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translations-by-aiimee · 3 years

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The Husky and His White Cat Shizun - Chapter 7

Original Title: 二哈和他的白猫师尊

Genres: Drama, Romance, Tragedy, Xianxia, Yaoi

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter Index

Chapter 7 - This Venerable One Likes Wontons

The scorching sun was blazing.

The veranda of Life-Death Peak stretched for mile.

As a rising star among immortal cultivators, it was quite different from the other famous clans of the immortal world.

Take the most prosperous Rufeng Sect of Linyi. The main hall of the sect was called the "Six Virtues Hall", which intended to encourage disciples to be "wise, faithful, holy, righteous, benevolent, and loyal" in accordance with the six virtues. The area where the disciples live was called the "Six Behaviours Gate", which warns the disciples to practice "filial piety, friendship, harmony, marriage, responsibility, and compassion." The place where classes were taught was called "Six Arts Platform", which meant that disciples needed to be proficient in the six skills of "ritual, music, archery, riding, calligraphy, and mathematics".

All in all, its elegance was endless.

On the other hand, Life-Death Peak came from a poor background. Its names were hard to explain. "Danxin Hall" and "Platform of Righteousness and Evil" were alright. Perhaps it was because Mo Ran's father and his uncle weren't scholars and couldn't determine any better names. After a while, the names started to get more nonsensical, naming things "Xue Ya" -sounding names left and right.

Therefore, there are many plagiarised names from the underworld on Life-Death Peak. For example, the room where disciples practiced self-reflection was called Yanluo Hall.

The jade bridge connecting the resting area and the teaching area was called Naihe Bridge. The dining hall was called Mengpo Hall, the martial arts field was called Mountain of Daggers and Sea of Flames. The forbidden area of the back of the mountain is called the Ghost Room, and so on.

These weren't too bad, but there were other places simply called "This is a mountain", "This is water", "This is a pit", as well as the famous "Ahhhhh" and "Wahhhhhh" cliffs.

The elders’ dormitories naturally did not escape, and each has their own nickname.

Chu Wanning was naturally no exception. He liked peace and didn't want to live near others. His residence was built on the South Peak of Life-Death Peak, hidden in a sea of bamboo. There was a pool in front of the main hall, and the pool was red from lotus petals blocking the sunlight from reflecting off it. Because of its abundance of spiritual power, the lotus flowers were in full bloom all year round in the pool, like red clouds.

The disciples secretly called this beautiful place--

Red Lotus Hell.

When Mo Ran thought of this, he couldn't help but laugh.

Chu Wanning wore a terrifying face every single day, and the disciples who saw him thought he was the devil himself. Therefore, shouldn't the place where the devil stays be called hell?

Xue Meng interrupted his daydream: "You laugh even though you were scolded! Hurry up and eat breakfast. After eating, follow me to the Platform of Righteousness and Evil. Shizun will punish you in public today!"

Mo Ran sighed, and touched the whip mark on his face: "Hss. . . ow."

"You deserved it!"

"Hah, I wonder if Tianwen has been repaired. I hope he doesn't try it out on me again before it's fixed. Who knows what nonsense I might say."

In the face of Mo Ran's sincere concerns, Xue Meng's face flushed, and he angrily said: "If you dare to speak out indecently in public against Shizun, I'll rip your tongue out!"

Mo Ran covered his face and waved his hand faintly: "No need, no need, if Shizun ties me with willow vine again, I will end myself on the spot to prove my innocence."

When the hour came, Mo Ran was brought to the Platform of Righteousness and Evil according to customs. He looked around, and there was a deep blue sea of people below. The disciples of Life-Death Peak all wore the sect uniform; blue so dark it was almost black armour, the lion's head belt, wrist guards and the silver threads gleaming on the hems of robes.

The rising sun, below the Platform of Righteousness and Evil, the sea of armour shone.

Mo Ran kneeled on the raised platform, listening to a chief elder list off a long list of the crimes he'd committed.

"Mo Weiyu, disciple of Elder Yuheng, arrogantly disregarded teachings, disobeyed the rules of the sect, and abandoned morality. You have violated the fourth, ninth, and fifteenth mandates of this sect. As punishment, you will receive 80 strikes, copy the sect rules a hundred times and reflect in solitude for a full month. Mo Weiyu, is there anything you have to say in your defense?"

Mo Ran glanced at the white figure in the distance.

That elder was the only member of Life-Death Peak who wasn't required to wear the standard blue and silver rim robe.

Chu Wanning's robe was made of snow-white satin, an outer robe made of cloud-patterned silver silk, like he was dressed in a heavenly frost, but the person wearing it seemed far more frigid than either snow or frost. He sat quietly, far enough away that Mo Ran couldn't see the expression on his face, but he knew that this person was probably completely unphased.

Mo Ran let out a deep sigh: "I have nothing to argue."

According to customary practice, the chief elder asked the disciples below: "If anyone is dissatisfied with the verdict, or has something else to say, this is the time to make such a statement."

All the disciples began to hesitate and averted their gaze.

None of them expected that the Yuheng Elder Chu Wanning would actually send his disciple to be punished publicly on the Platform of Righteousness and Evil.

To put it nicely, this person was impartial, but to word it differently, was also called a cold-blooded demon.

The cold-blooded demon Chu Wanning faintly propped his chin and sat in the position. Suddenly someone shouted with amplifying technique: "Elder Yuheng, this disciple is willing to plead for leniency on behalf of Young Master Mo."

". . . Plead?"

This disciple obviously felt that since Mo Ran was the nephew of Life-Death Peak's lord, even if he had screwed up this time, his future prospects would still be bright, so he decided to take the opportunity to win Mo Ran's favour. He began to talk nonsense: "Although Junior Brother Mo is at fault, he loves his fellow students and helps the weak. Please treat consider being lenient for the sake of his kind nature!"

Obviously, he was not the only one hoping to please Junior Brother Mo.

Gradually, more and more people spoke up for Mo Ran. They threw out all sorts of arguments, it made even Mo Ran embarrassed to hear; when had he ever had "an innocent heart, pure and open-minded"? This was a disciplinary meeting, not a commendation meeting, right?

"Elder Yuheng, Junior Brother Mo once helped me exterminate demons and killed deadly beasts. I would like to beg on Junior Brother Mo's behalf. His merits will offset his demerits, and I hope that Elder will lighten his punishment!"

"Elder Yuheng, Junior Brother Mo once helped me dispel my demons when I experience qi deviation. I believe Junior Brother Mo made a mistake this time and was only momentarily confused. I also ask Elder to please be lenient on Junior Brother!"

"Elder Yuheng, Junior Brother Mo once gave me an elixir to save my mother. He is a benevolent person. Please, Elder, punish him lightly!"

The last person’s remarks were based on the previous disciples', and he was at a loss for words. Seeing Chu Wanning's frozen eyes sweep over, the anxious disciple didn't hesitate to say: “Elder Yuheng, Junior Brother Mo once helped me dual cultivate--”

"Pff." Someone couldn't help laughing.

The disciple immediately blushed and retreated.

"Yuheng, calm your anger, calm your anger..." Seeing that the chief elder was not happy, he went to his side and hurriedly persuaded him.

Chu Wanning said coldly: "I have never seen such a shameless person. What is his name? Whose disciple?"

The chief elder hesitated a little, then bit the bullet and said softly, "My disciple, Yao Lian."

Chu Wanning raised his eyebrows: "Your disciple? Save face*?"

(Pronounced the same as Yao Lian's name)

The chief elder couldn't help but feel embarrassed, and his old face tried to change the subject with a red face: "He's talented at singing, and he can be useful when he receives the offerings."

Chu Wanning scoffed and turned away, not wanting to waste time talking nonsense with this shameless chief elder.

There were thousands of people on Life-Death Peak. A couple flatterers were nothing surprising.

Seeing the conviction in the faces of his sect brothers, Mo Ran himself almost trusted their words. Very impressive indeed. It turns out he wasn't the only person in this sect that knew how to concoct wild stories in broad daylight. There were many talented people here.

Chu Wanning, who had heard "Elder Yuheng, please be merciful" countless times, finally spoke to the disciples.

"Pleading for Mo Weiyu?" He paused and said, "Yes, all of you may come up."

Those people didn't know what would happen and went up tremblingly.

A golden light flashed in Chu Wanning's palm. Tianwen appeared as commanded, and wrapped around the dozens of people together with a whistle, and tied them firmly in place.

Not again!!

Mo Ran was beginning to get desperate. Just the sight of Tianwen made his legs weak. He really didn’t know where Chu Wanning got such a perverted weapon. It was a good thing he had never taken a wife in his previous life. The poor girl who would marry him, if she didn't get whipped to death, she would be questioned to death.

Chu Wanning's eyes were quite mocking. He asked one of them: "Mo Ran helped you ward off evil spirits?"

How could the disciple resist the torture of TIanwen? He immediately howled: "No! No!"

He asked another one: "Mo Ran helped you overcome your qi deviation?"

"Ah! Never! Never!"

"Mo Ran gave you an elixir?"

"Ah—! Help! No, no! I made it up! I made it up!"

Chu Wanning loosened the hold, but then raised his hand and waved the weapon fiercely, it crackling and blazing, Tianwen suddenly lashed out and hit the backs of the lying disciples.

There were screams instantly, blood splashing.

Chu Wanning's eyebrows furrowed, and he scolded: "What are you calling? Kneel down! Disciple attendant!"

"Here."

"Deliver the punishment!"

"Understood!"

As a result, instead of reaping the benefits of defending Mo Ran, each of them was beaten with ten strikes each for violating the mandate of deception, plus a bonus willow vine lash gifted by Elder Yuheng.

After nightfall, Mo Ran lay on his bed. Although he had been given medicine, his back was covered with staggered scars. He couldn't even turn himself over without almost crying from the pain. He sniffled.

He had been born, so whimpering like this made him look like a fluffy, abandoned kitten. But it was a pity that his thoughts didn't match that cute kitten image.

He gripped the bedding and bit into the sheets, imagining that this was that bastard Chu Wanning. He bit! Kicked! Stomped! Tore!

The only comfort is that Shi Mei came to visit him with a bowl of wontons. He stared at him with those gentle and pitiful eyes, and Mo Ran's tears fell even more fiercely.

He didn't care whether men were supposed to hold in their tears or not, he loved to act spoiled in front of the person he liked.

"Does it still hurt a lot? Can you sit up?" Shi Mei sat on the edge of his bed and sighed. "Shizun, he. . . he was too cruel. Look at your back. . . there are several wounds. Some are still bleeding."

Mo Ran's heart softened, a warmth gradually rose in his chest. His teary eyes lifted from the bedding and he blinked.

"Since Shi Mei cares about me so much, I, I'm not in too much pain anymore."

"Oh, how can it not hurt if you look like this? You know what Shizun's temperament is like, will you dare do something like this in the future?"

In the candlelight, Shi Mei looked at him a little helplessly and a little distressedly. The amorous eyes were gleaming, like warm spring water.

Mo Ran's heart moved slightly, and he cleverly said: "Never again. I swear.

"Does anyone believe your promises anymore?" Even though he said that, Shi Mei also smiled, "The wontons are getting cold, can you sit up? If you can't get up, just lie on your stomach and I will feed you."

Mo Ran had already climbed up halfway, but immediately collapsed back down when he heard this.

Shi Mei: ". . ."

Whether it was this life or his previous one, Mo Ran's favourite food was Shi Mei's handmade wontons. The dough was as thin as a cloud of smoke, and the filling was tender and moist, melting in his mouth after every bite.

Especially the soup, the milky consistency, sprinkled with green onions, tender yellow egg wisps, and topped with a spoonful of spicy chilli peppers fried with garlic. It made whoever ate it feel so warm that they would never be cold again.

Shi Mei carefully spoonfed him. While feeding him, he said: "I didn't put any chilli oil today. You're badly hurt. Spice isn't good for recovery. Just drink the broth instead."

Mo Ran stared at him and he couldn't look away. He smiled: "Spicy or not, as long as you made it, it's delicious."

"Smooth talker." Shi Mei also smiled, picking up a poached egg lying in the soup, "Here's your reward, I know you like them."

Mo Ran laughed, a small tuft of hair curling on his forehead, like a flower blooming: "Shi Mei."

"What's happening?"

"Nothing, I just felt like saying your name."

". . ."

The hair tuft swayed back and forth.

"Shi Mei."

Shi Mei held back a smile: "Just felt like it again?"

"Hmm, just saying your name makes me happy."

Shi Mei sat silently for a moment then gently touched his forehead: "Silly boy, do you have a fever?"

Mo Ran let out a laugh. He rolled over, looking at him sideways, his eyes bright, as if full of fine stars.

"It would be a dream if I could eat Shi Mei's wontons every day"

He truly meant it.

After Shi Mei died, Mo Ran had always wanted to try the wontons he made again, but it is what it is, and he wasn't coming back.

At that time, Chu Wanning hadn't completely broken off all relations with him. Whether it was out of guilt or something else, he didn't know, but when he saw Mo Ran knelt in front of Shi Mei's coffin in a daze, Chu Wanning went quietly to the kitchen, kneaded dough and minced the fillings, carefully folded a couple wontons. But Mo Ran saw what he was doing before he had finished. With the loss of the love of his life, Mo Ran just couldn't bear it. He felt like Chu Wanning was doing it to mock him, a botched attempt at imitating them, a deliberate insult to injury.

Shi Mei was dead. Chu Wanning could have saved him, but he refused to help. Afterwards, he wanted to replace Shi Mei and make wontons for Mo Ran instead? Did he think that this would make him happy?

He rushed into the kitchen and knocked over all the utensils. The round wontons fell out of his hands and all over the floor.

He screamed at Chu Wanning: "Who the hell do you think you are? You think you're worthy of replacing him? Of making the food he used to? Shi Mei is dead, are you satisfied? Or do you have to torture your disciples until they go mad or die before you're happy? Chu Wanning! No one in this world can make those wontons anymore. You can try but you'll never be him!"

Now he was eating this bowl with such deep joy. He slowly ate them, savouring them. Although he was still smiling, his eyes were a little moist. Fortunately, the candlelight was dim, and Shi Mei couldn't see his subtle expression clearly.

Mo Ran said: "Shi Mei."

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

Shi Mei froze for a moment, and then smiled gently: "Isn't it just a bowl of wontons? No need to be so formal about it. If you like them, I will always make them for you in the future."

Mo Ran wanted to say, the thanks wasn't just for the wontons.

Thank you also, whether in the last life or in this life, for being the only one to look out for me, not caring about my origins, didn't care about the fourteen years I spent scavenging around.

Thank you, because if it weren't for the sudden thought of you, after being reborn, I'm afraid I would not be able to stop myself from killing Rong Jiu. I would've made a big mistake, and walked the same path I had before.

Fortunately, in this life, I was reborn before you die. I will definitely take good care of you. If you are sick, and that cold-blooded demon Chu Wanning is unwilling to save you, I will.

But how could he have said these words aloud?

In the end, Mo Ran just drank the soup, leaving not even a single green onion behind. He licked his lips unconsciously, his dimples prominent, and he was as cute as a very fluffy little cat.

"Will there be more tomorrow?"

Shi Mei couldn't help but shake his head: "You don't want something else? Won't you get sick of them?"

"I'll never get tired of your wontons, as long as you don't get tired of making them."

Shi Mei shook his head and smiled: "I don't know if there's enough flour left. If there's not enough, I'm afraid I can't make it. If I can't, do you think the eggs in sweet soup are alright instead? They are also one of your favourites."

"Okay, okay. As long as you make it, anything is okay."

Mo Ran's heart surged. He was so happy he could roll around in the blankets.

Look at caring Shi Mei is, Chu Wanning, you go screw yourself! I get to lie in bed with a beauty taking care of me, hehe!

Thinking of Shizun, a rush of anger mixed with the tenderness he had been feeling.

Mo Ran started to dig the bottom of the headboard with resentment again. He cursed, what Yuheng of the Night Sky, what the Beidou Immortal, it's all fucking bullshit!

Chu Wanning, just wait and see!!

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#the husky and his white cat shizun #english translation #chinese novel #chinese bl #yaoi novel #yaoi #danmei #mo ran #chu wanning #2ha #2ha translation #ranwan #hyx

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floralbuckley · 3 years

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Orange Trees and Royalty - A Wilmon Drabble

I would recommend listening to my light academia playlist whilst reading this, specifically Sweet Creature, Today Was a Fairytale, Northern Italy, and You Are In Love...

As Simon looks up, his eyes open in absolute wonder and amazement, and he swears he’s never seen anything more spectacular in his life. Gorgeous windows lining the outside up to the third story, the gold trimming painted on them glowing against the sunlight. He could make out the lacey curtains behind them, and the corners of his mouth turn up shyly at the thought of Wilhelm’s bedroom hidden behind one of those curtains. The lush green grass is perfectly trimmed, so bright and inviting against the pale cream walls of the Palace. He wants to take his shoes off and run across the lawn, feel how each blade would feel in between his toes as he skipped along and brushed his fingertips across the foliage of the trees.

But he knew better.

Now was the time for proper manners and tucked-in shirts and warm smiles full of grace and poise. Not childish behaviours that could end up flooding every news website in Sweden. He could just see the headline now: “Boyfriend of His Royal Highness, Prince Wilhelm, runs like a crazed monkey across the front lawn on his first visit to Stockholm Palace.”

Exactly what he doesn’t need right now.

Simon feels a hand on his back, and he turns to see the driver, a polite smile on his face as he begins to make his way toward the Palace. Simon, however, feels frozen in his spot. His grubby vans and green shirt feel so plain and out of place compared to the magnificent building in front of him. And suddenly, he wants to run home and change, or smooth out his wrinkled shirt, or put a buttoned-up blazer on. Or do anything to make him feel like he actually belongs here.

He turns his gaze away from the driver and up to the castle, and there he is. Prince Wilhelm. The lace curtain of the very left window on the third floor is pushed to the side, and all Simon can see is that mop of blonde and that toothy smile, and it’s exactly what he needs. The face of the boy he loves is enough to settle any single shred of doubt in his chest.

As a small smile settles on his face, Simon closes his eyes. Breathes in deeply. Takes in the scent of that perfectly cut grass and the orange trees and the pure dense amount of royalty surrounding him. And with a final breath, his eyes are open and his feet are moving and off he goes. Towards the front doors to fucking Stockholm Palace.

He doesn’t even need to knock. A rustle comes from inside the Palace, and suddenly the doors are shoved open and Wilhelm is rushing forwards, crashing into his boyfriends’ frame and almost knocking him over. Simon quickly wraps his arms around the taller boy whilst attempting to steady his balance, not wanting to look like a complete mess in front of the paparazzi—who are waiting by the car, cameras firmly grasped in hand as they snap shots. But it would seem the other boy has plans of his own.

All too quickly, their lips are pressed together, and giggles are escaping mouths and fingers are running through hair and happiness is spreading through chests.

“I’m so happy you’re here!” Wilhelm says excitedly, pressing multiple kisses to Simon’s cheeks before giving them a gentle pinch. Simon lets out a chuckle and shakes his head, his dark curls covering his eyes, and he’s doing everything he can to not make a total ass out of himself in front of all of Sweden. But, God, he hasn’t seen Wilhelm since they graduated. Three whole months of being stuck in Bjärstad. And now that he’s finally here, he wants nothing more than to keep pressing their lips together.

But, again, Wilhelm most definitely has plans of his own. He grabs Simon's hand and pulls the shorter boy up the path and through the giant front doors he had just burst through. Then, without waiting for the driver to enter the Palace, Wilhelm pushes the doors closed and doesn’t waste a second before his lips are on Simon’s again, warm fingers gripping his boyfriends’ shirt and pulling him closer than ever. And Simon simply melts into it, his hands making their way from Wilhelm’s shoulders, sliding up to his neck and eventually resting on his jaw, his fingertips scratching at the base of his hairline.

They stay like that for what feels like forever, basking in the warm embrace of the person they love the most, mouths open and hearts beating so hard against each other’s chests.

And it’s a small cough that interrupts them. Simon lets out a groan of frustration. He turns, and it’s the driver, standing there with his eyes looking up at the roof and his hands locked together in front of him.

“Uh, did you still need me, Your Highness?” The driver questions, his gaze still averted. A small chuckle of embarrassment escapes Simon’s lips, and he rests his forehead on Wille’s shoulder.

“That’ll be all, thank you, Isak.” Wilhelm reaches his arm out, and the two shake hands before Isak nods his head and walks across the foyer of the Palace and through another door.

“Thank you, Isak,” Simon mocks in between giggles.

“Argh, shut up!” Wilhelm laughs, pressing more kisses to the other boys’ cheeks. Finally, he grabs Simon’s hand and starts to pull him further into the foyer towards more doors. “C’mon, I want to show you the grounds. They’re so pretty in summer.”

“Not as pretty as you,” Simon says quietly, lifting their intertwined hands and kissing the back of Wilhelm’s, who stops before they reach a large wooden door. The smile on his face is one full of amusement and raised eyebrows, and a small chuckle escaping his lips.

“That was so gross.”

Before Simon has time to respond, Wilhelm has dragged them through the door to reveal the back gardens, and Simon’s eyes are even wider than when he first pulled up to the estate. Small garden beds full of flowers and orange trees are placed all over the grounds, some with bird baths, others with a lemon or an apple tree next to the oranges, one even with a small river running through it. There is a brick pathway leading to an ample outdoor dining space with a huge wooden table, able to seat at least 50 people. Vines of ivy crawling up the archways with fairy lights hanging from the wooden beams above the table. The lawns are even lusher than the front garden, stretching on for a few hundred metres before it turns into the biggest lake Simon has ever seen, giant fir trees surrounding the body of water. There are two boats on the lake tied to the small pier, rocking back and forth slowly with the gentle breeze. To the left of the lake are tennis courts, and on the other side, Simon can see the pool that’s beyond the dining space—so large he’s sure that all 50 people who join them for dinner outside could also hop into the pool together after they eat.

Simon is in a state of wonder and amazement as he looks over the grounds, and everything is so perfect. And the boy holding his hand next to him makes everything feel even more perfect if that’s at all possible.

“Holy shit,” Simon breathes out. Next to him, Wilhelm chuckles. “I think I chose the right boyfriend.”

Wilhelm gives him a small shove, a huge toothy grin plastered on his face. “Hey, if I had known you were just after me for my money, I would never have kissed you first!”

“Well, good news for you then, because I kissed you first,” Simon says matter-of-factly. He licks his lips and juts them out, knowing just how much it drives his boyfriend crazy and also how badly he wants to win this faux argument.

It takes Wilhelm a few seconds of staring at Simon’s lips before licking his own and letting out a huff. “You so did not. You were walking away, and I pulled you back, and then I kissed you first.” He runs both his hands through his hair, letting the strands fall into his eyes—his own move that he knows Simon loves.

And Simon does. And he’s weak, and he can’t be bothered with this fake argument anymore. And now that there’s no press around, Simon wants to have some fun. So he kicks off his vans and takes off his socks, then, with a turn of his head, he’s off, running across the grounds towards the pool. His laugh rings through the air as he looks behind him to see Wilhelm chasing him.

“Come and get me!” He calls. “C’mon, Prince Wille, keep up!” Cheeky giggles escape his lips, and as he reaches the pool, he slows down and turns around. Wilhelm is catching up, and Simon makes the quick decision to start running again, this time towards the pier. After graduating from Hillerska, Simon had stopped rowing, and therefore his fitness levels had significantly dropped, and right now, he could definitely feel it. The aches in his legs, the heaving of his chest, the warmth in his face. But this is just too fun, and the blades of grass feel even better between his toes than he could have imagined.

Wilhelm’s footsteps are getting closer as Simon is closing in on the pier. He slows to a stop just before the small wooden bridge, his feet still firmly placed in the grass and his breaths coming out heavily. He watches his boyfriend running towards him, and he shouts, “Is that all you’ve got, Your Royal Highness?!” Laughs are escaping both their lips, and Wilhelm is slowing down as he gets closer to Simon.

Both boys stand silently for a moment as they try to catch their breath, huffs of air coming in and out of their mouths quickly. “You’re an asshole,” Wille says, the smile not leaving his face for a second as he runs his hands through Simon’s curls to mess them up.

“Good thing you love my asshole then, hey?” Simon replies, swatting his boyfriends’ hands away, a frustrated grunt escaping his lips.

“God! Shut up!”

Not giving him a second to reply, once again, Wilhelm’s lips are on Simon’s. And once again, they both melt into it instantly. And once again, it’s cut far too short then either of them would like. Simon feels a drop of something wet on his cheek, and as he pulls his mouth away from Wilhelm's, he wipes his cheek and looks up to the sky. Among their little running adventure, huge grey clouds have taken over the sky, angry and threatening to begin pouring at any moment.

And soon, that one drop becomes two, then three, then too many raindrops for Simon to keep count of. And they’re in his hair, and on Wilhelm’s cheeks, and Simon’s on hands, and covering Wilhelm’s shoulders.

And from head to toe, the two boys stand by the pier, sopping wet and completely drenched, Simon’s bare feet beginning to feel numb from the now wet and cold blades of grass. The summer sun is still beating down on them, warming their cheeks as they tip their foreheads so they’re touching, sounds of laughter and happiness tumbling out of their lips.

“I can’t believe I had to go without you for 3 whole months,” Wilhelm says, pressing a quick kiss to Simon’s lips.

“I guess we better go inside and make up for lost time,” Simon giggles in reply, returning Wille’s kiss with one of his own, slightly longer this time, however, and followed up by many more chaste kisses.

It felt like they were in their own world, just the two of them, alone finally, running around the Stockholm Palace gardens hand-in-hand. Not a care in the world. No school. No drama. No press surrounding them. They finally had their own little bubble of happiness to enjoy. And not just for a weekend or a two-week break this time, but for the entire summer. And damnit, were they going to make this the best summer of their lives.

#young royals #wilmon #prince wilhelm #wille #simme #simon eriksson #simon x wilhelm #wilhelm x simon #yr netflix #young royals netflix #willmon #fan fiction #fanfic #fan fic #writing #my writing #leah writes

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freddiekluger · 3 years

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please drop the essay length analysis Judas and Jesus (extra gay Swedish edition), O great and knowledgeable monarch of our times

alright, you ask i deliver! please excuse any typos, my eyes aren't exactly working rn

welcome to my probably super subjective but correct analysis, aka

Judas Was Right and Jesus Was A Victim (At Least, In Swedish)

Before we get started, a couple points: i’ll try to avoid comparisons to other specific productions, i’ve only seen the other recorded 2012 british version which i didn’t like for reasons including but not limited to the amount of white people with dreadlocks. Also, my understanding of swedish is limited to a couple words and phrases, so most of the lyrics i reference will be english subtitles from Ola Salo’s swedish translation and therefore might not be the most accurate !

