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the32ndbeat · 3 years

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𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮 | 𝐣.𝐲𝐧 - [ 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟛 ]

pairing: stalker!jaehyun x fem!reader ( ft twice’s tzuyu, loona’s haseul )

word count: 2.4k

warnings: swearing, mentions of alcohol, alcohol consumption, mentions of sexual harassment, mature themes, mentions of drugs, smoking, extreme views, misogyny, yandere themes

a/n: unedited! it’s been forever since I updated this but also considering if I should turn this into a tbz series at my tbz writing blog so we’ll see how this goes.

taglist: I don’t have one yet and I’m seeing how this does since I’m thinking whether I should convert it into a tbz series. Please do lemme know if you guys want to see this continued!

disclaimer: everything written here is FICTIONAL and I am in no way saying that the mentioned characters act like that irl!

masterlist

(inspired by netflix’s you and the book of the same name by caroline kepnes)

The first thing that registers in my mind is how fucking loud this place is. Seriously, what is it with college parties and their inherent need to blast music loud enough to wake the entire neighbourhood within a five mile radius? Before I even step within the premises or even make it to the front yard, the whole fraternity house seemed to shake from the loudness of the bass-boosted music when viewed from a distance away. I even had to squint as I approach, the strings of fluorescent party lights draped all over the place glowing so brightly it almost hurt to look straight.

A few drunk college frat boys stumble past me, their hair sticky and messy with sweat and their breaths reeking of cheap alcohol. Their steps are wobbly and I can even see drool and remnants of vomit hanging at the corner of their mouths. My heart clenches with pure disgust and I grit my teeth as I watch them laugh out loud over nothing, their brains a pink, unintelligent mush in their skulls, probably rotted by endless drinking and fucking. All part of the college frat experience.

I wonder if they enjoy being a complete waste of space while wasting mummy and daddy’s money to put them through college.

I look away and ignore the growing irritation in me. This is the sort of party your friends wanted you to go with them to? I thought your friends were bad influences but scratch that, they’re fucking horrible. They taint you, taint your innocence and put you at risk around such dangerous men who do not deserve to be even a mile within your presence. As I walk closer, the house looks even more hideous up close.

It’s decorated in the worst way I’ve seen a house decorated. It’s as if someone threw a bunch of random fairy lights bought in the brightest, blinding neon colours that simply do not go together over a sloppy looking house and the front yard is littered with empty, red plastic cups and is that a discarded bra I see over there?

I tiptoe over the trash laying around on the grass and try to avoid the gyrating bodies of college students who clearly have no sense of rhythm. My skin feels grimy within just a few minutes of being here and I can’t wait to leave but there is no way I’m leaving when I know that you will be here. The thought of you being surrounded by such vermins makes me sick to the stomach and I want to get you out of here. The only place you should rightfully be, is at my place where there are no revolting men who only love to drink cheap alcohol, party till sunrise, get high off smoking a blunt, yell ‘turn up!’ every few minutes as if it’s muscle memory in their tiny, almost non-existent brains and do anything but be a productive member of society.

As I push through the double doors, the nauseating smell containing a mixture of intoxicating alcohol, smoke and cheap cologne almost knocks me backwards. My hand grips tighter to the wooden door and I force myself in. Inside, the house is dim but bright at the same time with disco and laser lights. A massive boombox and a pair of equally large loudspeakers sit at the corner of the room and some hip hop tune is being played while people dance and drink and smoke to their hearts’ delight. You’d never believe these kids were supposed to be the future.

Oh, how disappointed their parents must be.

A girl in skimpy shorts and a tube top looks at me with unadulterated want and beckoning in her eyes while staring at the varsity jacket I’m wearing, no doubt replaying fantasies of fucking a college athlete in her mind and trying to guess which sport I supposedly play. I gaze blankly at them before turning away and I can see her shift from the corner of my eye, obviously bothered by the lack of attention. It’s like I can almost see the gears whirring in her brain. Did she not show enough cleavage? Is more skin needed to get my attention? Sometimes people are so predictable and readable that it’s almost pathetic.

Other times, I might have lowered my standards and settled for a casual fuck with someone like that but not today. Today, I’m a man on a mission. A mission to look out for you.

My eyes scan the room but it’s too dim to see anything within four feet in any direction. The flashing lights threaten to overwhelm me along with the stink of the place and booming music and I can feel my annoyance evolving into anger. I repress the urge to slap the shit out of a guy in a red bandana who screams ‘turn up’ all of sudden, practically effectively bursting my eardrums.

I almost bump into a couple eating each other’s faces out when someone yells out at me.

“Hey, you!”

The music is so loud that I almost don’t hear it. I whip around and sure enough, it’s tube top girl making her way over to me. You have got to be fucking kidding me. Not only do I have to find and save you from this sleazy place and have to squeeze in with a crowd of sweaty, brainless college kids who know nothing but party in a tiny, dirty, smelly frat house but now I also have tube top girl hot on my heels?

The things I do for you, y/n and we haven’t even properly gotten to know each other yet.

“Hey, how’s it going?” Tube top girl smiles and up close, I can see that her mascara is smudged and her hair is slicked back with an unholy amount of gel into a tight little bun which only makes her face look wider and her forehead exposed with a sheen of sweat covering it. Her lipstick is reapplied and I know for a fact that she has done it to impress me. Her top is also inched a little lower, as if that makes her anymore appealing.

I smile in a dismissive way, in a way that showed that I cared, but not really.

“Hey,” I reply flippantly.

“Crazy party huh?” She grins, satisfied that she’s got my attention now. Women.

I let my eyes drift to her breasts and look back up at her expectant, puppy dog eyes that are so eager to please it’s actually embarrassing.

“Yeah.”

“What’s your name? I’m Meg.”

“I’m Jaehyun.”

“You part of any sports team in school?” And just like that I know that tube top girl must have had fantasies of fucking a college athlete.

So predictable.

“Yeah, I’m on the swim team.” I say and her smile widens, a playfulness in her eyes as she leans her chest in closer in what was meant to be a sexy gesture.

“Oh, is that so? I’ve never really talked to a competitive swimmer before,” she replies in a sultry voice and I smirk.

“Well, here I am. Am I every bit of the guy you imagined a college swimmer to be?” I whisper in an equally sultry voice. Let her think she has me wrapped around her finger. It’s easier that way. Better for her to think I’m enthralled with her and her breasts than let her cling onto me the entire night.

“Mhm,” she says, “of course.”

I’m about to reply when something catches my eye. From the window, I see you and your friends stumbling and swaying down the sidewalk, away from the party. Internally, I feel my rage simmering again but not at anyone. At myself.

How was I so late that I didn’t manage to stop this from happening? How are you already drunk? How did this happen?

A million questions are racing through my mind and my vision almost blurs with white hot anger as I imagine a slimy frat guy placing his greasy hands on you while you sit there, drunk and uninhibited in that dress that seemed to accentuate your every single curve. You look simply gorgeous in that dress and I fucking hate to think that other guys in this whole house may have made a pass at you. Why was I so late? Would I have been just a little bit earlier if tube top Meg didn’t stop me? I should have left the moment she decided to strike up conversation. This is my karma for letting other temptations get in the way. I vow to myself that this will never happen again as I extricate myself away from Meg’s clutches (“Hey! Where are you going?” She calls out and I ignore her).

I shove people out of the way and do not care for their protests and yelps. Fuck them and fuck this entire shithole of a house. I scramble through the door and maintain my distance as I follow you and your friends down the pavement and past the buildings within the campus. I watch and cringe as you seem to crumple under the weight of your friends’ arm and quickly realise that you aren’t drunk. Your friends are. Stupidly drunk.

I feel my heart relax and my stomach unclench. Of course, you wouldn’t be. You are good. And smart. Too smart to get drunk in a place like that. You know what are the risks and you are above such parties. Your friends though, I couldn’t say the same. Which brings me back to why you need better friends but that’s besides the point. I can see a few guys hanging at the other side of the street who leer at the group of you, clearly getting their dick hard at the thought of a group of vulnerable girls roaming these empty streets at night.

It’s dangerous. But that’s what I’m here for. They see me next and they look away.

I will do what I can to protect you, y/n. Even if that means protecting your good for nothing friends in the process.

All of a sudden, I see you trip and it’s like everything is in slow motion. You fall forward and I take long strides over, my legs stretching out and rushing to help you. Before your knees can hit the rough ground, I have you in my arms, encircled around your waist as I hold you up. I have your other friend, Haseul upright with my other hand tugging at the collar of her jacket. Your friend Tzuyu is not so fortunate and falls flat but she barely notices it, smiling tipsily to herself instead.

You glance up at me with those large eyes and I could get lost in them right there and then. But as quickly as we have our moment, you move away and I see a hint of suspicion in your eyes. We separate and the moment you extract yourself from my arms, I already want you back. Your touch feels addictive already. What have you done to me?

“Thanks.” You say curtly and I admire the fact that you have boundaries, not like Meg. You are hard to get and that’s what makes you so appealing. You are to be earned and respected.

You help Tzuyu to her feet and as you turn to leave with your friends, I call out, “is there any way I can help?”

You regard me with caution and open your mouth to reject me but then suddenly, the tenseness in your eyes relax.

“Do I know you?”

You remember me. Halle-fucking-lujah! I want to wrap you in my arms again but I play it cool.

“I… don’t…?”

Your eyes grow wide and the recognition seeps in.

“Wait! You’re from that hardware store right? Jaehyun?”

I pretend to be surprised when I’m actually fucking overjoyed.

“Yeah, wait… You’re that girl with the rope right?”

You laugh and it’s the most melodious thing I’ve ever heard in forever.

“Yup, that’s me. Kind of mortified that’s how you remember me but sure,” you say and your eyes twinkle but then you continue with a more subdued tone, “what are you doing here?”

I pat my chest good-naturedly.

“Friend of mine is a student here. I just came over to visit and he gave me his varsity jacket so I could try feeling like a college student for once. Never been to college so… yeah. I thought I’d like to try it out for fun.” I reply and shoot you an awkward smile, the kind you do when you try to get someone to favour you and think of you as ‘adorable’.

It works and you smile gently.

“That’s pretty cool, you’ve got a good friend.”

And you haven’t, I think but don’t say.

I gesture towards you and your friends.

“Need any help?”

You look at your drunken friends and back at me and I sense you thinking. Finally, you decide that you do need my help and chuckle, “We live right at that block over there and I think I might die halfway there. I’m not fit enough to hold 2 people.”

That’s so like you. So compassionate over friends who clearly didn’t give a shit that you didn’t want to go to some god forsaken party, so caring over friends who get drunk and don’t take responsibility, so helpful to take care of friends who literally do not give a fuck about you. You are not beautiful on the outside but on the inside too and as I loop Tzuyu’s arm over my neck and hold her, I wish I was holding you instead.

We amble over to the front of your block and we part, you thank me and we say our goodbyes and it’s all too soon. I want to be with you for longer, I want us to talk and I want you to invite me to your room but reality is often much less exciting and more boring.

“I’ll see you!” You call out, smiling as I walk away and I wave back, my heart soaring.

Today is a good day, I think and as I round the corner to the next street, I slip the keycard out of my pocket and feel the hard plastic under my finger.

Wasn’t difficult honestly. Your friends should really learn to keep their valuables in safe places, not the back pocket of their jeans.

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sindrafalcone · 3 years

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Adventures in Babysitting pt. 3

Fandom: BIGBANG/ Choi Seung Hyun x reader

Synopsis: A babysitting job turns into something unexpected…

Warnings: Fluff for now, but it will evolve into something steamier in a later chapter. You’ve been warned!

Author’s Note: It has been entirely too long since I updated this story! My apologies... But I finally think I’m un-stuck on the storyline, so hopefully I can finish it in a reasonable amount of time. Thanks for sticking with me, and I hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. This story contains fictional representations of real people. None of the events are true. This is from an American standpoint, so some of the situations may not happen the same way they might in Korea. I make no money from the writing of this fictional work.

Masterlist

Part 1 Part 2

You had only made it about half a block before Seunghyun stopped dead in his tracks. When he quit moving you did as well, peering at him to see if he was okay. Between the dim city lights and his face mask you couldn't make out very much, but he was still holding on to your hand so that had to count for something. Before you could ask him what was wrong, he spoke softly. “This place that you're taking me...” his deep voice trembled a little bit. “Is it going to be very busy?”

You were a little taken aback by the clear apprehension in his voice. But then you remembered how happy he'd been when you had given him his space back at the museum. Maybe he just didn't like crowds.

“Sometimes it can be.” you admitted. “Usually around lunch time, but this late at night I doubt there's very many people in there. It's just a small Mom & Pop shop.” He seemed to take a moment to think about what you said & you patiently waited for what he was going to say next. Perhaps he was getting cold feet about having dinner with you and just wanted to go back to the hotel instead.

“I still want to go with you.” he said, as if reading your mind. “I just... um, do you know if they have a private room?”

“Yeah...” you answered him hesitantly, not really seeing where he was going with this. “There's a medium sized room in the back of the restaurant that can be reserved for parties or large groups.”

“Do you think maybe you could call ahead and ask if we could eat in there?” Seunghyun shifted his weight back and forth from foot to foot nervously. “I'll be happy to pay extra if they want. Or if that's not available, we'll need a table in the very back, preferably as far away from other people as possible.”

You looked at him closely for a bit before taking out your phone. You decided he was being completely serious and you had the fleeting thought that he might actually have a phobia about this. “Okay... give me a minute.” you relented & you could finally see the tension in his shoulders relax as you did so. He let go of your hand so you could make the call and you found that you missed his warmth more than you wanted to admit.

Luckily for him, you were very good friends with the owners. You had been eating lunch there almost every day since you'd found the place a couple years back. The food was good and relatively cheap, especially once they had started giving you the 'family discount' even though you had tried to object. In a matter of minutes, you had secured the private room for you and Seunghyun to use. You brought up his willingness to pay a fee, but the owner just laughed at you. Telling her that you'd be there soon, you hung up only to find him looking at you anxiously.

“We can use the private room.”

“Oh, good.” he sighed, relief obvious in his voice. “That usually works out much better.”

You really wanted to question him about this whole thing, but decided that it might be better to wait until you were actually in the restaurant or maybe even back at the hotel before deciding to pry into his apparent agoraphobia. This time Seunghyun held his hand out for you to take & you stared at it in shock for a few seconds before gleefully interlacing your fingers again and setting off once more towards your destination for food.

When you rounded the corner and pulled him in the direction of the restaurant, he stopped once again.

“Pho?” he said, a curious tone to his voice. “You're taking me out for Pho?”

You turned to face him, not letting go this time. “Is that a problem?”

“No...” he smiled & you could see it in his eyes, despite the face mask he still wore. “I'm pleasantly surprised. That's all.”

“Well come on then.” you told him, playfully tugging him along towards the door. “I'm starving!”

He chuckled and the two of you tumbled into the warmth of the Pho shop holding hands, laughing and pink cheeked from the cool outside air.

“You didn't tell me it was a date!” the woman who stood at the counter exclaimed loudly. “_______! You should have warned me.”

“It isn't... we're not...” you stammered, looking down at your interlocked hands. You attempted to pull away, but Seunghyun just held tighter and chuckled louder.

“Nonsense! I know a date when I see one.” she dismissed as she motioned for the two of you to follow her to the room in the back. “I wondered why you wanted to use the party room. You should have just said, dear!”

Thankfully you noticed that the restaurant was mostly empty as she walked you through it, so there weren't very many witnesses to your embarrassment and none that you recognized.

She opened the door and gestured the two of you inside. “Here, just sit at the smaller table in the middle of the room. It will be more intimate that way.”

Beside you, Seunghyun made a small choking sound as she continued fussing. “I wish you had told me it was a date when you called. I would have set up some candles or something.”

“It's fine.” you told her, voice cracking a bit. “It'll be fine just like this.” You all but ripped your hand away from Seunghyun's and started to take off your coat, but before you made it very far you felt his hands slide over yours to remove it for you. Then he draped it carefully over a nearby empty chair before he set about sliding out of his own outerwear.

“Such a gentleman!” the old lady exclaimed, hearts practically dancing in her eyes as she backed out of the room. “I'll be back with your drinks shortly.”

As soon as the door closed behind her, you rounded on Seunghyun and hissed. “What the hell was that?”

He held his hands up innocently, face mask still dangling from one long-fingered hand. “What?” he asked, laughing slightly, his eyes lit with mirth.

You plopped down into a chair inelegantly. “I was trying to let go of your hand and explain to her that this wasn't a date...”

“Is it not?” he interrupted, setting his mask down on top of his coat. “She's right, it does look like a date. And, you have to admit, it's slightly less awkward than the truth... that you're my babysitter.” he put a special emphasis on that last word that made you squirm in your seat a little bit.

“True...” you agreed. “I suppose when you put it like that...”you started, but Seunghyun held his hand up to you again just as he had earlier in the evening at the hotel. And, just like before, you stopped talking.

“But that isn't what's important right now.” he told you as he pulled out a chair and sat down in the seat across from you.

“It isn't?”

“No.” he said, his face utterly serious, all traces of joking gone. “It's probably best that she thinks it's a date. But I have to tell you something before she gets back.”

You leaned forward, resting your elbows on the table so you could give Seunghyun your full attention. He leaned forward as well, until your faces were mere inches apart.

“___________.” he whispered your name. “I have a confession to make. I'm not...” he took a deep breath and blew it out. “I'm not who you think I am.”

“A rich, foreign guy with impeccable fashion sense who knows his wine and appreciates contemporary art?” you quirked an eyebrow at him, spilling all the details that you'd managed to piece together over the past few hours you'd spent with Seunghyun (or at least all the observations that you were willing to admit to him, anyway).

He flashed you a dangerous smile. “Well, yes... I am those things. But that's not all of who I am and you need to know the vital details before...”

The door the room slid open again, interrupting whatever Seunghyun had been about to say & he cursed quietly under his breath. You watched as he leaned back in his seat and winced, seeming to brace himself for something he knew was inevitably coming. From the pained expression on his face, it didn't look as if he expected it to be pleasant.

