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bonvoyagenoona · 2 years

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About Me 14 | When Fanfic Dating Comes to Life (or, I Met AMOMK Yoongi... for Real)

(TW: some discussion of a death in my family)

Where the hell have I been??

I don’t know! I don’t know where I am! But... I kinda like it here.

I actually really like it here.

It’s light, and happy, and rewarding, and fulfilling. And still very full of BTS.

For one thing, I put up all my BTS posters that I was saving for when I finally have my own home office. But I figured... why wait?

(you can buy these at ichoism.com! and it’s where my pfp comes from!)

I feel like that unlocked a lot of things for me.

Why wait?

And I think, to take a bit of a somber turn, that’s what hit me the most after my grandmother passed away about a month ago.

I’ve written about this in my fics quite a bit, and I think a lot of Millennials (certainly all of my Millennial friends) have been continuously grappling with unlearning of the toxic parts of the hustle, achiever mentality that defines us. The constant comparisons. The feeling like we’re not “doing enough”. The brass ring that we keep reaching for. The disheartening realization that there was never a brass ring to begin with.

I kept delaying any sort of non-career gratification until I reached some arbitrary level of success. I kept telling myself that I’d get to family, and friends, and dating once I established my 401k. Eventually, it got to the point where I told myself I didn’t want any family, friends, or partners at all. And some of that is still true. I still don’t want kids or marriage. But I do want more life experience. More time with loved ones. More moments to breathe.

My grandmother was the one person in my very “success”-oriented, driven family who sort of disapproved of me going to grad school. She would, in her way, tell me that there were other things in life. To make room for them. To enjoy them.

One of the last things she told me was that she hoped that she’d live long enough to see me get married. Very Bongseon of her lol. Even with all of the confidence that I have in my life and independence, part of me feels like I failed her in some way by not getting married before she died. Part of me also feels like I’m failing my parents by choosing not to give them grandchildren.

And part of me is questioning all of that after having met AMOMK Yoongi in real life.

Let me stress that this is all brand new. Like, one week new. I am not in love. I am not in a relationship. But I am dating again. I’m exploring what it is to share time and space with possibilities.

This exploration is not the only thing that’s taken some time away from this blog. I recently got a promotion at work, and I am now the youngest person on the senior management team. And my team of direct reports has grown by four people in the past month alone, with more growth coming in the rest of the year. Along with that has come more responsibility and latitude, which has allowed me to start making moves that I’ve been dreaming of making since I first started this job five years ago.

But, as with all things, it balances out. It comes with costs. I’ve been having more meetings. Lots more show-and-tell at work. I’ve definitely been writing, but I haven’t been posting. And I’ve missed you.

Have I said that yet? I’ve missed you.

Yes, You.

You, with your beautiful brain and gorgeous smile and melodious laugh. I’ve missed reading your stories, seeing your art, reblogging your posts, and joining you in the comments. I’ve missed the inside jokes. I’ve missed the memes. I can’t imagine what brilliant things await me when things settle back down a bit.

And I keep thinking of what I was processing when BTS announced their hiatus. Specifically, what Yoongi and Namjoon said about regarding living more life in order to have something to say. And though I already had a lot to say, and was smack-dab in the middle of saying it, a dear friend told me last night, “If you spend a lot of time reading and writing about sex, it might be nice to have more opportunities to actually have it irl?”

It’s funny how this fanfiction thing has opened up my world. In addition to falling even deeper for our boys, I’ve gotten to meet You. All these wonderful people in our community. I’ve jumped into cars and onto planes to see you. To share ideas with you. To laugh with you. To learn and change with you. To be inspired by you. Hopefully you’ve had some fun, too.

But now, I’m changing in a different way. I’ve always written a lot, but I don’t say much. I’ve been told that I can be a lot (read: Kittenfishing, Hideaway, pretty much any one of my Y/Ns lol). But now, I’m talking more. Sharing more of myself.

Not through Y/N. But as me.

I’m pleasantly surprised that people actually want to hear what I have to say... not just on the page, but nestled in the soft walla of forks scraping against plates and wine being poured and regulars seething about where the hell all these new people came from.

And I’m breaking out of that achiever cycle. That delayed gratification loop. There is an addictive thrill to staying up until 4 AM because I was on a writer’s high -- and PLEASE believe I will absolutely still do that lol. But I’m balancing that out with not waiting until I finish my next chapter before checking in with my friends or hanging with my family.

So a week after my grandmother passed away, two things happened.

I got a promotion.

And I got on Hinge.

We all know the steps. I’m admittedly a master at the first part. The resume-building part. Achiever Me has it down to a science. Literally. If you’ve read my fic Matchmaker, then you know, lol.

I know my style. And I know the typical rules. I posted the necessary pics. Selfie, so you see my face. Wide shot, so you see my body. One cute. One flirty. Casual. Formal. With my family and friends, so you know my values. With emoji, so I protect their privacy. Blah blah blah.

I know the type of people who will gravitate toward me. Years of 20% wanted and 80% of unwanted advances have taught me a lot.

But I had fun with it, too.

Dearest Roomie / @mochilatae gave me 3 sets of numbers, and those determined what prompts I’d answer. When I got the prompt to do my best celebrity impression, I did one of Popeye.

Apart from all the fuckbois who liked my pics, only 3 responded to my impression in the first few days.

The Dad.

The Grad Student.

And The Teacher.

The Dad

The Dad was the first to reach out. In our BTS shorthand, he’s bboy Yoongi. Sneakers. Backwards fitted. Maybe a bit of Jungkook, what with his tattoos and a camera in hand. I shouldn’t have engaged, seeing that he has a kid. But he responded to my Popeye clip with, “ 🤔 Hmm, needs work. Jk.”

I’m an Asian, Millennial woman. I’m used to negging. And I love enemies to lovers tropes. So maybe I kinda like it, if done a certain way. The Dad is actually a sweet guy. So I Matched.

We’ve talked about a lot since then. Life’s funny turns. How tired we’re starting to feel at the end of the day. The best places to get Chinese food.

Had it not been for this conversation, I would’ve deleted the app altogether.

The Grad Student

The Grad Student was the next to reach out. He isn’t actually a grad student, but he’s a carbon copy of an old labmate. Same cloth, mere threads apart. It’s very, very odd. Even his voice is the same as my labmate’s. I could hear it when he responded to my Popeye clip with, “My God that was perfect! Can you do Olive Oil as well? 😊”

He asked me out first, and he very interestingly suggested one of my usual hangouts from -- you guessed it -- when I was in grad school. It all seemed comfortable, and familiar. But almost too familiar. I told friends that it felt like I’d done all this before. I’m fluent in his language. I could tell his interests just by looking at him. I was feeling very Celeste in Celeste + Jesse Forever. But I also felt the cultural gulf that I sometimes feel in this situation -- most concerning, the fear of being fetishized as an Asian, Millenninal woman.

There’s an episode of the podcast Reply All called The Fever, which shares some stories about a creepy white dude who essentially socially collected Asian women. (Incidentally, this podcast episode was shown to me a few years ago by a white dude, but he did not collect me or any other Asian women.) Tbh, after listening to this episode, I kinda shut down the idea of dating at all.

Needless to say, being presented with The Grad Student made me a little nervous.

We got drinks last Thursday, and... it turned out to be a good time. He’s so... nice? But not braggadociously so. He’s not suave, like the dude from The Fever, or West Elm Caleb. He bumbles, which is funny, given that we’re on Hinge. The night started with him sincerely apologizing for getting a beer before I had arrived, and it ended with him texting me a sincere apology for not walking me to my car in the middle of the night in the middle of the city. Not that those things ultimately mattered to me though. I guess it’s a good sign that he thought of those things at all.

I’m not letting my guard down, but it’s starting to counter that fear of being fetishized. His genuineness has a charm. And we connected on a lot, most importantly the desire to lead a nontraditional kind of life. He doesn’t want kids either. He values his independence. And he’s tired of the expectations (and then mocking of those expectations) that have been foisted upon our generation. I left feeling confused... but optimistic that maybe I wasn’t too late to the scene... that I had something to offer... and that maybe I wouldn’t get fake-collected and real-murdered while out here trying to connect with people.

That maybe people had something to offer me back.

He asked me out again for dinner on Wednesday.

That was last night.

The Teacher

After things went well with the Grad Student, I wondered if I should set something up with the other two guys who had reached out. I was already hanging out with my brother and his girlfriend Saturday night and Sunday morning, so I decided I’d jam-pack the rest of that weekend with social activity. Like my 4am writer’s highs, I figured I’d just get it all done in one go. Ride the bit of extroverted energy that was propelling me forward.

Why wait?

I asked The Dad, with whom I had been talking the longest, if he wanted to get coffee on Saturday afternoon. He said yes, and we picked a place.

I then asked The Teacher if he wanted to hang on Sunday. we had been talking a lot, ever since he said of my Popeye impression, “Pretty good lol”. He also said yes, and we picked a place.

On Saturday, I posted up at one of my favorite coffee shops and wrote for a little bit.

20 mins before we were set to meet, I got a message from The Dad. He wasn’t going to be able to make it. Family stuff. Understandable.

When I got home from hanging out with my brother and his girlfriend, I checked in with The Teacher. He said he was definitely down to hang.

The Teacher scares me a little bit.

He’s 100% AMOMK Yoongi. Not just in personality, look, or style (and, trust me, eerily so, especially to Soundcheck Yoongi). But because of the connection that we seem to have regarding the core details from my life that I’ve injected into AMOMK.

See, the Teacher really is a teacher. Specifically, he’s a middle school teacher. And he teaches at the middle school that I went to here in town. The middle school that is the basis for the school that AMOMK Namjoon and Yoongi teach at. Drive past it, and you’ll see the baseball diamond bleachers that AMOMK Jin gets ogled at in the beginning of Chapter 01, and the parking lot leading to the entrance to the band hall in the beginning of Chapter 03. You know what’s really scary? You might even see a red sedan. Like the one that AMOMK Yoongi and Namjoon share donuts on the hood of... and the one that The Teacher just happens to drive.

Have you seen the movie Ruby Sparks? (Another appearance of Chris Messina. Hmm. Interesting.) I certainly don’t advocate for the toxic aspects of control and will, but that awed feeling of seeming manifestation... I was starting to feel that awe when we were texting about these hometown details. And it was starting to solidify into a genuine feeling of bewilderment when we realized we also lived within 15 minutes of each other when we were younger, and that we went to the same high school at around same time.

The Teacher showed up.

He showed up early, actually.

We originally planned for 4, but he said that he’d gotten done with his errands and would now be free at 3:30.

We met for sushi, and I had one of the best conversations I’ve ever had in my entire life.

The content. Music, books, life, family, being Asian, being an immigrant, being first gen, being oldest siblings, being first gen oldest siblings, dating, movies, music, fashion, TV shows, comedy, writing, music, work, oh, and music. He said he listens to everything. I said I listen to everything. We both highly doubted that the other listened to everything. We both learned that we both listen to everything.

The little moments. Me accidentally dropping my phone, and then my chopsticks, and saying sorry or looking worried, and him just smiling and tilting his head and saying, “For what?” Or us talking about the disdain for how short songs are now to encourage streaming, Harry Styles’ use of a melody reminiscent of A-ha’s “Take on Me”, and the bright smile we’d flash each other as we stopped talking each one of the seven times the song played on the speakers during our-- 4-hour conversation?

When did 4 hours pass??

Did I want to go somewhere to get drinks?

Yes.

And the big moments. Us sitting down at another one of my old hangouts from grad school, which just happened to be 5 mins away, and us talking about our motivations. Passions. PDA.

The Teacher: I’m not really one for PDA.

Me: Me either. (remembering something) Ugggghh! OK, so my brother and his girlfriend do this thing when they’re hanging out where one of them will go, "Uh-oh! My love meter is empty!” And the other one will go, “Oh no!” And they’ll scurry over to them and hug them and kinda squeeze and jostle them while going, “boop-boOP-BOOP-BOOP-BOOP!” And then they’ll go, “All full!” and smile at each other.

The Teacher: Gross.

Me: I know! Remember how you said you wanted to emulate the relationship your parents have? I’m the same way, and I think I’ve only seen my parents kiss a handful of times. I think the most recent of them was in the Philippines during New Year’s Eve 1999.

The Teacher: Hey. Y2K. They had to. They could’ve died.

Me: (laughs) What specifically about PDA makes it uncomfortable for you, do you think? Is it like what you said about how you hate when people play their music super loud when they go to the gas station or are just out and about in public?

(The Teacher is also a grumbling grandpa, btw.)

The Teacher: Yeah, and it’s like... too showy. I like the sense that it’s saved for behind closed doors. It’s just for the other person.

Me: True. And... like... if you’re doing it all the time, it doesn’t seem as special. Not to be a huge cornball, but it loses some of its... I don’t know, it loses some of its---

Together: Magic.

I swear to you. I know I write romcom fanfiction. But this happened.

Which is why The Teacher scares me.

When it was time to go, not as an afterthought, before we even got up from our seats, he said, “It’s late. I’ll walk you to your car.”

He was wearing black, pointy boots. I could see them in my periphery because I was kinda looking down as we walked. He walked to my left, and just behind me. Kind of letting me lead. But still next to me. Like a cat.

We lingered in the hug. I thought he might be interested in a kiss. I got shy. He respected it.

Me: This was really fun. Thanks for hanging out.

The Teacher: Yeah. It was a blast.

Me: Would you want to... maybe... hang out... again?

The Teacher: Absolutely not.

(When I tell you that I cannot stop thinking about this and laughing... ugh.)

The Teacher: No, seriously though. We could hang out this weekend... or we could do mid-week, even. How about...

Me: (internally) Don’t say Wednesday. Don’t say Wednesday. Don’t say---

The Teacher: ...Thursday?

(Why wait?)

Me: Yes. Thursday.

We have texted nearly nonstop everyday since.

And I’m going out with him again in about 5 hours.

Because it is Thursday.

And that’s when the AMOMK boys go on their dates.

#about me #how i write #writing #personal #y'all i am spiraling #amomk #a map of mrs. kims #i think i'm going to hurl #a map of mrs. mins #I GUESS #cheryl feels unhinged

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ur-local-anti-hero · 3 years

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S/O captured by heroes Pt2: The rescue

You were safe, and that was enough for him to finally smile through his tears

Dabi x GN! Reader

Warnings: Blood, cursing, mentions of torture, violence

Part 2 of one of my Headcanons Read part 1 here

1148 words

I Hawks I I Shigaraki I I General Masterlist I

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· It had been two months since the last time he saw you. He could recall perfectly the last image of you he had seen. And his promise to get you back.

· “We can’t wait to get Y/n!” The league was currently discussing the plans for your rescue. He had already tried to get into action several times, but the answer was always the same.

· “We can’t risk ourselves in going in without a clean plan. We’re putting everything we’ve fought for in danger.” Shigaraki explained again.

· “Have you forgotten who has Y/n?!” He said while slamming his hands on the table. “The heroes won’t show any merci, not for a villain…” He groaned.

· “Y/n is strong” Shigaraki insisted.

· “THAT’S NOT THE FUCKING PROBLEM!” He barked. He knew you could handle yourself, but he had promised to get you back. You had sacrificed yourself for his sake, and he wouldn’t let you die in the hands of the heroes.

· “Look, you know for a fact that they will try to get information, whatever it takes, Y/n is not going to tell them shit. And I doubt they will leave it at that” He said, already feeling tired of this constant argument about your rescue. “So, if you’re not going to cooperate, I’ll have to go on my own” He stated.

· “Dabi, you know you can’t do this alone” Compress claimed.

· “I don’t care” Of course he knew he didn’t stand a chance against the heroes alone, but he was willing to sacrifice everything and everyone for you, even his own life. All he cares about is making sure you are not suffering in the hands of the ones who claim to be the heroes of society.

· “Wait there Dabi, I think I might have a plan.” Korugiri’s voice stops him, and everyone in the room turns their head to his position, while Kurogiri takes out the blueprints of the prison’s building. “Now, if everyone will take a seat and listen to me, please.”

· Dabi waited in silence for his signal to get in the building, everything that could be heard was his breath and steps from the guards from time to time.

· “Next to the schedule of U.A Dabi was able to bring here last mission, there was a document with the blueprints of the prison where Y/n is being held” Kurogiri had started “I’ve studied them for almost two weeks now, and I think is safe to assume that they are keeping Y/n here” He said while pointing at a really specific spot.

· “What makes you say that?” Doubted Shigaraki.

· “You see, the prison is divided into sections, each one having different levels of security. This is the highest level” Replied Kurogiri “And what is more, most of the interrogation rooms are there as well. Knowing that they would want to get as much information as possible from Y/n, and that they won’t give up on getting it, this is the perfect place they could’ve choose” He finished

· Dabi looked up to the signboard on top of the door he was waiting behind. “Emergency room” it said.

· “There is also something called an emergency room” Kurogiri observed “Taking into account its location and form, is most likely where the guards would meet in case of an emergency”

· The lights went off, the steps that were calm before now turned fast. Dabi knew that was his signal, and without delay he started the plan.

· “If we can simulate an emergency, and we are able to reunite the guards in the same place and time. We might have an opportunity”

· Dabi sneaked into the room without being spotted, moving slyly and quickly. He was able to knock out two of the guards. The other two tried calling for backup, but before they could even move, they were both on the floor, subdued by Shigaraki.

· “If we play our cards correctly, we can take the guards down without engaging in battle”

· Dabi ran through the endless hallways and climbed the stairs, his breath irregular. Until he finally reached the 4Th level, where you supposedly were.

· “As soon as the guards are taken down, one of us has to look for Y/n, Dabi that’s your job”

· He walked to the cell Kurogiri had told him to look into, and exactly, there you were. His eyes widened when he saw the conditions you were in. Your head hanging low, looking to the ground, as you were unconscious, blood decorating the floor under you. Dabi’s blood boiled at the thought of the heroes torturing you just for information. And he felt like his hatred for them increased, if that was possible.

· “Once you’ve found Y/n your priority is leaving quickly. We don’t know what they have done, but Y/n won’t be in the best condition and will have to be treated as soon as possible. Dabi, it would be hard, but don’t think about revenge, not yet, our priority is only the rescue. If the alarms go off and you are still in the building things won’t end good”

· Dabi burned down the door, rushing to your side. First thing he did was break your restraints. He checks your vitals, pressing two of his fingers on your wrist.

· He sighed out in relief when he felt your pulse, weaker than it should be, but it was there.

· He picked your unconscious form in his arms, tucking your hair out of your face, that was littered with dry bloodstains.

· “If everything goes as planned, meet me in the emergency room, I’ll be waiting for you there in order to take you back to the hideout”

· Dabi made his way back to the emergency room, still on high alert at all his surroundings. He couldn’t let his guard down.

· When he made it back Kurogiri was waiting there. He was quick to teleport both of you, black mist engulfing you.

· Dabi finally realized he had made it, that he was back at the hideout and you were in his arms.

· He dropped to his knees, still holding you, and placed his head in the crock of your neck as he sobbed out in relief.

· “You are fine, Babe, you are fine…” he whispered, trying to reassure himself more than anything.

· “I knew you would save me” Your weak response made him sob more. You were fine, you were back in his arms safely, he had kept his promise.

· “I love you so much, please never do this to me again” He choked

· “I love you too, I promise I won’t leave your side never again” You said before losing consciousness.

· He just hold you closer, enjoying your warmness that he thought he would never feel again.

