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anama-cara · 5 months

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fight club (dark!joel miller x f!reader; dead dove do not eat)

Summary: Post outbreak set in the Boston QZ. You decide to go against Joel in an underground QZ fight club for some extra coin. Joel doesn't take kindly to the competition and decides to punish you in his own special way. Word count: 3.6k

Warnings/tags: Dead Dove Do Not Eat. 18+ minors dni. Unprotected PIV, fingering (f receiving), slapping, choking, hair pulling, violence, blood, degradation, curse word, age gap, dark content, noncon, dubcon.

a/n: This is the darkest one I’ve written so far so let me know what you think. Author is 18+ Written for #deaddovedecember2023 hosted by @romana-after-dark

You’ve had your fair share of blunders and brushes with death, but this has got to be one of the stupidest things you’ve ever done. But you’re desperate. Really freaking desperate. And desperate people throw out all caution and logic and good old fashioned common sense. So here you are, sweaty hair plastered to your forehead, heart racing, knuckles bloody. And you’re about to make another terrible mistake.

You’ve been in the Boston QZ for about 2 years now and every side hustle and grift you’ve tried has ultimately failed. One of your fellow con artists mentioned some back-alley action, an illegal underground fight club. So you follow his direction to the hideout, through an alley to the back of an abandoned building and down the stairs to the basement. You think the place must have been used for storage before, its mostly unfinished. It’s a large square room with low ceilings. All the furniture has been pushed to the sides of the room, leaving the center open. There’s a mob of people shouting and cheering, mostly large men but you spot a couple of females too. You recognize a few faces amongst the crowd as smugglers you’ve previously dealt with. There are a few lamps in the corners of the room but it’s still dimly lit. There’s a poker table pushed up against the wall, bottles of alcohol, and a caged rooster in the back. You guess this place does everything – speakeasy, gambling, cock fighting, and the ring.

There’s smoke in the air that burns your eyes and when you walk little clouds of dust follow in your footsteps. The smell of sweat, alcohol, and cigarettes engulfs your senses. The place is packed and noisy with swearing and shouting. You push through a throng of people to get to the bookie sitting on a high stool in the corner. She’s wearing a red and black flannel with black jeans and combat boots. She nods to you as you approach.

“Never seen you here, but if you’re here that means one of us trusted you enough let you in. Welcome. So, what can I do for you? Who ya bettin’ on?” She nods to the ring.

Ring is a generous term. Really it’s a cleared away area in the center of the room with a white circle on the floor drawn in chalk. There are two burly men inside fighting it out, fists flailing and blood flying. You notice that one has several teeth missing and cauliflower ear. He seems to be winning.

You turn back to her. “I’m not betting, I’m here to fight.”

She pauses to read your face and once she sees you’re serious she chuckles. She looks you up and down, taking in your skinny arms and round unscarred face. She holds out her hand. “The name’s Tess.”

You take her hand with a firm grip.

“Alright girl, you’re in. But I hope you know what you’re doing.” She gives you all the rules. Basically, you win if your opponent steps out of the ring or they don’t get up after a 10 second count. “I’ll be rootin’ for ya.” She says as you turn to leave. She sounds sincere.

You’re already starting to feel sick. Your stomach is turning, you’re so nauseous and the loud noises and metallic smell of blood isn’t helping. You go to a corner room, as far away as possible, and sit on a flipped over crate to wait. You’re wearing a loose t-shirt with your green cargo jacket overtop, black leggings, and your combat boots. You watch your swinging feet, trying to calm your nerves and not think about the sound of crunching bone you just heard. You wonder whose nose was just broken, Big Guy or Toothless.

As you’re sitting, zoning out, you feel someone walk up beside you. Your head snaps up.

“Hi there.”

Now this is a face you definitely don’t know. You’d remember him. He’s probably in his late 40’s, tall and broad shouldered with patchy facial hair, a strong nose and jaw line, and a pinched brow that makes it look like he’s permanently scowling. But there’s something in his dark brown eyes that catches your attention. It’s alluring and yet it makes you very uneasy. There’s a danger hidden there. He sits on the crate next to you with a sigh. He’s wearing jeans and a tight grey t-shirt that shows off his sculped chest and hugs his tanned biceps. That catches your attention too. You watch his muscles flex as he lowers himself onto the crate. Maybe you’re staring too long. He kicks you crate with a heavy boot.

“Hello?”

Even his voice is entrancing, gruff, dark, masculine, with a thick Texan accent. You blink and clear your throat. “Hi.” You say flatly. You try to appear confident and nonchalant, like you’re bored with this whole thing. Like you’re not scared shitless right now. You’re trying to convince yourself just as much as him.

“You come here often?” He asks and you can’t help but smile at the lame joke. His eyes move to your lips as you smile and his own form a wicked grin. It scares you. Your mouth falls back.

“Um no, this is my first time here. My first match in the ring.”

“You’re fighting?” He sounds equally surprised and impressed. His eyes light up and that predatory grin appears on his face again. “Little thing like you… going up against these grown men. You must be one tough little girl.”

You shift your weight, his words making you uncomfortable.

He quietly adds, “How I like ‘em. A fighter.”

Before you get a chance to respond there’s a roar of the crowd and you watch as they drag a body from the ring and prop him against the wall. You hope he’s just unconscious. You turn back to the stranger but he’s gone. The crowd quiets and you hear Tess call out, “Next round is against my partner Joel. Y’all know Joel. Any takers?”

You get to your feet. The crowd is too thick to see the opponent in the ring. But you don’t even care to see what he looks like first, no point sizing him up. You know all these fighters will be bigger and stronger than you. You have to do it now before you lose the small amount of courage you have left. You can’t sit still any longer.

“Here.” You call out. As you walk to the ring you tell yourself over and over again that they may have more muscle, but you rely on your speed and your skill.

You push through the circle of onlookers, most don’t even seem to notice you or bother to move out of the way. You’re too short to see over their heads so you raise your hand in the air and repeat, “here!” Finally they part. Faces look down at you as you pass and you can read the looks of disbelief and amusement in their eyes. You step over the line of chalk and face Tess. “I challenge,” you say in your most confident voice. Tess looks uncertain, even worried for you. Her throat bobs and she looks like she might say something, but instead she just nods. You turn to face your opponent. Oh shit, it’s the stranger. Joel. You know his name now. He’s giving you that horrible predatory grin again as he looks you up and down shamelessly. He’s so cocky it boils your blood.

“Well look who it is, Newbie.”

You snarl in response but he just laughs at you.

“Begin,” Tess announces.

You start circling each other, moving clockwise as you study each other’s movements, looking for the right time to pounce. You kick up dust as you slide your feet. Your boot catches on something sticky, dried blood. You push the thought from your mind, concentrating on watching Joel. You observe his muscles flexing, his balance, the length of his strides and his footwork. You can tell he’s strong, but he’s slower. You’ll use that to your advantage. During these brief moments of sizing each other up you’ve kept your own strengths hidden. You copied his pace, circling him just as slowly with deliberately timed steps. You want your real fighting style to remain a surprise. You want this fight over quickly, a few strong punches from him and you’d be lights out. You know you can’t overpower him and keep him down for a 10 count, so the only way is to trick him into stepping over the white line.

The crowd is getting impatient, their jeering getting louder and more vulgar as they scream at him to pummel you. With no warning, no tell, he lunges at you and lands a right hook into your jaw, rattling your brain. You dodge his incoming blow, ducking under his arm and side stepping past him. So maybe he’s not so slow after all, that’s okay, you’ll just be faster. Your jaw is aching and you taste blood in your mouth. You spit on the floor and Joel smiles. Just one punch and you’re already dizzy. He closes the gap in one step, towering above you with a vicious gleam in his eye. He does a jab cross combo and you manage to block both. As he’s pulling his fist back you land a hook right into his ribs lightning fast, then quickly pull your punch back and step back into your fighting stance with your guard raised. He looks a little surprised. You actually snuck a blow in. The crowd cheers and his surprise turns to anger. It chills your blood and weakens your knees but you stand your ground. Furious, he attacks you in a brutal volley, jab, cross, hook, elbow. He’s pummeling you with hit after hit and you’re moving swiftly, weaving under his fists as you step backwards, leading him closer to the edge of the ring. Your heel touches the chalk. He throws a powerful cross but he’s late on the recoil so you grab his wrist, leaning into his momentum and pulling his arm, swinging him to the right. He takes a single step to correct his balance. A single step that’s out of the circle.

You drop his wrist as the crowd erupts in shouts of approval at the surprise and swearing as bets are lost. You turn on your heel, not even bothering to look at Joel as you march up to Tess.

“Well color me impressed. If you come back again you could probably make a lot more ration cards. Everyone likes an underdog ya know.” Spectators flock to her, passing up cigarettes, pills, bullets, and food, you even spot a piece of gum. After a minute of tallying she hands you a stack of ration cards. You stuff them in your jacket pocket and nod farewell. This should tide you over for a while, at least until you find another smuggling job. Tess seems okay but you hope you never have to come back here.

You rush out of the hideout and exit into the alleyway where you lean up against the wall and breathe in deeply, relishing the fresh cool night air. You close your eyes for a moment and relax your head back against the cool concrete, letting your body calm down after all the adrenaline.

A hand wraps around your throat, squeezing and cutting off your air. Gasping, your eyes flutter open and you stare wildly at the man in front of you. Joel. His face is flushed and his eyes are black. You choke out, “J-Joel, what-“ but he squeezes even tighter and your plea dies.

“Shut up bitch,” he snaps. Oh you made a big mistake. Now you understand what kind of man Joel is. You humiliated him when you won. You took his power. And he wants it back.

“How dare you trick me like that.”

You’re desperately shaking your head, unable to speak. He slams your head back into the wall. You feel your scalp scrap against the concrete and blood seep into your hair.

“You think you’re better than me, is that it? Huh?” With his other hand he grabs a fistful of your hair. “Huh? Answer me!” he shouts.

You shake your head desperately. He feels the blood on the back of your head now and slides his hand from your hair. Holding it up, he angles his hand to better see in the light from the streetlamp, admiring the sight of your blood on his fingertips. His other fingers are still pushing into your throat, bruising the skin underneath. You have to get out of here. Not knowing what else to do you kick him in the groin, hoping he’ll drop you or at least loosen his grip. It works and you wrench free. You run one, two steps before he catches you and slams you into the wall. You squeal. His hands pin your wrists against the cold wall by your sides and his body is pressed into yours, squishing you against the wall so tightly you can’t move. His chest is heaving and his breath is in your face as he looks down at you.

“Joel please,” you plead desperately.

“Oh now you have manners.” He scoffs. “Too late little girl,” he says darkly. You whine in desperation and his lethal gaze shift to one of greed. “Oh honey you’re giving me a new idea for how to punish you.” He smiles and you watch as lust clouds his gaze. You feel his cock twitch against your middle. Your eyes widen in terror and you gulp. His predator gaze deepens as he clocks your fear. He feeds off of it. He takes your wrists and pins them above your head with one large hand.

“Gotta show you some respect little girl. Put ya in your place.” He leans his hips into you, pushing you deeper into the hard wall as he grinds into you. With no warning he slaps you across your face. It stings as you feel tears forming in your eyes.

“That’s better. Cry for me girly. Think you can beat me, no, I’ll show who’s in control here.” His other hand other slips beneath the hem of your t-shirt and reaches up to grab at your breast. He gropes you roughly, his cold callous fingers kneading into you. He flicks your nipple and you cringe at the pain, but harden under his touch as he rubs it between his finger and thumb. He groans and his hips grind into you again, rutting up against you and pushing you roughly. You feel your skin grating against the rough concrete behind you. He kisses you sloppily, greedily making out with your unresponsive mouth as you try to turn away. He drops his hand from your breast and slides his hand around your neck again.

“I’m gonna let go and yer' gonna take off your pants. Got that little girl?” You spit in his face. He laughs like a mad man. “You’re a fighter. I said I liked ‘em feisty. You remembered, huh girly?”

Then he abruptly stops and he squeezes so tightly you see black spots. “But right now I need you to behave.” You nod vigorously.

“Good girl.” He releases his tight grip and drops your hands. You undo your pants and push them down with your underwear and are about to step out of them when he stops you. “Leave it.” It restricts your movement more, you can’t run.

“That’s it, good job girly. Now me.” He commands. You undo his belt with shaking fingers and tug his zipper down. You tentatively pause and he smacks your hip. “I didn’t stay stop,” he growls. You tug his pants and boxers down to his thighs and his cock springs free. He’s so big and angry looking that you start to cry.

“Fuckin’ weak.” He wraps a hand around the base of his cock and strokes himself slowly as you watch. The thumbs the tip of his cock where a bead of precum is leaking out. He raises he fingers to your mouth and slides his thumb over your lower lip roughly before pushing it inside your mouth.

“No biting.” His thumb glides over your teeth and he pushes further. Your tongue flicks against him instinctively and his cock twitches. “You like this girly? You a little slut?” With his thumb deep in your mouth you’re unable to answer but your eyes glare at him. He just smirks. He taps your jaw with his other fingers then brings them to your lips as you open your mouth wider. You suck on his fingers, saliva gathering on them. When he's satisfied, he pulls them out with a lewd wet noise. He pets your check once with the back of his hand. You feel the scratch of the dried blood as his split knucks skim across your face.

He reaches down between you and slides two fingers into you without hesitation. The stretch burns and your muscles clench in surprise. “Fuck, so tight.” He slides his fingers in and out, punishing your hole as you try to adjust. “We gotta stretch you out a bit if you’re gonna fit this big cock.” He pushes another finger in and you scream. He glares at you and silences your scream with his mouth. He bites your lower lip as he fucks you with his fingers. You taste blood as he pulls way.

After a few more thrusts he feels your body adjust and your slick starts to seep onto his hand. He laughs, “Not such a tough girl now huh?” Your face reddens in embarrassment as your body betrays you.

He slides his fingers out and slaps your wet pussy. “Just a little slut. Knew you wanted this cock.” He pushes his fingers through your folds, playing with you and gathering your slick. He slides his fist down his cock, spreading the wetness.

“Wanna see you cry on this cock.” With his fist wrapped around the base he guides himself and notches at your entrance then pushes all the way inside you, filling you up and splitting you open. You gasp at the stretch and struggle against him. He clicks his tongue. “None of that, stay still,” he grunts as he pulls out to the tip then slams back in to you. “Gotta take your punishment,” another hard dominating thrust.

“Gonna ruin your little pussy.” He’s hitting something deep inside you with each painstakingly hard thrust. You feel your body responding, heat pooling and your walls flutter around him. He pulls out halfway and pushes back in, setting a new shallow pace as he fucks you against the wall. It’s faster and more desperate. You see sweat forming on his brow. You think you could probably get out of his grip right now if you tried, he’s distracted and out of breath already. But for some reason you don’t. You stay still as he brutally rails you, your back arching against the wall causing you’re your shoulder blades to sting as the scrape the wall.

The sounds of skin slapping slick skin and groaning fill the narrow alley. The street light flickers and for the first time it dawns on you that anyone could walk by and see you. You shiver and try to push against Joel’s hold but he growls at you through gritted teeth. “I said stay still.”

He’s close, you can see it on his scrunched-up face, so you relax and decide to just let him finish. Your body is marked with purple fingerprints and red marks where he slapped you. The blood in your hair has dried. Maybe it was stupid to fight him, you think as he continues to pound you. He feels good inside you, you can’t deny that. You close your eyes and focus on that feeling now, your hips moving to grind into him. It building and building and you can’t stop it as you come on his cock with a cry. Your walls squeeze his cock and it’s enough to send him spilling into you. His muscles twitch and he presses his entire body up against you, flattening you with his full weight as he comes inside you with a groan. You feel the warm gush of his cum inside you as it spreads and fills you. He sighs and slides out with a lewd squelching sound.

“Hmmmm, hope you learned your lesson little girl.”

Your legs are shaking, cum trickling down your thighs. He steps back and releases his hold on your wrists. You slide down the wall and sit crumpled on the cold ground. He drags his cock against your check once before stuffing it back into his pants and fixing his belt. He smirks down at you, proud of his work. “See ya around,” he says before stalking off, leaving you sitting alone in the dirty alley, pants still around your ankles.

You look down and watch his seed seeping out of you. You gulp, feeling your sore throat ache from his chokehold. You swipe your fingers over your cheek, wiping away your tears cooling against the night air. Your fingers brush against your bloodied swollen lips from his crushing kiss and drift to your sides where you see red prints marking your skin. Your fingers slide lower and find the wetness on your thighs. Without thinking you draw your fingers up to your mouth and suck, tasting him. Hand in your mouth you snap back to reality and glance down the alley to make sure no one is looking. You scrambling up, hand against the wall in support. You hurriedly pull up your pants and rush out of the alley in humiliation.

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zv5x · 3 years

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HHH i’m imagining spirit angst like “i love you so” “please let me go” cause s/o didn’t expect him to stay that long and spirit is WAYYY too attached.

Spirit angst!!! I went slightly yan with this, hope u don't mind anon! Remember to take care of yourself today and remember my inbox is always open!

(I feel like this came out so bad and I'm so sorry ughh)

( :̲̅:̲̅:̲̅[̲̅:♡:]̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅)

"(Y-Y/N)..."

His voice pearced your ears, but still you didn't budge. In fact, you weren't even facing him. You couldn't. Not after how he's been acting towards you, towards everyone.

"It's okay to love me...." His voice quivered, bordering on weak whimpers fuled by quickly forming tears. Spirit tried reaching out to you, but you didn't do a single thing other than immediately tense your body. It hurt. It truly did. Seeing you in any way scared of him tore his heart to pieces. "Please love me."

You shook your head. You loved him, but not in the way that he wanted you to love him. He wanted you to belong to him, he wanted to belong to you. All you wanted to do was free a trapped soul and call it a day. You just wanted to help him, you didn't want the lifelong commitment that he was expecting to come with it.

"No, Spirit. You need to let me go."

You said flatly, taking a deep breath in as you heard him choke back a sob. You didn't want to be this direct and cold with him, but it seemed that with everything else he heard from you, he found some way to twist it to where it fit his own views about the situation. You couldn't handle it, not now and not ever.

"But why?!" He stomped in annoyance, grabbing your hand and looking into your eyes as you snapped your head in his direction. "We were supposed to be together forever! You promised you'd help me, (Y/N), and you're all the help I could ever need..." You looked at him with slight distain, and he sniffled pathetically. It's strange, a demon would be the last entity you'd expect to show this level of emotion, and yet here you are watching this trainwreck.

"I did my part. You're free. And now I'm telling you you're free to go. I've given you all I said I'd give you, you need to let us move on." You parted your lips. "Please, Spirit."

For a second, there was silence. You stared at the silent demon for a minute before looking back to the side. Maybe he finally got it. Maybe he'd finally leave you alone.

"But we-"

You stopped him immediately.

"There is no 'we', Spirit. There's me and you, but there isn't a we. There's nothing left for you here. I can't love you as much as you love me."

Spirit let go of your hand, letting it stop to the bedsheet you sat on before watching you place it nonchalantly in your lap. Slowly, he moved his arms up to his face to dry his tears. You wondered what was taking him so long to leave, you told him he was completely free from not only the Hating Simulator but also your house.

"(Y/N)...?"

Spirit asked your name, drawing out the last syllable ever so slightly. You did nothing but hum in response.

"Why are you humans so selfish?" He asked, a slight amount of disgustingly innocent undertones in his voice. You sat stunned for a minute, before laughing slightly. What else could you do? That was by far the stupidest thing he's ever said, on top of it being offensively untrue.

"Oh so humans are the selfish ones, now?" You got up from your seat, almost matching Spirit in height at this point. "Says the guy who won't leave my fucking house!" You almost yelled, silently agreeing with yourself that this was the moment you lose your cool. You were getting sick and tired of Spirit's drawn out mind games, and you'll be damned if you'll let his own delusions excuse insulting an entire species.

"This is what I'm talking about, (Y/N). Humans are selfish. You're not worried about our love, or what we've been through. You're just worried about your house." Spirit criticized, staying shockingly calm. Not nearly as calm as you however.

"How many times do I have to tell you, Spirit? I don't love you! I never asked you to grow this creepy obsession with me, you did that all on your own, man!"

Spirit sighed, before clicking his tongue in the roof of his mouth. "Why did you change, (Y/N)? You said you'd be there for me....is there someone in our wa-"

Refusing to let Spirit ramble on about this deluded bullshit for any longer, you raised your palm up and roughly struck it across his cheek as hard as you possibly could. He stumbled back slightly, holding his cheek and looking at you with a shocked but slightly angered expression.

Taking a deep breath, Spirit took a minute to regain his composure. When he did, he locked eyes with you, who was now realizing exactly what you've just done. Bitch slapping him, while most definitely satisfying, would only really work well if you were planning on sprinting to a church right afterwards. Since you decided to stand there, you were forced to watch helplessly as you tried to figure out what insane response Spirit would have to the assault upon his form.

"I'm sorry for whatever I let slip by me that turned you against me, (Y/N). I truly am. But I will not and cannot sit here and allow myself to be treated as less than I am."

"Then fucking leave, Spirit."

Spirit let out a soft laugh of pity, shaking his head once more.

"No, that would involve leaving you. Leaving us. And we've both already established that's not on the table. Now, about that little stunt..."

You looked down, and widened your eyes as you saw Spirit physically prepare for something. You didn't know what, but the possibilities terrified you.

He smiled at you lovingly, and with great empathy.

"This'll hurt me far more than it hurts you, darling. Please, hold still for me."

In a split second, you felt your entire body go numb, to the point where not a single muscle could be moved. However, your brain could still function perfectly, and panic ensued.

Spirit giggled sadistically as he watched the panic show up in your pretty bright eyes. What he was about to do was only fair for everything you've done to him within the past few minutes, so he couldn't feel too guilty. You had to learn a lesson. He had to help you unlearn that normalized human selfishness and greed.

Caressing your face, he spoke for the last time before he began:

"Remember to tell me you love me after I'm done, okay?~"

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halloweenhoneylover · 3 years

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serendipity

summary: spencer cannot wait to propose, but you accidentally beat him to it (spencer reid x fem!reader)

word count: 5k

warnings: some language! some minor angst!

author’s note: this is 100% based on one of my favorite episodes of new girl (google doc name is winston bishop type shit), also this is mega self-indulgent so if u don’t like dinosaurs and/or ferns i’m sorry :/

You let out a satisfied hum. Everything was quite nearly perfect. Presently, you were sitting on a bench next to the little duck pond in the park by your apartment, and you watched as tendrils of the weeping willow grazed the surface, sending gentle ripples across the water. It seemed to glow in the dappled sunlight. An adorable duck family was nestled into some of the reeds, and your heart was happy as you watched the mother tending to her ducklings. This was your favorite spot in the entire city.

“Hey, Spence?” Your head rested on his shoulder as he read one of the Ray Bradbury novels that he loved dearly. You weren’t sure which one he was on now; he’d been determined to read his entire collection this weekend and had been flying through.

“Yes, dear?” His eyes didn’t leave the pages, but you didn’t mind.

“What do you call a group of ducks?”

“There’s a couple names actually. It can be called a raft, team, or paddling; it’s a matter of preference.” Finally, he shifted his gaze toward you, and he couldn’t help the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. The flush of your cheeks and the wisps of your hair, he was so incredibly enamored, he loved you so much. And he was so excited to let you know so soon, but not quite yet.

