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eliemo · 3 years

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Permafrost: Chapter 2

Summary: After Virgil agrees to follow Roman into the Imagination, a shift in the weather and an unfortunate misstep sends Virgil plummeting into uncharted waters. If only it didn’t take a matter of life or death and a race against time to realize the Prince might not hate him after all.

TW: Drowning, effects of severe cold, steps of CPR

Notes: Romantic Prinxiety (pre relationship) I tried to make the effects in this chapter as realistic as possible but if some things are inaccurate no they aren’t

Permafrost taglist: @im-an-anxious-wreck @snowyfires @the-sympathetic-villain @my-life-is-an-artistic-mess @itsjust-la-me @ray-does-stuff @brokaw22 @johnlaurensintheplacetobe @teamplutoforlife @myrandomfandoms12 @riverdoesbadart

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4

Roman knew his role, and he played it well. He was the hero, charging into battle and adventures without a second thought, smiling in the face of bloodthirsty beasts with his sword at his side. Princes weren’t cowards.

But when Virgil lost his grip and went under, Roman had never been so scared in his entire life.

“Virgil!”

He’d been so close, finally dropping to his knees on the unsteady ice and desperately reaching out, fingers just brushing freezing cold skin when the current took advantage of Virgil’s rapidly waning strength and pulled him under.

Roman’s own scream, hollow and empty and terrified, echoed right back at him, thrown in his face to remind him that he’d been too slow-

He pushed his own thoughts aside (he could blame himself later. God why hadn’t he been faster?) and plunged his arm into the water until he was shoulder deep, hissing against the sudden sting of the cold.

But Roman didn’t have the place to complain, not when Virgil had just been completely submerged right in front of him.

It had all happened so fast, Roman reaching into the violent river less than a second after Virgil disappeared, so maybe- maybe there was still enough time. Please please please let him be fast enough-

His fingers found something soft and solid, just barely managing to grab onto what he was almost positive was Virgil’s hoodie (please please let it be Virgil’s hoodie) before it was swept away completely.

He was almost yanked into the water himself by the force of the current, the river fighting relentlessly to pry Virgil away, and Roman felt a sudden rush of irrational anger.

He wasn’t sure where it came from, something defiant and protective that wrapped around his chest- something that went deeper than his desire to be someone’s hero. Because he was Creativity, and this was his realm. It didn’t get to take anything from him.

It didn’t get to take Virgil.

Roman reared back, mind almost blank as he fought against the water and pulled Virgil back towards the surface, heart skipping a beat when he finally caught a glimpse of purple hair floating in the freezing water.

He hadn’t lost him. He was ok, he would be ok, Roman would make sure of it. Virgil was not going to die because Roman had been a little too eager to spend time with the recently accepted side.

He moved closer to the edge, forcing himself to ignore the way the already unstable ice creaked dangerously, letting out a sky breath when he was able to get two hands hooked under Virgil's shoulders.

It was only then, pulling against the weight of the water trying to drag them both down, that he realized Virgil wasn’t fighting back. He was perfectly still, no more kicking or struggling as the current kept him under.

No. No no no. He wasn’t too late. He wasn’t too late. Virgil would be fine.

Roman honestly wasn’t sure how he managed to gain the upper hand in his fight with the current. It was strength he doubted he could have harnessed under any other circumstance, a sudden rush of adrenaline he imagined Thomas got from Virgil sometimes right before rushing on stage and pouring his heart out in front of an audience.

Maybe it was the last of Virgil’s strength bleeding into Roman’s determination, a last desperate attempt to help save his own life. The two of them had always been a good team, even if they hadn’t realized it sooner.

Virgil finally broke the surface, Romans’s arms wrapped firmly around his chest as he dragged him onto the ice, terrified he would lose his grip and let Virgil slip through his hands when they were so close to being safe.

There was no gasp for air, no coughing or sputtering as he choked and spat out water. Virgil was out of the river, but he was still unmoving and silent, lips and fingertips tinged an alarming shade of blue.

But that was ok. It was ok! (It wasn’t ok- it was the farthest thing from ok.) The ice creaked again, shifting a bit under the added weight, and Roman forced himself to move before he got them both killed.

“You’re ok,” Roman said, despite Virgil remaining limp and unresponsive as he carefully scooped the anxious side up off the ground. He had to do something to fill the suffocating silence. “You’re ok, you’re fine. I’ve got you. You’re ok.”

The ice was definitely unsteady as Roman brought them back to the surrounding snow, but it thankfully didn’t crack or give way any further. Apparently Virgil had managed to find the most unstable chunk in what could easily be the deepest part of the lake.

And Roman had kept walking. Roman had teased and waved off his panic. And then when he realized what had happened, when he’d heard the genuine terror in Virgil’s voice, it had already been too late. He’d been too far away.

But Virgil was in his arms now. Virgil was...he was limp against Roman’s chest, river water leaking from his mouth, and he wasn’t breathing. He wasn’t breathing.

He pushed down his panic, even as his head spun and his hands shook from more than just the cold, carefully setting Virgil down in the snow against the nearest tree trunk, the bare twisted branches offering a bit of shelter from the snowfall.

Virgil was horribly pale, even more than usual, and Roman hated how he blended in with the ground, everything a startling shade of white save for the heavy tint of blue his lips had gained.

Roman reached forward with shaking hands, holding his breath as he pressed two fingers against the ice cold skin below Virgil’s jaw, searching frantically for a pulse while his eyes welled up with tears.

There was nothing there. There was nothing, Virgil didn’t have a pulse, and Roman wanted to sob. “Hang on,” he whispered to no one, because he wasn’t sure what to say when his friend looked like a corpse. “Just hang on, Virge.”

Before he could stare too long and spiral into worry, because Virgil’s face should never look so lifeless, Roman squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to try and recall what Logan taught them to do in a situation like this.

It had been years ago, and Roman had decided the lesson was boring, unnecessary, and not worth his attention. And of course, now it was a matter of life and death, and he was struggling to remember a word Logan had said.

It had been Virgil’s idea for Logan to teach them all how to perform CPR. “You never know what could happen. It’s just better to be prepared.” He’d insisted.

Back then, Roman had chalked it up to Anxiety just trying to ruin their fun and keep everyone paranoid for his own twisted amusement. He really made himself sick sometimes.

If Virgil was awake right now, he would be rolling his eyes and teasing him for being such a stubborn idiot. Virgil had always just been trying to help. To keep them all safe. And Roman had always responded with suspicion and hostility.

But he wasn’t awake, and if Roman didn’t remember this stupid lecture Logan had given, he might never wake up again.

Roman racked his brain as hard as he could, his eyes squeezed shut as he fought to picture Logan’s voice. After pulling someone from the water you have to…you have to move them…on their back!

Roman rushed to move Virgil so he was laying down, working quickly yet handling the anxious side as if he were made of glass. He slowly and carefully placed him flat on his back, making sure he didn’t hit his head on the ground.

Ok, first step finished. Roman closed his eyes again as he reached into his memory for what to do next. He had to put his hands- no, his palms- on Virgil’s stomach. His stomach? No, it was...it was...his chest? His chest!

Roman wished more than anything Virgil was over his shoulder, gently poking fun at the Prince’s scrambled thoughts.

But he wasn’t, and Roman unzipped the soaking wet hoodie to place his hands on Virgil’s chest, one hand crossed over the other, mirroring the way he remembered Logan had positioned his own hands on the practice dummy he’d made Roman conjure.

Now, all he had to do was push down to the beat of ‘Stayin’ Alive’, just like The Office taught him, and then move to tilt Virgil’s head back, pinch his nose closed, and breathe for him until the anxious side’s chest could rise on its own.

Roman wasted no time starting the motions. He hummed the tune under his breath to keep the rhythm, quickly deciding that once this was over he would never be able to hear that song again.

But that didn’t matter right now. Right now he just needed Virgil to breathe.

But...but he wasn’t. Roman lost track of how many times he pressed down on Virgil’s chest, how many times he repeated that song over and over in his head, the compressions getting a little bit more desperate every time.

He lost count of how many times he leaned over his friend to send a breath rattling down his throat, trembling and lightheaded as he touched Virgil’s frigid skin, only able to silently hope his lungs would get the message and bring him back.

“Come on, Virgil,” he found himself pleading, vision obscured by gathering tears. “Come on, wake up! You can do it, I know you can do it. Just come back, ok? You’re gonna be ok, just breathe! Please, Virgil please. We...I can’t lose you! You have to wake up!”

Was he doing something wrong? Had he just been too late? Too slow? Too stupid? If it was anyone else, Vigil would have already been awake by now, conscious and breathing.

...If it were anyone else, Virgil wouldn’t have fallen in the lake at all. Virgil wouldn’t even be here. He’d be warm and safe in someone else’s arms and Roman wouldn’t be kneeling in the snow, begging him to open his eyes.

He needed Virgil to wake up. He needed him. It had taken him so long to see it, pushing it down and covering it up with insults and nicknames and denial, but now...now Roman didn’t think he could handle losing Virgil.

He couldn’t lose Virgil’s voice, his smile, the way the whole world seemed brighter when Roman got the anxious side to laugh. Virgil was kind and sharp and funny, and he cared so much. He was...he was perfect, and Roman--

Virgil suddenly jolted under his hands, making a horrible sound that was somewhere between a gasp and a cough, eyes flying open in panic as he fought and struggled for air he couldn’t get.

Roman’s cry of relief came out as something closer to a sob, but he couldn’t find it in him to care, scrambling off of Virgil and not bothering to wipe the tears from his face.

Prince thankfully had the sense to turn Virgil on his side to keep him from choking, wincing at the string of wet coughs and hacking coming from the soaked figure in the snow.

It sounded horrible, Virgil’s breaths coming in strangled wheezes as he coughed and spewed up what looked like half the river, but right now it was the most beautiful noise Roman had ever heard.

He couldn’t imagine how much pain the other side was in right now, every breath an agonized and confused fight for air, but it at least meant Virgil was alive.

“You’re ok,” Roman said, voice still unsteady and raw from crying. “Hey, you’re ok, you’re alright. Just let it out, you’re doing great.”

Virgil was obviously too busy throwing up water to respond, and Roman suddenly had no idea what he was supposed to do.

“I’m here,” he offered, tentatively scooting closer, terrified he would just make everything worse. “You’re ok, Virgil. It’s ok.”

He carefully placed a hand on Virgil’s back, rubbing small circles in between his shoulder blades. The hoodie was just as soaked as the rest of him, heavy and cold and probably clinging to his skin. It was impossible not to notice how hard Virgil was shaking, teeth chattering so much Roman could hear it over the wind.

Gosh, Virgil must be freezing.

“R- Ro...R-Roman.” He coughed again, and Roman wrapped an arm around him to keep Virgil from falling flat on his face. “R-Roman--”

“Shh, I’ve got you.” He pulled Virgil back to lean against his chest, frowning at how the hoodie still dripped with icy water. “I’m gonna help you, ok? We’re gonna get you warmed up.”

Roman moved to take the lapels of the hoodie, gently trying to slide it off the shivering side, tearing up again when Virgil made a noise of protest, scared and small. He tried to cling onto the garment, but his hands were too unsteady to get a good grip.

“I know,” Roman said. “But the hoodie’s soaked, Virge. It’s just making things worse, I need to get it off.”

Either Virgil understood and stopped fighting, or he didn’t have the strength to struggle anymore, but he dropped his arms and leaned even more into the Prince’s side. He just hoped Virgil recognized Roman was trying to help.

The hoodie wasn’t easy to get off, the cloth clinging to Virgil’s bare arms, the anxious side whimpering when the wind hit his skin. “P-please, please d-don’t...Roman--”

“I know.” God, Virgil was barely able to get his words out through his own chattering teeth. “I know it’s cold, but just hang in there. Please.”

Roman wasted no time once the hoodie was off. He quickly laid it out beside them on the snow, hoping the wind would at least do something to dry it off, and repositioned himself slightly, one hand still wrapped carefully around Virgil’s chest.

He detached his red sash first, tossing it carelessly into the snow and vowing not to leave it, or the hoodie, behind. It took a few seconds, Virgil still leaned heavily up against him, but Roman managed to shrug off his white jacket, shuddering when that left him in just a black t-shirt.

It was freezing, the ruthless wind like a flurry of knives against his skin, but Roman forced himself to grit his teeth and ignore it. If he was cold, he couldn’t imagine how it must feel to be soaking wet.

And Virgil was probably aching and bruised from the compressions…

“Here,” Roman said, heart dropping at the fear and confusion in Virgil’s cloudy eyes. “Put this on, alright? You’re gonna be ok.”

Virgil made another quiet, indecipherable noise but didn’t protest when Roman draped the jacket over his shoulders, and the prince was able to help guide his hands through the slightly too big sleeves.

Any other time, under any other circumstances, Roman imagined seeing the anxious side wearing the prince’s jacket would be something that would leave them both smiling like idiots, Roman left trying in vain to hide his rising blush.

Now, it was just a desperate act to keep Virgil alive.

Roman wrapped his arms around him and pulled Virgil close to his chest, desperate to offer as much warmth as he could, the shivering from the other side still beyond alarming. At least his lips and fingertips no longer held that terrifying shade of blue.

He shut his eyes for a moment, dropping his forehead to rest against Virgil’s soaking wet hair, trying to figure out what on earth he was supposed to do. They needed to move, to get Virgil back home safe as soon as possible, but it was still another forty minutes or so to the Imagination door.

He never should have brought Virgil so far out, not with how unpredictable his realm could be. Roman had just...wanted an excuse to spend more time with the anxious side.

He’d wanted Virgil to see him be the hero. For once, he’d wanted to be the hero in Virgil’s eyes, not just Thomas’s. He’d been so stupid.

They couldn’t stay here, not while the snow continued to fall and the wind showed no sign of stopping.

He’d carry Virgil the entire way if he had to, he knew that for sure. But the longer the storm kept up, the temperature slowly but surely dropping further, the more it was looking like he’d have to. They couldn’t afford to move slowly.

