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whumptober · 4 years

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Whumptober 2020 - Updated

Welcome to Whumptober 2020! We’re doing things a little differently this year so please make sure to read the Event Info carefully. We are also excited to announce the addition of an AO3 Collection, which can be found here.

We hope you’re as excited as us to watch the Whump Community come together once again for a month of bone-crunching creativity and collaboration!

(All 31 Themes + Prompts, Event Information, and FAQs are posted below the cut!)

No 1. LET'S HANG OUT SOMETIME Waking Up Restrained | Shackled | Hanging

No 2. IN THE HANDS OF THE ENEMY "Pick Who Dies" | Collars | Kidnapped

No 3. MY WAY OR THE HIGHWAY Manhandled | Forced to their Knees | Held at Gunpoint

No 4. RUNNING OUT OF TIME Caged | Buried Alive | Collapsed Building

No 5. WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU'RE GOING? On the Run | Failed Escape | Rescue

No 6. PLEASE.... "Get it Out" | No More | "Stop, please"

No 7. I'VE GOT YOU Support | Carrying | Enemy to Caretaker

No 8. WHERE DID EVERYBODY GO? "Don't Say Goodbye" | Abandoned | Isolation

No 9. FOR THE GREATER GOOD "Take Me Instead" | "Run!” | Ritual Sacrifice

No 10. THEY LOOK SO PRETTY WHEN THEY BLEED Blood Loss | Internal Bleeding | Trail of Blood

No 11. PSYCH 101 Defiance | Struggling | Crying

No 12. I THINK I'VE BROKEN SOMETHING Broken Down | Broken Bones | Broken Trust

No 13. BREATHE IN BREATHE OUT Delayed Drowning | Chemical Pneumonia | Oxygen Mask

No 14. IS SOMETHING BURNING? Branding | Heat Exhaustion | Fire

No 15. INTO THE UNKNOWN Possession | Magical Healing | Science Gone Wrong

No 16. A TERRIBLE, HORRIBLE, NO GOOD, VERY BAD DAY Forced to Beg | Hallucinations | Shoot the Hostage

No 17. I DID NOT SEE THAT COMING Blackmail | Dirty Secret | Wrongfully Accused

No 18. PANIC! AT THE DISCO Panic Attacks | Phobias | Paranoia

No 19. BROKEN HEARTS Grief | Mourning Loved One | Survivor's Guilt

No 20. TOTO, I HAVE A FEELING WE'RE NOT IN KANSAS ANYMORE Lost | Field Medicine | Medieval

No 21. I DON'T FEEL SO WELL Chronic Pain | Hypothermia | Infection

No 22. DO THESE TACOS TASTE FUNNY TO YOU? Poisoned | Drugged | Withdrawal

No 23. WHAT’S A WHUMPEE GOTTA DO TO GET SOME SLEEP AROUND HERE? Exhaustion | Narcolepsy | Sleep Deprivation

No 24. YOU’RE NOT MAKING ANY SENSE Forced Mutism | Blindfolded | Sensory Deprivation

No 25. I THINK I’LL JUST COLLAPSE RIGHT HERE, THANKS Disorientation | Blurred Vision | Ringing Ears

No 26. IF YOU THOUGHT THE HEAD TRAUMA WAS BAD... Migraine | Concussion | Blindness

No 27. OK, WHO HAD NATURAL DISASTERS ON THEIR 2020 BINGO CARD? Earthquake | Extreme Weather | Power Outage

No 28. SUCH WOW. MANY NORMAL. VERY OOPS. Accidents | Hunting Season | Mugged

No 29. I THINK I NEED A DOCTOR Intubation | Emergency Room | Reluctant Bedrest

No 30. NOW WHERE DID THAT COME FROM? Wound Reveal | Ignoring an Injury | Internal Organ Injury

No 31. TODAY’S SPECIAL: TORTURE Experiment | Whipped | Left for Dead

Alternate Prompt List

Alt 1. Punctured

Alt 2. Falling

Alt 3. Comfort

Alt 4. Stitches

Alt 5. Stoic Whumpees

Alt 6. Altered States

Alt 7. Found Family

Alt 8. Adverse Reactions

Alt 9. Memory Loss

Alt 10. Nightmares

Alt 11. Presumed Dead

Alt. 12. Water

Alt. 13 Accidents

Alt. 14 Shot

Alt. 15 Carry/Support

Event Info

WHUMPTOBER is a month-long, prompt-based creation challenge (think: Inktober, but whumpier). There are 31 Official themes this year - one for each day of the month - which can be used, skipped, or combined in any way you’d like. They are meant to serve as inspiration without being taken literally (e.g. you don't have to include the exact wording into your work). Additionally, there are 3 prompts for each theme. These are optional suggestions and can be used in conjunction with the theme, or as options/alternatives. We want to give everyone as much creative freedom as possible, as well as increase event accessibility for folks with triggers and squicks.

