were in any less need of his cuddling. In fact, with him being gone as often as he was, Jaskier couldn’t help but feel almost guilty for not always being able to provide you with the basic comforts of being a constantly present boyfriend. Hence why the moment he would see your fatigued body crossing the threshold of your apartment, he would be all over you, ushering you into a quick shower, followed by a quick and simple dinner or snack, and capped off with him cuddling about you from behind. It didn’t matter if you’d come home right in the middle of a writing frenzy, or even if he’d been in the middle of searching for a breakthrough with an arrangement -- for as vain and bullheaded as Jaskier could be, he knew he owed you at least this much. You already put up with so much of his nonsense; this was quite literally the least he could do, both for you and for himself. Besides, he who was he to fight against the feeling of you wiggling closer into his hold, to deny himself the sound of your soft breathing as you lay yourself vulnerable to him? The fact of the matter is that he simply isn’t. He couldn’t be. Maybe in the beginning when things were still so unsteady and uncertain, but never now, when things had become so . . . well, what he could only describe as being “the both of you”. The both of you, molded and entwined, never wanting to let go. Never planning on it, either.

#jaskier x reader #modern!jaskier x reader #jaskier imagine #jaskier imagines #the witcher imagine #the witcher imagines #regrettablewritings

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wri0thesley · 4 years

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number 11 with Melone?

“So…do you want your underwear back?”

warnings for: obsessive behaviour, stalking. neutral reader and pronouns although reader DOES wear sexy underwear.

It's the third pair of underwear that's gone missing this week - and you really liked this pair, dammit! You're tired of going out to the cheapest clothes store you can get to with a shit assassin's wage (what kind of asshole pays their assassins this badly? Your boss, apparently), and having to choose ugly pieces that are on sale and not at all your personal style.

And, unfortunately, you know exactly what's happening to them.

You avoid Melone as much as possible. The rest of the team have not been at all coy about telling you you're doing the right thing; making vague references about how Melone treats possible lovers, or about how he can't be trusted, or about how he's just creepy. You've never been assigned to work with him on a mission - by all accounts, Melone works well alone, and Risotto is glad of that. But this is getting ridiculous.

You know it's none of the other guys. For one thing, they don't seem the type - and for another, most of them have shrugged and admitted they're keeping lovers on the side in safehouses and the like. Trying to keep their loved ones safe in the only ways they can. But Melone . . .

Well.

He's got nobody to come home to, if the boys in the squad are right. And from the hungry way he's always looking at you, eyes travelling the length of your body, hunger radiating off every lithe, panther-like inch of him, he's not particularly interested in keeping a lover off-base. He wants his lover somewhere a little closer to home.

It's not that he isn't handsome - he is handsome. It's just that he's so . . . intense. His eyes focused on you, gloved fingers flying over keyboard keys, low hum of acknowledgement in the back of his throat when somebody speaks to him. Utter focus. The cold, clinical way you've heard him talk about both his marks and his Baby Face mothers. Something about him just gives you shivers and shakes. Sorbet and Gelato are terrifying, sure, but they're terrifying in a way where you know what you're getting if you get on their bad side. Melone seems like he could snap at any moment.

You're not doing any good pontificating. You get up from your bed, slamming the drawer shut - your favourite pair of pale blue satin underwear with lacy rose appliques isn't going to retrieve itself from Melone's room on its own, you guess - and neither are all of the other nice pairs you've had to replace with sale rack rejects in leopard print and hot pink. You're sure Melone would appreciate them - he seems like the kind of guy who'd appreciate that kind of performance - but they're not very you.

You try and be quiet as you pad along the hallway. Melone's out on a mark, so you know he's not going to be around to catch you (the schedules of La Squadra members are easy to pick up on if you listen, or if you sweet-talk Illuso and bring him some of that hair conditioner he likes), but you still don't want anyone reporting back to Melone that you've been snooping about his room. Ugh. You wrinkle your nose, stopping outside his door. You can't believe you're going to go in there out of choice.

You hope it's not going to be like a weird fetish porn studio. You can barely look at the way Melone dresses without flushing red - most of La Squadra dress like they're in an erotic movie, but Melone is the utter worst for it. You pause, and take a deep breath. Alright. You can do this.

You push his door open--

And it's normal.

A perfectly ordinary, serviceable bedroom, much like how yours had looked when you'd first moved into the hideout. Yours is possibly a little more lived-in - you have nice coloured blankets and knick-knacks. Melone's bedroom is bare; a laptop on his desk, some biology and astrology books on a shelf, a tarot deck (you shouldn't be surprised about it, based on how much store he puts in where the planets where on nights people were born) - one decorative throw pillow. It's almost sad, how quickly Melone could probably pack his things up and just leave the squad entirely.

You almost feel bad for him, before you remember why it is you're in his room in the first place.

You're pretty sure Melone is stealing your underwear. Your used underwear, to make it even worse! Right out of your laundry hamper! (Melone, coincidentally, doesn't seem to have a laundry hamper. You wonder if his wardrobe is just full of the exact same suit and snort to yourself before you lean down by his bed and open a drawer).

Boring clothes. Civvies; plain shirts and jeans, that Melone almost never wears because his stand means he can work remotely. Clicking your tongue, you rifle through them - and your fingers catch on a hard edge. You push the fabric to one side and pull out . . . a photo album?

Is he secretly soft-hearted? Sentimental in private? There's a small smile on your face as you flick open the photo album, that falters when you realise the polaroids slipped within the clear casings all have one thing in common.

All of them are of you.

You, smiling as you talk to Formaggio. Your head thrown back in laughter on the sofa downstairs in the living room. Concentrating on a mark on a mission you'd been sent on with Prosciutto - your face falls as you rifle through them.

Not just you as a member of La Squadra.

You as a civilian.

A picture of you before you'd gotten caught up in this business. A picture of you and your family. Your graduating class--

Your heart begins to beat hard in your chest, as you drop the photo album and wrench open the second drawer.

A half-empty bottle of your perfume, that you thought you'd accidentally thrown away. Post, addressed to your old apartment before you'd moved in here. A napkin with a kiss mark pressed against it, lipstick in a colour you haven't worn for over a year.

Your guts feel like they're dropping through the floor as your shaking hands pull open the bottom drawer. This time, Melone's made no attempt to hide things from you.

Your underwear, neatly laid out beside one another, gussets showing. They're stained with something you know isn't from you. A sex toy that you'd bought and only used once because Pesci had knocked on your door whilst you were using it to check you were okay, and you'd bundled it away in your own bottom drawer so you didn't have to look at it and remember the sheer embarrassment of Pesci maybe overhearing you touching yourself--

Three more polaroids. You, undressing in the shower, bent over to fold your clothes. You, hands buried inside your shorts on your bed. You, getting dressed in a morning, bare in the light filtering through the curtains--

Your face burns at how open and vulnerable your naked body is in them.

How did he get these?

Your hands are shaking, your mouth dry. You want to take your underwear back, but also - what might Melone do if he finds out you've found his creepy little shrine?

"Enjoying yourself?"

The voice is soft, the cadences gentle - but you still start, falling to one side, your head turning to stare at Melone through wide, frightened deer in the headlight eyes. He sees the fear on your face and smiles, cold and clinical, and you wonder if perhaps he's just going to kill you right here. He shrugs his elegant shoulders.

"I've been watching you for a while," he says, unhurried as he crosses the room, kneeling beside you on the floor like you aren't trembling viciously. He drags a gloved finger over your face in one of the polaroids, his small smile not faltering for a moment. "I had to bide my time, didn't I? But once you find such a perfect match, you don't want to let them go so easily . . ."

"Y-you're sick," you manage to spit out, heart beating like a drum. Melone tips his head to one side, considering.

"Healthy as a horse," he says, after a moment. He winks at you. "Hung like one too, if you want to find out."

Your fingers cling at his stupid, plain, characterless bedspread as you pull yourself onto your shaking legs.

"I'll tell Risotto," you whisper, your heart seizing in your chest. Your voice is coming out so dry.

"And who do you think he'd prefer to lose, cara?" Melone says. He doesn't sound mean, or patronising, or smug - he sounds like it's a fact of life. "The new recruit, or me? Someone who's never failed on a mission? Who doesn't need a babysitter on jobs?"

"I--" your voice peters away. He's right.

"Besides," he says, motioning at the array of items he's collected. "Do you think I got these myself? Do you think nobody noticed? You're not the only one who can bribe Illuso with hair care products, you know." That same curious, simple smile on his face, he continues; "We share the same favourite brand."

"I . . . This is . . ."

Melone reaches over and he touches your face, griping your cheekbone in his fingers so you can't pull away. Your flesh feels like angry fire every place he skims, sickness rolling in your stomach.

"Oh, you're so pretty," he says, sing-song tone leaking into his voice. "You're going to be so perfect, tesoro."

The spell breaks, and you wrench yourself away. Fuck your underwear. Fuck all of your stuff. You stumble away from him, across the room, heading out of his door on unsteady legs that are at least managing to be fast. You hear Melone's voice, an echoing laugh as you head towards your own room to pack immediately and get the fuck out of here--

"So I'll take it you don't want your underwear back?"

#jjba #yandere melone #not sfw tag #writing #yandere tag #obsessive behaviour #dark content #melone #iwantafreashlybackedbread

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prolestariwrites · 4 years

Photo

The Wish [2]

Fandom: Devil May Cry Characters: Dante, Vergil, Nero, V, Lady, Eva, Sparda, OC Rating: General Tags: Family, Humor, Fluff, Angst, Typical demon hunting violence

Summary: A demon gives Dante the chance to have his greatest desires made real. When he finds himself in a seemingly idyllic life, all seems well until it starts to unravel. Will he sacrifice himself to save the family he lost, or will he choose to give them up for the truth?

Now Posted: Chapter 2, in which Dante hunts for clues and to who he is, and where he is, when he reconnects with a long-lost relative.

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Chapter 2: Pictures and Clues

Dante spends a full ten minutes just sitting on the bed in his underwear. He reviews every step of the night before: Nero texting him about this job, catching the train to Fortuna, the two of them driving out to the warehouse with the radio blaring and picking up burgers on the way. Then the demons, dozens upon dozens, that weren't difficult but packed to the brim so that when they pried open the front door of the building they swarmed like roaches.

He had found the queen at the top, but there it gets fuzzy. It talked to him, but about what? Something about his family? Every time he gets to that part, his headache turns a little sharper, so Dante decides to give thinking a rest so he can figure out where the hell he actually is.

His jeans are slung over a chair so he grabs them and fishes inside for his cell phone. It's different from the one he normally has, and he frowns as he turns it on and finds a passcode. He tries the first thing he can think of—1, 2, 3, 4, easy enough—and luckily it works. Quickly he dials Nero's number, but isn't really surprised when the automated voice comes on the line to tell him that number is not in service.

Dante scratches the back of his head. He's here, in a strange house with a woman who knows his parents, and Nero is… somewhere. Got it.

But then he wonders if something might have happened to Nero. What if he needs his help? Then this has got to be a dream, right? So how does he wake up?

Once he pulls his jeans on and finds a t-shirt in the other set of drawers, he tries the door. Cautiously he opens it, but the house is quiet, so Dante slips into the hallway. There are two other bedrooms and a bathroom which look suspiciously normal. Even the closets are tidy, and Dante snorts when he gets to the linen closet. This must be a dream. Who owns so many towels?

Next, he heads downstairs to the main floor. At the bottom is a living room, complete with a comfortable-looking sofa and a big-screen television. Dante stands in front of it and admires it for a minute before grabbing the remote control. He lets out a low whistle when he sees the picture quality, thinking if this is a dream, he's got good taste.

That demon's got good taste.

Dante shakes his head and continues his search. A small dining room is to the left, and to the right is a hallway leading to another half bath. The kitchen is nice too, the dishwasher humming and a pot of coffee warm on the counter. Even the refrigerator is stocked, and Dante helps himself to a piece of chicken he finds in a plastic container, figuring he can eat whatever he wants in a dream.

Out the kitchen window he can see a little backyard, and Dante sighs as he leans against the counter and chews thoughtfully. It's a nice enough house, something any ordinary couple might buy for a starter home. He glances down at the gold band on his finger, holding it up so he can examine it closely. Setting the chicken down, he wipes his hand on his jeans and slips it off, turning it over until he notices an inscription on the inside: Dante and Lir Forever.

He pictures the cute blonde who was half his size but acted more than familiar. "Lir," he murmurs out loud, slipping the ring back on as he looks around.

Wandering back through the house, Dante notices some pictures sitting on the windowsill in the living room. He walks over and picks up the first one, his face going a bit pale. He is in a suit, and that woman‚ Lir, is in a wedding dress. They are posed and smiling in front of a cake, holding a knife together as if to cut it. He turns it over but there's nothing out of the ordinary about it, and Dante snorts as he sets it back down again.