“I've got your usual right here. Iced Vietnamese coffee and a glass of water. I brought the same for your gentleman, I hope that's okay.” the older lady said as she bustled over towards you. “Now, do you two love birds need menus or...” her voice trailed off as she finally made it to the table and caught a clear view of Seunghyuns face, without his mask. “Oh my...” her voice faltered, the tray immediately started shaking in her hands.

“Ma'am...” Seunghyun said tightly, pinching the bridge of his nose with his eyes still closed.

“Oh my goodness!” she practically yelled, her voice echoing slightly in the almost empty room. “Y- y- you're... T.O.P!” she whispered those last three letters as if they were some sort of secret.

You just looked between the two of them, completely lost as to what was going on. “Um, Mrs. Tran?” you placed a hand carefully on her arm to get her attention away from Seunghyun.

“Yes, dear?” she asked, still looking at him with sheer disbelief written all over her elderly face.

“You might want to set the tray down before you drop it.” you told her gently.

“Oh, yes... good idea.” she replied, voice weak.

She did finally manage to set the tray down on the table with a little help from you.

Seunghyun sighed, opened his eyes & smiled at the old woman. It was a polite smile, but tight. Something that someone who hadn't spent much time with him probably wouldn't notice as a fake smile, but you could see it nonetheless.

“Mrs. Tran...” he soothed, having picked up her name from when you'd said it. “Tonight, I'm not T.O.P. I'm just Seunghyun, trying to enjoy a normal date with the lovely ________, here. I'm happy to sign as many autographs as you want and I'll even mention this restaurant on my Instagram if you'd like a boost in business. But I'd appreciate it if you could keep my visit here a secret for now. And please, no pictures.” Seunghyun gestured over to you. “I'd like to keep our date as private as possible.”

You were so confused right now, but Mrs. Tran seemed to understand what was going on. It was as if a light bulb immediately went off over the little woman's head and she smiled knowingly. “Oooohhhhh, I get it. Don't worry, you aren't the first celebrity we've had in here. It's just been a very long time and you caught me off guard, that's all. I know how to be discreet.”

“Thank you.” he said with a little bow towards her that made her giggle like a school girl and blush.

“Now that's settled...” she clapped her hands together excitedly. “Menus?”

“I think I'll trust __________ to order for both of us. She obviously knows this place quite well.” Seunghyun said with a wink in your direction.

“Um...” you faltered, still reeling from their entire conversation, not to mention the fact that he had just referred to you as 'lovely'. 'Celebrity?' you thought quickly to yourself. 'What the hell is going on here & what have I gotten myself into?!?' you cleared your throat awkwardly.

“Is there anything you don't want to eat?” you asked him. “Or are you allergic to anything?”

Seunghyun smiled. “I'm allergic to peaches & I don't eat intestines. Other than that, I'm fair game.” he said, already reaching for a glass of water from the tray.

You nodded at him at turned back to face Mrs Tran. “Just double my usual then.”

“So...” she pulled out an order pad and pen from her apron. “A double #4 and two medium # 45's?”

“Actually, make those #45's a large please. We're both kinda hungry tonight.” you said without thinking of the implications of that sentence.

“Oh, I bet you are.” she sassed under her breath as she walked away, causing Seunghyun to almost snort water out of his nose. Mrs. Tran merely hummed happily to herself as she walked out of the room. As soon as the door shut, you could hear her yelling in Vietnamese, presumably to her husband who was in the kitchen.

You briefly thought about immediately grilling Seunghyun about this whole “celebrity” business, but as you remembered the look on his face as he braced himself earlier, you paused. You never wanted to see that look from him directed at you. So instead, you settled for pouring the coffee that had just finished steeping over the ice & sweetened, condensed milk in the other glass.

“Are we going to talk about this or would you rather pretend that whole scene never happened?” you asked, not trusting yourself to look at him.

A few seconds ticked by before he answered quietly. “You'd be willing to do that? Just ignore everything she said about me?”

You shrugged, stirring your coffee to combine it with the milk. “I mean... I'll admit to being curious. But it obviously bothers you & I was just fine with not knowing before.”

Seunghyun sighed heavily before pouring his own coffee. “Right now, I'm just Seunghyun to you. A rich, foreign guy with impeccable fashion sense who knows his wine and appreciates contemporary art.” he smirked. “If I tell you everything, that changes.” he said, his voice melancholy.

“It doesn't have to.” you told him softly. “Let's try this... You tell me your secret, and I'll tell you mine.” you said, finally looking up and locking eyes with him.

That statement seemed to intrigue him and he arched an eyebrow up at you. “You have a secret double life too?”

“Saying it like that makes it sound like I'm a superhero or something.” you laughed & smacked him playfully on the arm. “But, yeah... there are things that you don't know about me yet. Maybe not as big of a bombshell as yours, but still... something that might change the way you see me too.”

“How about we wait until after dinner?” he asked tentatively.

“Sounds like a plan.”

Interrupting the conversation, Mrs. Tran came back into the private room, bringing two large bowls of pho over and deposited a plate with bean sprouts, sprigs of basil and quarters of limes on the table; along with four egg rolls and two bowls of dipping sauce.

Seunghyun inhaled deeply. The aroma of the broth and the slices of rare beef and shrimp wontons floating atop the long rice noodles making his stomach growl once again. “This smells amazing.”

Mrs. Tran just giggled at him again. “You know, I didn't even realize Bigbang was in town...” she started before he held up a finger to his lips.

“Technically, we're not.” he whispered. “We're just... having a bit of a vacation that's all. Very hush-hush.”

“Ohhhhhh.....” she nodded knowingly. “I guess everyone needs a break sometimes. Well, I will just leave you two alone. I'll be back later to check in on you.” and without another word, she was gone.

Seunghyun started plucking the basil leaves off one of the sprigs, rolling them up and then ripping them into little pieces and dropping them in his soup while you watched him, completely mesmerized by the movements of his fingers.

“I guess you've had Pho before then?” you asked, taking an egg roll from your plate before tearing it in half, dipping it into the sauce & taking a bite.

Seunghyun nodded, “It's been a while though. So, thanks for bringing me here.” he told you sincerely, picking up an egg roll with his chopsticks and dipping it before taking his own crunchy bite.

“Show off...” you muttered, grumpily picking up your own chopsticks and spoon just to show him that you did, in fact, know how to use them.

Seunghyun merely laughed.

The two of you spent the next hour simply eating and discussing the art and artists from the museum exhibition. Conversation flowed between you effortlessly & before you knew it, Mrs. Tran was bringing in the check and fortune cookies.

Seunghyun pulled out his wallet and when you tried to object, reminded you that you'd paid for the taxi earlier. You caught a glimpse of the black card he held between his long, slender fingers & swallowed hard, nodding your head in acceptance.

You both made the decision to take the fortune cookies back to the hotel and, after Seunghyun spent some time signing the promised autographs for Mrs. Trang, you left the restaurant the same way you'd come in... laughing and holding hands.

Only this time, you were headed back to the hotel and a discussion that could possibly change everything between the two of you.

#Choi Seunghyn #T.O.P #kpop fanfic #bigbang fanfic #choi seunghyun fanfic #T.O.P fanfic #t.o.p bigbang #BIGBANG TOP

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anjanettexcordonia · 3 years

Text

Chapter 11: The Crash

Book: The Royal Romance A/U

Catch Up Here: The Spare Masterlist

Rating: Mature (18+); Character Death(s); language

Pairings: Liam x MC; Leo x Madeleine

Word count: 1615 (+/-)

A/N: Please excuse any grammatical errors. I am sorry ahead of time.

I apologize for the wait. This chapter has been completed for a little bit, just haven't had time to post.

Disclaimer: Some characters & some scenes belong to Pixelberry.

Tags: If you would like to be added or removed please let me know.

PermaTags: @yourmajesty09 @gkittylove99 @kingliam2019

Series Tags: @mom2000aggie @indiacater @sfb123 @hopefulmoonobject @cordonianroyalty @texaskitten30

Two weeks had gone by since Cami and Liam had called it quits. Two weeks since Drake had dropped the baby bomb that shifted Liam’s entire world. Two weeks since Cami had shut him out. Cami had cut off all contact other than information concerning their new addition. Liam had yet to speak with her about it. She sent him the confirmation via email of her pregnancy. She had made it clear the only contact between her and Liam would be about her medical care. Liam had sent flowers, chocolates and food. You name it, he tried it. Liam was coming to terms with his mistakes with Cami, but he was still at a loss at how to fix them.

King and Queen Madeleine would be heading off for their one year anniversary trip in Australia soon leaving Liam as interim monarch for three weeks. He wouldn’t be able to leave the country much less the palace. He had hoped the time away from each other would ease some of the tension between Cami and himself.

“So no word yet?” Leo sat in his study with Liam on the other side of his desk. “Not yet. Her first prenatal visit is coming up soon. I’m hoping to be there when you come back.” Liam responded staring down at his phone in his hand. “Have you told Father and Regina yet?” “No, I doubt it’ll go over very well that I have a lovechild on the way.” Leo rolled his eyes at Liam. “They’ll be fine. Pissed but fine. It’ll just add more pressure to me producing an heir.” Leo scoffed. “Ever the selfless king.” Liam chuckled. “Better you than me.” Leo mumbled as he reached for the bottle of scotch on the desk, “Madeleine is the country's Queen and a freak in the sheets, but mother.. fuck that. She would be a terrible mother.” “Give her a chance. She might surprise you.” Liam smiled at the crassness of his older brother. Bastien knocked on the king's study door. “Your majesties,” he bowed, “the jet is ready.”

“Safe travels brother.” Liam clapped Leo on the back. And headed out the study door to his quarters. Liam spotted Madeleine down the hall speaking with one of her ladies in waiting, Kiara. “Maddie!” Liam yelled out. Madeleine snapped her head in Liam’s direction. Immediate irritation ser in at his nickname for the Queen. “Prince Liam, and in the presence of others please call me Your Majesty.” “Uh, Your Majesty, May I escort you on your way to His Majesty?” “I’d be honored.” Madeleine spoke in her most regal voice. The two made their way to the palace garages where Leo and Bastien were waiting to take them to their private jet. “I actually wanted to speak to you about something.” Liam spoke softly. “Go ahead Liam.” Madeleine nodded. “I have some news I should break to Constantine and Regina, before the press get wind of it preferably.” “Press? What are we talking about here?” Madeleine stopped in her tracks. “Maddie, you have.. how can I put this..?” Liam paused, “you have a way with words when it comes to my father and Regina.” “What’s the news?” Madeleine raised a perfectly shaped blonde eyebrow. Her ruby red lips were pursed tight, “will this hurt mine and Leo’s reign?” Liam could see the fear in her eyes at his question. “No, I don’t think so. Camilla is pregnant.” Madeleine gasped. She took a deep breath before speaking. “What the fuck Liam? Do you know what this will do to Leo & I? The pressure now produce a fucking heir. We do not want children. We had planned to name your heir eventually.” Madeleine paced back and forth, she abruptly stopped and locked eyes with Liam, “Does Leo know about this?” “He does.” Liam diverted his eyes to the floor, his hands twisted and fidgeted together. “Of course he does. You are going to make this right Liam. Do not say a fucking word to anyone until our return. Who else knows?”

Madeleine snapped. “Drake and Maxwell.” Liam whispered. “Fucking Maxwell, you better make damn sure this doesn’t get out. The King is waiting.” Madeleine marched off.

Liam felt like a scolded puppy as he made his way back towards his quarters. The conversation with Madeleine did not go as he had planned. He had hoped she would understand and help him break the news to his father. Madeleine was right. He needed to make it right. If not for himself or for Cami, for his child. He had hurt her so many times, unintentionally but nevertheless he had hurt her. As she had hurt him. He missed her. He could still feel her touch on his skin, the smell of her coconut shampoo in her hair. God, I miss her. He sat down on the sofa in the living room and fired up his laptop planning to write Cami another email apologizing. Maybe she will respond this time. He popped the cork off his bottle of scotch and poured himself a generous amount.

“Sir, sir..” Liam was awoken from his sleep. He looked around not registering where he was. He was still on the sofa. He passed out on his computer without realizing it. “Come with me now.” The king's guard said. “What?” Liam asked confused. “I need you to come with me now.” Liam stood up and followed the guard into the hallway. There were more than usual guardsmen in the hallways. “What’s going on Tony?” Liam asked, still a little drunk from the scotch. “My orders were to get you to the bunker. That’s all I know.” “Where’s the King father and Queen mother?” “Safe house in Applewood,” the guard responded.

Liam followed the guard to the bunker deep beneath the palace. The bunker was built in the height of the fighting in Europe during World War II to protect the a Royal family from Nazi occupation. The walls were steel reinforced concrete. It was built to withstand any terrorist attack. In fact the United States built a replica bunker following the war. Liam made it to the War Room as the Cordonian generals called it. He was the Spare so this type of thing wasn’t a familiar concept. He looked around taking in the busy guards tapping away at their screens. More guards talking into ear pieces. “The dove has landed.” The dove. Liam hated the guardsmen nickname for him. Leo was the eagle but he was the dove.

“Sir we need you to take a seat.” Liam sat down. Olivia came rushing into the room. “Liam, what’s going on?” “I don’t know. No one has told me anything.” Liam walked around the room, confused by the commotion. The last time he had been here was during the terrorist attempt on his family's lives a few years ago. ”Sir, we need to brief you. If you’ll follow me.” Liam nodded his head. The guard led them to a small room, it almost looked like an interrogation room. Liam took a seat across from the guardsmen, Olivia took a seat next to him. The guard flicked on the large TV in the room. Liam looked up at the screen taking in the sight before him. A massive explosion replayed on the TV. “That’s not.. that’s not..” Liam couldn’t speak the words. “Sir, I’m sorry to inform you, King Leonardo and Queen Madeleine’s plane has gone down. It exploded as it made it’s ascent into the air. I’m sorry, Your Majesty, for your loss. And for the country's loss.” The guard bowed his head. Liam couldn’t breath. He felt like he had been sucker punched in the gut. Leo couldn’t be dead. Who would run the country? And then a crushing weight fell on him. The weight of the crown. Olivia gripped his hand trying to hold back her own tears. “This is a great loss to our nation.” Olivia calmly spoke. She watched the shift in Liam as he absorbed the devastating news. Liam went from a father to be dealing with his own insecurities to a king and a leader of a nation within hours. Only two hours ago was he sitting in his brother’s study and now he was gone forever. “What caused the explosion?” Olivia asked the guardsmen. She could see Liam was in a state of shock and in no way capable of asking any questions. “We aren’t sure yet, your grace. It’s under investigation. We will need you both to stay here until we know the cause.” Olivia nodded. “Was it a terrorist attack?” Liam interjected. “No one has come forward claiming responsibility. We will know more tomorrow once the wreckage is able to be investigated more thoroughly.” The guardsmen spoke. Liam lowered himself into the chair. I need you Leo. How am I going to do this without you? Father and now King.

Five thousand miles away, Cami sat on her sofa sipping warm tea watching television when an alert came across the TV.

Cami dropped her tea cup to the floor. She jumped to grab her phone and scrolled to Liam’s name. Come on come on.. answer.. Voicemail. God damn it Liam. Answer your phone.

“The Cordonian Royal jet exploded during takeoff this evening at Cordonian Royal Airport. Casualties are unknown at this time.”

She dialed another number. “Drake?” “Wellington… you need to get here quickly.” “Where’s Liam? He’s not answering me..” Drake could hear the panic in his voice. “Camilla, listen to me. Leo and Maddie are dead. Maybe Bastien too. We don’t know. Liam’s not doing good. Is there any way you can get here?” “I’m on my way.”

#theroyalromance #trr #choices #trrfanfiction #alternateunniverse #au #fanfiction #ff #thespare #liamxmc #leoxmadeleine #princeliam #kingleo

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mileycfan4eva33 · 3 years

Text

Fandom: One Chicago and SVU

Title: Silence Equals Death

Chapter 1: Dear Diary

P O V: Sylvie Brett

A/N: Boy, I am getting sick of these things. But, I'm too paranoid not to write it down. Here are the usual disclaimers, I do not own any of the One Chicago/Or SVU characters that glory goes to Dick Wolf and NBC. Trigger warning for a sexual assault/ rape towards the end. Whose Point of View would you like chapter two to be in; Kelly's, Matt's, Stella's or Kat's, Or Hailey's? This fic will be told through multiple views and be a joint between PD/ Fire and SVU. Reviews are fires to my soul; please leave one. Thank You.

Gaffney Chicago Medical Center

Dear Diary, today is January 31, 2021; it is 12:56 am; I am in Chicago Med. I have to write this all down before it becomes a twisted blur of fragmented memories. Tonight was a nightmare, and a dream all rolled into one. Sitting here now on this cold steel trap of a bed, I am in disbelief that any of this happened, but it did, and it shouldn't have; if I had been smarter, more robust, less drunk, none of this would have happened. I only have myself to blame. It all started so innocently.

Now everything is such a mess; how did this happen? I am not a lovesick teenager, and I shouldn't be making these types of mistakes. If only I could turn back time and not get so damn drunk, but I can't, so here it is, the sick truth of what will surely end my career. The authentic story as only someone who lived it can ever tell it. No Disney fair-tales here, just honest raw truths, every word you will read is what happened to the best of my recollection someday I will gone, and I want my truth out there, so no woman ever has to bear witness to the pain of being raped, and thrown away as if she is the villain.

I am not the villain, but can I say I was a victim?

Sofitel Chicago Magnificent Mile

20 E Chestnut St, Chicago, IL 60611

January 30th 2021 9:35 pm

"My money's on you finding exactly what you want."

Matthew Casey's rugged, sexy voice purrs in my ear. I can't remember when he said that or why the hell he said it; my mind is toasted with the large amount of alcohol I have poured into my body. I can remember what he said after, though, because it's what I deserve. Matt had no idea back then that all I wanted was for him to say he loved me, to tell me I am beautiful. To reassure me that these butterflies I have been feeling forever are not just in my stomach, not only carrying my heart away, but they are in his as well.

