#the tone of this post is humorous agony
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r-bgtc.. rent free in my head
#the tone of this post is humorous agony#if you understood that acronym you are entitled to financial compensation#- wedposting ]#💀
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Writing Patterns
Rules: List the first line of your last 10 (posted) fics and see if there’s a pattern! Tagged by @ripeteeth, thank you teeth! <333 i do so love tag games 🥰
(i'm gonna only count fics that i wrote and posted directly to ao3, otherwise half of it would be archived tumblr fic and i don't wanna do that so i won't XD <3)
1. “Your eyes are different.” [my eye is wasted from grief (my soul and my body also), TLT, Colum Asht & Silas Octakiseron. given what this fic is, i think it sets up right from the start the lingering sense of grief and silas's general attention to detail both. i'm satisfied. it's punchy imo, if you have the context from canon.]
2. “When you asked Colum the Eighth to hang out with you, in a low husky voice and obviously implying that you’d let him bend you like a pretzel, you didn’t think it would be like… this.” [Naberius Tern: Incest Magnet, TLT, Colum Asht/Naberius Tern/Silas Octakiseron. i do think this one sets the tone quite well, right from the get go it reads very much to me like: hey. we are now entering babs's head. i feel like it's got a smidge of humor in it too, so i'm very happy with it.]
3. “You do not always wear a headband to sleep in.” [The Incorruptible Crown, TLT, Colum Asht/Silas Octakiseron. i guess the most i can say for this one is that it tells you right at the start that the star player of this fic is The Headband™️.]
4. “Silas Octakiseron was in a small room, in a small outpost, on a small moon orbiting their planet.” [it does not rejoice at wrongdoing (but rejoices with the truth), TLT, Colum Asht/Silas Octakiseron. i love the repetition ngl, repetition is a favorite of mine to the point where i probably overuse it. idk what else to say about it, i feel like the next line is a lot more, so to speak, but that one doesn't work without this one. that is pretty common with my opening lines i feel like, that they set up a much punchier and/or more beautiful sentiment a little further on in the same paragraph or the next one, which is almost a little bit of a shame, i think.]
5. “Silas Octakiseron was entering his fifth heat ever, and that heralded exquisite agony for Colum Asht.” [by day the heat consumed me (and the frost by night), TLT, Colum Asht/Silas Octakiseron. i like this one quite a lot, it very efficiently sets things up imo, including the emotional tone for the fic.]
6. “Silas Octakiseron can taste the sin on Capris Asht’s lips.” [Immorality, TLT, Capris Asht/Colum Asht/Ram Asht/Silas Octakiseron. i feel like this one is a bit different in that it starts right in the middle of it both in the sense of like, the act, but also the relationship. i like how this opener conveys that silas still is like. morally opposed to this, but also that he's doing it anyway which says a lot about the fic as a whole. it's v lovely to me tbh, i like this one a lot.]
7. “In the first month of the myriadic year of our Lord, Silas Octakiseron approached Colum Asht after the day’s duties had been performed.” [make no provision for the flesh, TLT, Colum Asht/Silas Octakiseron. i like the implication right off the bat that this is unusual, or it would not be remarked upon. idk, it's a sturdy sort of opener. very serviceable.]
8. “It was happening again.” [the bed undefiled, TLT, Colum Asht/Silas Octakiseron. i'm getting a vague sense of unease and dread with perhaps a splash of annoyance, which is a great place to start this fic imo.]
9. “Colum Asht had never told Silas Octikiseron no before, let alone in the presence of others.” [The Third Sin, TLT, Colum Asht/Silas Octakiseron. tbh i almost wish i could redo this one, i wish i has given a bit more context in the entire opening paragraph. it starts right off from canon which suits, but i wish i had added just a smidge more detail to just really settle the reader if they haven't read gtn recently.]
10. “The pews are empty, long, and wooden.” [enter not into temptation, TLT, Colum Asht/Silas Octakiseron. a short opener for a quadruple drabble! it has a particular cadence that i enjoy.]
what i'm getting out of this is i like using full names in my first sentences, i don't put the pov character's name first nearly as often as i thought i did in 3rd limited (or at least, not recently), and i have recently just gone completely off the deep end after reading htn and now like 60% of my fics will be in 2nd person lol. also i'm uh,, learning (being reminded) that i should perhaps go back around after i'm all done writing and editing and try to rework the opening sentence or two, because a few of these strike me as rather bland (because starting a fic usually requires me to not think about the opening line too much, otherwise i get stuck in blinking cursor hell) but i would like to improve my first sentence game.
<3 i'll tag: @neverhornyoneighth, @moscca, @octakiseronliker, @ilovelunatics, @monroeknoxwrites, @snarkivistfic, @theflirtmeister but only if you want!
#coffeetomb#tag game#thanks again for tagging me teeth this was really fun and i have become more aware of some writing muscles i would like to stretch :D <333
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Okay so this is completely out of the blue but I cannot get this idea out of my Billy Hargrove grieving partner post StarCourt survivors guilt drenched mind so here goes.
~ MINORS DNI 18+ (sūbstance use mention) ~
Losing Him
The pain hadn’t been something you had ever experienced before, there were no lulls in the crashing waves of agony that grip at your heart. At some points you were sure that it was being torn to slivers within your very chest.
Sleep should be a relief, an escape even, that’s what everyone keeps telling you. But despite your silent internal pleading, as you close your eyes screams flood your subconscious. The final cry of the boy you had handed your heart to as the life was pulled from him. So yeah, sleep hasn’t exactly been an option lately.
That’s when befriending the local drug dealer came in handy.
If sleep wouldn’t come to you, you’d chase it with something a bit stronger to take away the sharp edges, to blur things until you could slip into a sleep for at least long enough to keep you on your feet during the day. That’s not to say it hadn’t come with its own list of side effects, but that had been expected.
Cornering Eddie Munson wasn’t hard in school, despite what he tells himself or his loyal followers, he’s as predicable as everyone else. Finding him behind the lunchroom in his usual smoking spot takes mere minutes and you’d already prepared the spiel of reasoning before even reaching him. “(Y/N), to what do I owe the pleasure?” He offers a grin, raised brows and a curious albeit knowing glint to his eyes as he takes you in. He knew exactly what you were here for, in fact he had expected no less.
“I need something stronger Eddie, I need to sleep.” You admit, defeat lacing through your words with your confession as you lean your back against the brick wall with a sigh passing your lips. You hated that it had gotten to this point, that a joint wasn’t enough to relax you. But if it meant being able to escape reality for at least a fraction of time it would be worth it. You can see him observing you through your peripheral but you bare it no mind. “Do you think you can handle something stronger? You look like you can barely handle weed.” He probes lightly, a teasing tone to his words that maybe you would’ve found humorous before your world collapsed in on itself.
At your lack of response he finally sighs, stubbing out the remains of his cigarette against the wall before dropping it at his feet. “I have something that’ll make existing easier, but it’s fucking strong (Y/N). If you take too much that’s it, lights out, end of story.” He warns but all you can do is scoff at his dramatics.
“I’m not going to off myself if that’s what you’re worried about Munson I just need to be able to sleep at night.”
That’s enough to satisfy him this time, but as he grumbles something under his breath you stretch out your arms in front of you in the too large leather jacket until your fingers are exposed from the sleeves.
A hand is pushed into your pocket before you can react, eyes darting towards the boy beside you who retracts his arm nonchalantly. “I’ll come over to pick up the money after school.” And with that he begins to slink off back towards the lunchroom doors as you roll your eyes, reaching into your pocket to feel at the small ball wrapped in a thin plastic bag. Instinctively you clutch it between your fingers, finding relief in the prospect of finally being able to close your eyes and not hear the screams, see the blood, feel the tearing within your ribcage with every breath.
Tonight, you sleep.
#this is my first time doing this don’t come for me#billy hargrove angst#eddie munson x reader#kinda#post StarCourt#billy hargove x reader#billy harringrove#stranger things#Billy hargrove blurb
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Let's talk about the real Osamu Dazai, a genius in transforming his wounds into art
Who is Osamu Dazai?
Osamu Dazai was a Japanese novelist born on June 19, 1909, considered one of the most appreciated writers of the 20th century in Japan. Some of his most popular works, such as The Setting Sun and No Longer Human, are also considered modern classics in his country of origin.
"It's not that I'm weak, it's that the suffering weighs too much on me"
While some writers write to heal the wounds acquired in life; others, like Osamu Dazai, refuse to let their wounds heal and thus reveal them starkly in their writing.
For Japanese literature, Osamu Dazai is one of the outstanding writers of the post-World War II period. His narrative developed a pessimistic tone, openly presenting a nation in social and moral crisis, a product of the effects of the war and the transition from feudal Japan to an industrial society.
No Longer Human, his greatest work
His novel No Longer Human (人間失格),it's the second best-selling novel in Japan.This novel portrays the life of Oba Yozo, a young sinaffect who, feeling alienated from society, tries to survive through the mask of a "clown", being a subject provided with humor and irony. Parents, teachers, friends, strangers, lovers, all of them are the subjects by whom Yozo wants to be recognized. The story thus shows us the protagonist's unsuccessful attempts to reconcile with the world around him; a process that begins in childhood and continues until adulthood, when he decides to commit suicide as an escape from this impossibility.
¨I had always been afraid of people and, due to my lack of confidence in my ability to act and speak like a human being, I kept my lonely agonies locked in my chest and my melancholy and restlessness hidden behind naive optimism. And over time I perfected my role as a strange jester¨.
Dazai's work reveals the dark side of modernization and its effects on our humanity, being critical of the rules and expectations of his time. For the writer, the human being is disqualified or dehumanized, since he is forced to live in the fragility of social ties. The novel is thus a tragic story that warns of today's postmodern world; written in sober and elegant prose that reveals the author's inner world.
Indeed, what we know about Yozo comes mainly from the life of Osamu Dazai himself, who used biographical material throughout his books. This is what is known as the literary genre shishosetsu or watakushi shōsetsu, used to describe a literature with a confessional tone where the events of the story correspond to the events in the author's life.
Although it is worth saying that his work is also marked by satire and sarcasm, just as the protagonist of No Longer Human.
(Osamu Dazai's grave)
So...why is Dazai's name so beloved in anime?
Osamu Dazai's work has been widely revived by multimedia, through films, series and manga. We owe the boom that No Longer Human has had in the otaku community worldwide to the manga (and later anime) Bungou Stray Dogs, written by Kafka Asagiri and illustrated by Sango Harukawa. In this series, the character inspired by said work, who shares the name with our wonderful author, reflects Yozo's personality in a striking and exceptional way. Even the theme of the author's (and the character Yozo's) recurring suicide attempts are a comedic resource in the series, reflecting his ¨clown¨ ways, without leaving aside the reflection of the serious inner emptiness that Osamu Dazai's character suffers.
Due to his peculiar personality, attractive design and importance in the resolution of the plot of the work, this character has generated a large fan base throughout the younger community, of which a significant percentage has resorted to the original work, giving it great popularity outside Japan.
Without a doubt, Dazai has earned a position in modern Japanese literature comparable to writers of the stature of Mishima, Soseki, Akutagawa, Abe and Kawabata. Although his greatest achievement is not even that. His greatest achievement is being an essentially youthful writer, widely read and loved by young people. That far exceeds the previous one.
I, personally, highly recommend Dazai's work. Despite being from a past century, it has a very deep connection with the slights of youth. I assure you that if you are an ordinary person, who has felt internal conflicts and confusion, even more or less mild depressive moments, No Longer Human will give you a reflective space (and in my case, a safe space), in which to protect yourself. your insecurities and emptiness, represented in the person of Yozo, who, after all, was a reflection of the deep emptiness that Osamu Dazai felt throughout his disordered and tragic life, and the tangible example that your misfortunes can become one of the best youth literary works of all time.
Javiera Martel P.
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pairing: doctor!wonwoo x lawyer!female oc
genre: modern royalty, arranged marriage, fluff and future angst
word count: 2.1k
WARNINGS: mentions of food, eating, hospitals, and brief mention of armed men
author’s note: finallyyy! been working on this for the past week and i’m relieved to be posting part 3 already! i’m not so confident about this and i am already warning you all that this could be dialogue heavy :((( please let me know your thoughts! i’d be really thankful to hear from you all!
three: subtle snuggles and light snores | masterlist
Wonwoo chose to work at the Royal Hospital of the neighboring kingdom at his own will. He and the rest of the people in his kingdom won’t deny how the other kingdom pioneered in the line of medicine.That’s why in spite of the many offers and opportunities at his homeland, he wanted to gain experience somewhere else first before going back home.
The marriage wasn’t served on the table before and when his parents broke the news to him, he was already hired and working for a few months. And now that a marriage is in talks, it seems unlikely that he’ll be going back anytime soon.
Wonwoo didn’t hesitate to agree. But someplace in his heart couldn’t help but wonder how it got to this. He’s not saying you’re terrible. You’re the exact opposite of being terrible. To him, you are amazing and awesome. A badass even.
There’s nothing really holding him back. Even his past relationship that you brought up previously.
It’s just that he wanted a purpose out of this union aside from the fact that this will bear the best outcome for his and your kingdom.
Wonwoo was once in love.
He knows, used to know rather, how his heart skipped a beat and how butterflies filled his stomach. But then came you and he is back to zero. He wants to like you. He wants to love you.
He doesn’t want to be a husband recognized by the public. Instead, he wants to be the lifetime companion that you can lean on and trust. He hopes that you see that he’s trying to be one.
It’s a challenge though, because he doesn’t know how or where to begin.
These thoughts have been running on his mind for the longest of days and even now as he gazes at your face, deep in slumber. What happened earlier was a shock. All he wanted was to invite you for a quick lunch before he goes to work and here you are now literally at his workplace, getting the right amount of rest you’ve been missing.
“Your Highness,” the Royal Family’s doctor calls to him politely while the two nurses accompanying him check on you. Wonwoo only gives a brief nod of acknowledgement. “I advise the Princess to stay overnight to recover from her dehydration and stress. A day away from work would be immensely helpful.”
Wonwoo’s eyes don't leave you as he continues to nod and agree with the doctor’s orders. It doesn’t look like it, but he is paying attention to every word the older one is saying. He bites his lip, beating himself up for not knowing what could be causing you stress.
“If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to page us,” the doctor assures and Wonwoo finally turns his attention to him.
“Thank you so much.” He extends his arm for a handshake before letting them leave.
Wonwoo sighs before taking the seat beside your bed again. As much as he wants to go closer and maybe opt to hold your hand, he doesn’t. He just keeps his eyes on you. Your face looks so peaceful while sleeping, a small smile can’t help but form on the Prince’s face. It’s a relief that it’s nothing bad. But still, he can’t feel at ease until he sees your eyes once again. He decided to take a leave from work and stay beside you until you wake up and get discharged.
He has already informed the King and Queen of what happened and they will be here shortly.
“Wonwoo, my dear,” the Queen greets while opening her arms to the young doctor for a quick embrace. “How are you?”
The King walked past the warm exchange, not wasting any time to be close to your bed. “How is she?”
“Your Majesty,” Wonwoo doesn’t fail to say his greetings first before going on full doctor mode. “The Princess is stable. She just needs to replenish her energy by having lots of rest and she’ll be discharged as early as tomorrow morning. Would you like me to call the doctor in charge?”
“No, no,” the Queen answers, now sitting with her husband who’s been gently cradling your cheek. “We’ll go to him ourselves. I’m just glad you are here for her Wonwoo.”
“Ever the hard worker, she is,” your father mutters a harmless complaint. “I will give her a scolding once she wakes up. Scratch that, I am going to have the Prince do that in my place. He’s the doctor after all.” Finally, the King looks at him, a glint of humor in his eyes.
Wonwoo blushes and keeps his head low. He scratches the back of his neck before firmly promising, “I will take care of her better next time, Your Majesty.”
“Nonsense,” the Queen dismisses his apologetic tone with a wave of her hand. “Everyone gets sick every day and it just so happened that it’s our Princess this time around.”
An hour after the King and Queen left, Wonwoo’s eyes grew heavy. Unbeknownst to him, his head gravitated to your bed and close to your arm. He tried to keep his eyes open, still determined on waiting until you wake up, but his determination was futile because it didn’t take long for him to fall asleep beside you.
His face was the first thing you saw the moment you regained consciousness. The top of his head was snuggled to your arm, surprising you. At first, you couldn’t figure out what was going on. But the remembrance of the three cups of coffee you had was enough to answer the questions running in your mind. Then, the embarrassment came too soon because you also remember the look on Wonwoo’s face when he saw your agony.
You’re still not feeling well. You should probably get more sleep instead of resenting your embarrassment. You release a low groan, momentarily forgetting the sleeping Prince beside you.
Wonwoo stirs a little before opening slowly his eyes and meeting yours. He sits up in a heartbeat and blinks his sleep away to make sure you are really awake.
After confirming, he releases the breath he had been holding. “Hey there.”
“Hi,” you whisper, completely bashful. “How long was I asleep?”
“It’s eight o’clock now,” he answers while looking at his watch. “You were asleep for the whole afternoon so approximately eight to nine hours.”
“Wow,” you mutter in sincere disbelief. “I haven’t slept that long since I started working.”
“That’s why you’re going to sleep more.” Wonwoo stands up and fixes the blanket that’s keeping your body warm.
You frown and weakly stop his actions. “What do you mean? Am I not allowed to go home tonight?”
“Nope,” he answers and pushes your hand back down. “You’re staying overnight and that’s your doctor’s advice.”
“I don’t want to lay on this bed for 24 hours,” you whine, lips in a pout. “Can’t you give me clearance instead?”
“I’m not the doctor in charge and I am more than sure that you know that,” the Prince reminds and gently pat your head. “Go back to sleep and once morning comes, you’ll be good to go.”
Seeing that he has made a point, you give up and let your body relax on the bed in spite of your reluctance. You are smart enough to know that you can’t outsmart a doctor like him.
Wonwoo grins in victory and makes himself comfortable on the chair. He then pulls his phone out to make a quick check on some emails and updates at the emergency room.
That got you confused. Why is he still here? You blink suddenly realizing how he had stayed with you ever since you got admitted. You were embarrassed earlier but now you are sorry.
“Are you not… leaving?” You ask. “I can manage alone. All I need to do is sleep this away, right?”
“Sleep Y/N,” Wonwoo commands while his eyes and hands remain focused on his phone, dodging your question.
At the sound of your name, you roll your eyes and turn to the other side of the bed with a huff. As the days go by, you have noticed that Wonwoo can be mischievous and whenever he becomes one, it makes your cheeks blush red and heat up like wildfire.
Wonwoo just snorts at your annoyance. He puts his phone back in his pocket and puts his attention at the back of your head as your breathing slowly even out, much needed sleep once again taking over your body.
Wonwoo didn’t want to leave you when morning came and Jeongyeon arrived with your new set of clothes and warm meal. But he knew he had to go back to work and fulfill his sworn duty in spite of the validity of his excuse that his fiancee is sick. Other than that, but most importantly, he just wanted to see your eyes again first thing in the morning and he’d be content.
You seemed to be exhausted still because he could hear your light snores even when the sunlight through your room was enough to indicate how late it is already in the morning. But time is ticking and he is needed at the emergency ward. So, disregarding his qualms, he took the paper bag of clothing from his friend and colleague, Soonyoung, and changed.
Afterwards, Wonwoo picks up a thermometer and checks your temperature one last time to make sure that you don’t have any fever. All the while, oblivious to the knowing grin of your assistant.
“Please call me when she wakes up. I’d like to see her before she gets discharged,” he requests, hands busy fixing your blanket for the ninth time.
Jeongyeon smiles, aware that there’s nothing left to fix on your bed anymore, before answering. “Will do, Your Highness.”
Finally, the Prince takes his leave but not after giving one last glance to the sleeping Princess.
Jeongyeon immediately fed you the moment you woke up. She didn’t take no for an answer, reminding you that it’s her responsibility to take care of you and that her failure to do so is equivalent to having her head beheaded (it’s not enacted anymore).
At this point she’s now nagging you and it just falls deaf to your ears because you are indeed starving after all the sleeping. You ate every food she brought from the warm soup to the last grain of rice so fast, you looked like you were inhaling them instead of chewing properly. That made Jeongyeon scold you again reminding you that you’re about to be discharged from the hospital and she can’t have you admitted again because of indigestion this time around.
“I am glad that you’re eating well, Your Highness,” the Royal Doctor gladly says. He’s now here to run one last check up before giving you the clearance you’ve been begging Wonwoo for last night.
Wonwoo, you suddenly remembered. Where is he?
“Your Highness?”
“Oh yes,” you reply, waking up from your daze. “Sorry, I think I ate way too much. Please go on.”
The Royal Doctor checked your chart, frequently updated by the nurses on duty all throughout your stay. He then sits on the chair once used by the Prince to ask a few questions to make sure he’s not missing on anything. Your head still feels heavy but it’s nothing you can’t handle. He assures you that you are fine and gives you the reminders that he usually does with cases like yours.
“That’s it.” He clasps his hands together and stands up. “You are more than free to go. Please come back next month for a check up.”
“Yes, I will,” you say and reach for his hand to shake it. “Thank you very mu-”
You couldn’t even thank your doctor properly when someone suddenly barges in through your door with a bang. You recognized him right away as head of your security detail.
“I apologize, Your Highness,” he says, eyes on the floor. Soon, more men follow behind him. “But we have to leave the hospital and move you somewhere safer right this instant.”
Jeongyeon already knows what to do, moving quickly to help you sit up. Meanwhile, the doctor grabs the wheelchair from the small storage room and helps keep your IV stay in place as you move from the bed.
Once you’re all secured, everyone dashed out of the room.
“What the hell is going on?” You demand answers from the men surrounding you and Jeongyeon, who’s pushing the chair to the private elevator.
“There has been a commotion caused by armed men at the Emergency Room,” the head reports and upon hearing where he is talking about, your heart drops to your stomach. “The hospital’s security has it under control but we won’t be taking any chances on letting you stay here any longer, Your Highness.”
“Stop.”
Wonwoo.
