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jimilter · 3 years

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riptide (m) | k.sj. | (1/2)

one | two

pairing: kim seokjin x reader

rating: m (18+)

genre: angst | smut | established relationship!au

summary: It takes a foolishly trivial incident to unravel how astonishingly little you and Seokjin actually understand each other. It has you questioning your relationship, and him? Well, he’s questioning his whole life.

warnings: swearing + implied alcohol consumption + realistic relationship problems + mentions of insecurities, jealousy, complicated mental dispositions + emotional distress + sexual situations (unprotected penetrative sex, dirty talking, a bit of manhandling, fingering) + mentions of masturbation + a ton of miscommunication (refer to the summary smh)

word count: 12.3 k

note: it’s FINALLY done, y’all! came up to be a monster of 25k words, so i decided to split it into two. i’ll drop the other part next week. this took a lot more time, energy and re-writing than i’d thought it would. i began writing this in january - it’s been five excruciating months! 😩 i really hope y'all will like this one~ 🥺💜

💟 YOUTH – 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7

— masterlist

— feedback is always appreciated!

riptide (n) – a dangerous area of strongly moving water in the sea, where two or more currents meet.

Lady, running down to the riptide - Taken away to the dark side - I wanna be your left hand man.

The turn of events has been so fucking hilariously impossible that Seokjin has literally been rendered speechless. Which doesn't happen often, mind you. What can he do, he is just extremely witty—he always has something to say about everything, usually and preferably with impeccable comic timing. Especially when it comes to you.

This, though. This completely baffling scenario, right in front of him, has him gaping like a goldfish with no words to say.

"Final call, Jin. Gawk at me for five more seconds and I walk out of here," you threaten, an elegant arm poised at your waist and gorgeously plump lips pressed into a thin line. "Say something?"

And Seokjin still cannot formulate a single word, because what the actual fuck? How can you even think that he could ever—

"Alright." You catwalk out of his bedroom, leaving him blinking into space.

He jumps the next second, leaping after you. "Honey! How would—what—I can never—why do I even have to say—will you wait? You’re being so ridiculous, right now, I hope you know that!"

If he wasn't in such a fix, Seokjin would physically cringe at his speech. It was better when he was just gaping.

“Honey! Stop being so overdramatic, you’ve known me and you’ve known Jimin! For years! Stop acting like you seriously don’t know what happened, here!”

You don't stop, though, gliding down the stairs and hopping over the haphazardly tossed items in the living room as you exit out of the house.

And then you're gone. You're really gone, over something so fucking ridiculous, that Seokjin still has no words to say.

All he knows is that his girlfriend of five years has finally gone crazy enough to jump to conclusions of such high magnitude of stupidity.

And, that Park Jimin is a dead man.

It all begins on an unsuspecting Sunday morning, when the entire house is smelling of weed, stale booze and some worse fluids.

Last night, Seokjin vacated his own bedroom for the boys to smoke up in at Jimin's request, because that is the only well ventilated room of the house. He spent the night in Yoongi's room with earplugs in, dead to all the chaos in the house—as he often does on party nights—to catch up on his beauty sleep. He cannot afford any unbecoming dark circles or, God forbid, breakouts.

And no, that's not a comedic moment, he really does need his face looking perfect this week for reasons outside of personal gratification too, because he has a shoot on Tuesday. He especially took a leave from his part-time job at the Mexican restaurant downtown where his girlfriend, you, work full-time, on a Tuesday—saying goodbye to all the amazing tips always forwarded to the cooks on Taco Tuesday—for this. Nothing would mess up his face.

Not to mention that one very important audition for a very gigantic project he's been looking forward to. They're yet to announce the date, but it would be this very month. He hasn't really told you much about it, planning a huge surprise for later when—if, actually, but he prefers to be unrealistically optimistic in every situation possible—he bags the coveted position, at the end. He hasn't really decided upon much, other than a long drive and a picnic date to one of those grasslands on the city's outskirts that you love so much. Oh, and bringing up the prospect of moving in together in an apartment with just the two of you.

He's pretty certain you must not remember him raving about the opportunity, because it has been months since he did that. He then proceeded to be covert about all the mini auditions and trainings he underwent to prepare for the final audition, and he is confident you have not connected the dots.

But that is all a discussion for later — he doesn't even know when he would be auditioning.

The crux of the whole matter is that he needs to keep looking as flawless as he can until that audition happens.

So he has slept like a baby, last night, while the rest of his friends have partied, including two out of three of his housemates—Hoseok and Jimin—along with Taehyung and Taehyung's girl. Namjoon had foregone attendance in lieu of the Halloween party, next weekend, that he knows he would definitely be forced to attend because Hoseok is hosting. Yoongi, his third and final housemate, escaped the house altogether to spend a night of music-making with Jungkook in his dorm.

So, in the morning, when Seokjin is moving around his kitchen that seems to have been hit by a tornado, checking the fridge and mentally praying that his baggie of smoothie ingredients is still in good shape—a scream echoes around the house.

Seokjin freezes. That sounded a lot like…you.

Immediately alert, he runs out of the kitchen and into the drawing room. Hoseok is hanging upside down on one of the couches, something that looks a lot like undigested white sauce pasta puddles on the ground, inches from his new, fiery red hair. Seokjin grimaces.

"Kim Seokjin!" your screech tears the silence.

Seokjin twists on his heels, looking up in the direction of his bedroom. It really is you. And you're in his bedroom—the room he did not occupy last night.

God only knows what kind of a scene you have walked in on. He hopes these idiots didn’t have an orgy up there, although he really can’t put it past them.

Not waiting another second, Seokjin rushes up the stairs and pushes through the doors to his bedroom. His mouth falls open on an audible gasp.

You stand next to his bed, dressed up elegantly in a navy dress that ends above your knees—which makes him wonder if you are here for an impromptu breakfast date—with one hand clutching his duvet that has uncovered what looks like…

…a head of long, dirty blonde hair.

Who the fuck?

In his bed?

"Hey, Honey!" Seokjin's voice is a squeak. "You… you here for a date?" he manages out of a suddenly parched throat.

You roll your eyes. "Uh huh. A fact you would've known if you looked at the texts I sent you last night." Your eyes are narrow at him. "This explains why you didn't, though. Busy night, Jin?"

He balks at your words, at a loss. How could you even think it was him, when you know all about Park Jimin and his escapades?!

Seokjin's blood boils. Fucking Jimin. There is going to be blood on Seokjin’s hands.

In the midst of it, the blonde head shifts.

Soon after, as you two watch, a pair of brown eyes with smudged makeup emerge from inside Seokjin's bed—and the audacity?! There’s makeup all over his covers! Jimin will pay for the dry cleaning. The face is followed by a whole, tiny woman of five-something feet who is, thankfully, covered in a shirt.

Seokjin is almost not breathing when the blonde starts to give him a dreamy smile, his gaze switching between her and you. And it’s extremely stupid, because he hasn’t seen this woman before, ever, in his entire life. But he catches the way your arms fall to your sides and those elegant, dainty fingers of yours ball up into fists as you look at the blondie’s face.

Fortunately, the girl recognises him at last before her grin could turn fully dopey, and with a squeak, jumps out of the bed. “You’re not—um. Hi. Sorry, I, uh. I’ll get going.”

And surprisingly, she does exactly that in less than a minute, leaving you to stare down at Seokjin.

“You know, it’s really unbecoming for a girlfriend to keep finding girls in her boyfriend’s bed every other week and not be given an explanation, ever.” Your tone is teasing, but your eyes are taunting. “You shouldn’t always be so dismissive, you know? What if I start getting ideas? I don’t think you even remember how to make up with your girlfriend, at this point, because I never fight.”

That is when Seokjin starts gawking. And literally doesn’t stop until you’ve left the house.

“I don’t get it,” Jackson says, stuffing cold noodles into his mouth and chewing on them without closing it. “Do you think he cheated on you, or do you not think he cheated on you?”

You look at your best friend with your face twisted up in disgust. You swear to God you would never have agreed to make friends with this guy on your mother’s insistence when the Wang family moved in next doors to you, had you known he’d turn out to be such a barbarian a decade later. Twelve-year-old Jackson had been such a decent kid—studious, elegant, well-mannered. What went wrong, along the way?

You exhale, shifting on your chair, very wary of any dried up fluids that you might come in contact with. “I know he did not cheat on me, Jax, the very notion is completely ridiculous.”

Jackson stops chewing and looks away from the WWE match playing on the TV to squint at you. “I’m…confused? Wait. What is the problem, then? What are you mad at him for?”

To be completely honest, you aren’t quite certain yourself.

But you do know that you don’t feel good. And that this feeling has been building up over a couple months, but you have only really acknowledged it head-on, today, in all five-something years of your relationship. Five years, seven months and eight days, to be exact, but that’s kinda besides the point.

You’ve had at least a few months’ worth of buildup that has gotten you to this point, you would admit. Especially after Seokjin had to cancel that visit to your hometown at the end of June, for your parents’ thirty-fifth wedding anniversary celebration because he had an important audition for a big-brand ad film. The cancellation was acceptable, but his offhand comment that, “thirty-five isn’t even that special, we’ll get them a huge gift for their fiftieth,” stayed with you longer than it should’ve. Things got okay-ish when you reminded yourself how Seokjin never really thought too hard about things he said, always being a humorous, unattached clown in every situation. But this morning's dismissal has pushed you over that edge. You straightaway goaded him, claiming he doesn’t remember how to make it up to you, and all you got in response was his shock and being called “ridiculous” and “overdramatic.” Fun.

You were most certainly joking, if a bit caustically, when you said what you did. He could have taken it as a joke and laughed it off. He could have taken it as a threat and comforted you, said it was Jimin that used his room, and maybe kissed you. You already knew what had happened when you saw the girl, anyway. But this was probably the third time this situation had happened, this month.

Sure, you are understanding and really do know Jimin and what all he gets up to, but is that really supposed to be such a given? Asking your boyfriend to hug you close and kiss your forehead when you discover a girl in his bed just as you were about to cuddle the lump of sheets thinking it was him, is not too much to expect, is it?

Granted, Seokjin has never been extremely expressive, but still. It feels like he’s consciously trying to keep you at a distance, these past few months.

You don’t have the complete grasp of the storm of thoughts in your head yet, but you want to try and explain it to Jackson the best you can.

“It was about respect, in a way, I guess,” you quietly mumble, and Jackson turns the TV off, now sitting cross legged on the couch to face your chair. He puts away his takeout container to frown at you, probably gleaning how serious this is for you. “He stood there, without saying a single word, expecting me to stop being mad. Almost willing me to stop being mad by making these big, incredulous eyes at me. Like it was that horrible of his girlfriend to demand for an explanation when she found a girl in his bedroom. It was just the two of us, I wasn’t making a scene in front of anybody. He just—ugh! He could’ve simply asked me to not be mad, said it was Jimin who spent the night in the room and maybe even laughed about it, or plotted Jimin’s murder—I would’ve joined in—but no. He acted like I was being stupid, told me not be ridiculous and dramatic. And that made me feel really stupid.”

Jackson winces. “And why do you think you were not being stupid?”

You exhale. “I wasn’t. Because I wasn’t actually accusing him of anything, and five years down the lane, he should know that now. I just wanted him to say it and not scold me when I tease-taunted him. He always expects me to know everything. And even though I always do, it gets tiring sometimes. These weird thoughts get to you — that maybe you’re being too understanding and he’s using that to his advantage, you know?” You look down at your lap, playing with your nails. “It’s just…um. I wanted him to coddle me, I guess. To treat this as something big because I was throwing a tantrum about it and, just, I don’t know—try to cajole me? Assuage me with his words, maybe? But he didn’t. Because he hasn’t done that in forever. Because I never need him to, because I always freaking understand everything!” A sob leaves you.

Jackson pats the place next to him. “C’mere, you dumdum, and stop hyperventilating,” he mumbles, hugging you to his side when you move to sit on the couch. “I don’t exactly understand how the relationship dynamics work, but from what you told me, I get that you wanted attention? Some loving? And instead you got disappointed looks because Jin expected you to be mature and rational about it — the way you always are — and that too with his fucking eyes and some low-key insult words? Is it something like that?”

Wow, Jackson really paraphrased all that amazingly. “Yes, actually. It’s exactly that.”

Jackson sighs. “Y’all have been together a long time, babe, so I guess it’s kind of a given that you’d get to a no-bullshit point. Which is why he hasn’t done that in forever, because y’all probably don’t need that kinda stuff between you anymore.”

“I get that, it’s how a relationship matures. But I’m pretty certain that it’s not supposed to make me feel like this,” you sound slightly muffled, having stuffed your face into Jackson’s hoodie-covered chest. “I feel—I feel like we got too comfortable and now he’s just started to take me for granted. And I also feel like I’m being too needy. Am I being needy and annoying? He’d hate me if I told him all this, won’t he? Half of the reason we’ve worked out so well is because we’re both career oriented and don’t waste time overthinking stupid shit.” You gasp. “Oh, no—would he leave me? He’s used to his girlfriend being mature, not needy—”

You are cut off when Jackson pulls you away by your shoulders, giving you a serious look. “Wait, wait, stop. What did you say? Not the needy part, you’re allowed to be needy once in all the damn three-sixty-five days y’all stay busy for. The…taking you for granted part. Pretty big of a thing to say, babe.”

You sigh. “We haven’t been on an actual date in months. Seokjin thinks there’s no need for that extra effort when we spend lunch breaks at work together, everyday. Outside of the restaurant, our meetings involve our entire flock of friends by default. It’s been three months since we slept together.” You sniff, hating having to impart such a private detail of your life. “So no, I don’t think it’s that big of a thing to say, at all.”

“Wow.” Jackson gives a slow whistle. “You’ve really been bottling up a lot in there, huh?”

You shrug. “I guess. It never made me feel underappreciated, though. Sure, I was irritated at some occasions and disappointed at others, but… Today I feel horrible, Jax.”

“Did you share anything with Byulyi?” he asks, referring to your flatmate and good friend since college.

You shake your head. “She already has a lot on her plate, right now. She got rejected by the photographer she wanted to intern with, so it’s back to freelancing for her.”

“Yeah, that must suck.” Jackson grimaces. Then he looks at you. “You need to take a break, hun. Sit back, today, and have tacos and beer with me. Reset your inner thoughts. Talk to Jin tomorrow. Although, I must say, it’s kinda depressing that you have to actually tell your boyfriend that he’s being a bad boyfriend. Isn’t that kind of shit supposed to be realized on your own?”

You purse your lips. “I guess, yeah. But…don’t say that he’s being a bad boyfriend, Jax. I don’t think he even realizes something is wrong.”

“And that…doesn’t make it worse?” At your raised eyebrows, he concedes with a roll of his eyes. “Fine, fine, in any case — maybe try to hint at it before you dive straight in with the kill? See if he reacts?”

“I don’t know, Jax. What if he doesn’t? He’s really not the best at taking hints and reading signs, or that kind of subtle stuff.”

“Then you can just say your shit. All I’m saying is, give him a chance to figure it out on his own. He’s probably really clueless why you reacted so big on something so small, this morning. If you drop hints, maybe he’ll feel it out.”

You nod, somewhat amazed at how sound Jackson’s advice seems. “How are you doing this, Jax? Being a love guru all of a sudden?”

Jackson scoffs. “I’m just tryna put myself in Seokjin’s shoes. If I was in the situation he’s in, this is what I’d like to happen — be given a window to figure out what’s wrong. You’ve been together a long time, hun. It really shouldn’t be that difficult for him.”

You shrug a shoulder. “I won’t be too sure about that. Why does it even matter if he can or cannot, though?”

Jackson seems to be mulling over something before he drops his chin to his chest. “Because you’re supposed to be partners, hun. If you can tell what’s up with him with a single glance, why can't he? Not being good at taking signs is not a good enough excuse. My gut says that he’d be able to, though. And that knowledge will make you feel infinitely better, trust me. It’ll be reassuring to learn that he really knows and understands you well, won’t it?”

You nod, slowly, but you still have your suspicions. Seokjin has just been the kind of guy whose emotional depth goes to a certain extent and then just — well, stops. There are things that he feels and realizes and sees, and there are things that he doesn’t. It isn’t even something he does, you believe. It’s just how he is. Certain feelings just don’t fall in his orbit. And you’ve never found there to be anything wrong with it when he’s been an immaculately amazing boyfriend and tended to every single one of your needs, always. Well, you have never actually needed emotional consoling, too, so you haven’t had the chance to audition him for that. You keep yourself too busy for all that unnecessary mental pressure. It comes as a surprise, but you have never cried on Seokjin’s shoulder in all these years of your togetherness. You’ve kept your head straight and chin up, even during your college exams. And so has Seokjin, because you’ve never seen him cry, either.

Lately, though, things have been kind of weird. The gradual transformation into your professional lives that began after college, has been drastic in the past few months. Seokjin has been constantly prioritizing his career over you, and you have been understanding about it because you agree with it — to an extent. Seokjin believes it all the way through, though, and you have known for a while that you would hit your limit at some point, and would try to bring him back to yourself. Today morning, it seems, you hit that limit.

You felt dispensable.

You hate this feeling.

To be very honest, you know you can get over this. You can give it some time, remind yourself of how much your Jin loves you, believe that he is eventually going to come back to you once he settles, and be understanding about the entire thing.

You can — but you really don’t want to.

Something tells you that this feeling of getting too comfortable will only fester and take a worse form as time goes by. You can wait it out, sure, and hope you aren’t being a pushover as he works on building his career. You are building your career, too, after all, and at least some of it has been for each other.

The thing is, your plans with Seokjin are long-term—marriage, kids, white-picket fence, and all that. And you believe that if you are sensing a problem now, you better deal with it now before it has the chance to change its form and affect you both when you are at a more responsible point in your life.

Mind made up, you look up at Jackson, immediately grimacing when he forwards a greasy hand to pick up a taco for you. “I don’t…I don’t like tacos. And may I exchange the beer for scotch?”

“You work at a Mexican restaurant, and you don’t like tacos,” Jackson deadpans.

“They mess up my skincare.”

“Oh, fuck off! Have a spinach smoothie with a drink, why don’t you?”

You purse your lips to hold back your laughter at his ire, your own worries forgotten in the moment as Jackson gets up to get you a glass of scotch and some healthier snacking alternative.

“You're a dead man.”

Jimin stops dead in his tracks, arms frozen in the act of putting a t-shirt on. He blinks at Seokjin with big round eyes. “Hyung?” he mumbles, a picture of unblemished innocence, especially when he covers his toned torso with the oversized t-shirt he was in the process of getting into. “What—what’d I do?”

Someone who doesn’t know better would never believe that this young, innocent, frazzled haired fairy-boy could ever do any wrong. But Seokjin knows better. “You chaotic womanizer,” Seokjin nearly hisses, "you've gotta learn to clean after yourself. Honey found a girl in my bed. A girl—in my bed.”

Jimin had the decency to drop the innocent act. “Oh. Oh.”

Seokjin raises a brow. “Oh? That’s it?”

"Yeah, well, I clarified to her that it was a one time thing when we got to it. She was obviously expecting something more if she didn't leave when I told her to. Disappointed but not surprised." Jimin is frowning when he comes to sit down on the couch next to Seokjin. “Sorry you two had to see that. You clarified to Honey noona that I’d been the occupant of the room, though, right?”

“I—what?” Seokjin scoffs. “Why would I even need to do that? She knows that already, obviously. She’s been seeing you for over five years, or have you forgotten?”

Jimin squints. “I mean…okay, fair point, I guess. Why’re you so worked up, then? Did something else happen, too? Where’s she, now?” Jimin looks around the living room as if looking for you.

Seokjin sighs. “Well, I couldn't really get much out before she was storming out of the damn house, altogether.”

Jimin blinks. “Storming out? Why? She… um, was she mad?"

Seokjin opens his mouth – and then shuts it. Was she mad, indeed. "I don't know. She looked kinda mad, yes. But maybe she was in a hurry?"

"Why would she be mad? Did you try to call her? Text her? It's unlike her to react so big on something so small." Jimin bites down on his lip, looking lost in thought.

Seokjin shakes his head. "She didn't pick up or text back."

“There’s definitely got to be an underlying reason for her being like this. Are you sure you guys haven’t been fighting, hyung?”

Seokjin sighs. “Yes, Jimin, I’m absolutely certain that there hasn’t been any fighting of any sorts between the two of us before today.” He pauses. “Well, she was slightly irritated that I didn’t check her texts last night, but she knows I go to bed at eleven on days leading up to a shoot, so that one’s on her.”

Jimin looks genuinely concerned, which, in turn, makes Seokjin concerned. Jimin isn't the type to stress over stuff if he can help it. Sure, he cares about the boys and would always be down to do whatever he can for them, but his throwing-caution-to-the-wind way of life causes him to not take most of the things in life seriously.

You’ve been like an older sister to the boys ever since Seokjin started dating you and introduced you to them. They all have their ways of showing their respect and affection to you. Well, maybe not Jungkook because he can’t get over getting unnecessarily intimidated by Seokjin enough to relax around you.

Jimin, especially, always seems to be affected by any tension in Seokjin’s relationship. Everyone can see how it upsets his entire life when you two are fighting, although he’d never admit to it. He doesn’t need to, because it’s pretty obvious when he becomes a cranky six-year-old who hates the world.

Right now, he has a guilty frown on his face. "I should've seen to it that Suzette left before I went to shower," he mumbles as if talking to himself. “Shouldn’t have trusted her to leave just because I told her to.” He looks up at Seokjin with troubled eyes. "I'm sorry, hyung."

Seokjin can not believe himself when he shakes his head at Jimin's apology—this little demon causes so much chaos in all their lives that any apology coming from him should be justified and welcome. But this one isn't really on him. "It's not entirely your fault."

Jimin's demeanor changes a bit and the attitude Seokjin is used to witnessing makes an appearance. "Right? That's what I was thinking, too!" Jimin exclaims, some of the concern on his face lifting. "You have to talk to Honey noona and make things right, though, hyung. She’s the only womanly touch in our man cave. We’d all be barbarians without her.” Jimin looks very wary and kind of nervous.

“It’s funny you would crave her ‘womanly’ presence when she’s rushed off because of a woman that you brought home.” Seokjin scrunches his nose. "And I said it isn't entirely on you, because it is partially on you, Park Jimin. You borrowed my room to smoke up in. Why couldn't you take your Suzy back to your own room?"

"Suzette," Jimin corrects under his breath while shaking his head. "Yeah, I should've, but… your room just felt like a better choice during the high," he finishes in a mumble, dragging a hand down his face. “Hyung,” Jimin says with a pout on his lips, “the last time you two fought was two years ago, remember? On your birthday? When Hobi hyung dumped cake in noona’s hair and she had her first shoot for that bigshot magazine, the next day?”

Seokjin nods with a sigh. “She yelled at me for having stupid friends, and I yelled at her for caring more about the shoot that having a good time on my birthday. Yes, I remember.”

“And then she didn’t visit us for a whole week. Please don’t let that happen, again.” Jimin looks up at Seokjin with big, round eyes. “I can’t take that kind of unrest in my life."

Seokjin briefly wonders, if Jimin’s nightly conquests were to see this side of him, would they run in the opposite direction or be more attracted to him? Jimin definitely needs someone in his life that would bring out this side in him and stay to provide him the emotional comfort he requires when he gets like this.

“I will try not to, Jiminie, but…” Seokjin shuts his eyes. “I seriously do not understand her actions from the morning,” he finishes in a mumble.

“Maybe she’s—maybe she’s worried about something else? Some other aspect of her life?” Jimin suggests with wide eyes. “And she’s just projecting onto you.”

“As sound as the explanation is, I am literally involved in ninety percent of the aspects in her life,” Seokjin says with a twist to his lips. “I would know if something was wrong anywhere.”

“That’s cocky of you to say,” Jimin snarkily comments with narrowed eyes. At Seokjin’s raised eyebrows, he amends, “That’s cocky of you to say, hyung-nim.”

Seokjin scoffs, but then he shrugs his shoulders. “It’s true. We work at the same restaurant, we’re scouted by the same agency. Even her agent is best friends with mine—she gossips a ton about how Honey passes up so many opportunities and pisses her agent off. Her friends are, well—” Seokjin stops short when it hits him. “Wang. Wang could know something!”

Jimin is looking at him skeptically when Seokjin meets the younger’s eyes. “I just think you should have a simple talk with noona first before digging around.”

That is sensible advice. Seokjin nods as he pulls his phone out.

“Just find out what’s been troubling her, hyung. You two are rational people, I’m sure you’ll work it out.” Jimin pauses to scratch the back of his head. “Just please don’t let this be another fight like that one?”

“Don’t worry,” Seokjin finally says with a pat on Jimin’s shoulder as he finishes sending off another text to you, “this one is nothing like that fight.”

Turns out, this fight really is not like that one. Or any other fights Seokjin has ever had with you, in fact, because you’re giving him the silent treatment.

You’ve never given him the silent treatment.

Not even when you were students and didn’t have a load of time on your hands and used to waste precious sleep hours arguing over stupid shit that would probably resolve itself if you just slept on it and looked back at it with a fresh state of mind. Not even then did you forego talking.

Needless to say, Seokjin is distressed.

You drive to the house to pick him up at your usual time, the next morning, after not having responded to any of his calls or texts for the entire day. Seokjin is aghast as he gets into the car.

“Honey! What is going on? Why didn’t you—where have you been?”

You simply start the engine and take off. “Busy,” you murmur after a while.

Soekjin’s head is close to exploding. “Busy? Doing what?”

Your face remains stoic as you weave through the morning traffic. Seokjin looks at you. You’re dressed up in your waitressing outfit that consists of a shirt, skirt and tights, and being who you are, Seokjin can proudly say that you would stand out to be the most well dressed server in the field. You’re always pristine and tidy — no accidents happen to you at the job ever. No spillage of drinks or ketchups, no soiled hands being wiped down on your skirt. Nothing even ruins your manicure.

It is something that Seokjin has always tried to keep up with, this cleanliness streak of yours. Because he has always assumed you would expect it out of him, too. You were attracted to the cover model version of him, after all. It is quite natural that you would have those kinds of expectations. And Seokjin has always been more than happy to deliver. It has become a part of him, in fact. He doesn't even chew with his mouth open even when he's among the boys, anymore.

It has, somewhat, made him practical and less emotional in life, too, but he doesn't really think of it as a bad thing. You have always been practical in life – the most ambitious girl he has ever met, someone that has always prioritized her career and goals over everything else. Seokjin has admired that since college, and has tried to show you that he has similar priorities even if he has had to work on thinking from his mind more than his heart.

But when you are already by his side, what does he even need his heart for, anymore, when it's already yours?

Now, looking at you sitting with a morose expression on your face as you give him the cold shoulder, Seokjin is just as much in love with you as he was when he first met you.

“Stuff,” you say with a shrug, after some extended silence. “You should know about that, right? Your schedule’s always busier than mine and I never complain.”

Your sharp words have him reeling. Whatever do you even mean by that? “Uhm, okay. Fair enough. But… did you really not have the time to respond to a single text?”

“It gets impossible sometimes, Jin, you know how it is.”

Seokjin frowns. He does know that, but he doesn’t feel okay. Something is very off with you. It is as if you’re saying something else and expecting him to discern a different meaning out of it.

He doesn’t understand why, though. You, of all people, should know how terrible he is at decoding signs.

He sighs.

Seokjin, after his conversation with Jimin yesterday, had decided to ask you about the morning’s incident, head on, whenever you called him back. But you didn’t, and this is the first opportunity he’s had to talk to you, so he decides to bring it up, now. “What—what happened yesterday morning, babe? You got really mad and stormed off, and… I mean, you’ve got to know the girl had been Jimin’s companion for the night, right? You know him, how he is!”