He didn't, not then and never since it's been at least two years since he said those words to me. Two years since I felt a brief flutter inside my heart telling me that my feelings for Matt had changed from friendship to something a little less platonic. "God, there ain't enough alcohol inside this damn hotel to take my memory away from this pain."

"I hear ya' sis." Stella Kidd motions for the bartender to bring us two more rounds as she settles against the counter inches away from me, her elbows propping her up. "You look flushed, Brett. Are you feeling okay?" Stella's gorgeous brown eyes are wide in concern as she glances at my body my cheeks are burning, I can feel the heat descending from my head to my face making me sway in dizziness a little as I try to remember how to breathe. Funny how a normal body function can sometimes take so much damn effort it hurts. I need a minute to do nothing, not to feel, think, talk, react or breathe, but of course, I can't have that minute, not with Stella on the case. "Yeah, girl, why wouldn't I be okay?" I fake a laugh, which I don't think fools her even for a second.

"Uh, I am so over these damn things Sylvie, I thought with COVID we would escape this bullshit this year." Stella slides down my shot glass to me as she tilts her head back and chugs her shot of whiskey with one gulp. "Yeah, I would have thought so too; nothing I hate more than a bunch of grown-ass corporate men in suits pretending to give two craps about us little people."

"Amen, sister." Stella clicks her empty glass against mine before I tilt my head back and swallow the rush of warmth that leaves me dizzier; maybe I shouldn't have skipped two meals today before coming here after having no food yesterday. "So what's up with you and Kelly?" I turn my head to my right to catch Stella's eyes, glued to her boyfriend Kelly Severide, chatting with District Chief Steve Walker. Fire Commissioner Carl Grissom and the Deputy Director of Finance Gail McLeod. "Kelly's looking dapper Stella; I think someone is going to get lucky tonight." I hold my hand up to signal the bartender for another round; he fills our glasses quickly, much to my pleasure. "Yeah, from your lips to Kelly's ears, please, he's barely touched me ever since he found out that some people may take offense to me being promoted because we're together."

"Aw, man, I'm sorry he's probably just worried Stella, he loves you Kelly doesn't want to be the reason you fail because we all know you deserve this promotion. At least he cares enough to say the words out loud." I swallow the shot feeling my eyes burn badly as tears filter out. "Aw man, this shit is strong. Phew!" shaking my body out, I signal for another, hearing Stella laugh. "Still regretting telling Matt how you feel?"

I pause for a moment before I answer; how should I respond? Do I regret telling Matt how I feel? "Hey bitches." I'm saved from answering as Leslie Shay comes stumbling over, wrapping her arm over my shoulder and squeezing between us, holding her phone up with her left hand. "Smile bitches." Stella and I hold our full shot glasses up. I love this bartender; he is on his game tonight; we smile and lean into Shay, who is reeking of Tequila. "Give me some love, sugar babes." Yeah, she is drunk, sugar babes? Where did she even come up with that one? We smile brighter even though neither one of us feel happy at this moment; her eyes are on Kelly, who isn't even looking our way, and I lock my eyes on Matt, who is dancing with some woman I have never seen in my life.

The woman is drop-dead gorgeous though five-foot-nine inches is my guess she appears to be Lebanese or Latino with long caramel hair flowing down her back past her waist the silk wrap dress she is wearing clings to every unique curve on her flawless body. Matt's arms are wrapped around her waist he's dancing close with her, my heart races so fast I feel the room sway. "Love is a journey, Sylvie, don't give up yet. I know this moment sucks. I get it hurts worse than anything you've ever experienced. When it gets too heavy, when it feels like the weight of this pain is crushing you, remember the pleasant moments, the breathless enthusiastic moments. Matt's alive, and so are you as long as you live, there is hope."

I wish I could smile at Shay as a thank you, but I can't muster the strength even to attempt a smile. Seeing Matt dancing with this woman is killing me slowly; who is she? Where did they meet? Why did he choose tonight to bring her on a date? Knowing I would be at this stupid First Responders training shit, is he trying to make me jealous?

"Your Casey is out there, Sylvie, but you don't have to change who you are to find him." Gabby's words from five years ago come back to me; she did not know just how right she was when she said them to me; hell, I didn't even know back then that the man who I would want to be by my side forever, the man who I would spend countless sleepless nights crying my heart out over was her Casey. Talk to God, Sylvie, get your head straight; this is crazy pinning over a man you pushed away yourself.

Sometimes I feel so cold the way steel must feel left outside to fend for itself against the weather elements. Some days I feel broken, I forget what living is for, I forget how to breathe or even why I should keep living. Today is one of those nights; seeing Matt with this woman is breaking me; I can feel every string of my heart aching, pulling, and twisting as it stretches my entire inside into a giant trampoline my stomach turns and painfully contracts reminding me.

I am alive

Every ache and every pain reminds me I am breathing, but why I can't seem to grasp it. I'm not suicidal, but I'm finding it hard to find a reason to keep my head up when my brain is screaming at me to run away, to bury myself in Tequila and cuddle under the covers till all of the daylight fades away into a blur of a drunken haze.

"Another shot, bartender."

"Name is Josh." I turn away, not caring, seeing only Matt as he lifts his finger to wipe out a stray hair off the woman's face. I can barely breathe every effort is a raspy painful burn that leaves me gasping, trying to fight off this fresh wave of tears. "Close your eyes, Sylvie, and fucking hold it together for a few more minutes; for God's sake, don't let the man see you cry."

Shay slips her arm around my back under my armpits, quickly leading me out of the ballroom where the music is playing louder than what you would expect at a training seminar. "Remember what I said to picture the pleasant moments." "I can't, Shay..I... can't breathe." "Shh, hey, it's okay. I got you." Shay gently settles me onto a couch inside the ladies' room, handing me a cold bottle of water, which she's already taken a few sips out. Still, she lifts to my lips before I can stop her; the cool liquid splashes over my chin, dripping down what gets inside my mouth is refreshing and helps cool me off, allowing me to breathe easier. Leaning back against the wall, I close my eyes, trying to regain some gravity; my knees are trembling, leaving me feeling as if I will collapse if I try to stand.

I want to kick myself for falling so hard for a damn guy who I knew would never love me back. I knew I shouldn't have pushed Matt, yet I ignored every one of my instincts and went full sped ahead. God, I will remember that day forever- I had been avoiding Matt for days ever since the accident. Mainly because I had my suspicions that Matt hadn't just been lucky in getting to me so quickly, part of me hoped and yes, as vain as it sounds prayed that Matt had raced to me, that the thought of me being in peril had somehow overcome Matt's heart running his blood in fear.

I told myself I was crazy even to think such stupid school girl thoughts. Matt is our captain; it made perfect sense he would be worried about Gianna and me; we're part of his team, nothing more. The job of the captain is to make sure all of his team comes home safe at the end of every shift; Matt's lost too many people in his days, he fears losing anyone, so of course, the entire team raced to us when they heard 61 was in an accident.

I had myself convinced Matt came to me out of loyalty out of duty, not because he was in love with me, I am stupid for even thinking for one mil-la-second that Matthew Casey would ever love me as anything except a friend. I was doing so damn well, too, until Blake Gallo blew up all my rationalization with his account of how Matt jumped out of a moving truck to get to me. Me, not myself and Gianna but only me. Brett, I have to get to Brett, that's what Gallo recalled Matt saying.

Shattered

Read more and please leave a review at https://m.fanfiction.net/s/13807832/1/Silence-Equals-Death

#chicagofire #fanfiction #onechicago #chicagopd #karakillmer #svu #sylviebrett #brettsey #mattcasey #metoo #rape #leslieshay #kidnapping #katazartamin #amandarolins

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morwensteelsheen · 3 years

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I’m starting grad school this autumn and honestly I’m getting nervous. Like yes I am v excited about the whole prospect overall and I do miss being a student but am intimidated by 3 hr long seminars and thesis writing and massive amounts of reading… everyone keeps saying it’s gonna be very different from undergrad so okay, but how specifically? Is it the large amounts of reading? I already had insane amounts of reading (humanities degree hurrah) especially in my last two years but could you expound on your own experience and how you take notes/read quickly/summarize or just how to deal with first time grad students?

Oh, yeah for sure! A necessary disclaimer here is that I'm at a certain poncy English institution that is noted for being very bad at communicating with its students and very bad at treating its postgrad students like human beings, so a lot of these strategies I've picked up will be overkill for anyone who has the good sense to go somewhere not profoundly evil lol.

So I'll just preface this by saying that I am a very poor student in terms of doing what you're supposed to. I'm very bad at taking notes, I never learned how to do it properly, and I really, really struggle with reading dense literature. That said, I'm probably (hopefully?) going to get through this dumb degree just fine. Also — my programme is a research MPhil, not taught, so it's a teensy bit more airy-fairy in terms of structure. I had two classes in Michaelmas term, both were once a week for two hours each; two in Lent, one was two hours weekly, the other two hours biweekly; and no classes at all in Easter. I also have no exam component, I was/am assessed entirely on three essays (accounting for 30% of my overall mark) and my dissertation (the remaining 70%), which is, I think, a little different to how some other programmes are. I think even some of the other MPhils here are more strenuous than that, like Econ and Soc Hist is like 100% dissertation? Anyways, not super important, but knowing what you're getting marked on is important. I dedicated considerably less time than I did in undergrad to perfecting my coursework essays because they just don't hold as much weight now. The difference between a 68 and a 70 just wasn't worth the fuss for me, which helped keep me sane-ish.

The best advice anyone ever gave me was that, whereas an undergrad degree can kind of take over your life without it becoming a problem, you need to treat grad school like a job. That's not because it's more 'serious' or whatever, but because if you don't set a really strict schedule and keep to it, you'll burn yourself out and generally make your life miserable. Before I went back on my ADD meds at the end of Michaelmas term, I sat myself down at my desk and worked from 11sh to 1800ish every day. Now that I'm medicated, I do like 9:30-10ish to 1800-1900 (except for now that I'm crunching on my diss, where, because of my piss-poor time management skills I'm stuck doing, like, 9:30-22:30-23:00). If you do M-F 9-5, you'll be getting through an enormous amount of work and leaving yourself loads of time to still be a human being on the edges. That'll be the difference between becoming a postgrad zombie and a person who did postgrad. I am a postgrad zombie. You do not want to be like me.

The 'work' element of your days can really vary. It's not like I was actually consistently reading for all that time — my brain would have literally melted right out of my ears — but it was about setting the routine and the expectation of dedicating a certain, consistent and routinized period of time for focusing on the degree work every day. My attention span, even when I'm medicated, is garbage, so I would usually read for two or three hours, then either work on the more practical elements of essay planning, answer emails, or plot out the early stages of my research.

In the first term/semester/whatever, lots of people who are planning on going right into a PhD take the time to set up their applications and proposals. I fully intended on doing a PhD right after the MPhil, but the funding as an international student trying to deal with the pandemic proved super problematic, and I realised that the toll it was taking on my mental health was just so not worth it, so I've chosen to postpone a few years. You'll feel a big ol' amount of pressure to go into a PhD during your first time. Unless you're super committed to doing it, just try and tune it out as much as you can. There's absolutely nothing wrong with taking a year (or two, or three, or ten) out, especially given the insane conditions we're all operating under right now.

I'll be honest with you, I was a phenomenally lazy undergrad. It was only by the grace of god and being a hard-headed Marxist that I managed to pull out a first at the eleventh hour. So the difference between UG and PG has been quite stark for me. I've actually had to do the reading this year, not just because they're more specialised and relevant to my research or whatever, but because, unlike in UG, the people in the programme are here because they're genuinely interested (and not because it's an economic necessity) and they don't want to waste their time listening to people who haven't done the reading.

I am also a really bad reader. Maybe it's partially the ADD + dyslexia, but mostly it's because I just haven't practiced it and never put in the requisite effort to learn how to do it properly. My two big pointers here are learning how to skim, and learning how to prioritise your reading.

This OpenU primer on skimming is a bit condescending in its simplicity, but it gets the point across well. You're going to want to skim oh, say, 90% of the reading you're assigned. This is not me encouraging you to be lazy, it's me being honest. Not every word of every published article or book is worth reading. The vast majority of them aren't. That doesn't mean the things that those texts are arguing for aren't worth reading, it just means that every stupid rhetorical flourish included by bored academics hoping for job security and/or funding and/or awards isn't worth your precious and scarce time. Make sure you get the main thrust of each text, make sure you pull out and note down one or two case studies and move right the hell on. There will be some authors whose writing will be excellent, and who you will want to read all of. Everything else gets skimmed.

Prioritisation is the other big thing. You're going to have shitty weeks, you're probably going to have lots of them. First off, you're going to need to forgive yourself for those now — everybody has them, yes, even the people who graduated with distinctions and go on to get lovely £100,000 AHRC scholarships. Acknowledge that there will be horrible weeks, accept it now, and then strategise for how to get ahead of them. My personal strategy is to plan out what I'm trying to get out of each course I take, and then focus only on the readings that relate to that topic.

I took a course in Lent term that dealt with race and empire in Britain between 1607 and 1900; I'm a researcher of the Scottish far left from 1968-present, so the overlap wasn't significant. But I decided from the very first day of the course that I was there to get a better grasp about the racial theories of capitalism and the role of racial othering in Britain's subjugation of Ireland. Those things are helpful to me because white supremacist capitalism comes up hourly in my work on the far left, and because the relationship of the Scottish far left to Ireland is extremely important to its self definition. On weeks when I couldn't handle anything else, I just read the texts related to that. And it was fine, I did fine, I got my stupid 2:1 on the final essay, and I came out of it not too burnt out to work on my dissertation.

Here is where I encourage you to learn from my mistakes: get yourself a decent group of people who you can have in depth conversations about the material with. I was an asshole who decided I didn't need to do that with any posh C*mbr*dge twats, and I have now condemned myself to babbling incomprehensible nonsense at my partner because I don't have anyone on my course to work through my ideas with. These degrees are best experienced when they're experienced socially. In recent years (accelerated by the pandemic, ofc), universities have de-emphasised the social component of postgrad work, largely to do with stupid, long-winded stuff related to postgrad union organising etc. It's a real shame because postgrads end up feeling quite socially isolated, and because they're not having these fun and challenging conversations, their work actually suffers in the long term. This is, and I cannot stress this enough, the biggest departure from undergrad. Even the 'weak links' or whatever judgemental nonsense are there because they want to be. That is going to be your biggest asset. Talk, talk, talk. Listen, listen, listen. Offer to proofread people's papers so you get a sense of how people are thinking about things, what sort of style they're writing in, what sources they're referring to. Be a sponge and a copycat (but don't get done for plagiarism, copy like this.) Also: ask questions that seem dumb. For each of your classes, ask your tutors/lecturers who they think the most important names in their discipline are. It sounds silly, but it's really helpful to know the intellectual landscape you're dealing with, and it means you know whose work you can go running to if you get lost or tangled up during essay or dissertation writing!

You should also be really honest about everything — another piece of advice that I didn't follow and am now suffering for. The people on your courses and in your cohort are there for the same reasons as you, have more or less the same qualifications as you, and are probably going to have a lot of the same questions and insecurities as you. If you hear an unfamiliar term being used in a seminar, just speak up and ask about it, because there're going to be loads of other people wondering too. But you should also cultivate quite a transparent relationship with your supervisor. I was really cagey and guarded with mine because my hella imposter syndrome told me she was gonna throw my ass out of the programme if I admitted to my problems. Turns out no, she wouldn't, and that actually she's been a super good advocate for me. If you feel your motivation slipping or if you feel like you're facing challenges you could do with a little extra support on, go right to your supervisor. Not only is that what they're there to do, they've also done this exact experience before and are going to be way more sympathetic and aware of the realities of it than, say, the uni counselling service or whatever.

Yeah so I gotta circle back to the notes thing... I really do not take notes. It's my worst habit. Here's an example of the notes I took for my most recent meeting with my supervisor (revising a chapter draft).

No sane person would ever look at these and think this is a system worth replicating lol. But the reason they work for me is because I also record (with permission) absolutely everything. My mobile is like 90% audio recordings of meetings and seminars lol. So these notes aren't 'good' notes, but they're effective for recalling major points in the audio recording so I can listen to what was said when I need to.

Sorry none of this is remotely organised because it's like 2330 here and my brain is so soft and mushy. I'm literally just writing things as I remember them.

Right, so: theory is a big thing. Lots of people cheap out on this and it's to their own detriment. You say you're doing humanities, and tbh, most of the theory involved on the humanities side of the bridge is interdisciplinary anyways, so I'm just gonna give you some recommendations. The big thing is to read these things and try to apply them to what you're writing about. This sounds so fucking condescending but getting, like, one or two good theoretical frameworks in your papers will actually put you leaps and bounds beyond the students around you and really improve your research when the time comes. Also: don't read any of these recommendations without first watching, like an intro youtube video or listening to a podcast. The purists will tell you that's the wrong way to do it, but I am a lazy person and lazy people always find the efficient ways to do things, so I will tell the purists to go right to hell.

Check out these impenetrable motherfuckers (just one or two will take your work from great to excellent, so don't feel obliged to dig into them all):

Karl Marx and Fredrich Engels (I'm not just pushing my politics, but also, I totally am) — don't fucking read Capital unless you're committed to it. Oh my god don't put yourself through that unless you really have to. Try, like, the 18th Brumaire of Louis Napoleon for the fun quotes, and Engels on the family.

Frantz Fanon — Wretched of the Earth. Black Skin White Masks also good, slightly more impossible to read

Benedict Anderson — Imagined Communities. It's about nationalism, but you will be surprised at how applicable it is to... so many other topics

Judith Butler — she really sucks to read. I love her. But she sucks to read. If you do manage to read her though, your profs will love you because like 90% of the people who say they've read her are lying

Bourdieu — Distinction is good for a lot of things, but especially for introducing the idea of social and cultural capital. There's basically no humanities sub-discipline that can't run for miles on that alone.