“I think I like paddling.”

“Yeah, me too.” Shutting his eyes to revel in this moment, he pressed a kiss to the crown of your head.

“Hey, Spence?”

“Yes, dear?”

“Do you wanna get married?”

What.

Spencer floundered in the absolute contradiction of feelings that he found himself submerged in in that moment. Ice flooded his veins, and his face heated. His blood pressure skyrocketed, and oh God, it’s not supposed to happen like this. Yes, he loves her terribly, and yes, he absolutely wants to marry her, but he had a plan! An incredibly intricate and thoughtful twenty-two step plan that was going to take place over the course of the next month. It was all laid out in an entire binder in his desk. All he could muster in response was an extremely eloquent, “Uh—well, uh—”

Oblivious to his inner turmoil, you finally lifted your head to look at him with the biggest heart eyes he’s ever seen, and he can’t help but feel so, so guilty. “I just thought, why not, you know? Spencer, I love you a whole lot, and I’m pretty sure you love me a whole lot too. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and I want the rest of my life to start right now.”

“No.”

Judging by the look on your face, that was clearly not the answer you were expecting. “No?”

“Uh, yeah, no.” God, stupid dumb idiot, telling the girl you want to marry that you don’t want to marry her. What’s the point of having 187 IQ points if you use exactly none of them when it actually matters?

“No, you don’t want to marry me?” Your heart dropped into your stomach and was falling further and further every passing second.

“Wait no, hold on—”

“No, I get it,” you choked out, hastily standing up from the bench. “Actually, I don’t get it, but that doesn’t really matter, I guess.” You jammed your arms into the sleeves of your jacket, so you could get out of this moment as soon as humanly possible. Holy shit, had you been blind-sided. “Um, I think I’m gonna go hang out with Penelope, might spend the night, I’m not sure. Enjoy your book.” And with that, you were speeding down the path out of the park.

“Wait, (Y/N/N)!” Spencer tried to gather his belongings to run after you, but you had a head start, and he couldn’t gather all of the books in his arms fast enough. Leave the books!!! Go after her!!! But you had already turned the corner and were out of sight.

With his books finally secure, Spencer sprinted in the direction of your shared apartment. He needed to fix this. And fast.

———

Morgan sat at his desk peacefully looking over the plans for a house he was renovating when the phone rang, and he couldn't help but internally groan at the sound. If Hotch is calling on his weekend off, so help him God, he would hang up and chuck the phone out the window.

Instead, he was met with Garcia’s voice, which was so loud he had to pull the phone away from his ear. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, mama. Let’s take it down a few notches.”

“Alright, fine, babycakes,” she hissed, and Derek was shocked at the unfamiliar venom in her tone. “Would you please be so kind as to explain to me why your dear friend Reid is the most evil, most reprehensible, most despicable—”

“Garcia, what are you talking about?”

“You mean that little rat boy hasn’t come crawling to you explaining his crimes?”

Despite his infinite patience for her antics, he sighed quietly. “I’m in the dark, baby girl, but I’m sure whatever Reid did, it can’t be that bad.”

“Oh, it can be that bad! He told (Y/N) that he didn’t want to marry her.”

“He did what?” Derek’s eyes were practically popping out of his head at the news. There’s no way that happened.

“He said that he didn’t want to marry our precious lily flower (Y/N)! I love that boy, but now, (Y/N) is here bawling her eyes out on my couch, and I don’t know what to do!”

His heart broke a little at the thought of his friend being so devastated, but he couldn’t help the roaring confusion that plagued him. Derek knew that Spencer was planning to propose to you; he’d seen the binder. He’d even been recruited to help with Steps 4, 9, 10, and 18!

Oh.

And that’s when Derek had a sneaking suspicion as to what had occurred. “Penelope, were his exact words ‘I don’t want to marry—” But his attention was drawn away from the phone by a knock on the door.

Speak of the devil….

“Garcia, I gotta go, but tell (Y/N) everything’s gonna be okay. I’m gonna have a word with our boy.”

“Oh my God, is he there with you?! That little bastard—” He hung up before her words could become any sharper, and the knocking became frantic.

“Okay, okay, I’m coming!” He jogged to go unlock the door. “You’re gonna knock the door down, kid.”

The door swung open to reveal Spencer, huffing and puffing with a red face and a binder in arm. “Morgan, I am the stupidest man to ever walk the Earth.”

“Did you run here?”

Ignoring the question, he pushed past him with an agitated step. “I am a complete idiot, a dumbass, if you will.”

Morgan shut the door and crossed his arms, walking to stand opposite Reid who had sat on the couch with his head in his hands. “Yeah, I might agree with you on that one. Garcia called me, told me (Y/N) is crying on her couch ‘cause you told her you didn’t want to marry her, which I know is not true.”

“I didn’t say that!” he cried, gesticulating wildly. “Not exactly. She asked me if I wanted to get married—”

“And what did you say?”

His hesitation was palpable. “...No.”

“Yeah, I’d say that constitutes dumbass behavior, especially because I know you only said that because you have your proposal all planned out, and you want it to be perfect.”

“Morgan, you don’t get it,” he implored, the desperation evident in his eyes, and Derek finally started feeling a little bad for the kid, an inkling of sympathy squirming in his gut. “No one deserves the most perfect proposal more than (Y/N). No one. You know how she’s always felt unwanted, and she’s told me that she felt like she always has to ask for love, and I couldn’t let her feel like that with me. I had to make sure that she had a special proposal because she’s special. And I want her to know without having to ask that I want her more than anything else in this world.”

Reid looked down at the toes of his scuffed Converse, hoping that he hadn’t permanently fucked up his best chance at happiness, and Morgan’s expression softened. “I know, kid. And I’m not trying to rub salt in the wound, but you do know that this was not the best way of letting her know that she’s wanted and loved?”

“Yes, I know, Morgan,” he muttered, voice breaking around the slug in his throat. “I wasn’t thinking.”

A sigh. “No, you weren’t. But I’m gonna help you fix it.”

Reid looked up with wide eyes. “Really?”

“You both deserve to be happy...even if you make some pretty stupid choices sometimes.”

Reid didn’t think he’d ever felt so grateful for his friend, and he offered a smile in gratitude. “Thanks. But I don’t even know where to start.”

Quirking an eyebrow and returning with a grin, Morgan picked up the binder from the table where it had been set. “I’ve got a couple ideas.”

———

“How is she doing?”

“Erm, it’s not looking great,” Garcia responded.

She was openly hostile when Reid had called her (he’d never been on the receiving end of Garcia’s wrath (so few people had been), and he was sure that was something he never wanted to experience again), but she’d finally restrained herself and offered a little empathy (not a lot though, she was too loyal to (Y/N) for that) when he had explained himself. However, when she’d been informed of the plan to apologize, regain your love and trust and to maybe, just maybe, ask for your hand in marriage, she had wholeheartedly avowed her support and pledged her help despite still being a little miffed at boy genius’ idiocy.

“She’s been sitting on the floor of the bathroom for an hour listening to Landslide on repeat and crying, so I would say she’s, um…not well.”

Spencer winced at that, and he felt physically sick at the thought that you were hurting because of him. His heart clenched unbearably, and he wished so badly that he could take back his words and just say yes, but unfortunately for him, time is linear, and he was just going to have to do his best to fix things.

“I just need a couple more hours to get everything ready.”

“Well, hurry up, pretty boy! I love our girl immensely, but if I have to hear Stevie Nicks mourn the passage of time and love one more time, I will lose my mind.”

“Garcia, please, just be patient.”

She groaned. “You’re lucky I love you.” And with that, she hung up.

———

You huffed a sigh, clutching to your chest a shiny pink pillow covered in sequins and giving Garcia the biggest puppy eyes you could muster. “Please, Penny, let’s not go out to dinner. Let’s just stay in and order Cheesecake Factory; you love Cheesecake Factory!”

“You’re right I do, but I love you more, and right now, you need to get up and get some fresh air!” The almost excessive amount of peppiness in her voice and her refusal of Cheesecake Factory was slightly suspicious, but you didn’t really have time to consider it as she dragged you up off the couch and to the door.

“Okay, counterpoint: what if you went out for dinner, and I stayed in and wallowed in self-pity?”

By the look on her face, you knew your evading tactics were not going to fly. She tutted slightly and said, “You’ve got to know I can’t let you do that. I’m legally obligated to stay with you until you feel better, that’s the deal when you’re friends with me.” She grabbed your coat, holding it open for you.

Reluctantly, you sighed and slid your arms in, grumbling, “You’re too nice for your own good.”

“Well, that’s very sweet of you, but let’s get a move on!” And with that, she herded you out the door.

———

It was a nice dinner, the two of you out on the town, and for a while, you were granted the solace of distraction. Garcia took you into the city, and somehow it felt a little easier to breathe there under the streetlights amidst a bustling Saturday night crowd. You nestled together in some street corner diner, ordering an absurd amount of food and jabbering on about anything and everything. If she noticed the moments when you fell silent, eyes distant and glassy, (and she definitely did), she never said anything; she just offered a new topic and redirected you from the very sad place that was thoughts of Spencer. And you would latch on eagerly, seizing the opportunity to forget.

So, you spent the evening with late night waffles and french fries and milkshakes and the unending source of cheer that was Penelope Garcia, and by the end of it, your mind didn’t immediately redirect to that morning’s tragedy, which Garcia would define as a success. Together, you found your way back to her car, and you tumbled into the passenger seat, your eyelids immediately fluttering shut. Penelope grinned and drove off.

When you woke again, you were engulfed in bewilderment and not just the regular post-nap disorientation. “Penny, why are we at the National Mall? This is the opposite direction of your house.”

She tapped her acrylics on the steering wheel and nervously surveyed the street in front of her, trying to escape your prying gaze. “Uh—no reason!”

Too exhausted from your day of grief and distraction to be suspicious of her terrible lying, you leaned your head back against the seat, watching the glow of the streetlamps as they roved over the interior of the car.

Garcia seized this movement to set the next part of Reid’s plan in motion. “Hey! You know, what’d be fun is if we went to the Natural History museum! There’s nothing better to cheer you up than dusty old dinosaur bones.” (She didn’t necessarily understand the appeal, but she was trying her best.)

A small chuckle escaped you. “As much as I’d love that, it closed at nine, so we wouldn’t even be able to get in anyway.”

Garcia’s mind thundered furiously as she tried to come up with some way to get you in that freaking building. “Let’s just walk past! Take a peek through the windows, see what we can see!”

Something in you sensed that she wasn’t going to let this go, so you relented as she finagled some sort of street parking that was definitely illegal. You could barely get your seatbelt off before she was dragging you the stone steps, the massive corinthian columns looming. You squeaked a quick Penelope! and tried to keep up. Entirely ready to give up and head back to the car when she tried the door, your mouth fell open in shock when it gave way with ease.

“Oh, look! It’s open! Let’s go inside.”

She didn’t wait for you to respond before she was ducking in the building, and you followed, completely and utterly baffled. Stumbling into the atrium, you were met by a receptionist at the desk. She smiled warmly, “Miss (Y/L/N), I presume?”

You nodded slowly before turning to Garcia whose devious smirk was undeniable. “Penny, what is going on?”

She grabbed your hands and looked at you with tears in her eyes. (Where the hell did those come from?) “Just remember that you’re a very forgiving person, and that sometimes the smartest of us can also be the most stupid.”

Furrowing your brows at that slightly cryptic message, you went to respond when the receptionist stood and said, “If you would, miss, please follow me.”

And so you walked with this stranger through the empty halls, the click of her heels echoing. It was odd to see a space that was normally flushed with people completely empty, and you studied the walls as you walked. “Um, may I ask what’s going on?”

The receptionist grinned, “I’m sorry, but I’m under strict instructions from Dr. Reid to not reveal anything.”

Strict instructions from Dr. Reid. You gasped a little at that, and your thoughts raged with possibilities of what Spencer could possibly have planned. If this was an elaborate attempt at an apology, you were a little overwhelmed; the little dispute this morning absolutely did not necessitate a response of this degree. Sure, you were disappointed, and you needed time to deal with it away from him, but you weren’t mad at him, not really. You had talked about marriage and knew that it was something you both wanted, but you had never discussed when. If he wasn’t ready to marry you quite yet, that was fine; you’d adjust. You were pretty sure you’d wait a whole lifetime for him. Besides, you had sprung it on him quite abruptly, and you knew Spencer and that he was not always well-equipped to deal with monumental change, and how could you blame him for that? You’d wait as long as he needed.

“Here we are!”

Her words broke you from your thoughts, and you looked up to realize you were at the Hall of Fossils. (You had always been fond of the dinosaurs.) Glancing at the girl, you asked, “What do I do now?”

She laughed a little at that. “Just go inside. Take a look around.” And with that, she turned around, leaving you to wander the exhibit.

So you ambled easily through the prehistoric relics and fossilized memories of a past Earth. It was rather haunting, the eerie silence and the illuminated dinosaur skeletons. You peered down at one of the explanatory plaques and instead found a blue post-it note. COLD. A grin wormed its way onto your face, and you jogged a little to the next plaque. GREENHOUSE GASES—WARMER. Spencer was always one for a game. So you zig-zagged through, collecting post-its. GLACIAL PERIOD—COLDER. CRETACEOUS WARMING. EOCENE KIND OF HOT!

With the last note, you looked up and gasped yet again. Spencer was standing in a sea of different plants and flowers placed throughout the central clearing, and donning his signature tight-lipped smile and your favorite of his cardigans, he gave you a small wave. “Hi.”

“Hello.” Your response was breathless, and now that you had met his eyes, you couldn’t tear yours away. A weight lifted from your lungs, it was such a relief to see him, and you hadn’t realized how much you had missed him in the hours you spent apart until you could breathe properly again. “Fancy seeing you here.”

He chuckled at that, but the tension in his shoulders never released; he was clearly anxious, but for what reason, it was hard to say.

An amusing gleam in his eye, he replied, “Same to you.”

“How did you get into the museum after hours?”

He took the moment to examine the toes of his shoes, replying delicately, “I have friends in high places.”

“Ah, Dr. Reid, I always forget that you ruled the world of academia before your time fighting crime.”

He paused for a moment before continuing. “Do you remember our first date?”

You gave him a tender smile, and his racing heartbeat eased ever so slightly, you just had that kind of effect on him. “Well,” you began, “I remember you were wearing that cardigan, the one that I love, and I was so nervous I thought I was going to pass out—”

“I was definitely more nervous. I was so anxious I forgot who Carl Sagan was at one point.”

“I’d forgotten about that!” You giggled at the memory. “But I remember being in this room, and we were making stupid dinosaur puns, and I believe I told you that you are dino-mite….”

He nodded meekly with a subdued grin. “I think that was the moment I fell in love with you.” Meeting his eyes once again, you felt the wind knocked out of you. The utter honesty you found radiating from his soft golden irises hurt your heart, and it was impossible to not believe him. He fell in love on the first date, how sweet and lovely and perfectly Spencer is that?

You took a breath and began to walk closer, skimming a hand over the lush greenery around you. “You know, the last time I was here, I didn’t remember there being so much flora.”

As if he had forgotten the miniature forest that surrounded him, he surveyed the plants surrounding him. There was a sea of succulents and ferns and honeysuckle and peonies and almost every other plant under the sun. “Yes, they’re a new addition. And if I recall correctly, it seems that lots of your favorites have made an appearance.”

“It does appear that way.”

He reached out to gently lift one strand of a nearby fern. “I believe you’ve mentioned before that you would ‘take a fern over a flower any day of the week.’”

“That would explain why they seem to be taking over the windowsills of our apartment.”

“True. Did you know that in the Victorian floriography, the fern represented sincerity and humility? So maybe if somebody had made a stupid mistake and they were trying to let someone know that they were really sorry, they might give a fern to say that they know they were being an idiot and they felt really bad for what they did.”

You laughed airily, “No, I was not aware of that fact.”

He closed the gap between you, reaching to tuck an errant lock of hair behind your ear. He simultaneously managed to pull a small bouquet of purple-ish flowers from thin air, causing more laughter to bubble from you. The laughing is a good sign, he thought, grinning. Keep going! “To really drive the point home, they might also give some columbine which represents foolishness.”

You looked up at him, your expression bright. “Oh man, this guy feels really bad.”

“Yeah,” he agreed before his words took a more somber cadence. “Yeah, he does.”

Your face softened. “Spence—”

“Um, before you say anything else, (Y/N), I just need to let you know how sorry I am for this morning. I love you so, so much, and I never want you to doubt that, and—”

“Spencer, slow down. Really, it’s okay! I’m not mad.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re not angry with me, but it’s not okay because you still deserve an apology. A good apology. So,” he took a deep breath, “I am so very sorry for my actions and for letting you think for even a second that you’re not the most important thing in my life, and I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you that I want to marry you when you asked because I do. I really, really do.”

Something warm and elated simmered in your stomach, and you beamed at him. “I’m glad because I wanna marry you too.” But before you could get too caught up in the moment, you remembered your earlier thoughts. “I don’t want to push you in any way, though, or make you commit to anything before you’re ready because marriage is kind of a big deal, and I’m happy to wait. Spencer Reid, I’d wait for you forever.”

“I don’t want to wait.” He shook his head and began digging in his pocket.

Your eyes widened in shock and spluttered, “Spence, seriously, if you’re not ready—”

“I am ready.” Finally, he found it and pulled out a small velvet box, looking you dead in the eye. “(Y/N/N), I have been planning this for so long because I wanted it to be perfect for you. You deserve nothing less than the absolute best, and I wanted to give that to you.”

His admission gave you pause. “Wait, you’ve had this planned?”

“I’ve been planning this for months! This isn’t me trying to fumble around and fix my mistake. I have a binder and everything, you can ask Derek. That’s the only reason I said no!”

“You said no because you had a binder for your proposal plan?” you teased.

You both broke out into laughter at that.

Recovering his breath and trying to suppress his ever-growing grin, he said, “No, that’s not why. The only reason I said no earlier is because I needed to show you how much I wanted to say yes. You deserve the best, you deserve every star in the sky and every beautiful thing on this earth, and I wanted to make sure I gave that to you when we decided to spend the rest of our lives together because I want to be enough for you.” Trying to swallow around the slug in his throat, he continued, voice breaking slightly. “This is me giving you all the love I have to offer. You’re it for me, (Y/N). And frankly, I don’t want to spend another second without you.”

He settled on one knee and opened the box, looking up at you with the gentlest gaze and a pounding heart. The wetness of your eyes matched his, and you gave him a watery smile. “I’m saying yes now. I would really, really like to marry you, (Y/N/N), if you’ll still have me.”

“Of course, you absolute dork.” Yanking him up from the ground and grinning like a madman, you grabbed his face and pulled him in for the messiest kiss. He clutched your waist and held you as close as he could possibly manage. (His desire to never be parted seemed to be coming to fruition in the sort of melding of bodies that was occurring.) Clashing teeth and knocking noses, it was hard to settle things when neither of you could stop beaming. Overwhelmed by the complete and utter joy bubbling up in his chest, Spencer hugged you tightly before spinning you in a circle, both of you devolving into boisterous giggles.

“Wait,” he murmured. “I forgot to give you the ring, I still need to seal the deal!” To which, you responded with another peal of laughter (something he thought he would never tire of hearing), as his trembling fingers floundered for the ring.

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works, but I’ll take it either way.”

He finally secured, and taking your hand in his ever so gently tenderly, he slid a glimmering emerald on your finger.

“Oh, Spencer, it’s beautiful.” He let out a sigh of relief. With light confusion, you asked, “What’s the sigh for, handsome?”

“I know you wanted a special ring, but when I went ring shopping with Derek, there was nothing I thought you’d like, so I special-ordered one from this shop that was going to be your size and everything, but that ring wasn’t going to be ready for a couple weeks. So today, when I knew I had to propose tonight, I ran to that vintage store you love and came across this one, and I thought you’d like it, but I wasn’t sure it was gonna fit, and—”

“I love it,” you looked at him, trying to will him to understand the depth of your sincerity. “And it fits perfectly!”

“How serendipitous.” He thought his face was going to split in half, he was smiling so wide. He couldn’t stop looking at the ring on your finger. How could one silly little rock make tears well in his eyes? Nonetheless, the sight of it made his heart race and his stomach churn with unrepentant butterflies because looking at it, he knew the girl he loved more than anything else on the planet, his favorite person had chosen to spend the rest of her life listening to his rambles and laughing at his jokes and sitting next to him by the pond in the park. The listless dream that had seemed so hopeless and romantic finally came to fruition in that shiny green stone, so no, he would not stop staring.

“Indeed,” you mused, subtle and irresistible risibility fizzing in the silence that followed. You contemplated for a moment before asking, “What do we do now?”

A thoughtful frown graced his lips, and then he shrugged. “We have the museum until midnight. We could just wander for a bit.”

Your eyes widened to the size of dinner plates and you tugged on his sleeve, your excitement palpable. “I’ve always wanted to be in a museum when no one’s around at night! Oh my god, Spencer, it’s just like Night at the Museum!”

He quirked a brow, and a sly smirk turned up the corners of his mouth. “Does that mean I have to protect you when the dinosaur skeletons come to life?”

You scoffed, “Please, we both know that I’d be the one protecting you.”

Another devolution into giggling. It seemed to be your thing tonight.

“Fair enough.”

“Also, do we get to keep all of these plants?” His eyes remained glued to your flushed face as you peered around the room. He wasn’t ashamed to admit just how besotted he was, shamelessly beaming at his fiancée.

“I bought them for you, so yeah.”

“Sick! Our apartment’s gonna turn into a little greenhouse!”

He extended a crooked arm to you, to which you looped yours in his and proceeded to set off on your museum adventure. You learned your head on his shoulder as you walked, completely and perfectly and incandescently happy.

“Hey, Spence?”

“Yes, dear?”

“I love you very much.”

“I love you too, dear.”

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid angst #spencer reid #anyone else obsessed with winston bishop?#i'd die for him #also can anyone tell that my fav literary device is polysyndeton #bc i feel like i use it way too often :/#actually i don't care!#bc i love it #also i counted three allusions in this bad boy if u find them all u get extra credit :)#jkjkjkjk #i hope all of the three people awake rn enjoy this

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lightsaberupmybutt · 3 years

Text

These Violent Delights - Darth Vader x FemReader

Yer idk why I wrote this either. I’m not ashamed though. And if you read this you’re just as bad as I am for writing it. No more said . Enjoy

Word Count: 1377

Warnings : explicit, brief mentions of smut but nothing too heavy, bit angsty, mentions of violence (but if you’re here then I’m sure that doesn’t put you off), kinda out of character (I've tried, but darth isn't a shagger, not canon anyway)

There was not a day that went by when you didn't consider yourself the stupidest bitch on the planet; scratch that the universe

You were aware that what you were doing was so dumb that even you couldn't reason it logically.

Its not like you didn't have options, theres plenty of suitors out there who would be more than happy to take you up on the offer of a night with you.

With this knowledge in mind, you still always fine yourself in the company of possibly the most dangerous man (if you can even call him that) to ever exist.

You wish you'd had the excuse of knowing him before he was vader, wish that you could say your attachment was purely based on your remnant memories from days gone by; but that just wasn't true. You only knew this being, Vader as him dark self - and that was enough for you to always come when he called.