· You were safe, and that was enough for him to finally smile through his tears, for the first time in months.

-----

My requests are open

Thanks for reading!! Likes and reblogs are appreciated! :)

Taglist: @luci58 @dillybuggg @recordsonmyfingers

If u want to be added to the mha taglist write me!!

I would like to know which one of the three hc was your favorite (Dabi's, Hawks' or Shiggy's) just for improvement and research purposes. That way I can know what you guys like :)

I wanted to give and special shout out to @honeyr4ven for all the support during these posts, thank u a lot!!

#bnha #bnha angst #mha x reader #bnha x reader #bnha headcanons #reader #mha x y/n #mha headcanons #mha #dabi x gender neutral reader #dabi x reader #dabi angst #dabi my hero academia #league of villains #l.o.v #dabi x y/n #dabi x you #dabi headcanons #dabi

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not-gae-cuz-i-like-straight-wae · 3 years

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Part 1: Responding to Jeansaaa

I intended on writing both my response to jeansaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa and another person in one message, but there’s some delay and I only finished the first part some time ago, so I’ll split my message up in two parts with the second part coming later. So NOTE: this message does NOT contain all my answers to this subject and I WILL explain more about the “why’s” in the (I hope) near future.

Introduction:

It’s been a while, but I’ve finally decided to write the respond to both jeansaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa’s last message and someone who I spoke with in the private chat. I’ll start off by saying I’ll call jeansaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa just “Jeanaaa” for short and the other person I’ll simply call “ABC”, because this person preferred to remain anonymous. I’ll respond to this last person later on in this message too, because I might answer several questions others might have as well…

I can’t reblog Jeansaaa’s last message and reply to it, because Jeansaaa blocked me afterwards (I send him/her a private message and asked about whether he/she had never blocked me or unblocked me again and then Jeansaaa said he/she forgot to block me, made a joke about his/her memory, told me not to worry and said he/she would block me with a smiley... like, WHERE even is the logic in blocking someone like THAT), so I don’t even know if Jeansaaa will ever read my message. However, this is a reply to basically everyone who’d say the exact same things in a discussion about lgbt+, so that’s why I’m responding to his/her message anyway and the same thing goes for ABC. I will however speak directly to these people, because it is them who wrote me the things they wrote.

The last thing I wanna say before I actually start writing, is that I might use capital letters and exclamation marks. This, however, will be more often shoutouts out of surprise and confusion instead of anger and aggression or it will be just to emphasize parts of my sentences…

MY RESPOND TO: JEANSAAA

Jeansaaa’s last message:

Listen bro don’t take this personal I have no I’ll intentions at all and I don’t hate straight people ( I’m bi myself so i’m part straight ) but if you’re gonna post your opinions online than your gonna be subject to criticism, and the problem with straight pride is that for centuries lgbtq+ people have been called slurs, demonized even KILLED because of their sexuality, even to this day in certain countries it’s illegal to be to be part of the lgbtq+, until just RECENTLY gay marriage was illegal, nothing like that has happened to straight people, that’s why gay pride exists because homophobia is still ever present, but I’m not gonna shove this in your face, I’m just trying to let you know why gay pride exists and why straight pride doesn’t, have a good day dude 😊

“Don’t take this personal”

Okay, so first of all, EXCUSE ME?! I shouldn’t take it personal??? ERR. Aside from blocking me yourself, you LITERALLY told others to block me as well, so that is PRETTY personal!

No hate to straight people? WOW. I’m blown away!

Like I said before, it would be quite mankind-hating if you’d hate straight people! I know people don’t hate straight people (because THAT would be completely insane), but I still can’t believe we have come so far that you are criticized when you do say you’re straight! Because that’s what’s happening. Lgbt+ supporters want lgbt+ people to show everyone they’re not straight and straight people should shut up about being straight?!

I’m okay with criticism if it’s because I say THESE things…

Yes, I AM posting the things I say online. Those aren’t “opinions”, but I guess it wouldn’t even do any good anymore to explain that to you, so I’ll just say “opinions” to keep it simple… I know a lot of people have the same opinions as me. People that also have no ill intentions (towards the lgbt+ community itself as well), but (like me) they act the way they act and have opinions because they think about it themselves and NOT because the majority (or at least, the ones who are given a voice and scream the loudest and the ones that can control the governments and the media together with – of course – the large herd of people that blindly follows them) thinks that way. Unfortunately, many people don’t dare to stand up for their opinion anymore these days and those who do speak aloud are often silenced. Either because their account gets blocked if they’d speak on the internet or something even worse would happen if they’d stand up for their opinions in real life.

You’re calling the ENTIRE humanity before us STUPID…

So I have a question for you… You say: “for centuries lgbtq+ people have been called slurs, demonized even KILLED because of their sexuality” and you say “nothing like that has happened to straight people”. Now… Don’t you think there is a REASON why all these centuries people thought of lgbt+ as abnormal? Do you really think all these BILLIONS and BILLIONS of people that have lived on the Earth for CENTURIES just thought of lgbt+ as abnormal for absolutely NO REASON?!

Again: I don’t hate gays and don’t feel any need to discriminate them, in case you still thought I did after I already told you a hundred times I didn’t.

Look, I don’t justify the fact that people were killed because of whatever they thought they were or liked and I have said that before. I think they should have human (I repeat: HUMAN) rights and that they should be protected by the government in the country they live in (as long as they act normally, of course, but that applies to everyone). So if they’d get abused or they’d beaten up, the perpetrators should be punished! If people want to make decisions or changes to themselves, it’s their problem. That’s why I also wouldn’t hurt or scold anyone who’s – for example – gay. I fact, some of my very own friends are gay and they know how I think about it, but we have no problems with each other at all. So don’t pretend like I’M the one causing others frustration or whatever!

The problem.

And that’s why I think I should clarify myself one more time: I’m not against gay people. That’s their choice. What I am against is the lgbt+ AGENDA that is being executed (and that too is why I definitely wouldn’t support the lgbt+ community and why I openly said that on my account). I’m against the forcing of changing mankind’s morality. It’s totally fine (to me, at least) if you want to have an opinion, but why all that pushy hassle?! And now it even goes far beyond imposing opinions. Entire cities are changed. I know why and I’ll speak about this more extensively later on, but I’ll first finish my respond to what you’ve said.

I believe you are mistaken about your own goal.

You claim that gay pride is all to make sure gay people will have the same rights as straight people, right? I know many people do. Well, let me tell you something: the way you’re trying to achieve that WON’T change the fact that it’s illegal to be part of the lgbt+ community in some countries! Waving rainbow flags, painting rainbow zebra crossings and creating wall paintings of two men (like I have all seen more than once in my very own hometown and much, MUCH more in the capital city of the country I live in) won’t change a SHIT about what’s happening in faraway countries. And I can tell you another thing: in the places where all these changes for lgbt+ people are made, lgbt+ people already HAVE the same rights! So if you REALLY want to change anything in some country on the other side of the world, GO OVER THERE and try to convince them to treat lgbt+ people differently!

More than just normalizing (whether you acknowledge that or not).

But NO. That’s NOT what you all do. You wave all these flags and stuff here for another reason, because – like I said – lgbt+ people ARE accepted by the community in these countries and waving flags won’t change a thing ANYWHERE even IF it hadn’t already been legalized here. You wave these flags, paint these rainbow zebra crossings and create these wall paintings of two men because lgbt+ is already normalized here, but the lobby who created this agenda wanted people to take it much further than just normalizing the lgbt+ community. That’s also why it’s not called gay “normal”, but gay “pride” and why you all celebrated an entire “pride month”. That’s also why I spoke earlier about you all praising, glorifying or even WORSHIPPING the lgbt+ community now.

So DON’T try to convince me…

… that all these rainbow stuff and same-sex paintings are to reduce discrimination of lgbt+ people (which I, for the record, am also against, but I’ve already explained that before), because it’s NOT. It already IS not allowed to discriminate lgbt+ people in these countries and on social media and you guys are NOT trying to change anything in countries where being gay is illegal, because that would be happening over THERE and not over HERE.

About the next message:

Once again, I know (a couple of reasons) why the lobby wants you all to wave rainbow flags etc. etc., but I’ll speak about that more at some other point in the next (extremely long) message, in which I – like I said earlier – will also respond to someone who texted me in a private chat.

So this is where the first part of my message ends. You’ll hear more of me about this some other time…

#writing about lgbt+ stuff again #and there is more to come #but not now #because i've been kinda busy lately

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adrenaline-roulette · 3 years

Text

Four Eighths

Pairing: Four x Eight (Reader) Word Count: 8K+ (She’s a doozy!) Warnings: Language, angst, very basic medical procedures *Disclaimer: Hey again guys, so sorry about the delay with this chapter. But I’ll admit, I actually got this posted a lot sooner than I thought I would! So kudos to me I guess? I just want to say a huge thank you to all of those who have been with this story since the beginning, and those who have joined us along the way. This isn’t the end of this story, but I just want to let you all know how much you all mean to me. And please remember, if you read this story and you like it, give it a like, a comment and maybe even a reblog if you think your followers may like it? I know there isn’t much happening in the 6 Underground fandom these days, but the only way to keep it alive, is if people keep reading and writing for the characters!

All my love my dudes ❤❤❤

Probably best if you check out the other chapters first..... One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten

Chapter Eleven: Don’t let me fall, at least not alone

“Four? Can you hear me?” Billy felt weak, and highly disoriented. His head was spinning, as if he actually was fighting a migraine, unlike the one he was supposed to be faking…. Faking, why was he faking a migraine again? “Four, stay with us!” The voice continued calling out, though why was this person yelling out a number? A name sure, he could understand that. But calling out random numbers? That just served to confuse him more.

“Four, god dammit! Keep your fucking eyes open!” This was a new voice now, one which sounded just as Billy’s eyes had slowly drifted closed against the harsh fluorescent lights above him. How strange, surely these people weren’t addressing him were they?

“Four, please just stay with us a little longer! Five, how are you going with those injections?” The same voice from before was firing orders, her voice holding an edge of fear and concern. Suddenly a shadow appeared above his closed eyes, and carefully he peeled them open, relieved to not be greeted with bright lights, and instead by a shadowed figure. “Billy, please just keep your eyes open for me. You’re going to be fine, I swear.” She was whispering to him, or at least that’s what it sounded like. Though it was hard to be sure, especially as he struggled to keep his eyes from falling shut once more.

How had things turned out like this? The last thing he could recall, was speaking with a woman dressed in white at a reception desk. Then it had all gone blank for him.

*****

You paced around the small living room of the house you had all been calling base for the past few weeks, sucking in deep breath after deep breath, all the while clutching your arms around yourself in a tight embrace. “Nope, I can’t do it. I cannot do this guys!”

Two looked up at you from her gossip magazine, having taken great pleasure in the abundance of French reading material. She was the only one of you in the group to have settled into your temporary accommodation, and was fitting in with the locals perfectly. Rolling her eyes at your outburst, she returned to her reading. It wasn’t that she was being unsupportive, far from it actually. It was just that she had reached her limit of words of support, forty odd minutes ago, at the beginning of your breakdown.

“Yes, you can. You know you can! We’ve been over the plan hundreds of times now, everything is in place. Weapons are stored in the hospital, the Lushnick’s are there, we’ve seen them! Everything is working out according to plan. Four will be on his way to Emergency within a few hours, then it’s all up to us. We can’t leave him.” It was One’s turn to play reassurer this time around, and he was the first to raise Four as if knowing it would get a rise out of you.

You whirl on the spot, eyes growing wide and pupils blown. “I never suggested we leave Four! I ju– I just don’t know if this mission is a good idea is all?”

One sighed, squaring his shoulders before smoothing his hands down his turquoise scrubs. “Eight, if you had one shot, or one opportunity. To seize everything you ever wanted in one moment, would capture it? Or just let it slip?”

You stare at One, blinking slowly as silence fills the room. “Is – Was that Eminem?” You stammer, shaking your head gently, as if to clear the fog which had settled there. Surely you were mistaken, One couldn’t be quoting Lose yourself, right?....

“Does it make it any better or worse knowing this isn’t the first time he’s used that as a motivational speech?” Seven grins, winking at you impishly.

“I think what makes it worse is knowing that no matter what reaction he got last time, he still decided to try it again!”

“Touché, and dude, get yourself a better speech already!” Seven smirks, patting One on the shoulder as he walks by and towards the kitchen. His uniform shirt half buttoned as he goes.

“Why does everyone know that song straight away?” One groans, looking genuinely confused.

“Because it’s the bloody 2020’s! And not to hate on Slim or anything, but for the love of god, replace your ipod shuffle, and listen to some new music. Please!” You plead, as the startling thought of One thinking lose yourself was a new song creeped its way into your mind, causing you to shudder.

Five steps out of the bathroom, a cloud of steam billowing out behind her. Looking like the absolute goddess she is, with her hair wrapped in a fluffy towel, and a robe concealing her, she fixes you with a strong look. “Eight. You are ready for this. Upon our first mission, we were all terrified. But we pulled through, one way or another we did what needed to be done, and look where we are now. I know what you’re feeling, we all do. We’ve all been there, trust me. But the only way this will work, the only way we will be able to get to the Lushnick’s, is if we stick together and work this mission just as we’ve planned. That means all of us. We can’t be a member short, not this time.” Without waiting for your response, Five walks away, closing a bedroom door behind her.

You have no response, no witty retort. Nothing. Not that it would matter, Five wasn’t there to hear it anyway. Chewing on your bottom lip, you turn back to One, who still looked somewhat put out by your ipod comment. “Has anyone seen my uniform?”

*****

Just after 11am, Billy made his way to the hospital and into the Emergency department, cradling his head between his palms, and groaning in mock agony. His earpiece was safely tucked in his ear, providing him contact with his team. Contact which he had been severely missing these past few weeks. At first it had been bearable, what with your secret texts on your burner phone. But when One had arrived at the safe house, it had been harder to sneak messages, until finally they had ceased all together. But hearing your voice now, ringing through his ears, he felt like he was home. Despite walking into a hospital.

“Genevieve Lushnick is on the move. Last seen leaving Ward 11A.” You advise everyone.

“She finished her rounds in Paediatrics much earlier, not sure where she’s headed now.” Five recalls, the sounds of crying infants in the background of her voice.

“Usually her roster would have her checking on Geriatrics in Ward 7B next. But She’s already been there. That was her second visit of the day.” Seven advises, though he sounds confused. To be fair, so does everyone else. Genevieve was changing up her routine, something she hadn’t done at all during their surveillance of her. So why now?

“Hold on, let me see if I can track her down through the live camera feeds.” You suggest, the sounds of your fingers flying across a keyboard breaking the silence which followed.

Billy’s concentration on the conversation happening in his ear is cut off by a woman dressed in white sat at the Emergency reception desk. A nurse from the looks of her. “Bonjour, comment puis-je vous aider?” She blinks wide amber eyes up at Billy, who stares back confusedly.

“Uh, En-English?” A part of him wants to chastise himself for not learning French for this mission. But knowing he was playing the part of a tourist he allowed himself some leeway in the preparation department.

The nurse smiles further, though the more teeth she shows the more forced it looks. “Of course. How may I help you today sir?”

“I just flew in a few days ago, and I have an awful headache. I’ve never experienced anything like it before. All lights are too bright, I feel weak, my head is pounding, and I feel nauseas.”

“Has this just begun, or is this an ongoing issue?”

“No, it just started this morning. I took a couple of paracetamol to help when I woke up, but they’ve done nothing.”

The nurse nods her head, looking down at her computer, as Billy adds in a groan for effect. Just as the nurse asks for personal details, One appears from the behind the desk. “Goodness, what’s wrong with this man? He looks like death on two legs!”

Billy repeats what he had just told the nurse, with One nodding along, and playing every part the good doctor. “You need to be seated immediately. Someone, bring me a wheelchair!” One calls in the direction of the wardsmen who are stood around the waiting room. “Jennifer, you need to be more familiar with signs of a migraine. This young man, what was your name sir?”

“James.” Billy moans, falling back into the wheelchair once it appears behind him, laying his head back for added effect.

“Yes, James could have collapsed at any moment. Please be more mindful next time.” One warns, a harsh glare in his eyes directed at the young nurse.

“O-of course Doctor Cleavers. It won’t happen again.”

Billy can barley contain his smirk at the sound of One’s alias, covering his attempted chuckle with a well-timed groan.

“Does anyone have eyes on Gregory?” Two whispers harshly into her earpiece, causing Billy to flinch slightly, just as one does the same. Christ, Two needs to keep her tone down!

It’s Three’s turn to respond first now, who sounds quite proud of himself as he speaks. “He’s up in theatres, doing God knows what to God knows who.” The sound of a trolley filled with rattling dishes being pushed, barely making his mumbled voice audible.

One moves around behind Billy, kicking up the brake on the wheelchair, and pushing him towards the swipe pass activated doors, leading to the Emergency treatment area. The deafening silence flowing through both his and Billy’s earpieces cause the two men to glance at each other nervously.

“How long ago did you see Gregory heading to theatres?” You ask, an edge of worry hinting at your tone.

Yet another long pause, until. “During breakfast rounds… I suppose two hours ago, maybe?” Three no longer sounds sure of himself, which sets in a sinking feeling in all those on the team.

“He was scheduled to finish surgery one hour ago. Has anyone seen him this past hour?” You snap back, perhaps more of a bite in your words than you had intended.

“Negative.” Replies One in a quiet voice, while smiling at fellow doctors as he pushed Billy.

“No.” That was Two.

“Nope.” Five now, who had been awfully quiet so far.

“Neither.” Three mumbles, likely feeling as dejected as he sounded.

“Well you know I haven’t.” Billy smirks. It was a risk him speaking to the group like this, but currently with his head tilted back, and staring up at the ceiling as he was being wheeled down a corridor, no one really paid any attention to him.

“I’ve only seen Genevieve. The two haven’t been together all morning sorry.” Seven whispers.

“Fuck me…” You breathe out, slamming your fists down on the desk. “I can’t see either of them on the live feeds!”

Carefully, Billy lifts his head once again, turning over his shoulder to peer up at One, who was frowning and staring dead ahead. “Is there a problem Doctor Cleavers?” He mumbles, keeping the act up for anyone who may pass.

“There very well may be.” One mutters, only glancing down at Billy for a brief moment.

The two continue down the corridor for another few minutes, the bright clinical lights beginning to bring on a genuine headache for Billy now. Finally, they come to a stop in a large treatment room, multiple beds lining the walls, all encircled by blue curtains. Some had been drawn for patient’s privacy, while others remained opened. In the centre of the room was a large desk where Nurses and Doctors hurried to and from, collecting and depositing various prescriptions and clinical orders. “James, are you able to stand to bring yourself over to the bed?” One asks, raising his voice enough to somewhat put on a show for those nearby.

The temptation to ask One to pick him up is almost too great to pass up, but knowing that somehow it would come back to haunt him, Billy opts for standing himself. “I think I can manage, thank you Doc.” Standing slowly, Billy pivots on the spot, and shuffles over to the bed, hoisting himself up and laying back.

“We’ll need to bring your fluids up, I’m worried about you becoming dehydrated. We’ll need to cannulate you. Have you ever had a cannula before?” One asks, waving for a nurse to come and assist him.

“No, I don’t think I have.”

“Not to worry, it’s relatively quick and painless.”

The nurse hurries over, and listens as One fires orders at him, orders which he had picked up from watching medical shows, mostly scrubs…. “We need James on a drip ASAP, get that started now!”