He didn’t know what he’d been silently hoping for. Maybe for the weather to become warm again, or for Virgil to magically get better, to sit up with his skin back to its normal paleness and make a snarky comment about Roman worrying too much.

“Jeez, are you trying to steal my job, Princey?” he’d ask, smirking when Roman sputtered and blushed under the accusation. God, he’d give anything to have Virgil back to normal.

But the sky wasn't clear, Virgil’s declining health only seemed to be getting worse, and Roman knew that the longer he waited, the worse it would only get.

“Hey, we need to keep moving,” Roman said, hoping Virgil could understand him. “You still with me? I’m gonna pick you up, alright?”

He felt Virgil cough again, still a broken rattling sound that sent dread clawing up Roman’s throat, and he watched the anxious side reach up to grab at the material of the jacket wrapped around him.

“M’ here,” he said, and he was clearly trying so hard to speak clearly. “I- I can...I c-can walk.”

“Let me help you,” Roman insisted, even as his heart swelled with pride. He wondered if Virgil recognized his own bravery. “We’ll be home soon.”

He carefully maneuvered one of Virgil’s arms over his shoulder and counted to three under his breath before slowly lifting the anxious side off the ground.

He froze immediately when Virgil let out a strangled gasp, broken up immediately by ragged coughs, his shivering body going tense as his free hand flew to his stomach, trying to wrap his arm around himself.

“F-fuck,” Virgil hissed when he had his breath back, and Roman eased them both back into the snow when his knees started to buckle. “Ow, ow, ow, what...Ro-Roman--”

“I’m here,” Roman said. “I’m right here, Virgil. What hurts?”

“R-r-ribs, and- and I...I don’t...what’re we--?”

“Shoot, uh...I think I did that.” Oh god, he’d hurt Virgil. He’d really messed up everything today, hadn’t he? “I had to give you CPR.”

“You...I- I don’t- why?”

“You fell in the river,” Roman explained, trying not to panic at Virgil’s sudden memory loss. That was normal, right? He was just a little confused, no reason to freak out yet. “Remember? I think the cold really got to you and- and I’m...I’m really sorry. God, I’m so sorry Virgil. I tried to get to you but--”

“Y-you-” Another cough, just as terrifying as all the others. “-you pulled m-me up?”

Roman frowned, hating the bewildered confusion in Virgil’s voice. “I did. Of course I did. But you...you weren’t breathing and I couldn’t find a pulse and I...I thought you were...I thought--”

“Well I- I’m f-fine,” Virgil rasped, dangerously pale and shivering and the farthest thing from fine. “Y-you...you really are my hero huh, P-Princey?”

It was like something curled around Roman’s chest, squeezing at his heart so suddenly he felt a little lightheaded. Virgil’s hero. He wanted so badly to believe that.

But he couldn’t- not when Virgil was trembling in his arms and struggling to form a single sentence.

“I’m getting you home,” Roman vowed, holding the anxious side just a little bit tighter. “I promise you that. Just...let me carry you. Please.”

Virgil slumped, his shaky grip growing almost desperate- despite still being painfully weak- but he nodded against Roman’s chest. “It’s...it’ s-so cold.”

Roman didn’t know how much time had passed since he had put his own jacket on Virgil, but while it hadn’t seemed to do much to improve Virgil’s condition, the lack of protection was definitely getting to Roman.

He found he didn’t mind though, not when Virgil was awake and breathing, aware enough to talk just a little. But he knew it was only a matter of time until their luck ran out.

Roman carefully repositioned the anxious side still curled in his arms so he could better hold him in a bridal carry, shushing him gently when Virgil made a pained sound as the Prince stood, stumbling slightly in the thick snow.

“I know,” Roman said, barely audible over the howling wind. “Just hang in there, Stormcloud. We’ll be home before you know it. We’re so close, Virgil.”

He started forward again, hoping Virgil wasn’t aware enough to catch on to Roman’s own rising anxiety.

#sanders sides #thomas sanders #prinxiety #virgil sanders #roman sanders #ts virgil #ts roman #hypothermia #hurt/comfort #writing #fanfiction

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skitsoulmaty · 3 years

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umbrella [ jjk] | part one

genre(s): angst, a little bit of fluff, strangers lovers au

pairings: jeon jeongguk x reader

word count: this is the first part & it contains 900ish words

warnings: heartbreak, hell of angst, mental illness, a bit of violence (not in this part tho but its gun be there in the upcoming parts), one sided love kinda ?? death, blood, mentions of hospitals.

synopsis: jungkook is still in luv with his ex lover but in the rain that day he meets a girl coated with stardust.

taglist: aaa i dont really have anyone to tag :(( if u want to be added to my taglist, just send an ask or dm me ^-^

note: this is my first series & my first post on here so im quite nervous but i hope it goes well ahahah :(( english isnt my first language so i hope u can ignore grammatical errors, if u find one 🤍 u can try listening to ghosting by txt while reading this. but yes pls enjoy this it took me a lot of time to word it <3

this is a work of fiction. any resemblance to actual people or events is purely coincidental. © sakura, 2021.

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it was one of the gone-wrong picnic days. the day had brought a sky of granite-grey clouds ruffling in ripples, indicating it was about to invite a street of colourful umbrellas to blossom.

and then it did. it came with its heaven given soundtrack, as a million soul fragments in a chorus. together they brought such a soothing sound, a natural melody every bit as beautiful as a mother's soulful hum. the pearl-like drops washed every hue into a strong and soulful vibrancy.

crystal clear raindrops hit the stony ground as water seeped inside the jarred ground to mitigate the brittle dried up earth from the harshly flaring brilliant rays of that scorching sphere of fire. the droplets paused on the surface before being engulfed into the soil. it turned dark like molasses under the glossy strands of grass.

but it was not that tranquillizing for jeongguk.

the world resembled his emotions with his darkened over-clouded heart. the raindrops came falling down just like his tears. he was on the street, alone, and the only one who did not have an umbrella.

with every splash that touched the boy's skin, his jacket gave up on keeping his body dry. water began to soak the bottom of his pale blue jeans, deepening the denim to a stronger hue, and bringing his timberlands to a glossy water-shine. he breathed in the pouring rain as it dampened his dishevelled locks.

he wandered amidst a harmonious choir of raindrops. water poured over his skin so vigorously that it felt as if he was in the flow of a river rather than a rain shower. he could not seem to figure out if he had a lot of thoughts or none at all. everything looked dusky, dull and grey. a nostalgic sensation had crawled in and washed over him when he saw the rain-washed street. it gripped his emotions with might, suffocating him.

he missed her.

jeongguk was like a wilting flower. he was weak, broken, and delicate. deprived of affection and slowly crumbling down.

he studied the way water would pour down in soft cascades, the vibrant image of a summer storm and liked how the very sound could create a sense of silence without loneliness.

they had to fall, he thought. they had no alternative. they had no escape. nowhere, but down on the rugged, solid surface. they had to face their destiny, what the future had in store for them. after they descended, the drops vanished between a billion others. they were not seen anymore, like their value had dissolved after that very moment. they were gone.

maybe he should feel glad; glad that his lifeline was longer. but he wasn't. all his happiness had been sucked when she left. it had been a year, yet his heart still grieved and yearned for her.

the bitterly raw wind swooshed by, pulling him away from his thoughts. some youngsters' laughter was heard faintly from a distance. the world around him was unaffected by his suffering. untouched and unbothered by the agony that he is experiencing.

perhaps he was hallucinating, or his vision was fuzzy, but for a second he thought someone was observing him.

"hey there, boy. you look so miserable that someone might mistake you for the male version of oizys!" it was the voice of some girl. it was the kind of deep voice that is so very easy to fall in love with, that auditory caramel.

(oizys was the ancient greek goddess of grief & anxiety.)

jeongguk felt enticed to the voice as if it were a magnet. he finally looked up desirous to know who that velvety voice belonged to.

his eyes fell onto were her lips. they were coral and looked soft even in the dark rain, curved up in a smile. then the rest of her face. it would be an understatement to say that he was allured. she had extremely fine, sculpted features. her silvery grey eyes glittered in the gloom, glinting with hope and curiosity. her smile, flawless and delicate. her face was luminescent, a gentle glow. she had the appearance of soul fire sparking against the ice.

she was clad in a white hoodie reaching down till mid thigh with the hood over her touseled brunette hair. her milky appearance made her stand distinctly against the faded surroundings. in the cold mini storm she stood firm.

her innocent aura drew him in.

the mystery girl snapped closed her umbrella, releasing a gravity-defying plume of small droplets. she pulled down her hood and shook her hair to gain some life back into her flattened locks which slowly got drenched.

she noticed that he had looked at her. she pouted when there was no response from jeongguk. “oh i'm really sorry. i didn’t mean to offend you. i should not have joked about that,” she paused and opened her umbrella again, and this time put it over his head, preventing the raindrops from hitting his skin.

she tilted her head and continued, “but, joli garçon, did you really think the rain could mask your tears?”

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yes that was it for the first part,,,, it certainly isnt as good as some of authors here but i tried jdhjsjhsj the second part is coming soon :) pls reblog it would mean a lot !! <3

#jungkook #angst #jungkook angst #bangtan #bts #jeongguk angst #jungkookangst #jungkook drabbles #jungkook x reader #jungkook x reader angst #jungkook strangers to lovers #jungkook heatbreak #jungkook bf #bts angst #rain #umbrella #jungkook rain

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dindjarinbae · 3 years

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The Scariest Thing (Din Djarin x reader)

MANDALORIAN SEASON 2 SPOILERS AHEAD!

alright so, this was supposed to be finished like 2 weeks ago but i got busy, lazy, and distracted, so im sorry for being late to the party. anyways, this is just a little drabble and i actually kinda like it. i have something else im gonna post tomorrow but until then, here’s this!

WC: 2738

WARNINGS: none, spiders, some language.

Your eye could’ve started twitching. You could’ve smacked the giant tin can of a Mandalorian right on the back of his helmeted head as the Razor Crest settled into the ice caves deep below the surface of the planet of Maldo Kreis. You stared at the back of his head until you were sure holes would melt through the Beskar, but they never came. Mr. Hero Complex himself stood up from his chair and assured the sweet little frog lady that he’d go find her eggs down in the hull, so down the ladder he went and you followed on his heels. You grabbed his shoulder once you were both on solid ground and spun him around to look at you. “Are you crazy Din Djarin?” You asked incredulously, a sharp shiver shooting up your spine from the new, bitter cold air that filtered into the ruined hull.