#seventeen scenarios#wonwoo scenarios#seventeen scenario#wonwoo scenario#seventeen#wonwoo#jeon wonwoo#seventeen fluff#wonwoo fluff#fic: ifliys
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WIP Wednesday
Hello friends! Today is a very special week for me (it's the week I magically transform from just Middy to Dr. Middy), so I'll probably be posting asks and memes to celebrate! For now, I'll post a snippet from the Kanders fix-it @oftachancer and I are diligently writing. :)
Angst below, I'm sorry, but they'll get a happy ending eventually. <3
His knuckles were white against the smooth wood of his staff as he ascended the steps one at a time, padding silently towards Karl. The rest of his companions seemed far away as he studied the curve of his shoulders, the familiar swoop of his neck. A beard, peppered with gray and tidily groomed, if his profile was any indication. Anders’ voice was thin when he finally spoke at the top of the landing. “Karl?” he asked softly, the stinging returning to his eyes. “It’s me. I told you I’d keep you safe. Just took me a trifle longer than we had anticipated-“
“Anders, I know you too well.” Strange to hear his voice after so many years, echoing hollowly in the vast dark space of the Chantry. The clip of the familiar Ferelden dialect. His name - spoken so many times over so many years, missed and remembered and reshaped- “I knew you would never give up.”
“Of course not, Karl, I-“ Anders stepped towards him, almost dropping his staff on the marble floor. “I’ve missed you.”
“Yes,” he answered quietly. “They told me you would.” He collected the papers, stacking them neatly. “Impulsiveness. We spoke of it once. Do you remember?”
“…Karl.” Why was he still so far away? They’d crossed miles and a bloody sea and Karl may well have been sitting on Satina. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong.” He settled the papers into a leather folder and turned.
He had seen too many fresh sunbursts on too many foreheads; the skin tightened and bright red around the imprint of the brand, the eyes dull beneath it when they should have been wide with agony.
“It is as it should be,” Karl murmured, seeing and not-seeing him at once. Moments he’d looked like that in the past, rousing from sleep or from the deepest of his meditations. Seconds of introspection lingering before he focused on Anders and his lips twitched with affection and arousal, fingers reaching before he knew what he was doing… Only Karl did not reach. He did not focus. He stood, temples graying, silver in his beard, age in his features that didn’t yet belong there. And what did belong- all the light and humor and softness that had once been inside of him- that had once been him- was gone.
“N-no-“ The words escaped his lips on an exhale, his heart dropping like a stone to his toes. “No, you can’t-“ He lifted his hand, before letting it fall to his side. “No- It can’t be- Karl. Karl.” He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, his body going numb as he studied that brand. “Karl, you’re not-“
“Would you like to sit down? You seem to be having some difficulty.” Karl drew the chair from the desk and gestured to it vaguely. “You will feel better soon.”
“Soon,” he gasped. “How can anything possibly make this better, Karl?”
“Like you, I was easily overwrought. There is another way. It will be easier.” He looked up to the low balustrade flanked by Kirkwall’s codes of arms. “This is the apostate.”
The familiar shift of armor- clink and scratch- and figures that had been still as statues shifted from hidden alcoves behind tapestries to march towards them.
“Fuck me,” Cecily swore.
“No!” Anders shouted, his voice fracturing and turning two-toned as he swept his gaze across the approaching Templars, bending low, staff clutched close to his chest. Fury, anguish, and the sharp scent of ozone. He let the spirit surge past him, taking control as his consciousness slipped away. “You will never take another mage as you took him,” he heard Justice growl as the world went dark.
Tagging forward to: @dismalzelenka, @pinkfadespirit, @luzial, @in-arlathan, @hezjena2023, @serial-chillr, @ser-thirst-a-lot, @johaeryslavellan, @cartadwarfwithaheartofgold, @elveny, @kunstpause, @lavellanvibes, @dalish-rogue, @decimdraws, @jentrevellan, @wavesofinkdrops, @lethendralis-paints, @factorykat,@hazelestelle, @ramonadecember, @barbex, @nug-juggler, @latefortevinter, @hoiist, @gaysolavellan, @merrybandofmurderers, @hollyand-writes, and @laniardraws! Being extra thirsty with tags today, please let me know if you'd rather be or not be tagged for future WIP Wednesdays! :D
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a clone fit for a ball.
Commander Fox x Reader
I think initially I wanted to write this as a whole story, but it’s quite a lot and (because i haven’t been too active) I just sorted wanted to post something yk :) hope you enjoy! <33
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It’s a dramatised reality if you think about it. The idea of a gathering with the only intention being to appease the aching sore that is political pillow talk, is one that is so pompous it seems that those who benefit from the scheme are the ones who design it. It’s a drawn out, legislative, painfully particular game of charades disguised in lavish clothes and large hats. In almost every way, those garments are often large enough and sparkly enough to hide the deceit they cover, and persuade each mindless baboon that is gormless to fall victim to it to enter into the game themselves. It’s a repetitive cycle, and stupid though it may be; it does work.
Though there was beauty in it that you just couldn’t deny. The decorations were enough to mesmerise you entirely; lavishly hung around each bannister and archway of the senate hall. Bright colours of orange and pink were scattered across the flower arrangements that littered the walls and their accents. Whatever had been done to spritz life into the chandeliers and lighting had worked its magic, for the perfectly lit definitions gave luminosity and warmth all in one squeezing breath. It was inviting and spectacular; a collaboration of everything the senate appeared to be. Even as the floor beneath your heeled feet glistened with rich delight, the pit in your stomach still swallowed your joy.
Your hatred for all things political had always been your strength and your weakness, especially as a senator. You represented your home planet well enough to protect it’s people, but you would not stand for the same deceitful bulldozing that reduced planets and people to nothing more than pawns or money makers. It meant that you stood for nothing you disbelieved in, including ridiculously regimented senate balls.
Nevertheless, you needed a way in. Your planet had been overlooked for far too long; the cries of your people ignored. You needed a trade deal and you needed one that wouldn’t result in republic outposts and war dependancy littering your already fighting home world. A ball was a good opportunity for political match making, and it was one you couldn’t give up.
It was that reasoning that had led you as far as a blue, bejewelled dress that suffocated what waist you apparently had, and hugged each curve with malice. Even with the anger dripping from your rouged lips, you couldn’t deny it. You did look rather pretty. It was a small triumph, but one that gave you confidence enough to manage the heels that’d been handed to you. As you caught a reflection of yourself leaning heavily against the arm of a guard in a particularly shiny section of the wall, you realised just how pretty you did look. Perhaps there was something addicting in the madness of it all: perhaps there was something powerful about a low cut dress and tousled hair.
Your entrance was timely, a rushed manner donned after slightly too much time taken trying to find the dammed place. Typical of Coruscant, you muttered. Two guards in white and red nodded at your arrival, both seemingly emotionless under their plastoid helmets. It was something that’d always confused you about the clone army; all painfully identical, yet lightyears apart from each other. A brotherhood was one thing, yet could you even call it that?
The thought itself was fleeting, though one you were sure to ponder later. You passed those statues of guards within seconds and continued on your warpath to the ‘reception’. It didn’t take much for you to be recognised; the perks of being one of the only senators with detailed and beautiful facial markings. It was something you prided most. The rest was a blur, but you made it into the hall and straight into a chair that’d apparently been pulled out for you. The man to your left was a kindly looking togruta, the woman to your right your stern faced guard, who looked murderous in comparison.
“My dear, aren’t you cold?” The togruta asked with a genuine smile. The question made a small laugh sprout up your throat.
“Perhaps, though my heart is beating far too fast for it to be uncomfortable.” You replied with that charming tone in your voice you’d perfected.
Everything was an act; your shoulders perked up and back to lift your chin in power and confidence, the planned placement of your hands across the table, your silken voice as it left your silken mouth. Even the unplanned conversation would seem regimented, though the Togruta’s nature settled your mind with authentic care.
“Ah, now that I can understand.” He shuffled, uncomfortable or unsure you couldn’t tell. “I do apologise, but I cant seem to place you.”
You paused again with an unfaltering expression of tenderness.
“Oh well I know you, Governor Roshti. But I don’t blame you, I took over from Madame Liobrev shortly after she resigned from senatorial status. This is my first ball to say the least.” There was a hint of an exhale by the end of your scentence, it felt good to admit even subtly that you were out of your depth.
“Well it doesn’t show, I only hope my name hasn’t ingrained in your mind the way it has in so many’s.” The sadness that fell across his face was just as genuine as the smile that it had replaced. It made the compassionate side of you ache.
“You did what this god forsaken war made you do, I see no reason for shame to fall upon you or your people. Battle leaves us all defenceless.” The spite of your tongue was heavy; anger for the war too many fell victim to.
“Thank you, my dear.”
You smiled once again, before turning back to your guard. She was perched haughtily on her seat, weapon securely hidden but it’s presence obvious. Her attire was in contrast to yours; armour and garments all of dark colours and metal accents. She looked like a warrior, and you were momentarily envious.
“Taurin you really ought to relax. Senators aren’t that vicious. Or at least not when they’re sedated with flattery and shiny things.” You joked, desperate to take the edge of both her and yourself.
Taurin, the guard, bowed her head in humor, a distant smile forming over her pursed lips. It was one you were incredibly fond of, and one you had grown to recognise as endearment.
“M’lady, it’s not the senators I’m worried about.”
You laughed; a breathy laugh that corrupted your lungs and throat.
“What more could you possibly find challenging about a ball this compensated for. Perhaps it’s that my shoes will grow painful on my feet? Enjoy yourself!” You pressured with sweet intentions.
She turned to face you with a vindictive smile laced with sour belief. Her eyes trailed over your reeling eyes in silent conversation, seconds before they jolted off their steady trajectory just past your head. What had been childish remark soon freezed over to slight panic and question. You noticed the change almost instantly and frowned with creased eyebrows. As your head began to swivel to turn to her opponent, she screeched and forced you down.
The fall from your chair wasn’t high, but the adrenaline and shock of the direct hit made it seem endless. You hit the hard floor with a mind numbing crack, one that caused your eyes to widen before you realised it was only one of the many jewels that laced your back splintering; rather than something a critical. Nonetheless, the shot that flew past certainly was real.
The bullet soared over your head, frowning that it had missed it’s target. You couldn’t even process what had happened before Taurin fell to your level, teeth clenched in agony. You reacted as best you could with hands fumbling around her leaking wound; but she swatted you away and thrusted your head down once more. That one bullet, the one that had cursed your luck and gone for your guard in spite of it, had previously had a purpose. Your mind lingered on that fact for a second before you pushed past it. Searching eyes found Governor Roshti’s, who had copied your move and positioned himself just under the table.
You couldn’t hear much over your panting breath; nothing except the shouts and screams of senators whose useless lives felt threatened, so naturally, just like their entire life’s work, they do nothing except complain and wail. It was dark under the thick tablecloth, too dark for anything to be made clear to you. Taurin had wriggled further away and was holding her position behind your table, a gun most definitely in her hand.
Three shots. Four shots. Two. One. Silence.
Now really all you could hear was your panting breath. The blood rushing through your ears made a ringing sound, and the tingling in your veins made the fastness of your heart seem ordinary. Governor Roshti made no adjustments to his stance at the silence, but you were itching to unfold your coiled legs and poke you head up and out of the cover. Like most things you did, you did it without asking. The carnage wasn’t as bad as the screams foretold it to be, but as soon as your vision shifted you saw the agony splayed over Taurin’s face.
“Help! Medic!” Was the instantaneous shout from your lips.
One of the clone guards from earlier shot up. He wore a kama around his waist and his armour was weathered; something that told you he was rough without him having to speak a word.
“Ma’am sit back down, we don’t know where the attackers went.” He commanded.
“I can manage.”
His helmet tilted slightly in what you assumed to be annoyance. With two fingers pointing he signalled for a medic to step forward. The new clone looked significantly younger through the way he held himself and the shining of his uniform. With Taurin being led away, you finally let go of the breath you’d been holding.
“Ma’am-“
“I’d like to know who just tried to kill me.” The clone looked slightly surprised at the deadpan tone of your voice. “And who shot my closest guard.”
He grimaced from under his helmet and lifted his hand up to his visor to tap into his comm channel.
“This is Commander Fox, what’s our status?” He spoke; a velvety tone lacing the authority in his voice.
Fox. It wasn’t bad. Your mind shifted once again as his comm crackled back at him.
“Suspect... run... in pursuit... ty hunter.” Was all you could make out, but it didn’t take a genius to fill in the gaps.
“They won’t find the assailant while pampering senators.” You spoke, cringing slightly at the privilege you held yourself; here you were demanding Commander of his time, all because you have some morsel of perhaps undeserved power.
“I’m sorry” Perhaps an attempt to reconcile your blundering thoughtlessness would change the trooper’s aggravated stance. “I only meant that it would help if the senators uninvolved were to be sent home and out of your hair, it can’t be fun listening to them whine.”
His head tilted slightly in what you hoped to be a grin. “You’re not wrong, but I’m afraid I can’t keep you alone in protection. Not when we don’t actually know who was the intended target.”
“Commander, let me help. Before I was a senator I was a member of the guard. I’m afraid I can just about handle myself.” There was more than a hint of pride in your voice as you spoke.
Fox shook his head and lifted off his helmet. It would be far to say you lost your breath at the sight of his actual face. In the few seconds you spent mentally sketching his face into your brain, your mind fastened at his slightly too-long-to-be-neat mop of curly hair, and how it fell playfully over his deeply tanned forehead. His cheekbones were sharp enough to shut you up (which was, as he’d come to discover, wasn’t actually that easy) let alone the bite of his jaw.
But it was his eyes that made you most intriguing; deep and wise auburn eyes set perfectly amongst weathered skin. They watched you for a moment before the eyebrows above them lifted slightly in confusion.
You hadn’t meant to stare. Or maybe you had, it was unimportant.
“Fine, I’ll take you back to the office while the boys take the others to a safe space.” He wasn’t smiling, but he didn’t seem as begrudging anymore; a small victory.
“Thank you, although I may need a change in shoes.”
At this he did grin; and it was marvellous.
#commander fox#the coruscant guard#tcw#the clone wars#commander fox x reader#clone wars#fox x reader#fox x you#the clones#clones#the cw#incorrect clone wars
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3, 5, 6, 22
OMG, SOMEONE FINALLY SENT AN ASK :D (and thx Kuro for sending so many)
3. Is there a trope you wouldn’t touch with a ten foot pole?
If there is a trope I wouldn't touch with a ten foot pole, it'd probably be anything relating to smut. Now, I know this isn't a trope but instead a genre of fic, but still. I find it kind of weird that a good chunk of people write fanfiction purely for to make their ship do the sexy sexy stuff. Plus, I am a minor, which means I can't even write smut and I'm generally repulsed by the kind of people who do it (especially without plot). (Not you tho, Kuro, I genuinely love your fics. I just can't read your NSFW stuff, if you have any published)
5. Share one of your strengths.
One of my strengths definitely has to be imagery. I, personally, think I'm really good when it comes to helping the reader visualize what's happening inside a character's head or out in the story's world, and amplifying the tone based on that principle. For example, I use this constantly in Field Trip of DOOOMMMM!!! to add tension, horror, and, of course, humor to the fic and help develop the tones of both Danny and Conan's perspectives. Part of what helps me build that imagery is imagining what the scene might look like if someone drew a fanart or fancomic. After all, you can't put down imagery without having an image to work off of.
6. Share one of your weaknesses.
Probably my tendency to exposition dump. The latter is less of a problem in my fics as it is in my (currently WIP) original story, but it's still a massive issue since I tend to get too excited about a piece of information and try to slam it all on the user all at once. What can I say, I'm a nerd, but it is a problem I try to tackle in every story I write, regardless if it's fanfiction or not.
22. Choose a passage from one of your earlier fics and edit it into your current writing style. (Person sending the ask is free to make suggestions).
Holy shit, Kuro's just got a full on feast of an answer planned. Oh well.
You didn't suggest any particular fics so I'm going to go with a passage from the first fic I ever posted to ao3, The Makings of the Hunger. A fic I wrote purely on a Danganronpa Discord server with absolutely no betaing and me being way too obsessed with the idea of Shuichi being turned into a horror movie monster (Which also contains some of the worst paragraph-ing I've ever seen)
Note: The fic's about medical horror and torture so if you cant stomach it, DO NOT READ AHEAD.
The original passage
'Shuichi closed his eyes in horror as the man revved up the saw, knuckles white and teeth clenched. The first wave of pain hit him as his legs were chopped by the buzzsaw, except it wasn't just all the leg all at once. No, it was bit by bit in tiny chunks of the leg, starting from his feet and going all the way up to hips, on each leg. The pain was unbearable, his screams filling the night, much to the killer's amusement. He then moved up to his fingers, bringing out what looked to be a knife-sized power saw. Then, again, one by one, bit by bit, the man chopped his fingers off, while poor Saihara screamed in pure agony as he felt his nerves, and himself in turn, howl in pain. The man then decided to move up to opening his chest, pulling out a scalpel to do so. He started from the hips and, slowly in order to make sure Shuichi felt everything at full force, opened up his chest cavity with the scalpel, exposing his ribs and organs to the air. The amount of pain Shuichi felt at this point was unclassifiable, each nerve and neuron screaming and overloading his brain, and his voice was dried up from how much the poor boy screamed. Now, the man had moved to his mouth, pulling out an unreasonably large bench press that was pressed together, and placed it in Shuichi's mouth, which filled it up. He then released the pressure built by the press, which meant it expanded vertically, causing Shuichi's mouth to painfully elongate. He was so much pain that he began crying more than he usually did.'
See the issues? It's all one paragraph and there's barely any pause and imagery for the horror.
Here's how I would do it now:
Shuichi stared at the crazy paper-bagged figure in horror as he started revving up his buzzsaw, the noise worming it's way into Shuichi's ears as he struggled against the chains.
"Ahhhh, don't struggle, Mr. Detective. You wouldn't want to ruin God's work, now, would you?"
Shuichi, growing more exhausted with every desperate pull he made on the chains, wanted to shout 'What God?!' at the culty lunatic but before he could even focus his energy on that...
*CRACK!*
Shinichi screamed in pain as the buzzsaw finally met his right leg, cutting through his heel with a noise that made Shuichi sick to his stomach. The cultist moved through his leg incredibly slowly, as if to make Shuichi feel all of the pain from having his foot forcibly removed. And when the saw finally finished cutting through the bone, all Shuichi could do was begin to cry and start squirming his now chain free bloody leg around in the air. The man laughed, as if to entertain in the boy's suffering. But the man wasn't done.
And before long, he cut into Shuichi's right leg once again. Shuichi continued struggling against the chains as pink crimson filled his vision.
All the while, the Bloody Smile Killer laughed with manic glee as he slowly worked his way up and down Shuichi's legs.
Shuichi was in so much agony, so much pain. Pink had completely filled his vision. Shuichi was in so much pain that he couldn't even see the Bloody Smile Killer clearly anymore, only seeing pure pink which made the monster look like a demon.
Then, as Shuichi finally started to recover from the pain, he heard the revving of a new power tool.
And instantly began the cycle anew.
Excruciating pain hit his hands, causing him to scream and cry in more agony as his own blood exploded out of the wounds. Shuichi wanted desperately move his his hands and crawl out of this nightmare, but he knew he couldn't.
Since his fingers were now gone, replaced instead with little nubs that were screaming in agony.
Shuichi could barely see anymore, which was probably his only grace in this scenario.
Because it allowed him the luxury of not being able to see his own chest being cut open, revealing his organs, veina, and ribs. Shuichi was in so much agony that his voice was slowly growing strained with every wave of agony.
It seemed that the demon had grown tired of the boy's constant screaming, groaning as the fun of Shuichi's agony started waning.
"God needs to make more of you, my little sweet~ Let us fix your face."
And with that, a large piston-like object was shoved into Shuichi's mouth.
And then it pushed itself. Pushed against the roof and floor of his mouth. Shuichi's screams became raspy screeches as his mouth elongated past what is possible for a human jaw, his cheeks joining in his body's chorus of medical torture.
Shuichi was in so much pain. Everything hurt, and he felt like his mind was starting to fall apart from all of the torture. He couldn't speak anymore, he could barely see, and Shuichi felt like his humanity had been stripped from out under him.
So much pain.
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A few thoughts on writing longfic
I’ve had this post brewing for a while and I figured since today is a Friday I might as well let it out into the wild.
First off, this is not writing advice. I don’t feel qualified to give writing advice. This is a few observations I’ve made over the course of trying to write something that feels, well, long. Fandom is full of excellent authors writing long chaptered fic, but I don’t see a lot of people talking about how they go about producing such fics. I remember feeling like long fic was really out of reach for me when I started writing again in the summer of 2019 after not writing for years and years and I wanted to talk a bit about how that changed for me. Of course, this post comes with all the caveats that there is no need to ever write long fic if you’re not feeling it. Some of my favorite authors write mostly or only oneshots! But, if you are interested, here’s my lengthy, self indulgent, and entirely personal take on ~the longfic process~ below the cut.
First, to get this out of the way: long fic is anything that feels long or complicated to you, the author. “I’m working on my long fic” can mean that you’re branching out from microfiction to write something that’s 2k long, or it can mean you’ve got a multi-part 800k epic. There’s no objective measure of if something is “long fic,” Your own personal definitions can also change as you grow in confidence or change your focus as a writer (a little over a year ago when I finished Doubt Thou the Stars are Fire topping out at 31k, that felt very very long to me. Now it feels….still long, but not very very long.)
Here are a few specific things that helped me write something long. I don’t know if they will be interesting for anyone else, but at the very least writing these down has been a fun way for me to reflect on my own process.