The next few are of them as well: a selfie in winter gear, posing in what Patty would call "Sunday attire", in bathing suits at a beach, arms around each other and grinning at the camera. He's gotta admit, they look pretty good together. His brain did a good job dreaming this girl up.

The next photo, however, feels like a punch to the gut. It's a double-sided frame on a hinge, and on one side it's him and a man who looks exactly like him, only his hair is slicked back instead of hanging in fringes around his face. In fact, he looks exactly like what Vergil would look like. If he was still alive.

Dante's hand shakes as he examines the picture. It is Vergil, it's got to be, the same slightly slimmer build and the half-inch in height that made it possible to tell them apart. The only thing that shocks him more than seeing this picture is the one opposite. Across from Dante and Vergil posed with small smiles is Vergil and Lady, her hand in his arm as they smile into the camera.

Gripping the picture frame, he grabs the next one and braces himself. Staring up at him are two people he somewhat recognizes, as if he had seen them in a dream. They are older, in their 60s maybe, the man grinning with his arm around his wife, sitting together on a couch. He has longish silver hair, not unlike Dante's, a pair of glasses hanging around his neck. Her blonde hair is swept up into a bun, streaks of white only making her more dignified, her hand on the man's knee. Dante brings the picture up so close his nose nearly touches it, and that's when he realizes that the woman is a dead ringer for Trish, if Trish was about 40 years older.

His cell phone rings in his pocket, startling him out of his examination. Dante fumbles for the phone but freezes when he sees the name Vergil appear on the screen. It takes another three rings before he gets the courage to answer. "Yeah?"

"Did I wake you or something?"

Dante staggers to the couch and sits heavily, still clutching the two pictures in his hands. He knew what to expect, but nothing could have prepared him for hearing that voice on the other end. "Dante," it says again. "You there?"

"Y-yeah," he stammers, his voice cracking around a dry throat. "Verge, is that you?"

"Of course it's me. I want to talk about tonight." Dante's eyes close as he listens, trying not to freak out. Even Vergil's exasperation for him is the same. "I'm paying for dinner, and I don't want to hear anything about it. We need to settle this now so we don't argue at the restaurant."

"What uh…" Dante's mind is spinning and he shakes his head to clear it. "Yeah uh, Lir mentioned something about a dinner. Do you know Lir?"

"I'm surprised you forgot, Dante. Usually you remember these sorts of things." Dante leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he tries to breathe. "This dinner tonight is important and I don't want a scene. Just let me pay for it, and afterward we can agree on how you'll pay me back your half. Agreed?"

Dante swallows thickly. "Yeah, yeah that's fine. Vergil. Vergil."

Even saying his name gives Dante the shivers. "Well I expected more of an argument. Glad you're going to listen to reason. Don't be late."

"Wait, Verge?" Dante looks down at the picture in his hand, something hot and tight tickling his throat. "Can I see you? Can you come over?"

"What for? I'll be seeing you tonight, and I have the kids. Are you sick? Where's Lir?"

"She covered a shift," Dante replies. "Please, Verge, I got… I need to say some things."

"Well say it tonight. I'm not driving all the way over there when I'll see you in a few hours."

Dante chuckles, swallowing tears as his breath escapes in a laugh. "Okay. Yeah. Hey uh, is mom and dad… they really gonna be there? At this dinner thing?"

There is a long pause, and then Vergil huffs, "Don't be stupid," before hanging up on him.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

The rest of the afternoon Dante spends figuring out his life. He finds photo albums in the closet, handmade scrapbooks that Lir definitely made. They chronicle some of their vacations, and he smiles as he turns the pages to see them camping, at the beach, at Disneyworld. The wedding one makes him wince a bit, the smiling faces of his brother and his parents making something in his chest tight. The date on the preserved invitation tells him they've been married about ten years, which is pretty funny since the longest relationship he's ever had was about ten minutes after getting dressed.

He looks weird in a suit, and Dante snorts to think what Lady or Trish would say if they saw him. But Lady is there, on Vergil's arm, and that is a mystery he can't wait to solve. And Trish kind of is there, in the form of his mother, looking slightly older but just as lovely.

There is a drawer in the desk in the office that has some bills, and he boots up the computer to take a look through. The email is pretty normal, receipts from online orders and utility companies, messages from the family and people he doesn't know. There is a link to a bank account and Dante's brows lift to see the balance. Compared to his normal finances, the amount seems like a small fortune.

There must be something a god of fortune can give you.

A cat appears suddenly, jumping onto the desk and stalking across the keyboard to plop across his arms. Dante pulls back in reaction, which earns him a very annoyed look from the cat. "Hey uh, there," he says, tentatively reaching out to pat its head.

The cat snaps at him, and Dante rolls his eyes. He never got along with animals as a rule. "So you want to sit on my computer as I'm using it but I can't pet you, hm?" he grumbles. The cat yawns in response, so he decides to go find lunch instead.

There's not much more to discover after having a sandwich. His life seems completely ordinary, although he doesn't know exactly what he does or even if he's still in Red Grave City. The other question still to solve is Nero. If Vergil is alive and married to Lady, then does Nero even exist? His face goes a bit hot to think of the kid not being around. But Vergil had mentioned kids on the phone… is it possible?

He is dozing on the couch and watching television when the door bursts open. Dante is on his feet and reaching for his guns that aren't there when Lir hurries in, her arms filled with dry cleaning as she comes like a whirlwind into the living room. "I'm so sorry I'm late! I can't believe I got stuck there! I told them I couldn't stay, and now look at the time!"

She pushes the clothes and plastic into his arms and pulls her cell phone from her purse. "Did you take a shower yet? You still need to shave. You are going to shave, right? You can't look like a sasquatch at the party."

Lir looks up at him expectantly, and Dante shrugs. "Yeah, I guess?"

"Good. Wait. Are you okay?" She steps up and presses a hand to his forehead. "You were sick this morning. How do you feel?"

"I'm okay," he assures her. "I had a weird dream."

She smiles, and his heart actually skips a beat. His brain is good. "Good. Did you feed Claudius?"

"Claudius?"

"Yes. The cat." Lir laughs and pats his chest. "Was he a problem today?"

Dante thinks about the cat that interrupted his computer search. "No. And no, I didn't feed him."

"Okay. I'll take care of it. You go shower and get dressed. And don't take too much off, you know I prefer a bit of facial hair." She takes the dry cleaning from his arms and pulls one of the hangers to hand back to him. "Here's your shirt and pants. I'm glad you're feeling better."

"Yeah." He watches her step around him, draping the rest of the clothes over the back of a chair before disappearing into the kitchen. If this is a dream, it's more vivid than any he can remember.

The shower feels good, even if Dante is amazed by how many things are on the shelves. He's never lived with a girl but is there anything needed really other than a bar of soap? In one of the drawers under the sink he finds a shaving kit and goes to work before the shower fixing up his face just like she asked. It occurs to Dante that this is his dream and he can do whatever he wants, but something makes him not want to disappoint her, so he makes sure to leave a nicely trimmed beard while removing the rest from his cheeks and neck. Once the shower is hot, he goes for the least-strange sounding soaps before finishing up and drying off with a nice fluffy towel.

He peeks into the bedroom and finds it empty. Quickly he hurries over to the bureau and opens the top drawer, rummaging around for some underwear. Dante just has his first foot in when Lir enters, and he yelps when he sees her. "Hey! I'm getting dressed!" he protests.

She freezes and looks at him in surprise as he pulls his boxer briefs up. "Yeah. I see that." With a laugh she moves to the closet and hangs the rest of the dry cleaning up before disappearing into the bathroom.

Dante frowns before he remembers, they are married. He rubs his hand on his face with an internal groan. He is going to have to get used to this as long as this dream or whatever lasted, including being half-dressed in front of her. While she's gone he quickly pulls on the dark slacks and gray dress shirt before heading to the closet. He finds some black dress shoes he figures Lir will like, and once he's all ready he stands and looks at himself in the full-length mirror that is propped against the wall.

Dante barely recognizes himself without the low-slung denim and some red leather, but he figures he still looks pretty good. As long as he looks better than Vergil, he'll be satisfied, chuckling to himself at the thought. But then he sobers a bit as his stomach turns, wondering what it will be like to see Vergil again. The last time was on Mallet Island, and before that, watching him fall off the Temen-ni-gru. Did that even happen in this place? There had to be a Temen-ni-gru if Lady was here, right? He shakes his head, confused as ever. He needs to figure this out, and fast.

Lir steps past him, again dressed in only a bra and panties, and Dante quickly looks the other way as she pulls her dress over her head. "Will you get this zipper?" she asks as she steps into a pair of heels.

Clearing his throat, he steps up behind her and carefully pulls the zipper up as she smooths her hands down the front. It's a sleeveless blue little number that fits her just right, and when she turns around to fix his collar he admires how nice she looks. "Okay," Lir smiles. "You ready to go? Dinner with the family is always interesting."

Dinner with the family. "Yeah, I'm ready," he grins. Maybe the mystery-solving can wait until after seeing them again at least. Couldn't hurt, right?

#dmc #devil may cry #dmc dante #dmc vergil #dmc oc #dante sparda #vergil sparda #fan fiction #the wish #myfic

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gb-fics · 4 years

Text

Protective Shield

Fanfiction:

Kiryuuin Shou x Kyan Yutaka (Golden Bomber)

Note: This story is loosely based on the song “Boku no sekai wo mamotte” (ぼくの世界を守って) from Golden Bomber’s new album! There will be fics for all the songs I didn’t write about yet eventually, at least that’s the plan (^-^) I’m sorry for the large blocks of text in this one, I hope it’s readable. Oh right, and Happy New Year, everyone!

Shou did not stagger out of the bathroom. He did not, however, walk exactly elegantly either. Shou wasn’t drunk. He had managed to change into pyjamas and brush his teeth and he had only hit his big toe against the bathtub in the process once. Shou wasn’t drunk. He wasn’t, however, completely sober either.

He switched off the bathroom lights and stepped into the hotel room.

“Going out for drinks was a mistake”, he announced loudly and walked over to his bed.

His bed was occupied.

Shou stared down onto the invader, who had made himself comfortable under his blanket.

“It’s fine”, Yutaka mumbled back sleepily. “We have a day off tomorrow before the next concert.”

“This is my bed”, Shou said.

He wished he’d be sharing a room with Kenji or Jun instead. They were currently drunk, too, but they never ended up in the wrong bed. Yutaka had ended up in the entirely wrong room before. He was that kind of person.

“It was a choice forced upon me by the circumstances”, Yutaka said and rolled onto his back.

He looked surprisingly awake.

“Get out of my bed”, Shou said.

He had the feeling that he wasn’t engaging in the most intelligent conversation right now, but he just really wanted to sleep. Or rather, he wanted to lie down. His head was spinning.

“Take mine”, Yutaka offered. “I’m too lazy to move.”

Shou sighed and turned around.

“There is a suitcase on my bed. Just take it down”, Yutaka called after him.

Shou stared at Yutaka’s bed. He now understood what circumstances he had been referring to. There was a suitcase on Yutaka’s bed. The suitcase wasn’t the problem, though. The problem was, that its insides were spilled out all over the mattress. He spotted shirts, socks, manga, a hair dryer, a pack of condoms (a pack condoms, for fuck’s sake?), one orange, two chocolate bars, a dog toy and the remote of Yutaka’s tv at home. He gave up.

Shou turned around, pulled back the blanket and lay down next to Yutaka.

“I have a lot of questions about your packing habits, but I will ask them tomorrow”, he stated.

“Me too”, Yutaka sighed. “I only packed left socks for some reason. Wonder how sober me will explain that in the morning.”

Shou chuckled.

The light overhead was still switched on. One of them would have to get up to turn it off. Shou had the bad feeling that it would be him.

“How do you even survive?”, Shou asked and shook his head.

Although he was lying down now, he still regretted the motion. The world seemed less firm than usual. It just didn’t stay in one place for too long.

“I’ll forward the question to sober me as well”, Yutaka promised.

Shou laughed again.

He could feel Yutaka’s bare arm against his own. He remembered now why he hadn’t been pleased to find Yutaka in his bed to begin with. He felt weird in his presence whenever he drank. Sometimes also when he didn’t drink. But more so after the intake of alcohol.

Truth was, Shou felt sexually aroused finding Yutaka that close to himself. It wasn’t the strong sexual arousal, where he got a solid hard-on. It wasn’t like watching porn. It was like seeing a pack of tissues. His body was conditioned to get lowkey excited. It didn’t mean he was sexually attracted to tissues, though. It didn’t mean he was attracted to Yutaka.

Shou rolled to his side, so he was looking at Yutaka.

Sometimes, Shou wondered if maybe he was attracted to Yutaka, though.

He watched his profile. He loved the curve of Yutaka’s eyebrows and that deep line beneath his eyes, that showed when he smiled. He loved the soft looking shape of his nose and his almost-even-but-not-quite front teeth. He loved the idea of kissing him, too.