To compare you attachment to a drug addiction felt cliche and incommodious; after all you didn't need his attention to survive, but you still craved it for your own enjoyment

it kept you up at night sometimes - you conscience weary with the fact that the rest of the body it was trapped in responded so positively to the touch of a murderer. These internal battles were common, besides, there wasn't anyone else you could exactly go to to ask advice from. The knowledge of your nightly escapades to Vader quarters was not exactly friendly gossip you could share with your friends, or even your family. It was a clear unspoken rule that secrets of this magnitude that involved the ex jedi were not something he encouraged to be passed around - not that you really wanted your family knowing. They would disown you, you would disown you. You understood just how vile your actions were

so why did they feel so fucking good?

You had been with men before, plenty of men. Maker, some of those men had the bodies of gods, so handsome that anyone would look upon them and believe they were too good for this world. But nothing compared, nothing even came close. It was one thing to enjoy someone, romantically or exclusively sexually , but it was another to be on the same level as someone. And you weren't quite sure why or how, but the only person you had ever felt that for was the destroyer of worlds.

You'd caught his eye while he and a small fleet of his stormtroopers were overseeing the work your village was putting into one of the many imperial excursions.

You'd love to say you hadn't been like everyone else and feared him instantly, that your backbone and feisty nature had meant you had always been able to feel no intimidation by his power - but that would be a big fat lie. The first time you saw him you genuinely thought you might poop your pants right there and then; all black cloak and metal. and then when you notice that he had noticed you too, when he asked your name, you personally accepted that maybe this day would be the day you died.

but it wasn't, and so it began

At first the imbalance of power was obvious, you feared him more than you had ever feared anything before. You'd heard the stories, you knew just how fast he could destroy you and how nobody would intervene even if they could if he decided this way your time to go.

He kept his distance in this time, while somehow also always letting you know he was around. you hear him, his breathing somewhere just beyond your viewpoint. A flash of black out the corner of your eye while you walked through the streets. Just teases of his existence. Just enough to peak your interest.

It worked, he never had to come to you. You came to him.

Because above all else, your curiosity outweighed everything else, even you survival instincts.

It was easy to be drawn in, you found. In everyones brain theres a soft spot for bad people who only act kind to you. That only show vulnerability to just you. You wanted to feel special, and he made you feel like the most protected person in the universe.

It was ironic really, that being that close to death is what made you feel most alive

It wasn't romantic, and you were completely comfortable with that. You had no doubt that you could never bring yourself to love someone who had the capability to do the things this man had done, and Vader, as far as you knew anyway, wasn't programmed with the capacity to love - a relic skill left when Anakin burned into the sand.

Sometimes though, there were flickers of those sorts of affections, like muscle memory. A gloved stroke of your cheek, a sweep across your lips to catch some of himself there, a hand in your hair with more gentle intent than usual. These incidents were at first incredibly fleeting, but the more comfortable you got together, or at least the more time passed since you had first met, he seemed to get more carefree with these displays.

Equally, although you had fully expected to feel the wrath of his power at that very first meeting; Vader had never used the force against you. Well, never without you asking him to anyway - choking with the force may be Vader favourite way to bring his enemies to their demise, but when you asked him to use it on you in the bedroom, he was relatively sure you had completely lost your mind. Be that as it may, it was hot as fuck. However he never took advantage; the power imbalance was certainly there, but Vader never used it against you without you asking him.

And thats how you knew just how comfortable you'd gotten; because you did ask. without even really completely letting yourself realise just what i meant, you asked him to show you just how powerful he was. You fucking liked it, liked that he could remove you from the face of the earth with a flick of his gloved wrist. You liked that he was the strongest being most people could imagine, liked that he was so notoriously bad.

Simply because he didn't; he kept you around. He even liked having you around, not that he would ever admit that to you, himself or anybody.

He never took his mask off, so it was easy for him to hide behind his outfit. He was changing though, maybe not dramatically, but enough for him to notice and be ashamed of.

He hadn't loved since Padme, with her it was obvious. She was beautiful, and smart, and everything Anakin Skywalker could have ever wanted. But he was no longer Anakin. There had never been another love, but you were something different entirely. You made him different . you made him weak. He lusted for you, craved you just as much if not more than you him. Anakin had always had a possessive streak, but Vader had a possessive nature. You were nothing to him, and then you were just fun to him, a body he could use, a rare someone who would let him inside of them with true interest in him, someone who could look past the suit and mask and burns. You belonged to him now, whether either of you wanted it or not, there was no one else for you.

“don't you ever let anyone touch you like this again” - he rarely spoke during sex, but when he did, his moderator was always stating claim to you. There really was no way to convince vader that you wouldn't stray, that you wouldn't suddenly wake up and realise that getting railed once very month on a dark space ship by someone who's face you had never seen wasn't enough for you. That you'd want to be with someone who you could kiss, or someone who didn't have such a dark smear on their title. But it didn't really matter, you knew you wouldn't leave, not when being bad felt so good with him.

#this is so self indulgent #i can only apologise #darth vader #anakin skywalker #darth vader x reader #darth vader x y/n #darth vader imagine #anakin skywalker x you #anakin skywalker x reader #wtf is this #Star Wars

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marmosa · 4 years

Text

midnight meeting.

George Weasley x Fem!Reader

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings: eiffel tower joke <3

A/N: i promised my friend i would’ve had this done last night but school has its foot up my ass and i couldn’t get it done by yesterday (sorry, love). but after the short fred piece i knew i needed to show some love to everyone’s favorite soft boy, george. i don’t have much else to say, but if you could maybe send me some positive energy that would be much appreciated, i could use it. love you guys, enjoy <3

***

“Alright, you’ve been dodging the question for ages now, [y/n]. You have got to tell us who you fancy,” Beth exclaimed, pointing at [y/n] accusingly with an unopened bottle of butterbeer.

[y/n]’s eyes went wide as she stumbled to find a way to dodge the question. She wasn’t embarrassed of her fancy, per say, she was just embarrassed to tell her friends who all had the pickiest taste, especially when it came to who deserved their friend’s love, “it’s no one important.”

“Bullshit, if it wasn’t important I wouldn’t have caught you doodling hearts on your charms notes in the middle of class,” Daisy interjected, passing her a know-it-all look, her brows raised as if saying “try me, I dare you”.

“Well I-,”

“Kiki, you spend the most time with her outside of class, you’ve got to know something,” Beth spoke again, insistent on getting her answer, knowing if [y/n] wasn’t going to spill that she’d get someone else to.

“I do,” Kiki shrugged, “not my place to say though,” she bit back a smile when Beth and Daisy both looked at her with the most unamused smiles she’d ever seen.

“Can we at least get a hint?” Daisy pleaded, throwing herself across [y/n]’s lap, who was all too entertained by her friends antics, despite the uncomfortable spotlight she’d been thrust under.

“Fine,” [y/n] sighed, pausing as the two girls cheered, Kiki silently raising her bottle of butterbeer in solidarity at their excitement, “he’s a quidditch beater.”

Beth’s face immediately fell, her mind jumping to the worst possible conclusion she could’ve thought of, “You do not like Christopher Atkinson. He’s like as bad of a Hufflepuff as you can get and Hufflepuff’s aren’t even that bad!”

“Oh my god, no! I would rather swallow glass than ever entertain the thought of fancying him,” [y/n] fake gagged, absolutely mortified that her friends would even suggest such a terrible thought, “try again.”

“Someone on Ravenclaw perhaps?” Daisy quipped, taking a sip of her drink, “it would make sense see we would see them everyday.”

[y/n] shook her head once more and bit back a smile when Kiki looked near ready to combust, everyone hated the guessing game, but sometimes it was necessary- mostly for the drama of it all.

“Slytherin?” Beth asked, her jaw nearly hitting the floor when [y/n] shook her head again, this time her head turning away to avoid the blatant stares of her friends.

“You like one of the Weasley twins!” Daisy cheered, standing up and dancing around the room, pulling up [y/n] with her to hop in place.

“Which one, which one! They’re both very handsome and very tall and very sweet, but I presume you’re only going for one, unless you’re freaky like that,” Beth snickered, wiggling her eyebrows as [y/n]’s head snapped to stare at her with wide eyes, Kiki nearly choking on her drink at the insinuation.

“George, I like George! Jesus woman, you need to have your brain run through the spin cycle,” [y/n] scoffed, trying to hide how embarrassed the suggestion had made her, despite the question of whether or not she’d thought of it still hanging unanswered.

“Well good for you, he’s a lovely lad, you’re going to get along swell,” Daisy sighed dreamily, plopping down onto the floor an excited smile drawn onto her features.

“Bold of you to assume he want to get along with me,” [y/n] muttered, sinking into herself when Kiki passed her a glare.

“Don’t say shit like that. He literally speaks to you and tries to hang out with you every waking moment you’re available and you want to tell me he doesn’t fancy you back? Please, you always say the stupidest things,” Kiki rolled her eyes, clinking her bottle with Beth, who wholeheartedly agreed.

“Kiki is right [y/n], you’ve got to stop putting yourself down like that, even though it is a very normal behavior, it’s not good to see the worst,” Daisy explained, getting some resounding yes’s from the girls next to her.

“You’re probably right, but it’s not like I’m getting a chance anytime soon to confess my feelings,” [y/n] sighed, falling backwards so she was splayed out over the floor.

“That chance could be arranged,” Beth suggested, rolling up her sleeves and pulling out her wand.

“We are not casting a spell on him, Beth,” [y/n] deadpanned, lifting her head up only a fraction to stare at her before letting it fall back with a light thud.

“I got my wand out so we could cast a spell to sneak out, you arse, we’re going to set you up with Weasley tonight,” Beth retorted, pushing herself up onto her feet, “you girls in?”

“Yes!” Kiki and Daisy agreed, also pushing themselves to their feet, all three girls staring down at [y/n] with wide grins and anticipating smiles.

[y/n] groaned loudly and pouted her lips, “I don’t really have a choice here do I?”

“Nope, now up you go, we’re getting you two together and that’s final, now all we need is a plan,” Beth smiled mischievously.

***

[y/n] paced around the Astronomy tower anxiously, stopping every now and then to observe an owl flying by to go perch itself in the postal room, her heart never stopping its nervous beat.

The girls had been gone for nearly twenty minutes now after splitting up to go get some Gryffindor’s they knew in on the plan and they ensured they wouldn’t get caught, but there was never a guarantee with that sort of promise. Her mind reeled as she tried to decide whether or not she should go and see her friends or remain where they’d told her too, the second option seeming far more assuring yet far more helpless.

“I feel like damsel in distress,” she muttered to herself, pushing herself up and off the floor so she could sit on the sill of one of the windows, her eyes catching the moonlight as it reflected off the lake.

“You seem awfully calm for someone who’s in distress.”

[y/n]’s head snapped to the side as she squinted through the dark room to see who’d spoken up, but she had a gut feeling she knew anyway, “George?”

“That’s me! Uhm, I was told you were looking for me? Something about the enticing thrill of getting to sneak out to see a girl and a pressing question really compelled me to come and find out what was up,” He explained, finally making it over and leaning against the wall across from her, a cheeky grin pulled onto his lips.

“Well about that question, I know it’s probably like poor timing and all, and we certainly could have saved this for morning, but you know how Beth gets when it comes to her little schemes,” she chuckled awkwardly, not sure how exactly she intended to leading up to her question, or rather confession.

“True, she’s always been stubborn that one,” George nodded, quirking his head to the side as he observed her tense posture and avoidant eyes, “but again, I came here for you, not Beth. So, what’s up.”

[y/n] bit her tongue as she built up the courage to pop the question begging to spill out of her heart, “So, they- we- I, called you out here because I wanted to ask if you ever wanted to go on a date sometime?”

George’s eyes widened as he processed her question, his heart suddenly the only thing he could feel in his ears, his cheeks starting to flame a bright red, “Oh, uhm, well that’s, that’s lovely-,” he struggled to find a solid response, despite his brain screaming at him to just blurt out a yes.

“It’s totally fine if not! I warned my friends it might’ve been a bad idea to ask anyway, but they’re all so insistent and I mean a “no” is better than no answer, right? But honestly, if you don’t want to-,”

“Yes!” He finally managed to shout out, his face so hot he was sure he could melt a stick of butter on it if he tried, “yes, I’d love to go out with you.”

[y/n] nearly erupted into a dancing fit right then and there, her lips curling up into an unstoppable smile, “Really?”

“Really. I would,” George grinned, feeling as if a thousand butterflies had just been released into his chest, “I really like you, [y/n].”

“I really like you too, George,” [y/n] replied, her eyes darting back and forth between his lips and his eyes, her heart speeding up ten fold when she’d notice him do the exact same to her.

“Can I kiss you?” He asked, trying not to let the eagerness seep into his voice.

[y/n] nodded rapidly, wrapping her arms around his neck as he surged forward and captured her lips. His hands immediately went to her waist, squeezing gently when her fingers tangled themselves in the hair at the nape of his neck. The kiss was long and loving, their pent up adoration spilling out as they finally rejoiced in their shared affections.

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited to do that, cheesy line, but it’s true,” George breathed, a lilt to his tone as he pulled away and pressed his forehead to hers.

“I’d listen to every cheesy line in the world if it means I get to be with you,” [y/n] replied, smoothing her hands back down to cup his neck.

“Now that was a cheesy line, Kiki is going to hate that,” He snickered pulling back slightly to stare into her eyes, bright as can be as the reflected the moonlight oh so beautifully.

“Not as much as Fred will,” she noted, brushing her fingers over the freckles on his cheeks, the featherlight touch prompting him to flutter his eyes shut as he leaned into her hand.

“Unfortunately true,” He muttered, humming softly as her thumb brushed over his lips.

“Can I kiss you again?” She questioned quietly, as if too loud a tone would shatter the intimacy's of it all.

“Please do,” he mumbled, letting her guide him forward with her hands, their lips connecting once more.

#george weasley #george weasley x reader #george weasley x y/n #george weasley x you #[y/n]#george weasley imagines #george weasley imagine #fluff #harry potter #hogwarts #mar writes

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captainkurosolaire · 3 years

Text

Faith X

Shortly after a beam of light dawned onto the vessel, connected by aetheryte waypoints and also diverged aetheric insignia’s imbued into the Crew’s signets. A tremendous stoic Wildwood Elezen surveyed the sea-vessel in complete chaos. Bodies, sheep, a gory bloodbath all surrounding. A back-holstered staff carrying a bell rang signalling his undeniable presence. Which, to the polymorphed sheep, they drew thinking they were being herded and began munching at his majestic lock’s that flowed to his ankles, but to the sheep, it looked like golden hay. “Halt that!” He winced with irritation, and tugged and resisted before drumming his bottom hilted staff to put them asleep. Closing powerful almighty rich emerald’s hues. He commenced with invoking a spell that asked for nature to tend to them. Arteries nicked were being temporarily channeled through a new stream of branches to flow them again for replicate function. <Light-of-before>, allowed injuries to be timely rejuvenated gradually, each progressiveness to their well being sprouting a petal until a full bloom was made. He could not physically or surgically realign bone fragments only reinforce them with temporary temperance, they would still need the Surgeon. Which meant a lot of the Crew was in for a strict recovery before they saw consciousness. The worst offenders would require him to rechange the shroud plywood and planks into a temporal cutesy sentient little ent who would see to conjuring and keeping their vitals maintained alongside fluids and pumping aetheric compounds into them, the entire sea-vessel, was life support. Scenery didn’t convey emotion from him, despite the Crew being broken by havoc, among the entire roster, he was only here for a divine purpose. Only fulfilling his side of an unlikely pact. The ancient wildwood Elezen was a disciple of the Twelve and in faith aside oath, swore to never use his boundless magical prowess in an offensive manner or inflict severe harm. Despite knowing rituals, seals, wonders of all cultures from somehow, early eons. He carried the languages and teachings of many dwellers of Eorzea. How quite possibly could such a polarizing indifferent person find himself upon the sail of a pirate? As evident that particular treasure hunter had defiled and attained all the Voidal series relics, before they were transferred between him to Shiro, cause, Captain couldn’t maintain their safety. Whilst the Noble had a perfect defense… This outcome was unforeseeable with a lecherous Father using and witnessing all his vaulted secrets, memories to only fulfill, even further levels of resurrecting through accursed blood. If however there was a series of collective occult relic’s of predated times, than of course there remained more, from Sacred Items hidden in Desert Seas, to Beast Tribe heirlooms, but as well the most difficulty dangerous to attain, Relic’s of the Twelve, of his dedicated deities they were owed them returned to their rightful places. Captain had acquired one of them, only to lose it, right after the battle with Shiro who found it. Many left remaining, each hidden, surrounded with mysteries and drawn by varied forces. These journey’s were only catalyst’s to reacquire the belongings of the gods, a sworn duty, only an ancient disciple could undertake. As did the pact between Captain and this Historian. His interest’s and allegiance to the Captain, if there was ever a direct requirement or being led astray from divine purpose, then Zieton would always choose god over mere man. Oldest of fashion he carried all the forebears of his sacred and the eldest ancient race’s burdens. Also, though, inside Captain lay’s strangely a half-soul of Amdapori origins, which also, was his major study, he after-all created the binding rune that allowed Captain to not only contain another soul, but interact with it and bond with it, to contain control, to make a forged pact or find understanding of conflicted halves or possessed farers. To have such staggering wisdom was the crown of the Goldbrand’s crest. With a brief salving of days Captain recuperated before asking for a transported warp to the showdown, under Zieton’s specialty to nearly on touching contact could take others around effortlessly as long met the criteria of the Twelve resting stone’s nearby. A channeled veil of holiest light was placed upon the crucible of certain demise by Zieton when reaching the Elune Estate’s exterior. This not only prevented escape of a portaling dark sorcerer, but also prevented whatever evil intentions he concocted from spilling out to the innocent denizens. They knew Silv’a possessed a majority of the Voidal Relics, with one being already used against wickedest intent; there was no-telling if they’d all be used. “I shall remain and erect this field. You’ll have little less than Three Bells, pirate. Afterwards, I cannot sustain it. I can choose what to let in, but nothing may leave once you tread forth. The Crew injured, and scattered in the Retrieval mission, were all foretold our destination prehanded. From my detection of quantifiable influx aether being drawn here, it’s imminent and likely, you will die.” Giving a realistic callus assessment. Cheeky the rogue mockingly pitched, “Fantastic pep-talk, ye really know how t’ sell it. Listen, I’ll let ye enjoy your erection. All this that transpired is my fault, so I’ve to see through this storm... even disregarding, I’m most certainly going t’ die” Nonchalant soft leather began marching to the entrance of devastating oblivion. A scowling golden skin elf sighed with an exhale. “Captain. One last imparted wisdom, regarding your forearm. You may feel that ‘half’ is empty but with death comes a new ushering of life, it’s a cycle which we live. Now whether what forecomes from that, is decisively up to your nurturing. Should you act upon irrational rage or selfish-serving goals, a carnivorous beast will consume you, aside all others, worse than heretofore. -- Action’s of care will have the opposite effect and give birth to a beast that mirrors… Beyond this veil is a Trial that’ll decide your outcome and judgement of everything.” The Seeker halted and searched his inked forearm which became transparent from the runic binding nearly obsolete. “Just admit ye will miss me. Otherwise got t’ find someone else to undergo your endeavors. Which won’t work or compare, cause I'm th’ stupidest to traverse any wave... And oi’…. When I come back, we’re getting you laid.” So much seriousness wasn't always needed. Truthfully the Elezen could use it, being underground from the current society of things, so his education was limited beyond anything primordial. All the advanced changes were beyond his comprehension. Leaving the Elezen flabbergasted aside a shaken head. He followed and began levitating in meditation with purest concentration to his mighty glamoring shell. The Immortal Age (Previous) << (Voidal Relics) >> (Next)

#The Immortal Age Saga #Zieton Luiard XII #Wildwood Elezen #FFXIV #Tales of the Goldbrand #Seeker of the Sun #Final Fantasy XIV #oc write #Dark Fantasy #creative writing

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velvetthunder1999 · 4 years

Text

All the time on Earth

Part 31 - Lonely

Summary: Even though you and George are on good terms, you feel deserted and lonely. When you sneak out with Fred to get away for a bit, George is mad at you for risking your life

Warnings: Angst, swearing(?)

(Also, I’m sorry but I’ve decided not to tag people - it’s just too much work. Feel free to follow me; I only post this story and you’ll see every time a new part comes up :) )

Word count: 5.5K

George Weasley x Reader // Fred Weasley x Reader (platonic)

Masterlist

It had been three weeks since George had walked out the door into the rain. For a good four days you had hoped that he’d come back and you could settle everything. But he hadn’t shown up. According to Bill, the twins were fine, their shop was always crowded with customers and they seemed relatively okay.

However, you couldn’t help but suffer. You kept replaying the whole awful conversation in your head, cringing and feeling ashamed. You knew you had rightfully become angry; George’s decision was just as insane as they come. But on the other hand, you also knew that you had made a mistake when you had started shouting at him. Both of you had been wrong, and now both of you were suffering because of it. Well… you hoped it wasn’t only you who had been suffering for the past few weeks.

You had to wait twenty nine days to hear the familiar pop again. You had been mindlessly flipping the pages of a book that you had read three times now, when the sound of someone apparating came from the garden. You looked at the clock; it was too early for Bill and Fleur to come home. You stood up so suddenly your chair almost fell over. You drew your wand and raised it so that it was pointing at the door.

Someone knocked. Then a voice, a voice that you had thought you’d never hear again spoke.

“It’s me. My name’s George Weasley, you call me ginger boy when you want to be cheeky. I call you witty, because you always have to have a comeback to whatever I say and because you’re never afraid to tell me when I’m acting like a true git —”

You opened the door and George fell silent at once. He looked skinnier than the last time you had seen him, and his hair was a bit longer as well. He was looking at you, his face stuck in an uncertain expression, his eyes in doubt.

“Hey,” he whispered.

“Hey,” you whispered back.

The two of you were staring at each other, not sure what to say. Then George casted down his eyes and cleared his throat.

“Can I… can I come in?”

“Sure,” you said and stepped to the side. As he walked past you, you could feel the scent of the shop on him. Fireworks. Your stomach clenched and you closed the door.

“I…,” he started, forcing himself to look into your eyes. “I wasn’t sure if I should come.”

“Why?” you asked, maybe a bit more coolly than you had intended. “Because you might be followed?”

“No,” George shook his head. “Because I wasn’t sure you’d want to see me.”

“Oh. I see.”

Both of you fell silent again. You didn’t know what to say, where to start. You opened your mouth and then closed it. You were staring at your own two feet for at least a minute before you gathered enough strength to look up again.

“George —”

“Y/N —”

You cut each other off and met each other’s eyes again. You couldn’t look at him for long; his gaze was burning an aching hole in your soul. He looked lost, scared, uncertain; he looked like an abandoned child. He suddenly seemed much younger than he actually was.

You tore your eyes away from his face and saw his hands by his side. He was constantly making his fingers into a fist then releasing them again, clearly drawn by anxiety. You sighed. You were sure that in this moment both of you felt the same way.

He had hurt you. Yes. But you had hurt him just the same. You wanted to tell him how sorry you were… you wanted him to know that you had run after him into the rain… that you were still insanely in love with him and that fighting was stupid… You wanted to let him know that he was your everything and not having him around had driven you mad… and you just wanted him to know how much you’d missed him. But words seemed to fail you. You didn’t know how to say all those things… Not when you still had that miserable argument between you… Not when he had said he didn’t want to visit you in the future.

But you didn’t want to fight anymore.