Practice exercises. Ok, this is going to sound exceedingly obvious, but writing one shots prepares you for writing chaptered fic. Here’s what I mean more specifically: if you know you want to write (as a totally hypothetical example) a chaptered fic set in America in the summer that relies heavily on a nature metaphors, is written out of chronological order, and features a melancholy tone--it helps to write a few one shots like that before you embark on the Big Fic. Just like artists tend to do sketches before starting a big piece, it’s very helpful to write something small that gives you a feel for the ~vibe~ of what you’re trying to do in the long fic. It’s helpful for all the usual reasons--you get to know a specific version of the characters which helps plan out a character driven plot for the long fic--but it’s also helpful because you will learn if the tone and mood of the fic has enough staying power to capture your interest for the long haul. For instance, I have a few unfinished chaptered fics that have a humorous tone. I wish I had done more short humorous fics before starting them, because I would have realized that I don’t currently have the mental stamina to hold up a humorous tone for the length of a chaptered fic (hopefully that will change and I will finish Last Days some time this century!).
Plan it out ahead of time. I used google sheets for The False and the Fair. I do not think God intended google sheets to be used for fiction, but that was not going to stop me. On a more serious note, I think the best tool for planning fiction is the one you’re the most comfortable with--the notes app in your phone, handwriting, word, google drive, sheets, chalk board, summoning circle, the blood of your enemies, etc. The reason I chose to use sheets is that I knew from the very beginning that I wanted certain things to happen at specific places in the story--for instance, I wanted the first kiss to happen at the end of the first third of the story and I wanted the “reveal” about the mine accident to happen at the end of the second third of the story. But, I didn’t know what was supposed to go in between those elements. A traditional outline for a story at this point in development might have looked like:
Meet cute
Kiss
Reveal
Ending
But, what my brain needed was to preserve the blank spaces in between these story elements, and specifically to preserve the right amount of blank space between these story elements so that it didn’t end up, for instance, that the first kiss was halfway through rather than a third of the way through. In this way, I found google sheets an invaluable tool for pacing in the early parts of the planning process. I simply made 30 rows assuming 30 chapters, and started plugging in the elements I knew I wanted in the locations I wanted them. Then I filled in the blank spaces by asking myself “how do we get from X plot element to Y plot element in Z amount of chapters.” I’m not a mountain climber, but I’ve often thought about the first things that go into the spreadsheet in terms of mountain climbing terminology. In climbing, a crux move, which can be anywhere along the route, is the most difficult move of the route: if you can’t do it, you can’t do the route. I think of the first things that go into the planning spreadsheet as the crux moves of the story, the most important pieces around which everything else turns. It was not an accident that those were also all the first scenes of the fic that I wrote; if I couldn’t do those scenes, I couldn’t do the story the way I planned it so I wanted to know early on if I needed to make changes.
Make changes if you have to: even though it helps to have things planned in advance, don’t resist the story if it tries to change on you while you’re writing it. Usually the feeling that you have to make changes stems from having a plot that is not entirely character driven. As you write the story, the characters reveal themselves and sometimes the plot has to change to change with the characters’ motivations. Here’s an area where fanfic writers have a leg up on everyone else: if you write fic, you already know the characters really well. That means, (in my experience anyway) it’s less likely that you’ll have a surprise character development which leads to a rethinking of the whole plot. Less likely, but not completely unlikely, unfortunately.
Lie to yourself: The False and the Fair was supposed to be 90k words. I thought that sounded reasonable, a little less than 3x the longest fic I had ever written. Now it's 161k and will probably top out a little over 170k. Ooops. But I never would have set out to write something that long. I wouldn’t have thought I could do it, even though anyone more experienced looking at my plans for the fic probably would have laughed at the idea I could cover all those plot points in 90k. Ignorance is bliss. Protect your ignorance.
Scrivener: Long fic for me means “fic that is long enough you can’t hold all the parts of it in your head at once.” That’s where Scrivener comes in (or another app if you’d rather, but I really like Scrivener for the ability to see the project either linearly or as condensed notecards). You can put together an organizational scaffold in Scrivener that allows you to move back and forth between the forest and the trees. So, for instance, you might be going for a jog and come up with the perfect line of dialogue for chapter 27 when you’re only up to chapter 5 in terms of writing progress. With Scrivener, you can go home, and put that dialogue in the “bucket”/index card/whatever for chapter 27 without compromising your ability to see chapter 5 clearly or muddying up your google doc. You can then use the fact that you’ve started writing bits and pieces of the later chapters in conjunction with the tool of lying to yourself that, actually, you’ve written a lot more of the fic than you realize and that when you get to chapter 27 it won’t be as hard as chapter 5 because you’ve put in the groundwork already. In my experience, this lie turns out to be true about 50% of the time, which is better than 0% of the time.
Digestible mini arcs: The False and the Fair was originally broken up into thirds. I thought it would be 90k and 30k was the longest I had written, so thirds seemed to make sense. Also, 3 is a nice, time honored storytelling number. I think it’s good to give yourself seemingly achievable milestones along the way to completion. These milestones (for me anyway) lined up well with the “crux moments” I’ve described. If you’re someone who likes to write out of order, writing your way to an already written milestone can feel like sailing to an island where you get to rest for a bit from the stormy seas before setting out for the next island in the archipelago.
“It's all part of the process”: I’m categorically incapable of describing things without resorting to running metaphors, and so I apologize in advance, but I am now going to do the insufferable thing of comparing writing a long fic to running a marathon. Here’s the thing with a marathon. You are not going to feel good every step of the way. We all know this. It’s a marathon, it’s supposed to hurt a little bit, especially at the end. In the same way you literally cannot write something novel length or even novella or long short story length without, at least at some point, feeling bad about yourself and your writing. But you also can’t run a marathon if the whole thing is agony, and for most people, it’s not--your meat sack shuffling along the course is subjected to the slings and arrows of all sorts of weird body chemistry that only happens when you push it to its limits. So, you’ll be in agony and then the endorphins will kick in for a while and you’ll be thinking “this isn’t nearly as bad as everyone said,” and then you’ll drink some water at a rest stop and feel like a God for half a mile before you crash and you’re in agony again until that one perfect song comes up on the playlist...and you get the idea. Writing something long, for me at least, is a bit like that. There are massive ups and downs. The key for me is to just understand it’s all part of the process, a necessary step on the way to the finish line. If the fic is 10 chapters long, at some point you have to write chapter 5. Just like you have to write chapter 5, at some point you also have to go through a bit of despair before reaching the end. It is unfortunately non-optional. In fact, despairing is something you can check off your list each time you’ve done it. Cut dialogue tags, check. Feel awful about my writing for thirty minutes, check. Write ending section, check. Often I feel that the stress and shame and fear that come with bad emotions while writing are worse than the bad emotions themselves. It really helps me to remember these emotions are all part of the process and nothing to worry about. If I didn’t have them, then I would worry!
I certainly have plenty more to say about writing, but this ramble has gone on long enough. If you’re interested in any of this stuff, please feel free to send me an ask.
I would also love to know more about everyone else’s writing processes, so feel free to pop into my ask box to talk about your own approach too! I am very interested in this stuff!
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genuinely curious why you think tfatws ruined bucky? he got a recovery arc and a personality and they gave him agency, which i think makes him an even richer, better character.
hey, thanks for the ask and the discussion.
i personally don’t see it that way - bucky was already well established. he already had a personality. we see his range all over the map from tfa to cw. i see tf.atws as taking this 3 dimensional, emotionally varying, experienced, and female-coded character (trope wise), and deciding to fully blame him for something he had no control over. for yrs marvel has been trying SO hard to make bucky a bad guy but audiences were just not having it, because that’s not who the character is, but tf.atws was their opportunity and they took it.
bucky’s sadness, loneliness and grief was literally palpable the entire show until about halfway through when he did a totally unexpected 180. he seemed utterly miserable aside from a few manly and marvel-level humorous quips to sam and awkward hetero-inserted flirting (who has time for that? nobody but bucky apparently! the one character audiences view as gay!). bucky as he stands is not leading-man material, he’s heavy and traumatized, so they reconstructed him and it felt very, very out of place.
granted yes, he DID do those things as the ws and to some degree he DOES need to accept that. but the show goes way beyond that and takes this headfirst approach into turning bucky into a macho, gruff and shady bad guy with a past who needs to atone. but for what? literally being tortured and brainwashed for 70 years? it’s proven in marvel canon that the words trigger the winter soldier, it’s not a choice. we as an audience have witnessed bucky screaming in agony at the torture, as his brain is fried and rewired. it’s also proven in canon that shuri needed to take out the “programming” in his head. none of it was bucky’s choice (obviously) and yet bucky feels this immense guilt over his ws actions. those feelings are a product of being a victim.
but instead of attributing his guilt to his victimization, marvel takes this “ohh the winter soldier is still in there!! will he/wont he snap back into being a bad guy!? the suspense!” facilitated by zemo. that is simply.. not the character? he should feel broken about his loss of agency, his loss of life and loss of choice. hadnt it been like 3 yrs or something since the events of endgame? where was his support group? where are his supportive friends? what does he view as his purpose? there was honestly no character growth or fleshing out done to expand his trauma other than blame him for it.
imo it’s just a tactic marvel used to buff up bucky post-the steve rogers (queer-coded) era. they “main manned” him. they cut his femme-coded hair and gave him a short buzzcut. they inexplicably gave him his dog tags back. they made him the rough-and-ready co-star to sam (who needed to remain the likable, unproblematic, level-headed, and well-meaning lead for marvel’s fear of their life). every character who interacted with bucky was rude to him and inconsiderate of his past. they even made the triumphant “breaking through the words” scene in wakanda cold, unloving and un-congratulatory. this man who’d been a victim for 70 yrs was crying alone at what should’ve been the biggest breakthrough moment in his entire character run.
he and sam also shared that VERY cringy, tone-deaf “man up” scene. man up for what? being brainwashed? to shoulder the responsibility of somebody else’s actions & make it better for others when HE’S the one who needs help?. also bucky’s very masculine list-making (just check it all off one by one and the feelings will be gone!), when in fact we as an audience know bucky- and we know he just needs a friend and a damn good cry. and yet we were supposed to believe this painful convo was an olive branch and some sort of revelatory breakthrough for him.
sam, who literally has nothing in common with bucky (dont even get me started on their ill-fitting pair-up), but who could’ve offered his veteran counseling experience that marvel conveniently forgot about, that could’ve helped add a substantial foundation to their relationship (!!!), told him to MAN UP and make it better for everyone else. even bucky’s actual therapist was very cold towards him. she was dealing with a prisoner of war, somebody who lost all bodily autonomy and marvel played it off like he was an insubordinate thorn in her side.
also the root of bucky’s arc was the fact that he killed that guy’s son, right? (forgive me, i dont remember any of the characters in tf.atws) and yet in the last ep when we COULD have actually seen bucky facing the consequences of his actions, the scene cuts off? that scene felt more like the BEGINNING of bucky’s self-realization arc to me, not the end. he FINALLY expressed that he had no choice in the murder. but then we see no more? and we don’t see the man’s reaction - something that could’ve formulated bucky’s future actions/outlook. he also returned the list to his therapist in the end as if checking off the names somehow healed him. ??
also, lastly, the shield. they made bucky OBSESSED with the shield but they refused to acknowledge that it was actually just steve that he missed. they admitted marvel didnt tell them steve’s whereabouts so they couldnt write anything concrete. sam deserved a shield/cap arc that was crafted MUCH better than bucky’s possessiveness over it. bucky’s emotions are understandable to a degree, but you’re telling me bucky, …who loved skinny steve before anyone, who understood that man’s soul and what he stood for, would attribute his legacy to the shield? a persona steve actually hated? ok marvel.
a couple of manly smiles and an undeserved (as an arc) awkward cook-out scene at the end didn’t tie up any loose ends for me. i thought it was honestly horrible.
#ask#anon#i genuinely did not mean for this to be that long - i wrote about this all before when the show came out - so this is kind of just#a mess rehashing of my once coherent thoughts lol#it just did not do it for me bro
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Crossing Lines (1/?)
Pairing: mob!Bucky x fbi!mob!Reader
Word Count: 3,322
Series summary: A sudden and unsettling event rocks the underworld, and Y/N is immediately called in to prepare for what’s to come. What she isn’t prepared for is James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes, also known as the new head of the Brooklyn mafia clan. When these two get shoved into a world of danger and deceit, will they ever learn to trust each other? Or will they be doomed from the start?
Warnings: Blood, gore, violence, little bit of angst, slight swearing, slow burn (more to be added as the series progresses)
A/N: I’m finally able to post this today! I’ve been counting down until I could get this out😂 This is the first story that I have written and posted on my Tumblr account. I’m a bit nervous but very excited. I have not entirely proofread this story. Though, I would like to thank my beta reader, Lauren, for all the help and motivation she gave me. The GIF is not mine, credit to the original creator! And a big thank you to the @the-ss-horniest-book-club for hosting Mob!Bucky Appreciation Day and inspiring me to post this story.
Series Masterlist
The sharp clicking noise of my heels, followed by the dull thud of several boots, echo on the wooden stairs leading to the basement of my childhood home. I follow the along the long stretch of the twisting hallways until we reach a door that's muffling the slaps and punches behind it.
One of the men that had met me in the foyer, and had followed me down, knocks twice on the door as I tuck my hand into the back pocket of the curve-hugging black jeans I wore for the day. Moments later, the steel door swings open with a low whine from the give of the rusted hinges. The scent of blood and sweat is the first thing I notice followed by the image of the room.
Five men stand beyond the doorway. The man who opened the door stands near the edge of steel, gun hanging loosely at his side. Two bodyguards stand in adjacent corners of the room, making sure it’s possible to guard the others with in. Two others, the two most trusted of the household, including the right hand to the leader of the Manhattan Mafia Empire, stand imposingly in front of a man bound to a chair in the center. By the amount of fresh blood dripping onto the floor, this wasn't just some petty offense against the leader. Which draws my attention to the final man, leaning carelessly on a table filled with painful weapons. Nicholas J. Fury, the leader of this mafia clan, and my adopted father.
"You summoned me from my apartment, Boss?" I say with a smirk while jutting out my hip.
Phil Coulson, father's righthand, gives me a smirk in return while Maria Hill, his enforcer, just sends a half-hearted glare my way. However, father's face remains neutral.
"I did." He spares me a one-eyed glance. "Tell me what you see?"
I hum in thought to myself as I stalk my way around to see the captive's face. The top half of his once light-colored shirt is now hanging open from being cut by a knife or something similarly sharp. But it's cut open enough to view a tattoo resting on his right breast.
A red skull surrounded by a halo of octopus tentacles.
I grunt in distaste. "HYDRA scum."
The man lifts up his bloodied and beaten head to snarl at me. He twists his mouth before lobbing a spit ball at my feet. The glob of mixed spit and blood lands inches from my black, closed-toe heels.
I scoff at the action and brush my hand into the waistline of my jeans. When I feel the slim metal hilt, I maneuver the object into my palm. With the push of a small button the knife of the switchblade extends before I quickly drive it into his thigh. He screams out in pain as I keep the blade firmly in place. When his screams turn into tired wails of agony, I turn towards my father.
"Who is he?" I ask, motioning my head towards the man.
"We believe he's behind the hit on George Barnes. Or at least, is attempting to put the blame on us." He explains in his no-nonsense tone.
My eyes widen in shock, my lips parting slightly.
"George Barnes was shot at? Is this why I've been called in?" The prisoner painfully chuckles, quietly enough for only me to hear him.
"He's dead, sweet cheeks." He whispers with a smirk of victory.
I growl at him before twisting my knife and yanking it out while I stand.
"So, why am I here? I assume it's not to attend the funeral because you know I can't. It was just a risk just to even come here." My father gives me a pointed look.
"I need you to go with them to the warehouse with the prisoner while your siblings and I attend the funeral that's being held in a couple of hours. After the funeral, George's son and I will discuss some business about our alliance with the Brooklyn clan. I'll call you with the details." I nod at his instructions.
"You know the FBI is going to have me all over this case once they receive word of Barnes’ death, right?" He nods.
"I'm counting on it."
"I'll be waiting by the van." I tell him before wiping my knife on the man’s already dirty shirt and tucking the now closed switchblade into the band of my jeans.
I'm escorted back up the stairs towards the side of the house where the cars sit waiting in father's massive garage. Though the reason for the escort is now clear. My safety. My personal bodyguards, some of my father's most trusted men, meet back up with me to continue through the house. The sounds of nearing footsteps draw my attention to another hallway. My siblings, the twins, round the corner with their own group of bodyguards.
Wanda, the youngest, according to her brother, is dressed in all black. Appropriate for a funeral. Her brown hair is in casual waves while her makeup is mostly minimally visible. Her natural eyeshadow pairs well with the red lip tint she chose. Her normal red leather jacket is replaced by a similar black one that's draped over a black dress which is cinched at the waist. Her normal array of colorful and seemingly mismatched jewelry has been changed into a long silver chain necklace and a simple dark color bracelet. And to top off the outfit, she put on a pair of high heeled ankle boots. A surprised gasp leaves her lips when she spots me and soon, she's running to me as fast as she can in those heels. Her brother, Pietro, follows not too far behind her.
Pietro is dressed in a similar fashion. His silver dyed hair is brushed into gentle waves. A black leather jackets lays over a black dress shirt while matching pants and shoes. He also wears a small silver chain with a blue pendant on it. A gift from his twin.
Wanda pulls me into a tight hug with an excited squeal and I laugh, returning her hug with equal excitement.
"Y/N/N what are you doing here?!" She giggles as she pulls back. I laugh while Pietro pulls me into a similar hug.
"What? Can't an older sister stop by and see her two favorite siblings?" I gasp in mock offense once I'm released from the hug.
"We're your only siblings." Pietro reminds with a roll of his eyes.
"Besides, being undercover doesn't really allow time for social visits." Wanda points out. I only sigh. Sometimes she's too perceptive.
"It has to do with Brooklyn doesn't it?" Pietro asks while crossing his arms. As the only male heir of our father, Pietro is often included or informed of current affairs. Again, I sigh in defeat, though I shouldn’t be surprised he knows.
"Yeah, father called me in. This is a real shit show and I have a feeling this is just the beginning of it." I mutter distastefully.
They both nod in understanding, but Wanda looks equal parts sad and disappointed. But this is our life, we're used to it by now. Even though it's not always what we wish to have.
I gently smile before pulling them both into a big hug.
"Promise me you two will be careful out there?" Wanda tightens her grip on me.
"It's not us," She begins slowly. "Who you should be worried about." I chuckle dryly, knowing she's right, as I squeeze her back before pulling away from both of them.
"I suppose not. Still, I do. Now, I need to be going soon. I will see you both later." Pietro nods in acceptance, but Wanda let's her head droop slightly. I give her hand a tight squeeze before me and my bodyguards resume our way to where the cars are.
I climb back into the car that I came here in, and wait patiently for the driver and everyone to clamber in. The car is started but we remain idling sitting. As a way to occupy myself, I reach into the side door and feel for what I hid in there before I went in. When my fingers brush over the leather holster, I grab it and attach it, and the gun it holds, to a pocket on the inside of my leather jacket. When it's secure, I fold the jacket back over my chest, concealing the firearm in the process.
A muffled struggle echoes through the once silent garage.
"You want me to take care of that?" I ask the men who sit with me in the car, my fingers brushing over the spot in my jacket where my gun rests.
"Nah, I'll go check it out." One of my bodyguards, Mackenzie, or Mack as he's called, replies from the passenger seat.
"Of bloody course you'd be the first one of us lot to check it out." The driver, a Brit, by the name of Hunter scoffs.
Mack just shakes his head before he opens the door and leaves. When there's a few moments of silence after the car door is shut, that’s when Hunter speaks again.
"What are the odds of him bringing up something about needing that shotgun-axe again once he gets back in here?"
I chuckle and I see the shoulders of the person next to me move slightly.
"High." May, the bodyguard next to me and the one that I trust with mostly everything, responds with a slight edge of humor in her voice. Then she turns to me. "Boss, I was going to wait until we cleared the property,-"
"A good idea, May. I don't know much as of now, I can tell you that, but I'll tell the rest once we’re on the move."
She nods and the front passenger door opens at the same time.
"You'd think the men would know how to handle prisoners, like that one, by now." He grumbles as he settles into his seat. "I swear, one look at a shotgun-axe would scare the life out of those boys. Maybe they'd actually listen to simple instructions at that point."
We all the chuckle as the caravan of cars begins its trip out of the garage and to the warehouse. As we pull down the driveway, I reach into the pocket behind the passenger seat and pull out the object I stashed there and clip it inside my jacket, not too far from my gun. The gold of the badge reflects the light onto the side door while I begin to put on the mask that's essential for my survival out there in this scary world. The letters of F, B, and I revolve in my mind as I stare out the window at my former home. My life is a dangerous one and every aspect has a devastating risk with it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The warehouse is a dark place. Even if there is daylight present, streaming through the dirty frosted windows, a dark and dangerous feeling surrounds the place. It clings to it like the smell of a cigarette on clothes. For newcomers, like the prisoner that followed us in another van just a few behind our own, it's daunting. It's certain death. To me and my bodyguards, only our hairs stand on end in anticipation of what is to come.
I informed my guards of what I knew about the situation on the way here. A reverent silence filled the air at the mention of the late George Barnes' death. He treated his men well, was honest and loyal to his allies, and was a good man. Brooklyn and all of New York will miss him.
I stand in the empty warehouse floor, several paces in front of the unconscious prisoner, who's slumped against his restraints. Turns out the men are really in an impatient mood today. I cross my arms while I zone out observing him. Why did HYDRA do this? What did they gain? What's the bigger picture that I'm missing?
The faint sound of gravel crunching under tires drags me from my head and has me turning towards the opened garage-looking doors. Three black vans drive in and come to a stop not too far from the entrance. Father and Coulson are the first to step out from the center van. My siblings then file out from the one on the right. The rest of the men who were in the cars climb out and seem to form a barrier between the front entrance and the four people headed straight for me.
"I thought I would be receiving a phone call first." I give father a weary glance, noticing his seriousness about something.
"Change of plans." He answers swiftly, and rather seriously. I begin to grow uncomfortable.
The sound of more approaching vehicles has my eyes widening as I turn my curious and nervous expression on my father who gives me a reassuring nod.
"Fury." I hiss under my breath, not liking the idea of going into a situation blindly. He simply ignores me.