“Hey, Shou”, Yutaka said and rolled to his side as well. They were facing each other now.

“Hm?”

Shou wasn’t sure on the matter of his sexuality. He liked women. He liked women a lot. Unfortunately, women did not like Shou back all that much. And sometimes, when he got tipsy, he liked men, too. But he wasn’t sure if that meant he was bisexual or just really, really desperate.

He thought of kissing Yutaka now. But Yutaka was so close and his body felt so warm and alive and human and Shou hadn’t kissed any women in a long time. It probably meant nothing aside from the fact that he was lonely. Because if he really was bisexual, he would think about it, when he was sober, too. But usually he didn’t. There was the possibility, that alcohol connected him with his true inner self. Shou found it easier to admit to his feelings and to tell people they were important to him, when he was drunk. He never regretted those words the next morning. He just wished speaking up was always that easy. But then his judgement wasn’t always quite clear, when he was drunk. He hit his toes on the bathtub for example. He wasn’t sure if Yutaka was a feeling of love he couldn’t admit to, or a hurting toe, because he had misjudged the distance between them.

There was however, the thing about the crushes. It was something Shou had been aware of from his early teenage years on onwards. He had never been with a man like he had been with a woman. He had always crushed on men as easily as he did on women, though. The fluttering in his chest when they messaged him was the same, the amount of time he spent on choosing the right outfit before meeting them was the same. But he had always assumed it was because he developed crushes fast in general. He had a soft spot for kindness. Someone did something nice for him, someone made him a compliment, someone messaged him first three times in a row – and Shou was infatuated. He hated that character trait in himself, because he had always viewed it as weakness. Usually, he didn’t allow himself to give in to it. He ignored the people on purpose, started to keep his distance, because he knew that those gestures meant more to him than they meant to them. He couldn’t bear getting hurt, but he couldn’t stop the fluttering in his chest, either. He had learned to ignore it, when he couldn’t prevent it.

The crushes he got on men didn’t come with the same sexual desire as the crushes on women did, though. They stayed on a more theoretical level. He thought of kissing them sometimes, he thought of receiving oral sex sometimes, but never of giving. But then again, he hadn’t thought so much about those things with women, either, when he was younger. Not before they had actually happened to him, or at least before he had watched a certain amount of porn on the matter. And the porn Shou watched was usually straight porn. He had tried his hands on gay porn before – quite literally so. It had excited him the same way that straight porn did. But he had figured that it didn’t mean much, because it was bodies and penises and holes and pounding and moaning, and the difference really wasn’t that big, so there was no shame in getting excited.

He wasn’t being quite honest, though, if he claimed not to think about sex with men. Because he did think about it. But it was normal to think about that kind of stuff. Shou thought a lot about sex in general. It was only natural that curiosity slipped in bits and pieces here and there. He had to admit, that if someone had confronted him directly, he would have to confess that he thought about sex with men – the full program, penises, butts, the taste of cum in his mouth – several times a week. And he also had to admit, that had someone else made that confession to him, he would have deemed it pretty fucking gay. But compared to the time he spent fantasizing about sex with women, it really wasn’t that much of an issue. 1 to 4, he’d say.

Shou had figured, that the only way of coming clean with his sexuality, was to try being with a man. Sexually, romantically. But mostly sexually. If it was mere curiosity, he would realize that it wasn’t for him and he would return to thinking about women 100% of the time. Or he would realize that he enjoyed being with a man just as much as being with a woman and the percentage would shift to 50/50.

Those considerations only blew up in his mind, when he was drunk, though. When he was sober, he thought that 1 to 4 wasn’t really that dramatic, and that it was more like 1 to 6 anyway. Also, being heterosexual was just more convenient. Even if the people around you accepted it in the end, you would still have to tell them. Dating a man would be so complicated. His family maybe wouldn’t burn his birth certificate in front of his eyes, but they would give him the look. And wasn’t it a little late to change his mind anyway? He was 35 years old already. People would think he was joking. Or having a midlife-crisis. Shou had grown so used to being straight, he’d like to stay that way.

Aside from maybe being bisexual, there was also the possibility, that he was in love with Kyan Yutaka. Shou preferred to not pay it any further thought.

“Jo, Shou”, Yutaka said.

“Hm?”, Shou repeated.

“You were spacing out completely.”

Shou made a face.

“It’s the alcohol”, he explained. “Too many thoughts.”

Yutaka’s face was close. He was drunk, too, but less drunk than Shou. Shou could not imagine there was anyone in the world more drunk than himself currently.

His feelings towards Yutaka were complicated. Because he loved Yutaka – he was sure about that, even if he wasn’t always sure about the way in which he did. But he also hated him. Because he was handsome in a way that Shou would never be handsome. He was carefree in a way that Shou would never be carefree. He was good with people, where Shou stuttered through social interactions. He seemed to be better at living than Shou was, just in general.

He remembered the first time he had realized it. It was the first time he had visited Yutaka at his own place after they had both moved out from home. Yutaka had prepared dinner for both of them. He had chopped vegetables. And that was all it had taken. Yutaka would continue to cook on his free days. And he would get married and maybe have kids. And he would help in the kitchen at least on the weekends and he would play baseball in the garden and he would treat the band like it was a regular job, where it was Shou’s entire life. Because Shou would never be able to build anything else for himself. He was busy dragging a heavy weight along with himself, that didn’t seem to last on Yutaka’s shoulders. And carrying that weight would use up all his energy and writing songs and staying alive was really all he could aim for. And it was the first time, too, that he decided to put his feelings towards Yutaka into words, the first time he had realized what was keeping him apart from people like Yutaka. All that frustration and anger and jealousy, that longing for a life he would never achieve. And love. Love towards Yutaka as well, because he had chosen to be in that kitchen with Shou. He knew about that weight and had chosen Shou, where Shou wouldn’t even choose himself.

“You always have too many thoughts”, Yutaka said softly. “What are you thinking about now?”

“Men”, Shou said.

Yutaka snorted.

Their bodies were not touching at all. The blanket was a little too small for them, lying that far apart. Shou’s back felt cold.

“Sometimes, when I drink, I think I’m bi”, Yutaka said.

Shou rolled his eyes and laughed quietly.

“I know”, he said.

He did know. Because Yutaka had told him about every man he had ever kissed. The list wasn’t exactly long, but at least it was a list. Yutaka was curious by nature and other than Shou, he was bold enough to follow through with that curiosity. It hadn’t come as a surprise to Shou when Yutaka first told him he had kissed a guy “just to try”. He wasn’t in a position to judge, either. Of course, he had been jealous. Jealous that Yutaka had tried with someone else, someone who wasn’t Shou. But he hadn’t been able to actually blame him for it. Yutaka was good looking and incredible charming. He could kiss men more attractive than Shou. And a part of him knew, that it was his own fault, too. That he was tense and his awkwardness kept people at bay – even Yutaka, whom he felt closer to than pretty much anyone else. Shou was the one who needed space. Even if Yutaka had wanted to kiss him, he’d wait for Shou to do it first. Shou had never gathered the courage for it, though.

He was jealous, too, that it was another thing that came to Yutaka so easily. Whenever he questioned his sexuality, he went out and tried. He wasn’t sent spinning into an identity crisis like Shou. The weight on his shoulders was so heavy, it sometimes seemed too easy to lose the person beneath it.

“I also think I’m bi, whenever I drink.”

Yutaka nodded. His cheeks were red and flushed. It always happened to him when he drank, even if otherwise he didn’t get tipsy at all. The colour of his face betrayed him.

“I know”, Yutaka said.

He did know. Because even if he did not talk about it openly, Shou was bad at hiding the crushes he developed. His face lit up, whenever his mobile buzzed.

“But like – you can imagine having sex with a dude?”, Yutaka assured.

Shou knew very well that this was where Yutaka’s confidence started to crumble. He liked looking at men and he liked kissing them and he had some horrific detailed fantasies about threesomes – which he didn’t mind sharing with his bandmembers. But being one on one with a man was a line he did not intend to cross.

“Absolutely”, Shou said.

He hadn’t meant to sound that confident, but ¼ of his sexual daydreams were backing him up.

For a moment, Yutaka looked astonished. Shou cursed the alcohol making him sound that confident. Flirting with the idea when drunk was one thing. Openly admitting to thinking about gay sex was another. Even Yutaka would judge him now.

But then his expression relaxed and Yutaka was grinning widely.

“Well, everybody seems to be bisexual nowadays, don’t they?”, he said lightly.

Shou thought of the Romans and the Greeks and the Samurai. Hadn’t it been the normal state of things in many cultures before? He wasn’t much of a history geek, but to him, it seemed to make sense that humans wanted to be with humans. Skin and sweat and acceptance and love and sex and anything that wasn’t loneliness. Gender didn’t matter much in the end. He imagined Yutaka in a toga.

It was society, that made them believe in heterosexuality, he assumed. The books and the movies and the commercials and not wanting to explain that certain kind of porn magazines to your parents. Sometimes Shou thought that being gay was easier. Society told you: Here, look, women, you are supposed to like them. But if you didn’t like them, you noticed there was something wrong early on. The problem was, that Shou really, really liked women. He had never questioned the system, because he fit into it well enough. Just lately, there was a change. The internet made it possible to take a look outside of Japan. Acceptance was rising. It wasn’t rising everywhere, but if you looked at the right places, you saw it anyway. Shou had become more aware of the system itself. He had started to question it. It was a really exhausting process and sometimes he wished, he could just go back. He was tired of not knowing who he was anymore.

“I guess”, he said.

Yutaka gave him a small smile. His smile spread more slowly when he was drunk.

Shou smiled back.

He forgot how easy it was to talk to Yutaka. How he was never judging Shou for anything; not for his sexuality, not for always thinking too much and not for often feeling so down and heavy, he could hardly take another step. Yutaka was like a safe space, a small corner of the world, in which Shou didn’t have to be scared for a change. That was, why he wrote songs about him, too. Because Yutaka never judged him for it. Shou had written songs about women before, too. He had watched them at his own apartment, studied them, their motions, thought about his feelings for them. Shou was big on thinking. But whenever they caught him staring for too long, they scolded him and, in the end, they always left. Yutaka, though, never minded. He didn’t scold him when Shou watched him chop vegetables and went quiet, because he was making up songs about feeling insufficient for life and feeling jealous and wanting to be a person he could not be. He didn’t mind when Shou watched him apply makeup, back when they could not always afford stylists. Yutaka had a funny habit of leaving his mouth open while putting on concealer, and it made Shou think of how he wanted to be prettier himself, and how he liked Yutaka better without makeup, because he didn’t have to share that version of him with the fans. Yutaka allowed him to space out in bed next to him right now, because he knew about all the worries chasing each other through Shou’s mind constantly. Sometimes, Shou thought that he was only able to make up songs about Yutaka, because he was the only person, in whose presence Shou knew who he was. Everyone else never gave him the time to think about his feelings, when he watched them. They expected him to interact with them like a normal, social human being. But when he was with Yutaka, Shou felt calm enough to put his emotions into words for himself. Those words ended up in songs, and writing songs was the only thing that kept Shou sane. Yutaka was his protective shield. Without him, he’d given up trying to cope long ago.

“You are beautiful”, he mumbled, a wave of affection washing over him.

He reached out, putting his hand against Yutaka’s cheek kind of clumsily. Even his jealousy towards Yutaka was complicated. Shou envied him for his charming good looks, but he didn’t begrudge him. Usually, he didn’t feel the need to be prettier himself. The other person being uglier than him would do. That was what jealousy normally meant to him. But with Yutaka, he’d be fine, just being the second prettiest person in the room. He didn’t want to be better than Yutaka. He just wanted to be good enough for him.

Yutaka kept smiling, watching Shou with clear, dark eyes. Shou realized that Yutaka was nowhere as drunk as himself. Shou had drunken too much tonight, because he had felt sad. He often felt sad, but tonight he hadn’t been able to bear it.

He kept his hand against Yutaka’s cheek.

“Well, thank you. You are always so much nicer when you drink”, Yutaka teased.

He was speaking more quietly than usual. Due to the alcohol, probably. His energy level seemed low as well. He was using his sleepy voice.

“It’s true”, Shou insisted.

Sometimes, he wondered if maybe Yutaka was the love of his life. Because no matter whom else he wrote songs about, he always came back to Yutaka. He had fallen in love with women. He had been heart-broken by women. But in the end, he had always gotten over it. He had never gotten over Yutaka, though. Whenever he looked at his eyes up close like this; whenever they had an honest (if drunk) conversation like tonight, he felt infatuated again. And he wanted to write songs about him again. About the nervousness of being this close to him. About his annoying habits when they shared a room. About how he wanted to tell him about all of his own insecurities, although he had sworn not to bother anyone with them. And Shou thought of how they said this about first love. That you never really got over it. That it was the one person you could not forget. Maybe the girls before he met Yutaka didn’t really matter, because he had indeed gotten over them. But if this was love, he had never loved anyone else, not really at least. Because what he felt for Yutaka was different from anything, he had ever considered romance.