You stepped forward, your eyes still fixed on his nervous hands. Slowly, very slowly you reached out, touching his fist, gently asking his fingers to loosen the fist and to hold onto you instead. And they did. With a sudden breath of air his hand welcomed yours and finally you were strong enough to look into his eyes again.

“I don’t wanna fight anymore,” you whispered. He nodded.

“Me neither, I’m…” he was desperately looking for the words. “Witty, I didn’t mean what I said —”

“I know,” you said reassuringly. “Me neither.

“I am so sorry,” he said, his head hanging low. “Really, I was… I was a horrible, disgusting prat, who —”

You stood on your toes and wrapped your arms around his neck. Even though the last couple of weeks were rough, you didn’t want to hear him bashing himself.

“Let’s just… Let’s just figure out something, okay?” you said while hugging him. When he put his arms around you as well, the warmth left by his touch was coursing through your body like electricity. It warmed you. “Because I really missed you.”

“I missed you, too,” his voice cracked. You hugged him tighter. “These weeks without you… It was absolutely dreadful. Even more when I realized that it happened because of me.”

“That’s not entirely true…”

“Yes, it is,” he said firmly. “You were right… about the stupidest idea I’ve ever had.”

“Then let’s come up with something,” you said as you let him go, but stayed close while looking deeply into his eyes. “Let’s have a plan, let’s figure out a schedule… Anything. Anything is better than not having you around.”

He didn’t answer at once. You saw doubt on his face. Before he could had come up with anything, you cupped his cheeks and talked in a very gentle manner.

“Love… You saw how these three weeks were… Dreadful as you said. It’s clear that… we need each other. I need you…”

“And I need you, too, but it’s dangerous —”

“I know, love,” you said, still watching your tender tone. “But I think we’ve reached a point where we simply have no other option but to accept the risk. Because this… this isn’t a life. What you’re suggesting is going to kill us both.”

“I can’t loose you,” he said miserably. “If the risk is too high, I cannot…”

“So we’ll make it as low as possible. Seeing you once a month is still better than not seeing you at all.”

“Once a month?” he said. “That’s…”

“Awful, yes. It’s…” you were only now realizing what it meant. “It’s horrible, but… would you be okay with that?”

You stroke his jaw with your finger. He took his time, thinking.

“Or even Fred can come and visit me once in a while,” you added with a weak smile. “I miss him as well.”

George chuckled. You took it as a good sign.

“Yeah, I’m sure he’d be delighted.”

“So is that a yes?” you asked carefully. George kissed your temple and murmured against your skin.

“Yes. Once a month.”

Once a month. Even though it was more than nothing, your smile still wasn’t completely honest. When George left that afternoon, the promise that you’d only see him four weeks later made you want to burst into tears again.

——

And so, weeks had passed. The schedule seemed to be working, it didn’t draw much attention and George said the members of the Ministry and the Death Eaters (which were basically the same thing at this point) did not seem suspicious. If anything, it made you at ease at least.

Every two weeks one of the twins showed up to spend one hour with you, keeping you company, telling you everything that had been happening in the world. And every time they left, they took a piece of you with them, eventually making you feel deserted and empty. You spent almost all your time in your room, barely going outside, not seeing the point since you’d already knew the garden and the small segment of the beach inside the protective charms like the back of your hand.

When you were not listening to the radio listing all the names of people who had disappeared or died, you tried to sleep. Your idea was that if you woke up late and went to bed early, two weeks would pass incredibly fast. However, since you were doing nothing other than worrying, mostly you just lay awake in bed, staring at the dark ceiling, trying to avoid your anxious and miserable thoughts. Oftentimes you grabbed your crystal necklace, letting George know that you were thinking about him; then, you waited to see the crystal turning its color, giving you small doses of relief that George was okay, too, and he didn’t forget you, regardless of what your damaged brain suggested.

Then the weather started to change; the wind was cooler, the days were shorter. December had arrived, marking the beginning of the fifth month that you had spent in hiding. You could count on one hand how many times you’d seen George. By this time you felt both physically and mentally sick. You had nothing to look forward to. Only one hour from George and one hour from Fred per month.

Today was one of those hours when you didn’t feel totally depressed, and it was only due to the fact that Fred was sitting at the table next to you, cutting up a blueberry pie that Mrs Weasley had made. He was rather cheerfully talking about something and nodged you with his elbow when you weren’t paying attention for the second time now.

“Oi!” he said, shoving pie into his mouth. “I’m talking to you.”

“Sorry,” you said and started picking your pie with your fork. You wanted to eat it but on the other hand you knew your nervous-all-the-time stomach couldn’t handle it.

“What’s gotten into you?” asked Fred, eyebrows raised.

“Am I a burden?”

The question burst out of you before you could had stopped yourself. Fred looked taken aback.

“What the bloody hell are you talking about?”

“I just… Never mind.”

“Hey…” he gently put his hand on your shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Sure, that’s why you just asked me if you’re a burden.”

“I meant…” you sighed and put down your fork. “I know I’m not good company. Nothing has happened to me in the last five months.”

“And?”

“And I’m sorry if this obligatory visiting is starting to annoy you.”

“Merlin, Y/N, something’s really gone wrong in your head,” he said in disgust. “You really think I don’t like to see you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Blimey. Did you ask my brother the same thing?”

“No.” “Is it just me, then? Do you think I’m not your friend anymore?” 

“It’s not that!” you snapped.

“Then what?”

“I… Forget it.”

“Tell me.”

He was leaning quite close, completely ignoring his pie before him. There was something in his eyes that let you know that he won’t judge you. You turned your head away, picking at your pie while you talked.

“It’s really hard, you know. I know that I’m lucky, and I’m grateful, but… everything is hell out there and I just really wish… I really wish I could do something. Help.”

“You’re helping by staying safe,” said Fred seriously. “By staying alive. I know it’s hard, staying here. I’d gone crazy, believe me. Not leaving the bloody house for months. I’m really proud of you.”

You snorted.

“For what, may I ask?”

“For holding on,” said Fred with a shrug.

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“Have you told George this?”

“Not really.”

“Why?”

You mumbled something about not wanting to bother him. Fred frowned.

“Well, that’s just stupid. Why would you bother him?”

“I’d rather just enjoy the time he spends here.”

“Y/N…”

“So how’s the shop?” you asked. You didn’t want to talk about your issues anymore and Fred, after staring at you in doubt for a few seconds, let you change the topic.

“Yeah, the shop’s good. Lot of customers. We’re quite busy.”

“That’s nice.”

“It is. We’re working on some new stuff, they’re quite amazing, you’ll see.”

“I wish I could see it. Or just see the shop again. Or just go for a walk, really.”

“Well, take your coat, Y/N, I’m taking you out,” said Fred jokingly. You chuckled.

“Can you imagine? Would be kinda crazy.”

“Yeah,” Fred smiled to himself. “Crazy.”

You locked eyes, staring in silence. You knew you were thinking the same thing.

“It… It would be crazy, though… wouldn’t it?” you said, asking for reassurance.

Fred tilted his head from left to right, thinking to himself.

“Yeah… It would. Unless…”

“It wouldn’t.”

“It’s kinda dangerous though…”

“Yeah, we shouldn’t…”

“Or should we?”

“Well…” you started carefully. “I mean if… we’re careful and everything… disguise ourselves, maybe…”

“Stay only for a little while,” nodded Fred. “Find a nice place…”

“A muggle town, perhaps? Where no one knows us?”

“Yes… Yes I think…”

“That should be fine.”

You were staring at each other again. You dared only to whisper.

“Are you serious?”

“Y/N… take your coat.”

You jumped up from your seat with a sudden wave of excitement. You were going out. You were leaving the house! You were going to see something else than these walls and the ocean!

“We need to get back before Bill and Fleur do.”

“Yes,” agreed Fred. Then he drew out his wand. “Now, come here.”

He examined you from head to toe, then indicated at your face.

“Would you like your eyecolor to change? Or your hair?”

“Should we do both?” you asked. “And I think we should change you as well.”

Ten minutes later you stepped out of the house as someone unrecognisable. Your hair was pink as Tonks’s, your eyes a strange color of purple. You had told Fred about muggle contact lenses, he was only willing to change your eyes to an extreme extend after that. You were wearing a big puffy jacket with green boots, and a scarf that said “Oxford University”.

“I have never heard of this place,” said Fred.

“Well then, great. We’re supposed to be muggles, right?”

He was now blonde, his brown eyes changed to blue. It felt weird to look at him, but the way he talked to you made it obvious that he was still Fred.

“Well, then, woman,” he said with a grin. “Are you ready?”

You looked at the ground as if you could see the invisible border. Your insides were shaking with excitement. You took Fred’s hand and closed your eyes.

“I’m ready.”

He took one step, pulling you with him. Your boots barely touched the ground when you felt yourself twisting in the air, having your lungs begging for air, then it was over and you felt yourself standing on concrete instead of sand. You opened your eyes.

“Where are we?”

You were standing in a dark alleyway between the back of two shops. On your right were some dustbins, on your left lay the street, illuminated by the setting sun.

“It’s a muggle town, er, village more like. I forgot the name but I remember dad bringing us here once when we were little. He wanted to show us the muggles.”

“I see.”

“Ready?”

“Sure,” you said but you couldn’t move. It was so surreal. It was so exciting and nerve-racking. You couldn’t believe it. Fred chuckled, smirking.

“Come.”

He grabbed your hand and started pulling you towards the main street. When you stepped onto the sidewalk, your mouth opened to the sight. The cars were bathing in the orange light of the sunset, a man and a woman were riding a bycicle on the icy road, laughing. Shops were all around the place, offering tea, coffee, bagels and scones. A nice little sidewalk with stairs led to a small lake across the road. Children were skating on its surface.

“You like it?” asked Fred, still grinning. His breath was like smoke in the cold December air.

“I love it. Thank you.”

“No problem, love.”

He bought two hot teas with honey, then you two started walking towards the lake.

“How come you have muggle money on you?”

“You never know when you’ll need it,” shrugged Fred.

You made your way down the stairs, now walking in the snow, sipping the tea. You found an empty bench not far from the lake, where the sun still warmed your faces but you could also keep your distance from the muggles.

“What are they doing?” asked Fred, indicating at the children on the ice.

“Skating,” you said. “You don’t know about skating?”

“Well, look at them,” he said with a funny tone. “Seems useless to me.”

You giggled.

“Just because it’s not quidditch…”

“It doesn’t make any sense —”

“It doesn’t mean it’s not entertaining!” you laughed. Fred frowned in mock outrage.

“Are you laughing at me?”

“Yes, yes I am,” you rolled your eyes jokingly. “Wizards.”

He didn’t say anything but from the corner of your eyes you saw him smiling to himself and shaking his head. He then turned back towards the children. You took a sip from your tea.

“How does it feel being a blonde?” you asked.

“It felt normal until you brought it up.”

“Sorry,” you chuckled.

“Does it look strange to you?”

You looked at him. You squinted.

“It’s your eyes, more like. Not what I’m used to.”

“I’m still handsome I hope,” he smirked. You laughed.

“Everyone can dream.”

“You’re naughty,” he said. “I know I’m not as handsome as my brother.”

“Yeah?” you asked, quite surprised at his statement. Then he raised his head, closing his eyes with satisfaction.

“Now that I’m blonde, I’m more handsome.”

“Yeah, you are,” you said, then covered your mouth. Fred’s eyes burst wide open.

“Did you just —”

“No!” you squeeked. Fred nodded vigorously.

“Yes, you did! You said it!”

“No, I didn’t! I didn’t mean it like that!” you tried to save yourself but the damage was done. Fred laughed joyfully.

“Well, well, dear Y/N, the day finally arrived…”

“Oh, shut up…”

“The day when you admit the truth…”

“Oh, God,” you chuckled painfully.

“Oi, Y/N, what would George say to this?”

“Oh, shut up, you,” you said between laughs and hit him playfully on his shoulder. “You’re never gonna let me forget this, are you?”

“Never,” he said, beaming. “I’ll tell it to my grandchildren one day, let them carry on the story of this fine day, let the future know…”

“Oh, my God, just stay quiet now,” you laughed.

The sun was hanging low now, and the air was getting even colder than before. You’d drunk your last sips of tea and now you were playing with the paper cup, folding it in your hands. Fred was watching the children with interest, every now and then a small smile appeared on his lips whenever a kid did something funny. When the last beam of orange sunlight disappeared behind the hill, and the kids started to leave, Fred looked at you with a soft expression.

“I reckon it’s time to go.”

“I know,” you said. You’d been preparing for this moment the minute you two had sat down here.

“We can come again sometime,” he said gently, seeing your sorrowful face.

“When I’ll see you in a month?” you asked miserably. You turned your head away. You didn’t want to see his pitiful expression.

He didn’t say anything. Still staring at the lake, he put one arm around your shoulders and pulled you into a gentle hug. You let out a shaky sigh.

“I don’t wanna go back,” you whispered into the silence.

“I know.”

You raised your head a little, looking at him. He turned to you, his eyes meeting yours.

“Thank you, Fred.”

“You’re welcome.”

His lips curled into a sweet smile and even though he was blonde, even though he had blue eyes, you recognised him under his disguise. You recognised his mannerisms, the way he looked at you, the way he talked to you, the way he hugged you. All of it made you feel really melancholic.

“Take me back, please,” you said, accepting that there was simply no other way.

You stood up from the bench and walked back to the street, passed the shops and got back to the alleyway from where you started off. You offered your hand to Fred, but he refused to take it. Instead, he placed his hands on both side of your face.

“It’s gonna be okay, Y/N, all right? You’re gonna be fine. I promise.”

Seeing how intense he was, you nodded. You wanted to believe him. You wanted to believe him so bad.

“Okay,” you said, and offered your hand once again. This time he took it and you felt the familiar twisting and turning again.

You felt the salty air first, but you refused to look around just yet. Behind your closed eyelids you saw the village in the orange light, and the lake with the children. You wanted to hold on to it for as long as you could.

“Oh… Shit.”

Hearing Fred’s tense voice made you open your eyes. Every inch of your body winced in fear. In the backyard of the house stood George. He was facing you, staring, waiting.

“Oh, no,” you said. You couldn’t even imagine the scolding you were about to get. “Oh, shit.”

“It’s okay,” said Fred and gently grabbed your shoulder. “Come inside the charms.”

You stepped inside, keep staring at George in the garden. He didn’t move an inch. Fred saw your anxious face and leaned closer.

“I’ll talk to him, okay? I’ll…”

“No,” you shook your head. “It’s… I’ll do it.”

You started walking, nervously biting your tongue. As you got closer, you could make out George’s expression. His face was pure rage and he was panting. You had never seen him this angry.

When you were only a few feet away, Fred stepped forward.

“George, before you start —”

“Shut up,” answered George, not taking his eyes off you. His voice was ice cold. Fred frowned; he didn’t let it end here.

“Now, listen —”

“I said,” George’s voice was shaking from the restrained anger. “Shut up.”

“It’s okay,” you said hastily, recognising that nothing could be done. You turned to Fred. “Go. Go home.”

“What are you —”

“It’s okay, Fred,” you said. “Really. Just go.”

Fred looked quite uncertain. He was staring for a few seconds, then he seemed to accept your request. He turned to George again.

“Don’t be so hard on her.”

“Leave.”

Fred fell silent, but you could see that he was about to say some nasty things to his brother. Instead, he waved his wand, turned back into his ginger self and walked towards the border. When he stepped outside, he disapparated at once. “What’s this?” said George in a cold tone, pointing at your purple hair. Your voice was really high as you answered.

“Disguise.”

“Disguise,” said George after you waved with your wand and turned back to your normal self. “You two planned this out nicely, didn’t you?”

“We…”

“How could you?” he yelled and suddenly the words got stuck in your throat. You wanted to disappear. “Do you have any idea what I’ve gone through?”

“I…”

“One hour! We agreed on one hour! What do you think was going through my head when Fred didn’t come back after one hour?”

“I don’t know,” you whispered. His fury scared you.

“You don’t know? Try again!”

“That…” your eyes started to fill up with tears. “That something’s wrong.”

“Brilliant answer, Y/N. And how do you think I felt?”

“I d-don’t know.”

“Answer me.”

“W-worried.”

“Oh, worried is not even close. But let’s continue. When Fred didn’t appear another hour later, what do you think I thought?”

You shook your head in tears. George continued, cruelly.

“Nothing? Then how do think I felt when I came here to check if everything was all right but I saw the empty house instead?”

“I don’t know,” you mumbled. Tears started running down your face.

“I thought you were dead!” yelled George in rage. “I thought you were murdered! Would you like to be murdered, Y/N? Look at me! Would you?!”

“No,” you sobbed. George didn’t care.

“Then how could you be so irresponsible, Y/N? How? Do you have any idea —”

“We were c-careful!”

“I don’t give a damn!” he roared. “I would’ve never thought that you would be so careless, so imprudent to risk your own life! Don’t you listen to the radio? Don’t you hear how many muggleborns are killed? Or — do you think it’s just a game, do you think I come here only once a month as a joke?”

“No…”

“I was worried sick!”

“Don’t tell me you wouldn’t have done the same!” you shrieked. “The famous George Weasley would have just stayed put for months, wouldn’t he?”

“I am not the main target of the whole fucking Ministry!”

“That’s not my point!” you cried. Finally, you found your voice. “You have no idea what’s it like, being here, not doing anything all day but listening to the radio listing all the people who disappeared or died! You call that a life? I don’t have a life! I am locked up here, and yes, I should be grateful and I am grateful but I’m suffocating here! And I can’t feel anything but guilt, knowing that while others are on the run I still don’t appreciate enough to have my own room and sleep in a bed every night! You know what’s the worst? Everyone, every single person, you included keeps telling me to hold on until the end, until the good times come but… George, when will the good times come? For how long do I have to stay in hiding? A year? Five? Or ten? What kind of life is that? And I can’t do this anymore… I can’t… I don’t… I don’t know what to do and… I’m lonely, I’m so miserably lonely, I’ve seen you four times in five months and…. and… who says we’re gonna win? Who says it’s a guarantee that we’re gonna get our lives back? Who says You-Know-Who’s gonna loose and I won’t have to stay inside for ever?”

You sat down in the sand, trying to muffle your sobs. You couldn’t believe the amount of times you had cried in the past months. You felt yourself on the verge of insanity. Not because of the crying, no. Because of all the things that made you cry.

You felt a hand on your knee as George sat down, too. His voice was low.

“Why haven’t you told me this?”

“I’m telling you now,” you sniffled. You hid your face into your hands. George tightened his grip on your knee.

“You still shouldn’t have gone out today.”

“I know. Don’t punish F-Fred for it. It was my idea.”

“I’m gonna have a word with him, don’t you worry.”

“But it was —”

“I don’t care. Y/N…” he let out a groan. “Y/N, you have no idea what I felt when I saw the empty house. When I thought… I’ll never forgive you for this. Never.”

“I k-know.”

“Good. Now, listen to me because I’m only going to say this once. Everything’s going to be all right.”

“Oh, shut it,” you sobbed. “You keep saying that but nothing’s all right.”

“I trust Harry.”

“That doesn’t mean he’s gonna succeed.”

“I trust that he will.”

He spoke with so much confidence, with so much strength that it made you feel even weaker than before. You knew you were only a shadow of your normal self and yes, while George was here, telling you all this, you could almost believe it. But he was going to leave as always, leaving you alone with your thoughts again only to appear a month later. You couldn’t handle it anymore. You needed him.

“Stay,” you said suddenly, barely louder than a whisper.

“What was that?”

Your lip trembled as you looked him in the eye.

“Please stay.”

“Y/N…” suddenly his face changed; he looked extremely remorseful. “You know I need to go back.”

“Please…” you begged, tears running down on your cheeks again. “I’m begging you.”

“Love…”

“Please…” you grabbed onto his jacket. You knew you looked absolutely pathetic. You didn’t care. “Just for tonight. Please.”

He gently wiped your face. His touch made you shiver.

“Y/N, I… I can’t…”

“Don’t…” you sobbed. “Don’t leave me alone…”

He was fighting an internal battle. You took his hand, desperately pleading.

“Please… Please, George…”

He took his time examining your face, brushing a piece of hair out of the way, then cupping your cheeks. His touch was so warm, and you missed it so much… Then he kissed you, gently and carefully and you knew that this was goodbye, that this was his way of letting you go without words…

“I need to go home,” he said and you cried. “But… But I’ll come back.”

“W-what?” you said, not believing your ears.

“I’ll come back tonight, okay? But I need to go home first. Talk to Fred, arrange a few things…”

“No,” you started shaking your head. “No, you… you’ll promise but you won’t come back…”

“I promise you I’ll come back,” he said, looking deeply in your eyes.

“No…”

“Do you trust me?”

You didn’t answer. You shook your head in despair.

“Do you trust me?” he said again, more firmly.

You wanted to. You wanted to trust him so bad.

“Yes,” you lied.

“Trust me,” he said with another soft kiss. “Only tonight, okay? This is an exception.”

“Sure,” you mumbled. It didn’t matter. You knew he wouldn’t come.

“Okay,” he said and he stood up. He helped you up, too. “Go back into the house, all right? Don’t leave, you understand me?”

“Yes,” you said, barely audible. He cupped your cheeks again.

“Do you understand?”

“Yes,” you said again.

“Good. Now go.”

You kissed him goodbye, stretching the moment for as long as you could. Then you turned away without meeting his eyes again, and wiping yours, you walked into the house. You could hear the sound of disapparation and you knew that he was gone.

And you waited. Because even though you knew he wasn’t coming back, even though you knew that he had promised only to make you calm down, you couldn’t help but hope.

When Bill and Fleur came home and you had dinner, you stayed awfully quiet. You felt sick and tired, you were exhausted and drained. More than once you caught yourself staring out of one of the windows of the house with tears in your eyes. Finally, around nine o’clock you couldn’t take it anymore and went to bed.

And you waited. Constantly wiping your wet cheeks you waited. Being disappointed after every passing minute you waited. Every now and then you looked at your necklace but it wasn’t glowing. George wasn’t thinking about you. He wasn’t coming back.

Around one in the morning you felt the tiredness taking over your body; you could barely keep your eyes open. It was really hard to accept the truth. You kept dazing off and jerking awake again, just to realize that you were alone, maybe more alone than you had ever been. And this feeling travelled through your body, poisoning every inch of you, and you were hurting, more than you had ever been hurt before.

But then, something happened. You were on the verge of sleeping again, when you heard footsteps on the corridor outside your room. You didn’t dare to move. It was Bill. You were sure. Maybe it was morning already and they headed for work again.

Your door creaked. You raised your head at once and saw a tall, ginger figure entering the room. In the dark, only with the moon shining through your window, he looked like a heavenly presence. You weren’t even sure if he was real or you were dreaming already. But then you decided that you didn’t even care.

He moved. He kicked off his shoes, he took off his jacket. He moved the covers and he climbed into bed next to you. His firework scent filled the room, embracing you, filling up the hole in your soul. He wrapped his arms around you as you moved to rest your head on his chest. You took a deep breath and closed your eyes. Everything seemed to fall into place. You felt his fingers in your hair, gently brushing your face. And after four months of lonely nights you finally heard him whisper again:

“Sweet dreams.”