“What?” He asked gruffly, but he didn’t make any move to remove your hand from his shoulder as he stared down at you. You shook your head and you motioned around with your hand, “Din, you could’ve just told the stupid x-wings the truth! Or something! Now we’re stuck, and we’re gonna freeze and there’s no one around for... I don’t know how far! And the baby, and the eggs and the-“ you were cut off by his gloved finger settling over your lips. He wrapped an arm around your waist and sighed softly. “Please don’t worry. I’ll fix this, okay? Just help me find the eggs and the kid, and I can get to work trying to fix the ship.” Famous last words, because hours later, you sat behind him in the snow, passing him tools while he fixed the outside of the ship when the baby came around the corner to babble in that adorably ridiculous little voice of his. Din looked up from his work and you had to turn your attention that way as well as he spoke, “How ‘bout you come over here, give me a hand? Make yourself useful,” he said to the child who had a strange sense of urgency to his chattering. “I think he’s trying to tell you something,” you hummed and placed your chin against his shoulder while you looked over at the panel he was fixing, and the kid grunted frustratedly before waddling off. Your Mandalorian was not having this and sighed, “Hey, kid,” he tried to get the little green thing’s attention, but to no avail. He had rounded the side of the ship and you were sure if you could see Din’s face right now, he’d be rolling his eyes as he gently shrugged you off and stood up. He offered you his hand and you stood up with him while he called to the baby, “I said hey! Where are you going?” He asked and you took his arm gently, nodding toward the baby, “Come back here!” He called and grew exasperated. “He’s just a kid, Din. Go see what he wants,” you prompted softly and he sighed, once again, and then moved through the snow with you towards the baby. When he rounded the ship, the two of you could see the baby sitting down, facing a set of tracks. Little frog tracks. “When did she go?” Din asked, sinking to one knee next to the little green bundle of energy. He looked over the tracks and lifted the baby up and held his hand towards you, “Come on, Cyare. I don’t want you sitting by yourself back here,” he said, and you grabbed his hand gratefully. “You know, it might be worse in there. You don’t even know what’s living under the ice,” you murmured imagining strange serpents or monsters running around in these ice caves. He scoffed and squeezed your hand just once, “The scariest thing down here is me, lovely,” he stated confidently and walked through the snowy cave with you and the baby, undoubtedly following the frog’s tracks. You were dressed in some of his warmer clothes and wrapped within one of his old cloaks, yet the cold air still made you shiver, and the tip of your nose and fingers turned a bright pink. You pulled yourself closer to Din and looked around at the blue, icy walls around you. There was an eerie calmness to the caves around you and you dared not speak a word as snow crunched underneath your footsteps. You shivered ominously and then looked up at Din, “I don’t like it back here, Din. It’s too quiet,” you said anxiously and he squeezed your hand, yet again. “I always protect you. You know that. Don’t be afraid of an ice cave,” he murmured and you leaned into his side, and he protectively held you to him. The three of you walked through and underneath arches of ice, and the baby squeaked a few times while Din led you into an icy cavern. The frog’s voice echoed from inside of the cavern and Din gently dropped your hand, hurrying toward her, “There you are!” He exclaimed and you looked around the cavern and the strange icy bulbs that protruded from the ground. Your eyes settled on a steaming crater full of warm water where the little frog lady sat contently and you looked over to Din curiously. He moved toward her urgently, checking around himself and you, just in case. “You can’t leave the ship. It’s not safe out here,” he said firmly to the frog and you followed closed behind him, holding his cloak around yourself tightly. He set the mischievous little baby down at the side of the warm water and he began to coo, seeing the snack he was earlier reprimanded for eating. The frog tried to protest Din’s wishes, and even if she spoke the same language, he wouldn’t have budged. Her eggs floated around her in the water and Din told her to gather them, and he reached into the pool to help her, explaining that night was falling and it was becoming more dangerous just before having another go at scolding the child for trying to grab at the eggs bobbing in front of him. The baby whined as he was caught and he waddled towards you. You looked down at him and he held his hand up toward you, his little way of saying he wanted to hold onto your finger, to lead you somewhere. You bent at the waist uncomfortably and he wrapped his three, chubby fingers around your pointer finger and you both waddled along as he lead you to one of the strange oval shaped bulbs coming up from the ground. “Hey, now, buddy. Maybe we should leave that al-“ that suggestion was moot, because he had already dropped your finger to sniff, tap, and tear into the strange thing. A slimy sound echoed through the cave as he tore into the oval and you could’ve gagged watching him dig into the green sludge inside and yank out what looked like... a spider. You hated spiders. If presented with joining the empire or holding a spider, you would’ve joined the empire. If someone asked you to break your own arm or touch a spider... Yeah. You’d be breaking an arm. But if someone asked you to do what the little baby just did or jump out of a flying ship in the middle of space, you would do just that, because the baby stuffed the slimy arachnid into his mouth. You gasped and jumped back, shaking your head, “Ew! Spit that out now! You don’t even know if it’s poisonous or not!” You exclaimed loudly to the baby, who just giggled. The brat wasn’t giggling for very long. The ground began to subtly rumble and all of the little bulbs around you in the cave began to crack and tear, and thin, slimy legs began to rip themselves free. Your eyes nearly bulged out of your head and you pushed the baby toward Din, while you ran after him, both of you screaming. Din turned to look at you two, and so did the sweet little frog lady, and that’s when the emerging ice spiders caught his eye. The frog chittered while Din scooped up the baby, and you were now in a full panic, looking around at all the spiders. You grabbed onto his arm and practically climbed up the side of him, making incoherent, terrified noises as you tried to pull him toward the exit. He wrapped an arm around your waist in an ironclad grip and he handed you the baby while he slung the now full canister of eggs over his shoulder. “They’re spiders, Din. Lots of.. Fucking spiders!” You shrieked and latched onto him as tight as you could, once again trying to climb him. He patted your waist and held you to the ground while the frog dressed herself and you watched more flood out of a deeper part of the cave. And as usual, bad went to worse, because out came a bunch of much larger spiders and you let out a piercing scream, pointing at them. And worse went to absolute hell nightmare emergency as a spider, as big as the Razor Crest, crawled out of the cave. “Can we fucking-“ you began to yell as Din cut you off, waving at the frog lady. “Go! Go! Back to the ship!” He commanded, and she wasted no time running that way. You stood frozen as the spider screeched and Din tried to run, but it was clear you weren’t moving. At least you now knew that in a fight or flight situation, you took the secret third action and froze. He grunted and threw you over his shoulder and began to run with you over one shoulder, the eggs over the other, and he had taken the baby back from your grip and tucked him underneath his arm. The baby squealed and you watched the spider open a mouth full of sharp teeth and you screamed as loud as your lungs allowed. “Din! Faster! Fuck, run faster!” You cried and slammed your fists into the back of his armor, and you shook your head as he ran as fast as he could considering the weight he was now carrying. “We’re gonna die we’re gonna die, we’re gonna fucking die!” You sobbed and closed your eyes, trying not to look at the tsunami of spiders following right behind you. Ice fell around all of you as the giant spider slammed holes through the icy ceilings with his legs and you shrieked again, wrapping your arms around Din’s midsection. “We aren’t going to die!” Din called back to you and you shook your head, still blubbering about how you were all going to- probably- die. Din shot at a handful of them with his blaster and you continued crying, clinging to him, “I never wanted to die like this! Because of... fucking spiders!” You cried and shook your head, “Din, please go faster!” You screamed and he growled gruffly in your direction. And that’s when the webs started shooting everywhere. At some point, you must have really just blacked out, because the next thing you knew, there was a blast of fire behind you, and Din was tearing through the snow to get you to the ship. He passed the baby to the frog lady, and she hurried him inside of the ship and he tossed you over his shoulder inside of the hull. You hit the ground with a painful thud and you scrambled backwards to get up, and you grabbed the baby and ushered the frog lady and her eggs up into the cockpit. You could hear the squealing spiders and their legs down below and you cried messily, holding the baby to your chest while you curled up in the pilot’s seat. As soon as Din barreled into the cockpit, the spiders crowded the door, making it impossible to climb. A spider landed on the baby’s head while he sat on your lap and you screamed louder than you ever had in your life, but you couldn’t even finish the scream before the frog was shooting it dead right off the baby’s head. Din shot fire at the remaining spiders until they moved away and the door closed, all the while you watched in absolute terror until he turned around. You heard the disgusting patter of spider legs on the glass above you and Din very gently lifted you from the chair onto the ground next to his chair, “Put your head between your knees, and please, cyare, breathe,” he instructed before pulling the baby into his lap. He turned to the frog lady and nodded once, getting all of the switches above his head turned on, “Strap yourselves in. This better work,” he commanded, and you tucked your head down between your knees and tried to focus on literally anything other than the sound of the spiders. “I’ve got limited visibility. It’s gonna be a bumpy ride,” Din said before the Crest shook to life, and he was not kidding about the bumpy part. You were now rising, up, up. And down. You looked up and saw that the giant spider had now pinned the ship completely down to the ground, and you nearly began to panic again, but Din yanked you up by your arm into his lap with the baby and he tucked your head under his chin, “keep your eyes closed,” he instructed you, and you happily obliged, gripping his arm tightly. Glass shattered from above and you didn’t dare look, you just stayed with your eyes screwed shut and you clenched your jaw, your teeth grinding together. The baby whined next to you, and you placed a hand against his side to calm him. You weren’t sure what was happening next, but you heard blaster fire, and you could see the bright red rays through your eyelids. Din stood up and placed you and the baby down on the chair and he slipped out of the cockpit. You were finally brave enough to open your eyes and you looked over at the frog lady, blinking in disbelief, “Are you okay?” You asked her and you assumed she said what meant yes because she gave you a little nod and she looked up out the window. You heard more blaster fire and some voices outside, including Din’s. There was a loud commotion, which sounded like ships, and within minutes, Din was back inside of the ship. You and the frog lady went down to greet him and he walked inside, sighing. “Alright. I’m gonna repair the cockpit enough for us to limp to Trask. There’s nothing I can do about the main hull’s integrity,” he said and you batted at the air above you to clear a web away from your face, “... so we’re going to have to get cozy in the cockpit. It’s the only thing I can pressurize,” he explained, “if you need to use the privy, do it now it’s gonna be a long ride,” he finished and then turned to you. He nodded toward the cockpit while the frog lady waited for some privacy and you slowly crawled up the ladder into the cockpit. He followed behind you and once you were both inside with the door shut, you heard him let out a loud snort and then his chest began to shake. He was fucking laughing at you. Your jaw dropped, “Din Djarin! Stop that!” You commanded but he didn’t stop. You crossed your arms indignantly and he grabbed your waist, pulling you against his chest, “We’re gonna die we’re gonna die!” He playfully mocked and laughed a bit more, silently. You slapped his chest and he pulled you into a tight hug, which you reluctantly returned. “You’re so mean,” you huffed and you could hear the smile in his voice. “And you’re so dramatic,” he countered and you raised your eyebrows, laying your head down on his chest plate. “‘The scariest thing down here is me,’” you mocked in return and he chucked, shaking his head. “Still is.” “Shut up, Mandalorian,” you mumbled and rolled your eyes, “you’re so lucky I love you,” you said dramatically as you sighed. “Yeah, yeah. I love you too.” And for the record, he was never the scariest thing down there.

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin #din djarin x reader #baby yoda #mando x reader #the mandalorian imagine #din djarin imagine #mando imagine #mando x y/n #din djarin x y/n #the mandalorian x you #fanfiction #star wars #the mandalorian fic #din djarin fic

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remsmoonlight · 3 years

Text

— title : broken facade ( part one ? )

— word count : 2.6 k words

— pairing : john wick x reader

— summary : john thought he could keep his old world dead and buried, he was wrong

— warnings : mentions of death, blood, extremely minor swearing, kidnapping, mentions of drugging.. idk maybe a bit of hurt and angst? idk where i was going with this i spent so long on it lmao im very sorry

Nothing can be heard over the continuous shattering of the fractured pieces of a silent promise he repeated to himself every morning he woke and the last thing that ran through his mind before he would cease to resist the urge to sleep. It’s the only promise kept hidden from you and there was no going back from its state of shards, what kind of man is he if the one thing he kept close to his heart is no more.

Never let that life lay a finger on them.

Now, here he is. Knowing that the life he had previously led has wormed itself back to him, it has sullied your spirit and for that, he can find no forgiveness in his soul for himself. It’s him that is why you have been torn away from him so mercilessly, why you are in the situation you are in. He would give his life a thousand times and a thousand times over if it means you are safe, away from the harsh and cold blooded world he knows so well.

Although, the remnants of his old life is not a friend greeting him after an age has passed, but rather.. a foe that wishes to lead him down the trail to its murky depths.

He assumes that the steering wheel that is gripped so stiffly by his hands only wish to buckle and crumble under the weight he is setting down upon it, though there is no other way to channel the highly agitated energy that swirls within him. Until you are back in his arms can he find the strength to completely calm the brutal waters that wish to overwhelm him, the only thing saving him is the objective that is removing you from the grasps of the Tarasovs’.

The same is unable to be said for you, the fear that you feel coursing throughout your entire being is the only thing that you can concentrate on. This is the clearest you have been for days, since you had been taken from your refuge from the world. You are sure that you’ve been drugged, though you can’t decide truly if that fact is a blessing or a curse. Being an unwilling participant in whatever you had found yourself in would prove difficult for those who held your life in their hands, and as much as you want to put up a fight, it’s impossible. You can see just how tense everyone in this cold, desolate room is. It’s not ideal to prod and provoke the Devil, especially as it has the power to rip you from the reality you know.

Your heart swells from the haunting image that plays continuously like an olden film, with the grit and burns. It’s a desire that you yearn so intensely for to rid your brain of the bloodied and battered John, you had never seen him so defenseless. You wonder if he is still breathing, if he is suffering from being so broken.

“ hey! why don’t you just let me go? “ you call out to anyone in the room, your fingers fidgeting anxiously with the threads of the scarf wrapped protectively around your neck.

“ shut the fuck up! “

You switch your gaze from the man who yelled, knowing that there is no point in arguing, to the one playing on the game console. Fear and self preservation that rules your body into silence battling with the confusion you find yourself experiencing at how one of the other men could feel so relaxed to the point he can play games.

Though he’s not the one who’s been kidnapped you think with a stern frown deeply painting your features, you simply wished you could be wrapped up in your duvet with a straight to dvd cheap movie playing.

The next moment a colossal bang erupted, spilling through the entirety of the room -- you have no idea where to look, your entire feeling as if it had been frozen in a moment of time. It’s not until a thud pulls you out of your cloud, and it’s one of the men who have fallen to the ground. Your eyes widen at the sight, you’ve seen such brutality in movies and television shows but never could they capture the true horror that lays in front of you.

The crimson liquid is never ending as it exits from the wound, you want to rip your eyes away from the repulsive scene yet you find yourself in a trance, with a magnetic pull that refuses to bend its will to yours. Only when your skin feels fingers digging deep into clothed flesh is your head able to turn, your feet already on the move. Your eyes refuse to acknowledge the further death that lay motionlessly on the floor, the bodies as cold as the temperature.

Rumbles fill your hearing, it’s hardly a chore to know that they’re under attack, by who you have little idea. Though a tiny spark of hope, so small it’s hardly noticeable, hums in your core. Perhaps it may be the authorities, here to put a permanent end to your newfound nightmare. Whatever it is, it has these men scared -- though, when you think back.. they have been on edge since you have had the unfortunate experience of knowing them. No matter how hard you previously tried to decipher some sort of idea, even a faded picture of what you have been caught up in, they were quick to respond with venom and hostility.

“ let go of me! “ words tumble from your lips as you try to dig your feet in further to the metal steps, hands clawing at the railings as if they could protect you.

Nothing is said to you, had it not been for the male’s grip on your arm, you could assume that they have no idea of your presence. Countless nights you had found yourself wishing for such, that they would forget your existence and you would be then able to escape. Never has that wish been granted.

Burns from the metal grasped so firmly scorch your palms, you can feel the need to survive driving yourself to fight and struggle.. opportunities to escape had been bare, the one presented now is one that you refuse to elude you so swiftly. Again, a body drops from a gunshot -- your shock proving more of a force than anything, because the hold that had been so secure on your arm severs without you comprehending it for a passing moment in time.

The leap your heart completes knows no bounds, the disturbance at seeing the violence occur at the man you have only known to be gentle and warm overwhelmed by your exhilaration that he is there and safe. John hardly acknowledges you as he passes your trembling form, his mind focused on one thing and one thing only. It’s no surprise when you decide to turn away, not wishing to have your image of him shattered any more than it has already. Though, you wonder how detrimental protecting your dream like depiction of him is.

A faze, it’s all your mind can think of describing the journey from the harsh confines of the barren property to where you reside currently. The journey from one place to the other mesh together, your memories betraying you in your inability to process everything that happened.

A hand grazes your skin comfortingly, though the suddenness pulls you out from beneath your thoughts.

“ i’m sorry. “ John speaks, keeping his eyes straight ahead on the road.

A frown sketches itself onto your brows as you turn to face him, you are unable to understand what he means by his words. The scenery passes by in a blur, stuck in a timeless state of thinking, you realise that you’ve not responded to him. How do you respond to something like? You wonder to yourself, loathing the fact that you cannot reply, a misunderstanding of rejection isn’t something needed for the moment. Against your better judgement, you need the opposite.

“ John - I - what? “

The feather like weight on your hand is still there, though now there is a contrast of tenderness and peace that had only known violence and blood exploring the expanse of his fingertips, only now a ghostly image not yet faded.