“Right away Doctor Cleavers.” The nurse agrees, before moving off to grab the necessary equipment.

Billy turns his attention to One, raising his eyebrows in concern. “Are you seriously going to stick a needle in me?” He hisses, emerald eyes flashing in fear.

One shrugs lightly, turning away from Billy to keep an eye out for the nurse. “Well, I’m not going to be injecting you. Can’t say the same for the nurse though.”

Billy wants to scream, at no stage during the briefings had there been any mention of him having a needle jabbed into him! Hell, if there had been any discussions of such a thing, he likely would’ve backed out! Perhaps that was why there was no mention? The nurse reappears, and preps his work station, all the while One, or Doctor Cleavers stays around to supervise the proceedings, occasionally chiming in with his theories as to what the cause for his sudden pain could be.

“Four! One! They’re coming!” Your voice breaks through the stinging sensation of the needle, panic flying through Billy’s veins. “The Lushnick’s! I finally found them on the cameras, they’re headed straight for-” Your voice is broken by puffing breaths, and the sound of your feet pounding on the tiles as you sprint from somewhere else in the hospital.

“Emergency.” Billy finishes, as the two people who he had been staring at photographs of for months now, strut into the treatment room, patients and doctors alike parting like the red sea as the couple head towards Billy and One. Four sets of eyes meet, and no member of either team is willing to break concentration.

“We’ve been expecting you.” Genevieve grins, her canine teeth almost too pointed, like fangs brushing against her ruby painted lips.

“Thank you, Eric, you’ve done a wonderful job here.” Gregory turns to the nurse and nods his head, the nurse returning the gesture and leaving the group.

“Eight for Four, come in Four!” Your voice shouts in his ear, causing Billy to flinch away.

“Ah, that must be the rest of your team I take it? Not to worry, we have our people taking care of them as we speak.” Genevieve shrugs, before turning to One. “Seeing as you’re so good at playing Doctor, you’ll be pushing your friend. He won’t be awake much longer. I would hate for him to collapse.”

At these words, Billy shoots up on the bed, his head spinning as he does so. “What the fuck does that mean?”

Genevieve waves him off, her nails painted the same shimmering ruby as her lips. “Surely you don’t expect me to give away our secrets? That’s not how people like us work.”

One steps behind Billy’s bed, and begins driving it forwards, following behind the Lushnick’s with a scowl. Billy could see the wheels in his mind turning, as he tried to formulate a plan of escape, though from every way he looked at it, they were pretty well fucked. He could feel his body growing tired, and his mind becoming clouded and dazed, whatever they had given him, it was taking over his body quickly, and any minute now he would be useless to the team.

*****

Fuck! The entire team had lost the Lushnick’s! How did that even happen? Seven was supposed to be trailing them, he had been doing so every other day perfectly, but what the fuck had gone wrong today? Your fingers fly across the keyboard, frantically switching between all the cameras in the hospital. Some provided a live feed, while others only offered playback, but at this point in time you would take what you could get. Window after window pops open on your monitor, squinting at the slightly pixelated images to try and identify who was being filmed.

“There!” You practically scream, causing one of the guards walking past your office to jump, turning a concerned look your way. “Sorry, just uh – finally got a fly that’s been harassing me all morning.” You blurt out, though with a shrug, the guard walks on, either having bought the lie or not caring enough to question it further. You gaze back at the image on your screen, it was from one of the playback cameras. Both Gregory and Genevieve were spotted seven minutes ago in one of the staff only corridors, leading between the imaging department and emergency. “Seven minutes…. How long does it take to get there?”

“Three! Come in Three!”

“Bloody hell, no need to yell Eight. What is it?”

“On your delivery route, how long does it usually take to get between X-ray and Emergency?”

Three pauses to think, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth as he does so. “Roughly twenty minutes.”

“We’re fucked.”

“What? What does that mean?!”

You ignore the frantic questions streaming from Three, the others shortly joining in with their own confusion. But you didn’t have time to address their concerns, right now there was only one thing on your mind. Beating the Lushnick’s to the Emergency room. With your heart hammering in your chest, and breathing coming out in desperate gasps you turn back to your computer, snaking your way into the hospital power grid.

You know how to do this, it’s just like what you did for your museum heist way back when you had met One. But for some reason, your brain can’t seem to summon the image of what you need to do. You could try a keyboard smash now that you’re in the controls, but that could seriously damage literally everything… “Come on, just think dammit.” You snarl at yourself, clasping your hands into fists, and pressing them against your temples.

Eyes springing open, you fix a harsh glare at the blinking screen before you, asking for a password. “Y’all Lushnick’s are fucked.” The password it simple to guess, trust the Lushnick’s to use their fucking last name as a password. They may be smart in what they do, but they sure as hell know nothing about internet security. The screen turns black, with a 3D model of the hospital slowly building itself on your screen. With each scroll of your mouse, the model shifts, and enlarges to a new section of the hospital. A blinking blue bar in the top left of the screen offers a text space, and going on a hunch, you type in ‘Geriatrics’ and press enter. The model disintegrates into tiny pixels, before rebuilding just the section you had searched. “Brilliant…” You whisper to yourself.

The geriatrics ward of the hospital consisted of one main power source, with a backup which would boot up and provide energy to the most necessary equipment and lights in the event of the main grid failing. “Five for Eight, come in?”

“Eight here, what’s going on?”

“I’m being followed. There’s security blocking off just about every exit on this floor, and no matter where I go, there’s someone behind me, or waiting for me.”

“Has anyone else got this issue?” You call out, eagerly awaiting replies. There’s a resounding yes in response, with the only discrepancy coming from Seven.

“A couple of guards caught up to me in 11B, they’ve brought me along to help catch the infiltrators.”

“So they don’t know you’re a part of this?”

“Seems like it. And from what I gather, they aren’t onto you either…”

“Perfect, Seven stay with your team. There’s about to be a Code Blue in geriatrics. I’ll put the call through to all security to get to the ward, that should give the rest of you time to escape. Rendezvous in Staff corridor D.”

You don’t wait to hear the replies from your team, once again your body working quicker than your mind. Your hands already working on shutting down the power to the Geriatrics ward. You should feel worse than you do, you were putting innocent people’s lives at risk. But the one thing which had been drilled into you from the begging was, the team comes first wherever possible. It was Seven who insisted on this. But who were you to argue with him?

Your eyes are glued to your screen as you watch a warning light appear over the 3D model you had been working with. ‘WARNING! Main power grid will be turned off. WARNING!’ It was rather polite of the system to warn you of the damage you were about to inflict, however the flashing red image did little to stop you. With one final mouse click, a new pop up appeared on your screen. This one somehow even more urgent, despite no red flashing lights. ‘WARNING! Main power grid for geriatrics has now been turned off. Back up system now operating.’ An alarm was blaring throughout your office, warning you and all security who remained nearby of a system failure. “All units. Repeat, all units to Geriatric ward immediately. Power failure. All units report.” You instruct through the P/A system.” Instantly, you watch as two security guards’ race past your office, down the hall and towards the stairwell.

“Five, have they gone? Can you get out?” You ask carefully, keeping your voice low in case of any security stragglers.

“Yeah, they’ve all gone now. Jesus Eight, what kind of a system failure did you make?” You can hear her laughing now, though you know the doctor side of her is genuinely concerned as to what chaos you had caused.

“Nothing that should cause any real harm, but it’s done the trick.” You smirk, locking your computer and stepping out of the office.

You knew the security alert wouldn’t deter the Lushnick’s, hell even if the building was on fire, you doubt they would stray from their current target. But if your calculations were correct, you still had at least five minutes to warn One and Four of their impending arrival. Your heavy combat boots pound against the tiles, sprinting your way towards corridor D, praying the others would already be there, or at least arriving soon. Pressing your index finger against your earpiece, your voice sounding frantic even to you. “Four! One! They’re coming!”. They had time, they had to have time….. But with no response from either, you try again. “The Lushnick’s! I finally found them on the cameras, they’re headed straight for Emergency!”

Nothing, not a single word from Four or One. This wasn’t right, they were supposed to have time still, plenty of time to get out of Emergency and meet you and the team. But as you round the corner to Staff corridor D, there’s no One, and sure as hell no Billy. “Thank God you got here alright!” Five gasps, running over to you and wrapping her arms around you. You had never known her to be much of a hugger, but you suppose high stakes situations like this could change a person. Checking over her shoulder you spot Three, Seven, and Two all talking amongst themselves. “Where’re Four and One?” You ask timidly, stepping away from Five’s embrace slowly, and looking between her and the rest of the team.

No one seems inclined to answer you, which only serves to send a deep chill down your spine, and for a solid mass to feel as if it had been lodged in your throat. Pressing on your earpiece again, you try calling for the two again. “Eight for Four and One, come in both of you.”

There’s again no reply, and your heart feels like it’s being strangled. “I heard some of the guards talking. There was talk of a couple of intruders being found…” Seven begins, his dark eyes meeting yours, with a look which could only be described as true sympathy.

Sharp, electric static echoes through your teams ears, all earpieces but yours going haywire for five seconds, before silence once more. “What the fuck was that?” Three snarls, ripping the piece out and glaring at it between his large fingers.

An all too familiar voice speaks slowly now in your ear, but as you look around you realise this voice was only speaking to you. No one else could hear her. “Well, who do we have here. You’re not the Doctor, I would recognise her voice anywhere. And you’re obviously not the French one, unless you’ve managed to disguise your accent, which I truly doubt. So who are you…”

“I’m not playing any of your sick little games Genevieve. Where is the rest of my team?” You hiss, causing the others to look up and over to you.

“Eight? What’s going on?” Two asks carefully, stepping towards you slowly.

“Who are you talking to? Three asks, lifting his brows up.

“Ah, see. There’s the French one! I knew you had to be someone else! Eight was it? Oh how interesting. So what, did another one of your team die? Is that why you’re here?”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about! I’m not someone’s replacement.”

“Oh aren’t you? Well that just makes this even more special then doesn’t it? Tell me, which one of these charming young men is Four who you seem so concerned about? Is it this ruggishly handsome tall fellow who keeps glaring at me? Or is it the pretty blonde, with the gorgeous green eyes, who’s having a hard time staying awake right now?” It’s an involuntary reaction, but at the mention of Four, your breath catches in your throat, causing a small gasp to escape your lips. “Ah, the blonde it is..”

“What have you done to him? What can’t he stay awake?”

“My my, so many questions! If you didn’t want anything to happen to him, then maybe you shouldn’t have used him a bait silly little girl!”

“Where the fuck is he?”

“I suppose I could tell you, it would be rather enjoyable to see the look on your face as we operate on him, while there’s nothing you can do about it…”

You don’t wait to hear anymore, ripping the earpiece out and throwing it as far down the corridor as possible. “Theatres. The Lushnick’s have Four and One. They’re about to do something to Four.” You gasp out, barely able to catch your breath, as tears prick the backs of your eyes.

“Shhh, Eight it’s going to be fine, I promise.” Five offers, soothing her palm down your back gently.

“Don’t you dare make empty promises.” You growl, shaking her off and racing down the hall, towards the stairwell.

*****

“What have you given him?” One growls, glaring between both the Lushnick’s and Four who lay on an operating table, barely moving and occasionally groaning. He rattled his arm against the handcuffs which kept him bound to a side railing. He was completely useless, both to himself and to his teammate.

Genevieve turned to him now, regarding him with a cold stare. “I hardly see why that matters now? You can’t do anything to help him, especially not in your current predicament.” She chuckles darkly, before turning her attention back to Gregory. The man barely spoke a word, but the sick sadistic smile which had been growing across his lips these past few minutes, was enough for One to get a better sense of his character.

“At least tell me what you’re going to do to him!” One tries again. He was running out of questions, and by the looks of things, time too. He had hoped he would be able to keep the Lushnick’s occupied long enough for you and the rest of the team to get here, but ever since Genevieve finished her conversation with you, she seemed all the more eager to get this started.

“Well that’s the fun part. Greg doesn’t know yet! Here’s how this works. Greg cuts the patient open, has a bit of a poke and prod around. Takes out what he wants, and then stitches ‘em back up! You never know what will be taken!” Genevieve grins, pressing a red kiss to Gregory’s cheek, who only grins broader.

One has to fight back to urge to both vomit, and throw punches, instead opting to glare at the duo. “You’re both sick, and you’re going to rot in hell once we’re through with you!”

Genevieve waves him off, turning her attention to Four, who was more unconscious than conscious now. Though he occasionally made a slight jolt, or mumbled a quiet sentence. “Should we wait until he is a bit more under before beginning the procedure?”

Gregory turned to her, lifting a brow in curiosity. “And risk the others getting here, before it’s too late for them to rescue him?”

Just as his words die off, a loud crash against the operating theatre door causes both Doctor’s to glance towards the sound. The crash was quickly followed by another, before a gunshot can be heard echoing throughout the circular room, the sound of a heavy body hitting the ground following. “Greg…..” Genevieve whispers, turning to the Doctor, as the double doors slam open. The metallic hingers screeching under the sudden movement.

“Where the fuck is my boyfriend?” You scream, pistol raised, and aimed directly at Genevieve Lushnick. Seven and Three stand beside you, each holding a gun of their own, with Three aimed at the nurses in the theatre, and Seven poised to fire upon Gregory. Two and Five stand either side of them, aiming at the guards behind them who were writhing on the ground, though they both remained vigilant for any further arrivals.

Gregory lifts a scalpel and hovers it directly above Four’s abdomen, poised and ready to cut. “Ah, you must be Eight.” Genevieve grins, taking a careful step towards you, as Gregory lowers the scalpel closer to Four’s bare skin.

Seven aims at the wall just above where Gregory stands, the bullet ripping a hole in the sterile room, causing Gregory to jump back almost an entire foot. “Don’t even think about trying that again.” Seven hisses, fixing the Doctor with a glare.

“Now now, there will be no need for violence.” Genevieve begins, before taking a look at the guards who were slowly bleeding out in the entry way. “At least, no more violence that is.” She steps forwards again, fixing you with an interested eye. “My goodness you look familiar. Have we met before?”

“I’m positive I would recall meeting someone as wicked and vile as you.” You spit, keeping your pistol trained on your target, your eyes following her every step.

“Hm, yes I suppose so.” You were now engaged in an odd type of dance, Genevieve was slowly circling around you, and you followed her every move, moving in a circle on the spot. “This is where the negotiations begin, I imagine.”

“There will be no negotiations. You tell us what you gave Four, you let him go, and we take you to the authorities who will make sure you both rot in a prison cell for the rest of your sorry lives.”

Genevieve shakes her head no, still walking in her slow circle around you. From an outside perspective, it was that of a lion circling its prey, though to your perspective, you had the upper hand. Or at least, you had the weapon. “No, you see that doesn’t work for us.”

“Fine. You tell us what you gave Four, you let him go, and we kill you both right here, right now.”

Genevieve shakes her head again, looking over to Gregory who was clutching the scalpel for dear life. “Eight, something’s wrong…” One calls, looking over to Four. The young man was beginning to convulse on the operating table. His skin was flushed in tiny pinprick sized red dots, and his chest was rising and falling in rapid laboured breaths.

You chance a glance over to Four, and your heart stops. Something was horrendously wrong. “Five, go check on him!” You screech, turning your full attention back on Genevieve as Five races past you. In a split second, you pocket your gun in the back of your jeans, and lurch forwards, fists griping into the collar of Genevieve’s shirt. You hold the fabric with such ferocity the seams popping in her shirt is almost audible, but your blood is pumping too loudly in your ears for you to hear. “Tell me what you gave him!” You’re practically screaming now, directly in her face, yet Genevieve doesn’t seem phased at all. She was used to outbursts such as this, granted they were typically from a grieving mother or father, and not someone threatening her life, but none the less, it felt like just another day in the office.

“Not until we strike a deal!”

There’s only one thing running through your mind as your eyes lock onto Genevieve’s, the training fight you had had with Three all those months ago. Only this time, there was no one fighting back, you had the power. Your leg steps behind Genevieve’s left, and you sweep out with your entire weight, releasing her collar just as her knees gives way and buckle beneath her weight, and she crumbles to the ground bellow you, her back smacking the hard tiled floor with a crack. Instantly, you’re on top of her, kneeling down against her stomach and pinning her to the ground.

“You bitch!” She shrieks, coughing as she attempts to regain the breath you had knocked out of her, though with almost your entire weight leaning into her now, it was unlikely she would.

“I’m terribly sorry. I guess I lost my footing.” You smirk, pressing your knee harder against her. Causing Genevieve to cry out in pain.

Gregory races forwards, his scalpel dropping to the ground in his haste. “Get off of her!” He calls, wrapping her palms over your shoulders and attempting to tear you away.

Three steps in, shoulder barging him in the stomach and sending the Doctor crashing to the ground beside his wife.

“Guys! I think Four’s having a severe allergic reaction to whatever concoction he was pumped full of!” Five yells, a stethoscope looped around her neck, as her frantic eyes meet yours. “Is he allergic to anything you know of?”

You stare back at Five, your mind going completely blank, you feel like a deer caught in headlights. Surely Four would’ve told you if he had any allergies, right? And perhaps he had done just that, but standing here now, with all hope resting on your shoulders, you couldn’t think of a single thing which may be useful in this situation. Shaking your head, a growing sense of dread filling you, as the rest of the team remain silent. “I- I don’t know….”

“I can give him an Epipen, but I need to know what he’s either had, or what he’s allergic to so I can get him the proper antidote!”

Tearing your eyes away from Five, you look over to One, who not only felt but looked entirely useless, chained to a handrail on the opposite side of the room. Your eyes searching his for an answer. Your mission was to capture the Lushnick’s, and right now, that was exactly what you had done. But if you kept them as they were now, as prisoners, Four could die….. Was that a sacrifice you were willing to make?

All One could offer was a gentle half smile, shrugging his shoulders slightly in his compromising position. He couldn’t offer you an answer, hell you couldn’t even offer yourself an answer….

Carefully, you release some of the pressure from Genevieve’s stomach, just enough for her to look up at you in surprise, blinking wide eyes up at you. “Tell me what you gave him, and we’ll let you both go.” You mutter, fighting back the urge to swallow back your own words.

A wicked smirk unravels over Genevieve’s lips. The kind of smirk which one would associate with a wicked stepmother, or evil queen from a Disney film. “Deal.” You release more pressure from your hold on her, until she can breathe properly once more, and Three steps away from Gregory, giving the man a swift boot to the hip just to make his point. “We gave him a combination of penicillin, general anaesthetic, codeine…” Genevieve stands, as does Gregory, both stepping backwards towards the door. Your team moving out of their way upon looking at you for clarification. No one wanted to move, that much was obvious in the frantic looks the others were throwing your way. But at the same time, they all knew the price they would have to pay if they kept the Lushnick’s as they were now. A price no one was prepared for.

“There was some paracetamol mixed in too….” Genevieve continues. They were at the doorway now, hand in hand, gazing behind themselves to make sure the way was clear. “Hm, what else?”

“Gosh, I just can’t recall.” Gregory shrugs, an evil smirk crawling its way over his lips. His eyes glowing with malice. “I simply have no idea what ese they’re may have been!” He calls with enthusiasm, before both pivot on the spot, racing from the theatre.

“I’ll fucking kill you!” You shriek, your sight going red as you sprint after them down the corridor, pulling your gun out as you give chase. Genevieve looks at you over her shoulder as they reach the stairwell, regarding you with a look of familiarity.