You say nothing, hands tightening a bit on the steering wheel. Seokjin looks down at his own hands.

“You know I was only surprised at your words because we really do not have the time to be discussing silly things." He shuts his heart down when it tries to tell him to go soft. He knows it isn't something you would appreciate. "After five years, you know what I’m capable of right? You can never start getting ideas, because that would be insane and stupid. I’m already so supremely occupied as it is between two jobs, when would I even have the time to cheat, right?” he jokes, snorting to himself.

You’re still quiet, but your tongue comes out to moisten your lips. It is a nervous tick of yours which Seokjin recognizes very well, because with your skincare and scheduled regular application of lip balms, your lips never need the extra moisture.

He frowns. Was he too straightforward? But this is exactly how you communicate with him! “Hey, is everything okay, babe?”

You exhale, noisily. “Everything’s fine, Jin,” you finally say with a roll of your eyes. “And you’re right. I know you wouldn’t cheat. You don’t have the time to chat me up, how are you gonna pick someone new to impress, huh?”

Your snort sounds lacking in humor, but Seokjin still gives a couple of stilted chuckles. Even so, he's still somewhat relieved. “Right. Just so we’re certain, that was a joke, right? I mean, it would be really ridiculous of you to think that I would—”

“Yes, Jin!” you cut him off with a deep frown. “If I wanted to talk to you about something, or accuse you, or confront you — I’d do that without you having to prompt me. Stop obsessing over yesterday and stop trying to explain yourself. I know it was Jimin’s doing.”

Seokjin feels immensely relaxed at the conviction with which you say the last sentence, certainly, but something is still off. “Why were you ignoring me, then?”

“I just didn’t have anything to say to you.” You stop at a red light, the last one before you reach the restaurant, and turn to look at Seokjin with really vacant eyes. He doesn’t like your stare one bit. “We’ve been together five years, babe. If neither of us have got anything of significance to say, I’d rather not text too much, if that’s okay with you? I’ve got a busy schedule to work around, too, you know?”

Seokjin wants to remind you that both of you had something of significance to say after you left his place in anger, but chooses to just roll with whatever you’re playing at. Maybe he's thinking too much. He nods. “Sounds alright to me.”

“Great,” you breathe out, somehow looking disappointed along with the preexisting sorrowful expression you had on your face.

You really do not have a concrete explanation for why you acted the way you did with Seokjin, this morning.

You were supposed to hint at being mad, not blatantly try to give him a taste of his own medicine. It could turn out to be a good thing if he eventually starts to miss you and reaches out, sure, but playing mind games never feels right to you. But when he started to joke about not having time to cheat, and something just turned off in you. He really could’ve seriously reassured you of his love. That would’ve been actually comforting. But no. He chose to joke about that, too. You didn’t feel like putting in all that energy anymore, after that.

Now, you sit down in the break room to check your phone during your ten minutes’ rest break. A text message floats at the top of your notifications.

Jax 🚽 Hey How’d it go?

With an exhale, you decide to call him back. Your fingers are too tired to type, and Jackson is sure to launch off into a rampage of texts the moment you tell him you’ve tried to turn the tables on Seokjin.

Seokjin is in the kitchen, his usual rest break not being for another hour, so you don’t have to worry about him walking in.

“Hey!” Jackson jovially greets you as soon as he picks the phone. “Did you get my text?”

“I did, yes,” you respond in a calm voice. “I’ve been looping milkshake mugs through my fingers since eight am, they needed some rest, so I decided to call.”

“Yeah, no, it’s cool. I was in a really boring class, anyway. So. How'd it go?"

You pull in your lip between your teeth. "I… I kinda ended up telling him I am a busy person too and that we shouldn’t text that much."

You hear silence instead of the outburst you'd expected.

"Jax?"

"Are you actually gonna try to play a mind game with the dumbest human being you know on earth?" Jackson so very eloquently asks, his interpretation making you pinch the bridge of your nose. “He’s never even gonna figure it out!”

“I know how it sounds, okay?” You exhale. “I honestly don’t know what came over me.”

“Okay, alright, one thing at a time. So, no coddling?"

"Not a single soft word. Just more expectations of me understanding, and claiming that anything but that would be stupid of me. He acts like I'm supposed to know everything about him and everyone in his group of friends," you mutter in irritation. “As if those dumbasses know the first thing about themselves.”

You realize you're being a bit harsh, because his friends – basically your younger brothers, at this point – are a bunch of clueless idiots that love, adore and respect you. You shouldn't be badmouthing them, Seokjin’s growing callousness towards you isn't their doing. It's his own.

You sigh. You really miss how things used to be when you were in college.

“Uh, I think we need to rewind a bit. What happened? What triggered this?”

It makes you smile a little when Jackson asks that. At least your best knows you’re not wholly clinically insane. “Well… I drove him to work. He…" your brows lower at the recollection, "he was the first to bring up yesterday morning. And yet again, he gave me the same you've got to know this and that crap, and then he tried to assure me in the dumbest possible way. Do you know what he said, Jax, do you?”

“Um, do I wanna know?”

“He said, and I quote, he doesn’t have the time to cheat. Jackson Wang, are you hearing this? He really straight up said he was too busy to cheat on me and so I should rest assured! Who says that?!”

“He must’ve meant it as a joke—”

“Yeah, he said that, too, and then very immaculately added that it’d be ridiculous of me to think otherwise. I have lost count of how many times the words ridiculous and stupid came up.”

“Goddammit.”

“Goddammit is right,” you mumble, morosely resting your head on your palm.

“What did he say, by the way? When you told him to text less?”

You give a wry chuckle. "Well, he said it sounded alright to him."

"Son of a bitch. You – you two are messed up, man. Messed up bad. Why the hell can you not just say shit you really mean and actually want to instead of saying shit you don't? You don't wanna text less because you're busy, you want him to dote on you because you miss him!" Jackson sounds beyond frustrated. "And it doesn't fucking sound alright to him! It sounds scary, it sounds confusing, it sounds like something you would never say to him!" He groans. "But none of you would say that shit to each other! You’re choosing to be evasive and fucking plastic instead of honest, and falling deeper into your mess."

You reel from the onslaught of his harsh words, eyes widened and breath stuttering. Jackson isn't usually the type to pay so much attention to your relationship problems. But this time, you guess, he has garnered the depth of your unhappiness and thus has gotten so involved.

You realize he is right. Nothing good can come out of any turned tables, because Seokjin is, anyways, not even going to be able to work out the problem by himself. He may even go around talking to his friends about how you were being cold with him and not giving him any time, and still not realize he has been doing the same to you. He is thick like that.

When his friends tell you tales of his compassion, you're unable to relate. You've never seen that side of him. He has probably grown up from that emotionally overwhelmed high school graduate who had made friends on a whim, the night of his graduation.

You certainly don't appreciate the emotional abstinence, though, and would very much rather prefer if he would open up a bit more. It would help you be more open with him, without fearing him calling you "stupid" in response.

But it’s still alright, you accept him with that thick brain of his, because he’s still only ever going to be the only one for you.

"How are you two gonna get around to having a proper chat if you just keep building more walls between you both?" Jackson asks after the long pause from your end, this time softer. “I’m sorry, babe, I was wrong. Giving him signs and making him realize shit won’t work. It was stupid of me to suggest that. It’s probably why you ended up being so caustic with him.

“No, no, it was all me, Jax. I could’ve chosen to not listen to you, but my ego got in the way, I guess. It’s not exactly easy, telling your boyfriend you’re feeling neglected. I mean, what if he laughs in my face and tells me I’m being paranoid? What if he thinks I have no regard for his career — or mine — because my priorities don’t align with his?” You bite your lip, shutting your eyes as your insecurities attack you.

“Hey, no. None of that is gonna happen if you really share with him what you’ve been feeling. No hints, no sarcasm, you’re gonna have to tell him point blank. Allow yourself to be raw. He’s the love of your life. You don’t have to protect yourself from him, right?”

You sigh. “Yeah, I know. You’re absolutely right, Jax. But I really have no idea how to even approach him, at this point. He’s either too busy with shoots, or with the guys, or some meeting. I cannot do this on call, because that always leads to misunderstandings.” You bite down on your lower lip, contemplating. “But I’ll figure something out.”

"Yes, you will. You always do. So, that’s good then. In the meanwhile, can you at least clean up this latest pile of poop? The talking less thingy is gonna make you two more distant, hun."

You scrunch your nose at his metaphor, but then your shoulders slump. "I don't know, Jackson. The way he so impassively agreed to it would make me sound really stupid if I take it back. And given what he keeps saying, he really doesn’t want me to sound stupid."

Jackson gives a snort at that. “Hah, funny. But listen. At the end of the day, he’s your boyfriend. You're gonna have to really decide if you're trying to get your boyfriend to give you more love, or if you're fighting a battle of egos and would like to bend him to you."

You bite your lip. “You make me sound manipulative.”

“You yourself confessed you let your ego come into this, one time. Don’t let that happen again. I’m trying to make you realize that complicated problems can have simple solutions, too. If only you’d communicate. Just talk to him soon, please, and make him understand why you’re hurt. Don’t carry on with this stupid cold war, okay? You gotta figure out exactly what you want, first.”

“You know what I want, Jax. You’re literally the only person that does, actually,” you remind him with a sigh.

“Oh, he is, isn’t he?”

You freeze, eyes bulging at the familiar voice. “I’ll… I’ll call you back,” you mumble before you disconnect the call and turn to look over your shoulder at Seokjin’s unreadable face. He stands with his arms crossed, still in his uniform but without the apron. “Jin… what—uh…”

“What am I doing here?” he scoffs, lips curling in distaste as he stares you down. “Well, I was going to the loo when I saw you sitting here. You looked upset, so I thought I’d check in on you on my way back.” He clicks his tongue, a dry chuckle tumbling out. “But apparently, you’ve got other people doing it for you, already.”

You wince, shutting your eyes. The one time he was finally going to give you some much needed attention — you sent a bad message his way.

“So. Good to know there actually is someone who knows what you want. Would’ve been easier if it were me, though, given how I stand to be the one that is to deliver.” Seokjin sounds pissed off, and despite your irritation, you really want to make him understand.

You rub at your forehead. “Stop talking like that, Jin, it was just Jackson.”

“Wang?” He seems to seethe more, for some reason. “Of course, it’s fucking Wang!”

You frown, standing up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Seokjin looks at you incredulously. “You—do you not see how this looks? You have problems with me, Honey, but you choose to discuss them with him? Who’s he, your therapist?”

“He’s my best friend, Jin, someone I trust,” you grit out.

Seokjin seems to take it the wrong way, his agitated expressions slowly fading into a blank stare. “Oh. You trust him, as opposed to…” He trails off with a shrug, but the implication is as obvious as it can be.

“Jin—”

He raises a hand up, palm facing you as he looks away. “If you need some time apart, you should tell me in plain words. You know I’m not good at reading signs.”

Seokjin gives you a blank stare before turning around to leave the area. You stand rooted to your place, jaw dropped and eyes wide.

Some time apart? Has he lost his mind?

He really is a huge freaking idiot who cannot pause to think what implications his words have. He seriously doesn’t recognize what all his “don’t be ridiculous/overdramatic/stupid” speeches do to you. You realize you should really make him understand. This has gone on for way too long.

But maybe you should take some time to yourself to cool off before that. You don’t want to say the wrong thing in your rage and complicate things further.

You sigh to yourself as you slump back into the bench you were sat on before.

You’d set out to tell your boyfriend you were feeling neglected, but you ended up making him think you want to be apart. How the heck did you get here?

You belatedly recall Jackson's words.

Why the hell can you not just say shit you really mean and actually want to instead of saying shit you don't?

You’re choosing to be evasive and fucking plastic instead of honest, and falling deeper into your mess.

Your usually dumbheaded best friend was right on this one, you realize. You should’ve just talked like a normal human being instead of letting Seokjin’s words get to you and get pissy in retaliation.

You give a weary sigh.

Seokjin is grateful for the sudden busyness he’s got on his schedule, or he would explode from all the pent up frustration you have been causing him.

He realized he wasn’t as upset with you as he was irritated, right after he walked away from you on Monday. He dropped you a text with some excuse of needing to stay back so that he wasn’t forced to ride with you in the car again, and later took the bus home.

You had told Jackson Wang about what was troubling you, but not him. It made Seokjin feel upset, incompetent and more than a little insecure. Seokjin absolutely hates feeling insecure. Especially about you. You’re the singular most precious entity in his life — not that you are an entity, per se — and anything that seeks to threaten your position in his life or his position in yours, makes him lose his shit.

So it was understandable that he jumped to unfairly disproportionate magnitudes of conclusions that day. When he thought about it, later, he could easily tell that you are just mad at him and not actually contemplating leaving him, not even for a little while. Not that he’d just sit back and have you do that so easily.

Seokjin also hates overthinking, but that is all he did for the entirety of his Monday.

Monday, though, was the last time he had time to overthink. Life got exponentially busier after that.

Immediately after his shoot on Tuesday, he received his agent’s call and was informed of his jam packed schedule for the remainder of the week. He was pulled into two separate magazine ad shoots on Wednesday, a perfume ad film drank up all of his Thursday, and today, a hair product ad film needed him to report to a sunrise point in the city at the ass-crack of dawn. The sky was still dark when he rode across the city with his agent at nearly four in the morning.

And now, the afternoon sun beats down on his car as he drives back alone, his agent staying back to tend to some business. Stopping at a red light, he reaches for his spinach smoothie with one hand and his phone with the other. Ugh, he feels beyond tired.

Blearily, he looks down at the device around a yawn, fingers habitually reaching for your chat.

He took a week off from the restaurant and dropped you a text, late Tuesday evening, informing you of the same.

Honey✨❤👸 Hm, kay. Good luck x

Unsurprisingly, that stands to be your last message in his inbox. It’s been four days.

Sighing, he swipes a hand down his tired face and exits out of the message app. He went to bed at nine o’clock, last night, and owing to the way he has trained his body to sleep on command, he did manage to get a sleep of nearly six hours, too. But it was fitful and plagued with nightmares featuring you.

Knowing he doesn't have to be at the restaurant until Monday and that his next gig isn’t until Wednesday, he cannot wait to get back home and drink his weight in alcohol before he sleeps his way through the weekend.

Just as he has moved past the intersection, his phone rings.

Honey✨❤👸 calling...

He nearly spits the smoothie he just sipped at.

Coughing, he roughly jostles the plastic cup back in the holder and pulls up to a side of the road to pick up the call. “Hey,” he breathes into the phone, embarrassed at his desperation.

“Jin. Um, hi.” You sound awkward, as if you…have been compelled to call him due to some reason.

He is immediately worried. “Honey? Is everything okay, do you need something?”

He hates himself for being so concerned when you have been neglecting him for so many days – yet again, despite your spat at the restaurant – instead of finally talking to him about what’s bothering you, but he can’t help it. At the end of the day, you are the love of his life.

“Yes, yes, I’m okay. It’s just, um. Can you pick me up from the restaurant?” you sound nervous.

But, Seokjin realizes, I was right. You do need something. He clears his throat. “Uh, okay, I guess,” he agrees before stopping short when he realizes the time. “Wait, it’s barely even two. Why are you leaving?” he asks, confused and a little concerned. You work your shift till five every day and till eight on weekends.

“Tomorrow is Halloween, Jin. We’re closing for the weekend, remember?”

Seokjin’s mouth falls open on a gasp. He really had forgotten. “Oh. Oh, okay. Yeah, I’ll be there in five, wait up.”

He swerves the car into the lane and takes off in the direction of the restaurant.

He laughs at himself. He has been so caught up in work that he literally forgot Halloween. He wonders if this is what actual adulting is.

He is stopping before the restaurant within three minutes of your phone call, eyes immediately spotting your delicate figure standing on the sidewalk with your hands crossed against your chest.

You step down from the curb when you spot his car, and walk towards him. He watches your elegant legs as they beautifully fall in a straight line. Even when exiting your job as a waitress, you’re every bit the elegant model he met in college. Your hips sway tantalizingly, and something akin to longing swirls in his chest.

He composes himself quickly when you cross the car to get into the passenger’s seat. You awkwardly clear your throat as Seokjin busies himself with starting the vehicle, unsure if he should initiate conversation.

“Um, sorry about this. You were probably getting ready for shoot,” you finally say. “Byulyi dropped me off today. She wasn’t picking her phone up. I was trying to get a cab for half an hour. And the bus stop’s really far—”

“Hey, stop. It’s okay. You should’ve called me sooner.” Seokjin catches your apprehensive gaze on his oversized hoodie when he chances a glance at you. He sighs. “I was returning home from shoot, actually.”

He feels you stiffen, and he feels even more mentally drained at this. You used to be updated with his schedule to the tee — just short of having an actual copy of the calendar his agent carries on him. And the same goes for him with your schedule. This feels so wrong.

You are quiet for a while, your hands fidgeting in his peripheral vision.

“How—how was it?” you finally say, voice coming out like a croak.

Seokjin shrugs his shoulders. “The usual. Blinding, tiring, exhaustive. I did okay, I guess.”

He feels your gaze snap up to drill holes into his skull. Your eyes are wide when he checks. “Okay? Since when do you do anything less than amazing at shoots, babe?”

He feels endeared at your casual use of a pet name. “I had to get up at three in the morning and go through a skincare routine. Then drive across the entire city to get to the location, because they wanted to capture actual sunrise. I was more tired than excited by the time they rolled cameras, so.” He shrugs. “Can’t really say I gave my best today.”

You nod at his admission.

Seokjin almost jumps when his phone rings, again.

Jiminie calling...

He feels you shift in your seat. His mouth sours at the reminder of that Sue girl that started off this entire tussle between you and him. Fucking Jimin and his conquests. What happened to the shy and more than a little glum looking freshman he let into his living space, three years ago?

Your hand suddenly reaches forth to accept the call, putting it on loudspeaker, immediately. Seokjin gapes at you, momentarily looking away from the road.

“Uh…hyung?” Jimin’s confused voice echoes in the car.

Seokjin snaps out of his daze when you gesture towards the device. “Wh—Jimin, hi, what’s — what’s up?” he stumbles his way through a haphazard greeting.

“Hyung, I needed a favor. Are you on your way back from the shoot, right now?” Jimin asks, and Seokjin sees you freeze in your seat.

He feels a perverse sense of satisfaction. Yes, take that! Park Jmin knows of my schedule better than you do! This is what you get for ghosting me! “I was, yeah. What is it?”

“Oh, great! I kinda need your help, hyung. My tire gave out. Could you pick me up from the Kappa hall?”

Seokjin scowls. “Yah! Who am I, your butler? Hop on a damn bus!”

He notices you pursing your lips, no doubt finding his agitation humorous — you always do.

“Hyu~ng,” Jimin whines. “I would take the bus, but the next one leaves in forty-five minutes and I need to be back within an hour!”

“What? Why?”

“I started on my sem project really late, hyung, and now I gotta spend any time I can spare at the rehearsal hall. I’m meeting a choreographer here in an hour. Please help me out!” Jimin is still whining, and maybe his reasoning is kind of alright, but—

Seokjin is tired to his bones. He literally cannot drive all the way down to your apartment and then drive back to the university campus to pick Jimin up.

He sighs, wearily. “Jimin… I’m really tired.”

“And I’m really desperate, hyung! Dancing is tough! And the subject I've chosen, tougher. I haven't done ballet since first semester, Freshman year! I have to work my butt off and be done in under two months."

Seokjin exhales, feeling beyond exhausted. But then your finger is tapping on the screen and the call has been muted. Seokjin’s surprised eyes fly up to meet yours. You look conflicted, biting down on your lower lip as you shake your head with a frown.

“You should go home and rest, Jin. Leave the car with me, I’ll pick him up.”

“Hyung? Say something?”

Seokjin blinks. “You…”

You roll your eyes. “I’ll pick him up, yeah. He’ll drop me off and drive back to your place.”

“Hyung?! Did you put me on mute, or what? I can't hear a thing!”

“Tell him you’ll be there in ten!” you say, unmuting the call.

“I’m in the car, the network must have glitched. I’ll, uh… be there in ten?” Seokjin nervously finishes off, looking at you in question. You give him a nod, blinking slowly. “Wait up, okay?”

“Oh my God, thank you so much, hyung!” Jimin practically squeals through the phone. “I’ll be in the ice cream shop across the building. I love you, hyung-nim!”

Seokjin rolls his eyes and disconnects the call. He looks at you from the corner of his eyes as he takes a right, now moving in the direction of his apartment instead of yours. “You sure about this? Jimin, um, knows. About our…” Seokjin doesn’t want to call it the f-word, because he would like to believe that you two aren’t actually fighting. “You being upset, I mean,” he settles for the easier alternative. “He might ask questions.”

You give a small huff of wry laugh. “I can handle it, Seokjin. I’ve known Jimin for almost three years now.”

Seokjin doesn’t like it when you address him by his full name. And so, his lips remain pursed for the remainder of the ride, only parting to tell you to “drive safe and text me when you finally get home,” and then he walks inside his apartment without looking back.

He hears his car come to life and then speed away. He shuts his eyes, leaning against the kitchen counter. Gathering his emotional as well as physical bearings, he opens the refrigerator to rummage through some leftovers to munch on while he breaks out a six pack of Budweiser.

Before his fried rice has even reheated, Seokjin groans at the sight of an all too jovial Hoseok entering the kitchen with a glint in his eyes. “No, Hobi. Not now.”

“What? I didn’t say a word, hyung!”

Seokjin winces, shutting his eyes just as the microwave beeps. “I don’t have enough energy to deal with your general aura, right now,” he mumbles, extracting the piping hot glass bowl. He leans down to open one of the compartments beneath the kitchen table to get to the beer that he’s been dreaming of for nearly an hour, now. “I’m dead on my feet and—woah!” Seokjin gasps, cutting himself off.

Hoseok hops into the kitchen, coming around to stand behind Seokjin. “So you found ’em,” he says around a chuckle.

“Found ’em? This is you?” Seokjin whips his head around to glare at Hoseok up from his crouch. “Why is my liquor closet resembling a liquor shop, Hobi? Why do we have all this—” he turns around to read the labels, cursing under his breath. “Why do we have,” he pauses to count, “five bottles of Tequila and eight bottles of Vodka?”

Hoseok frowns in concern. “Eight? There should be ten, hyung, check again.”

Seokjin actually gasps, this time. “What the hell, Jung Hoseok? Explain yourself before I start throwing hands!”

Hoseok smacks a palm against his forehead, taking Seokjin by surprise, yet again. “Tonight’s the Halloween party, hyung! Did you actually forget?”

Seokjin screws his eyes shut, letting his head roll back with a frustrated whine. “No~o, don’t tell me it's tonight. Halloween’s tomorrow, right? Why is the party tonight?”

“Yes, hyung, Halloween in tomorrow, which is why it would be stupid to hold the party when Halloween is ending.”

Seokjin finds the logic to be very severely flawed, but his energy is draining out fast and he cannot keep up with this quarrel. There’s no point, anyway. He’s known about this party for nearly a month. And Hoseok isn’t going to postpone a whole party just because Seokjin is tired.

“You look tired, hyung. You should rest. Recharge yourself before the party, okay? There’s plenty of time.” Hoseok pats Seokjin on the shoulder with a kind smile.

“I’m not even in the mood to party, Hobi,” Seokjin mutters, reaching behind all the glass bottles to extract his pack of cans.

Hoseok scowls at Seokjin. “Because you’re upset about your fight, I realize that. All the more reason to party, hyung! Take your mind off it for some time, why don’t you? You don’t even have to dress up, come as yourself.”

“I’d rather just drink myself to sleep and not wake up for the next twenty four hours.”

Hoseok blocks his path as Seokjin moves to exit the kitchen. “Is Honey coming?”

Seokjin sighs, shrugging his shoulders. “I don’t know, Hobi. Did you invite her?”

“No, hyung, because you said you would.”

Seokjin clicks his tongue. He completely forgot. “Then she isn’t coming.”

Without listening to his protests, Seokjin trudges upstairs with his food and beer. He will be forced to come down for at least a couple shots, he is certain, so he better make as much of the time he has on his hands as he can.

These days, it seems to be becoming a pattern for you to do things without really understanding why you do them.

You nibble at your bottom lip as you recall how gaunt and pale Seokjin had looked when you sat in the car. You had been really self-centered as it is, not really keeping in touch with him for four days, and then reaching out when you needed help. You couldn’t bear to think, on top of everything, that he had driven you home despite his extreme exhaustion while you sat back selfishly and let him drive around the city to pick Jimin up when he looked like a ghost.

You shake your head at yourself as Jimin jogs down the road to enter the car, ten seconds after you texted him.

His gaze is slightly hesitant when he meets your eyes, even though his smile is nothing but genuine. “Hello, noona. How come you are…” he trails off, gesturing around the two of you.

You start the car, shrugging one shoulder. “Seokjin came to pick me up. Now you’re gonna drop me off.”

Jimin gives you a huge smile, before his eyebrows suddenly lower. You look away, veering onto the road. “Wait. Were you in the car with him when I called?”

You chuckle. “Yes.”

“Oh,” Jimin mumbles around a small laugh.

You hum to yourself as you drive, distracting yourself from the thoughts that keep encircling your head. Seokjin is your boyfriend, no matter how mad you might be at him — you love him and care about him. Which is why you have tried to help him out. Not to mention, you felt slightly guilty, as it is, about calling him to pick you up. Why is your gesture of goodwill bothering you, then?

This is what you do for people you care about. Seokjin would do the same.

Your train of thoughts suddenly comes to a screeching halt.

Would he? Would he, really?

“You okay, noona?”

You jolt back from your thoughts, wide eyes turning to look at Jimin. “Wha—yes, yeah, I'm fine.”

He cocks an eyebrow at you. “You’re gripping the wheel really hard.”

You look at your tightly clenched fists, and immediately ease them. “Oh, uh. Sorry. A lot on my mind, I guess.”

“Understandably,” Jimin mutters, looking out of the side window when you turn to look at him.

You purse your lips and press down on the accelerator.

A few beats of silence pass between you two before Jimin clears his throat. “Can I say something?” he asks you in a soft voice, looking nothing like the seductive persona he puts forth to get ladies falling in his bed.

You exhale. “Sure.”

“You, um. You are not just hyung’s girlfriend, you know?” he says slowly.

You scoff. “Of course, I do. I am also the very best server my restaurant has ever seen and the best struggling model you’ll ever meet, on the side.”

Jimin snorts, before giggling with his eyes closed. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

You do. But you do not want to face it. You want to be selfish, for once. You do absolutely know that you have been ignoring all the boys in your anger at Seokjin, but you absolutely do not wish to do anything about it. Not until you’ve resolved this tense air between you and Seokjin.

“You are also a part of our little family,” Jimin quietly finishes.

You suck your lips in at that. The word “family'' really gets to you.

He’s right, isn’t he?

All eight of you — well, nine, now, with the addition of Taehyung’s girlfriend — have been a family since the day you met these guys.

You smile as the memories start to filter in.

You had had a giant crush on Seokjin since the very first time you saw him in your Freshman year. Well, having a crush on the guy wasn’t that unheard of given how handsome he was. It also helped matters that he modelled for the cover page of your university’s journal within his first month in college. What surprised you was his reciprocated interest when you both finally got to know each other, thanks to Byulyi. Your current roommate was majoring in photography back then, and somehow roped the two of you into modelling for her portfolio. Seokjin asked you out during the sixth month of your Freshman year.

