#and somehow that affection has bled over onto this man as well | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

drxwsyni · 4 years

Note

Yandere Eraserhead with an S/O that has a Cat quirk (Neko girl basically) but like he’s possessive and everything but she is super chill and go with the flow with life like the cat she is.

Mm yes cat quirks are my weakness, thank you for the request! This was gonna be just a headcanon thing but i couldn’t help myself, so here’s a oneshot! (oh god how do i always write more than i mean to)

_____

Yandere Aizawa/Eraserhead x f!Reader

(3435 words) ︱ title: Complaisant

It’s only natural that when people see a cute little animal they want to pet it. So when those around you, even strangers sometimes, approached you to pet the soft, fluffy cat ears atop your head so often, it became clear that it was easier to let them rather than fight it.

It was a recurring event that you were all too familiar with growing up. Almost absentmindedly, your friends and family would gently stroke the irresistible fur as they spoke. One would think that’d be irritating, but a side effect of your quirk, which you still hadn’t decided if it was unfortunate or not, was that the feeling of being on the receiving end of this affection left you in a relaxed, purr induced state―similar to an actual cat.

Slowly, you realized these experiences weren’t all too bad.

You resolved that putting up a fight was useless, as doing so never seemed to deter people from getting their way anyways.

Without you even realizing it, other traits of furry little felines had bled into your personality. You were quieter than most, and never shied away from affection. One thing your friends liked to tease you about was how easy it was to read your emotions. While your facial features didn’t give them away, the thumping of your soft tail when you were angry, or how it tucked in between your legs when you were frightened did. Other times your ears would fold back against your head when you were sad, or perk up when you paid attention to whatever had caught your eye.

Little adaptations like this were all too normal nowadays. Especially today, as you literally embodied that of a stray cat, having taken up residence on the rooftop of a random building.

It was nighttime, and you had originally come up here to stargaze. But the heavy sensation of your eyelids and the growing fatigue was becoming all too alluring towards a harmless cat nap. Curling up into a ball, you figured a bit of shut eye wouldn’t hurt for a few minutes. You drifted asleep, a welcoming sensation that you could never resist.

_____

Now, you were certain that before you fell asleep there were no other people on the rooftop, so how you ended up covered in a black jacket when you woke up was beyond you.

At least it was, until coming to your senses you made out a man leaning against the rooftop entrance to your right, arms crossed and eyes closed. He was wearing some sort of scarf, with yellow goggles hanging loose from his neck. Looking further up, you saw he had long black hair and a scar under his right eye.

He must’ve sensed your awoken state somehow, opening his eyes and lazily uncrossing his arms, instead shoving them in his pockets as he pushed away from the wall behind him.

“It’s about time you woke up. The hell were you thinking, falling asleep up here alone?” He tiredly sauntered over to where you were still stationed, now sitting up with what you presume to be his jacket falling slightly off your shoulders.

He didn’t let you respond. “You know what, it doesn’t matter.” The man outstretched a hand towards you before continuing. “C’mon, it’s too cold to stay out here and I need my jacket back. I’ll walk you home.”

It hadn’t been in your nature for a long time to argue with people. This situation was no different, the man seeming to be trustworthy enough after guarding your sleeping form for who knows how long.

You took his hand and were pulled swiftly to your feet before feeling him readjust the jacket onto your shoulders. He headed towards the rooftop entrance without looking back, assuming you’d follow suit.

Once on the street he let you lead the way, your tail swaying gently as you moved. For the most part the journey home was in silence. But as they say, curiosity killed the cat, and you spoke up.

“You a pro hero or something? Or do you just like watching people sleep?” Normally you weren’t this bold, but the situation was fitting for it you figured.

The man let out a huff. “Yes to the first question, but I also have a habit of taking in strays. Explains how I came across you.”

The two of you were nearing your destination, that being your old, run down apartment complex.

“I’m obligated to warn you not to repeat such reckless behaviour, but I get the feeling that won’t stop you.” You stopped outside the front entrance, turning to face him as he spoke.

“I appreciate the concern, thanks for walking me home.” You offered a slight smile as condolence as you returned the jacket, knowing you wouldn’t listen to him either.

He audibly sighed before responding. “Well, looks like I’ll just have to patrol the rooftops a little more often.” The man walked past you, continuing in the same direction past your apartment, giving a quiet “Stay safe,” before walking off into the night.

_____

Of course you resumed the apparently reckless behaviour, not being able to resist the calm of night in such a secluded place. So when you once again awoke to the same jacket draped over your form the next time, it didn’t come as a surprise.

If anything, the occurrence almost became a routine between the two of you. A few nights a week you’d return to the same rooftop, basking in the moonlight before dozing off, knowing you had a hero keeping you safe.

The walks back to your apartment were mostly quiet, neither of you speaking up until you’d almost arrived at your place. However, slowly a comfortableness settled, and you learned a few things about the mystery hero.

He called himself Eraserhead, his real name being Shouta Aizawa. He was a teacher during the day and hero at night. Generally speaking he was a quiet and collected man, but after gaining these details you decided to do a little research on your own. You’d found that he definitely didn’t let on to how strong he was. You saw clips of him expertly utilizing the capture weapon around his neck, mind you these videos were quite hard to come by, which you noted was likely because he seemed to prefer to stay out of the spotlight. Aside from that he was just the kind civil servant who watched your back, although you figured there were more important things the erasure hero could be doing with his time.

Regardless, you looked forward to the walks home with Shouta, and unbeknownst to you, it was always the highlight of the man’s night.

He’d never admit to it, at least not yet, but he’d grown quite attached to you, and thus was getting more and more invested in your wellbeing. Why you chose to put yourself in such precarious situations was beyond him, but he’d be damned if he let anything happen to you while you did.

So, every night he’d watch over the usual place you’d go to rest at the time you’d normally arrive, always from a distance, whether you showed up or not. If you did, he’d wait until you fell asleep before making his way over to the rooftop, routinely offering up his jacket.

Now, he’d be lying if he said having to resist the urge to run a hand over your velvety cat ears was almost painful. For the longest time he’d left well enough alone, fearing you’d wake up and be mortified.

But tonight, seeing you curled up in a little ball, ears twitching ever so slightly while you slept seemed to spark something uncontrollable in him.

Shouta resolved to sit down next to you, taking his chances and petting down the fur atop your head. Much to his surprise, and gratitude, a deep purring quietly resonated in your chest. More importantly, the sensation didn’t cause you to wake up. It was so easy to get lost in the action, being soothing for the both of you.

So naturally he did get lost in it, mind drifting off into thought while he continued to unconsciously caress your ears.

Before he knew it almost an hour had passed and he was still repeating the same action. Except now you were very much awake, unbeknownst to him, pretending to sleep while enjoying the affection. However, you knew he had hero duties to attend to, and thus it wasn’t fair to keep him longer than necessary.

“Y’know if you wanted to pet them that badly you could’ve just asked.”

He froze upon hearing you speak, but you only found it humorous. “It’s fine, really. Everyone ends up doing it sooner later and it’s not like I care so…” At this point you were sitting up, looking at the man waiting for a response.

You let anyone do that to you? Yeah, no… that’s not gonna fly.

Shouta lazily stood up, once again offering a hand for you to do the same. “It’s late, let’s get going.”

Like clockwork you took his hand, letting him pull you up from the floor of the rooftop.

Except this time he didn’t let go, dragging you behind him towards the rooftop entrance. And you made no objections, compliance was something you’d just grown used to. After all, there was no need to fight him. He’d only proven to be trustworthy, a subtle comfort in your life that was all too constant nowadays.

By now he had memorized the walk to your apartment, so you let him lead the way, opting to mindlessly observe the passing surroundings.

Before you knew it he’d stopped outside the complex, releasing his hold that had gradually become tighter as he had to pull you along.

“I know I’ve said this before, but your habits are dangerous.” You removed his jacket as he spoke, silently handing it off to him.

“It’s not dangerous if you’re keeping me safe.”

Shouta, like always, appeared to be tired with your careless response. Running a hand through his long, messy locks, he continued. “I can’t always be there to watch over you, not like this.”

He seemed uneasy at the prospect of leaving your safety up to chance. In an attempt to console him, you gave a small, warm smile. “Whatever happens, happens Shouta. If something or someone gets to me then it wouldn’t be your fault. That’s just how life works.”

You started in the direction of the front entrance doors before he had a chance to respond, turning back and waving goodbye before stepping inside.

_____

It’d seem what you said to the erasure hero that night didn’t sit well with him.

Since then he didn’t talk much on the way home, not that he ever really did in the first place. Now however, the few questions he did ask were… personal.

He’d ask about your family life, any close relationships, just things that only you would know―personal opinions. A few times you could tell he didn’t like your answers, the grip on your hand getting just a bit tighter.

However, like always you shrugged these things off. It was easier that way. You’d get to continue enjoying the company of the moonlight for a bit, and sometimes you’d wake up relaxed as Shouta occupied himself with running a hand over the top of your head.

Generally speaking, it was nice. Neither of you found it awkward in the slightest. So, you figured, the oddly intimate interrogations on the way home now and then were worth it.

He’d grown attached to the routine just as much as you. Therefore, naturally he was irked when you showed up late one night to your stargazing session.

By now he resolved to wait for you there, sitting in your usual spot with his jacket ready to serve as a makeshift blanket. The two of you would never talk until you’d woken up, but the delay in the unspoken schedule made him curious.

“Care to tell me what was keeping you?” Shouta was always blunt with his questions, something you didn’t really mind. Mostly it just caught you off guard.

“Nosy neighbour business. Kept trying to tell me they saw someone come out of my apartment from the balcony when I wasn’t there. Frankly, I always thought they were a bit strange so this doesn’t really come as a surprise.”

So much for going unnoticed.

You sat down, or rather laid down next to him. In an act of boldness you propped you head up on his thigh, using it as a pillow and got comfortable.

Shouta sighed at the development, acting like you were a nuisance when really he was living for your affection. “And you’re just going to ignore it? What if they were right and someone did break in?” He covered you with his jacket before placing a hand atop your head, gently petting the fur.

You shrugged in response. “It’s whatever I guess. Didn’t see anything out of place so what’s the big deal, right?”

The erasure hero didn’t respond to that, letting you continue with your absentminded ramble.

“What I should be worried about is this guy who won’t quit bothering me at work. Thinks I love him cause I offered to grab coffee for him on my lunch break once like a month ago.”

He couldn’t help himself when it came to you, the thought of some grimy old nobody coming onto you striking a nerve. “Need any help with that problem?”

You yawned audibly, stretching a bit before curling up. “Not really. It’s a bit tiresome but it’s what I’ve got to deal with. Thanks though.”

Shouta could tell that you didn’t have the energy for discussion right now, as you didn’t even bother to watch the stars above shine for a while like you did every other time you met up with him. So he let you drift asleep, head resting in his lap, concluding he’d have to make peace with his desires one way or another before this new threat could give you any real trouble.

_____

In truth, the erasure hero suspected that whatever he had in mind to deal with your reckless behaviour might not please you. And if you were initially upset, he was in too deep now to care.

It took longer than he hoped for, but his home was finally fit to bring back another stray.

The decision was drastic, that he was well aware of.

Were there better ways to help you handle the everyday uncertainties of life? Yes. Would these ways leave you with little to no situational whiplash that may or may not severely affect the way you saw him? Also yes.

But he knew if he didn’t do something soon, people would take advantage of your irresponsibility one day. The thought of him not being there to protect you in these circumstances was more than enough to outweigh the question of his morals. So, he finished up with preparations and drove to your apartment complex.

_____

You noted regrettably how you weren’t able to visit Shouta tonight. It had been a little over three months since your first encounter with the hero, and by now you were closer to him than most people in your life.

It was late, work had kept you until these ungodly hours and you were more than thankful to finally be stepping through the threshold of your apartment door.

Like most nights like these, you worked through the fatigue to prepare some form of dinner. Tonight it was leftover soup coupled with some stale slices of baguettes, which you popped in the toaster oven in an attempt to improve the overall quality. You washed the meal down with a cup of herbal tea, not that you needed its calming effects to help you fall asleep, the accumulated exhaustion from the workday serving as more than enough assistance in that matter.

Yet as you got ready for bed, it seemed that whatever was in the blend of leaves and flowers ended up being the final nail in your coffin. Almost alarmingly so, you stumbled back to your bedroom, swiftly falling onto your mattress. You couldn’t even be bothered to get under the covers as sleep soon enveloped your body entirely that night.

_____

The rest from that slumber was practically blissful, making it quite the struggle to open your eyes when you drifted awake. The pillowy mattress and ever so soft comforter weighing against your frame threatened to pull you back into unconsciousness.

It almost did, until groggily you identified with the few alert senses you had that oh, this isn’t my bed…or my room for that matter.

You meant to sit up as fast as possible, but doing so proved to be difficult when your head was so nauseously dizzy. Not only that, but the anchoring you felt at the back of your neck kept your weakened state from moving much at all.

With fear bubbling in the pit of your stomach, you moved your hands up to your neck. They were met with a thick leather collar, and upon further inspection it was revealed that there was a thin but sturdy chain protruding from the back of it. You followed it, but it only disappeared beneath the edge of the mattress, sandwiched between that and the headboard of the large bed.

Giving the chain an experimental tug, and then a panicked pull proved that it was not going to budge anytime soon. Staring at it for a few seconds, you pondered how on earth you’d managed to get yourself in this situation. Sure, you were never one to be all that cautious in life, but this was a new low.

However, much to your appreciation for new information, the door to the bedroom swung open.

“It’s about time you woke up.”

Recalling to the first night you found yourself under the watch of Shouta, you finally comprehended just what you were doing here.

The erasure hero closed the door before stalking over to the side of the bed. You simply observed him, not knowing how to respond. You weren’t necessarily frightened anymore, seeing him being the one to put you in this predicament. Rather, it was a more complaisant confusion you felt.

“Always the silent type, huh.” Shouta set a glass of water down on the nightstand, looking back to you with arms crossed.

Not knowing what else to do, you returned his gaze.

“You’ve really got nothing to say? Not gonna ask why you’re here, or where here even is for that matter?”

It seemed he knew just as well how odd the events unfolding were. He’d somehow gone and brought you to who knows where, without your consent, even going as far as to chain you to a bed.

You wanted to be mad, you really did. Yet, the only constant in your life was to understand that some things just weren’t in your control. Did that mean this was a healthy display of concern? Maybe not, but you got the message nonetheless.

So you did what you do best, and accepted the outcome of your behaviour.

Shouta had always been kind to you, protecting you at your most vulnerable times. You could trust him, right?

“I get the feeling we both know there’s no need for questions.”

To that the erasure hero silently agreed. “Well if that’s the case then I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve sacrificed a lot of sleep to see that you weren’t robbed almost every night of the week for the past few months.” He passed you the glass of water before taking up the spot next to you in bed, laying back with his hands behind his head, closing his eyes. He was wearing casual clothing, but you could spot his capture weapon resting on the nightstand, of course out of reach to you.

Gingerly, you sipped the water, grateful for alleviation to your dry throat.

“You should know that I had no choice, maybe if you weren’t so irrational things wouldn’t have come to this.”

The remark almost made you laugh, but instead you placed the glass atop the nightstand on your side, only to scoot over to his position, resting your head against his chest.

“Yes it would’ve, it doesn’t matter anymore.”

And just like routine, you felt his hand drift to your head, his other arm moving around your waist pulling you closer.

“Go back to sleep, kitten. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

#yandere bnha #yandere eraserhead #yandere shouta aizawa #yandere mha #yandere eraserhead x reader #yandere bnha x reader #yandere shouta aizawa x reader #yandere mha x reader

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not-so-mundane-after-all · 3 years

Note

hand-holding, 33, Dick & Gar

Locked Myself In a Cage and Threw Away The Key (But Your Gentle Hands Had Set Me Free)

Hand-holding | 33. bandaging the other’s hand and not quite letting go - for @undertheknightwing

Gar walked into the Tower's kitchen humming softly, his eyes focused on the phone he held in his hand. He was scrolling through endless pages of recipes, trying to find a perfect smoothie combination. He loved experimenting in the kitchen ever since he was a little kid, his mom would usually assist. At Chief's house Larry has always been very protective over that specific area and wouldn't let him touch anything so the boy never got the chance to do it again but when he arrived in San Francisco with his new friends a little over a week ago and basically started drooling at the sight of a huge kitchen island and shiny appliances, Dick walked up to him with a smile, patted his shoulder and simply said "Go ahead. It's all yours."

"Aha!" he exclaimed triumphantly as he dropped on one of the stools. He found a perfect recipe, a combination he never tried before. He needed kale, an orange and a lemon, a cucumber, coconut water and honey. "Wait, do we have all of that?"

Leaving his phone on the counter he made his way around the kitchen island to the fridge. He found a cucumber (that was already withering so it was the last chance to use it) and some honey. There were a few lemons in a bowl on the counter but no oranges. Other ingredients from the list were missing as well.

Damn it.

Gar quickly grabbed his phone, took a screenshot of the recipe and sent it to Rachel with a note of what he needed. Dick took her out for grocery shopping (apparently his idea of quality time which Gar honestly loved but wouldn't admit it, at least not to Jason), they left like 20 minutes ago so there was still a chance she could get this stuff for him. A minute later she responded with a thumb up emoji and he let out a sigh of relief.

Now all he had to do was wait.

***

When he got the text from Rachel that they'll be back home in 5 minutes (he still couldn't quite get used to calling this place their home - Rachel on the contrary had no problem with it, probably thanks to Dick), Gar dragged himself from the couch in the living room and set to work. Soon the elevator door let out a loud ding sound and she walked in, carrying a huge paper bag filled to the brim in her hands.

"Got everything you asked for." she said, smiling, as she set the bag beside him on the kitchen island and started unpacking it.

"Sweet, thanks." he replied, starting to chop the cucumber into pieces. "Where's Dick?"

"Still in the garage." she sighed, then dropped on the stool next to him and opened a bag of sour jelly beans. "Want some?"

"No, thanks. Why?"

"Car started acting weird." she explained, chewing on the candy. "Apparently something's wrong with the engine or something, I dunno. He's looking into it."

Gar lifted his eyes at her, brows furrowing in concern.

"Ouch, I hope it's nothing serious. I have a feeling Donna wouldn't be happy if it turned out we broke her ride- agh, shit!"

He felt a jolt of stinging pain on the inside of his left palm, setting his nerves ablaze and instinctively pulled his hand away, trying to escape the sensation. Rachel's eyes grew wide and she gasped, staring at it. He slowly lifted his hand back up, looking down and suddenly he felt dizzy, the floor crumbling under his feet.

There was so much blood.

It wasn't really the sight that made him feel this way, or the pain of the cut. It was the touch of the warm liquid creating a puddle inside his palm. The bitter smell of metal that hit his nostrils. The Tiger inside of him came awake, letting out a restless growl and started clawing at the walls of its cage, demanding to be set free.

The cage. Like the one they locked Gar in at the asylum. Suddenly he was back there, curled up in the corner naked, afraid and bloody, staring at a pile of disembodied body parts and internal organs ripped apart. He could feel the taste of crimson in his mouth, sour and disgusting, while the Tiger was roaring in pleasure, demanding for more. Gar heard someone calling out to him, some part of his brain registered a gentle touch and a surge of energy, but the Tiger was quick and shut it all down with one single growl. It wanted to take control, to put Gar in the cage instead. The boy was too close to letting it. As much as the cage terrified him, it also felt somewhat safe and if staying inside meant he could be free of the Tiger for a moment at least, then-

"Gar? Gar, c'mon. Come back to me, buddy."

He snapped back to reality so quickly he started feeling dizzy again. Or maybe the dizziness didn't go away at all, he didn't know. He gasped like he just came out of water and when his sight sharpened again he found himself gazing into Dick's concerned brown eyes, feeling the man's fingers gripping his arms tightly. Rachel was peering over his shoulder, nibbling at her lower lip in worry.

"I tried to heal him but it didn't work." she said, her voice quiet and hesitant. "I don't know why."

"It's okay." he told her, although his eyes never left Gar's. "Go grab the first aid kit. You know where it is, right?"

"Yeah." she nodded and disappeared from view. Dick focused on the boy again.

"Gar, breathe. It's just a little blood. You're okay."

He followed his instructions. Deep breaths. Slow and steady. It's just a little blood. The Tiger is asleep.

"You're not there." Dick spoke softly, as if reading his mind. "You're not in the cage anymore."

They kept breathing together for a bit longer and Gar started feeling better. He risked looking down at his hand. It was covered in smudged blood and a deep cut ran across the inside of his palm. It stung when he stretched his fingers.

"I, uh��" he started, his throat suddenly feeling dry. "I think I didn't notice. The knife slipped and-"

"It's alright, kiddo." Dick comforted him, sending him a warm smile. In the meantime Rachel came back with a small red box in her hand and set it down on the counter. Dick thanked her quietly and looked back at the boy. "Why don't we patch it up, huh?" He let go of his arm and offerend his hand to him. "Can I?"

Gar hesitantly put his injured hand in Dick's hold and instantly relaxed feeling the warm touch of his fingers on his skin. The man cleaned the cut with a disinfectant (it hurt like a bitch), smoothing a damp cotton swab over it, then started wrapping a white bandage over it. His movements were slow and careful, he kept holding his hand gently, turning it to the sides whenever he needed to. Gar observed him quietly, feeling somewhat hypnotized by the process. It was calming down his shattered nerves.

When the dressing was done though, Dick didn't let go of the boy's hand like Gar expected him to, but instead he clasped it between both of his own and held it firmly, looking into his eyes again.

"You good?" he asked and Gar knew he didn't mean the cut.

"Yeah." he answered, his voice sounding a bit croaky. He cleared his throat before speaking again. "Sorry I spaced out."

"It's okay. It triggered you, didn't it? The blood."

Gar took a deep breath and felt his shoulders trembling.

"It did. I know it's silly, but-"

"It's not silly." the man interrupted him and squeezed his hand in comfort. "It's your body and mind reacting to trauma. It's completely normal."

Gar looked down at their hands, feeling his eyes burning.

"I was at the Asylum again…"

"I figured." he heard Dick say quietly. "But thankfully it wasn't real this time. You're safe, Gar. With us, with me. You're at home, not there, remember that."

They stared into each other's eyes for a few long seconds before a smile finally broke onto Gar's face.

"At home."

Dick grinned back at him, relief flooding his face.

"Yeah."

Someone's hand rested on his shoulder. Rachel.

"I'm glad you feel better now." she said. "How about we finish this smoothie?"

Gar lifted an eyebrow at her.

"You hate green smoothies."

"But I am willing to try this one. You bled for it after all."

All three of them chuckled at her joke.

"Save me some for later." Dick said as he stood up from his chair. "I gotta get back to the garage."

That reminded Gar of the car issue.

"Hey, what happened? Is it bad?"

Dick was already halfway to the elevator when he shouted back.

"Nah, I just need to tweak a few things, that's all."

The elevator door dinged and he was gone.

Gar turned to Rachel.

"You said you tried to heal me?"

She shrugged, a look of confusion appearing on her face as she went back to unpacking the groceries.

"Yeah, but somehow I couldn't."

He scratched the back of his neck, thinking.

"I think the Tiger stopped it. I felt something, but then it was abruptly cut off. I don't know, maybe I was imagining things."

"Maybe." she closed the fridge and turned back to him. "So what do you need next?"

"Give me that coconut water."

"Gotcha."

_________________________________________

Fandom: DC Titans

Title: Locked Myself In a Cage and Threw Away The Key (But Your Gentle Hands Had Set Me Free)

Series: Physical Affection - Tumblr Prompts

Pairings/Relationships: Dick Grayson & Garfield Logan

Summary: It wasn't really the sight that made him feel this way, or the pain of the cut. It was the touch of the warm liquid creating a puddle inside his palm. The bitter smell of metal that hit his nostrils. The Tiger inside of him came awake, letting out a restless growl and started clawing at the walls of its cage, demanding to be set free.

CHECK OUT THE PROMPT LIST | REQUESTS OPEN

#dc titans #titans #titans season 3 #dick grayson #garfield logan #gar logan #rachel roth #tumblr prompt

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corinthbayrpg · 3 years

Photo

NAME. Vincent Kolev AGE & BIRTH DATE. 620 & December 5th, 1401 GENDER & PRONOUNS. Male & He/Him SPECIES. Vampire OCCUPATION. Unemployed FACE CLAIM. Aidan Turner

BIOGRAPHY

( tw: murder, illness, violence, death ) Fates are fickle and the only guarantees in life are those borne of theft and blood.

The eldest of seven children dropped carelessly into a world of famine, plague, and Ottoman occupation, Vince’s knuckles and palms were marred from the first moment that he could wield a hammer. His father had been a carpenter by trade, then necessity as Bulgaria fell to its invaders, and imparting that knowledge upon the eldest Kolev was meant as a tool to protect him from armed recruitment. Even now he can recall witnessing the other children dragged from their homes to join the youth forces… Mothers wailing with empty arms, haunted expressions of passerby staring on, and death. Always an endless stream of death.

For all of his distractibility and the general unease surrounding their impoverished village, Vince’s father boasted him as a quick pupil. The young boy’s potential to evolve into a skilled craftsman over time could not be understated and while it brought their family pride, it also could not satiate the relentless itch behind curled fingers. To the first born son, his value existed well beyond a sturdy table or repairing the dilapidated homes of their neighbors. He slipped between merchants and soldiers with ease, palms sticky from sweat and purpose as he nabbed a coin purse here, an apple there. In a time when theft became necessity and loss was imminent, he learned to blur morals for the sake of survival.