Crenshaw — the genesis of intersectionality. But, like, actually read her, not the ingrates who came after her and defanged intersectionality into, like, rainbow bombs dropped over Gaza.

The other thing is that you should read for fun. My programme director was absolutely insistent that we all continue to read for pleasure while we did this degree, not just because it's good for destressing, but because keeping your cultural horizons open actually makes your writing better and more interesting. I literally read LOTR for the first time in, like February, and the difference in my writing and thinking from before and after is tangible, because not only did it give me something fun to think about when I was getting stressy, but it also opened up lots of fun avenues for thought that weren't there before. I read LOTR and wanted to find out more about English Catholics in WWI, and lo and behold something I read about it totally changed how I did my dissertation work. Or, like, a girl on my course who read the Odyssey over Christmas Break and then started asking loads of questions about the role of narrative creation in the archival material she was using. It was seriously such a good edict from our director.

Also, oh my god, if you do nothing else, please take this bit seriously: forgive yourself for the bad days. The pressure in postgrad is fucking unreal. Nobody, nobody is operating at 100% 100% of the time. If you aim for 60% for 80% of the time and only actually achieve 40% for 60% of the time, you will still be doing really fucking well. Don't beat yourself up unnecessarily. Don't make yourself feel bad because you're not churning out publishable material every single day. Some days you just need to lie on the couch, order takeout, and watch 12 hours of Jeopardy or whatever, and I promise you that that is a good and worthwhile thing to do. You don't learn and grow without rest, so forgive yourself for the moments and days of unplanned rest, and forgive yourself for when you don't score as highly as you want to, and forgive yourself when you say stupid things in class or don't do all of (or any of) the class reading.

Uhhhh I think I'm starting to lose the plot a bit now. Honestly, just ping me whatever questions you have and I'm happy to answer them. There's a chance I'll be slower to respond over the next few days because my dissertation is due in a week (holy fuck!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) but I will definitely respond. And honestly, no question is too dumb lol. I wish I'd been able to ask someone about things like what citation management software is best or how to set up a desk for maximum efficiency or whatever, but I was a scaredy-cat about it and didn't. So yeah, ask away and I will totally answer.

#asks

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adrenaline-roulette · 4 years

Text

Four Eighths

Pairing: Four x Eight (Reader) Word count: 7k+ Warnings: Language, angst, minor original character death, grief, mentions of illness and treatments, stress, breakdown, drinking, drunk, stealing, Four is redeemed! *Disclaimer, here we are, the first briefing for who the Ghosts new target will be! This chapter is dark, I’ll warn you now, and I would dare say the next few chapters will be angsty too! Though if you’re all very well behaved, then maybe we’ll start getting some fluff and maybe a bit extra going on between Four and Eight.... Read Chapters One, Two, Three and Four first (Or don’t? I can’t make you do anything, after all I’m just text...)

Chapter Five: I need a Doctor

“I am the fairy king! Bow to me or you shall die!”

You stare up at the shouting blonde stood atop One’s trailer, the fairy lights you had purchased weeks earlier were now coiled around his body, now no longer producing the beautiful glow they once had. Up until a few minutes ago, the lights had been plugged in and twinkling away merrily, that was until Four had somehow gotten himself tangled up in them. He then decided that the shining bulbs suited his alter ego of ‘Fairy King’ quite nicely and had proceeded to race around base with them on, only pausing for a few moments when he realised, they no longer lit up.

The rest of the team were either asleep, or trying to sleep, you knew for a fact that One was in the latter category, as he had screamed at the top of his lungs “Stop fucking tap dancing on my roof!” The moment Four had begun parading around on the trailer.

You want to tell him to stop, but considering you were the reason he was so highly intoxicated right now, and that you were only one or two drinks away from being on his level of drunk, you find that it really isn’t your place to tell him off. “Oh, powerful fairy king!” You call out, lowering your torso in a sloppy bow, keeping your head tilted up so you can watch Four closely. He was teetering on falling over, which if it weren’t for how close he currently was to the edge of the trailer, then you wouldn’t think anything of it. “Your majesty, perhaps we should move this conversation to more sturdy ground?”

Four wobbles on unsteady legs, his face growing pale as he backs away from the edge of the trailer. For someone who spent most of his time jumping from skyscraper to skyscraper, it was rather comical to see him afraid of what would only be a short drop. “That is an excellent idea my loyal subject, now help me down please!”

You’re not exactly sure how you’re supposed to help Four down, but it likely shouldn’t have gone this way. Skipping over to the bus, a half bottle of Jack Daniel’s sloshing away in your hand, you pause just beneath Four, waving up at him with a cheesy grin, before extending your arms in front of you, with the plan of catching him. Without even so much as a pause, Four leaps off the trailer and into your waiting arms. Anyone who wasn’t currently shitfaced would’ve seen that this was a terrible plan, and that it wouldn’t end the way you both expected. However, being shitfaced as you were, it took you more than a few seconds to comprehend what had happened. One moment you were standing upright, and the next, your entire body had been slammed into the ground bellow, a heavy weight pressing against your front. “Ugh, fuck…” You groan, blinking bleary eyes down at the mass that was slowly crushing you.

Four looks up at you, a lopsided grin brightening up his entire face. “ ‘As anyone ever told you that you’re very comfortable?” He mumbles, speech slurred and slow.

“Can’t say that they have.”

“Well, you are.”

Four lowers his head down, cheek resting against your chest as his eyes flutter closed. You want to protest; this man was five foot eight and made of pure muscle! Yet your aching body began to relax, as you heard tiny snores escape the Brit. As you allowed yourself to drift off, ignoring how you were sleeping on the ground, your mind started to wonder. ‘How had this man, who you had shared no more than five consecutive words with at one time, gone from being the person you avoided at all costs, and now to the person you got piss drunk with, and allowed to fall asleep on you?’

*****

“Briefing room, five minutes!” Seven called behind your closed trailer door, not bothering to knock, knowing full well his voice could be heard clearly through the thin metal that was your trailer. You’d just finished your morning routine of; wake up, drink coffee, go for a run, drink more coffee while you updated yourself on the happenings of the world on your laptop, eat breakfast, have a ten minute internal battle over whether you should go back to bed or not, in that time drink a third cup of coffee, ignore Five’s suggestion of perhaps not ingesting so much caffeine, shower, then return to your trailer while your hair dried and go through the building blueprints One had sent you.

Slowly, you stood up from your bed, stretching your arms above your head after having sat hunched over for too long. You close your laptop, then set about searching for a sweater to throw on over the top of your shirt. Outside, the base was stifling hot, yet for some reason, the briefing room was perpetually freezing. One always insisted on turning on every single fan in the shipping container, and it was just too much! After the third team meeting there, you had vowed never to return without a sweater. Finally, you found the one you were looking for, dark gray with a red #mood splattered across the chest. The sweater itself was perhaps one or two sizes too large, but it was warm and snuggly.

You made your way towards the briefing room, slipping the sweater over your head when you were halfway there. As you pull the material down your torso, you fail to realise that you’d put the garment on backwards, coming to an abrupt halt when you notice that the hood was over your head, completely obscuring your face. Behind you, Four silently leaps from the roof of a shipping container, walking up behind you as you struggle to readjust the sweater. “Oh yeah, you should wear all your clothes like that. Prove to everyone that you’re as stupid as your role in the team is.” He snarls, pushing past you, knocking his side against your shoulder.

You can feel your eyes roll, trailing behind Four as you both head towards the meeting “You know, at first it was kinda intimidating, the whole, ‘you don’t belong here’ schtick. But really, now it’s just sad. You don’t have to feel threatened by me, Luke never felt threatened when he discovered Leia could use the force too! As a Skywalker, you should know better than to allow your emotions to cloud your judgement.” There’s a grin clawing at your lips, which you no longer bother to hide, picking up speed and walking past the scowling blonde. If you had looked back you would’ve seen Four raise his eyebrows in surprise, not having expected you to talk back. Quietly, he was actually rather impressed that you had, even if in doing so you had continued with the Star Wars trend.

*****

“Doctor Genevieve Lushnick, for twenty years she has worked as a general practitioner in a family owned GP clinic, and if she has it her way, will continue doing so until retirement. However, over time, her remedies have become more extreme. She stopped prescribing antibiotics to help fight infections, and instead would recommend her patients undergo unnecessary surgeries.” One begins, displaying images of the Doctor on the screen at the front of the room. Just the sound of her name makes you sick to your stomach, a sweat breaking out on your forehead, though no one seems to notice.

“This is Doctor Gregory Lushnick, Genevieve’s husband. He, is the surgeon who has been performing the procedures, along with a well-paid, and unethical team of doctors and nurses. Genevieve will suggest the surgery, telling the patient that it is a matter of life and death, she will then refer them on to Gregory, who will of course agree with her course of action. The patient, who at this point has been warned if they aren’t operated on soon, they will die, will pay an exuberant fee, any amount the Lushnick’s request, which they then pocket for themselves.”

Three lifts his brows at the information they had all been presented with. “How have they gotten away with this? Surely they’ve had patients who know at least a little bit about general health, who know if a procedure they’ve been recommended is necessary or not?”

One nods, folding his arms across his chest while gazing out over his team, all with an equal expression of shock and disgust. Except for you, who looks on the verge of tears. “That actually happened a few times. A Doctor went and visited Genevieve after hearing about the outrageous number of procedures she had recommended. He went in complaining of an ingrown toenail that had become infected, which he did in fact have at the time, but was treating it himself. Genevieve took one look at it, and informed him that the infection was too far gone, and if they didn’t remove his toe urgently, the infection would likely spread, and perhaps enter his blood stream. He asked for some further testing to ensure Genevieve was correct, to which she obliged, and sent him to pathology to have blood taken.”

“Yeah, but if he got blood tests then that’s it right? Game over? The tests would prove that there’s nothing wrong with ‘im.” Four interjects, leaning his hip against the edge of the table everyone was stood around, taking care to watch you from his peripherals.

“In a normal situation, then yes, you’d be correct. But this isn’t normal, nothing about the Lushnick’s is normal. The test results came back in, and of course, they read perfectly, no deadly infection obviously. But the convenient thing about living in the modern age we do, is that all test results are sent through electronically. All Genevieve had to do, was edit the results, and suddenly, her patient was suffering any ailment she wished! When she presented the results to him, and he played along, saying he would organise the procedure shortly. Instead, he went to the Minister of Health, and presented his findings. The Lushnick’s found out who he was, and what was happening and fled the country. No one knows where they went, so they escaped punishment.”

“Alright, so they fucked off somewhere else, but they’re not hurting anyone, anymore right? So how does this affect us?” Seven shrugged, One’s eyes boring into his.

“I know exactly where the Lushnick’s are. They’ve been performing their surgeries in secret for a few years now, but they’ve moved on to more desperate patients, and are providing more extreme remedies. Rather than patients finding her, Genevieve is seeking out her own patients, the one’s who are unable to afford a visit to the Doctor’s surgery. She’ll play nice, offer them a free consult to ensure they’re all healthy, then she’ll drop the health bomb on them. These people are so afraid, that they will believe anything Genevieve tells them, and will do anything to get the money needed for their life saving surgery.”

Your hand grips the back of a chair, while your other presses flat against the wall nearest you. Your head is swimming, memories flooding back to you in a tidal wave. Heart racing so fast you think it’s about to explode, all the while sweat drips from your skin. No one notices, no one cares. They all have questions that need answering.

Four notices though, how could he not? For weeks now, he had done nothing but watch you closely, always checking to make sure you were safe, and not putting yourself in any unnecessary danger. If you were going to stay with the team, and it looked as if you were, then he would keep an eye on you from a distance. He may not be your friend, but that didn’t mean he cared any less, not really.

“What kind of surgeries are they doing now?” Five asks, her hands resting on her hips.

“Similar to what they used to suggest, only now more extreme because they have a more desperate clientele. From what I could find, the most chilling was what she and Greg did to a fifteen year old boy. He was complaining of shortness of breath, and if he had been seen by any other Doctor, he would’ve been diagnosed with mild asthma, and given an inhaler to use. But Genevieve instead informed him and his father that he had a potentially life-threatening lung infection.” One pauses, a frown creasing his features as he looks over at you, your skin having grown pale and your eyes unfocused, you looked about ready to collapse. He pulls he gaze away for a moment to finish, though his eyes continue to dart back over to you. “The boy underwent surgery to have an entire lung removed. His father paid nearly twenty thousand for his son to have the surgery. Two weeks after the procedure, the boy died.”

A chocked sob rips from your lips, causing everyone to focus on you, six pairs of eyes staring you down. They all either thought you were crazy, or just overly emotional over the death of a kid you didn’t know. How could they know the truth, it’s not as if you had ever told anyone? “Eight? Are you alright?” Five asks slowly, reaching a hand towards you just as you step backwards.

“Hey, sit down for a second kid…” Three offers, gesturing to the chair you had just released from your vice like grip.

“It’s the sweater, she’s probably just over heated.” Four shrugs, though even with his air of indifference, his eyes are clouded with worry.

Another sob followed by your nose sniffling. Were you crying? When had that started? You bring one hand up to your face, your fingers shaking the entire time, until they press against your cheeks, only to pull away a second later damp with tears. Lips are moving, but you don’t hear any of the words that are spoken, there’s a ringing in your ears which is too loud to ignore, and it drowns out everything other than your internal voice. The expressions the Ghosts wore changed from that of curiosity and caution, to full blown panic now as it dawned on them, that you truly weren’t alright. Just as One walks over to you, you spin on your heel, racing away from him and the team. You’re vaguely aware of people calling out after you, but you don’t turn back.

You throw yourself into the gray McLaren which had unofficially become your car, after the driving display you had given a few weeks ago. The engine revs as you try to clear your mind enough to decide on where you were going. Should you be driving in the state you were now? Probably not. Were you going to anyway? Definitely. Were you more than willing to run over Four who now stood between you and the exit you wanted to take? Without a doubt. Pressing the tab on the door, the window lowers at what felt like a comically slow rate.

Four had sprinted after you the moment you left, and was now trying to decide what his next move should be. Behind the car, he could see the others grouped together, all unsure of what to do, just like him. “Either get in the fucking car or move. You have ten seconds or I’m driving through you!” You bark out of the window, providing him with the motivation required for him to spring into action.

The passenger door slams shut, with Four diving in just milliseconds before you slam on the gas, the car fishtailing for a moment, before flying through base. Four stares dead ahead, his mouth slightly agape, while you glare at the road, hands gripping the steering wheel so tight your knuckles had turned white. When you had given Four his options just before, you had never expected him to pick the first, and from the looks of things, neither had he.

Silence fills the speeding car for twenty odd minutes, your eyes locked on the road ahead, while Four was staring out the passenger window, his elbow propped up on the centre console, while his other hand was resting with his fingers pressed to his lips. You felt as if you were being strangled in the silence, but neither of you were prepared to break it, both too stubborn to admit defeat, and voice your curiosity. Reaching one hand out, your hover above the power button for the stereo, taking your eyes off the road for just a second.

Oh, how things can change in one second.

The car had been travelling in an undisturbed straight line down the freeway, though all of that changed in a heartbeat. With your eyes focused elsewhere, you never saw the massive pothole looming ever closer to the McLaren. Just as you look back at the road, your eyes fall to the dip in the road, something that you should’ve avoided at all costs. Your barely functioning brain kicks in at the last minute, and just as one of your front tyre’s dips into the pothole, you spin the steering wheel, attempting to keep your remaining tyres from hitting the hole too. It was too little too late however, and instead of avoiding the pothole, the car spins out, flying off the edge of the road and skidding along the red dirt uncontrollably. Your shriek is the first sound to pierce the silence the entire drive, and it seems to be what snapped Four out of his shock.

Four reaches out, taking the wheel in one hand, attempting to straighten out the cars path, while his other hand wraps around the handbrake, pulling it up with all his might. The McLaren spins for another few seconds, until coming to a halt, a cloud of dust having been kicked up by the erratic tyres. “Jesus Christ Eight! What the fuck was that about?”

You can’t answer him, your words are choked in your throat, and refuse to budge. You unclip your seatbelt and bolt out of the car, leaving the keys in the ignition as you sprint away from both the car and Four. Why was he here? Out of everyone that could’ve blocked your path and jumped into the car, why did it have to be fucking Four? He didn’t give a shit what was going on with you on a regular day to day basis, so why the hell would he care about this?

Where were you even running to? You were in the middle of nowhere, and all that was around you was desert and the highway. There was nowhere for you to run to. As this realisation hits you, you stop dead in your tracks. Heart pounding in your chest. Clenching your fists at your sides, your drop to your knees in the middle of the desert, titling your head back, and screaming gutturally towards the sky, as fresh tears flow freely down your cheeks now.

*****

Four had never seen someone lose control as you were doing now, he’d seen his fair share of people in pain, screaming and crying over the death of a loved one or because they were in pain. But this, it felt different to him. Watching you collapse to your knees, he felt his chest tighten, and his own breath hitched in his throat. Your scream rumbled through his entire body, and echoed around the empty sky, there was nothing around for miles that would block your screams. He didn’t know what else to do, so he grabbed the keys, pocketed them before jogging over to you.

“Hey… Hey, it’s okay – You’re gonna be okay.” He whispers, kneeling beside you now, wrapping his arms around your shaking torso. He was sure that if it weren’t for the vulnerable position you found yourself in, that you would never return his embrace as you now were. But you did, your arms circling around his neck, as you pressed your face against his shoulder.

“Any other target… It could’ve been anyone else.” You cry out, hot tears splashing against his thin t-shirt. Four tightens his grip around you, slowly lowering himself into a sitting position, and guiding you down with him. You follow him down, and he half expects you to break out of your emotions when he settles you against his lap, though that never happens.

He rubs soothing circles against your back, listening for the sounds of your cries to ease, before he finally asks. “What d’you mean Eight? What’s wrong with the target?”