Yutaka’s cheek was hot against his palm. Shou knew that he should definitely let go by now. Yutaka didn’t seem to mind that Shou had long since missed the point of making the touch feel casual.

Shou wanted to kiss him.

He wanted to do it, because he wanted to know what kissing men in general would feel like. And if he tried, he wanted to try with Yutaka. Because he loved Yutaka and he didn’t have to be afraid of being judged by him. And because he was beautiful.

But he didn’t dare.

Because Shou was naturally awkward, and because he was more drunk than Yutaka and was scared of molesting him and also because Yutaka was his best friend and his bandmember and also because he felt like Yutaka was out of his league. If Yutaka wanted to kiss someone looking like Shou, he would have done so before. But he had kissed handsome strangers instead. That was really all Shou needed to know.

He hoped Yutaka understood, that the hand against his cheek meant all that.

Shou knew that he was allowed to kiss Yutaka. Because Yutaka had kissed men before and had no problem knowing that Shou wanted to kiss men, too. Even if he did not want to kiss Shou specifically, he would be gentle about it. He would let it happen, then he would pull back and whisper “you are drunk” or something similar that would count as an excuse and that would not make it feel weird in the morning. Because Yutaka loved Shou. It was strange to acknowledge that, because Shou was not good at accepting love in general. There were a few people in his life, though, of which he believed that they loved him. They all loved aspects of him, though. They loved him due to the circumstances. His family loved him. But they loved him as a son, as a brother. They loved him as something that had happened to them. Jun and Kenji surely loved him, too. But they loved him as a bandleader, as a friend who had opened up possibilities to them. They maybe loved his humour, too, and his kindness. He had other friends as well, who loved him for a certain quality. They loved him because they could talk about music. Someone else loved him, because they had the same taste in movies. The fans loved him, too. But they loved only the sides of him that he presented to them in public. Some loved him for his silliness, some for what they saw in his lyrics. Shou did not doubt their love like he did not doubt that his parents loved him. It was based on a role that Shou played for them, though. Son, artist, idol. Just with Yutaka he didn’t act. Yutaka did not only know about his humour; he also knew about the sadness he dragged along with himself. He did not only care for his music, but also for what he had to say. Sometimes, it seemed surprising to Shou that Yutaka knew him so well and had still picked him as a friend and vocalist of his band. He was the reason that Shou believed he actually had something to offer to the world. Yutaka was the only person who had ever chosen Shou for who he was. He was the one person who would not push him away.

But he needed Yutaka to know that he could not do it anyway.

All that knowledge wasn’t enough to make Shou feel brave.

All that Shou could do, was to touch Yutaka’s cheek and hope he understood the question Shou was asking silently.

Yutaka leaned in and kissed him.

Shou flinched and pulled back his hand immediately.

It hadn’t been a long kiss, just soft, dry lips brushing against his own.

“What do you think you are doing?”, he asked.

“Sorry”, Yutaka said. “It was the mood.”

He did not sound sorry. He also didn’t look like he was.

“That didn’t feel nearly as weird as I expected”, he added.

Shou wanted to cross the arms in front of himself, closing down on Yutaka physically. He couldn’t do so very well in his current position, though. He shifted slightly, but it did not help. The blanket shifted, too. His back was still cold.

“Why would you do that, if you thought it would feel weird?”, he huffed.

That was so typical for Yutaka. Shou had so many thoughts, they seemed to freeze him, until it was impossible to take any action anymore. Yutaka had only few thoughts. And he managed to ignore even those.

“And why would you think it’s weird?”, he added, feeling slightly offended by the assumption.

If Yutaka had kissed guys before, why would it be weird with Shou? They were friends after all. Good friends. If anything, it should be less weird.

“Ah, you know”, Yutaka said and his grin looked funny, tilted to the side with his cheek against the pillow. “I thought you’d punch me or something. You are so tense about those things. Like, I’m not even allowed to do it on stage, although you know the fans would love it.”

“It’s different on stage”, Shou said defensively. “I don’t want people to get the wrong idea.”

Yutaka raised his eyebrows at him. He raised them really high.

Shou had to admit that they had given people the wrong idea for quite some time already.

He huffed once more and turned his head away slightly.

He didn’t know how it was possible he had given Yutaka that impression. It was true that he wasn’t the most relaxed person, but it shouldn’t make the thought of kissing him impossible. Yutaka knew Shou loved him as a friend. Yutaka knew that Shou felt curious about guys. So, how had he reached the conclusion that Shou would be angry, if Yutaka kissed him? That Shou would make it weird?

He had to admit he wasn’t doing such a great job at not making it weird currently. Yutaka had done exactly what Shou had wanted him to do. He had kissed him. Now, Shou was acting offended.

“Well, you are right. It wasn’t weird”, Yutaka confirmed once more and then he just leaned in and kissed him again.

Shou pressed his lips shut. It was another short and dry kiss. It didn’t last long enough for him to focus on what Yutaka’s lips really felt like.

“Just because it didn’t feel weird isn’t a reason to do it again!”, he scolded as soon as Yutaka pulled back.

Yutaka laughed really quietly.

“I just needed to make sure it really is not weird”, he said. “Anyway, what would be a reason to do it again?”

“Well.” Shou made a gesture with his arms that he regretted immediately, because it pushed the blanket off his shoulder. His whole upper body was now feeling cold. “You only do something again, if it feels good, right?”, he said angrily.

He hated how Yutaka’s thoughts didn’t make sense sometimes. Admittedly, Shou had enough thoughts for two people already, but he wished not to be left alone with them.

In his mind, he was already writing songs about it. Because Shou didn’t really know how he felt about the situation. He wasn’t happy. He wasn’t excited either. He mostly felt angry and overwhelmed and annoyed that Yutaka seemed to be better at handling this as well. Shou was not build for living, he concluded. There was a serious construction error somewhere in his programming. If he just wrote about it, maybe things would become clearer to him.

“Alright”, Yutaka said. “It felt good then.”

Shou was expecting the kiss this time and out of curiosity leaned into it. It lasted longer and Yutaka shuffled closer. Shou could sense his body against his own. It felt different from a female body, less soft and less curvy, but aside from that it felt pretty much the same. He kept his eyes closed.

At the back of his head, a voice kept commenting. Shou wondered if everyone had this voice, that told them how they felt. That observed how Yutaka’s lips felt a little chopped and how he should maybe add more pressure to the kiss, or possibly lessen the pressure and how he should maybe open his lips or rather keep them closed. And the voice told him that he felt insecure and he wondered if everyone felt that insecure when kissing another person for the first time. And it reminded him of his first meeting with Yutaka and how he had never expected this to happen. Shou seemed to watch himself, and people used to say this happened during a traumatic experience, but to Shou it happened all the time. It happened when he kissed Yutaka back and it happened when he ate ice cream (stinging at his teeth, too cold to actually be sweet, the flavour only coming out once it melted on his tongue. How did people never talk about the fact that ice cream didn’t taste sweet from the very beginning?) and it happened when he was alone in the dark of night and tried to find words for that feeling that wasn’t quite sadness and wasn’t quite numbness, but something in between that just kept him from feeling happy.

Shou opened his eyes and Yutaka pulled back.

It had been a nice kiss, but Shou hadn’t been able to enjoy it. His mind kept racing. He wasn’t sure if he would be happier if he was able to put less distance between him and the things happening. Or if maybe he would break, if the distance disappeared, because the happiness would become happier, but the sadness would become sadder, too, and Shou was hardly able to handle the sadness now as it was.

“You know, I thought about something”, Shou said.

Yutaka grinned.

“What a surprise”, he said.

“Why left socks?”, Shou asked. “I mean, you can wear socks on both feet, right? It’s not like shoes. Even if it’s the wrong sock, it will still fit. Why would that be an issue?”

For a moment, Yutaka just stared at him. He didn’t even blink.

Then he burst out laughing.

Shou’s chest felt lighter immediately. The atmosphere felt less tense suddenly, as if a window had been opened, allowing in fresh air all of a sudden. Laughter was the only thing that made Shou stop observing himself for at least a short while. Maybe that was why he tried to be funny all the time. He wanted to lift the weight of other people’s shoulders.

Yutaka rolled onto his back, his chest heaving with laughter.

“I can’t believe you were thinking about my socks right now”, Yutaka stated. “But if you have to know – the problem is mainly, that now I don’t have enough socks with me at all. I’ll need to find a washing machine soon.”

“You forgot to bring enough socks”, Shou said and shook his head in disbelieve. “But you brought condoms.”

That observation had been bothering him for a while already. Was Yutaka planning to have sex with anyone during the tour? He was sharing a room with Shou! Did that mean he considered having sex with Shou during the tour? That thought was frightening. Or was he thinking of leaving him behind and finding a girl by chance? That thought was maddening. Or had he packed them by sheer accident, like the remote of his tv? That thought was disappointing.

“Duh”, Yutaka said. “I can’t wear condoms on my feet, though, can I?”

“Is that a challenge?”, Shou asked and rolled over, swinging his feet over the edge of the bed as if he intended to get up.

The motions didn’t cause a major discomfort anymore, but he still felt slightly dizzy when sitting up too fast.

“Oi, stay!”, Yutaka shouted and grabbed hold of Shou’s arm laughingly. He pulled him back and Shou let himself sink into the pillows again.

Yutaka snuggled close and pressed a gentle kiss against Shou’s temple.

“You have too many thoughts going on in that big head of yours”, he said. “So much space, and still you manage to make it crowded up there.”

Shou shrugged. He felt awful, just because Yutaka was so good at comforting him. He wished he could do the same for him, but in terms of friendship, Yutaka had definitely come off second best. Shou tried to be there for him, because Yutaka got sad, too. But there was always a reason for Yutaka’s sadness, that was what made them different. Yutaka had been sad when his parents urged him to get a job. He had been sad after break-ups. He had been sad over fights with friends. But he usually wasn’t sad like Shou, who just couldn’t bring himself to feel happy with his life and with himself, although he could see that technically there was nothing wrong with them. Now and then, Shou wondered if there was medication that might help him. But then he wasn’t even sure what the medication was supposed to do. Make the numbness disappear and make him feel things more clearly? Or dim his feelings to a level that was finally bearable? He didn’t even know if he wanted to feel more or if he wanted to feel less. Both was tiring and sometimes, he just wished for it to be over. Yutaka would be hurt, but he would get over it. Shou had always needed Yutaka more than Yutaka needed him. He didn’t know how he would explain it to his family, but then again, it wouldn’t be his problem anymore. And the fans. They would feel hurt, but they would move on to someone else. Yutaka and Kenji and Jun, they would take care of them. And after him, there would be other artists to follow. It wouldn’t be the end of the world for anyone but Shou.

But then he thought of all the songs he hadn’t written yet. There was so much music in his head, still, and so many words. He needed to write about tonight, too. Because he was confused about his feelings, but if he put them into words properly, maybe he would understand them. And maybe he would feel better then. Maybe, he would feel less sad already, as soon as he was sober again. And if he managed to find the right words, maybe he could explain himself to Yutaka as well. Because Shou couldn’t tell him how he felt right now. But if he turned it into a song, Yutaka might understand what he couldn’t explain to him now. In the end, Shou had only ever wanted to explain his thoughts to Yutaka, the rest of the world was just an extra. He knew that some people understood what he wanted to express with his songs and that it actually helped them. Shou wanted to help them. But the secret was that he didn’t try to explain himself to strangers. He tried to explain himself to only one person, someone whom he loved and whom he trusted, and the fans could sense that. They could feel the honesty and the vulnerability, because Shou shared with them what was only meant for Yutaka.

He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.

“Just tell me what you need right now”, Yutaka said softly.

Shou opened his eyes again, without looking at him. He was staring at the ceiling instead.

“I need time to think. I need to sleep. I need to think some more tomorrow, when my thoughts are clear and I know it’s not just the alcohol thinking for me”, he said.

He expected Yutaka to say something funny or to scold him or to grow impatient with him like everyone seemed to grow impatient with Shou sooner or later. Shou wasn’t a slow thinker. That was the problem. He thought fast and the thoughts kept coming, one after another and another and another. And in between, Shou got lost, because some of those thoughts were contradicting each other and some were questions he couldn’t find an answer to. Shou wanted to know if he actually felt attracted to men, or if he was just so lonely, he adjusted his standards. He wanted to know, if he was in love with Kyan Yutaka, or if he just lacked acceptance in himself so much, that he mistook honest friendship for something else too easily. He wanted to know if he was numb or sad and if the thoughts were his problem or the emotions. He wanted to know who he was. He wanted to write songs about everything on his mind, because maybe then the voices would finally go quiet and if he just put everything into words properly, maybe Shou would finally be at peace.