There’s so much i could cover in this, but for now i’m going to focus on how jesus and judas are portrayed in the 2014 swedish arena tour of Jesus Christ Superstar (JCS) starring Ola Salo as Jesus and Peter Johansson as Judas, along with how this production more implicitly views god.

From the opening number, translated into swedish as En Dimmig Himmelsdröm (A Foggy Heaven’s Dream), Peter Johansson’s acting and semantic differences in the lyrics present us with a deeply sympathetic portrayal of Judas. Looking purely at language, the english equivalent Heaven On Their Minds instantly paints Judas as much more of a faithless doubter- lyrics exclusive to the english version like “all your followers have gone blind / too much heaven on their minds” and “they think you’re the new messiah / and they’ll hurt you when they find they’re wrong” strongly enforce Judas’ main motivation for his actions being that he has less belief in Jesus and God’s plan than any of the other disciples with strong statements judging the other disciples for following him and claiming that Jesus ISN’T the messiah. The swedish translation doesn’t paint exactly the same picture- the focus of Judas’ number becomes his fear for Jesus’ wellbeing, not because he isn’t the messiah (the production remains fairly ambiguous on this point), but because Jesus can’t cope. The root of Judas’ concern comes from fear for Jesus’ wellbeing, and the disciples are referenced as regularly misunderstanding and wilfully twisting Jesus’ words. The swedish equivalent lyrics for the above examples are “they say, “jesus is god’s son” / but you know how people can change” (judas isn’t concerned with truth, just the danger that jesus will be in if the tide turns), and “the kingdom of heaven is within us, that’s what you said / bu they sew it, stitch by stich into some kind of foggy heaven’s dream”. Judas is showing that he HAS been listening and cares for Jesus’ teachings, but ‘they’ [his disciples] are turning them into something else entirely, and Judas’ worries that the support of the masses is fragile at best- the lines “and everything you say gets twisted by your lackeys / it will be anything but what you’ve said” and “you are being used by people who want you in their battle” reinforces this again. When combined with Peter Johansson’s tough but tender performance, in which he dances between disdain for Jesus, the institution, and affection for Jesus, the man (an important distinction), Judas is the harsh realist doing his best to look out for the man he loves. The way he takes Jesus hands and looks at him with love and urgency straight away establishes that his motivations are pure- Judas is doing what he thinks is best, even though it feels like no one will listen to him.

That was long, but En Dimmig Himmelsdröm is the perfect character introduction for Judas. He’s not totally unrecognisable, still delivering digs about ‘Jesus, the little carpenter’s son’, his manner is still rough and at this point we’re not sure whether or not the claims he makes about the disciples have any truth to them, BUT we can also see how much Jesus means to him, an important point that give context to the intensity of their future arguments and really makes the whole story much more heartbreaking.

This brings me to Ola Salo’s Jesus. Delightfully camp and queercoded, Judas describes him as being caught up in his own magic and mystery and buckling under the pressure, and he’s not entirely wrong. Throughout the first act, Jesus basks in the luxuries that being messiah can give him (the oils Mary paid for using disciple funds that were supposed to go towards helping the poor, him absolutely thriving in the shopping cart in What’s the Buzz?), and is shown actively avoiding any reminders of the seriousness of his position. He’s sick of the disciples asking him for a plan, he chooses the comforting Mary, who’s theme consists of telling Jesus everything is okay and he doesn’t need to think about anything, over Judas, who is less perhaps ‘cosy’ but is actively trying to warn and protect Jesus from an awful fate. During The Temple, he starts to crack as he’s overcome by the followers begging him to make him well, fear in his eyes as he raises his arms while frozen on the spot trying to avoid being devoured by the frenzy in desperate need of a messiah. Judas’ point about Jesus buckling under the pressure is starting to look more and more reasonable, and the dashes of showbiz campness add to the sense that much of Jesus is a persona constructed for the masses to give himself enough distance to prevent him from being crushed by the weight of God entirely. Jesus, the institution, prances around, lays his hands on his followers, and projects an air of easygoing calm. Jesus, the man, is scared and alone, and Jesus, the man, really comes out in Last Supper, but before we get there, I want to circle back to the Jesus/Mary/Judas thing.

Jesus, Mary, and Judas are presented as a love triangle: so much so, that Judas seeing Mary sing of her love for Jesus (I Don’t Know How To Love Him) is actually played as the inciting incident that sends him to the pharisees. Judas, the picture of the jealous lover, storms onto the scene, breaking them up and attempting to kiss Jesus, who instead shoves him to the ground in disdain. Judas, who is perhaps a little controlling, realises that any influence he had over Jesus has gone, and it’s likely a combination of jealousy and the knowledge that Jesus won’t stop that prompts him to head to the pharisees. In his meeting with the pharisees (known in english as Damned For All Time, although that phrase doesn’t appear once in the swedish), Judas’ expresses outright that “I’m the one who sees / Jesus, he can’t handle it anymore” “the truth is that this hysteria is making him lose control”, once he can get past explaining how much this plan of action feels like a last resort. He never even verbally or physically accept the pharisees’ offer of money, he denies it twice before it is eventually thrown over him after he reluctantly gives them the date and time to find Jesus- we never even see him pick it up, unlike other productions which show Judas grabbing for the cash and place a higher emphasis on Judas making sure he ‘won’t be damned for all time’, painting Judas as far more self serving. When it comes to Jesus, Judas is active- he’s running around trying to help, caressing him, embracing him, grabbing his hand, kissing him. They share countless moment of intimacy, especially at the start, establishing the fondness between them instead of instantly jumping to their conflict. When it comes to Mary (and admittedly, this is partially because she’s a secondary character- don’t get me wrong I still love her and Gunilla Backman does a brilliant job), she’s much more passive. Other than the much more gentle kisses in I Don’t Know How To Love Him and her penchant for dabbing Jesus’ forehead, she’s mostly just ‘there’. She cares for Jesus after the fact, and even when performing acts of intimacy like the oil and the kiss, she maintains a lot of physical distance- her songs touch on this as, much like Jesus (admittedly for different reasons), she actively distances herself from feelings to protect herself, so naturally she literally places distance between herself and the object of her love.

This brings me back to Last Supper, Gethsemane ( I Only Want to Say), and the kiss of death that broke all of our hearts. Throughout this segment, this is when Jesus, the man, really comes through, and it’s devastating. In Last Supper, he properly expresses the sheer amount of loneliness he feels, reiterating how he feels everyone will forget about him once he’s gone, and doesn’t really care about him as a man (”for you, my blood is not worth more than wine / for you, my body is not worth more than bread” “you will have forgotten me as soon as i give up my life”). This devolves into the disciples fighting each other and, you guessed it, ignoring him. For the first time, Jesus meaningfully lets out his anger, and as it turns to Judas, Judas does the same. Because of the set up of their complicated romantic relationship and the stakes involved, the amount of personal attacks and anger that comes out of Jesus and Judas’ repeated fights (which get physical) make complete sense- Jesus’ frustrations come from the fact that his entire fate has been predetermined and to him, Judas is just another instrument in the ways he’s been controlled (both with Judas being his betrayer, but also the way that Judas’ constant advice and interference with Jesus’ life (most obviously, the mary thing) are acted by Ola Salo as becoming increasingly frustrating to Jesus)- these frustrations are directed at their real cause, God, in Gethsemane. Judas’ frustrations come from the fact that no matter how hard he tries to help Jesus and keep him safe, Jesus keeps rejecting his efforts resulting in “all that we’ve built up [being] destroyed”- Judas’ heart hasn’t just been broken by Jesus rejecting him romantically, but on every level. Here, he’s actually shown to be the disciple most passionate about helping people practically and long term, being the only one concerned about Mary taking money which was supposed to help people, manipulated by the pharisees with the promise of doing good for the masses, and criticising Jesus for how they could be doing so much for people, ending his part of Last Supper with “every time i look at you i ask myself why you let all your things go so wrong? / all i ever wanted was to help you”.

This is also the point where Judas’ claims about the disciples are essentially confirmed, and this productions intent to portray Judas as more of a tragic hero become absolutely clear. In the english version, the disciples chorus remains virtually the same each time it appears, generally being far too calm considering their leader is about to die, revealing their aspirations to be apostles, and their intent to write the gospels to be remembered. the swedish translation still achieve this, but with variations from chorus to chorus it becomes much more poignant. i’m just going to stick to ttwo, which are choruses 1 and 3. In chorus 1, lines roughly translate to “i’ve always wanted to be an apostle / life is so nice when you’re saved/ then when we’ve got time we’ll write the gospels / then everything will be the way we want”- the apostles declaring that life is so good when you’re saved supports Judas’ opening statement that they care more about some idea of heaven than anything else, not to mention ignoring the absolute horrors that Jesus will have to go through to be saved, while the final line about the gospels introduces their intent to change whichever details they need to make ‘everything the way we want’: once again, exactly what Judas warned us of in En Dimmig Himmelsdröm. In chorus 3, taking place after Judas storms out for the last time, these lines change to “never really liked that judas / never saw what jesus saw in him / then, when we’ve got time we’ll write the gospels / and we’ll angle it so he gets all the blame”. Judas as a sympathetic character is confirmed here, as the disciples straight up admit how they don’t like Judas anyways and intend to write him as a villain (also inadvertently admitting that, since they have to write the gospels to make it look like only Judas’ fault, Judas isn’t really the sole one responsible for everything that is to come). It’s deeply unsettling, and for me was the point where I really began to question how good any of these disciples were, and by extension, how good is this production’s God if his truly sanctified followers are acting like this?

Jesus vents out all of his anger and desperation in Gethsemane. He acknowledges his own powerlessness and begs him to change the plan, but with the dark stage and no response (along with Ola Salo’s spectacular acting) it becomes clear that if anyone is there, they’re certainly not listening (”you, who have all the power / can you please change the plan / for i can already feel the pain burning in me”). It’s worth mentioning that a lot of the imagery in this swedish version is much more intense than the english, both in this song and the production as a whole. Jesus plainly calls god “thoughtless”, begging to understand, and it’s that this point we realise that he agrees with much more of what Judas has been saying than he’s been letting on- Jesus’ faith appears to be the only thing keeping him from listening to Judas and running away. Judas’ messages about people misunderstanding Jesus’ words also come out (”you care that everyone sees / but not that anyone understands”), and his eventual agreeing to die is played less as an inspiring act of faith, and more an act of desperation as he realises, he realise has no other choice. In this song, we see just how much of Judas Jesus has valued and taken on board, and that his air of carefree aloofness which frustrated Judas was, as we’ve already touched on, a complete act. The line “might as well finish what i’ve... what YOU’VE started” is absolutely miserable, reinforcing one of the major themes of this production: the idea that Jesus and Judas were both just ordinary men tormented by futures defined by forces out of their control. Just as Jesus has absorbed Judas’ logic, as an audience so we have, and it’s difficult to view the rest of the play’s events as anything other than an immense and unnecessary act of cruelty.

we’re almost done i promise!

Even knowing what Judas has/will do, Jesus still greets him with love. Judas, still under the impression that Jesus will be okay and that he’s doing what’s best, approaches him with the utmost tenderness, and the kiss is a beautiful signifier of two things. For Jesus, the return of his love for Judas shows his realisation in Gethsemane that Judas isn’t the one who’s sealed his fate and has only being trying to help, it’s god himself who has decided Jesus’ future. For Judas, the kiss shows that despite all of the anger and frustration that has been pouring out of him, he truly does love Jesus, and the way he cradles the scared and alone Jesus to his chest afterwards shows just how much he wishes he could be the one to help him and keep him close. Even with all their arguments and dysfunction, here Jesus and Judas find comfort in each other, and it almost seems like everything will end up alright. It’s in this moment that Judas and Jesus are most identifiable not as enemies, or as villain and hero, but as archetypal lovers from a Shakespearean tragedy. Neither of them set out to hurt each other, but through miscommunications, their own flaws, and external forces (both natural and supernatural), their love is simply never to be. Furthermore, in the following torture and spectacle, everything that Judas predicted for Jesus is about to come true. Another detail I find interesting is the way that Jesus and Judas both sport black nail polish, leather pants, and similar length hair: along with just looking cool as hell, the similarities really reinforce how close they are and how much they influence each other- it feels like a contemporary version of carrying a cameo or a lock of your lover's hair with you, a way for 'star crossed lovers' to keep a piece of their beloved no matter what.

The disaffected persona of Jesus, the institution, comes back as he’s taken by the authorities and subsequently insulted, degraded, and whipped. Also the swedish version of The Arrest, when the chorus starts singing questions, contains this dick joke and I think we all deserve it: “why were you dating a whore? / talk about a huge magic wand!”

Skipping forward to Judas’ Death, this is where both his character and the production’s conception of god beautifully (and miserably) align. When Judas runs to the pharisees, minor semantic changes (along with the genuine concern and great acting from Peter Johansson) reinforce that this Judas genuinely didn’t know that Jesus would be beaten and sentenced to death the way he has been, and Judas’ concern regarding how things look is played less as ‘oh no people will hate ME!’, but how having sentenced the man you love to death is one nightmarish thing, but for everyone to think you did it knowingly and willingly and then congratulate you for it is unthinkable. Where the english shows Judas’ attempting to evade responsibility for Jesus death, the swedish is more focused on Judas’ guilt, horror, and regret. The english “I’d save him all the suffering if I could / don’t believe our good / save him if I could” is swapped in swedish for “If anyone should die here I should / don’t say I’m good / better if I died”. While the english statements are somewhat empty (sure, Judas says he’d save Jesus’ suffering if he could, but he can’t so we’ll never truly know) and are still focused on Judas’ attempt to construct himself as a good guy, the swedish translation has Judas admit his guilt (even if it’s not really his fault), and make the promise of “better if i died” which, given the name of this sequence, he later delivers on. When english Judas sings “Christ, I’d sell out the nation / For I have been saddled with the murder of you”, swedish Judas sings “Jesus, I’ve been deceived / because of my act your blood’s now being spilt”, and instead of ending this first section with “I should be dragged through the slime and the mud”, swedish jesus returns to the theme of character assasination with “i will be cursed as the one behind your murder”.

The swedish translation of the next rework of I Don’t Know How to Love Him also places much more emphasis on Judas’ genuine romantic love for Jesus- we’d be here for hours if i listed everything but here are a few key contrasts. The english has Judas sing “I don’t know how to love him / I don’t know why he moves me”, whereas the swedish has Judas crying while singing “how do I show my love / all I want is to be close to you”. Along with acknowledging Judas already loves Jesus, the entirety of this segment is shifted from Judas singing about Jesus in the third person ‘he’, to a direct address. Judas isn’t performing his sadness, or venting his emotions, he’s emitting one last desperate cry to the man he loves as he sobs on a stage completely shrouded in darkness, and it’s devastating. Peter Johansson lets his voice run raw as he’s belting, and interrupts lines with sobs, and this Judas answers the question of “do you love me too? do you care for me?” with a quiet “no”- Judas is about to go to his death convinced Jesus must hate him, just as Jesus will face his knowing his love inadvertently put him there.

We finally reach Judas’ actual death, and the production’s far more ambiguous (if not negatively geared) depiction of god comes to a head. Judas’ screaming at god the moment he realises that his god essentially forced Judas to be the one to kill Jesus (an act of ultimate cruelty given their love) comes across as horrifying in it’s validity, unlike in other english language productions where it follows the more common characterisation of Judas being an unbeliever who can’t take responsibility for his own actions. When he spits on the ground, screaming “you have murdered me!”, we can’t help but agree- Judas was trying everything he could to stop Jesus from dying, and yet here he is. Most notably, Judas doesn’t set up his own suicide- a noose literally descends from the heavens, already tied, and Judas is literally trapped between the edge of the stage, and the symbol of death behind him. Much like he didn’t choose to kill Jesus, Judas has no choice in his own suicide- it’s suggested to merely be another part of the plan god has for him, and Judas raising his arms to form a crucifixion pose before he finally turns and jumps, disappearing into the depths of the theatre as the rope trails down (somewhat evocative of a leap to hell), highlight the sick joke. Much like Jesus begging in Gethsemane, a plea with god that in anyway implies fault or cruelty is met with silence followed by a death sentence.

When Judas reappears to the broken and bloodied Jesus in Superstar, he appears as more of a twisted hallucination than the literal spirit of Judas. He’s the opposite of everything he was in life, draped in colour, surrounded by red lighting instead of the signature blue, his hair quite literally let down, joking and dancing. Despite singing about him, Judas virtually ignores Jesus for the whole song except when he’s taunting him, snatching his hand away after a broken and desperate Jesus reaches out for the image of his beloved (refuting Judas’ belief that Jesus would die hating him), along with the swedish additions of Judas repeatedly addressing him as “little Jesus”. Where the living Judas was serious, sometimes harsh but always well intention, often paying more attention to Jesus than he received, this Judas is the opposite: light hearted but cruel, not caring about Jesus one bit. It’s somewhat an inversion of the beginning of JCS, where the tormented Judas was constantly reaching out to Jesus, and often met with scorn and insult (see: most of their arguments, this line from Everything’s Alright: “the thought is beautiful but quite unrealistic / yes, even quite stupid”). As the song goes on, and even as Jesus is crucified, the victorious scoring of the Superstar theme ends up reinforcing the cruelty and questioning of god distinctive of this production: Ola Salo’s Jesus is one of the bloodiest Jesus’s (Jesii?) I’ve been able to find, with blood covering his torso, his arms, and all over his face, not in passive dribbles, but violent ‘swooshes’ spreading out from his eyes, emphasising the fear and pain contained within them. As the music suggests how great and wonderful Jesus’ death is, the images straight out of a horror movie before us don’t seem to match up: as both Judas and Jesus question, if no one is understanding what Jesus is saying, why kill him? instead of making a point, you’re ensuring that the falsehoods continue to circulate, unless spreading the true message isn’t really the intent at all. or, simply that Jesus was wrong: his interpretation and teachings of god were far too kind and practical, and the true god really is the one that he briefly saw in the garden of Gethsemane, and that Judas saw before his death- a cruel and vindictive god using them for his own sick purposes. If you're a strong Christian, I'm sure you could watch this production and still believe that God was right (although I think Jesus and Judas being in love counts as blasphemy), but I think in doing so you'd lose part of what makes this production so hard hitting and, as i keep saying, devastating.

that’s pretty much it for this one! i feel like jesus and judas as a queer couple is less significant to this production than the fact that it’s specifically jesus and judas that are in love - they don’t face explicit homophobia as such, although i do think the paratextual and historical associations of queerness (both with them each looking visibly queer, and them as a couple) adds a beautiful dimension by subverting the standard christian teaching of Jesus’ sacrifice as “a love that changed the world” and making the love that truly could have been transformative (and was, to a degree) the love between Jesus and another man, not to mention the way in which queerness is often viewed as radical perfectly upholding the ‘radical’ views of god and the story of Jesus shown in the production. Why wouldn’t the love between two men be the love which has us questioning god, faith, and that which many of us have been taught since birth? Ola Salo has talked about how he’s able to be positive and negative towards christianity, along with how he wanted Jesus and Judas to really represent two sides of the same coin (’faith and intelligence’), and being bisexual along with having alluded to being raised christian (not to mention Breaking Up With God, a song by his band The Ark), it’s not surprising he’s managed to present such a nuanced and layered interpretation of Jesus Christ Superstar that even me, a trans exvangelical, can fall in love with.

UPDATE: @bands-and-hobbits has just let me know that Ola's dad was a priest! Apparently he's said that he liked the organs and the music, but that was all when it comes to christianity, which (when combined with Ola stating in interviews that the JCS soundtrack has been one of his favourite albums since he was 14) makes a lot of sense about the level of familiarity he had with the text giving him confidence to go in and make changes to really capitalised off of some of the themes that are hinted at in the english version- you have enough information to understand how everything works together, but aren't so dedicated to preserving belief that you feel you can't improve/change things (and my god are we glad he did)

#thank you if you made it this far!#also the inherent rhythm in swedish as a language just makes all of the songs sound better i'm gonna say it #english is really hit and miss when it comes to music and can get especially clunky with musicals requiring exposition #also sorry there's so much i've left out !#anyways enjoy #jesus christ superstar #jesus christ superstar swedish arena tour 2014 #jcs #peter johansson #ola salo #also i have barely edited this so i hope it's coherent

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thefanficmonster · 3 years

Text

Best Friend’s Brother

Conrad (The Dark Pictures Anthology: Man of Medan) x Reader (Male)

Warnings: Swearing

Genre: Fluff, Mild Angst

Summary: Having been invited to the boat trip by his best friend Julia, Y/N can’t help but wish he never accepted the invitation because now he has to deal with being stuck on a boat with the boy he’s had a crush on for years with no real way to avoid him.

Requested by @dark-pictures-until-dawn Hi hun! Thank you so much for your request, sorry to have kept you waiting for so long but here it finally is and I really hope you enjoy the read! (I used he/him pronouns but if you want them changed feel free to let me know!) Love, Vy ❤

I have no idea what I was thinking when I agreed to go on this trip. I don’t know what on God’s green Earth I was thinking but here we are now sitting on a boat, at open water with no land for miles. And I’m sitting here, face to face with him, but I’m completely frozen. Unable to say a single damn thing. Maybe that’s a good thing though, I’d probably embarrass myself if I did say something.

Let me give you a bit of backstory to how I found myself in this situation.

My parents are very close to Julia and Conrad’s family, given that our mothers used to go to high school together and have remained best friends ever since. That’s how I met the two siblings and was quick to grow a friendship with them both. Despite being Julia’s age, I found myself always gravitating towards Conrad but the girl is still my best friend - she’d probably kill me if I let her brother take that title from her. Truth be told, he could never take her title - I could never see Conrad as a best friend.

Not when my feelings towards him are anything but platonic.

No, I did not tell Julia about said feelings and no I don’t plan on telling her either. I’d never hear the end of it if I did tell her about it. She’d chew me up about it, making my romantic interest for her brother the main topic of discussion (read: teasing and mocking). Don’t get me wrong, I love Julia to death and there are never any secrets between us.

Well, there weren’t any until a few years ago when I realized my fondness for the dumbass she calls brother goes beyond just friendship and similarity. That it had more of a romantic nature that I was not prepared to have to deal with. And, in all honesty, I don’t think I’ve dealt with at all even now. I mean, it’s probably obvious thanks to the silence that’s taken over the deck of the boat where I’m currently sitting with Conrad, monitoring Alex and Julia’s dive while Fliss is tending to a seasick Brad downstairs.

“Hey Y/N, want a beer?“ When the comfortable but odd silence is broken, no one would be shocked to find it out it was done so by Conrad. I’m surprised he even managed to stay silent for so long.

“No thanks, I’ll keep the alcohol at bay until tonight when everyone’s onboard.“ It’s not a complete lie, that’s what I like about it.

You see, I’ve never got drunk with Conrad in the vicinity and I don’t wanna risk my drunk ass outing me and my silly and have neither him nor I remember it the next morning. So, to avoid getting carried with the drinking, I won’t be starting now and I’ll make sure to limit myself even tonight to three beers tops. I’m no lightweight but I’m no daredevil either.

“You’re oddly quiet.“ Conrad says when he returns with a beer in his hand, the glass bottle stained with droplets, suggesting he’s just taken it out of one of the coolers we brought. He presses the bottle to the side of his neck where he got a sunburn yesterday, some droplets trickling down his skin. He doesn’t seem to mind it as he keeps his focused gaze on me, a mildly concerned frown upon his face as he studies my expression, “Something wrong? You know you can tell me anything. That’s what best friends are for, after all.“ He smirks, putting extra emphasis on the word ‘best‘.

I laugh but I cringe inwardly. Something about calling him ‘best friend’ feels so unnatural and odd and out-of-place I can’t even describe it. I know it may sound ridiculous but if you’ve ever had a crush there’s a high chance that you can relate. “Don’t worry, if it were worth mentioning, I’d tell you.“ I blow off his concerns, using his own method against him.

He’s known to do that - sweep all his troubles under the rug and stand atop it to make sure they don’t try to escape and resurface while he’s keeping his bright smile on his face, avoiding showing any other expression. I’m no fool and neither is no one around him, at least the ones who know him well and are close to him. Us who he considers friends know that it’s not all smiles and sunshine in his life either.

Wish I could pull that rug from under him and see what’s really going on with him but not even Julia is allowed to do so, let alone me.

Thankfully though, before things could get any more awkward, Julia and Alex resurface with some rather exciting news - they went in as boyfriend and girlfriend and came back as an engaged couple.

And just like that, all thoughts surrounding Conrad were thrown out of my head. Ok, maybe not completely, but they were suppressed into some dark corner of my brain.

* * *

“You’ve got Connie worried.“ I yelp when my best friend plops her ass down next to me on the deck, her second bottle of beer half empty by now while I’m still nursing my first as though I’m trying to save more beers for the rest of the people on board. We already have plenty of beers in stock but even if we didn’t, considering the sickness he had to endure earlier, Brad isn’t drinking, leaving his share at our disposal. Therefore, Jules is quick to catch onto my slow drinking.

I tilt my bottle in her direction, “I want to avoid getting sick like Brad did, thank you very much. The last thing I’m looking forward to is kneeling by the edge of the boat, puking my guts out.“

Julia laughs, clinking her bottle against mine before taking a swig. I take one too, hoping it fuels my courage at least a tiny bit to try and lead this conversation properly, “Nah, that’s not what he meant - although, I doubt Brad’s sickness was an alcohol issue.” She shakes her head, pushing aside a few blond locks to be able to look at me better. That’s when I feel like her gaze is piercing into my soul and I wish I knew how to shield myself from that. There’s a big issue with having your crush’s sister be your best friend, especially when she has a sixth sense for when there’s something off with me. “But you have been avoiding him, don’t deny it.” My eyes widen against my will and my mouth falls open as I try to defend myself and deflect her argument, but she raises a finger to signal me to keep my thoughts to myself while she’s talking. “Did he say something inappropriate while we were gone? Just tell me, I’ll end him!”