“Eight! Eight, it’s not worth it!” Two yells from the doorway, watching you with a deep concern. She knew what you were capable of, your whole team did, but not the Lushnick’s. And from the looks of things, they didn’t care either. You stop halfway down the corridor, releasing the safety on your pistol and firing three shots at the door Gregory hand his hand pressed against. He jumps backwards in shock, glaring back at you, pure fury masking his features.

“Yes Eight, listen to your friend. She seems to be the brains of this group. We wouldn’t want you getting hurt now would we?” Genevieve snarls, baring too many teeth to be considered even remotely friendly.

Aiming the pistol once more, you line up your sights, finger hovering over the trigger. One shot, that’s all it would take. A bullet to the middle of Genevieve’s forehead would kill her instantly, and Gregory would have no choice but to surrender. “Are you going to kill me? Shall I say hello to Kellie when I see her?”

You stare at Genevieve, her words ringing through your ears, and sending a jolt of shockwaves straight down your spine. In that moment of hesitation, the Lushnick’s push through the stairwell door, and flee.

You’re paralysed on the spot, staring after where the Lushnick’s had stood moments ago. They recognised you. They knew who you were and why you wanted revenge. But how? It had been years since you last saw them, you had been a child! Surely you looked different now from back then? But they knew you! They remembered Kellie… A gun shot rings down the corridor, the sound of metal clanging to the tiled floor following directly after.

“Eight! What happened?” One yells, now free of his handcuffs, and jogging down the corridor to meet you. You hadn’t moved. Still stood with your arms raised, and gun pointed to where Genevieve had stood.

“They – They knew me.” You gulp, putting the pistol away with shaking hands, and turning to look up at One. Tears were brimming in your eyes, though you refused to let them fall. At least not yet.

“What? But how?”

“I don’t know! That’s the fucking problem.” You hiss, storming away from One back towards the theatre. Once back, chaos surrounded Four, with everyone racing around him handing various different equipment and medications to Five, as she prepped some kind of antidote perhaps. “How’s he doing?”

Five looks up at you, regarding you with a careful mix of sympathy and hope. “The EpiPen gave him enough adrenaline to wake up again, though he’s extraordinarily groggy. Now I’m just tyring to figure out exactly what to give him to counteract the other shit that’s pumping through him.”

You nod your head in thanks, knowing you would find the time to thank Five properly once all of this was over. “What can I do to help?”

“We need to try and keep him awake, he keeps coming in and out of consciousness.” Three replies, as he passes Five a vile of clear liquid.

“Four? Can you hear me?” You ask carefully, stepping over to him and squeezing his hand tightly. His warm fingers curl around yours in reply, before falling limp against your palm.

“He’s out again! Wake him up!” Five yells to those in the room.

“Four, stay with us!” You plead, pressing a soft kiss against his knuckles. To hell with anyone seeing the act of intimacy, if One wanted to give you shit for it, he could do so when you were all in the clear. Though checking the room, you can’t find One or Two for that matter, they must still be in the corridor where you had left them?

Slowly, Four blinked his eyes open, frantic emerald flickering around the room and searching for something, or someone. Just as his eyes landed on yours, they fell shut again, and his body spasmed once more.

“Four, god dammit! Keep your fucking eyes open!” It was Seven yelling this time, his voice booming above all other noises in the vast room.

“Four, please just stay with us a little longer! Five, how are you going with those injections?” You can hear the tears in your voice as you beg for him to open his eyes again, but they remain closed. Turning to look at Five, she looks frazzled. Her hair which had started in a neat, slicked back bun, was now hanging loose down her back, and was wild with frizz. She looks up at you, not quite in a glare, but with enough ferocity behind the look that you know better than to bother her anymore.

Leaning down, you card your fingers through Four’s blonde curls, brushing away a few stray locks which were plastered to his forehead with sweat. Barely more than a slit, his eyes open and stare directly up at you. “Billy, please just keep your eyes open for me. You’re going to be fine, I swear.”

Three looks over at you, his ears perking up at the use of his teammates real name. It was one thing to use names in privacy back home. But during a mission, however failed that mission may be, now that was new. Shaking his head, he spots One and Two heading over, but with grim looks on their faces. “What’s the plan?” Two asks, her eyes locking with Three’s.

“There isn’t one, not really. We just need to keep him awake.” Five sighs. “I think I know what to give him to help, but I want him awake when I administer it. If it works correctly then it should knock him out for a bit. If he’s already unconscious when I give it to him, then I won’t know if it’s doing more harm than good.”

One turns his attention over to you now, lifting one brow as you meet his gaze. “Any idea what will keep him awake?”

You pause, clutching Four’s hand tightly, and staring blankly at One. “Trivia. He loves random trivia facts!” You blurt out after a beat of pause. All eyes turn to you in surprise, no one quite knowing how to respond to this information. You shrug lightly, averting your gaze from One’s. “We play a lot of trivial pursuit back at base.”

Seven is the first to break the silence, though not to mock you as you had thought would be the case. Instead, he looks down at Four. “Hey mate, did you know high heels were originally invented for men. Imagine Three chasing down the Lushnick’s in stilettos.” He laughs, which causes Four to stir slightly, his eyes opening just a tad.

“Fuck, you’re right. That did work.” One blinks in surprise, running a hand through his short hair.

“Of course it did. I know Four, I know what works on him.” You mutter quietly.

Without looking up, Five smirks to herself. “You sure do kid.”

There’s no fighting the embarrassment which claws within you. Perhaps now wasn’t the time to be making suggestive comments… “Alright, keep ‘em coming guys!”

“Um okay…. Uh, Canada has more lakes than anywhere in the world.” Seven offers unsurely.

“Those greedy fucks….” Four moans, causing everyone to pause, before laughing quietly. Good, his sense of humour was still intact, that’s surely a good sign!

Two steps closer, and looks down at Four in deep concentration, before leaning back slightly. “David Bowie, he did not in fact have two different coloured eyes. One of his pupils was permanently dilated after he was punched in the eye during an argument over a girl.”

“Bugger me, really?” Five pipes up, both brows raised in surprise. “I always thought he had one blue and one brown eye.” She shrugs, priming a syringe carefully.

Slowly, Four was waking up. Granted he wasn’t exactly moving very much, but his eyes were opening, and he was grinning somewhat at the facts that were being thrown at him.

Staring down at Billy, something pops into your mind, a fact which you had learnt years ago at school but never shared with anyone else. “Okay, here’s one for you. Madonna’s like a prayer, is actually not about praying, it’s about giving someone a blowjob!”

Silence follows, and you swear you could hear crickets chirping. “Why the fuck is that something you know?” Four groans quietly, his eyes searching all over your face, before finally meeting your own.

“Shit, I don’t know… I also didn’t think that would be the fact that would wake you up the most! I was hoping someone else would say something after me!” You grumble through a grin.

“Nothing could possibly beat that fact.” Four chuckles weakly, squeezing your hand as tightly as he could muster.

Five turns around, holding a full syringe in her right hand, and a sterile swab in the other. “Glad you’re awake. What I’m about to give you however, is going to send you right back to sleep. Sorry about that. But I assure you, next time you wake up, you’re going to feel amazing.” She grins, ripping open the swab, and swiping it over the inside of his elbow.

For the second time that day, Four winces in pain as a needle plunges through his skin. Squeezing his eyes shut against both the sight of the injection, and the stinging pain. Whatever Five had given him was fast acting, and soon enough Four finds it nearly impossible to reopen his eyes now that he’s closed them.

“Move him into the wheelchair there, it’ll be easier than carrying him out of here.” You suggest, pointing to the blue cushioned wheelchair in the corner of the room.

One, Three and Seven all nod their agreement, and move around the operating table, getting into position to lift Four. “Count of three…. One, two, three.” Three instructs, as the men lift Four who simply groans in protest. You watch his limp body be carried across the room, your heart aching at the sight. ‘It could be worse… He’s just asleep.’ You repeat to yourself, once again fighting back the tears which had remained ever present at the corners of your eyes.

Three pushes the wheelchair as you all follow in a daze. Your mind felt as if it were a million miles away from the current situation. For the briefest of moments, you had genuinely considered murdering Genevieve. Never once had you thought yourself capable of doing such a thing. But yet, there you had been. Gun poised, and trigger finger rearing to go. If it hadn’t of been for her words, then she would be dead…

The escape route was an easy one, especially with security still trying to figure out what had gone wrong on the geriatrics ward still. Swiping the keys to an ambulance at the docking bay, you load Four inside the back with Five to monitor him. One drives, Three and Two sitting beside him up the front. While you and Seven sit quietly in the back. Occasionally your focus returns to Four, but mostly you stare out of the back windows, watching as traffic zips around you. You nearly killed someone today… What sort of a person were you becoming? And did you even like the person you were turning into?

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rexisnotyourwriter · 3 years

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by @rexalexander and @postcardsanddaydreaming

After the Atlanta child murders, the Behavioral Science Unit is as busy as ever. With a new team member by their side, they take on what feels like a growing number of active serial killers as well as continue their interviews of already incarcerated subjects. Bill tries to track down Nancy and Brian with the hopes of repairing his marriage, while Wendy tries to take on a more active role in their research with an eager budding protégé at her side.

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Notes: As always, thanks to my beta fish @hardythehermitcrab

Chapter 2: Feeling Like a Loner

The bell rang. The class full of children emptied in a flurry of squeals. The teacher breathed a sigh of relief, but stopped when she noticed she wasn’t alone. A pair of mousy braids sat by the window watching her peers spill out into the playground like ants under a log. They scattered, dispersing themselves amongst the jungle gym, the hopscotch marked concrete, and the small patch of grass they called a field.

The teacher softly called her name.

They’d had this conversation before, usually ending with her forfeiting her smoke break to stay in the classroom.

The girl didn’t turn around.

“You have to go outside today,” she added. “It’s a beautiful day. And look at those clouds. I think that one looks like a cow.”

The girl didn’t move.

“Sweetie.” The teacher put a hand on her shoulder. The girl finally turned to face her. “Why don’t you go outside, hmm?”

“Why?”

“Why? Because it’s fun. Look. Look at all the fun they’re having.”

The girl looked back out the window and contemplated.

“That doesn’t look fun to me,” she concluded, matter-of-factly.

“You need to go outside today.”

“Why?”

“Because teachers need a break, too, and I can’t supervise you in here,” she responded bluntly.

“Oh,” the girl replied. “Okay.”

She got up from her seat and grabbed her neatly folded cardigan from the cubby.

Once outside, she found a good vantage point - a mostly flat rock at the edge of the field where she can see most of the schoolyard.

A group of boys were playing jacks. They’d made it to foursies, from what she could tell. Another boy hovered around them asking to join, but they ignored him.

The girl turned away from them and took a rubber ball out of the front pocket of her overalls. She bounced it against the ground on her own. Then, she turned back to the boys, still steadily bouncing her ball. She watched. When the time was right, she launched her ball into their game, knocking the jacks out of a boy’s hand. They yelled. She caught her ball without missing a beat.

The girl smiled, then turned her attention to the jungle gym. Almost ten children were winding their bodies between the bars, some resting on levels, others climbing to the highest perch. The few children in the center looked like they were imprisoned. An acrobatic cage. One boy made it to the top, or rather almost. His feet were on the second highest bars, his hands on the highest. He put one foot up on the high bar and tested his balance, releasing the pressure on his other grounded foot. His hand slipped, but he got his grip in time to only suffer a minor embarrassment (one of his friends saw, and proceeded to laugh). The boy climbed down after that.

She looked down at her cream colored Mary Janes and tapped her toes together. In the corner of her eye, inching toward her, was a remarkably fuzzy caterpillar. It bobbed up and down like a wave, growing closer and closer to the shore of her shoe.

“I got it,” someone yelled.

Then thud.

The caterpillar disappeared under a grass stained sneaker belonging to the boy who “got it”. “It” was a rubber ball, and the boy she recognized as the one whose turn at jacks was interrupted.

He ran back to his friends, taking no notice of her or his victim. The insect, upon inspection, hadn’t been entirely crushed, and was still wriggling. She gingerly scooped it up with a sturdy leaf and rested it in one hand while she cupped her other around it like a shield. She watched it writhe with increasing intensity, then intermittently, then not at all.

--------------------------------------------------------

On the following Monday morning, Bill was surprised to see that he had beat Holden in to work.

He poked his head in Wendy’s office.

“Captain America not in yet?”

“No,” she replied, barely looking up from the page in front of her.

“Maybe he finally got lucky,” Bill joked.

He got a smirk out of her that time.

Bill turned around and, seeing that Gregg was preoccupied with a phone call, didn’t bother closing the door.

“I’m going up to talk to Gunn,” he said softly.

“Good.” She paused. “Do you know what you’re going to tell him?”

“Marital problems.”

Wendy nodded her approval.

Gregg’s voice got louder from the hallway.

“Is he still on the phone?” Wendy asked.

Bill turned to confirm. “Yup.”

Wendy closed her file.

“This is ridiculous. We can’t be expected to assist in every single murder case across the country. We can’t even keep up with the inquiries.”

“What did Gunn say?”

She rolled her eyes.

“I haven’t really mentioned it, not explicitly. He’s not exactly receptive to my ideas. Knowing him, he would probably ask why Gregg was the one dealing with it and suggest I take over secretarial duties.”

“He’s not that bad, is he?”

Wendy’s eyes flicked up at him. Her look said it all.

“I’ll talk to him,” Bill decided. “Tell him we need to hire someone.”

“Thank you.”

He nodded.

Holden speed walked into the office, his forehead glistening with sweat.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Bill greeted.

Wendy got up from her desk and joined Bill in the doorway.

“Sorry,” Holden muttered breathlessly.

“Is everything alright?” Wendy asked.

“What? Oh, yeah. I had to take the bus, but I forgot my wallet at home and…It’s been a morning.”

“How’s your car?”

“What happened to your car?” Bill interjected.

Holden, still exasperated, dropped his briefcase on the desk with a thud.

“It wouldn’t start when I went to leave the bar on Friday, so Wendy gave me a ride home.”

Bill threw a side-eyed glance at Wendy who wrinkled her nose in subtle disgust.

No, Bill.

“I got it towed to the shop on Saturday,” Holden continued, “but it wasn’t a dead battery. Turns out I need a new timing belt, and they couldn’t get one in until today. I have to pick it up in a couple hours because they close early, and when I called this morning it still wasn’t ready, which is why I had to take the bus. Hence…” He gestured to his state of disarray and exhaled.

“Happy Monday,” Wendy said before disappearing back into her office.

Bill got roped into a case that delayed his plan to talk to Gunn. It was almost 11am before he was finally able to go upstairs. Nearly 23 minutes later, Bill returned to the basement where Holden and Wendy appeared to be waiting for him. The pair looked at him expectantly.

“It went fine,” Bill admitted. “He gave me some sympathy about ‘the old ball and chain’ and poured me a finger of whiskey. As long as we stay on track and deliver, we’re good.”

“That’s great, Bill,” Holden said.

“And Gunn agreed about hiring an assistant,” Bill added, to Wendy’s relief. “A non-agent, but someone who can deal with the sensitive matter. He said he would talk to you about it.”

Wendy’s face dropped.

“Why me?”

Bill opened his mouth to explain, but stopped. He couldn’t find the right words.

She understood.

“Of course,” she added bitterly. Because I’m the woman.

Sometimes she missed Boston.

“Oh, shoot,” Holden exclaimed, noticing the time. “I gotta go.”

“Did you send that profile to Osborn?” Bill asked.

“Yeah, I just faxed it over,” he replied, already halfway out the door.

“Kids,” Bill joked, shaking his head.

“So, how’d it really go?” Wendy inquired.

“It really did go fine,” he replied sincerely. “Better than expected, honestly.”

“But?”

Bill sat on the edge of the desk.

“I guess I still feel…uneasy about the situation with Brian. How would it look if the FBI found out my kid was involved in a murder.”

“But he wasn’t, Bill. They concluded he wasn’t responsible. It’s on the record.”

“I know. And I know that logically he thought the cross was a good idea,” he admitted. “I just don’t feel good about it. And now I can’t even keep an eye on him. I don’t know if he’s still wetting the bed. Or if he’s started sucking his thumb again, or if he’s spoken at all.”

Wendy offered him a sympathetic smile.

“From what you’ve told me, it seems likely that the regressions are a result of the traumatic experience. Nothing more.”

“I just feel so helpless.”

They sat in silence, neither knowing what else to say.

“If there’s anything I can do,” Wendy offered.

“Thanks. Really. I’m glad you’re around.”

Bill got up to leave.

Wendy passed by the fax machine on the way back to her office and picked up the pages of the profile Holden faxed to Alaska. She scanned the page, then stopped.

That little-

There was a knock.

“All by your lonesome, Dr. Carr?”

“Not anymore,” Wendy muttered under her breath.

She turned around to see Gunn standing in the doorway.

“I don’t know if Bill had a chance to mention it to you,” he said, making his way over to her.

“He did.”

“Good. HR has a standard secretary job posting. I’ll have them send it your way and you can let them know if there’s anything to be added. I trust you to select the applicants and conduct the interviews, but I need to sign off on the hire.”

“Isn’t this something that HR can handle on their own?”

“They don’t know what it’s like in the BSU. The intricacies of your operations. You’re the expert on that.”

She straightened her posture and folded her arms.

“You were involved in hiring Agent Smith, weren’t you?” he added, taking a few steps forward, closing the gap between them.

“Yes, but that was different,” she explained. “He’s actively involved in our work.”

“And so will the woman you hire.” She fought hard not to roll her eyes. “I thought you’d want to have a hand in who joins this team, Dr. Carr.”

“That’s -” she started, then stopped.

She took a breath.

“I feel that my time would be better spent focusing on our research,” she explained.

“And this is part of that,” Gunn stated confidently. “Everything that happens in this basement is. And beyond. All the cogs in the machine have to be well oiled and working together.”

His tone was final and his feet were already headed towards the door.

“Let me know if you haven’t gotten anything by the end of the week,” he added, already halfway out the door.

The phone rang, as if on cue.

She walked away, letting the sound echo in the empty room.

Wendy was in the break room getting her third coffee of the day when Holden returned from his errand.

“Hey, is there enough left for me?” he asked, preemptively grabbing a paper cup.

Wendy continued pouring coffee into her cup until the pot was empty. Holden looked at her cup, full to the brim. She picked it up carefully and took a sip from the top, looking Holden square in the eyes, before walking past him back to the office.

He stood there for a few seconds, stunned, before following her.

“Hey,” he called, just as she was about to enter her office.

Wendy turned around, unimpressed.

“Did I miss something?” Holden asked.

She was amused by his question, but not happy.

“Yes, Holden,” she said with more than a hint of condescension. “You missed a significant portion of my professional opinion in the Alaska profile.”

He thought for a moment, trying to remember what she could have been referring to.

“The military thing?” Her look confirmed his guess. “I thought we agreed he didn’t fit the military description.”

“I very clearly stated that it was very likely he did work at the air base.”

“Yes, but then I said I disagreed and you dropped it, so-”

“So, you took that to mean I conceded.”

“Well…”

She’d had it.

Gregg, who took notice of their dispute, removed his headphones to spectate properly, albeit discreetly.

“Look,” Holden said in a softer voice. “I don’t want to argue.”

“If you can’t tell the difference between a rational discussion and an argument-”

“Do you want me to call them?” he interrupted. “Tell them we made a mistake and we’ll send a new assessment?”