You recall being introduced to Yoongi in your Sophomore year, when he entered your college as a Music major. You found him laid back, calm but really sassy, and fun to be around. The three of you often hung out together, and you took immense pleasure in singling Seokjin out with the two of your sarcastic back and forths.

In your senior year, Hoseok transferred to your college as a Sophomore, and Taehyung and Jimin entered as Freshmen.

Hoseok was literally the most lively person you’d ever met in your life. There wasn’t a single moment of boredom next to him. He was easily given the responsibility of planning all your outings and parties, henceforth — a position he still holds with full competence.

Taehyung was usually found to be lost in his head more often than not in his initial college days. He was confused about his major for two entire semesters. With inputs from the group, when he eventually picked Art, he eased into college life. After that, he came out to be one of the weirdest and unwittingly funny guys in the group. You still don’t get how he was the first amongst all the boys to find him a girl.

Jimin was a really quiet and reserved individual, at first. He very rarely interacted with you all, choosing to stay holed up in his dorm room, instead, that Taehyung had forced him to share with him. You suspected he was recovering from a recent heartbreak. It became evident when he started dating someone within a week of getting into college, only to confess it was a rebound when he got dumped. The whoring around that began after the whole debacle is yet to cease, though. Obviously.

Hoseok comes from a really well-off family, and had brought along with him the four-bedroom apartment he currently resides in with Yoongi, Jimin and your boyfriend. His uncle gave it away to him, rent-free of course, and he proposed to share it with the rest of the guys. Seokjin and Yoongi were immediately on board, more than eager to leave the chaotic dorm life behind. Taehyung, contrarily, decided he wanted to get the whole college experience and refused to quit the dorms. Jimin, then, left the dorm he shared with Taehyung to move in with the elders.

You met Jungkook immediately after your graduation on the boy’s eighteenth birthday. He instantly struck you as a smart kid, really good at singing as well as art. Yoongi disclosed he wanted to be a music major in your college, and you tried to encourage Jungkook about it, but the guy could hardly even look at you. It was cute but also hilarious how much he was scared of Seokjin, and by principle, you.

You believe that is still true. Now that you think about it, you're pretty sure you haven’t seen Jungkook ever actually relax around the two of you.

“Noona?”

You blink, coming back to the present as Jimin calls out to you. You take a deep breath, the memories hitting you with tender emotions. All these people are really precious to you, aren’t they? The bunch of you really are a family, aren’t you?

A sad smile swims up to your face. You miss the boys.

When he calls again, you turn to look at Jimin, questioningly.

“Please don’t be mad at hyung,” he slowly says, looking down at his lap. In this moment, he looks quite unlike the Jimin you are used to and reminds you of, instead, the one you’d first met. “He might lack tact, sometimes, but he really loves you a lot. You’re his whole world. Whatever it is that you are angry about, you should tell him about it. I don’t think he would be able to figure it out by himself.”

This, you agree with. “I’ll try, Jiminie.”

“We all miss you. Especially Hobi hyung and I,” he says with a lopsided excuse of a smile.

You resist the urge to fluff his hair. Jimin and Hoseok have been like the younger brothers you never had. You miss them, too.

He suddenly chuckles. "And Yoongi hyung hides it well, but I think he's the one that misses you the most. No one helps him roast Jin hyung quite like you do."

You roll your eyes. "Of course not. It's a waste for Yoongi to even try to find a better partner at roasting Jin."

You spot your apartment building and pull up to it.

“I’ll try to talk to Jin as soon as I can, Jimin, I promise. Don't worry so much about it,” you say as you step out, patting the boy once on his head. "I miss you all, too."

You give a small wave and faint smile to him as he drives away.

tagging: @shrimpmsg

note: so! a lil bit of backstory and the infamous halloween party - how we feelin’ so far? the next part is ~12k words, too, and i’ll post it next wednesday, wait around~ 😘💕

SECOND PART OUT NOW: read here!

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n00dl3gal · 3 years

Text

Like Old Times (Father-Son Bonding AU)

A direct sequel to the “Expiration Date” fic, which I’ll link in a reblog. I’ve also posted all my fics in this AU to AO3!! Thanks again to @thetriggeredhappy for their help and just generally being a cool dude, and the Scoutsune Discord server for indulging my brainrot

No warnings beyond family schmoop!

Less than an hour after the bread monster incident, the Administrator called for a ceasefire. “Only while your base is repaired,” she said over the TV screen. “BLU is quite disappointed in this negligence- as am I. Regardless, you may use these three days as you see fit. Go home, stay here- whatever you do, no more bread monsters.” The screen turned off with a click.

Scout exhaled through his nose. He was thankful there was no mention of him or Miss Pauling’s woodchipper.

Spy decloaked behind him. “Less time than I wanted, but c’est la vie.” Scout looked at him over his shoulder. “I’m meeting with an old contact during our break,” Spy said in Italian. “Would you like to come along? It’ll be like old times.”

Scout’s brow furrowed, but he nodded. At least this way, he’d get out of helping Engie and Heavy with repairs. And possibly meeting Miss Pauling’s woodchipper.

“Excellent. Our flight is at 7 AM tomorrow.”

“We’re flying commercial?” Scout asked, also in (more hesitant) Italian.

“Our destination is continental. We’ll leave the base by 5:30.” Scout groaned as Spy started to leave. But- wait, he hadn’t-

“Oi, where are we going, anyway?” he called back in English.

Spy paused to look at him and smile. “Boston.”

“Why do we always get the ass-crack-of-dawn flights?” Jeremy asked groggily, reclining his seat.

“They are the ones with first-class seats available,” Raphael replied. He took a sip from his mimosa.

“Yeah, cuz God forbid you fly coach for once.” Jeremy shifted, trying to get comfortable. “Hey. Have I ever been to Boston before?”

Raphael didn’t answer immediately. His lip sucked in, as if in thought. “Yes. When you were very, very young. You wouldn’t remember.”

Jeremy nodded. He wanted to ask more, there was something Raphael wasn’t saying but… well, he was never a morning person. He fell asleep before the plane even took off.

. . .

It was mid-afternoon by the time they landed in Boston. Jeremy was never fond of long flights; having his legs cramped like that for extended periods of time was murder. He was half tempted to take a jog around Logan International. Raphael, on the other hand, was ushering them both to the car rental. “Can’t even get a stretch in, huh?”

“Unfortunately, we are expected by 4, and I would hate to keep my contact waiting,” Raphael explained in French, accepting the keys from the girl at the counter. “She’s not a very patient woman, in some regards.”

Jeremy huffed but didn’t argue. He just followed his father to the rental, tossing his suitcase in the backseat. “Y’know, the girl at the counter-”

“We will not have time for you to go out on a date, Jeremy.”

“No! No, it was- her accent’s kinda like mine, it’s weird,” Jeremy said. Raphael started the car. “Cuz I’ve only been here as a baby, and I got mine from TV and shit. It’s just… really strange, is all.”

Raphael made a quiet noise of agreement. “Some of the shows you watched as a child were filmed here. It’s not as complex as you think it is.”

“Yeah, probably not…”

The pair lapsed into silence as Raphael drove. Storefronts and high rises morphed into houses. It had been a while since they were in a residential area. RED, for understandable reasons, kept away from civilians.

Raphael took the roads with practiced experience. Sure, it had been implied he knew the area. If he had a contact here- one with a house, presumably- he must’ve spent time here. But this- this was far too familiar. A bit suspicious, actually.

Eventually, Raphael slowed in front of a more rundown Brownstone. Still quite nice, just needed a little work. It felt… welcoming, in a way Jeremy couldn’t name.

“Lotta cars,” he observed as Raphael parallel parked. “Must be a party going on somewhere.”

“Hmm, perhaps,” Raphael said, turning the car off. “Would you mind ringing the doorbell for me? I need to grab something from the trunk. Ask for Sara Jane.”

OK, now Jeremy knew something was up. He was never the one to make the first contact, that was always Dad’s job. Jeremy might be a full-grown adult, but there were some things that didn’t change. This was one of them.

Still, he nodded. He climbed up the front steps and ringed the doorbell. He heard- multiple voices from inside, predominantly male, but they quickly silenced themselves. A TV, perhaps? They really ought to get that flower box on the second story window fixed-

The woman who opened the door was a bit shorter than him, though not by much. She was wearing a simple dress, hoop earrings, and flats. Her hair was dark, curved to her chin. But her nose and earlobes felt… achingly familiar. Like Jeremy saw them all the time.

“Um, hi, I’m looking for Sara Jane? My name’s-” The rest of his speech was knocked out of him as the woman launched herself at him. Jeremy braced for an attack, but quickly realized she was… hugging him.

She was hugging him, sobbing, and choked out the word “Jeremy.”

Wait. He knew that voice. He had only heard it a few times in his life, few enough he could count them on one hand, but he knew it. “M-Ma?” he whispered.

The woman- Sara Jane- Ma looked up at him, still crying. Her hands found his face as she observed him. “Y-yeah, sweetie, it’s me, it’s-it’s your ma,” she said.

“Ma!” he laughed, tears of his own dancing down his cheeks. He hugged her back, practically lifting her off her feet. “Oh my God, Ma! I-I never thought I’d-”

“Oh Jeremy, sweetie, look how tall you’ve gotten! Last I saw you, you fit in my arms! My baby, my handsome baby,” she spoke over him. She rubbed circles into his back as they embraced. It felt so, so right.

Jeremy laughed even harder. “Are you kiddin’? I got it from you, you’re beautiful, Ma!” He stared at her, trying to commit every mole and wrinkle and perfect flaw to memory. “I can’t believe- oh my God, I’m actually meeting you!”

“It was long overdue,” another voice said, as Raphael joined them on the front stoop. “I had put it off for safety reasons, but considering our current, ah, situation… I felt it was worth the risk.”

Sara Jane squealed, pulling Raphael into the hug as well. “You’ve been taking good care of my boy, you promise me, Raphael?”

“Don’t worry Ma, he’s the best dad I could ask for, considering,” Jeremy teased.

“Oh, don’t I know it. Called me up last night and told me to get the whole motley crew together. Even managed to get Melvin to bring his twin daughters, bless his wife’s heart,” she explained.

Jeremy blinked. “Uh- Melvin? Daughters?”

Sara Jane laughed. It sounded so much like Jeremy’s it practically hurt. This was his mother. Lord, he’s finally seeing her. “Melvin’s your older brother, sweetie. Eh, sixth oldest. Bobby’s the oldest.”

“I have a brother?”

“Oh honey, you’re the youngest of eight,” Sara Jane said plainly.

“...fuck,” Jeremy whispered.

. . .

He didn’t just have seven brothers. He had seven brothers, four of which brought their wives, one who brought his boyfriend, and three who brought their kids. And the kids totaled to an additional six, counting the babies.

It was… an admittedly tight squeeze in the living room.

Sara Jane introduced Jeremy. Jeremy had been expecting to be treated like a stranger. He had vanished when he was a baby, after all, and his younger-older brothers probably wouldn’t remember him at all.

And yet, it was like he knew them all his life.

They teased him and punched him playfully and acted so friendly, so familial it nearly made Jeremy break down. He was still crying from meeting Ma, but being dogpiled with so much affection was suffocating. In a good way. He had seen on sitcoms the intrinsic bond between family, and while he felt it with Dad, they also risked their lives nearly daily. But it was real, it was here, and it was wrapping him in a warm blanket.

Despite the chaos and the sheer number of people, Jeremy didn’t feel overwhelmed. He laughed and played along with their jokes, cracking some back when he could get a word in. Scott ragged on his dog tags, he countered by pointing out the hole in his pants. Michael told him he was still a shortass, he replied with “it takes one to know one.” Elliot and Ricky were the closest to actually getting hurt, and that was only because Jeremy elbowed them both so hard they nearly fell over.

For the first time in 25 years, Jeremy understood what “home” meant.

The kids were especially curious, eager to meet their uncle and step-grandfather. Within seconds, young Rebecca- only four years old- was challenging Jeremy to a race around the house. “I’m the fastest kid in the world,” she bragged, puffing out her chest.

“Oh yeah?” Jeremy asked. “That a fact?”

“You wanna test me? I beat Johnny Three-Legs at running, and he’s got three legs!” Jeremy laughed and stood from the couch, letting her lead him outside. “On the count of three, OK?”

“You’re on, pipsqueak,” Jeremy teased.

��Onetwothree GO!” Rebecca yelled, taking off in a sprint. Jeremy knew that, by all accounts, he should beat her. His legs were longer, she didn’t have the proper running stance, and it was his job to be fast. That’s what he got paid to do. But some small voice was telling him to let her win, so he did. “Ha! I told ya!”

“Ya sure did,” he replied, mock panting. “Look at you, a freaking blur on the green. You’re goin’ to the Olympics, kid.”

Rebecca beamed and hugged his leg. “Promise, Uncle Jeremy?” He nodded because, after that display, there was no way he could speak without squeaking like a chew toy.

Rebecca skipped back inside, past Raphael, who was watching on the stoop. “You’re a natural with children,” he observed. “I used to do the same thing when you were that age.”

“Wait- wait, really? You sure fooled me,” Jeremy said.

Raphael rolled his eyes. “What’s my job again, mon lapin?”

“Yeah, yeah…” Jeremy leaned against the railing, watching Raphael’s cigarette smoke in the wind. “Hey. Uh… thanks for arranging all of this. You really didn’t need to.”

“But I did. I meant it when I said this was overdue. I’ve been wanting to introduce you to the rest of the family for a while, but have been unable. Then that whole ordeal with the supposed tumors, and-” Raphael exhaled slowly. “It wouldn’t have been fair to you if you died without knowing them. I would’ve never forgiven myself.”

Jeremy punched his shoulder lightly. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, pops. It all worked out, we’re still kicking, and that roast chicken Ma’s making smells incredible. Everything’s perfect.”

Raphael finished his cigarette and smiled. “Oui. It is.”

. . .

While Sara Jane had been able to get the rest of the family here, it was a school night. Kids needed to be tucked in by 9:30, so most of Jeremy’s brothers were gone by 8. Elliot was staying overnight, as was his boyfriend. Otherwise, the house quickly went from bustling to barren.

It gave Jeremy a chance to explore his would-be childhood home.

He made his way upstairs, pushing open one of the doors. It led- to little surprise- to a bedroom. It was set up like a nursery, with a crib in one corner and a toddler bed in the other. Toys were scattered about across the floor.

He heard Sara Jane sigh behind him. “This was your room, you know.” Jeremy turned to look at her as she flipped the light switch. “That crib… I had put you to bed the night your father planned to fake his death. I was in on the whole plan, naturally. He wanted to hold you one last time, so I said OK. When I woke up the next morning… you were both gone.” She exhaled slowly, grabbing onto his shoulder. “I wrote both of you off as dead, but I knew what had happened. Honestly, should’ve figured it out before then. You hadn’t woken me up crying,” she joked. Her eyes were watering.

Jeremy hugged her, pulling her close. “You never took the crib down?”

“By the time I was ready, Bobby’s wife was pregnant, so I kept it up for my grandbabies. I knew- I knew you were out there, sweetie. Both of you.” She kissed his cheek, squeezing him.

“I-I never got to be a normal kid, really,” he confessed. “I mean, Dad did his best, gave me comic books and board games and stuff, but-but I never went to school or made friends or anything like that. I-I didn’t even know I had a family. It took me forever to even realize I had a Ma. An-and everything I did-” The tears were flowing again, more freely than earlier. “Ya missed me losing my first tooth, and potty trainin’, and all that stuff parents should know about. I-I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Sara Jane wiped his cheek dry. “Don’t apologize for what your father did, Jeremy. And definitely don’t apologize for me not potty training another kid. Besides… hold on, I’ll be right back.” She made her way down the hallway. Jeremy didn’t follow, instead deciding to examine the crib. This was where he grew up. It was a simple crib, obviously well-used. Not worn-down, mind, just… used. It had a history. A history that Jeremy wanted to decode, but unlike his dad’s ciphers, he didn’t have the key.

“Took me a second to find it,” Sara Jane said. She handed him what appeared to be a scrapbook. “Raphael- he wrote when he can. Taught me some basic codes, would send out letters whenever you’d leave a town. Never left a return address, but…” Jeremy flipped through the pages, moving to sit on the small bed. The letters were all coded but appeared to be about how much Raphael missed Sara Jane. Updates on Jeremy’s growth. Letters from a father to his lover and son’s mother.

One page jumped out to him, though. “I remember this,” he said, running his fingers against the paper. It was a simple drawing of a young boy, holding a catcher’s mitt, and a taller man next to him. “I drew this after Dad took me to my first baseball game, for my eighth birthday. I thought I lost the drawing after we skipped town, but- he sent them to you?”

Sara Jane nodded. “And I kept them all. Oh, honey, the day I first heard your voice on the phone- Mikey can tell you, I damn near fell over. You sounded so happy, and even if I couldn’t see you, that’s all a mother wants.” Jeremy leaned against her and she shut the book. “That’s all a mother wants, sweetie. To see her kids be safe and happy.”

“I am, Ma,” he assured her. “I promise.”

They sat like that for a while, with Sara Jane commenting on various letters and drawings in the scrapbook. Apparently, Raphael sent her money when he could- more frequently now that Mann Co. paid so well. She also had a rough idea of their current occupations. “I figure, if you and your father are working for the same company- with his skills, there’s gotta be a whole lot of nonsense going on out in that desert.” Jeremy laughed at that because she wasn’t wrong. “But I also figure since he raised you right, he’ll keep the both of you safe.”

“I keep him safe too, don’t worry,” Jeremy added. “Uh- listen, it’s touching and all you kept the crib, but I don’t have to sleep in it, right?”

They both had a good chuckle over that. Their laughs were in perfect harmony.

. . .

The next two days were a mix of learning the family history and exploring Boston. It was the offseason, so there weren’t any games going on at Fenway, but Jeremy still got a picture in front of the park. Sara Jane took the pair to a restaurant that served “the best damn clam chowder in the contiguous United States.” Which, incidentally, led them to discover Jeremy was allergic to clams. Thankfully they didn’t have to go to the hospital- he just sort of immediately got sick before it passed- but it did suck.

It was damn good chowder, though.

They went down to the harbor where the Boston Tea Party happened. It was crowded with people, resulting in them not staying long. Jeremy was a bit better with crowds than Raphael, but neither was great with them. Came with the job. Getting overpriced memorabilia from a nearby gift shop, though, went over much more smoothly.

When not out on the town, Sara Jane dug out more scrapbooks and photo albums, catching Raphael up on what his stepsons had been up to. She showed Jeremy pictures from Ricky’s first school play to Scott opening up his butcher shop. Graduation pictures, wedding pictures, baby pictures- it was all there, and Jeremy devoured it. He wanted to know these people. He wanted to know his family. And he did. He learned about Michael’s stint in the Navy, Melvin meeting his wife, how Bobby’s son could dribble a basketball for twenty minutes straight. He learned about how his parents met. How Raphael loved each of Sara Jane’s children, even if they weren’t biologically his. How Jeremy wasn’t planned- few of the kids were - but they were both so, so happy to realize he was coming.

He also learned that, while diner food would remain the undisputed king, homemade meatloaf came pretty close.

. . .

The only problem came when it was time to leave. It wasn’t that Jeremy didn’t want to return to work, or leave his Ma behind. Sara Jane wasn’t even torn up over losing her son and lover again. It just felt like there was so much left to say, to do. There was uncertainty as to when they’d be able to return. “We get time off for Smissmas, I know that’s months away but I’ll be here, I promise,” Jeremy swore, hugging Sara Jane for the eighth time.

“You better,” she said, squeezing him tightly. “You have 25 years worth of gifts to catch up on, not to mention birthday gifts-”

“Ma, you don’t have to go that far,” he whined. He was touched, sure, but the thought of that much luggage was truly frightening. Oh God, he was going to have to get gifts for everybody, wasn’t he? What do kids even want for Smissmas?

“Hush, let me spoil my baby,” Sara Jane told him, kissing his cheek. “Oh, Jeremy…”

Jeremy nodded. “I know, but I’ll call. I’ll write, too. Send pictures if I can.”

“I’ll make sure he does,” Raphael assured her. Sara Jane stood to kiss his lips, with Jeremy looking away pointedly. “You have my word, ma petite chou-fleur.”

“Alright, alright- now get going, I don’t want you two missing your flight. That boss of yours sounds like she’ll tear you both a new one if you’re late,” Sara Jane said, shooing them away. “Love you boys!”

“I love you too, Ma!” Jeremy shouted back, for the very first time.

The drive back to the airport was quiet. Jeremy stared out the window, watching his hometown- he had a hometown- pass by. “Hey, dad?” he asked, still looking outside. Raphael grunted to acknowledge he was listening. “One of these days, our contracts with Mann Co. are gonna expire. We’re gonna have to find new jobs.”

“Yes, that’s correct,” Raphael said. He tapped a rhythm against the steering wheel.

“And-and I was thinking when that time comes… maybe we could come back to Boston. Find some gigs out here,” Jeremy suggested.

Raphael sighed. “Unfortunately, being a spy means that you don’t have the option of retiring, Jeremy. Not until you’re unable to complete your job. At that point, though, you’ve probably died a dozen times over,” he explained. “Even if I could retire, settling down somewhere so close to people I care about- I would still have enemies.”

“Right. ‘Course,” Jeremy said. “It’s OK.”

“That being said,” Raphael continued, “you have the luxury of youth and not being tied down to such a career. If you want to find a job in Boston after we finish with RED, there’s nothing stopping you.”

“But people will still be after me, since I’m your son. And you wouldn’t be around.”

“Every child leaves their parents someday. And you’re strong, Jeremy. You can protect yourself and your family.” Raphael smiled. “I don’t believe Sara Jane needs much protecting, but I do worry.”

Jeremy laughed. “I mean, did ya see the muscles on Scott and Michael? Guys can probably bench press a tractor!”

They both chuckled before settling into quietude. Eventually, though, Jeremy had to break the silence. His voice was barely above a whisper. “I love you.”

“I love you too, mon lapin.”

“...so your nickname for Ma is fucking ‘little cauliflower?’ What the hell, Dad?”

#father-son bonding au #Team Fortress 2 #team fortress 2 au #tf2 #tf2 fanfiction #tf2 scout #tf2 spy #tf2 scout's mom #dad spy #thetriggeredhappy #spy x scout's ma #noodle writes

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burnedbyshoto · 3 years

Text

life is not a shoujo manga

— Kaibara believes that his life with you could be a shoujo manga. Why? One, he’s in love with you and two, you work at a maid cafe he is prohibited from visiting. But nothing happens in life without doing what you’re told NEVER to do.

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pairing: kaibara sen x fem!reader

warnings: 18+, smut, modern!au, reader is a sex worker, maid cafe but make it kinky, dubcon (spoiler: reader just services kaibara despite his embarrassment), semipublic sex, master and maid dynamic/kink, blow job, sex on a table, marking

word count: 4,570

a/n: this is for the bnharem collab for sex work lmaoooo, this was hella inspired by maid-sama,,, kinda sorta, not really, but hey!!!! check out the rest of the masterlist and I hope you enjoy this!!! happy birthday to me :D

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Kaibara Sen was pretty confident in the fact that he was not in a shoujo manga.

There are, however, some claims that he can unashamedly admit make him believe that he might be in one. Here is his gathered evidence:

1. He had a crush on a girl (you) that was practically written to be nothing more than a crazy, hopeful fantasy.

Explanation:

Kaibara has known you for his entire life, but you, the airheaded, mind focused on only those around you, had never noticed him. You were bright, intelligent, witty, with blazing eyes and a curling smile, you were an enigma in the world, and he was a bystander just waiting for a day when you would notice him. Popular as you were, Kaibara knew he stood no chance at ever playing a role in your life. There was no room for his initial stoic personality, the way that he walks away from you as you near because, god forbid, you see his ears tinge pink.

All in all, you never knew he existed, and his crush would have to remain one-sided and unknown. But you see, reason number two is yet a testament to his denied belief that he lives a shoujo manga.

2. He had gained your attention one day by catching you one day when you tripped off a brick wall.

Explanation:

Talk about falling into the arms of the one you’re destined for! Kaibara had been walking home from the end of his first year of high school, and as he turned a corner, there came a yell and he looked up to see a body plummeting towards him. With adrenaline coursing through his veins and superhuman strength supplying him the strength and ability to catch you, Kaibara caught you bridal style. He held you there for a few moments, the air suddenly blowing and the blossoming cherry blossoms swirling with the winds. He swore your eyes brightened at the moment you locked eyes.

3. He had a (former) love rival.

Explanation:

Pretty self-explanatory, Kaibara would admit. Before his introduction to you, another male student in your class had been essentially building up his intentions to ask you out. Kaibara wasn’t one to step on people’s toes; he respected people too much and often just didn’t want to spend energy where he thought was unnecessary. But you were never unnecessary. Kaibara wanted you and found himself clashing heads with this other love rival, but he seemed to have won the moment Kaibara was accepted into the same university as you.

4. You were working at a maid cafe.

Explanation:

Kaibara did not have an older sister for no reason. Maid-Sama and Ouran Highschool Host Club were constantly on repeat when he was growing up! Because of this selected memory and application, he believed that time and time again, whenever maids were involved — or any type of service job — it was shoujo material.

Four points and that was four more points than most romances, and Kaibara was convinced that he was in line to become the main star of a real-life adaption of some obscure shoujo manga. All he had to do now was seal the deal and get you, his now best friend of nearly four years, to fall in love with him.

“I have work tonight,” you sigh from your place on Kaibara’s bed, your face twisted in a dissatisfied pout, feet kicking a bit on the mattress.

“Call out,” Kaibara simply replied, his head resting upon yours as you both watched an old All Might film. “I don’t understand why the maid cafe is open so late anyways. Who’s even awake and wanting to go out?”

You chuckle at his words, fingers tapping on your thigh — as they do when you’re a bit nervous.

“It’s a cafe for foreigners and people who are up late,” you repeat the same line you always say when Kaibara asks why you would go in so late. “It works out, and it pays well.”

“How long is your shift tonight?”

“Ten until three.”

Kaibara groans, “that’s rough.”

You snicker a bit in unknown irony, “you have no idea.”

Time passes, and Kaibara realizes that it’s nearly nine-thirty by the time you pull away from the small mirror on Kaibara’s desk (he bought it so that you could do your makeup in his room), and he looks at you in your beautiful form. You looked ethereal in the makeup, big eyes, and painted pretty lips. You turned to look at him, a grand grin painting your lips, and for whatever reason, a spoof of unspoken for confidence, Kaibara feels himself speaking before he can stop himself.

“Go on a date with me? Next weekend?”

You froze, before chuckling, lips splayed in a lazy grin, “you’d want to date a maid?”

“Undoubtedly.”

Kaibara watched as you flustered a bit, teeth tugging and tearing into your lower lip as you shook your head. “You’re a dork, Sen,” you push back a strand of hair as you stand up, “but let me think about it? As much as I love the idea of potentially being your girlfriend, I need to think about how you would feel about my job.”

And Kaibara smiled despite himself, his mind thinking about how sometimes shoujo protagonists often deny their own feelings at first. Not that his life was a shoujo manga anyways.

“I can do that.”

You laugh, the sound pretty and light on his ears, and you shake your head. Kaibara warmed at the sound and stood up too, already knowing that it was time for you to leave.

“Alright, but I must leave you now, my eternal love,” you grin, speaking with a mock accent. Your arms open for your goodbye hug he has since been accustomed to giving you when you both went separate ways. “I bid thee well when I’m away for the week.”

Ah yes, you would be gone for an entire week on account of a school trip you were taking.

“I do not know how I may live without you at my side, but I will try,” Kaibara spoke back with a low accent, too, his smile hidden in your neck as he hugged you near. “Have a good shift, and be safe on your trip.”