Creators can PRODUCE work in any media they choose, including but not limited to: writing, visual artwork, and photo/video/audio edits. Creators can PARTICIPATE as much or as little as they want (i.e. you don’t have to do ALL the prompts if you don’t want to) and prompts can be used in any order. They are also free to use even after the event ends.

When uploading Whumptober content to your blog, be sure to tag the with:

#whumptober2020 …..(the event tag)

#no.1, #no.2, #no.3, …..(theme number)

#bruised, #stabbed, …..(the theme or specific prompt you chose)

#fandom or #OC

#medium …..(gifs, fic, podcast, art, etc.)

#teeth, #etc …..(trigger warnings & any additional tags. Keep in mind not to add “tw” in front but only use the word/trigger itself, because tumblr sucks)

#nsfw, #nsfwhump …..(only for nsfw content)

PLEASE BE DILIGENT WITH YOUR TAGGING. Only properly tagged posts are considered for archiving on the official @whumptober2020 blog. They must be tagged in the order above.

Unfortunately, due to the sheer number of participants in recent years, we cannot guarantee your work will be archived. A random selection of properly tagged posts from all genres will be reblogged each day.

Whumpers who produce content for 31 total theme days are considered event completionists and will be tagged in a masterpost at the end of the month.

Questions not addressed below can be directed to this blog as well.

Thanks for reading, and happy whumping!

Frequently Asked Questions

Q. What kind of content can I make? Can it be NSFW?

This is a MIXED MEDIA event! You can write fic, post meta, doodle or paint, create a gif set or photo edit, link a song, or get crafty with video - anything goes. As for NSFW, make what you like, we just hope that you’ll tag your work accordingly so that others participating in the event can stay safe :)

Q. Do I have to do all 31 Days? Can I post early/late?

Participate as much or little as you like, and post whenever! Just be sure to tag your posts properly (ex. #no.11, #psych101). Combining prompts into one piece of work is okay, and posting late is as well so as long as it’s in October.

Q. What if I don’t understand a theme?

Send us an ask! We’re happy to help clarify. That said, the themes are entirely up for interpretation :)

Q. Can I combine Whumptober with other creation challenges?

Absolutely! That’s like shooting two whumpees with one bullet :)

Q. Can I upload/repost my whumptober content to other social media platforms?

Of course! We’ve created an AO3 Collection to archive any fics posted there. The archive can be accessed here. The blog is the official archive, so please respect the boundaries of any closeted whumpers in your social circle :)

Q. Can I use prompts to write a new chapter for an existing fic?

Yes

Q. An existing fic I am currently writing contains many of the Whumptober prompts, can I use it?

If you are actively writing this fic at the moment with the whumptober prompts in mind, yes. If it just conveniently checks the boxes, then please don’t. You can, however, add new chapters answering one or more of the prompts.

Q. What kind of characters can I write for?

Fandom characters, OC characters, human, furry, alien, cyborg, whoever you like.

Q. Can I use a prompt multiple times?

Yes, but it only counts once

Q. If I’m not comfortable with one day's prompts can I use a prompt of a different day as a substitute and still be a completionist?

Yes, but please do not use a specific prompt twice. We have also created an alternate prompts list that you can draw from [here].

Q. Where can I post my work?

Post where and how you want. You don’t even have to (cross)post it to Tumblr. Just keep in mind if it’s not on Tumblr we will not be able to add it to the blog archive.

Q. Can I start posting early?

You can, but this is an October event and wouldn’t it be more fun with everyone doing it at the same time? That being said, you can post early, but we won’t be reblogging any work predating October 1st.

Q. Do I have to finish a fic I started/can I post WIP’s.?

Yes you can post WIPs. And you’re not obligated to finish it in October for it to count towards being a completionist.

Q. Is co-writing allowed?

Yes, absolutely, and it would count towards being a completionist for both/all of you :)

Q. Do I have to create 31 standalone pieces to be considered a completionist or can I write one continuous story?

One continuous story is fine. The challenge is to write something for 31 prompts. If that’s spread over 31 fics or just one, you are still considered a completionist. (The same goes for every other media you choose.)

Q. Is there a min/max limit on word count?

There is no limit

Q. Can I combine prompts? Is there a limit on how many?

No limit and combine as many as you’d like.

Q. Is a hc/angst focus ok?

Of course!