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halothenthehorns · 3 years

Text

All in the Family

Chapter 143: The House of Guant

They were once again plunged into utter darkness. The sounds of pots and furniture breaking had nothing on the rank smell of unclean rising to all of their noses. Peter squealed in genuine fright upon something slithering across his face as the others lit their wand in time to see the tail of a snake vanishing into a filthy armchair. James had landed dangerously close to a curdling fire, the smoke still in his face making him cough terribly.

The walls were a gray, dirty stone. There was a boiling pot on a grimy stove in the corner Sirius tipped over, the very air hanging in here made them all wish desperately to be anywhere else at once.

Alice summoned the book to her to get started on that.

"Gaunt eh?" Sirius asked in complete disgust for the house still, though something tickled the name in his memories he'd tried to repress. "Hey Reg, help me out, why do I know that?" Surely he could still talk to the kid without being hated further.

"Morfin Gaunt, tenth branch, line died out with him," he repeated on autopilot.

"Right, thanks," he grumbled, no clue why he'd asked, it helped nothing to make this feel better.

"What's Harry doing here?" James demanded, taking careful steps across the room to be back by Sirius, wand held at the ready for every disgusting pile he passed. "Can't be Dumbledore's lesson to bring him here, what's the point?"

"I suppose there's only one way to find out," Alice sighed as she reluctantly turned back to the book.

Remus came out of one of the rooms with such a look of disgust on his face nobody wanted to ask what he'd found in there. Lily came out of the other soaking wet by her own wand she stowed away, like she'd actively tried to rinse this place from her before they even left.

Everyone but the girls continued laughing enthusiastically about Harry's little cheat sheet of a potions book, until Alice leaned up and whispered in Frank's ear and he stopped abruptly with an annoyed frown. The others didn't pay it much mind, shifting around impatiently to find out what the point of being here was even if they gave the place more life than this dung hill likely ever had as they continued whispering about getting their hands on that in their own time to breeze through their OWLs.

Lily bit her lip hard to stop herself falling to the filthy floor for laughing at that. The idea had never occurred to her she would ever want to help the Marauders, but the idea of inventing that Wolfsbane potion herself was still heavily on her mind and she wished now more than ever she had her own copy on her to take notes in. The tempting idea to inform them they were currently muttering about wanting Severus's help even in proxy was just a bit of a bonus she'd privately enjoy.

Regulus' smile slipped a notch though when he heard of some of the oddly specific spells being addressed in the margins of this book. He'd told Lily the truth, he did not hang out with Snape nor really know what they got up to on a regular basis, mostly he just hung around in his room alone looking at the excellent view and doing his homework, reading, or exploring the castle alone, if not on an errand. Even if he did turn a rather blind eye and ear most times to not hear what they were laughing about too in ignorance, what little he had heard made him wish there was an attic at Hogwarts.

Some of those spells though, he'd swear he recognized them coming from Snape himself, who often spent his times writing in a potion book. He shared his ideas with Mulciber and Avery all the time, and they often taught others if they were satisfied with Snape's new ideas.

He watched Evans for a few moments and felt his suspicion all but confirmed when she kept watching the book as if it were personally hitting her in the face. He didn't want to risk missing a word of what Dumbledore said though, and if Evans wasn't telling them he wasn't going to do it for her, so kept his mouth shut.

Alice did indeed have all attention as Harry arrived for Dumbledore's lesson, and explained what exactly Harry was going to be doing with him this year.

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard!" Sirius groaned loudly when Dumbledore made to put the first memory in like that was all the explanation needed. "Hearing of his past, are you kidding me? Who the hell cares what he did before he started murdering people for fun?" He could personally speak from experience he wanted no part in someone looking into his past, Harry doing that to them had been awful enough, he couldn't imagine the value of doing so for anyone else, even Voldemort.

"I think it's brilliant," Lily said to him stiffly. "How else are they supposed to learn about their enemy, clearly whatever method everybody else is using isn't working."

Sirius retaliated with grace, but there was a smile on his face as he began hotly going back and forth. Lily even began to relax as well as she shot back for everything he said.

Watching Sirius and Lily's argument escalating, Peter and Remus kept glancing significantly at James like they expected him to step in. He, however, was merely examining his fingers with far too much fascination.

Remus finally cleared his throat awkwardly and asked, "ah, Prongs, you going to...do something about that?"

"Nah," James shrugged without concern, "neither's even pulled their wand out yet, let them sort themselves out."

It was honestly just a nice refresher to James she wasn't yelling at him for once, and Sirius even seemed to be enjoying himself. Considering how well he'd just done not starting a fight, and only guiltily realized out in that shop he'd done it for him again, this felt like old hat! Finally some kind of balance, if Sirius needed to get it out of his system this was probably the best way to do it, neither held any real heat in their argument. She gave some pretty witty retorts, and he was almost curious to see how many different ones she could lob at him before someone gave in.

Instead Prongs pulled Remus back a step and whispered quietly to him, "hey mate, everything okay with you two?"

Remus flushed in the dull lighting and tried not to shift around like a twit, maybe Sirius hadn't spooked off Prongs as well as he thought. "Fine, nothing new to speak of."

"Uhhu," James muttered, clearly unamused. "Look, whatever you two keep going off to do, you're starting to annoy him Remus. I don't know if it was the love potion thing or something else, but could you cut him some slack?" Sirius hadn't been saying anything outright, but ever since he'd come back from the garden he could tell something had sprung up between the two that was bothering them that hadn't been there this whole time. As if they needed another mess to be dealing with!

Remus bit his lip and fought the urge to tell James to stay out of it before reminding himself there was no 'it.' This was his mess and he did need to deal. "Right, sorry," he apologized, thinking ironically James wouldn't blink next time he dragged Sirius off for the opposite reason of why they normally did as he promised in his head to fix this once and for all.

Alice finally cleared her throat to stop the two, watching in a vague sort of amusement as she asked, "regardless of our opinions, can I please get to it? This place isn't getting any more cheerful."

Sirius gave a long, exaggerated sigh and turned in surprise to see James and Remus muttering something, both instantly stopping when they realized the same. "Am I interrupting?" He grinned. "Do you two need some alone time?"

"You think Evans would fall into my arms if I swept Moony off his feet first?" James happily teased back. "She's obviously his favorite."

Remus made his eyes go as widely innocent as possible. "Yes, I'm so sure the multiple attempted murders has just warmed her right up to me."

"Worked on me didn't it?" Sirius smirked.

"You're too easy to please," Remus shot back.

Peter snorted from across the room and James didn't bother to hide his laughter.

Alice was smirking just a bit too when she giggled at Lily, "that wasn't at all what I thought you meant when you said you'd start talking to them."

Lily huffed a bit of hair out of her face and chose not to respond, not exactly wanting to admit how good it had felt to get a little fire out of her system, and Sirius had happily returned.

She finally turned back to the book though and began describing the memory in vivid detail. They all startled in surprise to find themselves back in Little Hangleton, and Remus was first to the door trying to open it in hopes they'd be free of at least this smell.

Blessedly, they were stepping into such a tall, dark grove of trees the bright sun shining down hardly hurt their eyes through the foliage. The snake nailed to the door swung and the house was no more pleasant to view on the outside, but at least it didn't smell as much out here!

The idea being offered that they could make a trip to the haunted mansion in the distance or the graveyard appealed to no one.

Alice sighed in relief to catch her breath out here and sat down in the grass to keep going, but Lily started wandering around in true curiosity what this place had to do with Voldemort. It certainly seemed his type, and now it turned out Tom Riddle's mansion was indeed in the distance, so the connection had a clear line being drawn.

"Oh, horses!" She shouted gaily.

Only Remus went to the edges of the trees to see her delighted shouts as the two grazed in boredom with no clear riders in their saddles.

"They shouldn't be dangerous, look like normal ones, if you want to have a closer look," Remus said off hand, still watching closely. This didn't exactly seem like the kind of house for illegal breeding, ironically, but he still watched carefully just in case.

She needed no further invitation and walked cautiously but openly towards them. Neither creature gave a care to her approach, they were clearly well trained and tamed as she started stroking one's glossy chestnut neck and listening with the first hints of sorrow to leave the house behind her as the gray began nosing her curiously for sweets.

It was completely disgusting to both brothers to realize the line had likely died out because the sister had seemingly refused to have her brother's child, but hardly better she had Voldemort as an offspring instead. Possibly enacting her death from this deranged Marvolo fellow. It was a damn miracle their own parents hadn't managed anymore kids, like a sister for one of them.

Their skin crawled, Regulus retreated farther into the shadows, and fought the urge to purge all pureblood lineage from his mind as his brother had clearly done at such an insight, and Sirius bit his tongue hard to stop the obnoxious comment of asking Moony if he'd be happier if Sirius had been a girl.

They'd known Tom Riddle was only a half-blood thanks to his memory back in the second book, but they'd never have expected to get such details as both of his parents being shown like this though.

When the memory was done and Dumbledore gave his explanation, they all looked around wearily one last time at the beautiful country side, cozy village down in the distance, stately manor hiding the graveyard beyond, and hovel in the bright sun. Who ever would have guessed the destruction of their world could start from such a place.

#Harry Potter #fanfiction #reading the books #HP #HBP #Marauders #Wolfstar #James Potter #Jilly #Remus Lupin #Lily Evans #Sirius Black #Peter Pettigrew #Regulus Black #Frank Longbottom #Alice Smith

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fakecrfan · 4 years

Text

MAG 155 and Jon’s level of culpability

You know, I have always accepted that The Magnus Archives is a tragedy, which means that the characters (all of them!) 1) make mistakes and 2) their mistakes have grave consequences. And throughout season 4, the idea of Jon having choices available to him and being responsible for his actions even with the Eye or the Web exerting influence on him comes up a lot.

“But if you choose to believe in a free will, then yes: All you have done has been of your own free will. They have all been your choices.” (Annabelle Cane, MAG 147)

“What I’ve been doing to these people, it - it hasn’t been because I was puppeted, or controlled, or possessed.

I wanted to do it. It felt good.” (Jonathan Sims, MAG 147).

And there are certainly actions Jon did that deliberately harmed people (especially in season 4 with approaching people on the street and all) but of all these choices I have always felt like... the one ‘‘choice’‘ that I never felt was fair to judge Jon for was the ‘‘choice’‘ Oliver Banks mentioned when he was in a coma.

The thing is, John, right now you have a choice. You’ve put it off a long time, but it’s trapping you here. You’re not quite human enough to die, but still too human to survive. You’re balanced on an edge where the End can’t touch you, but you can’t escape him.

[...] Make your choice, Jon. (Oliver Banks, MAG 121)

But I mean, how could you reasonably call this a choice? The choice seems to be Jon either embracing his power or dying, but Jon was unconscious throughout this! How can you hold someone culpable for a “choice” they make when they weren’t even awake? Plus, it’s literally life or death. How could you expect someone to choose to die?

MAG 155 has an answer to my question.

MAG 155 is about Tova McHugh, a woman who does not want to die.

You’ve got to understand, I have so much to live for. Oh, okay, that’s not quite it. I know most people have plenty to live for, but what I mean is that my life does good. (Tova McHugh, MAG 155)

Tova McHugh really does not want to die, and that is a sympathetic motivation! But then, a tragic Unfair (as she puts it) accident happens to her, and she dies--she then is only able to continue living by taking other people’s lives. It is then that she starts to twist things. Not only is it okay for her to want to live, but she has to morally justify herself--and the only way to justify herself is to come up with reasons that her life is more valuable than the people she takes from.

And I know that everyone’s life has value, but I just need to be clear that my impact on the world is a positive one. My existence does a lot of good, and that’s only gotten more true since all this started. I’ve given more, spent more time on charitable stuff, and helped more people. (Tova McHugh, MAG 155)

She is clearly ashamed of her actions, on some level, but she really doesn’t want to die. So she decides that if she is a Good Person, and she is donating enough to charity and creating jobs (ugh) then that justifies her actions.

A clear parallel is drawn between her justification and Jon’s current discomfort about his own continued existence.

I’ve - (laughs) I’ve saved the world, the whole world. Does that give me the right to take what I need to survive? I’ve been reading nothing but these old, dry statements for so long, I - I feel weak. (Jonathan Sims, MAG 155).

Jon is only alive because he drew on power from the Eye to survive back in that moment in MAG 121 that was framed as a ‘‘choice’‘ in his coma. I don’t think that makes him as obviously wrong as Tova here, though. After all, the eye causes misery but at the time Jon had no reason to think feeding into the power would actually kill anyone. It wasn’t presented to him as a life-for-life choice--and again, he was unconscious.

But, the statement reveals the truth about Tova ‘‘bringing good into the world’‘ by drawing on the power she has been using. Because it turns out that the amount of life someone will give her isn’t equal. Some give her more, some give her less--and what tends to be the measure?

Eventually I realized it had nothing to do with age or health. It was about connection. About joy. The more friends, family, loved ones the person has, the further out the terror of sudden death spreads from me. The longer it keeps me alive. (Tova McHugh, MAG 155)

Tova can’t bring more ‘‘goodness’‘ into the world than she is taking out of it. Because the power she is using--one of the entities--exists to cause pain and suffering. The very nature of the power she is using will negate or outweigh any ‘‘good’‘ Tova does to try and justify herself, otherwise it wouldn’t continue to use her.

(Sort of like how Gertrude’s utilitarian balancing turned out to be all for naught, but this is a meta about Jon so I will save that for another time :D)

So does Tova realize the obvious and stop? No, instead she doubles down on her self-justification.

Since this became my existence I’ve thrown myself into philanthropy harder than ever, and the world is so much better for me being in it. I’m not saying how I live is right, or good, but it is the position I have been put in, and a decision I have to make. I never wanted to weigh up the value of a life, to set it on the scales against my own, but that’s a choice that I am forced into. And it is one I will continue to make. (Tova McHugh, MAG 155)

Jon is completely aware of the comparisons between Tova and himself, and for a moment he has a crisis over it.

I find myself hating her, her callous self-deception. But am I so different? Daisy’s chosen to resist in her own way, knowing full well it might take her life in the end, Melanie too. I respect them for it, but I - I don’t know if I can follow their path. (Jonathan Sims, MAG 155)

And you know, I don’t think Jon and Tova are morally equivalent. Maybe it’s just that I like Jon and so am biased in his favor, but his choice seems a lot murkier than hers. He doesn’t get to see direct death as a result of his actions--so that makes it much easier to justify.

But I think the real purpose of this statement isn’t to say Jon is Just As Bad as Tova, but to wake him up to the nature of the powers--they can’t ever be used for permanent good. You might want to use them for such, the possibility of doing more good than harm might be the temptation that draws you deeper in to their use, but by their nature they bring harm into the world and negate the good you try to bring in to the world.

And also, while I dislike Tova and love Jon, morally I have to hold them to the same standard. If the only moral choice for Tova is to quit, even at the cost of her own life... then the only moral choice for Jon, also, is to quit.

(So I guess me going ‘‘you can’t just expect someone to choose to die!’‘ when I listened to 121 is just... me wearing clown shoes and the stupidest clown hat you ever did see, because it turns out that is exactly what I expect from characters I am impartial towards).

Jon might not see direct death as a result of his actions--but on the flipside, it is unclear if he will actually die as a result of quitting either. He says so himself, even.

I suppose I have a way out now. One that wouldn’t even kill me, at least, I hope not. And yet here I am still. Am I a coward? (Jonathan Sims, MAG 155)

He doesn’t think he will die if he quits--not for certain, at least. And yet he continues. He doesn’t know why, because examining his reasons is hard. I am sure part of it is that he enjoys his powers (as he has said) or that he is afraid of dying just as much as Tova is. But he ends on this thought.

I just… what if they need me? What if. (Jonathan Sims, MAG 155).

What if the people he cares about need him? What if they are in trouble? What if Martin needs him?

But, ultimately, this idea that he can use the Eye to defend the people he cares about is just as illusory as Tova thinking she can bring good into the world by killing people to extend her own lifespan. Not that Jon’s desire to protect is fake--it is very much real, but it mixes with his desire to continue for his own purposes, because he likes it and is afraid of dying.

I still don’t think Jon should be held responsible for a decision he made in a coma to save his life when he didn’t see what the consequences were. But it’s not just one decision in a coma that caused the apocalypse--he makes a decision to continue his path every waking moment. He chooses not to quit, even when he doesn’t think quitting will kill him, because being powerless when he and his friends are so often in danger scares him.

And you know, that is a sympathetic motivation, but his choices are still a mistake, and he is still responsible for them. When you make a mistake--even for sympathetic reasons, even when you didn’t know it was leading to such a horrific outcome--you still have to take responsibility and make amends.

When someone speeds while driving, for example, and runs someone over. Maybe they didn’t want to run the person over. Maybe they had a good reason to be speeding, like they were rushing to a friend who needed help. But they are still accountable for the choices they made that led to them injuring or killing someone. Same with Jon and the apocalypse.

Or at least, that is the impression that MAG 155 leaves me with. What do you think?

#jonathan sims #the magnus archives #tma meta #character analysis #my post #mag 155

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leejihoonownsmyheart · 3 years

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시애

Summary:

“My heart always timidly hides itself behind my mind. I set out to bring down stars from the sky, then, for fear of ridicule, I stop and pick little flowers of eloquence.” -Cyrano de Bergerac

Part One, Current Part, Part Three, Part Four

Part 2:

“Do you really think he could have recognized it was you?”

The question was a little off-putting but only because you weren’t really sure what the right answer to it was. On one hand you knew that there was no way that he could have recognized your voice. He couldn’t be a fan of yours, and you didn’t have enough music out for your voice to necessarily be recognizable.

But even so, when you had looked at Jihoon then... You could see the recognition in his eyes. As if suddenly, everything was falling into place. It didn’t seem like it could be possible for him to be able to recognize anything about you.

You nervously clicked your tongue and raised your hand to your hair. Maybe you should be styling it different. Dying it for stages? You didn’t want it to be too obvious that it was you. Not just yet.

“Maybe,” you mumbled. You lowered your hand back to your fork and nervously pushed around the green lettuce of the salad. “I don’t know.”

“You know a part of me always thought that you were a little crazy,” Joonjae admitted with a half-laugh. “Becoming an idol just for him?”

You scoffed and shook your head.

“Yeah, I know,” you murmured. “It really is crazy.”

“No but- Maybe it isn’t,” Joonjae responded. “I joke about it but... You’re different now.”

You looked up at Joonjae, surprised to find him looking at you with a serious expression on his face. He wasn’t even looking at his food any longer. Instead all of his attention was on you. Eyebrows furrowed and lips drawn tight.

“The second you signed at Kilt you became more confident. Unabashedly sure of yourself,” Joonjae mumbled. You opened your mouth to protest the statement but then you thought over what he had said and realized you couldn’t really.

You had nothing to say about the statement. You had no proof otherwise, and you honestly had nothing you wanted to say. So instead, you looked back down at your salad.

“You know what’s stupidest? Eating vegetables. I don’t know why I got it in my head that I need to actually be healthy if I’m an idol,” you murmured back. “I hate purple lettuce.”

Joonjae laughed at the conversation change, but he didn’t oppose it. Instead, he propped his head up on his hand and beamed at you.

“Then only eat the green lettuce,” he said with the smallest of laughs. “It’s got all those important nutrients.”

You grumbled under your breath and poked at the lettuce, but as you did, you saw a girl and a boy pass. They both had dark masks covering their faces and dark hats hiding their hair. You sighed when you looked at them, scrunching your nose slightly.

You knew that it wasn’t exactly likely that they were wearing the mask and hats to hide their appearances because they were popular, but you noted it was something you should think about. Joonjae was a trainee at JYP entertainment, and after you had been a trainee for so long you had never really thought about what it would be like when you two actually had fame.

Your debut would change your life- at least not until you revealed your actual face. But when Joonjae debuted there would be a lot of things that you wouldn’t be able to do anymore. For one, you wouldn’t be able to sit at this restaurant and eat together.

God netizens would have a field day if they thought that you were dating someone. Setting your whole debut concept aside, they just loved to dig into idol’s personal lives and decide whether or not their significant others were “good enough” for them or not. You could hardly even imagine what that would end up being like.

“Do you think I’ve made a mistake Joonjae?” You asked him suddenly. He snorted.

“Yeah. No doubt.”

That had to be what you loved about him the most. He was blunt with you. He told you everything as it was. A lot of people, these days, liked to dance around what the problems were ,with your debut and with what you were planning on doing with your life. But not Joonjae. He laughed in your face when you told him your intentions.

He pointed out every flaw in the plan. He told you exactly how it could fail and how crazy you were for even trying to achieve it. And then he told you that he couldn’t wait to see you on that stage.

Kyuhyun wasn’t a really big fun of Joonjae. He said he didn’t get good vibes from him or something but... That didn’t really matter to you. From that first day you met Joonjae, you knew that in some weird way he had your back, and that no matter what he said- He believed in you.

“Do you think that Jihoon is going to like me?” He asked conversationally. You snorted.

“I don’t even like you. So, do with that what you will dear.”

The next few days you decide it’s about time you focused on what is most important. Your stages. No more outside distractions, no more thinking of Jihoon- unless it was completely necessary. Sang Goo needed to take a step back, and Sihae needed to step forward.

Practice with Kyuhyun was excruciating, but it was worth it to make sure that you didn’t mess up any of the songs that you were performing. While your A-track was a song that focused most specifically on your vocals, and less on your dance ability, your B-track was so heavy on dance that it was important you practiced it multiple times a day.

You were honestly a really big fan of dancing. While singing and writing lyrics was a passion of yours that you simply couldn’t deny, dancing was sort of like a guilty pleasure of yours.

You loved the thrill that performing came with. The excitement that stemmed from hardly being able to breathe after a performance and feeling like you might fall over you were so exhausted. You loved making faces as you pulled quick, intricate movements.

People who saw your B-track applauded you non-stop for your dance skills. It was one of the things that Kyuhyun had been so initially shocked by when he met you. You learned dances fast. Worked hard until you made them look clean and professional- just like the people who had performed it before you.

That was also why you knew that you would be fine in the kpop business- even when under a small company. You were resilient. Determined to show people just how talented you were.

And it payed off.

When you heard the applause after your very last showcase for your debut you knew that- at least in the meantime- all of your hard work had been worth it. You had fought hard to get yourself here. You had spent hours in the practice room trying to get yourself ready for all of this and after finally hearing the applause- the people cheering your name.

Well, you just knew that it had all been worth it.

And you couldn’t wait to start practicing all over again.

You felt your phone buzz in your pocket and your nose scrunched unsurely. You glanced down at the glowing phone screen, surprised when you saw the message was from Dohae.

It felt like it had been ages since you had been at Pledis. Years since you had met Jihoon, and in reality...

Dohae: Are you still willing to help me out?

You stared at the text, feeling a little out of body at the moment. You could hardly believe that she was actually texting you. That you had actually agreed to do this. You were a little foolish to have ever thought it was a good idea. Why would you ever help someone else get with the person that you wanted to be with?

Well... The answer was pretty obvious. Because you just wanted Jihoon to be happy. There were no other ways around it. If Jihoon could be with anyone- it didn’t matter whether it was you or not. All that mattered was that he was happy.

So, here you were, sitting across from a tall, gorgeous, figidity girl, nursing a cup of coffee in your hand while you stared at the ice in your drink.

You had never been the biggest fan of coffee- at least not before you needed it. You supposed that was how it was with most people. Coffee was bitter, and personally you didn’t think it was much worth the fuss just for a caffeine rush.