“Relax, Jules, Conrad would never do such a thing. Especially not with someone he cares about.“ Alex interferes - God bless his soul - and takes a seat next to Julia, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

“I’ve known Connie for as long as I’ve known you, J. You should know by now that, even at the odd chance he does say something inappropriate, I have a reply ready at all times.“ I shoot her a wink in an attempt to wipe away the concerned expression on her face.

Alex contributes, “See? Nothing to worry about. Now let Y/N enjoy his beer and you enjoy yours.”

I shoot Alex a grateful smile over behind Julia’s back, subtly tilting my bottle towards him - a gesture he understands perfectly and does so in return. However, his fiancée refuses to give up the argument.

“No, no, no. There is definitely something to worry about and I’ll get it out of him if it’s the last thing I ever do.“ She narrows her eyes at me, forcing me to instinctively back away as if that’s gonna help me at all. Then, this woman pulls a 180 on me, going from an angry detective to a disappointed and betrayed friend, “Damn it, Y/N! I always tell you everything and you are just a closed book! How is that fair?!“

It may or may not be a tactic but she’s got a point - I rarely tell her things. I’m the listener of the duo and she’s the talker: she shares, I absorb the info; she’s upset, I listen and comfort her accordingly; she has something troubling her, I’m the one she shares it with. It’s rarely ever the other way around. And I can see why it bothers her.

What’s a little truth to pay her back for all the ones she’s told me? Well, the problem is that this particular truth is far from little and it would be the equivalent of descending into my own grave willingly.

It could also help you, you know?

Yeah, sure it can. Sure it can....

“Ok fine!“ I cut her off because this woman can never run out of words to use against me when she wants to.

Her fiancée is quick to give me a sympathizing look, “No, Y/N, you don’t have to...”

“No, it’s ok, Alex. I owe her this much...“ I sigh, looking at the doorway leading to the lower level of the boat where Conrad went a while ago and doesn’t seem like he’s in a hurry to return, much to my relief. I sigh, succumbing to the inevitable, “Jules, I’m only gonna say this once and no, I won’t elaborate but I need you to promise me you won’t freak the hell out. Got it?“

The blond girl rolls her eyes, “Come on Y/N, are we in middle school or something?”

Oh she’s so not ready to hear this...

“Fine, then I bet you won’t be bothered by my crush on your brother at all.“ I huff out before I can rethink the words I’d use or how I’d phrase the sentence. It just left my body as though it has been waiting to do so for a while no. That wouldn’t surprise me though, it’s been one heavy weight to carry around.

There’s a long moment of silence. Alex and I both gaze at Julia who is pulling off the most impressive poker face I’ve ever seen but I have no time to dwell on that considering I’m too busy keeping my stomach from turning completely and forcing me to throw up the small amount of food I’ve eaten and the beer I’ve had to drink. When Julia opens her mouth to talk, I raise the bottle to my lips to shut myself up and calm myself down. “The only thing that bothers me is the fact you didn’t tell me sooner.“

To say I’m flabbergasted would be an understatement. I’ve seen Julia freak out over smaller things but she’s calm about this?! I’m impressed. But then again, I shouldn’t speak too soon - this might just be the calm before the storm.

“If I knew you’d be this chill about it I wouldn’t have waited so long.“ I admit sheepishly, fidgeting with my hands now that I’ve put the bottle aside. “It’s unlike you to be this calm about something....like this.“ I cannot find the right words to describe ‘this‘ but I know she gets me and that’s a relief.

“I’m a drama queen when I wanna be and a strategic player when I have to be, Y/N, how come you don’t know that?“ She smirks at me, all self-assured and whatnot. Wish I had at least a fragment of her self-esteem. “Speaking of strategic, leave it all to me. The two of you will be together in no time.“ She nudges me in the ribs with her elbow, giving me a wink that makes my blood run cold, my eyes opening wide as plates.

“No way, J! No fucking way.“ I feverously shake my head, the idea itself making me feel so terrified and unsure like I’ve never felt before. “You won’t do anything just like I won’t do anything. He doesn’t see me that way and that’s that, no room for negotiating.“

She scoffs, “Oh please. Have you known him all his life? Have you seen him through every darn moment of his life - from being a pathetic loser in middle school to the playboy in high school? No you haven’t. Well, I have and I can say with all the certainty within me that the way he looks at you is a dead giveaway of how he feels for you. He’s had many romantic partners, and I’ve never once seen him look at them the way he looks at you, Y/N.”

I narrow my eyes at her, “You do realize you’re contradicting your own point here - he’s never looked at me the way he looks at his romantic partners means he’s never seen me as a romantic partner!”

Julia shakes her head, “Goddammit, Y/N, you’re really trying to explain my brother to me? I’m telling you, the look he gives you is a lot more meaningful, a lot more special, unlike any look he’s ever given anyone.” The girl scans my face, looking for something I’m not sure she’ll find. “He adores you, Y/N. Perhaps even more than you.”

The words have no time to sink in an be processed by my spasming brain when I hear a familiar voice come from my right, “Wait, what?! What did I miss?”

If Conrad doesn’t have the best timing ever, I don’t know who does...

“Oh dear brother, we’ve been missing out on A LOT.“ Julia says, using every bit of insinuation she can to get me on-edge.

Conrad’s confused gaze darts between the three of us: Alex, who’s still in the processing phase, Julia who’s smiling widely and me who’s downright terrified. I now wish I had another beer bottle handy. It’d keep me occupied if nothing else.

Suddenly, the engaged couple arise from their seats and begin walking away - not without Julia flashing Conrad and I a big grin that says ‘Have fun, you two!’ as though she doesn’t know how much I’m sweating right now.

Conrad however doesn’t seem to notice the teasing undertones as he takes the seat opposite me, tightly holding onto his beer bottle when his gaze meets mine. There’s a smirk on his face but I don’t see even a trace of it in his eyes, leading me to believe it’s ingenuine and forced which is something I never thought I’d see on Connie’s face - a fake smile. It’s almost disturbing to witness.

“Well, well, well, has our boy scout found himself a significant other? Sorry if I’m far from the mark, I’m just shooting in the dark here. I didn’t get to hear much so I might be really inaccurate.“

I shake my head, “No, no, you’re pretty close actually.“ I was prepared to deny it to my grave but here I am confessing like a fool, “It’s a potential significant other. To be fair, there’s no potential whatsoever but a boy can dream.“

He quirks up a curious brow, “Why’d you be so sure?”

Well fuck, I didn’t think it that far through.

I attempt to play it off cool, shrugging my shoulder nonchalantly, “I’m not his type at all. I just know he doesn’t see me the way I see him. Hell, I’m not even sure he’s into guys and even....“

Conrad doesn’t let me finish though, shutting my up with his lips pressed against mine. I can’t recall when he closed the distance between us, I can’t even remember seeing him get up from his spot on the bench. Were my eyes closed? I have no clue, all I know is that they’re shut now and I’m afraid that this will all turn out to be a dream if I open them.

Therefore, I keep them shut even after we pull away, our faces still remaining inches away from one another.

“You still think he doesn’t like guys?“ The cocky fucker asks in a mumble, chuckling slightly.

I should probably feel timid, embarrassed or nervous or anything else that would fit well in this situation but all I feel is relief and all I can do is tilt my head back and laugh my heart out at the one thought that pops into my head:

I may have been the last person to know I had a crush on Conrad

Connie doesn’t allow me to spiral any further. He instead takes a gentle hold of the back of my neck, bringing me in for another kiss.

Man, is our story a cliché though - the story of how a dumbass (me) fell in love with his best friend’s brother.

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waatermelon-sugaar · 3 years

Text

Under My Skin: Chapter 2

Series Masterlist

Words = 4.3k

Chapter warnings = swearing, bad words, let me know if I missed anything!

Summary = Despite the explosive argument that resulted on your last mission with Poe, Leia decides another is in order

A/N = I made up the planet that they go to, as far as I’m aware it doesn’t exist in the Star Wars canon, but when I wrote the first draft I had no wifi to research a planet and then I couldn’t be bothered to change it. Also I know nothing about flying, nor about physics, I have based this on my (limited) experience of driving and therefore taken a lot of artistic license - I am sure what I have made these characters do is not actually possible.

Edit = Cross posted to AO3

Chapter 1

***

Poe Dameron was irritating on a normal day. A grounded Poe Dameron was worse. Like a caged fathier with no outlet for his excessive levels of energy it felt like he was pacing the length of the base multiple times a day, making it almost impossible to avoid him.

Not that that stopped you from trying. To complicate matters, you were doing your best to not think about him at all. So far, it was going well. You hadn’t even talked to him since the debrief, making a special effort to not even look at him when he was in the same room as you.

The debrief had taken place a couple of days after you’d shouted at Dameron, and had been unbelievably awkward. Leia and General Holden had been polite, running through any spare details of information gathered in the compound, what type of books there were, what they were about, what languages they’d been in.

After you’d talked, it was Dameron’s turn, answering questions about the objects in their cases, what planets they were from, how old they were, if they formed a collection. It felt like it went on forever, finally making it onto questions about your shooter, was it the suspected owner, how many droids appeared, was the security system as expected?

You were sure Dameron would be sneering at you, so you avoided looking at him, and didn’t dare directly address him. Keeping your hands clasped in your lap had helped prevent visible shaking.

Saying as little as possible, you’d escaped at the first opportunity, ignoring how Poe stood up, and desperately pretending that you couldn’t hear how he immediately started to talk, more animated than he’d been the entire time you’d been there.

Both of you had been in trouble; Dameron for hiding his injuries, and you for shouting at him. And while he’d been the one officially grounded, it was of little comfort, knowing that it was no doubt due to him failing his physical. And now Dameron had been able to defend himself and probably slag you off in the same sentence while you had left, feeling like a child sent to their room.

But unable to fly it felt like he was all over base, just where and when you didn’t want him to be.

Like now. You were working on a mission report with a bar of chocolate to keep you going, lying nearly horizontal on a couch. Background music was playing in your headphones and your datapad was open with a number of tabs and the mission report was there, right in front of you, half written - and yet your eyes kept flicking over to Dameron sat by the center table.

You weren’t sure he’d seen you when he walked in, hidden as you were behind the shelves in the corner. You liked this nook, it always made you feel protected and the idea of Dameron finding this corner and no doubt ruining your sense of security vaguely irritated you. Looking through the gaps you could see his legs resting on the chair opposite him, and if you sat up a bit, you saw that his back was to you, facing the door, his shoulders tight.

Ignoring him, you tried to get back to work, and you would never have admitted it, but the noises as he worked was...nice enough, in it’s own way. Little growls of frustration that you could barely hear over your music, the occasional sentence read aloud, BB-8’s reassuring little beeps. They made you feel less alone.

Finally, finally, you finished. Dameron didn’t look like he was any closer to getting up and leaving, and you took your time shutting down your pad. You’d have to pass him. It had to be done, you wanted to have a shower and go to bed, but...still.

You intended on ignoring him, but it felt excessive to leave without even a - “Goodnight, Dameron.” It was short as you passed and you resisted the weird urges inside of you that wanted to insult him and make sure he was ok at the same time.

He didn’t say anything at first, and you exhaled heavily in relief, and...something else which you didn’t want to unpack.

Until he said your name. Your first name.

You stopped walking, jaw clicking in annoyance as your back tensed. “I’m sorry.” His voice floated from out behind you, strong but quiet. You looked at the door in front of you. It was probably about 4 steps away - you couldn’t have walked a little faster?

“In the medbay, what I said… it was out of order. It was too harsh and I’m sorry.” He paused and you still didn’t move, frozen to the spot. “I didn’t mean it. Any of it, sweetheart. I-” he paused again and changed his mind. “I’m sorry.”

Finally you turned around, a strange trembling rising from your stomach to your chest. Your eyes narrowed, mouth turning up in distaste.

“You’re sorry?” you spat, taking care not to look at his face. “You were only too happy to badmouth me to Leia and General Holden afterwards though!” You took a step backwards, conscious of how far the door was. Your eyes rose from the floor to his face, ignoring the slight signs of tiredness around his eyes, the first time you’d looked directly at him since the medbay.

Shaking your head, you glanced away, the reminder sending hot embarrassment through you, still.

Dameron’s head has dropped into his hands and he’s pulling slightly at his curls. Your breath quickens in annoyance as you start talking again. “Whatever, I-” The slamming of his hands on the table interrupts what you’d been about to say. His hands are clenched into fists, knuckles white, and the look on his face scares you.

“You don’t have a clue! You’re determined to think badly of me aren’t you?”

For the first time, words escape you. Dameron walks towards you, quick paced and you back away until you reach the wall. There’s something poking into the small of your back, but the physical discomfort is less than the discomfort you feel radiating off Dameron.

He’s close to you now, close enough that you can smell him, a deep rich smell, one that smells like a man, and why do you like it? His hands are clenching and unclenching at his sides, like he wants to reach forwards and shake you.

You match his glare, finally finding your words, “I’m determined to think of you based on your actions, Commander.” He stiffens at the use of his title, but you continue. “I know you’re a better pilot than I am, but you need to learn not to look down on people who are a lower rank than you!”

Dameron’s mouth opens...and then shuts without comment. As you continue glaring at him, you realise this is the first time he’s been speechless around you. And it’s now, his body so close he’s nearly pressing you into the wall and what the hell is poking you? You can feel your heart beating quickly and you hope he doesn’t notice it in your neck.

“Well, maybe I do, but you need to learn not to judge others. Not everything’s as simple as it seems!” He’s not shouting anymore, but his voice still feels dangerous.

Whatever. You don’t want to be a part of this anymore. You push roughly past him, hitting his shoulder as you do and mumbling a “Fuck off” under your breath as you finally make your escape.

***

No sooner had you rejected Poe’s apology than you wished you had accepted. It had been an automatic reaction, snapping back at him in your hurt. You’d never been close to Poe, the snub he’d given you when you met preventing you from ever seeing him in a favourable light.

And Poe’s apology was causing an annoying thought to run through your mind. One you had absolutely no business thinking about, and you didn’t know what had brought it about.

But still. What had you missed out on by not being Poe’s friend?

The answer was, of course, absolutely nothing.

Especially now.

It would no longer be enough to bicker like siblings with a rivalry. Regret made you clench your jaw and your heart around Poe Dameron, a physical remainder of the damage you’d done.

This was a new feeling. This was proper anger, real hurt. It was unfamiliar and you weren’t quite sure what to do with it.

You didn’t walk around the base unless you had too now, preferring the isolation of your room to the fear that would shoot through you every time you saw someone with curly hair.

Instead, you found people came to you. Rose was a frequent visitor and you were always happy to see her, even if she didn’t quite understand your reluctance to leave. Members of your squadron came to catch you up on what you missed and after a couple of days you began to think maybe you were being ridiculous. Would it really be so bad if you saw him again?

The decision was taken out of your hands when Kare knocked on your door. She was holding her helmet, with her orange flight suit zipped up. She had a pretty bad case of helmet hair, blonde strands flopping into her face contrasting brilliantly with her brown skin. Dameron stood behind her, determinedly not looking into your room, looking slightly at odds in a normal shirt.

Great. You couldn’t even avoid him by not going anywhere.

“Hi!” she started, pausing, “Are you alright?”

You hum gently at her, tiredness scratching at your eyes, despite the amount of sleeping you’ve been doing. “What’s going on? Where are you off to?”

“I just got back from a recon mission,” she tells you, and sleep is still pulling at you. “General Organa asked me to tell both of you that she wants to see you for a briefing tomorrow.”

You look again at Poe, as he nods stiffly.

“Is that everything?” He’s not even looking at Kare, and you shoot her a questioning glance.

“It’s at 8 in her office,” Kare says, shaking her head, silently telling you not now. You bit back an irrational laugh as Dameron nods again, leaving as fast as he can. “You’ve pissed him off!”

You’ve not managed to shut the door as she says this, and you shush her desperately as the two of you dissolve into giggles. “So it’s true?” Kare’s taken Rose’s usual seat at your desk, spinning round with the soles of her feet scraping on the floor. “You shouted at him?”

You sigh. That.

“I - yes. He did something stupid,” you tell her and she lets out a chuckle.

“When doesn’t he?” And maybe it’s something about her expression, and the contrast with her dry tone, but it makes you laugh again as she continues, “Don’t worry, everyone thinks he deserved it.”

“Really?” you ask, surprised. “They do?”

She nods, “Yeah. You’ll have to work with him on this mission though.” She’s picking up objects on your desk, and haphazardly returning them to the wrong place. You huff a little at the idea but change the topic.

***

Walking into Leia’s office the next day, you immediately rolled your eyes when you saw Dameron pulling a face as he made eye contact with you.

“Ok this stops right now.” Leia’s voice is sharp and to the point as she glares at the two of you. “This is ridiculous. The two of you are on the same side, fighting the same fight and you can’t even be in the same room?”

“With all due respect General, the enemy of my enemy is not my friend,” you say, not looking away from Dameron. He looks better than usual, wearing a black t-shirt that somehow makes his hair look darker, his arms stronger, his face fresher.

Leia huffs, and gestures to the seat next to Dameron which you take ungraciously, as she continues. “Perhaps not, but you are on the same side. I would like to ask for at least civility towards each other.” Dameron’s wearing tac gear, you realise, scanning up and down his body. Knee pads blend into the black of his trousers, which are tucked into a hefty pair of boots. Your eyes keep catching on the smoothness of his jaw and throat, he must have just had a shave. “Shake hands.”

Your mouth drops open, finally looking away. “What?!” Both of you speak at the same time. You look back at him to see him smiling gently at you. You frown, but stick your hand out, breaching the gap.

“Truce?”

You’re acting annoyed, but there’s a thrumming excitement rising again in you. A mission is a mission, even if it means working with someone you don’t really want to.

You ignore the very small part of you that does want to be friends with him.

Dameron’s hand is warm when it grasps yours, strong in his conviction, and there’s something unreadable in face as he replies. “Truce.”

Leia smiles at you when you turn back to face her, and you have to squash down your own, wanting to remain annoyed at Dameron. Clicking a button on her desk, she starts playing a hologram. It’s a video replay of a number of ships - 2 distinctly First Order TIE fighters, and 3 Resistance X-wings. The TIE fighters are moving in a way you’ve never seen before, unprecedented skill allowing them to miss Resistance shots that should have been hits.

Leia allows the video to play a number of times before waving her hand to freeze the image. You can only gape at her, not quite sure what she wants you and Poe to do about it. Dameron’s hands are already twitching in your peripheral vision, like he’s imagining how he would manipulate the controls to achieve the same effect.

“This was supposed to be a simple recon mission, which was not supposed to have any engagement,” Leia starts, “but the First Order showed up, and our pilots decided to shoot first, but couldn’t make a hit. I want the two of you to work out how they managed to do this. And I’ve arranged for the two of you to practice on Greplimin, which is a largely empty planet two parsecs from here.” Sighing, she leaned on the desk, giving Dameron the holo stick. “Can I trust you not to kill each other?”

Dameron leaves as fast as he can, muttering something about finding BB-8, but you hang back, waiting by the door to ask Leia something.

“Why have you asked me?” You still feel too vulnerable when you look at her, and in the back of your mind you wonder if you’ll ever get over this.

Leia only raises an eyebrow, asking you to elaborate.

“I’m not the best pilot.” You start desperately. “I know I’m not. I would never tell him-,” you throw your arm at the door, “-that, but it’s true. I’m not the best person to ask and if you want someone who gets on with Dameron, I don’t - why, why did you choose me?”

Leia sits down and you stand there, feeling weirdly lanky.

“You’re right.” How is she so confident? “You’re not the best pilot. But you have an unconventional way of flying and the First Order didn’t manage to pull that stunt by being conventional.”

“Figure it out, Lieutenant,” she dismisses you, attention already on some papers on her desk.

***

Dameron had begun to make dinner by the time you’d finished setting up the tent. You’d grumbled under your breath as you worked to construct the two camp beds, sure that the Resistance could afford two tents. Outside, Dameron’s quiet conversation with BB-8 was muffled, indistinct words floating to you under the chirping sounds of the birds and insects.

Even in your grumpy mood as you’d flown out, you could appreciate the beauty of Greplimin. Green had stretched out as far as you could see, circling until you’d found a good place to make camp. A large clearing surrounded by trees, a lake not too far of a walk for water, which was now set alight with the glow of the three suns as they began to set.

The food, cooked by Dameron over an open fire, was nice enough, but something had risen to the back of your throat, making it hard to swallow. You don’t talk much, saying the bare minimum in order to resist snapping at Dameron unnecessarily. As much as you don’t want to admit it, Leia is right - you are on the same side of the war. Conversation is stilted and unnatural, so you take the cowards way out, feigning tiredness to escape.

But that doesn’t mean Dameron has any business being as attractive as he is on this mission. It’s as though ever since your argument in the common room, his attractiveness has increased dramatically and you hate it.

By the next morning, a slight stubble had started to grow, darkening his jaw and making your heart beat a little faster as the two of you eat in silence, lit by the glow of the sun rise. Out of annoyance, you told yourself, after all, it’s unprofessional to have stubble. And anyway, who can grow facial hair that fast? From the look of him yesterday, he’d freshly shaved.

And he’d started to look at you differently too. You’re just not sure what the difference is.

The next day is spent flying. Both you and Dameron are a little rusty, having both been grounded for a month now. You have to focus on breathing calmly when you first sit back in the cockpit, the image of Poe near to collapse in the seat behind you sending you back to your last mission. You have to turn around to convince yourself that he’s sat in the other X-wing.

Turning on your comm link, the two of you run through pre-flight checks together, methodical and reassuring, before running through the normal exercises, switching between who is acting as First Order and who is Resistance.

It’s nice. Comforting, even, the familiar routines you could do in your sleep, muscle memory taking over when your brain stumbles.

And even though neither you or Poe say a whole lot, it’s a nice safety net, knowing that there’s someone on the other end of the line. It’s the odd little phrases that he uses, praising you or himself, with the occasional swear word or whoop of delight thrown in. He’s playing music, because of course he is, but you can only catch the odd bar, not enough to recognise any songs.

Not for the first time, you recognise the intimacy of comm’s, how talking directly to the other’s ears feels...more personal, somehow. So you bite back any quick replies you think of, pushing down any breathless laughter at his comments.

You love flying too. There’s nothing quite like the feeling of floating in the sky, taking turns at a ridiculous pace, and feeling adrenaline burn you up on the inside.

The usual exercises end up taking over the whole day, you and Dameron blasting them until they’re perfect. Briefly you wonder if this is what it would be like to be in Black Squadron, perfection expected rather than a nice added bonus. He doesn’t seem surprised though, when you manage them. You frown, you’d expected some kind of taunt about how you’d done better than he’d thought...but the comms were silent to your expectations, just the odd, respectful, “Well done.”

On the third day, you give the First Order’s new moves a go. Neither you nor Dameron are quite brave enough to fully twist the way they did, and you’re not sure what his worry is, but the idea of overheating your engine mid-flight is enough to stop you.

Lunch is spent with the two of you eating together and poring over the video, stopping and starting it at different moments to talk over the best ways to fall out of the spin. Having a goal, a problem to solve makes conversation flow much easier and you’re grateful for it. It’s something else to concentrate on and you can ignore sparks of irritation as he scratches his stubble, the noise swooping low in your chest.

After lunch, Dameron acts as First Order, and it’s a surprise when his voice crackles through the comm links.

“I’m going for it.”

He’s determined, and you know there’s not much you can say to stop him, especially because you’re out here to solve this, but you still yelp out a “What!”

“If I can get enough height I reckon I could do it.” Comes the reply and you can only sigh and watch as Dameron’s ship starts to climb. Switching gears, you start to follow, circling round to imitate how the Resistance would catch up.

Poe starts to twirl as he descends, copying the way the First Order pilots had gained speed and unpredictability, and you struggle to hold your ship steady in his airstream.

He starts to spin faster and faster, cutting his engine and throwing the X-wing to the left. You’re miles behind now, having been unable to reach the same speed and you can only listen to his steady swearing as he struggles to start the engines back up again.

As he reaches closer to the tree line you start shouting. “Deploy! Deploy now!” Desperation laces your voice, “Poe deploy your parachute NOW!”

And he does.

A plume of fabric billows out from the back of his X-wing, slowing him down enough that you can see the exact moment when Poe restarts the engines. It doesn’t last for long though, and all Poe can do is control his landing, skidding through the trees.

You careen after him, bruising your landing and scrambling to get out of the cockpit to go and help clear the door to get Poe out. “Are you alright?” You ask, looking into his eyes to check for signs of a concussion. He was wearing his helmet, but that was a rough landing.

And his eyes are a really pretty shade of brown, swoons a voice inside of you, which you try and squash with a few choice swear words. Now is definitely not the time. There is never a good time for noticing Dameron’s eyes.

Poe seems alright though, accepting your hand of help to jump out. “I never knew you cared, sweetheart” he grins, and then groans. “Could do with some water though.”

So you help him back to your campsite, giving him a glass and sitting next to him in silence. Except, for the second time that day, it’s comfortable.

“The spinning was good,” you offer after a moment.

You’re not looking at him, the water glimmering as a distraction. He only hmphs in return.

“It was!” And are you trying to convince Poe Dameron of all people that he did a good job? You take a quick glance at him out of the corner of your eye.

He’s looking in the same direction as you and you note that the colour has returned to his cheeks again.

“You got good speed up,” you continue, “faster than I could and we just need to figure out how to cool our engines down - especially when we’re in hyperspace.”

“I want to know how they didn’t crash into each other.” You look at him again, his voice thoughtful. “There’s just so little control, once you cut the engine after spinning like that, you’re subject to airflow but they knew where the other would be.”

“Do you think it’s possible they’re better than us?” If you hadn’t watched Poe talk, you’d have thought you hallucinated.

Grinning, you shove your shoulder against his. “Better than you and me? You’re having a laugh.”

“Yeah that’s not it.”

There’s not much to say after that, the occasional huff of laughter bubbling out.

***

You do eventually have to go back to the X-wings, both of which need patching up. The hull of yours is damaged where you hit some trees when landing, while Poe has to start with packing up his chute before even thinking about the wiring and his engines.

Once you’ve done all you can for yours, you clamber into Poe’s cockpit. Thankfully he doesn't notice at first, allowing you a moment to compose yourself. His sleeves are rolled up, exposing his forearms as he grips together some wiring. BB-8 is sat in the pilot's chair, beeping some instructions at him.

Meanwhile there’s a tool sticking out of his mouth, and something about that is insanely sexy, but you clear your throat before your mind can go anywhere. Poe looks up and oh maker this man is going to destroy me.