“ it got worse for you, because of me. “ he replies with a pitch as solid as stone, still refusing to make eye contact.

Though it’s not known to you that the reason he refuses to look at you is because he cannot yet come to terms with the fact that the two significant fractions of his life, the past and the present, have collided so effortlessly. He doesn’t yet want to acknowledge his part to play in the scars of his old word being the reason your surface now bears the brunt of being blemished by its cold, callous hands. He doesn’t want to have to bear witness to the tears that have stained your usually bright features, knowing the darkness that had once consumed his life wished to stretch its skeletal grip to you, threatening to eclipse the light of hope you unknowingly provide every chance he gets to set his sights on your form.

“ you’re not making any sense. “ you turn to face him now, trying to read his expression. Though, it’s at a loss. When he needs to be, he can be extremely hard to read.

“ that guy? the one I shot.. I used to work for his father. “

You blink, still failing to see the picture. You’re able to make a mental sketch, but you still need final pieces. Yes, he was connected.. but how is he at fault? Was it some sort of vengeance? Blackmail? The list is an endless trail your mind explores at the new piece of information, however it’s only John who can provide the key.

“ what does that have to do with everything that happened? “

“ there’s a reason why I’ve never told you much about my past. “ he replies softly, his mind wandering to find the most rational way to word the difficult tale, whose twists and turns trailed over it as if they were no more than a line of vines full of poison.

Though, the inner voice belonging to him knows there is no outcome that bodes well for him, the inevitable can’t be written off nor can it be denied.

“ so tell me, please? “ you plead with him, your nervous energy building and building in the tips of your fingers. They tap on the end of the car seat as you wait for his response.

“ before we met, I did things. I killed. “

It has to be quick John thinks to himself. There’s not a way that what he has to say, his past can be primped and perfumed into a pretty little picture, not when that picture is haunted by all the life that had been ripped from the world by his hand.

“ this is a joke, right? “ you laugh, incredulously. Gazing at his form it was as if the energy around him had inverted, there is no way that John, your John could do such things. The gentle smile of his, the thoughtfulness he demonstrates each day would battle his words, but the solidity and lack of humour being shown from him..? You’re tempted to believe.

“ I wish it was. “

“ there’s.. I don’t even know what to say. “ your brows furrow low, a bleakness setting itself into your expression as you try to come to terms with his answer.

“ you don’t have to. “ he speaks with difficulty, while he had expected more hatred from your eyes, he dares not to hope you will stay. Not after everything he has brought down upon you.

Fresh tears build up, until they are no more than a glassy barrier preventing clear vision. You will them to recede, to fade away until they’re nothing more than shadows. You have seen many horrors, more in the past week than your whole life and the man you love has had a direct part in that? You can’t erase the images of him gunning your captor, but you can’t erase all the sweet whispers after nights of lust and love, all the hours spent talking about life and what you would do. A stark contrast to the man you first got to know.

“ this isn’t something I can pretend to understand, but why hold something like this from me? Why wouldn’t you tell me eventually? “ you question, many emotions are clawing over each other to rise to your surface, preventing you from thinking straight.. yet it’s frustration that is victorious.

“ I never thought I'd be back. “

“ you need to understand, things like that? They don’t go away, they have a way of coming back and biting you in the ass. “

“ yeah, I see that now. “

A groan erupts from your parted lips, dropping your head in your hands. Your fingers drag their way across your scalp, this is something you argue would be seen in a movie.. not your life. The feelings you have are conflicted and inconsistent, any normal person would jump out of the moving care.. but a part of you can’t cast him aside so easily. What you have, that’s what you know is real.

“ John, I - I need time. At the minute.. I just don’t know what to think. With everything that’s happened. “

“ I get that. You’ll be seen to, for your injuries. “

A smile, small in size lifts the darkness from your eyes ever so slightly. Your injuries are bare, save for a few scrapes on your face. It’s the mental ones that begin to frighten you. They’re not so easily treatable. A smile that wishes with all its might that it is so easy.

“ to be honest.. I just want to go home. “ you lift your head up from its concealment as you share to him your one simple desire, your eyes imploring him to follow through with your request.

“ soon. “ he finally turns his head to look at you, to finally see you properly. All he wants is for you to be safely protected in his arms, as he mutters countless apologies that he longs you forgive him for. By no means is he a perfect man, but he can strive for such for you.

“ John, I’m not dead. I’m just tired. “

“ please, don’t. “

It’s curious, the tone in his voice as he replies to you. You can’t place it, though it’s very unlike him. Your left hand removes itself from the warmth of his palm to place yours atop of his, lending your warmth and comfort to him. The fact that both of you have fresh mental scars from the ordeal is becoming promptly evident.

“ I just want to make sure you’re okay. “

“ John, I don’t know what to think, what to feel. This is just.. the craziest thing. “

“ yeah, and it’s my fault. “ he exclaims lowly, as if he’s speaking more to himself than you. Berating himself for something that was never in his control.

You shake your head, hating the way he’s talking of himself. It’s enough to rouse some anger within you, though you know better than to make the situation between the two of you worse.

“ look, I know I can’t make you think otherwise.. but you never took me away. You never hid me from building to building, you were the one who saved me. “ you argue, ferocity cautiously coating your words. Your grip settled on top of his hand growing. “ I can’t stop seeing what you did, but you were the one who got me out. I need some quiet from it all. “

Your words, you hope, are strong. Trying to separate what you have seen that day is not something that will come as light as the clouds above your head do when they shower upon you, the thought that you fear you may never do is something you keep close to your chest for now.

To protect the both of you.

#john wick imagine #john wick x reader #john wick fanfic #john wick fanfiction

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guardianofjunmyeon · 4 years

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Finding Atlantis (part 14)

Genre: Action/Adventure, Enemies to Lovers, PirateAU

Description: 20 years ago the seas became angry. Unruly and unkind to any sailor, to any ship that dared venture too far out in her waters. Many a man has heard the tales of Atlantis, the lost city, the key the ocean. But fewer men know the tale of it’s missing child. The key to the ocean, the key to Atlantis but a lost little one. The power one would hold should they find this child would be nearly that of Poseidon himself. Thus, the hunt began.

A/N: wait i forgot i left you all on a cliffhanger akjfhjf. Here’s an update (finally) im a bitch blocked about where the next chapter is going so it might take...about as long as this one took to be uploaded. Its gonna have some smut tho. This chapter has new characters and PLEASE appreciate my fucking bubble conversation, i wanted to use the whole “she came down in a bubble dawg!” convo but i didnt

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18

There are certain experiences you’ve lived through enough times to consider yourself a pro at handling. Situations like being handcuffed to a bed. Like being left on an island with no food or water. Like having to fight your way out of a bar when someone is getting too rough with the other patrons.

Drowning is quickly becoming a situation with which you are getting too closely acquainted.

When the ocean swallowed your little dinghy, your life flashed before your very eyes. This was truly the end. The last thing you would ever live through would be the song of Atlantis tickling your ears, the sight of Junmyeon glowing blue, and the feeling of Baekhyun’s skin beneath your palm.

All in all it wasn’t the worst way to go, but there was still so much more that you wanted to experience.

You’d never gotten a chance to return home, to sit at that cliff where you sent off your mother’s body and tell her about all of the things you’d done with your life. To describe to her the ship you’d bought, the friends you’d made, the adventures you’d gone on and the memories you’d made. You wanted to go find Victoria again and thank her for taking you in.

You wanted to find that boy that saved your life when you were but a child and to thank him properly. You wanted to tell him all that you’d done and repay him for giving you that chance at life. You wonder if he’s grown up into a handsome man now. If he has a spouse and kids and a happy home on that island you once called home that you left as soon as you could. You wonder if he’d even remember you.

You’d never gotten a chance to get the Storm Chaser those new upgrades that you’d been saving up for. An extension to the crew cabins, sturdier masts, a new set of sails.

You hadn’t gotten the chance to fall in love, to have your heartbroken, to have a baby or even hold one for that matter. Would you have made a good mother? Would you have made a decent wife? Would you have been able to find someone willing to spend the rest of their life with you, on the seas, on land, wherever your hearts could make a home?

Would you have tried to make a home with Baekhyun?

The feeling of being sucked down into the depths of the ocean doesn’t get any less terrifying the second time that you go through it.

As a matter of fact, having it happen again is more terrifying than the first time. Maybe it’s because you can actually feel the pressure of the water crushing your chest. You can feel the way you’re being sucked farther down and the way the water rushes into your nose from the shock of being suddenly dragged under.

It’s nothing like the storm, nothing like fighting the waves and catching the flashes of light as you fought to climb to the surface. Of being tossed around and dropping and rising hundreds of feet seconds at a time. At least then you had a purpose. You aren’t trying to save a life this time. You aren’t able to fight the invisible force dragging you farther and farther down into the water. The water around you is calm, the movement of your body whizzing through the water feels scarily misplaced.

Magical. Unnatural.

Then it all finally stops.

The force pulls you into a pocket of air and gravity takes you by force. Your body collapses on solid ground, and you can breathe. You gasp frantically for air and cough violently as you attempt to catch your breath and your bearings.

You sit up and position yourself on shaky hands and knees as you heave on the dark basalt beneath your splayed fingers.

It takes a few moments of panicked breathing to realize –you’re alive.

You’re alive.

You realize that you’re alive and then you regain enough brain power to panic over if Junmyeon and Baekhyun are also alive. You hear dramatic coughing and hurling to your left and when you investigate you find Baekhyun on his ass with his head between his knees as his spits out salt water.

He looks like a miserable wet dog. You would laugh if you weren’t sure that you look the same.

But where is Junmyeon?

You look left and right, in front of you and behind you but you see no trace of him. No sign of him in the underwater cave you’ve somehow found yourself.

“How did we even get in here?” you spit more salt water on the ground and look for your area of entry. Down. It felt like you fell down. So maybe there is something above.

A gasp gets caught in your throat at the sight above you. Open water somehow suspended above. If you weren’t nearly positive that you somehow fell from there, you would think there was some extremely strong glass blocking the water from falling through the hole above. You can see the glow of deep sea fish swimming by and you’re hit with just how far below the surface you are.

Dizziness pounds through your skull and you hurl out more water all over your hands.

Disgusting.

“Are you guys alright?”

You lift your head at the sound of Junmyeon’s voice and feel your remaining strength seeping from your bones. He looks between you and Baekhyun’s pathetic forms with distressed eyes.

Baekhyun looks up from between his legs with an incredulous open-mouthed frown. He looks your first mate from his toes to his head. “How the hell are you dry?”

It’s then that you notice he looks remarkably put together. As if he never even experienced the sensation of being pulled straight towards hell through water. The patterns on his skin have dulled down to a pale blue, but they are still there as clear as day.

“An Atlantian thing,” Junmyeon answers with a shrug and a smile. He reaches out a hand to help you to your feet but you wave him away with a shake of your head.

“No, give me a second. I just- I need,” you point to the hole above, “This is just-” you close your eyes and wave him away weakly. “Fuck, I need some time.”

He laughs lightly and chooses to help Baekhyun up while you gather your wits. This is overwhelming. “Did you just materialize down here what the fuck?”

“No, I came down in a bubble.”

“A…bubble.”

“Yeah you know one of those things filled with air-”

“You couldn’t lend us one of those bubbles?!”

“I didn’t know how. I don’t even know how I got it around me. Must be an Atlantian-”

“If you say ‘Atlantian thing’ one more time I will, and I swear to Poseidon, strangle you with my bare hands right here.”

“…Atlantian thing,” Junmyeon finishes cheekily. Baekhyun groans loudly and you can hear the weak thumps of him trying to smack your first mate and being deflected.

You struggle onto your feet as Junmyeon and Baekhyun argue. Typical back and forth between the two of them, you know Baekhyun is all talk when it comes to most people; he won’t hurt Junmyeon.

Letting your eyes fully wander the cave, you take in the shiny crystals in the rock around you and the way everything glows a tranquil light blue.

You hear the thundering footsteps before you see the people coming charging towards you out of the alcove hidden from your view.

“INTRUDERS, DROP TO THE GROUND NOW!”

“We just got up,” Baekhyun whines at your side. You lower your still shaking body back down to your knees and hold your hands up in the air to show your willingness to cooperate. In the corner of your eye you catch Junmyeon landing a swift kick to the back of Baekhyun’s legs with his good leg and sending him to the ground with a painful crash.

You flinch at the noise and the people in matching outfits in front of you hold out their swords, ready to strike at any moment. Once Junmyeon has lowered himself to his knees, the group of people break apart to make way for who you assume must be the leader. If the aura of dominance and the extra sparking pink embellishments on their otherwise plain white uniform is anything to go by.

“Who are you and what are you doing here?” The man asks gruffly. He’s tall, handsome, big eyes rimmed in dark black kohl. His analyzing brown eyes drag from you, to Baekhyun, and finally land on Junmyeon. You catch the exact moment that recognition crosses his face.

His eyes widen and he blinks rapidly in disbelief, the sword in his hand clatters to the ground and resounds through the cave. “S-Suho? Prince Suho is that you?”

You turn to look at Junmyeon who has locked eyes with the leader with a look of confusion on his face.

“Do they know each other?” Baekhyun whispers to you.

“Shut up,” you hiss.

Junmyeon gasps and climbs to his feet. “Minho? Minho! I can’t believe it,” he says elatedly. The two of them run (Junmyeon more hobbling than running with the shitty cast still on his leg) into each other’s arms to embrace and you watch with a kind of fond sadness as they grip one another as if the other will vanish into thin air.

The other guards slowly lower their swords and break out into disbelieving whispers. Baekhyun grabs your left hand and lowers it to your lap. “I think you can lower your hands now prisoner. I don’t think they’re going to kill us yet.”

“It’s as if nothing in this world is enough to keep you from annoying the absolute hell out of me,” you grumble.

He beams, a wide and happy smile. “It’s my charm.”

You snort out a laugh while he stands up on both feet and holds out a hand for you to take to get up. You slap your hand in his and let him heft you to your feet.