No amount of thievery or misguided intention could hamper the onslaught of a short plague as it ravaged the entire countryside, then the towns… Until Vince’s family members began to drop like the flies which lingered as a constant presence throughout the streets. One by one, they were stripped from his grasp until he stood alone; not only the eldest Kolev, but the last of them. Unmarried with no heirs, barely employed as a carpenter, thieving in his spare moments. There was little prospect of Vince lasting the winter, let alone crawling out of the hole where loss and destitution were attempting to bury him alive. As violence began to escalate amongst the locals, the sole remaining Kolev discovered himself torn between a desire to persist in his homeland where poverty ran rampant and the idea of venturing almost anywhere else to escape it.

Unfortunately the decision was all too easily made for him. Upon walking home after a late night of pilfering, a vicious attack from an unidentified stranger in the darkness left a neck wound so blatantly open that Vince should have bled out onto the grass. The stars above coated the sky like dust, thousands of them twinkling in every direction. Not a single cloud to overlook this horror. He wondered who might happen upon his corpse in the morning, whether his grave would be marked in the Kolev burial plot. The hallmarks of an unimportant life as forgettable as the rest; merely a statistic in a future textbook. Yet fate warped and time slowed, his attacker taking note of how adamantly, or perhaps stubbornly, the human clung to the last fibers of his short lived existence. Intrigued, bewildered, and admittedly impressed, the centuries old vrykolakas offered a dying man reprieve in the form of eternal life. With nothing left to lose by accepting, Vince managed to agree with a less than polite remark, “S’pose you owe me that much.”

Eternity suited the former thief and peasant far better than any fleeting mortal life, his sire’s instruction barely enough to be deemed useful before he flitted off into obscurity and left Vince to his own devices. All of which resulted in a slew of mottled bodies throughout Europe whilst he traveled north, tearing whomever he could apart. Blood, violence, and utter gore were beacons to his attention, infatuated with the power and ease of it all. Theft still spoke to him in coaxing whispers, but compulsion weaved itself into the forefront of his mind as a more appealing resource and he relied on its potency often to stay afloat. Eventually, Vince tired of Europe’s meager corner of the world and fled East into Asia.

It was during his travels that he first encountered Viraj, a younger vampire bred from the cruelty of the first of their kind and positioned amidst a slaughtered crew. He required tutelage that Vince, still so young and hopelessly naïve in his own right, attempted to bestow as best he could. After gifting a daylight ring, words of warning, and multiple failed endeavors to unravel the convoluted bloodlust which afflicted his quasi progeny, it became all too clear that Vince had been staring into the worst sort of mirror all along. How could he heal this lost soul when the elder vampire himself had more than enough demons biting at his own heels? The men parted ways once time indicated that their bond had only proved toxic in nature, but Viraj would always remain his first experience as a pseudo sire.

Vince held every intention of wandering the world for a long while afterwards, loneliness a synonym to his name, but once more life pivoted on an unexpected fulcrum. While beguiling those so foolishly swept up by cheap words and plucking coins from their pockets in the same breath, he was soon approached by the only face worth adoring in this life or the next. Sebiorn, another young vampire brimming with the callous disregard that Vince attempted to ignore about himself; his presence was all-consuming. Where thievery and violence formerly drew all attention, now he relinquished every piece of his own darkness at the other man’s feet. They became inseparable and nightmarish, spilling into one another when their cups overflowed, spilling crimson along the streets.

Good things rarely last for Vince and through the years, the lovers lost sight of true importance. Pushing and pulling when the moment suited them, magnets afraid to either attract or repel for too long. They loved one another, but never committed to the necessary effort required to solidify that fact and Sebiorn’s jealousy often initiated Vince’s flight. It happened between several of these separations, the creation of progenies to ease his boredom and isolation. He tended to choose those most deserving, the ones in questionable situations or dire straits, and therein lay Jamie. Secrecy and avoidance were almost commonplace for the ancient vampire, but his preference for the young Scot above the other progenies was obvious to any who knew them.

Again he chose one whose affections were quite costly, now ricocheting between Jamie and Sebiorn throughout the centuries until the youngest finally broke free of their endless cycle. How good for him, Vince would claim amidst his own irritation. Though once the golden progeny fled for greener pastures, Sebiorn returned with an eternal proposition and Vince accepted wholeheartedly. They had aged so far past their most destructive years and while still capable of it at a moment’s notice, time eased their mutual bloodlust and strengthened the simple fact that they were incapable of parting for long. Once allowed, they married in haste and settled into a quiet existence together that somehow suited both men far better than it had centuries prior.

Even with his life finally on course and worst impulses tempered, Vince has difficulty relinquishing the innate desire to help those in his life who require it. Particularly Jamie, much to Sebiorn’s displeasure and outright loathing. Amidst their bickering over a visit to Corinth Bay, they arrived regardless at the crux of a war neither one enlisted to fight. Vince possesses little care for the opinions of gods and he maintains that his residence here is only to ensure the safety of his progeny, but to settle is to allow his own demons a chance to emerge, and so many lurk just around the corner.

PERSONALITY

+ passionate, sentimental, faithful - obsessive, brutal, dramatic

PLAYED BY MARTY. PST. She/Her.

#marty

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junkyardlynx · 4 years

Text

As the wind stroked his boyish face, Gran found himself smiling softly. Not one of previously unrealized joy, nor the fragile countenance of someone on the edge of sorrow. No, it was a smile of resignation. Not over anything huge, really, but more a persistent fact of his strange life.

He would always be underestimated.

The breeze’s affection turned fickle and slipped away, leaving only stillness and birdsong to fill the tree he was perched in. The light armor he wore fit him well - a black ensemble, decorated with geometrical splashes of red and trimmed in gold. The plates were near-weightless, but they were tough enough to take all manner of punishment; the master artisan six islands back claimed the whole set was forged from adamantite. The matching gauntlets fit him like a second skin, responsive and pliable and even as he leaned forward on the spindly branch, the greaves gave not a creak or a groan.

By all accounts, the armor was fit for a majestic king, or perhaps a revered general. Not a boy who barely looked sixteen summers. So, who then? One would be forgiven if they mistook him for a prince, or perhaps an up-and-coming knight-commander. His features were handsome, if boyish, and people always told him that he had a “very dashing” air to him. As if that actually meant anything.

No, Gran was none of those things. By birth, he was a nobody from the edge of the known sky, left with his friend that was definitely not a lizard. By trade, he was a skyfarer captain. By destiny, one who shared his life with the Girl in Blue. And by effort? Well, that was the one he was most happy to share. Not that anyone ever believed him at first.

By effort, he could be summed up in four words.

Conqueror of the Eternals.

A boy of sixteen, now going on twenty-two, was the one who bested all ten Eternals in single combat? Even to himself, it sounded like a nice story and nothing more. Even though he lived every moment of it. The more spectacular details, like the defeat of the Erste Empire and his rejection of the True King’s offer were public knowledge. Though, well, it was true that they tended to draw his likeness a bit taller, and his face a bit more rugged. Artists paint what they feel, even if they don’t know it, even if they try and hide it. The bias creeps in. Surely whoever performed these fantastic deeds couldn’t be a sixteen year old kid. It was probably a part of the tale added later to spice it up and make it marketable for local papers.

Well, they were sort of right. When he rejected the “True King” and his poisoned wish, Gran was just about to turn twenty-two. Four months later, he now found himself intervening in a messy war between two kingdoms with his friend and crewmate Altair.

Six years. Six years had passed. Six years that showed nowhere on his face, his countenance. Nowhere save his eyes.

It started six years ago. He’d died protecting a terrified girl. A girl he didn’t even know. Even now, if Gran was left to his own devices, he could taste that choking pain -- not the way his lungs seared from the hydra’s flame, nor the gash in his side from the hydra’s claws. No, it was the pain of being powerless. The pain of not being able to reach his hand up to the sky and ask his father in hated grief if he was proud. Proud that unlike his old man, Gran didn’t abandon a child in their time of need.

So when that girl in blue did something impossible, he made two little promises inside of his weak heart.

One, never let anyone hurt her again.

Two, never feel that way again.

Six years and four months showed only in the tone of his muscles and the strength of his gait. The softness of his steps, the way he would round a corner like a prowling lion due to the endless combat he found himself engaged in. How long was it until he figured out the peculiarities of his resurrected body? His hair and nails grew, he still had to eat and sleep and still smelled awful when covered in silverslime after a successful hunt. Open wounds bled and illness forced him to bed.

But he didn’t age.

He probably realized it after teasing Rackam about his patchwork scruff one day. Rackam had lost his razor and was pilfering through the kitchen for a spare, muttering about the “damn gremlins” who “sneak aboard even though people are on watch duty.”

The exchange wasn’t noteworthy, really. Rackam had laughed and jabbed his index finger into the captain’s cheek, wondering when his peach fuzz would finally pack its bags and leave for more hairy locales.

Rackam’s voice echoed in his head.

“C’mon cap, aren’t you eighteen now? You gotta have more than this in ya!”

---

Weird how such a statement could open a can of worms. Last he checked, he wasn’t in the worm business, either. Well, unless Altair’s little solo mission for me involves worms somehow.

Gran hadn’t honestly asked for details since Altair didn’t seem to think they were important. The gist of his part in the greater plan amounted to “stop the western advance.” Simple and concise, really. The field he was scouting below the tree was still and peaceful, seemingly unaware of both the passage of time and the rumblings of war. The breeze kicked up again, carving gentle waves through the grass, and memory pulled him back under.

---

After that, it was impossible for Gran not to notice everything strange thing going on with his body. Despite nearing the age of nineteen, not a single hair managed to grace his face. Meanwhile, he could still tan (and burn) under the blazing sun and if he chose, he could grow the hair on his head as long as he liked. As an experiment, he’d left one toenail to grow as long as it could, just to see what happened. Other than a supremely stubbed toe one early morning followed by a string of swears angry enough to make Eugen blush, nothing came of his experiment.

If was as if nobody has given his body the blueprints for life after sixteen, as if the existence of “Gran as a person” was tied to his current general appearance, as if something altogether removed from natural biology had decided that “this” was Gran. Whatever was supposed to come after simply...didn’t. Naturally, Gran lost his mind a bit. Only a bit, though. He had the good sense to seek out the famous alchemist and self-proclaimed cutest girl in the world, Cagliostro. She’d joined the crew a while ago and had a keen intellect when it came to matters of the body and it’s intricate workings. After all, she’d made one for herself, probably countless times. Her verdict?

She was stumped.

Apparently, senescence - the process of cells deteriorating after copying themselves over long amounts of time, leading to aging - had stopped in Gran. Sort of. The truth was much stranger. She’d been having him report to her little workshop on the Grancypher twice a week, taking blood and tissue samples much to his immediate and mildly painful dismay. This process continued on for three months before her exasperation and wonder lead her to discuss her findings with “cute, baffling little Gran.”

“Basically, captain! You’re aging just right for the first eight samples. The only way to tell is to be able to “find” the itty bitty little bit of info that goes missing from the blueprint of “you” every time your cells divide. I imagine the Astrals put it in as a sort of safety fe-errrrr, moving on! So! Being the inimitable genius I am, I noticed something about the ninth set of samples. They’re alllllmost the same as the first. Way too close. You don’t just get that bit back for no reason, and you really don’t get THAT much back for any reason.”

Gran nodded slowly, already onto what she was talking about. However, knowing that Cagilostro loved a.) having a captive audience and b.) herself, he let her continue.

“I didn’t say anything because I wasn’t sure, and positing a hypothesis that early on when I might have just mixed up the samples would be irresponsible. So I waited until that Saturday when I got to stab and slice you again, triple-checking that alllll the samples were out of my workshop. Same result! They looked just like the second sample, even fresh farm-to-table.”

She turned an adorably calculated and seemingly malicious smile to Gran as her explanation ended. Though it wasn’t exactly news, her words were still unnerving. After all, his cells were basically rolling back the clock of aging every four weeks. You know, normal things.

“You know how much I’d give to figure out your secret? Even ignoring the fact that it certainly has to do with whatever Lyria did to you three years ago, this is a discovery so amazing you’d think I’d invented it. Your body is pretty much just removed from time! It’s almost envious enough to make me cry. I can’t believe you, making a genius cry. It’s honestly ridiculous. You can obviously still put on muscle mass and your brain isn’t fried like one of those Golden Friday SHRIMP.”

For a bit there after that, Gran lost a...well, a bit more of his mind. If he had to be honest. Three days locked up in his room, not letting anyone in, not even Vyrn. He poured over alchemical texts, medical documents, arcane and state secrets, anything the Grandcypher had that might be pertinent. After three days of intense study, stopping only for the necessities of life, Gran came to an answer. Well, his answer.

Did it matter?

Had his sword arm stayed the same over those three years? No. Was his cut not deadlier, his stab not sharper, his fist not faster? Had his body not taken on the tone and muscle of someone who fought primals -- and prevailed? The difference between the weak Gran of three years ago and the Gran of today was immeasurable. The young man who had once fallen to a single tortured hydra now found himself battling ancient primal beasts of war and guile on a monthly basis.

He may not ever have a thick Draph-sized mustache and his cheeks might permanently retain their tender charm no matter his age, but his body was fit to fight. To protect. To chase his absent father until the end of the sky. That’s what mattered. Though he was quite sure Cagilostro would tease him endlessly for his answer.

With newfound determination, Gran threw himself into what the rest of the crew considered hellish training simply because he knew he could endure it. It was a way to prove himself - even after death, even after abandonment, he was worth something. He had value and merit and talent, but also the drive and yearning to turn it into something. In the wake of this new regiment for himself and his little visit to a certain alchemist on board, rumors crept up. Slow and steady at first, they soon burned like wildfire through the decks of the Grandcypher, spreading out of context and control. He finally became privy to a good chunk of the downright goofy rumors via his afternoon footwork training on the vast open deck.

His footwork training was simple. He would empty his mind and fill it with visions of attackers, then repel those attackers as they came at him from all sides and angles. Though it didn’t hold up to real battles, it offered a sort of vision training and group combat scenario that duels never quite could and best of all, it could be performed anywhere with ample space as the only thing required was himself.

Being simple in those relative terms, it provides opportunities for a capable multitasker to easvesdrop things they shouldn’t, like the hottest Grandcypher gossip. On one such afternoon, in the early days of summer, things came to a head as crewmates found themselves unable to contain the rumor mill around their captain any longer.

“I heard the captain’s immortal!”

Not entirely inaccurate. His nonexistent blade swung a tight arc, lopping off the head of something never there. With his arm extended, he challenged the thin atmosphere between the islands. Nothing came.

“Yeah, I heard he was like a six thousand year old primal beast?”

Missed the mark a bit there, he quipped internally. It seemed both directed at the conversation and himself as he danced between the attacks of no ones and nothings. His sweeping kick, though near-flawless in form, barely grazed the torso of his last imagined attacker in that scenario. With a click of his tongue, he noted to himself that an actual attacker couldn’t simply stop on a dime like the one he imagined did. Even in his mind, he was tough on himself, as no one else seemed to want the responsibility. With a little consternation, he ended up giving himself the point for his made up little game. The points didn’t matter, but they made him feel better.

“We have a few of those in the crew, so it makes sense.”

It would, but that’s not the case. Gran’s feet shuffled to and fro, dancing softly across the wooden deck of the Grancypher. To the casual observer, it almost appeared as if he was simply rehearsing one of the dances Anthuria had choreographed with him. He ducked under an imaginary bullet, fist rising from below to smash the jaw of the illusory gunman.

The nothings and nobodies fell to his invisible sword strikes, his matchless kicks and punches, to the spells he snap-conjured between the thrust of a lance and the flight of an arrow. Finally, panting hard with exhilaration and the flow of combat, Gran slew the final “attacker” with a quick reversal and stab to the gut, ending the dream with its own weapon. Nothing and no one fell, other than comfortable silence, but he still felt a measure of success as he picked up the warmed vacuum flask that had his lunch in it.

“No, no, he’s only thirty-six and he’s the son of that one legendary adventurer. It’s his hero’s blood. I hear his dad bathed in the entrails of the primal beast he slew, though, so maybe that’s what caused it in the end?” Why would a hero be forced to stop aging before he could legally drink? The snort of his barely contained laughter sent soup up his nose, straight from his vacuum flask. Hot soup. Hot, spicy soup.

“That makes a lot of sense.”

More than the six thousand year old primal beast bit, yes.

“He’s still our captain, so who cares? That’s good enough for me.” Oh. Ah. I...

That last overheard comment had humbled him, but the clear ring of all the affirmations that followed from crewmates in it’s wake shook him to his core. Somehow, he’d gained the loyalty and friendship of some of the most accepting people under the great blue sky. His training, already considered to be a form of self-punishment by the rest of the crew, grew in scope and desire. If there was a mountain in his way, he would cut it. If there was a river in his way, he would part it. If even the great ocean of stars spanned the distance, it would be crossed.

For all the things he could still protect.

For the dreams he had thought beyond him.

For the sake of surpassing the absent father that had abandoned him long ago, leaving only a note.

When still a boy in a backwater nothing, Gran wielded a simple short sword and fancied himself a sort of knight as he grew up. Wearing a slightly ragged blue tunic with a hood, a few pieces of spare platemail strapped to his right arm, and holding a sword containing more rust than blade. Training with Vyrn in the forest every day, the boy dreamed of something bigger. A fighter, a protector, a guardian of what he loved and treasured, not a bandit that cut and run from his family. That’s what he wanted to be... That dream was, for lack of a better term, driven from his chest. By a hydra. Just so we’re clear.

He abandoned defensive posture after that, seeking to end fights as quickly as possible. An axe found it’s way into his hands and for a time, he was satisfied by the devastation it wrought. Teenage postmortem angst seemed to be quelled by a felling cleave to an enemy’s collarbone, and chunky plate scraps held together with red leather and white fur served him well enough as protection from the elements and the enemies he faced.

Nothing so simple satisfied for long, though. Gran took to himself in a sort of hermitage for a while, studying magic under the occasional tutelage of his talented crewmates. There was a certain ripple of insecurity in his scouting party’s mood when he’d shown up late one day, his usual armor stripped down to basic protection and his axe nowhere to be found. They tossed light jeers at his green cloak and the staff he carried, even as they set off for their destination - a bandit camp they had been hired to uproot. Peace talks were attempted by the bandit’s leader and an Erune comrade of Gran’s, one better suited for diplomacy than the boy-faced captain.

Things deteriorated quickly. Gran had quietly stepped forward once the leader made it clear he had no intention of retreating peacefully. With the green hood still covering half his disappointed face, Gran slashed the tip of the staff in a dismissive motion to the right, as if telling them their time here was over. Before they could protest or retaliate, wild magic burst into life around them, sealing off all escape and action. Concentric rings of frost and fire cradled in the stony embrace of the earth, carved into being with the fierce wind tore at everything inside the bandit’s camp. With the oxygen burnt out, the earth lashed and the encampment in shambles, the dazed and injured bandits were easy prisoners.

No one jeered after that.

As his prowess grew and the crew took on more work, that cloak had weathered with time. It faded to an almost dull grey, and with this Gran had added a black half-mask to the ensemble. Admittedly, it was mostly to hide his youthful features and force enemies to take him somewhat seriously for once, as the sting of his blessed curse grew more apparent as he approached his twentieth year.

For combat, a middle ground was found. He embraced not pure swordsmanship, nor did he place his trust only in magic. Instead, he channeled his power into debilitating his opponent’s often unworldly vigor and vitality, then coaxed those weaknesses open with his unmatched swordplay. Victory after victory piled up at the crew’s feet, and the legend of the “boy captain” grew.

It also provided the fodder for what Gran considered a highly embarrassing piece of “art.” Somebody had caught him resting his right hand on his jaw, leg crossed over the other almost lazily as he read a scrap of paper in his left. It was a failed betting ticket, so close to winning millions of rupees, save for the upset victory in the sixth match. An enterprising somebody, who’s name begins with L and ends with -unalu, had committed this terrible and dreadful sight to memory. She then committed that memory to paper with her talent.

Only, well.

She’d used her license of artistic interpretation to replace the slip of paper held in contempt with a comically oversized sword. Stabbed unceremoniously in the ground. The barstool? That was now a throne carved of stone. The title of the piece, an unknowing and fortunate soul might ask?

“Chaos Ruler.”

The print she made was reproduced and sold to more than a handful of people on and off the Grandcypher. Copies of it hung from stray support beams and walls on the ship, as if to lovingly taunt him and people switched their mode of address from “captain” to things like “my liege” or “ruler” or “chaos kid” for the better part of a month. Gran said nothing, choosing to keep what little of his dignity he felt he had left.

Nobody saw Gran wear that outfit again.

In hindsight, he had to agree that the metal half-mask was a little much. But, ah, Ejaeli and Predator had convinced him it was cool. They made masks look cool, after all. The palpable disappointment from them almost made him walk back on that decision. Almost.

From then on, he’d taken to wearing a simple outfit when on duty, reminiscent of his teenage years. Having turned twenty some time ago, he decided to make a simple blue hooded tunic the mainstay of his combat attire. On top went a basic but functional steel breastplate, covering his heart and ribs. His arms were covered in gauntlets of the same make, and steel greaves offered his feet and shins ample protection as they went on over a pair of loose beige pants. What it lacked in flair it made up for in comfort and capability. A sensible choice. It gave nothing about his combat style away either, other than the obvious caveat that he might engage in it at some point.

---

Funny to say teenage years, he supposed, looking down at the peaceful field. Fires were beginning to rise and march in the distance, headed this way. An army. For now, though, he had time, and the world seemed to move so perilously slow. Memory reeled him in once more, as if the grass and the trees of this island made him long for another time and another place.

---

Thinking seriously on it, the reason his legend had spread as that of the “boy captain” probably had to do with two things. One, the Grandcypher traveled an awful lot between three different skydoms, and two? The crew of the Grandcypher loved events.

It probably had to do with a third thing, too.

His crew really, really loved to tease him about his age.

Every birthday, it’d be “Happy sixteenth, Cap!” They reused the same banner six times now, adding a tally mark just above “sixteenth” every single time. It was as endearing as it was maddening. Eugen and Rackam pulled the same thing at every new bar, ordering three beers and then pretending to flip out at Gran when he took his. It caused its fair share of problems for Gran, so sometimes Gran would flip the script before they got the chance and get angry at his “dad” and “brother” for getting drunk while “mom” was at home alone.

Some of the Grandcypher ladies would tease him with lines about “when he was older” and what an “earnest young man he was” if they saw him during the more romantic holidays, much to his chagrin. He learned to reverse that too, going on the offensive by playing the straight man to their act. He paid them straightforward compliments with toothy grins and presented them with chocolates during White Day as a form of playful revenge.

A few times every year, the crew would be called to an ancient island where a sort of...war game took place between skyfaring crews. An Astral experiment run amok meant that otherworldly and ferocious beasts overwhelmed the singular island now and then, and their presence courted the attention of primal beasts. As the people of the skydoms always sought to turn misery into growth, they established a way to turn it into a competition. Extremely rare treasure was brought in from all across the skyrealms and the monster problem on the island was handily taken care of in what they called Guild Wars.

Ten times, the Grancypher emerged victorious. Each time, for his troubles, the Captain would receive an ancient weapon of unparalleled power, power that courted disaster - and inevitably the attention of those that would protect the sky from unparalleled threats.

The Eternals.

Ten times over the years, Gran wore his convictions on his sleeve and fought the strongest people in the sky, all to prove that he would remain himself in the face of that dread power. In truth, Gran didn’t plan to use those relics of war. He simply reveled in the chance to face those brilliant, blazing souls in single combat.

It was a way to prove himself. Both to those who he had grown to admire after hearing their legends, and to his eternally absent father. Surely, even his father would have to notice if he conquered the ten strongest people in the sky--

He didn’t, but it didn’t matter.

In the end, the people he met and bonded with mattered.

After an incident involving the mafia bearing down on Stardust Town, the Eternals got together and presented Gran with a suit of armor and his own cloak, signifying his status as the eleventh Eternal, an irreplaceable part of their group. While Siete was still the de-facto leader and Uno was the first of the Eternals, Gran - given the new title of Jedenáct - was the end-all-be-all when it came to pure combat strength. As they had joined the Grancypher’s crew, they wanted him to join the crew of the Eternals and share in that camaraderie.

He might have felt sixteen behind those misty eyes when they draped the white jacket over his shoulders and popped the celebratory drinks open, but he’d never admit it. Openly. Nio knew, because of course she did. His heart’s plaintive melody was clear to her ear from the moment they’d met. He’d been seeking a place to belong, a place that respected him since the day he understood that his father had abandoned him. Between the Grancypher and the Eternals, he’d finally felt like part of a family.

A family more real than the blood that spawned and abandoned him, all the while burdening him with purpose.

This is where I belong.

---

Of course, it was just after this heartfelt moment that Altair had been roped into this awful and brutal war. As a member of the Grancypher family, Altair’s problems were Gran’s problems. And now, that advancing army was coming into ambush distance. Concentrating his mana for a second, Gran summoned forth an ethereal bow, shaped like the one Song used but made of pure, blue light. Standing up on the branch of the tree, he took aim at the ground some twenty metres in front of the enemy general’s advance. Luhua was said to be a fearsome combatant, and Gran secretly hoped for a chance to resolve things with a non-fatal, honorable, one-on-one duel. The best kind of fight.

Of course, he would always be underestimated. There was a chance that no such duel would be found, and it might turn into a bloody melee.

Either way?