You shake your head, pressing further into his shoulder, as another body shaking sob overtakes you. Your mind is swimming in horrifying memories, and all you want to do is to claw them out of your brain. You want to forget; you need to forget. “Eight, look at me… Talk to me.”

Four rests his hands on both of your shoulders, gently guiding you away from him so he could look you in the eyes red rimmed and now puffy, though your tears had slowed at the very least. “Hey – Hi…”

*****

You blink across at Four, sniffling as you attempt to clear your thoughts. Why did he suddenly care what was wrong with you? For weeks now, he barely spoke a word to you, when he did, it was always something snarky or sarcastic. There was never any care for your wellbeing, so where had this all come from? “Hullo… I’m sorry. Please, just forget about that. I’m sorry.”

You move to pull away from Four, but his large hands on your shoulders tighten their grip, and you honestly just don’t have the energy to fight against him. “I’m not going to forget about this. Talk to me Eight, what happened back there?”

“What happened? I lost control of the car, it spun out. Happens to the best of us.” You shrug, opting to play dumb for a little while, just to see how far you would get with doing so.

There’s a fierce glare that settles over Four’s eyes, and you can feel a physical chill run down your spine at the intensity of his gaze.

“Don’t. Don’t you dare do that.”

“Do what?”

“Pretend to be stupid. We both know you’re the furthest from stupid a person could possibly get.” Four breathes out deeply, closing his eyes for a moment, before opening them and reconnecting his sight with yours.

You’re not sure which is more likely to occur first, your heart stopping entirely or for it to literally explode under the amount of stress you’re experiencing right now. “It’s the Lushnick’s. I – I know them. Or at least, I did know them.”

Four stills his movements, where he had been drawing tiny patterns against your shoulders, he no longer seems able to do even that. “What do you mean you know the Lushnick’s?” His voice comes out strangled, and if you didn’t know any better, you would think he was worried about you.

“Doctor Genevieve, the clinic she worked in was local to my family when I was little. When I was around five, I had a babysitter, Kellie, she would look after me every afternoon after school, and some weekends. She would’ve been around seventeen, and at the time was my best friend. I didn’t get along with the kids in my class, so I turned to Kellie, she was always there for me, and I loved her like a sister.” There, that was the easy part to talk about. You could just leave the story there, but really, you know you couldn’t do that. You had given away too much to stop now. “Every afternoon, she would walk me home from school. On the walk, we would pass by the clinic where Doctor Lushnick worked. One afternoon, when we were heading home, Kellie started to feel dizzy, I remember she was struggling to walk, and I was worried. I left her on a bench, and ran to the Doctor’s clinic. The receptionist grabbed the first doctor she could find, Genevieve, and we all ran to Kellie to help her.”

“Fuck Eight, I’m sorry –“

You cut Four off before he can say anymore. “Let me finish. There’s more to tell, and I can’t stop now.” You pause for a moment, waiting to see if he had anything else to say, but clearly he thought better than to speak up again. “Doctor Lushnick performed heaps of tests, I remember she kept sending Kellie for more and more blood tests, x-rays and ultrasounds. Always telling her and her family that the results had come back inconclusive. It must’ve been around two weeks, until Kellie was given her diagnosis. Heart failure. I don’t remember much of what happened after that, there was a lot of adult conversations had that I wasn’t made a part of. What I do know though, is that Genevieve sent Kellie to have a heart transplant. Kellie was terrified, I can still hear her crying, begging her parents not to make her go through with the surgery. Her parents didn’t want her to have it done either, but Genevieve and Gregory made it sound as if it were her only option. They told Kellie and her parents that without the surgery, she would die.”

Tears had returned to your eyes now, and Four pulled you subtly closer to him, not enough so you were embraced as you were before, but enough that you could feel his warmth soaking into you, and hear his steady heartbeat. “Kellie had the surgery, and was recovering relatively well. She was in the hospital still so the nurses could keep an eye on her while she healed. After school one day, I lied and told my parents I was going to a friend’s house, and that no one needed to pick me up until later. Instead I went to the hospital to visit Kellie. I had gone to see her twice after the surgery, and both times she had seemed alright, at least in my eyes she did. This third time though, when I got to her room, everything was different. She was pale and sweating, her chest heaving as she gasped for breath. There was no one else in the room for me to get, so I pressed the call button from the side of her bed, and in came running nurses and doctors. No one really explained to me what had happened that day until I was older. And it wasn’t until I was much older, did I realise truly what had happened, and with the information One gave us today, I knew for sure. Kellie was never supposed to have had that surgery, her body underwent unnecessary trauma, which it couldn’t heal from. Doctor Genevieve and Gregory Lushnick murdered my best friend.”

Suddenly, you were pressed against Four’s chest, as your felt tears stream over your cheeks. He held you firmly, his warm embrace was one of comfort and peace, two things you had never associated with the man. “When One was telling us about what they had done to others, I just couldn’t stop the memories from coming back, everything I felt back then, it all came rushing back to me.”

“It’s alright, fuck Eight. I’m sorry, I am so sorry. I wish there was more I could say..”

You gulp, before looking up at him, your eyes scanning over his handsomely chiselled face for the very first time. In the time you had been with the team, not once had you had the opportunity to look at Four up close, and of course this would be your first chance. While sitting on his lap, crying your heart out, as you both grew more covered in dust. “Promise me we’ll make them pay. Promise me that we’ll get them both, and that they won’t get away.”

Four allows a deep breath to flow from his parted lips, the lines on his forehead smoothing as he takes in your words. “I promise you, they won’t make it through this alive.”

*****

Allowing Four to drive you both back to base had likely been one of the best decisions you had made in a long time. Despite the panic and anger which had clouded you before, now faded to a dull shadow, you were still shaky, and your concentration was easily lost. Four driving truly was the safest option, if you both wanted to arrive home in one piece. “Can we stop in town?”

Four glances at you for a moment, retracting his hand which was resting on your knee. The entire drive, you would find Four resting his hand somewhere on your leg. To you, it was grounding and comforting, serving to remind you that you weren’t alone. It let you know that someone else on the team understood your connection to the targets. For Four however, you weren’t sure if he was doing it out of habit, or for comfort too. “Sure, what do you need?”

Turning to look at his side glance, you allow a tiny smile to tug at the corners of your lips. “I desperately need a drink. You’re welcome to join me if you’d like, but I’m sure you’d rather forget that this all happened.” You shrug softly, before turning to look back out of the passenger window.

Four’s eyes grow wide at your comment, and he finds himself at a loss for words. “I- You- What?”

Pressing your forehead against the window, you take a deep breath in, before blowing out through your mouth, fogging the glass up in the process. “I appreciate you following me out here today, I really do. But, let’s be honest, we’re not friends. You hate me. You’ve made that perfectly clear since the day I arrived. So, while I’m happy to extend the invitation of getting piss drunk with me, I’m not expecting you to accept.”

“I don’t.”

“You don’t what?”

“Hate you… I’m sca – Way too sober to have this conversation right now. But put it this way, I don’t hate you.”

Four focuses back on the road, while his words swirl through your mind. ‘Scared? Was he about to say he was scared? Scared of what though? He always seemed so grounded, almost as if nothing could touch him, let alone hurt him…’ On the drive away from base, you hadn’t paid any attention to where you were headed, not really. All you knew at the time, was that you needed to get as far away from everyone as was humanly possible. Which is why it came as a surprise to you when Four pulled into a small town, not the one you had visited with Two and Five a few weeks ago, but an entirely different one which you had never known to exist. “There’s a liquor store just up that side street there.” Four observes, while pointing to the left of the town, where sure enough, there was an opening in the path for the side street.

You nod, climbing out of the car, just as Four lowers his window and the passenger side window. “I’ll be back in a few. Want anything?”

Four shakes his, carding his fingers through is windswept curls. “Thanks, I’m good.” It’s said with such a firm edge to the words, that you know the conversation is over, before it really began.

As you walk down the street, you look back over your shoulder at Four and the McLaren. His wrists are wresting on top of the steering wheel, as he picks at his nails, clearing them of the dirt that had gathered there from earlier. Music was pumping through the speakers, and you could see the car shaking with the intensity of the bass Turning the corner, the liquor store comes into view, a small bell chiming as the door pushes open. A man, likely in his forties or fifties is stood near the cooler section, collapsing empty beer boxes. Looking at the few shelves that lined the wall nearest the register, you feel a lump rise in your throat. In your haste to leave base, you hadn’t brought anything with you, no phone, no wallet, no money!

“Can I help you with anything?” The man calls from the opposite side of the store, eyeing you suspiciously.

“Just looking thank you!”

The man squints at you, his eyebrows furrowed. “Hope you’ve got some ID kid…. You don’t look old enough to be buying anything from here…”

Your jaw drops at his words, a scowl marching across your features. How dare he question your age, suggesting you weren’t old enough to drink! You had never been ID’d before now, and now that you were not only dead, and still waiting on One to present you with your fake ID’s. But you didn’t even have your bloody wallet with you, where said fake would be kept, this was the time, of all times where the world decided to turn against you and start questioning your age? “Of course I have ID with me.”

The man watches you for another moment, as if assessing whether he could trust you or not. With a final huff, he bends over and picks up a box of beers, pushing the cooler door open and heading inside to restock the fridge shelves, clearly having decided you were trustworthy. Oh buddy, wrong decision.

Maybe it was because of the shithouse afternoon you had just experienced, or maybe it was because you were sick and tired of people making assumptions about you. No matter the why’s, you found yourself snatching bottles of Jack Daniel’s, Malibu, and salted caramel vodka. Without a second thought, you cradled them against your chest, then bolted for the front door.

“Get back here you thief!” The man screams after you, having re-emerged from the fridge just as the door swung closed behind you.

This was wrong, so fucking wrong! It was one thing to steal money from a stranger’s bank account (Granted that stranger then went on to fake your death, and now was your employer…) Or to work from afar and have people do the dirty work, while you reaped the benefits, they did the snatching and grabbing, you just made sure they didn’t get caught. But this? This was you stealing, with no one else there! This was all you!

Your feet pound against the pavement, the McLaren coming into view just as the store clerk sprints after you. “Open the fucking door Four!” You shriek from the top of your lungs, praying to any deity who may listen that he will hear you over the pumping music.

Despite your thieving tendencies, someone answers your prayer, and Four looks up and over to you through the open passenger window, his eyebrows shooting up into his hair line as he spots you sprinting at full speed towards him, three bottles clutched in your arms, as a pissed man follows close behind. He leans across the centre console, pushing the door open before returning to his seat fully and twisting the key in the ignition. With the sound of the door slamming shut behind you, he throws the car into reverse, getting you both the hell out of town! “What the actual fuck Eight? What did you do?”

You stare down at the three bottles, now laying by your feet, rocking back and forth as the car moves. Laughter bubbles from your chest, and you can’t help the burst of chuckles that rip through you. “I didn’t have any money…”

For a brief moment, you could’ve sworn you saw Four grin, though the look is soon replaced by a sigh. “And you didn’t think to come and ask me if I had any?”

“Do you have money on you?”

“No… But that’s not the point! Your first instinct was to steal what you wanted!”

“Are you seriously telling me off for stealing? Sorry, last I heard, One met you after a robbery gone wrong.”

Four’s grip on the wheel tightens for a few moments, before his knuckles relax somewhat, tension visibly leaving his shoulders. “Now we’ve gotta find a new liquor store.”

*****

Walking through base, you felt everyone’s eyes on you, all boring down on you, as if thinking if they stared long enough then they would understand what had happened to you. There’s a part of you that wants to explain yourself, and to reassure the team that you are in fact, not insane as they may now think. However, before you even have the chance to consider explaining yourself, Four is dragging you by the hand towards your trailer. “If anyone needs us, don’t. Just don’t fucking need us!” He calls out behind you, gripping the bottle of Malibu with such intensity your genuinely worried he might smash the glass.

Four’s warning seemed to have worked, at least for the time being, and you watched as the Ghosts all shuffled away, back to whatever they had been doing before your arrival. One stays out for a few moments longer, arms folded across his chest, and both eyebrows raised in confusion. You can see the questions he’s dying to ask dancing across his eyes, mixed with a look of what could only be described as, understanding. You don’t take the time to dwell on One, as you’re far too preoccupied with Four who had swung your trailer door open, and was pushing you inside and up the steps, his hands pushing against your lower back to keep you moving.

Four followed you up, placing the Malibu on the small table opposite your bed, while you plonked down on the bed, the bottles of Jack and vodka falling to the foot of your mattress. “Right, you stay here as long as you need to. Drink, get smashed, scream, cry. Whatever you wanna do.” His broad shoulders shrug, as he turns away from you, and steps back towards the door, resting both hands in his front pants pockets.

Quickly, you twist off the cap of the vodka, the strong scent of salted caramel filling the air. “The offer still stands. Only this time, I’d like you to join me…”

Four turns on the spot, looking back at you in surprise. “You sure?”

“Yes, I – I want you here with me please.”

There’s no need to ask him a second time, though you would’ve if necessary. Four reaches out and takes the vodka from your outstretched hand, bringing it to his lips and taking a deep swig. Just as you do the same with the Jack. “Cheers to your first mission briefing.” He chuckles, his crystalline eyes sparkling in joy.

You roll your eyes up at him, as you move further back on the bed, leaning your back against the wall. “Let’s try not to make this a tradition yeah?”

“It’s been five seconds, and you already hate drinking with me enough to never want to do it again?”

“That’s not what I meant. The drinking, I’d be willing for the to be a tradition. The whole, me running away from base thing though? Yeah, let’s not do that again.”

Four nods, his curls swaying under the gesture, before he takes another swig, savouring the sharp after burn the vodka left in the back of his throat. You crawl up off the bed, and shuffle over to the small, mint green radio that was set up towards the back of the trailer, fiddling with the dials before it decided to pick up something other than static. “I won’t let that happen again… You won’t be hurt like that again.” Four breathes out, though the words are drowned out by the functioning radio.

“Fuck! I love this song!” You squeal, turning the volume up to full, dancing to the blasting music.

“Seriously, Kesha? Out of all the music you could love, it’s this?”

“Don’t be an ass. This is my trailer, and my booze, I can and will kick you out if you’re not careful!”

“It’s stolen booze, so technically, the shop still owns it, not you….”

You don’t really think about your next move, all you know is that one moment you were drinking from the bottle of Jack while dancing and being sassed at by Four, and the next, you had grabbed one of your multiple decorative pillows, and had begun attacking him with it. Four grabbed his own pillow, and retaliated in kind, swatting you left right and centre, all the while attempting to not spill either of your drinks. And thus started the great pillow war of 2020.

*****

You don’t know what time it is, there’s a gentle stream of light washing over you as you carefully peel your eyes open, though a set of curtains over the window make it impossible for you to see anything else, other than the suns rays. Lifting your arms above your head, you stretch your aching body, before finally giving in and opening your eyes fully. It takes far too long for you to realise something was wrong. This was not where you had fallen asleep, quite the opposite actually. You know for a fact you had fallen asleep outside, in the dirt no less, with Four using you as a pillow. Yet somehow, you were now alone, in a strangers bed, inside a strangers trailer….

You sit bolt upright, your stomach instantly churning at your sudden movements, you blanch at the taste of bile as it rises in your throat, swallowing it back down. Slowly, you look around the trailer, finding nothing familiar in the small space. “Four?” It had to be his home… You had been inside everyone else’s trailer, but never his. With a great deal of care, you pull yourself off the bed, pressing a hand over your eyes for a moment, as you feel a wave of dizziness wash over you. “Four? Hello?”

Looking around, you find no trace of him, or at least nothing that pointed to his whereabouts. You pass by a mirror as you walk towards the door, and you take a moment to assess your reflection. Your hair was knotted, sweaty, and had flecks of dirt tangled in it, there were deep set bags under your eyes, and overall you looked, and felt like death. Though all that combined, you still felt better now, than you had yesterday during the briefing.

You allow the trailer door to swing shut behind you, spotting a determined looking Two, marching across base and headed to the rec room. Was there another meeting this morning? Had you slept through the announcement, and Four couldn’t be bothered to wake you up? There was no time to think over the millions of possibilities as to what had happened, all you know, was that if Two was storming off somewhere, it was likely the best course of action would be to follow her.

Four Eighths Taglist (If you want to be added just let me know!) @not-the-cleavers @jinxfirebolt18902 @sj-thefan @softnorris @dear-vista @mixer2b

Like my writing? Check out my MASTERLIST!

Chapter six out now!

#four x reader #four x eight #billy/four #ben hardy/ billy #ben hardy fic #ben hardy four #four x you #6 underground fanfiction #enemies to friends #6 underground one #6 underground two #6 underground three #6 underground four #6 underground five #6 underground seven #comfort #four is a good friend #he also provides nice hugs

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painfullybadimagines · 4 years

Text

Not What I Expected - Kylo Ren Imagine: Part 1

Part 1 [SB] / Part 2 [AS]

Summary

You are stranded on a planet with Kylo Ren, at first you thought that it would be a nightmare. However, it turns out that he has another side to him thats seperate to hisffriey temper and hot shot persona as the Supreme Leader of the First Order. He relaxes and become less insufferable and more intriguing with every hour you spend with him. Wandering around the forest looking for shelter you find yourself slowly beginning to catch feelings for him…

Warnings: Slow Burn

*Disclaimer: Not my Gif

You watched as another one of your ships was blown out of the sky, the resistance had taken you by surprise. You had 10 ships no match for their twenty, they ducked and dived and seemed to fire consistently leaving you to just attempt to doge them and with little time to return fire. You watched Kylos ship doing the same, he seemed to angrily attempt to return fire his moves getting more and more risky with each passing second. You drew the line when his ship just narrowly missed 2 resistance ships that were barrelling down at him.

“We need to jump to hyperspace now it is the only way we will be able to shake them!” you yelled through the radio over the fire from the resistance ships.

“No” came the agitated voice of Kylo Ren. “If we jump to hyperspace then we will have to land on the first planet that we see and we will be stranded he roared his angry tone made you flinch as you dodged and dived yet again.