My focus is drawn back to the entrance as car doors closing harshly sound in my ears, though my gaze never wavers from my father's profile. A cadence of footsteps march across the unpaved driveway and into the warehouse, only pausing in front of the line of father's men. It's only when the footsteps draw nearer that I finally look at the party joining us.
My eyes widen, ever so slightly, at the sight of three imposing men nearing closer to where I stand. The man on my left is tall and broad-chested. His shiny blond hair reflects the dim light of the warehouse. His jawline is clean and sharp like a knife, adding to the dangerous air around him. The man in the center is just slightly shorter than the one on his left. A few strands of his long brown hair frame his face while, I assume, the rest is pulled back. However, the stubble on his face and those piercing blue eyes that I can see, even in the dim warehouse lighting, gives me an idea of who I’m dealing with. James “Bucky” Barnes. A man whose reputation for being a cold-blooded killer and a ladies’ man is very well known. However, any idea of seriousness is completely forgotten when I notice the man on my right, James’ left, who’s giving me a hard scowl. The familiar sight of the deep chocolate brown skin, hard eyes, and black hair puts me at ease. I could almost laugh at the situation.
“Samuel T. Wilson.” I chuckle when I see his eye twitch at the sound of his full name.
The trio stops not too far away from my father’s group and me. The sight of those two chocolate brown eyes, that look like they want to murder me, have me smirking.
“Special Agent Y/L/N of the FBI.” He growls, and I feel the tension in the room immediately spike. “I thought I saw the last of ya when I was let go.”
“You’re welcome for that, by the way.” Wilson scoffs and folds his arms across his chest. I also notice Barnes shifting in my periphery and sigh to myself as I think of how to reword things. “If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t have been let go so easily. There wasn’t any substantial evidence against you, but the other agents were going to keep you locked up to send a message. I let it slip to our boss, and he had a big problem with what they were doing. You were let free not too long after. So quit looking like you want to kill me, and maybe offer a ‘thank you’ instead.”
He goes to speak, but that’s when father decides to step in.
“Gentlemen, we came here to discuss a business transaction, not hash out the past. If you three would, follow me. Agent, you too. Son, keep the rest of our guests some company.” There are a series of soft grumbles and complaints, but ultimately, everyone listens.
When the three Brooklyn boys pass the now awake prisoner, his face turns a scary shade of white. And that’s considering the fact that he was already pale due to blood loss. I feel a shiver begin to creep down my spine, but I suppress it. I tell myself it’s because of the type of fear these men can instill, but deep down, I know that it was a low growl I heard somewhere over my shoulder.
Father takes us to one of the few offices in the warehouse and has me shut the door. Barnes sits in the chair across from Fury with both his men flanking either side of him. The only person at my father’s side is Coulson on the right, until I walk up to the vacant spot on my father’s left.
“I think proper introductions should be made before we begin talks.”
“I agree.” Barnes cuts in. “I didn’t realize this meeting would include a dirty Fed.”
I scoff but am interrupted before I can make any smart remark.
“This, gentlemen, is my eldest child. Y/N was the first I adopted and raised in this life. The only reason she is in the FBI is to help us deal with HYDRA.”
“HYDRA is everywhere.” I start explaining. “Like cockroaches in an old building. The only way to make sure every loose end has been tied up is to have all the information. There’s no better way to do it.”
“Hold up. I thought your last name was ‘Y/L/N’.” This time, Wilson interrupts.
“A cover, obviously. If the FBI learned of my ties to the Underworld or to my father, it would be worse than if they thought I was just corrupt.”
“The point is that Y/N will be passing on any information she learns about HYDRA and their plot.”
“I’ll also be keeping a very close eye on anything that may have to do with what happened to your father.” At the mention of him, I see James’ lips twitch slightly while the furrow of his brow deepens. “I am sorry for what happened to him. Your father was a great and very well-respected man.”
The only sign of acknowledgement I get from the new leader of the Brooklyn clan is a slight nod of his head, and I begin to grow uncomfortable in the silence that follows. Luckily, a phone ringing stops the awkwardness from becoming worse. However, it’s not just any phone. It’s my phone. I quickly snatch it from one of the pockets of my leather jacket and glance at the screen.
“It’s my boss.” I inform before answering. “This is Y/L/N. Yes, sir. I’ll be there as quickly as I can.” He hangs up. “I’m being called in. Send me the rest of the details later.” My father nods as he motions for me to leave. Before I do, I look over the three new faces and say in the most professional tone I can gather, “It was nice to properly meet you, gentlemen. I look forward to working with you.”
Without waiting for a reply from one of my father’s, hopefully, new allies to say anything, I hurry around the desk and out of the office. Once Hunter receives the word to get the car ready, I tuck my phone away again.
As I leave the warehouse, goosebumps prickle my skin. Not because it’s cold, or because I’m scared, but because of the pressure that’s suddenly fallen around my shoulders. This attack, this changes everything. HYDRA has always threatened the clans, carried out small or petty attacks, but they have never directly attacked the families. The death of George Barnes is only the catalyst.
A war is coming, and blood will be spilled. But how prepared am I for what I expect to come?
Part 2
#hbc bucky barnes appreciation days#bucky imagine#bucky x reader#marvel#mob!bucky#bucky x you#bucky barnes x you#bucky barnes x y/n#mob!bucky x reader#bucky barnes series#bucky x female reader#mobster bucky#bucky barnes au
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νοσταλγία (Chapter 12)
νοσταλγία Masterlist
Pairing: Ivar/Reader
Summary: This is a retelling/romantization of the Greek myth of Persephone’s abduction with Ivar as Hades and you as Persephone. The Reader character is a Byzantine woman, follower of the Greek Pantheon/Religion, and a devoted follower of Persephone. This takes place after 5A, but the universe of this is a little changed in relation with the series, of course. Thank you for giving it a chance, hope you enjoy!
Word Count: 4.2k
Warnings: The usual
A/N: Hi, so...either in this chapter I completely dissapoint you or I pleasantly surprise you, I’m very much hoping for the latter lol. I would love to hear your thoughts on this, cause I’m an insecure little fuck and I’m very afraid you’ll all hate this chapter and where the story goes from now on lol
Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius @heavenly1927 @toe-vind-ek-jou @xbellaxcarolinax @pieces-by-me
Decided to post this a day earlier cause ffs, between the fucking election and minks with covid and destiel and putin, the world doesn’t make sense anymore. So fuck it, have some Ivar :)
“Word has it that the King has made you a free woman.” The girl whispers, handing you a piece of bread and sitting beside you, looking out at the stars.
“Mhm.”
“We’ve known you were more than a prisoner since the moment you arrived, though.” She quips quietly.
“Oh.” You can only mutter, but the surprise is written in your face.
Freydis smiles, warm and a little cold at the same time, “It is written in the way you walk, witch. You were never a slave, were you?”
“If you are asking if the Saxons kept me a prisoner, the answer is no. That privilege seems to be reserved for your King.” If your last words drip with venom and anger, she does not mention it. You dare think she understands.
“I was. But now, like you, I am free,” Freydis sentences, and this does bring your attention back to her eyes. Depthless blue eyes, perverse and innocent, relentless and broken. When the girl leans closer, you don’t move. Her words are barely a whisper, but carry the strength of the vow you hissed at Stithulf, “Neither you or me will die slaves to men.”
“To whom, then?”
“The Gods. Yours or mine, I do not know,” She answers simply, fierce when she hisses the words at you, “But we mustn’t settle with mortal men. What we have suffered, it has to…mean something. It has to mean we are destined for more, that we are more.”
“Sometimes pain is just pain, Freydis.” You offer quietly, but her mind is set. You wonder for a moment if these thoughts were what made her spirit survive her time as a slave.
“No,” She shakes her head, stubborn, “We are broken because our fate is to be strong, we are…we are defiled because we are to rise above it.”
You roll your eyes, and even if the conversation remains quiet in the dead of night your voice is strong when you argue, “Did Freyja release you from your binds? Will Despoina release me from mine?” The pain lacers at your heart, but you insist, “No. I shall not be thankful for an unending fight to survive.”
“Yet you survive.”
She is not talking about surviving the Byzantine warriors’ almost successful attempt to silence you like they did your mother. She is not talking about surviving the pain of years, centuries, that marks your soul, a pain that Freydis may not know about but understands regardless.
No. She’s talking of the ‘freedom’ you have garnered here in her homeland, of what it means to be a free woman in a world that steps over the ones that cannot fight like men. She is talking of surviving Ivar the Boneless.
As your eyes meet, different stories, different agonies, and different destinies meet as well; but you feel she understands, better than almost anyone, what guided your words, your steps, your promises, that made an army be laid at your feet, to make a mad King set you free.
“King Ivar was the one to free you.” You say quietly, leaning away from the girl. It is not even a question, is a realization. All her words, all her advice…she spoke from experience, more specific experience than you thought.
“He wasn’t a king then.”
A hopeless laugh leaves your lips, “What men like Ivar the Boneless need you to be, you become.” You repeat her words from a few weeks ago, a new meaning to them altogether.
The girl laughs as well, the sound dainty and musical even if it carries iron beneath, “Although now I realize you may have been too arrogant to lie.”
All you can offer her is a shrug and a sigh as you say, “I die on my own terms, with my own face, Freydis.”
“But you didn’t. Die, that is,” She insists, smile on her pale face that you find yourself starting to return in kind. Her hand settles on your knee and she squeezes and you wonder if it is in comfort or something else. “Whatever you are, he wants to keep for himself.”
You say nothing else, turning your gaze back into the sky outside, suddenly reminded of the circumstances that brought you here, of the invisible chains that still remain on you, of how you have failed to become what you ought to.
If we must, we will die. Resisting, like your mother and I taught you.
And yet you cower and accept scraps of freedom at the first chance you have. Shame and resentment fill your heart, and your mother’s favorite piece of jewelry hanging from your neck feels like a noose when your fingers toy with the old metal.
“Did you seduce him?” Freydis starts suddenly, dragging you away from your thoughts so quickly you find yourself disoriented.
You blink a couple of times before you can answer with anything other than a wordless sound to her question.
“What?”
She shrugs with one of her shoulders, drinking from her own cup of warm milk before explaining, “You earned your freedom, or whatever measure of it that you don’t seem to be happy with. Did you bed him for it?”
It should be insulting, but her clear eyes tell you she does not shame you for it. She seems almost…impressed. It still makes something churn at your insides, and you find yourself hating the world that bound her and made her a slave a little bit more.
“No,” You say, slowly, “Was I expected to?”
Did you? Is what your words whisper but you don’t dare voice, although you have an inkling that she hears it regardless. Her eyes remain on you for a few moments too long, and the start of a knowing smile curves at her lips.
The girl still shakes her head in response, “I was curious.”
“Why?” If you sound harsh, if what Sieghild calls your ‘Athenian nobility’ is heard in your tone, Freydis does not mention it.
“He wants you, you know that. Half of Kattegat wants you.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
She shrugs, “Word runs that he has never taken a woman to his bed. Earls have even gifted him noble women and slaves, but he never accepts them.
A part of you wants to ask why she is aware of all this. You remain silent however, looking back out at the stars and wondering why does she believe the King’s cock and its use or lack thereof is something you are interested in discussing.
“It’s not about beauty, the women brought in were the most beautiful I have seen,” She continues on, talking to herself as she recalls, “It’s also not about…power. Most I have seen wouldn’t be sharp-witted enough to try to get something out of him either.”
She seems to be willing to babble on, but a sharp voice interrupts you, no matter how quiet it is.
“Girl,” One of the older women chastises, gaze set on Freydis. “Eyes and ears follow the witch. Be careful.”
You are stunned into silence, as is the girl next to you, and when the quiet of night settles upon you, you can hear the rustling of leather and the deep breaths of soldiers set outside your door.
His guest. You guess to them being a guest just means a looser set of chains, or invisible shackles.
True fear settles in the girl’s pale eyes, and you reach to place a hand in her knee, placating her. The older woman, you do not know her name, motions so that you both move closer to the crackling fire and away from the windows.
“It will do you no good to gossip like this about any son of Ragnar, especially Ivar,” She advices, but a glint in her eye tells you of times in her youth spent just like this. She leans closer, and whispers, “And also, despite the rumors, you must remember he is a hot-blooded young man commanding an army, you oaf.”
“Maybe it’s about control,” The blonde ponders, side-glance directed at you. After a breath, she shrugs, “Maybe you were brought all the way here just to be fucked, witch.”
Freydis ends her sentence in a giggle, her voice quiet and eyes shining. The young girl behind the past suffering and fear.
The old woman smiles, and points towards you with her head, “She speaks like one of our own, she better fuck like one too.”
Her jest is well-meaning even if insulting, and used already to Sieghild’s equally brash humor, you only roll your eyes with a laugh.
The three of you continue exchanging secrets of this land and its people till the moon is high up the sky. It helps with the feeling of shame, the feeling of having betrayed your purpose; it helps, but it doesn’t quieten the voices that demand to know why you get the right to spend the night next to a warm fire laughing and exchanging stories while your people’s corpses are still fresh, while the survivors await the embrace of the incoming winter to let go of their strength.
When the whispers quieten, when the city sleeps, when you are left alone with your thoughts; you realize what a mistake you have made.
You were taught to fight, you were taught to resist. The Gods made you smart and ambitious, and it was for a reason. It may be Fate you are to cross paths with the Varangian, but it is not written that you are to be bound to him, you refuse to believe so.
You have fought with claws and teeth before, you have lied and kissed and promised to avoid bindings. There is no reason why you shouldn’t now, no reason why foolish thoughts and feelings should stop you from doing what you have before.
Fight. To return to your people. To remain free. To overcome.
And so, letting go of the guilt of not trying enough but with a new sort of guilt and shame settling upon you, you depart the apothecary towards the main hall in the dead of night.
You are not stupid, you know the Viking wants you, at least slightly, at least begrudgingly. And he knows he cannot get any political advantage from making you his wife, he may even lose power by making you queen. There aren’t many things he can force out of you, so that leaves your body.
So, if it is your body he wants, you will let him have it, in whatever way he sees fit.
When it is done, when the foreignness is no longer mysterious, when you make the allure of whatever it is dissipate; then it will be easier to make him see that this was not ordained by the Gods, not his and definitely not yours.
You thank the warrior that leads you to the quarters with a nod and a silent smile, wondering in the back of your mind when or how these men got directions that you are to be allowed in the King’s chambers when he hasn’t called for you.
It surprises you that he hasn’t yet gone to sleep, makes you wonder what he has entertained himself with. A foolish thought of it being a someone that entertains the King at night makes you clench your jaw.
Still, you stand in wait, letting curious eyes wander over the spacious room. When the uneven steps reach your ears, followed by the fainter footsteps of two slaves, you straighten your back and face the doorway.
King Ivar’s eyes widen when he finds you in the room, quickly moving over your form in the red dress before he dismisses the slaves with a gesture of his hand.
You keep your eyes on his, but there has never been a time you have shown less in your gaze. He sits down, discarding the crutch at his side, and you walk closer even though your legs shake and your hands tremble.
Playing games kept you from your freedom, but…playing games may keep you from chains this time.
You’d prefer iron shackles on your wrists and ankles for a thousand years if it meant not having to be an unwilling wife before Gods that, although you don’t worship, you respect and believe in.
Your steps falter, and your heart remembers the consequences of the last time you lied in exchange for freedom. The words in your head are promises that this is no different from Narses, even if Narses was kind, and sane, and you cared for him.
What men like Ivar the Boneless need you to be, you become.
You reach up, keeping your eyes on his, and let the dress drop down to the floor, leaving you bare to hungry blue eyes that immediately trace over your body.
His lips part before he speaks, and he seems to stammer for a moment before he asks, “W-What are you…?”
“I know you want me,” You offer, a little entranced by the desire, the fear, the struggle for control that you see written all over his face; taking a small step forward before you realize it. You shake yourself off your stupor, standing straighter. With what feels like your last breath before a defeated descent to Hades, you whisper, “You don’t have to make me your wife, whatever you want you can get without marrying me.”
Any wonder, any trace of desire and boyish vulnerability you could see written all over his face, shining in his hungry eyes; it all disappears with your words.
His expression hardens and his nose furrows on a snarl, his voice gravelly and almost disgusted as he motions dismissively towards you.
“Get dressed.”
You startle, and resist the urge to cover yourself with your hands.
“W-What?”
“I said get dressed. I do not want your pity.”
Your brow furrows along with your nose, and although with trembling hands you grab onto the linen and cover yourself, you still grit out,
“It’s not pity. It’s…desperation.”
“Desperation?”
“I cannot be bound to you, I cannot be made into your wife.” You try, and the pleading tone of your voice makes disgust at yourself churn at your insides.
“Are you ashamed you will have to be the wife to a cripple, hm? Disgusted?” He taunts, the flip of a coin and back into the cruel rage you have faced before, although with a different, more raw edge to it as he presses, “Is that it?”
And as before, the glimpse of something real, the victory of drawing something human out of the monster that bears the crown makes your own back straighten, your own voice turn into steel.
“That you think your legs are the reason I would have for not wanting to be your wife, King Ivar, tells me all I need to know about you.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” He spits out, and even as his raised voice puts you on edge, you still run your hands through your hair as you start placing, “Do not walk away from me!”
You turn back to him with wide eyes and quickened breath. But it is not fear, it’s rage. For a moment when your eyes meet you want to dare him to make you fear him, but the arrogance beats the desire to prove your foolish heart wrong, and you spit out,
“You have had me chained and humiliated; you have forced me to become something I do not want to!” Your nose furrows and your eyebrows crease, but your voice lowers and you settle the fury in your voice as you answer his question, “And you thinking me being against all this charade has anything to do with your legs makes me realize in your mind all of this,” You gesture around you, “is somehow alright.”
His nose furrows, his lip curls in a snarl before he argues, “It is Fate!”
“Why!? Because you say so!?” You shake your head, “Impressive a man as you may be, you are not yet a Manteion.”
“A what!?”
Of course he doesn’t know, how could he, how could anyone in this cold and foreign place know at all what you mean when you speak in your tongue, to your Gods, about your world.
Letting all the breath leave your lungs, you let yourself fall to the ground, hiding your face in your hands.
“Our worlds are so different, Ivar, how can you think that-…” You sigh, “I do not belong here, I do not belong here with you.”
“Well, you are here.”
You are here with me.
And his arrogance as he says it, his pride, his power, you have known those for a long time, you have seen them in familiar faces and strangers. You have been forced to accept them, accept their rule over you simply because of the way the world is, for too long now.
Your calves grow warmer before the fire, but even if you put your legs above the burning wood it wouldn’t feel as stinging and as burning as the red mark now on your cheek.
The reminder, the thought of it alone, makes your weak hands tremble and your eyes fill with useless tears.
“Tis your pride hurting more than your face, little one.” Sieghild starts, but even if there is the start of a jest in her words, there’s gravity in her voice.
“He had no right to-…”
“He did,” She interrupts. And it is the truth, and it makes you clench your jaw and look away from her green eyes. “You wounded his pride, most men don’t take kindly to that offense.”
You stay silent, because you know. And you know you spoke out of place, you know you acted like a child, wanting things out of your reach. You know you should have lowered your eyes, shut your mouth.
Still…
“Is what he said true?” You ask meekly, feeling the burn of shame at the base of your throat. “That they can…take me?”
“As a prisoner?” The Viking leans back on her bed, a crooked smile on her inked face, “They can try.”
“As a concubine.”
Your mother focuses on you, “You are my daughter, little one. They can force no binds on you.”
“What do you mean?”
Sieghild smiles, with that same smile that speaks of a world of liberties women where you come from could never even fathom.
“You need me to say yes!” You yell before you can stop the words from leaving your lips, and you can only watch with widened eyes and a hand over your treacherous mouth as Ivar the Boneless turns to look at you again, the arrogant ire shining in his clear eyes. You scramble to stand, your eyes wide and hand still somewhat covering your mouth.
“What?”
He heard you. This would be your opportunity to take back your words, to take back your resistance, to accept surrender. You waged war against the very Empire the last time you were asked to surrender, though.
“You need my consent for us to be married, Varangian,” You state instead, the words fast and your breath also. You stand up, hands tightened to fists. A flinch of anger passes over the King’s expression as he presses his lips together, irritated that you are apparently so bent on being free. Yes, truly scandalous of you. You swallow your own irritation down and insist, “I am a free woman, you can’t force me.
He considers you quietly for a moment, and before he has a chance to argue, you remind him,
“You won’t break a promise, so you won’t make me a slave,” Even if your voice shakes, you continue, “I-I know of your ways, of…of your Gods. This wasn’t arranged, and since I’m free you need me to say yes.”
He hears the words you don’t say: And I will say no.
After a moment of stubbornly considering you, the King merely shakes his head.
“You have already been given to me.”
“That Christian has no claims to me, and you know this.” You tell him, speak ing of Stithulf and his useless chains.
“I’m not talking about him,” Ivar says, cold smile on his face as he leans on his crutch and serves a goblet of mead. He lifts the cup to you in offering, but you remain in your spot. With a sigh of both disappointment and irritation, the King gulps down the drink and clarifies, “I’m talking about your mother.”
“My mother is dead.” You say without hesitation, although a pit of fear starts opening at your stomach.
But he shakes his head, lifting a finger from his hold on the cup and pointing to you as he corrects, “I don’t mean the Greek one.”
“You are lying,” Is all you say as you look into Ivar’s eyes, your voice trembling as much as the rest of your body. Your nails dig into your palms but you cannot help it, you cannot tell your body to uncoil, not until you hear the truth. “You are lying to play with my head.”
“How would I know Sieghild Vorsdottir, King Rorik’s wife, famed shieldmaiden from the Danes, is the woman that raised you?” He offers, and with each word the ground under your feet dissolves more and more, “She came to me, told me she gave me your hand. I have witnesses.”
No, no, she would never. All those years, telling you to stand tall, teaching you not to bite your tongue, it cannot all have been for her to ditch you and sell you off to the first king you encounter.
You want to think this rationally, you want to remain calm and look for the truth but…
A part of you that will always be her child, that will always love her like the mother you lost too soon; that part of you leaves you with your hands shaking and your throat clogged with only one word.