Time to keep the sky’s sweet peace.

#granblue fantasy #gbf #gran #fanfiction #writing #my writing #self-indulgent bullshit

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komahinasecretexchange · 4 years

Text

Title: Setsunai

Author: @sonivegas

For: @entraptantrum

Rating/Warnings: G - T

Prompt: Awkward first kisses

Author’s notes: WAAAAAAAAAAAAA i am so sorry in advance for this. absolute Mess. i wanted to make the prompt part itself better/more prominent though i think i was trying to juggle the ‘plot’ (introspection and two lads chatting) and two of the prompts? words hard……. either way, i hope this is alrighty!!(??) i hope you like it (even a tiny bit) + happy new year!!! :]

Hajime Hinata thought, on that fall day, that some things never really changed.

All the while knowing, as he remembered his classmates, who were not unlike broken live wires dangling helplessly over open water, that everything was anything but the same. And yet… Every time he’d close his eyes, he could just faintly see the silhouetted figures of his classmates, his classmates, every motion and every day blending together like time never existed for them; acting as if they were nothing but average teenagers. Hell, by now Hinata knew that they weren’t even teenagers anymore. He’d always see the fall colours behind their silhouettes, dead leaves dancing around their figures though they looked like nothing more than a backdrop in a school play. Or maybe that was wishful thinking on his end. After all, it was their choice, their fault, for losing sight of themselves and giving into despair, wasn’t it? That’s what he’d always tell himself to soften the blow of reality. ‘Close off your heart.’ ‘Don’t think about the past.’ ‘Just keep moving forward.’ That’s all he was ever good for anyways. Or at least now he knows that he is.

A cool hand gently taps his shoulder twice. Komaeda, he figured from the touch alone. No one else had hands as cold as his. “Hinata-san, I don’t mean to be rude by that gesture, but I really need you to pay attention for just a moment.” Sonia’s face was leaned in a mere few inches from Hinata’s face when he turned around and, undoubtedly, scaring the life out of the boy. It was about then that it clicked in his mind that, yes, it was a colder season now— the winter attire hadn’t come in their newest shipment, so everyone had icicles for hands, and not just the guy who seemed to occupy his headspace more than he liked. Craning his neck back slightly (though not enough to be insulting), he could only try his best to compose his voice. “Sorry, yeah,” He cleared his throat and plastered a polite smile, “What— what’s the matter, then?” Sonia looked away and pressed her lips shut, hesitating on something, before she finally looked back at Hinata with concern laced in her eyes. “I think… he might in the warehouse again.” Ah. A cold sinking feeling dropped like lead in Hinata’s stomach. Hinata knew exactly who “he” was; he didn’t need to ask again, he didn’t even need to ask what the situation was, he simply went as fast his legs could carry him towards the fifth island, only nodding to Sonia before he pushed off the concrete. When it came to the general recovery of the islands, they were doing rather well. The trees were healing from rot and decay, and new branches were sprouting out from the body. Somewhere in the heart Hinata tried to close up, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of hope. He found it strange that he would even pay attention to something like that, but he’d be lying if he said his outlook on life as a whole didn’t change after everything that happened. Whereas in contrast to his highschool days, he wouldn’t give a damn whether one man or twenty got killed in a shooting on the news; nowadays he finds himself tiptoeing with caution even with the smallest of ant hills. It wasn’t something he talked about, there was no need to open up about something as trivial or stupid as that. Yet, no matter what he convinced himself of, being aware of the life around him, his friends, flora, fauna, whatever else is there in between… that was truly something he couldn’t deny caring about. So what was it like for everyone else, with autumn’s undeniable melancholy, to see everything dying and fading away to dust and dirt in the cold?

Or was he the only one feeling this childish? It was only a few moments after stepping off the bridge that he noticed a familiar green hoodie haphazardly pulled over a mop of white hair, feeling the icy weight in his stomach evaporating into thin air. But it wasn’t the warehouse, like he expected it to be, but rather—

“Ah, Hinata-kun!” A distant but cheery voice called out to him, and this time, it wasn’t a sickeningly sweet façade; it wasn’t even the condescending tone dripping with the venom he’d once heard in the past. Hinata padded towards the ruined administration building, faintly remembering Jabberwock Park being exactly where Komaeda now stood admiring the maple trees. Hinata could only try to smile back despite himself.

“It’s strange, isn’t it?” Komaeda spoke barely above a whisper as Hinata came to a stop beside him, both of them never breaking eye contact with the scene surrounding the them. “It feels like time has gone by so much slower, even though this is already our second autumn together.” Somehow it felt like there was a reason why Komaeda wouldn’t look back at him.

“Sonia told me that you would be at the warehouse.”

“Oh… was there an obligation to be at the warehouse?” He finally broke his gaze to look back with stormy eyes, “Or are you still wary of me?”

“I’m not—!” Hinata bit his tongue down. He didn’t want to say anything unnecessary; not now, not when he felt like… this. There was no reason to fight. “What are you doing here anyway? It’s far too cold out here.” “It’s fine, I think I’ve gotten used to the cold bit by bit.” Komaeda replied, “I just like spending time like this.” Hinata sighed, running a hand through his messy hair, “It’s not fine if you get a fever tomorrow. Tsumiki has medicine stored in the kitchen cabinet, but it’s not worth risking it.” The other boy did nothing but nonchalantly shrug, “I’d hate to be a burden on anyone, but you’re saying that as if I’m as reckless as you are.” He spoke with a slight grin that was enough to adorn his face. Or maybe it was just that seeing Komaeda happy in any sense was enough for him. A cool breeze swept through the island, silencing the two, while making a shiver run up Hinata’s spine and goosebumps line his arms; he could tell Komaeda was cold too, but somehow, more than anything, he wanted to be out here at this very moment with the one person who might understand him.

“Hinata-kun…” The other was the first to break the silence, “What would you say the feeling of setsunai is?”

An abrupt question, one that Hinata had no clue how to answer as they both fell into thoughtful silence; yet, it was exactly what he needed to hear. Komaeda hesitated, opening and closing his mouth before he finally took a deep breath and spoke, “If you don’t mind me answering my own question… I think, it feels like autumn itself.” Gently holding onto the leaves that were burnt orange and red, Hinata noted, was how he grounded himself as he talked – even if his already pale fingers grew deathly pale in the freezing wind. There was something that resonated in Komaeda’s words. Setsunai, at least… was a rather peculiar feeling. Something akin to nostalgia, pain, like a bittersweet note plucked in one’s heart. Watching time flow like a never-ending sandglass was all Hinata could do while the days passed, seeing the sun dipping into the horizon night after night, as the world revolved around the sun like it was a promise; though some things never changed. He never changed. He could never change, but only could watch as the world around him continued to evolve. Or rather, the world around them continued to evolve. Winter lead to spring, spring lead to summer, and summer died and bled into autumn. Just like the orbiting earth, it was a promise to nature itself, that it would always come around. But it would always beg the question…

“Do you miss it? Our youth… being free from this pressure?”

Feeling his chest tighten up, Hinata gazed at Komaeda, hoping, pleading for him to understand. However ironic, considering this was the boy he distrusted the most in the past, but deep down he knew where his real feelings lay. He didn’t know why he was so desperate, but he wanted to know, just for once, if his heart resonated the same tone. Komaeda turned towards Hinata, shoving his hands in his pocket at long last. “I can’t say that I miss it, because we never lead the same lives.” Hinata held his breath and braced himself, he could never tell when the coin was flipped when it came to Komaeda; whether it was holding his hand without question or bashing him for his lack of talent, he was worryingly unpredictable. Though he continued, “I never once felt that I’d be deserving of being free but… in another life, I would long to be as ordinary as I could. I would long to be like you.” His words caught Hinata off guard, making him feel as if his lungs were being squeezed though he tried his damndest to shrug it off, “Ordinary isn’t as great as you make it out to be. Sometimes, it feels like you’re stuck. Like nothing is moving except the people around you, and sometimes…” He trailed off, hesitant. Komaeda’s fingertips gently touched his wrist, eliciting something like a static shock in Hinata’s chest, while the other only beamed at him, “I’m listening, but only if you want me to.” Hinata pushed back the urge to roll his eyes at that response and instead took a deep breath. “Sometimes it feels like, now those feelings I carried with me back then are affecting my friends. All of you. When I look at everyone, it feels like something’s missing. Something’s missing from our lives and I can’t even pretend that I don’t know what it is.” Hinata felt like the lead was back in his stomach, “Sometimes I just wish we could all be stupid, innocent teenagers, unafraid of losing time. I wish… I wish I didn’t have to feel afraid of change anymore.” ‘Sometimes, I feel like I’m nothing but cursed.’

‘I don��t want to lose anyone else.’

‘I’m afraid of caring too much again.’ A low hum came from Komaeda’s chest, as he lifted a finger to the bridge of his nose, when he suddenly made a distressed expression, “Ah…” He mumbled, “I forgot my glasses in the warehouse” Sighing, he shoved his hands back into his coat pockets with a little more force than needed. Whiplash aside, Hinata on the other hand, did nothing but gawk with wide eyes at the other, “I’m sorry, since when did you wear glasses? And why are they in the warehouse?” “Well… long story short,— because I would rather die than bore you with my antics— I realized my vision was going bad because I was reading at night, or maybe it was just bad luck— anyway, I didn’t want to bother anyone, so I’ve been trying to craft a pair of glasses with the materials in the warehouse.” Komaeda smiled warmly at Hinata, “I’ve been keeping people out so they wouldn’t see how atrocious my handiwork was!” Hinata scoffed, turning his head away so he wouldn’t think about the warmth he felt from Komaeda despite the biting cold. Feeling his lips go dry from the wind, he touched the tip of his tongue on his lips before speaking, “…So, all those times in the warehouse then, they weren’t—?” Komaeda shook his head, knowing what would come next. “It wasn’t that I was feeling suicidal…” He paused, braving a glance in Hinata’s direction only to find that he held his solemn gaze to the dying trees once more, “In fact, I owe that peace of mind to you… still, those lingering feelings of throwing my life away still hold me down, so, I take solace in this withering season. It reminds me that, despite everything… I’m still alive.” Hinata holds his breath, listening to Komaeda as he smiles to himself, just barely brushing Hinata’s arm with his own, “I don’t know what comes after this, or if I’ll even want to be around for that but… I’ll take that I have in this moment. This peace is what I long for even if it’s temporary. This is what I want to call hope.”

Silence wrapped the two of them like a blanket, where not even the wind could over power the white noise; but, like always, this kind of silence with Komaeda was never an uncomfortable one. Even if his very existence was unpredictable, even when they were trying to numb their feelings for the other, there was always a sense of mutual understanding amidst the silences.

“So, don’t you think we both understand what setsunai is in our own ways?” Komaeda smiled, a genuine one that even in the context of melancholy and hope overlapping each other like ocean waves, felt like a breath of fresh air. Both the sadness and joy intertwined of time flowing created this feeling— a chord of emotions twisting their strings into one, but it was one strong enough to create a bond between those he cared for and loved and that maybe, just maybe, that was alright for now.

“I don’t know. It’s still so strange… I always thought I’d be the one supporting the others in their time of need. But now that I myself feel lost in my own ways, it’s you who’s helping me.” And now Hinata was sure of it; the brushing of each others’ arms wasn’t accidental, when Komaeda leaned into him just a little more. “Hinata-kun, more than anything, I hope we both can remember that there is both good and bad in time passing, and that if you ever feel like you can’t keep up then… I hope I can be there for you too.” The swelling feeling in his chest was unbearable at those words. “Yeah, well—” “I’m glad I met you, Hinata-kun. I’m glad I’m still here with you.” He couldn’t pry away Hinata couldn’t stop staring into Komaeda’s eyes. “I-I’m so sorry interrupted, you aren’t mad, are you?” Komaeda panicked slightly, taking the situation otherwise.

But now Komaeda could be sure of it too; that when Hinata grabbed the edges of his hood and pulled him closer, that the way their chapped lips clumsily brushed together, that they felt the exact same way. About their common ground when it came to change, and even their feelings. Even as the leaves continued falling to the ground below them.

#komahina #komahina secret exchange #fanfiction

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rcdwrxck · 4 years

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𝐈 𝐑𝐄𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐄, 𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐈'𝐌 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔

a drabble containing emotional hurt and darkness. containing his thoughts regarding life and death. read at your own discretion. it does give you a good view into his head though.

Wrote to THIS SONG

Where’s Reno? I don’t know, sir. Nobody has heard from him in days. ... He need’s time.

Rude’s voice echoed around the office. He knew his partner well enough to know that Reno wasn’t coping. As much as he tried to hide it, as much as he tried to hide behind those carefully crafted walls. There came a point that Reno just couldn’t do it anymore. Though it had never felt this bad. He wasn’t sure he was going to come back from this. Everything hurt. It hurt so damn much and he couldn’t tell anyone. He couldn’t appear weak. He refused to. His soul shattering into a million pieces every single time he pushed on. Leaving less of the man he was behind, carrying forward what was fast becoming an empty shell. Lifeless. Soulless.

He expected to be punished for all of his sins. For there were many.

Why? Why? Why? Why did it hurt so damn much? Why won’t it stop.

He ran. Not a simple walk out of a city. No. Reno ran, and ran, and ran until the air felt like fire in his lungs. Until his legs felt like they couldn’t continue to hold his weight. Until he collapsed onto his knees. No destination in mind, nowhere to go. Nowhere safe. His fist’s balled. What was this? Punishment. Guilt?

It wasn’t as simple as that.

“ Does he not know we care? “ Elena this time.

Of course he knew they did. Or to the extent that their jobs would allow them to care. Rules. So many. Don’t get involved. Don’t feel. Don’t get attached. Weakness’ a Turk can not afford.

A single note left in Reno’s scrawl on Tseng’s desk. Unseen, hidden beneath a million files. A clue to his mental state. He didn’t want this anymore. That wasn’t the note. How do you cope with the guilt? How can you explain it to someone who just expects you to follow orders like the machine you are supposed to be. Do as you’re told, ask no questions. Spare them of the bloodshed. Keep it off their hands. ShinRa is your priority. You couldn’t. There were expectations and Reno lived up to them so beautifully. It was like they forgot he was human. They forgot he could feel. He didn’t wan’t to be a monster. And yet that was the role he played. The start of the note --

I don’t want to be a monster anymore.

People expected him to dust himself off and continue on. Like everything didn’t affect him. Like he wasn’t haunted every night by the faces of the people he’d taken from the planet. Like he couldn’t see their faces as clear as day as their names filtered through into his mind. Blood on my hands. Why? Because ShinRa deemed it necessary. They were a danger. Most of the time they weren’t. Yet he had to do it anyway. It was his duty. His responsibility.

How long until you’re crushed under the weight of such demands?

Even Reno had his breaking points. His usual carefree attitude with those closest to them masking the real pain hidden behind his eyes. Nobody cared enough to look. Nobody cared enough to see that he was dangling on the edge of a knife. One small push would have him spiralling. That’s because nobody wanted to deal with such inconveniences. And if he really was that way, what use was he to the company? They didn’t want some human who felt every trivial little thing. They needed a killer with no heart.

“Oh he doesn’t have a heart. He can’t possibly love anything.”

Common thought processes of those who came into contact with him. Mistaking his outward aggression as anything other than what it was. A mask to protect himself. He had to guard his own heart because nobody else would. But beneath it all Reno had one, it beat as loudly as yours and it could break in so many little pieces. The amount of times he’d had to repair it because of ShinRa, he’d lost count. His heart was no longer whole. It was beaten, it was bruised and scarred. But still functioning. He couldn’t breathe. Choked sobs falling from his chest. The sound of metal scraping churned through his mind making him retch. His skin feverish as he tried to outrun himself.

That was the issue though, wasn’t it? You can hide from everyone but yourself.

He’d come so close to finally being able to rest. Right there atop the pillar facing Avalanche. They had him. He’d welcomed it, but the final blow never came. Once again he found himself denied that which he searched for. Did it shock you that he has a death wish? Honestly it shouldn’t. Once more he survived. Waking up in the hospital bed surrounded by beeping machines he breathed out a sigh. Rude mistaking it for relief. “ I’ve got you partner. “

It wasn’t relief. It was anguish. He’d wanted it to end there. Denied again.

A cave, hidden among the hills. Safe. He made it there as he fell against the wall. Tears flowing down his cheeks, dirt and grime mixing in with it leaving tracks. His suit torn, his limbs burned. A scream tore from him. An inhuman sound. Punched the walls over and over until his knuckles bled. The bones broken. The pain was welcomed though as he slipped down.

He’d reached the end of all he could bear. He’d hit his breaking point. He was tired of life. He was tired of fighting. He was tired of being a machine. He was tired of being told how he should be. Why? Why had Rude had to be the damn hero? Of course he knew he’d have done the same thing in reverse. He wouldn’t have left Rude. Rude. The only person in the entire damn company who he could count on. Yet he wouldn’t let him see this side of him.

I just... don’t want to do this anymore. I can’t do this anymore. When will it end? Will it ever end? Will it stop?

He couldn’t breathe. The names ran through his head again. Men, women, children. Bad people. Innocent people. Homes. Everything. Being told he was a machine. He was replaceable. “ Then fuckin’ replace me you arseholes! “ He screamed into the void. “ I don’t fuckin’ care anymore! “

That was the truth, wasn’t it? Reno didn’t care, not about the world -- he cared plenty for that and the people in it. Reno no longer cared for himself. He didn’t care what happened to him. He looked in the mirror and barely recognised his own reflection. He had no respect for himself. He had no love for himself. How could expect others to? He couldn’t.

And at one point in his life... he’d had so much to give. So much to offer.

Now all was left was this ShinRa shell. One who’d been taught to not feel. But right now he’d cracked and it hit him like a tidal wave. He wasn’t a perfect warrior, he wasn’t a SOLDIER with enhanced abilities and emotional suppressants. Not that they had those but Reno suspected. No, his emotions were hidden behind masks. Shown only for a few seconds in his eyes if you knew what you were looking for.

He’d had dreams at one point. He’d had hopes at one point.

All dissolved now. He didn’t deserve them. He didn’t deserve a happy ending. He didn’t deserve love or any of those nice normal things. No, Reno deserved what he was getting right now. A complete and utter emotional drown out. His heart breaking to the point he wanted to rip it from his chest. His hands numb, the emotional pain he felt completely overbearing any of the physical. Electric blue eyes shut tight as he pulled at his own hair. Something, to feel anything other than this.

Make it stop.

A plea. The end of the note. He couldn’t do it himself.

So he would continue to fight until somehow, someday, someone would deliver that beautifully blissful end to him.

Until someone would finally answer his plea. Until someone finally took his life. Until he would be free.

And just like that. The mask fell back into place as Reno stood up straight. Very much the Turk everyone expected of him. The human locked away behind electric blue eyes.

Until that day came where he could be free.

#tw: emotional trauma #tw: death mention #tw: death wish #DRABBLE

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mrsalwayswrite · 4 years

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The Difference Between Champagne and Rum Part 1 (Alfie Solomons x OFC)

So this was a cute one-shot that came to mind that somehow turned into a mini series. I’ll hopefully have the other parts up soonish (once they are written).

I want to dedicate this piece to the most lovely @evelynshelby for inspiring and encouraging me to write an Alfie piece. (Btw, she has her own incredible stories that you should definitely follow.) This is my first time writing a fanfic piece for Peaky Blinders. I have always been too nervous to attempt it. So let me know if you think I did Alfie justice.

Summary: A young Alfie prepares himself to spend a night in jail. Next thing he know, he is on the run with a blonde angel by his side. Nothing about this night goes as he expected.

Warnings: Some violence, swearing and racial slurs. Just the usual in Peaky Blinders. :)

Words: 5k

~The Difference Between Champagne and Rum~

Part 1- Saved by an Angel

1911

He knew it. Everyone knew it. Bless her, even his own mother knew it. No matter what the Rabbi said. Alfie Solomons’ soul was damned. He was sinful and that would not be changing anytime soon. He easily picked up and wore that mantle though. For it meant there was food on the table for his family and coal to keep them warm in their dilapidated, shoddy apartment. It also meant his younger brother and sister could stay in school and receive a good education. Plus their mum did not have to work sewing till her fingers bled from dawn until midnight. No, his soul was damned but he did not care. He was the man of the house, had been since the age of nine when his father died, and his family came first.

The first time he saw her…he wondered if he might regret missing heaven and all its beautiful creatures. It would be a shame if all the angels looked like her. Perhaps he could amend his ways…later.

Blood ran down from the left side corner of his mouth, leaving the tang of copper and dirt on his tongue. The dull ache from his mid ribs told him that he would have bruises there tomorrow. He would have to keep them hidden from his mum. None of the pain affected him though. None of the blood stopped him. In this moment, he was an invincible force of nature. Even the devil himself would refuse to fight him right now.

He glared down at the bleeding, busted man at his feet, the wrath of all his ancestors fueling his rage. “You want to say that again, you fucking wop?”

The man –teenager really- sneered but wisely kept his tongue behind his teeth.

The lad at his feet was only a year older than himself, just barely an adult, but that did not matter. Not here on the dirty streets of London. Not even when the gang of wop lads outnumbered the few Jewish lads walking back to the shitty apartments of their families. Big fucks little. And a certain Jewish lad promised himself to one day be the boss. To never back down from a fight until everyone feared his name and pissed themselves even thinking about fighting him.

Alfie eyed the seven other Italian lads sprawled out in the back alley in various states of injury or restrainment. Two of his own lads looked injured enough but otherwise no one was dead. Returning his intense gaze to the ringleader at his feet, he cracked his bloody knuckles.

“See here. That’s the thing, innit? You think just coz you got them fuckin’ suits and greased hair, you s’better than us. Mmm? S’fucking disgrace, mate. Me little sister can fight better than you lot.”

“Fuck you, Solomons.” The man spat blood onto Alfie’s shoes.

Alfie kicked the downed man. “S’disgusting, Sabini. Mate, you gotta learn to shut your mouth before shit starts fallin’ out, yeah? Now, I’m gonna…”

“STOP THEM! STOP THOSE BOYS!”

He looked up as several whistles blew, alerting him to the coppers running straight towards them. Rapidly he spun around, already seeing the panicked look on a few of his lads’ faces. He guessed these coppers were probably paid off by the Sabini family, so the Italian lads would be seen as the victims or get a slap on the wrists while the Jewish lads would be thrown in jail at least overnight if not a couple of days.

“Ishmael, Natan, get the lads! Get ‘em to the warehouse!” Alfie barked out, eyeing the inevitable situation. He was not afraid. This would not be his first time in handcuffs or in jail. At the rate it was going, probably not his last time either. He would make sure they remembered his name though.

Fists clenched at his sides, he stood perfectly still, like a statue made from stone- unmoving, unrelenting, fearless and determined. Only his icy stare betrayed the whirlwind of emotions seething underneath his skin. He waited for them. As a predator eyeing the unsuspecting prey approaching, he remained fixed amongst the Italian boys he had just been fighting. To any outsider he appeared Ares, the god of war, his victims laying at his feet.

Once the coppers tried to arrest him, to make him surrender…the whirlwind of fire was released. He attacked, doling out several solid punches to those in uniform. They would never forget his name. They fought back with their batons, meeting his bloodied fists. Red clouded his vision. Moments blurred as he held his own. At one point he laughed, cocky and brash. Youth and vengeance fueling his rage.

Eventually, it took four grown men to slam him on the ground and handcuff him. The rocks and debris scrapped the side of his face. He sputtered as a fresh wave of blood filled his mouth when one of the coppers kicked him in the stomach. Cursing colorfully in Russian, he remained down…for now. From what he could see, it looked like the lads had gotten away. Two coppers were trying to wrestle two different wops down and arrest them also. The rest were pulling the Italian lads up against a nearby wall to assess their injuries.

“Move it, boy.” A gruff voice commanded him, dragging him up and towards a nearby brick building across the alley from the Italian boys. Smart man to separate them. He hit the wall, none to gently, and slide down to sit, his back resting against the coarseness of the brick. It tugged at his coat. Sweat soaked through his shirt underneath with flecks of blood splattered sporadically. Whose blood though was the ultimate question. Through half-hooded lids, he watched the coppers and the Italian lads while resting and assessing his own injuries. His ribs rebelled their current position. At least one or two of his knuckles felt busted. The trickle of pooling blood in his mouth made him think he cut his inner check. A new throbbing came from his temple. He could not remember if someone got a hit in or it was where the force of impact from being slammed to the ground originated. The boss would be fucking livid with him. So would his mum. Honestly, he was unsure which was more terrifying when yelling at him.

Opening his eyes to blink away any sweat and blood trickling down, he shifted slightly, the brick digging into his back. That was when he saw her. An absolute angel on earth. Casually walking, as if for a relaxing stroll in the park, she came closer in that dirty back alley. A copper walked close by her, a hand on her elbow as if to guide her. Alfie would not tear his eyes away from her. Never in his seventeen years had he seen anything he could truly label gorgeous or breath-taking. Yet this creature of light did not waver like a flame or mirage. No, she strolled with her head raised proudly, a pout to her full lips with an almost bored look. Her long, blonde hair glowed under the dingy streetlamps, casting a halo around her face, highlighting her delicate features. What made her stand out even more was the party dress and heels that seemed more appropriate for an aristocratic event or a club than the dank back alley full of blood, sweat and piss. Her dress was purple with a sweetheart neckline, lace just barely covering her exposed shoulders and ending mid-shin. Everything about her screamed wealth and posh. Still he could not hate her. It would be like hating a field of sunflowers or a dazzling morning sunrise. His eyes traced her lithe, feminine form and he swallowed subconsciously. There was no way she was older than him, but her silhouette left no doubt that she was a beautiful woman and not a pretty girl.

