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kkulmoon · 4 years

Text

SUNSET HEARTBEAT | KTH

pairing: Taehyung x Reader (f)

genre: fantasy au, hybrid au, sci-fi (?), fluff, angst

word count: 5.1k

rating: pg

a/n: ngl i feel like the beginning portion is a bit rusty, by rusty I mean it may feel a bit slow but pls give it a chance 🥺, I struggled to write that 😭. I am also tagging two very lovely people who were excited about this, hopefully you like it uwu @blossomkoo @inkedxclouds. This fic is part of Bangtan Scenery’s collab ‘April Showers Bring May Flowers’, make sure to check out everyone else’s entries!

warnings: implied sex, other than that none, except for heartbreak and slight purple patches here and there cause I was in the mood hehe

beta read by: lovely angie @scvkjin and amazing emi @bangtiddies 💕

synopsis: The time had come for the seventh sun to rise. For the seventh and last color in line to have its cycle. As one indigo supernova signified the coming of a purple nebula, you and Taehyung spent the remaining of your last day together creating something of your own. If it comes into fruition can only be known years in the future. A decade after you found someone unlike anyone. Truly one of a kind. Someone with a destiny they couldn’t outrun. It has been 10 years since the birth of a purple sun.

☁︎ masterlist ☁︎

It was in your final year of university, twelve years ago, that you met Taehyung. That same year you decided it was time to give up on the idea of becoming an astronomer. Quite frankly, you were just too dumb. However, it did not mean that you couldn't enjoy it all while living a life where pretending that you truly understood everything was your best bet, your only bet. They all say that interest and dedication trumps natural talent, right? For that same reason you decided to still attend as many astronomy lectures as possible even though you were studying to become an English teacher. You were always quiet and attentive so either the professors didn't notice you or let you be. Either way, what mattered was that you got to be there.

The first time the two of you interacted was a random weekday in April, near finals’ season. You were sitting at the back of the room as usual. The professor had handed out some papers to be passed back. A gold tinted hand with slender fingers, on which well groomed and shiny fingernails were present, reached out to you. You could all but wave away at the paper, trying your best to dismiss it. A pouty and confused expression was what you got as he continued to jab the paper onto your palm. You kept trying to mouth 'it's okay' but he was persistent. Not much of a purple characteristic but surely a sun one, now that you think about it. Finally you settled for a verbal response.

“I don't actually take this class, so really, i'm fine.”

He retreated his hand for a second, “Huh, don't we all wish that was true,” he said as he placed the paper on the small desk in front of you instead. “You've got this! We're almost done, hold in there.” You got a thumbs up before he turned back to focus on the class.

And every week from there on, whenever he got a short moment in class while the professor was writing on the board Taehyung would pester you with motivational notes filled with sayings. One particular somber April morning where you looked more tired than usual he even went as far as offering to help you with the class and your homework. You did your best to decline and yet that same night you got an email in your inbox that told you he obviously hadn't understood.

| Kim Taehyung Chapter 15: Helpful Resources, (hang on there, you got this!) |

While you didn't take the class and had no official obligations to learn anything, you were still interested in astronomy so you decided to have a look. The links did clear up some questions you had during the lecture. However, you didn't want him to be wasting time helping a lost cause. As much as you loved reading about astronomy and learning about it, you were slow and having him help you was more than unnecessary. The definition of futile work. You decided to send him a screenshot of the official classes you were attending from the university's student portal. You made sure to censor your grades. He truly didn't need to think that you were any dumber, all he needed was proof that you weren't taking the class.

But once again, Taehyung's sun qualities shone through. Where it would have been expected for the person to drop the subject and for the two of you to go back to your habitual behaviour, he thought otherwise. He responded, but this time instead of answers he had questions, none of which you felt like answering so you left him on read. Well, the email version of read. You opened the email, read it, thought about answering it but ultimately left the email thread to die on the read pile.

A week went by. No Taehyung and you felt relieved. At least that's how you think you felt, the sleep deprivation might have been playing tricks on you. As yet another day came, where the indigo sun let its rays shine, Taehyung thought it better for him to act as the sun. You hadn't seen him in class, but it just turned out he changed his usual spot. He tried to catch you before you left the room but your daydreaming self was quick on her feet. He had a quick talk with the professor before he hurried to you.

“Hey!” The sound of sandals echoed against the cement floor. “Hey! You there!"

You kept on walking, as far as you knew your name wasn’t you there'. Someone grumbled behind you only to exclaim after a short while.

“Y/N! Y/N! Hold up, I need to talk to you.” So in that case you were 'you there' and someone was Taehyung.

You stopped walking and turned around. You couldn’t help but cock your head at him. You had only seen Taehyung from the torso up while in class. His attire surprised you for some reason. Maybe because he was a STEM student and you had expected him to look more uptight. He looked like one of the people from the pot dorm down your hallway. Everything he wore was oversized except for the big knitted headband he had on now that he was outside. He looked devoid of colour with his muted clothes, but his cross body bag stood out with its patterned rainbow material.

"Yeah, what is it?" The quicker you could get it over with the better. However, Taehyung didn’t seem to agree with you on that aspect. He took his sweet time to fix the misplaced headband as you were left to witness the action. As much as you would have liked to categorise the scene as boring, it would have been a lie. His grey hair strands somehow managed to sparkle in the sun. They didn’t shine the normal way hair shines when light reflects on it. His hair literally sparkled as if it had recognised something familiar within the sun rays. But at the time you just thought you were being delusional or being tricked by the elements of his beauty.

"You didn't answer my email," he asked with curious eyes and an innocent tone. Right, that happened.

"Oh, that... uhm... I just haven't gotten the time to go through my email, things have been a bit hectic," you shot him a sympathetic smile.

Taehyung seemed like a pretty understanding person but he sure wasn’t dumb. You saw the way his tongue shifted to lick his lips as his teeth found their way onto his bottom lip. He trailed his hands on the strap of his bags as a pensive lip bite made adorned his features. Taehyung could have either been nervous or so irked by the bullshit you just spat at him that his body was reacting. Either way you felt bad for your white lie, but maybe not bad enough.

"It has been two weeks though," Taehyung stretches his back to stand straighter, "Also I take a chem class with Hoseok and you're always chatting in the gmail chat so..."

What do you say to that? You lied and the worst part of it all was that you were caught right in the same moment. Your mouth opened and closed continuously as a hot flush made itself present on your ears and neck. You made note of the fact that Taehyung seems sweet but he actually packed a punch and was definitely ready to confront you on your bullshit. Classic STEM student approach, just face things head on. Thinking back at it, that was yet another instance in which his sun characteristics took the wheel. The sun's rays don't budge for anything or anyone and they certainly don't cave in to make others feel comfortable.

"Uhmm... right. But I am here now, so ask away!" Maybe your fake enthusiasm could make up for your little lie. Taehyung gave you a wondering look as he calculated the pros and cons of continuing this conversation, You hoped the cons would win.

“Uhmm, alright, fair enough,” He shrugged and the pros must have won because he kept talking. “Why do you go to astronomy lessons if you don’t take the class?”

Why did he want to get into your personal business? You could have very well told him that it was none of his business, turned around and left. But that seemed a tad bit too rude for you and for some weird reason you didn't want him to think of you as any more rude that you had been.

Would you paint yourself as an overly ambitious student that just had a general love of learning or would you tell him the truth? If you were to lie again you were sure he wouldn't manage to uncover this lie.

"I just like astronomy and find the class interesting, on top of that I've got time so like why not?" You felt good about your response, so good you were happy that you had made the choice not to lie to him, again.

"Oh okay, then how come you didn't apply for the program?" Wow, this dude was really trying to uncover all of your flaws during the first real conversation you've had. He should have become a detective instead, his focused and analysing eyes made it very hard for you to lie and not feel any residual guilt. He would, without a doubt, catch you if you were to slip up again.

"Uhm... I just felt like education was the right place for me you know." You shook your head with squinted eyes in hopes that he would just get you. Which he obviously didn’t if you had to go off of the way his jaw jutted out to the side.

"Well, to put it simply, I am not the brightest of students and while actually taking the class would have been a nightmare, just being there and listening and learning at my own slow pace just makes me feel better about my shortcomings."

Taehyung's lips parted slightly. Okay, maybe you didn't have to give such a confession but he had been pushing and you wanted it to just end.

"Ohh, I see." Not the response you expected but how else do you respond to someone who said that they were too dumb to follow their dream. "But still my offer stands, if you need help trying to understand anything, feel free to tap my shoulder in class."

"But you changed seats to sit in the front."

"Nah not really, I was just bitter that you hadn't answered and didn't want to hurt you. From now on you'll see me at my usual spot in front of you."

The squeamish movement that accompanied the words ‘hurt you’ gave rise to a wondering look on your face. Hurt you? Why would he hurt you? Taehyung looked pretty harmless so you decided to not take his weird comment at face value. He most likely meant hurting you in a verbal sense.

The rest of the semester progressed in that same weird manner that characterised your relationship with Taehyung. A constant push and pull that kept being encouraged by your closest friends– Hoseok being the top player in the game. Inevitably, the more time you spent with him the more you warmed up to him. A month down the road the two of you decided to put a label on it. Or it was more so you who needed a verbal confirmation that you had somehow managed to catch someone's interest.

It took you awhile to reset the way you thought. Your wandering mind wasn’t only filled with personal affairs anymore, another individual had found their place in your day to day thoughts. All of a sudden being affectionate wasn't something you had to actively be, it was simply default mode whenever Taehyung crossed your field of vision.

For that reason alone, finals season was filled with movie nights, whispered love confessions, enough takeaways from different cuisines that you felt you were now ready to become a food critic. But the most precious instances of that time was the afternoons where Taehyung did his best to teach you astronomy and you being too lazy to listen despite your interest. You can't help but ask yourself if you would have been more attentive had you known what astronomy actually meant to him.

You had now been with Taehyung for one entire year. One year filled with diametrically opposite feelings. The good, the bad and the ugly. But ultimately all of it was left at the door the moment the two of you decided to reconcile despite the drawbacks. You were happy. The kind of happy that you don't recognise until it's gone. That can only be acknowledged in the midst of incoming fury. You had never in your life wished for the ability to predict the future. To see what happens after sunrise before it is manifested.

One particular day eleven years ago, you wished that astronomy was fake, that the sun wasn't real and that it never needed to rise or set, to be born or die. You wished the sun didn't exist, knowing very well that that would mean the most important person in your life wouldn't exist. But you could have dealt with that.

Longing for something you know you could have hurts far more than craving for the unknown. In the latter situation there's at least hope, that if you search hard and long enough you could find that thing you so deeply want. In the former, you know where that thing is, it's in fact right under your nose, or more accurately right over your head, where you can feel it at least a little bit every single day. Except this time you can't have it, no matter how hard you wish for it or how long you choose to wait. The whole scenario was like a twisted marshmallow test. Made to incite cravings with no intention of ever quenching them.

This all started a year following the start of your relationship with Taehyung. At that time you took notice to how hot he would get at the most unexpected of times. A behaviour that was usually reserved for when he was irritated or angry. It wasn’t only him that was hot but he radiated the kind of heat reserved for an extremely sunny summer’s day.