“Okay”, Yutaka agreed without hesitation. He got up on his side of the bed.

The sheets suddenly felt colder and Shou was scared of being left alone. He was aware that it was illogical, because he usually needed a lot of space and because he hated not being able to turn around freely while falling asleep and because he was not used to sharing the bed with anyone, since he had slept alone most of his adult life, but fact was, that he slept so much better with someone by his side. A lot of people had told him before that it was the part, they hated most about relationships – having to share their bed. And Shou wasn’t exactly cuddly either. For him, it didn’t have to be an embrace. He didn’t need to fall asleep in someone’s arms. But just a light touch, an arm against his, an elbow against his back, and he drifted off to slumber when usually it took him hours to stop the thoughts and finally get some rest. Maybe it was a primal instinct that most humans had lost already but that Shou was still holding on to. The feeling of having someone next to him made him feel calm and protected and the touch of another made him feel safe. He didn’t want Yutaka to leave.

“Don’t go”, he said quietly.

“Don’t worry”, Yutaka said with a cheeky grin. “I’m far too lazy to clear my bed anyway. I will just switch off the lights.”

Shou followed him through the room with his eyes. When Yutaka turned the switch, it was completely black around him for a moment. His eyes hadn’t adjusted to the darkness yet. Obviously, Yutaka’s eyes hadn’t adjusted to it yet, either, because Shou heard a loud clattering and Yutaka swearing under his breath.

He chuckled at the sound of it. Then Yutaka reached the bed and Shou felt him slip under the blanket. There was a lot of pulling and tearing until both of them were covered, but finally, Shou felt cosy enough.

Yutaka had rolled over, turning his back on Shou.

Shou reached out, putting his hand against Yutaka’s back lightly. They were not touching in any other way, but for Shou it was enough to know that he was there. It felt good to sense him close and still keep his personal space.

He closed his eyes and slowly, his breath became even.

He felt safe. He felt as if Yutaka was shielding him for the outside world. This close to him, Shou existed in his own realm. It was his own private part of the world, where he was able to collect his thoughts. Here, he was able to turn those overwhelming, downweighing thoughts into songs. Because, in the end, he wrote all his songs about Yutaka. About him chopping vegetables and about him applying makeup and about him drunk kissing Shou in a hotel room. And he wrote all of his songs for Yutaka, because he wanted to be understood by him of all people. He wanted to apologize to him and he wanted to explain how life made him feel and he wanted to tell him how much Yutaka meant to him. And as long as he hadn’t found the words yet, Shou still had something that kept him going. A desire to be understood and the hope that he made others feel understood, too, somewhere along the way. And as long as he hadn’t found the words yet, Shou’s world didn’t end. Yutaka protected it.

#Golden Bomber #Kiryuuin Shou #Kyan Yutaka #kirikyan #fanfiction #fanfic #I considered adding more paragraphs but I wanted to illustrate how overwhelming and crowded Kirisho's thoughts feel

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iamwhelmed · 5 years

Text

Homesick: Chapter 3

This is where shit starts hitting the fan, ladies and gents... or at least starts the very clear, direct path leading right into the fan.

Summary: Raven finds herself carrying Beast Boy's child and struggles with the fear of losing him and the impending responsibility of being a mother; Starfire finds Robin in a precarious position with another woman. The two leave the tower to live on their own for awhile, just to figure things out. Beast Boy and Robin may be losing their minds, and Cyborg tries to keep everyone together.

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She couldn't eat certain foods anymore, maybe even smell them for that matter. There was a list of things Baby wanted far, far away from Raven's mouth, and that list seemed to get longer every day. By the second month, she'd knocked: shrimp, pickles, meatloaf, anything fried, anything dairy-related, and much to Starfire's disappointment, mustard. By the third month, she'd stuck to eating toast and bananas.

She wasn't showing much, but she certainly felt like her stomach had expanded well beyond its normal width, and Starfire said that she could feel the bump when she hugged her. She wasn't looking forward to waddling everywhere, but at least the morning sickness had begun to subside. Starfire, despite being depressed, borderline out of her mind, was still warm to be around, and when Starfire was near, Baby seemed a little less willing to make her life difficult.

Somewhere in the first month, she'd nabbed a job at a bookstore that doubled as a hipster coffee shop. It was easy work, simple, and it didn't require her to move very much, which was good because Baby had started to use her bladder as a trampoline when it found her exercise excessive. People recognized her, more often than she'd like, asked her why she'd taken up a job when Titans Tower was pretty much government-sanctioned. She'd bestow them with her best glare, a look Starfire had told her "had only grown in ferocity" in the first trimester. That was enough to scare virtually anybody dumb enough to ask, and when it didn't, she'd concede and say "Saving up."

Starfire, on the other hand, was a very ditzy waitress, but nevertheless she was Starfire, and when people weren't starstruck enough to deal with the poor service, they were smitten enough with her to ignore the mixed up order altogether. She'd gotten a better hang of it come the second month, and by the third she did a pretty standard job. She liked her coworkers, and she liked the view from the second-story restaurant, where she could watch the sunset over Jump City. She liked her customers and she liked her boss (the feeling was a little more than mutual on his end, she was not naive to the way he eyed her when he thought she wasn't looking). She liked living with Raven and being at peace.

But she missed her friends.

She missed Cyborg's uproarious "BOOYAH", the way he could go on for hours about his newest inventions, the meals he cooked for the team with such love she swore she could taste it, and it made every dish all the better. She missed Beast Boy, despite not understanding what had transpired between him and Raven. She missed his giggles when he'd pulled a prank, she missed his jokes and puns and the way Raven shot them down. She missed how he and Cyborg would argue incessantly every morning over meat or tofu, and how they'd stay up easily past midnight beating each other at video games.

But most of all, even though she was hurt, even though she felt like somebody had strangled her over and over, leaving her just on the brink of death each time when she thought of him, she missed Robin. She missed his smile, warm and comforting, a smile she swore he reserved for her, because she rarely saw it elsewhere. It was the smile he gave her when he broke open her chrysalis, when he'd told her that he didn't care about how she looked. She missed the way he made her feel, the gentle way he'd kiss her, the way he placed his hands at her jaw and dipped down to brush his lips against hers, as though asking for permission. From there he'd grow more determined, and she often found herself lying awake at night imagining the passion, remembering how he'd press his forehead to hers and smile, how she'd nuzzle him before he dipped back down and captured her lips once again.

But then she'd remember long, bare, silky legs wrapped around Robin's, the way his arms shuddered and pulled that stranger closer in the cold breeze, remembered how his nose buried itself in an unfamiliar woman's hair. Then she'd imagine his lips on someone else's, more desperate than the way he kissed her, imagine the way he'd probably gripped at her hips, the way she'd probably clawed at his back, the way he probably breathed in her ear, whispered that he… loved her.

Then Starfire, she didn't have the strength to muster up anger. She could only feel empty, like there was a weight in her head that wouldn't go away and a hollow hole in her chest that reached down into her stomach. She wasn't hungry much these days, which was probably better for their pockets and for Raven's nausea.

The pregnancy, aside from each other's company, seemed to be the one constant that kept the two of them going. There was a goal in sight, and it was taking care of that baby until it was matured enough to join the world of the living. It was a relief that it was the one thing going right most days. Raven seemed healthy. Aside from the bump, the two of them had to go shopping, as Raven's undergarments were not quite fitting as they should anymore. The growing fatigue worried her, but Raven assured her that it was typical of a woman far along as she was. Most days consisted of the two of them going to work, often on alternating schedules (the difference between a waitress's schedule and a bookstore clerk's schedule were stark), before returning home at varying periods of the evening to eat and pass out on their respective beds. It wasn't a bad life just an- uninteresting one.

Starfire curled up under her covers, remote in one hand and her sheets in the other, pulled up to her chin as she waited with heavy anticipation for the return of her new favorite sitcom: "Meet the Grobgooks". That was not a nice word on her home planet of Tamaran, not that the people of earth would know; it merely added to her level of amusement. The channel had cut to commercial break, and Starfire was learning to feel the absence of the tower's recording system. She moaned and turnt her head back so that it thudded against her bedpost. "These commercials are most infuriating! I wish to see this week's conclusion, please!"

"Star, the only way these people make money is by selling you products," Raven glanced over the edge of her novel at Starfire's pouting face "and placing as many commercials as possible between one show and the next is how they do it."

Starfire's pout became more pronounced, then she raised her blankets so the bottom half of her face was hidden from view, eyes leveling the television with a heat matched only by the sting of her starbolts.

The fourth commercial faded in, a small suburban home in a quaint little city, grass as green as envy, house as big as a small southern estate, picket fence as straight as a line. "A house isn't just a house." Raven snorted, and Starfire yawned. "It's teaching him how to mow the lawn." It cut to a father on a riding mower, son in his lap as they slowed eased around their massive yard. "It's making messes, and the memories that come with them." It cut to a mother, long hair tied into the sloppiest bun, helping her little girl roll dough as they laughed at the flour covering their chins. "When you live in Jump City Greens, you're home." It cut to the family laying in bed together on an early morning, maybe mid-afternoon, soaking up the warmth of the sun and each other. They snuggled up together as they turned through what appeared to be a family album, daughter curled into her father's chest, son climbing over his mother's curvy waist to get onto the bed between his parents. Starfire smiled to herself, wondering if she'd ever, perhaps, have something so human.

Then the lamp exploded.

Starfire yelped and stood up on her bed, fist raised, though she couldn't find a starbolt. "Raven-!"

"Sorry."

Raven clutched her book to her chest, eyes wide as the bits and pieces of the lamp floated between them, hovering amid her black aura. Starfire raised an eyebrow. "Um… did you… do that?"

"I- I guess so."

"Raven…" Starfire lowered her fists, but raised an outstretched hand to Raven's retreating form, watching as she subconsciously inched toward the edge of her bed. The lamp pieces drifted to lay on the nightstand, aura diffusing slowly. "You are" she paused, contemplating whether or not she was about to be insensitive, but one look at Raven's face told her that nothing she said could make things worse "...crying."

"What?" Raven gasped, reached frail fingers to brush at the bone of her cheek, tips pulling away wet with salt. Sure enough, she felt what must have been the dam of her control breaking, because her eyes flooded so quickly with such vehemence that she was momentarily frozen in place. Somewhere behind her, the motel's complimentary hair dryer raised on its own, combusting in midair above the sink, which was quaking down below by the pipes.

"Raven! What is the matter?"

"I- I don't know! I can't stop it!"

The medicine cabinet slammed open, and the faucet head sprung clean off the sink. Raven took quick, shallow breaths, raising a hand to grasp at her chest. She had to calm down. Starfire cautiously jumped down from her bed, coming forward to press her hands to Raven's cheeks. "There must be something I can do-!"

"H-How can you help me w-when I don't even know what's wrong?"

Once again, her powers must have knocked the shower curtain clean off of the wall, because there was a loud clamoring from behind the closed door. The TV began flickering on and off, switching to a new channel each time the screen came back alive. Stop. Stop it. You need to have more control than this! "Azarath… Metrion… Zinthos... " Starfire kneeled down in front of her. "Azarath. Metrion. Zinthos." Her pillow lifted itself to the ceiling, vibrating for a moment before it exploded, showering Raven and Starfire in old and worn feathers. Raven winced, squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. What could have possibly set her off like this? A villain with mind manipulation abilities? A drug dose hidden in the air with a complicated gas? "Azarath-!"

"Raven."

Strong arms pulled her into a tight hug, providing her body with an instantaneous warmth she hadn't known she was lacking. Her eyes bulged out of her head, snapping open as Starfire's natural snugness began to completely overtake her like a wall of crashing debris. Feathers dotted across their skin, brushed against their heads and floated on the gust of the air conditioner to the bed and motel floor. She shivered, and Starfire's hold tightened. Starfire rubbed her shoulder with one hand. "I am here for you. Please, do not hold back."

And so she didn't. Raven's eyes welled with a fresh wave, and part of her was disgusted because she thought the biggest crests had passed, and yet…

She shut her eyes again and buried her head into Starfire's shoulder, breathing in the familiar smell of the shampoo they'd mutually decided was cheapest. It flooded her senses, breathed new air into her lungs, forcing out the air she hadn't known was stale. Starfire reached up and ran her fingers through her hair, detangling her thin strands carefully, gently. Raven huffed and her chest trembled, breathing staggered as her tears ran through the crevices of her lips. Starfire shushed her, but otherwise said nothing. Azarath. Metrion. Zinthos.

She wasn't sure how much time had passed, but somewhere along the way, the television had turned back on and stayed on the original channel. The Grobgooks once again lit up the screen with their varying character molds, and the sink had turned itself off. Raven took a few more deep breaths, repeating her mantra in her mind like it was the only string of sanity she could cling to, though Starfire's arms stayed locked around her. She breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth, slowly.

"Raven?"