But when it came to your early trainee days that “caffeine rush” became necessary if you wanted to get through a long day at work. Working with Kyuhyun was a mess from start to finish it was activity and promotion after activity and promotion. Working a straight 24 hours without any caffeine was manageable but not in any way ideal.

“I still think you should be able to write a letter to him to tell you how you feel,” you murmured softly. As you started at your drink. It was a concoction of flavors- mostly sweet. You didn’t really like coffee drinks that weren’t sweet.

“I really can’t get the words out right,” you murmured back. “There’s too much I want to say.”

“Then say just that!” You suggested softly. You reached down into your bag and began to rummage through it until you got your hands on the notepad that you had brought alone with you. You set it in front of her, handing her a pencil. She scrunched her eyebrows.

“Shouldn’t I use something else to write it with? Something pretty?” She asked. She turned to the side to dig through her own purse. “Pink sparkly pen-”

“Jihoon is rather practical,” you replied pointedly. “A regular pencil is much better.”

Dohae’s eyebrows furrowed at the statement but she didn’t say too much about it. She just quietly set the pen she had grabbed aside and stared at the blank paper before her. You wanted to give her as much creative freedom as possible, but sitting there for about five minutes, with nothing else written there and you realized that she needed some prompting. Your nose scrunched.

“Uh, well we could start by ‘Dear Jihoon’ at the top,” you mumbled softly. Dohae’s mouth dropped into an ‘o’ and she scribbled down the words you had spoken. You sighed and set your drink down on the table to the side. You rested your head on your balled up hands, pushing your elbows halfway across the small round table.

You smiled at Dohae gently and lowered one of your hands down to the table, tapping the paper with your index finger twice.

“Now, what do you think of when you think of Jihoon?” You asked her softly.

“He smells like laundry detergent,” she blurted. Your mouth dropped and her face began to slowly grow red as she looked at you. “I- I- mean.”

“No, it’s okay, we can- we can work with that,” you interrupted with a wave of your hand. You leaned back, trying to focus on what you thought about when you were near Jihoon, and what Dohae could probably be thinking of when she said that. “So try then to talk about how he reminds you of home.”

Dohae’s head fell to the side. You couldn’t help but compare her to that of a student who just couldn’t get a good grip on the equation that was written on the board. You thought it was interesting- mostly because you felt like the answer was pretty obvious.

“Like... When I think about you. I can’t help but compare you to that of my freshly cleaned clothes. So warm in my hands that I have to set them down on my bed and I don’t want to put them away right away like my mom wants. I want to wait and hold on to them and feel the warmth against my chest no matter how much it burns.

I suppose a similar comparison for you could be to that of the sun. You are strong and powerful- at least socially if you would argue not so much so physically. You drag people in and people only flourish under your attention. But I worry that if I look at you, I will become to dependent. I fall for your mystery. I will burn under you.”

You looked up from the table- when had your eyes even lowered to it- shocked to see that Dohae was furiously scribbling down on the notepad that you had provided her. At this point she was about halfway down the page.

Your silence caused Dohae to look up at you, her eyes wide.

“Yes? Don’t stop- This is incredible,” Dohae whispered. You rolled your eyes, resting your cheek lazily on your head once again.

“Dohae, you’re supposed to write it yourself,” you mumbled. “It means nothing if it doesn’t come from a genuine place.” “But it does come from a genuine place!” Dohae protested. “I genuinely like him! And I genuinely want to write him a love letter! And I am genuinely writing the letter.” You took a deep sigh and looked away from Dohae, your eyes lazily falling on the world outside of you.

You didn’t tend to wake up and go out this early in the day. If you were up this early in the morning it would be because you were at dance practice- not because you were out getting coffee with someone. It was interesting to see so many people outside, running to and fro. There were parents rushing their children to school, adults jogging down the street with their phones strapped to their arms, even teenagers walking around with their friends, their backpack charms swinging back and forth.

You sort of wished you were in bed at the moment.

You were startled out of your thoughts by Dohae touching your wrist gently with her soft fingers. Your eyes trailed over to her, and she gave you a doe-eyed expression, her bottom lip jutting out just so.

“Please.”

“I suppose this is just a long-winded way to tell you something that is pretty hard for me to say right out. It’s easier to just circle around those three words with metaphor after metaphor. You’re the wind on a windy day. The stars sparkling in the eyes of a hopeful child. You’re so grounded and yet so far out of reach.

Sometimes I forget that we are in the same field. It seems like you are in a completely different world then me... Do you understand what I am trying to say?”

You bite down on your lip unsurely, and as you did Dohae looked up at you.

“And?” She asked. You shrugged.

“Sign it,” you replied. Her mouth fell open and she leaned forward.

“What? We can’t just leave it there! You don’t even tell him that I love him,” she exclaimed. You snickered humorlessly.

“You can’t tell him right away,” you said dismissively. “Don’t you want to know what he says about the first letter before you tell him you love him?” Dohae leaned back, but she didn’t look very convinced so you continued with: “Besides, just tell him that you love him, and it will scare him away. He’s... Odd. He needs to be helped up the stairs, don’t just magically pop him at the top.” Dohae’s eyebrows were still scrunched together in frustration, but despite that she still scribbled down a signature for the letter.

“Is that it?”

You didn’t have Dohae do anything else with the letter. You told her to leave it in Jihoon’s studio, but to never mention it to him. Just to wait and see if he said anything. You weren’t really sure if that was a good idea- but what you did know, was that this was as far as you had ever gone with anyone, so the rest was sort of up in the air.

You would assume that someone as beautiful as Dohae would have plently of experience in this sort of thing but judging from the way her hands shook as she fingered the edge of the envelope, you assumed that maybe she had been more on the end of rejecting people then giving out love letters.

You had honestly sort of expected Dohae to grow bored of everything as well. You didn’t think she was the kind of person to spend her time pining over someone- you thought she would have moved on rather quickly. You also honestly hadn’t really thought that Jihoon would write back a love letter. Or even approach Dohae about anything.

Just in case you had reminded Dohae to text you if anything happened, but the urgent text message to meet her at a park one day had surprised you nonetheless.

“He wrote back.” The words echoed through your brain in a way that didn’t click at first, but Dohae didn’t not even seem to notice. She dug the crisp white envelope from her purse and shoved it into your hands.

“I can’t read it- you have to do it, you just have to-”

You didn’t want to read it either. You didn’t think you could manage to see the words that Jihoon was sure to say. Criticism for the lack of creativity? A formal rejection of your- well Dohae’s feelings?

Honestly you didn’t think you would be able to handle it. And you weren’t sure what you would tell Dohae if that was the truth.

However, even so, you slid out the small piece of folded paper.

Dear Dohae,

A love letter? It’s interesting that you chose to approach your feelings in such a manner. Don’t you think it’s a little cliché? Redundant? I’m like the sun, huh? Can’t say I’ve personally heard that before, but I know it’s been said. Such an interesting comparison to make. Seems flawed.

Why am I like the sun? Because I shine so brightly? Because I am the light of your life?

I’ve always imagined myself to be more like the moon. Can you figure out why?

Sincerely, Jihoon

“What? What does it say?” Dohae asked eagerly. You hummed, letting the letter fall to your side.

“He’s testing us,” you replied. You turned and dug into your own bag, grabbing out that same notepad, and shoving into Dohae’s hands. “Write this:

Are you really so old that you can’t comprehend the small beauty in writing a love letter? The excitement at receiving an envelope and knowing that it contains sweet nothings about you from someone who holds you dear to your heart. You may have fooled others but I know that you are a romantic at heart. You wouldn’t have written back if that weren’t true. So I won’t be too dissuaded by your words.

You know that is one of the reasons I fell in love with you-”

“How did you know that!”

You jumped, almost having forgotten that Dohae was even there.

“Wh-what?”

“How did you know that one of the reasons that I fell for Jihoon was because of his words. The way he choses his lyrics- I'm jealous of the way he can write,” Dohae gushed. She paused, tapping the pencil lightly against her leg. “You know what- You're like that too.”

You were at a loss for words, amazed.

“Uh... Lucky guess,” you murmured. “Don’t interrupt me.”

And the comparision to the sun isn’t anything so basic. It’s because of a quote from David Viscott. “To love and be loved is to feel the sun from both sides.” I feel love for you, as do fans and your family and your friends. Therefore you are loved. I want to be loved by you, and you do love a lot. In that way I hope to feel your light from both sides- not just the one. At the moment one of my sides is very cold.

However, I am not completely clueless to the moon comparison you speak of. You are obviously like the moon in many practical senses- You thrive in the nighttime, and are not seen for who you are by most. But there are a select few who see you in your true light- the moonlight that you shine so brightly- and admire you for who you are. That’s why you like the comparison to the moon better. Everyone compares people to the sun. No one compares them to the moon.

So then my moon, was my answer acceptable?

Love, Dohae

“Wow,” Dohae said as soon as she wrote the last word. “Wow, how are you so good at this?”

You turned to blankly stare at her, but she didn’t mind. She just grinned.

“No way he won’t fall for me with these letters this is amazing!”

“We’ll see,” you mumbled, trying to remind yourself not to get your hopes up. “When he writes back we’ll see.”

When Jihoon wrote back next you met Dohae at a small coffee shop down the street from Pledis. Dohae had insisted you two meet at Pledis, but you informed her that probably wasn’t the best idea. You two didn’t need to be caught doing this.

Dear Dohae,

I don’t ever think I’ve met anyone brave enough to call me a romantic at heart to my face. Well... As to my face as it gets with you I suppose- Odd by the way that you would chose to write me letters instead of just talking to me- I stand by that assertion. However I will relent to you that I do enjoy the back and forth of love letter writing... It’s easier to say how you feel in a written letter that you can edit.

I had never heard that quote by David Viscott, but your interpretation was... Very interesting. Taken into account, rest assured, however I don’t think I am the one meant to warm you. Before these letters I would simply say that we are too different.

But that comparison of myself to the moon... You passed the test Dohae. You truly do have a flair for words. I didn’t give you enough credit before.

Tell me another quote that makes you think about me. I love to read what you have to say. Each word is so carefully chosen, it makes me feel.... A different kind of special then I have ever felt before.

Sincerely, Jihoon

You couldn’t believe it.

You two had passed. Somehow you had managed to decipher Jihoon’s code and pass his test. You didn’t know how you did it? Jihoon was a hard egg to crack. He was complicated- More complicated than anyone that you had ever spoken to before in your life.

Most people were easy to figure out, but with Jihoon it had taken you a while.

Maybe your feelings for him clouded your judgement and made it harder to analyze him, and maybe it was just because he was the sort of person that was very guarded. Too quiet around people that he was close to and not close to for you to figure out if his entire persona was fake or not. After all, you couldn’t say what was true for him or not when you didn’t actually know him.

And who exactly was “him” when he was constantly in the spotlight. Only he could really know. All that you could do was ponder until he spoke your ponderings into truth.

And yet, you had never imagined being right.

“I don’t get it,” Dohae mumbled. You looked up at her, almost haven forgotten that she was there at all. Her face was flush red from the cold and it made you sigh to look at. You picked up your cup of hot coffee, and took a sip of it. When she saw she quickly took a sip of her own warm beverage.

“We passed the test,” you replied. “Now he’s trying to see our skills.”

“Our skills?”

“He wants to know what we can do for him,” you replied, tapping your index finger to the corner of your lip. “If he were to date us if we would be able to do much for him. Do we meet his romantic intellect?”

“Romantic intellect?” Dohae asked.

“Are we a William Shakespeare or a Donald Trump... For lack of a better comparison,” you explained. “If we aren’t romantic enough for him, he won’t want anything to do with us. He is a romantic creature at heart. Anyone who loves love wants to be loved in same sort of way as their wildest dreams portray.”

“Oh.”

“Write what I say okay?”

Dohae nodded and picked up her pencil and paper.

“I love you because no two snowflakes are alike, and it is possible, if you stand tippy-toe, to walk between the raindrops.” -Nick Giovanni.

You Lee Jihoon are the winter. Born on the day of the first snow. A snow prince- If I will. In so many ways you are this amazing, unique persona. The actual personification of a snowflake- If I may. You are so delicate to the touch. Not as in I actually fear physically breaking you, but I fear losing you. I fear that the wrong words or actions will shatter our relationship in such a way as someone may destroy a snowflake.

However, what I fear more than that is the inevitability of such a thing. Snowflakes don’t last forever. I am no fool. If our relationship is that fragile, are we doomed to never reach the snow? Become a part of something that lasts so much longer.

I would like to last a very long time in your presence Lee Jihoon.

Love, Dohae.

This time, your answer from Jihoon came quickly. The same day even. You were surprised to see Dohae again so soon, but... Not disappointed.

Dear Dohae,

If I am a snow prince... A snowflake, the night. Everything cold and dark then I suppose, my dear Dohae, that makes you the sun doesn’t it? You are bright in your letters. Very pointed and honest. Each phrase and word is well-imagined, and you don’t stray a moment from your thoughts like you seem to sometimes in real-life.

For some reason I imagine you differently from your letters in reality. I imagine your smile is blinding, your eyes, when met with mine, would melt my heart. That holding your hand could possibly be the sort of venture that I ought to deal with. Imagine that, holding you close to me on a cold winter’s night. My warmth protecting you from the chill in the air.

Why does that suddenly sound so alluring to me?

Love, Jihoon

“What’s he doing this time?” Dohae asked in awe. “What’s the test? What do we have to do?”

You stared at the paper in your hands in complete silence for a few moments and then- finally- set it down, Jihoon’s words fresh in your mind.

“There is no test this time,” you replied. “He is complimenting us.”

With each letter that Jihoon wrote and sent to you two came a new challenge. Every word that he wrote was deliberate and was something that took surprisingly little deciphering from you to piece together.

You couldn’t help but get lost in the words that you two wrote, and the fun you had while pressed closed to Dohae in the oddest of places, to the point where when she invited you over to Pledis one day to hang out, you... Didn’t say no.

You had very few friends like Dohae. You knew the only reason that you two were even close at all was because of writing letters to Jihoon. Dohae was pretty, and talented, and had a sort of blind optimistic look on the world.

Of course, such an observation wasn’t to be misconstrued- You too were talented and optimistic, but you were a tad more practical than Dohae. Always able to decipher what was realistically achievable (and always trying to calculate it).

“Sang Goo?”

You froze in your tracks, your eyes screwing shut in complete and utter disbelief.

You had been so careful.

You had checked Seventeen’s scheduled- made Dohae meet with you outside of Pledis for weeks just to avoid this exact thing. And yet, here you were, in the exact situation you hadn’t wanted to be in.

“Jihoon!” You turned to him a flashed him a bright smile, one that made his expression change rather suddenly. He went from looking at you in confusion, to complete and utter awe. Like he was suddenly seeing you in a whole new light. Like something he had been entertaining for some time about yo was suddenly clicked into place.

“My friend of a peculiar name,” Jihoon stated with a small shake of his head. The sentence itself sent a shiver through you, and not because of his rather accurate speculations on the sincerity of your name, but because of the part that started it. My friend. Were you and Jihoon friends?

You didn’t really think you could be. After all you had barely interacted, and the time you had it had mostly been Jihoon being suspicious of your intentions and presence at Pledis. Honestly it kind of scared you how completely perceptive he was. It was like he always one step ahead of you and like he always saw right through your every lie.

But that wasn’t possible.

Was it? “I keep telling you, Sang Goo is a perfectly normal name,” you responded with a wave of yor hands. “Besides, my parents were the one’s who fortunately named me it. Not me.”

Jihoon didn’t look like he wanted to contine speaking on the reality of your name, which you were certainly relieved by. You didn’t want to have to keep lying about it anyways.

“What are you doing at Pledis, Kiltthewhale?” Jihoon asked. You smiled at being called the name of your company, and shrugged.

“Actually, came by to see Dohae,” you replied. “I hope that’s okay.”

Jihoon rose an eyebrow at you curiously.

“Are you and Dohae friends?” He asked.

The speculation in his tone of voice made you shift uncomfortably. If you told Jihoon that you were friends with Dohae he had reason to believe you were helping her write the letters for him. However, such an outcome was extremely unlikely.

Dohae said that Jihoon and her hadn’t yet spent any time alone together. Which was good because you weren’t sure what would happen when they did when Dohae couldn’t really handle that at this point in time. Maybe with other people but certainly not alone,

Your answer here had to be precise. Not an avoiding answer, but not too direct of an answer. You couldn’t give him any reason to suspect that you were maybe not what he was expecting.

“Maybe,” you replied. “I don’t know yet. If you and I are friends, I suppose Dohae and I must be too. We’ve spent a deal of time talking recently.”

“Oh,” Jihoon replied. He turned away from you for a moment, and then, almost as quickly as he turned away he looked back at you. “What do you mean if you and I are friends?”

Perfect. Distract him from his initial question with a prosing of your own.

“How can we be friends? We’ve hardly interacted,” you replied pointedly. Jihoon huffed.

“How can we not be friends? I complimented your singing voice. Do you know how often I do that?” You did know that it couldn’t be often that Jihoon complimented someone’s singing voice, but you didn’t say that. You didn’t want to let off that you knew too much. Instead you looked forward and spotted Dohae in the hallway looking at her phone.

“Dohae!”

God, she looked absolutely stunning.

She had on a white crop top, and black pants. It looked like she had just gotten done filming something, as she also had big combat boots on that made her look even taller then she already was. The crop top of course brought attention to her slim figure, and it was all topped off by her full, long dark hair, and the glimpse of her signature large hoop earrings hidden in the mop of hair.

Dohae smiled at you and waved brightly.

“Goo! Oppa!” She greeted, simply waving at you but bowing for Jihoon. “Good to see you!” Jihoon’s eyebrows furrowed, when he watched the action.

“If you’ve dropped the formalities with Goo, drop the formalities with me too,” Jihoon said gruffly. “Aren’t we all friends.”

The look on Dohae’s face as she looked up at Jihoon was utterly priceless.

“We are?”

Jihoon looked frustrated by the answer but didn’t voice so. Instead he walked away without another word. Dohae turned to you and gave you a confused expression.

“Did I say something wrong?” She asked you. You shrugged.

“Apparently we both did.”

When you finally got home that night, all you wanted to do was sleep. The last thing on your mind was Dohae and Jihoon. No, instead you thought of your company, and your bed, and talking to Kyuhyun about a song idea you had.

So the next day when you were hard at work with your own things, you were surprised to feel your phone buzzing in your pocket.

You looked down at it, and saw that the caller id was none other then Dohae. Another oddity.

Either way, you picked up the phone, pressing it to your ear.

“Hello?”

“Sang Goo you have to come over right now.”

Dohae’s voice was muffled over the phone, but her tone was urgent. You shifted your phone in your hand, and frowned.

“Is everything okay?”

“Long story- But Jihoon and I have to clean together... Alone. You have to come help me!”

“But Dohae-”

“Goo! I can’t be alone with him, please, please, please!”

You sighed, supposing you didn’t relaly have another choice.

You got to Pledis as fast as you could and found Dohae and Jihoon in the practice room. Dohae was sweeping while Jihoon was wiping down a mirror. You smiled in silent greeting to them as you walked in, noting that Jihoon looked surprised to see you.

“Mind if I join?”

Jihoon smiled at you, from the reflection in the mirror.

“Only if you are willing to work.”

You were honestly quite surprised by how well Jihoon, Dohae, and you all worked together. You all three complimented each other well, basically not having to communicate much at all to figure out what exactly you needed to do next.

But even though you didn’t have to communicate you guys did.

It started out with Dohae humming a Bruno Mars song under her breath. Jihoon quickly picked it up, singing the vocals softly, and they both dragged you in by the time they hit the chorus until you were all three singing the song loudly in the practice room.

It was honestly, some of the most fun you had had in a while.

“Oh my god! Brilliant idea guys! Let’s all hang out tomorrow!” Dohae exclaimed shrilly. You looked at her- about to tell her how stupid of an idea that was when she came over to you, grabbed your arm, and squealed. “Come on it’ll be fun!”

“I’m okay with that,” Jihoon said with a shrug. “You two can help me produce.”

Despite how much of a dream it truly was of yours to watch Jihoon produce, you knew that hanging out all three of them completely defeated the point in trying to get Dohae with Jihoon.

You also noted that the more time you spent with Jihoon the more that you desperately wanted to be the object of his affections. The one that he looked at so curiously when he thought Dohae wasn’t looking. The person that he really cared for.

You remembered why you had fallen in love with him and you still wanted him to fall in love with you, not Dohae.

“I can’t I’m busy,” you stated. It wasn’t an entire lie. You were busy. Just... Not all day.

You looked down to the ground when Jihoon turned his gaze on you.

“Your busy during the whole day?” He asked. See what you meant? It was like he read your mind.

“Yeah! Come on Goo, it won’t be the same without you there!” Dohae insisted.

“I’m not going,” you said finally. “That’s final.”

“Glad you could make it.”

You sent Jihoon a glare as you set your bag down on the floor, completely ignoring the innocent look he sent right back to you.

“Thrilled to be here right after a long day of Kyuhyun beating my ass over and over again with practice,” you mumbled. Jihoon let out a shocked laugh at your dark tone of voice.

“Never expected someone so sunny to be so negative.”

The comparison made you hesitate. It reminded you a little bit too much of his letter but that didn’t make sense. You had been very careful in your words, there was no reason for him to suspect you had any hand in them. So, you let that play to your advantage, and sent him a puzzled look.

“If anyone is sunny, it’s Dohae,” you stated. “Haven’t you seen this girl smile?”

It was true, at least. Dohae’s smile was sunny.

Jihoon acknowledged the comment with a nod, and let the conversation pass, but you couldn’t help the sick feeling in your gut that said you needed to be much more careful, in the time to come.

Jihoon quickly got settled with his music, and Dohae was quick to sit next to him. She chattered away about this and that while Jihoon worked, stopping when he told her to so that he could focus for a few minutes before continuing.

Honestly, they got along quite well.

You hadn’t not ed it really before, but they really were a good match. If nothing else, Dohae and him were compatible. That was a bit relieving to you. If it were to come to it and Jihoon picked her, then at least it was a good relationship.

And despite how odd it truly was to be with a girl trainee you hardly knew, and the idol that you had so long fantasized over it was nice, honestly, being close like this to Dohae and Jihoon.

Part 3

#b: ‘Cause you’re my happiness #Woozi #Seventeen #Woozi Seventeen #Seventeen Kpop #Kpop Seventeen #Svt Kpop #Svt Woozi #Woozi AU #Woozi Fanfiction #Woozi Fanfic #Lee Jihoon AU #Lee Jihoon Fanfiction #Lee Jihoon Fanfic

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ashintheairlikesnow · 4 years

Text

Trust: Jake

CW: References to violence, beating, blood, noncon/dubcon, domestic abuse, child abuse, and all the other gross that goes along with the Box Boy universe

The final installment of this mini-narrative I’ve been working on where Jake and Chris took over my brain. I’m going to take a writing break for a couple of days and hopefully will start posting again on Monday! See my other BBU writings here.

Tagging @burtlederp, @finder-of-rings, @endless-whump, @whumpfigure, @stxckfxck, @slaintetowhump

This piece features @deluxewhump‘s Alex, from her Frathouse Box Boy series - highly recommended reading! Alex is used with permission.

His fucking mugshot is all over the place.

Jake only barely remembers that part - it’d been on the second day, maybe, after he’d already been beaten and shocked and awake for nearly twenty-four hours. He has a vague knowledge of standing in front of lights, the sound of a camera, being made to turn. That knowledge comes alongside the memory of a pounding in his head, his knee, of zip-tied wrists dripping blood on the floor while the two men in front of him joked about something on TV the past weekend.