You overlooked those instances and decided not to pay them too much mind. It could just be you having the extreme hots from him. However on a particular night, you just couldn’t bring yourself to stay in bed with Taehyung. The sheets were drenched and the windows had fogged up. You had to leave and find refuge in your living room sleeping right by a fan.

The coming morning you woke up to breakfast on the table and right beside it there was a thick pocket sized book. The Book Of Suns. That was the white title that was engraved onto the black cover. Taehyung was nowhere to be found but his belongings were still in your room so you assumed he had gone for his morning walk.

You had to make a choice between the two. Would you read the book first or you would eat breakfast first? You knew that whatever you were about to find out would most likely curb your appetite. Your hand glided against the rough cover of the book.

Wouldn't it be better to read it now, just in case something made you extremely sad? That way you could cry before he got back home. Whatever it was that you were about to find out was very important to him, important enough that he wanted you to form your own opinion of it in peace. He wanted in no way for his presence to taint your reaction towards the truth that he had been hiding. Or as he thought protecting you from.

You sat down by the table, knees to your chest as you brought the book onto your hands. 'The Book Of Suns' was, as you realised after reading it, just that, a book about suns, in particular Taehyung’s sun lineage. It was a story about your world’s suns, the rainbow sun family. A fact unknown to you before that very moment. You were surprised by your behaviour, you weren’t exactly known for having calm reactions. It must have been Taehyung’s scent on the sweater you wore. It tickled your nose and calmed your senses. The book served as a track record for the next person in line to become the sun. It had seven chapters. Beside each chapter title in the contents page there were small vertical lines. The first six suns had five lines while the last had four. Taehyung must be purple sun. You read silently or more so you attempted to read silently, the deep breaths you were taking in effort to digest everything couldn't be contained.

After a continuous hour of reading you got to what was perhaps the most interesting chapter. Where do the dead suns go? And most importantly what do the suns that have yet to be born stay? You were cautious about continuing your reading. What if you found out that Taehyung was in fact just the ghost of someone that didn't actually exist? Or worse what if Taehyung would cease to exist?

Fear curbed your initiative to let your eyes continue their dance on the page. But fear also did its job in fixating your attention on the slightly faded black letters present on the off-white pages. Fear of the unknown is always worse than that of the known.

Deep in the forest, there was the garden of suns. Every time a sun died and resurrected as a human, their statue appeared in the garden, where their sun soul was kept, only to vanish on the day of their sun birth. In the middle of the pages there was a picture, at the back of it you could read Taehyung’s harsh handwriting ‘The garden of suns -15/07/39’. He had been there four days ago.

The statues of the first five suns were covered with vibrant collared moss equivalent of their sun pigment. The sixth and seventh sun’s statues were only slightly visible in the photograph. They seemed to be in an intermediary phase. Not quite gone, yet not quite there. It was hard to figure out whether they were emerging or vanishing. That’s until you remembered the previous week’s news report. A supernova was on its way and scientists believed it would most likely occur near the end of next year.

The indigo sun is near its death, and a purple sun is nearing its ascent.

Taehyung’s statue was the one vanishing. His sun soul was ready to find its owner and ascend to its rightful place amongst the other stars. Just as you were about to continue reading, ready to delve into how this whole sun birth situation went about, the sound of metal clashing against metal resounded in the dead silence. Clinging keys and heavy steps entered the apartment.

No 'hello' or 'glad to see you're finally awake'. But could you blame him? It would have been weird to act as if it was like any other of your usual mornings. You wished you had mustered up the strength to get off the chair and go greet him at the entrance. In your mind you did that but in reality you stayed rooted right where you were, back squeezed into the corner between the table and chair.

Taehyung walked in to lean against the door frame that lead into the kitchen. He looked exhausted. Dark under eye bags decorated weary eyes. You thought you could hear a tentative squeak come out of his mouth. Maybe you should've said something, because he looked like he was hurting and trying to find the appropriate words to start a conversation he knew would only end with heartache and tears. You thought that talking about the small steps he made outside was a good way to segue into talking about the biggest step he would take in his life. One that he could unfortunately not walk back on.

"How was your walk?" You managed to ask before Taehyung walked past the kitchen and into the bedroom. He stopped midway, standing in the living room, where sun rays illuminated his surroundings. You couldn't help but think that it was very fitting for him to become a sun. The rays may have been bright and hot but he was the only one able to make you feel as hot as the sun and make your smile shine brighter than the biggest star. He was already a sun. Your sun. Why did he need to leave and become everyone's sun as well?

"Pretty good, helped me wake up," he said and sat down on the bean bag present beside him. You put the book down on the dining table just to look back at him from your seat. You were just there, in the moment, sitting down and doing your best to have an internal conversation. Both of you knew that words would hurt too much. And they surely couldn't bear the complete weight of what your current predicament meant neither could they have illustrated the joint pain that was shared between two beating hearts.

Your conversation might have been dead but the emotion was very much alive. You stood up from your seat, Taehyung's knitted sweater fell back down to caress your thighs. The walk to the beanbag felt like an eternity, not because it was but because you made it so. You had felt his sour and vigilant mood and you knew that being playful at that moment was your best bet. You tiptoed back and forth all the way to the beanbag as the sweater shifted here and there to reveal skin that was highlighted blue by the sun.

He was upset but he couldn't manage to keep his mouth set. His lips would stretch and unstretch as small playful wiggles played at the tip of his mouth. Finally you had found your way to the bean bag. You stood tall as your body cast a shadow over his. You placed a foot on the bean bag as the material sunk under your weight and you found your place on his lap.

Right there, that's the kind of pat in the back that Taehyung gave you as his arms enveloped your slouching form. You snuggled your head deep into the crook of his neck and inhaled all the way in. If he was really gonna be leaving you, you needed to make sure you could imprint the scent and feel of his flesh right onto yours.

You sat there, quiet, with synchronised breaths yet fighting thoughts. How in the heck were you supposed to manage this? Him just being gone? Sure, you had a year left before it was officially time, but a year is far from a lifetime, what he had promised you.

"You are sure you don't want to talk about it?" Long hand strokes continue to comfort your back. You move your buried head side to side, groaning in response. Alright is all he said. Things were far from alright.

While on that morning you decided not to talk further on the topic, the coming months were filled with explorative trips to the Garden of Suns, where you would spend hours listening to Taehyung tell you about the stories of him and his sun brothers. He talked about being particularly close to the blue sun.

"It's just because he literally has no filter," he said gazing longingly at the statue covered with flashy blue moss.

"Is that like, dangerous?"

"Well yeah for you, but I am a sun remember." He turned around on the grass to face your way.

"And that's probably why I orbit around you." The huge grin that found its ways to your face was uncontrollable and contagious as Taehyung couldn’t help but snicker at your corny joke.

Just like that, your months together flew by until it was finally d-day. You hoped that waking up wouldn't be a necessity but Taehyung refused to let you sleep through it. He refused to let you think that it was all a dream. Getting yourself off the bed and into the shower felt like an endless task. One that he was patient enough to help you with. In hindsight you feel bad about having put him through that on such a significant day. He was, most likely, having a harder time dealing with his destiny than you were. That day was one to remember, the most vivid of them all, the most cherished of them all yet the most sad of them all.

All of that happened in the past and you were currently in an unsure present. The indigo sun had faced its fate, to be extinguished in an equally coloured supernova that would give rise to the last one in line, a purple sun. One day they would all be back to the complete cycle. A day where you wouldn't be present.

It has been ten years since Taehyung became a sun. You could talk to him, well, not really but you could see him and most importantly feel him. It had been a decade since you asked him to leave you something to remember him by, a part of him, a living one. On the night of Taehyung’s sun birth he decided to take you up on the offer. Cuddled up, in each other’s arms that’s how the day progressed. While usually persistent yet gentle, that night Taehyung felt it was appropriate and maybe in fact vital for him let his sun like ferocity be expressed. How else could you have understood the intensity of his feelings, a muddy mix of grief and love. The remains of that one last heated night were left for you to admire and cherish.

You thought you would manage to stay up the entire night to witness the purple sun birth but Taehyung’s warmth, forehead kisses and soft singing lulled you to sleep before you could realise it.

Nothing was felt. No heat, no cold. Nothing was seen. No light, no spark. Taehyung was gone into the void in the same effortless way he entered your life. You’ve now been waiting over a decade to know if the fruits of that night would come into fruition. Conception can only happen when eclipses take place. Eclipses happen every 126 months. It has been 10 years. Half a year is left.

That half year could not have passed at a slower pace. It was a Thursday, yet another tiring day at school. You loved kids but you were drained of energy. You couldn't wait for time to pass by so that you could leave. It was Thursday, which meant you could watch the sunset to its complete end without being bothered. It was also Thursday, the day after you got your first ultrasound. Taehyung may have not been there but that didn't mean you couldn't share the remaining of your waking hours with him, whenever you thought it was possible. You looked out of the window from your classroom to see purple hues in the sky as the sun said goodbye to leave place to another night.

The clouds thought otherwise, for some reason they always felt the need to be there to cloud his presence. What right did they have to cover up his tint? If it weren’t for them you would have been able to bask in his purple light, let it colour you bare as your feelings went from blank to purple butterflies that made you lose sight as tears formed in your eyes.

So you did what any sensible person still in love would have done. As soon as the clock struck 4 pm you ran to catch the train that would take you from skyscraper views to wide flower fields. It took the train two hours. You did your best to enjoy the way he set along the ride. Once you arrived you were left with two entire hours to enjoy the last of him and say goodbye to Taehyung and hello to the darkness.

During that time you reached into Taehyung's patterned cross body bag. You truly hated it but it was his so you kept it. You pulled out the ultrasound picture and raised it to the little part of sun that was still left. You didn't actually think that he would, through some weird magical way, actually be able to see it. It was more so something to calm your conscience. But most importantly, it presented you with the opportunity to capture an unusual family picture. It was you, the ultrasound, your baby bump and the purple sunset all in one picture. One that had found its rightful place on your bedside table.

Years unmasked themselves to reveal the growth of your child. One that grew to inherit the intensity of her father. Every now and then you made sure to let her know about him. As young as she was she couldn't truly understand it all, but as a child your love story was something that was within imaginable grounds. So you took advantage of that and taught her all you could about him. Maybe if you started early she could manage to develop past your less refined genes with regards to learning.

You took your time to tell her all that she wished to know and all that you wished to share. Sugarcoating to the maximum, cause that’s what Taehyung would do, but still making sure to keep a coherent timeline. One specific day you are unable to answer her question.

"Wh–why did dad break the promish?"

You had to fight long and hard with your tear ducts. Never had you cried in front her and you didn't intend to do it anytime soon.

In fact in one way or the other, Taehyung hadn't lied about keeping his promise. He had omitted some important specifics but he hadn't completely been untruthful. He said a lifetime and he would give you a lifetime. It just happened to be one where he wasn't always there, present by your side.