You scowl at him as you speak, as though scowling can undo your traitorous thoughts. “Do you need a hand?” Poe looks like he’s going to say no, but then something sparks out, hitting his hand, and he drops the wires, mouthing a swear in pain, although he keeps his teeth clenched around the screwdriver.

Oh shit. Oh shit, shit, shitshitshitshit.

You can’t look away from his mouth and you need to reset, to go back to square one, base level, because your heart has stopped in your chest and you know what this means. Instead you whack Poe over the head as you push your way into his space, stepping over the wires on the floor.

“Do you want my help or not?” you ask again, and maker you’re rude. Your parents would be disappointed. But Poe looks surprised that you’re offering again.

His eyes meet yours when he replies, steady and unwavering. “Yeah that would be nice.” The tension gradually dissipates as the two of you work together, rewiring and melding your way through the underneath of the control panel.

You do your best to ignore the touches, telling yourself that it’s inevitable in such a small space as your hands brush together as you lean over him, or how close he is when he peers over your shoulder to instruct you which piece to hold while he adjusts them back to their proper place.

***

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Chapter 1<----->Chapter 3

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#poe dameron x reader #poe x reader #Star Wars #poe dameron #fanfic #Star Wars fanfic #poe fanfic #poe dameron fanfic #if I missed any warnings/triggers pls let me know!

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sweetestlamb · 3 years

Text

Still, I Rise

Summary: Damn teenagers and their angst.

Author's Note: Back with another chapter, if you didn’t already know it I will be revealing our mystery character from the last chapter LOL please put down the bats and weapons (jk take them out it’s hilarious!) With this chapter we are getting closer to the “climax” and I am so excited to write the fun chapters I have planned ahead, one scene that I am really looking forward to writing is the camping trip, I had so much plans and events that I wanted to see that didn’t because TVN woke up and chose basic, we hate to see it. I can’t wait to rewrite history honestly also can’t wait to just move to onto regular schmegular teen problems, I swearrrrrrr.

"Don't you dare embarrass me this time. You aren't ugly why can't you get these damn little rich brats to like you? Are you truly this useless? Don't come home if you can't make this one fall for you!"

Those had been his father's final words right before his hand split his lower lip open with a razor sharp blow that made his head whip in recoil. His father's footsteps faded as he walked away leaving him crumpled on the ground, anger and embarrassment raging in his blood. He hadn't chosen this life at all, never wanted to be a bargaining chip for that despicable man. First with Eun Dan Oh and now this new girl, Kang Sujin.

She'd initially stood him up and he had felt foolish sitting in the lavish restaurant by himself, checking his phone but no calls or messages arrived.

His father had been livid that night, more vicious than usual his stepmother's weak screams served as the soundtrack for his brutal beating. Why couldn’t she just be quiet? Did it make her feel better when she acted as if she actually gave a shit about him? His brother coming into his room after with those pathetic weeping eyes and a bandage had only made him angrier, he shoved him away slamming the door in his face, refusing his help. He didn't need anyone, nobody could save him from his horrible fate.

It hadn't taken much research to find out her school and on impulse he'd gone there without her knowledge, watching from afar at first. A tiny girl with short hair framing her face had ran giggling into a taller girl with long dark hair and a classically beautiful face, they walked side by side smiling and laughing and that's when he'd heard her call out , "Sujin we should get something to eat!"

It wasn't love at first sight or anything ridiculous and disgustingly romantic like that, but he felt a connection to the girl for some inconceivable reason as if they were kindred spirits or something, maybe it was the remnant of a bruise he saw on her wrist hidden beneath her sweater.

It seemed they had more in common then he had initially believed, it was a grim similarity.

He'd gone home feeling less burdened than before, and his father's smile had been terrifying when he'd told him that he would work hard to win the girl over, only because he knew how quickly that smile could evaporate and his father could become the monster he was accustomed to. He tried not to flinch as the older man clapped him on the shoulder, his body already in fight or flight mode.

His father had merely smirked at his apparent fear.

Bastard.

So he'd taken to following the other girl around, she was going to be his fiancé anyway so he saw nothing wrong with it. And that was how he learned about the other boy, a tall slender boy who looked like someone that would grace an idol magazine cover. They were together more often than he liked, and it seemed more than platonic if the glances and subtle touches were a sign.

He wasn't jealous per se, but this would be a roadblock in his plan that he couldn't afford. He was getting used to not being beaten.

The day he'd followed them to the hospital presented another challenge for him, he hated hospitals and what they represented with every fiber of his being. He'd spent too much time in them growing up and then again for a girl who couldn't care less about him, she was another reminder that he wasn't worthy of love. He had thought he loved her but still hurt her whenever she disobeyed him, he knew he was no better than his father.

Unexpectedly Sujin had burst through the hospital doors, surprising him and forcing him to hide lest she spot him, peeking out from his hiding place behind a tree he saw her distraught and near tears running the opposite direction. He stood in shock merely watching and waiting to see if the unknown boy would follow her, but thankfully he never came.

Pushing down his own wariness and discomfort he walked into the hospital immediately feeling a cold chill on his skin, he refused to call it trauma that made it sound like something was wrong with him. He was fine and he could do this.

Thankfully the nurses were too busy and nobody noticed him walking by and he froze when he spotted another man who was capable of making him flinch. Doctor Kang, he looked anything but approachable in his gleaming white lab coat and he remembered watching the man laugh with his father as they both sold their children without remorse. Instinctively he hid watching the man glare into a hospital room, he almost feared for whomever was the recipient of the ice cold gaze.

Minutes melted by before the doctor finally walked away, his steps clipped and echoing on the linoleum floors and he finally let out a sigh of relief when the other man disappeared around the corner.

Stealthily he rounded the corner and took the doctor's abandoned spot, peeking into the room through the small window in the door. It was that boy again, the idol wannabe but this time he wasn't alone there was a young girl with a bouquet in her arms and a older woman lovingly patting him on his cheeks.

His mother.

A loving one, at that.

His blood seared watching the domestic scene, jealousy ripping through him like a tornado. There was no way he was letting this asshole have Sujin too, he already had too much. More than he, Baekyung would ever have.

The motorcycle roars under her thighs as they whip down the road. It only serves to remind her of the first time she was on a bike with another boy, his cologne and the scent of leather infiltrating her senses and making her heart jump through hoops. This time she feels nothing but annoyance and extreme frustration, barely holding onto the stranger in front of her as she leans forward to yell above the engine, "Pullover!"

She knows he heard her based on the immediate tension in his body but he continues to ride ignoring her request demand. With a grunt she grabs onto his waist only to bodily drag them to the side not caring if they both crash at this point she cannot stand another second on this bike with him, instantly he straightens them before skidding to the side and finally pulling the brakes bringing the motorcycle to a halt, the moment the bike stops she hops off in a frenzy.

Thrusting the bottom piece of his helmet up he screams at her, "Are you insane? You could have hurt us!"

She bares her teeth at him, ready to unleash her full anger on him now without an audience.

"Who the fuck are you? And why did you come to my school?" She bellows glaring poisonously at the strange idiot who had single handedly upended her day.

Moving calmer than she's feeling, he dismounts finally pulling his helmet off and then squeezing it under his arm looking down at her.

With a condescending look he stares at her, "You know exactly who I am, don't play dumb it's beneath you."

He's right. She does know who he is although she had never seen him or known his name, she had truly thought she could ignore him and he would disappear. Just like with her father that was proving to be an erroneous dream that would never come true.

"But I'll formally introduce myself since we are going to be engaged soon after all, Baekyung. You can call me oppa though."

Engaged soon.

Her head spins from his words, she feels terror shift over her like a thick suffocating blanket.

"You don't even know me. Why would you even agree to this?" She stares at him in disbelief, at a loss to his acquiesce to their tragic fate.

The look in his eyes haunt her, it's like staring in a mirror and gazing back at the person she was months ago. Somehow without her knowledge or consent she'd changed, grown even and therefore started believing that her life was just that, hers.

"You act like we have a choice. Don't be stupid, we have to just do as we're told. It's easier this way for everyone." He repeats those words that she herself had uttered to Seojun not so long ago, a sense of deja vu washes over her.

"How is letting ourselves be used easier? Don't you have your own dreams or aspirations? Isn't there someone you actually like?" She knows the error of her argument immediately as she says it, his eyes narrow into thin enraged slits and she can practically feel the anger vibrating off him.

"Don't pretend to care about me. This is about you and your little boyfriend," he spits the word like acid and immediately she remembers those chilling words he had whispered in her eyes earlier, "Do you think he'll be safe?" That was all it had taken for her to go with him, he couldn't get hurt she wouldn't allow that to happen ever. She had no idea what those ominous words meant and how this boy could pose a threat to Seojun but she knew she had to hear him out and protect Seojun anyway she possibly could.

"He's not the only one you should be worried about." The smug bastard continues with a humorless grin on his face and suddenly the dots connect, her father outside of Ms. Han's hospital room and that calculating look on his face. Her stomach drops.

"Leave them out of it!" She screams embarrassed at the urgent plea in her voice but she can't help it, she's so scared more than she's ever been for herself.

"Well that all depends on you doesn't it? Your dear father will have no reason to do anything to them if you listen like a good daughter and date me as expected."

She stands frozen once again feeling helpless, it kills her inside all her growth slipping down the drain in a matter of seconds.

"Why are you doing this?"

He stills at her question, his cold mask dropping and leaving something numb and unreadable in its place. It feels familiar to her, she awaits his answer with bated breath.

"I want to live, even if I have no control over it. I'd rather be alive."

Thunder clashes above them, the previously sunny day shifting into a gray dark distortion, heavy storm clouds ominously loom above them and the first raindrops land perfectly on her cheeks, crying the tears that she refuses to let fall. She has no more left to cry.

Confusion is an understatement to express Su-ah's true feelings following the mysterious boy on the motorcycle, when she finally gets Sujin on the phone the other girl is quiet and mumbling, evading all her questions and as soon as she mentions Seojun, Sujin shuts down hastily ending their conversation with some nonsensical excuse.

That was not going to be the end, Sujin might want to play dumb about the true nature of their relationship but she wasn't part of the circus. She was no clown, she had eyes and it was clear that they liked each other and it was only growing the more time they spent together. She wouldn't let her best friend sabotage something that could be great for her, she deserved happiness and Seojun made her happy. So it was truly that simple.

Stomping up the slight incline to school, she huffs and puffs determined. She was going to talk some sense into the other girl.

Those thoughts come crashing all around her when she sees Sujin coming out of a car, a car that she has never seen before and her questions are answered when the boy from yesterday steps out after her. Every eye in a ten mile radius is watching them, captivated by this new school scandal. Girls already squealing and giggling, envious of Sujin and doing very little to hide their true feelings.

“Why is he with her? She isn’t even that pretty. He should be with me.”

The lies people told themselves to sleep at nights, sad.

Accidentally knocking the gossiping girl to the side with a rough shoulder check, ignoring her dramatic cry she sprints the rest of the way, once again pushing through the crowd to get to Sujin.

Immediately their eyes lock and she begs Sujin for a answers, What happened? Why are you doing this? What’s going?, she flinches at the cold emotionless stare she gets in response. She watches in dismay as the tall boy bends down as if to hug Sujin and that's when a loud grumble fills the air, she turns around to the all too familiar sight of Seojun on his motorcycle. He revs the handle bar causing the crowd to part like the Red Sea, then he rides slowly until he's right next to Sujin bike inches away from touching her.

With a practiced motion he tugs off his helmet, those sloping feline eyes already on Sujin in a hard stare.

The tension is insurmountable and cloying and Su-ah watches transfixed before Sujin breaks the impasse, tugging her bookbag over her shoulder she stomps into the school without a word to either boys. But then the interloping boy calls out, “Have a good day. Princess,” and Sujin stops immediately at the word, turning around with a ferocious look in her eyes, “Don’t call me that. My name is Kang Sujin to you. That’s all.” Su-ah sees the way that Sujin’s eyes almost subconsciously seek out a certain cat eyed boy and feels like she misses an entire conversation between the two before Sujin finally walks away.

The mysterious boy glares at her retreating back before shooting a cold glare at Seojun and then promptly hopping back into his car, the backseat as he's chauffeured away.

"Oh my god! That was so hot! Princess?”

"Who is that? Does Kang Sujin have a boyfriend? Wow, she’s mean to her boyfriend too. What a bitch.”

Why do you think Seojun looked so angry?"

"Maybe he's worried about losing his bad boy title!"

The crowd erupts around them in loud voices, all curious about what they've witnessed and already creating rumors to appease their curiosity. Suddenly a loud motorcycle screech causes them all to jump silence falling over the crowd before Seojun rides away, the tight clench in his jaw visible even from her distance.

Lunch is a step above awkward, bordering into painful. The easy conversation that used to be a staple of the table is all but decimated, instead everyone eats quietly chilled by the cold air permeating from both Seojun and Sujin. They only speak when spoken to and avoid all eye contact, especially each others. It's painful to be a witness to and she notes regretfully that neither are eating home made lunch today, opting for the school lunch instead.

Sujin had never officially told her but she knew that they were making food for each other, their smiles watching the other eat made it too obvious.

This was serious. Looking at them now they looked like complete strangers, everyone was too nervous to question the elephant in the room. Everyone except poor Chorong.

"Why is everyone was so awkward today? What did you two fight or something? Why do we all have to suffer because of your lover's quarrel? Just kiss and make up already."

The table all looked on with opened mouths except Suho and herself who both looked worried instead.

And people thought she was slow, how had they all not realized what was happening? It was clear as day.

She flinches at his well-meaning words that are evidently not well received by either teen, watching them both glare at the table unmoving and the silence drags out painfully before Seojun breaks the stalemate. Standing without preamble he glares at Chorong before placing the stare on Sujin, it does nothing to change her unaffected stare. With a loud sigh he stomps away, despite his friends dismayed shouts of his name.

She continues to eat her lunch, watching Sujin in her peripheral.

She looks like she has the weight of the world on her shoulder and Su-ah for the first time in their friendship has no idea what to do.

But when they all start to funnel out of the cafeteria she follows the other girl anyway, tugging her into an enclave where they are hidden from the rest of their classmates Sujin cries out at the sudden jerk but loses her defensive stance when she realizes it’s just her.

“What?”

“What’s going on? Why are you letting that punk bring you to school and why are you and Han Seojun acting like you broke up before you even started officially dating? Sujin-ah, please tell me what’s going on.” She pleads latching onto the other girl’s arm peering up at her with puppy dog eyes, they have never failed her before.

“I can’t tell you yet, I’m sorry.”

There’s a first time for everything and she frowns at Sujin feeling like there is a mountain between them. She can’t help the hurt that she feels knowing the other girl doesn’t trust her enough to tell her what’s going on. She thought they had moved past all the secrets and hiding but obviously she was wrong.

“I really am sorry. But I will tell you everything soon enough.”

She releases Sujin’s arm, ready to walk away. She hates being in the dark. But before she can walk away, she feels Sujin hand on the bottom of her sweater tugging her backwards, she looks back with a perplexed glare.

“Do you trust me?”

She stares at Sujin and the soft tilt of her head as she asks the question, and her answer is easy, although she has no idea what’s going on and none of this makes any sense to her she doesn’t have to think about that answer.

"You shouldn't do this to him. It's too cruel." Suho expects a biting retort or even a call for him to mind this damn business, so he's shocked breathless when instead the other girl smiles at him, a tiny almost indecipherable thing that makes her lips thinner.

"You two have come a long way." Sujin responds unexpectedly shaking her head and walking over to the couch, before beckoning him over too.

He stares feeling suspicious but ultimately he follows, curiosity winning.

"I think I'm ready." Sujin expels a deep breath, twisting her hands nervously in her lap. Before he can ask her what exactly she's ready for she continues, "I want to tell your father what happened if you really think he'll help me."

He's too late to swallow the strangled gasp that escapes from his lungs and he leans back in surprise. He wants to continue his conversation about Seojun but he’s scared to do anything to make the other girl retreat or change her mind now. That conversation will have to wait for another day.

Sorry Seojun.

"Are you sure? You're really ready to do this?"

There's a long pause and he watches a myriad of emotions run across Sujin's usually expressionless face until something that looks suspiciously like hope blossoms making her glow brighter than the sun.

"Yes. I want to try living just for me."

Blinking away the moisture in his eyes, he pulls out his cellphone sending his father a message.

Please come over.

It only takes seconds but it feels like an eternity before his father replies, he smiles at the message.

On my way.

He stands up to put the kettle on the fire, he knows that tonight will be a long night and he needs something to keep his hands occupied.

When his doorbell rings he's shocked when Sujin stands up looking at him with a serene gaze, "I'll get it." He only nods at her in reply, watching as she greets his father and man recovers quickly at the unexpected visitor, smiling warmly at Sujin before pulling her into a warm embrace.

Even more surprisingly Sujin doesn't flinch, allowing herself to be wrapped up.

His father embraces him as well, patting him on the back and again on the head when they break apart. He can feel Sujin's eyes on them and he moves away guiltily. Now isn’t the time to rub his burgeoning relationship with his father in her face.

"Have a seat Dad, thank you for coming so quickly."

His father lifts an eyebrow at the sudden serious tone of his voice but he follows his directions nonetheless folding his hands on his lap and looking inquisitively between the two teenagers.

"Is there something you both want to tell me? Perhaps you two are....." His father motions vaguely between them and he stares back not comprehending until his father smiles slyly and Sujin beats him to it, protesting ardently.

"No! No, it's nothing like that. There's someone else...I mean no. That's what what we wanted to talk about."

He raises an eyebrow at Sujin's slip and his father chuckles at her stuttering and the red blaze across her cheeks.

His father waves his arms in appeal, apologetic grin on his face. "Sorry I didn't mean to embarrass you both. I just always hoped you two might one day. A father can dream."

He scoffs at his father, "Give up on that dream she's like family to me. We would never see each other that day."

Sujin nods passionately in agreement and his father shrugs easily, now looking even more curious than before.

"So what did you want to talk about?"

Sujin stills on her spot on the couch, the determination in her bones seeming to melt away with every passing minute. He fears this won't go as planned and he has no idea how to motivate her.

Then a loud vibration rumbles from the couch and it takes Sujin a moment to realize it's her phone, he watches curiously as she looks at the message and then a single tear runs down her round cheek. The determination curls back around her like armor, he watches in amazement as she sits taller turning to look at his father with newfound courage or maybe it wasn’t newfound but suddenly uncovered by whatever she had seen on her phone.

“Suho asked you for help for me. I’m really the one who needs your help.” He can hear the slight quiver and hitches in her words but she gets them all out and instantly she has his father’s undivided attention, he even turns his body to fully face the girl. Pride swells in his chest at the sight, he was worried his father would only be adamant about helping him directly as a way to get closer to him but now he can see that he was wrong about the other man. Genuine concern fills every line and wrinkle of time on his face.

“What is wrong? What do you need help with and why can’t you tell your parents?” It’s a innocent question, and logical too but he fears Sujin’s reaction, when she feels like she is backed into a corner in the past that has led to her lashing out with dagger sharp remarks, he watches with his heart lodged in his throat.

“Because they are the ones hurting me.”

His lungs deflate releasing all the air that was trapped in the sacs, she said the truth without hesitation and he turns to glance at his father watching him process the bomb that she has just dropped on him. His father opens and closes his mouth several times, before finding his voice it is but a whisper when he responds to Sujin.

“That time you needed a doctor.” The statement is directed to Suho and with a sober nod he confirms what his father already knows, with a loud sigh his father sinks into the couch quiet rage on his face. “I should have known, you always seemed so scared of him but I thought it was just his parenting style I never thought...never expected that he would....I should have done something!”

Sujin laughs, it is pained and small but he hears it and immediately turns to look at her, “He sounds just like you like father like son I guess,” Sujin directs that at him and he blushes in memory, he can’t deny the claims. Then she turns back to his father with surprisingly soft eyes, “Don’t blame yourself, just help me now if you can.”

“I will use all of my resources to make sure he spends his life in jail.”

Suho jumps in his seat looking over at Sujin, that is way more than they had ever discussed that was what he truly wanted for the monstrous man but it always seemed like too much to ask for but here was his father saying it as if it was completely plausible.

“Jail? Do you really think he can go to jail? It would be his word against mine, I never took any pictures. I was stupid.” Sujin berates herself, and before he can dismiss the self inflicted insult his father is already moving closer and putting a large hand on her trembling shoulder, only then does he realize how the girl is shaking like a new leaf.

“No, it will be my word against his. I will also get that report from Doctor Kim, that could be used as evidence. You’re just a kid and a victim, I’ll handle this you don’t need to do anything else. You’ve handled enough on your own, we got you now.” His father looks over at him as if waiting for his approval and he moves onto the couch with them both, after a moment’s pause putting his hand on Sujin’s other shoulder.

“We got you.”

Jukyeong glances over nervously at Seojun the aroma of coffee thick in the air as she sweeps up the beans she had clumsily spilled on the ground, she waited for Seojun to playfully scold her as he often did when she messed up at work but the reprimand never came and when she glanced over at him he had been staring longing at his cellphone.

Su-ah had been the first to notice how weird him and Sujin acted around each other and despite not having a lot of experience with relationships, especially those of the romantic kind she could see that they didn’t hate each other as much as Sujin tried to drive the deceptive point home. They were always teasing each other and Seojun found any excuse to be near Sujin and soon he wasn’t the only one, they just seemed to naturally gravitate to each other at times bickering so much it was like they were the only two people in the room.

But all that had come to an abrupt end with the sudden appearance of the boy on the motorcycle, the entire school was in a uproar over him, Baek Kyung, she had heard the other girls whispering his name. On paper he seemed very similar to Han Seojun, same bad boy persona and affinity for motorcycles and glares. But the biggest difference she noticed was Sujin's reaction to them both, she had heard from some gossiping girls how vehemently Sujin had declared that Baek Kyung not call her “princess”, a moniker she had commonly heard Seojun use to refer to the girl. Sujin never stopped him these days, instead rolling her eyes and speeding up to escape from him, he would chase after all calling her the sweet nickname all the way.

When Seojun would use it to refer to her in passing such as, “Are you gonna eat that princess?” Those were times that Sujin didn’t react at all, simply handing him whatever food in her container had caught his eye that she had ignored.

They were casually domestic in a way that they never seemed to realize and she couldn’t help but categorize. Seojun liked Sujin that was becoming clearer and it seemed like the feeling was mutual, even if the girl wasn’t yet ready to admit it.

Which was why this new development came as a complete shock to her, why was Sujin suddenly giving her attention to someone else?

“Did you guys have a fight? Just tell her you’re sorry.” She offers out of the blue, and Seojun turns to her with a puzzled look drying a mug with a cloth, “What are you talking about now clumsy?”

Thankfully the shop is empty, she quirks at eyebrow at him folding her arm when he continues to play dumb.

“Sujin. You guys clearly had a fight, you’re both so hot tempered. Her temper is probably worst than yours though so just apologize okay? It’s better than fighting.”

He stares at her with a blank face before turning away, rubbing firmer at the mug in his hands and she worries for its safety.

“Why should I apologize when she’s the one who’s with another guy? Don’t worry about me, I will be fine. Clearly this was one-sided. She doesn’t like me.”

She openly laughs at him now, looking at him like he has two heads. “What are you talking about? If she didn’t like you then why did she follow you to your mom’s hospital? She tried to be all sneaky but Chorong told us everything. Plus she always gets jealous when other girls give you food at school and don’t think we don’t all know that you guys make food for each other!”

He whips around looking at her with huge eyes, “Wait you all knew? So when I said that someone special made it for me? You knew?”

She smiles brightly, “Yep. It wasn’t subtle at all.”

He sighs in annoyance, turning away to hide the pink on his face.

“I’m not apologizing. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

She sighs at the boy’s words, knowing that this fight might go on longer than it needs to and she wishes she could just shake some sense into both of them, why were they choosing to suffer like this?

Damn teenagers and their angst.

Grumbling she goes to take a customer’s order, glancing over at Seojun with a final sad smile.

Hopefully they can figure this out without falling apart.

Time seems to move slower than usual today and he almost pumps a fist in triumph when he sees that it’s finally eight and they are free to leave.

“Do you want to me to walk you to the bus stop?” He offers Jukyeong out of politeness but she shakes her head no, telling him that she is going to meet with her older sister for dinner running out before him and hailing a cab, he smiles at the sight that’s one girl who loves to eat.

Turning off the lights in the shop, he turns over the “open” sign and locks the door behind him. The cool spring night air brushes against his cheeks and he makes his way to his motorcycle, mounting in one motion and sighing as it purrs to life before he speeds off his destination already in mind. He bobs and weaves through traffic, smirking at idiot drivers who blare their horns at him when he inches too close to their precious car but even they are not enough to rain on his parade.

When he finally arrives, he bounces off the bike throwing the helmet onto the handlebar carelessly before bounding over to the figure he sees waiting.

He can’t help the smile that tugs against his lips, ultimately setting it free as the figure turns around at the sound of his boot stomping on the ground.

“Did you wait long?” He asks moving closer until he can feel the heat wafting off the body in front of him.

“No, I only just got here too. Why are you smiling like that? You look deranged.”

He smiles wider, feeling mischievous after what a certain klutz had revealed to him with a smirk he leans closer to her, grinning harder when she leans back looking at him with a confused glare.

“I heard from a certain birdie that you followed me to the hospital and that you get jealous when other girls give me food. Is that true princess?”

Sujin growls at him, shoving his shoulder hard before stomping away to the park bench. He eagerly follows after her, throwing his arm over her shoulder smiling at her wearing yet another one of his sweaters, this time a black one that reaches the bottom of her knees and completely hides whatever she is wearing underneath. She looks equally sexy as adorable and it makes his blood boil in a way he has been trying harder and harder to suppress around her.

“I knew you would try to milk the situation. This isn’t why I told you everything.”

He smiles recalling what Sujin is referring to.

Just a day go.....

He stares angrily at his phone in utter disbelief that she would have the gall to call him after what had just happened. She had left on another boy’s motorcycle even though he had asked her not to, he didn’t know what was going on but seeing her leave like that, he wished he knew how to turn off all his feelings for her. No other human should have this kind of power or control over him but here he was ready to burst because she had picked someone else over him.

“What do you want?” He barks out answering the call with a hard press of his finger and immediately he starts to lose some of his fire when he hears her soft staggered breaths on the other line.

“Seojun, can you meet me somewhere?”

He wants to say no, to bitterly hang up on her and tell her that he has someone new too but that would be a lie and he desperately wants to see her and hold her and find out why she decided to rip his heart out and stomp on it.