Once they got close enough, she softly said something to the officer escorting her then without waiting for a response, strutted towards Alfie. Each step she took in his direction, the dirt, blood and sweat felt amplified on his skin and clothes. He could not move nor speak, his mind having lost all function in her wake.

Friendly-like, as if they had known each other for years, she knelt down at his side. Apparently uncaring of the grime in the alley. Her emerald green eyes sparkled like a priceless gem. Quickly she pulled a handkerchief from her small clutch and tenderly dabbed away the blood at his temple, cheek and mouth. No one had touched him this gently outside of his mother and siblings. Unconsciously he leaned into her touch, the handkerchief against his skin.

“Looks like you were in a right, proper fight. I almost feel sorry for the other guy.”

“Naw, don’t be, love. Those wops asked for it.”

“Did they?” She glanced over her shoulder at the others against the opposite wall of that alley. “What did they do?”

“Looked at me funny, right? Can’t ‘ave none of that.” He was not actually going to tell her the wops started yelling racial slurs across the street at him and his lads and making comments about how their mothers spread their legs for anyone. No, he would play it off.

“Well, serves them right then. Looks like they probably needed some dirt on those clean suits and shoes.” Turning back, she winked at him then continued her cleaning, ignoring the rest of the chaos surrounding them. It truly felt like being in the eye of a storm. Nothing and no one else around mattered. All he could see, feel and sense was the angel before him. Even her touch was delicate as she cleaned up his face. Not once did he wince, but that could just be from his mind unable to focus on anything besides her.

“Are you injured badly?” She asked, keeping her voice low as her eyes found his in the gloom.

“No. ‘M fine.”

“Ever been to jail?”

He definitely was not expecting that question from her. “Yeah…yeah, I have.”

She hummed, seeming unsurprised. “Have fun?”

“Oh yeah, fucking best day of me life. Champagne and dancing to fill the night, yeah?”

She laughed, and in that moment he decided that was his favorite sound on this planet. It was robust and sweet, her head tipped back and eyes crinkled. “Well I would hate to take away that pleasure from you but I was wondering if you wanted to get away. I mean these officers are lovely and all but I would not mind a stroll under the moonlight. What do you think? Want to escort me?”

“Love, I’ll follow you wherever you wanna go, yeah?”

A smile burst forth, brilliant as a supernova and filled Alfie with a fire he had never experienced before. Sure he understood the fire of anger and wrath, it helped fuel him in the fights he got into. This though… this fire seeped deep into him like a brand made on his bones that warmed him from head to toes.

“Cheeky. I’m going to hug you but do not move from that position. Wait for my signal, got it?”

He nodded, mouth dry. What the bloody hell was happening? Wait, he would get her dirty with all the filth on him. Before he could protest, she shifted and wrapped her arms around him, embracing him. The scent of lavender filled his senses, making him subconsciously take a deep breath. Was it a perfume she wore? Was it just infused into her skin? It did not matter, he wanted to drown in her scent and never resurface. Her lips were next to his ear, her breasts pressed against his chest, her warm breath ticking the hairs on his neck. It was too much. This angel, a being of light, was creating quite sinful images in his mind. Awful, beautiful, wicked scenarios that entailed her pearly white skin laid bare beneath him. All the blood in his body rushed south and suddenly he felt lightheaded, unsure if it was her intoxicating scent and proximity or his bodily reaction and blood loss. It felt so wrong. His soul was damned, blackened by his choices. Yet he yearned for her like he never had before for anyone or anything.

Both a moment and an eternity later, he heard a faint click coming from behind him. With that she leaned back, but not before dragging a single finger slowly down his jawline. That simple touch sent shivers down his spine.

“What’s your name?”

“Alfie. Alfie Solomons.”

“I’ll be right back, Alfie. Stay here.”

With an astounding amount of grace, she rose from kneeling next to him. Casually she strolled over to the copper who had guided her initially into the alley. He had been speaking with two other coppers standing near the Italian lads. During their strange interaction, Alfie had actually forgotten about the fucking wops and coppers, too entranced by her. Now looking around he could see some of the coppers walking away with the other lads while others stood around surveying the area. He counted at least six coppers in current view. Four too many to all be informally patrolling together. Did someone tip them off to the fight? Were they waiting? Questions swarmed in his mind. At least the Jewish lads got away. They were lucky this time.

Twisting his hands, he froze. The handcuffs no longer strangled his wrists. Actually they felt loose…a quick shake and they practically fell off. That was what she had done when embracing him? Now a new set of questions swarmed like a crazed flock of pigeons in his mind. How? Why? If anything, his respect for her grew…and his curiosity. This was clearly not her first time getting out of handcuffs. She was an enigma. A posh girl who could break someone out of handcuffs in seconds. Glancing to his left, he noticed her small clutch lay on the ground near him. Was this a sign of trust or manipulation?

Overall his rational mind continued to scream ‘what is happening?’ for nothing about tonight was going as expected.

A couple minutes later, she sashed over to the four Italian lads sitting against the far wall and began chatting with them. One, with a black eye, said something and winked making her giggle shyly. A jealous rage crept upon Alfie. Who the fuck did those wops think they were talking to his angel? They were lucky they were all handcuffed because if even one tried to touch her, he would kill the sod…and make it fucking biblical worthy. He continued to watch with growing ire as she laughed and talked with them for several minutes. It took every ounce of self-control to remain where he was and continue the pretense of being handcuffed still.

Finally, she rubbed one of the lads’ shoulders in farewell while making a comment that caused them to laugh or snicker before she returned to his side.

“Nice fuckin’ chat you have there, yeah? Makin’ new friends?”

She sat on the ground next to him, brushing her hair over her shoulder, it easily reaching her mid-back. “Patience, sweetheart, patience. All part of the plan.”

“Plan, eh? That’s the thing, now, innit? I’m not much for patience. Too restless, me mum says, asking too many questions, yeah.”

“I promise I’ll make it worth your time.” She purred out, a glint in her eyes.

His trousers suddenly felt a little tighter. “Oh yeah? Care to share with the class?”

“Now where is the fun in that?”

“You ain’t gonna get me shot, right? That s’fucking pain and would ruin me night.”

“As long as you can keep up.” She deadpanned then glanced over at the other lads, keeping her voice lowered. “You know these streets?”

“Yeah.”

“At the signal, we run. You can get us away from here.”

“Yeah, yeah.” They sat in poised silence for a long moment. He unashamedly took the time to admire her beside him. She was too clean, too pristine to be from anywhere around here. Hell, it looked like she bathed regularly which honestly was uncommon where he was from. She certainly had weaned at the bosom of wealth and continued to be nurtured by it. So why was she here? Why did the coppers have her? Why was she so desperate to get away from them? “What’s your name?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” She winked, fiddling with the hemline on her dress.

“Ah, come on, love.”

“I saw you fight the police men.” She abruptly changed topics. “I have never seen anyone fight like that before. I bet you could box in the rings if you wanted.”

“Yeah? Just somethin’ you learn on the streets, right? Not much to it. I’ve always been broader and stronger than most lads, yeah, so I guess it is easier. Me grandfather taught me some.”

“Well, I found it incredible to watch.”

A second later, a commotion had him whipping his head up in time to see the Italian lads leaping up and running down the alley, some faster than others. The coppers immediately started after them, yelling and blowing their whistles. Chaos suddenly ruling the alley.

He guessed that was the signal.

Leaping to his feet and ignoring the sharp pain in his ribs at the movement, he grabbed her hand. Within the span of a heartbeat, they were racing away from the commotion. Adrenaline coursed through him, helping him forget the aches, pain and fatigue from the fights that night. A shout sounded from behind but neither one of their steps faltered. At the end of the alley, still holding her hand, he pulled her left into a different back alley. He kept his ears open for shouts and whistles, eyes open for coppers and any of those wops looking for revenge. He knew this town, these streets like his own name. They were a part of him, as much as his own blood and bones. He both loathed and loved them. They made him who he was. Yet he promised himself to rise above the poverty dragging its inhabitants down. He would rule this place. Fuck anyone who tried to stop him.

After at least ten minutes of running, he pulled her behind a local dress shop. The streetlamps could not pierce the gloom behind the store, making it perfect for hiding out. Plus there was usually a couple boxes laying around to sit on and it did not smell nearly as bad as the butcher shop just down the street. He pushed her against the wall and pressed himself beside her. Both of them gasping for breath, chests heaving. A glance at her surprised him. A brilliant smile shown, illuminating her face. As if sensing his gaze, she turned her head to meet his eyes. He could not help returning the smile.

“Think…we are…safe?” She asked between deep breaths, eyes still locked on his.

“Yeah…yeah. Don’t hear footsteps…besides ours, right?”

“Yeah.” Her smile turned mischievous as her breathing began to even out. “You seemed to know right where to go. I’m suspecting you have done this once or twice.”

“Once or twice. But you, fuckin’ hell. Gettin’ me outta those handcuffs. You do that often?”

“Once or twice.”

He barked out a laugh, shaking his head. This girl, this angel, was nothing like he had ever met before. Standing next to her now, he realized the top of her head just reached his chin, even in those little kitten heels she wore. For some odd reason, that realization made him smile.

“Is St. Mark’s church far from here?”

Raising an eyebrow, he smirked. “That where you’re supposed to be, innit?”

She shoved him, playfully. “Well is it?”

“No, not far. Come on, love. I’ll walk ya there meself. Can’t have you wanderin’ and gettin’ lost, yeah?” He chuckled at her glare before she just rolled her eyes. Pushing off the brick wall, he was surprised when her hand shot out to grab his arm.

“Wait.”

“S’alright? Need to catch your breath?”

Then the completely unexpected happened. He knew to the very marrow of his bones that he would never be the same again.

She roughly tugged him closer before raising up on her toes and pressing her lips against his. Immediately a heat wave shot through him. Without thinking, his body moved on its own accord. He was too focused on the delicious taste of her pouty lips, that entrancing scent of lavender dancing around her, and her body pressed against his. His hands automatically sought out her hips, backing her against the dirty, brick wall to further press himself against her. A slow sweep of her tongue had him open his mouth on a moan which then allowed their tongues to fight for dominance. Her hands moved from his neck upward into his hair, alternating between fisting it to force him closer and scraping his scalp with her nails. Sure he had kissed a couple of girls before, he was a seventeen-year-old hot blooded male. None of those times even came close to this moment. This kiss that would forever ruin him for any other woman. This was heaven in its bliss and hell in its torment. He ached to get closer, to taste more of her, to hear her breathe out his name. With each moment, every touch and continued molding of their lips, she burned further into him, like a drug he would never fully be able to escape.

Finally their lips unlocked, lungs demanding air. Panting with swollen, bruised lips, they stared at one another caught up in the moment of passion and fire. A whole brigade of coppers could have come marching down the alley and he would not have noticed.

“Do this often?”

“Once or twice.” He teased back, his ego inflated at seeing her look as wrecked as he felt. Apparently his kiss and touch affected her just as much as hers did to him.

She laughed, eyes sparkling in the dimness. “Still wanting to escort me?”

“Love, you ain’t gettin’ away from me now.”

Reluctantly he pulled away from her. All he wanted to do was continue kissing her, breathing her in and never let her go. Yet reality demanded something very different. It was obvious she was in a far different class from himself, something he would never achieve. He picked up her clutch that had been dropped on the ground during their snogging. Together, they stepped out of the alley and into the deserted street, heading south towards the church.

“You stopped bleeding.”

“Mmm? Oh yeah.” He touched his temple where there was certainly a cut. “I didn’t get none on you, right? Don’t wanna get any dirt or blood on you, keep you from being all dolled up.”

“I am fine. That stuff never bothered me anyway.”

He quirked an eyebrow at her. A posh lady not bothered by blood and dirt? She certainly was turning into a class all of her own…and he did not mind at all.

“What? Stop looking at me like that.”

“You’re the oddest lady I ‘ave ever met.” He teased.

“Excuse you!” She shoved him away, causing him to laugh as he stumbled several steps over dramatically. “See if I ever kiss you again, making fun of me like that. Plain rude is what that is.”

Swiftly moving back to her side, he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. She refused to meet his eyes until he tipped her chin up with his hand. “Awww…come on, love. I was just teasin’ you a bit is all. I like you. Never been into girls scared of gettin’ their hands dirty meself. End up bein’ too much fuckin’ work, yeah, they are.”

A soft smile graced her lips. “Well, I would hate to be that.”

“Forgive me? I can get down on my knees right here if that’s what you want. I’ll sing a song for you, but you might think a damn cat is dyin’. Probably best if I don’t. Scare you away, yeah.”

She laughed, eyes crinkling. “I forgive you.” She pressed a quick peck to his mouth before sliding out of his arms to continue walking side by side.

“Do I get to learn who you are now?”

“Oh, I am no one interesting. Just a simple lady out on a stroll.”

Scoffing, he nudged her shoulder with his. “That’s the biggest fuckin’ lie I’ve ever ‘eard. A fancy, posh girl like yourself is never a ‘simple lady’, yeah? So, what’s your name?”

“Perhaps I do not want to be her tonight.” She sighed, looking up at the stars as if to distance herself from reality. A feeling Alfie understood all too well. She continued, her voice just a whisper in the night. “Perhaps I want to be someone different…someone else before society forces me to put the mask back on...to pretend for the sake of family and reputation that I am someone I am not. My apologies. I am rambling. It does not matter. Tis not your problem.”

He stopped, moving to stand in front of her. The depth of despair in her words made his heart clench. The whole night she had eluded an aura of authority, confidence and, truthfully, a sex appeal. Now though, whatever wall she protected herself with dropped for a moment. She tried to move around him but he gripped her upper arms gently yet firmly until she looked up at him. Those emerald eyes held him, curiosity and hesitation warring in their depths. Ever so gently he ran a knuckle down her cheek before tracing her lips with the tip of his finger. A piece of his mind imaging their passionate snogging was only a figment of his imagination.

“Look at me, love. You’ll never be a ‘simple lady’ coz you s’fuckin’ something else, right? You can break outta handcuffs faster than most men take a piss. Then you outrun coppers in those kitten heels all while laughing like a fuckin’ lunatic. But hell, maybe all posh ladies are like that where you are from, yeah? Scarin’ the shit outta normal lads but not me, no, love, you’re stuck with me now.”

With a blossoming smile on her lips, his self-control ran out. Bending down slightly, he kissed her. This kiss was slow and soft, a caress of lips and intermingling breaths. He broke it, placing his forehead against hers. “So, who do you wanna be tonight?”

“Either no one of consequence just out enjoying a stroll…”

He snorted. That was him every day.

“…or a king and queen, looking down on our kingdom.”

With a flourish, he bowed, probably not properly in anyway but it made her laugh. Then standing up, he quickly pulled his long black coat off and draped it over her shoulder. The goosebumps and faint shivers had not gone unnoticed while he held her. She giggled, giving him a proper curtsy while wearing his coat as a robe, looking more regal than she should.

“Your majesty, your carriage waits for you.”

Her smile was brighter than the full moon and stars above. Still giggling, she wrapped an arm through his. “My king, you are truly too kind.”

“Naw, that’s what us fuckin’ proper royal people do, yeah?”

They both laughed as they strolled down the darkened, dirty streets. Their conversation steered clear of anything too personal. Both enjoyed this pretend game, being someone else if even just for a little while. They talked about what they would do to make the city better, complained about the particular subjects that annoyed them, how many dogs and horses they each wanted, and where their summer getaway should be. On more than once occasion, they stole kisses from one another, some chaste and some not so much.

Yet like the clock striking midnight and the spell being broken, their time neared its end as they approached St. Mark’s church. Ahead, Alfie could see several cars lined up on the street. Their drivers standing around smoking and talking, waiting for those inside. The cars and drivers screamed wealth, far more than common in Camden Town.

“I can go from here. Thank you for walking me.”

“You sure? I don’t mind none, love.”

She slipped his coat off her shoulders before handing it over. “Thank you, Alfie. This was far more fun than I have had in a long time.”

“Will I see you again?” The words came blurting out without his permission but he did not regret asking. He desperately wanted to see her again.

“I hope so. I truly do.”

“Wait, I still don’t know your name. That’s not quite fair, innit? I mean, when I first saw you, I thought to meself, there, now there’s a fuckin’ angel.” He reached out a hand and twirled a lock of blonde hair around his finger. “Pretty damn sure you’re the most beautiful thing on this fuckin’ earth, yeah? And I’ve seen the ocean before, Margate yeah, but its nothin’ compared to you.” Where the words came from he was unsure but they poured forth on their own. As if knowing their time was over, he wanted her to remember him, even if it was for blubbering like a simpleton. He hoped she would not forget him like he would never forget her.

Taking a step closer, she kissed him once again, cupping his cheeks. “Call me that. I’ll see you around, Alfie. I do not think this is good-bye. Not for us.”

Before he could respond, she twirled around and walked towards the cars, gliding like a phantom from a dream. It did not take long for the men to notice her, one in particular coming to her side. After a minute of talking, he walked next to her up the stairs of the church then disappeared into the light after opening the doors.

Alfie stood rooted in the shadows for longer than necessary. It was foolish to linger, he knew that, but his body felt immobile. His eyes glued to those doors he would never pass through. Finally with a huff and curse, he tugged his coat back on and turned away. His walk home would be long for St. Mark’s was in the opposite direction of his mum’s shit apartment. It was worth it though. With each step, the lingering hint of lavender drifted off his coat. A reminder of the only other person besides himself to wear it. His feet were on autopilot for his mind could not stop ruminating on the blonde beauty with gemstone eyes. An angel on earth.

On the barren street under the moonlight and flickering streetlamps, Alfie prayed for the first time in years. He prayed to see her again. That whatever fate brought them together would not desert them now. He needed her light in the dark world he inhabited. He wanted once again to hold and kiss his angel.

#peaky blinders #peaky blinder fanfic #alfie solomons #peaky blinders fiction #alfie solomons x oc #pre ww1 #mzwrites

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inkribbon796 · 4 years

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Loose Lips, Sink Ships

Summary: Secrets, secrets, never tell . . . Secrets, secrets, just as well. Sometimes secrets are harmless, like the fact that Roman has a chronic case of losing the remotes and they don’t actually grow wings. But for Virgil and some of the other heroes, they’re a bit more serious. Too bad the Jims have no sense of the words: “keep out”.

A/N: No ships were harmed in the revealing of secrets. Just Virgil’s peace of mind. ALSO! Just wanted to put it out there I’m really glad I didn’t commit to a name for Deceit, might come out with a bonus fic this weekend for Deceit, cause I’ve got Sanders Sides on the brain.

Marvin would always swear up and down that it was an accident.

The magician had always been good at brewing potions. They took time, and Marvin prided himself on the fact that he could succeed where others failed, or even weren’t so good at. So of course he could make about any type of potion that wasn’t necessarily “above board” to make. I.E: love potions and truth serums. Both of which didn’t last nearly as long as fiction liked to say they lasted for.

However, when the Jims walked into a relatively packed common room with a huge grin, everyone knew something was up with them.

Eric, Patton, Virgil, and Randall were all watching a movie, a little bit of downtime before Patton and Virgil stepped back out. King was in the kitchen arguing about the coffee maker with Ethan and Roman. And Jackie, who was just watching the room, took one look at the Jims and thought, “Oh no, what are they up to this time?”.

“Party’s in the house!” RJ screamed and threw the glass potion he’d been hiding behind his back onto the floor. It smashed into pieces and quickly began to fill up the space.

A silvery smoke instantly flooded the room, more smoke than could have possibly fit inside that little glass orb.

Everyone in the lobby area began coughing, the smoke physically forcing them to breath it in. Jackie used his super speed to open the door and force the smoke out into the open air.

“Fook!” Jackie coughed, “what was that?”

“Not a glitter bomb,” RJ shrugged.

“I thought the label said it was a glitter bomb,” CJ agreed.

“Yeh fookers are mad,” Jackie spat. “Where’d you even get it?”

“Marvin’s study,” CJ answered. “He was working on something else.”

“Then why’d you take it?” Anxiety shouted. “What even was that thing?”

Both of the Jim Twins looked at each other, and then shrugged at the same time.

“Helpful,” Virgil glared at them.

“Okay, so we gotta figure out what it does,” Patton added. “Do you think it’s going to hurt anyone outside?”

“Nah, it was starting to dissipate when it hit the air outside,” Jackie said, zipping over to check outside for a second “Yep, coast’s all clear.”

Patton let out a sigh of relief, “Okay, that’s good.

“Maybe we could ask Marvin,” Randall asked.

“Good idea,” the Jim twins began at almost the same time. “We’ll go find him.”

Then they looked at each other with confusion.

“Nah uh,” Ethan walked over. “I don’t trust the two of you with shit. I’m coming with.”

Once the three of them were gone, Roman commented, “What if it only works on twins. Oh no! Will I be forced to share a mind with Remus again.”

“Shoot me,” Virgil groaned.

“No, you don’t really mean that do you?” Patton asked in concern.

“Of course not,” Virgil said. “It just slipped out.”

Patton looked relieved, and then tears started prickling his eyes, “Oh good, I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

Then Patton raced over and wrapped his arms around Virgil, the more anxious Side stiffening up like a cat that had been suddenly picked up.

“Come on, Pat, let me go,” Virgil struggled.

“Why don’t I ever get a hug from you?” Roman complained.

Jackie had his head in one of his hands, his phone starting to ring for Marvin. He was getting impatient, even more so when Marvin didn’t answer him. “Come on, we need to figure out what we got hit with.”

Marvin walked in with Ethan and the twins, and Jackie immediately stomped over to him.

“Hey Marv, what the hell?” Jackie spat. “What’d they steal?”

“I can’t tell just by the color ‘a smoke,” Marvin defended heatedly. “Has anyone suddenly tried making out.”

“No,” Eric said. “I ha-ve a b-b-oy-friend now, and . . . I don’t want to cheat on him. I’ve . . . I’ve never had a boy-friend before and—”

“Eric,” Marvin called out. “Breathe.”

“Is it Illy?” Roman’s attention hyper focused on Eric. “Did he call back? Tell me.”

“Illinois?” King balked. “Why the hell you are dating that asshole?”

“He’s not an asshole, he’s a sweetheart,” Eric began tearing up.

“He put slugs in my bed,” King dismissed. “He’s a nut job who got crazier the older he got and the closer he got to Dad.”

“Is it the same Illinois that works for Dark?” Virgil spoke up. “King’s right, he’s crazy.”

“He’s not!” Eric began crying.

“Hey, quit making ‘em cry, assholes,” Randall shouted back.

Magic suddenly seized all of them, Marvin taking control of the situation. “Hey,” Marvin called out. “Okay, it’s either a truth potion, or someone aerosolized my supply of Whiskey.”

“What were you doing with a truth potion?” Jackie demanded. “Did you give it to those two fookers?”

“No,” Marvin scoffed. “Those two would steal the clothes off my back if it meant pulling a prank.”

“We totally would,” CJ smiled, fist bumping with his brother; both of them which huge proud smiles.

“Doesn’t mean you didn’t try something,” Jackie reminded.

“I didn’t drug yeh, an’ it’ll wear off anywhere from an hour ta about a day, ‘pends on the dose.”

“A whole day!” Jackie was practically screeching.

“Depends on the dose,” Marvin answered. “But as long as no one’s got some deep dark secret you all should be fine.”

Anxiety let out a nervous scream.

Kay laughed nervously, “Everyone already knows mine.”

Patton began sobbing, whatever he was saying almost indecipherable.

“Well that’s great,” Marvin groaned.

“Why did yah even have that potion?” Jackie asked, still glaring at Marvin. “Probably didn’t mean for us ta get it though.”

“I made it ages ago an’ didn’t want ta risk it by flushing it down the drain,” Marvin spat. “Just get e’eryone comfortable, I’ll see if I can whip an antidote up.”

“Thanks, asshole,” Jackie spat. Then he looked a little surprised. “Dammit, that was supposed to stay in my head.”

“Well ‘til the potion wears off, it’s not. Keep everyone who was affected here,” Marvin sighed. “I’ll make some calls.”

Jackie nodded, thanking Marvin in-between cursing at him.

Keeping themselves in the lobby they tried not to insult each other the best they could. Eric was mostly calmed down, only snapping at King who snapped back. It was fun for everyone to see the normally timid Eric snapping at someone.

However Patton was lying in the middle of the floor, staring at the ceiling. Virgil and Roman were on either side of him. King and Jackie were on the sofa and both the Jim’s were piled into a bean bag chair. Eric has gone to his room to sleep everything off, Randall taking him there.

“Do you ever think that your life’s a lie?” Patton mumbled out loud. “That no matter how many times you fuse, and how hard you try to be a good person, someone can just scoop out everything that makes you a good person and put in something else.”

Roman stared at him. “Like what?”

“I think I was replaced with another Patton, that your Patton is in my world, and I’m here,” Patton began to ramble. “But I wanna be a good person, I wanna be a good person so bad it hurts.”

“You are a good guy, Pat,” Roman said, cuddling up next to him.

“No, I’m a bad person,” Patton said in-between sobbing, his voice choking up. “I worked with Dark, I’ve watched people die.”

“You never worked with Dark, you’re been with the other Sides the whole time,” Anxiety told him. “I would have recognized you.”

“Then why do I have all these awful memories in my head that won’t go away,” Patton sat up, looking desperately at Virgil. Whether or not he was looking for reassurance or someone to validate his claims was unknown. “They only go away when I fuse. When I was Thomas last time they went away for months.”