Móðir…
“She would never do that, she…” You close your eyes with a deep breath, “If she did such a thing, she told you why.”
“She said she had to, that it was fate.”
“You are lying.” The words are choked, the last grasp of a dying hope.
“Would you stop with that? I am not lying.”
Sieghild’s sad and loving eyes on you, her hand holding your face, “I have asked Freya for help ever since we arrived in Scandinavia. She has answered.”
Frantic questions leave your lips, but in her smile there’s the same resignation you saw when she said goodbye as you readied to face the Byzantines for what was supposed to be your death, “The Seer’s words-…it does not matter anymore.”
“She said-…she knew all this time,” You choke out, wide eyes searching the nothing before you for answers, “Her visions, the Seer’s words, she…she knew.”
There’s a strange moment of hesitation, a breath of uncertainty where you think the Viking is trying to find a way to comfort you.
“Prophecies, visions…it is usually too late to change the result when we realize what the Seer’s words mean.” Is what he finally settles on saying.
Foolish, stubborn tears sting at your eyes, and it is with a shaky hand you reach to hold on tight to your mother’s necklace, despair cursing through your veins.
The Völva offers you a small smile, equally mocking and apologetic, “Run if you want to, fight, kick, scream. Fate will drag you home by the wrists, child. You know how this tale goes. The chariot’s pace will tear the world asunder as darkness goes looking for you.”
Your eyes trace over the skyline, almost frantically searching for an answer you know you will not find there.
“This…this place,” You look over the sea, feeling your chest tighten. “This was Ragnar’s pride. Sieghild’s tales…this is Queen Aslaug’s home. The empty throne.”
“You are not making any sense.”
“I was supposed to come here, before I even returned to Greece. I was-…Sieghild, she knew we were to return to her homeland, to that place ruled by a witch from the Danes.
You turn to him with wide eyes, a manic laugh bubbling up in your chest at the realization. For once, the King stays silent, watching you raptly.
“She knew it was fate. We ran from it, I ran from it.
It is with wide eyes and parted lips you look at the man before you, now in a new light, now with a new weight over your shoulders and heart.
“I have no choice,” The revelation is stealing the air from your lips, but with cracked tones you whisper, “I am…I am to be here. It is fate I become your wife.”
Fate. You never thought a word that once brought you so much comfort would make you feel so devastated.
“I will not be a bad husband for you,” He promises after a moment of silence, voice as uncertain as his eyes searching yours, “You will want for nothing, you will be respected by our people, I...I will take care of you.
You nod, but stay silent as the weight of it all settles upon you. You don’t know what is expected out of you now, what fight can you conjure up, what you can try -and see fail, again- to try and escape these…these invisible shackles.
There’s a moment of quiet, and the man moves in his seat, settling back in place with a posture that in anything other than a monster would make you think he’s sheepish, awkward.
His voice is low, almost hesitant as he offers, “You can ask for anything you want.”
You look at him out of the corner of your eye, “I do not ask for things I do not deserve, my King.”
Maybe it is time you stop asking for freedom.
____
Kay so Ivar’s words at the end are inspired on Hades’ speech to Persephone in the Homeric Hymns: “(…) feel kindly in your heart towards me: be not so exceedingly cast down; for I shall be no unfitting husband for you among the deathless gods, that am own brother to father Zeus. And while you are here, you shall rule all that lives and moves and shall have the greatest rights among the deathless gods: those who defraud you and do not appease your power with offerings, reverently performing rites and paying fit gifts, shall be punished for evermore."
Anyhow, I would love to hear what you think of this chapter and of where the story has led. I hope I haven’t dissapointed you, honestly.
Thank you so much for reading and I hope to see you next Tuesday!! Love you all :)
#ivar the boneless x reader#ivar x reader#ivar the boneless imagine#ivar the boneless#vikings#νοσταλγία masterlist
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Whumptober2020 - Day 10
We’re almost a third of the way through Whumptober! On to part 10 of the oof!au, and over the crest of the wave into trauma mixed with the promise of recovery! I’ll be playing in this au for most of the coming week. They’ve got a long road towards healing.
General Info: Post Order 66 Vader-Captures-Obi-Wan AU. Eventual happy(ish) ending. Past/eventual Codywan. Previous one-sided Vaderwan.
WARNINGS: Relatively minor for this part. Discussion of injuries, fall-out from mind control and torture. References to character death. Considerations of suicide.
No 7. I’VE GOT YOU
Support | Carrying | Enemy to Caretaker
Cody gestured at the troopers around the room to secure their chipped brothers. They had time to get to the hangar bay, he’d made sure of that, but not an indefinite amount. Leave things too long, and the possibility had existed that Skywalker would have beaten them and had time to undo the explosives.
The entire complex was going into the lava below. Even if they’d lost, even if they’d all died, Cody had made sure they were taking Skywalker with them.
The fact that they’d all lived through it still felt hard to process. Cody didn’t try. There were other tasks in front of him, things he needed to do. He focused on them, to the exclusion of all else. He had to get Obi-Wan out - get his men out - get them to the ship and away.
“Get to the hangar,” he snapped, moving across the floor to crouch by Obi-Wan, ignoring the agony in his side, the warm wetness of blood flowing under his armor. Obi-Wan was still sprawled against the far wall, collar a few feet away, where Skywalker had tossed him like a broken doll. He was breathing, shakily, bloody and trembling as Cody hesitated, all hopes that Obi-Wan would be able to walk out on his own dissolving into nothing.
Half the room had fallen on him. He’d pushed most of it aside with the Force, but not all of it. Cody had felt something tearing in his chest as it came down on him, felt himself breathe again only with the smoke cleared and Obi-Wan was revealed, on his knees, determination in every line of his face.
Determination only took you so far. He looked at Obi-Wan, slumped against the wall, panting, and knew it wasn’t taking Obi-Wan to the hangar.
Someone needed to carry him out. Someone--
Cody started to reach out, and froze, remembering the crack of Obi-Wan’s voice, the way he’d flinched and tried to get away, and--
Obi-Wan looked up at him, eyes dazed and unfocused, face streaked with both blood and tears. There was no relief on his features - not like the first time he’d seen Cody, there in Skywalker’s cruel care, their reunion had been a spoiled, awful thing - only exhaustion and pain as he gasped, “Cody. You’re--you again?”
Cody’s gut turned over, agony lancing through him that Obi-Wan’s first question would be concern for him, after what he’d done. He managed to find his voice, through the horror and anger inside his head. He rasped out, “Yes. We’re free. You’re free. He’s dead.”
He watched Obi-Wan freeze, just go still all over, breath catching and holding. Cody watched relief pass over Obi-Wan’s expression and a deep, terrible grief, at the same time. He was bleeding, hurt. So terribly, because Cody hadn’t moved fast enough, hadn’t-- he swallowed. His guilt needed to wait. “I’m going to get you out of here. Can I--” He stretched out a hand again, fingers curling back before he touched Obi-Wan’s shoulder.
Obi-Wan didn’t flinch back from him. Cody wasn’t sure how he managed that. He only rasped, his voice cracking, “Please do.”
Cody couldn’t manage to speak around the tightness of his throat. He shifted a little closer, cautiously, trying to find a spot of skin that looked undamaged to touch, hesitating to touch at all, remembering, with a sudden lurch of his gut, gripping at Obi-Wan’s skin, holding him down, and--
Obi-Wan made a ragged sound and moved, lifting his right arm and curling his hand around Cody’s shoulder and--and the initiation of the touch unlocked something in Cody’s head. Obi-Wan’s breath was ragged and hitching. He was shuddering all over. And Cody could do nothing else but wrap an arm around him, and then slide the other under his legs, holding him carefully, both wishing he weren’t wearing his armor - the edges had to be cutting against Obi-Wan’s bare skin - and so grateful that Obi-Wan had more layers between them.
“It’s alright,” Cody said, unable to stop the words from bursting out. “You’re safe now.”
Obi-Wan gasped, making an effort to raise his head and then giving it up with a pained sound, cheek still resting on Cody’s shoulder. Cody didn’t know how he could bear it, how Obi-Wan could stand to touch him, but… Cody stood, lifting Obi-Wan easily - he’d wasted away, in Skywalker’s care, or possibly even before - and turned to look at the rest of the troopers, those who had waited to escort them to the hangar.
Cody couldn’t fathom even the idea of handing Obi-Wan over to any of them. As much as it hurt to lift him, as much as it pulled things inside his damaged side, as much as disgust tried to kick up through his chest, he… he didn’t want anyone touching Obi-Wan, ever again.
“I don’t,” Obi-Wan rasped, in his arms, shivering all over, “feel so well.”
Cody swallowed, nodded his brothers forward and fell into step with them. He didn’t feel so well, either. Light-headed. But he could work around that. The droids had said Obi-wan had internal injuries. Who knew how badly he’d aggravated them, in the fight. Who knew if Skywalker had hurt him before Cody showed up. Who-- “We’re going to get you help,” Cody said. “You just - just rest. Pass out, if you need to. I’ve got you.”
He’d carried Obi-Wan unconscious body through these halls before, after all. None of his brothers had ever looked askance about it. They’d just stared forward, for all that Cody knew they must have been screaming inside their heads, the same way he’d been.
“Might, ah, just do that,” Obi-Wan rasped, a thread of sharp humor in his tone that cut down Cody’s spine. He swallowed, heavily, when Obi-Wan stifled a sound, agonized, as the base shook with another explosion and Cody jarred him. Cody fought not to swear.
“I’m sorry,” he rasped out, instead, meaning about so much more than any inadvertent harm he was doing.
Obi-Wan said nothing, breath uneven as he turned his head back and forth on Cody’s shoulder. And Cody could only swallow, wishing he could wrap Obi-Wan up, wishing he could bandage Obi-Wan’s hurts, heart tripping over when he felt Obi-Wan go limp in his arms, blackness mercifully swallowing him up for a while.
Cody walked through the halls with his back straight, looking directly ahead, bleeding under his armor. He passed the medbay, kept going, straight for the hangar, for the end of all of his plans, for freedom and safety and his men.
“Sir,” Fret said, as Cody climbed the ramp into the ship they had made theirs. He fell into step beside Cody, gaze falling worried to Obi-Wan’s limp form and staying there. “The chipped are safely in their quarters, sir. They didn’t put up a fuss. Bones says he can keep working on them here.”
“Good,” Cody said, ignoring the dizziness moving through his head. He - probably - should have let someone else carry Obi-Wan. But he couldn’t bear the thought. Couldn’t make himself take the sensible path forward. Besides, they were almost to the med bay.
“He’s alright?” Fret asked, his tone clipped and anxious, a muscle jumping in his jaw.
“He will be,” Cody said, words like a promise. He’d make them true, somehow. Obi-Wan deserved to be alright again, after - after all of their failures. And if it meant Cody couldn’t find a useful airlock right away, that was fine.
He’d wait, until he was sure Obi-Wan was recovered.
And then he’d do whatever else needed done.
They reached the medbay as Cody felt the ship lift off the ground. They’d only been waiting for him, apparently. “Probably going to get bumpy,” he told Obi-Wan, who did not stir, his expression gone lax, his skin too pale, his breathing shallow. He was, Cody had a feeling, hurt badly on the inside, where Cody couldn’t even see, and--
And Bones stepped forward, turning away from a discussion he’d been having with concern written all over his expression. “Commander?” he asked, and Cody jerked a step back when Bones reached out, as though intending to just--touch Obi-Wan. Put hands on him.
Bones’ gaze jerked to meet his, held for a moment, before Cody managed to unclench his jaw, to remind himself that it hadn’t been Bones who nearly beat Obi-Wan to death. It hadn’t been Bones who held Obi-Wan down and--
Cody gritted out, forcing his voice to steadiness, “He’s hurt. Badly.”
“He’s not the only one,” Bones said, tone sharp, and, when Cody only glared at him, he added, “Bring him here.” He gestured to one of the beds, and Cody limped over to it, bending to gently deposit Obi-Wan on the sheets. Obi-Wan made a soft little sound, pained, and Cody wanted to brush back his hair, wanted to hold his hand, but--he jerked back a step, instead, listening to Bones bark orders that seemed to be coming from further and further away.
He took another step back and wavered on his feet, looking down at his body, finally. There was blood, smeared all down his side and right leg. Quite a lot of it, he thought, dizzily, was not Obi-Wan’s.
“--said how are you?” Bones asked, suddenly gripping Cody’s arm, concern in his expression.
Cody shook his head, made to step back again, and his leg went out from under him. He said, sitting on the ground, “Take care of the General.” That was what mattered. They needed to make Obi-Wan well. Everything else, all the rest of his objectives he’d achieved, he realized, as he felt the hyperdrive engines kick on from somewhere far away.
He’d killed Skywalker.
Freed his brothers.
Returned them to the stars.
Gotten back control of his own body.
It almost felt like a dream come true, but he knew, too well, the grip of the nightmare around his throat. It tightened, his vision darkening, as Bones yelled something urgent from a great distance.
Cody blinked and realized he was looking up at the ceiling. There were hands pulling at his armor. His brother’s hands, and their voices overhead, tight with concern. “Leave it,” he said, trying to push them away as his world went grey around the edges and then to nothingness.
#whumptober2020#no.7#carrying#clone wars#fic#past mind control#past torture#references to suicide#past character death#bleeding#injuries#my writing#oof!au#please heed the warnings#codywan
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painkiller ∣ 3 ∣ J.HS
breakups are habitual, ordinary maybe even easy for some other people, and maybe it could be easy for you, too, if you haven’t been dumped by your boyfriend after finding out that you were pregnant. no, it wasn’t easy even a bit. and a stranger who wants to be your side doesn’t make this all easy for you, at all.
pairing; jung hoseok x reader
genre; angst, fluff, humor, pregnancy au, strangers to lovers au, single!mom au, slice of life au,,
warnings; angst, swearings, mention of sexual intercourse, bratty taetae, bratty jimin bc why not:), y/n doesn’t like kids?, sorry but unedited:(
word count; 11k+
rating; nc17
a/n; e-yooo? yeah, i take a long, loong break even without wanting it. but can I blame my life and all the thing I tried to handle? (and clearly failing lol),, well, i wasn’t suppose to post this episode now, but I pushed myself and tried to give it a chance and luckily, I finished this episode!! yey!! sorry for being the worst writer ever on this site, but pls don’t hate me, lol. sooo maybe feedbacks?,, love y’all, thanks for reading it!! ♡
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Jung Hoseok is the man of hope. He and everybody knows it. But are they okay with this? Maybe most of his friends and family members were okay with this but among them, Kim Seokjin didn't like how he always tried to be helpful and all. He wouldn't have any problems with Hoseok being like that unless he wasn't all over you. Hoseok never admits it, but he knows it. Unfortunately, he knew him well enough to understand how he feels from scanning his acts and looks around you. And Seokjin will do the best thing by opening the topic of you in front of his other friends because then, he would have nowhere to hide.
''Well, I don't know that but I'm saying this. That woman hates me.'' Jungkook let out a big sigh, the sight of the red-haired middle-aged teacher scaring the hell out of him, sending shivers to his neck. He wasn't the smartest one to figure out things easily, but he knew it. Maybe the way she sizes him up bleakly, or the way her mouth crinkles in disgust. Or maybe even the way she calls his name like she was spitting. Jungkook was sure, his teacher was hating him. ''I'll never graduate because of her...''
''Okay, first of all, stop being all gloomy about this and think.'' Jimin snaps his fingers before continuing to talk, ''maybe there is one other way to get on well with her,''
''Oh my god. Shut that filthy mouth of yours!'' Jungkook covers his ear, physically abhors from what his friend just implied. ''I would never do... that,''
''Jungkook you know who is not going to work as a nurse in a hospital?'' Jin tilts his brows, secretly pitying the boy who has red cheeks in front of him. ''perverts like him,''
''Oh, c'mon,'' Jimin whined, staring at the pointed finger with a knot between his brows. ''I said what everybody was thinking. Blame me all you want but you were thinking like me!''
Hoseok giggles while watching the way his friends tearing each other apart with their stares, enjoying the chaos more than he should. Probably the drinks he had just hit his head. He poured himself another one while Jin got red because of all the yell he did to Jimin, and the poor youngest watching them with rounded doe eyes.
''I see you are having a great time over there,'' the tone of his friend alarmed Hoseok, he acknowledged that he is the next target of his. So he holds his arms up, his pupils dilated from the fear he feels. ''Hey... what did I do to earn that look?''
Jimin's little 'o's filling the room while darting his eyes over Jin and Hoseok, happy to see how tables have turned. The youngest staring his hyungs curiously.
''So you say that you did nothing wrong?'' Jin crosses arms above his chest, cock his head aside. ''Nothing?'' he asks once again to prevent his friends from attempting to deny him. Light tension fills the room while they stare at each other in silence.
''He is talking about the patient of his, dummy,'' Jimin can't wait a little longer and talks before Hoseok says something. He lifts an eyebrow, trying to understand what his friend was talking about. His 'o' shaped mouth leaves its place to a pout. ''What patient?''
Hoseok asks but deeply knows who Jin was referring to, but he wants to deny all he can. Wouldn't want to believe that he was being that obvious in front of his friend and also his co-worker. His heart race goes high, can't believe how unprofessional he looked. If Hoseok ever wanted to disappear from somewhere, it wasn't the time where his pants decided to leave his body and him staring his first crush in his pink underwear. After memories of the first grade fill his mind, Hoseok's face goes even redder than ever.
''You know 'what' patient I'm talking about Hoseok,'' the oldest rolls his eyes, his nose crinkles in shame after seeing the useless attempts of his friend. He is the second oldest in this group after Jin, yet he looked like a three years old boy. ''I'm talking about Y/N, saying it in case you try not to understand once again, for god sakes Hoseok...'' Jin lets a big sigh, shaking his head earnestly.
When a pair of sweat drips occurs in his forehead, Hoseok uses the back of his hand to wipe. Even though he tries hard not to be obvious while dripping anxiety sweats, everyone in the room can regardable as a smart man, plus they were knowing him for a long time so it was useless for Hoseok to try to act cool. He lets a little gasp, pouting, ''Yeah, Y/N. She... she looks like a good person. Yeah..''
''Good enough to makes you want to slide in her pants?'' Hoseok gasps dramatically, facing Jimin's big grin with a hand on his chest. He could die from embarrassment.
''Jimin-ah! Stop talking nonsense.'' Jimin's hand wraps around his shoulder, rubbing the spot where his hyung just put a punch, it hurts enough to make him regret what he said but he can't control his tongue when he is with them and the alcohol in his veins. ''Don't make me yell again. I'm working tomorrow,''
Jimin's knitted brows start to ease, while his grin finds its place on his lips. But he shifts from where he sits, abstaining from hyung's punch before saying what he has in his mind. ''Does Y/N have an appointment tomorrow?'' he sizes the man in dark hair, flushed pink cheeks in joy. Hoseok doesn't want to look curious and tries to hold his body stable, not moving a muscle or landing an eye on Jin. But he is burning in curiosity, his fingertips numb with the memory of him touching, patting your arm fills in his mind.
The heated body, radiating too much agony. And for some reason, he can't quite understand, but he knows that he hates to see you like that. How many times did he see you before, three? In every one of them, you looked burned out, terrified. He doesn't know what he hates the most. The sorrow in your eyes or the way you startled in every situation. He doesn't know, nor he understands, put logic in it. But he wants to make sure of your well being. Not knowing you or you being his friend's patient won't stop him, he knows it for sure. Unless you want him to stop.
''It's not that scary, right hyung?'' with the poke on his shoulder, Hoseok tears from his thoughts, and you. But little did you know, the image of your bright stare in the hospital exit never leaves Hoseok's mind. Haunts him every minute.
''R-right, not that scary,'' Hoseok nods while the thought of you being a witch wanders on his mind. He is sure that he got caught up in your spell.
How many times can a person make mistakes? Does it have any statistics, or it's up to that person's imbecility? If you try to count the mistakes you made, you probably would drown under them like a used chocolate packet. But thinking about past mistakes could not give anything in return. Therefore, you focused on today and the days that were waiting for you.
Searching on the internet about pregnancy, reading all the comments about it didn't help you the way you want. Moreover, it just turned you into a confused wreck. To be more clear, you were looking at how a pregnant woman feels about it, and if you were making a mistake for not choosing abortion. It didn't help because they all wrote how good to be pregnant and being a mother. How they felt amazing and the special bond between them and their babies.
The one bond you couldn't feel for a particular reason.
They all wanted to be a mother, thinking about this a lot and then deciding the time they want. And the ones who got pregnant by accident or without wanting at first, get used to all the hardship with their partner unlike you.
It was useless, and just remembered how lonely you are. So you had to close the laptop before you broke it. Thanks to your pregnancy brain, you never felt this unstable in your life. It was being on a roller coaster with never-ending ups and downs. One second, you were feeling above the clouds, happiest woman ever, and then bam, something just snaps and you can't ease the need to break something. Preferably someone's neck.
''Yah! From earth to the woman who is drooling,'' when Taehyung snaps his finger on your face, you flinch with the sudden move. Tearing yourself from your thoughts, you size the lovely boys who are staring at your face. ''What were you thinking that deeply?''
''And use this. Geez,'' taking the white napkin from Namjoon's hand, you push it to your drooling chin. It was surprising how much saliva your body produces. Almost equal to a Lama. ''It was nothing. Just... just thinking about work and stuff, you know,''
Namjoon tsks, lifting his brows in disbelief. ''And I should believe this?'' you shrug one shoulder, throwing the napkin on the table after folding in your palm. You also read about pregnancy drooling. At first, you did not believe it, but as you can see how much you do it was impossible not to believe. ''Believe it or not, it's the truth I'm telling you.''
''Aish... stubborn as always,'' Taehyung rolls his eyes at you, pulling his eyes from you to land on Yoongi who sits right beside you. ''Are we watching the movie as we are all together and no work tomorrow?'' he sizes you all, eyes gleaming with expectations.
''The one you never shut your mouth about?'' Yoongi asks, showing how he got sick of his countless insists to watch a certain movie with them because he was the chicken in the group. ''It's fine by me but is it okay to watch scary movies during pregnancy?'' he continues after Taehyung nods in excitement, but once Yoongi points at the elephant in the room, his mood visibly fades.