"Yes?"

"Tell me, was it perhaps the emotionally-targeted commercial that has upset you?"

"What? No, Star, that's ridiculous…" She muttered as she pulled out of Starfire's hug, but was it? She frowned and met Starfire's eyes. "Or maybe not."

Starfire's brows furrowed, and she tilted her head as she struggled to understand. "Perhaps?"

"Maybe it was the commercial. Now that I think about it, this is right around the time my hormones would be giving me" she grimaced "problems."

"So this is merely-?"

"My dear, sweet, unborn child messing with my emotions?" Her face read noticeably annoyed, and her tone was debatably sardonic. "Probably the most likely rationalization for a hormonal outburst."

Starfire took a seat next to her on the bed, folding her hands in her lap, giving Raven space; she was thankful for that. As it was, she was fighting the heat rising through her body with every fiber of will she had left, but she'd have time to wallow in shame later for her earlier display. "How are we to combat these hormonal outbursts?"

Raven sighed, and shifted so that her hands could run up and along her arms. She felt naked without her cloak, but the earlier intention had been to sleep. "I'm not sure there's anything that can be done" short of seeing a psychiatrist…

Starfire nodded, and the two fell into once again companionable silence.

Barbara nearly choked on the milk that came squirting out of her nose, and for a few moments after, she was left hacking. Robin raised an eyebrow, as if to ask what exactly she thought was so funny, but the small smile on his face betrayed him. She tried to smile back at him, but struggled with one hand raised to her now-leaking nostrils. After all, it was the first time she'd seen him smile in weeks. "I'm sorry, and he licked her face?"

"Well, it wasn't actually Beast Boy."

"But Raven still got licked in the face by a green shapeshifting dog?"

Robin chuckled. "Yeah, I guess you could say that."

She lost herself laughing again. She was yet to meet Raven, but she had the distinct feeling, given everything Robin had told her in her stay at Titans Tower, that she wasn't a woman particularly welcome to such odd displays of affection. Robin laughed through his nose, taking a sip of his water bottle. He wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead with the towel slung around his shoulders, and she couldn't help but feel the whole scenario was a little deja vu. A memory, something that had long since passed. Robin seemed to pick up on her thought process, the way he always did, and gave her another smile. She wasn't sure which one of them felt more healed at that.

"So," they both jumped as Cyborg sat down at the end of the table, between the two of them. "How do y'all know each other again?"

"Uh-"

"We were-"

They both looked at each other, Robin tugging at the collar of his uniform, Barbara hiding her face behind her glass of milk. They both glanced away, unsure of how to answer. Cyborg raised an eyebrow, but seemed to take the hint. "Oookay." He dug into his sausage and eggs, glancing to Robin, who had taken to staring stubbornly at the (currently off) television, to Barbara, who had decided to look busy by messing with the milk in her glass and the way it slushed from side to side. A light bulb lit up in his head, and maybe a light came on near one of his circuits, but he kept the thought to himself.

The door to the common room slid open, and from the other side, Beast Boy padded across the threshold. Cyborg nearly dropped his fork, and Barbara had to keep yet another splash of milk from escaping through her nostrils with two fingers to her bridge. Robin's eyes widened behind his mask, and he had to clear his throat before he spoke. "B-Beast Boy!"

Pale green eyes turned on Robin, hiding part way between heavy lids and dark circles. He seemed to take a moment to process that anyone had said anything, but he grunted and carried himself over to the fridge "'Sup."

Cyborg managed to swallow the bite he'd taken of his eggs. "Uh, BB? How ya holdin' up?"

Beast Boy closed the fridge after finding nothing worth eating, instead opting to scrounge through their cabinets. "I'm fine." He laid a hand on what he was looking for, pulling out Raven's teapot. He pulled back and set it on the counter, moving to the other cabinets to find teabags. Robin turned around to watch Beast Boy cross the kitchen, raising an eyebrow as he began boiling water.

"Beast Boy, are you sure? You haven't been out of your room in… months."

"I've gotta agree with Robin, man. You ain't been acting yourself."

"I'm fine." Beast Boy said it with more finality this time, but there was no aggression there, just defeat, as if he were trying to convince himself and not them. "I'm just" he stood still over the teapot, as if contemplating, fighting himself, then reached into another cabinet for a mug. "I'm just getting on with it, like we're s'posed t' do."

Barbara bit her lip, mentally nudging away the temptation to say You can't move on until you've dealt with it, but it was not her place. These were not her people; they were Robin's, and he knew better than her how to handle them.

Robin frowned, eyes narrowing at nothing as he lost himself in thought. Cyborg raised an eyebrow. "Want me to check on their locations? Make sure they're still safe?"

"That's not gonna help." That's not bringing them back. They all thought it, but they collectively decided it was best to let those words die in the air.

Cyborg sighed, went back to eating his breakfast. Robin's eyes grew more alert again, like he'd snapped back to reality. "Whatcha' making there, Beast Boy?"

He didn't answer at first, too preoccupied setting up his mug and filling it to the brim with hot brown liquid, watching the steam flitter through the air as he blew on it. He clenched its handle with three finger and cradled it protectively with his other. He turned around to face the rest of the room, but kept his eyes on his cup and his gaze far, far away. "Herbal tea."

He took one swing at the boxing bag, hard enough to make it swing, hard enough to get him started. Robin swung his other fist next, then another. The boxing bag flew in every direction he hit, inertia swinging it to and fro as he wailed relentlessly on it. It was relaxing; it was what he always did when he was under stress.

And boy had stress loaded onto him like a tow truck.

He hit it again, but found himself unsatisfied with the small smacking sound he got in return. She grinded his teeth and geared his fist up to hit at it again, harder this time. It swung further left, but the sound still wasn't enough for him. He had to hit harder, had to push further. He began swinging recklessly, resting his fists only to incorporate his legs into the routine by kicking the bag nearly off the ceiling. The chain creaked against the pressure, but didn't give in. He gave it an uppercut, then a roundhouse kick, then a flurry of other inconsistent punches. He grunted as the bag swung forward with such speed that it hurdled back at him so fast he could hardly stop it. His heels slid, and taking the punching bag in his arms was like getting sucker-punched right in the stomach; he coughed at the sudden impact, but pushed it away nonetheless. When it came back around, he socked it again, hard enough that he swore he felt something snap, but he couldn't stop- he couldn't.

Maybe he already had.

The bag came back at him full swing, and he made a move to grab it, but didn't try to slow it down. It socked him again, hard enough that he barked, but he took the pain as it was granted to him.

He'd searched the tower for clues, scoured the whole place for any explanation he could get- another note, a ransom from an enemy, signs of a struggle, but all he came back with was the single note Raven left him and two empty rooms, once full of life and character, now dead like a museum's exhibit.

Starfire and Raven were not history.

He hung limply against the punching bag, taking steady breaths as he swayed with its weight. There had to be something he was missing, something that would clue him in as to why Starfire- why both of them- left the titans (left him), but they'd been thorough, thorough enough to hide from him. He grinded his teeth and let one weak fist pound against the bag, then hang flaccidly at his side. What kind of leader was he if he couldn't even help his teammates?

The door to the gym slid open, but he didn't even need to look up to see who it was.

"Dick…"

"I told you, Babs, it's Robin."

"Right, Robin. Sorry."

He had a feeling she was batting her big baby blues at him, and that feeling killed him. Just like it always had, just like it always would. He straightened himself out and took to removing his boxing gloves. "What's up?"

Barbara was silent for a few moments, aside from the sound of her feet shifting from side to side. Anxious? Guilty? He wasn't sure. "I just wanted to get our stories straight next time Cyborg asked us."

"Asked us what?"

"You-" she paused, and he could hear the disbelief in her tone before she sighed. "When he asked us how we knew each other?"

"We'll tell him the truth."

"Well that's the thing, Di- Robin." He turned around and found that she was closer than he thought she'd be, not close enough to deny him personal space, but close enough that he felt utterly naked in front of her, the way he used to feel around her when he was a little kid, when they were growing up together as sidekicks, as members of the bat family. He'd almost missed that helpless feeling, but he found that lately he'd been feeling a little too helpless in all the wrong ways. He mentally shook his mind like an etch-a-sketch, choosing to focus on what was happening right in front of him. Barbara gave him a small smile, but it was awkward, forced, not natural the way it had been since she'd dropped in on him unexpectedly in the middle of the night. "I need to know" she winced "what exactly the truth" she shrugged "is?"

He gave her the Bat look, not the glare that froze you to the floor by your ankles, but the scrutinizing one, the one that silently asked all the questions he didn't want to ask aloud.

She recognized this look, apparently, because she wrapped her arms around herself and looked everywhere but him. "I guess I just, ya know? Do we tell him we're siblings? Old partners?" She trailed off, nibbling on her full bottom lip as she gained the courage to meet his eyes. "Exes?"

He choked on nothing, eyes practically popping out of his head and his entire body tensed up at the mention of… that. The thing they hadn't talked about since she got here. Their past not as comrades, but as something more. The phrase echoed in his mind with an unfortunate dull ring, and he only barely swallowed the saliva building up against the dam that was his mouth before he began to speak. "Oh! Uh, heh, um… all of the above?"

Barbara crossed her arms and scowled at him.

"Look," he shook himself out of his stupid stupor, reminding himself that he wasn't the same boy he was in Gotham, that Jump City had been his home for years, that he was a leader now, and he had to act like it. "The past doesn't matter. What matters is that you're here, that we're" not like that anymore.

He too trailed off, but he could see the unspoken words registering behind those big marbles of blue, as bright as the ocean. He worried for a moment that was the wrong thing to say, that tears would start brimming in those eyes and he'd have to awkwardly find a way to fix what he'd just done, not that there would be any way to fix it. But Barbara just gave him a small smile, set her hands at her hips and watched him with a cocky kinda stare. "You didn't think I was…?"

His eyes bulged out of his head again. "No! Oh god, no! O-of course I didn't-! I- I told you about me and-!"

Barbara raised her hand, shaking her head at him like he'd completely missed the joke.

Which he might have…

If the joke was him…

Evenings at Titans Tower usually went down like this: Dinner, movies, dispersal for solo activity (video games in Beast Boy's case, repairs or time to create in Cyborg's, and training in Robin's), and then an acceptable bedtime. Usually took from five to nine. It was the normalcy they all clung to with their girls missing, and a night never really ended without a common eclipse of nostalgia and longing. But nights in the tower were usually pretty normal, the one time of the day where they could pretend two empty rooms were still inhabited, where for just a few hours, their world returned to normal.

Until the intruder alert started going off right in the middle of the movie.

"Titans! Go!"

He'd wanted Barbara to stay back, but she'd taken one scoffing look at him and stolen one of his masks to wear- just in case. The threat had appeared at the front door and had yet to move, but there were a million and one things that could have meant. Higher ground. Surprise. A distraction. The possibilities ran through his mind, thousands a second, as the four of them stormed down to the entrance. They raced out of the elevator with the anticipation of battle boiling under their skin. It'd been awhile since they'd had a fight to get them all out of the tower, this would be a welcome surprise.

Beast Boy shifted into a tiger, Cyborg readied his canon, and Robin stuck three batarangs between his fingers. Barbara was on the defensive, stuck behind them and prepared to throw her fists at anything that came her way.

The intruder stood at the front door, unmoving, as though they'd been waiting for the titans to collect before them- and they had been.

"Hey."

Beast Boy shifted back into himself, Cyborg's canon died before it could be used, and Robin's batarang-ready hand fell to his side. Before them, leaning against one of the walls of the entrance room, was Terra. She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear and gave them a half-hearted wave. "It's been awhile."

#Teen Titans #Starfire #Robin #Raven #Beast Boy #Cyborg #Barbara Gordon #Terra #Robstar #BBrae

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timetravelingheart · 6 years

Text

My Side of the Fence Part Seventeen: A.M. Imagine

For those concerned about a heartbreaking moment, it does not appear in this chapter (this one actually turned out quite fluffy!) but it is on its way. This chapter kind of sets up that moment. That’s as spoilery as I’ll get since this is all still a work in progress and ever-changing! Thank you for following along. I love when you send in ideas that fit these characters SO well; it’s like you’re in my head!

ALSO - to the anon who sent in the Vance Joy “I’m With You” song association, thank you! I thought this would be an appropriate time, for those who are unaware, to mention that this story is semi-based off of “My Side of the Fence” by Dan+Shay whose latest album is on repeat for me. Highly recommend listening to it! :)

One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen

Fourteen Fifteen Sixteen

For the first time in a while, Savannah was uncomfortable in Auston’s presence. She could tell he was deep in thought, gripping the wheel so tightly his knuckles were white. While she wanted the conversation they needed to have to be over with, she knew that it wouldn’t be wise with him in this current state.

“So how come you didn’t drink tonight?” Savannah asked, trying to break the tension.