However he would always get up to see you rise, and always say goodbye as he sets down to give place for lonely nights. And on all of those goodbyes unlike the one where he left you for the first and last time, you could swear that in bed with your child pressed to your chest, you could feel and hear his sunset heartbeat as clear and strong as the rays of a certain purple sun, your only one. Sun rays filled with his most cherished truth:

‘I will turn purple when i miss you and to say i love you’.

Posted: May 28, 2020

124 notes · View notes

meaninglessblah-writes · 4 years

Note

How about 90 + 33? #200528

Thank you for the prompt ♥ Wasn’t sure which pairing you were after, so I’ve gone with some gen DamiJay.

90 “I’m almost there, just hang on.” + 33 “Hey look at me, just breathe, okay?

Jason bites the tail end of the gauze between his teeth and pulls tight, watching the neat, fresh row of stitches disappear beneath the white cloth. He’s agitated, blood thumming from the last dregs of adrenaline and irritation that comes with a family friendly mission.

He’s so sick of being Bruce’s bloodhound. Someone he can send to sniff out the scent, do all the legwork - only to drop in at the last minute and ‘handle it’.

Jason’s completely fucking capable of handling an arms deal himself, thank you very fucking much. He’d been tailing Sionis’ men for months before Bruce had shown up with his ragtag team of vigilantes to ever-so-kindly take it off Jason’s plate. Thanks for the intel, the professionals will take it from here.

And like goddamn amateur hour, it’d ended in a shitfight. They’d drawn knives, so the Bats had drawn knives, and then someone had cut the power. Jason had leapt back into the fray immediately. Taken a switchblade into his brachial artery for his trouble, and lost track of whatever other wounds the colourful band of siblings had weathered before they’d managed to cuff the majority of the small time dealers.

Jason had forgone the afterparty in favour of skulking home to lick his wounds and down some whiskey in a blessedly Bat-free environment. Left the rounding up of the last of the thugs to Robin and Nightwing, who had taken to the rooftops in a way that reminded Jason far too much of pixie boots and an old man’s smile.

Jason rubs a palm into his chest, flexing his bicep to test the constriction of the bandage, and downs another finger of whiskey from the bottle. He’s not usually big on drinking, but something about tonight called for something stronger to smooth down his edges.

He’s barely started preparing to disinfect his needle and pack up his supplies before he hears the godawful crash of something falling through the window of his second bedroom, the unoccupied one where he keeps his training mats and dumbbells. Feels the reverberation through the timber floorboards up into his shins as he rises from his stool with a spiral of fury.

“That better be one huge fucking rat,” Jason’s angry tone filters through from the kitchen, growing in volume as he rounds the corner into the hallway, “or someone’s about to get their ass-”

He freezes when he catches sight of Damian, framed by the door frame, slumped back against the sill. Knees knocking and palm all but sewn to his stomach, holding back the tide of sickly red bubbling over his washed out fingers.

He looks genuinely remorseful beneath Jason ire, which is leaching out of him in a tingling rush to be replaced by horror the longer he stands there. “Just the rat,” he murmurs, and goes down to one knee, uncoordinated.

“Jesus fuck,” Jason gasps, and sprints the length of the hallway to meet the teen.

Damian’s down to one hand by the time Jason reaches him, breaths sharp and shaky, heaving tight and neat around the swell of his ribs. Jason can tell he’s in pain, a lot of it, and maybe hasn’t managed to remove the intrusion, if he’s moving as stilted as he is. His hands flutter for a moment as he catalogs, and then years of training under Alfred’s steady hand kick in, and Jason tests the kid’s hold.

He’s got enough pressure on the wound for now, but from the way he hisses, and how quickly his strength is fading, Jason can tell he needs a patch job and fast. He eases Damian onto his back, settling him on the timber as Robin hisses and bears teeth at the movement, brow washing into pain as soon as he’s still.

“What was it?” Jason demands, categorising as he does a quick sweep of the kid’s body for any more punctures. “Knife? Bullet?”

“Knife,” Damian confirms between gritted teeth, eyes clenched tight on the wash of agony as he’s jostled.

“Hang on for me,” Jason instructs, pressing his palm down against Damian’s knuckles to encourage him to hold tight. “Gonna get you some stitches.”

If Damian acknowledges it in the groan Jason hears as he bolts back down the hallway, he doesn’t discern it. He scrambles for the first aid kit sprawled across the counter top, pawing through until he can find a clean needle and a bottle of disinfectant.

“Todd,” Damian’s voice filters through, distant and waning.

“I’m almost there, just hang on,” Jason shouts back over one shoulder, snagging a length of wire and spinning back for his impromptu patient.

Damian’s shucked his gloves by the time Jason staggers to his knees at the kid’s side. Jason does his best not to glance aside at the stained kevlar, focusing instead on squeezing his fingers into the gaping hole of his suit to tear it wider. It’s a hard task; the reinforced weave is designed to specifically resist this treatment, and Jason’s forearms are aching by the time he manages to make a seam big enough to work within.

Damian looks pale, his lashes blinking slowly open and shut as Jason threads his needles and dips it. He realises belatedly that he should have put on gloves, should have disinfected the wound first. Then Damian groans, soft and fleeting, and Jason discards that in favour of keeping the damn Bat alive.

“Hang in there, kiddo,” he soothes, and pinches the skin, pressing the gash closed to verbal disagreement. “I know it hurts. Gotta sew you up. Hold on just a bit longer for me.”

Damian nods, slow and lethargic, and Jason shoots him glances between looping his thread through the kid’s skin. He’s not even halfway done before Damian’s eyes close and don’t reopen, and panic grips Jason by the throat.

He lifts his free hand - smeared with drying blood now - to tap Damian firmly on the cheek. The little Robin stirs, lashes sweeping slow over his cheekbones and eyes roaming until he finally locates Jason above him.

“Hey look at me, just breathe, okay? Nice and deep. All the way to your toes.”

Damian’s brow pinches like he has something to say about Jason’s cloying tone, but he does it nonetheless, his rib cage swelling with his inhale.

“That’s it,” Jason praises, the words an afterthought as he refocuses on the wound. “Doing great, kid. You hit your beacon yet?”

When no answer comes, Jason glances up to find Damian’s lids have slid closed again.

“Hey!” Jason demands, smacking him hard this time. Damian stirs, but even he can see the lethargy swimming behind those green lens. “Have you called for help yet, Robin?”

Damian blinks at him, uncomprehending. “I…”

Jason grunts and ties off his thread, knotting it tight. The lack of vocal disapproval makes his stomach twist as he reaches up to press two fingers to the comm in Robin’s ear. “Say something for them, kid. They need to hear you’re okay. They won’t listen to me.”

“Robin,” Damian sighs, and his lips tremble around the syllables.

Jason waits, but when no further words are forthcoming, he shifts to press his thumb against the newly stitched wound.

Damian’s snarl hitches into a sharp shout of pain, features awash with agony until Jason hears the murmur of a concerned Bat in his ear. He lifts his thumb, ignoring the sigh of relief Damian gives him for the motion as he gathers his things and climbs to his knees.

The Bats will locate him through any of the thousand trackers probably embedded in the kid's suit, Jason’s sure. They’re much more prompt about coming to their Robins’ aid after the first unfortunate incident, he can attest to that. It’s when he goes to swing up to his feet, supplies in arm, that a hand flashes out to snag his trousers.

Jason glances down at the shaking fingers, pale and washed out with the lack of blood, and flicks his gaze up to Damian’s face. “Thank you,” the boy croaks, and Jason gives him a nod that eases some of the concern from the kid’s brow. That hand slumps back to the timber, grip weak as Jason steps over him.

Seems like he should be expecting more company tonight.

If you want to ask me more questions, check out my list of prompts and quote the 6-digit number in the tags :)

#jason todd #damian wayne #jason todd/damian wayne #franticvampirereads #200528 #meaninglessblah answers

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indescribablechoices · 5 years

Text

be your safety

Pairing: Damien Nazario x MC (Kai Park), Damien x MC x Hayden

Word Count: 2988

Listening Suggestion: Kiss Me - Ed Sheeran

Fic Tag List: @brightpinkpeppercorn @kennaxval @princesaakl

Synopsis: After Hayden walks out in San Francisco, Kai goes after him, and a heart to heart leads to confessions.

Rating: NSFW, M, 18+ (by seeing this warning, you are consenting of legal age to do so. This involves sexual encounters). (I love the poly relationship in PM, but it kinda bothers me that it’s never really discussed between partners so I wanted to fix that. I’m personally not polyamorous so I hope I wrote this okay! This is written with Kai who broke up with Hayden in Berlin and immediately got with Damien, and then my ass fell in love with Hayden in book two so we’re rolling with it)

“I just… I can’t do this anymore. I’m sorry.”

Before Kai could reach for him, Hayden had pushed past her and the rest of their friends and was out the door. She called after him, her legs moving to follow him without thought but Khaan’s voice gave her pause.

“Maybe it’d be best to leave Hayden with his thoughts,” he suggested, looking unsurely towards the still open door.

“I can’t just leave him alone out there,” she said, “He doesn’t know the city, and Eros is still out there and-” Panic began to rise in her tone before Damien stepped closer to her, putting an encouraging hand on her back.

“Go,” he insisted, a look passing between them that she understood, “We’ll tell you if he gets back or contacts anyone.”

A smile played on her mouth as she nodded, and she raced out of the apartment. She tried the hotel first, knocking on Hayden’s door until she eventually let herself in to find it inevitably empty. Cursing to herself, Kai took to the streets, backtracking through all of the places they had been in the city, panic twisting her stomach into knots before eventually, finally, she caught sight of him.

He was leaning against the large mural where just yesterday she had been having a heart to heart with Damien.

“Hayden!” she called out to him, her legs carrying her to him without thinking. He looked up at the sound of her voice, and for a brief second she worried he would run, but as she approached he stayed where he was. “Are you okay?” she asked.

He shook his head, looking on the verge of tears, “I’ve never felt so alone… Kai, I don’t know what to do.”

She wanted nothing more than to pull him into her arms and hold him tight, but he needed more than that right now, “I should’ve realised how hard the last few days have been on you. I’m so sorry.”

He shook his head, “No it’s… it’s not your fault. I didn’t mean to pin this on you.”

“What did you mean when you said you feel alone?” she asked quietly.

He let out a shaky sigh, “There are things I think about, I experience that… I just can’t share with anyone.”

“Not even me? Or Sloane?”

He averted his eyes, staring at the floor, “If Sloane had quit Eros, and if you’d let me go when I was first recalled after Steve disappeared… None of you would be in danger.”

She stepped up and squeezed his arm, “Sloane loves you, Hayden. If given the choice, I know she would save you every time. We all care about you; Nadia, Steve, Damien, me. The reason we’re in danger is because we have people worth fighting for. You being one of them.”

“But-” he began to protest but she met his eyes.

“Maybe this started as a mission to rescue you and to find Steve, but it’s bigger than that now. They hurt Damien, ad Sloane will never be free unless we take Eros down. You’re not a burden to us. You never have been. Please don’t ever think that. There’s nothing that any of us wouldn’t do for you, and I know you feel the same way.”