“We have to go now! They can’t track us through hyperspace it’s the best chance we have!” you yelled back no longer caring that you were talking to the supreme leader, and letting the panic and frustration flow out of you.

Your only focus now was getting out of this situation alive, and trying to save the supreme leader no matter how difficult it proved.

“I’m sending you the coordinates, to a planet that we can reach. Follow me or die” you said reaching up and clicking buttons on your ship before bracing and pulling the last leaver. You didn’t wait for his reply, you had been a pilot long enough to know that there was no way the two of you could take on 20 plus ships especially not with the amount of fuel the two of you had left. Blue and black lines whizzed past and then suddenly your ship came to a stop and your eyes dated to the scanner and you held your breath. You listened, it was quite, and your ears rang, you had spent the better part of an hour watching you ships fall to no stop gun fire. It was deafening, you placed your hand over your watch face and stared at the scanner.

“Come on” you whispered starting at the screen begging for another blip to appear.

You closed your eyes and then suddenly you heard an audible beep. You opened them and looked down at the scanner to see a little blip, you leant forward and looked to your left, Kylo Ren’s ship was next to yours.

“Good choice” whispered before reaching over and turning the communication line back on. “I think we have enough power to get down, definitely enough to get through the atmosphere. Again, follow me”

The only response you got was an angry grunt, him likely not amused to be the one taking orders rather than delivering them. Shaking your head you drifted towards the planet, you glanced over at your blaster and wondered if you would be able to shoot him if he attacked you. Probably not, he can easily deflect them with his lightsabre.

You clenched your jaw and then headed down towards the planet the fuel gauge flashing in the corner of your eye. The little beeps indicated that Kylos ship was following you down. You watched as you burst through the cloud layer and down towards the lush green forest below, your eyes scanned the foliage for anywhere to land your vessels, eventually your eyes found one. You steered towards it silently wishing that you could cruise over the beautiful sight for just a little longer but the red blinking of the fuel gauge suggested that it really wouldn’t be a good idea.

Your ship went into auto pilot as you lowered the landing gear, it spun slowly finding the best and most stable position to land in. Eventually you felt the legs come in contact with the ground with a small jolt, the second the ship stopped moving you reached up and turned it off the door popping open automatically. There was no point in using any more power, than needed as you pressed the button that sent off the encrypted SOS message. You watched Kylos ship land in front of yours through the large window, dread rising in the pit of your stomach as his masked face glanced over at you before jumping up and heading out of sight. A moment later you watched as the ramp lowered and his tall broad, menacing silhouette stormed down it.

Cracking your neck you let out a sigh before grabbing your blaster and jumping over your seat picking up your emergency backpack slinging it on and trekking down your ramp to meet with a very pissed off supreme leader.

You smiled as you jumped from the ramp onto the soft mossy grass, after so many months with nothing but metal under your feet the feeling was a welcome relief. The ground quite literally gave you a spring in your step as you headed over to where Kylo Ren was standing.

“I could kill you” he said as you stopped in front of him, his robotic voice and the expressionless mask amplifying the dread you felt.

“Well that wouldn’t be very nice” you replied trying to crack a smile and hide the fact that you were quite literally terrified of him.

“This is your fault” he said again, you had flown with Kylo many times and heard his real voice over the radio more times than you could count. You had never seen his face though, only ever the mask.

“Yeah its my fault that we are alive and if you want to stay that way then you need to listen to everything I say” you replied your grip on blaster tightening as your heart hammered in your chest survival mode beginning to take over as you took in your surroundings.

If he pulled his lightsabre there would be little you could do to stop him from cutting you down where you stood, but you were sure going to at least attempt to fight back regardless of how pointless it would be.

“Look we’ve flown loads of missions together so lets just cut the crap, down here our ranks don’t matter. The wildlife out there doesn’t care if you’re the supreme leader, to them your nothing more than a meal. So, we can either work together or I am going to walk into that forest and let you die.” You said your survival instinct kicking in once again as the wind rustled through the trees and the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end as the eerie feeling of being watched washed over you.

“Okay” he said matter of factly, he raised his hands to his helmet, and you frowned for a second heart hammering yet again, before you realised what was happening.

He placed his hands on either side of his mask and there was a small click and then a hiss of air as the mouthpiece of his helmet moved forward. He lifted the helmet off his head. He shook his head causing a cascade of raven black shoulder length curls to fall around his face. He dropped his helmet to his side and looked over at you with his deep almost black eyes. His face contorted into a frown as he noticed the expression on your face.

“What?” he asked looking less than amused.

“Nothing” you said shaking your head and averting your eyes. You walked in the direction of his space ship and as you past him you mumbled. “Just not what I expected”

You had your back to him, so you hadn’t seen his expression change from annoyance to amusement as he smirked, shook his head, picked up his helmet and followed after you.

“What are we looking for?” he said placing his helmet down in his spaceship as he lent against the doorframe and crossed his arms.

“Anything that we could use to survive here” you replied looking in all the cabinets and compartments that he had in his ship.

He didn’t move, he just followed you with his eyes a curious expression on his face.

“Come on we don’t have much time” you said stopping your frantic searching for a brief moment to motion for him to look too.

He stuck his tongue in his cheek and smiled shaking his head before stepping forwards and opening the cupboard near him he looked in it for a brief second before frowning closing it and turning to you again crossing his arms and frowning.

“You don’t give the orders I’m the Supreme Leader, that’s my job” he said in an authoritative tone crossing his arms again.

You took a deep breath and then let it out in an audible sigh.

“Look, I grew up on a planet like this one. It looks positively delightful in the daytime, with the sunlight pouring through the green leaves, moss and flowers covering the ground. But at night it all changes. It gets cold, colder than you’ve probably experience. Everything freezes but that okay because all the plants here have adapted to that, the problem is we haven’t. So we need to find a cave and firewood, somewhere to wait out the cold for a day or two until the First Order picks up our signal. Now you can throw your weight around and repeat your title to me over and over or you can help me, because its starting to get dark and we only have a few hours before this whole place turns into a deep freeze. Long story short we work together as equals or we die” you ranted, you anger and frustration at his naivety taking over you.

“No one has ever spoke to me like that before… and lived” he growled.

Those words should have been menacing and sent shivers up your spine. But the way he said it, in such a playful tone his eyes filled with curiosity.

“I have a little sister back on the ship, if I don’t make it back then she is going to be all alone in this world. SO please god just help me!” you yelled, beggining to get annoyed at him yo-yo of emotions.

He smiled again, watching you open and close the cupboards angrily, admiring how cute your expression was.

“Okay fine cupboard up on the left there’s an emergency pack filled with medical supplies and blankets” he said vaguely gesturing with his gloved hand.

“Okay” you opened it took out the bag and threw it in his direction. He caught it with ease and slung it over his shoulder.

“Do you have a blaster around here or something?” you asked your eyes darting around.

“Yeah here” he said opening a compartment near him and taking out the same model as you had.

“Okay so that’s it right” you said scanning the ship one last time before heading towards the door.

“Yeah” he replied watching you again with moderate fascination as you brushed past him, down the ramp and back outside. He punched a button and grabbed his helmet before jogging down the ramp after you. As his feet touched the ground the ramp began to raise until it clicked shut.

“So why don’t we stay inside the ships and wait out the cold there?” he asked following you as you headed into the thick of the forest, he already knew the answer but he was sort of enjoying the way you were speaking to him, he had never experienced it before.

“We don’t have enough fuel to power the heaters and send out the distress signal, we don’t know how long it could take for them to find us so we need the distress signal to go on for as long as possible” you replied stepping over a fallen log, frowning slightly wondering why he would ask something so stupid.

He fell into stride with you and the two of you walked in silence for a few minutes as you tried to wrap your head around what the hell was happening. You were wandering around a forest with Kylo Ren, but it he wasn’t like the Kylo so many people had grown to fear, in fact he was nothing at all like what you had expected. But it sort of made you happy, you kept stealing glances in his direction. Each time you noticed something different about him, how full his lips were or how angled his jawline was. You had expected a horrific creature to reside under the mask but instead there was this guy, who if you dressed him in fine clothes could pass for a prince not the ruthless leader of the first order.

“Its warm” he said in an attempt to make conversation, he had just caught you looking in his direction and it made him smile as he had been doing the same. However, these feelings confused him a little, he hadn’t felt this comfortable around someone for a long time and it was almost like his body was longing for it. He tried to maintain his emotionless expression and authoritative stance as the two of you walked but you made him want to relax.

“Well you are wearing a lot of layers, take a few off” you replied glancing at him briefly before looking back to the endless green forest.

He smirked at your comment and shook his head a little biting his tongue.

“Did you just tell me to take my clothes off” he said in a serious authoritarian tone.

Your heart skipped a beat and you turned to look at him wide eyes and ready to apologise profusely and beg him not to shoot you. But instead of seeing an angry scow you saw a small smile as he raised his eyebrow at you and flashed you a cheeky smile. You clenched your jaw in an attempt not to smile but failed and shook your head bringing your attention back to where you were going. Your cheeks blazing red.

You watched out of the corner of your eye as he removed his gloves and put them in his helmet before putting them into his bag. Then you watched as he unbuttoned his jacket. You took a breath and tried to turn your attention back to navigation.

You had got a little lost in thought when suddenly Kylo stopped.

“What the hell was that?” he whispered, you looked down to see that he had his arm outstretched in front of you in a protective manner and his back slightly turned to you as his he slowly looked around.

He had raised his blaster so it was pointing out in front of him.

“Run” he said grabbing your hand and running through the undergrowth. He led the way as he dragged your though the forest branches hitting your face and leaves tangling in your hair. You strained your ears to try and determine whether or not something was following you but the pace at which you were traveling and the amount of concentration it took not to loose your footing and keep up with Kylo took all the concentration that you had.

Suddenly he came to a stop and would have barrelled right into him if he hadn’t pulled you around to his side.

“What the hell did you see?” you asked dropping your hand and doubling over to keep yourself from puking as you took in great lungful’s of air.

“I don’t know I just heard something” he said his eyes darting around looking back the way that you had come.

“Well I didn’t here anything chasing us, did you see it?” you asked your breath burning your throat and lungs your eyes watering.

“No” he said grabbing his open jacket and flapping it open and closed in an attempt to cool himself down before giving up and removing it all together.

“So its entirely possible that the great and powerful Kylo Ren just ran from a strong gust of wind” you said straightening up your chest still heaving but not as badly as moments ago.

He scowled in your direction and clenched his jaw as he kneeled down and stuffed his jacket into hi bag, just leaving him in a sweat and humidity drenched long sleeved undershirt.

“It sounded big” he breathed his voice laced with anger, shaking his head and standing up, slinging his bag over his shoulder again.

“Okay, Okay. Its entirely possible that you did see something” you replied holding your hands up palms facing him in a small surrender. “We’ll keep an eye out, a planet like this is bound to have some sort of wildlife so let’s try and stay out of its way you said before starting to continue in the direction you had been running.

"Wait” he said and you turned to him and looked back down the way you had come your heart hammering.

“Oh no I don’t see anything its, well you just have some leaves in your hair” he said gesturing up at you before he slung his bag back over his shoulder.

“Well that’s entirely your fault, I lost count of how many trees I hit on the way” you said your hands going to your head, your French braided hair was now messy and filled with leaves and twigs.

You scrambled to pull them out wincing as you accidently tugged some hair.

“Wait no here, let me help,” he said concerned stepping in front of you and gently plucking the leaves out of your hair, he brought your braid round to the front, his fingers briefly brushing your neck sending fireworks down your back, he carefully picked out the leaves and twigs that were lodged in it.

He smiled once he finished in an adorable way seeming to be proud of his work, you hadn’t realised but you had been staring at him the entire time he had been working. His eyes met yours.

“There now your look a little less like a crazy forest dweller” he said with a small laugh He winked at you before brushing past you. “It’s this way yeah?” he finished heading off into the forest.

You stood there for a second before letting out a small laugh before turning on your heel and following him.

#kylo ren #kylo ren imagine #kylo ren x reader #kylo x reader #ben solo #kylo ren imagines #star wars #adam driver #x reader

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gogoms · 5 years

Text

Balance - ZYX (A)

Zhang Yixing x Reader

Genre: Angst

Disclaimer: This work is pure fiction. I do not own any of the characters. I do not accept reproduction or plagiarism. + Mentions of self-harm, depression.

Summary: You and Yixing were made for each other. But, fate can be cruel sometimes.

Okay, guys! So this basically my first work and I’m so eager to have your opinion about it. I choose Yixing because I have unsolved feelings for EXO and I feel like we don’t see him often on Tumblr fics. So yeah, I hope you enjoy!

P.S: Depending on what you guys think I may or may not do a part 2.

For a stranger, you and Yixing looked like best friends, or maybe lovers. But you knew your relationship was much more than that. It was platonic, nearly cosmic.

Whenever he was feeling down, you were affected too. Your joy was his like his tears were yours.

It feels like a single soul divided into two separated bodies. You were completing each other so well, anybody swore you knew each other since birth. And, if it weren’t for the contrasting differences in your physical appearances, they would easily mistake you two as twins.

You still remember your first encounter. A cafe, late at night, void of presence except for the beaming barista typing eagerly on his phone to, you assumed, his lover. At that time, you weren’t fond of any kind of relationship. You still enjoyed a good night out with your closest friends but, you were so dedicated to your job, sharing a type of commitment with it.

Your everyday life consisted of work, coffee, night out and little sleep. You went past a point where sleep wasn’t an important factor of your life and your sleep-deprived body was balancing itself with the outrageous amount of caffeine you were gulping on a daily basis.

Stretching the sore muscles of your back, you sighted as you relaxed. You extended your arm in order to grasp the cup containing the precious brown liquid that gives you your energy shot for the rest of the night. Putting the cup at your lips, you grimaced when you feel the precious nectar being as hot as Seoul in December. Sighting again, you lay on the table and shield your exhausted face with your arm. Maybe having a nap here wouldn’t be an awful idea.

No. You have to finish this article! Groaning again, you shift on the other side to enjoy the view displaying before your eyes. The view that was, matter-of-factly, reduced by the weight of your eyelids.

You were on the verge of having your mental breakdown. You didn’t know what to do. Should you nap or throw my coffee at this poor barista with his dumb smile? At least, the latter will give you enough of adrenaline to pull through the night and he would stop his high-pitched giggling.

As you were extending your arm to execute the vain attempt to sense the pleasurable pumping in your veins, you felt the air shift.

Immediately, all your previous tiredness vanished as you straightened yourself on your seat.

To say you were nervous about the person invading your personal space would be an understatement. First, you exclude the fact that it was the teenage barista because of his incessant cackling. Plus, the night was falling outside so odd people were starting to wander on the streets.

Still refusing to look at the person in front of you, you glued your eyes on the table and scanned it. Everything seemed normal, except for the hot beverage placed right in front of you.

As you were lifting your eyes to meet the stranger, he cleared his throat.

“I asked the barista about what you usually take. He said that if I wanted to seduce you, I should buy an Extra large Americano without any sugar, just black. So, here I am.” He said flashing you the brightest smile you’ve ever seen.

If it wasn’t for the artificial lighting on the ceiling, his smile certainly would have lit up the whole room. Avoiding his gaze, you lost yours on the now almost-empty street.

“ - So this is the moment I thank you and I give you my number? Because that’s what I’ve seen in dramas.

⁃ Well, as much as I would love to have you in my contact list, I would prefer to chat a bit more beforehand?

⁃ Oh C'mon! Having chitchat is the lamest thing on earth, can’t we just skip this part and directly make out?”

Smirking, you arched an eyebrow suggestively to emphasized your proposition. Maybe it was the tiredness that made you declaring nonsense or maybe it was due to the sole presence of the kind and handsome stranger in front of you, you actually couldn’t decipher.

Your train of thoughts was interrupted as you heard him snort not-so-subtly at your antics.

“ - I’m not that easy of a catch...” he trailed off not knowing your name.

“ - Y/N. But you can call me tonight.” You added winking exaggeratedly.

Another bubbly laugh escaped his lips as he handed you his phone for you to write your phone number in it.

“I’m Yixing.”

By the way, you two encountered and how you bonded fast to a rate you seemed to be one entity, you thought your relationship will be everlasting and unbreakable.

But now, when he is standing in front of you the widest smile you’ve ever seen and his sparkling eyes, you could easily pinpoint it at the moment everything went downhill.

You should have known better. Because you easily felt it the exact moment he entered your home; you knew something was off. But you choose not to care, maybe because you were afraid of what words would pass his lips if you questioned him on what’s wrong.

You should have though.

Because the moment those words were spoken, you felt shattered.

“I have a girlfriend.” He said confidently, turning to you to see your reaction.

You turned to look at him and plastered the fakest smile you’ve ever made, hoping he wouldn’t see past it.

“That’s so great Xing! Since when?”

If he did notice something, he didn’t point it out.

You knew, deep down you knew. That what you were feeling for him was more than platonic, that you loved him. And now that he is talking about her like she is some kind of goddess, you wanted nothing more than to rip this smile of his face and yelled that you realized that you love him.

But you did not. You sat there, a blank expression plastered on your face, asking yourself why he didn’t see you all this time.

The reality hit you in the face, he turned his back to you. You’ve been replaced by someone obviously more significant.

Maybe it was the way you constantly swear or your passive-aggressive mood that gross him out. You didn’t know and you couldn’t ask.

You felt them, the invisible traces on your skin. Itching and hurting with force, you wanted nothing but to open them again at that moment. You wanted nothing more than to sleep, eternally. You were void of feelings and your heart stone-cold.

Yixing did notice. The way you stop talking, the desperation in your eyes even though you were smiling, the tears threatening to fall from your eyes, the constant scratches on your forearms. He noticed all of that. Of course, he did, how could he not? Every single movement of yours was a spell cast on him, he couldn’t even turn his attention away from you.

He had eyes only for you.