Anxiety seemed to be thinking on Patton’s words, “It must be Arthur, he must be doing that to you. He’s forcing you to think that way.”

“Who’s Arthur?” Patton asked.

“Arthur’s dead,” King interrupted. “He bled out on an operating table in front of me. How many times do I keep having to repeat that.”

“What do you mean he’s dead, he can’t be,” Virgil responded. “He’s been keeping Dark from taking over the base.”

“Nah that’s Host and J.J, the two of them keep Dark out,” Roman bragged. “Dark’s always been trying to get into the base but it wasn’t until the Host joined that J.J got some help.”

“I knew he was a liar!” Anxiety shouted.

“Who?” Roman asked. “Dee?”

“Dark!” Anxiety answered. “Oh no.”

“He lies about a lot of stuff,” King agreed. “He once told me we couldn’t get a pet, and then he got himself a cat and named it after himself. I just wanted a puppy.”

“That’s so sad,” Patton told him, rolling over to prop his chin up on his palms. “Least you got a kitty.”

“For a couple days,” King dismissed. Then he paused, “Hey Vee, how’d you even hear about Artie? Everyone in the network uses nicknames.”

Virgil felt the words coming, like an out of control freight train with broken brakes. He grabbed at his throat. “He told me to look for him.”

“Who?” King asked. “Artie?”

“I don’t want to do it, I have talked with him since,” Virgil said, everyone was staring at him.. “You have to believe me, I didn’t believe it, I’m not spying on you, I promise!”

“I believe you,” Patton told him. “You don’t have to talk to him ever again.”

“What kind of spy doesn’t report on the people he’s spying on?” Jack agreed.

“You’re not mad?” Virge asked, daring to hope that somehow he was getting out of this alive. “Even if I was a bad guy?”

King laughed, “You think that’s bad, I’m hiding out from my old man because he would probably kill me if he ever saw me again.”

“Who’s your dad?” Randall asked.

“Dark,” King said, before slapping his hand over his mouth. “Oh no, Host’s gonna kill me.”

“What!?” About half of the heroes in the room shouted. Virgil stared at King.

“You’re not Arthur,” Virgil said out loud, his filter completely destroyed by the truth dust.

“Nah, that’s one of my siblings,” King was staring at his hands. “Host, Bim, Yan, me, Illy, Yancy, and . . .”

Then he stared at his hands, “Huh, weren’t there seven of us?”

“Was that Arthur?” Virgil asked.

“Nah, I already counted him,” King dismissed, waving at Virgil’s direction. “Sides, Artie’s kinda dead, except in the ways that probably matter. You all lucked out, you guys didn’t have to babysit him.”

RJ, who was almost falling asleep with CJ snapped away, almost dragging him and his camera over to have it almost pressed into King’s face. “This sounds like a story.”

King stared at the camera in fear, “Is that live? Please tell me it’s not live.”

“The Jim Twins should make sure it doesn’t see the light of day,” the Host announced himself.

“Host, there’s a truth spray in the air!” King called out desperately as the Host walked closer.

“Even if it was still the air, the Host’s narrations have him dictate his mind anyways,” the seer reminded.

“Oh yeah,” King’s mouth formed a thin line. “You really got the short end didn’t you?”

The Host just stared at him. “The King of the Squirrels should take a nap before he incriminates himself any further.”

“What if I did?” King somehow looked halfway between apologetic and not even a little remorseful. “Like, what if I messed up, bad?”

“The Host noticed,” the seer frowned at him.

“Nah, it was bad,” King frowned. “The one thing you told me not to do, I did it.”

“The Host can see the future, he doesn’t need a replay,” the Host reminded curtly.

“Do you hate me?” King asked sadly. “You probably do, right?”

The Host sat down on the couch next to his adopted brother, his expression softening, “The Host has never hated King.”

“Did Artie?” King was staring at his hands.

“No the Author did not hate King either,” the Host told him “He was angry and dangerous, but he did not hate his adopted family.”

King looked sad, “Oh, that sucks. Cause you were an asshole and I always felt bad about not being nicer.”

“King should save his sympathy,” Host decided. “The Author did not deserve it.”

“You did,” King told him. “You were in there, an’ I should’a been nicer.”

“So you’re Arthur then?” Virgil asked, narrowing his eyes in concentration. “Probably should have called that.”

“King and his friends should sleep,” Host told him, as his words began to curl around the room and people began dropping one by one to sleep. “Everything will be better after you sleep.”

They slept, making it easier for the minds to clear even if each of their dreams were a little more unusual and potion-fueled than usual. Marvin was able to lift the spell by the time they woke up, leaving an uncomfortable atmosphere in the potion’s wake.

#Superhero AU #Masks and Maladies #Mark Fischbach #Sean McLoughlin #Thomas Sanders #the Jim Twins #Marvin the Magician #Anxiety Sanders #Patton Sanders #Roman Sanders #King of the Squirrels #Jackieboy Man #the Host #Randall Voorhees #Eric Derekson #Truth Serum #Jim chaos #the Jims at their finest

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crystalsexarch · 5 years

Text

the little-death - crystal exarch - e

The Warrior blinks her eyes open, though she’s still but half awake. The light of the First dances through her window onto bits of dust, and she makes of it a certain haze, a mist, like the Pendants exist somewhere outside of time and place. Everything is blue. Everything is so, so quiet.

Twenty-nine - free day

Crystal Exarch. This became explicit, but it's really about pain and character growth. Ambiguous female WoL wakes to find her partner already up and troubled by the nature of his own survival.

More writing and sinning available here.

Don’t forget to submit your own request...bb

It must be early. She can already tell her lover has risen, but she suspects he hasn’t traveled far. She considers going back to sleep - rolling over into G’raha’s space and enjoying the ghost-warmth he’d left behind - but when she finds the spot cold, she lowers her brow.

At first she doesn’t catch him in the far corner of the room, standing robeless before the mirror. Likewise, he is oblivious to her awakening. His own body occupies him well enough; his own body and its flaws. No dream or disturbance brought him from the Warrior’s embrace. There had come a point in the early morning where his eyes simply opened, and in his head he found thoughts of G’raha Tia of the Source, of young muscle and mismatched eyes.

Gazing at his naked flesh, he tries to decide whether he is proud of having been that man or ashamed to have become somebody else.

The Warrior eyes him through her sleep-haze. If she cocks her head just right she catches his face reflected back at her, ignorant still of her gaze. He looks instead into his own eyes and drags his fingers down his cheeks, lets his left hand catch at the cut of crystal carved into him. And as it catches, his lips tremble.

She shuffles at his pain, not meaning to attract his attention - but his eyes shift to her reflection nonetheless. Before she can speak, he chokes a gasp and collapses to his knees.

“Raha - “

She’s out of bed soon enough, her own legs awake enough to bring her to him.

He hides his face in his hands and grits his teeth. The sudden rush of her body at his back, of the warmth of her arms around his neck only reinforce the idea that she comforts him more than he could ever comfort her. He and his body of crystal. He and his plague of guilt. He and his falsehoods, misfortunes, and fronts. For all his years, he has grown only better at wasting time.

“I...meant not to wake you,” he says.

“You didn’t.” Her voice floats to his ears.

Even in angst, he leans into her, cranes his neck to her embrace. “There is poison in my thinking. Poisoning me.”

“Let me take it from you.”

He sobs once and holds his elbows to keep his arms from shaking. “I would not have you likewise afflicted…”

“Then let me help.” She starts to rub his shoulders, but he twists his crystal arm away and buckles forward until his forehead is mere ilms from the wooden panels of the floor. Surprised, she lets her hands fall away. The muscles of his back surge with his heavy breaths. Only when he has breathed several cycles, does she set her fingers on his shoulder blade. “You are...hurting.”

There’s little he thinks he can do to keep himself from whipping the pace of his breaths to a frenzy. Between gasps, he exclaims something he hadn’t put into words before speaking them aloud:

“I’m so afraid!”

The room, nay the world is quiet, but for the Exarch’s ragged breaths. Not even the Warrior has words for him in those moments.

But she is yet thinking. She has been this same coil of pain and grief and burden. She has bled air onto the floor and gasped. She has rocked herself into exhaustion and sought comfort from the cold earth. She has needed as he needs, but - the cure eludes her.

Getting it out - whatever it was supposed to be - gives him a reprieve. He is able to keep his eyes open and process the wooden knots of the floor before him for a moment. Too soon, the lines warp with the return of his tears. His arms come forward in impulse, and he knows his body wants to hide itself, but she’s got him - she’s got him for better or for worse - she’s got her fingers wrapped around his forearms -

And she kisses the back of his neck thinking it is what she would have wished for in her darker moments - for affection and companionship.

But he thinks of fear. My life is ruled by fear even as I lie with the greatest force known to any reflection.

A reflection, as it happens, sits before him.

He raises his head and looks mirroward with eyes now tinged red. Though the Warrior’s eyes are closed, he sees somehow that their faces are not so dissimilar as he once may have thought. Tears have trailed down her cheeks as well, and stress has knit her eyebrows high.

She feels him raise his head and opens one eye. Her lover stares at her through the mirror, and she stares back at him until blush paints her cheeks instead of pain. “Look at us,” she laughs through her tears.

His own laugh dies in his throat. “I…”

“It is far too early to have shed so many tears.”

He swallows and uses the mirror to find her fingers with his own. “I am…”

“Don’t you say you’re sorry.” She presses her face into his back, unapologetically serious. He can feel it on his skin. “The only time you’ll be sorry is if you try to keep your suffering from me again.”

A chill runs through him. “My love...I just...Iam loathe to burden you with anything more than I already have.”

She shakes her head. “No. No burden.”

“I - “

“You are allowed to be afraid. You are allowed to need.” She pulls away and forces him to look at her true face instead of her reflection. “So tell me what you need.”

The whole of his body, the strength of the Tower even, can do nothing to stop the surge of emotion that flushes from his chest throughout the rest of his body. He can barely relay his next found truth. “I confess,” he says. “I know not what I need...but what I want is…”

Lips part. Hearts beat. The Warrior looks to the side in prescient bliss. “Take it…”

When he presses his mouth upon hers, he leaves little room for escalation. They twist until he has found his way on top of her. If lust hadn’t riddled his mind, he may have felt ridiculous for crying in one moment and straddling her the next, but his arousal was greater than his inhibition. As they had woken, they lie already naked on the floor, with no robes, armor, or smallclothes to remove. Already they had locked together in one space - now longing for an additional connection.

“Is this all right?” he hisses, drawing his hand to her slit. “The floor?”

She bites back a moan to answer. “Anywhere. Here, now.” She winces as he pushes a finger inside. “Take me. Take me all.”

The idea was to warm her up, but as her hands find his member he grows increasingly impatient - increasingly willing to be as impolite as she - but he holds back until he can slot another finger in her heat and press at an angle he knows will weaken her vitality.

“Ah! Raha!”

He fingers her and leans so he can feel her nipples on his chest. She loves the kiss of crystal on her, inside her. What he curses, she relishes and craves. She arches her back to get more of it, and more of him.

When he withholds a few motions longer, she bites his tongue, and he pulls away gasping and red hot. “Very well,” he says. “If...if you insist.”

“I do.” She’s melting beneath him, begging him to bring her back together. “I do, Raha.”

He feels his lower lip tremble. There is so much power in fear. So much ambiguity. So much that drives and resists, propels and prevents. Fear wages and wins wars, makes martyrs and cowards alike.

G’raha sets his forehead upon her neck and pushes himself inside, inhaling sharply. When he can go no farther, he breathes out into her hair.

“Gods…”

“My...Warrior…”

And when he starts to move, she twitches her hips up. It’s always that first push that frenzies. From now on, she knows she will fight only for pleasure: her own and his. She can see his tail lashing and stiffening with his thrusts. Though she can’t quite reach its base, she knows she can please him just as well by rubbing either of his ears.

He groans when she reaches the tip and pauses so he doesn’t embarrass himself. “Do you want me to - to touch you?” he says.

“Should it...please you…”

“It would…” He raises himself on his right arm and sets his left at her clit, but she pushes it away.

“The other is not lesser.”

He looks to the side, face as red as his hair, and readjusts so his clumsy crystal fingers can rub at her center.

“Just...like that…”

The words…excite him...

Deeply he moves, hoping he can survive another wave each time. When she squirms at his touch, he feels release building, and each time it grows too strong, he looks away so the sight of her lustful form beneath him begets not an early climax.

Soon, she gets tired of him trying to delay the inevitable. As long as she’d like to have him inside her, she is ravenous and knows he’s holding back. She wraps one arm and one leg around him, forcing him down onto one elbow. Knowing he wants to mark her, she shifts her head to press against her shoulder.

The idea that she wants his teeth on her skin makes his eyes water. The last of his courtesy is gone. Muscle memory propels his crystal fingers to work, but he can no longer focus on anything but chasing the thrust that will send him over the edge.

She’s pulsing by the time he clamps down on her neck, hoping the rhythm of her orgasm will intensify his. He holds and holds and holds her with his teeth until his tongue lolls onto her skin to the tune of a savage groan. Even after she’s certain he’s pumped as much seed into her as either of them can manage, he continues thrusting until his grunts become whimpers and he lets fall his body onto her chest.

Time has passed since the blue morning that brought them together, awakened.

The sun shines into the room and hits the mirror so it half-lights their connected, sweat-covered bodies. But neither of them sees. They have closed their eyes. Anything they could think of saying has already been said - or is instead already known through the heat they share. The sun they make between themselves.

But eventually, he is the one to rise, only to kiss her forehead and brush the wet hairs from her face. He smiles, for he knows through her he can become someone new, not quite G’raha nor Exarch. Something better. Something that can follow her forever, or as long as she’d have him. This is the weight he will bear, the one to keep him burning himself away. From burning her away. From burning.

He closes his eyes.

“I love you.”

#crystal exarch #ffxivwrite2019 #ffxiv fanfic #ff14 fanfic #final fantasy 14 #shadowbringers spoilers #mywriting #uhmmm..........#this is the One insofar as my exarch-postings go....#at least that's what i feel right now #other than pain #i mean #you guys know how it is #how are you doing? y'all good?#fan fiction i s h a r d

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ahomeganeyatsu · 5 years

Text

Ran Off in the Night (part 2)

He woke up to the distant rumble of traffic and curtains rustling from the strong wind. He was lying on his side, curled up in a fetal position, comforter pressed close to his nose. His face shifted, creasing into a frown. The scent tickling his nose was slightly unfamiliar. There was a vague memory there, but try as he might, Lucas couldn’t grasp it. He groaned as he turned upright, hand moving to rub the sleep out of his eyes. Instead of skin, the teen felt soft fabric and this caused the frown to deepen.

He blinked his eyes open. The white cream ceiling of his room slowly swims into focus. He raised his arm and stared at the black sleeves covering it. It was long and went past his hand, hiding most of it, save for half his palm and his fingers. Well, that certainly explained why he didn’t feel the skin of his knuckles earlier.

It was obvious the top wasn’t his. Lucas rarely owned any clothes too big on him and this one certainly had him drowning in it. Which was already strange as it is. He also knew this wasn’t Yann’s because: 1) it didn’t smell like the detergent or fabric conditioner that Yann’s mom uses; and 2) he doesn’t remembering borrowing Yann’s clothes last night. Hell, he didn’t remember going to Yann’s last night.

The thought of last night had Lucas reaching to the side of his neck. He didn’t know what he had expected, but his fingertips meeting smooth skin? Certainly wasn’t it. It was strange, to say the least, and confused the hell out of him. Lucas wasn’t sure how long he stayed like that. Staring at the ceiling, fingers lingering on the skin of his neck. Naively expecting that the next moments would somewhat change the unblemished flesh there.

He was startled out of his thoughts when a buzz cuts through the quiet atmosphere in his room. Several more beats passed before it dawned on him that the sound had come from his phone. With some effort, he pushed himself to sit up on his bed with a groan. His limbs were shaking and his chest was rattling from every expansion and contraction of his lungs. It was difficult to breathe and the lack of surprise from this was frankly beginning to worry him. He rubbed his eyes again. Thinking, maybe, a few extra seconds would help make sense of things. Wishful thinking, he later comments when he remained unenlightened.

He sighed and reached for his phone on his desk instead.

He rubbed his eye and squinted at the screen. There was a message from his maman and another from Yann. The one from his maman got a tired huff out of him. Although at the thought of his maman, something niggled at the back of his head. Flashes of golden light, the notion of wings, and storm-grey eyes. He shook his head. Probably a weird dream. He tapped the back button and opened Yann’s message next. A frown slowly took over his face and had him immediately going through his jacket’s pockets. Before he could begin to search in earnest, the door to his room opened and Mika and Lisa invade his space.

Fuck it. He’ll look later.

“Lucas? Are you alright?” Despite the small screen, Lucas could perfectly read the concern on Manon’s face. He must have zone out somehow. Thoughts drifting into the events of the previous evening.

“Hmm? Oh, yeah. Yeah. I’m fine. Don’t worry, I’m just still trying to wake up,” he laughed softly, hand ruffling his already messy hair.

“Did you sleep well last night?”

Lucas considered telling her the truth. That he rarely slept and if he did, four or five hours were the most he could get. Manon had offered that if he needed someone to talk to, she was there for him. She was kind and she cared about him, even if they hadn’t known each other that well.

“I—” He bit his lip at the last moment. Decided to keep the words to himself. He couldn’t burden her with that. She has already helped him. He couldn’t ask for more. “I did. Better than the basement floor,” he joked. He swallowed the lump in his throat. Tried to forget the dark confined space of the old flat’s basement. Of the thing that huddled in the corner and watched him as he slept. “Way better.”

When the call ended, Lucas found himself asking Mika if he noticed what time he came home last night.

Mika tapped a finger under his chin, affecting a thoughtful expression. “Can’t say for sure kitten, I didn’t hear you come in. Definitely early morning though since I came home around two and you weren’t in your room yet.” Lucas took note of the curious look he gave him. He had sensed that Mika wasn’t finished and he was right because a beat later, he adds, “That hoodie’s a little large on you, don’t you think?”

Lucas looked down at the top he was wearing. Took in the black article that covered half of his thighs. How roomy and comfy it felt. How it seemed to be enveloping him in a warm hug. He returned his eyes to Mika. He saw the slight smirk tugging on his lips and the mischievous glint in his eyes.

“I’m going back to bed,” he scowled at his flatmate and pushed past him. “Don’t think of bothering me!” he threw over his shoulder. He knew it was going to fuel whatever thoughts had begun brewing in the man’s mind. It didn’t mean Lucas would just stand there and comply with being interrogated. He retreated to his room and planned on staying there as long as he could.

He slept in the same hoodie that night.

There was something about it that Lucas found comfort in. He couldn’t tell what exactly. It just made him think and feel safe. It was weird, yes, but it also felt nice. He didn’t give it too much thought. Especially when his face buried itself on the cuffs of the hoodie’s sleeves and breathed in it.

“This will cost you quite the amount,” a woman said. She sounded both near and far but Lucas could barely summon any amount energy to confirm.

“Charge it on the Institute. Please, just help him,” someone answered. This time it was male. The voice youthful, soft and mellifluous. There was a rustle and the fabric around Lucas’ neck loosened. Something warm replaced it and the boy flinched at the invasive touch. Slowly digging into his skin and moving through him, inside him.

Lucas whimpered and buried his face on soft fabric. It smelled like blood and sweat and something more that he couldn’t name. Fingers squeezed his hand and began to trace soothing shapes on it.

“You care about him,” curiosity bled into the woman’s voice. “You’ve always been a strange one.”

“I’m only doing my duty,” the male replied.

“Your duty doesn’t require you to care about us.” A clink and a pop, “Let him drink this. This will help with the blood loss.”

A rough hand cupped Lucas’ face, turning it slightly. A thumb parted his lips and something was placed between them. Something awful was poured into his mouth and he almost coughed it out but the hand rubbing his throat made him swallow the damned thing. He was assaulted with a series of coughs and someone was rubbing his back gently.

“We were tasked to protect the inhabitants of both worlds.” Lucas blinked his eyes open and met stormy-greys. His vision was still blurry, but those eyes stood out. They were starting right into Lucas. An unreadable expression reflected in them. “It’s hard not to care if you were meant to protect.” A thumb brushed against Lucas’ cheeks. His eyes fluttered close and he let out a long exhale. Bit by bit, he was sinking back into the dark.

“Do you still want me to alter his memories?”

Lucas’s eyes snapped open. His breath coming in short gasps echoed deafeningly in the silence of his room. His fingers clutched his sheets deathly tight, needing something to hold onto, to anchor him.

He had been dreaming. Dreaming of something important. His mind clambered to catch the wisps of his dream, any detail, any flash, but as the seconds ticked by the more it escaped him. It felt like that fox from the Greek myths. Laelaps always so close but the Teumessian fox will forever remained out of reach. A never-ending chase between the dog that could catch whatever prey and the fox that could never be caught.

He stayed like that until his breathing calmed and the dream was no more than a forgotten thought.

Sleep became an elusive companion.

#elu shadowhunter au #elu fic #skam france #skamfr fic #elu #elu chaptered fic

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hollyhomburg · 6 years

Text

Don’t Care if it Hurts: pt.3

Dog hybrid! + Gaurd dog!Jimin x Reader) (ft.olderBrother! + Mafia boss!Namjoon)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Summary: After a rival gang makes an attempt on your life, Your older brother, the infamous leader of Seoul’s largest gang; Kim Namjoon gets you a guard hybrid; Park Jimin, The reigning champion of Seoul’s underground hybrid fighting ring.

Pairing: Jimin x Reader, mentions of Unrequited!Hoseok x Reader

Warnings/tags: Past abuse, Blood, Mafia!reader, Mafia!Namjoon, Older brother!Namjoon, DogHybrid!Jimin, fighting, slow burn, general angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, eventual smut, nightmares,

Wordcount: 5.5k

A/N: I ain’t gonna lie, this part is pretty fly and look at me back at it again with the sexual opening gifs ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Song to play during this chapter: Hold me tight ~

The next day your college lecture dragged on and on, as your outdated professor talked about western literature and you tried to take notes while your other classmates buzzed with hushed conversation.

Jimin sat next to you; you had gotten approval from the college secretary early this morning for Jimin to attend classes with you. Technically he was registered as your “mental health hybrid” though she had taken one look at Jimin and been disbelieving. A tidy letter from a very concerned Dr. Kim Seokjin (that jin had dropped off this morning) and a large bill clipped too it made her much more obliging.

Though the people in your class were used to your brother's men waiting outside of your lectures for you, they were not used to Jimin sitting next to you throughout your class. Most of them thought your guards where an endless string of extremely attractive boyfriends. Hoseok had scoffed at that when it had been his turn to watch you one-day last semester.

Jimin’s long muscular body bent over the table as he rested his head on the notebook in front of him. His presence excited more than a few stares from your classmates. And you had to admit he looked intimidating in his black pants and white t-shirt, a beanie thrown on to protect and cover his ears from prying eyes. Thought you could see them twitch under the hood, and more than a few people noticed his tail.

He had been a little tired this morning- and had asked you quietly for a notebook to doodle on while your class dragged on. The earlier class had been easier- it was only an hour long while your humanities class was almost 3 hours long. Jimin was slumped over that notebook now- and you saw where the ink had bled onto the side of his hand.

You suspected that the settee hadn’t been nearly as comfortable as he had said and that was why he hadn’t slept well. Guilt gnawed at you for making him sleep in the same room as you last night.

beside you, Jimin could hear every snippet of conversation and filter out the important ones. Tiredness pulled at his bones, he hadn’t slept last night worried that someone would try and sneak into your room and he hadn’t minded it. It had given him a lot of time to mull over things in his head.

Snippets of conversation subtly drifted to a pair of girls behind you. Most of the conversation had been innocent- though some referenced Jimin with an appreciation that made him more than a little flustered. But this conversation wasn’t like that.

“Damn, I didn’t know her parents were rich enough to buy her a hybrid like that.”

“Oh it's not her parents- it's her brother.”

“Oh? Who’s her brother?”

“He’s some gang hotshot but no one really knows his name- they just call him the monster.” The girls got quieter. “He probably doesn’t deserve the name- he’s probably just some rich boy with a superiority complex. I hear they call her the little devil- and that she’s fucked half the guy’s she brings around here.”

Jimin shot up turning around to stare at the woman dead in the eyes.

“I think he heard you.” Jimin let out a small growl- low and threatening, it rippled in the mostly quiet lecture room. You looked at him perplexed, of course, you hadn’t heard what they said, everyone turned to look at the interaction.

Luckily for both of you, the professor decided to dismiss class just then. The moment was swallowed by the zipping of bags, the increased chatter, and the sound of the two women booking it out of the room as quickly as possible.

“What was that about?” You asked as you stood shrugging on your coat before you started to pack up your things.

“They where trash talking you,” he said as he slipped his notebook into your bag, which you had declined to let him carry on your way to the college this morning. You flushed slightly; your eyes flickered to the doorway where the girls had disappeared.

“Ignore them, they’re harmless.”

“Does Namjoon know?” Jimin asked as you made to leave the room- you were some of the last to leave class and it was your last one.

“He has bigger problems than some bullies.”

“I’m not sure he would agree.” You sighed; the sound more tired than the last. It made him realize that this probably wasn’t the first time someone had teased you about your family’s livelihood. He knew that people could be cruel. He touched your arm as you climbed the stairs to street level. “Do you want to go home?” he asked softly. You shook your head.

“There’s someone I need to visit at a hospital across town.”