“When you said you were coming and that you might drink, I wanted you to be able to have fun without worrying about getting home,” he kept his eyes on the road ahead of them, rain now coming down and causing him to be a little more cautious.

“You didn’t have to do that. We could’ve just taken an uber home.”

“I know. But it’s not a big deal. I get more nights out than you do anyway. There’s always an opportunity to drink,” he shrugged nonchalantly, still not sparing her a glance.

“Well, thank you,” she replied awkwardly. Auston finally turned to look at her, suddenly seemingly aware of the effect his mood was having on her. He smiled tightly, reaching over to squeeze her thigh in acknowledgement.

“I’m sorry about Melanie,” Auston apologized, wanting to clear the air before they reached her apartment. He had assumed he was going up with her, but after the night’s events, he wasn’t sure.

“Oh, don’t be. She was really nice,” Savannah replied.

“Yeah, she is,” he agreed, not knowing what else to do. He wanted to know what was said, and based on how Savannah was acting, he knew she knew something, he just didn’t know what version of the story she got. He wanted her to ask him for his side, much like she did the night they played 21 questions.

They pulled into the complex parking garage and Auston turned off the car, but neither made any move to get out of the car. Auston waited, tapping his wrist on the steering wheel. Savannah unbuckled her seatbelt and turned in her seat to face him.

"Are you still okay with our arrangement?” Savannah all but whispered, her voice shaking, giving way to her uncertainty. Auston whipped his head around the face her. Fuck.

"What do you mean?” Auston willed himself not to overreact.

Savannah sighed. Specificity was probably necessary here, but she hated confrontation. “I mean, are you okay with us just being casual?”

Auston sighed this time, running his hand through his hair in frustration. He should have known. "Sav, what did Melanie say to you?”

“I promise I didn’t pry, she just…word-vomited all over me,” Savannah explained, fidgeting with her hands in her lap. “She said that you ended things with her because you realized you wanted to be in a relationship. I’m not asking you explain your past, but I just need to know if what we’re doing is still okay with you.”

"That’s partly true,” Auston admitted, glad to have an opportunity to explain himself. “I told her that I was done with hooking up with random girls and that if I were to be in a relationship, I didn’t see that happening with her and I still don’t.”

"Harsh,” Savannah visibly cringed.

"I know, and I feel badly about that, but I thought it was best to be direct,” he paused, not sure how his next statement would be taken. He watched as she fidgeted with her hands, unbuckled his seatbelt, and reached out to grab them in his. He was relieved when she visibly relaxed at his touch. “I didn’t tell her I was actively seeking a relationship or that I needed to be in one, Sav. You’re not keeping me from anything, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

"So you are still happy with keeping things casual?”

“Sav, I’m happy with you,” Auston squeezed her hands, bringing them to his lips.

Savannah fought the urge to give in to his sweet gestures. She needed to know the complete truth before she felt comfortable moving forward. “That’s not answering my question. You know how I feel about a relationship right now and the last thing I want to do is lead you on or feel like you are waiting for me. You deserve more than what I could give you in a relationship right now.”

Auston bit his cheek to keep himself from audibly sighing. He adored Savannah, but sometimes she just worried too much. “You need to stop assuming you know what I think I deserve and what I would want in a relationship.”

Surprised by what was easily the harshest tone Auston had ever used with her, Savannah cringed, worried she was making this more difficult than it needed to be. “I’m sorry, you’re right,” she relented. “But I just need to know because if this is more than casual to you, I think it should end for both of our sakes.”

Red flags rose in Auston’s mind. She was willing to end this if she thought he wanted to be in a relationship with her, or in general. He needed to salvage this before it was too late. "I am okay with it being just casual, Sav. It’s not more than that,” he lied.

"You’re sure?” she looked doubtful and hopeful simultaneously and Auston hated himself.

"Sav, we have a good thing going right now, don’t we? I mean, you’re having fun and you’re happy, right?”

"I am,” she answered honestly. And she really was, other than when she spent way too much time overthinking moments with Auston, almost searching for reasons to doubt him.

Auston reached his hand out to cup her cheek, relishing in Savannah sinking into his touch. “Then please stop stressing and letting outside factors influence this. It is what it is right now and as long as we’re both okay with that, I don’t see why it would need to end. Okay?”

Savannah nodded, leaning forward to place a kiss on his cheek. She had to trust that Auston wouldn’t lie to her. She got the answer she wanted, so they could continue. She pushed aside the nagging feeling that something was amiss, but she wanted so badly to continue, to stay in his presence. She didn’t even remotely acknowledge what wanting to stay in his presence meant. If he could keep it casual, so could she. “Okay. Let’s go upstairs.”

After having a long hot, and productive, shower together, Savannah and Auston were tangled up in her sheets, listening to the rain and continuing their game of 21 questions. It was nearing 1am, but neither felt tired. They lay naked, Savannah leaning on her crossed arms on Auston’s strong chest as he lay propped up against her pillows.

“You can’t say that!” Savannah exclaimed, raising her head to admonish him.

“Why not?” he retorted, the gleam evident in his eye. He was relieved that nothing felt different from the moment they left the car and entered her apartment. It was as if the events from the night hadn’t happened and things were back to what was becoming their normal.

“Because, you can’t possibly believe that. There’s no way I’m friends with someone who believes that. I can’t accept it.”

“Well, you better believe it, baby,” Auston laughed.

“Nope, no way. Hedwig’s death was not more emotional than Dobby’s. It just wasn’t,” Savannah shook her head defiantly. Who was this person she was laying here with who had these terrible Harry Potter takes?

“You asked my opinion! That’s my opinion!”

“Your opinion is wrong,” she plopped her head back down on her arms aggressively, earning a grunt from Auston, who barked out a laugh.

“All I’m saying is that Hedwig was there from the very beginning. She was a loss of his innocence. She symbolized that end,” he reached one hand out to push her sexed-up hair behind her ears. After the rough night they had, he was so content to be in this moment with her. His favourite version of Savannah was the one he got to be with behind closed doors, in their safe spaces. She was light; at peace with their privacy and joyful in his company. He felt like he was simultaneously floating in the clouds and being grounded to something good; something real. He had a feeling this is what love felt like.

“I agree with that part. I just don’t agree that it was a more emotional moment.”

“Well, we’ll just have to agree to disagree, won’t we?” he teased, tapping her twice on the nose and laughing as she stuck her tongue out to lick his palm.

“Whatever. It’s your turn.”

Auston hummed thoughtfully. He ran one hand leisurely up and down her side, sending shivers up her spine. “What is one of your favourite childhood memories?”

Savannah didn’t have to think twice before answering. “As you know, my dad is one of the biggest hockey fans out there,” she paused to roll her eyes as Auston mouthed a faux cheer of ‘Go Leafs Go!’. “And when none of my siblings took a serious interest in playing the sport, I was kind of his last hope. I don’t know if I told you, but he used to coach some of the kids’ leagues at our local rink. He coached my brothers in baseball, too actually. Anyway, the problem was, when I strapped on those black hockey skates, I would see the girls at the rink in these clean white ones doing spins and jumps and just looking like angels on ice and suddenly that’s all I wanted. My parents have actual video of me playing away from the puck and just trying to do pirouettes and mimic the moves I saw these other kids do, but in my hockey skates.” Savannah laughed at the memory.

“I need to see those videos someday,” Auston laughed picturing an even tinier Savannah doing spins in hockey skates. “I didn’t know you were on a hockey team though.”

“For an inconsequential period of time,” Savannah laughed. “It took my mom to convince my dad to let me switch from hockey lessons to figure skating. But she did, and even though he was disappointed, he was there for every single practice of mine and even helped me pick out some of my leos. One day, I skated off the ice after practice just fuming and in tears and when he asked why, I told him that some of the kids I used to play hockey with were teasing me for moving to the ‘weaker’ sport instead saying only ‘babies’ figure skated.”

Auston grimaced. As a hockey playing kid, he was definitely on the side of the teasers once in a while when they had to share the ice with the figure skaters. He now felt like sending personal apologies to all of the kids he mocked from ages 8-12.

“So my dad, all 6′2, 200 some-odd pound of him, got himself a customized pair of figure skates, made in white no less even though men’s figure skates are usually black, and skated out on to the ice with me at the next practice. And I never heard another comment again. These kids revered my dad. He was Coach. And now he was out there in figure skates, nearly dying and killing his knees trying to spin. It was just...everything,” Savannah smiled, feeling her heart squeeze at the thought of her big teddy bear of a dad.

"That’s amazing,” Auston laughed. “So are you a daddy’s girl?”

"It depends on the day. I think because I moved away from home at such a young age, my parents have done their best to spend time with me together and individually so I’ve gotten a bit of both,” Savannah reflected on her relationships with her parents. “My mom is all-knowing though. My dad is pretty unobservant for the most part, so most of our more meaningful talks come from me approaching him or outright expressing an emotion. My mom reads between the lines. She reads body language. She listens for the unsaid. I think it comes from being a teacher for students with special needs who can’t always communicate quickly or in what we consider to be the easiest way so she has to really pay attention.”

"She sounds a little like my mom.”

“Oh, after meeting your mom one time I could tell she was the kind of woman who could draw blood from a stone. She had my whole life story in under ten minutes of knowing her!”

Auston’s heart soared at how affectionately Savannah spoke of his mom after meeting her only one time. “Yeah, she has the affect.”

"What about you? Are you closer to one parent?”

"For a long time, it was my dad. He was my best friend. And still is,” Auston ran a hand through his hair, thinking back on the last few years with his parents. “But when I lived in Switzerland, my mom moved in with me for the year and we really bonded. I think we missed a lot of that because of how often I was away for hockey as a kid. She can still make me feel like a kid too sometimes, especially when I’m home visiting. But it’s just how she shows love.”

“You have great parents, Auston.”

“It sounds like we both do,” he leaned forward and kissed her forehead, watching as she tried to hide what appeared to be a rather large yawn. He glanced at the clock on her bedside table, seeing that it was nearly 3am. They had nowhere to be in the morning, and he had no intention of leaving her apartment the next day until she all but kicked him out, of course before what he assumed, and hoped, would be a very late breakfast. “All right you,” he pecked her lips, dragging her up his body. “Time for bed.”

“Mm,” she moaned, leaning in to kiss him deeply and then snuggling herself into his side, head tucked under his chin. She felt warm and safe and happy. This still worked for them, and she was so relieved. She could focus on the Olympics without the added pressure of balancing a relationship, and still have this safe space with Auston. As long as he was happy with what she could give, she was happy to stay right here for as long as possible. “Good night, Auston.”

“Good night, Sav.”

#auston matthews #auston matthews imagine #auston matthews fanfiction #auston matthews writing #nhl fanfiction #nhl imagines #nhl writing #hockey fan fiction #hockey imagines #hockey writing

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superutu · 4 years

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B(if)tek & Artificial: 1996-2003

The turn of the millennium sparked fears globally of a technological fallout: computers would crash at the changing of a ’99 to a ’00, security systems would fail, the world’s nuclear stockpile would be triggered. The impending panic of inaccurate ordering of automated dating in digital systems spread its fear far and wide and came to be known as the Y2K bug.

On the underside of the world, in Australia, where most things arrive late, distorted or totally different to their original form, there were two women embracing analog and digital technologies in all their glory. Nicole Skeltys and Kate Crawford were better known as B(if)tek, a pioneering electro-femme outfit. Feminism with a wink and a bleep. Ladytron before Ladytron. Nicole’s eccentric solo project was Artificial - Hillbilly House - as she likes to call it.

River Yarra speaks to Nicole about her time as B(if)tek and Artificial paired with a 1hr mélange of the two womens’ music.

•••

River Yarra: I read somewhere that B(if)tek started in Canberra (1.) Can you tell me how that came about? Wikipedia says B(if)tek’s debut album “Sub-Vocal Theme Park” was released on Geekgirl, but wasn’t it on a German psy-trance label? Who is Geekgirl and what was your relation to them?

Nicole Skeltys: In 1996, when Kate and I realised our late night noodlings with analogue machines in my garage in Canberra had accidently produced enough material for an album, we approached our friend Rosie Cross to help us with the costs of pressing and promoting the CD. Rosie Cross was a digital feminist pioneer, she had set up the first on-line e-zine/site/blog for women into tech & tech related arts called Geekgirl. So Subvocal Theme Park was released in Australia thanks to her support and encouragement. But seems like it was only a few weeks after that, that we got contacted by a German trance label called Nephilim who wanted to release the CD in Germany and Europe. So we agreed to that too. To this day, I still don’t know how they found out about our obscure independent antipodean release. But I’m glad they did, because Subvocal got a cult following in Europe, and even just a few years ago, it reappeared at top of the electronic charts in Hungary!

RY: Most of your associated acts from the turn of the millennium seem to be males. At that time, were there any other female identifying musicians in your circles?