And to see you like this, he wanted nothing more than to canceled everything just to seek the warmth of your embrace.

He never hated his family more than this moment. You, the love of his life, shattered right in front of him because of a stupid wedding.

He wanted to tell you, to tell you everything since the beginning but he couldn’t resolve himself to do it. You were his salvation, his home, everything he was desperately looking for.

But he couldn’t have you, never.

Sighing, you felt him stand up from the couch, murmuring those last word as a farewell.

“I’m so sorry. I love you.”

#angst #zhang yixing #lay zhang #exo angst #exo #yixing angst #exo scenario #lay angst

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scripttorture · 5 years

Note

When creating torturer characters, does political party matter? They probably aren’t going to be discussing politics, but I’m curious about if you have any advice on how to handle that. Either how someone’s political party might encourage them or force them to think about torture differently. I realize this is broad. I hope it can be answered in some way.

Ithink that’s an interesting question and one that could definitelyuse further research.

I’mputting this answer together based on a sort of broad historicaloverview of cases where governments dominated by a particularpolitical party definitely had people tortured. This isn’t based onany statistical analysis or published papers. It’s me trying to puttogether an overall impression from the dozens of cases thissituation applies to.

Myinstinct is that political party doesmatter but not in the way you might think.

Isee a strong tendency in political discussions about torture to...tryand turn torture apologia into a left vs right issue. That is notbacked up by evidence.

Leftwing and right wing governments have both tortured and both supportedtorture.

Letme be clear that I am not talking about the ‘extreme’ ends here.I am not talking about dictators and invaders or people who believein torture as a matter of ‘principal’. I am talking aboutgovernments that are democratic and relatively moderate (or were fortheir time).

Aparty being left wing or right wing does not predict, in any way, itsattitude to torture. Or itsuse of it.

What’smore, so far as I can tell, left wing and right wing tortureapologists generally use the samearguments to justify torture.

Howeverpeople on the left and right seem to use different arguments whenopposingtorture.This is a general observation rather than a statistical analysis. Amore thorough analysis may refute this. But my general impression isthat right wing anti-torture activists are more likely to usereligious arguments and left wing anti-torture activists are morelikely to stress international law or the human rights act.

Ifeel like it’s important right now to stress that there have beenanti-torture activists on both sides of the political spectrum who’vemade important contributions to the global community.

Wedisagree over a lot of important things but treating torture as anissue on one political ‘side’ doesn’t help. Because eradicatingit (like eradicating slavery) will take concerted, cross-partypolitical will and effort.

Ithink that covers some of the assumptions that aren’t backed up byevidence but it doesn’t really back up my statement that party canstill matter.

Politicalparties can and do support policies that are likely to encouragetorture. Party members also sometimes use torture apologia as a wayof trying to garner support.

I’llgive some examples and talk about what I mean there but I think it’salso important to stress that ordinary individuals (and politicians)can sometimes respond to these tactics without being aware of whatthey’re encouraging. Not everyone is going to make a mental leapfrom ‘much longer detention time without charges’ to ‘possibilityof police torture being covered up’.

Somepeople willsupport apologist arguments and policies because, on some level, theysupport torture. But it’s perfectly possible to be ignorant of thelarger picture.

Someof the policies that encourage abuse are more obvious than others.

Puttinga lot of legal weight on confessions, allowing people to be detainedwithout access to legal assistance, detaining people for long periodswithout charge, overt differences in the law between differentcategories of people. (Not a complete list).

Butsome policies are more subtle. Eroding oversight for instance.Relaxing laws that protect workers. Encouraging police to prioritisecertain kinds of crime.

Idon’t think it’s necessarily about policies giving governmentgroups ‘too much power’. It’s power without oversight, withoutresponsibility, without consequences. Thatmore then anything else seems to be what encourages torture.

Ifeel like a couple of examples might be helpful.

SoJapan has an incredibly, scarily high conviction rate. Many of theseconvictions are based on confessions.

Likemany countries Japan tends to give lower sentences when peopleconfess. This is not particularly unusual.

However,suspects in Japan can be detained, without charge, for up to 23 dayswhile an investigation is still taking place. They can also bedetained repeatedly.This means that, with no evidence, someone can spend months indetention in Japan. So long as they’re briefly released andre-arrested after 23 days.

Thiscombination of features means there’s little to encourage police toactually investigate a crime. Torture and coercion end up beingencouraged by this kind of environment, whether that is the intentbehind the system or not.

Asanother example of how legal structures can result in abusivesituations let’s take a look at Singapore’s labour laws fordomestic service. (I’m picking this rather than Saudi, where I grewup, because Singapore is actually a less extreme example for thiskind of abusive structure).

Jobcontracts for maids in Singapore do not require them to be given daysoff. Technically there is the option for them to get 1-4 days off amonth but this is optional. There are no standard rights to overtimepay or limits on working hours. Until recently there was no minimumwage.

Toits credit Singapore has made a lot of progress tackling physicalabuse of maids. But they’ve done little to tackle the underlyinglegal structures that allow that abuse.

Neitherof these examples are recent changes to the law, they’reillustrations of an abusive status quo. A lot of people in both thesecountries support the system simply because it’s the way thingshave always been. Political parties might argue in favour of keepingthese systems by portraying changes to the detention system asundermining the police force or by portraying maids as doing the sameamount of work as everyone else yet asking for ‘extra’privileges.

Peoplewho support these policies don’t necessarily see themselves assupporting torture. They don’t necessarily mention torture orabuse. They may find the implication that they’re supporting abusehighly offensive.

Ithink that leaves the kind of rhetoric politicians can use toencourage and condone torture.

Someof this is rather obvious. The kind of broadcasts made in Rwanda inthe lead up to the genocide are not subtle about encouraging andcondoning violence.

Andsome of it, unfortunately, has broader appeal. For instance in thewake of some horrific, well publicised cases of rape and sexual abusein India some politicians said they believed men accused of rapeshould be tortured.

Inthe wake of well publicised crimes or a terrorist attack it’s notunusual for politicians to try and garner support by advocating a‘tougher’ stance on crime. Now obviously not allof these suggestions support torture, either overtly or subtly. ButI’ve observed that when these conversations are happening on alarge scale across the political spectrum there is usually someonemaking the case ‘for’ torture.

Politiciansalso sometimes-

Inflametensions in a way that can lead to both attacks and torture incustody. This can be by dehumanising certain groups but it’s notalways so direct.

Oneof the examples that’s currently coming to mind is the uh- lobby tobuild a Hindu temple on the site of a historical mosque that wasdemolished. There was a mosque on the site for a considerable lengthof time and both Muslims and Hindus claim the site as sacred. Quite afew Indian politicians have taken sides in an attempt to gain votesfrom these religious communities. And the way some of them have goneabout this has certainly added to tensions between the communities.

Moreregularly politicians downplay the effects of torture or argueagainst the validity of particularly cases before they’ve gonethrough the courts. My impression is that this works in much the sameway as it does for accusations of sexual abuse.

Thelast thing I feel like I should mention is individual politicians’attitudes to the rule of law and things like the human rights act. Myobservation of politics in the UK since arriving has been thatpoliticians who routinely and regularly state opposition to humanrights are more likely to vote for policies which support torture. Isuspect the same holds true for individuals who feel that the lawshould only apply to certain kinds of people, or should only apply incertain circumstances.

Thatisn’t the same as saying the law is unjust or should be changed.Instead it’s the idea that the law should be selectivelyand unfairlyapplied that’s suspect.

PersonallyI believe that these factors seem to be more predictive of supportfor torture then broad political party. Though there have certainlybeen cases where political parties have selectively promoted peoplewho support torture and sideline or get rid of anti-tortureactivists.

Politicalparties and individual politicians influence our view of torture in anumber of different ways. Some are certainly intentional. Others arenot necessarily intentional.

Unlessyou’re writing a politically extreme group that is mostly made upof clear torture apologists- I’d caution against suggesting thattorture apologia is the sole realm of one particular party. Tortureapologists can be found in most political groups. As can people whoare firmly against torture. The proportions can change quite a bit.Parties can become worse or better through the concerted action (orsometimes inaction) of their members.

EssentiallyI would advise focusing on what politicians say and do over theirbroad political ‘side’ when you’re talking about torture.

Ihope that helps. :)

Availableon Wordpress.

Disclaimer

#tw torture #torture apologia #torture and politics #tw religious violence #tw police brutality #labour laws #japan #Singapore #UK #Anonymous

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iamanartichoke · 6 years

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Can I still send smth for "i wish u would write a fic where”? Cause I've just seen this on twitter: ✨incorrect thor & loki ✨‏ @wrongbrodinsons "loki: what would the chef recommend? waiter: sir, this is mcdonalds thor: please excuse my brother, he’s not familiar with earth etiquette. what would the McChef recommend?" and absolutely need a fan fic with this convo here lol

Okay, so, I just want to disclaim this particular response by saying that Brodinson silliness isn’t generally my fic forte (much as my shitposting their Midgardian adventures might have you believe otherwise) so … this is just what came out. There’s some angst, some silliness, and a lot of drunk!Brodinsons and it’s super long because I am me, and I apologize. Also, I didn’t really revise this because if I think about it too much, I won’t post it, haha. I’m not super confident in it, but I hope you enjoy it anyway! Thanks for the challenging prompt, I do like to try things outside of my comfort zone. :)

Word Count: 2485

It is after their fifth bottle of whiskey that Thor’s eyes brighten with the kind of mischief he only adopts when he’s good and inebriated. Loki groans as he sees the look shift swiftly across Thor’s features. “No,” he says simply, taking another swig from his bottle. The whiskey is not bad, but it is not good either. However, most Midgardian liquors do absolutely nothing for either of them, and the few that do have an effect must be consumed in copious amounts.

It is one of the things Loki misses about Asgard, how sweet wine and mead would flow steadily at feasts and meals or in the taverns deep into the night. He misses the days when he and Thor would share ale over a fire, talking of the day’s exploits and laughing in sync. Once, life had been simple, if not necessarily good.

“What,” Thor says, raising an eyebrow at Loki. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to. I know that look,” Loki points out with a roll of his eyes. He and Thor, in a rare mood that had struck them both after the evening meal, have settled themselves on the back porch of their apartment, their alcohol on a small table between their two chairs. The chairs are something called lounge chairs, which allow them to lean back and stretch their legs out comfortably. It was an undignified way to sit, to be sure, but Loki had to admit that he enjoyed the laziness of it, especially as he felt himself grow more intoxicated.

Thor plays innocent. He takes a long swig, finishing off the bottle he’d been nursing for awhile. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Loki. I was just thinking we should get something to eat.”

“We just ate the evening meal about two hours ago,” Loki points out.

“Yes, but drinking always makes me hungry. You know this,” Thor returns. “Anyway, haven’t you ever heard of a midnight snack?”

Loki rolls his eyes. “No, Thor. As a matter of fact, I have not heard of a midnight snack. Why don’t you enlighten me?”

Thor gives his deep, rumbling laugh, which lasts just a moment too long. At this rate, Loki thinks wryly as he brings his bottle back to his lips, he will be pouring Thor into bed within the hour. Loki himself has been going much more slowly, allowing the warmth of the whiskey to work through him slowly and steadily. He is not sober, but nor is he as drunk as Thor. It’s a safe place to be.

“A midnight snack,” Thor explains, sitting up a bit and fixing Loki with an earnest stare, as if he is about to provide him with the answers to the universe, “is a snack … which is eaten at or close to midnight.”

Loki waits for him to continue. When he doesn’t, Loki cannot help his own laughter. Thor is such a dope, he thinks fondly. Loki may be more drunk than he’d realized, because it suddenly seems very funny instead of irritating. “You might have to write that one down for me, brother,” is all he says. “I might not remember your detailed and thorough explanation, otherwise.”

“True enough,” Thor agrees, with another laugh. He picks up a new bottle of whiskey, uncapping it easily as he settles back into his chair. “So, what say you, brother? Do you want to go on an adventure?” He gives a grin and wiggles his eyebrows a bit.

“Hmm. I rather think I’ve had enough adventure to last awhile.” Loki extends the bottle in his hand, swirling it around to determine how much is left. A fair amount, but less than he expected. “Don’t you?”

“Never,” Thor answers earnestly. “As long as I have a heart that beats, it will beat in tune to the battle cry of Asgard, it will echo glory and honor to Valhalla itself, it will -”

“Norns, I’m sorry I asked,” Loki cuts him off. “I used to hate that, you know,” he adds. He feels languid, lethargic, and the words slip from his tongue before he realizes he’d been thinking them. Once they are out, it is too late to swallow them back down again. He sips his whiskey, avoiding Thor’s gaze.

“Hate what?”

Loki waves a hand. “Your … unquenchable thirst for battle,” he elaborates. “I never understood why anyone would willingly seek out battle. Defending yourself is one thing, but …” He trails off, lifts his shoulders. “You never lost that, you know? That battle-lust. You were taken down a few pegs, to be sure, but you seek battle as ferociously as you ever have.” Loki grins, despite himself. “You’re just not so irritating about it anymore.”

Thor tilts his head, his eye flicking over Loki. He does not look unpleased with the assessment, but for a long while, he does not say anything, either. Finally, after a particularly large swallow of whiskey, he says, “I think that’s the most you’ve really said to me at one time in … quite a long time.”

“I speak to you all the time,” Loki reminds him.

“No, you don’t.” Thor adjusts himself slightly, crossing one ankle over the other. “You respond to me. You offer your opinion, warranted or not. Occasionally you make a joke. But you don’t speak to me about how you feel. You don’t speak to me about our lives before … well, everything. You don’t even mention Asgard anymore, though the wound must still be as fresh for you as it is for me.”

Loki does not speak of Asgard because speaking about it will not bring it back. He feels a slight twitch in his chest, where his heart lies. Indeed, the wound is fresh, but that is one of the many differences between himself and Thor. Loki nurses his wounds privately, bandaging them up with silence and repression, while Thor lets his bleed for everyone to see. “It would serve little purpose to speak of,” Loki answers, resting his head against the back of his chair. His face feels warm, which is one of the tell-tale signs that he is growing less sober.

“Perhaps,” Thor agrees, to Loki’s surprise. “But I wish you would try more often.”

A silence falls over them, weighted with all of the things they have not said. Loki takes a very long swallow of his drink, finishing off the rest of the bottle in one sip. He is sorry he said anything, sorry that his words punctured the relative peace that they’d had before. “Okay,” he says, setting his bottle down a bit too hard on the table. “Let’s go on an adventure.”

“What?” Thor blinks.

“I’ve had a change of heart,” Loki tells him, sitting up. His head spins. He was going to be feeling this tomorrow. “Come on, before it changes again.”

At once, Thor’s face splits into his wide, brilliant smile. Norns, but Loki loves that stupid smile. He is inebriated enough to admit to himself, but still sensible enough not to speak it aloud. Thor does not need any more reason to be arrogant. “Rhodey told me of a restaurant,” Thor says as he stands and offers Loki his hand. Loki grasps it, and Thor pulls him up, and they both stumble a bit.

“You big oaf,” Loki grumbles, righting himself.

“Rhodey told me of a restaurant,” Thor continues, as if Loki had not spoken, “where one might find a spectacular midnight snack. I believe he said it’s called McDonalds.”

“All right,” Loki says, weaving carefully around Thor to the patio door. “Is it far?”

“Only a few blocks. Now, brother,” Thor begins, setting his expression very straight, “this is an adventure, a quest, which we cannot fail. It must be treated with the utmost care and precision.”

“I didn’t know you knew the definition of those words.”

“Shut up. We must move quietly, stealthily, lest the others see what we are doing.”

“Thor,” Loki says, growing more amused by the moment, “no one else is here.”

“That we know of,” Thor retorts. He gives Loki a little nudge and Loki rolls his eyes, but he carefully opens the patio door and slips inside. The apartment is dim, but not dark. Thor, practically on Loki’s heels, keeps whispering, “Shhh!”

“I didn’t say anything,” Loki retorts, and stumbles over one of Thor’s discarded boots. “Shit. Thor, how many times -”

Thor clamps his hand over Loki’s mouth, giving him a frown of disapproval. Loki wants to snicker, but refrains. He has forgotten how truly silly Thor can be, when the mood strikes just right. When Thor removes his hand, Loki speaks again, in an exaggerated whisper.

“How many times have I told you not to leave your damn boots around?”

“I don’t remember.” Thor leans over and scoops up the boot, shoving it on before searching for its mate. Loki waits patiently for him. He cannot help a snicker when Thor steps too widely and loses his balance, collapsing onto the sofa.

“What were you saying about stealth, brother?”

Thor shoots Loki a glare, but it does not hold more than a few seconds before his own face collapses into amusement. When he finally finishes putting on his boots, they waste another few minutes searching for their keys, wallets, all manner of trinkets that one must carry everywhere with him on Midgard. Once they have thoroughly prepared for their adventure, they set off into the cool evening, Thor banging the door closed rather loudly behind them.

“You never were very good at sneaking around,” Loki remarks. He wobbles a bit as they begin walking, and Thor must notice, for he reaches out and grips Loki’s arm. Loki responds by gripping Thor back, until they are clinging to one another as if they were mere boys. “Do you remember when we’d sneak into the kitchen after evening meal for pastries?”

“Oh, yes!” Thor seems to have completely forgotten stealth; his voice booms around them, deep and warm. It sends a reverberating shiver weaving through Loki’s ribs. Neither of them are walking in a particularly straight line, Loki notices with amusement. All of this is so terribly funny. “We got caught more times than not, I believe.”

“Yes, because you were utterly incapable of stealth,” Loki reminds him. “You’d crash about, pretend we were sword-ing through dragons and beasts -” He cuts himself off and starts laughing. “Oh my, did you hear me lose that verb? Sword fighting, I meant to say.”

“Yes, hold on.” Thor lets go of Loki enough to bend over, pretending to fumble around on the ground. He comes back up a moment later, victory in his grin. He extends a hand to Loki. “I believe you dropped your verb, good sir.”