Wendy weighed this option briefly.

“No,” she concluded. “The damage is done. It won’t look good if we change our mind unless we’ve been presented with new information.”

Holden exhaled loudly. She stared him down. It didn’t appear that he’d learned this lesson.

“What’s done is done,” she added.

She retired to her office, closing the door firmly behind her.

Gregg looked up at Holden. Holden stared back, trying to think of something to say. His mind drew a blank, and he walked away, shaking his head.

The first thing Wendy did when she got home was pour herself the remainder of her bottle of Pinot Gris. It filled her glass well past the acceptable half-way point, but who was there to judge her.

The second thing she did was check her answering machine. She always tried to do it casually - just a quick glance - as if someone might be watching and think she was neurotic. The little red bulb was dark, as it always was. It seemed like a silly purchase now, slowly gathering dust like her love life.

She took a large sip of wine and opened the fridge. It was sparse. There was half a carton of eggs, an opened container of hummus, a three inch block of cheddar, and a nearly empty carton of milk next to a half full carton of orange juice. The crisper contained a bruised apple, two oranges, and a few stalks of celery.

Unmoved by her options, Wendy opened the cupboard only to find a bag of dried apricots where there would normally be cans of tuna. She once again opened the fridge and took out the cheese, an orange, and two of the celery stalks. From the cupboard, she took out the dried apricots as well as a box of crackers from the one next to it. She sliced the cheese and arranged it carefully on a plate next to a matching number of crackers. Next to the crackers was the celery, cut into sticks, followed by orange wedges and a handful of dried apricots completing the circle. She scribbled down “tuna” and “milk” on the notepad pinned to the fridge before bringing her dinner to the living room.

Wendy settled into her usual chair, curled her feet up, and turned on the television. It was quarter to the hour, right in the middle of any half-hour show and too near the end of a full hour program. She flicked channels through twice before stopping on an episode of Wheel of Fortune, which promptly went to a commercial break.

She took a bite of one of the celery sticks only to find it bitter. It hadn’t looked spoiled from the outside, but it’s hard to tell sometimes. She tossed the stick back onto her plate and grabbed an apricot to cleanse her palate. Much better.

A man from Sarasota made it to the final round, but couldn’t guess the puzzle. Wendy got it in four seconds. When the episode ended, she turned off the television and brought her briefcase back to her chair. She pulled out the file she brought home on John Wayne Gacy. The Killer Clown.

Gacy’s mug shot was more unique than most. He was looking away from the camera, off to the side, and smiling. It was as if he was having a pleasant conversation with one of the officers when they snapped his picture. He didn’t look nice per se, however he wasn’t glistening with sweat. This wasn’t surprising though, considering he admitted he knew he was going to be arrested. And he confessed willingly, although it was only after police had found the remains in his crawl space.

Wendy read through the details of the first convicted murder, Timothy McCoy - formerly known as the “Greyhound Bus Boy”. Gacy had left a family party to go look at a display of ice sculptures, then decided to lure the 16-year-old to his car from the Chicago Greyhound Bus Terminal. He was on his way to Omaha from Nebraska. Gacy drove him around Chicago, showed him the sights, then back to his house where he told McCoy he could stay the night. He even offered him a ride to the station in the morning in time to catch his next bus. According to Gacy, he woke up early in the morning to see McCoy standing in his bedroom doorway with a knife. Gacy got out of bed and charged at McCoy, who raised his hands in surrender, still holding the knife. It cut Gacy’s arm in the panic. Gacy, who was much larger than McCoy, wrestled the knife from him and banged his head against the wall. Gacy kicked him multiple times. He wrestled him to the ground, straddled him, and stabbed him repeatedly. Then, Gacy claims he cleaned the knife in the bathroom. When he went into the kitchen, he found an open carton of eggs and a slab of bacon, unsliced, on the table, which was set for two.

This poor boy just wanted to make him breakfast, as a thank you, and he died for it. All because he didn’t leave the knife in the kitchen.

Wendy swirled the remainder of her drink in her glass, then held her hand steady and watched the wine continue to swirl and splash around the curves, briefly gaining momentum before slowing to a soft ripple.

Maybe Gacy would have killed him anyways. Maybe he never meant to drive him to the station that morning. Maybe McCoy was always meant to end up in Gacy’s crawl space, covered in concrete.

She took a sip and turned the page.

#op*#mindhunter #mindhunteredit #mindhunter fic #a tide in a city #wendy carr #bill tench #holden ford #ted gunn #gregg smith

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avengenerd · 4 years

Text

Clockwork

A/N: it’s ya girl, back at it again after OVER A YEAR of not posting a fic. I’ve been working really hard this year in getting back into writing, and I’d like to think I’ve improved since I last posted here. So, let me know what you think. Like, comment, REBLOG, I go feral for the last two. Also S/O to @writeyourmindaway whose custom line divider I used! Much love, in these oh so trying times.

Summary: Bucky x Female!Reader (established relationship). Reader is a part of the team, and endowed with the skills of MacGyver and a science degree. She’s also been kidnapped, disarmed, and locked inside with a ticking bomb. It’s not great.

Word count: 2296

Category: fluff, light angst and self-deprecation. We been there. No warnings. Enjoy!

You’ve got 10 minutes before the walls come caving in. Four red, white and blue wires snake around four identical corners joined by enough incendiary to turn you to ash. The door is locked from the outside and your previous attempts at breaking it open have proved both a waste of time and a bruising task.

At 8 minutes and 35 seconds, you’ve assessed the bomb’s components and begin to thoroughly scan the small bathroom. A wall radiator attached to brown metallic pipes, definitely gas fed, is beside the ceramic toilet bowl. It tells you that not only are they planning on wiping you out, but burying the entire building beneath flames and rubble. On the floor there’s cleaning bleach and a blue bottle of standard toilet cleaner. You grab one of them and put it on the sink. In the mirror-cabinet above, you find a small manicure pouch. Immediately, you pull out tweezers and a metallic file. There’s no trimming scissors so you take the nail clipper instead.

The impending explosion is the most immediate threat, so that’s where you begin. Using the tweezers you unscrew the plating, and pry open the metal casing with the nail file to expose wiring. Four wires, same sequence as the external, red—blue—white—blue. You snip the last blue wire with the nail clippers. The timer stops at 7 minutes and 1 second.

It’s not over yet. In 7 minutes and 1 second, the assholes who locked you inside with a bomb will be wondering why there weren’t any fireworks. Then, they’ll be back. You may be able to diffuse a bomb but your capabilities end at stopping an army of bullets.

There’s a knock on the door.

You stop breathing. Tilting your head toward the door, you listen closely and hear heavy pants. Inching back to the sink you pick up the bottle of bleach.

Another knock, this time followed by a tentative call.

“Y/N?”.

You put the bottle down. “Bucky?”

A sigh comes from the other side. “Fuckin’ hell. Next time you get kidnapped, try not to lose your comms.”

Tilting your head back, you let out a deep breath before moving closer to the door. “I’ll try to remember that. Can you let me out now? There’s a bomb-“

“Shit.” A ruffling followed by a grunt comes from Bucky’s side. “Move away from the door.”

You immediately scurry to the sink, as three pops to the door’s hinges allow Bucky to enter the small room.

His dark hair is matted to his face, drenched in sweat. His thick blue vest holds a darker spot on his left side, not much bigger than the size of a fist. Blood, maybe. ‘His’, you wonder. ‘Or someone else’s’. He’s grinning at you, skin stretched at the corners of his mouth, a pleasant image despite the huge semi-automatic attached to his back. ‘Definitely someone else’s’.

You smile back at him. “You took your sweet time.”

He glances at the left wall hosting the disarmed bomb and quirks an eyebrow at you. You shrug your shoulders in response. “Couldn’t wait forever, babe.”

Bucky moves to respond, but is interrupted by distant shouts. “New friends of yours?” he asks.

“Clearly,” you reply, nodding to the explosives. “Did you by chance bring some friends of your own? A small army, perhaps?”

“Not exactly. We knew you’d be somewhere in the area, but there’s about five industrial bases within a 10 mile radius.” He removes the gun from behind his back, reloading the magazine. “The team had to split up. Didn’t think you’d be kept here though.”

Which is exactly why he checked, he goes on to explain. When the others reported unoccupied spaces, he’d almost given up. Until Tony conveniently mentioned how odd it was for there to be a 3-storey colonial home in the middle of an industrial outlet.

You hum in acknowledgement, moving once more toward the sink. “My man, ever the hero.” You send a wink his way. You open the cabinet once more and pull out a bottle of clear liquid. “Buck, pass me the bleach.”

The thundering footsteps of armed idiots inch closer towards your position. Your 7 minutes are up.

He hands you the heavy container, and you immediately pour the clear liquid into it, screw the cap and hand it back to him. You move back to the bomb, detaching the C-4 explosives from the rest of the mechanism.

“Care to explain what it is you’re doing?” Bucky shifts to move closer to you, but you hold a hand up at him.

“Please don’t move. There’s some highly exothermic chemistry waiting to happen in that,” you point at the bottle in his hand, “and I’d rather it didn’t happen here.” You grab the beige blocks of C-4 with their fuses still attached.

“Right. Usually I’d find this really hot but, we’re on a clock sugar.” The group of Hydra militants have entered the bottom floor, and you can hear commands being shouted.

“Then let’s dip. Hand me the bleach, you take this,” you say, piling the explosives into his unarmed hand. You take the bottle and finally exit the bathroom meant to be your final resting place. Gross. You leave those thoughts for later.

Short static buzzes come from Bucky’s ear, as he presses down on the hidden earpiece. “Yeah, I’ve got her……. There’s too many of ‘em right now for just the two of us….. think you can pick us up from the roof?” Another final buzz and Bucky looks to you and nods. “Whatever you’re planning on doing, do it now. Sam’s ETA is 2 minutes.

Your assailants have cleared out the first floor, and are making their way up the second. You estimate 30 seconds before they find your position.

You shake the bottle in your hands and immediately feel heavy waves of heat permeating through the plastic. “Then this should buy us some time.”

As you make your way down the corridor with Bucky scoping ahead, you uncover the bottle and let its contents run out in front of you, immediately backing away and covering your mouth. Toxic white fumes escape and a small, but dense fog settles ahead of the spill, growing as more liquid evaporates.

The pair of you run towards the window at the end of the hall. As you reach your destination, a smattering series of coughs and heaving erupts behind you.

“What the fuck is that?!”

“Shit! Cover your nose!”

“I think...I’m gonna…gonna…pass-” followed by a heavy thunk.

Bucky turns to you, bewildered and confused. “What was that?”

“Really crude chloroform. Very nasty stuff, concerningly easy to make.” He gives you an impressed smile, as if to say “not bad”, and proceeds to break through the window with his metal arm.

Clearing out the glass shards, he beckons you to go first. You climb onto the roof and he hands you the plastic bricks of C-4 before slinging himself up to join you.

“How long till Sam gets here?” you ask him, squinting as harsh winds blow into your face.

“Why don’t you look up, sweetheart,” a familiar voice announces. You glance towards the sky and see Sam hovering above you, a halo of sunlight framing his head. A very fitting image indeed.

“Y’all ready to bounce or what?” Grinning from ear to ear, he lowers down onto the roof and engulfs you in a hug. “Damn girl, you really had us scared for a minute.”

“Only a minute?” You scoff. “Might as well leave me here then.” Smiling into his shoulder, you hug him back, happy to feel safe again.

“Please don’t. Let’s move before you don’t have an actual choice,” Bucky interjects, his eyebrows tensed but his light expression remaining.

“Right. Hope y’all don’t get air sick,” Sam grabs onto each of your hands, extending his wings.

“Wait!” You shout. Grabbing the explosives you ask, “Any of you guys got a match?”

You take the lighter Bucky provides you with and ignite it. You move towards the edge of the roof and burn the fuses of each brick of C-4, before throwing them into the broken window below.

Immediately you sprint towards the waiting men, and grab Sam’s hand. “Okay, go go go go go!”

Without any further delays, Sam takes off with a grunt, arms straining as he takes you three airborne. Not even 13 feet into the air do the explosions begin, the roof you previously stood on exploding in a fiery blaze. Almost immediately, the horde of enemies who had hunted you flee the house through the bottom floor. From your view, they looked like ants being fumigated from their burrow. How appropriate.

“They’re escaping!” You shout over the whipping wind, but Bucky hears you. He nods no, before pointing in the distance behind you.

Looking back, you see an ever distant figure breaking through the scene of blue sky with streaks of red and gold. On the ground, Steve’s shield knocks down a round of men in one swoop whilst Wanda’s red magic incapacitates another.

You look back at Bucky and grin.

“Man, I love you guys.”

“I brought you something.” Bucky’s low voice interrupts your star-gazing as he joins you on the balcony. You look back at him. Steam rises upward and into his face from your favourite mug (the bright pink one with a 2005 Barbie movie plastered on its side).

“Aw, you remembered,” you coo at him, grasping the mug between your palms. The hot air rises to your face and you sigh deeply. Your hands tremble a little. It’s been a long day.

“The colour’s hard to forget,” he grins. “How are you though?” Bucky stands beside you, so closely you can hear him breathing. You can feel his eyes on you, and decidedly ignore his question. You blow gently into the tea and take a sip.

The disgust on your face is evident.

Your boyfriend rushes to explain. “It’s Valerian root. It’s supposed to help relieve stress or somethin’…” he trails off. You’re crying. “Is it that bad? You don’t have to finish it or-,”

“No,” you turn to face him. He’s looking at you gently, calmly, like he already knows what you’re going to say.

You say it anyway. “I should be happy. We did what we were supposed to do, and nobody who wasn’t supposed to get hurt, didn’t. We got the bad guys, again.” You scrunch up your face, and briefly squeeze your eyes shut, feeling even more pathetic for crying. “And I got captured, again. Someone had to save me, again.” It stings. This is the second time it’s happened in this month and though it has little to do with your performance, it definitely feels that way.

“I didn’t get hurt, and I know I should be happy about that. Everything worked out in the end, but, god Bucky!” The tea sloshes out of the cup and onto both your feet. You pause to look down at the mess, then up at him, and you lose it.

Bucky quickly takes the mug and places it out of reach. Wrapping his arms around you, he holds you as you cry into his shoulder.

“I-I don’t even know why I’m losing it.” You feel palms gently moving across your back, and for some reason it makes you cry harder. “I-, we got out, we’re safe. I just-”

“Just because you left unmarked, doesn’t mean you left unaffected Y/N,” he speaks into your ear, hugging you tighter. “What happened to you could’ve happened to any one of us. No matter how much we plan, we don’t always know how our enemy is gonna react. You got out. More than once. That definitely counts for something.” He unwraps his arms from your body and steps back to look into your eyes.

Your crying has dwindled to tearing, but tracks (and a little bit of snot) remain.

He cups your face, forcing you to look at him. “If it were me trapped in there, I probably woulda been barbecue.” You sniffle. “Smoked. Grilled. Roasted.” He continues and smiles at the breathy laugh you give in return.

“Toasted?” You continue, giving in to his jesting. He moves his hand from your face as you wipe the remnants of your tears away.

“Exactly. Not to mention you’ve probably terrified them for life. Chemical warfare and an incendiary attack in less than 5 minutes? I’d be pissin’ myself if I didn’t know you were on our side,” he teases, grinning as you shake your head.

“You should still be pissing yourself. Valerian’s got actinidine, Bucky. Fly pheromones. That tea was so gross,” and with that, Bucky knew he’d done his job, at least for tonight. He could give you tonight.

“Yeah yeah,” he grabs you again and pulls you into his embrace. You weren’t gone for long, he knows, but a gram of anxiety niggled at him regardless. His worry and consequent relief was well hidden for your sake. But you knew. You always knew.

Lightly pressing your palm to his cheek, you lean in to kiss him, feeling his lips on yours in a sweet and delicate reciprocity. The air tonight is cold. It should be prickly, but it softens between the both of you. You let him know you love him, and how much you appreciate him. You also kindly remind him that he shouldn’t rely on every Google suggestion.

When you go inside, Bucky asks you about making chloroform, then gleefully interrupts you mid-explanation with another kiss. “You’re so hot when you science at me, babe.”

You fling a pillow at him and the night ends in love and laughter.

#Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x reader #winter soldier #winter soldier x reader #sam wilson #the falcon #sam wilson x reader #marvel imagine #marvel one shot #one shot #marvel fanfic #marvel #MCU #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst

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staltitia · 3 years

Note

Hi! I don't know if you're taking prompts for the prompt post you rebloged, but if you are, maybe angst 10, fluff 2, random 28 or kiss 17 for v/rogue?

Hey! I’ve never done prompts before, because I don’t think much of my writing, but I’m happy to try my hand. V/Rogue is a pairing that I really enjoy! I wish more people could see the potential there.

PROMPTS: “How drunk was I?” + top of head kiss + “Is there a reason you’re blushing like that?”. GN!V/Rogue.

V has woken up in a wide variety of strange places and stranger situations, ranging from the Kabuki No-Tell with a new tattoo to the Peralezes’ apartment with the mayor and his wife snoring on their chest. Twice, they’ve woken up so drunk that the hangover had yet to hit. The second time, they woke up and went straight back to drinking.

So really, they reason, there can be no harm to opening their eyes. This cannot be the worst thing they’ve ever done.

Still, it will be so bright.

In an act of responsible compromise, V stretches first.

As they begin to uncurl their body and turn, several things happen. First, the seat cover warbles underneath them, unsticking from their face with a hellish sting. Second, their leg reaches out for the other half of the bed and finds instead empty air. In the ensuing struggle for balance, V throws their arm out, smacks it against the edge of a table, curses, and finally overturns, tumbling onto the tiled floor with a thud.

Dizzy and aching, V pries their eyes open.

“Sleep well?” Rogue asks.

V jolts upright, banging their head against the underside of the table. “Fuck!”

A cursory glance confirms what they feared: their drunk self had decided that Rogue’s booth at the Afterlife looked like a preem place to sleep it off. Embarrassment itches at their spine as they crawl out from under the table.

“How drunk was I?”

Rogue looks down with mild amusement and exactly no sympathy. “If you can’t remember, that’s your first clue.”

V rubs at the back of their head. A goose egg has already begun to form. “Don’t suppose I can blame this one on Johnny?”

Rogue hums in consideration. “What do you think--would Johnny have told me I had beautiful eyes?”

V squints. “Potentially.”

“Mm. Would he have followed that up by asking me to, quote, “top him gently?”“

V is not drunk enough for this conversation. Not even close. They contemplate sliding back under the table. They’re stealthy enough to pull it off.

Rogue hooks a hand into the collar of their jacket. Their cheeks flame red. Rogue only chuckles.

“Is there a reason you’re blushing like that?” she asks. Her voice drops, suddenly serious. “Oh. V. You thought I didn’t know?”

V recognizes that tone from the holo. Rogue uses that tone when she can afford no nonsense, delay, equivocation, or lie. She doesn’t have to use it. V would fold like a house of cards anyway. They hunch lower, hoping the tall collar of the jacket might hide their face.

“...hoped. Figured I misread somethin’. You and Johnny--”

Rogue releases V’s collar with a snort, though her hand remains on their shoulder. “That ship sailed long ago. Sailed and crashed, spectacularly. I’m interested in the present now. And V?”

V glances up, turning their head. The movement brings them face to face with Rogue, inches away. Her eyes narrow in scrutiny. Her hand burns on their neck. They swallow, hard, and Rogue swoops forward, ghosting past their cheek until her lips brush against their ear.