Junmyeon calls out your name and you whip in his direction in alarm. He drags over the leader of the guard with a hand on his bicep and matching grins on their faces. “I want you to meet my childhood friend Minho!” He looks up at Minho with eyes beaming with happiness. “We grew up together, and Minho here is the Captain of the entire Atlantian military.”

Minho looks down at the ground bashfully.

“It is an honor to meet you. Junmyeon says that he wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you. I, as well as all of our people owe you our highest form of gratitude,” Minho says with a deep bow.

You blink at the gesture, stupefied into immobility. Junmyeon gives you a pointed look and a subtle bow of his own to hint that you should bow back. You quickly bend at the waist and rise up. “It’s- Uhm, thank you. It wasn’t just me though, there are lots of people to thank for his return up on the surface,” you say with a nervous smile.

Minho laughs. “I’m sure. You can all amaze us with tales of your time above at breakfast in a few hours. I’m sure you would all like a moment to settle and…” he looks at Baekhyun and your soaked clothing. “…clean yourselves up.”

The two of you frown indignantly.

As if you planned on showing up soaking wet.

Minho whistles loudly and a smaller man comes scrambling out of the group of guards. “Hendery, show our two outsiders where they can rest. I will take the prince directly to the Queen.”

The smaller man nods vigorously. “Yes sir. I would like to have Xiaojun assist me, if I can.”

“Take who you need,” Minho gives you both another once over before leaning down to whisper, “Make sure there is plenty of soap in their bathrooms.”

You squawk in embarrassment. Junmyeon offers an apologetic smile before coming to place both of his hands on your shoulders and lowering his voice to talk to you and Baekhyun as privately as he can. “Just follow them and relax. I will come find you once I am finished talking to the Queen. They won’t do anything to hurt either of you.” He squeezes your shoulder. “I’ll make sure of it.”

You nod in affirmation. Baekhyun grunts at your side.

Hendery and another young guard lead you away and out of the cave. You are only allowed one final look over your shoulder before Junmyeon vanishes from your sight.

The bleakness of the cave gives way to a wide low hallway covered from top to bottom in blue crystals, or maybe it’s glass.

“You’re awfully quiet,” you murmur to the man at your side. Neither of the guards bother to turn around at the sound of your voice.

“I’m trying to take it all in. This is insane I never thought I would ever actually see this place,” Baekhyun whispers back. You’re shocked by the genuine way he explains himself. “Why? Do you already miss the sound of my voice? I can keep talking if you want.”

“I’ll pass. I already miss the silence.”

His giggle resonates against the walls. You bite down on your lip to keep from smiling in return.

Your group reaches the end of the tunnel and the guards suddenly stop. Hendery turns around first. “Because we are unable to trust you we will have to transport you while keeping our city and location a secret.”

“Huh?”

“I think we’re going to get blindfolded,” Baekhyun whispers to you.

The other guard reaches into his coat and produces two pieces of cloth while Hendery slams a fist on the wall. A hole opens up where seamless wall once stood. You watch dumbly as the other guard, Xiao…Xiao something sits in the human-sized hole and then lies on his back before disappearing through a tube.

What the fuck is this place?

You’re blindfolded first and led to the hole. “Sit.” So you do. What kind of transport requires you to sit in a hole blind? You’ve lived a couple of years now and that's long enough to know that this doesn’t feel quite safe.

Before you can argue your way out of it, you’re pushed and then careening through space. With your eyes covered and the jolt of bewilderment at sliding too fast to be humanly possible you don’t have any choice but to let out a scream.

You’re on your feet again before you know it –albeit dizzy and shaking. The blindfold is removed and you’re met with the impassive face of the guard. You look around yourself to figure out what in the deep sea hell you just slid through.

“You might want to get out right about now,” he suggests.

You hear the telltale sound of Baekhyun’s yelling and cursing getting closer by the second, so you hobble out of the exit compartment and watch in wonder as the top of the compartment opens up and air blasts from the bottom to decrease the force of gravity as Baekhyun drops to his feet.

He’s shaking like a log and his wet hair and clothes are even more disheveled than they were before.

Maybe it’s the overload of being exposed to all the new technology and scenery, but you can’t stop yourself from loudly laughing at his appearance.

Xiaoxi…Xiaode…Xiaojun, that sounds right-

Xiaojun walks forward with a smile twitching on his lips to remove the blindfold from the once one-eyed troublemaker. But, Baekhyun has his eyes squeezed closed, refusing to open them. You take it upon yourself to physically pull him out of his spot.

“It’s over, you’re on solid ground now,” you tease. He peaks open one eye and it darts around distrustfully before he opens them both and leans forward with his hands on his knees to let out a dramatic exhale of breath. Another humored giggle escapes you. “You look like shit and the way you screamed-.”

He stands up straight with reddened cheeks. “Never speak of it,” he threatens in a low voice. You roll your eyes and lift a hand to fix his messy hair. You hear the hiss of air from the tube, knowing that Hendery will be arriving soon, but you busy yourself with smoothing down the unruly strands.

The red darkens on his face as you rake your fingers through the hair at his fringe. You aren’t sure what compels you to initiate the act, but he doesn’t stop you so selfishly you continue to take what you can. Satisfied with your work you smile shyly and turn away to hide your face and the heat you can feel creeping up your neck.

A cough snaps you back into attention.

Right, the guards.

Hendery has a creepily knowing smirk on his face while Xiaojun covers his mouth with his hand, but you can see mirth shining in his eyes.

Baekhyun clears his throat and crosses his arms over his chest. “So…where are we supposed to rest exactly? Or are we supposed to wander around and find it ourselves?”

Hendery motions to the right. “Down this hallway.” He nudges Xiaojun and they both walk forward. You resist the urge to smash your head into the wall as you follow behind. Into one of the…beautiful smooth white walls. For the first time you take in the interior of the building where you have ended up.

High ceilings and pillars. Enormous windows that go from ceiling to floor to show an expansive view of what awaits outside.

You’ve had plenty of time to image what Atlantis would look like, but seeing it in front of you now, bathed in a light like that of early dawn, with the reflection of water moving over the architecture…it’s too unreal, too magical to put into words.

“Keep up. You’ll be able to see the city after breakfast with the Queen,” Xiaojun advises. Both you and Baekhyun pick your pace back up after having fallen behind trying to take in all that around you.

Attempting to keep your gawking to a minimum you keep your eyes ahead and try to quickly take in as much as you can.

“We’re here,” Hendery says. You almost tumble into his side when he suddenly stops; and Baekhyun trips over his own feet at your side. “These will be your rooms. There will be drinking water and a bathroom for you to clean up. We have already notified the castle staff of your arrival and there will be clothes delivered to you for you to change into for the meal.

“Breakfast will be served in 3 hours. One of the castle butlers will come for you to show you to the dining area at that time. Until then we advise you entertain yourself inside of the room.” The door is opened and a grand suite awaits you. Your mouth drops at the extravagance of it.

A large bed rests at the very center of the room, draped in iridescent white curtains that look as creamy as milk. The floor is covered in cold white marble and speckled with shells and pearls embedded into it. A large couch is perched near the entrance, a lit fire in front of it keeping the room comfortably warm. A book shelf stretches across a third of the room only stopping at a golden archway that you assume leads into the bathroom. The room is decorated in soft golds, creamy whites and pale blues. You catch little accents of pink in the wall paint and on the couch pillows.

The dome-like shape of the room makes you feel like you’re in a bubble.

“What is with you guys and bubbles?” You grumble to yourself.

Xiaojun shrugs. “It’s an Atlantian thing,” he says simply.

You close your eyes in frustration while Baekhyun grumbles at your side.

“So whose room is this?” Baekhyun asks once he’s done cursing Atlantis and its obsession with bubbles. Hendery and Xiaojun share a look and you catch the sneakiness on their expressions.

Hendery is the one who decides to answer, cheerily as if he isn’t intentionally planning to ruin your time here in Atlantis. “Both of yours.”

“I’m sorry what did you just say?”

“This room is for the both of you.” Hendery casts Baekhyun a wide smile. “You’ll have to share because…uhm..”

“Because we’re low on rooms,” Xiaojun chimes in.

“Yes! Low on rooms,” Hendery agrees quickly, conspicuously. You narrow your eyes. “You see we have a lot of guests recently because of a…” he looks to Xiaojun for help.

“For a uh, for a wedding!”

“Who is getting married?” Baekhyun asks, just to catch them in their lie.

“One of the princes! Ah we must be returning to our Captain now. Rest well!” Hendery says quickly before he and Xiaojun rush away with their hands over their mouths, giggling like school children. You’re adults, you can share a room. You won’t let the giggling of the younger boys worsen the pounding in your chest.

You exhale and shake your head. “Come on.” You enter the room first and immediately feel relaxed by the colors, the roundedness, and general softness of everything around you.

The fire feels like it’s calling your name so you wander over to warm yourself up by its flames. Your wet clothes are beginning to feel bothersome again now that the excitement of being in Atlantis and being alive have begun to fade.

The sound of something sopping wet hitting the ground heavily pulls your attention from the flickering flames. When you turn around you don’t expect to see your roommate getting ass naked…

But alas that is what your eyes land on. His shoes and shirt are already in a wet pile by his feet.

“Baekhyun,” you admonish. He stops with his pants halfway down his legs. You look at his soft naked dick only momentarily before you raise your eyes back to his anticipatory face. “Really?”

“I’m cold and wet. I need a shower do you want me to get sick?”

“You couldn’t even wait to go change in the bathroom?”

“It’s nothing you haven’t seen before,” he responds before shucking the last of his clothing and standing in the middle of the room proudly.

In all his naked glory.

You can’t help but feel a bit put off by the fact that he doesn’t have any issue getting naked around you. He’s not even hard. It’s like your presence doesn’t affect him in the slightest.

Bitterly you wonder if you’d been Jongin would he have a different reaction in this situation. You stand up abruptly. Fuck Baekhyun.

Pettily you strip out of your clothes as you walk towards the bathroom, leaving the wet articles in your wake. “I’m cleaning myself first,” you state coldly as you all but rip the last of your clothing off at the archway of the bathroom.