“Obviously!”

Two things about your job besides the obvious (that it was a maid cafe) that Kaibara knew.

1. You made a lot of money there.

He wasn’t all too sure as to why. He’s been to a maid cafe before and has definitely been called Kaibara-sama by pretty-faced females in French maid costumes. He knew that it was a popular place for otaku men and foreigners, but he also knew that pay range-wise, it wasn’t that much better than a typical waitress job.

2. Under no circumstances should he, or anyone for that matter, follow you to work or try to see you while you worked.

This made sense to Kaibara even if he didn’t particularly agree. There was no denying that he wanted to see you in a maid costume, he’d be a liar if he said otherwise, but he realized how embarrassing it could be for you. The fact that he knew where you worked was good enough for him.

Kaibara sighed, his body collapsing onto his bed, and he pulled out his phone. He checked the time on his phone and smiled, seeing that at this point, you were already at work because you sent a text saying that you had arrived. A small notification warning him that his phone was about to die pinged on his screen, and he frowned, hand reaching for his charger.

But instead of the white cord, his hand grasped onto the rose gold charging cable he knew was yours. You needed the charging cable; you were leaving on a trip basically right after work! Kaibara’s mouth twisted, weighing his options in his head. He knew that you had no other charging cables; you had a knack for breaking them without meaning to.

Shaking his head, he stood up.

This was about your charger for your phone.

It would be okay! He would simply step foot into the maid cafe, hand your coworker (he was hopeful he would see you) your charger, and leave! He wouldn’t stay! Nope! Not at all.

Kaibara nodded at his resolution and pocketed your charger before turning on his heel and marching out of his room.

It took a bit to get to the cafe.

Fushi’s Maid Cafe is what it was called.

Its hours of operation were quite weird, at the very least in Kaibara’s opinion. On its website, it said that it was open between 11 am and 5 pm, a reasonable range for its demographic; however, there were many times in which you would go in much later in the night. You were in a 10 pm until 3 am shift after all.

It was currently midnight as the trains were down for the night, and Kaibara had resolved to walk a near hour to drop off your charger. He didn’t really mind, especially if he sees you in that costume.

‘No!’ Kaibara thought, ‘you’re in a shoujo manga, not a hentai!’

He frowned, remembering to continue to claim that he was not living in a shoujo manga, and strode to the door. Confidence in every step, his game plan being repeated time and time again.

Kaibara swung open the door, readying himself to hear the onslaught of a chorus of ‘Welcome home, Master!’ but instead… oh…

He froze.

“F-Fukuda-samaaaaa!”

He blinked.

And as the door closed behind him, the most fucked out, blissful voice that he had only heard in his wettest of dreams called out, “Welcome home, Kaibara-sama…”

Kaibara locked eyes with you sitting alone at a table, your eyes laced with blissful lust, lips pouty and wet. The maid costume you had on exposed your beautiful breasts, shoving the curves, the tender flesh, and your sweat shined softly off it. Kaibara felt his breathing become shallower yet deeper as the sounds of meeting wet sex, lewd cries, the maids begging for more, demanding more. The clients — the masters — speaking in tongues as they fucked the women against the chairs, tabletops, anything in which they could balance.

Oh.

It made sense why you never wanted anyone to follow you to work.

Kaibara had been so caught up in the scene before him, the somehow sex maid cafe themed orgy (sexy party? But there was no group sex minus the man in the back fucking three maids!) that he hadn’t noticed you approach him. He tensed yet again when your hands fisted into his shirt, your warm breath brushing against his exposed collarbones, a curling sweetness emitting from your person and knocking his breath away yet again.

“Kaibara-sama, I never expected you to finally come. I’ve missed you,” you whine, pressing your body so close to his. Your stocking-covered thighs were brushing against his slowly awakening dick.

“Y-Y/n,” Kaibara stuttered, and he winced at how not part of the plan that was. “I-I thought this was a maid cafe?”

“We are a maid cafe,” you sigh as if he was asking an amusing yet dumb question. Your arms wrapping around his neck, and hips rolling against his. “We service our masters however they see fit! I wanna help Kaibara-sama feel good now that he’s here.”

Kaibara hisses under his breath, the feeling of your thigh rubbing against his growing dick insatiable as it is slightly uncomfortable due to the rough fabric of his jeans. “I’m here to drop off your charger! You forgot it! I-I’m leaving after this.”

You grin, your laughter bell-like in his ear as you nuzzle your nose against the smooth curve of his neck. “I left it there on purpose; I wanted Kaibara-sama to follow me here and see if he could still love me like this.” Goosebumps flash across his body, and Kaibara whines at the back of his throat as you begin walking backward, taking him to the table where you once sat. “I never wanted Kaibara-sama to see me like this, never wanted Kaibara-sama to see and know what a big whore I am before he confessed his feelings to me. But Kaibara-sama followed me to my work and didn’t run away… I’m so blessed.”

Your hands landed on his chest, and Kaibara yelped as you shoved him onto the spacious, comfortable chair before the table. Your teeth bit into your lower lip, eyes practically glowing with lust as a single sleeve began descending from your shoulder.

Kaibara suddenly forgot how to breathe.

“I’m at your service, Kaibara-sama,” you whisper, eyelashes fluttering. “How may I help you?”

Kaibara was going to respond eloquently and affirmatively that he didn’t need you to service him, but the Kaibara-sama sounded so lovely.

“I— um, well— I— ohmygoD!”

Kaibara nearly leaped out of his own skin as you pushed his knees apart and kneeled before him. Your eyes locked on his before glancing down to the prominent bulge in his pants. You grin, fingers stretching out and eagerly unbuttoning his jeans and pulling out his hard cock in less than ten seconds.

“Wowwww,” you breathe, eyes lighting up at the still hardening dick you were holding in your hands. “Kaibara-sama… you’re so big!”

You stared at the easily nine-inch dick in your hands, the slight curve to it making your core burn, and the bluish veins dancing under the skin making your mouth water. He was better than what you had expected him to be, and you wanted to know how he tasted, how he felt in your mouth and your pussy.

His erratic breathing caught your attention, and you looked back up at him, the scarlet on his cheeks, the expression that told you that he was battling instinct and morals. It was up to you, his maid, to make the decision for him, it seemed.

“I’ll take good care of you, Kaibara-sama,” you promised, heart hammering in your chest as you leaned forward, and without much of an issue, swallowed at least half of his cock.

Kaibara’s reaction is instantaneous; the near howl of pleasure and surprise ripping from his throat is a sound you’re almost unfamiliar with. He was such a serious man; even when he was comfortable and energetic, there was a sense of seriousness to him. There was a time, however, that you remember him being near-feral, demanding, excited. It was when there was a competition or when his feelings truly and utterly overcame him. You smiled around his cock, your teeth barely scraping the length of his cock, and giggled.

You overwhelmed him.

But there was no time for celebrations, no time to think about how you were serving your master to the best you could; his hands were suddenly fisted into your hair, and his hips rolled up into you, fucking your throat. Tears sprung in your eyes, the uncomfortable sensation of his cock flushes down your throat, pressing so heavy on your tongue.

“F-Fuck, this feels so fucking good!” Kaibara gasps, his eyebrows scrunching and hips lifting off the seat to continue face fucking you.

You relax your throat as best you can, chokes and gags pittering out of your mouth despite your best attempts. You hum, forcing your throat to allow the tip of his cock to go even further down your throat. Kaibara moans loudly, the noises he makes dripping down your back, making you feel sweaty, hot, and flush. His noises stir the heat between your thighs, making one of your hands go down beneath the layers of your puffy skirt to press to your throbbing clit, desperate to relieve the building, untouched tension.

“No!” Kaibara hisses, a single hand leaving your head to grab onto your wandering hand and bringing it back up. You yelp around his cock at the sudden movement, and you’re forced to come off his cock with haggling, rough coughs. Tears fall down your cheeks, and there's a thick line of saliva and precum trailing between the tip of his cock and the bottom of your lip. “You’re my maid, right?”

You cough, your lungs are burning with wrongly swallowed saliva, and the recent asphyxiation you had. Cocking your head to the side, you startle when he suddenly leans in near, pinching your cheeks between two fingers and drawing you near him.

“Answer me, y/l/n-chan.”

“Y-Yes!” you squeak, swollen lips trembling and your breathing hitching as you shiver. There was a fire in his eyes, a type of lust-fueled rage that made your skin tingle and crawl in the sweetest of ways. “I’m here to service Kaibara-sama.”

“Then why are you trying to relieve yourself?” he snaps, face so near you want to kiss him, and you whimper because his scolding and humiliation do nothing to ease the fire in your cunt… it only ravages it, letting it fester into a raging wildfire. “You’re here for me, your master, so fuck me — focus on just me.”

“Yes, Kaibara-sama!” you shiver, body tingling as you reclaim his cock in your mouth.

And unlike before, where Kaibara merely sounded like a man who was feasting upon the food of the gods, he sits up straighter, more commanding, a man who sat in his chair knowing his worth. He took on the deception of a master.

“Hold my dick with your hands,” Kaibara grunts, hands fisting the hair at the nape of your neck and forcing your head to tilt up towards him. “I can’t trust you.”

You nodded your head, hands coming up to hold onto the base of his cock that your mouth couldn’t take in. You were fucking him diligently and intently with your mouth, driving him further down, your tongue and hollowed cheeks doing all it could to please your master. You sucked his dick with the intention of promising him that you were worth it, of making him fill your mouth and throat with him so he could never doubt that it was him you wanted, him you wanted to consume.

“Such a good sluttly little maid,” Kaibara praised and degraded. His hands tighten almost painfully in your hair. “Taking my big cock so easily... Don’t tell me you’ve been practicing on other men.”

You make a noise that screams no.

You would never!

“Oh, no?” Kaibara grunts, his tongue licking out past his lips, and you shudder under his gaze. “Did my slutty fucking maid keep her mouth clean for me?”

You whine in approval, your lungs burning as he keeps you still on his cock, eyes deceivingly angry.

“Good… that just means I’ll have to fuck your whore pussy so good you’ll never ask or seek a new master,” Kaibara grinned, and your eyes widened.

It happened so fast, you were on the ground one second, and in the next, he had you pinned with your back against the table. It was almost uncomfortable, the edge of the table pressing into your spine, and your hands scrambled to latch onto his shirt as his jeans fell to his knees and his hands gripped the top of your maid outfit down, exposing your naked breasts.

His hands found a place on your breasts, warm and calloused fingers moving against smooth, soft skin. You moaned loudly, hips twitching unconsciously as he brushed against the swell of your nipple.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” Kaibara groaned, fingers pinching roughly against your skin, and you warbled a scream. It wasn’t painful; it was pleasurable. Your head swam in a way it never had before when you had serviced other men, your clit was throbbing with an increase of needed attention, and your voice keened with his praise. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted you — wanted this. I wanna make you feel so good, let your master fuck you however I want, y/l/n, I promise I’ll make it worth it.”

You nod your head, words failing you, and you watched Kaibara let out a heavy stream of air out of his nose, a near perverted, happy grin on his face.

“Say it.”

“Fuck me, Kaibara-sama,” you whisper, hands fisting into his shirt. “Ruin me. Claim me. Make me yours.”

His eyes flash dangerously.

“You were never not mine.”

And with a hand looping underneath your knee and with the sudden shove on your shoulder to knock you back, Kaibara pressed his cock against your wet, sopping entrance and shoved into you. You scream loudly, hands digging into his back as his cock enters you, unforgiving and demanding. Your legs wrap around his waist, heels digging into his hips as you shudder and shake, body twitching under the dull, hot stretch of him in you, your body sweating with the consuming heat and pleasure that his entrance gives you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” you squeal, fingernails digging into his skin, face burying into his neck. “Kaibara-sama is so big, he’s stretching me out so much, I’m— I can’t—”

Kaibara clicks his tongue, his nose nuzzling into your cheek, “Don’t say that, y/l/n-chan. Don’t ever tell your master that you can’t. You can do anything so long as I ask of it, right? I don’t like the word can’t.”

You whimper, head nodding in understanding as you shift your hips partly for needed friction, partly for relief.

“Stop that,” Kaibara orders, hands suddenly on your hips, preventing you from moving. “Ask permission from your master if you can move. You are here to serve me; you are not here for yourself. Do you understand?”

Your breathing is heavy, your legs shaking as you nod, breathlessly saying that you agree even though you need relief. You need to please your master; you have to make sure he continues to want your service: just you, no one else.

“Good girl,” he praises and somehow pushes even further into you.

You moan loudly at the movement, fingers digging into his skin yet again, and Kaibara laughed, teeth nipping at your collarbone. Your back is entirely arched, jaw slacked, voice dead on your tongue because the feeling of him buried deep within you is staggering. You let out a single happy noise, your mouth gasping for breath as your voice finally begins to come back to you.

“So tight, so hot,” Kaibara groans, his teeth dragging up and down your neck as his hips roll back and thrust back into you at his own pace. It’s steady, slow almost—a steady beat like a subtle heartbeat that kept you sane. “Don’t be quiet… I want to hear what I do to you; I want everyone to hear what I do to you.”

And a hand pinches your clit at the same time he slams roughly, with tremendous strength into you, and you wail.

It’s as if that wail was a starting sound, the sound that told Kaibara that he was in the clear to do whatever he wanted. To fuck you as he deemed, to make you fulfill your duty to providing and exceeding his every need and demand. He fucked into you, each snap of his hip, every roll, sending loud slaps through the room. The table creaked and shifted with every advancing move, and you rolled your hips up, fucking back into him, desperate to make his breath hitch and hiss in pleasure. His teeth buried into your skin, sucking and nibbling marks onto your skin, subtle and near bloody marks to show the world that you were his.

“Kaibara-sama!” you scream at a particular thrust, back arching wildly, eyes slamming shut as you moan to the heavens. “Kiss me please! Please kiss me—”

Kaibara’s mouth was over yours immediately. You cried into his mouth, shuddering and shaking as he continued his maddening dance with you, the endless, exciting cycle of tingling sensations and exploding warmth. His tongue entered your mouth, tasting of him, iron, and sweat. You moan louder, your velvet walls clenching and milking against his length. You don’t want to ever pull out; you want him, his seed, everything.

He kisses you like a madman, someone who believed that if he stopped, he would die.

You eat it up, returning it in full, unable to even believe you want him to stop.

“You drive me fucking insane,” Kaibara pants, hands coming back down to your hips and keeping them in place as he suddenly, powerfully, and somehow rhythmically pounding into you in short, strong fucks.

It’s overwhelming, the feeling of his girth stretching you out and abandoning you so quickly, the way his tip licks against your cervix, teasing up against your sweet spot. His face is desperate, needing, and so powerful that you cry to him, your master, your god. Your pussy is soaked with your essence, the sex spilling it all-around your thighs and on him, the wet squelching pounding making you embarrassed and so much more turned on. His teeth sink into your jaw, and your body is begging, twitching, the heat in your stomach overwhelming and no longer building but waiting for it to be unleashed.

“K-Kaibara-sama!” you cry, a warning for the near-inevitable.

But you wail his name, the electricity in your veins and blood scorching the levels of your skin, and Kaibara takes that as a reason to do more, to fuck more. He drills into you at a new speed, a new power. Your head is swimming in the delirium, and your body trembles, the words “more, faster, harder” spilling from your mouth without consent, but tears build in your eyes as his fingers seem to almost spin against your clit and you scream.

You cum loudly, aggressively, all your energy destroyed as you hit the high. Kaibara moans against your bruised and marked skin; the warmth heat of spilling seed expelling into your cunt is a sensation that drives you insane as he collapses his weight on top of you. You’re breathless, speechless, a part of you unable to comprehend that your crush had fucked you before he had kissed you, that he was the best fuck you had, and how this man wanted you back.

It’s quiet for a bit, the two of you laying on the table as cum dripped out of your cunt, and he rested his head between your exposed breasts.

“So,” you finally rasp, a soft grin coming onto your face. “You have my charger?”

“18000 yen?!” Kaibara barked, eyebrows furrowed as he stared at the older lady at the counter who was billing him for his session.

“We are a sex club, Kaibara-sama,” she sighed. “Not only did you have a three-hour session with our most requested maid, but you also marked the merchandise.”

“I couldn’t?!” Kaibara snapped but cooled down almost immediately when the lady pointed at a: ‘Fines for every mark on the maids!!!!’ sign. “Oh.”

“Take it from my paycheck,” you sing from beside him, bundled up in a coat, the marks he gave you completely hidden now. It was the end of your shift and closing time, after all. “I got him riled up without telling him the rules.”

Kaibara chuckled as you arranged a proper check for him.

He thought about what he thought of his life, and while he couldn’t say that his life wasn’t a hentai right now, he knew, without a doubt, that life is not a shoujo manga.

#kaibara x reader #kaibara smut #bnha x reader #bnha #mha

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gorgosim · 3 years

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The Artist Tag by @morgynemberisagenderfluiddaddy

Rules: Show us a rendition of yourself in your own art! Can be anything! Sims render? Random stick figure? Picrew? Go nuts! (Just be sure to tag the artist if you use someone else’s picrew!!!!) Tag the blogs you want to know, and don’t be a dick that’s it! Also, feel free to answer as vague or in-depth as you want. And if you don’t want to answer a question for any reason just don’t vibe with it! Skip it if you wanna!

Thanks @bakersimmer for tagging me bb 💕

1. Do you prefer to be referred to by your name or blog name?

I really don't mind either. People call me lots of things (Mainly Divlly) so call me whatever you wish.

2. Where are you from?

USA, Utah.

3. Do you have pets? 👀

I have an English bulldog puppy.

4. Tell us about your “dream”.

My ultimate dream is to be an archeologist and travel the world with my future husband/wife and forcefully make my friends come along. (((:

However, because it would cost all of my organs and more to do that, my "reasonable" dream is to just have a career that I don't dread, a loving partner and (maybe???) family with a nice house and a studio or office for myself.

5. Aside from art, what are your hobbies?

Video games (obviously), Cooking, Paleontology and writing.

6. Does anyone irl know about your blog?

Nope.

7. Do you know anyone from your blog irl?

No, unfortunately.

8. What are some fun facts about you?

Other than what I've already stated about myself, I'm quite the collector. I have lots of figures and other small trinkets that I like to collect. Eventually, I want to have a big display case to display everything.

I love puzzles and working out my brain.

I'm an mmo addict degenerate.

9. What’s your day job?

Currently working towards becoming an Insurance CSR.

10. Do you have a celebrity look alike?

Nah.

11. What’s your aesthetic?

Goth, Punk, Fantasy, Metal, Snakes, Green. Idk, whatever that is put together lmao.

12. What kind of artist are you?

I mainly do traditional painting/drawing, but I dabble with digital when I want to challenge myself. Now, editing is something I'm starting to dabble into.

13. How did you get into your form of art?

I used to do avatar pictures for IMVU every once in awhile back in the day. Given, they were shit, but I still enjoyed doing so. Luckily, some of my techniques have stuck. Other than that, idk. I just do what I like.

14. What do you watch/listen/read/anything else while you create?

I mainly listen to music. The music depends on what type of piece I'm doing. Example, if I'm doing some editing on a sim, I listen to music that I think that sim would listen to. It helps me put together the overall aesthetic of the piece.

15. What is your favorite of your own creations so far?

Well I've only uploaded 1 thing so far, so I guess this.

16.) How would you describe your art style?

I don't think I could describe it. I like to attempt a lot of different styles but with my own taste.

17. What is more satisfying to you coloring or outlining?

Coloring 100%. Shading and coloring is my favorite part. Outlining can bite me. 🧛‍♀️

18.) What meme would you use to describe yourself?

youtube

19. What character from any media form do you most identify with?

Uh, I don't think I really relate to any character

20. If you were on the run, what would you change your name to?

Juniper Thorn

21. Have you ever or do you want to change blog names?

Many times. Not because I dislike it, but because it's taken on other platforms and I wanted to post things on instagram and things like that. I've tried changing it before, but nothing sticks like simdiv does.

22. God forbid Tumblr decides to pull a MySpace and lets us have page songs, what song would you choose?

Bitches Brew - ††† (Crosses)

23. Did you understand those references or did you have to look them up? (I’m fully aware I’m ancient, but are you?)

I understood them. Though I'm only 21, I had some older cousins and even a few younger friends my age that had it. My childhood best friends brother was MySpace famous. 😆 (I skipped the top 8 question)

25. One last question; why are you like that?

IDK MAN it's probably the trauma + me just not caring

I don't really know who to tag tbh so if you see this and like it, say I tagged you. 😘

#artist tag #tag #I don't like this edit #I couldn't figure out how to do what I wanted #So I did something different #WHATEVERRR #ts4 edit #ts4 #s4 edit #simself

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whoistheasshole · 3 years

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How do I get out of this unsatisfying life I’m living?

Anonymous asks: So the thing is that I feel incredibly stuck - I have all the basics of life which I'm grateful for but also that was my BIG dream as a kid, to get tf out of my parents' house - but now I have that and idk what to do for the rest of my life. Like, if I try those "visualize your future" things I'm just like, "I'd like to sleep for a month, maybe longer" & it feels like I don't really WANT anything so I can't plan, you know? Just flailing here honestly. Pretty tired of it.

I wrote back: I got your question. To pinpoint my answer a little better, can you tell me about your current situation, like how long has it been since you moved out? Which are the things you have in order to your satisfaction? Some vague idea of your age range would also be helpful, but I can work without it too if you’d rather not share.

Anonymous answered: Ah, sorry. I was trying to fit in the character limit & also whenever I think about this my mind just goes flbbbbth. It's been about 5 years? That's about the only thing I'm truly HAPPY about, I'm not thrilled with my social/love life, career, etc & have pretty much been just coasting tbh. I'm almost 30. Thanks for entertaining this.

Alright, thanks for adding some background. I will come at this from different angles and you can pretty much pick and choose what sounds helpful and leave the rest, okay?

First, while there are people who have it all figured out, methodically planning their next career step or fully certain that there is no greater joy than raising a child, there are tons of other people who just, to quote, go „ flbbbbth“ when asked about their next steps or, god forbid, their life plan. I would say I fall in the latter camp, but I don’t mind because I think there is nothing wrong with that. I let myself be guided by the things I need to be happy (more on that later) and by current necessities – if my job becomes shit, I need to find a new job. If a friendship goes sour, I need to end it respectfully. But I couldn’t tell you specific career or personal goals, except...

... let’s talk about the „later“ now.

I’m an organizer, maybe even a worrier, and therefore I like lists. And for that reason I made a list a while ago that I still have and expect to keep for a long time. It is a list of everything that I need to be satisfied with my life. It consists of 29 entries and has three of them checked, though several others could be counted as half-checked. I wrote down everything that came to mind, paying no attention whether it was reasonable or feasible to want. That wasn’t the question.

It covers stuff like a clean flat (not checked), restful sleep (not checked), friends that I see regularly (checked) or a job with purpose (not checked). This list is my guide. Well, generally my needs are my guide, but it can be hard to be aware of your needs sometimes, so I got this list. And if I wonder what I need or want to focus on, I can turn to it and choose one of the entries and see what I can do about it. I can also look over the list every few years and see if things have developed in the right direction. Little progress is no reason to chastise myself, but helpful information to see whether I need to re-direct my focus.

Please note that I wrote „satisfied“, not „happy“. Being happy is a passing emotional state. It is completely normal and okay not to be happy all the time. But quiet satisfaction with where you are or where you are going, that is pretty achievable. It certainly is a process, but an enjoyable one.

This list is not a race and it is not really a to-do list because most of the things I wrote down aren’t easy to accomplish with a single action. They take months and years and, for some items, I can only try and hope it works out some day (see anybody who ever purposely looked for a partner).

So maybe this kind of list could be an exercise for you. Maybe it provides you with some insight, maybe it doesn’t. Maybe it’s not the right point in your life. But if you sit down and the only thing you can come up with is „cry forever“ or „sleep forever“ then, you know, that’s a sign.

Which brings me to my next point: Journaling or automatic writing. This method is especially helpful for those „I feel some kind of way and I couldn’t even tell you how“ moments – so maybe exactly where you are right now. Captain Akward has introduced me to a website called „750 words“ and I’ve used the principle of „morning pages“, though not the website, since then whenever I felt like some emotions were starting to boil over.

I sit down, ideally in the morning, and just barf it all on the (digital) page. There are only two rules: 1) Don’t edit or judge yourself, write everything as it comes to mind (that’s the automatic writing part) and 2) Don’t stop before you’ve reached 750 words. You are not looking to write anything readable or clever or lyrical, you’re looking to get all the weirdness out so you can move on. Repeat this as many days as you feel queasy or weird or confused or angry or sad. Each day, as soon as you’ve reached the 750 words, you can walk away. Heck, you could even delete/burn the document if that feels right. It’s just about giving your thoughts the room they need so you can continue with your day, hopefully feeling somewhat relieved.

While we’re at writing, I also have a question for you: Where is the pressure coming from to „do something with your life“? Is it truly coming from inside you or are there outside factors? Are people in your life asking you when you’ll have kids? Do you live in a culture where it’s expected that everybody does something of note, works certain prestigious jobs? Do you compare yourself to the people around you and feel like you’re „late“?

Maybe mull this over on a leisurely walk or write about it, using the method above. No matter where it’s coming from, the feeling of pressure won’t go away just by knowing its origin, but the knowledge can help you keep it under control. And if you find it is truly your own wish, you will have tools to shape your life according to your needs.

So, next, sleep: Maybe do that?

You wrote "I'd like to sleep for a month, maybe longer". I understand this was half a joke, but also … it was probably more than a joke.

How are your energy levels? How does life feel? Are you trying to jog through jello most of these days?

If we’ve been overachievers or had a tough home life or needed to take care of ourselves pretty early, we can become accustomed to everything being difficult. This feeling and behavior can become a way of life, even when circumstances change and we have a chance to act differently.

Do you feel rested? Do you have regular moments of quiet in your life that let you breathe? If not, this is where I would start. Forget about lists, though morning pages might be a helpful accompanying tool (if they don’t become a task to punish yourself with if you don’t find the energy).

Take some weeks or months, maybe even a year to make rest your priority. You will have to find a way that works for you. Yes there is a lot of clinically proven stuff out there, but you will not see me do yoga or meditate. Though feel free if that’s up your alley. If you love cycling or taking photos or drawing or just plain lying on your bed and staring at the wall, see where you can add more of that to your day. Whatever brings you closer to yourself and makes you feel like you can exhale and stand still for a moment, that’s the way to go. Do this as long as sleeping seems like a fine choice. And for good measure maybe a month longer. You are ready to stop when you cannot wait to do something else goddamnit I’m bored!!! (you might say)

If you are in this picture, please start here. Any kind of life plan, next steps, strategizing, solving of riddles would set you back and perpetuate your exhaustion. Rest is not time wasted, rest is how you get your life back.

If you are in this picture, you will likely find that if you really pull through, if you truly rest, as long and boring or even scary as it may be, the other questions will probably have an intuitive answer afterwards. Not like „this is my 20-year career plan“, but „I feel like doing x this week“. And that is enough. Because you won’t need to strain to hear your needs through the fog of exhaustion anymore.

Finally, some practical information and links for when you do have the energy and inclination to tackle your job and social life. I am not saying you need to change anything if that’s not what you want to focus on. These are just some tips, in case they become relevant.