Q. What’s considered nsfw?

See this post

Q. What's whump?

See this post

Q. My interpretation of the prompt isn't whumpy at all, does that count?

No, sorry, but keep in mind that whump [see definition] is something very nuanced and different for everyone and emotional whump/angst is just as much part of it, as is physical whump and torture. So before you dismiss your idea, think about this.

Q. Can I start working on the prompts before October?

Absolutely! That’s why we posted the prompts a month in advance. We recognise how difficult it can be creating for 31 days in “real time”.

Q. How do I tag triggers?

tw at the end of the word, ex. emeto tw

Q. Do I have to use your tags?

Yes, if you want your work archived on the blog. If not, feel free to use whatever tags you want.

Q. Does combining prompts count towards completion?

Yes

Q. Can we @ you?

Yes but we mostly rely on the whumptober2020 tag

Q. Is there anything we are absolutely not allowed to write?

There are no rules, just be sure to properly tag your trigger warnings. And keep in mind Tumblr’s policies if you are posting it here (or the policies of whatever site you use).

Q. Where can I go for brainstorming help?

Here on Discord

Q. My characters are minors, is that ok?

Yes, but as with everything else, tags are your best friend.

Q. Can I cross post on other blogs?

Yes, multiple platforms and blogs are perfectly acceptable. You can also post different works to different accounts under different names, without posting them everywhere at once.

Note: This is a creation challenge, please don’t repost your old work under our tags (unless it’s been changed or edited for the event).

#eventinfo2020 #whumptober2020 #whumptober #promptlist2020 #prompt list #FAQs #event info

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thesunicarusfellfor · 3 years

Note

Hello my beloved! ( Can I call you that? And people it's platonic!) I have an idea and this is for pogtopia wilbur and ghostbur! Can you do a reader who loves painting and one morning they find a picture of them with a note about the reader confessing to then but they didn't do it in person because they were really nervous? Thank you!

And please take as much time as you want also could it be a long story? Thank you!

- Your beloved Moosh 🥺

Moosh, darling! Hello! Yes, you have my full permission to call me that, thank you for asking! This is the third time I've written this story because Tumblr just really enjoys screwing me over...

Also. You never clarified whether you wanted fluff or angst, but it's Pogtopia Wilby so I kinda just went with angst? If you want a happy end to this, I'll rewrite this no problem! But it won't be as long because... Well, you'll see. Also also, I didn't exactly know where to throw the Ghosty Bur in, so... Yeaaaah? He's at the end tho!

THE FIRST PART IS LIKE NEW NEW POGTOPIA WILBUR

TW: (Sorry it didn't save the first time) C!Schlatt, bruising, threatened hanging, self doubt

Perfect Picture of Imperfection (Pogtopia!C!Wilbur x GN!Painter!Reader)

Maybe you painted Schlatt's horns the wrong colour? Or his jawline was off? He was furious when you finally showed him your art piece... It was the best you could do with the few hours you were given! Paint physically couldn’t dry as fast as Schlatt wanted it to you… He didn’t seem to care when he threw the wooden frame of the torn canvas at you, giving you a dark bruise right above your eye, or when he started yelling at you and threatening to burn your art studio down to the ground.

Or even when he grabbed you and suggested to Quackity to hang you at the gallows for insulting the emperor of Manberg.

The man you had once been friends with grinned widely and nodded happily, “Yes, sir! Yes, sir!” He said, without a single care that you were a living human being, only giving a cheer as he picked you up so your feet were dangling on the ground, leaving you silent in terror. Tubbo only averted his gaze.

“Aww… You’re like a little fawn, caught in the torchlight of a traveller.” The ram hybrid smiled in a sickly sweet manner, causing the colour to drain from your face, “Come now, darling, I’m not a monster… You’re the only one of Wilbur’s sweet little subjects that he hasn’t gotten back, and here I thought you were his favourite… Or maybe he left you here to act as a sacrifice so they could all be off doing their own thing... Guess he prefers Niki over you…” He whispered as he dropped you, chuckling softly as you scurried out of the building as you quite literally ran for your life.

You called Wilbur when you were safely hidden in your house, gasps and sobs leaving your mouth quicker than tears could pool out of your eyes…

“(Y/n)... You can’t be calling me when-”

“Wil…?” You whispered into the communicator, your voice shaking enough to shut him up immediately, “He… He’s going to…” Hiccuping meekly, you curled in tighter on yourself as you heard Schlatt’s loud and pompous voice come over the speaker system he had hung up all around the once beautiful country, “I think I’m going to die here…”

The dead silence that followed through the line was sickening…

“Is it true…?” You couldn’t help but find yourself wondering aloud, “Is that why I’m the only one left here? Am I a sacrifice so you can live happily elsewhere? ...Is that why you haven’t come to get me?”