You don’t turn around and you don’t bother to investigate why he seems stunned to his spot or why he averts his eyes as you walk by.

~~~

The bathroom is just as opulent as the main room. A creamy white with pretty pale pinks streaked through the marble and coloring the crystals that illuminate the room in a soft pinkish glow.

A tub the size of a small pool is carved into the corner of the room. Oils and scented salts in jars cover the expansive shelf built into the wall at its side. A wide mirror stretches across the room with a spout and basin to wash your hands in front of it. A varied range of brushes and facial oils and paints are neatly organized across the counter, settled in front of a thick patterned chaise. You find candles nestled snuggly beneath a shelf of towels and unused sponges on ropes.

Looking at your appearance in the mirror, your hold in the need to physically recoil. You skin looks blanched from the overexposure to water, and the hair on your head is knotted beyond belief. Not wanting to look at your naked form for too long you twist the knob at the tub to release a steady flow of lukewarm water. You toss in some oil that smells good and a soap that catches your attention. The bottle is make of glass and has writing that you can’t read as it must be in Atlantian, but it smells and looks good and bubbles up when it comes in contact with the running water.

Grabbing a comb from the counter of goodies and the specialized hair soap left at the side of the tub, you decide to make an event out of pulling your appearance back together. You will be meeting the Queen in a few hours.

Gingerly, you lower yourself into the water and shove your head under the spout before lathering it in hair soap and detangling the strands on your hand. Rinsing out the suds and then turning off the water, you allow yourself to be semi submerged in the water.

“Yah, you can’t steal the bath and then spend an hour using it. I could have been in and out already.” You crane your neck to find Baekhyun’s complaining form leaning against the archway.

“You weren’t fast enough. Not my problem. You can wait.”

“No I can’t.”

“You can, and you will. I’m not fucking moving.”

In the month you have spent time more intimately with Baekhyun aboard your ship as a fellow crewman, you’ve learned one thing about him that you didn’t know before. He can be astoundingly petty.

His intelligence, his wit, his strength and skill as a pirate, his ability to charm and talk his way out of anything –you knew of it all before. But this petty level of childishness is new.

That being said, you aren’t surprised to find him padding over and then climbing into the large tub across from you. He settles and then his bottom lip juts out.

“Happy now?”

“No.”

You snort loudly and his pout breaks off into something like a smile. You push a handful of water in his direction, not enough to do much and not with enough strength to even be called a splash.

The little shithead he is takes your push of water as permission to send a small tidal wave in your direction, splashing you directly in your face.

You splutter and wipe the water from your eyes while he laughs his loudest most punctuated laugh at your expense. When you squint at him through the water still in your eyes you see pure relaxed happiness in his features, and you can’t find it in you to even attempt to be mad.

This Baekhyun is the real one. The one he covers up with cocky smiles and biting words. The one he leaves locked away and protected from the heartlessness that is required of your jobs.

Happy Baekhyun is a vulnerable Baekhyun. A soft version of him that makes your heart hammer in your chest and sparks a juvenile desire to keep him at your side safe from anyone who dares try and take that side of him away.

His laughing calms to muffled chuckles hidden behind his hand. “Okay, now I’m happy.”

“That makes one of us,” you scoff out. The water begins to agitate your eyes so you run the water from the spout to flush out the fragrance laced liquid. Blindly you reach out for the stream only to continuously miss.

“Come here,” you hear at your side. “Here, lean back.” You’re moved to the side and you lean backwards only to come in contact with his chest. You tense before giving in and letting yourself relax against him. You feel his muscles shifting as he reaches around you to cup water and pour it over your eyes. You blink away the water and scrunch up your face in discomfort. “I’m not done, try and keep your eyes open this time,” he says gently.

You reach up and hold open each eyelid as he cups the water and lets it flush out the soap. Finally you can blink without agitation. You contemplate thanking him, but decide to do it once you’re safely on your side of the bath. As you’re making your escape, arms wrap around you and pull you back securely down between strong thighs and against a warm chest.

“Can you…uh can you let me go?”

“Nuh uh,” he grunts with a head shake.

You look down at where his arms are crossed over your chest and swallow thickly. He perches his chin on your shoulder and takes in a deep relaxed breath. You feel stiff as a board. “This is nice,” he sighs out.

This is too intimate. This is too intimate. This is too intimate.

“How long have you been in love with Jongin, Baekhyun?” you ask in a rush of breath. His grip on you loosens to nothing and you pull yourself away from him, crossing your arms over your chest to hide the hardening of your nipples. From the cold of the air and the all too close embrace you’d found yourself enjoying just a tad too much.

He splutters. “I- wh-” he starts to cough violently. You feel your heart sinking with each noise he makes. “I don’t- I’m not in love with Jongin!”

You let your silence and your frown portray your disbelief.

“I’m serious. I’m not in love with Jongin he’s like my younger brother, what would make you think that?!” He fake gags. “Oh gross, just the thought-” he covers his mouth to fake gag again.

You gawk at him. Is he overcompensating to hide the truth?

“What in Poseidon’s name would lead you to believe that I’m in love with Jongin? I nearly raised the kid.”

You feel embarrassment creeping up your neck like snakes. “You- the…Minseok said…”

“Minseok said I was in love with Jongin?!”

“No! Wait let me-” you smack a hand to your forehead. “Minseok said that you took the compass with you when you came to find the three of us and I guess I just I don’t fucking know assumed you had to want to find your crew most in the world and then I figured you were actually in love with one of them and Jongin seemed like the most likely of him and Chanyeol because Chanyeol doesn’t really seem like your type but I guess it could also be him since he’s kind of goofy and airhead at times too-”

His hands come out of the water to cup your cheeks and then –lips.

“Stop talking,” he says softly. Another quick press of his lips against yours. “You’re wrong and you’re stupid and you need to stop thinking before you overload your dumb little brain.”

“Hey-”

“Ah ah. What did I say?”

You purse your lips and let him squish your cheeks closer together until your lips are puckered ridiculously. The look in his eyes is fond almost, the smile on his lips and the shine in his eyes soft as he squishes and unsquishes your face.

You bat away his hands. “You still didn’t answer my question,” you whine despite yourself.

“Aw the baby getting upset?” he makes a face of exaggeratedly fake concern. “Come here, sit on daddy’s lap and I’ll make you feel all better.”

“Baek that was gross.”

“The invitation still stands.” He waggles his eyebrows and shimmies his shoulders. When his gaze drops down to your uncovered chest and a bit of the playfulness gets swallowed up by want, you feel a bit of that desire rushing through your veins again.

He isn’t in love with Jongin?

That only leaves more unanswered questions, but you let them go easily at the sight of Baekhyun reclining lazily against the side of the tub, rubbing up and down his thighs slowly and watching you with predatory closeness.

He is so sexy, you are so fucked.

Squashing the tiny feeling of shame, you crawl over and wrap yourself around him. You can feel him rising in excitement from beneath you. You let your arms rest lazily around his shoulders while he busies his hands with massaging circles on your hips.

“That feels nice,” you whisper in a puff of breath. You know that he can see how affected you are –can feel it in your impatient squirms against him as you attempt to subtly relieve the ache growing inside of you. He hums in agreement and focuses his eyes on your mouth.

You can take a hint when it’s staring you in the face like this. You lean forward and connect your lips softly. A peck. Another one. A kiss on the corner of his mouth. A kiss on the tip of his nose. Another on his smiling lips.

When you pull back there’s emotion swimming in his irises that sparks a heat in your core. You nip at his bottom lip.

A lick, a nibble, a juvenile laugh against pressed lips.

He sticks his tongue out through pursed lips, waiting for you to try and kiss him with his ridiculous expression. You pull away to grimace, only to laugh and lick a messy wet stripe from his upper lip to the tip of his nose.

“You’re a dick,” he laughs, wiping your saliva off his nose.

“And you’re a bastard,” you respond easily. You look at your deeply pruning skin with disdain. “We should dry off.”

“But I like it here in the tub; I haven’t even scrubbed the dirt off.”

“We can clean ourselves properly after I get your cock inside me.” You feel him twitch from beneath you. You cock your head to the side teasingly. “Oh, now you’re ready to get out?”

He scrambles from under you and over the edge of the tub right to the towels. You roll your eyes playfully and climb out just as he plops a towel on your head and quickly tries to dry your hair, only messing it up further.

“Hurry up. We’ll get sick if we stay like this for too long. We need to go to the bed and warm up, I can already feel a cold coming on.”

#exo #exo fanfiction #exo story #exo stories #exo imagine #exo pirate story #exo fanfic #exo pirate au #baekhyun #baekhyun imagine #baekhyun story #baekhyun fanfic #baekhyun pirate au

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afewmarvelousthoughts · 5 years

Text

Stay Ch. 16

Master List

Pairing: Natasha X Reader (Female)

Summary: You have a gift, the ability to see other people’s innermost secrets. For years you used it to gather intel for the highest bidder when you take on The Widow. After she becomes more than a mark the two of you spend years stealing moments. Post snap you wait in your designated meeting place, look back on the sordid past you share with the woman you love and hope against everything that she’s still alive.

Warnings: Angst, and fluff, and feels oh my!

A/N: So yeah I swear I wroth an authors note for this... but idfk what happened.

ANYWAY! Thank you all for being so patient while I got my life together. This one is also short and sweet (guess that’s the mood I’m in). However, y’all should know me by now. This is just the calm before the storm.

Hope you enjoy this one my pumpkins!

Tags are open!

@mywinterwolf @disagreetoagree @breezy1415 @peachthatdrinkslemonade @5aftermidnight@jeromethepsycho @marvel-randomness @daniellajocelyn @katecolleen @yanginginthere@wonderlandmind4 @piensa-bonito @for-the-love-of-the-fandom @lesbian-girls-wayhaught @siriuslycloudy2

March 2007

At some point in the last five months, you’d stopped recognizing yourself. The woman in the mirror wasn’t Y/N. Her hair was different, down to even the eyebrows. Her accent distinctly that of a life long Londoner. She worked for an independent UK couture fashion magazine, chose wine over whiskey, and was distinctly heterosexual.

When the chance to work this job requiring deep cover came up in December you jumped on it. You didn’t want to be you anymore. The you that couldn’t be with the woman you loved. The you that was heartbroken. The you who was beginning to doubt that you’d ever be happy. Fuck her.

Being Charlie Daniels was far better. She was, of course, a real person. Just one who was now living comfortably in the Bahamas courtesy of MI6. Even legit agencies had use of freelance talent every now and then.

Settling into her life had been easy. Not setting her boss on fire or blowing his brains out daily was a different task altogether. Turned out that a magazine was a great front for a crime empire. Lots of international travel, young and beautiful and desperate men and women, money exchanged in countless untraceable ways, on and on. And this fucker was happy to take advantage of every single disgusting avenue it opened up.

You almost had everything you needed to hand to MI6, get your obscenely large payout, and get on to another gig while they threw all of these bastards into cells to rot for the rest of their miserable lives. Just one more trip. After whatever horrible things they lay out in Tokyo you’ll be set.

Tokyo is one of those cities you can lose yourself in. Like New York but better for its interesting balance of vibrancy and grounded reserve. You absolutely love it.

The whole point of the trip, at least on the surface, was to focus on Fashion Week Tokyo. Honestly, there was a part of you that wished this was your world. Nothing but runway shows and after parties. Writing about the latest trends rather than delving into the inner workings of the worlds miscreants

Oh well. It was nice enough to pretend. You had to admit that you’d miss Charlie Daniels once you shed this skin in a couple of weeks.

You’re sitting two people down from your boss at an underground show. The level of security here screams that there are other things going on behind the scenes but it’s still a room filled with a who’s who of the Japanese and international fashion communities.

This was your third show of the day, and you knew there would be a party after where you’d have to schmooze all while plucking information from your unsuspecting fellow guests. You’re exhausted. So rather than pay much attention to the show you let your mind wander.

When she walks out you feel her rather than see her. Slowly you turn your head to stare dumbstruck at the model walking onto the catwalk. Your heart begins beating against your ribs, your mouth goes dry, your hands shake.

It takes every ounce of control you have to keep your emotions in. To not scream “Natasha!” at the top of your lungs. To not grab her and run for the hills. Charlie Daniels and her easy life be damned. It’s hard but you manage.

As she turns and comes back down, passing now closer to you, her eyes don’t graze the crowd at all. Head up, shoulders back, she walks the runway like she’d been doing it for years.

The rest of the show is maybe ten minutes but it feels like years. You know the models are all attending the party. Eye candy for the high end guests.

It’s fairly easy to ditch your coworkers in the crowd as you try to find the best vantage point in the room without being too obvious. After a solid twenty minutes, you find yourself planning an escape route. Most of the models are milling about but she’s no where to be seen. You will find her.

But you know you can’t skip out just yet. At the bar, you order a red wine and make yourself seen. Charlie would never miss the whole party after all. You spend a bit chatting with designers and a few models, feigning interest in the whole thing until you hear your boss call out to you.

“Oy, Charlie!” Carl’s voice alone makes you want to put him down. When you turn he’s waving you over to the bar. Sighing heavily you head over.

You’re about ten feet away when you see her, head back laughing at something Carl or his friend had said. Both men are far to close to her for your liking and the hungry look on Carl’s face sets your blood boiling.

He slings an arm around your shoulders and you carefully coach your face to not show disgust. “Charlie here is my best writer. Doin’ some pieces for us on this whole thing,” he waves his other hand around wildly.

“Good to meet ya, Charlie, I’m Dan,” the other man, clearly American says.

“Likewise,” Natasha doesn’t react to the accent at all.

“This here is-”

“Natalie,” Natasha cuts him off, extending a hand to you. Holding her eyes with yours you take it. It’s like touching a live wire.

“Natalie is an American model working here in Japan. May be a good topic for a piece.” He ribs you leaning closer, “And a good piece for the office eh?” Suddenly that MI6 money seems far less appealing.

“I’d love that,” Natasha beams. “Why don’t you guys go mingle and Charlie and I can chat!” The men exchange a glance, but there’s plenty of fresh meat around to sink their teeth into.

Carl flashes you a greasy smile and a wink as he walks away. Thinking clearly that you’re going to snare this woman for him. You, unfortunately, had a few others. Not something you were proud of. Demands of the job you told yourself.

“She’ll take a vodka neat,” you tell the bartender.

“Yes,” Natasha smiles at him, “Whiskey for her. Makers if you have it.” He thinks nothing of it and makes your drinks.

“So, how’s modeling in Japan?”

“Probably about as good as writing for a sleazy jackal.”

You laugh, “That bad? What’s the goal.”

“Getting a cover,” you commend the clever word play.

“That’s a good goal. Long term?”

“Something like that.” She takes a sip of her vodka, “How long are you here?”

“End of the week.” Your skin itches to touch her. The men are rounding back. You hold her gaze and shift your eyes back to them. She catches on.

“Perfect! It’s so hard to have a good interview here, don’t you think?”

“Absolutely. Why don’t you come by my hotel?” You whip out your spare key card. “I’d love to get your story for the mag, maybe do a full feature.”