For your social life, I recommend what others have recommended before me: Pick an activity that you do with other people and stick with it long enough to become a familiar face, see also here and here (yes, meeting gay people is similar to meeting other people). If you try out new stuff, go there at least 5 or 6 times before you decide it’s not for you – of course assuming nothing bad is coming up like racist or abusive people in the group. Shop around if the first group/activity doesn’t work for you until you find something that you’d like to do permanently. Maybe you’ll gain some friends, maybe you’ll find a romantic opportunity. In any case, if it’s something fun that you like to do anyway, you will have found an outlet with a social group attached. It is absolutely not as easy right now, with Covid and all, but if nothing outdoors-y comes to mind, you could also use this time to brainstorm what sounds like fun for when things are safer again.

Of course you can also look at opportunities online, like Discord servers, online interest groups etc but I do understand if that’s just not appealing right now. I am certainly over sitting in front of a screen.

To round this up, don’t sneeze at contacts that you already have. Are there acquaintances, friends of friends, colleagues, family members who you would like to get to know better? Then go do that! Suggest a time and place to meet up and see how they react. Say yes to the potential friends.

Speaking of which...

The Year of Yes by Shonda Rhimes might also be interesting. Sure, it’s a little pop culture positive thinking kinda stuff, but I did like the impulse it gave me to consider when I say no to opportunities out of anxiety or worry. It made me accept some social invitations from colleagues (… in the before times) that I would not have otherwise considered. I did not gain life-long friends, but I did learn another valuable info: That my FOMO wasn’t justified for these events ;)

It also lead me to the decision to do one new thing every month – visit a new place or try a new activity or cook a new food. If the concept sounds appealing, just think about what sounds interesting and achievable to you.

And finally, the advice blog recommendations that I’ll always have. For social life, love life, and general life planning turmoil: Captain Awkward. For everything job-related, including how to write a good cover letter or interview well and, of course, how to get out of the dreaded current job you have: Ask A Manager.

To sum it up:

1) Figure out if you even have the energy to tackle any of this right now.

2) Figure out your pillars for a satisfying life – nothing big and shiny, just … basic needs, wishes, social needs.

3) When you feel like it, pick what you want to tackle next and see where it leads you.

4) Stay flexible. This is your life and it’s okay to go where it takes you, even if it doesn’t look „cool“ or „impressive“ from the outside. All you need is to make it your own.

And if you want to, let me know how it goes some time. :)

#post #questions #advice #WHO IS THE ASSHOLE #life advice #rest #recovery

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5-falsehoods-phonated · 3 years

Text

Overgrown Metal

Series Summary: Almost two decades ago, the fae rose up from beyond the veil with technology far surpassing the human race, quickly taking over after laying waste to nearly everything in their wake. Now eight paths cross to right the wrongs on both ends, working to uncover secrets that would have rather stayed hidden

Chapter 5: Bow With Hope

Summary: Enter Patton.

Trigger Warnings: death mention. If i missed any please let me know.

General taglist: @im-an-anxious-wreck (if you’d like to be tagged for all works or specific ones feel free to ask!)

Patton sighed gratefully as the great doors closed behind him, quickly straightening before anyone could see and hurrying down the main street to the tallest building before anyone could catch him and ask too many questions. His jaw clicked painfully as he tried to subtly stretch it out and hoping no one would notice just how fast he was blinking behind his rather large glasses. Too many potential questions, too many potential conversations, too much of everything and honestly why wasn’t he there yet he was in impeccable shape and walking fairly quickly and-

He nearly crashed into the front doors of the building not having noticed tripping his way up the steps. Blinking a few more times he shifted his pack to one shoulder somewhat painfully considering its weight and nudged the door open slowly and just enough for him to fit through, slipping in fast and shutting himself and the inside away from any potential prying eyes. Dropping the pack carefully he slumped against the frame and let his eyes adjust, the milkiness nearly cleared from his vision as he stretched his mouth open as wide as it would go. Being mute outside the walls didn’t give you many opportunities or use for that matter for opening it very often, defaulting to clenching his jaw an unhealthy amount and making it a relief when he finally returned to his city and no longer had to worry about keeping up any pretenses.

Looking around revealed an unsurprisingly empty lobby, the converted hotel expanded almost impossibly wide and making the light fixtures work twice as hard to banish the shadows from the furthest reaches of the room. Several staircases led up and away to various sections of the building, though only a couple led down into the depths where he and others of his current status were rarely ever permitted to tread. Waving away the sadness that threatened to swell at the thought he simply sighed again and hoisted the pack back over his shoulder, oddities from a nearby Undercurrent ratting softly within it. He wondered briefly what the residents of the underground towns actually called themselves- certainly something better than the blatant derogatory name Societies had given them. The nicer ones were nearly identical to Patton’s own city: well structured layers of markets and power plants and homes all buried safely beneath the ground to adapt to their rapidly changing environment.

Of course he wouldn’t care to live in one...he didn’t even really care to be living in a Society despite the “safety” it promised him especially being as high up as he was. Given the choice he’d be a wanderer as so many were now, refusing to settle down where either roots or branches would eventually chase you out or kill you as you tried to hold them back. Vast open plains were really only a temporary solution as wildlife continued to grow and shift and spread without mercy or care for what it was destroying to create whatever ideals were behind it. Shaking his head once again he made his way to the nearest staircase. There’d be time for thinking later...maybe. For now he needed to deliver what he managed to find and hopefully it would be enough to pay him with a day pass to the cemetery; his superiors didn’t want the past to hold anyone back which was fine with Patton- it just meant he worked incredibly hard to be able to earn his time with who he had lost.

Finally getting to the door he needed he took the time to give his jaw one final stretch, mouthing out a couple words to practice their shapes before he had to talk again. His vision had finally cleared fully leaving his dark brown curls the only thing obstructing his vision. Carefully they were pushed up and away, tucked neatly behind his ears before he smoothed the front of his still dirty tunic. Wincing he tried in vain to brush as much of it off as he could only to give up after barely half a minute as the dirt made it clear it was there to stay. Stern voices chiding him for his lack of professionalism were waved away quickly. His job was tough and dirty and there was really nothing he could do to help with that unless they decided to transfer him to a different purpose. These assurances fell somewhat limply as he sucked in a breath. He would never trade his purpose for anything, dangerous as it could be and even with the added drawbacks. He was free to roam out there- within a time frame but still. He could see how the world was progressing and how life was coping, he could see grass and “trees” rather than the industrial colors of his Society, and most of all he could look for-

Gripping the straps he straightened one final time and placed his hand on the door knob. There would be time for thinking later; right now he had a job to finish. Swinging open the door before he could change his mind he stepped in, head down and shoulders back before shutting the door behind him. Nothing happened for a full minute, the only sound in the room Patton’s own quickly beating heart and the gentle tinkling in the bag as the trinkets shifted with his fidgeting, Five minutes had passed before he slowly lifted only his eyes to scan the room, realizing with a start that he was completely alone.

Cheeks burning with slight embarrassment he walked forward towards the thin envelope with his name on it on the wide oak desk. Placing the pack beside him he opened to reveal a small wad of twenty dollar bills and a note most likely written by the direct herself.

Patton,

If your past findings have been anything to go by this should be enough to pay you for what you’ve brought back this time, though action will be taken if my assumption is incorrect. The day pass included was taken from your pay, I took the liberty of sparing you a trip.

Faris

Blinking in surprise he quickly shuffled his pay to find that there was, in fact, a day pass included. His stomach squeezed uncomfortably at the thought of his routine being known so well but the organization he worked for was a rather tight knit group so in the end he supposed it made sense. He nudged the bag closer to the side of the desk and turned to leave, only briefly wondering why the director hadn’t been there this time before quickening his pace back towards the way he came. If he hurried he’d be able to use it now; he’d scarcely thought of much else his entire trip outside the walls.

Walking as quickly as he dared through the silent lobby he found the long familiar flight of stairs and hurried down them, barely stopping ;long enough to shove the pass through the slot before nearly crashing into the second door he hadn’t been paying attention to today.. Schooling his annoyed expression as the pass was logged he reached immediately for the door as he heard the beep, mood sobering immediately as the cold musty air hit his face. The cemetery was a quiet place, as they so often were, and hung heavy with the warm smell of earth contrasted just shy of unpleasantly with the crisp air of the underground cavern. Here the dead lay still in whatever a family could scrounge to wrap them with, most only in their best clothes laid as carefully and respectfully as possible in the holes dug by those who cared for them. Families weren’t allowed to see the dead laid to rest, too painful a thing to watch with the limited amount of technology they had, the director had said. Patton would have gave everything- he glanced up at where his feet had automatically taken him. His son’s grave.

His tight smile turned genuine as he kneeled in front of the stone, tears already pricking his eyes as he stared at the name written there. He brought his arm up slowly, palm resting on the corner of the smooth stone he had picked out himself: smooth and just big enough and slate gray with obsidian cracks spidering at the side. He always liked smiling in the cemetery, hoping that if God forbid his sin’s soul lingered he would see his father smiling and be comforted. He knew if he was ever a spirit he wouldn’t want to see his family mourn him, pain cracking their usually cheerful features. No. He’d rather them smile with the memories of their time spent together, and especially for his young child, he smiled as wide and as long as he could, simply absorbing the silence and trying his best to turn the cool indifference of the stone into warm comfort with the simple touch of his palm.

“I always wondered who it was you put all your hard earned savings towards. Though I’m deeply curious patton: if you’re mourning him down here, then why look for him up there?” Patton froze at the cold words tossed at him so carelessly, matching the rest of the room and sapping what little warmth he himself had left to offer. Standing carefully he schooled his face into what he hoped was an open expression and turned, meeting the deep brown eyes of Director Faris.

She really shouldn’t be this intimidating he thought to himself as he bowed his head. The director was his height and only slightly chubbier, dark suit with a crisp lab coat laying carefully over it filling the picture of professionalism. Really the only thing scary about her was the necklace she wore with their society emblem carved into a small pendant, the snarling muzzle of a dog glinting in the low light. Her stern gaze never wavered from him, much as he wished it would, and the air between them had grown incredibly uncomfortable by the time she cleared her throat to indicate he could answer.

“Blind hope I suppose.” He offered weakly. “Thank you f-”

She waited patiently for him to clear his suddenly very dry throat, trying desperately to clear the gravel of disuse from his voice before he tried to speak again. “Thank you for including a pass with my pay, the saved trip is greatly appreciated.”

“Blind hope that he survived and somehow escaped your notice for ten years?”

“A father knows.”

“So does a leader.” Faris stepped forward and laid a hand on his shoulder. “You always have so much trouble simply letting go Patton. Let the past be.”

Patton bit back the retort of his purpose that was given to him by the director herself was finding relics of the past along with whatever could be made from present materials to bring back to the city. His purpose relied on the past and people finding new ways to innovate it so it fit into the future. That to simply let the past go- well, wasn’t so simple. He cast a longing gaze to the smooth stone sitting obliviously in the dirt, Faris’ eyes following sharply.

“Whose body do you think is down there if not your son’s? How little respect do you have for us if you think we would deceive you on such a personal level?” Patton felt a wave of guilt wash over him at those words, looking down shamefully. “Have faith, Patton. This world has no more room for questions.”

As the director's hand fell from his shoulder at last she gestured as she turned away, taking confident strides to the stairs. “Follow me when you’re ready; I have other things to discuss with you.”

Pressing his lips together, Patton took one last look at the grave marker. Doubt curled not for the first time in the back of his mind, an ever growing sapling digging its roots ever deeping in the bed of questions he had surrounding the Society in which he lived and the people put in charge of it. As one of the head researchers it didn’t sit right with him that Faris allowed so little to be questioned, instead offering up faith as the sole reason to follow whatever whim the higher ups decided to pursue. He worked only a small branch of the Society, so much was left behind closed doors he very rarely if ever had access to. There was always, always room for questions.

“I will never stop looking for you.” He whispered quietly enough so he was sure faris wouldn’t hear before turning and hurrying towards the steps. “I promise you, Virgil.”

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#false writes #overgrown metal #patton sanders #sanders sides fic #sanders sides #og charater #death mention #tw death mention

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ofstormsandwolves · 4 years

Text

5 things Jenny Calendar learned about Rupert Giles and 1 thing she learned about herself

All ages

Jenny/Giles, with mentions of Willow and Xander, and a brief appearance from Buffy.

Written for @jenny-calendar for her birthday

There are five times in Jenny Calendar's life when she discovers something new about Rupert Giles. But there's one time she discovers something new about herself...

References to I Robot, You Jane, Prophecy Girl, Uncle Dead and the Fourth of July (How I Survived My Summer Vacation), The Dark Age, Innocence, & Passion

Read on AO3

Rupert Giles was infuriatingly charming

One of the first things Jenny Calendar learned about Rupert Giles, besides his hatred of all things electronic, was that he was utterly, infuriatingly charming. And the most frustrating part of all was the fact he didn’t even seem to realise it.

Since the business with the demon in the computer, Jenny and Rupert had reached a sort of truce. He had admitted that, perhaps, knowledge of computers and technology could be beneficial from time to time, and she had admitted that if she hadn’t insisted on scanning the library books in the first place, Moloch probably wouldn’t have escaped. That didn’t mean that she was accepting responsibility, however, particularly as Rupert should have checked the books before scanning. That was his job, after all, as the school librarian.

But they were friendlier to each other now, when they saw each other in the faculty lounge. Just last week, Rupert had made Jenny a coffee when he saw her enter the room. It had been exactly how she liked it. She tried not to dwell too much on that, because Rupert getting her coffee right meant he’d been watching her, and she wasn’t entirely sure what to make of that. Except that she’d started to notice he would give her a slightly hesitant smile when she entered a room, and that he would make his excuses to go and talk to her rather than whichever teacher he was currently stuck with. Rupert Giles, as a rule, didn’t mingle much with the other teachers, but he did for her.

He would ask about her classes, despite understanding very little of what she told him, and she would ask about homework club. As far as she could tell, only Buffy Summers, Willow Rosenberg, and Xander Harris attended, but Rupert seemed very fond of the children. Jenny could vaguely see why, particularly with Willow. The girl was bright and bubbly and loved to learn, and Rupert would talk about the girl with a fond smile on his face whenever she was brought up. He would complain about Xander, but with a slight warmth to his voice that he’d probably deny if Jenny ever dared point it out.

But Jenny noticed that Rupert reacted most when Buffy was brought up. It was always somewhere between fondness, amusement, and exasperation, and he talked repeatedly about how she was clearly a bright girl and he just wished that she showed that in her grades. Jenny had no idea why Rupert was so taken by her, as the girl didn’t strike her as the reading sort. Then again, had she been pressed to say who she thought Buffy Summers would most hang out with, Jenny would probably lean more towards Cordelia Chase than Willow Rosenberg. Perhaps Buffy had hidden talents that Jenny hadn’t seen; Rupert certainly seemed to believe so, as he complained about Buffy’s lack of focus when doing her homework. Jenny had even caught him once or twice trying to defend the girl to Flutie, and later Snyder, both of whom had chalked the girl up to being a trouble maker. But Rupert obviously saw potential in her, and it was almost like he’d taken the girl under his wing.

And that brought Jenny right back to Rupert Giles being incredibly, frustratingly charming. His apparent concern for Buffy’s grades, the look of pride when Jenny told him how well Willow was doing in class, his somewhat-hidden fondness for Xander hanging out in the library... It was rare, in Sunnydale High, to find a faculty member so invested in the students, and between that and the small embarrassed smiles, the morning coffee he’d made her, and the stuttered questions about her classes, Jenny Calendar couldn’t help but find the man charming.

Now Jenny thought about it, there was something even worse than Rupert being unaware of his own charm. And that was that she didn’t hate it.

Rupert Giles- despite his fuddy-duddy outlook- was not a typical Watcher

Learning that Buffy Summers was the Slayer actually explained a lot. It also, Jenny supposed, went a little way to explaining Rupert Giles. But not entirely.

See, Jenny knew about Slayers, and Watchers, and how the whole ‘Chosen One’ worked. She had never actually met a Slayer, or a Watcher, but she’d always expected the Watchers to be stern and tense and scowling, while the Slayers were obvious warriors, with the height and poise to show for it. Instead, there was Rupert, who stumbled and stammered his way through approximately half of what came out of his mouth to her; and Buffy, who Jenny was fairly certain had very briefly been in the Sunnydale High cheerleading team.

Ok, so Rupert could be rather quite serious at times, and his tweed suits certainly screamed Watcher when Jenny stopped to think about it. Plus, his being Watchers Council could explain his fierce defensiveness of books, as well as his fear of all things technological. But what Jenny hadn’t expected was for a Watcher to allow their Slayer to have a social life, to involve friends in the Slayer’s business. And she certainly hadn’t expected a Watcher to become so wholeheartedly invested in their Slayer on an emotional level.

From what Jenny understood, Watchers were meant to be detached. Cool, calm, collected; delivering orders that the Slayer must follow. And, as far as Jenny knew, Watchers never seemed to get involved in fights. That was the Slayer’s job.

But she was beginning to realise that, despite the tweed and the books and the often-stern behaviour, Rupert Giles was not a typical Watcher. And nothing made that more apparent than his insistence he wasn’t going to warn Buffy about the Anointed One.

“What do you mean?” Jenny demanded, even as Rupert surveyed the weapons he’d retrieved from the book cage.

“Buffy’s not going to face the Master,” Rupert responded with a calm that made Jenny’s blood run cold. “I am.”

Buffy arrived then, and Jenny could only watch as the Slayer and the Watcher argued it out.

“Buffy, I’m not gonna send you out there to die,” Rupert said, and it sounded to Jenny like he had had some time to think about it, like they were talking about a previous conversation she hadn’t been privy to. “Now, you were right. I- I’ve waded around in these old books for so long, I’ve forgotten what the real world is like. I- It’s time I found out.”

A horrible sense of dread was growing in the pit of Jenny’s stomach, but she couldn’t seem to find her voice. What Rupert was talking about was... Was suicide, wasn’t it? And Buffy seemed to think so too.

“You’re still not going up against the Master.” The girl was quiet, calm, and Jenny felt like screaming at the pair of them.

There they were, in the middle of a high school library, debating which one of them should sacrifice themselves that night. And Jenny knew- she knew- that if the Watchers Council ever discovered Rupert had had such an argument that he would lose his job. But he didn’t back down.

“I’ve made up my mind,” he said, and Jenny knew he was telling the truth. His voice was strong, his jaw set as he met Buffy’s gaze.

Oh my god, Jenny thought, he’s going to do it. She was reminded of how Rupert had talked about Buffy, even before Jenny realised what their connection was. Fondness and pride, and a little bit of exasperation and annoyance, all spilling over as Rupert talked about Buffy’s latest mishap, or her inability to grasp Shakespeare, or how he’d offered to help with her history assignment but she’d been adamant she could do it alone. And Jenny knew that it would take a miracle to stop Rupert Giles from dying for his Slayer, even if the Council would forbid it.

“That’s not how it goes,” Buffy was arguing. “I’m the Slayer.”

“I don’t care what the books say,” Rupert shot back, and Jenny could see his carefully crafted composure crumbling under the pressure. “I defy prophecy, and I am going. There’s nothing you can say that will change my mind.”

Buffy met his gaze. “I know.”

It turned out they didn’t need a miracle to stop Rupert, just a Slayer willing to knock him out. No, Rupert Giles wasn’t a typical Watcher, not when he was so willing to die in his Slayer’s place. And Jenny found that she wasn’t quite sure what to do with that new little bit of knowledge.

Rupert Giles could sometimes be a little clueless

Cleaning blood off of Rupert’s face wasn’t the way Jenny had expected her Fourth of July to end.

“I can’t believe he hit you, Rupert!”

Rupert shrugged. “Samson Murray was a violent man, even before being reanimated. I probably should have seen it coming. Lord knows I’ve had enough practice trying to avoid being hit by Buffy,” he said, before wincing.

Jenny gave him an incredulous look. “You know, that really doesn’t reassure me?”

“Doesn’t it?” Rupert asked, looking baffled. “Well, if it’s any consolation, I’m getting very good at dodging her punches too.”

“That doesn’t reassure me, either,” Jenny told him as she wiped off the last of the blood.

Rupert moved his jaw experimentally and gingerly ran his tongue over his teeth. “Nothing seems loose, so that’s good.”

“The uniform’s a loss, though.” Jenny gave a sad look at the Allied Forces Commander uniform he was still wearing.

“Yes,” Rupert said, sounding as sad as Jenny felt. “I won’t be getting my deposit back.”

The two of them descended into silence, sitting in the dark of the library together.

“You know,” Jenny said after a long moment, “when I invited you to the Fourth of July parade, I hadn’t expected it to be anything more than a nice afternoon out.”

“Well,” Rupert responded uncertainly, “it wasn’t that bad. Discounting the zombies, of course.” He gave her a slightly odd look then.

Jenny frowned at him. “What? Rupert, what’s that look for?”

“You... You kissed me,” he said, and there was a pleased little smile on his face. “Twice!”

Jenny arched an eyebrow at him, trying to ignore the way her cheeks heated up. “And? Do you wish I hadn’t?”

“No! I- I mean...” Rupert trailed off as he flushed red, and Jenny laughed. “I just... Why, Jenny?

She moved to pack away the first aid items they hadn’t ended up needing, desperate for a reason to avoid his gaze. “Are we talking about the kiss on the cheek, or...?”

“Either,” Rupert said, voice quiet. “Both.”

She shrugged. “The kiss on the cheek was because I felt like it,” she admitted softly. “And the other kiss... Like I said, it was for good luck.”

“Well,” Rupert said, a hesitant smile on his face. “It worked splendidly.”

Jenny gave him a wry look. “Rupert, you got punched by a zombie.”

“I did,” he agreed, still wearing that silly little smile. “But he didn’t kill me. So your kiss must have worked.”

She shook her head, smiling as she did so, but then she sobered. “Rupert... Are you sure you’re ok with what happened tonight? Between us?”

“Are you?” he countered. “Because I, I don’t want to speak out of turn.”

“I kissed you, remember?” Jenny reminded him with a small frown. “I wouldn’t have done it if I hadn’t wanted to.”

“Oh,” Rupert said, frowning. “I suppose not.” He blinked up at her, still sat in the chair. “What does that mean, then?”

Jenny didn’t know what to say to that. For a very clever, well-read man, apparently he sometimes needed obvious things spelled out to him. She was starting to wonder how Buffy, Willow, and Xander coped.

“What do you think it means, Rupert?”

“I... I don’t know,” he admitted, and his voice sounded so incredibly small and lost that Jenny took pity on him.

She grasped his hands, tugged him to his feet, and smiled gently at him. “It means we should do this again sometime.”

“F- Fight zombies together?” Rupert asked with a furrowed brow.

Jenny very nearly laughed, and she was very pleased that she didn’t. “Yeah,” she said with a small nod. “Something like that.”

Then, she pressed another kiss to his cheek and sauntered out of the library.

Rupert Giles wasn’t perfect

“Rupert, can I ask you something?” Jenny asked during the tense car journey back to her place.

She felt Rupert’s confused gaze on her, but she didn’t look over.

“Of course,” came his confused reply.

“Why are you so harsh on the children, given what you did? The way you talk sometimes, when Buffy makes a poor decision, or Xander acts immaturely... You make them think that you’re perfect, that you’ve always been perfect.”

Rupert’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel. “I have done no such thing.”

“But you have,” Jenny protested, glancing over at him. His jaw was clenched, and she knew that a car perhaps wasn’t the best place for the conversation, but she pressed on anyway. “Buffy’s probably never even stopped to think that you were ever anything other than a Watcher; Xander and Willow have only ever seen you as a librarian and a Watcher. Those kids look up to you, and you don’t let them see that you’re a person.”

“I never said I was perfect, Jenny,” Rupert said, and his voice was low and angry, and the words stung.

They stung because Jenny knew they were true. He had never claimed that he had been a perfect child, followed by a perfect teenager, followed by a perfect adult. Jenny had simply assumed. And she was angry about that, because there was a part of her that wanted him to be perfect. Perfect, loyal Rupert, who was just as readily available to help his Slayer with her history essay as with her demon research.

If Rupert wasn’t perfect, who was?

Jenny knew she wasn’t. And Jenny knew she was being as hypocritical as she was hinting at Rupert being. She didn’t know everything about his life, and he didn’t know everything about hers. Just as she had felt no real need to burden him with the truth of her family’s past, perhaps he had felt the same about his rebellious period twenty years ago?

“I... I understand that, perhaps, I can seem a little hard on the children,” Rupert said quietly, and his tone had softened a little but not by much. “But they have to learn. Buffy especially so. She’s the Slayer, and there is a certain amount of responsibility that comes with that.” He let out a breath. “I was young, and, and foolish, when the incident with Eyghon happened. I... I lost a friend, because I thought I was- because I thought we were untouchable. Buffy cannot afford to make the same mistakes I did.”

Jenny stared out the car window for several long moments. “It’s... It’s not just about the children, Rupert. We were all blindsided by this, including me.”

Rupert’s eyes were on her, but Jenny didn’t look round. He sighed quietly. “I never wanted you to find out about my past in this way.”

Houses raced by outside the window, and Jenny watched them. “Did you want me to find out about your past at all?”

She knew her tone was cold, colder than it perhaps should have been given that she knew Rupert was struggling. But Jenny hurt, both inside and out, and she was tired and miserable and achy. A tiny, nagging voice in the back of her head was reminding her of her own secrets, but she forced it down. She was too tired to deal with it.

“I... I suppose I never really knew how to put it into words,” Rupert told her, brow furrowed. “I think... I think I feared how you would react.”

His gaze was back on the road, and Jenny turned her head to look at him. His expression was sad, and a little bit resigned.

“I suppose I was right to be concerned.” He let out a breath. “I’ll drop you at your apartment.”

Rupert Giles wasn’t perfect. He had flaws, and secrets, and a whole other life he had once lived. But then again, so did Jenny.

Rupert Giles wore anger well

She didn’t know quite what she had expected to happen, once the truth came out. Buffy was angry with her, Willow was upset, Xander seemed uncertain about whether he should be despising her or thanking her for getting rid of Angel. And Rupert...

Rupert wore anger well, Jenny realised. It suited him, in a strange way. It made him look more like the Watcher she had expected him to be. All sharp edges and scowls, and clipped, scathing words delivered in a harsh and dismissive tone. But it still hurt when he dismissed her from helping with preparations.

“She just said get out.”

Rupert didn’t even look at Jenny when he spoke, but she saw how Buffy looked up to her Watcher. And the odd thing was, watching the pair of them from the doorway, Jenny couldn’t tell if she was being sent away for Buffy’s benefit or Rupert’s.

Rupert was, of course, angry at her. He was angry that she had kept secrets from him, even though at the time they had felt inconsequential. Unlike the rest of her family, Jenny Calendar had never been out for vengeance against Angel. As a result, she hadn’t seen the necessity of revealing her family secrets to Rupert, or to anyone else, but that didn’t stop them all from being angry at her.

But as Buffy looked up to her Watcher, apparently surprised at what Rupert had just said, Jenny found that she couldn’t help but draw the conclusion that Rupert was choosing his side. He was making it clear, to himself, to Jenny, and to Buffy; he was choosing his Slayer over his love.

And maybe that explained why he seemed so much more like a Watcher now that he was all hard edges and anger. Why the anger he wore fit him just as well as his tweed jacket, or his glasses. It all came back to his Slayer. The Slayer he had been so willing to die for just last year. The Slayer he fought hard for, who he broke the rules for time and time again. Rupert Giles, no matter how unconventional, was a Watcher who put his Slayer first. And perhaps that was where the source of his anger lay; not with Jenny keeping secrets from him, but with Jenny putting his Slayer in danger.

It didn’t matter that she had had no idea Angel could lose his soul, didn’t matter that she had only ever been on the fringes of her family’s vengeance plans. What mattered was that Jenny had put Buffy in danger by not coming clean about who she was or how much of a threat Angel posed, and there was a good chance that Rupert would never forgive her for it.