Feeling pathethic he answers her with a sigh, “Where are you?”

Songnisan park. It’s not too far from their school and he hangs up without answering hopping on his bike and riding to her. Maybe it’s stupid but he can’t turn his back on her just yet, he still wants to hear her out even if she’s going to break his heart.

By the time he reaches the park it’s raining, pouring down in sheets despite the warm weather and he immediately sees Sujin sitting under the downpour while other park goers are running and using picnic blankets as makeshift umbrellas.

The scenes feels all too familiar and he wonders if this will be their end? Would life be that poetic to have them end the same way they became?

Sighing he tugs his sweater off, walking quickly to close the gap between them before sitting beside her and thrusting his sweater above both their heads, protecting them from the rain.

She turns to him with a gasp and he realizes how closely they are sitting beside each other, he can feel her breath when she exhales and it washes over in an intoxicating breeze. He has to forcibly put some distance between them before he does something that he knows he shouldn’t, especially not now.

“My father knows about us. He saw me at the hospital and I’m scared he saw your mother and sister too. I don’t think I should visit anymore.”

He pauses to process her words and he feels his chest tighten with anger at the mention of that sub-human, if he ever tried to harm a hair on his family’s head that would be the last thing he ever did. But once the rage passes by he thinks of the rest of Sujin’s sentence, my father knows about us.

They were an us.

There was an us for people to know about?

“Us?” He replies stupidly, unable to stop his heart from fluttering.

With a sound of exasperation she looks over at him, “How is that the most important thing that I said?” The pretty blush on her face does not go unnoticed but he responds to her statement staying focused, “My mom was discharged today. They said it was just a scare and nothing serious. He can’t do anything to us, if he tries I’ll kill him.”

He means it, every single word falling from his lips.

He’s not prepared for Sujin to sob and drop her head onto his shoulder, he drops their sweater umbrella at the sudden pleasant weight feeling the rain drench his hair and shirt instantly.

“I’m so happy to hear that. I was so worried about all of you.”

A bubble of happiness explodes in his chest and he’s so close to just letting go of all his anger and holding her, seeing her so worried about his family is almost enough to undo him.

But, he can’t forget the image of her riding off with someone else. His heart will never forget that ache, that indescribable pain.

“So you care about me now? Is that why you left me like that today? Because you care so much?”

He is being petty, he knows that but he can’t stop the jealousy that is fueling him right now. His green eyed monster is raring its ugly head.

“That’s the guy you told me to stand up, remember? That’s the guy my father is trying to sell me to. He’s been following us and he knew about you, he threatened you. I did what I had to, I have to do this until I speak to Suho’s father. I think.....No. I’m ready now. I’m going to tell him everything and ask for his help.”

His heart is pounding erratically in his chest, he can barely hear the rain over the loud thumping of the organ and he can’t believe he ever doubted her, feels guilt twist around him but he pushes that aside to take in everything she has confessed to him, without saying the words she has all but confirmed everything Jukyeong carelessly exposed to him in the coffee shop, she cares about him too enough to want to protect him at any cost. But most importantly she was starting to care about herself, she no longer saw her life as expendable and was willing to ask for help even at the expense of revealing her darkest secret and getting her hopes up.

Fuck she was the bravest person he knew.

Without thinking he tugs her into his arms, wrapping her in a tight hug before he realizes what he’s doing but by the time he starts to move back she’s already hugging him back, her arms tight around his shoulder and her head in the dip of his neck and it’s too perfect to stop now. Absently he strokes her wet silky smooth hair and when they finally draw apart, the barest amount of space between them he takes another risk, glancing at her eyes pleading and then smiling when she nods, giving him permission even without knowing what he plans to do, simply trusting him, he leans forward and plants a soft butterfly kiss on her forehead, she hisses in response but instead of moving away she latches on to him tighter.

“I’m so proud of you baby.” He kisses her again, firmer this time putting all the love and pride he feels for her in that gentle kiss to her brow.

He expects a lot of things in response to his bold move and the new nickname, a punch, a kick, her loud denial and rejection, he is emotionally prepared for any and all of those reactions, but instead she steals his breath away when she smiles up at him, looking into his eyes and he realizes that she’s looking for permission too and he nods, nervous and anxious to see what she will do.

With a moment’s hesitation she tugs him down and he goes easily, his heart in his chest and he closes his eyes as her face draws closer to him, his heart is pattering now a crazy thundering mess filled to the brim with anticipation.

He feels her plush lips against his cheek, the rain making the skin slick and he hums in encouragement as the kiss lingers before he opens his eyes and immediately they are lost in each other’s eyes and he can feel their faces moving closer as if opposite ends of a magnet and he waits for her to stop them, to push him away and run off but she is just as lost as him, moving closer too and when only centimeters separate their lips, a loud crash of thunder booms high above their heads making them jump apart, both flying to opposite ends of the bench.

“We should...um get out of this rain before we catch a cold.”

The ride home is awkward and he can barely breathe with how tightly she’s holding his waist but he smiles through the rain, taking care to move carefully on the wet streets not wanting to hurt Sujin and then they are in front of Suho’s apartment, much too fast to his disappointment.

They both sit unmoving for a few seconds before Sujin releases his waist from her death grip and gets off the bike.

“Let’s talk over there for a minute.” He states dismounting too and walking over to the scaffold so they can escape the torrential rain for a moment at least.

They stand awkwardly shivering from the cold in their wet clothes, it’s obvious that Sujin is embarrassed about what happened- their kisses-but he can barely contain his joy, if he were alone right now he would be doing backflips.

This day as made a complete 180 turn for the better.

“I have to pretend to date him. We already agreed to come to school tomorrow. He agreed to stop following me if I let him take me to school and go on dates. He has to put on a show for his father too.” She says talking so fast that the words slur together and he wonders absently if she’s nervous? And if so, why? Was she nervous about his reaction?

He nods in understanding, “Okay. I forgot to say it earlier, but thank you for telling me and not leaving me in the dark. I appreciate it.”

That’s the logical part of his response, he knows what it took for Sujin to involve him in her plan and how huge it is that she hadn’t wanted him to misunderstand her feelings and motives. But she’s still the girl that he likes and he can’t help the illogical things that flood his mind too.

“Not on his motorcycle though.”

She looks at him with a deep searching stare and he simply stares back, nonplussed. He knows what he sounds like, a bargaining jealous boyfriend. That’s exactly what he wants to be so he sees no reason to attempt to explain himself, whatever she’s thinking is true and he isn’t the least bit ashamed to admit it. At his unabashed stare she crumples looking away with a barely hidden smile, “Okay. Not on his bike. Even though I never told you that you were allowed to have conditions, this isn’t a negotiation.” She complains but the sting is gone because she has already agreed to his request, he flashes a smile at her.

“Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow. I will have to act jealous, that shouldn’t be too hard.” He winks at her and this time she does try to punch him, he barely dodges her fist.

Such a violent little thing.

“I never said you had to do anything.”

He shrugs, “It makes sense. I like you so it would only make sense that I would be jealous if I thought you were dating someone else, plus he will probably want to see that too.”

She’s as red as a strawberry as she sprints away from him without another word, waving at him over her shoulder.

He smiles all the way home, before falling into bed after a much needed warm shower, his toes and fingers were like ice chips when he finally got home.

Remembering one more thing, he grabs his phone shooting a quick text message.

Don’t let him call you nicknames. Only Sujin.

Reading it back he determines that the message is a bit too...commanding and if he wants to keep a certain boot out of his ass he better fix it so he swiftly adds:

Please.

Present time....

“I didn't do anything. She just suddenly started telling me how much you adore me and how you can’t live without me and that I should just forgive you and take you back.” He sniffles dramatically watching amused as Sujin rolls her eyes, before angrily pulling out her phone, he laughs suddenly worried for Jukyeong so he snatches the object from her hands, much to her chagrin.

“I might have exaggerated about what she said, a teeny tiny bit.” He demonstrates the small amount with his fingers and she glares at him biting out, “Liar,” before snatching back her phone and stuffing it in her pockets with a grumble.

Getting serious he turns to look at her with anticipation, “How did it go? Were you able to tell him everything?” She is staring out at the horizon, despite him boring a hole in the side of her head begging for eye contact.

“I hesitated. I lost my confidence.”

He can hear the defeat in her voice and without a pause he opens his mouth to comfort her and tell her how strong she is and explain why this is just a minor setback but next time they can go together and if she needs him to he will hold her hand the entire time and give her every last drop of his support and--

“But then I got a message and it gave me courage. So I told him everything and he agreed to help me. He wants to send my dad to jail, not just emancipate me.”

She did it.

She really did it.

He smiles at her wider than the ocean.

“You did it, Sujin.”

She stares at him in palpable shock, he immediately knows why it’s not often he uses her name and he expects her to be happy that he isn’t calling her the nickname she is always dismissing, she’s always so adamant that she is not a princess much less his princess.

“Don’t call me that.” She says finally turning to meet his eyes and he stares back confused because he had only said her name, why was that a problem? Wasn’t that what she had been trying to get him to call her since the first time he dubbed her princess?

“What do you want me to call you then?”

He is truly asking but the look she gives him makes him feel like the dunce in the corner of the room and realization unfurls in his body like a slow moving tsunami and he smiles unbridled at the epiphany.

He hasn’t wanted to get his hopes up by making assumptions about what this is but maybe it’s time that he have some confidence now, he was someone important to her. She had already proved that in so many ways these past days.

Taking her hand in his, he smiles brightly at her.

It’s the first time that he has held her hand, and he can feel the damaged skin in his own smoother hand. His heart aches for only a moment, her hands are just like her they might look bruised and pitiful at first glance but beneath the broken surface lurked unimaginable strength and power and just like the rest of her, they were imperfectly perfect. He never wanted to hold another hand, this was the only one he needed.

“Good job, you did it Princess.”

She smiles up at him, looking gorgeous-heart stoppingly so-and he can’t help the way his chest constricts as if he didn’t know it already he knows it now unequivocally .

He, Han Seojun belongs to Kang Sujin.

#true beauty #bmtl #han seojun #kang sujin #extraordinary you crossover #baekyung #lots of povs #another rollercoaster chapter #junjin #true beauty fix it #true beauty kdrama #I had mini heart attacks writing this

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olivinesea · 3 years

Text

Satellite

a/n: Ask and ye shall receive I suppose. Here’s some more college Hotchniss nonsense. Still no plot (I promise I’m trying to think of something) and less angsty (I’m sorry, I know we love it). Also, exactly no one cares about this but the title is a big RIP to one of my favorite venues ever. ~2.3k

Hotch’s first concert.

He was not happy. Everything about this situation was the opposite of what he would normally choose to do. He deeply regretted ever making the deal that had landed him lurking in an alley, waiting for “he’s actually a nice guy” Sal to open the side door. He did not like Sal. He did not like the hungry way he looked down at Emily as she flashed her sauciest grin. He did not like Sal’s frowning dismissal of him when Emily had grabbed his hand to indicate she’d need a plus one tonight. Sal had told her to meet him at the side door—the bosses were in tonight and they didn’t appreciate their bouncer letting underage kids waltz in the front door.

Now they had been waiting by the rusty metal door for well over fifteen minutes. Emily was trying to hide her shivers, unwilling to admit she would have been better off with a jacket like he’d suggested. He let her think she was doing a good job of it, reserving his moment of gloating for the inevitable crumbling of this plan. He looked pointedly at his watch, which she loved to make fun of him for wearing. She raised her chin stubbornly.

“He’ll be here soon.”

Hotch didn’t respond, only raised an eyebrow at her. Surely she must realize the reason Sal had been letting her sneak into shows in the past was compromised by his presence. She scowled at him and crossed her arms tighter. He would offer her his sweater. He wanted to offer it. But he had learned quickly that Emily Prentiss was completely unwilling to admit being wrong. Goosebumps and frozen fingers be damned.

He was mentally preparing an argument that would let her save face while also getting them headed back to the dorms, which they never should have left on Wednesday night. There was a screech as the metal door finally wrenched open. He was glad she’d been staring hard at the entrance and therefore missed the shameful way he jumped at the unexpected sound.

Sal had decided it was still worth it to him to let them in. He subscribed to the numbers game philosophy and saw no reason to write off this number just because she turned up with an unwelcome attachment. Girls like that never stayed attached too long. He could be patient a little longer provided she didn't make a habit of wanting extra favors.

Emily turned to Hotch, her expression that of a cat smugly sitting on clean laundry. He almost laughed. He may not have wanted to be there but he was happy she was happy. It was a curiously simple emotion. One he never expected to feel for this girl who stumbled into his life only a few months ago. She grabbed his hand and excitedly dragged him to the open door. He pulled himself up as tall as he could and gave Sal a meaningful scowl as they passed by. They were almost the same height but the older man laughed at him. Hotch could feel the hair on the back of his neck stand on end as his muscles tensed but Emily was already pulling him into the building. She was too eager to notice the exchange and he was happy enough to let it go. He just hoped there would be no more of Sal tonight.

They entered what appeared to be a small lobby with a bar and fair number of people moving about. He was confused because he didn’t see any kind of stage but didn’t have time to ask. Instead he had to speed up to follow Emily, who dropped his hand and was weaving through the crowd, intent on some unknown destination. He was a little uncomfortable about how narrow some of the gaps she led him through were. He even brushed against several strangers, quickly apologizing before realizing that no one seemed to notice.

They reached another doorway in the opposite corner. It was darker on the far side and as much as he disliked this room with all the disorganized people, he didn’t know if he wanted to find out what was waiting for him beyond it. At least in this room there was a reasonable amount of light. At least in this room he could see the exit. She didn’t give him a choice, her dark hair swinging as she disappeared around a corner. He kept moving after the briefest hesitation. He didn’t want to lose her.

It turned out, to his horror, that the doorway led to a set of stairs. It only got darker and louder as they descended. He could feel the air pressing close and warm, the air of enclosed spaces with not enough room and too many bodies. She led him deeper into the crowd, toward a small stage cluttered with cords and mic stands. The stage was home to a trio of scraggly looking people that may or may not have been moaning in pain. He gave up on trying to avoid contact and instead hunched his shoulders protectively inwards. He hated everything about this. He was about to put a stop to it, to bail on this misadventure whether or not she thought less of him for it. Without warning she stopped and spun to face him. The smile on her face melted his resolve. He wondered if he’d ever seen a person this happy. It was certainly his first time seeing her smile like that.

She said something but he couldn't hear it. She pulled him down by his collar until she could yell in his ear.

“This is close enough for now.”

He wondered at the “for now” part of that statement but was satisfied to have stopped moving. Something knocked into him from behind and he felt something cold soaking into his shoulder. Alarmed he turned to see a man with a beer in his hand passing by. The man flashed a peace sign by way of apology before disappearing into the crowd. When he turned back to Emily his eyes were wide and indignant. She laughed mercilessly at the expression on his face. With the tips of his fingers, he pulled at the wet patch on his shoulder, his stomach turning in distaste. Abruptly her hands tugged at the hem of his sweater. She was trying to pull it up over his head. He struggled against the motion, everything about this place putting his nerves on high alert. She stepped back, eyeing his thrashing.

“It’s too hot in here!” She had to yell for him to hear.

His face remained blankly uncomprehending, blood busy rushing to his limbs to prepare for a quick escape. She mimed taking off a sweater and gestured at him. He felt foolish for not realizing and quickly shed the item. She wasn’t wrong. Though it was still too warm, he no longer felt like he might suffocate. He scanned the crowd around them and saw that they had a little more elbow room than before. People were mostly concentrated in groups of two or three, only half paying attention to whatever was happening on stage. She snatched the sweater out of his hands and wrapped it around his waist. He closed his eyes and for the hundredth time questioned the wisdom of becoming friends with someone with absolutely no boundaries. She tied the sleeves in place and laughed at him again when she appraised at her work. He made a face at her but appreciated that he wouldn’t have to hold something all night.

The questionable sounds from the stage stopped and things quieted down for a moment. Some house speakers turned on as the band started clearing the stage. The lighting got a little brighter, though it remained murky like pond water. He looked at her, perplexed.

“Is it over?” He tried not to hope too much.

She shook her head, a sly smile playing across her face. “That was just the opener. They’re not very good, are they?”

He looked at her, exasperated. It was already 11 o’clock. He could barely get her to their 8 am class under normal circumstances.

“Don’t worry, dad. Main act is next. I’m sure they’ll be out soon. Just relax.”

He scowled. He hated when she called him dad and he sincerely doubted he would ever feel relaxed trapped underground with a lunatic. He looked around again, mostly searching for the closest exit. He was coming to the unpleasant conclusion that the stairs they came down are also the only way out. She shoved a water bottle in his hand and without thinking about it, he took a swig. He almost choked on the vicious burn of warm vodka. He glared at her, eyebrows drawn together as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“What the fuck Emily.”

The smell of it settled unpleasantly in his sinuses and he rubbed his nose, hoping it would dissipate. She shrugged and took the bottle back quickly.

“Try to be a little less obvious, nerd.”

He rolled his eyes. Of course she thought he was the one causing a problem here. She drank from the water bottle, her only reaction a small frown as she swallowed.

“Where did you even have that?” he hissed. Her short skirt and crop top didn’t provide a lot of hiding places.

“You don’t want to know.”

He shook his head when she tried to offer it to him again. So she finished off the liquor, whistling through her teeth after the last gulp. He was about to fuss at her—for the drinking, for the late night, for the literally unsafe conditions they were in, but she had turned all her attention up front. The lights had gone down—somehow darker than before, he thought—and the whole crowd had gone silent. He could just make out silhouettes of the musicians taking their places on stage.

A spotlight came up on the singer, center stage and the crowd cheered. Her eyes reflected the light menacingly and she had a smile like a dagger. He wondered if she inspired fear in everyone there, and, if so, why they seemed to enjoy it. She started singing and he was as entranced as the rest of them. A cappella at first, she drew the crowd into her. They swayed gently like a sea of charmed snakes. Just as he felt he might float away on her melody, the drums crashed in and the spell was released. Everyone was jumping and flailing to the driving guitar and percussion. The singer’s voice was still beautiful, but in the same way a broken window was beautiful, shattered glass sprayed across the ground.

The abrupt shift immobilized him until Emily grabbed both his hands and pulled him towards her. She was laughing and singing and showed no trace of the shadows that always seem to be weighing her down. Tonight she was completely without stress or guilt. She was free inside this confined space in a way he didn't think he had ever experienced himself. She wanted him to feel it too and folded him into a tight embrace, just for a moment, pressing her elation into his chest. She broke away and began dancing with the crowd, hoping to lead by example. It must have worked because he could feel the tension inside him uncurling.

He caught her hand, initiating contact for the first time. With smooth, practiced movements he pulled her into a spin. She shrieked but he could hear her calling, “Again! Again!” He smiled, happy to oblige, barely sparing a thought for the contrast between the stiff, brightly lit auditorium where he learned this skill and this chaotic dance floor. He had never appreciated those awkward lessons, they required too much contact, too much presence. No one wanted to dance with the 15-year-old loner with the bad temper and holes in his shoes. Even if they had, high school bodies, still awkward and mismanaged, did not make for the best dance partners.

But Emily, she flew, directed by the smallest touch. He closed his eyes and leaned back slightly to counter-balance the speed at which she was spinning away. They might be the only people on earth and he was fine with that. The song ended and she collapsed into him, slightly out of breath and grinning. She started to ask him a question but the next song started and she yelped. It was a favorite. She turned back to the stage and he let her go, just enjoying the way she moved without inhibition. He would join her again in a moment but he needed a little time to hold this feeling close.

By the time it was over they were both sweaty and a little gritty. They were swept up and out with the rest of the crowd. He was mildly disturbed by the press of bodies in the stairwell but they quickly found themselves exiting the building. The night air was frigid after the sauna they’d been marinating in for the last few hours. He insisted that she wear his sweater on their walk home, refusing to acknowledge the way she grumbled. They walked quietly, both still in awe of the experience. His heart was so full but he wasn’t sure how to tell her. He settled on something simple.

“I had a good time.”

“Hmm?” She was deep in thought and didn’t catch his mumbled words.

He clears his throat. “I said I had a good time.”

“Of course you did. I told you you would.” She was flip as ever.

He exhales through his nose and shakes his head. He supposed it probably didn’t matter all that much but he’d still like her to know he was being sincere.

She linked her arm through his, pressing against his side.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. She sounded serious, no longer teasing him.

“For what?”

“For trusting me.”

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #college hotchniss #fanfiction

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dalekofchaos · 3 years

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My critique of the Sequel Trilogy Lightsaber duels

My biggest problems with the Sequel Trilogy are the blatant rip off and unoriginality, no clear plan at all, lore breaking bullshit, lack of worldbuilding and poor executions of great character concepts. In this post, one of my My biggest gripes with the Sequels is the terrible Lightsaber fights.

The only good duel in my opinion is Finn vs Kylo Ren. This feels raw and powerful. A hardened soldier who has just became familiar to Lightsaber combat vs a trained dark side warrior. Despite Ren's years on training, though, Finn puts up a good fight and is able to hold his own before having his back sliced up. But.....that's what kills the fight for me. Finn's injuries. If this were in the first 6 movies or anywhere in the EU, Finn would be in a wheelchair or in a bacta tank for life. And guess what? A movie later and Finn’s injuries are never brought up again or treated with any severity.

Like Finn’s injuries, Finn’s rivalry with Kylo Ren is dropped for no reason whatsoever and never mentioned again. Finn and Kylo Ren are narrative foils, yet after TFA it’s dropped??? From the start they have been prominent foils to each other: dark from light and light from dark, both in the First Order but in drastically different positions. And Kylo too obviously has strong feelings about his defection. I also believe that Finn is the awakening in the force that Kylo and Snoke felt. Perhaps that is why Kylo focused on Finn and is so angry about him. Finn is also the first person to use the legacy lightsaber and is the first to actually fight Kylo. TLJ could've focused on Finn and Kylo being narrative foils having a force connection and Kylo wondering why Finn would switch to the Resistance while Finn wonders why Kylo joined The First Order and Rey standing in the middle of it all wondering with the new realization that her family has a mixed past of good and evil and her questioning where exactly does she belong? The way at the height of tfa when Kylo Ren rejected Han Solo’s offer for redemption and killed him he looked over and noticed Finn. Like they both locked eyes and in that moment was a surge of emotions between them— shock (and some fear) on Finn’s end, and anger on Kylo’s as he shouts at Finn that he’s a traitor— and those circumstances set Finn and Kylo up to be the dynamic for the sequel trilogy. They were foils, and the trilogy had the potential to truly expand on that and see their development in a final standoff/rematch at the very end. But it was wasted, because why have good movies.

Rey vs Kylo Ren. This duel was bullshit from start to finish. Okay, I don't care how force sensitive she is. I don't care that she downloaded Kylo's abilities in the interrogation. ANd I don't give a fuck WHO she turned out to be related to. If you are thrown into a tree, you are gonna be out for at least an hour. I will hand it to them that it feels like a genuine fight, but it just feels cheap when Rey won. It also doesn't make it any better that Kylo's injuries doesn't force him to wear the helmet at all times, his facial wounds are non-consequential. Rey has no prior training. Never held a lightsaber. Rey fighting off thieves with her quarterstaff is not the same thing, it is understandable that Kylo was struggling because of his injuries, but Rey didn’t struggle against Kylo. Even Luke struggled with Vader and Anakin struggled with Dooku. What should have happened is as it looks like Kylo is about to win, Chewie from the Falcon fires his bowcaster to keep Ren at bay and both Rey and Finn make it to the Falcon. This way we can keep Kylo Ren strong and show Rey struggling to overcome Kylo. It will also show This is how powerful he is when injured, so imagine him at his peak. Instead we get a pointless fight instead of Rey and Finn just escaping Starkiller base while Ren collapses due to injuries and Rey beating Kylo served no purpose(the end goal to destroy Starkiller Base was already accomplished) and helped derail their villain of the trilogy.

The Throne Room Duel. Everyone knew that Rey and Kylo would kill the Praetorian Guards. This is a fight with absolutely zero stakes. It's one thing if Rey and Kylo dueled Snoke himself, that might be a good fight. But come on, did anyone REALLY think they would lose? There is no tension in the scene and it is pointless. Kylo Ren and Rey are fighting a faceless a group of guards that we know absolutely nothing about and have literally no purpose in the entire story except for this one fight. We know neither of the characters are going to die because these are just faceless red shirts and there is still like 30 to 40 minutes left of the movie. Terrible editing takes away any enjoyment one might have with the fight choreography, if you've got to literally photoshop out the bad guys weapons in post production to not look stupid you might need to recoreograph the shot. There are multiple times where Rey, Kylo and the guards are just doing motions and actions because they look cool but serve no purpose but to look cool. Kylo stabbing the ground? Pointless. Rey twirling her rave stick around while someone falls behind her, pointless. Not even once do we see them displaying their powers is what cheapens the fight. Kylo Ren is powerful enough to freeze a blaster and a person in place and Rey herself unlocked Kylo’s powers, so the two of them could have easily ended the fight sooner than it was dragged out. Kylo is powerful in the force but he SERIOUSLY could not stop a Praetorian Guard choke holding him and Rey struggled with a guard? Rey and Kylo were stronger in TFA and are just made weaker in the duel with the Praetorian Guards. Kylo could have frozen half of the guards and Rey could have mind tricked the other half into killing the frozen guards and Kylo and Rey could have finished them. They are masters of light and darkness, but they are made weaker. The throne room scene is a symbolization of everything wrong with the movie. It’s all flash, but no substance and the more you think about it, the worse it gets.