He nodded, gently taking hold of her hand, giving it a tight squeeze before letting it go, “When I saw Damien and Sloane call their parents… I know it’s not their intention, but it’s a painful reminder that I don’t have that. No strong mother to look up to. No overbearing, wild siblings.”

She let out a soft breath of her own, “Family doesn’t always mean people you’re bound to by blood. Family is… It’s the people that are there for you when you have nothing else. They drive you insane, like Nadia and her stupid bath bomb categorisation, but they’re the people you can’t live without.”

He smiled slightly, but ultimately looked away, “Thank you for coming to find me, Kai, but I’m not ready to face everyone again. I just… I need to clear my head.”

“Can you at least tell me where you’re going?”

“Dolores Park,” he said, “It’s only a few blocks away… The fresh air should be good for me.”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

He let out a sigh of relief, unable to hide his small smile, “Thank you, Kai.”

They walked in silence towards the park, finding a quiet spot away from anyone else once they reached it, sitting side by side in the grass.

Hayden drew his knees up to his chest as he watched the families and children play, “I remember being the popular kid growing up. Anytime my friends and I met up outside school, the other kids would beg for my mom to chaperone. She wasn’t a stickler for rules, loved making all these experimental snacks… even let us stay up a bit past curfew on sleepovers.”

“That’s really sweet,” she said quietly, trying not to let her sad smile show.

“With all the commotion they made about how my mom was their ‘den mother’ too, I started to get a little jealous,” a smile played on his mouth, “So I asked her if I was still her favourite kid.”

“I’m sure she said yes.”

“She said I was, and I quote, ‘the best kid across all galaxies’,” he smile hardened and he began to pluck the grass around his feet absentmindedly, “I know it’s careless of my to linger in these memories, but they’re like silent wishes… I keep hoping that the memories will turn real somehow.”

“I barely remember a thing about my parents,” she told him, “Any memories I do have, I don’t even know if they’re real. I had so many dreams as a kid where my mom walked into my bedroom at my grandmother’s house, scooped me up in her arms and told me she was taking me home. Every morning I would wake up, wondering if I was back in my old room, but it never happened, no matter how much I wished it… We can’t do anything to bring something back that isn’t there, but we can take the good from it, and hope that it makes us stronger. That’s all we can do in the end.”

He reached across and took hold of her hand, squeezing it. They spoke for a little while longer about his memories of his family, about how conflicted he felt about Sloane’s mom, knowing that so much of her was put into the memories of his own mother. The conversation soon turned onto the other Matches, and Kai promised that if there was something left in Harley to save, they would save him.

A silence fell between them, and she glanced at him, “Is there anything I can do?”

“You being here with me… is enough.”

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pulling him close to her. Listening to him talk about the things that had been bothering him had broken her heart; his lack of family, his turmoil over Harley and the other Matches, every little feeling that had been churning inside of him until it had burst out.

She swallowed thickly against her tears as tears of his own fell freely from his eyes as he leaned into her embrace.

“I’ve got you,” she told him, “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

He held her back, face buried in her neck, grip tight as though she was going to disappear. She just sat there murmuring quietly to him, desperate to comfort him in any way she could. They sat there for a long while, legs growing wet from the damp grass, but neither cared.

He finally sat up a little, but their arms remained around each other, wiping his cheeks with the back of his hand. He sniffed, offering her a small smile, “I’m sorry.”

“Hey,” she gave him a tight squeeze, “You have nothing to apologise for. It’s okay to let it out. Sloane and me and everyone else might not understand fully what you’re going through, but we are here for you. All of us; whatever you need.”

“All I need right now is you, Kai,” he said quietly.

She placed a hand on his cheek, drawing him closer. There was a moment of hesitation between them before their lips pressed together, sharing in a soft but almost desperate kiss. Stray tears slipped down both of their faces as they stole this moment together, hearts slamming hard in their chests as the emotion threatened to overwhelm them.

She pulled back after a moment, looking at him with guilty eyes, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have… I don’t want to confuse you. I know I said I wanted to be friends, but lately, I just… I can’t stop thinking about you.”

He rested his forehead against hers, fighting against the smile that was threatening to show , “You don’t know how much I’ve missed you, Kia. How much I’ve missed us… but you’re with Damien, you’re happy with him, you…”

She shushed him softly, her fingers still drawing along the stubble on his jawline, “I am with Damien, but I want to be with you, too.”

His eyes flicked from her lips back to her eyes, “What?”

“I have feelings for both of you,” she told him, “Damien and I talked about it, he could see that I was starting to fall for you and he said that I didn’t have to choose. I didn’t want to do anything until I could talk to you about it and we could work things out; whether you would even be interested, but…”

“You really want this? Want me?”

“I can’t explain to you how much you mean to me, Hayden,” she said softly, “I cared about you when we dated back in New York, and I loved having you as a best friend after Berlin, but since Paris... You’ve been there for me like no one else has. When I lost Damien, I felt like I had lost everything, but you became a light in my life that kept me going. You make me so happy, and if we can work this out, if I’m not too late, I-”

He cut off her next words by pressing his mouth against hers in a hard kiss, his arms drawing her closer against him. When they broke for breath, his eyes met hers, “Kai, you can’t win back something you never lost.” He took her hand in his, placing it on his chest so that she could feel the ever-steady beat of his heart under her palm, “This has always belonged to you. It always will.”

“Hayden,” she whispered his name against his lips, her fingers clutching at his shirt right above his heart.

“And if your wonderful, beautiful heart has room enough for both me and Damien… who am I to say no to that?” he said quietly.

Meeting his lips eagerly again, she clambered into his lap, her arms around his shoulders, fingers curling into the bottom of his dark hair. They clung to each other as they lost themselves in the feel the other’s body and mouth. She traced the lines of his body as though they’d never had any time apart, earning soft moans from his lips.

“Being here with you-” his words were cut off as a drop of rain hit his cheek, swiftly followed by another, and another until the heavens seemingly opened, drenching them both instantly in cold rain.

Kai let out a shocked gasp at the cold, but couldn’t control her laughter, “Remember our first date? You ran to that awning so fast I thought you were going to leave me behind.”

“Never,” he smiled, kissing her wet lips.

“I knew from that moment that you were special,” she admitted, “I should have known I’d never be able to get rid of you.”

He barked out a laugh before their mouths met again, kissing like they were the only two people in the world, water soaking through their clothes. A deep, demanding, groan rumbled in Hayden’s chest as her tongue eagerly explored his mouth.

“Should we get out of here?” she asked, meeting his eyes, “Maybe continue this at the hotel?”

He paused for a moment, as though taking in her words before he let out a breathless moan, “… Yes.”

Hand in hand and barely paying attention to the rest of their surroundings, they rushed back to the hotel, Hayden attempting to shield Kai from the relentless rain, despite the fact that they were both already soaked through.

They staggered into the room once they reached it, barely pausing in their clumsy, languid kisses. Kai kicked the door shut behind them, tugging at his wet clothing without a thought. They undressed each other in a daze, pausing only when they both stood nearly naked in front of each other, their gazes dragging longingly over the other’s body.

His eyes met hers, his breathing unsteady, drops of water clinging to the tips of his hair and eyelashes, “Give me a second… I just…”

He ran his shaking fingers across her damps skin, and her stomach fluttered at the vulnerability in his eyes. Never before had they been this emotionally bare in front of each other. She stepped even closer, putting a hand on his cheek.

“You’re not alone, Hayden,” she said quietly, “You have me.”

He nodded slightly, swallowing hard, “And you have me.”

She kissed him again, knowing no other words would suffice for what she wanted to say. His grip on her waist tightened, and as he tried to move her against the door, she moved first, pressing a kiss to his cheek, then his neck, then his collarbone.

She kissed her way down his damp body, taking in the taste of his soft skin and the rain that had soaked through. She looked up at him as she sank fully to her knees, feeling desire pooling in her belly as she took in the sight of him; breathless and wanting.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, Hayden,” she said quietly, starting to press teasing kisses to his abdomen and thighs as she pulled his boxers down to his ankles, “You look perfect. Right here, like this.”

“Kai…” he groaned softly, “You don’t have to-”

She gave a cooing shush before sucking the beginnings of a hickey onto the inside of his thigh, “Let me take care of you.”

He couldn’t hold in the moan that made its way out of his body when she took him into her mouth, his head lulling back to hit the door. One hand clutched tight to the door handle whilst his other went to his mouth to keep himself quiet.

She returned to kissing his abdomen, looking up at him with a smirk as she reached up and took hold of his arm, pulling the hand away from his mouth, “I want to hear how good you feel.”

“Fuck,” he groaned out on a breath as she wrapped her lips around him again, expertly giving and teasing the amounts of pleasure. His fingers tangled into her long dark hair, desperate for something to hold onto as his knees began to tremble.

She gave a low moan at the feel of him tugging at her hair, sending vibrations right to his core. The tension coiled quickly even as he tried to hold back, but all he could focus on was Kai; his Kai, having her right in front of him, wanting him as much as he had been wanting her for so long. But even with the burning desire between them, he felt her hand against his hip, rubbing calming circles against his bare skin; reassuring him that she was here, that this was real.

It all became too much in that moment, blinding pleasure coursed through his body as he reached his peak, calling out her name as his shaking legs struggled to hold himself up as he collapsed back against the door.

She moved her mouth to press tender, soothing kisses to his lower stomach, her eyes flicking up to meet his. He slid onto the floor to join her, body still trembling a little as she drew him down to lay nose to nose on the carpet. They were silent for a while, just looking at each other, lost in their own little world, not caring for whatever matters lay outside this room.

“You okay?” she asked, eventually breaking the quiet, her fingers lazily tracing patterns across his bare arm.

He smiled almost sleepily, “I don’t think I’ve ever been as happy as I am right now.” He pulled her a little closer to kiss her, his hands wandering past her hips but she took hold of one of them and gave it a squeeze, pulling it back up to her waist.

“This was about you,” she reminded him, “We’ll have time for everything else later.”

He kissed her again, slower this time, simply relishing in the feel of her skin against his. Eventually, exhaustion overcame them both, the intensity of the last few hours catching up with them. They moved to the bed, and once his head hit the pillow, Hayden was asleep.

She grabbed her phone out of her jeans pocket, writing out a text to Damien.

I’ve got him. He’s safe. We’re at the hotel, we’ll be back later.

He text back after a moment, sending nothing but a heart emoji.

She smiled to herself before she slid under the covers, snuggling immediately into Hayden’s warm side, his arms moving to hold her even in sleep. She wasn’t sure what the next few weeks would bring; with Eros, or with the new relationship arrangement between her, Damien and Hayden, but what she did know was that with both of them at her side, she could take on anything.

#I finally wrote it #ns*w #perfect match #damien x mc x hayden #hayden x mc #hayden young #kai park #writing

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prettywordsyouleft · 6 years

Text

Becoming Human - Chapter 10

Previous Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9

After my shift finished, I took the quickest path to the subway, riding it home in a weird state of anticipation. Gunhee had messaged earlier on that he had taken Leo back to my apartment when his own shift ended, and for some reason, the desire to see if Sohyun’s words were right or wrong had left me in a state of unknown. It felt so unfamiliar to expect anything of someone passed Gunhee. I had grown up with him as a child and when I returned from England, we had fallen right back into our friendship where it had left off.