''I don't think so,'' guessed as the elephant in the room, ''They never said anything about it. Both Seokjin and the internet so yeah, why not. Let's get over with it,'' you waved your hand, trying not to turn this into something big.
When Taehyung wiggles his body in weal, Yoongi scoots over, landing his arm over your shoulders and pulling you close. ''You can always hug me if you feel too scared, you know?'' he grins, patting you on the shoulder. The daringness of the boy always manages to shock you, leave you speechless. But Namjoon acts before you can say anything, ''If she can't find you, there is always another man who waits for her. Right, Y/N?'' he made the effort to sound sneering. You give the finger as a response, but he finds it amusing.
''Wait-Who are you talking about? Yourself?'' the ash-blonde haired man's eyes go wide, brows tilted. Pout on the lips looks adoring on him, as cheeks get even more fluffy. You want to laugh but you cover your mouth with your hand before sending menacing eyes at Namjoon.
''Huh. No, aish... no way. I'm telling this one last time, she is not my type. Sorry, honey but I'm talking about Damian. The man who always tries to get in your pants, remember?'' You shush him off immediately. The level of restraining you had against your anger getting lower by the unabashed smile he sends at you.
''He is not trying...'' as everyone knew how Damian treated you, always tried to do something for you, you did not feel the need to talk back. Teahyung laughs while Namjoon fills his mouth with the cupcake he bought for you. There is no need to say he ate half of them.
''That man waits on a leash for you, and don’t even fight me on this. You know that.'' Namjoon said, his voice sounded hoarse because of the cupcake he was rolling in his mouth.
''I agree with Namjoon-ah on this. I saw it with my bare eyes, he is so whipped for you.'' Taehyung backs up, leaning to steal a cupcake from the plate. Even though you know they were right, you didn't want to talk about him anymore. He had a thing for you or not, either way, you didn't want to think about a man in this circumstance.
''He can wait all he wants, but we all know this pretty lady only has one man in his heart,'' when he gets sick of the topic and hearing the name of a man his friend's talking about, he decides to step in. Yoongi suppresses you on his chest tighter, wrapping you with his warm arms. ''And that man is me, right?''
Humming at his question, you wrap your arms around him and let yourself find comfort in his soothing affection.
The four of you grow together, got more and more close in time, but contrary to Namjoon and Taehyung friendship it was different with Yoongi. You two met when you both had a bad breakup, and were suffering yourself every day. So, your relationship took a different path after a while, it turned into something more platonic. Neither of you had feelings towards each other but finding comfort and serenity in one another company. It wasn't anything physical if you don't count the comfy hugs, tiny kisses, and holding hands when one of you needed it.
It happened only when you two felt lonely at the same time, and never crossed the line of friendship. It was a harmless, tiny platonic relationship, and you both loved the way it's going.
You squish yourself deeper in Yoongi's hold when Taehyung started the scary movie. Between Taehyung's screams and Namjoon's criticisms, you giggled when they started to bicker with each other. And in moments like this, you felt extremely happy. Thankful for having them, the chosen family of yours. It was a great way to have a break from feeling miserable and lifeless.
‘‘Not right for god sake! I said left, yes, a fucking left!’’ you scream at the man who drives, knowing your words sound harsh, you couldn’t help but not caring a bit as the pain in your inguinal area disturbs you. Yet, your screams and constant curses won’t help the redhead to drive decently, or not miss a turn. Trembling hands help him as much as you while he drips red sweat from his forehead. ‘‘Okay, okay… Can you not shout and leave my eardrum alone. Chill a little woman, geez…’’
‘‘Have this burning feeling between your legs, and then try to tell me to shut my mouth. Dickhead!’’ You didn’t know why but you were sure of having a urinal affection that tries to kill you for sure. It started two days ago but it only annoyed you while peeing, but after a while it started ache without even landing your back on the toilet. You could only crawl your legs and press them together to abstain from the pain, yet it was useless.
Taehyung, the lucky man who is driving you to your appointment, wipes the sweat on his forehead, breathing out from his nostrils in annoyance. ‘‘Sure. I won’t forget that,’’ he snaps back, rolls his eyes at you. His grip on the wheel loose after a while, as he doesn’t want to turn this situation even harder for you. Peeking an eye on you, he decides to melt the ice between you and himself. One hand on the wheel, other reaches out and holds yours tightly, and puts a boxy smile on his face. ‘‘Just hang a little okay? We are almost there.’’ Even though you want to spit on his face one second ago, with the sudden affection your heart decides to melt under his caring gaze.
You will never get used to these abrupt ups and downs. Not in a million years.
‘‘Well, I’m not giving birth, don’t I? At least, yet,’’ he giggles, shoulders move a bit with the vibration of his laugh. Thankfully, Taehyung didn’t decline your call when you desperately called him after Yoongi, as you knew you couldn’t handle driving a car in these situations, and taxi drivers always get on your nerves so using them with these hormones wouldn’t end well. Taehyung took the savior role and didn’t lose himself even though he had enough of your filthy mouth, at least he was still driving you to hospital. Not dumping you on the road even though he considered this for a minute.
‘‘Want to wait for me to park the car or meet you there?’’ he cuts your thoughts while pulling the car in front of the entry. Moving swiftly, you open the door and almost run to the elevators after telling him a simple ‘there’, leaving him behind. Heading to the elevator, you act like you are not having the thought of the man who has a heart-shaped smile. You didn’t even know his name, as you trick yourself into this idea. You press the button after entering the grey elevator with a couple of people, two of them step out with you on the third floor, heading to a different direction.
While you were walking to your doctor office, for the first time in weeks, you didn’t feel heavy on the heart. Not that you were not anxious, but it was different now. The ball of sweats didn’t crept towards your forehead, heart wasn’t beating like it was going to explode, or the way your eyelids stayed dry. Normally they would go puffy from wetness by now. But here you are, standing inches away from Doctor Kim’s door, and not having a slight terror beating on your throat.
This is a first for you. And probably for your doctor too as he always witnessed your breakdowns. What a pathetic loser, he must think about you, as you did think just like that.
‘‘Welcome, Y/N,’’ Doctor Kim reacts by standing up after seeing you, holding his hand up to greet you. You couldn’t help not to mirror his smile, squeezing his hand with a pleased smile, happy to see him. ‘‘You look good. Things have been going good, I guess?’’ he asks, pulling his hand to gesture you to sit in your usual place. For a second, you stay silent, not knowing what to say as you didn’t want to lie for some reason. Knowing he is always caring and sweet towards his patients, he still manages to make you feel special in a way. Probably thinking dumbly, but you feel close to this man, and wanted to share the truths. Even though you were not sure if things have been going good, or the total opposite. Well, you were still dealing with pregnancy hormones, morning sickness, and constant urinal issues - ignoring the unwanted pregnancy -, but you can say you were more optimistic these days? You didn’t know, had no idea…
Sitting on the black couch where he gestured, you bob your head, gathering your thoughts. ‘‘To be honest, I don’t know how I feel. You know about the pregnancy mind and emotions. I think I’m trying to be better,’’ he gives a polite smile, white pearls appear behind his lips. ‘‘Oh, that’s good news. At least we are trying to overcome the negativities, huh?’’ you giggle, nodding while your heart warmed with the way he mentions ‘we’. Not throwing you under the bus, but also counting himself in, easing your anxiety day by day. You found yourself lucky.
‘‘So, painful urinates.’’ his expression changes in a minute to a professional doctor he is from a friendly one. Eying the papers for a couple of minutes, he holds out a tiny paper to you before adding, ‘‘Let’s have a urine test, first.’’ he smiles again, and informs you about the floor you should go to.
You already hate taking these tests, have to pee in a cup and all the humiliation you felt after holding it in your hand in the corridor, in front of all those people. Like it wasn’t enough, you couldn’t drop a little drip in a damn cup. Exhaling the air in your lungs, you wipe the sweats from your forehead. Of course, nothing will work in the way you wanted, have to drive you crazy before. ‘‘Why, why, why exactly I can’t pee?’’ you groaned, lifting your pants and pulling the zip before washing your hands two times - because who would wash one time -, and you exit from the toilet to meet with your friend. ‘‘I can’t pee,’’ you sat in defeat, shoulders dropped dead on your body, and you watched your friend’s laughs and snorts that filled the corridor. At least one of you had fun today…
‘‘You look all pouty and teary just because you can’t pee?’’ he hits his knee with one hand, lips reaching from ear to ear, while you eye him with a crabby gaze. This man wants a punch. ‘‘Ohh… God, you are so cute,’’ he continues to giggle while arms pull you into a hug, one kiss lands on your hair. Then, he informs you to wait for him, and leaves you there to overthink. It’s funny how life treats you sometimes, when you think. You literally wake up every hour to pee from your comfy bed, but when it’s come to an important task, your urinal system decides not to do the thing that it does for a thousand times a day. Hah, funny! Not that you are surprised, though. Looking at your past, nothing came easy, hence, never left without making a big fuss. You did get used to all the trembling mess in your life, but all you wanted was to pee without having a meltdown. Is it too much to ask? Aish… just when you thought everything going alright, not suffocating you with handicaps on your way and such things like-
‘‘For a person who holds a plastic cup, you look very sad.’’ a honeyed giggle interrupts your overthinking, forcing your attention on itself. And with a slight surprised gaze, you had nothing to do other than facing the oh so familiar sound. ‘‘Do you need help?’’
‘‘With this?’’ you hold the cup high, now surprised more than before. Watching the man giggle visibly, after seeing your wide open eyes.
‘‘What! Of course not.’’ he almost shrieks with a mocking attitude. ‘‘It was a way more general question than it’s heard.’’ finally he stops laughing, giggling after sitting right beside you. Brown gaze locked on you after silence takes over your small conversations, but you don’t feel uncomfortable the way you should. The way you thought you should act if you run into him again, but the annoying fondness toys with your heart. After the day you last saw him, you regretted shortly after the way you acted all needy, as a fragile little girl. You still can’t believe how you felt heartbroken when he didn’t find a way to drive you home. What were you? Some girl who can’t control her emotions or hormones? And no, using pregnancy as an excuse won’t work this time. You had strict rules to obey. No man must go near to your heart.
‘‘Doctor Kim wanted a urine test?’’ Hoseok tried to look cool, asking nonchalantly and tried to trick himself as he only wondered about this as a nurse. Not out of curiosity about your situation or health. Badly wishing you would fool around and not hit him on the head.
‘‘Hmm. Probably an infection. He wanted a test.’’ you nod, chewing your bottom lip while his chocolate orbs never leaves your face. While your fingers play with the cup, eyes locked on them as you are afraid to look him in the eye, not trusting yourself enough on not blushing all over while eying him. He had some kind of an effect on you, and you hated that. You really did. He leans closer when you scream internally, ‘‘There is something,’’ he murmurs before the touch of his fingertips lick your cheek a bit, feeling the tremble on his hand while he takes a tiny leaf from your hair. It was stupid to feel, but the scene had resemblance with the tv dramas. Both of you stayed dumbfounded as he dared to touch you, of course, you were too close and air left the tiny space. Under the spotlight you two were frozen, waiting for a miracle to move. Something happened soon after, but you may not call it a ‘miracle’ as it was your dumb friend, who yelling at you from across the corridor.
‘‘Y/N-ahhh!’’ A couple of eyes landed on Taehyung in disbelief, a couple of ‘tsc’s murmured by the older ones, and immediately the young man shut his mouth. Holding his hand above his parted lips, embarrassment turns his cheeks scarlet, heart beating inside of his throat. But all the embarrassment dies after Taehyung spots you and the man right beside you, hand on your hair, the same scarlet on his face. Then Taehyung visibly changes, and you know what is about to happen that you hated so much. Before you could open your mouth to say something, or Hoseok lands his hand, your friend was there. Taking deep breaths, nostrils getting big with every breath. ‘‘I’m Taehyung, and you?’’ wanting to slap your forehead, or his face, you stood up and Hoseok followed your act.
‘‘H-hey. Hoseok,’’ Hoseok holds his whimper when the red haired man tries to break his hand in the handshake. He doesn’t understand the situation, or why this man looks like he was about to rip his head off, but Hoseok couldn’t help to push his chest up a little bit to show he is not intimidated by the man in front of him. ‘‘Hahaha, how you meet with each other kindly, huh? Hoseok is the best nurse in this hospital as Doctor Kim said,’’ you try to ease the moment, but the words all sound shrill, ‘‘And Taehyung is-’’
‘‘Taehyung,’’ your best friend for life, wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer to his body. With dreadful eyes you scan his face, then landing on Hoseok, watching the strain on his jaw. ‘‘Nice to meet you,’’ Taehyung adds, and you want to punch him. Oh gosh, you want to punch him so bad on the balls. Until his know-it-all, stupid face reddened. He was forcing your restraining level, pushing you too much with the protective acts of him. Between your internally crisis, you land an apologetic gaze on Hoseok’s, wishing him not to care of your stupid friend’s attitudes.
‘‘Yes. Yes, of course, nice to meet you, too,’’ Hoseok bids his goodbye after taking his hand from Taehyung’s grip, as kind as he can manage. Trembling left hand finds a way to ease the act by wandering on his hair, ruining it. He doesn’t know why the burning ball dropped at his chest out of nowhere, or why his breaths become so fast. Wanting to punch himself in the face, he can’t get rid of the image of the arm over your shoulders. Blood almost meets with air when he bites down his lip, a feeling clawing his chest, but he doesn’t know what it is. He doesn’t want to learn, either.
‘‘Ouch!’’ Taehyung voices a hoarse whine, rubbing the skin under his rib cage. An instant ache raised after the touch of your elbow, landing on him with a great aspect. ‘‘Did I play good?’’ he tries to laugh but with the pain he wheezes, playfulness wiped from his face.
‘‘What was that?’’ slapping him one more time, you raged. Hoseok’s back already lost in the corridor, but remembering how his face dropped down, and a terrible anguish struck your heart. Of course it was only because Taehyung mocked him, that was why you felt this stinging guilt. Yeah, that’s why. ‘‘What was what? I think I played well. Shouldn’t we protect you from the danger going around?’’ he asked like it was the obvious thing. Surprise on the face.
‘‘Who are ‘we’, exactly?’’
‘‘Well, you know. Me, as your best friend, also Namjoon. And Yoongi, not that I can count him as your friend, but yeah… You see, that is we,’’ he points, dropping a quotation mark on the air. Breath, yes just breath and ignore the boiling anger inside of you. It would be the best thing to do. ‘‘And here, drink this bottle. Sure you’ll pee like an elephant in a minute.’’ Before taking the bottle from his grip, you tried to say something, abortively parting your mouth only to close it in a minute as you don’t know what to say. The redhead eyes you as if nothing happened, like he didn’t do anything wrong a minute ago, and you didn’t know which word would shake his mind. Maybe a slap, or even a kick would work but with a living creature inside of your belly, you won’t kick anybody. Even if that anybody boils your blood, inflames your migraine.
Audibly gulping you drink the water swiftly. Hitting the bottle on his chest, you turn to sit where Hoseok just left. An itchy feeling appeared on your chest, leaning to your fingertips by your arms, and you wanted to do something. Probably it was a dumb idea, but for some reason you had an urge to explain who was Taehyung actually, why he was here and all the question in his mind. Even though some part of you screams at you, writing the sane thing with red color. Why would he have any questions in his mind? Or, why would he want an explanation from you?
Not knowing exactly if it’s okay to eat diet biscuits, you send another crumb to your mouth, crushing it slowly between your molar teeth. A kid looks at you with wide eyes beside you, she points you to show how scary you look while looking at the floor in a trance to her mother. Which you don’t know what was going on in the world as thinking about nothing was way more entertaining than watching the others. Plain biscuit didn’t put a joy in your mouth, rather it tasted like grass. Not that you knew how grass tasted like, or not that you waited for an explosion in your mouth out of joy. All these useless thoughts wander on your mind, keeping you busy while you wait for your test results. Surprisingly, your dummy friend advised you the reasonable thing, like a broken clock showing the right time twice a day, he used his dusty brain for once. After gulping down a bottle of water, a wave of need had hit you on the inguinal area. All you needed to do was wait for the moment, but you were too impatient to do so. Hitting the table with your fingertips, keeping a broken rhythm, humming to yourself got boring after you started. A ball was going right to the left in your blank head, you were able to hear the sound of emptiness.
‘‘I don’t want to eat this!’’ in the crowded hospital canteen a voice comes out, beating all the other sounds and tickling your ears. ‘‘No. I said no!’’ when the woman tried to feed the little satan again, he jerked his hand and hit the spoon on the woman's hand. Geez. A cold drop takes a track all the way down your spine, causing you to shiver in shock. The satan in the shape of a little boy started to cry soon after the spoon met with the floor, kicking the table and smacking the food on the ground. You were stunned, speechless for a moment as the scene continued by the little boy having a tantrum right beside you. Calling him with such a bad name didn’t bring you any guilt, moreover, you think it suited him well. Red on the face, constant punch on the air and wobbly screams coming out of the boy made some resemblance with the evil force in him. Not that you knew much about babies or little kids, but this boy looked at least four or five years old, yet he managed to put fear in your gut.
A bucket of cold water dropped by your head, waking you from the trance you dive into. You had no idea about raising a baby, or taking care. It was hitting you with a wave of truth that you had no ability to look out for a baby, while you can’t even survive from the winter on your own. Never thinking of raising the baby in your belly, you never applied to an adoption foundation, though. What were you thinking? You would get used to this, being pregnant, being a mother? Suddenly you would expect the baby, out of nowhere?
You were acting foolish, reckless and immature. Always having hard times without a father, how could you think you can raise a baby on your own. And until now, you didn’t know that you had such a dump idea. Did you really want to raise a baby on your own, you weren’t quite sure about it, but you never researched the many ways of adoption. Bitterness floats around your tongue, your grip on the biscuit hardened, until there is nothing but a bunch of crumbs. Cold wet stick on your back, black shirt becoming the second skin while your eyes wander around everywhere. Having multiple panic moments these last weeks, you read much about pregnancy depression, which they mostly said it was okay to feel depressed or down because of the uncertainties of your emotions. They were up and down in a blink, filling your stomach until you threw them out with a retch, waking you up with heavy breaths in the middle of the night. That’s why, you always found yourself thinking if this would be much easier with somebody, with… him. Sticking your tongue between your teeth, you hate yourself for thinking about him, the man who ran away from you with toes hitting his butt. And all these pregnancy hormones were confusing your mind, causing you to barking up the wrong tree.
While you were feeling under the water, fighting with your thoughts to see clearly, a sweet melody of a laugh interrupted the stinging flood of negativities on your mind. Something snapped, and all the scars started to heal after hearing a simple giggle.
Holding your head up, letting the soothing tone sail into your skin, kissing all the stitches to heal by soft touches, you eyed him. Growing pains chucked away against the pressure of the thrilling balm, honeyed warmness bloomed in your chest after witnessing the mouth curling a heart-shape. He was close enough for you to see the glowing wriggle in his eyes, and you wanted to curl, cover your body with the thought of its beauty. For a second, you wanted to let yourself find the momentary tranquility under his magic, even though it was black. Even though it was harmful for you, too soothing, too good to be true.
‘‘H-hi,’’ with a croaky voice popping on your mind, you shake your head to come back to reality. The reality where Hoseok was standing behind the table, a timid smile on his face, feeling uneasy.
Hands crossing each other's way, you stare him blankly, mouth barely spills the greeting. ‘‘Still waiting for the reports?’’ he asks after coughing to get rid of the hoarse voice, billion reasons wandering inside his mind, telling him not to talk with you after what happened on the second floor, but the unknown reason holds his legs tight. Conversely, the part of him, where the logic was long lost can’t ignore the doleful lines on your face. Hundred promises lost its effect with one glimpse towards your direction. Promising, taking oaths for not talking to you was useless over the way his heart reacted after seeing the way you sit all alone. His guts, senses, brilliant mind were nothing but a bunch of trash when it comes to you, and the more he hated the way he walked over his own promises, the more he found himself in a deep hole, where he can’t think of anything but you. As his friend said before, he was stupid. Hoseok knew this very well.
‘‘Yeah, still waiting. But, it’ll be over soon,’’ you cracked a tiny smile, scanning his face until a voice cut the moment, but Hoseok’s lips never moved.
‘‘Hey, it’s Jimin,’’ hand hanging in the air, you stared at the man for a second before reacting. Slightly long dark hair falls on the side of his forehead, a tender smile turns his pupils into half-moons, self-assuredness can easily read. ‘‘The best nurse you can run into,’’ he nods to emphasize his words. But his cockyness fades after Hoseok adds ‘pre’ to his caption, holding your laugh back you cover your palm over your mouth. Hiding your grin back as you don’t want to offend the boy you just met. ‘‘Hi, it’s nice to meet. You can call me Y/N,’’ hearing your name, a light ignites in his half-moons, passing by in satisfaction.
‘‘You don’t mind if we sit together, right?’’ mischievous glares stare deep in you, like he tries to prevent you from saying no, yet you had no intentions to say that. ‘‘We don-’’
Hoseok eyes you in surprise after you cut his words half, not expecting you to agree on what Jimin just said. The smile on your lips shocks him as well, getting cramps on the heart when you land your eyes on him that softly. ‘‘Of course, that would be good. Having a company sounds good,’’
‘‘Where is your…-red haired man?’’ a bizarre tone rises from Hoseok when he takes his place on the chair beside you. Before answering him, the embarrassing scene plays on your mind, sending a bunch of curses to the man who drives himself away from the hospital. You curl an apologetic smile. ‘‘He needed to leave. You know, work calls,’’ allowing yourself to feel stupid, blaring giggle popped out of you. It sounded fake, as you were still ashamed of Taehyung’s behaviours. He only nodded, not adding anything until the black haired one leaves to get something to drink. It was silent between you, but nervousness could cut a wire. Both the way his jaw tenses every other minute, and the way your eyes never land on him more than three seconds, you can sense the awkwardness. Never seeing him like this also disturbed you even though you only run into him for like three times. But as soon as the younger one moved away, chary words spilled by his lips.