“Oh, thank you so much,” Loki says, plucking the empty air from Thor’s palm and making a show of tucking it into his pocket. “I’ll just leave that there, in case I need it later. Thank you kindly, my friend.”

“That is what heroes do,” Thor answers with an exaggerated swagger, which throws both of them off balance. It sets Loki off again, and when Thor laughs with him, his eye twinkles with more than just inebriation. It is happiness, Loki realizes.

By the time they get to the restaurant, neither of them are taking anything seriously. Which is likely a good thing, because Loki is immediately appalled upon entering the brightly-lit building. “Now, Loki,” Thor says seriously as, for some bizarre reason, they approach the counter. It is relatively empty, but the servants on the opposite side of the counter are looking at Thor and Loki warily. “This is not a usual restaurant. We must order and pay first, and then choose our own table.”

Loki looks at him as if he has lost his mind. It is entirely possible that he has. Still, Thor strides forward confidently, leaving Loki no choice but to follow.

“Welcome to McDonald’s,” says the boy behind the counter, his gaze flicking from Loki to Thor and back again. He is practically a child, Loki thinks. “What can I get for you?”

“I don’t know,” Loki answers, glancing at Thor. What kind of place has Thor brought them to? It seems utterly ludicrous. “What does the chef recommend?”

The child blinks. “Um, sir, this - this is McDonald’s,” he responds, as if Loki had not heard him say that very thing just a moment ago. Loki should be very irritated, but instead, he hides a smile behind his hand.

“Please, excuse my brother,” Thor speaks up. “He isn’t used to proper Earth etiquette.” The child’s brow furrows, but Thor goes on, in a very straight voice, “What would the McChef of McDonald’s recommend?”

Loki breaks up, turning his head and pressing it into Thor’s shoulder as he snickers.

“Uh.” The child sounds as if he is already sick of them. “A lot of people like the Big Mac.”

“We’ll have that, then.”

The rest of the transaction goes by, with Loki trying unsuccessfully to stop laughing while Thor takes great care with his words and movements. When they are finished at the counter, they weave around tables and find a booth near the back, where Loki collapses and lets out a breath. “I don’t know why this is so funny,” he admits to Thor, rubbing his eyes. “But the look on that boy’s face -”

Thor is grinning, sliding into the seat opposite Loki. “I don’t remember the last time I’ve seen you have so much fun,” he admits, and picks up a potato stick. “I miss it.”

“Do not get maudlin, Thor,” Loki warns, poking uncertainly at his meal. “Norns, what is this? It looks absolutely revolting.”

“This is the finest cuisine Midgard has to offer,” Thor responds cheerfully. “Or so I’ve heard.”

“All the more reason to flee this wretched realm,” Loki replies. “Will you remind me why we chose this place?”

“Because,” Thor says grandly, “I am king, and I am an Avenger, and thus I am needed here. Where else might we go? Can I really risk our people to the dwarves of Nidavellir? The trickery of the Vanir? The humans are relatively harmless to our people and, thus, we may co-exist for awhile. The Avengers, as well, will always need another pair of - oh, brother, might I borrow that verb?”

Loki rolls his eyes, stubborn smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He exaggerates reaching into his pocket and then extending his palm to Thor. “It is all yours,” he says.

Thor very carefully pantomimes picking up the verb from Loki’s palm. “Thank you kindly. The Avengers will always need another pair of fighting hands. Therefore, this is the correct place to be.”

“I suppose I defer to your wisdom, then, my king,” Loki returns magnanimously. He pokes at his food again. “But the food is still disgusting.”

#charlotte writes #tumblr prompts #brodinsins #thorki if you squint #drunken hilarity #mcdonald's #a nonny mouse

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gumnut-logic · 6 years

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Lug Day

Title: Lug Day Warm Rain Series Author: Numnut 26 Sep 2018 Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/ Thunderbirds TOS Rating: Teen Summary: What the hell was Scott thinking? Word count: 1084 Spoilers & warnings: Virgil/Kayo <----Yes, look, I admitted it! Author’s note: This is not my normal fare. I’ve been coerced! Well, not really, I only do what I want, so I’m really the only one to blame. But you know who you are ::glares at those responsible:: Corrupting Nutty, I don’t know, what am I going to do...oh, yeah, write fic apparently.

Anyway, this is little more than a scene, but I’ve decided to package these little fics (which can only remain little until I get my other major fic finished or I will fall off the rails) into a series which I have called the Warm Rain Series (after the first scenes which can be found here and here). This one is placed far before the first two, so is basically kinda backstory, but I have further fic planned in the back of my head due to multiple queries from the above mentioned inspirators - @the-lady-razorsharp @vegetacide @kylorr81 @scribbles97 @weirdburketeer Oh and if you think this scene is anything like the previous one, guess what, you’re wrong :D

Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

It was Lug Day.

To most people it would be known as the day supplies arrived at Tracy Island, but to Virgil, it was Lug Day. Because despite having all the automated equipment a whizbang engineer could design, Virgil always found himself lugging equipment from one hangar, store room or part of the house to another.

If it was in the house, Grandma was your director. If it was in the hangars, Virgil definitely had more say, but that didn’t stop one brother or another from launching into their own epic masterpiece of supply drama.

This time it was Scott. Actually, come to think of it, it was often Scott. Their field commander was rather picky about his bird and where he stashed his stuff, and Virgil always seemed to find himself the lackey. A willing lackey, yes, but lackey nonetheless.

“Over here, Virg. Those canisters can sit in that corner, while the boxes belong over in the store room.” Scott had an armful of what looked like giant furry caterpillars. Virgil hadn’t bothered to ask him what exactly he was doing with a hoard of giant furry caterpillars, but it did seem he had been carrying them for an inordinate amount of time.

Virgil lugged, yes, there you go, lugged the first of five canisters of cleaning fluid across the floor of Thunderbird One’s hangar to the appointed corner. It was a cramped space, none of the loaders were able to get in here behind TB1. None of the mechanical ones, anyway.

“Did we get any of the spare hoses?” Scott was looking at him with a frown on his face.

“What spare hoses?”

“For the coolant system.”

“Was it on the list?” Virgil knew it wasn’t.

“Yeah.”

“Uh, check again.”

A furry caterpillar ended up on the floor as Scott reached for his tablet. “I could have sworn…”

“Not on the list, not purchased.”

“Damn. I’ll have to make a special trip.”

At that very moment, Kayo walked in carrying a large box, one that looked considerably heavy. Virgil put down the second canister and hurried over to help her. “Hey, there, be careful.”

She peered around the box, smiling at him. “Calm down, Virgil. It’s not that heavy.”

The weight that fell into his arms as he took it from her hands, didn’t agree with her assessment. “I beg to differ.”

He was shot by an arched eyebrow, before Kayo turned to his brother. “These are those hoses you needed, Scott. It was three-quarter inch diameter, wasn’t it?”

Scott blinked. “Uh, yeah.”

Virgil frowned at him as he made his way to the storeroom with the massive and heavy box. How the hell had she lifted this by herself? A thud and they found their resting place beside another box, this one full of filters.

Wandering back into the hangar, he found both his brother and Kayo smiling at him. “What?”

“So, you did remember?” Scott’s eyes were dancing.

Grudgingly. “I may have.”

“Thanks, bro.”

“All part of the service.” Virgil looked over at Kayo. “Were you able to get the holocamera you were looking for?”

“Unfortunately, no. They were out of stock and I had to put it on order.” Only her family would be able to recognise the mild annoyance on her face.

“Did you want me to look at your old one? I might be able to get it to behave.” And if he couldn’t, a spin on the elevator up to John would have a good chance of success.

Scott was looking at him oddly. Virgil frowned. “What?”

Innocent blue eyes. “Nothing.”

“Thank you, Virgil. That is very kind of you.”

“No problem.” He shrugged. “I’ll drop by and pick it up later today.”

She smiled at him and left to return to her own stash of lugworthy material.

Scott’s gaze followed her out before once again turning and staring oddly at Virgil.

The engineer frowned at him. “What? Do I have something on my nose?”

“No.” Scott’s lips twisted a little. “I was just wondering if you had something, or should I say, someone, on your mind.”

Virgil stared at him. “I repeat. What?”

“Do you like Kayo?”

“Of course, I like Kayo, she’s my sister. Why wouldn’t I?”

“You do know she isn’t really our sister.”

Now, that got his back up. “What the hell do you mean by that? She grew up with us. She is family, Scott.”

His brother threw up his hands defensively, furry caterpillars scattering everywhere. “Woah, Virg! I didn’t mean it like that.” He lowered his hands and took a step towards Virgil. “I was just wondering if you might see her as…well…more than a sister.”

“More than a sister?”

“Yeah.”

“What exactly are you trying to say, Scott?”

Scott spread his hands now starting to look just a little bit uncomfortable. “Well, I was thinking perhaps you might be seeing her more as a woman.”

Virgil found himself staring at his brother again. “A woman.”

“Yes, Virgil, she is a very attractive woman.”

Blink. “She’s our sister, Scott.”

“Not really.”

Now he was caught between wanting to thwap his brother and the possibility that Kayo was both a woman and not technically his sister.

A stunning and intellectually fascinating woman.

“What on Earth gave you that idea?”

Scott shrugged. “You seemed interested.”

“I offered to fix her holocamera.”

“Rather eagerly.”

“I offered to fix Thunderbird One’s kooky VTOL engine just yesterday. I’m finding you extremely attractive right now.”

A half-lidded glare attempted to shave his eyebrows off. Then Scott threw up his arms. “Hey, just being a big brother here. Just thought you might want to talk about it.”

“There is nothing to talk about.”

“Fine.”

“Good.”

Virgil looked at his hands for a moment, before remembering what it was he had actually been doing before this ridiculous conversation started.

Oh, yeah, lugging.

He kicked a stray furry caterpillar out of his way and wandered back to the discarded canister and yanked it into his arms, stomping it over to its corner before returning for the next one.

What the hell was Scott thinking? He had never thought of Kayo that way. Had he?

Had he?

Kayo chose that very moment to walk across the far end of the hangar carrying yet another box.

He stared at her gliding step, her hips swaying in that cat-like manner she had about her. Perfectly synchronised, as if to her own musical rhythm, her swinging ponytail playing counterpoint.

A blink.

Oooooh, crap.

-o-o-o-

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #virgil tracy #kayo kyrano #virgil/kayo

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locoluis · 3 years

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Pam's visit to the doctor

DISCLAIMER: This is a fictional story. I have no medical knowledge, so the following is all artistic licence and stuff taken from the web. Please consult a proper medical professional if you experience any of the symptoms described below. Oh, and sorry for the sloppy writing.

It has been from bad to worse during the last weeks. I don't like summer, I get way too sweaty and dehydrated. I get sunburned easily. I am self conscious about my body and will need to wear less than the normal amount of clothing I usually enjoy wearing, which attracts the stares of people who look like they haven't seen a girl with more than a B cup in their entire lives.

Like they never get out of this town.

I like going to the city, even though the climate is warmer there than up here in the hills, because nobody bats an eye about my appearance there, or at least not that much. The city centre is a couple hours away by bus. Only a few, elderly people are joining me in this trip I absolutely need to carry out.

The local paediatricians are as useless as the painkillers they prescribe. One of them said: “ At this point, you should consider going to an adult's doctor. ” Madam, I'm only twelve, and you're supposed to be able to take care of people through their late teens. Don't come at me with such rubbish.

Then my PE teacher recommended me this children's hospital in the city, and I got an appointment. I got so stressed during the bus trip that the box of chocolates that I brought with me didn't last long enough. I hope this isn't as bad as it feels.

Even though this is the second time I've seen this particular lady, I immediately recognised her. Shorter than me, dangerously skinny, with a childish face despite being in her mid-thirties, and a brunette ponytail of ridiculous length.

— Pamela Evans. I remember you.

— Dr. Eliana Martínez. You were the lady who awarded me the gold medal at the swimming competition a few months ago.

— Indeed. That was… a random, unusual philanthropic gesture from me. I must confess that your victory caught me by surprise, as you looked like you didn't even want to participate.

— Well, Mum taught me to swim at an early age, and she really wanted me to participate. But I hate PE with a passion, and it was really embarrassing for me to be in a swimsuit with all those people around. You can guess why.

— Yeah, I can relate, having been pregnant once. Never again.

I couldn't quite hide my amazement. How does such a twiggy lady manage to have a child growing inside such a tiny belly?

— Indeed, I have a daughter. Her name is Violeta, and she will soon be bigger than me. I carried my baby through full term, with no complications, shattering all expectations. I guess I'm a woman after all, ha ha ha. But enough about me; please tell me what brings you here.

I took a long breath.

— Doctor, during the last few weeks it's been difficult for me to concentrate in class, to get asleep, to get enough rest. I sweat way too much. I feel a lot of anxiety, even to the point of paranoia. Sometimes I feel my heart beating too hard and too fast. Sometimes I feel a burning sensation in my chest. And I've been putting on quite some weight, though I'm not sure how much of that is just going through puberty.

— Well, body changes are normal through puberty, and girls grow and develop at different rates.

— I'm aware of that. All my classmates still look like children. I'm the only one with the shape of a grown-up woman at twelve.

— About that. When I was twelve, it was the exact opposite. The other girls were all grown up, while I still look like a ten years old.

— Well, you sure are tiny, even compared to my classmates.

— Yeah, yeah. Now that I think about it, you look a lot like one of mine. Blue eyes, a different hairstyle and nose shape, a slimmer waist, but otherwise she was a dead ringer for you.

— Even her breast size?

— Indeed. She was curvy and gorgeous, and all the boys were crazy for her, but she only had eyes for one boy… who just wasn't ready for a relationship. And it made me cringe that she didn't seem to feel pretty enough, that she wore more make-up than was necessary, plus her dangerously short, tight-fit school pinafore dress… she looked ridiculous.

— Oh, I have some classmates who are like that. Not me, though; I already get way too much attention without doing anything with my looks.

— Well, you seem more like the forbidden snack type, which ironically is more attractive for some men than the overly sexy type.

— … Ach-y-fi.

— … Excuse me? I'm not a native English speaker, and that's a word I haven't heard before.

— Oh, that's a local expression of disgust. Like, it seems like I can't avoid the male gaze.

— That's their problem, Miss Evans, not yours. Don't make it your problem. I've got nothing here, yet men still stare.

— Well, your body type is even more unusual…

— I know. But you have to excuse me, this is getting way off-topic. I don't usually talk to my patients about my own childhood, and I'm talking to you like we knew each other from long ago.

— Well, I don't mind. Yours seems to have been an interesting childhood.

— Indeed, but that's not why you're here. So let me get through this. Most of the issues that you describe are not necessarily associated with puberty, and no sign of pain or discomfort is worth getting glossed over. First of all, please stand on the scale to get your height and weight measured.

I do. To no surprise, I'm overweight. She also checked my heart rate and blood pressure.

— Now, tell me. Tea, coffee, carbonated drinks. How much do you drink each day?

— Not much, actually. I drink a couple cups of tea each day. Unlike the rest of my family, who just can't get enough of it. And they drink green tea, which tastes horrible to me.

— Hmm. What about chocolate?

She stopped talking when she noticed the sheer expression of horror in my face.

— What? Did I hit a nerve, Miss Evans? Please tell me how much do you eat everyday. Answer truthfully.

I started crying uncontrollably. She patiently bears with me through this.

— … Doctor. I have a lot of admirers. Every day I get several boxes of chocolate in the mail. And I can't control myself.

— Well, chocolates have a high calorie count due to their sugar and fat content. And the symptoms you've been experiences are consistent with an excessive chocolate intake.

— And now you're telling me that I have to eat less chocolates. As if my life wasn't horrible enough.

— Well, at least you don't have acne… yet.

— ACNE!? Oh my God! I need to stop eating chocolates right now!

— Well, acne is more of an issue with eating lots of carbohydrates and dairy products, and there's no consensus about the link between acne and chocolate consumption. But I still advise you to reduce the amount of chocolate you eat everyday.

— I understand.

— To prevent acne, you should eat more fruits, vegetables and fish. Drinking green tea is also good against acne, and it has many more health benefits. It contains caffeine, so it too must be consumed in moderation.

— Green tea. As I said, I don't like it.

— Add lemon juice and stevia to it. There are many types of green tea, you just have to find which one is better tasting for you. And brewing it correctly is quite important in order to get it just right, not too bitter or watery.

— Well, thank you.

— I'll prescribe you some medication in order to treat the symptoms you've mentioned. But you should follow my instructions in order to attack their root cause. Stop eating so many chocolates, and come back in a month or so, in order to check your progress. I most likely won't be around, as I travel a lot and I'm currently on a temporary contract, but Dr. Spencer is an experienced paediatrician who will be able to take your case.

— I'll do. Oh, and I have a last question. Do you think I should get a breast reduction? And how do I get it on the NHS?

— Well, first of all, I don't think it's advisable to get one while you're still developing, except in extreme cases of breast hypertrophy. Second, you should get down to a stable weight, and get an assessment with a psychiatrist or psychologist. Third, as there are many women seeking to get breast reduction surgery on the NHS, the waiting list can be up to several years, and a lot of women are being turned down as not meeting their criteria. Also, private treatment is quite expensive. And… would you like me to measure you?

— Yeah, sure.

Her procedure for measuring my breast size is a bit more complicated than what I knew. She then puts the measurements on a spreadsheet, which gets her a bunch of numbers.

— Wearing a good-fitting bra can alleviate many of the issues associated with large breasts. Also, I'm recommending you some exercises that can strengthen your core muscles, and some tips to improve your posture. But I wouldn't advise a breast reduction surgery on someone like you, as its risks and consequences certainly outweigh the possible benefits. They're not that big, actually; you just have a delicate body frame. Your ideal weight is lower than that of other girls of your age and height.

— I understand.

I need to make a lot of sacrifices in order to stop feeling like this. Mum is going to stare me down and tell me: “ I told you, Pam ”. And then I'm asking her what we should do with so all those chocolates.

#puberty #fiction #health

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