Relationships with other humans, however, had either been destroyed by my constant clinical thinking from my studies or just never pursued enough by myself. Sohyun was the only exception, and although we were complete opposites, I held her close within my world.

But that was it.

And now, after years of being the same way, I was strangely hopeful at the new interactions I was facing with Leo. I wondered if Sohyun and Doctor Jung were right, and because of my lack of physical connections with others, I was going to end up in a situation that would ultimately be undesirable. The cries within my mind that Leo was a robot were slowly quietening. They were still there though, and as I walked towards my apartment, I reminded myself over and over to stop expecting too much from him.

I’ll see you later.

My eyes looked forward then, a stupid smile crossing my lips at the idea that he could be actually waiting at home for me. Would he be waiting on the sofa? In the kitchen? Would he have made dinner? Would he even remember the words he had said that had worked me up so much today?

I entered the apartment complex finally and felt as if my heart would explode through my chest as I waited for the elevator to open on my floor, my door soon standing tall in front of me. I stood there for a few minutes, attempting to calm myself back down. Finally, I put in my passcode and then entered the apartment, shutting the door behind me and removing my boots before turning around.

And there he was. He wasn’t waiting on the sofa. The house didn’t have an aroma of a cooked meal, nor was he occupying the kitchen area. Instead, Leo stood on the landing of the small hallway, his eyes quietly soaking me in, relief that he could see me again after hours of being apart.

In that moment, our real and artificial worlds collided. I stepped up into the house and wrapped my arms around his waist, burying my head into his chest as the first tear fell. The tall man stood still for a moment and then his arms were soon around me, holding me close to his body. I couldn’t distinguish anything different within his embrace than others I had been in and smiled, my tears falling more readily.

“You waited for me,” I managed to splutter out after the tears stopped. “You actually waited.”

“Where else would I go?” he softly asked, his hand now up in my hair and patting the curls rhythmically. “You had to come home to me and I had to wait for you. Why are you crying?”

“People don’t wait for me.”

Leo shifted back, his eyes searching for more understanding. His thumbs came up and wiped away the tear lines stained upon my cheeks. He then sighed lightly. “Why wouldn’t they?”

“Today I laughed inwardly at a client we have for finding small issues in her Kboy bothersome and so she requested a face-up with a reason that to me sounded so silly. And then I realised, who was I to judge her for finding that annoying? Who am I to decide that her new choice was less suitable than she imagined it to be? As long as he made her happy and she was not in any harm, isn’t that the best situation?”

“I mean, I somewhat agree, but what does this have to do with people not waiting for you, noona?”

I lowered my head, fresh tears threatening to fall again. “I’m cruel. I act like I’m nice but really, I think of people and categorise them from my psychology studies. When I shouldn’t be diagnosing them with my self-decided theories but accepting them for how they are if I want people to accept me.”

“I accept you,” Leo said immediately, smiling lightly as he lifted my chin up so I could see him again. My chin wobbled in his hand and it made his smile grow. “And I think you’re kind. Your heart is in the right place, Choi Yerin. If it wasn’t, would you, the self-proclaimed never going to own a Kboy, have saved me otherwise? You saw something in me that others weren’t ready to. Maybe I’ll be the lucky one who gets to see things in you before others do. I think I got a glimpse of the more vulnerable you tonight.”

“Maybe I am blurring our lines too easily,” I whispered and Leo smiled again. It made me pout and he broke out into a small laugh. “Don’t laugh at me!”

“Don’t be insanely cute then.”

“I was being serious though.”

Leo nodded and gently guided me towards my bedroom door. I glanced at him with wide eyes and then at my door. Another laugh escaped him. “I don’t know what is processing through that mind of yours right now, but I can sense you have had a big day full of emotions. I read that humans are faced with constant emotions and an overload from them can be exhausting. You should get changed and I’ll prepare something for dinner, so you can rest for the remainder of the night.”

“No.”

He eyed me carefully and then shook his head. “I don’t understand, why did you just say no? What exactly for?”

“I will change and I am tired but I want to cook dinner together.”

“Together? But it would be easier for me to just prep-”

“Don’t you want to know more about humans and why they interact with each other?” Leo nodded. “Cooking together is another way to be close with the people you care about.”

“I understand that, but it’s only one person eating so it would be too burdensome to have two individuals making one meal.”

I smiled, taking off my jumper and opening the door to my room. “Just listen to your noona for once, okay?”

Music played around the apartment as we both managed to fit into my small kitchen, Leo preparing the vegetables as I worked on seasoning some beef before popping it onto the stovetop. I watched as he cut the cucumber and carrot expertly, fast and precise. I wondered during all these years of my adulthood if I would have felt this alive if I had invited someone else into my life earlier. Or if this was just the effect of having Leo around. His different way of viewing our human world made me question just how well I had lived until now.

“Your eyes should be on the food, not me.” His voice startled me and I jumped, shifting backwards. Leo dropped the knife and reached out to steady me before I knocked into the frying pan on the stove and potentially caused trouble. However, being back in his arms seemed just as dangerous to me. Again, like the night where he saved me on our walk, he jumped away himself, quietly going back to the preparation of the food. I frowned; he hadn’t resisted my hug earlier on.

I had been obviously emotional then. Right now he simply was helping me from a potential accident and then continuing on with his task. I decided it would make sense if I were a robot to not find the close proximity anything to give a second thought to.

It was how we differed. Since hugging him and being vulnerable, it was all I could think of. I thought of how I wanted to cook together, remembering my Mother telling me that food made together tasted better. I had wanted to try it once. Instead, I was starting to over think the situation. The music now seemed to mock me, and as I turned to check the beef, I noticed it was burned on one side.

This wouldn’t taste good at all. Reality was returning to me. The window I had seen of something magical happening to me was fading fast. Because it was hopeless to think of Leo as anything but what he actually was.

The sooner I remembered that, the safer it would be for me.

Next chapter!

A/N: Oh Yerin, what are you doing! She was so giddy and enjoying everything until that last moment. I sense some angst coming out way >_>

Sorry this chapter was late to be posted today Xxx

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d0gdaze · 6 years

Text

The body swap au a surprising amount of people asked for, actually.

Read on AO3 / Summary

Pairings: Eddie Kaspbrak / Richie Tozier

Warnings: swearing, sexual references

Chapter 6/?

Prev | Next

Word Count: 4494

Eddie’s playlist

Seven uninspired oral presentations and a valiant attempt to set Richie on fire with his mind later – one day he would actually accept the fact he wasn't telekinetic, he swore he would – the bell rang and class was dismissed, and Eddie followed the outpour of students into the hallway. He scanned the sea of people, locating the maroon-clad boy fairly easily with his newfound height advantage. He strode over, completely ignoring and bypassing Beverly's questioning stare, and pulled Richie aside rather aggressively, so he had him pretty much trapped between himself and the wall of lockers.

“What the hell, Dick,” he spat through his teeth, attempting to keep his voice low to avoid capturing attention. (Sidenote, it didn't work, Eddie was just a habitually loud person, but considering what the rest of the school had witnessed in the cafeteria the day before, no one really gave the couple as much as a second glance. Most of them assumed it was probably just Trashmouth Tozier spitting some empty threats at the Kaspbrak kid, and nothing more. Which, sidenote, wasn't that far from the truth. All in all, time was sparse, classes needed attending, and no one really cared enough to watch a second fight in two days between the same two weirdos. Eddie could have probably been screeching at the top of his lungs and no one would bat an eyelid. Such is highschool. Anyway, back to your regularly scheduled programming.) “AC/DC? Are you serious?”

“What, not your taste?” Richie smirked, thoroughly amused with himself. “Should I have gone with someone in the Weather Girls instead?”

“Why didn't you just give the presentation you wrote for yourself?” Eddie's face, like his voice, was an interesting mix of anger, desperation, and terribly faux collectiveness. Richie thought his eyebrows might get permanently stuck with how hard he was creasing them.

“Mine wasn't supposed to be until next week,” Richie said, matter-of-factly, “I wasn't even gonna start thinking about it until at least next Tuesday.”

Eddie nearly blanched, as if hearing that should have been even slightly shocking.

“Richie, I swear to god if I fail that class because of you I'm gonna-,” he brought his hand up and back, and Richie flinched, bracing himself for the incoming slap. Eddie exhaled shakily and dropped his arm back to his side, then closed his eyes, letting out a defeated sigh. “What do you have now?”

“Art, you?”

“P.E.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

Eddie dragged his hands down his face in exasperation, then sighed again, as if to make some sort of point that Richie was pretty sure had already been made.

“Okay, this is fine,” he said, though judging by the complete lack of composure on his face, he was lying. “We're fine,” he repeated, “just-, try to get through today without ruining my entire life, think you can manage that?”

“Depends,” Richie crossed his arms over his chest defensively, “can you?”

Eddie sighed for a third time. Richie, quite frankly, was getting a little tired of Eddie's overdramatic ass.

“Just-” he tried to come up with a comeback, then decided against it. Because they were late enough to class as it was, of course, and not because he couldn't think of one. “Let's go to class.”

Richie nodded, though somewhat reluctant to agree and very much content to not go to class at all.

Eddie turned heel and left before the confrontative side of his brain could win him over.

Bill often dragged Ben and Eddie along to the art studios when their free periods overlapped or sometimes during lunch breaks if they decided they'd rather not brave the cafeteria. Bill would continue whatever new passion project he was working on, Ben would listen to music and read or study, and Eddie would consider doing homework and then do anything else, usually involving rambling on about whatever while Bill politely pretended to listen. It was decidedly one of the nicer aspects of the school, with big windows covering one wall and an abundance of posters and prints of famous paintings covering the others, student projects cluttering up shelves and racks and easels, coloured acrylic splattered on every surface, air filled with the mingling musty scents of clay and paint and something vaguely septic. And for someone with no sort of artistic talent whatsoever, Eddie had a quiet appreciation for it. It didn't feel like a classroom. If anything, the organised chaos and laid-back atmosphere gave it a very homely feel. He could understand why Bill was so content spending most of his free time there.

People were still milling around when he got there, settling onto paint stained wooden stools situated around three long tables. In the middle of each sat a woven basket overflowing with assorted fruit, spilling out onto an artfully crumpled stretch of sheen fabric. He made his best effort to look casual as he waited for most seats to be filled before he sat down, letting process of elimination aid him in figuring out which seat was Richie's regular one. He eventually pulled up a stool in between two occupied ones, one by a rather eccentric looking lass with several piercings that he could see (and undoubtedly plenty he couldn't), haphazardly applied makeup, and a hairstyle that surely had to be against school policy, the other a boy wearing a beanie that was pulled down nearly over his eyes and a black t-shirt with a band logo on it that Eddie had never heard of but already hated. He shuffled slightly in his seat, subconsciously folding in on himself. Sure, first impressions aren't always right, and he knew they were probably pleasantly decent and decently pleasant people, but that didn't mean he had to brush elbows with them. Thankfully, neither of them seemed to take much notice of him anyway.