Jenny couldn’t blame him. She did as Rupert and Buffy asked, and didn’t go to face Angelus with them.

Jenny Calendar would do anything to fix things with Rupert and the children

A year and a half previously, Jenny Calendar wouldn’t have cared what most people thought of her. But that seemed like a lifetime ago, and she was starting to realise that she wouldn’t have cared because she didn’t have anybody she cared about. That was, until Rupert and the children.

Rupert and the children had wormed their way into her heart, so slowly that she hadn’t even realised it until it had been too late. It hadn’t been until the business with Angel had happened, and Buffy and Rupert had turned against her. And that was how Jenny Calendar learned a very important lesson about herself; she would do anything to fix things between herself and Rupert and the children.

So she set to work researching, scrounging up every last piece of information she could get her hands on. If there was any way at all to restore Angel’s soul, she’d find it. She knew she couldn’t buy Rupert’s or Buffy’s forgiveness, but she also knew that this was perhaps the only way to make it clear to them that she was really, truly sorry.

Sure, she could apologise until she was blue in the face. But she knew that actions often spoke louder than words, and this was one of those circumstances. Apologising meant nothing if she didn’t even try to give Buffy back what she’d lost. And while patching things up with Rupert would be trickier, she needed to prove to him that she didn’t see Buffy as collateral damage.

She spent entire nights researching, on her computer and with books. She didn’t dare approach Rupert or Buffy though, not until she knew for certain that she had leads. The last thing she wanted to do was get their hopes up only to let them down again.

But finally, after god knew how many hours researching, she had a breakthrough. Jenny felt her heart soar as she realised the implications. But still, when she saw Rupert at school that day, she said nothing. She gave him a book, implied she’d been reading up on a few things, and then totally and utterly embarrassed herself by admitting she’d fallen in love with him.

“Oh god. Is it too late to take that back?”

Rupert blinked at her. “Do you want to?”

Jenny considered his question for a moment. “I just wanna be right with you. I don’t expect more. I just want so badly to make all this up to you.”

“I understand,” Rupert responded, and his voice was soft and almost reassuring. “But I’m not the one you need to make it up to.” He gave her a small smile then, that made her heart skip a beat, and he held up the book. “Thank you for the book.”

Jenny hadn’t been able to quite stop thinking about Rupert’s words for the rest of the day. He hadn’t run a mile when she’d confessed to loving him. He hadn’t stuttered or stammered or blushed. He’d been gentle but firm; Buffy came first. He wouldn’t be making any sort of move, either to or away from Jenny, without Buffy’s say so.

She had known, really, that it would probably all come down to Buffy. And, if anything, Jenny found it touching that Rupert was so concerned about his Slayer. So, buoyed by the new hope the conversation with Rupert had sparked, she headed to the magic shop that evening for the final supplies she needed.

The Orb of Thesulah. She still had to pin her hopes on her computer program working out to translate the ritual, but frankly she was more concerned with actually getting hold of the Orb. The last thing Jenny wanted was to have everything ready to go only to find she couldn’t get the Orb anywhere.

“By the way...”

The shopkeeper’s words made Jenny look back.

“Not that it's any of my business, really, but, uh, what are you planning on conjuring up? If you can decipher the text?”

“A present for a friend of mine.” Jenny held up the Orb, examined it.

The shopkeeper frowned. “Really? What are you gonna give him?”

The Orb in Jenny’s hand glowed, and she smiled. “His soul.”

#buffy fanfic #jenny calendar day #angst #rupert giles #jenny calendar #otp: scooby parents

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asweetprologue · 4 years

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Fandom: The Witcher Pairings: Geralt/Jaskier Words: 16,147 Chapter: 1/5 Summary: After a job goes wrong, Geralt must rely on Jaskier as he is left blind and deaf. As they attempt to navigate the curse and find out how to lift it, Geralt comes to realize that his feelings for the bard have grown deeper - but how can he know if Jaskier returns those feelings if Geralt can't see or hear him?

Also on AO3

your skin carries echoes of me

Winter in Temeria was a hell of a thing. The entire country was, broadly speaking, a damp and slightly rancid place. From the time of the first thaw until the Velen equinox, it was redeemable by virtue of the sweeping golden fields in the countryside and the lush, vibrant forests in the west. Come winter, however, the forests became gray, fractured matchsticks scratching at the sky, the golden fields rotting away into mud and gravel. Even when it wasn’t cold enough to set your teeth on edge it was wet, slimy and miserable. Humans and monsters alike tended to burrow into their respective hovels until the warm rays of the spring sun graced the region once again.

Which is why Geralt, finding himself deep in the south as autumn began turning the landscape around them a fetching red-gold hue, was in desperate need of some quick and easy work. Wintering in Kaer Morhen would be out of the question. There was no way that he could make it to the pass through the Kestrel Mountains before the winter snows claimed the valley. And besides that, he had a particularly aggressive tag-along that he suspected wouldn’t fare nearly as well as Roach might along the steep mountain trails.

Said tag-along was standing besides Geralt at a notice board in the ramshackle town they’d stopped at for supplies, a pout on his youthful face. He crossed his arms over his chest, the deep navy of his current ensemble stained near black in places from the muck of their travels. “I just think,” he continued, resolutely ignoring the fact that Geralt was ignoring him, “that she cheated us of well-earned income. I mean, ‘a fearsome beast tearing apart the garden and scaring off the sheep.’ Those were her words! ‘Kill the beastie that’s ate my poor Bella.’ That was the job! It’s not our fault the culprit was a wild dog and not a bloody griffin.”

Geralt pulled a flyer down from the board, looking it over before turning it in Jaskier’s direction. “Caravan escort?”

The other man sniffed, eyeing the paper with a distrustful look. “The last one of those ended poorly. If they want entertainment that’s one thing.”

“Hmm. Roadside protection is asking too much?” He stuck the flyer back in its place, looking over the others again. Nothing too promising - someone asking for help with autumn logging, the herbalist looking for fool’s parsley, a dog gone missing. Not exactly witchers’ work, though he supposed he was reasonably skilled enough in alchemy to dig around for roots and plants if it came to that.

“It’s not that it’s not a reasonable request,” Jaskier said. “They just always seem to want it for a very particular reason that they aren’t at all ready to discuss with the hired help. It’s just. Well. It’s one thing to prepare oneself for the inevitability of bandits on the road. Quite another to wake in the middle of the night with an assassin’s blade at your throat in nothing but your drawers.” Geralt shot him an amused look. “A situation that you handled admirably. Still. We wouldn’t be in these circumstances if that hag hadn’t skimped on us.”

“Hmm.” People rarely, if ever, paid what they said they would in Geralt’s experience. Once their fear of the monster was assuaged, their distaste for mutants resurfaced with a vengeance. They seemed to have little remorse about trying to weasel their way out of their agreements, though it happened with less and less frequency the longer Jaskier kept his company.

Geralt glanced back at the bard as he turned away from the unhelpful notice board and back towards Roach. The man had been traveling off and on with him for some time now, though this latest stint had been longer than typical. They crossed paths often enough, but usually Jaskier would only spend a few weeks trekking after the witcher before disappearing back into civilization once again. He would spend his time on the road singing snippets of ballads, humming seemingly thoughtless tunes and plucking the strings of his lute absentmindedly. The witcher would have said that the bard used his time with Geralt to freeload if he didn’t inevitably hear the same snatches of song on the lips of strangers, even in the most remote parts of the land. And he had to admit, his purse had been significantly heavier, the eyes of strangers less accusatory, in the last few years than they had been in decades.

Jaskier continued, unaware as ever of Geralt's internal musings. “She hired a witcher, and that’s what she should have paid for. I don’t think -” Jaskier was suddenly interrupted by a hand reaching out to snatch at the sleeve of his embroidered doublet. He made a small noise of surprise, likely in reaction both to the hand and to Geralt’s sudden move into his space as he faced the newcomer. “Excuse me!” the bard exclaimed, and Geralt was unsure whether it was directed at him or the assailant.

Who, fortunately, turned out to be a pleasant looking middle aged woman, who quickly let go of Jaskier’s tunic when Geralt stepped forward. She backed away, shoulders drawn in fear. “F-forgive me, sirah, but if you please, I have a request for you?”

She phrased the statement as a question, and Geralt attempted to relax his posture invitingly before he realized that her eyes were unfocused and clouded. She was blind. He cleared his throat. “Go on then.”

“Well, sir, um. I heard your companion -” she gestured vaguely in Jaskier’s direction, leaning around Geralt’s shoulder - “mention you work as a witcher? If that’s for true, I would ask for your help. We’ve not much by way of coin, but we’ll find some way to gather a nice pouch for you if you care to help us. We’ve been plagued for too long now, and I’m not sure how much more we can take.” Her hands twisted in her stained apron, which smelled faintly of flour and cloves. A baker, or a baker’s wife.

“What’s the problem?” he asked, cutting to the chase.

“A witch,” she said, her voice pitched slightly lower, as if she feared said witch was listening in. “It began with the chickens. She was takin’ em at night, to use in some foul ritual, and then a pig. And the animals in the wood have all run off, it seems. Samuel, our hunter, hasn’t found more than a few pheasants in weeks, and with the snows comin’ we’ll need meat to dry. A few of our men tried to confront her, and when they came back they were all foul tempered, mean spirited to a one whereas before they were gentle souls. I went to confront the wench myself, and she…” Here the woman grew quiet, drawing herself inwards as she reached up a hand to hesitantly touch below one of her sightless eyes. After a moment she shook herself and stood again, shoulders back in defiance of her plight. “Please, master witcher, help rid us of this scourge and we will find a way to repay you.”

Geralt opened his mouth to speak and found himself cut off by Jaskier, who was already pushing his way forward to gently take the woman’s hand in his own. “My lady, I give you my word that we will do everything in our power to help you with your plight. Consider it done.”

The woman looked near tears. “Oh, bless you both. Bless you.”

Geralt huffed, annoyed at Jaskier accepting his job for him despite the fact that he’d planned to say the same himself, though in significantly less words. “Fine.” Jaskier turned towards him with a bright grin. “Where can we find her?”

* * *

On the plus side, despite the fact that this witch seemed like, well, a bitch, they were typically easier to deal with than monsters. They usually wanted something, or were trying to get something, but they weren’t nearly as difficult to manage as a kikimora or, gods forbid, a sorceress. Most weren’t actually capable of going up against a professional witcher; their magics were more indirect in nature, a glimpse into the future here or slew of bad fortune there. Very few had anything approaching the battle magics wielded by true mages, or even the alchemical knowledge of a witcher. Most could be reasoned with, forced into moving on or, if necessary, put down with a bit of steel. Geralt was sincerely hoping that it wouldn’t come to the later in this case.

Which was why Jaskier had been allowed to tag along, much to Geralt’s chagrin.

The bard, for his part, seemed happy to have been allowed to come. Despite his detailed and often blatantly exaggerated retellings of Geralt’s exploits, Jaskier was rarely allowed to actually come along for the battles themselves. He had, at this point, utterly perfected the art of sneaking after the witcher on hunts, staying far enough away that Geralt’s heightened senses wouldn’t pick up his presence and closing in when Geralt was distracted by his quarry. It had, to the witcher’s extreme annoyance, actually proved useful once or twice. It wasn’t that his life was typically in danger when he was injured in a fight, but. Well. Having someone around to help patch up his wounds and haul him back to an inn was an improvement on lying in the mud throwing back potions until he could stand again.

This time, Jaskier was traipsing along by the witcher’s side, after he had - again, much to Geralt’s annoyance - convinced the witcher that he would actually be an asset on this particular hunt. Geralt anticipated that this job would involve a lot more talking than fighting, and even he could admit where his skill set ended and Jaskier’s began. In spite of his frequent bouts of oversharing and his tendency towards nervous chatter, the bard was profoundly charismatic. Geralt was made keenly aware of this every time he found himself searching for Jaskier in a crowd or buying the man another round at the bar in spite of his own oft-light coin purse. It wasn’t his fault; Jaskier just did that to people.

He hoped it would come in handy this time around. He really didn’t want to have to kill this witch.

“So, what do you think she’ll want?” Jaskier said, his eyes on his boots as he unsubtly moved through the underbrush. He’d recently been convinced to finally purchase a pair suitable for traveling, and had immediately had them dyed an aggressive shade of mauve. “New dress? Pearl earrings? Our first born sons?”

“Witchers can’t have children,” Geralt corrected absentmindedly, holding a branch back so that Jaskier could pass. “And I’m assuming you’ve already fathered many.”

The bard spluttered indignantly at him, and Geralt turned around to hide his smirk. He paused suddenly, holding a hand out towards Jaskier to stop both his squawks of protest and his forward momentum. It said much about Jaskier’s character and his time with Geralt that he halted immediately. “I think we’re here.”

The cottage was small, almost cozy, with smoke curling lazily out of the chimney and ivy clutching the west facing wall. It looked more like a place that someone’s elderly relative might retire to than a witch’s hovel.

“Looks like a nice place to settle down,” Jaskier pipped, echoing Geralt’s thoughts uncannily. “Should we knock?”

Geralt held up a finger and Jaskier quieted, allowing the witcher to listen. He closed his eyes, breathing slowly through his nose as he peeled away the layers of noise around them. A witcher’s senses were sharp, but often finding specific information in the cacophony of life was like searching for a needle in a haystack. It took years of training to learn how to turn the blunt instrument of their broad senses into a finely honed scalpel. Geralt fell into that place as he had so many times before, concentrating on the house and everything in it. The thick smell of honeysuckle from the plants growing against the side of the cabin, the sweet scent of cedar and pine, the faint rust of old blood. Rustling leaves, the muffled snap of wood burning. No shuffling footsteps, no soft sighs. No heartbeat, fluttering quickly away in comparison to the slow rush in his own ears.

“She’s not here,” he said a moment later, satisfied that the witch was nowhere in the immediate vicinity. “Stay put. I’ll see if I can find out where she went.”

“Tch,” Jaskier said, for once following directions as he leaned against a nearby tree. “Out looking for babies to gobble up, perhaps?”

“You’re thinking of witchers,” Geralt quipped, already checking for footprints around the stoop. Jaskier barked a laugh behind him.

“I had no idea your diet was so restrictive,” the bard replied, mirth coloring his tone. “It’s an honest mixup, you see, witches and witchers.”

It was novel, still, having someone to jest with while in moments like these. Geralt looked up to find Jaskier watching him with an amused expression, something soft in his gaze that Geralt had seen before. It always lingered with him when Jaskier inevitably moved on. He could say with absolute certainty that no one else had ever looked at him like that - with an utter lack of fear and pure, open affection. Feeling off balance, Geralt tried to focus back on what he was doing, away from Jaskier’s too-blue eyes.

This, too, was part of the reason Jaskier wasn’t invited on hunts.

The man was… distracting. Geralt wasn’t sure exactly why. He was loud, and annoying, and occasionally disarmingly funny. And sometimes, when Geralt brushed a leaf out of his hair and Jaskier turned to him with a grateful smile that was devoid of nervousness and the sunlight through the trees made his skin honeyed gold, he was very… something. Something distracting.

It wasn’t great for Geralt’s concentration.

That’s what he would blame it on, later, when he was cursing himself for not noticing her approach. Jaskier was too busy thinking of something else snappy to say about witchers kidnapping children, and Geralt was too busy not-thinking about the way Jaskier’s eyes shone when he laughed, and the witch walked up already fuming.

She was tall, almost as tall as Geralt, with brown hair woven through with silver cord and viney tattoos winding up her arms. At first they looked to be flower designs, but Geralt’s keen eyes could make out small, detailed runes etched out between the artwork. The witch’s bright blue eyes, cold as chips of Yuletide frost, bore into him intensely. “You are trespassing,” she said sharply, sliding her hand into a woven bag she had draped over one shoulder. “I told you all not to return here.”

Geralt stood slowly, resisting the urge to look towards Jaskier. From where she was standing, it was possible that the witch could not see him, hidden as he was in the shadows of the forest. She had emerged from another path that came around the backside of the house. Based on her equipment, it looked like she’d been hunting for herbs, possibly near the river to the north of the town. “Folks from the village sent us to discuss the… situation,” he said slowly. “W- I don’t want any trouble.”

The witch gave him a disbelieving glare. “Trouble is all I get these days, witcher. Don’t look surprised, I’ve heard the songs. I’m not a complete recluse. I know the White Wolf, as they call you, or the Butcher of Blaviken. I suppose I should be honored that you’ve graced my small corner of the world.” She spat the words at him, sneering. “Tell those simpering peasants that if they want to burn me at the stake they’ll have to come and light the tinder themselves.”

Geralt sighed. This was more antagonism than he’d hoped to start out with. “Haven’t heard anything about stakes. They just want you to stop stealing chickens.”

“The blood was for protection rites, to protect my home from the whoresons that have given me no rest since I arrived. They came a fortnight back with accusations on their tongues and cleavers in their hands, and I turned their fury back towards those they love.” She smirked. “I thought it was poetic.”

“People are always spiteful,” Geralt said, annoyed. “You can’t pay them back in kind.” He wasn’t unsympathetic, of course. Throughout his life he had more often than not been spat on and cursed at whenever he showed his face around humans. They knew that he was other, sensed how dangerous he could be if he decided to turn his skills on the ones who fed him. In his experience, this did not make them more cautious in his presence. People reacted to fear with violence in most cases. But the only appropriate response was to turn the other cheek. He could cleave through an angry mob without a second thought, destroy an entire village if it struck his fancy, but it was not what he had been made for. He had refused to let himself be molded into a monster for decades. The least this woman could do was try the same.

The witch broke him from his frustrated thoughts with a snort. “Easy for you to say. Always moving, never in one place for long. People call you a hero. ‘Friend of humanity.’” She scoffed. “They call me a devil. I could help them, and instead they cast stones my way. No,” she said, eyeing him coldly. “I will not bow to them.”

“I can’t let you continue to do them harm.” He felt tired. This wasn’t how he’d wanted this to go. Against his will, he found himself looking in Jaskier’s direction, and found the bard looking back at him with wide eyes. He seemed conflicted, his hands wringing the strap of his lute case nervously as he looked between Geralt and the source of the witch’s voice. Debating whether to try and step in, solve things diplomatically, Geralt realized. He shook his head slightly, and Jaskier nodded, though his brow furrowed in distress. When Geralt looked back to the witch she was watching him with an expression of disgust.

“You’re just like them,” she said, her voice angry and filled with grief. “No one understands. No one sees .” She drew herself up, pulling her hand from her bag. In it she clutched a handful of items - herbs, some kind of stone, and what looked like a human ear. “Very well. If you can hear no foul lies and see no bright pyres, you’ll do less harm to me and mine.” She raised her hand.

Several things happened in rapid succession. Geralt drew his silver sword, and ring of metal on metal echoing through the clearing as the witch tossed the objects into the air. He rushed towards her, raising his hand to begin etching the sign of quen . From his left there was a burst of noise, and he had time to think, ah, Jaskier just as the bard tackled the witch to the ground. She landed with a cry and quickly elbowed him in the jaw, a surprising move from someone so slight. Jaskier tumbled off of her from the force of it, and she turned back towards Geralt. Her eyes were full of fury as she opened her mouth and shouted a word.

Geralt’s sword swung down towards her neck, and the world went dark.

Part Two

#the witcher #witcher #witcher fic #fan fic #fan fiction #geralt of rivia #geralt #jaskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt x dandelion #jaskier/geralt #geraskier #the witcher series #tris merigold

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themockingcrows · 4 years

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Familiar Ch. 5: Quicken

This chapter is mildly not safe for work This chapter is available on my AO3! All the preparation in the world won't ready you for some things when it comes to cohabitating with a bird hybrid, but some things come more naturally than others.

“Hold still,” Dave said, carefully aiming the shot so he could capture John and the surrounding moss in the shot. He’d been trusted with Dad’s camera for the day again, and he wasn’t going to mess up the chance to make the most of it. He’d already taken shots of the surrounding woods, but taking some nice shots of himself and of John were still high up on his list. He had to keep track of so many things with this camera: how much film was left, that the lens cap was off, that everything was in focus, that his hands didn’t shake, and God forbid that he didn’t drop the camera again.

“How much longer till I can move,” John groaned as if he were dying. Seventeen years old, and he still didn’t have an ounce of patience to his name. Dave took a snap, pulled back from the camera and threw some leaves on top of John before adjusting them individually, trying to make it look as careless as if he’d been sleeping in the forest all autumn instead of dodging puddles of mud and praying it didn’t rain yet again before the shoot could be finished.

“Close your eyes and stay still,” Dave grumped, snapping a few pictures at different angles before giving the go ahead to rise.

Grunting, John sat up and pulled leaves out of his hair, dusting sticky flecks of dirt and moss off his jacket and the back of his head. “Oh FINALLY, my ass was going numb. Do you realize how cold the ground is out here?”

“I was born outside, John.”

“I mean currently. With a human ass. Human ass thermometer says it’s too cold to be sitting on the ground,” John explained, coming to stand closer to Dave’s side as he looked around. “Where else did you wanna take pictures? It’s supposed to rain later, Dad wouldn’t want his camera wet.”

“I know. I was thinking somewhere a bit further… there’s a stand of trees and this huge pile of rocks, I wanna get some angles of that.”

“Big pile of rocks. Exciting.”

“It’s a huge pile, John, wait till you see it.”

John hummed and nodded to show he was listening and believing as much as he could, but it was difficult. For one, he was chilled and Dave’s fascination with photography could be tiring to keep up with. For another… he was distracted.

Dave had been more hands on the last few weeks, more touchy feely than usual. He lingered with wake up kisses, kept finding more and more excuses to settle on John’s lap. He also kept making sure John got the bigger half of things suddenly, making sure his plate was first in the line and that he got plenty of snacks. Dave kept being caught staring, watching, lingering in doorways to keep track of where John was. He’d improved his rock collection with shiny stones from here and there… though also he was gifted with bottle caps and soda pop tabs, beads and odds and ends from around the house and up in the attic. It was sweet, really, but it was a bit confusing, a ramp up on his usual behavior.

Noticing so much of Dave’s abnormal behavior was making John notice Dave and his mannerisms more. The way he touched his face when he was crouched on a chair, the way he flipped his hair out of his eyes but refused to let Dad trim it shorter, the way his face screwed up when he got a good scratch between the shoulder blades, the way his wings twitched and splayed out when it was grooming time. The way he smiled, frowned, the way his face relaxed when he napped against his shoulder in the afternoons while John worked on schoolwork.

“...John?”

“Huh? What.”

“The rocks are here,” Dave said, gesturing proudly. “I was asking what you think. Thought,” he corrected.

John blinked, realizing he’d been following without paying attention. He glanced around to orient himself before taking in the view. The rocks were, as promised, pretty sweet. They were massive boulders with moss and speckled markings, balanced atop other boulders. The very top held a decrepit sapling that had tried to flourish and dried upon death, dangling at an angle by its roots. John whistled softly at it.

“Okay, this is cool. What kind of pictures did you want?”

Considering for a moment, Dave soon gave directions for John to climb the first stone and sit in different ways, standing on the last shot, before carefully coming down. If they were developed right, they’d hopefully come out looking how they did in Dave’s head. Maybe if they were in black and white they’d be more pressing, or sepia…

“Hey, let me take a few shots of you,” John offered with a grin, reaching for the camera. “I bet your wings would look great against the stone.”

Dave’s wings abruptly fluffed and splayed out showily before stretching and flattening out. He cleared his throat, coughed, and righted his wings again.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah! Go up where I was and crouch. Maybe ditch the jacket, if you can handle the temperature,” he said, holding the camera up in front of one of his glasses lenses and smirking, crouching down to one knee for the full effect before standing up again. Okay, that was silly, he couldn’t see from that angle.

Hesitating for a moment, Dave pulled his jacket off and flared his wings again, flapping them a few times before he turned and scaled the rock face, finding the stable point John had been at before turning around and crouching. As expected, the dark feathers against the stone looked amazing in the dull light, and John found himself wishing he was better at photography to catch it in some better light. Maybe when they were home he could get a look at the feathers under the light and get a snap of them there, black and faintly iridescent close up where the filaments of feather connected.

“Got it! Come on down!” John called, grinning as Dave splayed his wings and hopped down, coasting a bit before flapping to stabilize his landing. When John grinned broadly at him, Dave’s wings twitched and tried to flatten out once more, fluttering when he turned to pick up his jacket and pull it back on.

A stick broke in the distance, though it didn’t catch Dave’s attention. John’s attention, however? He was predisposed to being overly aware of their surroundings when his head wasn’t in the clouds, especially when they were away from the yard. It was his job, guarding Dave’s existence from the outside. This deep in the woods should be safe, but there were natural threats to worry about, bears and other creatures.

...Or humans.

In this case, a hiker with a cell phone who was staring at them from a ways away before freezing and taking off running the opposite direction as if pursued. Cursing, John stuffed the camera back into Dave’s bare hands before grasping his upper arm and tugging, dragging him into a run the other direction.

“Fuck, wait,” Dave cawed, trying to cover the lens with the cap without dropping the camera before adjusting his grip and hurrying along after John, back towards the house. They sprinted, John leading them astray till things started to look more familiar and he corrected the route since Dave was the one who’d led them in this time, and didn’t stop till they reached the edge of the woodline.

Slowly, John sank down into a crouch and grasped the back of his head with both hands, panting heavily as he listened to his pulse hammering in his ears. “Shit, shit, shit… Shit.”

“John?” Dave panted, watching him before mimicking him, crouching down. One wing stretched out and curled loosely around John’s back like an arm, shielding him while he was down. “...John?” he asked again, worried.

“I’m fine. It’s okay. We’re fine. This is totally okay. We were just seen by a stranger with a phone, no big deal,” John rambled, only to go quiet and croon an upset noise out once more.

Biting his lip, Dave considered his choices. He looked around the empty yard, the distant shape of Dad’s car parked in front on the gravel, the shriveled remains of the garden and the last crops that hadn’t been picked yet, the vast amount of pumpkins on display. He looked back over his shoulder, back towards the woods he knew so well from before, then back to John’s shaking shoulders and panicked expression.

“Oh fuck, oh man, oh God Dad’s gonna be pissed off why wasn’t I watching clos-”

Dave had leaned and grasped John’s chin, holding it carefully as he pecked his lips once. Twice. Three times. Normally he’d pull back then and nuzzle while cawing affectionately… but this time Dave remained in place, lip to lip. He was letting out a soft sound, croaky singsong noises that were surprisingly comforting to hear, and didn’t pull back till John’s breathing was slower and calm.

“...Uhm.”

Dave just grinned at him and fluttered his wings hopefully, giving them small shivery shakes before folding them against his back once more.

“...Heh. Haha. Hahahahaha.”

“John?”

Caught up in the giggles, Dave adjusted his glasses and shook his head, holding a hand up begging for a moment to collect himself. It took the full minute before he could wheeze. “I’m s- Ahahaha. I’m sorry. Just. Fuck I was so freaked out and suddenly I’m getting kissed and just?? Ahaha that’s just so funny for some reason. Can’t panic while you’re being kissed I guess? Off switch located on the lips.”

Dave’s grin widened and he leaned forwards to repeat the kiss now that John was laughing, which only made him giggle more. The camera was set aside in favor of Dave crawling messily onto John’s lap, knocking him over, and then crawling up his body to keep the kiss going. They were a pile of laughter and kisses, Dave’s wings splaying out over the two of them and John’s hands playing along Dave’s ribs to tickle him, making him join in the giggles.