“A feature would be excellent exposure!”

“Wouldn’t it?” Carl slides up next to her. “We can get you all the exposure you could want Ms. Natalie.”

“Charlie was telling me all about it.” She flashes him a coy smile. “Thank you so much Charlie! I forgot I have a late fitting tonight for another show so I’ve got to run. But we’ll chat soon yeah?”

“Absolutely! It was so good to meet you Natalie.”

“Same! Bye!” She hurries through the crowded room and disappears.

“Busy girl.” Carl quips. “Whiskey?” You look down at the glass by your hand.

“Some guy sent them over,” you gesture to Natasha’s lipstick stained glass. “Seemed rude to refuse. Can’t stand the stuff though.”

“That’s a mans drink,” Carl laughs at his own perceived joke and you force a smile.

Somehow you make it through the rest of the evening. You’d refused to allow yourself to hope that she’d be here, too obvious to come the same night, better to wait. Kicking off your shoes you head straight to the mini bar and crack open a whiskey, downing it in one gulp.

“You really need to be more careful,” Natasha’s voice comes from the bathroom. “I mean not even checking around. Sloppy.”

“Charlie Daniels doesn’t have to check for Russian assassins in her bathroom,” a smile pulls your face so tight it hurts.

“Well, Natalie Rushman isn’t a Russian spy. So…”

You let your real accent resurface as you pull her into your arms, “Natalie Rushman, I don’t know if that’s clever or lazy.” She kisses you hard, tongue sliding over your lips hands gripping your ass.

“Mmm,” she hums. “Kinda like the accent.”

“Oh?” You revert to the clipped posh Londoner sound. “Would you rather be with Charlie? I hate to break it to you, she’s strictly into dick so you may need to get a bit creative.”

Natasha’s head falls back with laughter, “I’m always into a challenge but,” she cups your face in her hands, “I’d much rather Y/N, she’s got a cute accent too.” Your kiss is soft this time, “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, honey.” Gently you push a strand of hair out of her face. “Is this smart? Are you gonna get-”

“I’m good. I wouldn’t be here if I thought there was risk.” She pulls away and tugs you toward the bed. “There’s no surveillance on me here, I check in every week, that’s it. This is strictly to build a cover.”

“Cover for what?” She gives you a sideways glance. “Right. National security.”

“Do you really want to talk about work?”

Smirking at her you push her back on the bed. “Maybe later.”

You lean down to her but she stops you by planting a strappy heel in the center of your chest. Trailing your fingers down her leg you snag a knife from her thigh holster. Carefully you slide the blade under the straps, the incredibly sharp edge cuts through the thin suede like it’s nothing.

“Those were very expensive you know,” eyes sparkling with desire.

You slip the shoe off and toss it aside. “I’ll buy you a new pair.” Your lips press against her ankle.

Everything in your life until her was so fleeting. Even your own name, the sound of your own voice, who you were… But with her, you were grounded. You weren’t anything but her’s, you were Y/N.

Suddenly you’re overwhelmed. Caressing her muscular calf you just stare at her eyes. Emerald green, dark liner, lids heavy with lust and exhaustion.

“Natasha…” Your voice cracks and you fight for composure.

“Y/N? What is it?” She shoots up, cradling your face in her hands.

You shake your head, unable to really find the words and unwilling to send this storm of emotions to her. “I just…” You cover her hands with your own. It’s not that you don’t want her, you do. But…

“Can we just… I just wanna hold you…” Her expression immediately softens, eyes sparkling a touch with tears. “Sorry… I… I just…”

“I’d love that, baby.” Tenderly her lips brush yours, then your cheeks, your forehead, your eyelids as they flutter closed.

You shed your clothes and crawl into the plush bed. Holding tight to one another you spend hours drifting in and out of sleep, covering the other with soft kisses. Before the sun rises your hands wander southward.

This time you don’t fuck one another senseless. It feels like you’re trying to memorize every curve, every sound, every subtle thing that marks being together. You both know you many not get to do this for some time. The knowledge aches but it doesn’t make having her any less sweet.

Post Snap

You lean your head back on the wall behind the booth. The crying man from last night is gone, you find yourself hoping that he’s resting peacefully somewhere… even though you know it’s pointless to hope for such things.

There are more people filling the bar than there was before. The TVs are off, radios turned up, reporters frantically trying to determine what happened. It was global, that was clear. All planes grounded, trains stopped, communications spotty due to damaged cell towers.

A man speaks frantically to someone who seems to be a friend that he was heading to Nuremberg from Budapest, how the roads are almost not navigable. He doesn’t know if his family is even still there but he has to find out.

Despite his distress, your lips curl a bit at the mention of Budapest.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha x reader #black widow #queer fic #wlw

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hybridequalist · 5 years

Note

If you dont want to do this or if its not clear im sorry, but could you please do an eddy brock x sister reader where she broke into the lab and got her own symbiote (thats female? Granted idk how gender works for symbiotes just know most people refer to venom as male) and while eddy is freaking out shes totally calm + like "haha lol so this is happening now thats fun" and calls hers darling, sweetheart, love, etc. And is a major pacifist so they made a deal of no killing at day one, just fluff?

So I know this isn’t really what you asked for…but my brain just ran away with this. It’s looking to be 3 parts as it stands right now, so let me know if you’re interested in the rest or if you want me to try again.

My first request…*SQUEE*

“When you asked me to help you with a ‘work thing’, I didn’t think we’d be breaking and entering.”

“It’s just to gather evidence. We’ll be in and out.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Edward Charles Allan Brock, that is a load of bull and you know it.”

“It is not!” Eddie hissed at you, glancing worriedly at Doctor Skirth in the driver’s seat. “I just wanna expose Drake and that’s all.”

“Like how you ‘just wanted’ to do a piece on Wilson Fisk’s paper trail back in New York?”

“That was different!’

“As if!”

“We’ll be pulling up in a few minutes,” Doctor Skirth interrupted, glancing back at you and Eddie with undisguised anxiety. “Try ducking out of sight when we pass through the checkpoint, okay?”

You shot Eddie a look before jerking your head towards the trunk and unbuckling your seatbelt to roll under the backseat, willing yourself to become invisible.

This was not your first rodeo handling your brother and his many misadventures: you had grown up playing attorney for him whenever he got in trouble and honestly should have been paid for the number of close scrapes you’d gotten him out of. He’d promised when he moved in with you after the New York thing that he’d behave and for a while you’d believed him–especially after Anne hit the scene. But you should have known better: Eddie’s overwhelming sense of justice was his fatal flaw and was always bound to get him in trouble–and hurt those he loved in the process.

By some miracle, you all made it past the security checkpoint and into the main building without being spotted. You even got some nice backstory about alien creatures and a comet as the doctor lead you both from the parking lot and through the main building. But as the doctor was badging you and Eddie into the lab, someone called her name and you felt a spike of panic in your gut.

“Don’t touch anything!” were Doctor Skirth’s last words to the pair of you as you hurried into the laboratory.You hated that the second she said it, you immediately knew that your brother would be touching all the wrong things.

The lab was lit eerily blue, making it hard to see much aside from shadows of various unrecognizable scientific instruments. Eddie immediately took out his phone and began snapping pictures, leaving you to watch his back. You hardly breathed as you both walked past a wall of glass cages, some containing human figures. One of them caught your eye and you paused, looking at what seemed to be a mass of white, slimy tentacles. Somehow, you couldn’t take your eyes off it. It looked dead, but something about it–perhaps its alien shape or apparent lack of a real body–made you unable to cease staring. You felt at any moment it might twitch or give some sign of life…

A sudden thud jolted you from your trance and you whirled around to see that Eddie was as the far end of the hall, looking in horror as something clawed at the glass. He immediately reached towards the access panel on the door and you felt your heart drop into your shoes.

The alarms were immediate and the shift from the dark blue lights to vibrant reds left you covering your eyes instinctively. You faintly heard glass break and squinted just in time to see your brother tackled to the ground by a screeching figure with long, tangled hair.

“Eddie!” you screamed, sprinting towards him.

“Maria! Maria, stop!” you heard him crying out. You were only a few paces away when something large and black shot out from the attacker’s back, whipping around and launching you away. You felt your back slam against something initially solid that shattered out from behind you, the air driven from your body as you hit the floor. Something writhed underneath you and you lurched just enough to roll onto your side, finding yourself staring at the white-tentacled thing again. Except this time it was definitely moving.

You couldn’t scream–you were still trying to restart your lungs after crashing through the glass door. All you could do was watch as the slimy thing lashed out its tentacles, coiling around your wrist. The panic gave you enough adrenaline to push up onto your hands and knees, crawling away without a care as to how much glass laid around you. Most of the tendrils slipped off you as you flailed, but a few broke off the creature and coiled tighter, clinging desperately.

You heard footsteps through the screaming alarm and froze, whipping around to see shadowy figures rush into the lab.

HIDE!

You instinctively curled into a ball, hands clasping together behind your head. There was some shouting and then just as quickly as you’d heard them come in, you heard them leave, shouting something about “the asset” getting away.

GO QUIETLY!

You jumped to your feet and ran back out the way you’d come in, moving at top speed. Through the parking lot and straight out to the road, you didn’t let up on your wild sprint until you dropped to your knees, out of breath on the sidewalk.

WE NEED TO KEEP RUNNING!

In a minute. When I’m not going to vomit.

Remembering all your PE lessons from High School, you put your hands behind your head and shakily got to your feet, trying to focus on inhaling through your nose. When your heartbeat settled and the taste of bile retreated you heaved a heavy sigh. And then panic seized you.

“Eddie,” you breathed. “Oh no. Oh please…don’t be dead…”

EDDIE WILL BE FINE. HE HAS HELP.

You whirled around, looking for whoever had spoken, but aside from distant headlights there were no signs of anyone.

PLEASE DON’T PANIC. YOUR HEART RATE JUST SPIKED DANGEROUSLY HIGH.

Same voice. Slight echo. Feminine. And it definitely wasn’t coming from somewhere around you.

“…who are you?” you whispered. “Are you inside my head?”

IN A SENSE. AS FOR MY IDENTITY…I AM UNSURE. I’M…NEW.

“Then what are you?”

ALIEN. BROUGHT HERE BY THE HUMANS. I…I WAS NEAR DEATH. HOST-LESS. STARVING. THEN YOU CAME. OLD SELF TRIED TO GRAB HOLD. I AM THE PIECE THAT MANAGED TO STAY, MANAGED TO BOND. BECAME…ME.

You frowned. There was an alien inside you. Or some part of one. So far, though, you weren’t getting any bad vibes off this…being. All it had done so far was get you out of the Life Foundation’s labs and nothing in its voice and mannerisms. Wait, was it an “it”?

I PREFER THE FEMALE PRONOUNS, IF YOU DON’T MIND.

Okay. She.

She could hear your thoughts?!

WE’RE BONDED AT A CELLULAR LEVEL–OF COURSE I CAN HEAR WHAT YOU THINK. WE EXIST SYMBIOTICALLY, SO WE NEED TO BE ABLE TO COMMUNICATE AT ANY TIME.

Huh. Convenient.

MOST OF THE TIME.

Wait, so if you’re “new”, then how do you know all this?

ANCESTRAL MEMORY. INSTINCT. IT WOULD BE HIGHLY INCONVENIENT FOR MY KIND TO NEED TO TEACH ALL OFFSPRING HOW TO BOND, ESPECIALLY CONSIDERING HOW ALL SPAWN ARE JUST PIECES OF THEIR PARENT THAT BECAME INDEPENDENT. NURTURING ISN’T IN OUR NATURE.

That’s really sad, actually.

ONLY TO THOSE WHO HAD SUCH AN UPBRINGING. I AM RELIEVED THAT MY KIND DO NOT EXPERIENCE THE PERIOD OF HELPLESSNESS THAT YOURS MUST ENDURE–THIS “CHILDHOOD”–BUT I CAN UNDERSTAND YOUR SYMPATHY. YOU DID NOT HAVE MUCH OF ONE EITHER, AS FAR AS I CAN SEE.

Not after my mother died. My father no longer really cared…Eddie got the worst of it, though. I think our father blames him for mom dying…

That last thought jolted you out of the mental conversation. Eddie. Where was he? Did he make it out? Frantically, you scrambled for your phone and pressed the speed-dial for your brother. Every ring made your tension mount higher until finally you heard him pick up.

“Yeah?”

“Eddie! Where are you?! Are you okay?!”

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine. Just feelin’ a little funny is all.”

He was slurring a little. Had he hit his head?

“I got home a bit ago. Called Doctor Skirth, but she didn’t answer. Been kinda woozy too. Maybe I’m gettin’ sick, I dunno.”

HIS SYMBIOTE HAS NOT REVEALED ITSELF YET, your alien commented. IT MUST BE SEEKING NOURISHMENT, TRYING TO HEAL FROM THE HARM THE LIFE FOUNDATION INFLICTED.

“But where…where are you at?” Eddie asked, still sounding almost drunk. “You’re not home, but you gotta be safe if you’re calling.”

You were about to answer when you heard the phone clatter onto some surface.

“Eddie?” you ask. No response. You tried again, but still no response. You could hear some rustling and what you recognized as the freezer being opened.

AS I THOUGHT. LOOKING FOR FOOD SO IT CAN HEAL ITSELF. HANG UP–YOUR BROTHER WILL BE UNAVAILABLE FOR QUITE SOME TIME.

Reluctantly, you followed the symbiote’s advice. Glancing out at the horizon, you noticed that the sky was getting lighter. Morning was probably only an hour away and you were beginning to feel the exhaustion of staying up as well as running all the way here.

It was time to go home.

You thanked your Uber driver as you stepped out from her car, suppressing a yawn as you climbed the steps to your apartment complex. Your symbiote had been fairly quiet throughout the drive, occasionally asking a question about the people and shops outside the window and you had tiredly tried to satisfy her curiosity. Now as you came to your door, you braced yourself for some kind of destruction on the other side. Your symbiote’s genetic memories had been full of violent scenes of her kind on the hunt and you didn’t know what to expect.

It turned out to be not nearly as bad as you’d feared: the fridge and freezer both stood open and a bag’s worth of half-defrosted tater tots were scattered near the kitchen island. There was no sign of your brother until you peered into the bathroom.

You weren’t sure what to make of his situation: he was passed out in the bathtub, toothpaste foam smeared on his bottom lip and the fallen shower curtain draped over his shoulders.

I’D SAY THIS IS A FAIRLY OKAY WAY FOR THINGS TO HAVE TURNED OUT, your symbiote commented with a mental chuckle. NO PILE OF BODIES OR PILE OF HEADS.

You rolled your eyes good-naturedly, trying not to imagine the gruesome scene as you stepped forward, reaching out your hand to shake your fool of a little brother awake.

It happened so fast you almost missed it: a black tentacle shot out from Eddie’s body, aimed straight for your head. Just as swiftly, you felt control of your body wrenched away from you, jerking your arm forward to catch the goopy tendril before it could connect.

“MINE.”

Well, it was definitely a symbiote’s voice, but this one was masculine-sounding and carried a far more predatory snarl. Yours sounded more…well, not necessarily human, but certainly more articulate.

YOURS, your symbiote agreed. NEST-MATE OF MINE. NO THREAT.

Her words seemed to calm the black alien down because the tentacle retreated and Eddie slumped further down in the tub, letting out a sleepy grunt.

WE MUST LEAVE THEM FOR NOW, your symbiote warned. YOUR BROTHER’S SYMBIOTE IS RECOVERING, BUT STILL WEAK ENOUGH TO BE IN HIS PRIMAL STATE. WE WON’T BE ABLE TO COMMUNICATE WITH THEM PROPERLY UNTIL HE FEEDS AGAIN. YOU ALSO NEED TO REST–I CAN PROVIDE YOU WITH STRENGTH BUT NOT ENERGY AND YOU ARE DANGEROUSLY LOW ON THAT FOR SUPPORTING US BOTH.

You couldn’t disagree. While the shock of the black symbiote lashing out had jolted you into alertness for a short time, you were already feeling the exhaustion returning.

Promise you’ll wake me if you hear Eddie get up, you thought, meandering towards the bedroom.

IF YOU’RE RESTED ENOUGH…I PROMISE.

#ask #request #venom movie #venom symbiote #unnamed symbiote #reader #reader is eddie's big sister #fanfic #fanfic post #fic request

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klobsquad · 5 years

Text

If its clean, its Gronk

Warnings: Gronk spikes and tide pods

Word count:1694

Summary: a fantasy/horror/drama based completely on our experiences with Gronk’s cursed tide pod commercial