He shrugged his backpack off his shoulders and brought it around to sit on his lap, and opened it up. There really wasn't much in it, a few loose scraps of paper, homework handouts and the like, a few more that were crumpled up into balls, a pen or two floating around, a couple of cheap lighters, a small brown paper bag that he was not going to investigate, a notebook – which he had discovered in History class contained the written work for all of Richie's classes with no obvious attempt at categorisation whatsoever – and a spiral bound sketchbook. He pulled the last item out, sitting it on the table in front of him and letting the bag slide to the floor by his feet. He flipped the book open.

Name: Seymour Butz.

Class: Easy Credit.

Eddie restrained himself from rolling his eyes and turned the page, wary yet intrigued about what the rest of the book looked like.

It turned out to be a mixed bag of crude stick-figure comic strips – most unfinished or completely nonsensical –, a handful of pages just scribbled on until there was no white space left, a number of tic-tac-toe games that he seemingly played with himself, and, very occasionally, actual classwork.

And dicks.

A lot of dicks.

An abundance, one might say.

Like, on almost every page.

And not in the tasteful nudity figure study way either. While there were a few more detailed spectacles, most were more on the cartoonish, bathroom stall graffiti side, you know the ones. In all colours, shapes, sizes, and artistic mediums.

Eddie was disappointed, but really not surprised, and a little flustered thanks to one particularly intricately shaded double spreader.

He quickly flipped through until he found a blank, phallic-less page, just as the teacher – he didn't know her name – brought the class's attention to the board and informed them they were doing still lifes – a term Eddie had never heard before and was honestly a bit confused by, fruit is not alive – in any medium they feel like, and then left them to their own devices. A bit of quiet chatter picked up, but nothing irritating. He grabbed a graphite pencil off the table, stared down the centrepiece, and got started.

Richie got to the gym in a record breaking time of sixteen minutes, the main contributor to his tardiness being that he previously had no idea where it was. Four years of avoiding any sort of sport, career fair, or school assembly left him with a pretty limited mental map of the school. He had his daily route that took him to his necessary classes, the cafeteria, and his regular smoking spot under the bleachers. And he had never found any sort of issue with that. Until now.

He dumped his backpack onto one of the benches in the boys locker room, and immediately wondered why Eddie would ever go in there. Everything smelt like perspiration and dirty socks and boy. Everything looked dewy and unclean. Every flat surface had been graffitied and vandalised – his eyes drifted to a tag he recognised as one Bev used to use, and he was definitely going to ask her about that later. There was a bandaid stuck to the floor by his feet. It was gross – and if Eddie could get worked up to the point of a public standoff because a stain on his shirt, surely he would never willingly step foot in a locker room.

Richie, however, was right at home.

He zipped the backpack open and shuffled a few books around before pulling out a plastic bag with, assumedly, Eddie's school uniform in it. After a second of consideration, he ripped the plastic to get it open rather than untying the knot, and grabbed the clothes before letting the empty bag fall discarded to the floor. He quickly shucked the shirt he was wearing and pulled the new one on. Just as he began to work on undoing his jeans, his eyes fell to the shorts. And he remembered.

Oh fuck no.

He lifted the bright red monstrosity, pinching the elastic waistband with both hands so they were on full display, and damn near scowled. Somehow they were more hideous up close. And so much shorter than he recalled, if that was even possible. His expression then could only be described as pure desperation. He should have just packed up and went home.

But he couldn't even do that, he thought, it's not his home anymore.

He sighed in defeat. Whatever scrap of dignity he still had left buried deep inside him was shrivelling up and dying.

He put the shorts on.

To add to his complete and utter dismay, Physical Education class apparently involved a lot physical activity. He was welcomed into the gymnasium by a chorus of shoes squeaking on vinyl flooring, with the occasional whistle blow accompanied by a booming voice shouting orders like “knees up! No slacking! Quit being a bunch of pussies! I have a power complex to compensate for my tiny dick!”

Well, maybe not those words exactly.

They were doing laps. Running. Richie would rather gnaw through his own ankles.

No one really seemed to take much notice of him skulking around near the entrance – that or they didn't care –, and he was about to make like a tree and get the hell out of there when -

“Dude, coach was totally bugging out, where were you?”

He turned around to see one of Eddie's nerd friends – the one without the stutter, though that's about the extent of the information he had – who was panting lightly and looking at him like he had just committed a crime – which he was sure he hadn't, unless wearing gym shorts two sizes too small counts as criminal, which it should, in Richie's opinion –, the tone of his voice indicating that he must have actually been walking around the school lost for three and a half years and not just sixteen minutes. Richie blinked at him.

“Everything okay?” Nerd Friend asked, starting to look worried.

Richie wanted to scream. No!, he would say, nothing is okay! I've got a curse on me! I got kicked out of my own body! I would barely be five foot five in stilettos! I can't reach the top of my locker! My worst enemy is walking around looking like me and dressed like a mormon! And he stole my ride to school! I'm pretty sure everyone can see my entire ass in these shorts! The weather is terrible! And now I'm getting chastised for showing up slightly late to a class I don't even want to be at! Nothing makes sense and nothing is okay!!!

“Yeah,” he said, “sure.”

A harsh whistle blow interrupted the start of Nerd Friend's next question, and they both turned their heads to look towards the coach, who was glaring at them and looked to be a couple of seconds away from marching over and dragging them back by their ears.

“Come on,” he said, and jogged back over, falling into a gap before working up to matching the rest of the class's pace. Richie took a deep breath and followed.

Eddie left class with a barely half finished and poorly executed fruit portrait – he had spent so long trying (and failing) to get the shading on one particular grape and ended up wasting a good portion of the hour. So he wasn't the best at time management, big deal – and a grey lead smudge on the side of his right hand hand that wasn't coming off and was really just getting worse with how much he was rubbing at it.

He had about a five minute timeframe to find Richie and swap schedules, because he was apparently too busy being annoyed to remember to do it earlier, so he walked with purpose, which turned out to be difficult when your legs have been replaced with knobbly stilts and you're approximately three feet taller than any human should be.

He was passing the language department when someone was suddenly linking their arm with his and pulling him off his course.

“Where're you off to in such a rush, buttercup?” Beverly M- something crooned, flashing him an easy smile that he didn't understand the meaning behind. She easily navigated them through the crowded hallway, headed towards the heavy doors leading out to the field.

“Uh,” he responded, sidestepping quickly to avoid colliding with someone's elbow as they widely swung their backpack on. Beverly's steps did not falter for a moment. “Class?” He continued, wondering why that was not the obvious answer. She responded with a laugh, unashamed, bright, and boisterous.

“Wow, first the new wardrobe and now you're skipping out on skipping? Who are you and what have you done with Richie Tozier?”

You have no idea, he thought. She punctuated her sentence with a grin and tightened her grip on his arm, walking through the doors and down the small flight of stairs just as the bell rang.

She led him out along the abandoned path around the skirts of the field until they reached the bleachers, standing proudly in all their rickety glory. Eddie didn't trust the bleachers; the support beams looked too frail and a few sections were in dire need of repair. Luckily, he never really had any need to use them, having no interest in attending football or baseball games, or rallies unless they had something to with his track, in which case he was on the field anyway.

He especially didn't feel like sitting underneath the bleachers, where, besides the risk of the whole thing collapsing on top of them, it was also dirty, and smelled like something that Eddie was pretty confident wasn't a legal substance, and there were so many cigarette butts littering the ground and so much chewing gum stuck to the underside of the seats that they may as well have been sitting inside a dumpster. Beverly did not seem to share the same concerns as he did, though, as she proceeded en route to the second stand over, and then proceeded to sit. On the grass. Wearing a skirt!

She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a red and white carton and a plastic lighter decorated in variously coloured star-shaped stickers. She flicked a cigarette out of the case and put the end of it between her lips before lighting it.

She seemed to lose herself for a moment then, closing her eyes when she inhaled. Eddie watched, mildly curious, as she took it between her fingers and held her breath for what felt like a few seconds too long before breathing out, the greyish smoke filtering through slightly parted lips and then dissipating in the air between them. She smiled, barely, a slight tug at the corner of her mouth.

“Are you waiting for an invitation or something?” she said, blinking one eye open and disrupting his thoughts.

“Huh?”

She patted the ground beside her, and managed to make it look sarcastic. He realised he was either going to have to sit down and be filthy and uncomfortable and risk lung cancer, or look like an insane person and hightail it out of there.

He sat down.

“So,” she started, after taking another drag. It smelt awful. He did his best to hide his disgust. He was only really successful in that because she wasn't facing him. “What's the 411 babe?”

Before he could even start to form a coherent sentence, she was offering him the open carton, holding it up in front of his face. He swallowed, leaning away from the box as if it might start spitting acid. (And it might have! For all he knew it could detect his fear!) He tried to think of a plan of action, but any option that immediately came to mind didn't really feel like it would be subtle enough. Smack the box out of her hand and stomp it into the ground, grab it and throw it as far away as he could and then bolt when she went to retrieve it, just start screaming bloody murder at the top of his lungs, tell the principal, call the police, call his mom, call child protective services, etcetera.

(He did not, at any point in this state of internal panic, think to politely refuse.)

“Rich?”

“YOU'RE GONNA DIE.”

Beverly, for some reason, looked rather affronted by the … warning? Threat? Prophecy? Nihilistic realisation? Whatever it was, though Eddie was just about as shocked, possibly even more so.

“Uh,” she started after an extended pause, when the echo produced by his sudden outburst faded out, “okay?”

“Cigarettes,” he said, the part of his brain that was definitely not the logical one deciding to take the reigns and push him further into his hole, “they're really bad for you, and smoking is the leading cause of cancer, and your lungs are gonna go black and all your teeth will fall out and you'll get mouth ulcers and burn holes in your throat and then you won't be able to eat and you'll have to put a tube in your stomach and it'll be horrible and painful and slow and then you'll die.”

She stared at him, then glanced back down to the cigarette still burning in between her fingers, then back at him. He regretted not running.

Then she laughed. Well, more of a snort than a laugh, and put the cigarette back between her lips.

“Is that like, one of your new characters or something?” she asked, words slightly muffled as she talked around the object in her mouth. “It's kinda shit, but alright.”

Eddie watched as she continued to smoke, even after he assaulted her with the most sudden and blunt anti-smoking campaign to ever be presented.

“Ha,” she continued, blowing the smoke out of her nose this time, like a dragon, or a tea kettle, or something, “work on it and you might have a decent Kaspbrak impression on your hands. That'll be some good ammo for ya.”

Richie did not like running.

He really did not like running for thirty minutes straight.

And he especially did not like running for thirty minutes straight while getting aggressively ordered around by some middle aged balding dude in a baseball cap. There were several times during the lesson when he had to stop himself from marching up to Mr. Tinydick and shoving that silver whistle so far up his ass that it got lodged in his throat and he choked to death.

He nearly crawled back to the locker rooms at the end of it, worried that his legs would just give out at any second, or that he would straight-up pass out from exertion. There was sweat literally dripping off him and his heart felt like it might actually burst out of his chest.

“Jeez,” Nerd Friend had said to him as he was slumped over on the bench seat with a towel around his shoulders, focusing all his remaining energy (of which there wasn't much) on staying conscious, “I've never seen you this tired out from a run.”