“I’m interested in you,” she whispers.

Just like that, they’re released. Their cheeks burn so brightly they’re certain the heat can be felt from a mile away, and they scrabble for any kind of grasp on sensible behavior. A couple feet away in the booth, both too near and far too far, Rogue sits, regal and unruffled, and watches as V tries and fails to compose themself.

“Need a drink?” she asks. “Claire has to have water somewhere in here.”

V leaps to their feet, already turning towards the bar. They’re stopped by Rogue’s pointed eyebrow and even more pointed reprimand.

“Sit back down. It’s my club. I can get a drink if I damn well want one.”

At Rogue’s nod, one of her attendees peels off. V’s cheeks color again, and they drop wordlessly back into their seat. Rogue tsks and motions them closer. They comply before they can question it, sliding up against her side.

Her hand musses through V’s hair, gentle and soothing. V's eyes drift closed. They could sleep like this.

Before they can, Rogue hands them a glass of water. They drink quickly. The water relieves their dry throat and the ache behind their skull. Their mind still lags behind though, skipping like a broken record. There’s something they meant to say.

Ah, right.

“I’m interested too,” V rasps.

Rogue laughs and drops a kiss on the top of their head.

“I guessed,” she says. “Now sleep.”

V has woken up in better places, true. They’ve woken up on larger, more comfortable couches, and even on actual beds. Still, hours later, when it’s light outside and they wake again to find Rogue still waiting, they will have never woken happier.

FIN

(thanks for the ask! feedback/other asks more than welcome. I’m on a Cyberpunk craze rn, but I’m open to any prompts y’all feel like)

#cyberpunk 2077 #Rogue Amendiares #V

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razaks-wheel · 4 years

Text

Destruction

@nostalgic-breton-girl (I decided to post this on my writing blog because I don’t think things through when I reblog prompts apparently lol.)

Prompt: "Destruction"

Summary: Vivec and Ildari learn that Baar Dau has fallen.

Rating: T, but content warning for (brief) survivor's guilt that borders on suicidal ideation

Notes: I'm not going to get too deep into Dunmeris headcanons rn but I'm using "daeli" as a sort of title for "adult who isn't technically family/parent but might as well be."

Also I follow up on this sometime. We shall see.

Destruction

Ildari could hear the rumbling of an ash storm outside as she followed her daughter into the kitchen to make breakfast. Vivec was already there, sitting at the table with a faraway look in hir eyes. Immediately, Ildari knew something was off. Ze never sat in chairs; ze always levitated if ze could. She was about to say something, but Dreveni beat her to it.

"Daeli Vehk," the seven-year-old giggled, "that's my seat! You don't sit!"

Vehk's eyes snapped back to the present, and ze took on a bright, practiced smile. "Ah, my apologies, Sera Drevi! How incredibly silly of me," ze said.

Ze stood up and walked—feet on the floor—out of the room, ruffling Dreveni's hair as ze went. Ze caught Ildari's eye for a brief moment, but the look ze gave was enough to confirm that something was definitely wrong. Ildari made Dreveni her kwama eggs and slipped out into the next room to find Vivec.

She found hir sitting on the couch this time. Hir head turned to face her when she joined hir on the couch, but hir eyes were still locked far in the distance.

"It happened," ze said in a small voice.

She did not need to ask what "it" was. She knew ze was talking about Baar Dau—the Ministry of Truth. It had finally fallen from its place in the sky onto Vivec City. They knew it would happen sooner or later, of course, and they had done what they could to prepare. They had moved to a house-pod in Marog for the time being—not far from Tel Uvirith, but off of Vvardenfell—but not before they had warned others to evacuate as well. They could not do so directly, of course. The Indorils were intent on controlling the image of the Temple during this time of transition, and they had deemed it unwise for one of the gods to start warning people of the end of hir own power. Instead, they had disseminated whispers to a number of information hubs and let the webs do the rest. Before long, the population of southern Vvardenfell had begun to dwindle, and the mainland cities saw a population boom. The problem was that no one knew exactly when it was going to happen. Many people, sensing only the same impending danger as always, had opted to delay their departure until things became a little more dire. Ildari wondered whether any of them would make it to safety.

"How bad?"

"Very." Hir voice was barely audible. "I'm not that good at projection these days, but I can try to show you..."

She felt a nudge in her mind and reached out and accepted it. Though projection did not require direct contact, Vivec grasped her hand tightly as the images began to flow.

She was first faced with the view of a smoldering crater. She wondered what she was supposed to be looking at, or if Vivec had even targeted a location on Nirn, until she started to notice things she recognized. The head of a statue here, the corner of a canton there, all barely recognizable among the utter destruction.

The palace, Vivec spoke into her mind. The view panned to the rest of the city, which looked largely the same.

Is anyone...Did anyone...? Ildari stammered.

There's more.

The scene changed to an aerial view of Vvardenfell. The devastation was even wider-spread than they had anticipated. The island was covered in a layer of smoke and ash emanating from Red Mountain. The view shifted, and they saw through the smoke. Rivers of lava poured down the mountain and throughout the island, filling what foyadas existed and flowing freely where they did not. Cities burned where tephra from the initial blast had landed. Even those regions that would have been spared from the impact were susceptible to the aftermath.

"Why are you crying?" Dreveni asked as she climbed into her mother's lap.

It was only then that Ildari noticed the wetness on her face. She let go of the projection and Vehk's hand and wrapped her arms around her daughter.

"Something very bad happened on Vvardenfell," she said. She knew she would have to explain more very soon, after deciding what level of detail a seven-year-old child could handle, but this would have to suffice for the moment. "Daeli Vehk and I have to have a grownup conversation," she said. "Why don't you go play in your room, little scrib?"

Dreveni still looked concerned, but she kissed her mother on the cheek, hopped off her lap, and headed off to her room. Ildari cast a one-way sound barrier around herself and Vehk, so that they could hear outside noise, but Dreveni would not be able to hear them.

"How many people died?" she asked once it was safe. "How many people are still dying?"

"I...I don't know. I can't hear them anymore," ze said. "I thought I'd gotten used to the feeling—it's been years since you unbound the Heart—but now I feel the emptiness more than ever. I know the people despair. I know they're crying out to their gods, but I. Cannot. Hear. Them."

Ze broke into a sob. Ildari drew closer and pulled hir into a hug, and ze buried hir face in her shoulder.

"It's my fault," ze said after a while. Ze looked up at Ildari. "I need to go there."

"Go...where?"

"To my city."

"Vehk, your city is gone," she said gently.

"I need to..." Ze clenched hir fists and then released them with a sigh. "I should have been there."

"You'd have been killed."

Ze flung hir arms wide and made a face that said that that was the point.

"Vehk—"

"Why am I alive when my people are dead and dying?" ze said. "Their blood is on my hands. I've never had this much of my own people's blood on my hands before and I can't even feel their pain. I can't make it my own."

"If there's too much blood for you to act, then share it," Ildari said. "Share it with Sheogorath, who would be the sole cause of the destruction if you hadn't stopped it in the first place. Share it with Azura, who claims to love her favored people but did nothing to prevent this. Share it with Uriel Septim—Dagon take him—who sent me to effectively overthrow you, knowing that this would be the ultimate result. Share it with Voryn, whose hunger for power was what forced the prophecies to a boiling point." She took Vivec's hands again and said, "Share the blood with me."

"Iya, no. This isn't your fault—"

"I'm the one who cut off your connection to the Heart," she said. "I saw that rock floating overhead every time I was in Vivec City, and never once did I think to ask what your plans for it were."

"It wasn't your responsibility. You were practically a kid before you had your memories back. And, forgive me, but you were a pawn. You weren't supposed to have any real power."

Ildari shrugged. "That doesn't change what's happening. And it doesn't change our responsibility to help the survivors."

Vivec's expression was grim, but ze made no further attempt to disagree.

"All right. Where should we start?"

#ildari #dreveni #razak's ocs #vivec #morrowind #thank you for the prompt!!

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mismatched-oddbrothers · 4 years

Text

OOC: Info/Intro

Welcome to Ben and Dee’s ask blog! This is a prose-based ask/RP blog with not a whole lot of rules? (though if you prefer, say, script over prose, I won’t mind. Again, not a whole lot of rules! This is just a chill thing for fun, after all. Only thing I can’t do is images, unless I have an existing commissioned piece that fits. Can’t draw.) I look forward to interacting with you all!

They’ll have three “variants” based on points in their story (which I’ll reblog from my normal blog (reflectionslegacy) where I’ve been posting them) for a wider variety of possible interactions in different default states of mind and such! Right now they just have the two variants.

Asks/prompts can be addressed to one or both of the characters! Or to me, the player, about them, if you want? I don’t mind. Though you could also ask me about them on my non-RP blog if you think that’s weird.

Both characters are aroace so shipping is a no. Other than that, fair game! (if you’re not sure about a subject, feel free to ask first, or let me know ahead of time to avoid certain subjects that might become relevant otherwise!)

“Origin” Variant

Entrenched in industrial life, for better or worse. Not likely to have met each other at any given point in this time period (as it covers most of their lives prior to their story) but for the sake of this blog I can bend my own story a bit! They met at a party thrown by Dee’s boss.

Ben (left), typical Mudokon raised in very atypical circumstances

Sociable, upbeat personal assistant to Drunce (Paradise Vineyards) - who happens to be a Gluk with a heart. Not one big enough to realize slavery is wrong, or to put the needs and wants of his staff above his business, but one who very genuinely cares about their well-being.

This has left Ben with a rosy, sheltered worldview (he sees the cruelty inflicted on other Muds, when brought out and about, but doesn’t think there’s anything he can do about it without crossing boundaries he shouldn’t), but has left intact his cheerfulness and nurturing nature. Compared to other Mudokon slaves, Ben has lived a life of comfort, with physical and emotional needs being met much more consistently. His feathers are full and glossy and his skin is vibrant; he’s sure to get double-takes from Mudokons enslaved elsewhere.

Dee (right), very atypical Slig raised in typical circumstances

Anxious, paranoid personal bodyguard to Aydik (Papa Aydik’s Bar and Grill). This relationship is a little more like you’d expect - except the Slig serves a slightly different purpose...

A Slig’s childhood is all about taking a natural inclination to nurture and protect and bullying it out of them, co-opting it with the classic cycle of abuse - see the way they treat one another, their pets, the Mudokons. Those Sligs who can’t typically don’t get to see another day. Unless, of course, they manage to be quick enough and lucky enough to learn to pretend they’ve “caught on” to the way things are supposed to be. (Unconventional affect as a grub, often muted or delayed, didn’t hurt him, either. The collection of traits that in part helped him survive as he is without internalizing the worst of his society has a name among us humans - that is, autism - but he doesn’t know that, and has some rather relatively harmful views of himself as a result.) Dee managed to get through on plausible deniability and recognizing the patterns on which industrial motivations run. He uses the latter to make himself indispensable to Aydik, cluing him in on potential ways to maximize his gains on deals with other Glukkons or earn favors from them, while the other parties assume he’s just another dumb bodyguard.

Why the mismatched appearance? He’s spent all his Moolah for all these years on those shiny pants, which have a backup electric battery, fuel level indicator lights, articulated feet, and overall improved responsiveness. The mask is next, now that he’s finally satisfied with them.

“Adrift” Variant

Forcibly removed from their prior lives and stranded in a wilderness still reeling from industrial influence, the pair now face a life neither of them were prepared for.

Dee has lost his arm to the explosion, and now has to worry for his pants’ power supply. He has a battery pack to help him when he runs out of gas, but has no way of recharging that anymore, either. His ability to make good snap decisions under pressure will surely prove useful, however. (Also, mysterious stomachaches and nightmares.)

Ben, ever the caretaker and still attempting to be optimistic, was unprepared for a survival situation. He has to learn fast. It’s a good thing he has a knack for complex puzzle solving - so long as he has some moments to plan its execution. His biggest issue is his unwillingness to be open about how much he’s hurting until it’s too much to bear.

#oddworld #ooc info #ben #dee #i am not new to rp but new to tumblr rp so let me know if I've done something wrong!#look forward to playing with you all!#blood cw #amputation cw

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yoonia · 5 years

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Dear my beloved readers,

I really didn’t want to post something like this since I have addressed this a lot before and a lot of writers have talked about this before me. But I feel like I need to say something since I’ve been ignoring a few messages that had come into my inbox because each time I respond to these messages, no matter what I said on those responses, people will see it as rude even when I do it nonchalantly.

First, I would like to give you a little insight into my life outside of this blog.

Ever since the day I graduated early this year and have been thrust into professional work since last year, I have to deal with messages coming to my phone, email, and online chat messengers saying: “When is the drawing due?”, “Will I be receiving the new drawing for [insert project here] this week?”, “Please revise the drawing to [insert project here]”, “Can you make sure that the project will be finished before [insert date that due within a week] because the shop is opening next month”, among other messages regarding project deadlines, and this occurred either daily or weekly, before I finally decided to go freelance. But even with the change, I still have these messages in and out frequently.

And I haven’t even started my masters yet.

This blog has served as a perfect diversion from that busy life and the stress of facing tight deadlines. I have loved writing since I was a child and writing fanfiction in this blog has been such a beautiful outlet for me to stay creative in a different sphere other than what I do in my real life.

The thing is, I am a slow writer. I think most of the people who had been following me since I started back in 2016 will know this. And it’s really not helping me when people send me messages asking me about updates when I have been so open in letting everyone know what I’m working on and what/when I’ll be posting through a writing schedule that is available in this blog.

Writing is supposed to be fun. It is supposed to be relaxing, instead of giving me the same amount of stress I had gotten from work.

Now, imagine how I feel when I have the time to visit my blog to relax and was met with messages saying: “When are you going to update [insert fic here]?”, “Are you posting [insert fic here] this week?”, “Is [insert fic here] will be updated soon?”, do you think that’s fun to deal with? When I have already placed my posting schedule on my blog? And how much progress I have made so far with each fic I’m focusing on?

I get it, you are curious to know when you can catch up with something you are reading on my blog. I know because I have been on the other side, when I am the reader waiting for an update on my favourite series. But I do what I know best would support the writer; I send them motivating messages, keep up with their updating schedules and any announcement they may have regarding said fiction work, and wait. I don’t send them messages that remind them to real-life project deadlines that suffocate them on a daily basis and giving them deadlines on their own writing.

“It’s been xx weeks without [insert fic here]” You might have meant this as a joke. But in my head, it sounds so different than what you probably had meant it to be.

Some of you might know that I keep up weekly updating schedules on other platforms before posting them here, so I figured the ones sending me these kinds of messages would be those who are following me there too. I understand your frustration, but please also understand that reading this kind of message after I have been beating myself up for not keeping with that weekly schedule while I was nursing a sick kitten, reconciling with my boyfriend of 3 years who lives in another state, and trying to keep up updates on my ailing grandfather back home makes my mind proceed it the same way as if I had received a message saying: “You have delayed the project for three weeks and we’re wasting time and money waiting for you.”

You understand what I mean, right?

I’m sorry if I had made you wait for days, weeks, months, or even a year, but please know that I do my best to not leave any series unfinished (unless I announce it so) and the perfectionist side of me will hate myself if I ever put out a half-assed fic and disappoint you guys just because I want to post something quickly.

If you’re wondering about updates, please always keep up with the schedule provided. If it’s there then it means I’m on the process of writing it, if it’s not then it’s still on the back burner until the day I’m ready to focus on it and release it for you to read. I can still answer your asks if you’re curious to see if a series is being postponed or discontinued, or if I’ll be continuing a one-shot fic because sometimes the answers can change through time and I might forget to announce anything regarding those ones.

And though this may have been stated before by other writers, I’m going to say it again, that messages demanding updates and reminding us how long it has been since our last update do not motivate us to write faster, instead, they deflate all the fun of writing which will then eliminate all the motivation we have of writing and finishing them. I’m sorry to say, that this is the problem I am currently having.

I’m sorry, again, that this post ends up being so long. But if you’ve read it to this point, then I’m just going to let you know that I am making this post to get things out of my chest because this thing has been bothering me for the past week and I’ve been losing all the motivation to finish the updates that are due to be posted on Inkitt this week. I just want to get this out there without lashing out to the beautiful curious readers when they really do not deserve to be lashed out on and also in order to allow me to focus on writing peacefully.

With all that being said, any further messages asking and demanding updates will be ignored, as they have always been, and the ones I currently have in my inbox today will be deleted. In exchange for any similar messages I will be having in the future, I will be deleting them immediately and I will reblog this post along with my posting schedule as a public response. And after this post is up, I will leave the internet for the next 24 hours or so to focus on writing and hopefully keep up with my weekly updates again as I normally would.

For everyone who are reading and to my followers and readers, whether you are coming from Tumblr, from AO3, from Inkitt or Wattpad, I just want to say thank you so much for all the support you have given me so far, thank you for all the patience and the kind messages and feedbacks. I’m sorry if I have been acting so down and negative lately, but I hope by getting this out, I can feel better and be positive again with my writing.

With love,

Dia.

#psa #misc: announcement #dia speaks

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grandmascottlang · 4 years

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I feel really hurt.

I have this "friend" (let's call him... John for the sake of this story) and if you know me IRL, you probably know who he is, how he acts, etc. He's the guy with three first names if you don't know who he is from reading what he's been doing to me for the past couple of weeks.

Also if you read this whole thing, please don't reblog it.

So John has been a decent friend over the years, I met him in sixth grade (or around the time I was 11-12 years old if you don't know how the American school system works lmao) and we were pretty close.

Over the past few years, however, he's become insanely hard to hang out with and contact due to all of his obligations and school work. It literally took him days to respond or he wouldn't.

He's wasted my time, money, friendship, and hope over the years because he focuses solely on one thing at a time. First it was his position in a club, now it's his girlfriend.

And no shade to his gf because she's nice, but he's literally always with her. Every second of every day and he is ONLY with her.

Now mind you, when I came to visit my best friend at my current college during spring break last semester (for reference, I wasn't attending the current university where I'm at now, I just transferred here this semester), I posted on my Snapchat that I was here and I was leaving the next day to go back to Georgia where I was at for school. He dms me and asks why I didn't tell him I was there because he would've liked to hang out. He tells me to let him know the next time I'm in town.

I told him when I was in town; I was in town for Thanksgiving and for Winter Break (since obviously I was transferring to the same school that he's at and I'm currently at now). I wanted to hang out with this guy and never got a response. It irks me that he practically forced me to tell him whenever I was in town and yet doesn't have the audacity to send anything back.

Moving on, a couple days before the semester starts, I tell him that I'm in town permanently because I transferred and we establish that we'll hang out the next week and he'll be the one to let me know when he's available. A week goes by and I text him if he's still down to hang out. He says yeah (albeit almost another week later) but he'll have to do it after he deals with his roommate situation and his schedule.

And I'm not stupid, alright? I see the amount of time he hangs out with his gf on social media, he at least has time to hang out with her. I've seen him like four times on campus and this point and I've tried initiating a conversation with him but he just says hi and goes back to only caring about his girlfriend.

So needless to say, I'm pissed. I tell my friends and parents about the situation with John and everyone's just like drop him. And you have to understand that I really want to, however, when he was actually an attentive friend, he was a great guy and an even better friend. I bent over backwards for him and to this day, if he needed something or someone to talk to, or anything, I'd be there.