All this duel makes me believe is that Rey and Ben should’ve both switched sides in TLJ. Rey gives in to the dark side and Ben returns home. Rey is the most Sith like character if you obey the rules of George Lucas for Light and Dark sides of the force. Ben Solo is more Jedi like throughout the movie until the end. Let me explain. Rey throughout the sequel trilogy has given in to her passion and anger. In the end of TFA Rey gave in to anger and hate to defeat Kylo. and in TLJ she is shown to use anger and hate throughout the movie. She is shown to as Yoda put it “take the quick and easy path to the dark side” gives in to anger and hate in almost every scene before she boards the Supremacy and gave in to the temptations of the dark side water cave. Her dark side actions in TROS speak for itself. Ben is calm and clear minded like a Jedi, he even wants to cut all ties to attachments like a Jedi. Everything we were told of the Jedi and how disciplined they are, Ben displays that in TLJ until after the Throne room fight. Hell, EVEN THE THRONE ROOM FIGHT SUGGESTS THIS. Think about the fact that Ben really does not move or even engage. He just stands there and dodges and swings once when the guard rushes him. Contrast that to Rey, who is clearly being more aggressive with her lightsaber and attacking rather than just being passive. How again is Rey the Jedi and Kylo is the dark side force user in this movie? They’re fighting in the exact opposite way they should be. Rey fights for the kill while Kylo gets a glancing blow in the armor in the opening fight. Their style of fighting in the Throne Room with the Praetorian Guards really suggests that they should’ve switched sides. What they should have done is have Ben realize that Snoke was evil and shows regret for his actions and turn to the light. While Rey feeling betrayed by Luke and the revelation of her family turns to the dark. This would not only be unexpected but would even rival Vader’s “I am your father” twist. And it would logically follow what we’ve seen of these two characters leading up to this point. Rather than just out of the blue Kylo turns angry and irrational and Rey is calm when Ben was calm and rational throughout the movie and Rey was full of anger and hate throughout this movie. You have them follow an arc that makes sense for their individual personalities. Ben is always calm, but he felt betrayed by those on the light, but he comes to realize that betrayal was an incorrect perception and he desperately wants to make amends to Luke and Leia and therefore he should rejoin what he knows in his heart is good. While Rey is full of passion and anger and as that builds up and she realizes that even the great Jedi Luke Skywalker is a disappointment and her family abandoned her, she knows the only person who can live up to her own expectations is herself and that self-centered attitude leads her to the dark side. That would make sense and we would have something to fight for, save Rey from herself or stop her.

Luke Skywalker and Kylo Ren. Originally, I thought they were gonna have Luke first send the Walkers’ turboblasts right back at them and use the force to bring down the transports, TIEs and the shuttle and then toy with his nephew like Vader did to him and leave Kylo Ren in defeat and his ruined fleet. In a way he did(minus the ruined fleet), but it took away any tension away by having Luke just be a force projection. He wasn't there. His moment with Leia and 3-PO doesn't feel genuine anymore. And the "duel" if you can call it that is just bad. Luke doesn't have his Green Lightsaber and their blades do not clash. A Jedi is all about defense. But a Jedi will also fight in self-defense to defend others. The argument that Luke did the "most Jedi thing ever" is bullshit. A Jedi will stand up for what's right and face the threat. Instead Luke pulled a practical joke and died pointlessly. I mean if he instead pulled the X-Wing out afterwords and told R2 "Come on R2, we've got work to do." I would forgive that and then we could've gotten a genuine master and apprentice relationship between Luke and Rey and a proper reunion between Luke and Leia. But no, he has to die of force exhaustion. If Palpatine, who uses the force like crack didn't die of force exhaustion, then why did Luke?

The duels in TROS are all equally terrible. Not once did I felt any excitement between Rey and Kylo's duels as I did with Finn and Kylo from TFA. Every Lightsaber duel is forgettable. The fight in Ren's Quarters is just bad. The fight on the Death Star Ruins is just terrible. It's like they both got high on deathsticks and could barley remember that they are both trained with a Lightsaber. Fighting in ruins surrounded by water SHOULD BE EXCITING! But they did everything in their power to make this duel boring, mediocre and lackluster. They act as if they are swinging bats, not Lightsabers. Lightsabers aren’t baseball bats, stop treating them like they are!

The worst part is that THIS was the final Lightsaber duel of the Star Wars saga. A huge step down if compared to Obi Wan vs Anakin in Mustafar and Darth Vader vs Luke Skywalker in the Emperor’s Throne Room, which unlike the previous prequel, had awesome shooting and use of the soundtrack, also being very lengthy.

Then we get the Luke and Leia flashback. The ONLY well choreographed fight scene is a fucking flashback.

Then Ben Solo and the Knights Of Ren. Again, we know the Knights are gonna die. If JJ Abrams bothered to characterize the Knights, then yes they might've had a chance, but like the Praetorian Guards, they exist for background and die pointlessly.

Of Course we don't get to see Palpatine duel wielding his twin Sith Lightsabers and fighting Rey and Ben, cause JJ mr I hate the Prequels can't give the fans any decent Lightsaber fights. Instead of Palpatine facing Rey and Ben in an epic climatic final battle, we get Palpatine killed by his own lightning.

The fights in TFA is adequate at best. TLJ is meaningless. TROS is absolutely terrible and forgettable.

John, Daisy and Adam deserved better choreography than they were given. There's no excuse for the lackluster duels we see in the ST, whether from Rey, Finn or Kylo.

One of the biggest complaints for the Prequels is Lightsaber fights is "they are too choreographed" and anyone who believes this is an idiot. What? You wanted Jedi in their prime to slap sticks like old people? You wanted them to fight like drunken hobos? One of the best things in the prequels was finally getting to see the Jedi finally go all out in some awesome lightsaber duels. The Jedi should be masters at Lightsaber combat. Fight choreography is a good thing. Look at the duels in the prequels. You can like or hate them but the duel between Obi-Wan/Qui-Gon and Maul was great. As was Obi-Wan vs Jango, Yoda vs Dooku and every duel in ROTS. Even The Clone Wars had great fight choreography. There was more planning and choreography in The Clone Wars S7E10 than in the whole sequel trilogy.

Seriously, why wasn't Nick Gillard contacted? He is the main reason why the Lightsaber duels in the prequels were so good. I don't care if too many Lightsabers were a big complaint amongst the Prequel haters, the duels were good. So instead of great fight scenes, you traded great fight choreography for mediocre baseball bat fights?

The choreography is not the issue alone. There is no emotion. In TFA. Starkiller Base was already set to blow, so the fight was pointless. In TLJ there is no emotion at stake for the Throne Room fight and the Resistance already got away prior to Luke's pointless death. Rey vs Kylo doesn’t even matter because the characters HAVE THE SAME GOAL. Both want to get to Exegol via a wayfinder before the duel and both get to Exegol with a wayfinder (or memory of it) at the end of the duel. While Kylo gets redeemed, the duel wasn’t necessary for this part as Leia just needed to talk to him and then give him the force induced memory. The only thing this proves is that Rey is not a Jedi because she gives into anger and blind rage to start the duel.

The duels in the prequels and originals had themes, emotion and meaning. Not just that but they looked damn impressive and was the spectacle that helped made Star Wars, Star Wars.

There isn't any good musical scores for any of the Lightsaber fights either or at the very least, nothing memorable. Nothing as iconic as Duel Of Fates, Battle Of Heroes and the Throne Room fight in ROTJ. I don't remember any themes in the Sequels and that's a problem.

And it doesn’t help that these duels have no meaningful deaths either. A bunch of faceless guards and Luke (through indirect means) are the only deaths via a duel. But this is what happens when you hide the mentor archetype on an island and have the hero and villain go at it for three films.

The Lightsaber duel is no longer an emotional spectacle and a grand duel to the death. It's a bunch of idiots high on deathsticks fighting pointlessly and fighting for absolutely nothing. Rey fights like a Sith but she's a Jedi. Ben fights like a Jedi but is leading the First Order? They don't matter anymore and the duels in the sequels are the most forgettable thing about them.

#Anti Sequel Trilogy #Anti TFA #Anti TROS #Anti TLJ #Rey #Finn #Kylo Ren #Ben Solo

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greywolfheirs · 4 years

Text

@coffeeandcake96 Thanks for the prompt!

This one was really fun to write! Again, I just kind of whipped it up pretty fast so I apologize if it’s not the best. I may come back to it later to expand or edit idk. Also be warned, the ending is kinda sad.

Also posted to my AO3 account. Just search greywolfheir since tumblr’s weird about links.

-----

1129 CE

One thing about thoughts is that they’re abstract. Not every thought is a fully formed sentence. Some thoughts aren’t even words at all. Not just pictures, thoughts can be emotions and half-remembered senses as well.

Another thing about thoughts is that even when they are complete sentences, they’re usually in the language you know best.

When Nicky and Joe first met, they didn’t know these things about thoughts. Plus they were a little busy killing each other to be having complex ideas. Therefore, pinpointing the exact moment that they began to read each other’s thoughts was a little tricky. Still, it makes sense that it was probably after their first deaths--when they started dreaming of each other and the others. Yet they both remember when they made the revelation that they could read each other’s thoughts.

It was a cool night in Malta, when they still didn’t know what to think of each other. It wasn’t quite hatred anymore but not like kinship either. Andy and Quynh were inside the small shack they’d acquired on their journey, and Nicky and Joe--still Niccolo and Yusuf at the time--were trying to teach each other their home language. They’d found some commonality in Greek, but it was a language they were both rusty in, so Andy suggested they teach each other. Less of a suggestion, really, and more of a command.

They were both having civil discussions with each other, but it all went wrong because Nicky had picked up more Arabic

Allah, help me, this man is impossible.

“Impossible?” Nicky scoffed in Greek. “As if your Italian is any better.”

“What?”

“Here I am trying to learn your language, only to find out all you do with it is talk behind my back,” Nicky continued.

“And why shouldn’t I?” Joe, who really was looking for any excuse to argue with Nicky at this point, argued back. “You are impossible. You’re impossible in everything you do, and Arabic is no different.”

“And tell me, how is your pagan god supposed to help me improve?” Nicky was clearly trying to lead this into yet more of their theological debates, but Joe blinked.

“I have not spoken of my god since we began this lesson,” he said.

Nicky rolled his eyes “You just said, ‘Allah, help me, this man is impossible’.”

It was Joe’s turn to scoff. “I did not.”

“You did!” Nicky said, standing up angrily. “Do you call me a liar?”

“If you think those words came out of my mouth, yes,” Joe said. “I know better than to invoke Allah’s name around you.”

Nicky gestured around them, at areas devoid of people. “Then who could have possibly said the words that I so clearly heard?”

Joe blinked. “I don’t know.” He blinked again. “Wait, what language did I speak those words?”

“So you admit you spoke them!”

“Niccolo,” Joe warned.

Nicky huffed. “Arabic, of course.”

“I know many languages you do not, Niccolo,” Joe reasoned. “Why would I insult you in Arabic when I could easily insult you in those tongues?”

Nicky blinked. “Because you wish me to know you insulted me, of course.”

Joe shook his head. “No, unlike you, I have been biting my tongue as of late. I no longer wish to argue with you.”

“Then why insult me?” Nicky asked.

“I’m telling you, I did not,” Joe insisted. “But I did think those words. Many times tonight.”

Nicky scrunched up his face in confusion. “But...that’s impossible. I cannot read your thoughts.”

Joe tilted his head. “Can you not? I’ve been thinking, Niccolo, about how we communicate. Even when we had not settled on Greek, we seemed to know what the other was saying. And I’ve seen you bring out food just as my stomach rumbles yet you say you’re not hungry.”

“Perhaps,” Nicky said slowly, “it is part of our gifts.”

“Perhaps,” Joe agreed. “We shall have to ask Andrea when she wakes.”

1201 CE

It was not one of the gifts they shared with Andy and Quynh, they soon learned. The pair had been confused after they brought it up, though Nicky and Joe both knew the truth before they asked. Andy and Quynh shared a bond, yes, but it was different from Nicky and Joe’s. Besides, neither of the two men had felt any sort of bond beyond their immortality towards the women.

Still, it was odd, having this revelation. They tested the bounds as much as possible. Could they read each other’s thoughts from a far distance? Could they send messages to each other through thought alone? At what point did their own thoughts end and the other’s begin?

As it turned out, the only time they couldn’t feel the other’s presence in their minds was during their temporary deaths. Having killed each other together so many times, Nicky was caught off-guard once when Joe, who had fallen behind to engage his attacker in battle, screamed loudly and fell from his horse.

Nicky felt the connection between their minds snap almost like it was a physical force. He nearly faced his own end in a similar manner from the shock of it. Joe experienced a similar fate when Nicky was captured in an alleyway by criminals who intended to steal his money. He’d barely been able to explain what had happened to Andy and Quynh as disoriented as he felt.

Since those deaths, they’d been able to figure out exactly which part of their mind belonged to the other, and indeed they were able to communicate solely through thought. It aggravated Andy which amused Quynh.

Through the course of learning these things about their new ability, Joe and Nicky had begun to trust each other more. How could they not, knowing what the other was thinking nearly all moments of the day? Moreso, however, they began to actually enjoy the other’s company. If they were being honest with themselves, they would have admitted to more, but they were also in each other’s heads so they couldn’t quite be honest with themselves.

Still, Andy and Quynh watched them dance around each other, not seeing what the other was so clearly thinking even though they could literally their minds. It just so happened on one fateful day that the two women had to go out, leaving Nicky and Joe to their own devices. Nicky was preparing dinner in the farmhouse they all shared while Joe bathed. Nicky had just left to get an egg from the chickens outside, only to come back to the sight of an entirely naked man.

There were three things that occurred to Nicky in that moment. One was that he had seen Joe naked before, many times. Two was that he hadn’t cared enough to actually look at Joe. Three was that he enjoyed the way Joe looked naked.

Before Nicky could cut the last thought out of his mind, it had already passed to Joe, along with the subsequent thoughts of what Nicky wanted to do with a naked Joe.

Before Joe could respond, Nicky blinked several times and tilted his head away from the sight of the man before him. He was halfway to the kitchen, when Joe caught his arm.

“It was just a thought, Yusuf,” Nicky said firmly, but he allowed Joe to turn him around, staunchly not looking down. “I apologize.”

“You have no need to apologize, Niccolo,” Joe said softly. “I’ve had many similar thoughts while you sleep.”

Nicky’s now-wide eyes met Joe’s.

“Only,” Joe continued, “I had never dreamed I would see them returned.”

Nicky blinked and backed away. “They are not.”

Joe simply looked at Nicky.

“They are not.”

Joe lifted his hand from Nicky’s arm and held it up in surrender.

That winter, they faced a cold night, and Nicky shivered in his bedroll. They’d had to leave the farmhouse and were now in a secluded cave. Nicky sat up to look for more clothing to cover himself with, when he was faced with Joe, holding out his blanket to Nicky.

“Don’t be ridiculous, you’ll freeze,” Nicky huffed.

“Not if we share it,” Joe offered.

Nicky wanted to protest, but sitting up had exposed him to the cold, so he merely nodded and allowed Joe to place the blanket over both of them. They lay there for a moment, facing each other. It had been months since the incident, and Joe had slowly begun to send thoughts similar to Nicky’s errant one towards the man. It was nothing too shocking, and it was gently enough that Nicky sometimes wasn’t sure Joe was aware he was doing it. Perhaps he wasn’t. But it made Nicky blush and stalk away every time.

“Nic--” Joe began, lifting his hand toward Nicky’s face.

“Don’t,” Nicky snapped. “Please, Yusuf, now is not the time.”

“Then when would you like to discuss it?” Joe asked. “Because I wish to discuss this before we have frozen to death.”

“We would recover,” Nicky pointed out.

Joe rolled his eyes. “You know my meaning.”

“How long?” Nicky asked suddenly.

“What?”

“How long have you had these...thoughts towards me?” Nicky asked.

Joe shook his head. “I cannot remember the date. Only that I began to dream of your eyes. And your lips. And--”

“Enough,” Nicky snapped again. He’d picked up on exactly what Joe’s dreams consisted of, though, so it was too late.

“Why do you resist so?” Joe asked. “Allah knows we’ve gotten past our differences long ago.”

Nicky tried to come up with a good reason. The problem was, they had already discussed all of them in one way or another. That Nicky was a priest? He had left the cloth behind many years ago. That they were both men? They both knew their preferences leaned towards men and this did not bother them as much as it should. That they were of differing faiths? That was an argument settled long ago. Which only left…

Joe laughed in surprise more than anything else. “You are scared?”

“Quiet, you’ll wake the others,” Nicky huffed.

“Niccolo, please, how can a man who cannot die fear love so?”

“We still hurt,” Nicky pointed out dejectedly.

Joe put his fingers below Nicky’s chin and lifted his face up so they could look each other in the eyes. “I promise you, I mean you no harm. Not anymore.”

“Can you make a promise like that for as long as we both live?” Nicky asked.

“Can you?”

Fair point.

“We take these risks when we decide to love, Niccolo,” Joe said. “It is the whole point.”

“I have never,” Nicky swallowed thickly and began again. “I have never been with anyone before.”

“I know,” Joe said, pressing his forehead to Nicky’s, still looking him in the eyes.

Neither of them would be sure, years later, who moved first to press their lips together, but when thoughts are as intertwined as theirs, does it really matter?

2020 CE

Centuries later, they both kept a promise they never made, and began to fight as one entity. Yes, they experienced pain, but never from each other, and their family had grown. Nile, in particular, had been an interesting addition.

“Wait, so you’re telling me you and Nicky can actually read each other’s minds?” Nile asks. “Like X-Men style?”

Joe nods and smiles over at Nicky. They were all at dinner one day when it happens to come up in conversation.

“Do we all get special powers--beyond, you know, the healing?”

Andy shakes her head. “Joe and Nicky are different.”

“Can you show me?” Nile asks.

“It’s not some parlor trick,” Andy argues but Joe puts a hand on her arm.

“Sure, write down a number and show it to me,” he says. “I’ll have Nicky say it out loud.”

It’s a year that Nile writes down. One that Joe and Nicky remember very well.

Nicky sighs and rolls his eyes. “1738.”

Nile’s eyes widen and they know she’s impressed. “What happened in 1738?”

“You don’t want them to answer that,” Andy insists.

“You were not there, Andy,” Nicky laughs.

“No but anything that makes you two make those faces at each other is something Nile does not want to know.”

“Fair enough,” Joe agrees with a smile.

It’s a small family, but a good one. They may be missing a member but they will get him back in time. For now, they enjoy their family as it is.

Sometime in the future

It wouldn’t be a wound that told them of their fading abilities. Nicky would be the first to know. He was always the lighter sleeper. He would wake one day with no connection to Joe’s mind. Thinking they had been attacked in their sleep, Nicky would shoot up in bed, ready to attack whoever had killed his love, only to find Joe beside him, slowly waking from a deep slumber that Nicky had disturbed.

“Joe,” Nicky would whisper, “what happened to your thoughts?”

“I have them, Nicky. What happened to yours?” Joe would answer.

“If they are gone from your mind, I’m afraid I know what is happening,” Nicky said sadly, causing Joe to wake up fully. “It is our time, my love.”

Joe would blink and put a hand to Nicky’s cheek. “So it is.”

#the old guard #kaysanova #joe x nicky

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princessselene126 · 4 years

Text

Nodrian OTP Headcanons

Copy and pasted 17-21 from an ask, but the rest are all new. Enjoy babes.

1) Who rocks the Ferris Wheel seat and who flips out and begs them to stop? They both rock it because they’re reckless heathens. The people above them yell to stop. Or if the team or Adrian’s family are with, they’ll tell Nova and Adrian to stop too.

2) Who is always horny and will have sex at any time, at any place and at any time? Nova. Adrian is hot okay (I imagine he looks like a young Chidi Anagonye)? Nova is always dtf if he is--which he often is.

3) Who is more into taking showers/baths together? Who tries to make it relaxing and who tries to make it sexy time? Adrian likes bathing together. He likes washing Nova’s hair, taking care of her. It took a while for her to be okay with him doing little things for her, but she eventually learns to relish it. Nova tries to make it sexy times, but not as often as you’d think. She’d rather be in a bed or against a dry wall thankyouverymuch.

4) Who likes to walk around the house naked and who tells the other to go put some clothes on? While they’re living in the mansion, it’s impossible to do that, but once they get their own apartment? Adrian does it on rare occasions. Nova laughs and tells him to put clothes on. He refuses, kisses her, and then Nova pushes him toward their bedroom to get down and dirty.

5) Who sleeps on the couch when they get into a fight? Since she doesn’t sleep (very often), Nova does. But most of the time when they get into a fight she leaves the apartment and goes to HQ to work. Adrian calls and asks her to come home within a few hours.

6) Who takes photos of the other while they sleep? Adrian does so he can sketch her later.

7) Who said “I love you” first? and who ends their arguments in a fight with “Because I love you”? I can’t remember who said it in canon because my memory is terrible. I’d have to say Adrian though. Only when he knows Nova is ready to hear it.

8) Who likes to wear the others sweatshirts? Nova is a sweatshirt thief. Adrian is constantly wondering where is sweatshirts are going when he suddenly sees Nova wrapped up in one.

9) Who wakes the other up in the middle of the night to tell them a cool dream they had? Who has the most nightmares, and who sings them back to sleep after? Neither wakes the other up. If they had an interesting dream, they tell the other about it in the morning. Nova has the most nightmares. They’re usually about her family being killed, sometimes they’re about Ace or Honey during the cathedral battle. Adrian knows she doesn’t like to talk about it--except for in therapy--so he pulls her close and hums to calm her down. She doesn’t fall back asleep, but it relaxes her.

10) Who is more likely to cheat? Again, we’re going to pretend this isn’t about cheating on another person because neither of them would ever do that. When it comes to games? Adrian does because he knows Nova is better at strategy than he is.

11) Who makes fun of the other for having a crush on them, and who has to remind them that they are in a relationship? “Ohhhhhhhh Nova you had a crush on me? That’s so embarrassing!” “Adrian, we’re married.”

12) Who starts a food fight in the kitchen? Adrian. He just flicked a frozen pea at her once. Nova raised her eyebrow and asked, “You really want to do that?” He flicked another pea at her and then it was all out war.

13) Who initiates duets? and who is the better singer? Adrian initiates duets and Nova rolls her eyes at how cheesy he is. Adrian is also the better singer.

14) Who starts the hand holding? Who grabs the others butt? Who slides their arm around their waist? Who likes to put their fingers in the belt loops? Once Nova realizes that she can, she’s the one that reaches out for his hand all the time. Nova grabs Adrian’s butt because “hot damn.” Adrian slides his arm around her waist just because he can. Sometimes he rests his con on the top of her head. He’s also the one to put his fingers in her belt loops because he loves to have physical contact with her whenever he can.

15) Who likes writes the others name on their wrist? They both do and neither knows about it because they only do it when they’re wearing long sleeves.

16) Who is more seductive when they are drunk? and who is louder in bed? Nova is very seductive when she’s drunk, so seductive that Adrian may or may not start drooling. Adrian is louder in bed.

17) Who is more protective? Nova. Have you seen that woman? She goes feral when Adrian is in danger.

18) Who talks to the other while they are sleeping? Nova is awake more often than Adrian is, so she talks to him.

19) Who drives and who has the window seat? They take turns. Nova is the better driver of the two of them though, so I feel like she would slightly more often. I think they’d like to go on late night drives to nowhere when Adrian can’t fall asleep at night.

20) Who falls asleep in the others lap and who carries them to bed? I think Nova falls asleep in Adrian’s lap more often than he falls asleep in hers just because she’s not used to sleeping and therefore doesn’t expect to fall asleep. It always makes Adrian smile. He gently picks her up and carries her to bed, then usually lays with her until she either wakes up or he falls asleep himself.

21) Who cuts the others hair? Adrian cuts Nova’s hair. He’s surprisingly good at it.

22) Who is super bad at sexting? and who sends them encouraging messages throughout the day? Adrian is terrible at sexting. He drinks so much respect women juice that it’s impossible for him. Adrian sends Nova lots of encouraging messages when he knows she’s having a hard day.

23) Who thinks they are not good enough for the others love? and who’s more afraid of loosing the other? Who thinks they keep messing up, only for the other to tell them they don’t need to worry? At first it’s Nova, but then she does through therapy and starts to believe in herself more, so it’s not much of an issue. Neither is very worried about losing the other. Nova thinks she keeps messing up because, well she did keep messing up, Adrian assures her that it’s all in the past and he’s proud of who she is.

24) Who starts random slow dancing with the other in the kitchen? Who holds the other just above the ground and kisses them? Adrian grabs Nova’s wrists and tugs her out of her seat to dance with him all the time. Nova says that he’s ridiculous, but she not-so-secretly loves it. Nova is small but she’s strong. She likes to pick him up in her arms and kiss him once in a while.

25) Who says shitty puns and sex jokes just to see the other giggle and blush? Adrian. And it’s actually more sex jokes than it is puns, which surprised Nova a lot.

26) Who kissed first? I only read supernova 3 months ago and i literally can’t remember who kissed who first--though now that I think of it their first kiss was in Arch Enemies, wasn’t it? I’m going to say Nova kissed Adrian first just for the heck of it. She probably did it to distract him from something then realized how much she liked kissing him.

27) Who orders take out at two in a morning? and who wakes the other up at three in the morning to go downstairs with them to get a glass of water because it’s too dark? Nova orders take out at two in the morning because she’s awake at that late more often than Adrian is. When they were living in the mansion, Nova would wake him up to come with her, but once they moved into their own place that stopped.

28) Who writes poems/stories and love songs about the other? Do they sing the songs the write for them? Neither. But Adrian does draw Nova a lot. Sometimes he gives them to her, others he keeps in his sketchbook to look at when she’s not around and he misses her.

29) Who does some crazy stunt to try and impress the other and who ends up driving them to the emergency room after it backfires? Neither. They both have too much common sense for that. They like to watch and laugh at Oscar when he does it for Ruby though.

30) Who is embarrassed when they have to wear their glasses and who thinks they look super cute? Adrian has glasses but he doesn’t seem embarrassed to wear them. When they get older, Nova starts to need reading glasses and she hates wearing them. Adrian tells her she looks adorable, which makes her even more annoyed.

Send me numbers and a ship

#nodrian #nova artino #adrian everhart #nova and adrian #Renegades #renegades fandom #mine #my post #otp asks

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asgardianthot · 4 years

Text

Flesh And Bones - Part 6

Soulmate AU

Series Masterlist

Words: 2129

A/N: I’m actually so excited to post the next few chapters? All of your comments are insanely, ubelievably nice, I appreciate you taking the time to say how much you’re enjoying the fic so so much. So I just can’t wait to give y’all what you want lol hope I can deliver

The melodic beep that announced opening of elevator doors was immediately followed by the thud of boots on the floor. Both Wanda and Bucky were walking rather fast, in direction to the parked quinjet. An alarm had set off all around the tower, informing the Avengers of an important mission that required speed and immediate action, so the pair had seen themselves forced to end a heart-to-heart conversation in order to work for a living.

Wanda had accompanied the soldier as he changed into fighting gear, mainly to make sure he wouldn’t bail on the team. She knew Bucky would do anything to avoid Sam at the moment, for that was his instinct, no matter how many times Sam stated that wasn’t what he wanted. So Maximoff had stood inside Bucky’s room while he complained and ranted and groaned, more focused on words than on sliding the black cargo pants up his legs.