It was so hard to be stressed around Dave. It’s like he outright didn’t allow it to happen. Fuck he was lucky to have a friend like him.

...Er. ...Was he just a friend? Had he ever been just a friend, when so much hinged on making sure he was happy and safe and by his side? When his daily morning routine involved kisses and affection that John knew he wouldn’t feel comfortable doing with anyone else?

He was still being kissed by Dave when the giggles died down and he didn’t feel the urge to break it off or push him away. John felt warm in his stomach, a flush in his cheeks and down his back, lightheaded from the rush of laughter and the sudden stimulation. Dave was warm against him, his body weight slight but welcome, and the shadow of his wings beautiful against the dim light of the sky. John forgot how cold his ass was on the ground, that his dad might be able to see them. All that mattered then was keeping Dave close for just a little longer.

Lifting both hands up, John grasped Dave’s waist before raising up higher to touch the base of his wings, getting a soft, startled caw out of Dave before they fluttered and flattened out again as they had earlier. What was up with that? Or with the throaty noises Dave was making? It was cute, sort of like a sound effect from a game, clicky and croaky and tinged with the warm tones of his voice.

All good things come to an end. Dave was the one who eventually parted the kiss, face flushed and body stiff. He was arching away a bit, body seeming to want more contact but trying to avoid it at the same time. Specifically, he was keeping his hips awa-

Oh.

… Oh.

Clearing his throat, John gently pushed at Dave’s shoulders to get him off his lap, realizing he was at risk of the exact same thing. This was normal. Well. Not normal for them persay, but it was a natural thing to have happen? Fuck, he hoped he didn’t need to have a chat with him about it. Or worse, Dad.

… Then again, maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. He’d handled the introduction to those things well enough when John himself was learning them, maybe having The Talk with him wouldn’t be life ruining.

Wait, why was he thinking about this, there were bigger problems at hand.

“Dave, we need to tell Dad what happened.”

As if remembering minutes earlier, Dave’s tense frame wilted and he nodded, glancing back to the camera before he crawled over to pick it up. Well. At least they’d managed to get a lot of pictures before being interrupted. … Not to mention getting to kiss him, that had been nice. Very nice, if the zinging in his pants was anything to go by.

Slowly rising, adjusting his jeans and dusting debris off of himself again, John slapped either side of his face a few times. “Okay. Okay, we’ll just go inside and Dad’ll be all ‘Hello, son! How are you!’ and I’ll be all ‘Hey Dad! We got seen by a hiker!’ and he’ll be all..” John trailed off, realizing he wasn’t sure what his father would say or do. He groaned quietly.

“John,” Dave said, reaching a hand out. It was a simple gesture, a single word being a command as much as his name, an offer of comfort. John took his hand and laced their fingers before slowly starting the walk towards the house.

They were still peeling their jackets off when James strolled into the mud room with a smile. “There you two are. I’ve got some hot apple cider to share, if you boys would have some with the pie from earlier.”

Leave it to his dad to bake circles around everyone, but the idea of hot cider and some fresh pie was good, especially after the time in the woods.

“Sure, Dad.” Might as well get him nice and busy first. No, no, putting it off was bad. Gnawing his lip and squeezing Dave’s hand tight once again, he shook his head. “Dad? Something… something happened.”

Almost immediately James’ stance changed and his eyes narrowed, looking them both over from head to toe, checking for injuries or signs of damage. With no sign of blood of serious scuffs, he let out a pent breath and smiled again.

“Take a breath and tell me, Son, it can’t be that bad. I’ve seen your surprises before after all,” he said, gesturing to Dave before turning to head to the kitchen, the unsaid request for them to follow him hanging in the air.

“We uhm. We went to go take pictures, yeah?” John said, taking a seat at the table.

“Is the camera damaged? It’s okay if it is, but I’d like to know.”

“No, camera is fine,” Dave promised. “Not a scratch.”

“...You’re making me a bit concerned,” James chuckled as he cut apple pie into even slices and pulled out some whipped cream to top them with. “Go ahead and tell me before I start jumping to more conclusions.”

“Well uh. We.. We got the pictures,” John said encouragingly. “Then someone… might have probably seen Dave. Their phone was up, too. They might have gotten pictures.”

James slowed to a halt at the news before slowly making himself start to move again, bringing over the pie slices before going to get big mugs of cider for each boy’s place. He didn’t speak till everyone had a mug, and even then he was quiet as he sat down with a soft sigh, warming his hands on his cup.

“How close were they to you? Close enough to tell they’re not a costume?”

“I don’t know,” admitted John, looking down at his pie, one hand still clasped in Dave’s. It helped. “They looked fairly far away.”

“Well. I’ll keep an eye out for any signs of things, but odds are if they weren’t close, any photo they could get wouldn’t be the best quality,” James said. He smiled a bit. “We all knew this day might come. We’ll just deal with it best we can. Okay, son?”

John pulled up a smile the best he could, but he still felt worry. The smile faded and he eventually released Dave’s hand to clasp his mug, tilting the contents and swirling flecks of cinnamon and thicker liquid around the bottom. Home made cider really was the best.

“What do we do if the word gets out, though?” he asked, looking over to Dave. Though the bird boy had taken a sip of cider and seemed content, he’d taken out his chewing toy from beneath his shirt and was idly gnawing at it while the conversation remained intense, stress bouncing his teeth on the material. Gone were the days of stress biting elsewhere, but it was still a reminder that the topic needed to ease out soon enough or that toy wouldn’t last nearly as long as it could under normal circumstances.

“We’ll deal with it one step at a time, as it happens,” James promised. “If anyone comes knocking from the press, we’ll just have to keep Dave cloaked for a while. If anyone comes knocking from our higher authority… well. We’ll tell the truth and hope they understand the circumstances and that you were just a child.”

John’s stomach ached a bit, but he nodded. It was the best answer he could get given the circumstances, and it wouldn’t do to push further hoping for more. He finally took a sip of the warm liquid, feeling it slip down his throat to soothe his stomach like a hug. “Okay, Dad.”

“Now, let’s lighten up those faces, you look like the council is breathing down our necks already,” James chuckled. “What if Dave becomes his own form of notoriety? A… oh, what’s the word. A cryptid.”

“Like Moth Man or the Jersey Devil?” John asked. Dave looked at him, confused, not understanding. He spit his toy out to go back to sipping his drink, then set the mug aside to dig into the pie wholeheartedly. Even stress wasn’t enough to deter Dave’s appetite when snacks were involved, especially not freshly baked ones.

“Yes, precisely,” James said, before explaining the basic premise of a cryptid to Dave. “You see, if enough people believe a winged boy exists in the woods… the funnier and less real it sounds. The fewer people would believe the story to begin with.”

“But then you’d also get diehards who’d want to practically live in the woods, stalk the house, and never buzz off,” John warned. “We’d have to move!”

James pursed his lips as if the idea’s downside had only then occurred to him. “My. You may have a point there, John. Perhaps that wouldn’t be ideal after all.”

“I think being a cryptid would be fun, I could scare people,” Dave said, cawing loudly a few times and flaring his wings out in a showy fashion before they rustled and went back to normal folded against his back and the back of the chair.

“Hah! Well, at least he’s game if it came to that,” James chuckled. “Ah, I’ll develop the pictures for you later. Do you want them a certain way?”

“Black and white, please,” Dave asked. “Or sepia. I like how those look.”

Nodding, he reached for the camera and checked the number of shots left. “Hmm. We’ve got a few left on this roll. How about you keep the camera for now, and give it back when all the pictures are used up instead?”

“Are you sure?” Dave asked, pausing his pie destruction to look up with wide eyes.

“Positive. You’ve been very careful with my camera and it shows, I trust you with it.

Giddy, Dave beamed at him and went back to devouring the pie slice and whipped cream, getting a dab on his cheek and nose in his excited fervor of snacking. Laughing, John reached over with a finger to scoop the cream off, popping it into his own mouth without a second thought.

The sound from outside came first as a soft, low rumble that steadily grew in intensity until the windows rattled. Everyone went quiet before James looked to the window and hummed.

“Ah. The rain should be coming any minute now, then. The clouds were looking ready to burst all day today.”

“Should we get the candles? That was a lot of thunder.”

“Candles might be a good idea. Be ready to cast a few orbs as well for your room when you go to sleep, you know how dangerous it is to sleep with candles lit.”

“We know, Dad, don’t worry. Right, Dave?”

“Mhmm. Yessir,” he said quickly, rubbing his face with his forearm before putting his hands on the table and using them to push himself up from his seat. He scampered out of the room before coming back to put his dishes in the sink, then took off again at a dash, already knowing where the candles and matches were stored in their preparedness boxes and knowing which scented ones he wanted to use more than others.

“I promise, John. Everything will be okay,” James said softly once they were alone. “Try not to worry about anything. We’ve come this far and gone this long without any issues, we can handle a few bumps in the road. We’re family, after all.”

“Okay, Dad. Thanks,” John said, finishing his snack up before going to hug his father, accepting the kiss to the side of the head and the firm squeeze of two large arms that eventually released him. “What’s for dinner later?”

“Leftovers,” James said. “And if the power goes out, snacks. Remember, don-”

“Don’t open the fridge, you’ll let all the cold out and it’s a pain in the neck to adjust cooling spells to the precise temperature in a confined space for however long it’d be out,” John rattled off. “I know, I know. Don’t worry. I remember the icicle milk.”

James chuckled, eyes crinkling at the edges as he stood up to take care of the dishes. “Go help Dave then, and make sure the windows upstairs are all shut for me?”

“Alright,” John called before taking off at a jog to catch up with the bird boy.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The storm that hit the house that night was bigger than anticipated. It didn’t knock the power out, but it was taking every opportunity to rattle the windows threateningly, to pelt the car with debris and what they were pretty sure sounded like hail, and to put pressure on every single tree in the forest. Breaking branches rang out like gunshots in the blackness, startling everyone who heard them.

Though they didn’t need them, John and Dave lit candles anyway, while John got a few light orbs going in different colors to drift lazily around the room, set to dissipate within several hours like gently floating nightlights. Dave was blissful with the scent of the ocean and the soft shadows the candles cast against the wall, curled up against John’s side on his bunk as John read a book. The camera had been left on the desk for now, safe and out of the way. His book didn’t hold his attention for too long, however, not with Dave pressed so warm up against his side and memories of earlier rushing through his head.

Unable to take it any longer, John coughed and set the book aside.

“Hey, uh. Dave? About earlier. What uh. ...What were you doing?”

“Earlier?” Dave asked, looking up from where the book was set, confused. “How much earlier.”

“You know what I mean, right? The kiss?” John asked, keeping his voice down to avoid his dad hearing. The last thing he needed was a Congrats On The Liplock! Cake in the morning. “You uhm. It was different from the ones you normally do, like in the mornings.”

Dave nodded as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Of course it was different, John, weren’t you paying attention?

“...Why?” John finally asked.

Here was where things got a bit difficult to answer. Dave opened his mouth, closed it, tried again and failed again. When the words wouldn’t come he puffed up and made an agitated cawing sound before dropping his head back to look up towards the ceiling and underside of the upper bunk to try finding the words hidden there instead.

“...Was it okay?” was what he finally asked.

“I’m. Well. ...Yeah. It was okay,” John finally said. It had been more than okay, actually. It had been kind of fantastic in the moment, but how could he explain that?

“Can I do it again?” Dave asked, cocking his head.

“Do. ...Do you want to?” John asked.

Dave smiled at him and nodded, already moving to straddle John once more, before John put his hands on his shoulders, face flaming. “Whoa, whoa, hold on. Just. Give me a second,” he said, fluster growing more intense when Dave didn’t seem phased. Though held back, he spread his wings and flattened them out as he had before, crooning that soft, croaking song once again as he bobbed his head a few times, eyes looking slightly glazed.

...Wait.

“...Are. Are you flirting with me when you do that?”

Dave paused his crooning, face reddening, and looked askew.

“Is this a bird flirting thing? Earlier too?”

Slowly, Dave leaned back and covered his face with his hands as he started to make the crooning noise again.

“It is, isn’t it! It’s. Wait, no, birds don’t flirt. Oh my God is that a bird sex thing?” John asked, smirking. Shit, Dave looked pretty cute like this, burning red in the face in the candlelight and trying to continue making his sounds as if he wasn’t able to stop himself from doing it.

It suddenly all made so much sense. The extra food, the preference for him going first in things, the shiny odds and ends, the staring, the extra touches. All of it made sense. ...Mostly.

“How long?” John asked quietly.

Slowly, Dave uncovered his face and wet his lips, the crooning noises stopping prematurely.

“...Always,” Dave said. “You’re always my most important. Most special. Mine,” he said haltingly.

Dave had been a fully grown crow before becoming a humanoid and growing again, adjusting to his new life. He had new habits to learn, new things to adjust to. John had never set him loose before, there had never been a chance for his familiar to breed if there��d even been an interest. Yet seeing him now, hearing him crooning, watching the displays and making sense of how hard he’d been trying it seemed obvious that Dave had chosen his partner already.

It was just up to John to accept or not.

Easy choice, after so long of being together and closer than close.

John reached his hands up and rested them on Dave’s hips again, waiting till he set his hands on his chest to balance before reaching up to kiss him once, twice, three gentle times, following the morning pattern. Dave pressed forward for the fourth time and held it, eyes closed and head tilted to deepen the gesture. John kneaded at Dave’s hips, keeping him close before humming into the kiss.

Dave’s lips still tasted like cinnamon from the pie and drink earlier, sweet and welcoming. He was a warm, comforting weight on his lap, and when he eventually stiffened and tried to pull away again, John tensed his arms to keep him scooped close. No escape. Dave hesitated… then dipped his hips forward instead of trying to go back, grinding downwards.

The candlelight grew brighter and flickered wildly, while the orbs above whirled around quicker and bounced into each other aimlessly like drunken marbles. Earlier, they’d stopped short of this but now there was no reason not to see where the rabbit hole led. John felt himself stirring down below, but decided well enough was well enough and ignored it. He was satisfied that Dave didn’t pull away when he released his hips, hands drifting up to instead touch softly at his wings, tracing feathers as they spread out. The bird shivered when he felt fingers tracing between his shoulder blades, the sensitive skin around where the wings protruded, then up towards his neck.

They wouldn’t go further than this, deepening kisses and warm touches, the shy press of body on body as stiffness appeared. John knew he’d need to have a conversation with Dave about it after all, probably explain a few other things… including some ground rules for the displays in front of his father, if all of those behaviors were flirting. There had to be limitations on things if everyone was going to keep living happily together, after all.

John felt Dave’s tongue and shyly opened his mouth to the invasion, allowing him even closer. Time swept away and all they focused on was warmth and touching of shoulders, hips, faces, chests. The taste of lip and skin, the sound of heartbeats syncing up as if hearing a song their hearts had long forgotten and falling into line. Safety.

Comfort.

The storm raged outside, but all that Dave and John were focused on was each other, only separating when they had to come up for air, smiling shyly and laughing before falling together again to kiss gentle and sweet. There was hunger there, just under the surface, but tonight? Tonight there was no place for hunger, just the wonder of being alive and together in the same space.

#homestuck #johndave #john egbert #dave strider #my fic #birdboy makeouts

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littleogreboii · 4 years

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NYA! KAI FORGOT TO DEFROST THE CHICKEN! Chapter 1: clean up ya own child’s sick ya nasties

Summary: Lloyd questions his life choices as a 16 year old, runaway dropout. Kai is pulling ideas out his ass for his Buzzfeed articles, which means he's doing great. Nya is getting sick and tired of how incompetent her mentor is.

Chapter Summary: Lloyd really wants to kill his boss’s son, Chen, but damn does he need that dollar.

Warnings: Swearing

AO3 | FF

Lloyd really fucking hopes that Brad won’t tell on him when he inevitably snaps and ends up choking Chen out. However, Lloyd needs this job too much to actually risk fighting Chen. This is especially necessary when Chen just so happens to be the boss’s son. Still, Lloyd can dream and mutter curses under his breath as he watches Chen take yet another ‘break’. It could be worse though; he could currently be on tills. Thank the heavens, that responsibility currently lies with Brad, his ‘prodigal’ trainee.

Brad used to be the perfect trainee, attentive and easy to teach. Then, he started talking to Chen and all Lloyd’s training efforts went out the window. At least, Brad knew when to work hard though even if he’s a dick.

Speak of the devil, “Clean up in aisle 5.” Lloyd weighs his options as he puts down the box of pop tarts he’s unpacking. Technically, he’s on the other side of the store so it shouldn’t be his responsibility. But, he knows that there is no way in hell Chen’s going to clean it up because god forbid Chen do his job. So, Lloyd gets up and heads towards aisle 5.

On his way, he passes by Brad. “Do you know what it is?”

“Some brat threw up.” Brad deadpans, barely lifting his head up from the counter.

Lloyd groans. “Also, don’t call kids ‘brats’ while on shift.”

“Whatever.” Brad rolls his eyes. “What time is it?”

Lloyd glances about before pulling his phone out of his pocket. “Ummm...3:15.” He pockets it again and moves to head towards aisle 5.

“Wasn’t your shift supposed to end at 3 today?” Brad interrupts.

Lloyd beams. “Yup, which means kiddy sick isn’t my problem!” He can’t help the slight fist bump he does.

“Good luck getting Chen to let you leave when there’s still a mess.” Brad smirks.

“Ughhhh… I just have to get out quick enough that he doesn’t notice.” Lloyd plots.

“Don’t notice what.” Nevermind that plan. Lloyd sighs as he turns to face Chen.

“Brat threw up in aisle 5.” Brad reports, ever the loyal employee.

“And you were trying to leave without cleaning it?” Chen turns on Lloyd.

Lloyd gulps as he prepares his doomed to fail defense. “My shift ended 15 minutes ago and the sick happened a minute ago.”

“Well, I suppose you’re right, but it would be a shame if my dad heard about how unmotivated you are when it comes to work.” Chen twirls his phone to emphasise his threat.

Lloyd bites down a retort about how much time Chen spends lounging in the staff room. Instead, he forces out “I guess I can spare some time to clean aisle 5.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” Chen grins. “Now get to work.” Lloyd trudges away to get some cleaning supplies. “And hurry the fuck up! People don’t want to enter the store to see shit!” Chen yells after him.

Yes one day, Lloyd would destroy Chen, but for now he will continue suffering. Thus, Lloyd grabs some cleaning supplies and cleans up aisle 5. Internally, Lloyd curses his decision to drop out of school and run away from his uncle.

It’s 3:26 by the time Lloyd officially clocks out. He knows he isn’t going to get paid for the 26 minutes of overtime he completed. Chen will mark it down as Lloyd being incompetent, which is rich coming from Chen. Lloyd wishes he could get take out right now; he knows he deserves it. However, he reasons that he doesn’t have enough money to afford it. He will have to settle with whatever’s in his cupboard. This roughly translates to him eating a pot noodle and downing a glass of milk for dinner.

His plans end up thrown askew, however, by the eviction notice placed under his door. Fuck.

#lego ninjago #ninjago #ninjago slice of life #ninjago life of slice #ninjago au #lloyd garmadon #ninjago lloyd #chen the cheerleader #ninjago chen #brad tudabone #ninjago brad #lloyd is suffering #ninjago ff #ninjago fanfic

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christianmarkchristian · 4 years

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LOVE IN THE TIME OF COVID “I have answers. I’m not at all confused.” -I told my friend Austin. I cant say that I “know it all” or that “I am 100% “right.” But I have incredible peace during this pandemic; a peace like I’ve never felt before. And its not just a feeling. It’s a peace and a confidence based on a lifetime of research, study, meditation and prayer. You see, for years I was a struggling artist/writer. I lived here in L.A., like so many artists and writers, paycheck to check. I rarely enjoyed discretionary income. For decades, I pleaded with God for a high paying, steady job. A few came...and went. Then the crash came...and went. So here I sit. But today I am incredibly wealthy. Not Bill Gates wealthy. But not dollars wealthy, (yet) but knowledge wealthy. You see, during the lean times when I didn’t even have the money to travel, go to movies, or even McDonalds, I was forced to stay at home instead. (welcome to my world) What did I do? I was cramming my brain, indulging my voracious appetite for reading, study and research. It was like I spent thirty or forty years prepping for an exam (and an experience) I had no idea was coming. I was a writer; I thought, “I need to know all these things so my movie scripts will be authentic.” Yes, there is some truth in that but not the “whole truth.” The truth is, the “exam” I’ve been cramming for, without knowing it, for decades, was this (Cornonavirus) exam. There is widespread confusion, panic and anxiety like few of us have ever seen. Everyone I know is experiencing some kind of surprise or fear; caught off guard and even in shock. Over and over, we all hear “what the heck’s going on?” Well, I’ve been preparing, without knowing it, for the late winter and spring of 2020, most of my adult life. My mind is now a living, GOOGLE-like repository of facts, information and experience. I’ve read at least 1,000 hard cover, serious, academic books about topics that all relate directly or indirectly to the “pandemic:” -Medicine (my step dad was a doctor) -Religion/prophecy (starting with my step dad introducing me to Hal Lindsey’s books, when I was in High School) -Art, sociology, culture, politics, history, psychology, as well as many other related subjects. I also suffered with a severe respiratory illness (asthma) since I was six years old, even hospitalized several times although today I feel pretty good. So, I know well the struggles that thousands are going through, with the virus. I suffered greatly, 2-3 days fighting for my life in hospital beds in Fairfield California and Wiesbaden, Germany. I was on IV fluids, emergency meds, an oxygen tent and “The Bird” ventilator. Later, as a teen in Biloxi, MS., I had to wake my pediatrician step Dad up at 2am, many times, asking for an injection of epinephrine “in oil.” So, to get to the point: What’s going on? What’s this pandemic really all about? First of all, let me say this: Only God really knows. One can only guess. But one can make an educated guess and that’s what I’m doing. And I have yet to speak to anyone or be made aware of anyone who has more exposure to the unique puzzle pieces of information that all interact in harmony to produce what I believe are the answers to this mystery. The puzzle piece subjects are: Pharmaceuticals, vaccines, medicine, healing, (my step Dad was a doctor) culture, media, (I live in Hollywood) the news media (I starred in an MSNBC documentary and worked for a PR firm contacting news media every day. Two of my best friends currently star in a TLC reality show) prophecy, (I am a follower of a prophetic Judaeo-Christian tradition and church) history, science, politics, psychology, physics, spirituality and economics. If you don’t have experience and a solid knowledge of ALL of these, you are not in possession of the pieces of the puzzle and cant see the big picture. I’m not boasting. I’m sure there are thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands, even millions of individuals smarter than I am. Its not about how “smart” we are, it’s about having every one of these puzzle pieces and perceiving how they fit, fitting them together. SO HERE IT IS The questions are perhaps as important as the answers: 1. Is this man made or nature? 2. Who or what is responsible? 3. Why is this happening? 4. What changes can I expect in my life now? 5. What does the future hold? MAN MADE NOR NATURE? It’s hard to say. There are probably people who know the answer to this but I am not one. Everyone agrees that it came from China. The facts support the idea that the Chinese communist party suppressed the information for far too long. And of course, that they are indirectly responsible for thousands of deaths. If it was nature, many say it was a combination of bat and an anteater like scaly creature that the Chinese eat. For me, this is one puzzle piece clue. The bible forbids the eating of these exotic wild animals and most humans find the practice repulsive. The Kosher laws (I eat pork and shellfish by the way) have proven over and over again to be instrumental in preventing deaths. For example, during the black plague, gentiles left dead bodies in stagnant water, against kosher laws...and that spread the disease. The microscope had not been invented yet and so no one was aware of the existence of bacteria and of the need for sanitation. THIS IS A CLUE. The bible has wisdom, from a non-science view that often supports science, or science often supports it. And HERE ARE ANSWERS. Where did Covid begin? Let’s start “InThe Beginning.” The Garden of Eden. Millions of us own and love our iPhones. The symbol of APPLE corp. comes from one of the most well known stories in all history: The story of Adam, Eve and the serpent. Again, here are clues to the answers of what is going on. The serpent, of course, represents Satan. It doesn't really matter whether the serpent was, or is, a snake or a red man with horns and a pitchfork and forked tail. Arguing that point or doubting because of that point, is to miss the point. The point is not about the physical appearance of Satan or even if he was, or is, a physical being or a spiritual being or a myth. The point is that there is GOOD and EVIL in the world. To deny this at this point in time, is to be considered a bit out of touch with, reality. And consider that the unseen world is the source of all seen things. This is indisputable: before there could be a chair, the thought had to exist. Before there could be a table, the idea had to exist. Nothing happens without it first being thought; at least nothing we value. So, what happened with the apple? The Apple, the fruit of “The Tree of the knowledge of good and evil” represents knowledge and power and technology. The bible says that if they ate of this fruit, they “could be like God.” Over and over in history, we see that those with the superior knowledge and technology usually, almost every time, win. You’ve heard the saying “don’t bring knife to a gunfight.” When that happens, those with the knife usually die and are left in the dust bin of history. Wisdom and knowledge, victory over death,victory over those individuals or groups or animals or a natural force that threatens to destroy us, this is basically what the bible is about. You might think the bible is about “rules” and “morals” and there is some truth to that one could argue that what the bible is really about is a manual on HOW TO LIVE AND NOT DIE. NOW, more than ever, we need a manual like this. -to be continued

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jodywegner · 5 years

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A bad day. (I just need to rant into the abyss of the internet)

I’ve never actually left work early for a bad day before. But I felt that today if I didn’t, I’d end up embarrassing myself and ruining all of my relationships with my coworkers or better yet end up in the HR office. It was just an accumulation of a few too many small things that have been building up for months while I’m emotionally vulnerable.

I also know that none of my coworkers will ever see this post. But even if they do, I doubt they were aware of my feelings. The worst part is that nothing is really anyone’s fault. There’s no bad guy, and that makes it all the more frustrating, and that finally came to a head today. Because I can’t chew people out for doing nothing wrong. Sorry for the long post. Lotta resentments getting bottled up.