He wanted to return with some vulgar comeback, the first to mind was, 'oh yeah? Should have seen me with your mom last night. Yowza!' but what actually came out of his mouth was a drawn out, croaky whine, like the last sound you imagine a raccoon to make after it gets run over by a semi-trailer. Nerd Friend laughed softly and held out his hand.

“Okay, you really need a shower. Let's go.”

And so, after spending way too long standing under a busted shower hear with lukewarm water running down his back, making very little effort to actually, you know, clean himself, he was back in the locker room with a bunch of other dudes in various states of undress. Great!

He quickly got dressed and shoved the shorts as far as he could into the backpack, vowing to burn them as soon as he got home.

He made his exit just as the bell rang, – which was annoyingly loud on this side of the school. Between that and the coach's whistle, no wonder Eddie was so fucking tone-deaf. The hallways started to flood with students once more, the majority of them taking absolutely no notice of him as he tried to navigate through, being rammed into and jostled around like a human pinball until he could make his way to the side of the walkway. He huffed in frustration, standing against the wall as he waited for the crowd to disperse a little.

Damn shortstack, he thought, how do you live like this?

When the coast was relatively clear and the danger of getting actually trampled by his peers was gone, he kept walking. It was Wednesday, third period, which meant he was supposed to be meeting Bev to go smoke. He had no fucking idea what Eddie did during this time – probably attended class, like a prep, which he really was way too tired to even think about doing.

He decided to go find Eddie, though he wasn't entirely sure what he would do or say once he did. He walked out the double doors leading out to the quad, his calves protesting every step with a dull ache. From where he was, he would half to walk at least halfway across the field to get to the their usual spot under the bleachers, which, despite really not being that big of a deal, felt like he was being asked to climb Mount Everest in that moment. Except he wouldn't get to meet the president and get a cover story in the newspaper, or whatever it was that people who climbed Mount Everest were awarded with. Maybe it was just satisfaction and bragging rights. That sounded stupid. He would at least want a medal.

And so he began his ascent. It took all of a minute and a half for him to get close enough to see that Bev was already there – with Eddie. Of course. He couldn't help but feel a twang of betrayal, even though he knew that she had no idea what she was doing. For all she knew, that was Richie, just … dressed different. And more of an asshole than he was yesterday. And probably – definitely – not willing to touch a cigarette with a ten foot pole, all of a sudden. Yeah, she would have no reason to question the situation whatsoever.

Neither of them had seen him yet, but he could hear Eddie frantically going off about something that was undoubtedly out of character for Richie. He groaned. This boy was never going to make it in the world of show-business.

“Speak of the devil,” Beverly said, nodding towards the approaching figure. Eddie's head whipped around to see Richie – who looked horrifically dishevelled and so not up to his standards, dear god – trying to get his attention with jerky hand gestures. “Is he waving at you?”

“Uh,” Eddie replied, trying to figure out the what message Richie was trying to send through this weird interpretive dance, “I have to go.”

He stood and brushed off the seat of his pants more than he needed to before walking over. She said something that he didn't quite catch but didn't turn back to ask.

“What are you doing?” he asked through clenched teeth, pulling him into a stride beside him back in the direction of the school building.

“Trying to stop you from making a complete idiot out of me,” Richie replied.

“Yeah, you do that enough on your own,” he spat back, smugly.

“Not the time, shit-for-brains.”

“Says you.”

“Says your mom.” “That doesn't make sense.”

“Your mom doesn't make- argh,” he stopped walking, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Really not the time. You need to seriously chill out, dude.”

“What are you talking about?”

“What I'm talking about is you can't be giving lectures, washing your hands fifteen times an hour, or freaking out about everything. You need to not be yourself,” he huffed, “you need to be – uh –”

“You?”

“Exactly. Me. Be cool.”

“Okay, well, I can be one or the other, I mean –”

Richie gave him a pointed look. Eddie sighed.

“Look, it's not that easy, okay? In case you couldn't tell, I've never been in this fucking situation before.”

“You think I don't know that! I – fuck!” He all but smacked himself in the forehead, eyes blown wide. “What?” Eddie asked, tilting his head with his brow furrowed.

“The play,” Richie said, “I've got a rehearsal after school.”

“I though that was yesterday? You said they only happened once a week.”

“Yeah, well, we have to do extra rehearsals sometimes. It opens in like two weeks.”

“Fuck.”

“Yep.”

Eddie bit his lip, trying to think.

“What do we do?” he asked after a minute, worry written on his face. Richie looked at him, clicking his tongue. Eddie couldn't read his expression.

“Well,” he said, finally, his lips forming into a subtle smirk, “how do you feel about Shakespeare?”

Tag list (bolded won’t tag): @fanficisgoodforthesoul @i-is-gazebo@dandeliontozier@panicatbakerst@howellhxlic@musicalsaftermusicals@bernaynay @bust-a-move-bev@reddie-to-go@richietoaster@omgboiledcabbages@reddietofall@flowersiren@lousytrashmouth @get-fcking-reddie@finnwollfhards @bjrdies@steve-harringtwin @thecastlebyers@books-and-donuts@valenschmidt@grasshoppper @80s-trashmouth@beepbeeprichiellc@little-miss-hellraiser@okay-i-get-it-alreddie @finn-trashmouth@kaspbrakseggo @lolahood @sad-synth@turtleneckrichie@reddieforanything @vitomire @its-stranger-than-you-think@spooky-risley @ohheydatsme @hoteltozier @holystanlon@apatheticphotos@dewdropseddie @ill-float-too @peterparkerwithoutacause@sir-furry @ailecstuff @bird-uris @iamworried7 @beepbeepbitchard @trashcanonlegs@11leggomyeggo11@bisexual80scliffjumper @reddieseggrolls

#writing #vice versa fic #reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #reddie fic #reddie fanfic #it 2017 #in which .. shit happens idk

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notesfromthefielddesk · 3 years

Text

Episode 3 - Talal Asad Khartoum International Airport

Episode link; https://open.spotify.com/episode/07Pf4STyxpY5EcMMvBv4uH?si=7b4b9c36d9f44368

(Beep indicating a voicemail message)

Susan

Do you think I’m stupid? You think I believe your flight got diverted to South Sudan? South Sudan? Oh and it just so happens that it’s thematically appropriate for your little podcast? Get back to London. Now. We need to have a serious conversation.

(Fade in on airport sounds)

John

That’s the voicemail I got just after I arrived at Juba airport. I’d been ignoring Susans phone calls, because… well because i was scared of talking to her and I knew I was in trouble.

I’m going to level with you listeners, in the spirit of honesty and full disclosure which I have learned is important to some people in anthropology. For some reason. The truth is my flight did not get redirected to Juba. The trunk of ethnographies is real but I already knew about evans-pritchard. I saw he did research in South Sudan and I fancied it, I’d never been and what’s the point of anthropology but to visit new places?

It was actually really hard to get there. I flew from Brisbane to Dubai then from there to Kenya. Stayed in Nairobi for a night then went to Juba. Took me almost two days.

I think that that gets lost in all this. That I’m working really hard, and in some ways what i’m doing is very innovative!

I had been planning to go to Indonesia, I was going to cover Geertz next but I suppose I should head back to London and placate Susan. I just hope she doesn’t fire me. God my dad and grandad would be so angry. Do you ever feel like the useless one? My sister works at Shell you know? What am I doing? Sitting in an airport talking to no-one. I guess Indonesia can wait, an airport is as good a place to do an episode. I guess we’ll cover Talal Asad, seen he did his first ethnography in North Sudan. And we are in Khartoum. I’m not going to describe it, you know what an airport looks like.

In Anthropology we are kind of into liminal spaces like airports. Liminal is just a fancy way of saying between two places. Anthros like a liminal space because they tend to be areas where normal social rules break down a bit, witches in some contexts tend to live in liminal spaces for example. Usually between the village and the brush.

In other good news I managed to lose that weird guy who has been following me around. Gave him the slip at the airport, I told him I’d go back via Nairobi but then I booked myself onto a flight here. I mean it sucks now because the flight back to London isn’t until tomorrow, if i’d gone to Nairobi i’d be home by now. Worth it to get away from that guy though you would not believe what he told me he was doing in Papua New -

(Phone rings)

John

Hi Susan.

Yes I got your messages.

Well I think you maybe weren’t getting through because I was in umm south Sudan, signal wasn’t amazing. I called O2 about it, they said it was not really within their service area.

Yeah, no i understand why you’re angry, but really it was purely an accident that I ended up in Juba. Act of God is a pretty good excuse right?

Where am I now? Well… you’re gonna laugh, I mean it’s pretty hard to believe but there’s this guy who has been sort of following me around and I was running away from him so…

No, it is the truth…

Right…

No I understand why you wouldn’t believe me - and why you’re angry. In my defence though, and I was just saying this on the podcast -

No! No, no, Don’t listen. -

Just because it’s not very good. - What do you mean you can believe that? Anyway, in my defence I think what i’m doing is quite innovative....

Well Derivative is a little harsh -

Well, that’s as maybe but I think they students are getting a lot out of this, you know they’re more engaged with the texts than if I was just in London talking dryly about them - no, not your lectures they aren’t dry.

Ah, I hadn’t thought of office hours. No, that’s my bad. No I didn’t reply to the students email but again, the plains of South Sudan aren’t great for wifi - yes I suppose that is my own fault.

Well I’m coming back as fast as I can.

(We hear from down the phone “What do you mean as fast as you can? Where are you!?”)

I’m in Khartoum, like I said I was trying to run away from that guy.

(Down phone “You have a tutorial today! When do you fly?”)

Sorry, not till tomorrow. But I can do it from here, the airport has pretty good wifi.

(Exasperated noises “If I could fire you right now I would.”)

Sorry, Susan.

She hung up on me! Well I suppose I should give you guys a little bit of background on Talal Asad before the tutorial seen as the students have dictated that that is what we’re doing next.

The students have been insisting on Talal Asad for a while. So here it is. I was honestly unsure if Asad really fits into the tutorial, but then I found out Evan-Pritchard’s was Asad’s doctoral advisor. So we’ve got some continuity going on.

Anyway, I have been getting insistent emails about Talal Asad for a while. Hold on, let me read out one of them. (shuffling noises) ummm “Dear Mr. Johnson, You still haven’t given me feed—” okay sorry wrong email. Oh, here it is

“Dear Mr. Johnson, I actually enjoy your tutorials. But I have some suggestions for the future. Also, if you could check my latest assignment and” Blah blah blah this and that, oh here it is. “I think Talal Asad would be a good fit for your tutorials. Asad is a postcolonial cultural anthropologist, he is Saudi-born and brought up in Pakistan—”

Ok see, here is where I think we all go wrong as a generation. People think where this man was born and brought up somehow changes what he has to say? Is he automatically post-colonial because he was born in the Middle East? Anthropology in practice is about being objective, being the fly on the wall, I know we’ve talked about objectivity, but I still think being an outsider gives a less biased look. What does identity politics have to do with it?