“Do you want to take a cab?” The two of you step out onto the busy city street. It’s a bit after lunch and since it’s a warmer spring day and it's not raining people have filled the streets. Tour groups are milling about intent on touring the college's gardens. Food trucks and vendors have piled on to the edges of the street, selling every type of street food.

“I owe him flowers and the food at the hospital is probably driving him mad. Let's walk there instead.” Jimin follows you, walking behind you when he can’t walk next to you because of the crowds, he makes sure not to let go of your hand. He does his best not to let the number of people overwhelm him though; there are so many new stimuli here.

He picks a few of his kin out of the crowd- a female cat hybrid wearing a bell collar and another dog hybrid that looks like a mutt with spotted ears. His owner, an old lady, coos as she rubs the youngsters tail. The hybrid looks happy and well cared for, the crowed whisks the two of you away before he can find it in himself to feel jealous at all.

You buy a portion of egg toast for Jimin, yourself, and the mystery man across from the hospital picking up a bouquet of pink hydrangeas mixed with pink stargazer lily’s next. Jimin hides the food in his large jacket while you ask the front desk which room belongs to Kim Taehyung. Somehow the man with the boxy smile isn’t what Jimin is expecting.

“Y/n!” he cries when he sees you walk in, the man fights to stand, a large cast covering his right leg makes it difficult.

“Hey Taetae!” you say with a smile. When he tries to stand again you shove him back onto the hospital bed. “Sit down you doff, your ribs are still healing too.” He slings an arm around your shoulder and pulls you into a hug that he’s been aiming for.

“You took so long to visit.” Tae pouts as he takes the flowers from you, touching the hydrangeas softly. “I missed you, none of the boys have visited since last week, they’re all too busy” He wines. His eyes flicker up to meet Jimin; whose been hovering by the doorway with the sneaked in food looking uncomfortable with the displays of affection.

“Tae, this is Jimin, he’s my new guard dog.”

“Guard dog?” Tae asks perplexed. Jimin slides off his black beany to reveal his black ears. Tae’s surprise only lasted so long before he compensated, wiping his face into a cool look of subtle interest.

“Ah well, I’d stand to shake your hand but as you can see.” He gestured to his legs, as you pulled out a chair for Jimin to sit, down while you sat on the end of Tae’s bed. You handed Tae the foil-wrapped street food.

“I couldn’t get your favorite because he’s on the other side of the city today, but I hope this is better than the shit they’re giving you here.”

“They won't even give me champagne.” He said sounding sullen.

“Oh, the horror.” You say sarcastically. Taehyung unwrapped the tinfoil and made a noise of appreciation of the smell.

“Oh you really do love me y/n!” he fake sobbed, being overdramatic giving you a grin that Jimin could tell was supposed to be seductive.

“Just eat you idiot before I change my mind and leave you to eat jello in the hospice ward.” Tea chuckled and ate, Jimin nibbled on the edge of his toast, as you turned away- trying to hide the blush that covered your cheeks. Something that felt an awful lot like envy curled in his stomach but he shoved it down and ate his street food.

“So how are you adjusting to life at the compound Jimin-shi?” Jimin swallowed the rather large bite he had just taken.

“Master Namjoon and mistress y/n have been so accommodating, I need to find a way to thank them properly,” Jimin said, eyes lifting to look at Taehyung who shared a mischievous glance.

“Don’t let it go to your head y/n,” he says grinning.

“What?” you and Jimin ask, though Jimin has a feeling that he’s talking about him calling you mistress. The blush on your faces still hasn’t left but luckily the tension in the room is broken by the entrance of a doctor.

“Ah, doctor!” Taehyung crows, “it's nice to see you!” he is surprisingly young, with delicate features and a soft jaw.

“I didn’t realize you had visitors, I can come back later if it's more convenient.”

“Jimin and I will wait outside” Jimin watches Tae grab your hand and has to tamp down on his instincts not to growl at him to back off. What is with him today? He shouldn’t be so quick to anger. His muscles feel like they’re on the end of a very short fuse. It's obvious that Taehyung knows you and is a member of Namjoon’s inner circle- with the way he talked about the boys and all, but the sight of him putting his hands on you made Jimin’s newly found protective instincts flare like fire.You let go of Tae’s hand and grab Jimin’s, leading him out of the hospital room.

“what’s wrong? You seem a little on edge.” You say, making to slide your hand out of Jimin’s, he makes a noise in the back of his throat and holds onto your hand tighter, he hangs his head. He shivers when he feels your other hand come up to scratch behind his ears, he leans his head into your hand. “I’m not mad Jimin, just worried.” You stop rubbing and he glances up at you.

“I’m sorry I don’t know what-“ he breaks off, looking down again. “Please don’t hit me.” He says, and he can tell by the widening of your eyes and by how you step back away from him that it’s the last thing you expect him to stay. Still, he flinches when you raise your hand but your fingers are only soft and gentle as you tilt his chin up too look at you.

“Jimin, no one is ever going to hit you again, least of all me, I’m going to make sure of it. I promise, no one is ever going to hurt you while I’m here.” He lets out a small wine, closing his eyes before you could see filling with emotions that he can’t shove down.

When he was a child he had spent days dreaming of someone saying words like that to him one day- and had dreamed until his master had beaten the hope out of him. And now here you were; kind and he felt everything but deserving of it. The door to the side opened and the doctor walked out.

Jimin’s skin starts to feel hot as he suppresses another growl, but the tensing of his body wasn’t missed by you or the doctor. You bowed slightly in the direction of the doctor.

“Thank you for looking after my friend doctor.” You said, he bowed back eyes flickering to Jimin.

“I’m sorry if I’m prying- but how long has it been since you’re hybrid’s taken his suppressants?”

“His what?” you asked, eyes flickering to Jimin. Suppressants? He had never heard of them before.

“I-I volunteer at the hybrid clinic in this hospital on my free days- and after the short interaction we had earlier I noticed him behaving like he’s being weaned off of them- which can be very dangerous if they’re close enough to their heat to have the medication still interfere with it.” you and the doctor turned to Jimin.

“They gave us pills at the ken- at my last home.” he noticed you tense when he almost said kennels. And though the doctor might know the kind of people he was treating it was clear that he didn’t know all of it. “They never told us what they were for- I thought they we‘rent important.”

“How long has it been since you’ve take them?” the doctor asks.

“Three days.”

“Then it should be fine if you start taking them today, with minimal side effects.” The doctor gestured at you too follow him towards the hybrid clinic.

“Side effects?” you asked quietly.

“He won’t go into heat, but you should notice him needing a little more of your attention in the next couple of days- I would also not be alarmed if he gets a little overprotective of you.” you laughed at that, it hardly seemed possible.

The hybrid clinic was mostly empty of patients except for one hybrid that was sitting with their owner looking green. The doctor rummaged behind the counter producing a bottle of pills. He handed Jimin one of them and a bottle of water. “Take one every morning or night- but you should try to get him to take them at the same time every day.” Jimin swallowed the pill without the water as you tucked the pills into your bag.

“Thank you, I don’t know what we would have done without you dr…” you look up realizing you don’t know the doctors' name.

The doctor smiles kindly down at you, but for some reason- it seems fake to Jimin. “My name is Dr. Kim Minseok, y/n” he smiles. And Jimin could chalk it up to coincidence and say that he could have learned your name from Taehyung, but for some reason- the fact that he’s using your name and he’s never asked for it gives him pause.

When you get home you find the multi-car garage attached to your house open and Namjoon home. Namjoon’s white button-down shirt is pushed up on his arms, his hands are black with car grease and he looks as disheveled as you’ve ever seen him.

The other cars in the garage are expensive, most of them black except for an old dark green American muscle car that has two black pinstripes down the top of it. It must be a good day if he’s out working on the car that he never has time to drive anymore.

When he was a teenager and you a child, your father had bought him the fixer-upper to teach him the value of working with his hands. It had been only a few months before both of your parents had died. It had taken Namjoon a few years since he rarely had time to work on it and had to teach himself but eventually, he had gotten it running. Now the car was decked out and pristine- He replaced the upholstery and modernized the inside.

You don’t know how many hours you’ve spent in here. Talking with Namjoon as he fixed the car- occasionally teaching you things that you can never remember later- like the function of a carburetor and the difference between a v-8 and a v-6 engine.

You lean up against a workbench as Jimin takes his leave, taking your bag from you and going to put it in the house. “Did you have a good day at school?” your brother asks as he cleans his grease-stained hands on a rag. Just like everything in your house Namjoon’s garage is meticulously organized. You nodded, your eyes flickering to where Jimin’s disappeared, thinking about the incident that occurred with the girls in your class that morning.

“Yeah, I visited Tae at the hospital afterward. He thinks you don’t love him anymore.” A soft smile tugs at the corners of his mouth when he hears about his friend.

“Hmmm I was thinking, a family dinner might be in order, Seokjin wants to cook, we can break him out of the hospital tomorrow night.”

“We should spend some time together tonight.” You say, glancing up at him. “If you’ve got time.”

Namjoon nods, “today I can spare, also something came in the mail that I think you’ll like to see.” He passes you the already opened envelope.

Your eyes flicker to Jimin. He’s come back to the front yard but he’s giving you both space. He’s standing in the front garden looking at the flowers. His fingers brushing over the roses that are just starting to bloom, feeling their silken buds.

“He’s a little strange isn’t he,” Namjoon comments idly.

You shrug, “he’s had a bad life, but he’s… adjusting quickly, he nearly growled at Tae today though.”

“I wouldn’t have expected it to be good with a man like J-park as his master.” You shivered and agreed with him; J-park was notorious for betraying even his friends- he had little loyalty. You knew that his business with your brother didn’t reflect on Namjoon’s character. But you also knew that your brother hated dealing with him for that reason. “and I’m sure Tae deserved it, that boy doesn’t know how to keep his mouth shut or keep his hands too himself.”

“You’d think he’d have gotten better over the years.”

“Once a man whore always a man whore.” Namjoon shrugged. You laughed, your bothers annoyance at his second youngest member insistence to flirt with anything with a pair of legs (male or female) never ceased to irk him. But since you knew Taehyung was harmless- especially when it came to you, you found it hilarious. After all, Taehyung was one of your best friends and was almost as protective of you as Hoseok and Seokjin were.

You opened the envelope and your brother watched you with baited breath. The matt black invitation slipped on your hands. “We cordially invite mister and miss Kim Namjoon and Kim y/n to this years spring fundraiser… to be held at Gyeongbokguung palace!!!” you squealed, jumping into Namjoon’s arms. “We can go?!” you ask, you knew Namjoon got invites for these things all the time- but because of the danger he rarely went. He grinned and nodded.

“It’s just some stuffy politician’s party- but I know how much you liked going there when we where kids so I thought why not? It’s been a while since we’ve gone out and apparently, he’s gotten an idol group to perform there and I hear the palace looks lovely at night.”

“Joon thank you!” your smile is infectious and is equally reflected in your brother’s dimply smile. Your brother usually hates these things- but you know he’s been feeling guilty for not giving his family enough attention recently. “I’ve already invited the boys as well. You’re going to need a dress, and Jimin is going to need a suit.” your eyes flicker to the hybrid.

“He can come too?” you ask getting more excited. Namjoon nods.

“I’m going to need someone to make sure you don’t get into trouble. It’s a few weeks away. I’ll call the tailor to come and take his measurements tomorrow.”

You’re already dreaming about it- thinking about what you can wear and what style you can go for. Clothes have always been your weakness, and although the event is obviously going to be black tie; that gives you more than enough to work with when it comes to picking a dress. You squeal again, pulling your brother in for a hug.

“Thank you Namjoon, I know how much you hate those sort of functions.”

“It’s worth it if It makes you happy.” He smiles, going back over to his car. “We can get takeout tonight and have the family dinner tomorrow night; go do your homework.” he gestures to where Jimin is lying down in the sun enjoying the daisy’s his tail wagging happily. You giggle. “Take that one with you- he looks a little too happy.” You see Namjoon’s small smile.

Jimin is a little shy when you get him, but your smile doesn’t leave your face even when he looks abashed that he was enjoying the outdoors so much. He’s never been outside quite so much, and the flowers are just so soft. He saw the way that Taehyung touched the hydrangeas earlier and he couldn’t resist repeating the motion with the barely blooming spring flowers. His cheeks are still flushed with cold as you set up your computer in the living room, even after you’ve changed into a pair of shorts and a baggy but cozy sweater and he’s changed into a pair of warm track pants.

You’re intent on doing your writing assignment for your psychology class that’s due in a few days. Jimin sits on the floor next to you. You tell him he can sit on the couch but he just shakes his head and leans his head back onto the couch's edge. He hopes that by being next to you you’ll touch his head again like you did yesterday.

He knows what the doctor said, that over the next few days he’ll be needier but he didn’t expect this. He knew what heats where but always just assumed that he’d not had one yet because he wasn’t healthy enough or because he was constantly healing and being prepared for another fight. That sort of thing tended to stop happening when you got too stressed out, and Jimin’s life had been anything but peaceful until this point.

He never assumed the shots and pills they had them take where anything but supplements. But now what the doctor said had made sense. Jimin was also perplexed about the doctor. And didn’t know how he had learned your name, but you didn’t seem upset about it, or worried so maybe he should just let it go. You clicked on the TV, the drama turned on low so that you could concentrate on your work, but Jimin could hear it just fine. Last night wore on him and tugged him down, you were safe- and it was probably ok that he slept right now… right?

He fell into sleep his head leaning to the side against your bare thigh. You stiffened when he did this, but he was too sleepy to move back.

His body ached, his bruises and his knuckles were healing, but the anxiety of the last few days was catching up with him. Your fingers rubbed a slow path from one ear to another, and his back arched into your touch. His fingers hovered around your anckles, rubbing a smooth line down the inner side of your calf, making you shiver.

“I’m sorry.” He said, putting his hands back on the plush carpet. He could tell by the tight sound of your voice when you said you where fine that a blush was coloring your face. He leaned his face into your thigh again, giving you better excess to rub his ears and pet him more. He was so relaxed, his belly full, safe, and turned to mush by your tender touches. He fell asleep against you and you chuckled turning back to read your paper. A few hours pass and Jimin shows no sign of moving or wakening but you don’t mind. His cheek is warm against the edge of your bare thigh.

Namjoon hasn’t come in yet and though you know he would probably frown at the position you and your hybrid are in. Jimin is so cute that you can’t make him move. You smile down at him softly as his lips part against your thigh, his warm breath tickling the skin there.

“What are you doing?” a pissed voice says behind you and it's not Namjoon who greets you when you look over the side of the couch. It’s Hoseok, looking as good as ever in a pair of tight pants- his leather motorcycle jacket tossed over a tight black shirt.

“Nothing.” Your hand stills in Jimin’s hair.

“He’s your guard dog y/n.” His voice is scalding, and barely above a whisper.

“And petting him is a crime?” You’re surprised Jimin hasn’t woken, but he doesn’t move his breathing remains low and steady

“That’s not what he’s for and you know it.”

You scoff. “Please tell me you have a little more respect for me than that, please tell me you know me well enough to know that I would never take advantage of someone vulnerable like Jimin?” Hoseok steps in front of you- the carpet muffling his steps.

“It’s not him I’m worried about being taken advantage of y/n.” his voice is deadly low and you see his jaw tighten as he spits the words in a whisper. “He’s a killer y/n, never forget that.”

“A killer just like you and my brother.” you spit back, and it’s a low blow even for you. you don’t really have a problem with what your brother and his gang does, and maybe that makes you a psychopath but you’d be damned if Hoseok distrusted Jimin for something as stupid as that. By that logic, no one that you have ever loved is trustworthy.

Hoseok’s low laugh is almost broken as he rubs a finger along his jaw. “What was Namjoon thinking? I hope you know what you’re doing y/n.” Hoseok turns to leave, and you sit there, letting him go- because you don’t want to wake Jimin and have him present for an argument like this.

“Tell your brother to answer his goddamned phone.”

“Tell him yourself he’s in the garage.”

“He’s not,” Hoseok says, and leaves. Your brother disappearing isn’t at all unusual; he probably just took his car out for a drive. You’re fuming; your blood boiling. How can Hoseok say something like that about you? And about Jimin, you might not have known him for long but Jimin is hardly threatening. He’s so constantly terrified of disappointing you that you could never imagine him overstepping boundaries in the way that Hoseok was implying.

You sigh heavily closing your laptop and reaching for the remote to change the channel to the news.

“Don’t worry about him- he’s just jealous.” you look down startled.

“I didn’t realize you where awake, how much did you hear?” He sat up and leaned away from your leg, leaving the skin there cold.

“All of it- I woke up when he got in the house- but I didn’t tell you because I recognized his scent.” It was easy to forget how much keener Jimin’s senses were that yours when for all intents and purposes he was human. It was so unfair to them- to hybrids, that they could be owned when they were just a few strands of DNA away from being human.

“I don’t think he was jealous- he’s just… overprotective?” you proffer, Jimin snorts while rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

“The same way that Taehyung is overprotective of you?” you still at that staring at him wide-eyed.

“You shouldn’t say that so loud, Namjoon would kill them if he ever found out.”

“How long.” He asked, glancing up at you, not realizing that you knew their affection was greater than platonic love.

“A few years, Taehyung has always been more resigned about it than Hoseok. He-“ you broke off looking down feeling guilt.

“Has anything ever happened between you two?” You looked around looking back into the kitchen, checking to make sure that your brother hasn’t walked in. “we’re alone” Jimin clarifies leaning his arm against the couch's edge. “Master Namjoon left a little while ago.” You looked back at him, and you bite your lip and push all of your papers too the side. “How long has Hoseok been in love with you?”

“It happened once- years ago, but I knew Namjoon would never- and he wanted to try an convince him, and warm him up to the idea of us slowly, but I was barely out of high school. Everything was happening too fast and I didn’t want anything to change so I called it off before he could ask Namjoon to let him take me out on an official date.”

“And he’s liked you ever since?” you looked down, wrapping your arms around yourself.

“Before and after- Hoseok has always been one of my closest friends- I mean Namjoon and I are close but there are things that he’d just rather not know. You know?” Jimin touched your hand.

“I’m beginning to…” he says softly, looking up at you through his thick lashes. Unfortunately for you- the intimate moment is ruined by the front door opening, and Jimin and you recoil from each other. What Hoseok has said has you both on edge as Namjoon walks in carrying more take out that the three of you could ever possibly eat- a trailing Jungkook behind him carrying even more bags.

“I brought your favorite and Jungkook- he wasn’t to challenge Jimin to video games.” You grin standing to help them get plates, which you bring to the kitchen. Usually, you would make an effort to only eat in the kitchen or dining room. But tonight’s a special night; it's so rare that either of you have a night in that no one bothers to judge.

“I have to beat you at something,” Jungkook says to Jimin, grinning the easy grin that you’ve become accustomed too. “After you destroyed me the other day.” Jimin hands him a plate blushing.

“I’m sorry about that,” Jimin says as you scoop out some food onto everyone’s plates.

“No hard feelings,” Jungkook says, grinning as he takes his plate from you after thanking you. “Doesn’t mean I’m not going to kill you in overwatch though.”

“I’ve never played video games before,” Jimin admits quietly. And Jungkook grin widens. “Oh no.” you groan, “I know what that smirk means.” your smile is parroted on Namjoon’s face.

“It means that Jungkook’s found an easy opponent.” Jimin finds himself quietly laughing with all of you, the heaviness from his body leaving just a little bit.

That night- it takes you a while to fall asleep and Jimin is still sleeping on the settee next to you by the time sleep finally finds you. He can hear Namjoon awake in the study directly below you. Talking on the phone with someone but he cant make out the words.

Its nearly 1 am by the time the smell of fear starts to fill the room, thick and heady coming from you where you toss and turn in the bed. Your hair is spread around you by the time that Jimin realizes that what you’re having is a nightmare.

“Y/n,” he says softly, sitting up to get a better look at you. You toss your head to the side, a small noise falling from your lips as your hands push at something that’s not there. He rises from the settee walking over to the side of your bed, he touches your shoulder gently calling your name a little louder.

You wake with a start- and you’re on the other side of the bed faster then he can blink, your chest heaving as you take in everything; Jimin standing on the side of the bed, the door closed your bedroom.

safe safe safe, you are safe, but why does your body want to run to flee to somewhere. The dream leaves a metallic taste in your mouth. You brush your hair back from your sweaty face.

“A dream- it was just a dream y/n,” Jimin says softly, calming you with his voice, deep from hours of disuse.

“But it felt so real- I-“ you break off; Jimin reaches out, brushing your arm delicately.

“You’re safe, I’m not going to let anyone hurt you, tell me about it- so that I can put your fears to rest” you shudder against his touch- though not, you realize because you don’t like it. Maybe the reason why you’ve been so free with your affection with Jimin because, after all of this time, you’ve longed for it too.

He holds you calmly against his chest, feeling the aftereffects of your dream make your body shake. “About a year ago” you start off softly.

“I was walking home from college- I had managed to convince Namjoon that I didn’t need a constant escort, I was so happy to be out on my own for once that I took the long way home. By the time I realized I was being followed it was too late. They dragged me into this car and stuffed me in the trunk, and I listened to them tell me all of the things they were going to do to me to get back at the real monster for killing their leader.”

Jimin’s voice was low, he’s furious; that someone had tried to hurt you that way, that you had been through something like that- made him so angry that he felt his hackles raised. “How did you get away?” he asked, making sure to continue rubbing your back softly. You gestured to the panic watch that he still wore.

“I pushed the panic beacon, Namjoon found us before we could get to where ever they were planning on torturing me, he killed everyone before he got me out of the trunk and then covered my face so that I wouldn’t see the blood, but I still looked back. there was so much blood, he didn’t make it easy for any of them, but he was so angry and worried about me that he didn’t make it slow.”

“Is that what was your dream about.” He asked quietly, keeping you talking, knowing that you would calm down, already your shaking had stopped and your voice was a little stronger. You nodded.

“Namjoon never came in my dream, and kept trying to run, but it was like my legs wouldn’t move- like they were glued to the sidewalk” His breath caught and he held you a little tighter.

He kept muttering to you, that you were safe, that he and Namjoon would never let anyone ever hurt you again. They would have to kill him before they got to you. He told you that he would be around forever to protect you.

Eventually, you stilled, sniffled, and rested your head back on your pillow. He smiled softly down at you and made to get off the bed, but you grabbed the edge of his shirt.

“Please.” You asked softly. Jimin swallowed, positive that this was exactly the situation that Hoseok had been worried about earlier that day. Jimin didn’t get into bed next to you but he curled up at the foot of your bed, around your bent legs.

When your breathing slowed and you felt back to sleep, this time an easier and deeper sleep. Jimin rested his head on his hands and watched the door, and did not take his eyes off of it for the entire night.

No one was going to hurt you again, not on his watch.

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bellatrixobsessed1 · 6 years

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I’ll Meet You At The Bottom (Part 57)

So I think I’m actually gonna start to wrap this fic up. As much as I love it and enjoyed it, I’m starting to fear that if I keep it going much longer it’ll get redundant and ruin a good thing. I am a firm believer in too much of a good thing is a bad thing so I’m going to begin bringing the fic to a close. Please feel free to leave feedback and let me know if you think that there are any loose ends that need tying (aside from Xanu’s scheme, that’s already part of the plan).

Azula lie in the sand with her hair fanned out around her. Sokka threaded another hibiscus into the crown he was making for her. But it never seemed to work quite well. He didn’t know how Yoona did it she was pumping the things out like an old war-age Fire Nation factory. His seemed to crumble before he finished them. He could already see a tan creeping into Azula’s complexion a she lounged leisurely on her towel. With her so invested in her sunbathing, Sokka was left with time to think and he found himself wondering again why she was so willing to put herself at risk for this Wire guy. Sokka had conversed with him briefly, he seemed like a nice enough kid Sokka supposed.

“Hey Tribesman!” Hollared Khoza. “Put that flower crown away and join us in the ocean.”

“He doesn’t like the ocean.” He heard Toph shout back.

“Neither do you.” Katara pointed out as she neared the shore.

“Yeah, but I’m not from the Water Tribe.” Toph replied. “Imagine if I was afraid of rocks.” She picked up the tiniest pebble she could find and started shrieking at it.

“Toph, stop it.” Katara covered her ears.

“Exactly! See how annoying that is?”

“I don’t yell and scream whenever I see the ocean.” Sokka shot back.

.oOo.

Azula rolled onto her back. They were a noisy bunch that was for sure, unlike Zuko, Mai, and TyLee. It was odd to be in company so different from the kind she used to keep. She listened to them go back and forth for some time, feeling the sun soak generously into her skin. Already the island sun seemed to be burning away her troubles and the waves washing away the last of her guilt. Though it did pain her to admit that she was curious as to what kind of other exotic drinks the place had to offer. Maybe she could have a taste in a more controlled environment.

“They loud.” Yoona pointed at Toph and Sokka who were still engaging in their battle of wits.

“Yes.” Azula agreed. “Quiet. I’m sure we could probably find a quiet place if we wanted.” She eyed a particularly shady cluster of palm trees. “I think Khoza would enjoy reading under those.” On the contrary, the young man was trying his very hardest to dunk Wire—who despite his short stature, always seemed to have the upperhand.

She stood and stretched, deciding that if she was going to get Sokka in the water she may as well do it then. “Come on, Sokka.” She took his hand.

“Where are we going?” He sputtered.

“Where do you think?” Azula replied. “I want to go for a swim, and I want you to join me.” Before he could protest, she tugged him along with a mischievous grin.