So context. 1. My grandfather has been in declining health for a while now. This isn’t very upsetting for me. He’s in his mid 90s and lived a full life. We were all provided for and everything is taken care of. For me, it feels more like a natural thing that is now finally happening. My aunt and my father have been fighting for years over different things, but my grandfather’s declining health has definitely rekindled the flames of war. 2. I work in TV animation production, and my goal is to become a storyboard artist. I’ve made that goal clear. I’ve asked for tests but I can never get any. I’ve asked for feedback and no one has given me any. The shining star of this was my boss giving me 5 long minutes of not quite saying “it’s not good enough.” I figured he was busy and didn’t want to hurt my feelings. He did say that if he hadn’t hired our then current revisionist, he’d love to have me start as one. Since then, he’s hired 4 more revisionists who have come and gone for different reasons. 3. I don’t think I draw that fucking bad. I’ve been told my artists I work with “why don’t you have an art job yet?” which the answer is “because no one will fucking give me one when I ask and you guys aren’t in a position to.” (they mean it as a compliment but it just really keeps bringing me down whenever I fail) And there are a lot of people my age getting art jobs while I’m not and yah I’m not that old but it’s very stressful and discouraging regardless of logic and optimism. 4. My intern this last semester showed my boss a sample board and got extensive notes and feedback and was offered freelance revision work even though she’s still a junior in college. She’s 3 years younger than me and was here for 2 months. My boss literally walked into my office then started talking to her in the adjacent cube over the wall about how good she is and the upcoming freelance revisionist work. And I have to sit there quietly and pretend it’s not killing me. 5. I’m lactose intolerant. 6. I guess I’ve been suffering from job related depression for the above reasons. Nothing major, I’m not suicidal, but I’m definitely very unhappy and going to work is definitely not a fun or even neutral experience anymore. It’s hard because the correct answer to my problem is “git gud’ and we all know how NOT FUCKING HELPFUL that is. Today 1. I get a text from my parents at 6 am telling me that my grandfather has passed away. We went over yesterday to say our goodbyes expecting him to pass either today or tomorrow. We left at around 8pm and asked my aunt to call us when he passed and that we’d come over. So my parents find out that he passed away at 6 am today. From a third party that isn’t even FUCKING RELATED TO US. Apparently my grandfather had passed away 10 minutes after we left yesterday, and she decided not to let us know. We had to find out through some other person offering my father his condolences. 2. Well the two coworkers I am closest with were late for miscellaneous reasons so I kinda had to keep #1 bottled up for 2 hours. 3. When things happen, I bluster and storm for the first hour before calming down and becoming rational. So I’m sitting at my desk all morning trying my best to keep my shit together because I’m absolutely fuming and was (forbid) by my mother to retaliate. She’s not wrong but there’s a lotta stress and emotions here. (3.5. Although I was directly forbid retaliation, I still went ahead and planned it anyways because it was a mildly constructive use of my stress. DM me if you want to know how to ruin someone’s entire week and never get caught.) 4. I took some Lactaid 30 minutes before I decided to finish my leftover mac n cheese from the fancy food truck yesterday as breakfast. Yah the Lactaid didn’t work at all for some ungodly reason... It’s 9am and I’m in a lot of pain both physically and emotionally now.... 5. So one of my favored coworkers finally beats traffic and gets in so I go to talk to her about all of this. I immediately get cry-y. Which blah blah blah crying is part of grieving but I can do that later. It’s not great when I’m at work because crying opens up the floodgate of emotions and the near impossible task of re-wrangling them under control is now daunting. Emotional fortitude -50. And people just kinda didn’t notice that I was crying and upset and not very quietly recounting this horrible morning story. They kinda walked right by. Not a single person other than that one coworker (and my other favored one who came in a bit later) offered me any condolences or asked about how I was doing of if I was ok. It’d be one thing if that happened and no one was around and I regained my composure. BUT I DIDN’T. 6. That fucking intern (who’s a nice person but god I wish they’d stop existing in my life. It’s fucking petty but today is really the worst day for it so fuck it I’m saying it.) is coming in for a big storyboard meeting between all the board artists, revisionists, and supervisors. So I had to see her and pretend to smile and be pleasant and supportive while I’m emotionally compromised, grieving, pissed, and now petty and jealous all over again. So I get that out of the way and I sit back down and get to work. 7. The other coworker I like to talk to comes in. She was a former intern who also wants to be a board artist so we try to help each other in our endeavors together. She’s an optimist. She says that she’s going to ask if she can sit in on the meeting and asks if I’d like to come along. Bless her outgoing-ness that I struggle with. But as much as I’d like to... that’s a room full of people who either forgot that I want to be a board artist, don’t care, or are straight up ignoring me about it and keep doing and saying all of these unintentionally hurtful things to and near me. Also that fucking intern is there. Also I’m pissed. Also I’m emotionally distraught. So I declined her offer. Even if I could get something good out of that meeting, I’m pretty sure I would have just had a breakdown in the corner. So I didn’t want to embarrass myself like that or make people feel uncomfortable for doing their normal business. 8. So by this point I’m sure I’m going to be snippy or mean or start crying in front of people, so my goal was to finish my most important task and leave at noon. I finish, I grab my bag to leave. As I do, they all get out of their storyboard meeting and bluster past me because they are now late for seeing the storyboard trainee program final presentations. GREAT. 9. Another production coworker of mine comments on how its important for them to go in case they see anyone they’d like to hire as a revisionist. I fianlly hit FUCKIT and say “IM GOING HOME.” And so I go to walk to the elevators. 10. I chose the wrong time to walk to the elevators because everyone in that meeting is waiting at the elevators to go look at the storyboard trainee presentations and scope out the new talent. They’re in too much of a busy mind to notice that I’m about to cry and am probably glaring with white knuckles as I clutch my bag. Luckily for me the elevator is full and I have an excuse to take the next one and not theirs. A part of me wished that they would say “come on in! i’m sure you can fit!” But... stuff like that never happens with them. No one goes out of their way to include me in things. So... whatever. Maybe I’m just being negative trying to find the bad in every little thing, but this is a rant so I’m going to do just that because fuck the consequences of people liking me and thinking I know how to adult properly. 11. I’m driving home and get a message from my coworker (glanced at a long red dont arrest me pls wait till tomorrow) saying that the intern asked if I had sent her intern evaluation to her school yet. I did. A few weeks ago. This isn’t really a bad thing it’s just that I was finally fucking free and just about to not have any reason to keep it together but then BAM. Intern shows up in my life again. Right after I though it was all over. A little god damn poke. Now So I managed to drive home without crashing into buildings or furiously honking and I am now just holding my cat and typing this. I’m pretty sure none of my coworkers will ever see this. A part of me wishes they would and that maybe they’d care, because I really don’t want to have to start a conversation specifically about all of this with them. Who the hell starts a conversation with: “By the way boss, can you please stop discussing giving the intern freelance work when I’m within earshot let alone in my god damn 6′x8′ cube?” “Hey boss, remember when I asked you for feedback and got none? Why does the intern get your full attention when you are even busier?” “Hey boss, why have you hired 4 more revisionists when you said that’d you’d love to have me as one? Did you forget? Were you just lying to me because you didn’t know how to give me feedback? Did you even care about what you say to me?” “Hey intern, I understand you are excited and this is a great opportunity for you, but can you please read the room at least a little because I want to cry every single time?” “Hey everyone, I want to be a board artist remember? REMEMBER?” ”Hey everyone... I’m an artist too.” “Hey everyone, can anyone just give me a little help?” ”Hey everyone, if I keep my purse stocked with your allergy medications, pain killers, band aids, digestive relief, girly goods and keep good snacks around and remember your schedules and try to make your jobs easier and serve as your primary IT person...will you remember that I’m here?” “Hey everyone, do you all dislike me or do you all just not care enough to notice me?” They’re all good people, but it’s not stuff that I really know how to say just out of the blue. So today... I just couldn’t stand being even in my own cube anymore. I’m not an outgoing entrepreneurial person who bugs people everyday trying to sell themselves as an artist. I’m someone who tells you my intentions, and asks for help, and then believes people when they tell me sorry they’re busy, that they wish they could help, that they’d love to have me if only not for “x”. No one is entitled to give me a job or help me. But... I don’t get why I’m the only one who gets nothing for a response when I do ask. If they were busy, that’d be fine. But since then things have gotten busier, and my boss personally worked through multiple iterations of my intern’s practice board with her. A good piece of advice I got was that your first 5 tests are awful...but I can’t even get anyone to give me my first one. I’m told to work hard and “git gud”. But it feels like I’m just bashing my head against a brick wall, and no one even acknowledges the effort. It feels like if I decide to stop doing that because I’m about to have a breakdown, I’ll be looked down on as a quitter and not passionate enough. I have passion, but all of this is 100% killing it, and I don’t want to hate art. I really don’t. But I’m starting to. It’s hard for me to enjoy it when now it’s only done to seek attention and approval that I’ll never get from these people. Today would have been difficult still, but not unbearable if not for that. My grandfather’s death isn’t a tragedy for me. He was in pain for a long time and he definitely made the most of his life. The tragedy is that despite all of this, my aunt decided that my family didn’t deserve to know that our grandfather, my father’s father (who lives literally 5 minutes away by car), had passed. I’m definitely not looking forward to the memorial service for my grandfather. Not because the death is hard to deal with but because all of the family there is. Would love to make life terrible for my aunt. Would love to be just as petty. I have so many colorful things to say and do. But ultimately none of that matters. It’s just death. Nothing changes it or adds a new flavor to it. So all of that anger and hurt just kinda snowballed today. And to top it all off as I’m typing this some asshole is beating a dog somewhere in the neighborhood and the dog is screaming and yelping. (called the police so hopefully they find them) Thanks for reading this long negative rant. I hope it helps anyone who is feeling similarly frustrated, because I dont have someone around who’s breaking down quite like I am so this is all I have. Shooting it into the internet in a passive aggressive attempt and chance that maybe someone who needs to read it will. Positive news: I watered my plants with the extra time. I hugged my cat. I will be returning with art for Mermay.

#bad day #rant

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ralfstrashcan · 5 years

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3x20 Reaction / Commentary

I wonder why, considering it wasn't hard at all. They barely had a plan and even had time to include some personal drama in their fight. Wtf. The only thing I can imagine why no one ever managed to kidnap her before is because no one wanted to have a hostage as irritating as the seelie queen.

Hahahahahaha hilarious. Also, lol, no I'm choosing not to think of the implications because they are TOO DISTURBING, YOU HEAR ME @intezaarlily XD XD XD

HAHAHA I CAN'T THE WAY SHE PETULANTLY SHAKES HER HEAD

I mean, compelling argument. And very fitting since we learned from that Lilith Debacle that the Shadowhunters' go to solution for everything and anything is torture. But what I find way more interesting is that we finally get a good look at the side of the seelie queen's crown.

's pretty.

There's so much to unpack in this scene. Which I'm gonna do, in excruciating detail. In a relationship analysis post thingy, not here, because time and space reasons. Just know that this scene is absolutely amazing, their facial expressions and gestures, and of course the pretzel. Dammit, so amazing. Can't wait to fawn over it all.

I'm with Meliorn on this one. Just because Lanaia committed a violation of the Accords (yes, on behalf of the seelie queen but the shadowhunters have no way of knowing that and I guess Meliorn wasn't stupid enough to tell them that) doesn't mean Clary can violate the Accords back and go unpunished. That's not how a legal system works. It's clear that with this whole operation the shadowhunters valued Clary's life over that of however may seelie guards' it would have taken to keep Jace's cover and get Clary back. I bet you Alec is aware of that and that's why he has that pinched look on his face the whole time. And while he argues pro shadowhunter side with that injection about Lanaia and he tries to placate Meliorn, he noticable doesn't try to justify Jace's actions at all, and whenever Jace does, Alec closes his eyes as if he's thinking “Dude don't you realize that's not an argument.”

And then he just wants to leave???? Hahaha creep

HAHAHAHAHAHA OH MY GOD COMEDIC GOLD. The way he delivers that line I can't!!! The way he says “naturrrrrr” hahaha delicious.

Uh if that's the smartest move? Who knows what kind of kinky shit Meliorn will demand in return?? I mean, just look at his smirk. Also, in case this doesn't get addressed again this is such a ficlet waiting to be written lol.

The way Alec immediately starts almost-crying when someone mentions Magnus pulls on my heartstrings. Fragile darling boy.

I mean, I'm pretty sure Alec carrying the ring around in his pocket was for meta reasons so he could give it to Maryse in their only scene together, but dammmnnn the in universe implications. Ouch.

I'm really going to miss this XD

“My” door??? My ass.

“Alec and I are no longer.”

lsjfkasdjflksdjfsdjflskdjf I CAN'T HAHAHHAAH HIS FACE

Hahahahha please Lorenzo stop, I feel like I shouldn't be laughing so much XD Isn't this episode supposed to be Super Dramatic? I'm actually having the time of my life so far XD

XD XD XD XD XD

Okay and now I'm back to rage because wtf!!!! So Magnus is aware that Lorenzo's jurisdiction is limited and tiny, why didn't he remember that literally anytime before this, for example in 3x10?? Just imagine it, if Magnus had done that fancy ritual thingy he wouldn't have even needed to trade his magic away. Oh right, problem identified. There wouldn't have been some Prime Drama if he'd behaved like a sensible person. Ugh.

The way Lorenzo's face falls upon hearing Asmodeus is priceless. But, uh, important question, how the hell does he know Asmodeus's face? Or does he identify him by his powers? Then again he failed identifying Asmodeus's power signature before already (3x02) so uuhhhh I need answers.

Magnus Bane, finally enjoying the Draco Malfoy Way Of Life. I mean, that's not really rebutting Lorenzo's claim. The opposite, in fact. Also wtf does Lorenzo have for nerves to say that to Asmodeus's face???

So this is not common warlock practice. Thanks for clarifying. Also, look at Asmodeus's smug face when Magnus references Edom hahaha #ProudDad

THE SASS HAHAHA (btw for a moment I was worried he'd turnd him into a plastic lizard until it moved haha)

Also this means, the person Magnus trashes later in the loft with the whips, as seen in the promo, is Asmodeus?? Because he learns of his deal with Alec?? Or tbh, I've been entertaining the thought that it's Alec ahahaha

Also, Asmodues saying “When they hear about what?” has the same energy as Loki saying “I'm listening” in Avengers 1.

Yeah I still have questions about that. But sure, whatever. Then again, if Jordan is so long-fingered he could start a career as pickpocket. Sounds like a stable income job to me.

See, the problem here is that this isn't fixing any of Maia's problems. Apart from the fact that currently she has no problems to fix as far as I'm concerned (the dead pack won't be miraculously resurrected if she becomes human) her issues with her family aren't due to her being a werewolf. She's adjusted to her life as a werewolf and if you ask me, she's grown to love it and she doesn't want to go back. Hell, she wanted to become alpha. She's working on building her own pack now. Someone who hates being a werewolf wouldn't do that. Very obviously, his line of reasoning makes sense for Jordan because he can't forgive himself for turning and abandoning Maia, which he views as ruining her life. So by reversing it he could finally start to atone for what he did. Perfectly ic, but very frustrating because as I pointed out, this won't benefit Maia in any way, it'll just create drama between the two of them. (And frankly, while I moderately care about both of them, I'd rather have Malec on my screen. Sue me.)

Uh-huh, so some werewolf praetor spy with binoculars saw that Jordan stole the vial from the Institute but Izzy and Simon, who were literally in the same room didn't. No questions, your honor. Also ngl, since I knew this scene from the sneak peek already and couldn't care less about Luke's stupid Praetor plotline I skipped this scene XD #sorry not sorry

I know a lot of people were relieved Clary didn't make out with Jonathan and I'm honestly so surprised why people would assume in the first place there was any risk for that. Despite the Evil Rune taking hold she's still aware of her feelings, for example her love for Jace etc. So why would she suddenly be into incest?

Hehehehe the likelyhood of Asmodeus getting trashed in that loft is growing XD (Also please appreciate how I'm keeping my salt about Maryse's “I love you” under wraps, I'm amazed at my self restraint.)

I mean, I was really surprised by a character actually taking action, trying their hand at communication like this. I am impressed. The thing that I slightly dislike is that it's Maryse. She didn't have all the info about the deal Alec made with Asmodeus and a) Izzy had and I really, really expected her to do something about that instead of just letting Alec wreck his life and, to a good part, Magnus's as well, and b) if even Maryse, without even knowing for sure that Magnus's magic returned after Alec broke up with him, could put two and two together, why the hell didn't Magnus??

I can half buy that with his issues and insecurites striking harder than ever, amplyfied by the severe grief of his magic loss, he'd fall for Alec's lies because to him Alec loving him the way he did was too good to be true anyway, and their relationship wasn't long enough for Magnus to really get used to the idea that he gets to keep this. It's obvious in the way he always keeps his eyes closed after they kiss, this moment of disbelieve that this is actually real. So Alec breaking up with him wouldn't be an unreastic thing, it would be reality finally catching up with them, it'd be the universe rightening itself.

But, I only half buy it. Because even if Magnus had doubts about himself and his worth, how the hell could he revisit all those memories in 3x19 where Alec was dropping wedding vows left and right, and not realize that something about Alec was off there. Anyway, dwelling on this is pointless because what's done is done, but it's a very weak explanation and very convenient, story telling wise.

Hahahha love me some common sense. Maia has tons of it. Makes her so likable.

Listen, I like Jordan, but I can't even feel any sympathy in the face of all this stupidity. Just take the frakkin vial yourself, idiot. Humans don't die from silver poisoning. And it's clear that you're struggling with your werewolf-dom to hell and back. This would literally solve all of their problems wtf. But God forbid anyone ever act reasonable on this show. Goddammit.

Hahahha so rude. *Loki Voice* WHO PUT HIM THERE??? Another missing scene ficlet dying to be written XD Also, does Lorenzo still have his consciousness or was his mind reduced to that of a lizard? Will it be restored when he's transformed back? Is that even possible or was that transformation irreversible? Will he remember his time as a lizard? Or is Lorenzo as we know and love to hate him gone forever? So many questions.

Bitch you didn't, you had to be TOLD

I find it amazing that Asmodues tries to argue with Magnus even though his evil plan was uncovered. He really doesn't get it, does he? That Magnus likes his life and doesn't want to be in Edom?

I am reeling. What a frikkin powermove, disposing of him like that, and with his own invention no less. Talk about a dead ass capable character who could trash everyone in his way. Honestly I'm still processing. This is so radical wtf. So I'm never gonna get another scene with Asmodeus?? Please I wanted more of them!! I am so helplessly in love with their dynamic. 5 bucks say he was supposed to come back in S4 I WAS SO DEPRIVED OH GOD!!!!!

Edit: Yeah, this was actually supposed to be a setup for a Dark!Magnus plotline, with Asmodeus playing a big role in S4. They changed that and cut this short, here's the article I got this from. We were so robbed. I can't.

“Hurry, away from this Shadowhunter Nonsense. Honestly, that they can never solve their shit issues in their own fugly ass Institute but have to do it on our beautifully groomed frontyard. The disrespect.”

WOW IZZY'S WEARING FLAT SHOES FOR THE OCCASION CAN YOU BELIEVE IT

Also that fighting is awesome and all (Alec as a tactical advantage, Jace “betraying” his position as a ploy, color me impressed) but doesn't Clary have to stab Jonathan for it to work?? Or is it enough if one of the bondmates is stabbed with the sword?? And since Fake Glorious is super instable etc. and will likely be destroyed in the process they shouldn't take any chances and make sure it really works the first time around.

I get that this is supposed to be dramatic but sorry, I don't buy for one second that 3 Months Shadowhunter Newby Clary manages to get one over Izzy who's been literally trained since birth (yeah that was a quote from Arthur because I'm total Merlin Trash) and she's their best fighter ever and could beat Jace and Alec at the same time with the flick of a wrist while blindfolded. Please. Oh my god. Maybe because she always fights with her whip she's not too used to a sword. Then again she also uses a staff and she still was trained since birth so no, I'm still not buying it.

Hahahahah nice one, Simon.

“That's my plan, you can bet on it, bet on it, bet on it....”

why I mean, this was a conscious choice on producers' part, right. So I'm demanding an explanation. What's the point of this weirdly edited grunt?

HAHAHAHAHAHAHA SAAAAAAAAAMMMMMMMMMEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

Hm, they don't fold too nicely. But all in all, pretty solid wing work.

?????? This makes no sense since, prior to this half season, he wasn't tethered to Clary. Wtf. For all intents and purposes, Jonathan should be dropping dead to the ground since he was using Clary's life force to be alive, remember, he was literally killed to death before. Only their bond was keeping him alive. This makes no sense whatsoever. But anyway, that was a pretty impressive departure.

Yeah, how about you get the f outta there now, Simon.

H-e-a-l-i-n-g r-u-n-e. Honestly. Wtf.

Also, Izzy pushing Simon to the ground was a little stupid, he could have vampire-run out of the explosion's perimeter easily. If he had a few brain cells. Okay, problem identified, I take everything back, Izzy made the right call.

And I guess Alec's just chilling over there on the forrest ground. He deserves that break, man.

Just force it down Jordan's throat omg. If he still dies, whatever, good for him, he got what he wanted. If not then he can maybe start facing his Maia-shaped issues in a constructive way.

Maia giving it to Luke makes no sense. How the f does he want to “get rid of it” wtf. If I were Maia I'd just pour it in the river or idk, burry it somewhere. Lock it in a safe, throw away the key. Or better yet, keep an eye on it. But sure, Luke who just learned the Praetor are full of shit is gonna give it to them?? I mean, the thought must have crossed his mind that maybe they didn't heal Jordan as a punishment for failing that Heidi mission? Since apparently it's common werewolf knowledge that the Praetor is able to cure a silver poisoning? Jordan wouldn't have said that if they didn't have a cure for it, right? If Luke honestly gives them that vial, he'll be dead to me. I fully expect him to try and blackmail the Praetor with it or something, but if he doesn't istg.

You're on thin effing ice, man.

Aahhhhh yeah how very convenient. Also rude, they stole Jonathan's home :C Also technically she shouldn't be able to do that because it's demon travel and she no longer has a connection to demon blood.

Yeah and they also steamrolled whatever room was there before they parked that big ass apartment there. Congrats.

“You barely got your licence to drive a car, much less whatever that was.”

hahahaha

ALEC'S FACE HAHAHAHAHA I LOVE ONE 100% DONE MAN

Hell yeah logic!! But lol I genuinely don't think Jace or Simon thought of that when they were unhelpfully patting her back.

.........? How is Simon there then? This isn't even sarcasm, I genuinely don't get it.

This was cute and all, but she didn't actually activate her iratze wtf. Or wash off her blood.

Dude wtf Maia

I mean come on, this is so obvious to top off their drama.

Yep, I called it. Seriously, you don't leave a person on the brink of death alone for literally this reason. And before you tell me she was just getting some food to lighten the mood from her way back from the bridge, there was still tons of daylight then and this is at least several hours later. I am sorry, but I feel zero sympathy.

1) Where do those surviving werewolves besides Bat come from? 2) What does mundane police have to say about this public cremation? 3) I remember this shot of Maia walking away from the fire from the 3B Trailer. So rude.

ALSO I'M MORE THAN READY FOR SOME MALEC CONTENT WTF MAN

NO. NO I DO NOT BUY. EITHER THE WINGS ARE STILL THERE OR HIS JACKET IS RIPPED TO PIECES BUT YOU DON'T GET TO PRETEND THEY MAGICALLY APPEAR ON TOP OF HIS CLOTHES WTF He's not Miley Cyrus from that one music video. (Can't be Tamed, if you're wondering.)

0 bucks say he caught them making out, honestly this was so obvious.

This rang deep. Really great moment. I can't really put it into words, but this had such an impact. A real warrior feel to it. Amazing.

“No obviously we don't but c'mon, work with me here.”

I can't possibly put into words the love I'm feeling for one (1) extra warlock.

He finally got it. My poor murderous incest baby. Too bad this means Clary lost her only bargaining chip.

NOOOO IT'S NOT, YOU WERE RAISED BY VAL IN A HUT AND THEN LIVED AT THE NY INSTITUE, THE ONLY TIME YOU VISITED ALICANTE WAS OWL'ED OUT OF YOUR MIND TO KILL IMOGEN WHAT THE HELL HAHAHA

I love how he delivers this line. It's his goodbye because there's no making it out of there alive, and the last thing of importance he has to say is a love confession to Clary. Very nice delivery.

ahahahahah okay this was a nice echoing of Jace's other love confession, but all I could focus on was how frakkin red Clary's hand is hahaha

I love everything about this, okay. I love how Alec just gives in because he couldn't stand to be apart from Magnus for one more second. I love how this is reminiscent of their first kiss at Alec's fail wedding. (Btw can you believe we're gonna start and end Malec with a kiss at a wedding and a wedding kiss? The poetry.) I love the backdrop, the absolute destruction. Love Izzy in her rightful place in the first row since she's the Captain of the MS Malec.

I really appreciate that they bothered with an explanation why Magnus needs to go to Edom at all, but, uh, if memory serves right he closed a rift to Edom in 2x19 and it was no big deal. I'd buy that this rift is larger or more powerful because it was created by the Morgenstern Sword but just because I can find an explanation that this task is harder than one Magnus already accomplished onscreen with relative ease doesn't mean it's not the Show’s duty to deliver an explanation of its own accord instead of letting fans pick through their worldbuilding and figuring out something that makes sense. A simple “You closed rifts before, from Earth.” - “This rift is too large” would have been enough. Is that too much to ask.

GOD MAGNUS WHY THAT WORDING I HAD TO THINK OF LORENZO WTF MAN WHY YOU MAKE ME THINK OF LORENZO WHHHYYYYYYYY

When he lifted his hand in that slow deliberate move I was SO SURE HE'D BE WEARING THE LIGHWOOD RING HAHAHA

HAHAHA THAT WAS CLEARLY NOT THE FUGLY LIGHTWOOD FAMILY RING (since that has a square shape on top, come on) YES I STAN A FASHION ICON

Btw there's a description in those rings, I can't really tell, but the one on the right looks like a loopy A upside down so I'm guessing one has “Alexander” and the other “Magnus” on the inside????

Edit: Both rings say “Aku cinta kamu” and I am DEAD

Hahahaha Alec wanted to win the proposal but this round goes to Magnus. But tbh he totally cheated XD XD XD

Ngl, the ring catching on Magnus's knuckle for a moment reminded me of the wedding of Kate and William ahahahaa I'm trash XD

Can you believe Malec got cheated out of their first engaged kiss by some rude ass explosion? Unfair.

I find myself genuinely confused by this. Why does Alec even entertain the thought of not going with Magnus? It seems so illogical that they'd seperate now. Later reason kicked in, and yeah, Edom probably isn't the best place for a shadowhunter but this is exactly it: Alec's instinct should have been to go with Magnus and I wish they'd taken the time to address this in any way, to give Alec the chance to express his wish to go with Magnus.

WTF WHY DOES MAGNUS SHAKE HIS HEAD THIS IS NOT OKAY WTF

But then he jokes about runaway grooms anyway because he thinks he’ll never see Alec again and he wants Alec to remember him joking & smiling & happy *cries* I’M SAD. why did I bring that up.

Thanks, @intezaarlily for making tHIS EVEN WORSE WTF

OH MY GOD I CAN'T I'M LAUGHING SO HARD THIS IS SO RIDICULOUS HAHAHAHA Magnus REALLY should have pulled the portal down on himself and not flown into it like a flying fish jumping out of the water wtf hahaha. Then again this is proof he can totally do the superman flight and it is CANON that he did that at some point. He had a whole annoying phase where he'd just fly around like a super hero. Cat was so done with it. Ragnor refused to be around him at all. Good times.

Anyway, another thing I need an explanation for is why it'll be so hard for Magnus to return to Earth. In 3x10 that posed No Problem, meaning one of two things. Either a) Asmodeus sent him back or b) he could easily travel back because he used that pentagram thingy. Honestly, the fact that Jonathan just as easily returns to Earth after his failed attempt on Lilith's life lets me favor b), which begs the question why Magnus used a regular portal instead of the pentagram thingy now. But even if a) is the case then that means Greater Demons apparently have no problem removing people from Edom and then I wonder if Magnus will have to beg Azazel or something to return him home lol, like a little kiddie asking for a lift. Or maybe, since he channelled his epic Edom!Power, maybe he can send himself back?? In any case I want some solid explanation on that.

Alec just collapsing made so much sense okay. I could feel the emptiness in my own chest, having gained and lost everything in a few short minutes, I can't even imagine how crushed Alec must be feeling.

Magnus's magic closing the rift is so epic in an incredibly emotional and intimate sense. Seeing his magic, part of him, when he's so far beyond all of their reach. It's incredible, it's touching and powerful and so so fragile. I'm amazed.

I can't believe they did this. I can't believe they put the literally last shot of this in the 3B Trailer. The audacity.

Okay but really important question, who's gonna feed Lorenzo now??? (God only one week left I am dead.)

#shadowhunters #3x20 #magnus bane #alec lightwood #jace wayland #clary fray #isabelle lightwood #jonathan morgenstern #luke garroway #maia roberts #simon lewis #kyle #maryse lightwood #the seelie queen #meliorn #asmodeus #lorenzo rey #malec #reaction

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