As soon as the cool air of the heliport hit Bucky’s face, he stopped in his tracks.

“I can’t go.” He said loud enough to be heard.

The young woman turned to face him with an expression of utter disbelief.

“Bucky.” She let out, beginning to prepare a reprimand; they had just agreed that something like that was exactly what he wasn’t going to do, “What are you talking about?”

However, he looked a little frozen, and sounded like it too, considering he didn’t even respond to the question. It wasn’t necessary, though, for Wanda knew exactly what was going on, and therefore she walked back to him, less upset, to grab Bucky’s hand softly.

“You can’t just not go.” She reminded him in a much sweeter, but still stern tone, “We need you. This is your job. You can do this.”

The reassuring words helped Bucky swallow and nod. Yet, the knot in his stomach wasn’t going away.

“What if-?”

“What if you kiss on the quinjet?” Wanda interrupted him, causing him to give her a death glare; she simply rolled her eyes, “On the way to a mission.” She continued mocking him, shaking her head, “I doubt it.”

“Wanda-“

“You don’t even have to talk. Just do your job. Get out of the tower.”

The last push turned into a rather helpful observation, since Bucky didn’t actually go out much, especially the last few weeks; perhaps a good ole’ mission would be optimal.

“Come on, you can sit with me and hold my hand.” She went back to a joking and mildly patronizing tone.

The second the both of them took their seats next to each other, the last man walked inside the quinjet. With the wings-backpack and all, Sam made an appearance right before the doors shut. Bucky took in his image as he looked up from fastening his seat belt.

“All set.” Natasha announced from the driver’s seat.

There was a powerful staring contest going down between Bucky and Sam, which ultimately made Wanda extremely uncomfortable, whereas Steve pretended he didn’t even notice. It felt as if observing something they weren’t supposed to.

During the actual mission, though, the question of how uncomfortable it would be to fight alongside each other set place. As soon as they broke into that subterranean warehouse, the team was welcomed by shooting hostiles. It took their full concentration to take them out, but the only way in which they were outgunned was literally. Talent and stamina-wise, on the contrary, this could have just been a regular tuesday night.

Unfortunately, the easiness and triumph met an end in Sam’s case, as a sharp and painful feeling pressured his arm. He moaned out in pain, believing to have been shot, but as he glanced down, there was no sign of harm. In fact, it didn’t feel like a bullet had entered his skin, at all, but rather as if it was bounced off.

His mind went to the first explanation.

"Barnes, you okay?" he spoke through the earcomm.

Expecting to hear a lamenting response, he was surprised to receive a perfectly normal voice tone.

"Yeah, why?" Bucky answered nonchalantly.

Thus, he glanced back down at his arm. Along with reflecting on the fact it had felt like a bullet had bounced off his skin, as if his skin was made of unbreakable material, he also processed which arm hurt. It was his left arm. The metal arm.

He shouldn’t even be feeling it.

Before he could keep thinking about it, another shot of pain hit him. Another imaginary bullet.

"Agh!” he yelled and managed to reach his earpiece, “Stop, I can feel it, the arm, I feel it!"

There was a short pause before the exclamation made any sort of sense to Bucky.

"Your left arm?" he confirmed with confusion.

Sam snapped like the brunette had taken minutes to reply, "Yes, stop doing what you're doing!"

Nevertheless, the physical shock that came with trying to cope with this new information distracted Barnes, to the extent where he stopped being alert towards the hostiles. He had already stopped two bullets with his bionic arm, and the next one could come at any second, yet the realization that Sam might even sense the metallic limb in the slightest had him frozen, a big question mark all over his face.

The sudden distraction made it possible for a hostile to come charging at him, a fist fight imminent, and before he could foresee it, Barnes was falling over the rails of a stairway. That was when his body, once again, proceeded in the only way he had been taught: he reached out with the most powerful piece of armory he had, his left arm, grabbed a hold of the rail and held his entire weight on the rail, effectively and painfully avoiding a fall.

This third time, Sam wasn't capable of keeping his focus. The tear in his shoulder caused him to lose his flight, and so he went into protection mode, wrapping himself in his big metal wings, which eased his body when it collided on the concrete floor.

On his part, the brunette was safe on the ground, where he elbowed a man in the face in order to appropriate his shotgun. With a few last shots, the floor in which they stood was clear or hostiles, and the entrance to the building, clear.

"We're going in." Steve dictated through the communicators.

Sam groaned as he tried to collect himself from the ground.

"Coming." He managed to croak out.

Unfortunately, his efforts were met by a good ole' Captain Rogers scolding, "No, you and Bucky figure whatever you have to figure out." He said seriously.

"What?" Barnes pressed his fingers to his ears so to be heard, and convey his offense.

"You're distracted and distracting the team." Rogers shot back as he and the two women ran towards the building, "You're not helping. Stay back."

The remaining pair was left to their silence, one that lasted a few seconds. The bond wasn't their fault, but he was right about the fact that a team couldn't sustain itself with two members of it constantly avoiding each other. The bickering, they could stand, but the amount of tension and quiet coming from them both lately was damaging to entire operations.

Bucky reached where Sam was taking advantage of being ditched to catch his breath. The former spy offered him a hand, but Wilson declined by ignoring him and sitting up all by himself.

"I didn't know you could feel this arm." Bucky said in a tone that wasn't easy to decipher.

His face still contorted a little bit with the feeling of beaten muscles.

"Do you feel it?" he asked as if he was being personally attacked by the fact, and then watched as Barnes bit the inside of his cheek, "It's sentient. Like, that- that sentient." He was met by a shameful nod, "And you still use it as a shield? Are you insane? You didn't even complain."

Eventually, Bucky swallowed the guilt and just shrugged.

" 's how I was trained."

"But it hurts." Sam raised his voice, still in disbelief.

"What do you want me to say?" he replied in a way that they both knew an argument was coming their way, "I can treat it as something other than a weapon, but at the end of the day, when I'm being shot at, that's what it is. A weapon."

Instead of being distant, though, Bucky offered his hand again. This time, Sam took it and stood up on his feet with the man's help.

He let out a frustrated puff of air.

"See? This is the kind of shit I'm talking about." The Falcon shook his head and proceeded to elevate the tone of the conversation, "You give zero fucks about your well-being! And that means you give zero fucks about mine! Do I just gotta accept that you're a masochist?"

Bucky frowned with anger like a tantrum child, "I'm not!"

"You fight like one!"

"Well, it's all I know!" His voice roared through the entire warehouse and echoed as he unloaded all bottled up feelings in one sentence; It brought sepulchral silence between them, until he spoke through his frown, "It's how they trained me."

As a matter of fact, Bucky didn't remember what it felt like to not be like that. He couldn't remember his old self. He remembered the past Steve, his family, his relationships with others, among many other things that could fill up a personality, but he couldn't remember what it felt like to be Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, chippy sport. That wasn't coded into his system. The instinct of using his own body as a weapon was.

Consequentially, Sam felt like crap.

And he would have been open about it and apologized immediately if it hadn't been for the shooters. The click of guns made them snap back into the situation, and once again, Bucky was about to demonstrate that same instinct they were discussing, up close, by raising his arm to shield the bullets, but Sam turned his wings as a barrier and protected both of them. No need for Bucky to use his arm as a shield. Inside the little cocoon of metal wings, Barnes looked at Sam.

"I got ya." Sam panted, and by you, Barnes knew he meant us.

The veteran glanced at the gun in Bucky's hand, to which the latter was proactive enough to get it ready and fire at the incomers with incredible speed.

After that mission, Bucky wasn't really speaking to anyone. He had showed himself adamant even to a chat with Wanda. After all, during the altercation with Sam, he had been accused of fair things.

Luckily, it didn't stop Sam from trying. He knocked on Bucky's door the next day.

"Can I come in?" he spoke loudly from behind the wall.

"I'm busy," was heard from inside the room in a monotone.

Wilson simply nodded to himself, defeated. He turned around, fully intending to accept Bucky's isolation, but in a matter of seconds, he decided to push a little bit. He opened the door, only to find a pair of puffy eyes. Bucky's face was wet and partially swollen. He was crying.

He stared at the man standing in front of his door and thought about what he wished he had the strength to say out loud.

Hug me, you moron, come and hold me.

Yet he knew, unfortunately, that even if Sam could feel every bump and wound on his skin, he couldn't feel the ache in his chest. It didn't work that way.

So he sniffed and faked an embarrassed, amused face. A fake one.

"Told you I was busy." He joked.

Wilson swallowed hard and glanced down with guilt.

"Sorry. I'll come back later."

As he left and shut the door behind him, he sensed his own chest hurt. It didn't feel right to see Bucky like that.

On his part, Barnes crawled under his sheets and shut his eyes, wishing he could sleep forever.

When he woke up from his depression nap, there was a chair notoriously standing in front of his bed, where a box of donuts had been deposited. The brunette rubbed the sleep of his eyes before abandoning his bed to open the cardboard box, and finding a note inside of it:

"I'm sorry for yelling. You make me wanna yell sometimes, but it's not your fault. You're not a masochist, and this isn't unfair for me. It never was. I really don't want you to go. Take your time and when you're ready, come talk to me. In the meantime, the donuts will keep coming."

Bucky allowed a smile to take over his face before stuffing his face with the sugary treats.

#sambucky #sam wilson #bucky barnes #ftws #the falcon and the winter soldier #marvel fanfiction #soulmate au #angst #tw: injuries #sambucky fanfiction #sam wilson x bucky barnes #sam/bucky

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starr-fall-knight-rise · 5 years

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Humans are Weird “Altruism”

It is a truth universally accepted that the one greatest instinctual desire of an individual, of any species, is the desire to maintain life. Unless directly inhibited by a dysfunction of cortical tissue, this truth remains accepted.

However, it is instinctually acceptable to endanger one’s life out of desire to protect one’s progeny or family as a means of carrying on the genetic line. An advanced social structure requires strong social bonds to allow a society to remain in tact. Additionally, it is also understood that altruism outside a species is impossible without ulterior motive.

Interspecies altruism holds no function, and therefore, is instinctually rejected. Some scholars argue that instances of interspecies altruism have been demonstrated in battles were two species fight on the same aside. However, it can be argued that this supposed altruism is actually intended to preserve friends of the SAME species.

Regardless, the argument still remains, that interspecies altruism is rare if not nonexistent because it rejects core instinct for social preservative.

Krill was a very nervous. He knew his decision to bring his human companions to his home planet was a risky decision, and governmental authorities seemed to agree as it had taken them months to even a small delegation of his human companions. They had heard the stories about the humans, and despite Krill vouching for them, there was always going to be some hesitance.

He couldn’t blame them. While he understood humans more than most, and knew, despite their predatory nature, humans were social and heartfelt species, he still had to accept that humans were also short tempered and wildly aggressive group.

For this reason, he had only been allowed to bring four crew members. Captain Vir was, of course, allowed to come along with his commander, first lieutenant and chief medical officer. The group of them together represented the most affable, level-headed people aboard the ship. If anything, the captain himself was the loose cannon among the group indicated by his missing eye and leg, both testimony to Captain Vir’s knack for getting himself into trouble.

They left the ship to a crowd of awed expressions and trembling limbs. The high council stood at the bottom of the ramp dwarfed by at least two feet by even the smallest human. Krill himself barely came to the captain’s waist and the Commander’s Ribcage.

The group of humans paused at the bottom of the ramp facing the trembling counterparts floating by help from their hydrogen sacks. All four upper limbs clenched in fear.

Captain Vir took initiative greeting them with a phrase from their own language, a language he had learned from Krill personally, during a rather unpleasant stint in an alien prison.

The phrase worked like a charm, and they were greeted from then on with open arms. Though still hesitant.

The crew did surprisingly well with government officials before being released to experience the hospitality of Krill’s home planet.

Walking through the city, they were stared at much and avoided by everyone but the most brave. Those who were were then rewarded by a pleasant greeting.

The children were the most brave, not yet understanding the meaning of the human predatory structure.

Captain Vir Knelt on the ground street side allowing the children to prod at his arms and hair chirping in disgust and fascination upon contact with his squishy exterior. Water roared distantly passing though the canal that cut the city in half.

Krill watched the humans with pleasure glad to see that his friends were making a good impression upon his people.

One of the children asked where his leg had gone and captain Vir responded playfully with a story about a mighty beast with rows of sharp teeth standing ten feet tall.

The children squealed in delighted fear and awe. A few of the children slunk away in fear, but most remained if not interested than in an attempt to prove their bravery.

Unlike their older counterparts, the children walked mainly by the power of their feet yet unable to float with the aid of their underdeveloped hydrogen sacks, which rested flaccid against their backs.

The children dispersed and the human crew walked further towards the grand bridge slowly making their way through the awed crowds.

They were yards from the bridge when it happened.

Hundreds turned their heads to look as a shrill cry of fear, pain, and anguish filled the air. Even the humans turned their heads to look, and for a moment Krill couldn’t help but feel awe that the humans, so socially adept were able to understand the cry. He could see it in their faces. They knew something was wrong despite the call being from a different species to their own.

Perhaps they didn’t understand the true meaning, a mother who had lost her child.

But oddly enough it was the humans who reacted before anyone. He didn’t know how they did it. Perhaps it was their predatory nature, or their instincts formed from long years on the death world where a fast reaction could be life or death.

By the time Krill figured out what was going on, the humans had already been in motion for some seconds.

The small child, had slipped through the railings on the bridge to peer down at the water. With his underdeveloped kinesthetic awareness, the child had slipped and fallen into the water. Where an adult might have been held afloat by the hydrogen sack, the child didn’t have such protection.

By the time he hit the water, he had already begun to sink.

Unlike humans Krill’s species couldn’t swim without the aid of flotation.

The child was dead, and the mother knew it.

No one moved.... no one accept the humans.

All four humans were at the edge of the bridge by the time anyone realized what had happened. The captain’s jacket lay discarded on the street as he moved. Krill followed the motion as the human lowered, momentarily, into a predatory crouch and then, with his powerful leg muscles, launched himself over the railing!

Krill couldn’t have understood what sort of internal calculations it would have taken to do what the human did. He ran taking off his jacket and then jumping just at the perfect moment to clear the retaining wall. In the air, somehow, the human reoriented himself face downwards hands outstretched before him and pointed. The posture served to break the water before the humans face. And just as fast as he had flown through the air, he was submerged in the water.

The distant roaring of rapids rose around them as the others of his species began to howl in shock and grief.

The remaining humans leaned against the railing predatory eyes staring at the water beneath.

Krill couldn’t have guessed what was to happen next, but a moment later the human’s head broke the surface with a gasp and a sputter. In one arm, he held the lifeless body of the child dangling in the crook of his elbow. All around him water rushed and burbled dragging him quickly backwards as he fought against the current.

Why the human would have done something so stupid was beyond Krill. There was no hope for the child, and now the water was sure to drag them both under. But the human fought valiantly against the water as the other humans raced downwards to the next bridge. It took a moment for Krill to understand what was happening, but the other humans, understanding their captain’s physical prowess were going to wait for him at the next bridge.

The captain sputtered and choked as a rapid washed over his head. The bridge approached.

“CATCH!” The human called. One arm dragged from the water spilling droplets and holding the small body in hand. Krill watched in shock as the human let launch with his superior shoulder muscles, designed for just such an event.

Thinking faster than should have been possible, the other humans moved, Two braced themselves quickly holding the other over the edge by one arm. Again, another seamless calculation of depth and speed by the human brain that shouldn’t have been feasible, the human caught the limp child as Captain Vir was sucked under the water.

Pulled back upwards the medical officer took over as the other two humans raced to follow their captain.

In a panic, Krill ran over to find their medical officer bent over the lifeless child.

Krill stopped growing sick upon seeing the scene. There was nothing they could do.

But then the human started something. He tilted the child’s head back then tilted his body. Water rushed from the child’s mouth.

Krill stared on.

The officer looked up, “The water is blocking the pump mechanism. If I clear it, I can start manually pumping.”

Krill stared at him in shock. Manually pumping, but the child was dead?

The last water leaked out and the medic placed his hands at a diagonal over the torso using a light rhythm to simulate the internal pumps. One hand first and then the other. Anyone else wouldn’t have been able to keep such a natural Rhythm.

More water leaked from the open mouth in time with the rhythm,

A crowd gathered staring on in bewilderment as the human worked.

And then the child twitched.

Gasps filled the air.

The human continued to message the child’s chest holding him face downwards as water leaked into a puddle on the street.

Krill saw the moment the pumps kicked back in, and the eyes opened.

More gasps.

Krill was frozen to the spot.

The medical officer looked up, “I have this. GO HELP THE CAPTAIN!”

Krill was slow to react, but finally he moved following after the humans as the stream funneled and the water grew more violent. The captain was nowhere to be seen.

A hundred yards after that, and the funnel opened outwards flattening out enough to slow the flow. The water further in was almost glassy. Two humans waded into the water, and krill was surprised to watch as they caught hold of something dragging it from the water.

Captain Vir lay on his back unmoving prosthetic leg dangling from a snapped hinge eye patch torn away to reveal the ragged hole in his skull.

Krill paused watching as the humans gathered around.

A crowd formed to watch.

Placing one hand over the other, The commander leaned in placing her hands in the center of the captain’s chest.

The two humans hummed a beat softly to themselves as they moved. The pounding rhythm was rather violent and Krill winced. It would make sense though, the human’s ribcage was to sturdy not to.

It didn’t take long before the captain shot into a sitting position coughing and vomiting up water. The onlookers stared and some winced. The captain spent the next minutes coughing and choking up water.

But after that, the man was fine. He straightened himself out and reattached his leg dragging himself to a standing position to the protests of his crew.

The crowd stared on in silence.

Captain VIr looked down at Krill, “The kid?” He asked

“Alive.” The medical commander stated from the crowd.

And in his arms he held the small form dazed and sick, unlike the captain, who was now regaining his strength. The child’s parents stood by staring on in complete disbelief. By all rights the child SHOULD be dead.

Captain VIr had broken known species protocol. He had risked his own life to save something of another species he did not know. He had died for the cause.

But thats humans. They reject your protocol, and they reject death.

#humans are space orcs #humans are weird #earth is space australia

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sleeplesssheep · 5 years

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Veni, Vidi, Vici (part five)

An All Souls Trilogy Fanfiction

Autumn sun warmed Breannas face as she relaxed, her face and torso swaying gently. Ever so often the chatter of a passing family, or the ring of a bike bell would reach her. She was currently perched on the balcony railing attached to the apartment of vampire financial tycoon Baldwin Montclair. Something she never thought she would be doing.

Brea gently laughed at the thought of this and opened her hazel eyes. Legs still swinging, she peeked down at the ground. About sixty feet below her, a black sedan pulled up. Breanna was fully aware of who was in this car, not only from the icy patches she felt eyeing her from within it but also from the passionate cursing she could hear as soon as the doors opened.

A blur of red hair and black fabric moved from the car into the apartment, leaving the car door dented due to the force it was closed at. She rolled her eyes and began to twist around to greet her vampire watchdog.

It was not two seconds when Breanna felt a breeze behind her and two cold arms latched around her, yanking her harshly backwards.

“Jesus Christ,” She exclaimed loudly as she was tossed through the air and landed painfully on one of the living room couches. Breanna blinked rapidly and took in the very pissed vampire braced over her.

If it wasn't for Montclairs proximity she would have attempted to adjust herself. Not only was she positioned awkwardly against the arm of the chair but her blouse had become tangled and the first few buttons undone, revealing a black lacy bralette underneath.

Montclairs icy eyes scanned her body from head to toe, never hesitating. At last, his dark eyes met hers.

Just as he did to her, Breanna examined him. Shocklying, his face appeared to be flushed. Still wearing one of his many wool overcoats Montclairs chest was frozen and he clearly was not breathing. Amber hair messy and pupils dilated so widely his eyes appear black, he was clearly upset.

“Good morning,” Brea cleared her throat gently and fidgeted under the vampires piercing gaze.

As if the life was shocked back into him, Montclair’s eyes narrowed and his move turned into a severe frown.

“Good morning?” His voice harshly quoted the witch.

“Good, fucking morning.” Montclair repeated this time, his voice rising quickly. Breanna could clearly tell he was upset and for some odd reason rather than being scared of this obviously emotional vampire, she was struck into silence and confusion.

“Merte, Breanna! I come home to see you about to fucking kill yourself and all you have to say is ‘Good morning’.” Baldwin was growling now, the noise deep and dark.

Realization dwelled in the witch's eyes as his words processed.

“Oh!” She gasped and sat upright without even thinking. Breannas hands fluttered nervously in the air as she quickly denied his claim. Baldwin lifted himself off of the couch (and in turn off of Breanna) and began pacing in front of the witch, ever so often cursing under his breath.

“I was only enjoying the weather, Montclair. God, you don’t really think I’d do such a thing? How could you suggest that?”

“Enjoying it sixty feet in the air with no form of protection? What were you thinking, Breanna? You could have fallen, or worse, another creature could have seen you and reported you!” Shouting, he retorted and stopped pacing. Pinching the bridge of his nose, the vampire glared down at her.

Breanna didn’t respond for a moment and took a few deep breaths.

“I was just enjoying the weather that’s all. You hardly let me go out, anywary.” Since her arrival at his home only a week ago, Breanna was always kept under his watchful eye. Today was the first time he had let her be. Montclairs obsession with her safety had been the subject of quite a few arguments. Unlike him, she kept her cool and refused to raise her voice.

Baldwin, still looking annoyed and not at all pacified, crossed his arms over his chest.

The witch stood up carefully and grabbed the arm of the couch for support as the blood rushed back to her head. Breanna’s dizziness disappeared and she left the room, heading for the kitchen, button her silk blouse on the way.

As she reached the doorway Breanna looked over her shoulder. Montcliar stood still in the middle of the room, a few feet from where she was just on the couch. A soft breeze stirred the curtains on the balcony entrance behind him. Montclairs dark ensamble contrasted sharply to the light colored decorations and aesthetic of the living room.

“Besides, I wouldn’t of fallen- I would have flown.” Her tone was teasing but within it there was a layer of seriousness. The sooner this vampire realized she was capable of protecting herself the better. Her bare feet padded gently on the mahogany floors of the hallway as she passed extra bedrooms, offices and parlors. Finally as she reached the large, modern and aggressively white kitchen something came to her realization.

Breanna had broken a key rule of witchood, completely disregarding her supernatural education. She had revealed one of her key powers to Montclair, a vampire- an enemy.

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

The youngest Bishop witch had yet to see Montclair for at least an hour, but judging from his surprising heavy feet he had gone to his office upstairs. Breanna was in the kitchen multitasking between an ancient and delicious glass of red wine- one she was sure Baldwin would be annoyed with her for choosing because that was stricting his wine- answering her emails and trying not to burn dinner. There were no servants in the house but Breanna could tell that he had had someone not only clean the apartment thoroughly before their arrival, but also deliver food and clothes for Breanna.

Montclair’s apartment was situated within a wealthy, quiet district of London. She had yet to leave the apartment and therefore had no clue exactly where in London they were, and the balcony railing view only allowed her to see their street. Perhaps next time Montclair was out she would have to venture to the roof.

“Roof, roof, roof, roof” Breanna chanted over and over again in her head in an effort to remember that for next time.

Refilling her glass, Brea turned to the stovetop and stirred the squash soup she was making. Her Aunt Sarah had often made soup during the colder months and Brea’s panging for home was the inspiration to make it. Breanna didn’t care Montclair had for dinner as usual it was a simple glass of red wine or blood, which was completely out of her forte.

A light jazz came from the radio she had found stowed away, its gentle sounds echoing from the kitchen and through the halls. Just as the player was finishing their last note, Baldwin came into the kitchen. In his hands a total of three glasses were balanced as well as a bottle of Merlot. Delicalty placing everything on the marble counter, he then picked Brianna's glass from her hand and held it up to his face.

The witch sputtered in protest but knew better than to grab it from him, instead she turned the burner off and leaned against the opposite counter eyeing the vampire with irritation. It seemed whenever he was around she was either bother him in some way or he was doing the same to her.

In a play of dominance, Baldwin’s eyes never left the witches and he inhaled her glass then gently swirled the liquid before taking a small sip. To his pleasure, a small blush rose from the witch's neck to her high cheekbones.

Not that Breanna would ever admit such a thing to anyone, there was something arousing about Montclair drinking from her class. Whether it was the eye contact, movement of his oddly supple looking lips- she didn’t know. Feeling her face flush, Breanna rolled her eyes at the vampire and turned to fill herself a bowl of soup.

Waving the ladle she called over her shoulder her voice teasing, “Soup, Montclair?”

Both of them knew what he would say, so rather than responding the vampire took two of the three glasses he had brought and headed to the dining room adjacent to the kitchen.

Breanna was gathering her dinner and heading to follow him when he came back in, a glass of a thick red liquid in his left hand. For such a large hand, Montclair held the glass delicalty and waved it at the witch.

“Blood, Bishop?” The corner of his eyes wrinkled gently as he teased her.

Ignoring the clench of what most certainly a combination of arousal and disgust, she passed him and settled at the seat right of Montclairs. He, of course, was seated at the head of the table.

They both consumed their meals silently and at, the young witch spoke.

“It has been a week now, I am healed. I would like to return to my family.” Breanna’s tone left no room for refusal, and Baldwin was quick to recognize this.

He took a sip of his glass and leaned backwards in his chair, eyeing the witch.

“No.”

“What do you mean ‘no’” Breanna persisted, her tone hardening.

Suddenly Baldwin placed his glass on the table, pushed the sleeve of his white dress shirt upwards and sighed. Crossing his arms he began to explain himself. This, however, was no easy feat. Three hundred years ago Baldwin would never have had to explain himself to a woman, especially a witch. As times were changing and both the human and supernatural world were changing, such behavior had to change. Just because they had become more diplomatic however, didn’t mean Baldwin always liked it. He especially struggled in being questioned and defined as the witch was currently doing.

“We have discussed this before many times, Breanna.” Baldwin struggled to keep his voice calm.

“I cannot stay here. I have healed. I have answered your many, many questions and I was under the impression that we had come to a mutual agreement over my innocence. If I recall correctly from our many,” Baldwin’s teeth bared as she referenced his earlier statement, ignoring the threat Breanna continued.

“Conversations, you tracked me down and saved me at the request of my Aunt. You failed in watching me earlier and therefore had to retrieve me. I have thanked you properly and would now like to continue onto the last of your responsibilities- returning me to my family.”