“You can’t hate the water forever, Sokka.” Katara gave her input.

“Watch me.” Sokka argued. But somehow he had a feeling that Azula wouldn’t let him resent it forever. She was chest deep in the saltwater before he could give one single cry of protest. A more primitive part of him feared for her. Feared that the ocean would swallow her up and he’d never see her again.

The feeling of the waves beneath her as she floated on her back was rather divine. Unexpectedly so. It had been a great many years since she’d gone swimming. “Come on Sokka, don’t tell me you’re going to let a firebender out swim you.” The look in his eyes told her that if he were a waterbender she might have received the splash of her life. Instead he charged—somewhat hesitantly—into the water and splashed her the old-fashioned way. As annoying and peace-breaking as that was, she was glad to have the man in the water. With any luck she would help him create some fond memories of the water to replace the ones that haunted him so. With even more luck it would distract her from the jittery feeling that came with thinking over how to approach Chan.

.oOo.

The woman was a beautiful nightmare. A reoccurring nightmare that always came to him when he expected it the least. Granted if she were to make an unexpected appearance, it would make sense that her face would be seen in the party crowd. In his party crowd. He had to admit that he hadn’t thought of her in ages. Azula was dressed relatively simply in comparison to her usual flair. But she was still a radiant presence in the room. A vibrant presence that he didn’t know what to make of. All at once he wondered how bad things were with her tribesman to have her running back to him. He ought to ask her how lonely she was. He pretended not to notice her as she weaved through the crowd, but he had a sinking feeling that she knew that he already had.

“What’s she doing here?” Bo-Rem grumbled.

And from Yoko he heard a harsh. “You invites her?”

“That’s the thing, Yoko. I don’t have to.” Chan replied. “She has a habit of showing up unannounced.”

“Can’t really do anything to stop her.” Boryuk noted.

Chan left a moment of empty quiet for Taeyul to chime in, but as of late he was even less for words than usual. Ever since his run in with death, he scarcely uttered a word. Wire had always been the one to get him talking again when he was in one of his somber moods. Their group was in tatters, dispersed and separate and it seemed to affect poor Tae the most. If Chan had to guess he’d say that Taeyul somehow blamed himself. Chan had to admit that he might have been responsible for that, on one such occasion he considered that if Taeyul hadn’t contracted that infection then they would still be together in the Pit. He shook his head, thinking of the place had his stomach twisting in melancholy knots. He adored the grand splendor of Ember Island but it no longer felt like home. Not like the Ash Pit did. Ember Island was breathtaking and clean…and safe. But it was a cesspool of upper class lies. At least with the Pit, he knew who to trust, who really wanted his companionship. There was a sense of loyalty in the Ash Pit that he couldn’t find in the upper rings of society. And to his great dismay, Azula—a quintessential example of a deceitful noble—was nearing him fast. She had played him for a fool many times, she had probably been stringing him along just so she could get her fix all along. He was finally finding a sense of stability again and she was going to undo it.

“Hey, isn’t that the bitch who trashed our party a while back?” Ruon-Jian asked.

He hushed his boyfriend. As charming as Ruon-Jian was, he had no tact when it came to matters of holding the tongue. He never had grown out of his boyhood taunts and jests and often tangled himself with people of statuses higher than he held. One badly placed snide remark or two had him on the blacklist of high-ranking traders and military generals among others. According to his recounts, he’d been chased clear down the beach by the husband of a woman had called a hippo-cow. Chan was faintly amused, such a fiasco was how he had come to reunit with his childhood companion. Even so he didn’t want to deal with Azula’s reaction to jabs at her ego, especially since she had likely just gotten it back intact. Lost in his anticipation, he felt Ruon-Jian elbow him. “Isn’t she?”

“Yeah, Ruon, that’s her.” He muttered.

“Tell ‘er to go back home.” Bo-Rem demanded.

“Where she belong.” Yoko added.

“I’ll be back in a minute.” Chan replied. “Just let me deal with this.” He cast a look in Azula’s direction, he could see her eyeing him with a purpose. With a fair deal of spite, he kissed Ruon-Jian as firmly as he could. She probably thought that he was the pettiest fool in the world.

.oOo.

“How are things?” Azula asked the tropical night wind gently tousled her hair. It had been so terribly long since she had last been on this balcony and with it came a myriad of memories, both pleasing and not so much.

“They’re fine and they’ll be fine again when you leave.” He replied.

She admitted that, that had stung. She’d expected reluctance but the bitter bite to his voice…he resented her. And it bled through in his tone. “I wasn’t planning on staying.” Azula fought to keep her gaze locked with his. “I was here to drop someone off.”

“What?”

She motioned for Wire to join them on the balcony. “It was kind of tricky to find him but I thought that you would like to see him again. Yoona and Khoza are here too.”

“For how long?” Chan asked.

“Yoona really likes it here.” Azula smiled softly. “She has a thing for the volcanoes. She wants to explore one sometime. I don’t have the time to take her, maybe you’d like the honor?” She watched Chan ruffled his own hair, something he did often when he was frustrated. Or when he didn’t know how to take something. She assumed that he had expected her to show up at his doorstep, hands ablaze with blue. “Wire is going to stay with you, I’ll make sure of that.

“What are you talking about?” He asked.

“I’m not letting him go back to that woman.” Azula said firmly. “She reminds me of my father. She treats him how my father treated me…” she trailed off. “Maybe worse. At least with my father, you could tell that he didn’t care. That woman, she’s nice to Wire but only when she has a crowd.”

Wire shifted uncomfortably.

“He needs some place to stay, I suppose if you don’t…”

“No!” Chan shouted. “I do, I want to help him. You know that I do.”

“But…”

“Nothing.” Chan muttered. “He can stay with me. I just didn’t think that I’d be seeing him so soon, I thought that I lost him.”

“You thought that you lost Ruon-Jian too.” Azula shrugged. “You always seem to find your way back to the people who need you.”

“What about you?” He asked. “You care about them too.”

“It’s a lot easier for me to throw some money around and visit you here then it is for you to come back to the mainland.” Azula shrugged.

“So, is this your way of apologizing for using me?” Chan asked.

Azula scowled to herself. Frankly she had enough of apologizing. Heartfelt sorry’s were never her thing anyhow. “I guess it is.”

“Well then I’d actually like to hear an apology.”

Azula scrunched her nose. In some ways Chan was a lot like Sokka, and this was, without a doubt, one of those ways. “Listen, if it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t have Ruon-Jian.”

“Say it.” He pestered.

“No.”

“Then your apology isn’t accepted.” Chan crossed his arms.

“You’re an ass just like Sokka.” She grumbled as she propped herself against one of the wooden pillars of the balcony. This drew a small snicker from Wire.

“I can’t believe your using me as an apology present.” He declared.

“I can take him back.” Azula noted. She looked back and assessed Wire’s reaction to the suggestion. He didn’t seem to disprove.

Chan rolled his eyes. “Thanks for bringing them back. Yoona told me she wanted to see Ember Island, it was a dream of hers. You also gave Khoza a taste of his dream life.” He sighed. “I suppose you did more good then harm.”

“You’re welcome.” Azula replied, her smug expression was cut short by Chan’s arms wrapping around her. She had missed the way he held her. She faintly missed being in the raw atmosphere of the Ash Pit, laying next to him. She was forgiven.

For some time, he remained with his arm slung over her shoulder. The sound of the ocean lapping and the palm fronds rattling put her more fully at ease. It reminded her of old times. Times that were much simpler, yet somehow so complex at the same time. Of a time when she had met a boy she found on par with herself and tried to flirt with. He rubbed her arms like he had so long ago, before they had their first falling out. For all the world, it reminded her of those quiet nights with him as she recovered from her first bought of insanity. A time when she had a string of golden pearls in her hair and a fake laugh to give. This time when she laughed it was genuine. His joke was just as terrible, worse than any of Sokka’s, but his confident delivery of it…that’s what humored her. He placed a hand on top of hers and they listened to the call of a tiger-toucan. She hoped that Sokka wouldn’t mind. She liked to think that he felt secure enough with her. She would make sure to have a nice night with him when they got back to her vacation house. She imagined that Chan and Ruon-Jian would have a night of their own.

“You’re going to write me.” Azula broke the silence. “When I leave Ember Island, you’re going to write me a long letter about how you managed to patch things up with your father and Ruon-Jian.”

“My dad was pretty easy. I left, he realized that I wasn’t as bad as he liked to think I was, he regretted his decision, you know how it goes. Now Ruon-Jian and I, yeah, I’ll have to write you the whole story.”

“Once I get that, I’ll tell you all about how I found Wire.” Though she wasn’t sure that it would be as compelling as Chan’s tale. She looked up at the stars, thinking that perhaps throwing in a recount of her time spent in the Water Tribe would help her outdo him.

“Or I could tell him about how you found me.” Wire put in. “And I’ll have to introduce him to Petro.”

“Oh right, Petro.” Azula replied, “yes, you can stop by sometime tomorrow and pick her up.”

“Who’s Petro?” Chan asked.

“His new girlfriend.” Azula answered without missing a beat.

“She’s an elephant-mouse.” Wire said.

“Well that’s an awful thing to say about your girl.” Chan jested. It might have been the only genuinely humorous joke he’d made all night. And Azula found herself grinning. What a ridiculous thing to find funny. It felt so normal. Everything about that day felt so normal. For that it felt right. She had a small taste of what it would have been to just be an ordinary woman in a flashier beach house. An ordinary woman just conversing and peering down at the beach where campfires burned and the smell of cooking meat wafted up to meet them. And that sense of normalcy felt so wonderful.

.oOo.

Azula arrived later than he expected. But that was alright because it had given him more time to prepare. The room smelled of nag champa incense and hibiscus petals, though the incense seemed to vastly overpower the petals. The room was lit only by a few flickering candles that cast a warm glow about the place. He wasn’t a good chef by any means so Katara had to walk him through it. As he followed her instructions they had another long discussion, sorting out the matters that he thought needed more addressing. They talked until his mind eased some and by the time the discussion was through, he had finished his baking. He arranged different platters on the floor, he knew that they’d never be able to eat it all but he would save the leftovers for Toph and Katara. He re-arranged the layout a few more times before settling on the one he’d picked to begin with. With all of the spare time Azula had left him, he sprinkled a few petals around the floor and waited.

At last the Fire Lord made her way inside. “Why is it so dark in here?”

“Just trying to set the mood.” Sokka answered.

Azula cocked her head, “what mood?”

“You’ll know it when you feel it.” He replied unhelpfully. She narrowed her eyes in confusion. It would seem that Azula was even less romantically inclined than he had initially anticipated. He sighed, she was something else. He took her by the waist and led her to the center of the room where he had arranged all of the candles into the shape of a heart. He tried to anyhow, it was a little lopsided. He motioned for her to sit and handed her a strawberry.

“Oh.” Azula mused softly. “The mood.”

He might not have been the best at this kind of thing, but he wasn’t alone. Maybe that in itself was why things had gone so well. Neither seemed to have dauntingly high expectations for one another. Sokka thought that they might not have had any expectations at all. He certainly didn’t expect to be sprawled out on the floor with her on top of him, laughing because he had forgotten to add ice cream to his ice cream cake. He didn’t know why they had to be on the ground to do that, but he didn’t mind. He was fond of the way her head felt on his chest and how her fingers curled in the fabric of his shirt. Her hair getting in his face was something he could do without, all the same he wouldn’t have it any other way.

The soft smile that tugged at her lips was mirrored on his own. For the first time in a long time, he felt completely undisturbed, untroubled. In the faint illumination of the candles, he could tell that she was completely relaxed. As he did so often, he found himself rubbing up and down along her back as the candles flickered. She tapped her fingers on his collar bone. “I love you.” He whispered. He thought that it might have been the first time he blatantly vocalized it.

Azula nuzzled her head against his chest, “yes, thanks for doing that.”

He rolled his eyes. Again, he found himself amazed by her apparent struggle to be affectionate. Even so, she kissed his neck, leaving her lips to linger there. He decided that—in the same way Azula was comforting—she was loving in her own way. Very loving, but very unconventionally and borderline awkwardly so. And much like the progression of the night, he wouldn’t have had it any other way.

#Sokkla #Azula #Sokka #Avatar #Katara #Toph #Aang #Zuko #Fanfiction

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dontworryeruri-blog · 7 years

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I’m sure this idea has been written ten thousand times over, but I’m a rper suddenly without a steady partner, and a Levi muse that’s craving affection, so I just ran with it. It’s… been a very long time since I have posted anything of even this length anywhere, so just… you know, go easy on me, please. Or just don’t even look. :’D

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Smoke and iron wafted on the breeze, tasted heavy on his tongue and filled his throat, penetrating his senses as he shot upright. Fast. Too fast. Yet not fast enough. Those teeth had caught him, tearing through his flesh in search of… something. Or maybe nothing at all. Truths that had long since been lost to a history that never existed.

Or maybe one that had simply been forgotten.

His chest heaved, lungs aching with every pull of breath, coming shorter, more hurried than the last, and tilting the earth off its axis. So dizzy. It felt so real.

“What the fuck…” Darkness enveloped him, disguising his damp skin, and masking his terror. His own voice echoed in his head, so similar, yet so different from his unconscious counterpart. Screams. Those had been agonizing screams as sinew, blood, and bone tore away from his body in mangled shreds.

His silver eyes tried to pierce the darkness. No signs of smoke, or colossal demons, yet he could still feel the sizzle of their blood as it evaporated into nothingness from his pale skin. Four crescents bled from his palms. His nails. He’d held the blades too tightly.

Why had he held the blades at all?

Beside him, the bed shifted, and he jumped. His skin felt clammy and raw, like he’d scrubbed it for hours trying to peel away grime that had never really been there. Like his skin held onto the same false memories as his mind. He reached up to push back his raven bangs, only to find that his cheeks were stained with tears he hadn’t even remembered crying, mind swimming with an unsettling sense of loss that he couldn’t quite comprehend.

“Levi?” The man’s voice was groggy, thick with sleep, but somehow soothed the beast clawing at his chest. Not dead. Why the hell would he ever jump to that conclusion?

“Levi, what’s the matter?”

He tried to answer. Tried to describe what he’d witnessed, but that felt false itself. Like it was someone else’s memory clouding his vision, or a retelling of a story he wouldn’t have the stomach to hear in the first place.

“It’s nothing-” And though it was said with a disinterested detachment, the man beside him knew him so well. He’d only been in Levi’s life a short six months, but he felt like he’d known him for centuries. Sometimes, he thought, when he caught Erwin’s kind blue eyes staring at him, his partner must feel the same way. No one had ever looked at him with such determined devotion, it was almost terrifying in and of itself.

Levi didn’t deserve such devotion.

And yet, when he was cradled in the man’s arms, he felt nothing but safety and security. If he’d known, before the first three rejections, that he’d feel so strongly, maybe they would be permanently living together by now. But Levi was the constant stubborn to Erwin’s unrelenting patience.

Like Erwin could read his thoughts, he lifted his own body from the sheets to switch on the bedside lamp. Levi had ducked his head to hide his tears, but when Erwin gently grasped his chin between caring fingers, there was no stopping the spell. No fighting the way he coaxed the rage and doubts from Levi’s very soul, exposing the bruised core of him simply looking for genuine love and affection. Trust.

“Levi-” Erwin repeated, shifting his half bare body to take his boyfriend’s face between his hands, brush away the trails of tears staining rosy cheeks. Still whole. When had Erwin never been whole? “Levi, love, what’s happened? What’s wrong?”

In his head were combating images of this Erwin, beautiful, kind, and compassionate; yet driven just as dream Erwin had been. Dream Erwin, who barked out orders, carrying every regret of every loss, even when Levi offered his own shoulders to share the burden. Dream Erwin, who had never seen the waters of the sea.

“I couldn’t stop it. I wasn’t there.” And he’d made the wrong choice-

The words tumbled from his lips in a whispered breath, so faint, and so very broken. They exposed a sense of longing and dread that he didn’t understand. That burned so fiercely, with each aching breath, he could see the truth.

And with each new breath, and tremble of his shoulders, he knew it was no dream. They were memories of a time even time had forgotten. He knew that, in the end, he had regrets. There could have been no outcome where he would have had no regrets.

Erwin moved, sure of himself. Always so sure of himself on the surface, even if he may be breaking inside.

And Levi knew. He’s known for all the years they shared together lifetimes ago. Another tear rolled down his cheek unchecked, unnoticed by himself, but Erwin’s face crumpled as he was pulled into his strong embrace. Their was comfort in those broad shoulders. Levi’s face buried into his chest, nose settled to his collarbone to breathe in the calming scents of cologne, and soap, and everything Erwin. That scent never changed.

Slowly, the trembling ceased. Erwin’s nose was buried in dark locks, and his arms had formed a barrier to hold the shattered pieces of his boyfriend together while memories assaulted his mind. They stayed like that for what felt like hours, time an enigma, ceasing to exist.

“I’m so sorry, Levi. I had hoped you may never remember. I had hoped you may be spared.”

Erwin’s voice cut through the silence, thick as fog, grounding Levi. Always grounding him.

“You’re such an idiot. You’re lucky I still love you.”

Erwin hummed, like he knew just how lucky he was and stroked Levi’s hair, his back, his shoulders. They kissed, lips softly seeking one another out. Erwin stole his breath away just like he always had, and Levi felt like, after something was missing for so very long, he was finally coming home.

#eruri #my writing #i might have regrets posting this haha #but mostly i just hate formatting on mobile

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elfnerdherder · 7 years

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The Fault in My Code: Ch. 11

You can read Chapter 11 on Ao3 Here

Chapter 11: One Eye Green, One Black

There were seven on the SWAT team, and only one of them had mismatched eyes –one green and one black. Much like the military, the psychiatric evaluations were intense enough that Will was convinced of the man’s bearing and mental fortitude without having to actually speak with him. It wasn’t until midnight, when the other squad members went to their appropriate placements throughout the hotel and the buildings surrounding that he even bothered to speak to Will, let alone make a conversation of it.

“Coffee?” he asked Will.

“Thanks.”

Another silence. This one was broken by the occasional sound of cups scuffing the particle board of the end table, the clearing of throats as Will perused Francis Dolarhyde’s patient file.

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” the man said at last, the beginning of real words. Will immediately missed the silence.

“I’ll bet.”

“Your insight into soulmates has made it possible for people like me to do my job and not get shit for it.”

“You’re no different than anyone else,” Will assured him, and maybe it was his tone that made the man laugh, a curt bark.

“Oh, no, I’m plenty different. I’ve got a soulmate cross-country right now, and I don’t feel a damn lick of pain. What’s that say about me?”

“That you build effective forts and barriers within your mind to compartmentalize thoughts, feelings, and ideals into their respective places without the lines blurring,” said Will after a moment of thought. “So I’d say you’re right; you’re plenty different because most people can’t do that.”

“Can you do that, Dr. Graham?”

“No,” he said, surprised at his own honesty.

“Why were you so keen on studying soulmates without having one? What made you care so much about it when it didn’t affect you?” the man asked. The Velcro patch on his shirt dubbed him with the last name of Thomas.

“Because it does. The social behaviors, laws, and interactions of people around us due to the general culture of soulmates within our country means that everyone, from the bonded to the seeking to the indifferent, are affected.” And because I wanted to know the many ways in which to avoid one, he added silently.

“I did some training in Europe for awhile,” Thomas said. “Then I was in Asia, working with American ambassadors on security details.”

“The statistics for soulmates in eastern countries are vastly different,” Will said. “Young aged pairings that aren’t realized until the age when the child can communicate their feelings without the use of screaming, then averaging at about thirty years old with large gaps in between.”

“Here it’s a regular old Romeo and Juliet, what with all of the teenage pairings,” Thomas said with a snort. “In South Korea, we were told it was rude to just stare into everyone’s eyes, so we didn’t. There weren’t as many soulmates, at least; if there were, it was hard to tell, kind of like Sweden with all them blue eyes.”

“There are many shades of brown, the lighting shifting over each and every one of them; the darker pigment makes it difficult to tell, but they are just as varied as blue and green,” Will replied. The thought led him to Francis Dolarhyde, which led him to Red Dragon. Two brown eyes, partial-soulmate.

“It was almost a ceremony for them to date for a long time, then go through the process of looking into one another’s eyes. If they didn’t feel the connection the next day, then they made the choice to break up or continue dating.”

“How are you with your soulmate, Thomas?” Will couldn’t help but ask. Silence, the exchange of coffee cups taking turns thudding mutedly onto the table. Thomas’ mouth was composed of mostly grimaces and a tad bit of bitterness.

“You know, I heard it so damn long that I really believed it. Soulmates made everything better. Soulmates made everything easy –how could it be hard? You look at someone, they look back, and then you’ve got your other half right there, making everything okay.” Thomas laughed a little, rubbing the stubble at his chin. “Only, they didn’t tell you that maybe your soulmate connected with the way you shouted when you got too mad, and they liked to shout, too. They didn’t say the connection could be because you both came from bad homes, only you both process those bad homes differently.”

They didn’t tell you it was because of the darkest parts of your mind finally finding another place equally as horrifying and nestling in to stay.

“Our experiences shape us,” Will said. “We are the sum of our parts, our minds, and our past. What we are now is what happened to us before. If you hadn’t had the sort of childhood you did, you wouldn’t have connected to them.”

“The thing is, they understand you, Dr. Graham,” Thomas said. “That’s what makes it feel so right. You can say something just…just so damn bad, and they get it. You say something so damn good, and they get it. It’s nice to be known like that.”

“Until the knowing is something you wish you didn’t even know,” Will agreed.

“Yeah,” Thomas said, head bobbing. “I thought it was nice in South Korea, with the ceremony and the time it took to see and decide if they wanted to try. It was unique, but it was like…they took it seriously. I don’t think we take it seriously enough, here. I think we just slap our eyes on something, connect, and call it good. Call something that wasn’t a problem, a problem that was now fixed, since you had a soulmate.”

“That is why there is soulmate psychology, same as criminal psychology,” Will said when Thomas didn’t continue. “It’s to further study and take it more seriously, the way it deserves.”

“I guess I’m just saying thank you for doing what you do. You take it seriously, and you see the ugly bits as well as the nice bits. I read one of those psychiatric journals –the one you posted in? I liked it. I thought, ‘this guy’s got it right. He knows, even without having a soulmate, how it’s not suddenly daisies and rainbows just because.’ I think more people should know that. A soulmate doesn’t fix anything, they just make you feel better when the walls start coming down.”

“It is an active choice to have a relationship with your soulmate, Thomas,” Will reminded him lightly. “Same as it’s an active choice to have a relationship with a friend, a brother, or a colleague.”

“I guess that’s why I’m here with you instead of being across the country in Portland with her,” Thomas said. “I made my choice.”

In reality, so had Will.

Molly’s face was tired on the screen, and Will wished to smooth the fatigue out from under her eyes.

“You haven’t been sleeping,” she said.

“Neither have you,” he accused.

“It smells like Jack Crawford in here,” she complained, and he smiled a little.

“Oh, Molly,” he murmured affectionately.

“It does,” she affirmed. “He smells like hot feet, Old Spice ‘Swagger’ aftershave, and whatever starch he puts in his collars to make them look so damn crisp.”

“Maybe some scotch guard?”

“A bit of scotch guard, yeah,” she agreed. Her bitterness about Jack radiated in her eyes.

“How is your shoulder?” he asked. The picture pixelated, then showed her again, a baggy tee and hair thrown up in a bun that looked like it’d been done one-handed. Ruffled, rumpled. He wanted to kiss away the strands of hair along her forehead, sweep them back. He didn’t say that, though, in case she hadn’t realized she’d missed a few. He didn’t want to embarrass her.

“It hurts, and the pain medicine knocks me out. I try and hold out because I don’t like falling asleep all the time, but it hurts real bad,” she said.

“Thanks for not lying,” he murmured.

She stared at him, although it was difficult to see the expression through two computer screens and sub-par Wi-Fi. “I could say the same for you, but…”

“But I’m a bastard,” he said.

“You’re not a bastard, but you normally don’t lie, Will.” She shook her head, brushed the strands she’d missed away from her face. “I think that’s what’s got me so…you lied to me, you know.”

“I lied to you,” he agreed. It was a tic just under his eye that twitched: liar, liar, liar.

“Why’d you lie to me, huh? That’s what we do, we…tell the truth to each other. Even the ugly ones.”

He couldn’t merge the accusing words barbed with hurt with the frozen expression on the screen. He waited for it to go back to normal, for it to move and show the real Molly. “I was afraid,” he said.

“That I’d leave you?”

“That you’d ask me about them, and I don’t want to talk about them.”

“I do want to ask you about them,” she said.

“I know.”

“But I know you wouldn’t want to talk about them,” she added. “I know what you think, although I don’t know how you get to those thoughts sometimes.”

She didn’t know all of what he thought. “I’m sorry, Molly.”

“Do you see them?” At his stricken expression, she said, “I deserve to know that, at least.”

“Just enough to get the worms out of my skin. Then I leave, and it’s fine.” It’s fine. Like he hadn’t kissed him, like he hadn’t pressed himself against metal bars like some kind of desperate animal, like he hadn’t let Hannibal press gentle, coaxing lips to his open palm, somehow more intimate for the carefulness of the action.

“Okay.” She nodded, accepting it. “Thank you.” She appreciated his honesty, but it wasn’t all honest. It was lies by omission, and Will Graham was really, really good at those.

“I choose you, Molly. Not a soulmate bond. Always have, always will.”