And my ex-bestfriend treats me the same way and I don't talk to him anymore (and I don't care to) because he genuinely betrayed me, wasted my money, wasted my time, and he's wasted over a decade of my life. So I've felt this before and I don't want it to just end like that friendship did.

I wanted to confront him today, to give him the option to either be my friend and move on or just stop. I don't care whatever happens. So I ask him a few days ago if he's down to talk because he hasn't reached out to me at this point and clearly isn't going to. He says "oh hey! yeah, i just moved out and everything's great so i can definitely do that!" I'm already slightly annoyed at this point because he clearly had enough time to spend with his girlfriend everyday and somehow he can't be separated from her for more than a few seconds and "now" he finally has time to hang out. So we establish that we're meeting at 5:00 PM today in a place that's easy for both of us to get to.

So at 4:50 PM today he texts me and tells me that he's on his way and he'd only be able to be there for a maximum of half an hour because he has to go watch a movie for a class. And you know that professor's don't spring stuff up like that. If something's taking place outside of class, you have to tell your students in advance. So I'm like (in my head), you gave me thirty minutes of your time when I asked if we could talk because I have something important to talk to you about?????? Shows how much you care for me. So I tell him I'm still down to hang out, but I would rather talk to him on a different day that he's genuinely free. I don't hear back from him and I wait for him until 5:30 PM. JOHN DOESN'T EVEN SHOW UP. So I'm fucking pissed and I walk outside to the bus stop (because I have to ride the bus to get to my dorm) and I missed my bus because I was waiting for him. And the buses are delayed for about an hour. So I can't get home, I'm standing in the snow until I find out that they've been delayed for 50 minutes. He texts me later and "apologizes" and I'm like. Okay. But we need to talk. Now even more so.

So I got stood up today, I got told through someone's actions that I'm irrelevant, I missed my bus, and got covered in about an inch of snow. So today's been great.

#rant #i can't with this guy #like #ugh

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theoneinmultiplefandoms · 4 years

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Attention dear Pewdiepie Fans, especially those who follow the @pewdsfanarchive blog!

I’m doing an announcement here on my main blog because I want to say something about the Fan Archive, since that blog is my responsibility and hopefully, people will understand what’s going on. (Spoilers: No, I’m not deleting it. In fact, I’m doing something with it.)

Read more below!

(Most of what I’ll be talking about could be a bit personal, but at least it has some honesty from me. Take your time to read them.)

First off, about the Information Posts:

It would’ve been a miracle if one could do an Information Post for every Pewdiepie video existed. Sadly, a human like me, who is busy with other stuff IRL and has this type of motivation that keeps waning in and out, couldn’t be that miracle. I really love Pewds’ videos (old and new), don’t get me wrong, but doing Information Posts by myself for every video started to feel more like a task forced upon me rather than something I want to do, even on my spare time. (You can even notice it through all the delays and announcements I’ve done in that blog.) It made me feel like I’m not actually ready for such a huge responsibility, although I did want to do these things.

Yet throughout the delays, all of you still enjoyed those kinds of posts, even if it’s through small likes/comments/reblogs. In fact, I even recall how fun it was, searching up all those memes/arts/whatever information pops up from those videos and typing them down in an organized way. It tends to be a bit tiring, but it made me happy thinking about how much effort I placed on these posts, and for you to see and appreciate them in some way.

Conclusion: the Information Posts stay. However, they’ll be more focused on videos of Pewds’ that I find interest of, and will be posted whenever I have the time/motivation to do so. Chronological order will not be followed anymore, so expect a slight mess.

Second, about the blog itself:

Now that the Info Posts are not considered as an urgent task anymore, what will it mean for the blog in its entirety? One obvious answer I can think of for this question is: I’ll make the blog more community-focused. (Yep, it means more reblogging.)

I’ve seen brilliant pieces of fan-arts, wonderfully edited gifsets, and lovely little appreciation posts made by some of the Tumblr peeps in the #pewdiepie tag behind all the hate and callouts. I want to give them recognition for their works too, even those who haven’t been able to post in a longgggg time. In some way, I’d like to give positivity back to the tag and on any Pewds fan’s dashboard, because they too inspire positivity for me.

If you’re wondering about what I’ll reblog, it’ll be a mix of past, present, and even future posts/arts/gifs/whatever!

Finally, about the layout/appearance of the blog:

For me, new changes means a new look. I’ll be placing the blog in "w.i.p.” mode for now until I’ve decided with its new appearance, in hopes that I’ll find a theme more user-friendly than that of the old one (the posts on Desktop mode look too large for me). I’m opening up to people who’s willing to provide me some gifs/wallpapers/backgrounds I can use for the new theme!

Thanks for taking your time to read! I’ll be seeing you soon, with new colors!

#pewdiepie #felix kjellberg #long post #onem talks #pewdsfan onem #big announcement thingy #to be reblogged on the fan archive

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idea-garden · 5 years

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oneshot #7 - dirty bathroom fuck - pt.2 | @minseoks-personal-trashcan

pt. 1 | pt. 2

Baekhyun/OC

Sequel to a request from @minseoks-personal-trashcan

Written by @idea-garden

This has been requested since I posted the first part, and we all know that was forever ago...

SMUT / 18+ / car sex / angry sex? / public sex / oral / orgasm denial / dirty talk / d/s / bdsm

3,800 words

SooRi left for a six-month internship. SooRi will never leave Baekhyun again...

If you like this like it, reblog it, and follow me!

This is trash.

ALL PROMPTS | SMUT PROMPTS | RULES | ASK | MY WRITING

SooRi stood outside her apartment door waiting for her rideshare to pick her up. The cool autumn breeze had picked up some and it made her shiver slightly in her nude bodycon dress. Finally, her ride came, the car’s lights cutting the dark sky. Collecting herself in the car, she gave the address, then sat back to observe the scenes outside the window. Everything she passed by looked so foreign and so familiar at the same time. Each place holding a different memory, giving her both nostalgia and nausea.

After a slow cruise, she reached her destination. It was her favorite restaurant. Ugh. She missed this place. She turned her eyes up at the bright place, took a breath, and slapped a few crumpled bills in her driver’s hand.

SooRi couldn’t believe it’d only been six months since she was last home. It felt good to be back. Of course, there was no place like home.

The fine dining establishment was set for dinner. Its floor-to-ceiling windows giving a beautiful view of the harbor. The decor was set in warm lighting. Cream carpet, cream chairs, off-white tablecloths, and various shades of gardenias were just a few aesthetic notes she observed.

This place was fancy. Too fancy. But, since she wasn’t buying, she had no issue eating there.

SooRi stood at the front of the restaurant, only waiting for a brief second before a hostess in a cute cocktail dress appeared before her. They exchanged brief smiles, as the hostess asked for a name. The restaurant was so exclusive that you could only eat there by reservation only. Apparently, according to her friend, you had to book at least six weeks in advance. SooRi appreciated the gesture. She was never one to want a big fuss to be made over her, but she had to admit it felt pretty great to be in the middle of the fanfare.

She stood for a second as the hostess scanned the seating chart, then guided her to a semi-private table set for six. Menus and neatly folded napkins were sitting on white plates that covered gold chargers. The hostess pulled out her chair and wished her a pleasant dining experience.

She was the first one to arrive to her own welcome back dinner. Typical--considering her immediate friend group. Jessi and Junmyeon were either doting on each other or having car sex in the parking lot. SooRi was convinced that Jongin and Chanyeol didn’t even know how to tell time. And Baekhyun… well he didn’t give a shit about anyone’s time except his own.

SooRi pulled out her phone, shooting a text to Jessi and noting the time. She was a little early, so she wasn't too irked. A response returned within two minutes. Her friend was on her way there--delayed traffic. SooRi told her it was no problem. She had the aching suspicion she and Junmyeon were definitely fucking in the car. However, SooRi knew her friend would never intentionally keep her waiting.

After about ten minutes, she saw Jessi and Junmyeon in lockstep carrying balloons and what looked like a neatly wrapped gift. Jessi passed her things to her boyfriend and enveloped SooRi in a tight hug.

"I missed you so much! I'm so glad you're back!" The pair teetered side to side as the hug continued.

SooRi had to chuckle, they talked every single day of her absence. There was a good chance Jessi knew more about her day than she did, but nonetheless it felt great to see familiar faces again.

"I'm glad to be back! It's good to be back with friends again."

Just as the words left her lips, Jongin walked up with Chanyeol in tow.

"There are my boys," SooRi pulled them in one after the other.

She noticed them dropping off little gift bags where Junmyeon had been previously.

"Have a seat guys! I guess we can get started," SooRi urged them to get comfortable.

She looked around the table with a smile, until her eyes rested on the empty seat.

SooRi knew she shouldn't have expected much from him, but she still wanted to see him.

"Where's Baek?"

"He just messaged me. He's on his way. He wanted us to start without him." Junmyeon reassured her.

He was probably still upset with her. She knew he had every right to be, but being on the receiving end of a cold shoulder was never pleasant.

The group eventually ordered their beverages and a palate cleanser. Meanwhile, Baekhyun sat in his car, deliberating whether or not he was ready to see her.

His thumbs twisted around the key fob as he was deep in thought.

She left him. She left him without a word. He didn't owe her anything, and she didn't owe him anything, but he'd be lying if he said he didn't miss her.

"Fuck it. I'm here now." Baekhyun slammed his car door on the way out, pissed he missed her as much as he did.

He spent no time waiting for the hostess to lead him to the table. He walked through with a confident stride. Dressed in fitted black jeans and a navy button down. The shirt, top two buttons open, gave a sinful hint of the body underneath.

In true Baekhyun fashion, he greeted the table with an off-handed comment before plopping down in the only empty seat.

Of course, it was the seat in front of her.

SooRi's mouth nearly went dry when she saw him. She hadn't seen him in six full months. Sure, she'd been stalking his Instagram, but nothing compared to the real thing.

Involuntarily, she clutched her dainty, gold necklace, rubbing it--most likely praying for the strength to make it through this dinner without crawling across the table to get on top of him.

He gave a smirk and reached across to her wine glass, taking a sip from it, daring her to react to him. He was truly a piece of work.

‘Lord, give me strength,' she mused as a strong breath filtered through her nose.

Drinks were scattered around the table and appetizers were spread and half-eaten.

“So, did you meet any cute guys during your internship?” Jessi snickered.

“Yeah, SooRi. Did you fuck them until they wanted to stick around, then hop on the next flight out of there?” Baekhyun grit his teeth under an annoyed stare in her direction.

“Baek, chill out!” Jongin rested a hand on his shoulder, while Baekhyun took a sip of his alcoholic beverage.

He was going to need to get drunk to make it through this damn thing.

“No, I didn’t have to do that. It turns out that most men are mature. They are upfront about what they want and don’t play games, then pout when they don’t get their way.”

“Now that I think about it, having you stay with a man is punishment enough. Perhaps, you’re doing us all a favor when you run away.” Baekhyun slammed his glass down to punctuate his malcontent.

“I think this is a good time for dessert.” Chanyeol piped up.

“God Chanyeol. We haven’t even had our entrees.” Junmyeon murmured under his breath.

“Well, it’s a better suggestion than watching a fucking cage match at our table!”

No one could argue with that.

“Let’s all cut Baekhyun a break. It’s difficult for us to see things from his perspective, because none of us can get our heads that far up our own asses.” SooRi winked at him and Baekhyun rolled his eyes damn near out of his skull.

“You just don’t know how much I’ve missed you, SooRi, “Jessi smirked at her boyfriend before the rest of the group had a hearty laugh at poor Baekhyun’s expense.

Before long, the main meals had come and gone. Now, the group sat around trading stories to catch each other up on the happenings of their life over dessert.

"I'm so glad to be back. I just want to settle into my old routine again."

Baekhyun scoffed, partly in disbelief.

"Which part of your routine? The part where you beg me to fuck you in every position known to man? Or the part where you act like you aren't interested in us being 'us'?"

Eyebrows shot up around the table. This was news.

SooRi cast her head down. This was one of the few times in her life she wasn't feeling too combative. Normally, she would've ripped Baekhyun a new asshole, or exsanguinated him with words sharper than knives, but not tonight.

"What's the matter, SooRi? You still haven't told them about us keeping up fuck buddy-status since Jongin's party?"

That cheeky bastard beamed at the chance to put her in her place in front of everyone.

"You know, just because your parents never gave you hugs as a kid, doesn't excuse you from being a complete ass." SooRi didn't want him to think she cared about anything he had to say, but enough was enough.

She took a deep breath, then sighed. "I'm sorry guys. I don't think I can stay here any longer." SooRi stood, reaching for her purse and phone.

"Don't leave your welcome back party! We'll kick Baekhyun's sorry ass out of here," Chanyeol snickered and stuck his tongue out.

"You're the best, Yeol. It's getting late anyway, and we've had such a nice time. I'd hate to ruin the night with an attempted murder charge."

SooRi hugged her friends one last time, before she departed. Her heels clicked with a soft echo in the concrete parking lot. She tapped her foot out front, waiting for her rideshare.

A strong hand gripped her waist without warning.

"You've got a lot nerve, walking out on me like that."

"I don't know if you were at the same dinner that I was, but you were the one acting all butt-hurt."

"When the going gets tough, SooRi gets going." Baekhyun shrugged, "If you want to get home you might as well let me take you. I canceled your ride. You're still on my account, remember?"

SooRi glared at him, fighting her instinct to curse him out.

"You'd have better luck asking Carmen Sandiego where in the world you lost your damn mind!"

"Get in the fucking car, SooRi. Let me take you home."

The tension was palpable as they rode in silence. Baekhyun cut his eyes over her frame. She looked amazing, as always. Since he'd had her, there was no one else he wanted.

"It killed me when you left." He spoke never looking in her direction.

"W-What?" SooRi tucked a piece of hair behind her ear.

"You just left me. I thought that we were, kind of, building something. Then, I find out through Instagram that you're on your way to New York for an internship."

"You always knew I had to go...," SooRi trailed off in a whisper.

Baekhyun's fingers tightened around the steering wheel, knuckles white and fully-flexed.

"That is not the point, dammit! You can't make people fall for you, then just leave them high and dry!"

SooRi's eyes widened, mouth partly agape, a series of questions ready to flow from her brain to her lips.

"Baekhyun-- W-Where are you going?!" She watched as he peeled off the path to her home and down some dark street.

Both of their bodies lurched forward as he came to a stop in the desolate alleyway. Putting the car in park, he turned to SooRi with a dark glint in his eyes.

"I wish I could get you out of my mind. I wish I could hate you."

Baekhyun pressed his lips against SooRi's, gently at first, gradually his force increased. She weakly tried to push him off, but she missed the feeling. His tone arm pulled her closer to him, SooRi's side digging into the center console.

"Ouch! Not so rough!" SooRi shifted uncomfortably around the console and his unrelenting grip.

"I think that's the least of your problems tonight, SooRi-ah. Someone needs to teach you some manners. It's not polite to leave your boyfriend without so much as a word."

"Boyfriend? Really, Baek?"

His hands grabbed her hips as best they could. "Ah, ah, ah! Tonight, I think you should address me as 'Sir,' don't you think? I am teaching you a very important lesson. Now, crawl into my lap, baby girl."

Against her better judgement, she shifted over his lap, "I bet you've missed this, huh?"

"Don't flatter yourself, Baekhyun."

He took no time to swat her ass quickly a few times. "What did I tell you to address me as?"

"...Sir...," SooRi looked off to the side. She'd be damned if she was going to make eye contact. Besides, she already knew he had a shit-eating grin on his face.

"Good girl. Lift up your dress."

Baekhyun watched as she wriggled around to lift her dress around her waist. He eyed the microscopic piece of fabric that was her lacy, white thong. His tongue slithered out from between his lips, eager to have and taste her.

She gnawed on her bottom lip in anticipation. She could feel his fingers ghosting over her entrance, before a cool gust of air hit her skin. He clenched his teeth, snapping the panties at the waistband.

SooRi glowered down at him, but stifled a moan when he shoved the underwear in his pocket.

"Looks like someone missed me, too," he dipped two fingers inside SooRi, while his thumb massaged her clit. "How thoughtful of you to keep it nice and wet for me."

She released a hoarse, needy groan at his delicate touch. He always knew which button to press to keep her reeling.

"Feel good, sweet girl?"

She nodded erratically, bucking her hips up to meet his fingers. "Uh huh. Y-Yes, Sir."

His digits quickened as they curled to tease her g-spot. Baekhyun was quite amused watching her face contort in a mixture of pleasure and discomfort. Her shallow moans broke up the silence between her delicious wet sounds and the leather squeaking against their active bodies.

Baekhyun slapped SooRi's inner thighs when her hip rolling became too eager. "There is so much more fun to have, baby."

"I'm close, Sir." Her nails dug into his shoulders, body twisting as her orgasm neared.

Her whimpers were the sweetest music to his ears. He could feel her warmth pulsing around his fingers.

As she found herself teetering dangerously on the edge, Baekhyun withdrew his fingers, opting to taste her.

She whined, watching him savor her unique flavor, "Put them back, please...Sir. I want to cum on your fingers."

"This wouldn't be much of a lesson, without some form of punishment."

Wiping his wet fingers on SooRi’s inner thighs, Baekhyun gripped her face in a deep kiss. Their tongues danced around in desperation for one another. Mouths still connected, he tugged at the thin straps of her dress, all too impatient for it to come off.

SooRi wriggled out of the top half of the dress, rolling it to the middle of her stomach where the rest of the dress was. Baekhyun’s tongue dragged a fiery trail down her neck to her uncovered breasts.

His tongue flicked at her nipples, before he alternated with a light suctioning pressure. He pulled the soft skin through his teeth, gently biting her and leaving her chest covered in maroon bruises.

SooRi tangled her fingers in his hair, head dropped back and body still tense with the desire to cum.

“Unzip my pants,” Baekhyun smirked at her attempts to grind against him for any kind of sensation.

She didn’t have to be told twice.

In a matter of seconds, Baekhyun’s dick was stiffening in SooRi’s manicured hand.

“Go ahead, princess. Ride me.”

She lined him up with her entrance and sank down with a satisfying sigh. He filled her up so nicely. She fit around him like a glove.

SooRi wrapped her arms around the driver’s headrest, slapping her hips up and down wildly. Baekhyun broke up the monotonous sound with a few sharp ass slaps.

Kneading the tender flesh, he grunted, “Damn, I’ve missed this ass.”

SooRi leaned back to roll her hips, narrowly missing the horn. Her knees dug into the soft leather around Baekhyun, frustrated by the lack of space. His hands ran up the sides of her waist and settled on her bruised tits.

Palming them roughly, she mewled as he rolled her nipples between his fingers. She hissed watching him pinch and tweak the hard nubs.

He pulled on her nipples as if they were the reins of a horse--tugging them mercilessly enjoying her whinnies for release. When he felt he'd done enough, he closed a broad hand around her throat.

"I'm about to--," she was barely able to breath out.

They were both well aware of the fact that whenever his hands clasped around her throat, she would be drenched. It was like she was straddling Niagara Falls.

"Not yet," Baekhyun swiftly opened his door and scooped her off of his length.

She wobbled to find her footing as she stood right outside the car--totally exposed.

"Baekhyun, what the fuck?!" She tried to shield her nude form and scurry to the passenger's seat, only for Baekhyun to stop her in her tracks.

"That's 'Sir,' to you. But, since you want to be a mouthy little slut, I'll give you something productive to do with your mouth."