NS: We were (and I still am) a member of a seminal electronic arts collective in Australia called Clan Analogue. It was (is) a collective of artists - mostly electronic musicians - who support each other and release own material, put on our own events etc. Yes, there were very few women doing electronic music production & performance back then, we were certainly the most successful in Australia at the time. But Clan had/has some great women artists & DJs like Sobriquet, Lush Puppy, Bass Bitch, Charlotte Wittingham (in Telemetry Orchestra), Cindi Drennan (in Tesseract). It was only after we’d released our second album 2020 in 1999, that Ladytron hit the scene - and are still going strong today. I sometimes quip that ‘we were Ladytron before there was Ladytron’.

RY: What do you feel your experiences in the music industry were stacked against your male counterparts?

NS: Because we surrounded ourselves with - and often chose to perform with our friends in the electronic arts community, particularly Clan Analogue, there was a political awareness and aesthetic & intellectual support for what we were doing. We also had a lot of fun taking the piss out of feminine stereotypes in live performances - we used to dress up as nurses, space-age airline stewardesses, geishas, girl guides etc and hop around on stage. So that all worked well for us, but when we stepped outside of that cognoscenti electronica world, we sometimes came face to face with the reality of male dominated rock. We were one of the support acts for the 1999 Beastie Boys Australian tour, but the first night we appeared on stage in nurses outfits, we got harassed and leered at by the mass of 'right to party’ boys in the front row who didn’t get us (or indeed what the Beastie Boys then stood for). So we dressed in 'normal’ clothes for the rest of the tour.

RY: In your 2020 album, were you imagining what the future might hold and how close are we to your predictions?

NS: Ha ha! I was asked that last week in an interview for a forthcoming documentary about Australian electronica in the 20th century. And my response was/is - if you look at the cover of 2020, you see a lovely girl against a retro-futurist 'life in space’ background, looking at her smart watch/ gadget - possibly for inspiration. And I can guarantee, that we are on track to next year looking EXACTLY like that. Not only that, but back in 1999, there was no 2020 - but very soon, there will be. How spooky is that? We were always ahead of our time…

RY: Your 3 albums are all quite different while still retaining the same analog vision. What influenced your genres and what did the change between them look like?

NS: Subvocal was just a glorious outcome of innocent noodlings and experimentation in a Canberra garage, dark, brooding, cinematic, a bit magical. Canberra feels pretty remote, and we used to play a lot in our own forest parties late at night, so perhaps the music reflects some of that atmosphere. 2020 was more upbeat, perhaps reflecting the fact that by then we were in demand to play at clubs, raves and festival dance stages across the country. Our final album Frequencies Will Move Together was quite heavily influenced by Boards of Canada at the time, and we also had the pleasure of asking some of our local and international friends (like Monolake) to do remixes for the 2nd album in this double album release - thanks to a generous grant from the Australia Council.

RY: You played some live performances on SBS (2.) and won an ARIA (3.) for best dance record in ’99 How did that arise? - In the same year’s hottest 100 the only dance song in the top 10 was Fatboy Slim’s “Praise You”

NS: Yes, we were on TV a fair bit from about 1999 - 2001 - including Saturday morning Video Hits show, which was kind of the Australian equivalent of Top of The Pops! We were nominated for best dance act that year, but didn’t win. However, that inspired us to set up own own awards to reward artists who were genuinely pushing the aesthetic boundaries, taking risks and had a political conscience. The WINK awards ran for 3 years, and were funded from our own pockets, with some equipment & venue support from the Australian Centre for the Moving Image. We gave away cash prizes, had a proper ceremonies with hundreds of attendees, & provided each lucky winner with custom made lightbox awards designed by a local craftsman. We got entries from all around the world. That is one of my proudest achievements, it was rewarding artists for all the right reasons (as opposed to just being commercially successful which is the mainstream music industry’s only criteria of worth), and it made a lot of people very happy.one hour show in March to the theme of women, feminism, and women’s rights…

Canberra (Lands of the Ngunnawal people) is the capital city of Australia. It was decided as such after a bitter feud between the two established metropolitan areas of Australia - Melbourne (Birrarunga - Lands of the Kulin nations); situated on the south eastern coast, and Sydney (Lands of the Eora nation); the eastern coast- couldn’t agree on which city would best suit the capital. Thus they picked somewhere in the middle.

Special Broadcasting Service providing multilingual and multicultural radio and television services that inform, educate and entertain all Australians and, in doing so, reflect Australia’s multicultural society.

Australian Recording Industry Association and the ARIA awards is an annual series of awards nights celebrating the Australian music industry

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The Most Influential People in the fire inside music Industry and Their Celebrity Dopplegangers

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On an album of bittersweet childrens music that she wrote greater than a decade ago, the woman who came to get recognised only as being the piano Instructor provided what, in hindsight, seems like an eerie glimpse of her have long term.

Im going absent today to an area so distant, the place nobody understands my identify, she wrote while in the lyrics of a track identified as Relocating.

When she wrote that song, she was younger and vivacious, a piano Trainer and freelance audio writer who liked Beethoven and jazz, sunsets and river Appears, extended walks and almost everything about Big apple.

On one of those beloved walks, by way of Central Park in the bright Sunshine of the June day in 1996, a homeless drifter conquer her and attempted to rape her, leaving her clinging to everyday living. Following the attack, the phrases to her track came real. She moved away, out of Ny city, from her previous life, and all but her closest close friends didn't know her name. To the remainder of the planet, she was — similar to the additional well known jogger attacked in Central Park seven many years previously — an anonymous symbol of the city nightmare. She was the piano Instructor.

Now, about the 10th anniversary on the assault, she's celebrating what appears to be her complete recovery from Mind trauma. She's forty two, married, with a small boy or girl. She's Kyle Kevorkian McCann, the piano teacher, and she or he wants to convey to her Tale, her way.

Her doctor told her it could just take ten years to recover, and Sunday was that talismanic anniversary. I sense my everyday living continues to be redefined by Central Park, she said a number of times in the past, her voice smooth and hopeful. In advance of park; immediately after park. Will there ever certainly be a time Once i dont Feel, Oh, Here is the 10th anniversary, the 11th anniversary?

She spoke in her modest ranch house in the wooded subdivision in a The big apple suburb. She sat in a very eating room strewn with toys, surrounded by pictures of her cherubic, dim-haired 2-calendar year-outdated daughter. A Steinway grand stuffed 50 percent the place, and at one place she sat down and performed. Her actively playing was forceful, but she appeared humiliated to Engage in more than a few bars, and shrugged, rather then answering, when requested the name of your piece. She questioned that her daughter and her town not be named.

She phone calls that working day, June four, 1996, the working day when I was damage.

Hers was the main within a string of attacks by the same guy on four Gals above eight times. The final target, Evelyn Alvarez, sixty five, was crushed to Dying as she opened her Park Avenue dry-cleansing shop, and in the end, the assailant, John J. Royster, was convicted of murder and sentenced to existence in prison.

Nevertheless the attack around the piano teacher would be the just one individuals appear to recollect one of the most. Part of the fascination has got to do with echoes in the 1989 attack to the Central Park jogger. But Furthermore, it frightened folks in a method the attack to the jogger did not because its instances were so mundane.

It did not occur inside of a remote A part of the park late in the evening, but near a preferred playground at 3 during the afternoon. It could have took place to anybody. The tension was heightened with the secret of the piano lecturers identity.

For 3 times, as law enforcement and Medical practitioners tried using to see who she was, she lay inside a coma in her medical center mattress, nameless. Her dad and mom were being on getaway and her boyfriend, also a musician, was in Europe, on tour. Lastly, one of her learners regarded a law enforcement sketch and was ready to identify her from the clinic by her fingers, due to the fact her experience was swollen over and above recognition. The law enforcement did not release her name.

The last thing she remembers about June four, 1996, is offering a lesson in her studio condominium on West 57th Avenue, then putting her prolonged hair within a ponytail and likely out for just a stroll. She would not remember the attack, Despite the fact that she has read the accounts of the police and prosecutors.

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To me its just like a reality I discovered and memorized, she claimed. Just as if I were a pupil in school learning history.

She will not think of The person who did it. I may have been offended to get a second, but not a lot longer than that, she said. How could I be indignant at John Royster? He was declared not insane, but I suppose by our specifications he was.

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Dr. Jamshid Ghajar, her health care provider at Big apple Medical center-Cornell Medical Heart, as it absolutely was recognised in 1996, instructed reporters that she had a 10 per cent possibility of survival. Doctors experienced to eliminate her forehead bone, which was later on replaced, to generate home for her swelling Mind. When her mother produced a public attract pray for my daughter, thousands did.

Immediately after eight days, she arrived out of a coma, to start with inside a vegetative point out, then in a very childlike point out. As she recovered, she slept little and talked consistently, occasionally in gibberish. I used to be obtaining mad at people whenever they didnt respond to these terms, she said.

Like an Alzheimers individual, she had very little quick-phrase memory and would fail to remember readers as soon as they remaining the space.

About various months, she needed to relearn ways to wander, costume, go through and produce. Her boyfriend, Tony Scherr, visited every single day to Perform guitar for her. He inspired her to Perform the piano, from the recommendation of her physical therapists, who believed she could well be disappointed by her lack of ability to Engage in the way she after experienced. Mr. Scherr performed Beatles duets together with her, taking part in the left-hand portion although she performed the right.

Which was my ideal therapy, she said.

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In August, she moved back household to New Jersey, with her father, an engineer, and mom, a schoolteacher. She visited outdated haunts and identified as friends, seeking to revive her shattered memory. I was pretty obsessed with remembering, she claimed. Any memory loss was to me a sign of abnormality or deficit.

Her therapists assumed her development was great, but her two sisters protested that she wasn't the deep thinker she were.

What bothered her most was that she had misplaced the chance to cry, as though a faucet within her brain had been turned off. Just one evening, nine months immediately after she was damage, she stayed up late to observe the John Grisham Film A Time for you to Get rid of. Just following her father had long gone to mattress, she watched a courtroom scene of Samuel Jacksons character on demo for killing two Adult males who experienced raped his youthful daughter.

The faucet opened, and also the tears trickled down her cheeks. I considered my mother and father, my father, and what they went as a result of, she explained. Small by very little, my experience returned, my depth of mind returned.

Urged by her sisters, she went back again to highschool and acquired a masters diploma in music education and learning.

Not every thing went nicely. She and Mr. Scherr break up up five years after the assault, although they continue to be pals. She dated other Adult men, but she usually instructed them with regard to the assault instantly — she could not enable it, she explained — and so they never identified as for the next day.

We've got to uncover you someone, her Pal David Phelps, a guitar participant, reported 4 a long time back, before introducing her to Liam McCann, a pc technician and novice drummer. For when, she did not say anything at all with regards to the attack right up until she obtained to understand Mr. McCann, after which when she did, he admired her energy.

Mayor Rudolph W. Giuliani, who experienced normally visited her at her bedside while she was within the healthcare facility, married them in his Moments Square Business. She wore a blue costume and pearls. Even though she was Expecting, inside of a burst of creativeness, she and her pals recorded Though Were being Younger, an album of childrens music that she experienced penned ahead of the assault, including the song Relocating. Her ex-boyfriend, Mr. Scherr, produced the CD. On it, her spouse plays drums and she performs electrical piano.

Is her lifestyle as it absolutely was? Not exactly, although she's unwilling to attribute the discrepancies to her accidents. Her very last two piano pupils left her, without contacting to clarify why, she mentioned. She has resumed playing classical songs, but simple parts, simply because her daughter doesn't give her time for you to follow. As for jazz, I dont even try, she reported.

She want to drive additional, emotion stranded in the suburbs, but she is well rattled. She attempts to be written content with staying household and caring for her daughter.

Dr. Ghajar, a scientific professor of neurological surgical procedure at what's now called Big apple-Presbyterian Medical center/Weill Cornell Healthcare Middle, who operated on Ms. Kevorkian McCann following the assault, reported final 7 days that her level of Restoration was rare. Shes mainly typical, he explained.

Other specialists, who will be not personally familiar with Ms. Kevorkian McCanns situation, tend to be more careful.

Regaining a chance to Participate in the piano may possibly require an Virtually mechanical process, a semiautomatic remember of just what the fingers must do, claimed Dr. Yehuda Ben-Yishay, a professor of clinical rehabilitation medicine at The big apple College School of Medicine. As soon as brain-injured, you are often Mind-wounded, for the rest of your life, Dr. Ben-Yishay mentioned. There isn't any overcome, You can find only intense compensation.

The greater telling Portion of a recovery, in his watch, is psychological, and on that score he counts Ms. Kevorkian McCanns relationship and little one as a significant victory.

For her aspect, the piano Instructor appreciates she has transformed, but she has made her peace with it. I was form of a hyper —— I dont know if I used to be a sort A, but I was bold, she says. Why was I so formidable? I was a piano Instructor. I dont understand what the ambition was about. I really did come back to the individual Im designed to be.

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