“You’re one of the few, you know. Do you know how many divorce lawyers try and sue my work because married people who don’t have soulmates find their way to the website and then file for divorce when they find someone?”

“It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy, you know. You go out to find something, chances are that sooner or later you’ll find it.”

Her face froze on a small smile. It glitched, caught up and showed him a pensive stare, head tilted much like Lecter’s.

“How did you get one, then?”

He thought of Hannibal’s grip, tight on his wrist and his eyes that bled triumph. “Sheer, dumb luck,” he murmured. A little bit of manipulation, maliciousness. Coupled with a lifetime of a fractured psyche and an inability to reconcile the pieces of himself that’d bled out from someone else.

She hmm’d, and something on his face seemed to upset her.

“Have you taken your pain medicine?” he asked, aggrieved.

“Not yet,” she said slowly.

“…You should.” He took a sip of the drink just to the side of the laptop, remembering too late she’d see it.

“Is that alcohol?” she asked.

Will didn’t answer. He set it down, moved it out of view.

“What’s in the cup, Will?”

“Whiskey.” Flat. Honest. They told each other the truth, even the ugly truth.

“I’m going to kill Jack Crawford,” she swore, and she leaned back in her chair, rubbing her face. “I’m going to kill Jack Crawford, you’re going to get your killer, and then I’m going to have to get to know you all over again.” A beat. She’d said ‘have to’ like it was a pain, like it wasn’t going to be fun to know him anymore. He could understand that. If he was someone else, he wouldn’t want to know himself, either. “How off of the wagon are you, Will?”

“…You said you’d get to know me all over again, before,” Will said, desperation coloring his tone. “Is that true, Molly? Is that still really, actually true? Do you still want to know me?”

“Yes,” she said slowly. Her lips dragged the word out, made it sound more like a ‘no’. “I keep my promises, Will.”

So did Hannibal. “Okay,” he said quietly, nodding. “…Okay.”

The connection died soon after, and he stared at the background screen of the laptop, a cheerful photo of her standing beside a fountain, his own gaze drawn down to the change floating below the water. She said it made him look ‘soulful’, but in reality, Will had been counting the coins, wondering at the price of wasted dreams.

By the end of his counting, you could waste the dreams of hundreds for about $84.33. Molly just really liked the photo.

He got a call early morning, and he sat up to take it with a curse heavy on his lips. “Jack?” he croaked. “Something happen yet?”

“Does he always call you so early?” Hannibal asked.

His voice was a douse of cold water, and he was awake instantly.

“How the hell did you get a phone to call me?” he demanded.

“Dr. Chilton is out, but as you know I’m legally granted access to my lawyer at all times,” he said. Will caught on to his cadence, his purposefully vague speech.

“What, then, would make you call me so early?” Will asked wearily. He fell back onto the bed, pressed his hand over his eyes.

“When you have nightmares, I have nightmares,” he murmured so low that Will almost didn’t catch it. It sounded much like he’d placed his hand over his lips, to distort Chilton hearing what he said. “It’s rather unsettling when one is trying to sleep.”

“You called to wake me up because I was disrupting your sleep,” Will said flatly.

“Among other things,” he mused.

“Hannibal-”

“You were able to match the saliva from the crime scene to Francis Dolarhyde’s DNA, weren’t you?” he asked.

“…Yes. Saliva and blood from my head-butting him.”

“Yes,” Hannibal murmured quietly. “Resourceful of you.”

“You didn’t wake me up for that,” said Will –more of a threat than a statement.

“Have you thought about what sort of psychopath he is? One born with little regard to human life, or one made? Tell me your analysis.”

Were they really doing this? He glanced to the clock by the bed, sighed, and shook his head. Apparently they were doing this.

“…Based on the files and what I’ve seen at crime scenes, I’d say he was made,” Will said slowly. “It’s covetous, something he doesn’t have, something his…upbringing took away from him. That connection to people that was denied at an early age. Coupled with abuse, both physical and mental, I’d imagine. He’d have started with small animals, progressed, wondered.

“He’d have known it was wrong to society, which is why I didn’t bother looking at your serious cases of delusions and scopes of violent patients. He’s smart; he’d have known to keep himself out of trouble in that way.” A beat. “Jack Crawford found your old patient, Tobias Budge. He had intestines in his basement.”

“He was making violin strings out of them, wasn’t he?” Hannibal asked dryly.

“Did you know that?”

“I may have had my suspicions,” he replied casually. “He was always searching for that perfect pitch.”

A pause as they listened to one another breathe. Will rubbed the bad eye and stared up at the ceiling, unsure how he felt about the sense of ease, that they could waste time and listen to one another breathe.

“Were you born, Will, or were you made?” Hannibal wondered.

“…Were you born?” Will asked back, challenging. “Or were you made?”

Another silence, this one heavy with something that made Will want to press the phone tighter to his face. He very much needed to hear the answer.

“I was made, dear Will,” he said at last. “But I do lay claim to a very sturdy foundation from birth that paved a direct path.”

“I’d say…I was born,” Will said bleakly. “A sturdy foundation that only got worse from there.”

“It must have been very lonely for you.” It didn’t sound mocking, although normally Will thought it would have. If anything, it reeked of understanding, of a lifetime of looking away from eyes and struggling to find a way to speak your mind without terrifying everyone in the room. He tried to imagine a young Hannibal, alone with thoughts that may have once repulsed him, terrified him at his capacity to imagine such violence. The image didn’t quite set right in the frame. Not terrified; confused, intrigued. Curious.

“Yes,” Will admitted.

“In your dreams, I noticed that you are always standing alone. You may face someone, you may interact with a demon or shadowed beast, but there is no one at your side. You are always alone.”

“I’m sorry for interrupting your sleep,” Will apologized, dry and not at all serious. “Time takes it away. Moments of intense emotion in dreams would explain why you saw it.”

“Perhaps –and feel free to correct me –your subconscious tired of the sensation of being alone. Our kinship with our unsavory sides, the way in which we utilize it are rather similar, although application on your part does leave much to be desired in terms of finesse; those are well and all, but perhaps that was not enough. You’re a soulmate psychiatrist, Dr. Graham. In sensing the many ways in which we are similar, perhaps your mind made the leap because it was tired of you being utterly alone.”

“Is that to comfort me, or is that to get under my skin?” Will wondered. His mouth and throat were decidedly dry. He wanted to see Hannibal. Hearing, he reasoned, would have to be enough.

“It’s to reassure you that you aren’t alone in your dreams. Whatever demons you’re facing, I am there.”

From Molly, it would have been a comfort. From Hannibal, Will wasn’t sure quite what it was –eerie? His gut clenched, even as a soft, lulling sensation made his eyes close, made his grip slacken somewhat against his ear.

“…Okay,” he said, and that was about as kind as he could make it. “Okay.”

“I was made aware that you saw to it that Matthew Brown was moved from jail to the illustrious Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane,” he said, and his lips seemed to caress the title. “An apt punishment for his crimes, I think.”

“You first cajoled him into those crimes,” Will retorted.

“Only because he was sincere in aiding me. How could I fault him when his only desire was to see me with my soulmate?” His tone lacked sympathy, much as it always did. Underlying it was something else, something ugly that Will recognized as pride.

“You thought it was funny that he had a half-connection to me,” Will realized. He shook his head, rubbed his face roughly.

“I wonder just how many people in this world exist with a half-connection to you,” said Hannibal, and Will heard his smile. “I wonder just how many people saw something within you that moved them chemically, and you didn’t react in turn. Are you a heartbreaker, Will?”

“You used him because he was eager to be used.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t blame him for that; I blame you.”

“It’s not me you punished though.” Hannibal’s voice lowered, delicately secretive. “You punished him, the one that dared try to connect to you in whatever way he could.”

“Half-connections sometimes cause psychotic breaks that-”

“I know what you told the judge, dear Will, but don’t lie to me. He crossed you, so you taught him a lesson.”

Silence. Will blinked languidly, stared up at the ceiling, then closed his eyes again. Hannibal was looking for the lie, therefore he couldn’t lie and lie well. He swallowed, tasted liquor from the night before. He thought about the smoothie he’d inevitably tossed in the trash, wiping the condensation from its weeping sides on his corduroys. He’d known, even then, that Hannibal would have been proud of him, even if he wasn’t proud of himself.

“Are you rather angry with him?” Hannibal asked.

“…There’s a part of me that pities him,” Will said raggedly.

“What is the other part?”

“Furious that he’d try and intervene with my life; that he’d step up to those bars like I did and try and speak on my behalf.”

“And it was that part that acted, wasn’t it? That decided to teach him a lesson?”

“I’m going to go back to sleep,” he told Hannibal. An assent without having to voice agreement in the slightest. “Don’t make a habit of calling this early. I won’t like it.”

A quiet hum of acquiescence. “Yes, I’d imagine so.”

“Good night, Hannibal.” A pause. “…Thank you.” Whatever the hell that meant.

“Good morning, dear Will,” Hannibal replied. “I’ll take good care of Matthew Brown for you.”

He went to sleep, and when he woke a few hours later, he was disgruntled to realize that rather than waking with bags under his eyes and a crick in his neck, he felt remarkably fine.

He sat at his usual park with BBQ Pork Buns and a Jasmine Bubble Tea with Boba. Beside him, Beverly drank her Taro Bubble Tea and positively radiated smug bliss. On the other side, Zeller stoutly refused to partake.

“Zeller thought he found his soulmate, but his eyes didn’t change,” she’d explained to Will, sitting down. “That’s why he’s like this.”

“I didn’t say she was my soulmate,” Zeller protested. At Will’s grimacing smile, he emphasized, “I didn’t.”

“You said it was a connection you’d never felt before,” Beverly teased.

“You didn’t bring him along to psychoanalyze me, did you?” Zeller complained.

“I don’t think you could afford what I charge for therapy,” Will lied. He liked to keep his prices mid-range, something for everyone. Although Dr. Avery tried many times to get him to up prices due to the amount of work put in, he reasoned that poor people needed just as much therapy as the rich.

Beverly laughed, delighted.

“I don’t need therapy, I just thought we had a connection,” he grumbled.

Will politely sipped his tea drink with a sealed lid on top boasting a questionably wide-mouthed panda. The air was hot around them, and the name of the game was waiting; waiting on Red Dragon, waiting on Molly to heal, waiting on his eyes to go back to the way they were.

Will would be waiting a long time for that last one.

“Besides, did you see that back there? If Graham and I had soulmates, we could have gotten a discount on drinks. What kind of shit is that? If a place gave discounts just because you didn’t have a soulmate, there’d be a boycott, an uproar –Graham, help me out here.” Zeller motioned to him, annoyed at Beverly’s snickering.

“If you want a discount, you could always get colored contacts,” Will said dryly.

“Oh, come on, I’m not that desperate,” Zeller groused.

I am, Will thought.

“It’s not all that it’s cracked up to be,” Beverly attempted to console him. The dimples on either side of her mouth gave her away, though.

“Right, things aren’t just suddenly easy because you have a soulmate,” Zeller scoffed. “Guess who gets more time off? Gets who gets reimbursed for travel because of the ‘emotional tax’ it takes? Who gets their own holidays off, who gets travel packages at better discounts-”

“Who literally almost dies the moment they feel the sudden loss of the person they connected to?” Will cut in. “There is a point when the soulmate is near-death that their partner feels it so acutely that their body thinks that it’s the one dying and attempts to shut down.”

He cast a look to Beverly, who nodded her assent as she sipped her tea.

“It’s a give and take,” he continued ruthlessly. “To make up for the inevitable end.”

That quieted Zeller. He’d known Beverly for a long time, knew her when she’d lost her soulmate. He’d probably been there when she’d first felt the sensation of loss, of separation so acute it nearly killed her. Will chewed a pork bun morosely and mulled over his own soulmate. He should go see him; reasoned that it would only infuriate him to see him behind the glass wall.

“Do you think Red Dragon is going to go for it?” Beverly wondered in the quiet.

“If so, I’ve got guys on me.” Will nodded to a spot where he noticed one of them posted up. “This is an approved public space. Snipers up on a rooftop, too.”

“Jesus Christ,” Zeller muttered.

“How comfortable is Kevlar?” Beverly asked.

“Not very.” A beat. “If he’s serious though, it’s a head shot. They’ll get him, but he’ll get me first.”

“You don’t sound very concerned,” Beverly said.

“I’m not.” A lie. He wasn’t going to concern them, though, not when it was his idea in the first place. He wouldn’t back down, no matter how much sweat stuck to his shirt now that there was an added layer of Kevlar between the undershirt and the plaid.

Just down the hill from them, two people wandered, lost. At visually seeing one another, one let out a shout and the other ran, meeting in the middle where they collided and kissed, the embrace desperate, needing. Will stared, fingers curling into the soft dough unconsciously.

“Get a room,” Zeller muttered.

“First meeting after the connection?” Beverly asked Will.

Will frowned, chewed nice and slow. He washed the food down, wiped his mouth, nodded. “They’ve found each other. Didn’t know where to go ‘till they got there.”

He thought of Molly and how she’d kissed him in the café they met at the next day. He’d called her as early as was acceptable, checking and re-checking his eyes in the mirror. Two seafoam blue. She answered the phone, breathless, asked him to meet her somewhere.

Two brilliant baby blues.

She’d kissed him with the relief, made his skin go cold but his breath speed up. She apologized, he apologized, and they ate their sandwiches and sipped Italian sodas, peeking glances at one another in between bouts of looking out of the window. When she went to leave, he asked her out to dinner.

“You think it’s always like that?” Zeller asked. He too couldn’t look away, a sense of longing that Will felt on the tip of his nose and down to his feet.

“No,” Will said. He’d given enough therapy that Zeller wasn’t going to argue his reply.

“I was mad,” Beverly said with a grin. “I’d been dating someone else, then this one comes along and just threw that out of the water. The guy I’d been dating said he wasn’t going to date someone with a soulmate –what if he missed his own chance because of me? I told him no way, but you know how it goes.”

“How’s it go?” Zeller prompted.

“You think about them a lot. You want to touch them a lot, and it makes the thoughts go away when you do. You want to hear their voice, you want them to like you; when they’re upset you get upset because you want it all to be perfect for them. So you hold hands once, and you speak so that you can hear their voice. You reason it makes sense, ease the feeling in your fingers. You fight their battles because only you can keep them safe, in your mind. Then next thing you know, it just…feels right to be with them. Why anyone else?”

“That’s a little unromantic,” Zeller said.

“There’s nothing romantic about chemical compounds holding you hostage to your desires,” Will said thinly.

Will thought of Thomas, pained by the connection to his soulmate being their anger and their childhood. He thought of Hannibal calling him early in the morning to reassure him that even in his worst dreams, he wasn’t alone. He thought of Molly on the train, crying because she had her own dreams and aspirations and was so scared they’d all be ruined.

“People say it just makes things easier,” Zeller said. “I guess that’s why I’m waiting for mine.”

“It doesn’t make it easier,” Will told him from around his pork bun. “It just adds one more line of code.”

#LiaS scribbles #the fault in my code #hannibal #hannigram #hannibal au #hannibal soulmate au #will graham x hannibal #someone help will graham #better yet #someone help people #because of will graham #haha #hannibal is a cannibal #hannibal is sassy #hannibal tries comfort??

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redwoodpress · 7 years

Text

“Babel”

I watched my TV screen weeks ago as state after state bled the color red, foreshadowing a death that would break across not only my TV, but my America. Subtle whispers of profanity escaped my lips the same familiar way they have when tragedy affected my life, as every border dripped into the next, like a color by number sent from hell. The only thought that kept coming back around, “This is America. This is America. This is America.”

So many of you called me to weep into the phone, asking the static silence between us to change the outcome. Your fears were sent to me from other countries. The defeat that landed on your bones you gave to me that night and we tried to carry it together. You ranted, screamed, went silent. We all processed in a myriad of ways. I walked onto my school campus and familiar faces were gone. Protests broke out, everyone split like the Red Sea, and that night I cried myself to sleep because I realized I wasn’t Jesus and I couldn’t hold the weight of your emotions in my hands. I was tired for you. I was tired for me. I was tired.

I told a friend the other day that if the phrase, “God is in control” has become a language that is only used to silence you, I will not say it right now. I won’t erase your pain with empty Christian jargon.

You are mourning, I am too. I am listening. There is nothing but love in my heart for you. Before I say more, know that if I have any internalized racism in my body, I don’t want it. I never did. But we have the choice every day to love or hate each other. This is humanity.

Friends, we were destined to fall. From Genesis to now, we are still falling into some bad dream. Whether it’s Greek mythology or it is literal, whether the world was created in seven days or Charles Darwin’s view on creation wasn’t that far off, whether you kiss the bible or you want it to burn in the hell it speaks of, we are still broken. This is America. This is the world. This is sin. Hate me for bringing God into this conversation. Hate me for talking about sin; but look around, is anything else working? Do people, on an individual basis, suddenly believe you and fall at your feet when you argue? Are we getting anywhere?

I tried to remember as I sat in my astronomy class that this world is a dot in an expansive universe. It’s still spinning, at just the right angles, to keep us alive and well. We have made it through the Depression, two World Wars, the Holocaust. I am not decreasing those events, nor invalidating the present. But we are still here. We have felt deep loss and time has given us just enough to keep growing through and out of the pain. We watched 9/11 as children-we feared that day as something so strong and mighty fell. As dust storms chased after people like a horror film and fires choked them out of life; we wondered if we would ever recover. We are still standing.

But we will never have perfect stability.

Former wars, pointless like Vietnam took innocent lives as it depicted faulty images on our televisions. Media took us in its grimy hands and left us isolated, confused, devastated. Language made blanket statements out of us, human documents that anyone could read and somehow understand, instead of individuals who have been written by complex experiences, loss, love, heartbreak, humiliation, triumph. It became “us” and “them”. Power, privilege, oppression, entitled, injustice, white supremacy, woke-there are a lot of hot words floating around, and not everyone knows what they mean. The words reinforced the borders; pathways to individual people are getting caution taped. Dialogue is broken and conversations are dead-one word out of someone’s mouth is suddenly cause to crucify them, instead of educate. I hear a tower of Babel; we’re all speaking a language that no one will listen to. The definitions have trapped us all. Enough.

We were told to love our enemies. We were told to bear with one another in love. Anger is good, hate is not. Focus. Fight for people, instead of just fighting.

We will never have perfect stability.

There will always be angry, ignorant, white men in the middle of America who hate African-Americans, the LGBTQA community, women, immigrants, Muslims. There will always be people in those groups who hate those white men back. Social media will always be a faulty platform to write atrocious things to people in anger.

Honestly, we chose to hear what we wanted to hear. We were living in the fear of the question, “Is it this bad? Is America this bad that these are the best candidates?” And then as politics progressed the fear ate us alive and vulnerability gave us no other choice than to believe a lie. That politics was all we had. That media from terrible sources defined us. And we became the borders that Trump talked about. They were both racist, corrupt, aggressive in sexual assault or passive in preventing it, drunk on power, drunk on money, fallen-whether they said it like a badge of honor on national television or did it behind closed doors. They still are. We lived within the walls of corruption before Trump even talked about his damn wall. Before he got elected, we chose hope against all odds in unimaginable filth. And then the nightmare came true and we threw out hope and fell back into filth. Hate. We let a single man get inside our heads and spin us in circles.

It’s a shame, it’s embarrassing and surreal. Because I look at the rest of the world, having been to third world countries, and their generosity is uncanny. They have nothing and their hands are open and they say, “Here. Take it from me. Take the shirt off my back.” Their hands are open for not only us, but for the seemingly improbable truth of hope.

And we are here, screaming our own pride into every facet of communication available, and to be honest, it’s making me sick. The story isn’t about us. Other countries seem to understand this.

We’re all yelling about self-love, and that’s important, but I have more things to do than to just love myself. There are a lot more people who need love, and it’s about time we start doing it.

Fighting for the orphan and the widow isn’t optional. Fighting for immigrants isn’t optional.

We are better than this.

We’ve worshiped fear. We’ve set up an altar and bowed down. One side mentions God and the others say they are privileged and white and don’t understand pain. Another side speaks out about their very real oppression and injustice and the others tell them that it’s not happening. Our experiences are not the same, you’re right. I am not you. But to be honest, I told myself that God was in control because I had nothing else; I was horrified at the state of our country. I didn’t say that God was on the throne to suddenly diminish that systems are still broken and people are still in need. I didn’t say it as a means to turn a blind eye to injustice, and I know many did. I say that God is control because I cling to nothing else, our world is chaotic, and I have nothing left that brings the sweet waters of peace. Maybe that sounds privileged, but it’s what I have right now.

The divide is getting wider, we have to stop it.

We somehow thought we should stack up our pain and struggle next to each other and let them compete. We’re not the same but we have both held hands with fear, and eaten depression for breakfast, and been paralyzed by tragedy. I don’t want to be in this game anymore, and nobody wins when we compare scars. Fear is real, fear is valid. But fear is still just that-fear. It’s easy, it’s natural, it’s a reflex, and it is something we can fight. Whether you are more affected by this election or not, we still have choices to make about the demons that tuck us in at night and how we are going to send them back to hell. We’re in this together, let’s act.

I don’t ask for ignorance. I don’t ask you not to feel, not to cry, not to see darkness, because we have faced a death of sorts. But I urge you, in this time, to look around at the people taking care of one another. I urge you to look back and see the ways people took care of one another in times of war, disaster, tragedy and learn from them. Look at how people love each other and wake up when nightmares become realities. We can do the same-give, share, find peace in calamity. People are reaching out with both arms in places they cannot see light for others doing the same. If we generalize others into groups without families, personalities, capacity for love and loss, capacity for understanding, we become our own boot camps of hatred. If we don’t help each other realize that, we will be alone, aching over an unstable America, asking it to be heaven. This is not heaven.

By the same token: I didn’t go to church for 5 years because I disagreed with a lot of the things the evangelical church was doing, or not doing. I was questioning, and I was frustrated that the church was not doing one of its primary jobs, to seek justice, peace, and love. This is what I proclaimed obstinately and obnoxiously over people who argued their case. I recently just sat in the car with my best friend after our church service. She has been a church-goer her whole life. She is someone who has watched me go in and out of churches most of my adult life, going once and picking it to pieces like a 5 year old at dinner. I consistently found something to be angry about. She told me that day, “I never wanted to argue at you about how church and community was right because I knew you had to come to that conclusion by yourself. I just knew I was always going to be at least your one friend who always went and I would let that speak.” I almost cried because her patience astounded me. She is a loyal friend because she doesn’t try to make me believe her, she’s just there for me, exemplifying what it’s like to live a life pursuing a God who loves all and waits for all.

So my point is, if I’m not around people who are different than me, how does anything change? If she didn’t stick around, I would have never been part of a group that has changed my life and pushed me forward into change and made me a better person. And if someone like me who is frustrated doesn’t stay, then how does the culture there ever change? Turn your frustration into finding solutions. Otherwise it’s for nothing.

We can’t afford not to change.

So I’m still going to sit next to someone who doesn’t agree with me politically. Do you know why? Because if I wait for them, like I know God waits for me, then maybe we can bridge the divide. My silence and cold shoulder only closes all doors between us. And you know what? This waiting doesn’t take any energy out of me, not nearly as much energy as it takes to be angry.

It doesn’t mean I’m not going to fight for justice; it just means I am going to focus on the people who are in need, instead of fighting at the people who are not.

There are times under the sun for everything. Right now, it’s time to grow up, even when the adults or the peers in our lives haven’t, even when mom’s we barely know get on our Facebook to scold us. We live in a time that people our age spend nine hours a day on social media; we can talk all day about change, but we have to live it. And quite frankly, it’s time to disregard the thoughts of people who don’t believe in peace. It’s time to forgive, even when it’s difficult. In the end, a bitter heart is only hurting you.

Don’t burn bridges. Light a flame to lead people out of their shadows. That’s more important.

History does not dictate how we move forward. Be present. Move. There will always be people who live in the past; we get to be the minorities, whites, women, men, LGBTQA community, immigrants, Muslims who don’t. So let’s move the conversation forward, too. Embrace your ancestry, but ask yourselves-who are we? Who do we want to be? That’s the question we have left, let it propel us forward into truth.

We can’t say that “Love trumps hate” and then cut someone out of that, regardless of who they are, no matter how much they piss you off. You have to give them margin to change, because you would want the same. Redemption is a story and it’s rolling, but we’re going to miss it if we don’t wake up. That means pursuing love when it’s difficult and grace when you don’t want to in a culture that tells you to do whatever feels right for you. Unfortunately, that doesn’t really work because whatever feels right for you is often easy, and it means to hate people and stay bitter.

We can’t do anything about the way we grew up, but we can do something for the way the ones after us get to grow up. We are not our ancestors. We don’t have to be our history books. We don’t have to lick our wounds. We are not our Facebook statuses. We are all made of the same stuff, flesh and bone; please recognize that.

Can we work together? I’m so tired of not working together. I’m so tired of division.

The color of my skin does not erase the fact that we are called to forgive each other, just as much as the color of my words don’t erase the oppression you encounter because of your skin color.

We will never have perfect stability.

But stability is stone cold cement, founded by old ideas, like the walls of Jericho.

Like the walls of Trump’s hate.

We are built by truth, love, grace, courage. And we move.

The sound of your voices are bleeding through. Can you hear them?

P.S. This article doesn’t give you an excuse to suddenly start bashing millennial “snowflakes” and call them lazy, entitled, and stupid. It also doesn’t give you an excuse to bash all white people, all people of color, or the church. If you are, you’ve done a tremendous job in missing the point. And please don’t read one paragraph of something and say you understand all of it.

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