‘‘W-was he the father of the baby?’’ Hoseok asked, knowing he is crossing the line big time, but the vexed part of him clouds his logic. Even though he curses himself being this immature, he can’t help the vain need that grows inside of him to learn the truth. Even before seeing your face getting white, lips parting abruptly with an unexpected question, Hoseok knew he shouldn’t ask the question, but witnessing the way you react, he curses himself one more time. ‘‘Who? Taehyung?’’ As you weren’t waiting for him to ask such a question, he wasn’t expecting you to laugh until your body became involved in your laughter. Stuttering, being unable to complete your word, you hold your finger on the air to ask for a minute to gather yourself. For a moment of thinking Taehyung as the father of the baby in your belly made you giggly mess because of the abruptness of it. You not only want to retch with the thought of it, but also want to laugh until your muscles stop working. ‘‘No! Oh, o-of course, no.’’ forgetting where you were, you burst out.
‘‘Oh, okay?’’ ignoring the dense relief, Hoseok hesitated. Not knowing what to say in return as you were trying to hold your laugh back.
‘‘S-sorry but thinking of him as that just wrecked my nerves for a moment.’’ wiping the tears from your eyelids, you continued. ‘‘He is my friend. Best friend to be exact. He did act silly before, sorry for that either. He think he needs to protect me.’’ as you gave too much information at one, Hoseok’s pupils grew bigger, and weren't expecting to receive such a reply. He doesn’t even try to hide his amused smile back, shamelessly showing it out. ‘‘Good,’’ he commented before causing a big, heavy silence between you two. As you eyed him in a moment of confusion glowing in your eyes, weighing the meaning behind the word, you were utterly surprised. Was it just to fill the space, or he meant something else, you never truly understand, but decided to lure yourself into thinking it meant nothing. Otherwise, you were in a state of having no control over your emotions, and god knows what that simple world would do to your mind, playing games until you found yourself curled in your sheets, losing the pitiless game. You had lived that more than once, but in this situation, it would tousle you and throw your parts messily.
Dropping himself on the chair, Jimin spread the husky mood. ‘‘Here hyung, your latte.’’ He pushed the glass to Hoseok’s direction, smiling sweetly, he didn’t forget you. Putting the scarlet cup in front of you, knowing the pleasant scent devours your nostrils in no time. ‘‘And this is for you. It’s my favorite so I hope you’ll like this,’’ he adds, gaze glowing happily.
‘‘Ah. Thank you,’’ before taking a sip, you murmur, bowing your head little to show your gratitudes. Risky mood runs away after the hot liquor lingers around your mouth, playing, tickling your tongue over and over until it has lost its ruins. Well, you can say that you liked Jimin without having any lack of sympathy before he even treated you with the oh so familiar taste. It was soothing, alarming your senses to ease kind of a taste, and you remembered how your mother always made a cup of this tea whenever you gave her a tantrum. It never mattered if the tantrum was caused because you wanted a shoe, or rejected by those companies over and over again. And for a split moment your heart jammed between the agonizing longing over seeing her crow's foot while your mother smiles endearingly. ‘‘What is this?’’
Seeing how your face lightens with the flush crepting up your face, Jimin waits a second to answer. ‘‘It-it’s my mother's recipe. Why?’’
‘‘You serious?’’ mouth falling open, having no control over the tone of your voice, you yowled. Without wasting another minute, you gulp down the second sip. Licking the taste out of your lips, a smile beamed to your face.
‘‘W-why?’’ stuttering his words, Hoseok leaned closer. Dramatic dread banged his face in a flash of light, but before he could gather his senses, Jimin’s mischievous eyes caught him.
‘‘My mother always made this when I felt angry or emotionally sick. Even now,’’ giggling away your embarrassment as you shared much again. Seeing the way Hoseok’s dimple color the side of his upper lips as it gets smaller with the curling smile. His eyes glistened with the dim joy covering over his chest. And it affected you. ‘‘So who made them?’’ you look back as you were able to see the creator of your childish happiness, and attempt stealed a tiny laugh from Jimin’s lips.
‘‘It’s a secret for now,’’ with a twisted smile curling his face, he swallowed a big sip from his coffee. ‘‘As we need to leave now. Right hyung?’’ Two pairs of eyes land on Hoseok, who was locking his gaze on you with an adoring smile on the corner of his lips. Not wanting to show it on your face, you were heartbroken a little as he just got here. They. They just got here. And you can’t deny that you had fun talking with Jimin, sharing the same recipe from your mother’s was exciting. But you had to gulp down your disappointment after seeing the mealy eyes, you faked a giggle. ‘‘I will be okay if you’re looking at me like that because you think I’m too powerless to be left alone.’’ To be honest, you lied to avoid revealing any kind of negative expression. Including yourself, as you repeat that you don’t need someone to hold your hand and wait by your side. Liar.
‘‘Did you came here with your car?’’ he was about to turn his back when the idea hit him, and he gestured his body towards you once again. Reminding you of the absence of any vehicles to take you back to your not so lovely, cold home. Whether you were exaggerating the situation of your home, you blamed the loneliness. It made you feel cold in there, like a lost puppy, who can’t find the way back home. ‘‘Uber gonna work for me today,’’ you hinder the unnecessary thoughts of you, smiled naively. Then, ecstasy glowed in his browns. Like he detected something way good to celebrate it with a genuine grin. ‘‘If it’s okay, I’d like to drive you back. I had a semi-promise as I remember?’’
This was unexpected. As you stare at him back, lips parted slightly due to the maze you found yourself in, feeling a bit funny. Hoseok felt the urge to continue as you stayed staring as you just swallowed a stick. ‘‘My shift is almost over, so you don’t have to wait too long. But only if you’re comfortable,’’
‘‘O-okay.’’ Comfortable? Was he joking or he was that oblivious to the way you move, act like a fool around him. ‘‘It would be fine, I guess..’’ your voice trailed off in the end. Afraid to be a burden on him, you were about to turn down his offer. But a blooming, heart-shaped smile put you back on the place. He wasn’t doing these to look kind, he was kind and really wanted to help you out. Even though you weren’t aware of that.
Wetting his lips ecstatically, his fingers met with his hair as he didn’t know where to put them. ‘‘Then I’ll be at the front gate in half an hour later?’’ he noted. Waving his goodbye, as you mimicked him back without forgetting Jimin, telling him how glad you are that you met him. His half-moons appeared as he bid his goodbye back, wrapping his arms around you tightly. It surprised you how sincere he was, but you put aside your cold-hearted acts for a second to hug him the same way. Which, it felt nice. Now, you were going to wait for him after seeing Doctor Kim, and get your medicine. You knew he would give you an antibiotica as you were aware of the current situation. Yes, it is good. Think about antibiotics to press down your horror, your anxiety over being driven to your home by Hoseok. That would hold back your mind from whirling around.
Life was funny. The way it worked amazed everyone in this world as well as you. It was funny because you were a mess not long ago. Agonizing, trembling waves of pain never left your chest for a moment, and you found yourself crying in every possible corner. Opposite to the current emotions howling inside of you. Heart stepped closer to the edge of a skyscraper, almost ready to jump with the non stop thrill pumping out of it. After feeling like ages now, you feel the blooming tiny happiness inside your chest. Besides being a good thing, it was also terrifying as you were broken like a glass, torn into million pieces by the love of your life. At least you thought he was the one. Luckily or not, it came out as a false alarm. He wasn’t the one, and never intent to be. Stop thinking about that imposter you wrecked idiot. There was no way that he could make you sad anymore. Not that you had someone, or thinking about filling his old place. Speaking of the devil’s name, you were not thinking about Hoseok to fill his place, but he helped you in the way he wasn’t aware. You come to your senses, remembering you were still a living, breathing human being. Pregnant or not. It wasn’t the end of the world, and you will figure out what to do. Sooner or later. You always did.
Maybe this, being all sunshine, a ball of optimism was an effect of Hoseok. Still, you were happy at the moment. Weren’t you?
‘‘Oh. You are here,’’ breathy voice came right beside you, tearing you apart from overthinking. And you made the first mistake by sizing him from head to toe. Seeing him in loose black sweatpants, green sporty jacket and darker shade of green t-shirt keeping a necklace above his chest, cost you. The damn glasses didn’t help you, as well. It tied your tongue how his façade changed with a simple outfit. He looked breathtaking indeed. Landing his beg from his shoulders, he pushed back his glasses on his nose. ‘‘I was anxious a bit that you’d left as it took more than I expected to come here,’’
A heavy breath turns into a silent hiccup, hitting you on the chest when his eyelids crinkles with an apologetic smile. This was going to be the biggest mistake you ever made - without counting your pregnancy, of course - and you didn’t pay much attention at the exact moment. It felt warm on the chest, if you had to find an excuse. ‘‘Were you? I just came here, too, so it's okay.’’ Forty minutes wasn’t that long and yes, one can say you just come here.
‘‘Great then. Shall we?’’ Hoseok gestured to the exit, waiting for you to stand beside him. Both of you ignored the growing awkwardness for as long as you can. He was going to drive you home. It was a long road, and you couldn’t just ditch him without offering him something in return.
Imitating him, you arrived in his car in the park. Shiny red car awakened your admiration. Not that you get paid poorly, or you knew much about cars, but you were smart enough to understand how expensive this car is. ‘‘Do you want me to open the heater?’’
‘‘Huh?’’ staring him like a deer in the headlight, you stopped brushing your hands to your pants. He caught you out of blue. ‘‘No, no. It’s not that cold. Just… just my cold hands, that’s all.’’ sinking deeper in the black leather seat, you gulped. Blinking unaware of how pale your face is, you blurt out a plane smile. Never thought of being a woman who likes his partners in such a power, or in great wealth, butterflies raised inside of you. As witnessing the way he grabbed the wheel like ruling a whole country caught your attraction. Was watching someone while driving count as a kink? You didn’t hope so. Fucking pregnancy hormones.
‘‘Can you write the address on the navigation?’’ he pleaded, locking his seat belt. As you mirrored him before typing your address with a shaky hand. Since when giving your address stopped becoming a threat, you didn’t care. Finishing the task he gave, you leaned back happily. Anxiety still tried to get away where you pressed it down, wanted to eat your happiness alive and offer you the biggest panic attack you ever had. Fortunately, Hoseok managed to hold you at ease, even without working for it. After ten minutes of silence - and it was long enough for you to have a drip of sweats on your forehead - he broke it with an apology. ‘‘You can take back your apology that you bid for you friend’s behavior, as mine didn’t act very differently,’’
Releasing the bottom lip free from your teeth’s torture, you turned your head. ‘‘You don’t have to apologize for Jimin. He was sweet,’’ mentioning of his name, mischievous half-moons came alive in your mind. You smiled with the memory. Which Hoseok catched it with the corner of his eye. ‘‘I almost forgot the taste of that tea my mother made for me. So he did something very good for me,’’ you bobbed your head, continuing to smile.
With the word ‘mother’, Hoseok’s memory of seeing you on the bench while crying, having a heart-to-heart talk with your mother rouse itself. Rusty weariness still visible in your façade, his heart sank into a familiar ache, remembering how desperate you looked before. Unintentionally he grabbed the wheel tighter, brows snapped together as he had no power to hold back the pain you were feeling. First time in his life, he felt useless and it bothered him so much. ‘‘Is she living far from you?’’
‘‘If you call two hours of car ride far, then yes?’’ lifting your brow up, you eyed his genuine smile. Eyes getting thinner with the weight of his cheek, milky teeth appeared.
‘‘I never thought that you’ll turn out as a lazy person,’’ as your mouth takes the shape of an ‘o’, his giggles suffuse the car. ‘‘C’mon. Beat me if I’m wrong but you are not really thinking its long, right?’’
‘‘Well, can’t a woman be lazy in peace?’’
‘‘Yep, of course.’ holding his giggle behind, he struggled as you rolled your eyes. ‘‘You are totally. Totally had every right to be lazy. Over a two hours car ride,’’ covering his palm under his lips, honeyed cackles slipped away. He was lucky you found him cute. No. No you didn’t.
‘‘Rude.’’ you crossed your arms above your chest, shifting your direction out of the car, watching the nearest things disappear in a moment. Cars, trees and buildings fading away until the vehicle slowed down a bit, and then stopped going as the red light blurted out. Knowing it will look childish to put an attitude over something this stupid, but for some reason, you also knew he wouldn’t find this abrupt. You would hold your mind busy with keeping an attitude towards Hoseok if your eyes hadn't caught two girls passing by in front of the car, eating the donut ice cream sandwiches in such a piquant way. You knew it was grilled donut, and you would sell your soul just to have one of them right now. Mouth watered with the sight, and tickling craving increased little by little. Covering every piece. If your lips have been locked together a tiny bit loosely, a drop of saliva would drip to the corner of your chin. You read a lot about pregnancy cravings, but you never had this strongly. Fingertips never itched to grab those sandwiches, tear them apart from the girl’s hand this much. Teeth nibbing the bottom lip, you clawed your palms to hold yourself back. At the verge of crying from the need you feel, shaky breath step in the nostrils. It wasn’t the place for this. Not now. Not in front of him.
Eventually, the light turned green, car moved far away from the girls. From the ice cream sandwiches. Far away from the sweet, mesmerizing taste. Fuck this shit. You were about to lose your mind, and nothing took your mind from those sinful sweets you craved so much. Bottom lip starts to tremble with the amount of sadness you gather inside, head almost whirl around and you almost give away a big whine. It was so stupid to feel, but nothing was going to change the way you feel as you know about this--
‘‘Here we are!’’ the man on the wheel turned his head to give an eye curling smile. But your reaction confused him. Trembling lip, the tip of the nose got pink. Teary eyes wide open, looking upset. He had no doubt. You were looking like a little girl, and his heart grew soft. ‘‘Is everything ok-’’
‘‘Thank you for driving me,’’ the brittle voice came out shaky. First, you think about leaving the car as fast as you can and curl in your sheets and cry as you hold tears back, hardly. But the logical side of you found this cruel. Rude also. So you add before grabbing the door handle, ‘‘Can I offer you a cup of coffee? Or whatever you want?’’
Afraid of avowing his thrill, Hoseok bobbed his head. ‘‘I don’t want to tire you-’’
‘‘Hoseok, you drive me back all the way down. This is much I can do for you, so please?’’ If his heart didn’t explode before witnessing the warming scene, it was about to. As you said his name in such a tone, adding the cutting please at the end. He was about to lose his mind. That’s all.
‘‘Okay but I have to get something. You go first, okay?’’ eyes flickered with bliss, your nod was enough for him as a response.
Choosing stairs over the elevator, you breathe out. It was tiring but counting this as an exercise wasn’t the worst thing you had done. Still too burned out from the severe need of the particular dessert, you barely hold yourself on your feet. It was a tiring day. Very, indeed. Throwing your shoes aside, panic bloomed out of sudden. The living room looked like a war scene, and the man you just invited forcefully were about to witness this mess. Standing mortifiedly, you moved swiftly. Gathering the used napkins, dirty t-shirts and socks between your arms, immediately you throw them into your bedroom. He wouldn’t enter here, would he?
Of course he wouldn’t you horny bastard!
Shaking your head, you turn back to collect the dirty bowls and cups from the table. You only be able to throw them into the sink but at least they belong to the kitchen. ‘‘The thing I get hype for,’’ you mumbled while adding coffee to the filtre on your machine. Pregnancy made your life boring. With these simple events, your heartbeats bobbed over your throat. But boring meant a simple life, and simple didn’t bother you that much. Well, you were going to give birth last than eight months later. Simple days didn’t sound that bad now. Thinking about the pain you will feel… Gosh, it was enough to send shivers to your spine. Opening the oven to boil water, you closed your eyes for a second.
Knock. Knock.
Your heart-shaped positivity wasn’t late. It was a bit weird for him to find your apartment right away, as it was his first time. But you didn’t want to bother yourself with such a lame topic, as you opened the door, greeting him with a big grin. He was a guest now. You better act responsible for once. ‘‘Welcome-’’ mouth hanging open, you falter.
‘‘To be honest, I also love ice cream donuts.’’ your real life angel takes a step inside with a box in his hand. ‘‘But I also know how intense and painful can be the pregnancy cravings.’’ exploring his dimpled smile, you stand still in awe. Knees almost gave away with the piercing glee.
‘‘How-.. how exactly you understand?’’ stuttering the words, his smile beamed bigger.
‘‘You were looking at the donuts the same way Mickey stared at my steak. Not to be rude, but it was kinda scary seeing you like that.’’ fingers covering his mouth, lovely giggle slipped once more. And, for the thousand times today, you wanted to cry, but this time it was because of the weight of an armful of happiness. Gratitude. Seeing him all giggly, standing in front of you with a box full of donuts, his thoughtfulness warmed your heart. ‘‘Oh. Did I say do something bad? You look like you were about to cry-’’
‘‘Thank you,’’ words come out in a whisper, husky by the shoulder of him covering your mouth. As you hugged him. Without thinking further. Tightly. Well, when it comes to you, acting unresponsible wasn’t new, but with the new situation made everything even worse. Now, emotions were higher, heavier, wider inside. Plus, he was literally working on breaking your senses, you thought. Even though you sensed he wasn’t a person like that. All calculated and acting sneaky to trick you into something. He was doing all these out of sympathy, and how you didn’t know particularly, but it made everything even more irresistible. Him, to be more specific.
‘‘S-sorry for…’’ after his hesitant arms letting you off, you gestured to the space between you two. The regret now shaped after your temerity, daring to do something like that whirled your stomach. It felt empty, or about to be empty.
His voice mirrored the caringness he puts out, ‘‘Hugging is not something you should be sorry for Y/N,’’ the taller’s heart fluttered inside his chest, like it had wings to do that. Childish joy filled his guts, seeing you can’t press your smile behind. It gave him a weird satisfaction. ‘‘And don’t want to pressure you or anything but are you going to let me in?’’ he tilted a brow, taunting you with the softest way possible.
‘‘Oh, shit-..I mean ‘m sorry,’’
‘‘I thought we agreed not to say sorry anymore,’’ finding you while standing, open mouthed, and not knowing what to do, he decided not to push you anymore. It was fun to him, seeing you all going wide-eyes, lips parted in confusing, and the blush covering the fair cheeks. For the sake of your nerves, he pushed back the laughter when you gestured him inside in defeat. Though, you looked so cute, for his eyes. Shyness of you, the way you tried to pick the right words to spill them, or the way you get all high color of red when you revealed your true self, unintentionally, caused his desire to know you get deeper. It was too early to feel, but seeing you sitting in front of him with a cup of tea between your palms, eying the floor amusingly anxious, bloomed something in his upper body.
‘‘Thanks for the coffee. It's delicious.’’ he gently commanded, pointing the cup in your direction to emphasize. Eyes of him fixed on your face, around your lips. A loud gulp trembling inside of your ears, you blinked. Too much.
‘‘Do I… something on my face?’’ chewing the bottom lip, tap of your nails filled background with tensed noises. When he nodded and pointed to your face, you were surprised. As you weren’t expecting the blurted question would be real.
‘‘Yep.’’ he touched his own face, ‘‘Little upper side of the lips,’’
Wiping the remains of the ice cream off of your face, you wanted to dive into between the floor and never come back. ‘‘Ahh,’’ you murmured a weak thanks, blank space between you and him getting bigger and bigger as the embarrassment filled your cup. Silence fell down on the space, the pressed worry now peeking its head out of you, while you brushed your palm over the leg. You didn’t know what you were expecting when you invited him over, as you nearly know each other, and maybe nothing in common to talk about. But the stargazer side of you hoped you would find something to talk about, and spontaneously you would come out as the funnest, lively person he met. Bet, you were someone he never met before but you did not think it was something to be happy over.
‘‘So, you have a dog,’’ What again? This is your best shot to find something to talk with him? What a brilliant mind you had over there. Well, how could you blame him if he decides to leave you right now, right here.
‘‘Ah, yeah. He is living with my family but yes, I can say that I have,’’ he points out kindly. Probably thinking what was wrong with you as you both looked and sounded dumb and the most boring- ‘‘I see you are living alone? No pet or a roommate.’’ he distracts you from the stressing thoughts that wandered around your mind, tiny uncertainty hanging on his face as he was afraid to pass the line.
‘‘I never thought about having a roommate, or a pet. Even though I like them beyond measure.’’ you continued after a pale smile occurring over your face. ‘‘Maybe in the future? Though, my mother would try to convince me not to, as I’m barely holding myself together,’’ you laughed weirdly as you confessed. He joined you with a wide smile. Mouth taking a shape of a heart, something snapped inside. You licked your lips in need. Something was playing with your air, as you hardly inhaled some. ‘‘Would you do everything your mother said?’’
‘‘Uhm… Probably, yes?’’ crinkling your brows, you gave a thought on it.
‘‘But two hours of car ride still too much?’’
‘‘Hey!’’ wide smile turned into laughter when you protested, and soon after, you joined him. It was impossible to do anything else. The tone of the laugh sounded familiar, comfortable, euphoric, and joyful. And wrongly, it made you spill, blurt out the things you kept to yourself, without even thinking much. The mood turned into a gloomy one right after you started to talk. But it didn’t disturbed you the way you thought it would.
‘‘I know… I know it’s not that long, but, as you know, this pregnancy thing is very new for me, and… and probably you guessed that, but I wasn’t expecting this. And clearly not handling it well. I just can’t confront her before I get used to this, and maybe figure it out what to do?’’ exhaling, heaviness of your chest lessened. ‘‘Unexpectedness of this is already hard and trying to handle this alone is even harder-’’
‘‘Alone?’’ Hoseok couldn’t stop himself before letting the word slip, he regrets it right after. When he cut you off, you realized you shared too much. Eying the cup of tea between your palms, as it had something inside and made you spill all of this. But, without having regrets you continued, worried chuckles jerked out by the lips. ‘‘Well, as it shows, when you aren’t the one who had a growing baby inside, it’s easier to run away.’’