Baldwin’s eyes narrowed into slits as she continued.

“It is your choice, you may accompany me and we shall travel together to this Sept-Tours where my family is, or I shall go myself without your permission.” Breanna threatened as the electricity in the air rose while Baldwins teeth shone in the light from the chandelier.

It seemed without knowing it, both creatures were preparing for a fight.

“There are things you do not understand, when I deem it safe we will leave. This is final.” Baldwin stood from the table and marched away leaving a seething and extremely vengeful witch behind him.

#baldwin de clermont #Baldwin Montclair #baldwin x oc #DiscoveryofWitches #adow #adow fic #vampire #All Souls Trilogy

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turtle-paced · 5 years

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Revisiting Chapters: Jon VIII, ACoK

This post is also on my wordpress.

So this took a while. It’s not even a very long recap, because most of this chapter is action.

The story so far…

Following Jon’s vision of the Free Folk on the move, the small group of rangers scouting the Skirling Pass are running to report to Lord Commander Mormont just as fast as they possibly can.

The Chase

Actually, it’s not much of a chase, in some respects. We pick up in medias res, Jon lighting a fire that he knows will signal the Free Folk where they are, and just him and Qhorin left of the five who set out. Jon’s narration lays out how it went down over the past few days. First, Squire Dalbridge fell trying to hold the bridge, his fall signaled by a horn and additionally marked by the Watchmen spotting an eagle. That night, Qhorin told Ebben to take two horses and ride back to Mormont as fast as he could.

After that we get a blur of days. This is a long chase, not a high-speed one. It’s just as taxing. The remaining rangers sleep in their saddles, only stopping long enough to keep their horses functional. Jon noted the beautiful scenery in this part of the world earlier; now everything is gloomy, cold, blue-grey and nameless.

Through all that, that damn eagle keeps tracking them. No matter how fast they ride, they can’t outpace an eagle’s flight.

Then they lost a horse. There’s no riding double. So Stonesnake is dispatched to go tell Mormont the news as well. Qhorin makes sure to include the more magical elements in his report – “tell Mormont what Jon saw, and how,” up to and including “he faces giants and wargs and worse.”

This too is an important part of Jon’s education. There is worse than the Free Folk north of the Wall.

As for Stonesnake, Jon thinks he has no chance. It’s not much of a chance, to be sure. They’re in the middle of the mountains, hunted by the Free Folk and the local wildlife, and Stonesnake is one man without a horse or much in the way of supplies. It is, however, a plan that provides better potential outcomes than a dramatic final stand. The worst case scenario for both is that Stonesnake dies, so might as well tkae that chance.

Then it’s just Jon and Qhorin. And Ghost, always close to Jon, and Jon is aware of the direwolf as he wasn’t before. Just as he gains that awareness, though, he loses his dreams. Maybe it’s just exhaustion, but in any event, the sense of connection to his brothers and their wolves that he has while asleep deserts him. Combined with how taciturn Qhorin is, Jon’s feeling very alone. As discussed below, he finds comfort in repeating his vows, which GRRM thoughtfully provides us in full again, but Jon knows the end is near.

Near, but not here. Jon and Qhorin leave the fire behind and double back through more dramatic northern landscape. This time, rather than gloomy, the description highlights how icy everything is – lots of water, ice and stone up here, lit by cold moonlight. As they reach the waterfall Qhorin had in mind, the water becomes outright hostile:

The air was full of mist, like the breath of some vast cold beast.

The falling water slapped at them with frozen fists…

There’s a path behind the waterfall, though. Jon hopes, and deals with a night of sleeping in wet clothing in a cold cave, for the hope that if the Free Folk don’t find them they’ll be able to get through the mountain. They make it through the night, and they make it through the mountain –

But when they emerged back into the light long hours later, the eagle was waiting for them, perched on a dead tree a hundred feet up the slope.

Qhorin’s mouth tightened as he followed its flight with his eyes. “Here is good a place as any to make a stand,” he declared.

Now the chase is over.

Note that this entire chase sequence happened and until the very end we never got to see who was chasing, or how many. The eagle stood in for all the Free Folk in pursuit.

Do Not Balk

The first hint of what’s to come arrives when Ebben does not immediately comply with Qhorin’s order to take the horses, but instead urges him to let Jon ride back to Mormont.

“Jon has a different part to play.”

“He is half a boy still.”

“No,” said Qhorin, “he is a man of the Night’s Watch.”

So here we know that Qhorin has a plan, and that it’s a hard plan. Note how Jon’s acceptance of this plan is framed as a marker of maturity. The next hint is even more grim.

“Is your sword sharp, Jon Snow?” Qhorin Halfhand asked across the flickering fire.

A hint in hindsight…Qhorin’s looking to assure himself that his end will be quick and painless as possible. No botched beheading for him. Then he asks Jon to speak his vows aloud with him, together. Jon takes comfort in the words too:

Jon opened and closed his burned fingers, holding tight to the words in his mind, praying that his father’s gods would give him the strength to die bravely when his hour came. It would not be long now.

Because it won’t be long now, it’s now that Qhorin hits Jon with the first half of the plan. He impresses the importance of their situation to Jon – if the Wall should ever fall, all the fires will go out. This is what underlines all of Jon’s subsequent actions and learning about the Free Folk. As sympathetic as Jon finds the Free Folk, he cannot forget this warning. Humanity cannot afford to lose the Wall. With that as context, Qhorin gives Jon his orders.

“If we are taken, you must yield.”

“Yield?” He blinked in disbelief. The wildlings did not make captives of those they called the crows. They killed them, except for…”They only spare oathbreakers. Those who join them, like Mance Rayder.”

Bingo.

Jon’s been struggling with principles and higher causes all book. Gilly was an early casualty. Then he had to deal with Ygritte. Here, in the climax of hi sarc this book, Qhorin calls on him to sacrifice his own honour for the higher cause. Jon’s immediate reaction is refusal, but Qhorin goes on.

“Our honour means no more than our lives, so long as the realm is safe. Are you a man of the Night’s Watch?”

Again, the link to maturity. Ironically, this might not work nearly so well if Jon was older and more mature.

Qhorin is arguing that keeping the Watch oath means carring out the Watch’s mission, over and above just clinging to the words. A cloak’s just some fabric, it can be cut up without affecting Jon’s loyalties; Jon’s father is dead and buried, he’ll know the truth of Jon’s cursing him beyond the grave. He tells Jon to watch. They still don’t know what Mance was digging for, and if it’s so important, they have to learn.

Jon can accept that argument, even if being seen as someone of principle matters to him. He’ll settle for the promise that Commander Mormont, who Jon actually cares for, will know the truth.

“I’ll do as you say,” Jon said reluctantly, “but…you will tell them, won’t you? The Old Bear, at least? You’ll tell him that I never broke my oath.”

Qhorin Halfhand gazed at him across the fire, his eyes lost in pools of shadow. “When I see him next. I swear it.”

By now the reader’s got plenty. Jon does too, if he knows to look. Qhorin Halfhand looks at Jon oddly at the request, and then promises it with no conditions, but also with that sole detail of “when I see him next.” There’s no warning Jon that Qhorin might not survive, because Qhorin knows he won’t survive.

They choose to make a stand where the Free Folk would have to come up two at a time. When the pre-battle taunting starts, Qhorin says,

“They would shame us into folly. […] Remember your orders.”

Another nice bit of double-speak from Qhorin. Without the context of his previous conversation with Jon, it sounds like Qhorin means that they’re being baited into a suicidal charge. Qhorin means that the Free Folk are attempting to shame Jon into fighting at all, rather than doing what Qhorin ordered him to. Jon’s still naive, but he’s far from stupid. He pick this up and yields.

Qhorin does his part, not only acting as though Jon truly turned cloack, but attributing it to his bastard status. We see later that quite a few of the Free Folk don’t share the Seven Kingdoms’ prejudice against bastards, but as Rattleshirt’s comment indicated, they certainly know of the prejudice.

Rattleshirt’s bone armour clattered loudly as he laughed. “Then kill the Halfhand, bastard.”

“As if he could,” said Qhorin. “Turn, Snow, and die.”

And then Qhorin’s sword was coming at him, and somehow Longclaw leapt upwards to block.

Qhorin’s still helping, reminding Jon verbally, and also by initiating the fight. He doesn’t give Jon the time to think, only to act. The fight only lasts about a page and Jon blocks desperately and then takes advantage of a Ghost-created opening. When Qhorin is dead, Jon realises what’s been going on all chapter:

He knew, he thought numbly. He knew what they would ask of me.

Having killed at fellow man of the Watch – this is the [edited - second] time Jon’s killed a living being – Jon starts thinking on the consequences. Showing his priorities, the first thing he thinks of is losing his friends and family as a result of this decision. Without said friends and family, without his oath, Jon is far less sure of his own identity.

A Free People

The Free Folk show not long after Qhorin decides to make a stand, because Qhorin knows what’s what. This is also the first real encounter Jon – and therefore the reader – has had with Free Folk society. If you’ll recall, the villagers have been missing from the old Free Folk villages, and Craster…is not much for any society. So here we go, jumping into an entirely new culture.

Their hunting dogs, Jon notices, are more than a little wolf, and when he sees a mounted man the horse reminds him more of a goat. There’s next to no metal in the party of fourteen that’s run them down – their shields are hide, their helms are wood and leather, and their weapons are mauls and spears. The old stone axe is an exception. Rattleshirt, making his entrance here, is armoured in many different types of bones rather than metal. The most notable types are the human bones (worrying) and the mammoth bones (tells us more about the local wildlife). There’s more than one spearwife in the company – at least three out of fourteen – when fighting women are a rarity south of the Wall.

Then we see more organisational differences as the Free Folk discuss whether to accept Jon into their ranks or not. There’s no clear command structure, here. Rattleshirt might have a horse and might be acting like he’s in charge, but we see Ygritte and the spearwife Ragwyle refuse to kill Jon on Rattleshirt’s orders, too. Ragwyle suggests Jon prove himself. After he does, we still have Rattleshirt arguing that Jon’s a crow and a warg, and should therefore die. The remainder shout him down.

These are a free folk indeed, thought Jon.

So there’s another reminder that Jon’s a product of his society too. He accepts the designated authority without questioning why that authority should be in charge. The Free Folk, feel, well, much more free to challenge the man in charge. As we’ll see, this is only to a certain extent.

Now in their company, and for the time being accepted as one of their company, Ygritte gives Jon the first bit of important information about the Free Folk’s agenda. Mance is marching on the Wall. End chapter. End Jon’s ACoK chapters.

Chapter Function

This chapter puts a rather definitive end to the group mission to gather information, and instead sets Jon on an entirely different information-gathering mission. This one is every bit as physically dangerous, and far more psychologically perilous. Undercover work that requires him to do one thing, unhesitatingly, while believing something very different is going to test him.

ACoK is another book where Jon’s identity development mirrors Dany’s. They’ve both spent the book road-testing their decisions about their future, Dany as a queen and Jon as a man of the Watch, and now they’re headed into some really deep waters.

This is also the start of the path that will lead Jon to consider allowing the Free Folk past the Wall. As Qhorin told Jon, if the Wall falls, all the fires will go out – but the Free Folk can’t do that.

Miscellany

This chapter gives us a view of skinchanging that’s considerably different from the mysticism we see in Bran’s chapters. Skinchanging, at this point of Jon’s story, is a strangely practical business. Got a soul-deep connection with an eagle? Use it to see out the eagle’s eyes? Well, forget religion for a bit, there’s valuable military intelligence to be had.

We still don’t have confirmation of Stonesnake’s death or survival.

Even as this chapter discusses the potential stakes of Jon’s storyline and what’s to be found beyond the Wall, we get some fire = life imagery. (Aside from the fact that Jon and Qhorin are discussing this entire matter over a lone fire they’ve built in a frozen wasteland.) Most noticeably, Jon observes that the wood he burns lives again in the flames.

Jon dreams of burning castles and dead men rising from their graves. Meanwhile, at Winterfell…

Clothing Porn

None. North of the Wall is not exactly a fashion hub.

Food Porn

None. It’s food anti-porn, with the description of horse blood porridge.

Next Three Chapters

Sansa VII, ACoK – Arya II, AGoT – Tyrion VII, AGoT

#ASoIaF #valyrianscrolls #revisiting chapters #jon snow #a clash of kings

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stedes-black-bonnet · 5 years

Text

My Baby Does Me: Chapter 9

POV: John Deacon x reader

Notes: Ongoing fic, want on the tag list? Let me know. Bit more Roger here than the others, evens out a bit in the end, leading to some heavy Deacy x reader action for the next chapter (patience is a virtue?)

Warnings: idk Roger has some dirty thoughts? Drinking?

Abstract: Roger can’t make up his mind; Brian notices what's missing from his life; Freddie and Jim attempt to push you and a certain bassist closer together.

Roger Taylor had met his match. He was certain; he was in denial. Well, this kind of thing, a permanent attachment, wasn’t in the stars for him. He was certain of that. He was also in denial about it. His honed hands pulled Lydia on to his lap. Her slippery red dress flowed over his legs, obscuring them from view. His vigorous fingers traced up Lydia’s thighs. He was drawing on her in the same way he was drawing his own conclusions about his own life. Which was to say, more or less randomly. He had yet to meet anyone capable, he thought, of reining him in. He had never really had reason to not partake of as many ladies as there were names for them.

No perfect Goddess in Red was going to change his mind on this. Sure, she was witty, gorgeous, sensuous, she was bloody well perfection walking in the night. He felt like she was always one step ahead of him and instead of being irritated by that quality--like he was with a certain John Deacon--he found it consumingly desirable. He wanted to be challenged by someone. Maybe Lydia was just the person to swing into his life and alter it forever? Maybe he should just leave well enough alone and be alone forever, doing whatever he pleased with whomever he pleased to do it with? She was something else entirely, though. A game changer.

He was certain. He was in denial.

Lydia was daring, uncouth. She was aware of it, knew people either hated her or envied her for it. He adored this about her. Her ability to just not care. He, perhaps, cared a bit too much. Roger had a temper. That was the negative way of putting it, and, in fact, when people said he had a temper, or tried talking to him about his temper, if often put him in a sour mood and caused him to have a temper. Rather, he liked to think of himself as passionate. He’d throw televisions as often as he threw words; they were one and the same for him; they were a means to an end. And Lydia was a very beautiful means to an end.

There was something about her though. Something usually tantalizing. Some forgotten whisper that said to him she was the kind of woman to keep beyond tonight, beyond one night. A keeper. No, best not to go there, he thought to himself. Denial was useful. Or was it? He was in denial about denial now. Great. This was, he was certain, Lydia’s fault. He had met her yesterday, and, he’d need Bri to explain it to him later, but he swore when he saw her, everything stopped but her. Her hair, he recalled the most. It had been blowing in the breeze of a fan, each tendril reaching out to him like a helping hand. Each caresses of each tress was an invitation. Come to me, it said. He was certain of it.

And he certainly wanted to come to her.

She was so captivating he took his sunglasses off to really look at her. She had been wearing a lilac-colored flowing top that slithered over her body like leather. She had this quality to make even gauzy, floating fabrics sing on her skin. It was as if even something as blasé as fabrics wanted to be close to her. Everything, everyone wanted to be close to Lydia. Of this, Roger was also certain. He wanted to be close to her. Close enough to breathe in the scent of her skin, taste her sweat. Close enough to mingle his with hers.

She hadn’t noticed him yet, Roger was certain. Chatting with someone else, though he couldn’t recall details outside of her. Man or woman, it didn’t matter which, he did remember feeling jealous of whoever she was talking to; she should be talking to him. Maybe she should be talking to him forever.

In the club, they finally locked eyes, and he couldn’t remember his name.

His name.

He couldn’t remember his name.

At 32, he figured remembering his name would be routine by now. He had taken for granted, he guessed, the value of being able to instantly recall his own name. He was in denial, though. He was in Queen, one of the most famous bands in the world. He played the drums, wrote some songs, and sang with the best singer any rock-band has ever had. But what exactly what his own name? How many drinks had he had? Five? Maybe six? It was his first night back from tour, and he was letting go to be sure, but he had never forgotten his own name.

Or had he? No, he was certain he hadn’t and he was even more certain it had nothing to do with the alcohol. He wasn’t an amateur, after all.

He’d have to go to her. He finished off his gin, slid the glass down the bar. It was undeniably a slick move.

Then, before he could actually make his move, before he could walk even a pace, she started moving towards him.

Roger was stunned. He couldn’t move. Great. Now he couldn’t move or remember his name. What exactly was happening to him?

He was the kind of person who approached people, not the kind of person who was approached. It was a self-confidence thing, he thought. His confidence came from actions and making bold choices, and in a split second acting on them. He was thrown off by this reversal of fortune. Simultaneously attracted and afraid of her boldness, frozen to the spot, his appreciation and desire for her grew by the second.

Her dauntlessness did not help him recall his name, however. What if I can’t remember it by the time she gets to me? Leaning up against the bar, he tried to look cool, effortless, and coherent. He wasn’t the kind of person who had to try to look like any of those things, however. He just simply was cool, calculatingly so; he was effortless, easy to laugh and to make others laugh; he always had a comeback and would fight to the hilt in any argument; he had a reputation for drinking too much, partying too much, seducing too much, and good on him, he thought. The only problem here wasn’t his myriad appetites. The problem was that he was vastly intelligent on top of it all.

He was labeled the pretty one, and not the smart one. He had a brain, though he didn’t always have to resort to using it to get what he wanted; therefore, his means to challenging himself, to being entertained, increased in danger and intrigue over the years to satiate an unknown wish to be of use, to be challenged, to be seen as more than another stereotypical pretty rock-star.

Sizing up Lydia, he thought, brains or looks, which to use to win her?

The mistake was his, he’d find out later. Because they were birds of a feather in this respect; brians and dashingly good looks mixed in one vessel. A deadly combination in the right hands, he was certain. Maybe, he’d let her pick, let her speak first.

Lydia reached him, and stared at him. She said nothing, just looked at the only man worth looking at in the entire club. She raised a contoured eyebrow at him, silently asking him if the cat had his tongue.

“I’m afraid you have possession of something that is mine,” Roger Taylor said.

“Oh, what would that be? Your heart?” She rolled her eyes at him. She’d heard every line before. With each passing second he was disappointing her. She thought the great Roger Taylor would be different.

“My tongue,” he grinned at her.

It was her turn to be shocked now; she hadn’t expected that retort.

“I’d like it back,” he said, holding a hand out to her, presumably for his tongue back.

She took his hand, “Well, Roger Taylor, if I give it back to you, what will you do with it?”

Roger Taylor, right. He thought, “Well, come to my party tomorrow night, and I’ll show you. Beauty like yours should be shared.”

“Alright,” Lydia said. She brought his hand up to her mouth, and licked the back of it.

It was the most brazen act he had ever seen, ever been party to, and he couldn’t get enough of it--he couldn’t get enough of her. He wanted more.

Lydia let go of his hand, “Lydia Wesmor.”

“Roger Taylor,” he said.

“Yes, I know.” She said.

Did he know then she was everything he was looking for in a partner without knowing what he was looking for in the first place? Probably not, but he was a man in denial, after all. He told her the address of Garden Lodge, suggested she bring a friend, and put his baby blue sunglasses back on. He turned around to order drinks for them at the bar, but when he turned around to ask what she wanted, she was gone from sight.

Did I imagine her, he thought?

He kept tracing his fingers up Lydia’s thighs, pushing the boundaries as far as she’d allow him to. They were in public, after all, and in Freddie and Jim’s bedroom no less. Even though the band was used to this kind of behavior from him, he didn’t want to push boundaries with them too far right now; things were tense among the band these days.

It was the ridiculous disco album they were cutting, Roger thought. He didn’t want to think about it right now. No, right now he wanted to think about Lydia’s thighs, and what was between them, and how much he wanted to be between them.

Roger looked at her lips, then. Painted red, they were a toreador’s cape and he wasn’t strong enough to resist the urge to chase them. He wanted her. Though for how long, he couldn’t decide. His heart had already made up its mind on the matter, but he didn’t want to listen to his heart to right now. His heart only got him in trouble. And even though right now he wanted to be very naughty, he didn’t want to be in trouble. The difference was subtle, but not to him, to him it was a clear line. So, he pushed the sighs of his heart to the side, at least for tonight.

Over Lydia’s shoulder he saw Freddie’s arm slip from his knee and cascade into Jim’s. He saw Freddie trace the green seam in Jim’s pants, and soon they held hands. Freddie and Jim, how could Roger ever live up to them? God’s own bloody love story on bloody earth, he thought. Maybe it was better to not feel for others, to not have attachments, to not fall in love. But, they looked so happy, staring into each other’s eyes behind Lydia’s back.

Jim kissed Freddie’s hand.

A melancholic look flashed in Roger’s eyes, and he knew his heart wanted that kind of intimacy with someone. That tender gesture was so different from when he had met Lydia and she had licked his hand. Or was it? Maybe it was the same? This was a dangerous path, he thought.

He shook his head, in denial. “Lydia,” he said, “Can I take you away from these Queens?”

“Lay on, MacDuff,” Lydia challenged.

Roger Taylor, a man determined to not make up his mind yet, lifted Lydia into the air. She squealed playfully. He was stronger than he looked. He spun her around, and slowly, so slowly lowered her to the ground. Her feet touched the floor, and she looked up at him, smiling.

What was she thinking, he thought? Can she see right through me? He had never felt more invisible.

He was in denial again, because, for Lydia, he was all she saw.

She put her hand in his, ready for anything. Roger pulled her towards the doorway.

“If this is losing sardines, I must adopt the losing temperament more often.” Roger gloated to the room at large.

“That’d be a first,” Brian said, from his armchair.

Roger, leading Lydia through the doorway, heard Deacy singing behind him, “Ooh I need your loving…”

Freddie’s clear voice joined Deacy’s, “Ooh I need your loving tonight!”

Roger thought he’d still have the last laugh tonight.

Watching your friend leave with the one and only Roger Meddows Taylor, you found yourself thinking of John Deacon. You let your gaze return to him.

Deacy had been watching Freddie and Jim, a strange expression on his face, but his eyes flicked fast onto yours when he sensed you looking. A small smiled spread across his face.

“Are you all always like this?” You asked, intrigued.

“More or less,” Deacy said.

“A bit more lately, to be honest.” Brian added lightly. There was an edge to his voice that hadn’t been there earlier.

“Any particular reason?” You questioned.

“Yes,” Brain said, “Though now isn’t the time to get into it.” He stood from his chair, and walked over to Freddie and Jim. “A great party as always, Fred.”

Freddie stood and hugged one of his oldest friends. Brain then hugged Jim. He turned to you, and extended his hand to you. “It really was a pleasure meeting you, Y/N. I hope we will see each other again soon.”

You stood to shake his hand, “I hope we do too, Brian.”

Deacy danced up to Brian to say goodnight.

“Don’t get into too much trouble, Deacy.” He said cheekily.

“There you go, confusing me for Rog, again.” Deacy shook his head, and hugged Brian.

Brian turned and walked through the bedroom door and out into the hallway beyond. His mind was buzzing. What a bizarre night! Full of new people, two in particular seemed to be likely to stick around, he thought. Two new women. It was so painfully easy for his friends to meet people. They all seemed to meet people wherever they went these days. Maybe meet wasn’t the right word, he reasoned. His friends seemed to easily become acquainted, instantly delve into knowing the people they’d meet. Brian would often fumble around his words around new people; he needed time to warm up, to get comfortable around people. Fred and Rog--even the quiet-as-a-game Deacy--took to people as easily as people took to them. It was, more or less, natural for them. Brian always had to work at it.

Brain marveled at their abilities to make themselves at home in any situation. He much preferred the company of animals to people. Maybe he just hadn’t met the right people yet. The right person, he thought. He wasn’t precisely lonely. But he did notice a vacancy in his life that had nothing to do with his robust friendships. Roger was his best friend. They couldn’t be more different in some respects. Here he was, leaving Fred’s party alone, while Roger was leaving with another stunning woman on his arm. People rarely made sense; this was why he enjoyed physics. Everything had its place and if one factor was obstructed, or flawed, it showed, and was easily solved. You couldn’t just solve people. Especially not his friends. They were all so confusingly different and splendid. Brain didn’t want to think of what life would be life without them; even on the days when they were fighting more than creating music, he still loved them. He wouldn’t change them for the world. Though he wouldn’t mind a romantic relationship of his own in the meantime.

“Did one of you manage to lift Rog’s keys tonight?” Freddie asked in a way that made this seem old hat, like it was another private game they all played with each other.

“I did,” Deacy said, pulling a pair of keys from his pants pocket. He tossed them to Jim.

“When he found us at the bar, right?” Jim asked. “You were quite subtle.”

“Was he, darling?” Freddie asked, excitedly wanting every detail of parts of the party he had missed.

“I was impressed. Roger was so distracted by Deacy’s interest in Y/N, here. He wasn’t able to really focus on anything else, including the stealing his car keys.”

Deacy smiled at Jim, and walked over to you, “Was it really that obvious?” He asked you.

“Was what obvious?” You asked, not wanting to assume.

“My interest in you?”

“Yes,” You and Jim said at the same time. You both laughed. Jim gave you an encouraging wink.

“Well, shall we leave them alone, you think, my love?” Freddie asked Jim theatrically.

“What? In our bedroom?” Jim asked in mock-horror. “Good lord, imagine what they’d do in here if left alone…”

“I do suppose we could stay and watch…?” Freddie suggested.

“For science, surely.” Jim responded, “Brian would want us to collect data, after all…”

“We could even join them, I suppose.” Freddie sighed, it was the sigh of a man mustering up the courage to do a job no one really wanted to do. It was all an act, and he had it down to a tee. Everything was a production.

“They might need pointers.” Jim agreed.

“Have you ever even slept with a woman?” Freddie asked incredulously.

“Well, no,” Jim said, “But I’m sure I could figure out the mechanics.”

Tag List: @phantom-fangirl-stuff @triggeredpossum @obsessedwithrogertaylor @groupiie-love @richiethotzierz @partydulce @sophierobisonartfoundationblr @psychostarkid @teathymewithben @smittyjaws @just-ladyme @botinstqueen

#john deacon x reader #John Deacon #roger taylor #roger taylor x reader #brian may #freddie mercury #jim hutton #bohemian rhapsody #Queen #queen x reader #ben hardy #Rami Malek #gwilym lee #joe mazzello

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