He’d forgotten it as soon as it was over - there were worse things going on in his life than having a photo taken of his black eye and busted-up face - but when he came back to school two weeks later, Jake discovered that just about everyone he spoke to had seen his mugshot on the local news website, with Public Intoxication, Criminal Assault, and Resisting Arrest listed as his charges.

It doesn’t matter that only one of those charges is real. It doesn’t matter that it’s not going to stick, and Nat has already told him that the lawyer who works with the safehouse pro bono is fairly certain they’ll drop the charge since no one can prove Jake resisted anything and the ‘cop’ in question is nowhere to be found.

It doesn’t matter, not any of it, because by the time all of that goes away - by the time he’s healed up enough to go back to class, and Chris has stopped panicking at the idea of him leaving the house, Jake is already known as the guy who got arrested for a drunk barfight after punching a cop.

He doesn’t bother telling anyone what actually happened. He doesn’t care enough about any of these people to try and change their minds about him.

He doesn’t know who he can trust with the knowledge, either. No matter that the guys had given he and Nat two different stories on how they’d been found out, and it’s possible neither one is totally true, Jake is pretty sure it had to be someone on campus.

He goes early on Tuesday, feeling like shit but kind of wanting a break from Chris’s nervous clinging, just… just for a while. He’s done more comforting and caring for Chris than taking care of himself, and it feels good to be back home - and it is home, isn’t it? At some point it became his real home - but he could use the space to just breathe, and feel sorry for himself.

He hasn't spoken to Addie since the night before the raid. Just texted after he got back to let her know an emergency had come up and they'd talk again when he could.

It’s not fair to her, but on the list of things that changed right before he got turned in… meeting Addie is the only big one.

The idea that he got turned in by his fucking girlfriend seems so fucked-up and cliché and weirdly old-fashioned, somehow, that he refuses to think too hard about it. But… if it was her… if she would have sent Chris back to that motherfucker… he has to know.

He’s staring off into space over a cappuccino in the student center coffee shop when movement in front of him catches his eye.

“Um. Hey.”

Jake takes a deep breath at the familiar voice, raising his eyes to see… the frat guy. Alex Something-Something. The one that came and asked him about ways to get a Box Boy to pass because he wanted to take his frat’s human mascot or whatever out in public without people knowing what he was.

The guy looks half-awake, a coffee in one hand and the other resting on the strap of the backpack hanging off one shoulder, wearing a big hooded pullover with his frat’s symbol on the front and blue jeans.

Jake stares up at him, and thinks, you fucking bought one. A bit of anger twists in his chest, but Jake’s too fucking tired to hold onto it. His frat had bought a person, sure, but he couldn’t stay mad at someone who had really been trying to learn. Jake had messages on his phone from some friends who said there was a frat guy kind of nosing around for more info while he was gone, maybe going to join the movement.

It wasn’t fair to judge him by what he’d allowed to happen if he was going to try and do something about it now. What matters is that you leave, he reminds himself, thinking of his mother and Nat and the conversations he’s had, again and again, with people who had to fight between standing still and putting themselves at risk, even in small ways. What matters is that you choose, once or twice or four times or however many times it takes, not to watch it happen again.

He couldn’t hold on to anger when he saw the signs of someone wanting to change. He was too exhausted, carrying too great a weight on his own, and too scared that his one attempt to open up and meet someone had resulted in putting the lives of Antoni and Leila and Chris at risk.

He’d been the one having nightmares, the house turned upside down again and Chris dragged into the middle of the living room, a knee jammed in his back, screaming and screaming for help that Jake couldn’t give because his fucking girlfriend held him down.

If it had been Addie all along, Jake would never date again. He honestly feels like the stupidest asshole on earth for having taken the risk at all. He needs to call her again, he needs to set up a meeting or some kind of dinner date or something. He needs to tell her that he’s scared.

Instead, he’s here way too early on a Tuesday morning, trying to figure out how scared he gets before he’s brave enough to take the risk of letting someone new in.

“Hey,” He says, buying himself a little time to think by taking a sip from his cappuccino, ruining the little heart the barista had drawn into the foam. “You’re on campus early. No house party last night?”

The guy gives him a weird look - like he’s looking for the insult and isn’t sure if he’s found it or not. “Last night was Monday.”

“Since when does that stop a frat house?”

There’s a pause, and the guy quirks kind of a half-sided smile, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, okay, fair enough. Some of the other guys had a couple people over to play COD, so I guess technically you’re right. Don’t be a dick about it, though, okay?”

“Sorry,” Jake says, and honestly, he kind of means it. This Alex guy’s pretty nice, and the longer he’s thought about it the more Jake is certain that he definitely isn’t the one who turned them in. Even if he’d been kind of complacent in stuff, he just… isn’t that kind of person. Jake can tell, deep in himself, that he’s not. “Sorry. I’m kind of an asshole, I probably should have warned you.”

“You, uh. You did, Jake.”

Jake raises his eyebrows, surprised the frat guy remembered his name at all. “I did?”

“Yeah, like… the first time we ever spoke, man. It was maybe the third thing you even said to me, that you’re an asshole about, uh… the stuff. You know. That we talked about.”

“Oh.” Jake clears his throat. His voice was back to normal - the first week it’d been hoarse, the screaming had turned the inside of his throat into raw meat, barely able to swallow the warm tea that Antoni brewed in massive amounts with plenty of honey. He’d made soup with carrots and ginger and some kind of yogurt and Jake had had to insist Chris not try to feed him like his hands were broken, not just bruised. “Sorry. I’ve had, um. It’s been a weird couple of weeks.”

“Yeah, I heard about that.”

Jake’s eyes narrow as the guy sits down in the chair across from him, sipping his coffee, gripping onto the cup nervously. “Did you?”

“Uh. Yeah. The, um… you know, someone I knew showed me… your, uh. We were talking about it in class last week.”

Jake closes his eyes, slowly. Even after two weeks of rest, it’s hard to open them again. “Of course you were.”

“I mean… man, it’s not every week someone who sits three rows down gets arrested for fighting cops.”

“I wasn’t-” Jake cuts himself off, his hands tightening around the cappuccino. “Never mind.”

“Nah, man, I’m teasing you. Look, I was going to hit up the library before, um, before our Ethics class.”

Jake snorts. One possibility - the handler had told him it was the Ethics in Political Philosophy professor who turned them in. Could be him. Could be the landscaping company guy down the street, like they’d told Nat. Could be Addie. Could be the fucking yoga instructor who smiled at Chris and complimented his fucking posture, could be-

He catches his thoughts before they can take off, drag him down into depression again.

“I’m about to go beg for mercy before that class,” Jake says, dryly, and watches Alex smile in response. “Since I missed, what, four classes. And he’s not exactly known for being nice about that shit. Can’t exactly say my grandma died when the whole fucking campus has seen my face all bashed up, huh?”

“Oh. Uh, well. You don’t… actually, that’s why I’m glad I saw you so early.” Alex sets his coffee down - he’s been sipping it steadily - and reaches over to unzip the backpack currently sitting at his feet, digging around inside of it. “I figured I’d catch you before class started, but this is better. Um.”

“Why? You want to help me beg?”

It’s Alex’s turn to snort. “No thanks. I try not to ever look him in the eyes, let alone ask him for anything. No, I wanted to talk to you because… here.” He pulls out a stack of papers more than an inch thick and sets them on the little table between them.

Jake blinks, and looks down. “What is this? Is this the shit I gave you? You’re… giving it back?”

“Fuck, no. No way, man. I… no. I want to keep those. This is, uh, this is two weeks of notes.” Alex pats the top of the paper like a car salesman patting the hood of a car, grinning at him with kind of absurd, sweet pride in his eyes. “I talked my adviser into printing me a list of your classes, found some people I knew in them, and, uh. Here we go. That’s notes for every single one of your classes for the past two weeks, plus copies of the assignments.” Alex pauses, then pats the pile of papers again. “Man, you are taking way too many classes.”

“Yeah, well. I have a lot of shit to do on all the other days, I kind of have to load them…” Jake leans forward, barely able to believe it as he picks up the stack and flips through it. Different handwriting and little encouraging notes in the margins, copied assignment papers. He just… keeps blinking at it.

“Yeah, I, uh. I know. I talked to some people when, you know… when it came out about the, um. Your face.” Alex waves his hand around, as if emphasizing his own absolute lack of injury.

“Who’d you talk to?” Jake is still staring at the notes, feeling and unfamiliar flutter of something like… like real gratitude. He tells himself to say thank you, and for just a second, the words stick in his throat.

It’s been Jake and Nat versus the world for so long, it’s hard to believe the world just expanded to include a whole new person he barely knows.

“Some people. You know. That, uh. Know you. I… I know it wasn’t a barfight, Jake.”

Jake’s fingers grip tightly onto the papers, and he raises his eyes to meet Alex’s sincere expression of real concern. “You do?”

“Yeah. I, uh. I had no idea shit like that even happens now… we never heard anything on the news-”

“Yeah, and you won’t.” Jake thinks of the Governor standing in the corner, hidden behind glass and shadows, laughing as they hit Chris across the hands to stop him from tapping, hit him again and again and again, the awful soundtrack of his cries layered over the top of that fucking pervert’s laughter. He’s going to fucking kill that man one day.

“Uh, Alex, I just-... you didn’t have to do this, man, that’s… really cool of you. Thanks.” He has to force out the word, but he wants to, he wants to say it. He never expected this.

He’s spent so much of his life insisting he doesn’t need charity, he doesn’t need help, and his mom will get on just fine, thanks. No, those bruises aren’t because of things at home. No, he doesn’t need to talk to the guidance counselor, no, no, no no no-... but here it’s just been done, the mercy, the kindness. None of that bullshit how are you? with the overly exaggerated concern and sadness. Alex just… helped. It throws Jake off-kilter, the same way learning how every single neighbor they had had come together to care for Chris while they were gone throws him off-kilter. “How’d you get everyone to take notes?”

Alex shrugs, drinking his coffee again, supremely pleased with himself. “I just asked, Jake. You can get a lot of stuff just by being nice to people, you know.”

What if we had told the neighbors what we were before the raid? Would they have helped us?

“I wouldn’t know. You just… asked? God, no wonder you’re Poli Sci. You’re gonna make a hell of a politician one day.”

Alex’s smile, if anything, widens. “Yeah, I hope so. Maybe I can do something about this shit, then.” At Jake’s surprised expression, he rolls his eyes. “I read your stuff, Jake. I read every single page. I’m kind of in it, now, sort of. It’s hard to know it and not, uh, think about it. So, can I ask-... your cousin, the one that you brought to class for a while-”

“Yeah.” Jake takes a chance. He takes a risk. He goes stepping voluntarily off a cliff, maybe taking Chris along with him. Somehow, though, he can’t stop himself. He’s tired of feeling alone when he’s here. He’s kind of just tired of feeling alone. “He’s a rescue.”

“Is he a… you know.” Alex’s face darkens, and he clears his throat, looking almost ashamed of himself just for saying the words. “A, uh. Where they… refurbish them? I wish I knew a better word for it.”

“There aren’t any better words for when they pull that shit on people. And… No. He’s not.”

“Oh, okay. Um. What, uh, what kind was he-... I was reading about the different, uh, kinds-”

“I don’t want to talk about that.”

Alex nods, slowly, looks down at his coffee, looks back up. “Sorry. How old is he?”

Jake’s jaw tightens - not at Alex, but at the memory of the boy in the video, shaking and terrified, whimpering I’m eighteen to a room full of adults who all knew he wasn’t. “I don’t know.”

“He looks really young.”

“He is. I don’t know how young. Alex, if you… if you tell someone about this shit, about him, they’ll take him away and send him right back. You get it?”

“Yeah. I get it. Except… d’you mind if I tell, uh, my, um… our… my friend? That I talked to you about before? If it comes up that getting, uh, rescued is a, uh, a thing? That, that maybe… I don’t know, maybe he could… go home with somebody. Have a home, like that kid has with you.”

“The kid’s name is Chris,” Jake says, quietly. “He picked his name himself. There’s a couple more where we live. When they’re ready, they move out, and they start new lives. Chris, it’ll take him a while.” If ever. “Look, I, um, this was… was amazing, what you did, getting all those notes put together. I don’t know how to thank you for it, really, saying ‘thanks’ just feels like it doesn’t really cut it, you know?”

Alex nods, finishing his coffee up and setting the empty cup down on the table, decisively. “It’s no problem, man. I get it. I’m just, uh. I’m just glad everything worked out.”

Did it? Is that what happened?

“Me, too,” Jake says, aware of how heavy his voice sounds, how false the sentiment. “Look, I, uh, I can’t bring Chris on campus anymore. There’s a possibility we were… found out… because of that.” His voice catches in his throat, but Jake pushes down the guilt. He has time for that later. “So… you won’t see him anymore.”

Alex is silent, for a long moment. Then he says, almost hesitantly, “What about meetings?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“What if I… go to meetings? Do the, um. The… you called them ‘rescues’? Do they go to meetings? If I go to them, if I start, uh, going to them… would I see any? Be able to talk to them? Or…”

“Yeah. Rescues go, sometimes. They give talks about their lives, and everything. Antoni - sorry, I have a, uh, there’s one I live with right now named Antoni - he’s given talks on his life as a Domestic before. I don’t know about Chris, though, he, um... Chris struggles with-”

Chris would go into dark corners with anyone who smiled and touched his face and I don’t always trust the very people who are risking themselves to help us. Not with him. Not when he’s so easy to hurt, and easier to convince that you didn’t.

“That’s okay,” Alex says quickly. “It was just. He seems like a cool kid, I saw you guys over at the yoga class a couple times.”

Finally, Jake’s smile is genuine and real. He thinks of the mussed-up strawberry blond hair spread across the pillow when he woke up this morning, Chris mumbling to himself and shifting into the warm spot Jake’s body had made when he got out of bed. One arm flinging out to search for human contact. How young and soft and sweet he looked, in that moment, like a kid ignoring his alarm clock.

He should be in high school right now.

“He is,” Jake says, gathering up the papers from Alex, finishing his cooled cappuccino in a few quick drinks, setting it back down empty. He sticks the papers in his own bag. “He’s fucking amazing, Alex. He’s been through so much-... they’re all… they’re all fucking amazing. Do you get that? They’ve survived so much bullshit and they come out the other side and they still want to figure it out and get better. They’re amazing.”

“Yeah,” Alex says, softly. There’s a weird look on his face, one Jake can’t quite read. “Yeah, you know… they are.”

“You want to meet Chris sometime,” Jake says, pushing his chair back and standing up, pulling his backpack on over his shoulders. “You let me know. I think… I think I’d let him talk to you. Just… don’t hug him too much.”

“Does he not like that?” Alex looks up at him without standing up yet. “Ours, um, my-... the guy that lives with us… he really likes being touched. And it seems like, when Chris was coming with you…”

“No, he likes it. But he wouldn’t-... he can’t tell what kind of affection is safe, yet.” It’s as close as Jake’s going to get to explaining what Chris has been through, at least here and now. He catches someone pointing at him out of the corner of his eye and sighs.

“No, ours. Uh. Ours can’t either, exactly.” Anger flashes on Alex’s face, distant and thoughtful, and then he just shrugs. “Look, just. I hope those papers help you, man. From what Meghan said, your place was basically trash from top to bottom. I guess she talked to some people who talked to your, uh, your boss or whatever.”

Jake and Nat still haven’t talked, not really. Two weeks later and they’re still drifting past each other, tense and uncertain, each waiting for the other to be the first to bring it up. He feels his shoulder hunch slightly at the mention of her. “Yeah. It was. They left-... You know what, I don’t, um. I don’t want to talk about it. Yeah? Is that okay?”

“Yeah, man, that’s fine. Not a problem. But… if you need help again, will you, uh. Text me or something?” Alex takes a deep breath, meets Jake’s eyes, his jaw set and the open, friendly face set in an expression of stubborn determination. “I want… I want to help you.”

Alex, Jake realizes, is also walking off a cliff, hoping there’s something other than rocks at the bottom. He’s also taking a risk. He’s got his own future, and he probably never saw it including this.

“What are you, um, able to do?” Jake asks, and there’s more to his words than just the surface. A depth he knows Alex can hear. What are you willing to do?

Alex shrugs, standing up finally, giving him that bright handsome smile, politician-to-be through and through. Jake almost wants to shake his hand and the guy’s younger than he is. “Don’t know yet. But, hey, sometimes all you have to do is ask, right? Sometimes it’s just about, like, trusting people not to be utter shits for five seconds.” He moves past Jake, walking away, and calls over his shoulders, “Next time, Jake, trust me, okay? If you need help, just ask.”

He leaves, sliding out through the set of double-doors that leads in from outside, and Jake just stands there, watching him go.

Just ask.

Easy for him to say.

Harder, so much harder, for Jake to do.

He picks up his phone, staring after Alex’s backpack until it disappears into the morning, until he turns a corner down the walkway, behind a stand of trees, and is gone.

Jake hasn’t trusted anyone who isn’t a rescue since he was a little kid. No one has ever been someone he could rely on. It’s never, not once in his life, been safe to trust the people who told him to trust them. Right from the start, the people who were supposed to give him a solid foundation had been the quicksand dragging him down.

Jake dials a number and holds his phone up to his ear. After a second, Addie’s warm voice picks up, blurry with sleep. “Jake? Hey, I haven’t… you haven’t called me in a couple of weeks, are you-... what’s up? Did you get your emergency thing sorted?”

Jake swallows, hard. “Can I… can I meet you for lunch during my long break today? I have something to ask you.”

Was it you?

“Yeah… yeah, sure. I missed you, Jake.”

If it wasn’t, can I trust you to know?

“I missed you, too, Addie. A lot happened, and I just-”

“Yeah, I saw the mugshot, it’s all over campus… are you okay?”

Can I trust you to protect the rescues?

“I’m fine. Now. But, uh. There’s kind of more to it than that… I’ll tell you at lunch. Vegetarian wraps at 1:30, that sound okay? I’m buying.”

There’s a pause, and a smile in Addie’s voice. “Of course it’s okay. I can’t wait to see you.”

Can I trust you to protect Chris?

Jake hangs up, heading out himself, to look over the notes before his first class starts. Alex’s words ringing in his ears, a weight against his back. He’s never going to forgive himself for letting a fucking frat guy be more self-aware than he is.

If you need help, just ask.

Trust people.

Ask.

#whump #trauma recovery #recovering whumpee #angry caretaker #defiant caretaker #defiant whumpee #tw: police brutality (mentioned)#references to child abuse #references to domestic abuse #referenced noncon/dubcon #referenced #conditioning #bbu #box boy #box boy universe #jake the shelter guy #featuring deluxewhump's alex

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emachinescat · 3 years

Text

Murdoc + Ithika + Mac

A MacGyver Fan-Fiction

by @emachinescat

@febuwhump day 14 - “I didn’t mean it”

Summary: As an artist, Murdoc prides himself in taking his time with his work - he never loses control. Except one time, with his favorite boy genius. He always imagined that when he finally made MacGyver cry, it would be his finest moment. Now, he’s not so sure.

Characters: Murdoc, Mac, Jack

Words: 3,454

TW: torture, broken bones, Murdoc being his creepy little self

Note: Happy Valentine's Day – the store was all out of chocolate, so I got you Mac whump! ;) The allusions to Ithika are from Homer's epic by the same name, but even more so from the incredible poem by C.P. Cavafy. The muse mentioned, Melpomene, is the Muse of Tragedy.

Keep reading here, or on AO3!

If you enjoy, please consider liking, commenting, or re-blogging, and you can follow me for more content like this!

Ithika gave you the marvelous journey.

Without her you wouldn't have set out.

She has nothing left to give you now.

- From “Ithika” by C. P. Cavafy

Murdoc enjoyed taking his time.

He was an artist, after all, and artists didn’t slap together a masterpiece in an afternoon – not the ones worth anything, at least. Most spent days studying their subjects, becoming intimately familiar with every line and curve and element – the shading, the lighting, the vibrancy of the colors. The very best didn’t even consider touching brush to canvas until they had developed a personal relationship with their subject – for how can a true artist paint that which he does not know deeply? Why bother recreating that landscape or tea kettle or sad-eyed little girl or bowl of fruit if it could be any landscape, tea kettle, little girl, or bowl of fruit? Why would someone paint something that wasn’t theirs?

Murdoc knew his subject very well. He, like a true artist, had studied it in a variety of settings. He’d watched and learned, dug deep into the core of its being, drawn out every secret and motivation and loss and love. He understood what made his subject tick. He’d even done some brief sketches, practicing each brushstroke with care, waiting patiently for the day he could at last, intricately, evoke that muse sought by the Romantics, that evasive Melpomene, and breathe his masterpiece to life. Or, more accurately, to death.

And now, after years of watching, interacting, teasing, sketching, his time had finally come. Months of planning had been sunk into this particular endeavor. And now, unlike the first time he’d been introduced to his subject, he hadn’t been commissioned by anyone. This portrait was personal, deeply personal. He finally had his subject right where he wanted it. The canvas was bare and waiting for the artist’s touch. Murdoc had chosen his palette, mixed the colors – it might be cliche, but he was a sucker for red, black, and blue.

Now that his moment had finally arrived, however, it didn’t mean that he could rush through the actual creation process. The act of studying one’s subject matter was slow and deliberate. So must be the painting.

***

Murdoc studied his canvas slowly, methodically, unsurprised that it wasn’t exactly blank. MacGyver stood, hands chained above his head, attached to a grate above. His bare toes just reached the cold concrete below. His jacket and Henley had been removed – he shivered slightly from the chill of the basement. Murdoc liked to think it was from fear.

“Oooh, this one’s fun, MacGyver!” Murdoc crooned as the blonde boy wonder eyed him scornfully. It was quite entertaining how expressive his prey’s pretty blue eyes could be. Murdoc briefly brushed the tip of his little finger against the scar of a bullet wound on MacGyver’s chest. MacGyver jerked back from the touch, though his expression remained stoic.

“Jealous that you weren’t the one who did it, Murdoc?” He sounded confident enough, but Murdoc knew his subject quite well by now. MacGyver was shaken. For once, he had no control, nothing to work with, no way to escape. He was at his captor’s mercy – Murdoc could do whatever he wanted, and MacGyver knew that.

“Oh, it’s nothing compared with what I’ve got planned for you, Angus,” Murdoc simpered sweetly, circling his catch of the day, dark eyes darting across more scars and recent cuts and bruises. He pressed directly into the dark center of a boot-tip bruise on MacGyver’s side, relishing the sharp intake of breath it elicited. “Someone on your last mission in Volgograd left their mark, I see.”

He circled back around to face his victim, who did a subpar job of hiding his surprise at the observation. “That was highly classified. How did you–”

“I’ve been watching you for a very long time, MacGyver. But you had to have known I would. After all, you’re my closest friend, and I know where you live. It’s kind of silly that you never moved, but maybe you just figured I’d find you even if you did. I wonder – have you always tossed and turned in your sleep or is that a more recent development?”

True horror flashed momentarily in blue eyes, tugging Murdoc’s lips up into a satisfied smile. “Oh, yes, your nightmares are very entertaining. I do hope the majority of them are about me. Oh, oh, oh! And I especially love it when they’re so bad you have to call your watch dog to calm you down. I wonder how Dalton’s taking your disappearance, by the way? I’m sure he’s in for some nightmares of his own.”