‘‘Oh… I’m sorry,’’ Hoseok doesn’t know what to say in return. He is sorry indeed, but mostly angry. Unreasonable rage burning his chest, his eyes, his palms, he stays silent. His logic just can’t put two in two when it's come to think how someone can be this… this relentless. Memories of your broken face, voice, comes alive once again in his mind, now, everything makes sense. The hurt on your face, loneliness of your eyes. Now he understands why your voice always sounded so weak, so crushed. The blue never leaves your façade. It breaks Hoseok’s heart, but he is thankful as you opened your heart. He feels important. Someone you can talk to. And the elder promises not to hurt this trust you showed, innerly. He puts his anger aside, and focuses to make your face wrinkle with laughter.
And, he does it.
#heartsforbts#bangtanhq#bangtanarmynet#houseofddaeng#btsgoldnet#btswriterscollective#btswritingcafe#hyunglinenetwork#hoseok x reader#hoseok x you#hoseok fanfic#hoseok fluff#hoseok angst#jung hoseok#painkiller#dylanxmin
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Kneecap Day - Floyd
(better title TBD)
This piece is in celebration of two different events! First of all: happy kneecap day to @brutal-nemesis! Thank you for the inspiration this event has given so many of us. Second of all: this is my happy anniversary piece to the Persistence series, which I posted the first part of last year on this date! I seriously can’t believe this story has been in progress for so long already, and thank you to all of you who have supported me through it.
Alright. Without further ado, here’s the masterlist for everything else, and this happens further in the future than anything I’ve already written, the closest being the branding.
Content warnings: creepy/intimate whumper, suggestions and implications of dehumanization (not quite the purpose, but just to be safe), dislocated joints and realigning them, starvation mentions, and general cruelty and unfairness.
————————————
Mud splattered all across Floyd’s backside when he collapsed from the sheer dizzying force of the slap.
“You get on your knees when you’re told,” Percival snarled, leaning over him and pulling on the leash as he scrambled to sit up. “There is no hesitation. There is no unspoken question. There is no disobedience. A direct order is to be followed immediately, you understand?”
“Aah, I understand- I understand I just- sir, please, the ground is muddy here-”
“Do you think I’d tell you to kneel if I didn’t know what the consequences would be?” A tilt of the head, a rhetorical question.
“I was- I was acting in your best interest, I promise,” Floyd shuddered at his words, but he couldn’t risk anything else. This was his decision to obey, get off easy for the time being, make it through this as quickly as possible, and minimize the consequences when it was finally over.
“You think you know better than I do now, Benedict?” Percival smiled, humor dancing in his eyes. “Oh, dear, I know you’re not that stupid.”
“No! I… these clothes are- they’re so nice, I wanted to show you- I- I’m-” He couldn’t spit out the ‘grateful’ fast enough, but his tormentor understood well enough.
“And yet you’ve gone and ruined them.” Percival sounded disappointed and Floyd flushed in embarrassment, but there was something else in there too. Frustration stirred at the unfairness of it all.
“I’m sorry!” He really was.
“If you loved them so much then maybe you should’ve steadied yourself after a single slap.”
“You- you ha-aven’t let me eat in three days! What did you expect?!” Anger seeped into Floyd’s voice, but he couldn’t be bothered to stop it. Percival bristled at the change in tone.
“I expected a little more respect toward the hand that chooses to feed,” he snapped, “especially since allowing you to kneel would have been a generous mercy, had you taken the opportunity. I’m sure neither of us wanted you to collapse today, and yet here we are.”
“Maybe I wouldn’t have fallen if you actually gave a single damn about me!” Floyd yelled, voice cracking around the curse he knew he shouldn’t have said.
“Oh? You don’t think I care for you, is that it?” Venom pooled in Percival’s words. He sank down, straddling Floyd’s chest and letting his own knees sink into the mud. A rough hand cupped his cheek.
“I… I-”
“I’ve taught you more about yourself than you ever could have figured out on your own. I found the potential within you that you never could. I am making you, Benedict Floyd.” He paused as the man in question shuddered against his grip. “Don’t you think that’s caring enough?”
Before he could even register the tension, Floyd snapped. He smacked Percival’s hand off his face, shoving frantic elbows into his chest and kicking wildly until he slid free, scrambling back as far as the leash would allow. Even then he pulled back against it, settling into an unsteady crouch and meeting Percival’s eyes again.
He saw the mounting fury there held back by careful patience, but Floyd wouldn’t have been able to hold himself back even without that hesitancy. Words bubbled up and spilled forth faster than he could find the strength to control them.
“Right, right, because that’s all you see me as, isn’t it? I’m s-something for you to control, to teach, to- to parade around like-” he sobbed, unable to breathe or speak for several seconds, “-parade like a fucking- fucking animal, and you’re so goddamn proud of yourself-”
“Hey now, I-” Percival warned, and Floyd cut him off.
“You do not get to make me. You don’t- don’t deserve to make me. You don’t know me, you never even tried to- to- to talk to me... you saw the potential I had and... decided that’s all that I am.
“I have tried- so hard to find myself. Have you- have you ever lost yourself before? Have you been told that your body is not your own, you are worth only as much as you can work, you are not worth the investment of basic necessities, and- and- you don’t understand. It took years to understand I could be something. Something more than what I was made to be. I took the time, I-I found my truth, I had only just begun living it, and I spent far too long lost in my own mind to just let you pull me under again.
“You hurt and hurt and hurt and you say I’m learning, that I’m- I’m better off, that I’m good for you! The only thing I’ve fucking learned here is how much hurt I can bear before I black out, how hard you can push me before I break!
“...you... you broke me, Percival, sir. Is that what you want to hear? Is that what you want from me? Do you- do you want to know that you’re the one person who has hurt me the most, finally pushed past my limits?
“F-fine, then. Look at the mark you burned into my chest and know that everything you’ve done has broken me beyond belief, and- and you’ll probably do it all over again and I can’t stop you. But when all is said and d-done, don’t you fucking dare believe for a second that you built me.”
.
..
...the world held still for a few, blissful moments where Floyd felt good. Percival’s eyes narrowed and he did not turn away, did not flinch, did not fall to his knees.
Percival approached and Floyd rose shakily to his full height, swaying with the dizziness that took him, but standing his ground. When he came face to face with his captor, craning his neck up to see him fully, Floyd didn’t step back up against the wall waiting for him. He didn’t have to.
Percival shoved him up against it himself, a hand on his forehead to keep his head grinding painfully against the bricks while the other held him in a choking embrace, pulling the leash down between his shoulder blades.
“Hmm, such a pity. You could have looked so much prettier for your backslide. If only...”
“What-hgk!” A jerk on the leash silenced him as Percival kept on, anger darkening his tone.
“Did you really think all that just now was how you’d been this entire time? Just a free spirit locking himself up of his own will until he could run free again? I didn’t see you slipping shackles over your wrists or heating the brand of your own free will, did you?
“None of this has been a choice for you, Benedict. You fail to see that just because you didn’t recognize something doesn’t mean I didn’t do it. And you have to understand that, no matter what you think, if you aren’t controlling my actions, then you aren’t in control. I broke you, yes, but I’ve also built you up in ways you will only realize when they come to fruition. And when they finally do, you will thank me for what I’ve done.”
“Fff-fuck you,” Floyd sputtered, a last, hateful resort.
“...in any case, I’m not sure you’re even worthy of kneeling at my feet right now.”
Percival’s foot connected with his knee and it buckled immediately. Floyd gasped and fell, but the leash held his limp body up as Percival kicked again, repeatedly smashing metal toes into his battered knees. Pain tore up his leg, flaring with each subsequent kick and suddenly something was wrong. A sickening pop ricocheted through his body, and his vision went white when the next kick did the same to his other leg. He couldn’t scream, he couldn’t breathe, but he was finally allowed to crumple to the ground.
A hand in his hair righted him, briefly him leaning forward on bent knees that he could hardly feel through the blinding agony. Percival was saying something that he couldn’t hear over his own screams, throwing him on his back and holding him down by his shoulders as he writhed.
“Stop, stop stop- hAAAHH! Off, get off get off it HURTS!”
He felt hands on his legs, pulling them flat against his struggles until he went limp and darkness nearly claimed him. Floyd faded in and out of consciousness, gasping for breath around whimpers and cries, somehow finding the energy to shake his head when Percival ordered him to submit.
A foot smashed down on his knee and he lost himself in the pain, coming to when a cold touch smacked across his cheek. Percival’s muddy hand smoothed back over it--that was certainly going to bruise at this rate--forcing a shiver through him.
“Nnh, nnhhh-“ he groaned, still weakly trying to throw off the people holding him down.
“Really?” Percival sounded so far away now. “Are you really going to throw away all our progress just like that? Just for some sad, prideful ideal?”
“Wh- hhhhnn… what progress?”
“Oh come now, you can’t deny all the work we’ve done with you. You said it yourself already. I broke you, and I’ll do it again.”
“Yehh- yes, I- but- hhhhh-“
“My darling Benedict,” Percival said, voice in his ear now, a low murmur that made his blood run cold, “I don’t think you understand the predicament you’re in right now. I could leave you like this, you know: leave you to starve with your legs twisted completely out of place, and make sure nobody will ever find you. I could ruin your legs permanently, drag you everywhere else for the rest of your miserable life. I could make this so, so much worse. Is that what you want?”
Floyd almost forced himself to nod, but he was trembling in fear, breath hitching at the mere thought of anything like that…
“Y-you wouldn’t.” He made himself to swallow down cries, slur out weak defenses. “Would nhh- would never. Like me too much f’r that.”
“Oh, I bet I could stop liking you long enough to get the job done. Don’t doubt that, sweetheart.” A warning in a teasing, lilting tone. Floyd was too out of it to even question if that was the truth. “I’ll ask again. Will you submit to me and take back those words, or will you accept one of my many alternatives?”
Tears slipped from the corners of his eyes as he squeezed them shut, lips pressed together to hold back the refusal on the tip of his tongue.
“I… I’ll s-submit, sir.”
Percival didn’t give a response, humming affirmingly and running a wet hand through Floyd’s hair, the other still resting firmly on his shoulder.
“Emil,” he called out to one of his crew members, probably nearby, probably one of the ones holding Floyd down, “how are you feeling?”
He slipped out of coherence again before he could catch the other man’s response, only vaguely aware of the people moving and shifting around him to make room, the person crouching over his legs, placing careful hands on his knees, feeling the dislocation in each one.
Floyd snapped back to consciousness when he felt a strong presence grip his knee, a horrible sensation that became a grinding, moving pain until something clicked. The pain died down immediately, now only a throbbing soreness. The invasion left for a minute and he basked in the slight relief. Then it was back in his other knee, moving, pushing against his will, and snapping into place again. Floyd let out a shaking sigh, the effects radiating through him so much more bearable than what they had been just previously.
“Thh- thank-” Floyd snapped his mouth shut, finally registering what he was about to say on instinct. He was too slow, though, as he heard Percival’s delighted laugh above him.
“Only proving my point for me, Benedict. Come on, we’ve still got plenty to get done today. We’ll continue this conversation later. In private.” The twinkling smile as Percival pulled Floyd to his shaking feet was as comforting as a threat, and it really might as well have been one at that point.
Floyd tilted his head into the hand settled over the back of his neck, rubbing right under the collar where the feeling was near heavenly, and tried to pretend it was a choice.
He wasn’t sure he’d be able to live with himself otherwise.
————————————
Tag list, ask to be added or removed!
@whump-tr0pes, @burtlederp, @castielamigos-whump-side-blog, @doitforthewhump, @shameless-whumper, @endless-whump, @theycomeinthrees, @faewhump, @lonesome--hunter, @insanitywishes, @ohmywhump, @deluxewhump, @galaxywhump, @liliability, @whump-only
#whump#dislocated joint#knee whump#kneecap day#not gonna lie i have jokes i could make down here but i almost cried writing this i can't have that kind of tonal whiplash#dislocation#beating#creepy whumper#intimate whumper#possessive whumper#definitely doing that here#starvation mention#food mention#i... don't know of any more specifics to put here#i might just be tired and tagging brain isn't in order#i'm so sorry if this is tagged badly#emotional whump#definitely that. yeah. uh#torture#Persistence#Benedict Floyd#Percival#Emil#he doesn't have a last name yet but he'll be back#woah look at me introducing new characters#heck yeah#uhhhhhhh#ask to tag#because i'm coming up empty#happy kneecap day everyone. all my characters monologued too much instead
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Photo
Beacon
Pairing: Q/James Bond (00Q)
Prompt(s): Blaze + Reverse a common trope
Warning: Angst, hurt/comfort, canon typical violence, possession, idiots
Summary: One day, perhaps people will forget that a Flame Alchemist has ever existed, but the same can never be said of his subordinates. And today is not that day anyway.
Or: 00Q but Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood AU
A/N: this was supposed to be a drabble… And here we are. Again. If you find this intro familiar, thanks for reading Sword! If you have no idea what Sword is and just know my penchant for biting off more than I can chew, please refer to my previous post. Thanks!
Also, look, @solarmorrigan, pyrokinesis! And @opalescentgold, because you know the fandom and may appreciate some references. Damn, I have been dying for a FMA AU for. so. long. And now I’ve managed to somehow realize it into fruition. Jeez. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this!
-
Q couldn’t stand. The rush of adrenaline and sheer agony were urging his heart into overdrive, as if in beating a punishing pace right then, it would somehow make up for the gaping hole wedged in his side.
He bit back a sharp cry, alchemy flaring as bright as the pulsing pain invading his system. In what was either an eternity or no time at all, the wound was cauterized in a fit of smoke and sizzling burnt flesh, effectively staunching the intolerable amount of blood loss in a matter of seconds. His head spun.
(For as long as he’d lived, Q had wished for a lot of things. Right then, though, there was only one thought that kept repeating itself in the confines of his mind—)
Footsteps were approaching. Q scrambled to get to his feet with whatever remaining strength he had left and snapped his fingers again. Vicious ropes of flames sprang forth like spiteful cobras, eliciting an intense wall of fire that stood guard between him and his would-be captor.
One steel arm shot out from among the blaze and seized him by the throat.
Q choked.
The rest of that body stepped through quickly enough, like an emerging monster materializing from the depths of hellfire.
“Ultimate shield, remember?”
Q clawed uselessly at the still squeezing hand around his throat. “L–Lieutenant—” he wheezed, bitter reluctance warring with his struggling will to survive. “Bond—”
“Hm?” The steel receded, and Bond looked back at him now, head tilting to the side. “What, the old owner of this body?” He tutted, visibly frustrated despite the good humor gleaming in those too sharp eyes. “I told you: He’s gone—he’s become one with the stone. I’m the one in charge now, and the name is Greed.”
He grinned, and Q’s guts twisted at the sight, eyes watering from the lack of oxygen. (He could still hear the sound of Bond��s screams piercing all the way down the long corridors. The way his body had writhed and bucked in violent pain as it died and regenerated again and again, rejecting the philosopher’s stone that had been wrongfully injected into it. The way he had suddenly gone lax while Q had done his best to burn through the literal living wall of obstacles out of existence to get to him.)
He gathered all his strength to curl up his legs and kick Bond in the stomach.
No, not Bond. (But that was still his face.)
Not anymore. (Still his eyes, his voice, the low gravel of his laughter, chest-deep and oh so warm.)
Just Greed.
(What if he was still in there?)
The momentum of that kick thrusted Q out of the vice-like grip as he landed onto the ground with a dull thud. A twang of stabbing pain in his side knocked the air out of his lungs, distracting him from the stings of having steel claws dug long strips into either side of his throat.
(The thing was that: if he really was still in there…)
“Damn it,” Bond—Greed—hissed, staggering back before steadying himself with an annoyed huff of breath.
Like this, Q recognized that whoever was in front of him then, despite appearing and sounding exactly like him, didn’t have the firm stance that Bond had always maintained, edged into his bones from all the arduous training he’d put himself through.
The red Ouroboros tattoo on the back of his left hand seared into Q’s vision like a brand, as though sealing a death sentence.
(... If he really was still in there, Bond wouldn’t have willingly punched a hole straight through Q.)
Once the thought sank in, Q’s stomach plummeted.
“Could you stop being such a nuisance?” Greed clicked his tongue.
When he tried to reach out again, molten fire engulfed the room at another snap of the fingers.
And in the roaring flames, Q screamed.
-
He wakes with a startled gasp, cold sweat breaking all over.
It takes a moment, but the familiar ceiling of his office finally shifts into focus once more, and Q lets out a shuddered sigh. The documents he was looking at lie strewn across the littered desk surface right where he left them, and at this very moment, the phone rings, shattering the disquiet that has settled over his foggy mind.
He doesn’t notice the long overcoat that’s, apparently, been laid over his person while he slept until he reaches over to make a grab for the handset. It slides down from over his shoulders and pools in the middle of his lap with a rustling of fabric.
Q purses his lips and picks up, free hand settling over his now healed side to ease the aching phantom pain.
“Yes.”
“Brigadier General, sir,” the operator greets. “Major General Moneypenny is on the line for you.”
“Put her through.”
The line clicks after a final ‘yes, sir,’ and instantly, Eve’s voice filters through from the other side. “Why am I not surprised that you’re still there despite the atrocious hours.” It isn’t a question, and he smiles.
“Hypocrite,” he replies without heat, thumb smoothing along the raised ridges of those scars that he can still feel even through the thick layers of his uniform. “How has Briggs been welcoming you back?”
“Oh, you know, the usual warmth and sunshine,” she says, a joking lilt to her tone, and Q winces just from imagining the howling gales of a normal Briggs snowstorm that must be sweeping through the barracks even as they speak. “Now, enough of your diversion scheme. How are things on your side?”
Q thinks he’s too tired to do much of anything else and chooses the easy way out. “I’m fine.”
“Right,” Eve hums, entirely unconvinced, but doesn’t point out that his answer isn’t all that she asked. She knows him too well by now to press. “Sometimes, though, I do wonder if you should’ve just retired and gone to Rush Valley to do whatever it is that you automail enthusiasts do.”
The sentiment sends a soft snort through his nose. Not that he doesn’t wish to be a simple automail mechanic from time to time, especially when the price paid doesn’t seem equivalent to subsequent results, but in life, simple wants and actual needs are two different things.
They’ve all learnt this the hard way.
Even so, Q appreciates Eve looking out for him. Thousands of miles away, she’s still one of the few people who truly know and understand him. One of the few whom he trusts with his life. “Oh, definitely—once I find someone suitable to man the post for me, that is,” he muses, only half-serious. “No promises otherwise.”
There’s a knock on the door. “Sir.”
“Come in,” he calls and straightens up, popping the crick in his neck. “Gotta go now. Send my regards to Captain Tanner, would you? God knows the length that man’s gone to to keep up with you.”
Eve laughs, and he smiles, too, just as Bond walks in and closes the door behind him.
(There’s no Ouroboros tattoo on his hand, Q notes and subconsciously relaxes.)
(He shouldn’t feel bad for it—but he does anyway. Just the same as Bond, who didn’t mean to lose control long enough for Greed to hurt Q the way he did.
Emotions are fickle things.)
Eve has gone quiet for a long second as well, probably considering her words. In a way, Q feels he already knows what they are going to be, and grim satisfaction paints his tongue when what she says next is precisely just that, “How’s First Lieutenant Bond?”
How are things between you two, goes unsaid, but he hears it loud and clear nonetheless.
Bond is patiently waiting for him—hands tucked behind his back, perfect military posture, too proper and formal to bear—and Q squeezes the coat that remains in his lap.
(He misses the casual dynamics, easy tandem they used to have. One not laden with guilt and second-guessing.
It’s just one more hurdle for them to work through, he supposes.
Together.)
“We’re… getting there,” he replies, mildly surprised by his own honesty. “Talk to you later. Goodbye, Major General.”
He hangs up, and Bond has gotten closer, despite maintaining a minimum distance of three steps.
Q crosses his arms in front of his chest and waits, eyes expectant.
Eventually, Bond can’t but break the silence. “Was that Major General Moneypenny, sir?”
Q suppresses a sigh and nods. “Yes. Just one of her usual check-ins.” He pauses. “She did ask about you, about us, and how we were doing. And I said we were getting there—you heard.”
When Bond doesn’t reply, Q narrows his eyes, shrewd. “So, are we, Lieutenant? Getting there?” Most likely, he’s coming off much harsher than he originally planned, but Q doesn’t give a damn about that. Not right now. “You said you were following me to the top. Is this how you intend on doing it? By pretending to be a good little model soldier while keeping me at arm’s length?”
At this, Bond seems to further straighten, if that’s still physically possible. There’s steel in his eyes, but not the lost, abandoned kind given into avarice like that of Greed.
It’s all just sheer solid nerve and hardened integrity. It’s all Bond and so much more.
“I will do whatever it takes to protect and help you reach your goal—”
“Don’t you get it? You can’t protect me for damn if you’re always three steps away from me! That only means we’re no longer the team you seem to think we are.” Q’s mouth twists into a snarl. “Do you understand what I’m getting at, Bond?”
Bond turns his head away, staring out into the endless expanse of the night through the large panel of Q’s windows. Bond has never liked them, these ‘uselessly big windows that Central Command seems to prefer for their offices.’ Makes his job harder than it already is, he said.
Q tears himself away from the sudden memory.
“My only mission is to protect you,” Bond grinds out, hands that have fallen to his sides clenching into fists.
“And you have not failed.” Q’s voice has somewhat softened as he stands and clears his throat. “What happened, back then. It just means that we need to update our measures of counterattacks.”
They stare at each other now, mutual challenge shining in their eyes like a beacon to safety in the middle of a raging storm.
(“Q. I’m sorry.” Bond said, desperation ripping his voice raw and vulnerable. Q had never heard him like this. “I–I’m so sorry. Please, forgive me.”
“James, there’s nothing to forgive.”)
“We can discuss that tomorrow, then.” Bond bends down to pick up Q’s coat from the floor and gives it a few perfunctory pats before handing it back over, a tentative smirk on his lips. “Are you ready to go home for the night, sir?”
Q scoffs and takes it, not hiding his own smile. “Just about.”
It’s a long road ahead, but they’re getting there all right.
-
-
Bonus art:
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