And I know the students have been insisting on alternate field work and auto-ethnography, but the feeling of being on the field. Being part of somewhere different, the grass under your feet, water in your shoes? Slipping out of yourself and becoming someone else! That’s irreplaceable.

Tannoy

“Can the owner of a large wooden trunk full of books come to the customer service desk. It is blocking the Mens toilets. If the trunk is not collected it will be removed and destroyed. The name tag says John Johnson. Again, can John Johnson come to the customer service desk and retrieve his large wooden trunk.”

Oh that’s my trunk give me one second.

(transition thing)

Okay, where were we? Yes, the student's email. She says “Asad is a post-colonial anthropologist. Much of his work focuses on anthropology of religion. He will fit right into the introduction to anthropology course we are studying because he moves away from locations and towards themes.

Most of his work focuses on being critical about the things in anthropology which are taken for granted.

Specifically, the conceptualization of Islam and human rights in the global arena. He said that a lot of the colonialist anthropologists concentrated on categorising different groups of people. They went to the field and found differences through limited observation which they then turned into official documents. Those documents were used to justify colonialism and/or to divide and conquer”

Isn’t that a bit harsh? I said as much in my reply to this student. Which I CC’d to the whole class. I said these are still the fathers of anthropology. And as Asad himself says, historical context is important (smugly) Besides what is anthropology without the field? “A move to themes” Sounds like someone didn’t like getting their hands dirty.

The back of that guy's head looks familiar. Is that him again? But no, I’m pretty sure I lost him in Juba Airport.

(Deep breath)

Besides I’m pretty sure that student is wrong. Asad did do field work. His first book was built on his ethnography in North Sudan hence why we’re in Khartoum. Although it is true that Asad is careful to specify that his work does not encompass the lives of the Kababish tribe but rather focuses on certain aspects of their lives, such as their ecology, economics and social organization of the tribes. That’s a big change from traditional ethnographers like Malinowski who said the aim should be to describe all of society.

After that first work Asad shifts towards being critical; critical of secularism, critical of human rights, and even of what his peers had to say.

Like there’s this guy, an anthropologist, Ernest Gellner, and he is not exactly what my students would call ‘woke’ and the thing is I am not much for “cancel culture”.

But Asad really rips him a new one. Very unprofessional. Asad criticizes Gellner for having a limited perspective of Islam. Gellner thought Islam had a strict blue print, whilst there is more flexbility in Judaism and Christianity. So Gellner is kind of a structural functionalist for Religion. But Asad said Islam was also felixible and Gellner failed to apply his critique of Islam to other religions...maybe because he had other motives? Like my students and their “anti-colonial” issues with EP.

And personally I don’t think EP or Gellner were intentionally being colonial. Gellner’s ideas are based on the Middle East aka the birthplace of Islam. So surely that’s the authentic form? Also, I mean Gellner is an older man, he can make mistakes and he was a product of his time…. wait what? Sorry, it says here Gellner is only 7 years older than Asad. (clears throat)

Regardless, I don’t understand why we have to cancel EP or Gellner for it.

Oh shit it’s time for the tutorial.

(Skype call sound)

John

Wait is this everyone? Should I wait five minutes to start or something?

Zahra

No...I think it’s just me. After they read your email where you kind of ranted about cancel culture they all said they weren’t going to come.

John

Oh… Right, I guess I should keep my opinions to myself. (kind of mumble this)

Zahra

Um, Mr. Johnson? Sorry, I don’t want to be rude. But I don’t think anyone is trying to cancel Gellner? I just don’t think you understand what Asad is trying to say with his criticisms.

John

Well why don’t you just explain it to me then. Because clearly you all understand anthropology better than me.

Zahra

Well that’s kind of your job but okay.

Asad is not just being critical of Gellner, to be mean. He is being critical of the kind of academia that Gellner represents. Especially in Anthropology, where much of the colonial discourse argued that when someone goes into the field the outsider has an objective idea of the field. Hence, Gellner believing as a non-Muslim, and as not being a part of the group, that he has a more neutral understanding of the group he is looking to study.

While Asad is criticizing this exact practice, he is also saying there needs to be more of a focus on the history behind how certain concepts come to be rather than just the group. So for example, Gellner says Islam is political, and Christianity isn’t. So Asad wants people to examine where that idea comes from.

To do that Asad says there needs to be like frameworks that look at religious tradition not as static and the opposite of modernity, but rather look at tradition and modernity together and how they create specific social structures and varied collections of beliefs and customs. So we should think of religions as conversations between lots of people throughout history rather than a monologue laid down by a handful of powerful people.

So it’s like academia, we build it together, Malinowski has an idea then EP criticises it and improves it and so on. It’s not cancel culture, we’re building knowledge as a community. Sometimes that means saying your hero is wrong, or even - maybe - like racist.

Are you listening to me?

John Johnson

Yeah, yeah sure...I - I just saw this guy who has been like chasing me. It’s definitely him!

Zahra

Chasing you?

John

Well not exactly chasing but like pursuing?

Hey sir, can you help me take this desk into that toilet?

Yeah that toilet there.

Hey Zainab, sorry I need to hide. Why don’t you just finish out the tutorial by listening to this extract.

Zahra

It’s actually Zahra--

Extract

In 1975, while I was teaching at the University of Hull, I learned that my mother had advanced cancer. I decided to go to Saudi Arabia and stayed with her there until she died a year later. The political atmosphere and the social rigidity in a society awash with newfound wealth was very uncongenial, but the entire experience had a considerable impact on me and my ideas. I tried—unsuccessfully—to sort things out in my 1978 Malinowski Memorial Lecture (which I had been invited to give before my year in Saudi Arabia) in which I dealt with the definition of ideology, the classic Marxist theoretical term for false consciousness, as well as with the ‘authentic’ accounts of cultures studied by anthropologists. I tried to distinguish language in life from the language used by anthropologists about life, and to trace the slippery role of ‘meaning’ in anthropological accounts of other cultures. I tried to think in that presentation about matters that interested anthropologists of the time, as well as larger issues that had shaped my life up to that point.

Improbable though it may seem, my struggle to articulate my ideas and criticisms was largely prompted by my reflection on my mother's religious life. My father spoke and wrote impressively about the religion to which he had converted. My mother, by contrast, lived as a Muslim without expounding the doctrines of Islam, without defending it from attack or trying to persuade others of its superior virtue. My point is not simply that she was a pious woman—that she performed her prescribed prayers regularly, read portions of the Qur'an aloud early every morning, and fasted during the month of Ramadan. It is that I now realized I had thought of her life in terms of a lack instead of trying to understand it in her own terms, as she had lived it. I began to see that, like so many non-intellectuals, her religious practices were embodied, and that her embodied religion did not offer itself to hermeneutic methods—to the deciphering by observers of the real meaning of what she did—although it obviously ‘meant’ much to her.

In a very fundamental sense, these ‘religious’ activities had been no different from the mundane part of her life because they were mundane and integral to her everyday life. And while I had seen her act in this way as far back as I could remember, it was only after her death—when I turned in a sustained way to Wittgenstein for an understanding of religion (although he himself was not ‘religious’)—that I began to see her life differently. I saw it now not as an attempt to deepen and aestheticize her experience (as it is fashionable in some quarters to say), but as a way of being. My mother didn't intellectualize her religion, but by that I don't wish to say that she was ‘a blind follower’. Her prayers, recitations, and fasting were intended neither for other people to decode nor for enhancing her own experience; they were addressed to her God. During her married life she had not been always receptive to my father's enlightened arguments about changing some of her religious practices. Was this because she was irrational, incapable of responding to a rational argument, as I thought at the time? I have come to believe that I was wrong in thinking so: she didn't abandon particular practices because she felt that the change wouldn't fit easily into the entirety of her life as a Muslim. The idea that her feelings of fear, reverence, love, and so forth were to be understood as ‘emotions’ and therefore as ‘non-rational’ had for long seemed to me an unsatisfactory way of thinking about devoutness. This became clearer over time as I learned to think of embodiment not as mechanization but as the articulation of a particular encounter—in my mother's case, of her relationship to her God.

John

Okay, i’m safely in the bathroom, so sorry for any - (flushing) interruptions…

I’ve been really struggling with my students. It’s like they want to challenge everything. What about theories that are good? Can’t we leave well enough alone? Do they think i’m like stupid or something? I just have respect for those that went before me. Even if I didn’t agree with EP, or Malinowski or Gellner, academic freedom is a thing you know? I’ll defend their right to say their theories to the death. Students be damned.

Zahra

Umm Mr. Johnson - I’m still here.

John

Oh, hi Zahra, look I didn’t mean you. I’m sure you’re a very respectful - okay she hung up on me. Why is everyone doing that today?

Gellner was trying to make an honest attempt to understand Islam. Objectively. Not with the bias of being a muslim. Isn’t that what we were criticising EP and Malinowski for? Their personal opinions affecting their theory? Sure maybe if you’re muslim you can have a more nuanced view and understand how it feels to be within that religion.

And maybe people should have a say in how they are defined. Especially when those definitions can have a massive impact on your life. Like under colonialism. And maybe Gellner had a blindspot for Christianty, but so what? I like Gellner. His theories make the world simpler. Sometimes you need to use simple categories to clarify a complex world. Asad just complicates everything. And if Asad can see everything that’s wrong in Gellner, What’s his solution?

Susan calls

What do you mean “a complaint”?

The email? Oh my goodness I'm being silenced! I have complaints about them too like how they aren’t showing up to the tutorial.

Well, yes the tutorial was a little short today but in my defence that guy is after me. And I had to run away.

Well, You don’t have to believe me but it’s true. Do you think I usually take phone calls in a bathroom?

(flushing sound/bathroom sounds)

Yes I’m in a toilet.

You know what, i’m sick of being told what to do and think by you and the students and my parents and my grandparents! I’m going to indonesia. And if you want to fire me then go ahead and talk to my grandfather, I believe he made a very generous donation that he would like back!

Ha! His time I hung up. Okay, I’m going to get a flight to Indonesia, hopefully that’ll shake this weirdo following me.

Thank you for listening to notes from the field desk - this episode was written by Fatimah Ahktar and me.

Lucy Hansen was supervisor Susan

Our artwork was by Julie Karremans

Our music was “dark side of my students”

Asad, Talal The Kababish Arabs 1970

Asad, Talal Genealogies of Religion 1993

Asad, Talal Anthropology and the Colonial Encounter 1973

Asad Talal Autobiographical Reflections on Anthropology and Religion 2020

Gellner, Ernest Muslim Society 1981

Acclivity - Dubai Departures

https://freesound.org/people/acclivity/sounds/49118/

Astounded - Christopher J Astbury Switzerland Airport departure lounge Zurich International

https://freesound.org/people/Astounded/sounds/481818/

Polymorpheva - London Heathrow Airport

https://freesound.org/people/polymorpheva/sounds/104541/

Mario1298 - Waiting for passengers at the airport background.

https://freesound.org/people/mario1298/sounds/155798/

For full Links visit us on Soundcloud, twitter and instagram at notesfromTFD

#arts and entertainment #culture #society #anthropology #sudan #Talal Asad #postcolonial theory #podcast

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