“He’ll find me, if I don’t escape first.” MacGyver’s bravado was both highly endearing and incredibly tiresome. Same old, same old.

“Doubtful,” Murdoc purred. “I mean, I know you well enough not to make stupid mistakes, my friend.”

“I escaped from the sewers, and you’d drugged me.”

“I intended for you to escape that day. I needed to draw your friends in, to focus their attention on finding you while I attended to other business. But this time – you’re mine.” At the fervor in his words, a shudder entirely unrelated to cold clinked the chains restraining his victim. Murdoc smiled, then continued.

“But now, there is no ulterior motive. I grabbed you for no other reason than because I wanted to. You are hidden away quite well, even more securely than last time, I’m afraid. And you will not be left alone, not even for a second. There may be things in this room you could use to escape, but they’re useless to you in your position. And I am not going to take my eyes off of you. You won’t have a chance to wriggle your way out of this one, MacGyver. Ooooh, is that fear I see on your face? No? We really must change that.” He tutted. “Defiance and bravado really are your bread and butter, aren’t they, Angus? What are you, an action hero from a cheesy 1980s TV show?” Silence, though the fiery glare spoke more loudly than words.

Murdoc clapped his hands together. “Well, there’s no time like the present. What do you say, MacGyver? Let’s get started.”

***

Three hours later, Murdoc admired his work. It was a slow process. He painted with precision and care, layering the colors just so, balancing the strokes, the lights and darks and brights. His brushes were many – laid out on the table before him were knives and pliers and blow torches and hammers and whips and cattle prods and other more specialized tools that he liked to work up to. He also had an oversized meat tenderizer, made of steel. He rarely used it – too garish for his refined tastes – but it did look nice and scary looming over the other instruments.

So far, he’d only used his knives and the cattle prod. The masterpiece was starting to come together, but it was hardly complete. He prowled around his artwork. MacGyver’s trembling had increased. He gasped for breath as Murdoc appraised his work – burns and cuts, some deeper than others – made a nice foundation. The drip of blood across bare flesh outshone any Pollock painting. He’d practiced his blending techniques, jabbing the cattle prod directly into the center of the lovely bruise he’d noticed earlier. MacGyver hadn’t been able to hold in his yell of pain.

Music.

“Are you enjoying our time together?” Murdoc asked.

MacGyver uttered a creative string of curse words that made Murdoc proud. He whistled appreciatively. “Who knew the boy scout had that in him? I’m almost impressed.”

“Yeah, well,” MacGyver said, hissing as he shifted and pulled at his many wounds. “Almost is about all you’ll ever be, Murdoc.”

Murdoc had been reaching for his trusty pair of pliers (those toenails could sure use a trim!). He paused, his back partially to his captive, fingers hovering over the tool. He was used to MacGyver’s sass, but what he’d just said hit a sour note that the hit man couldn’t shake. He didn’t know if it was the tone or the words themselves. “Excuse me?” He tried to sound amused, but his voice was tight, as if it had been squeezed out of him.

A clink of the chains, a grunt of pain that didn’t lighten Murdoc’s mood as it should have. Then, MacGyver elaborated. His voice was clipped in pain, breathless, but conviction lined every syllable. “You are doomed to live a life of almost, Murdoc. Nothing is ever going to be enough for you. Why do you think you take so long to get anything done? Why do you spend so much time talking and taunting and watching and waiting?”

Murdoc didn’t move, his hand still inches away from his delicate instrument that caused pain but did no lasting damage. “I’m an artist.”

“You’re afraid.”

“I fear nothing.”

“You fear winning.”

Murdoc laughed, a forced, uncomfortable sound that he’d never heard come from his own mouth. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard, Angus. Are you sure the pain isn’t getting to your head?”

MacGyver pressed on relentlessly. “You crave attention. You need a challenge. That’s why you picked me. And you’re afraid of what happens if you beat me. If I die, there’s always that possibility that you won’t find another playmate.”

Still, Murdoc didn’t move. His words, despite their teasing jaunt, had a forced quality to them. “Awfully full of ourselves, aren’t we, MacGyver?”

He could hear the triumphant smile in his adversary’s voice. “I’m just stating the truth, Murdoc. You might torture me, you might have your fun. But at the end of the day, you’re going to slip up somehow. It’s your way of making sure the game goes on. Without that challenge, what are you? Just an angry voice screaming at the sky, no purpose, no point. You say you’ve studied me, Murdoc. You’ve watched me and know me. Well, in doing so, you’ve shown me yourself, too. You’re not going to kill me today. You’re never going to kill me.

“I don’t know what exactly I’ve done to deserve this… honor,” he continued, placing particular derision on the last word, “but you’ve become obsessed with me, Murdoc. Believe me, I don’t like saying this any more than you like hearing it. But it’s how I know I’m going to walk away from this. If I’m gone, so is your fun.”

Murdoc prided himself on maintaining control over his emotions. An artist, though he might express the inner workings of his soul on canvas, could not let his feelings control the brush, control him. Look what had happened to Van Gogh – sure, beautiful work, but his emotions controlled him, destroyed him in the end. Murdoc didn’t make mistakes like that. He waited. He didn’t lash out in anger. It wasn’t because he wanted MacGyver to live, oh no. His fondest dream was to see the blonde boy cry, to watch him squirm and beg for mercy, and then, finally, only when he’d really begged for it, to send him to his death. MacGyver had no idea what he was talking about.

It wasn’t even MacGyver’s words, his cocky belief that he was important enough to his torturer to keep alive, that sent Murdoc over the edge. It was the tiny little voice, way back in the darkest, most depraved corner of his already dark and depraved mind, the one that spoke not in the voice of Murdoc, but one that sounded more like Dennis, the first casualty of Murdoc’s career – himself. The voice said, plainly, without emotion, You know he’s right.

And that was the catalyst for the tsunami of rage that crashed into Murdoc, pummeling his well-practiced and unshakable resolve to take his time. That was what spurred his frozen body into movement, curled his fingers around the handle of the meat tenderizer, that brash, archaic tool, rather than the pliers. That was what spit his next words out of his mouth as if they were poison, words that finally – beautifully – caused Angus MacGyver’s eyes to widen in real fear: “You are going to walk out of here?” A sadistic, mad giggle. “My dear Angus, it will be a miracle if you ever walk again.”

He hefted the heavy steel implement in his hand, pulled back, and lunged. MacGyver tried to back away, the chains around his wrists cackling and clicking against one another in his desperation. They held firm, and the meat tenderizer slammed full force into MacGyver’s left kneecap. Murdoc felt the crunch of bones. He heard the bestial howl, the scream of anguish, the body-jerking, breath stealing cry of a man in so much pain he lost himself. He watched MacGyver’s face drain of color, recognized the moment when the pain became too much, and saw the tear-streaked face go slack, the chin thud against the battered chest and stay there.

For a moment, Murdoc experienced the euphoria one could only find in hurting that special someone in such a catastrophic way. He relished in that moment the scream, the agony, the writhing and loss of control.

Then the moment ended – and far too soon.

Immediately after, the weapon dropped out of Murdoc’s limp fingers. It smashed into the floor below, with the jarring clang that only metal on concrete can produce. He looked at the limp, hanging form before him, and something twisted inside of him – a feeling he’d never known. It wasn’t guilt, nor revulsion.

It was, however, regret.

He didn’t understand it. He should be overjoyed. MacGyver was completely at his mercy. Murdoc could kill him now. Carve that bleeding heart out like a villain in a fairy tale would. But then, he realized, MacGyver would be gone. Forever. Even now, his kneecap had been crushed, shattered into tiny fragments of bone and cartilage, and unless he got treatment of the highest quality, and soon, he’d almost certainly be crippled. Even if he had extensive reconstructive surgery, his career as a Phoenix agent could still be over.

Wasn’t that what Murdoc had wanted? To end MacGyver’s pesky existence, to win at this game of cat and mouse? To create his most spectacular masterpiece with his greatest enemy? That’s what he had dreamed of for years now, what he’d studied and practiced and yearned for. And yet –

What was it that hoity toity Greek poet had written? Murdoc had read “Ithika” long ago, a random page in a poetry book of a man he’d killed. For some reason, the poem had attached itself to his mind and never let go. He could remember it even now:

Keep Ithika always in your mind. Arriving there is what you’re destined for. But don’t hurry the journey at all. Better if it lasts for years, so you’re old by the time you reach the island, wealthy with all you’ve gained on the way, not expecting Ithika to make you rich. Ithika gave you the marvelous journey. Without her you wouldn’t have set out. She has nothing to give you now.

And he understood. The poem was supposed to be inspirational, for fools so focused on their goals that they missed the journey of life along the way – a mundane, silly sentiment. But now Murdoc could see – MacGyver’s destruction was his Ithika. Perhaps Cavafy had a point – maybe he had been a bit of an artist himself. And MacGyver had been right about some things, wrong about others.

He was right in that Murdoc wasn’t ready to end the game just yet. But it wasn't fear that held him back, that urged him to take his time. It was joy. Joy of the journey. The little pleasures of life that are so often passed by in the grand scheme of things – the poet had been speaking of knowledge, of friendship, of love, of experiences. Murdoc’s little pleasures were things like fear, drawn-out suffering, playing with his food and watching it squirm. He relished that joy. He wanted more of it, and if MacGyver died, or was out of commission as a spy, that joy would diminish. Even if MacGyver lived, it wouldn’t be the same if he couldn’t fight back, couldn’t play along.

Murdoc made his decision.

He reached into his pocket, pulled out a burner phone. He dialed a number he’d memorized long ago, put the phone to his ear.

A fierce Texas twang answered before the first ring had run its course. “Murdoc, you son of a bitch–”

“Temper, Jack,” Murdoc drawled. He shivered in excitement at the mental picture of the inferno in Dalton’s eyes. “You just assumed it was me – imagine if it were your mother on the other line.”

“I can scent the devil from a mile away.” Murdoc heard muffled voices in the background, knew the call was being traced.

“Don’t waste your time running a trace, you grumpy old hound dog.” His words were light, yet he allowed the slightest hint of urgency to infect them. “I’ve had my fun for today. I’ll text you the address.” He paused. “Oh, and bring one of those fancy whirly-birds you like to use for medical emergencies. I might have been a little… over zealous this time.”

He closed his eyes, gorging on the incalculable levels of hatred in Jack Dalton’s next words. “If you hurt him–”

Appreciation turned to irritation. Murdoc rolled his coal eyes to the ceiling. “Weren’t you listening, you brute? Obviously, I hurt him. Quite a bit actually. You should have heard him scream.”

A short silence. Then – “You didn’t let me finish, you overgrown sewer rat. If you hurt him, I am going to tear you limb from limb. I don’t need any of your fancy tools.”

“Hmm, that was almost intimidating,” Murdoc teased in his most good-natured tone. “But you’ll have to find me first.” He let the words linger for just a moment, then continued: “Anyway, ta-ta for now. I’ll text you the address. I’ll be long gone by the time you get here, but feel free to bring all your little friends for a game of hide and seek. Though I have a feeling that you’re going to be more focused on sweet Angus.”

He hung up, texted the address, then turned to a feebly stirring MacGyver. Pity he was waking up right as Murdoc had to leave. Whimpers that would have torn the very soul out of Jack Dalton erupted unbidden from MacGyver’s lips. Glazed blue eyes cracked open, regarding Murdoc with a mixture of terror and acceptance. Though he had regained consciousness, MacGyver still hung limply from the chains, too weak and in pain to move.

Murdoc stepped forward, eliciting the tiniest of flinches Even that motion made MacGyver cry out. But Murdoc didn’t hurt him again. Instead, he said, “Your friends are on their way.”

MacGyver’s voice rasped in the aftermath of his screams. “You’re letting … me go… Why?”

“Got bored, I suppose.” No way was Murdoc going to let MacGyver know he’d been right, even if only a little bit.

MacGyver didn’t respond – maybe he didn’t know how to respond; more likely, he could barely form coherent thoughts, let alone words, amidst the torrent of pain.

Murdoc started to step away, then turned back, studying his latest draft of the elusive masterpiece that he would continue to dream about and that would fuel his passion and creativity for years to come. He pulled off one black glove, placed his hand on a pale, cold cheek. MacGyver jerked back feebly from the touch, grunting at the pain it produced. Slowly, Murdoc wiped one of the fresher tears away with his thumb. It might have been a power play. It might have been a show of comfort. Even the hit man didn’t know. He glanced down at the shattered knee, swollen and misshapen, a grotesque monster straining to break free from the unrelenting fabric of the khakis.

“For what it’s worth,” he said quietly, moving his gaze up from the deformed knee to lock his black eyes with fearful, anguished blue ones, “I didn’t mean it.”

He walked away, casting one final look over his shoulder before he left his art behind for the coming Phoenix agents to admire. “Until next time, MacGyver.”

And despite the extensive search conducted by Phoenix once MacGyver had been loaded onto the chopper, on his way to the best orthopaedic surgeons in the country, Murdoc had once more disappeared, like a ghost.

That night he dreamed about his Ithika, and this time, it was enough.

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rebelsarestrongashell · 4 years

Text

A Complicated Profession - Part 2

A/N: How amazing was episode 3?!? Not my best writing but really wanted to get this update out, still getting use to reader inserts! Also, this is way longer than I thought it would be! Hope you enjoy!

Binders still on, the Mandalorian quickly shoves you into the cockpit of his large, beaten down ship.

“Who hired you?” You ask with little patience

“If you’re asking who put the bounty on your head, I don’t know, take a seat,” Mando replied sharply, pointing to the chair behind the pilot's seat and not even bothering to look at you.

“Well, who gave you the puck?”

The Mandalorian ignored you as he messed with the controls and lifted the ship into the air.

“Greef Carga. I’m in the guild; he gives me the pucks.” He finally responded.

“And what were you told I was wanted for?”

“Smuggling.”

You couldn’t contain the laughter that erupted from you, finally causing Mando to turn his head towards you.

“Smuggling,” You repeated through the laughter, “That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. Please tell me you saw straight through that when I saw I lived on a farm.”

“Yes. It doesn’t change that you’re the highest bounty I’ve seen in some time.”

“How much?”

“That’s nothing you need to worry about,” Mando had run out of patience with you, “Now keep quiet before I make you.”

He turned his complete attention to the controls has the ship left the planet’s atmosphere. You set your thoughts to the events that had just occurred. Somebody is lying to get to you, and whether it’s a careful friend or foe wasn’t clear yet. Cases could be made for each. Silence had taken over the cockpit when the hologram of an older man appeared on the dash.

“Mando! Have you obtained the quarry yet?”

“Yes, not without some trouble from other hunters, though.”

“That’s what I was afraid of. Another bounty has been placed on her, and it’s twice as high. They want proof of death.”

Your heart plummeted, the wind completely knocked out of you. The Mandalorian’s head was again turned towards you, just over his shoulder. You did your best to keep a neutral expression, but who exactly was after you was starting to click into place and you couldn’t push the fear away for much longer.

“I’m bringing her in alive like I was hired to do.”

“Good. The client has offered to bump up your reward if you bring her straight to them alive. Safe passage, Mando.”

With the ship now on autopilot, the Mandalorian spun his seat towards. He didn’t speak, just stared, seeming to study you and wait for something but you weren’t sure what.

“Are you expecting a thank you?” You asked firmly, wanting to break the growing tension.

“Who wants you dead?”

“I don’t know.” You lied.

“For some reason, I don’t believe that,” He leaned in closer, “I also don’t believe you’ve been a quiet farmer all your life.”

“Well, I’m not concerned about what you believe.”

In a flash, he has his blaster drawn and aimed towards you “I could use a vacation, and the reward for your proof of death would be more than enough.”

“Oh stop with the dramatics, you’re not going to shoot me or you would have done so already,” You leaned in even closer to the Mandalorian, so you were only a foot away from his helmet, “Besides, you don’t seem like the kind of man who is fond of vacations.”

There was a pregnant pause as he seemed to calculated his next move before slowly placing his blaster back into his holster and turning his attention back to the controls, quickly sending the ship into hyperspace.

“Whatever it is you actually did, you’re lucky those you set the original bounty seem determined to keep you alive.”

“I don’t think it’s that simple. It’s never simple.”

In your few experiences with bounty hunters, they never seemed to ask questions like this one does. Most wouldn’t give a second thought about who would want you dead. Even more confusing, most would jump at the chance for a high bounty. You should be dead by now, but here you are, still among the living. Maybe it was just a Mandalorian thing. This was your first time meeting one.

Neither one of you speaks for the rest of the journey, but he does occasionally look over his shoulder at you, making sure you didn’t magically disappear, you guess. He exits hyperspace, and you’re not sure what city, let alone what planet you’re descending on. The sky is clear, but yet a gray fog seems to cling to the air. As the ground comes closer, you can make out a handful of figures appearing to be awaiting your arrival.

“Those the clients?”

“Yes.”

The ship is now close enough that you can make out their faces, and the overwhelming feeling of panic takes over. These were no friends. You haven’t seen him since the day the Death Star was destroyed, and the Empire fell when he helped you escape and parted ways. His face tells you everything you need to know. He knows the truth, and there is no way you are walking out of this alive.

The ship lands, and you are desperate. “You can’t hand me over to these people please, please listen to me!”

Without a word, he effortlessly lifts you out of your seat, and the door of the cockpit opens. You try to plant your feet, but it is no use. You spin so you’re face to face with him, “Look, I’m sorry I called you a shitty bounty hunter and have been overall very aggravating, but these people will kill me, and I know bounty hunters never care, but there is something bigger at play here!”

The Mandalorian pauses, seeming to take in your words before body stiffens, “You’re right, I don’t care.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, preparing for what is lying ahead. You take in a few deep breathes, thinking about your peaceful farm, the clear skies, and wind blowing through the crops. You think about the handful of happy memories you had before the war. You guess this is what it is like to have your life flash before your eyes. You try your best to hold back the tears you feel forming, but one escapes anyway. You knew the dangers of the game when you agreed to play, and now you are meeting them face to face. Lifting your chin, you open your eyes to see the Mandalorian still staring down at you but with a tilted head of confusion.

“Let’s get this over with, show you I’m right.”

You turn to leave the cockpit when something catches your eye in the corner, “Can I at least have my staff and blaster back?”

“No.”

The ramp descends, and you feel him right behind you, grabbing your arm and leading the way because apparently, you can’t handle walking on your own. You roll your eyes and take a quick peek at him behind your shoulder; his body is still tense. He’s on edge, and you can tell he trusts this situation as much as you do. You feel slightly less annoyed that he is holding on to you.

You used to be the best of the best, that is why they sent you, but that was years ago. However, as you make your way down the ramp, you start calculating the possible outcomes, and you can feel the old training beginning to kick in. You counted eight of them with your old pal, Ragnar, in the middle. All but Ragnar had their weapons drawn, clearly ready to take you in peacefully.

“You’re going to want to get out of here as soon as possible after you hand me off.” You whisper to Mando.

“Yeah, tell me about it.”

You couldn’t help but smirk at the sarcasm.

The two of you came to a halt a few feet in front of the group. Ragnar bore holes into you, waiting for you to blink first, but you didn’t, you refused.

A sudden smile appear on his weathered face, “Well there you are,” He held out his arms like he was about to embrace you, “I’m so glad we found you before those who wanted to harm you, I couldn’t even imagine.”

The Mando pulled you back, just out of Ragnar’s reach. Acknowledging Mando’s presence for the first time, he gave him a quick look of confusion before clearing his throat, “Ah yes,” He nodded towards one of his men, “You want payment before handing her over.”

A large man stepped forward with a steel case, setting it down in front of Ragnar.

“It’s not as much as the bounty put out for the others for proof of death, but it is higher than what you were promised. We appreciate your integrity.”

Mando’s grip on you tightened just enough for you to notice, and you heard a faint click from your binders. You kept your eyes locked on Ragnar, steel demeanor unchanged. A few tensioned filled seconds passed until Mando slowly started pushing you forwards to Ragnar.

An unkind shove officially transferred you to your enemies. Without another word, Mando turned and made his way up the ramp of his ship, picking up his payment on the way.

One of Ragnar’s men grabbed hold of your arm. His grip had a roughness to it that Mando’s did not. No one in the group moved, but all blasters were aimed at you, seeming to wait until the Mandalorian was good and gone before they killed you. But instead of the ship lifting off, Mando reappeared moments later with your staff in hand.

In the blink of an eye, he tossed your staff to you and while everyone was caught off guard, you spun and struck your captor across the head before swiping Ragnar off his feet. Your unlocked binders fell off with ease, and the sounds of firing blasters rung out around you.

Mando had already taken out two men by the time you grabbed Ragnar’s blaster, taking out the two men that were charging and firing at you.

“Get back on the ship!” Mando yelled at you.

Before you did, you looked back down at Ragnar, his eyes now filled with rage.

“They are coming for you,” He spat, “You will burn for your treachery.”

“Give it your best shot.” You spat right back before firing the blaster right at his chest.

“Let’s go!” Mando yelled as more of Ragnar’s men were charging at you from the city.

You sprinted up the ramp as he fired upon the incoming attackers. Suddenly Mando yelled in pain. You turned and saw him clutching his arm, struck by the incoming fire. You sprint towards, firing back at the men getting closer, giving him cover to get on the ship.

Arm now profusely bleeding, Mando closes the ramp and stumbles into the cockpit.

“Let me help.” You said, right on his tail.

“No. Sit.” He grunts, clearly in a tremendous amount of pain.

The ship roars to life, and you fall back into your seat as Mando roughly lifts the ship into the air. He ascends as quick as he cans before anyone can follow you. Within moments he had made the jump into hyperspace. For a moment there is peace in the silence, the calm beeps of the ship soothe you but still feel like you haven’t exhaled. Unsure of what to say and still trying to comprehend what just happened, you aimlessly stare at the back of Mando’s helmet.

“If I’m going to continue to risk my life for you, you’re going to have to tell me why.” the Mandalorian’s smooth voice behind the helmet brought you out of your trance.

Clearing your throat to respond, you notice the blood on his left arm, “Your arm needs looked at, do you have a medkit somewhere?”

“I can take care of it myself.”

“But you don’t have to.”

He turned towards you, and you could feel the frustration emanating from him.

“I need answers.”

“Sometimes it easier for me to talk when my hands are busy. Less thinking goes into it.”

Mando, once again, tilts his head and studies you, trying to figure you all out.

“Just outside of the cockpit, on the wall.” He sighs.

You give him a small smile and make your way to the hallway. The medkit is precisely where he said it would be, and he is already on the bench waiting for you.

You take a seat next to him and starting cleaning off his wound, ignoring his winces of pain, his helmet staring down at you the entire time.

“So…”

You let out a deep exhale. You don’t recall telling the full story to anyone before, but this bounty hunter that you’ve been on the run from for months, just risked everything to save your life. He deserves to know.

“That man, his name is Ragnar Syyn," You began, "He was an imperial officer." You paused to see if you make out any sort of reaction behind the helmet but there was none. He was listening, not judging so you continued. "For the past few years, since the fall of the Empire, I’ve been hiding away on my little farm in the outer rim. Hoping to find some sort of peace and to live out the rest of my days.”

“Hiding because you were part of the Empire?”

“I was a spy. I was a rebel who was able to infiltrate the Empire successfully, and it appears the remnants just found out, and they’re not going to like the information I have.”

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