Baekhyun eyes gleamed darkly as he stared her down. He towered over her to drop his jeans more comfortably, before resuming his seated position.

"Let's see those pretty lips on my dick, hmm?" Baekhyun blew a kiss in her direction, meanwhile SooRi returned the evil eye.

If she felt that her knees were in an uncomfortable position in the car, the cold asphalt was certainly no improvement.

SooRi kneeled and looked up to him, teeth gritting as she gripped him at the base of his cock. Her hands glided up and down his glistening shaft, pumping him faster and faster.

She swiped his tip quickly, cleaning a clear drop of precum. Her tongue drug a sloppy trail up from his balls to the tip, before swirling around the head.

SooRi shivered at the cool, night air, smirking at the thought of being so naughty. The lonely, flickering street light cast a shadow over the pair. The sounds and faint lights of cars moving on the highway made them very aware of their daring deed.

Baekhyun sucked in a jagged breath as her warm mouth worked its magic. He stroked her curly hair with great care, easing her down on his needy, aching member.

His voice strained as she expertly handled his girth. She always knew exactly what he needed in exactly the right moment. It wasn't long before he had her lips motioning at the base of his member.

"Fuck, baby...," he eked out with a clenched jaw.

After a few muffled gags, SooRi bobbed up for much-needed air. She lapped at the new precum leaking from his head. She eyed him with sliver of rebellion, as her hands pumped him faster and faster. One hand massaged his balls, while she tongued his tip.

"Is it good, Sir?" She'd picked up his signature smirk with no practice.

Baekhyun lifted SooRi from his length by her chin, "Ah, ah, ah. I want to pump that pretty pussy full of cum."

Her cheeks turned a bright shade of red as she stood in front of him, lips glistening in the brief flashes of light.

"You think if I put a baby in that tight little stomach, you'll have a reason to stay with me?" He whispered roughly in her ear.

She nearly lost her breath at the new side he was revealing.

He stood up, leading her to the hood of the car with one hand and holding his pants to help his waddle with the other.

When he found a comfortable spot, he cupped his hands under her ass, lifting her on the hood of his sedan.

She landed with a soft thud, tensing at the cold metal beneath her.

"Spread those legs, baby," he took a few seconds to kiss her inner thighs and pass his tongue over her slick opening.

Baekhyun lined his shaft up to her entrance, rubbing her clit with his thumb and parting her wetness with his tip.

"Mmmmm, don't tease," SooRi panted, hips moving at the slightest sensation.

Her body was on fire and no amount of air could cool her down. She needed release and wouldn't be denied. Not this time, anyway.

He pecked her lips, pulling her bottom lip through his teeth, just the way she liked it. Within a moment, he shoved hard and pushed his entire length into her in one thrust, holding her hips to pull her against him.

"You. Never. Fucking. Leave. Me. Again. Got it?!" He blew through his teeth, each thrust more powerful than the last.

It was her turn to grunt, grit, and moan, feeling his length tunnel into her. His thickness stretched her more than she remembered. She dug her hands into the hood of the car, frustrated that there was nothing to grab and hold onto for dear life. SooRi felt like she was losing her grip--not only on Baekhyun’s car, but reality--as he started moving, drawing back, and thrusting his length into her again and again.

"Oh, fuck! Keep fucking me like this, Sir! I'll never leave you again, Baekhyun!"

His mouth dried before a broad grin covered his features, "Learned your lesson so soon?"

SooRi could barely respond when her eyes shut tightly, riding the wave of pleasure flowing through her body. An onlooker would have described her as possessed, the way she writhed, convulsed, and shuddered. She rocked back and forth, still sliding on his dick, moaning unintelligible, incoherent strings of words.

The rocking BMW didn't have much of a chance to still as Baekhyun tipped over the edge. He felt his balls contract up towards his body, anticipating the muscle contractions start that would send him cumming inside her, and he grabbed her hips with both hands again to pull her back into him.

The spasms lasted for what seemed like forever in those moments of release. He bucked into her erratically as his ejaculation subsided, slowly coming down from the high.

Baekhyun rested inside her for a few minutes, before slipping out, gradually softening while SooRi adjusted her dress.

He pulled his pants up and hopped back in the driver's seat, waiting for SooRi.

When she closed the door behind her, they buckled up and peeled out of the alleyway.

"Maybe, I should leave more often?" SooRi winked as they headed to her place.

"Maybe, you need another lesson?" Baekhyun gripped her thigh, as he sped off into the distance.

Idea Garden is a writing prompts blog. We focus mainly on smut prompts, however, our prompts do span genres.

ALL PROMPTS | SMUT PROMPTS | RULES | ASK | MY WRITING

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chibalein · 5 years

Text

Official Statement by Kajiura AND Hikaru/Keiko on Kalafina Disbandment

NOTE: In response to @putschki1969 comments (thank you again), I corrected a few parts of this translation . As Tumblr does not edit the reblogged posts as well, I re-uploaded it, so please refer to this post from now on. I would also appreciate it, if you deleted the old reblogs.

Sorry guys, I was too hasty while translating and made some stupid and avoidable mistakes v.v (damn you japanese language) That happens when you already interpret while translating, so never take fan translations for granted, kids.

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I was VERY surprised to see on Twitter that Hikaru actually “reacted” to the news of Kalafina disbanding. She as well as Kajiura posted a link to the FictionJunction homepage where an official statement by Kajiura AND BOTH Hikaru and Keiko was released regarding yesterday’s news. Here is the link and a translation of the statements. This is MY translation - please take it with a grain of salt and PLEASE correct me, if I got something wrong. I don’t want to twist the meaning just because I used the wrong English word.

http://fictionjunction.com/kalafina20190314/

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“About the report of Spacecraft’s “Regarding the disbandment of Kalafina”:

Yesterday, Spacecraft released a report about “the disbandment of Kalafina”, although it was very sudden and somewhat surprising that they haven’t used “hiatus” but the strong word “disbandment”, the three members undeniably have stopped their activities a long time ago. Above all else, as the former producer of Kalafina and as an individual person, I continued to feel very sorry for being unable to properly address the issue to everyone who supported Kalafina until now.

As for the former Kalafina members Keiko and Hikaru, when I reached out to them they felt the same way after all and since they wanted to use the opportunity to greet everyone, therefore I gathered their messages and provided a temporary* place on my website.” (Kajiura)

*Note: I’d like to point out the word used for “temporary” here which is “rinji 臨時”. My dictionary says it can mean “temporary”, “makeshift” and “extraordinary”. So for me, it means that they actually had no other way of releasing this kind of statement the “official” way (e.g. via Spacecraft or Hamony) but using the somehow unrelated FictionJunction and Kajiura. However, just my thinking, I’d love to discuss that in the comments (so japanese speaking people, step up).

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Message from Keiko and Hikaru:

To our important fans,

We are very sorry that we didn’t take the responsibility last year, when we passed our 10th year, to express our feelings that needed to be expressed in our own words and ended up addressing the issue this way.

In the 10 years of Kalafina, there was a harmony only the three of us could create, there was the musical world spun by Kajiura-san... moreover, because you were waiting for us, we could keep on going.

Furthermore, thanks to the many outstanding works we encountered, we were able to deliver our music in various places. Each and every accumulation will never disappear and we couldn’t ever forget them. Last year, our one big decision was to “stop walking [as a group] for a while in order to pursue our own individual music careers”. We feel very sorry that this information had this kind of timing, but we want you to please watch over the paths we chose.

To everyone who have supported us until now, we appreciate it from our hearts... Thank you.

March 14th 2019 Keiko. Hikaru

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Message by Kajiura Yuki:

I can imagine that the message by the two members might be enough already and that my words might just be unnecessary... so again, everyone who supported Kalafina until now, thank you so much. And to everyone who waited anxiously for such a long time in this half-baked state thinking “what will happen now”, I apologize.

Actually, the information that “Kalafina will suspend their activities” was supposed to have been released a bit earlier to everyone, it should have been like that. You were supposed to understand and support the choice of the three members, who worked for my music so sincerely like no one else did for more than 10 years, to go separate ways. However, being able to apologize for the delay and expressing my gratitude from the heart, it might be very selfish... but as the former producer I feel a bit relieved to finally get the opportunity.

Even now I clearly remember the day giving this unit the name “Kalafina”. (I thought that even if I say so myself, it’s such a lovely name!). For the members, the past ten years were full of days of challenge, grappling with a new form of “songs”, weren’t they. I am so proud because of the hard struggle of the three members, they were able to deliver “unprecedented music” to everyone. And as these days of grappling could continue, we received each and everyone’s support who devoted themselves to listen to our music.

Perhaps, everyone wasn’t just listening to Kalafina’s music, but... somehow it inspired everyone’s imagination, while spinning your own story together with everyone, I think that is an exciting thing... Just like this, Kalafina’s story definitely isn’t concluded just by the three members or myself, but because you made this world with us together, Kalafina was able to progress. These are my strong feelings. I am, really, just, thankful that you played in this musical world with us.

I, who is now independent and has left Kalafina, may be thanking you too much, but I truly wanted to properly convey my feelings, so I wrote this very long article.

I loved Kalafina. Having been able to walk together with these three wonderful singers for ten years, now and forever, I am proud of that. These were times I wished they would never end. I want the members to talk about their individual “Kalafina” and these days proudly with a raised face too. I want them to treat the ten years of singing with all their power as fuel for walking on their new paths with dignity, I pray for that. ... even if I say that, I don’t intend to say farewell forever to the individual members, as long as we can continue music mutually, we surely will be blessed by fate again somewhere!

Spinning the music of Kalafina was truly fun. When I went to concerts, I would forget that I was the producer and just enjoy these times of music. If I was granted one selfish wish... I may have caused an uproar to everyone who loved Kalafina one way or another now... for the sake of these enjoyable times of music, if you could retain those memories. I pray for that.

With a gratitude I won’t get tired of telling you. Thank you very much!

------------------------------------------------------------------

Allright, that’s it. That’s a lot of subliminal info actually, at least in my opinion. I got the feeling that things did not go as intended for Kalafina... again, my translation may be misleading, but I feel like after Kajiura left Spacecraft, maybe the girls wanted to explore some individual paths but not entirely throw away the idea to reunite at some point again. However, this door was closed by Spacecraft now and I just wonder whether all of them were included in the decision as much as they should have been. I am surprised that after all this time, Kajiura and Hikaru/Keiko actually reacted to the official disbandment, but maybe now they were finally allowed to (I can imagine that some part of the contract forbade them to “tell the truth” to avoid bad publicity). Like I said above, it’s kinda strange to release this kind of statement on Fictionjunction and it makes it seem that they couldn’t do so on “official” sites like Harmony, which would make more sense and be more accessible to the actual fanclub members.

At least we know that Keiko is alive and in contact with Hikaru and Kajiura XD I feel bad for Wakana though. We don’t know how the relationship between her and the others developed since she is the one who apparently had no problems (or she just got the better offers) to stick with Spacecraft or whatever, while the others seemingly did. She is left out of this whole news, despite being a vital part of it. I guess she is “not allowed” to react to it, especially so shortly before her solo career truly kicks off...

Anyway, what do you guys think, let me hear!

#kalafina #hikaru #keiko #wakana #harmony #fictionfunction #disbandment #kajiura yuki #statement

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annesurelyblythe · 6 years

Text

you’ll always be my only guiding light (1/2)

Summary: When Anne learns that Gilbert has given up the Avonlea school for her, she decides to confront him about it. Things don’t quite go as planned.

Tags: Anne Shirley/Gilbert Blythe, Book Spoilers, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Post-Canon

Words: 1,600 ao3

Rated: G

The sun hadn’t shone in three weeks. Matthew had been gone, and the sun remained stubbornly hidden behind the perpetual cloud cover, draining the landscape of the usual vibrant hues of summer. It was fitting somehow, Anne thought, staring out the window at the dreary scenery. She should go outside, Marilla had urged her. Take a walk, she’d said, her red-rimmed eyes imploring her. She wondered if Marilla only wanted her out of the house so she could cry without Anne seeing her.

She couldn’t bring herself to go outside, though. If she did, it would be like all was back to normal again, and how could that be true without Matthew there? Day after day had passed since Matthew’s passing, but Anne remained stagnant. It seemed impossible that the Earth should still continue to turn when her whole world was in pieces.

Her thoughts turned to Redmond, her great dream, now to be delayed until who knew when? There was no helping it, however; she couldn’t leave Marilla now, not when they both needed one another so much. So, it had been decided, with much argument on Marilla’s part, that Anne would stay and teach at the closest school she could, which was looking more and more like it would be the Carmody school. Carmody wasn’t the most convenient location—only the Avonlea school could be, and Gilbert had already been assigned there—but it was the best Anne could do under the circumstances.

Out of the corner of her eye, Anne spotted a flurry of motion, and she turned to see Rachel Lynde hurrying up the path to the house. Mrs. Lynde had been the most frequent visitor to the Green Gables women the past few weeks, so her sudden appearance wasn’t particularly remarkable. What was, was the speed with which the lady shuffled her somewhat considerable girth up the walkway to the front door. Anne hastened to meet her there from her spot at the window.

“Mrs. Lynde!” she said, opening the door. “Is anything the matter?”

Mrs. Lynde clutched a stitch in her side, and shook her head, breathing heavily, and Anne tried to imagine what could have prompted her to have run all the way there from her house. She guided her to a chair at the dining room table, and Rachel sank down gratefully just as Marilla entered the room to see what the commotion was.

“Rachel?” she asked, bewildered. “What in Heaven’s name—?”

Rachel struggled for a moment to catch her breath, and gulped down a cup of water Anne had retrieved for her. “It’s the best of news!” she finally gasped out, her eyes bright with excitement. “Anne, you’re been granted the Avonlea school!”

Both Anne and Marilla started, looking at each other with confused amazement.

Anne shook her head. “There must be some mistake, Mrs. Lynde,” she replied. “Surely you know the Avonlea school has already been given to Gilbert Blythe.”

Rachel waved her hand impatiently. “That’s just the thing,” she said. “Gilbert heard you weren’t going to Redmond after all, Anne, and he’s officially withdrawn his application. He suggested the board accept yours in his stead!”

Anne blinked. What Mrs. Lynde was saying was impossible, and yet, she herself was on the board of trustees; who would know better than her? But Gilbert, giving up the Avonlea school? Her wide eyes met Marilla’s, and the older woman had her hand over her heart as though to keep it from bursting out of her chest.

Mrs. Lynde was obviously expecting more of a response. “Well, say something, child!” she chided. “For my part, I think it real kind and thoughtful of him. He obviously knew how much it meant to you to stay here with Marilla at such a time.”

Anne still couldn’t speak, and Marilla looked at her in concern. “Anne?”

She made up her mind in a split second. “Excuse me, please,” she said, before heading directly out the door, forgetting that her hair was hanging loosely about her shoulders and she hadn’t grabbed her hat.

“Well, I never,” she heard Mrs. Lynde huff, but paid her no mind as she ran down the front walkway.

Anne wasn’t paying attention to where she was going, but her feet knew the beaten path to the Blythe-LaCroix homestead well. It felt strange to be breathing the fresh air again after hiding herself away in Green Gables for so long. Her body welcomed it, but her mind was still reeling. Why would Gilbert do such a thing? She couldn’t fathom what would possess him. Yes, they were friends now, good friends, but he needed to teach as much as she did in order to save up for Redmond and then medical school thereafter. What was he thinking?

She found him chopping wood out back. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, and there was sweat on his forehead from the afternoon heat. Gilbert was always handsome, but there was something about his appearance just then that put a flush on her cheeks that had nothing to do with the weather. She was also suddenly very aware of the fact that her hair was surely a disheveled mess after running all the way there, and tried to smooth it down with little success.

Gilbert didn’t seem to care, though, and looked happy to see her. “Queen Anne,” he greeted, setting aside his axe. “To what do I owe this honor?”

Anne wasted no time. “Gilbert, please tell me you didn’t give up the Avonlea school.”

Gilbert half smiled and scratched the back of his head self consciously. “Well, I could tell you that, Anne, but then I’d be a liar.”

She groaned and put her face in her hands. “Why would you do something so—so—so—”

“So, what?” Gilbert asked, sounding amused.

Anne looked back up at him again. “So idiotic ,” she settled on, putting her hands on her hips.

At any other time, the dumbfounded expression on his face would have been comical. “Idiotic?” he echoed, frowning. “Anne, I gave up the school so you could stay with Marilla. I thought you would be happy!”

Anne faltered for a moment. “Well, I’m not,” she said haltingly, before straightening her back and lifting her chin. “I demand that you go back to the trustees and tell them you’ve changed your mind.”

Gilbert frustratingly shook his head, looking smug. “It’s too late,” he told her, crossing his arms. “I’ve already signed papers with the board at White Sands.”

Anne scoffed. “White Sands?” she said. “There’s no way you’ll be able to go back and forth between here and there everyday. You’ll have to board in town. You’re supposed to be saving money, not spending it!”

“Oh, but it makes more sense for you to teach in Carmody and board there?” Gilbert retorted. He sighed. “Why do we always have to argue? The Avonlea school is yours, Anne. It’s done.”

“But I never asked you to do that!” Anne protested, feeling like she had to stand her ground firmly for the fear that she might fall somewhere else; namely straight into his arms.

“I know you didn’t ask me to do that!” he exclaimed, his own frustration boiling over. “But I’ve been feeling useless since Matthew—“ Gilbert paused, looking at her with those soulful hazel eyes of his. “Since Matthew passed.” He put his hands in his pockets, looking down at the ground. “I can’t seem to help you any other way, Anne. Won’t you just let me do this small service for you? Please?”

Anne’s throat was suddenly tight, and she blinked back the tears that welled in her eyes. She had to turn her back on him when they trickled down her cheek. Why was he so good to her when she’d done nothing to deserve it? It was too much! He was always so selfless and thoughtful, and what was she but an ungrateful, little brat? Anne sniffled and tried to subtly wipe away her tears.

“Oh jeez, and now I’ve made you cry,” Gilbert said, horror evident in his voice. She heard his footsteps on the grass behind her and felt the touch of his hand on her shoulder. “Anne, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so high-handed. I—.”

Gilbert was never able to finish his sentence because before either of them knew what was happening, Anne had swung around and pressed her lips to his.

The warmth on the back of her head notified her that the sun had finally come out, but it was insignificant compared to the warmth of Gilbert’s mouth against hers. Nothing ever felt as right as the moment their lips touched, and Anne basked in the sensation.

For about five seconds.

And then it occurred to her what she was doing, and that Gilbert was almost completely frozen in shock.

Anne gasped, pulling away forcefully, stepping back from him with horrified eyes. What had she done? Nobody could ever accuse her of actually thinking her actions through, but this was above and beyond any misdemeanor she’d committed before. She’d given in to her deepest impulse without a thought, potentially ruining one of the truest friendships she had. Panic engulfed her and she stared at Gilbert without truly seeing him, her erratically beating heart the only sound she could hear.

“Anne,” Gilbert said, but his voice was distorted, as though it was coming from a great distance.

There was no way she could stay there and face his judgement for what she’d done. So she did what came naturally.

She ran.

Part Two is on it’s way! Let me know what you think :) If you reblog, I read all tags so I’d love to hear your thoughts!

#anne with an e #anne of green gables #shirbert #gilbert blythe #anne shirley #awae ff #shirbert ff #awae #my fics #kind of angsty in the beginning???#but fun anne and gilbert banter once you get to the middle #i love a good banter

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