Notes We apologize in advance for what you’re about to read

i awake suddenly, sheer panic running through me. ripping the blanket off my body, the layer of sweat that lays on my skin is immediately hit with the frigid air of my room causing me to shiver. After a few moments, i start to realize where i am.

I'm in my living room on the couch. This is the first wink of sleep i've had in nearly 2 weeks. i think at least. time has started the run together after it, well, he, showed up. why haven't i slept? i've been too scared to let my guard down.

My phone lay broken, having thrown it against the wall several moons ago. Broken glass and piles of clothes are strewn throughout my apartment. Every electronic in my house has been either broken or hidden, yet somehow he’ll still manage to find me. i haven't left my apartment in weeks even though i ran out of food 4 days ago. I can't go to the store. I'm too afraid he'll be waiting at the end of the isle. I've been wearing the same outfit since it started, too scared to do even the most basic of household chores. doing laundry was banned a months back as an attempt to stop him.

The couch i lay on is pushed up hard against the wall, i'm laying on my side facing the back of the couch. the only electronic that hasn't been thrown out is my living room TV. I swear i've tried discarding it countless times, yet it keeps showing back up. The entire apartment, scratch that, city, is dead silent.

rumor has it, it started in new england, moving fast throughout the country. What started as random disappearances eventually became nationwide panic.

it wasn't long until he reached my home state of Texas. Most of the town had evacuated when the marks started showing up. Crater-like holes in the ground. 11 inches deep and 22 inches wide. The ground cracked and glowing around the marks, showing that he was getting somehow stronger.

Although I boarded up my windows when I caught wind that he was moving towards Texas, I still took a board down every so often. From my third floor apartment, I could see the marks starting to fill the town. He marked his territory right after he struck. Entire families disappeared at a time. Only once was a survivor found. She was found in the same clothing she was wearing when she went missing though they were suspiciously clean, almost as if they'd been washed then returned. She spoke in a hurried whisper, as if he was still watching her. Rumors soon filled the streets quicker than his markings. Apparently after her interrogation she was left alone in a cell at the local jail. When the officer came to retrieve her for more questioning, she had scribbled the number "87" and "bands a make her dance" on every square inch of the cell. Investigator after investigator was brought in, yet none of them could decipher what it meant. After three days of questioning, the only valuable thing they got out of her was a description of him. He was large, solid, his muscles constantly glistening. He towered over everyone, though he wasn't intimidating, the exact opposite actually. He had a boyish charm, soft brown eyes and youthful smile. Apparently he loves to dance, frequently droppin' it low and booty poppin' on them haters. Most notably was his hands. In her words they were "damn near leviathan. I never knew someone could have hands like that. It ain't normal. I'd be lying if it wasn't hot though.". The police were immediately on even higher alert. With such a specific description, it couldn't be hard to find him right? Wrong. She forgot to mention one detail. His speed. For a man of his size, he's unusually nimble.

I snap back to reality at the sound of the metal entrance door 3 floors below me opening and closing. My heart pounding. "Maybe it's just the neighbor" I tried to tell myself, though deep down I knew it wasn't. Even if they hadn't evacuated with everyone else, there's no way Mr. dolly, an 96 year old war vet could open and slam that door with such little effort. my gut and my head were at war. My gut was telling me it was him, the man I spent months hiding from. Yet my head was trying to come up with any other possibility. They were coming up the stairs, fast. I was paralyzed. Still laying on the couch, i covered my head with the fleece red sox blanket I got last Christmas, before this all started.

*BANG* *BANG*

They were knocking. I could barely hear the pounding on the door over my racing heart. Seconds feel like hours, waiting for the sound to stop, for whoever it is to go away.

After what feels like an eternity, the pounding stops. I exhale for the first time in minutes. Moments later a loud scraping sound fills the room.

He's here and he's removed the door.

There was nothing besides me and my red sox blanket separating us both. His presence sent chills down my spine. I could feel him standing in the corner of the room.

He was waiting for something.

*click*

The dim light of the TV immediately filled the dark room. I open my eyes suddenly as patterns of colored light dance off the walls. He's still waiting, but he keeps going back to the hall he came from. Almost as if he's loading something into my apartment. Suddenly the room goes yellow and orange. He gets into position. I turn around slowly, not knowing what to will be waiting on me when I turn around.

There he is, in all his glory. The survivor described him perfectly. He was dressed in a fitted grey tank top, joggers, and sneakers. He was oddly handsome given the circumstances. Unmarked boxes were stacked floor to ceiling, covering ever surface. One box, the one closest to him is open. He grabs a handful of whatever is in the box.

I'm frozen. Horrified.

The tv shows a laundry room.

He looks at me intently, his boyish smile shining full force in the low light.

It's time.

"Hi! Welcome to tide pods talk with Gronk. I'm Gronk. I'm big, *flex* and awesome. But this guy-" he chucks a fist full of tide pods at my body. I'm utterly speechless. "-Is little, can it really clean?". He rips the doors off my linen closet, scooping every single piece of laundry up in one scoop, even the clothes I'm wearing. Opening the washer, he throws the clothing in with a loud boom before dropping a couple Tide Pods™️ into the load. Im left sitting on the couch, ass naked, as the New England Patriots Tight End does my laundry.

He resumes his spot at the corner of my living room. Staring blankly at me as we both wait for the washer to finish its cycle.

45 minutes of silence later, the washer pings signaling the end of the wash. He once again grabs the entire load of laundry in one incredibly toned arm, spiking it into the dryer like it's a ball into the end zone. He spots my stained patriots jersey in the load. Pulling it out, he slips me a note then once again goes back to the spot in the corner. I'm still naked.

Clearing his throat, he make gesture with his hands I take it as a cue to open the note. It reads "ask Gronk if Tide Pods™️ really clean" in very messy handwriting that I'm pretty sure is done in crayon.

I'm once again stunned. He holds up the jersey. My once beer and chicken wing stained jersey is now completely clean. He makes another gesture, prompting me to speak this time. "D-do Tide Pods™️ really clean?" Im shaking at this point, not because I'm nervous, but because it's 68° outside and I'm still naked. With the enthusiasm of a kid on a sugar high, he answers the age old question I just asked. "Heck yeah they do!" His eyes twinkling as he speaks.

The boards blast off my windows. Rainbow light streams into the room. I’m still naked. The missing people immediately flood the streets. He's smiling again, and you guessed it, I'm still naked. A chorus of cheers fills the streets "You saved us! We were stuck in the realm of stained laundry! Bless you!" A tear runs down his cheek as he falls to his knees. "I've been searching for you, thou chosen one. If you may take me, I ask for you hand in marriage. Together we can continue to bring stain free clothing to people across the land!" The crowd outside cheers, completely ignoring the fact homie refuses to give me any clothing. Instead he whips out a ring, and by ring I mean a ring pop band with a Tide Pod™️ hot glued to the top. He slips it on my finger before I can respond. I'm soon being twirled in a blinding golden light. I emerge, fully clothed in a ball gown made completely out of Tide Pods™️. He picks me up bridal style and runs out to the hallway before quickly bounding down the stairs four at a time. In the way down I look at my ring. After not eating for days it looks surprisingly tasty. Bringing my left hand up to my face, he stops dead in his tracks and drops me. My cat like reflexes come into play and I land on my feet, breaking both my legs after falling from such a height. Somehow I'm still standing, the power of Tide Pods™️ holding me up. I immediately pop the ring into my mouth and before chewing. The detergent rolls down my chin. His screams fill the room as he realizes what I've done. "How could you do this to me?!" I look up, like really far up because I’m literally 5’0”, and meet his eyes. I match his boyish smile from earlier, though this time my smile is filled with detergent.

"What can I say? I'm Gen Z."

#🤠#we apologize #fics #gronk #rob gronkowski #new england patriots #patriots #nfl #highkey a cursed post #tide pods #oof

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utopianparadoxist · 7 years

Text

The neverending Page & Knight discourse

I’ll start off with saying that your ideas on the Page and Knight classes are a pretty fresh take, clearly original ideas that draw from a solid foundation in the canon.

From your explanations however, I think that the Knight is the active class, and Page the passive, given that the only direct canon explanation for what the passive/active distinction amounts to is that active classes directly do something with their aspect, and passive classes invite others to do that same thing. The knight herself is still Serving, whereas the page is still inviting others to Serve, regardless of whether they are serving him. Just because Serving seems to imply acting for another person doesn’t mean it’s any different than the Prince who can destroy others (aspect). Both are acting impressing their will on another, the distinction being that one is trying to help, the other is most likely hurting.

However, I can’t say I’m convinced on Serve being the primary verb for the pair. This debate is a old as the classes themselves, yet we still find ourselves here. Serve is good, and you’ve found evidence for it, but I say it’s not Enough.

From my own theory crafting experience, I’ve cycled through most of the different words thought of as being the Key Verb. Be it Exploit (which really works for Dave’s time looping powers, and to a lesser extent Karkats victory over Clover) Wield or Use (which I then extrapolated to mean the knight was some sort of item using class, that they had a favored weapon that they could summon, an aspect themed mount, or perhaps a batman like toolbelt that contained a variety of aspect aligned tools that only they are proficient in using, eventually boiling it down to the idea that the Knight can use aspect associated items without any difficulty) as well as Protect (the knights armor is such a sound power concept). The most clear non HS example I could think of was Guts from Berserk, who is the Knight of Rage (though anyone with the Brand becomes an Heir of Doom). Guts’ dragonslayer sword is described as being more a slab of iron than a blade, basically the thing is way to big for a human, he was Wielding a Contrivance. That, and he eventually obtains the berserker armor, which protects him with his rage (protect being a strong word here, but it let’s him keep going). The Page I’ve described as the sidekick, the one who puts Armor on other people, who brings them their weapon, or car keys, given the knights penchant for having a mount. Anthy himemiyas ability to pull a sword out of her or others chest seems on surface level to be a obvious page move (Another time I’d like to discuss with you whether or not Anthy was a Page, or if the swords were complete powers in of themselves, metaphorically far more than swords, making her a Muse. But I digress)

I’m Making/playing a Sburb tabletop game with some of my friends, and the Knight of Doom has never been satisfied with his powers, and I have changed them over and over again to no avail, which Is why I have looked at the knight through so many lenses.

The most recent idea I’ve had for the Knight is something I’ve not seen touched on. When I asked my Rogue of Mind to describe what a knight traditionally is, he gave me a simplistic, shounen answer of how knights go around challenging others for the honor of their lord, and to test their mettle. I thought it was silly, until I realized the Knights in canon all did that in some form. Knights seem to challenge others to a competition related to their aspect. Dave regularly got into Rap Battles with the trolls, as well as Ironic oneupsmanship games. Karkat incessantly Argued with people, especially over Relationships and Team related things. And latula played video games I guess. The same thing is also present in the pages, to a lesser extent. Tavros was an avid fiduspawn player. Jake physically fought the dirkbots, while also playing romantic games with the alphas (while relationships are Blood, and your preferences are Heart, I give Eridan and Jake as examples that Unrequited Feelings are Hopes domain). I’ve got nothing for Horuss, which maybe is part of it? I’ve struggled with whether to call this Fight or Compete. It’s pretty obvious once you look back at it, but it still leaves questions; how do we find a word that includes the concept of Protect, Wield, Exploit, Use, Serve and Fight? They all have grounds in the canon, and all of the classes have to have one Key Verb to them. So what is it?

Also, should you find this all interesting, Check out the game I am developing, SKRUB: a Tabletop Creation Myth, a pen and paper role-playing game made to give players a complete Sburb experience.

so shit kinda hit the fan for me and i am mostly cleanin up and getting ready for some announcements, so im gonna keep this pretty short, i just wanna knock a bunch of asks out of the way:

1) once i like, can, i’d love to talk about Anthy. I’ve been reading her as a Witch or a Muse depending on my mood--I don’t really think she’s a Page at all, though I can see how you’d think so if you read them as Passive. On which point,

given that the only direct canon explanation for what the passive/active distinction amounts to is that active classes directly do something with their aspect, and passive classes invite others to do that same thing.

That’s not true? That isn’t the description of Passive classes, for starters. Passive classes invite the Aspect Itself to act through them, or invite Y action onto the Aspect. That can include influencing others, but it also includes simply acting as a channel for the “will of the Aspect” itself.

Calliope gives us the “For themselves” vs. “For others” definition seperately, but I don’t really see a reason to single that one out as Class-specific while not doing so for the description she gives for Prince/Bard. And all classes employ both “exploit” and “allow” behaviors at various times.

Hence why I think understanding the classes is easier when you parse whether they tend to benefit themselves or others.

Protect, Wield, Exploit, Use, Serve and Fight They all have grounds in the canon, and all of the classes have to have one Key Verb to them. So what is it?

It’s Serve. Hiveswap makes me even more certain, since it’s way less subtle. For starters, I don’t really think Wield, Exploit and Use make sense as Knight/Page verbs.

Eridan, Vriska, Roxy, Rose, and countless others can be said to “Wield” their aspect like a weapon through items--the dice, roxy’s cubes, eridan and rose’s wands, etc. Rose can easily be said to be “using” Light when she uses the cueball Scratch gives her. And “Exploit” is basically synonymous with the idea of “using” one’s aspect directly, as Active classes are said to do.

There’s way more examples than I can even count, but basically I think all of those verbs are too general. As for Protect, it falls under the Serve verb under the idea of “Service”, which can mean to help someone or to literally be in their service. Redglare is referenced as a civil servant in allegiance to the Subjugglators, for example.

Help is a concept strongly associated with Knights and Pages, and often in terms of providing protection. Jake “invites” Dirk to give him Heart through the form of a bodyguard doppleganger that is referenced as a butler, and the Brobot later literally Serves Jake his heart like a butler offering it up on a platter--giving it to him, which falls under the second definition of Serve.

The “Fight” verb also falls into Serve as it’s third interpretation, because to Serve someone can also mean to own them completely or kick their ass--Caliborn directly references this definition. “You got Served”, etc.

This, by the way, is a big reason I think Knights are Passive and Pages Active. Knights are invested in working hard to protect and Serve others, while Pages are more inclined to get others to Serve them--and that can be contentious on both ends given the “fight” association, but at their respective bests Knights are still predominantly working for the benefit of other people, while Pages are rallying others to work for their own benefit.

RE: The tabletop game, i’ve been interested in tabletop sburb potential for years, so I’d def love to check it out! could you drop me a link?

#submission #Knight/Page #Butlerwarrior #analysis asks #long post

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