“(Y/n), I want you to never utter those words again.” His voice was dark and steely as there was a bit of crashing around that came from the other side as well as faint mumbles which were clearly from Tommy judging by all the swearing, “You are not a sacrifice. Now... Get your Enderchest and Inventory packed up, I’m coming to get you tonight, and then I’ll explain in person…”

The line cut off and you slowly lowered the communicator down from beside your ear. Your heart was sinking one minute, but soaring the next… A terrible feeling really. You were saved! But… He could get caught trying to come to get you… You couldn’t let that happen for sure. With a heavy sigh, you rubbed your eyes free of tears before standing up and beginning to shove any necessary equipment into your Enderchest, including your finished painting of Wilbur that you were going to give to him when he won the election… And finally, confess your feelings…

When midnight hit and the lights of the city finally died down, you climbed up onto your roof and looked around for the president, fear and paranoia flooding through your veins as your mind went wild. What if he got caught? What if he was trying to give you false hope? What if. What if. What if. These sort of questions buzzed around in your mind for an hour as you waited for your saviour to arrive…

Finally, when enough became enough and you decided he wasn’t coming, you stopped pacing and slowly sat down on the roof as the tears began to start again. You could practically hear Schlatt chiding you in the back of your mind, telling you that you were a fool for holding out hope.

“(Y/n)!” A low hiss came from beside you and a hand touched your shoulder. You certainly would’ve screamed bloody murder if another hand hadn’t quickly wrapped around your mouth, “Sh, sh, sh, it’s me… It’s Wilbur.” The voice soothed softly as the hand left your mouth, quickly allowing you to turn your head.

It didn’t feel real… Seeing him after so long… And in an outfit other than his uniform. “Wil...bur?” You repeated, staring at him for a while before giving him a soft smile filled with relief, “You really came…”

“Of course I did!” He almost seemed offended for a moment before his eyes softened as he realized what Schlatt must’ve drilled into your head. Wilbur easily caught you as you flung your self at him, quickly wrapping his arms around you and burying his face in your (h/l) (h/c) hair, “I missed my artiste…” He whispered, donning a temporary french accent for the word ‘artist’.

Holding back a sob, you quickly grabbed his extended hand and followed him as he jumped off your roof, safely landing in a bed of hay that you used to feed your old farm animals that Schlatt confiscated before following him out of this damned country.

After that, things seemed to change between you and Wilbur. He always seemed to be at your side, choosing to personally train you rather than letting Techno train you with everyone else, or even running over ideas on how to expand Pogtopia with you rather than with Tommy. His touches always lingered longer or he somehow wound up leaning closer to you than originally necessary, but you never caught yourself complaining. He would watch you paint beautiful designs along the armour he had gifted you, knowing full well it would chip off and was heavily unnecessary, but he only smiled and let you continue doing it as long as it didn’t interfere with enchantments.

Each day with Wilbur became better and better, but your heart physically couldn’t take it any longer, you had to tell him that you felt this way for him… The way that you had to fight back the reddening of your cheeks when his chest pressed against your back as he adjusted your stance in training, or the way you had to struggle to regulate your breathing every time he complimented you on how far you had come…

He was going to be the death of you…

Your already calloused hands were bruised and blistered, but somehow, you were still able to hold a quill, pinched in between the fingers of your dominant hand. Wilbur had come to your Pogtopia home this morning, but upon realizing that he had knocked you to the ground a little too hard yesterday as you were incredibly stiff and sore, he let you have the day off of training.

This was at least a little chance… You had torn a page from your notebook and sat down at your handmade desk with a bitter sigh. Trust me, you wanted to tell him in person, but you were just too scared… Plus, maybe you could play it off as someone pulling a prank on him if it went south.

Biting your lip, your fingers treated the quill as a brush, delicately running the ink dipped tip over the top of the paper, letting your heart control what words you wanted the ink to form.

Wilbur,

You don't realize how much you mean to me. Although we've been friends for only a year, I feel as though I've known you my entire life. My connection to you is already so deep, and my love for you is already so strong that I can't remember what my life was like before we met. Even more, I can't imagine my life without you now. I can't imagine the future without you, either.

You have saved my life several times already. You have even saved me from myself several times, too! I am so thankful for your guidance and care. Whenever I'm having a bad day, I know that I can just give you a call. I know I can depend on you and, with your help, everything will turn out well.

I want you to know how I really feel. It's time for you to know that I'm ready to admit how much I care for you, how much you mean to me. I know, this isn’t the best timing in our lives, but I trust it will get better through your leadership. I love you, Wilbur.

Please, don't ever forget how much I love you.

Love, (Y/n) (L/n)

Sighing, you put the quill into the inkpot and put your head in your bandaged hands. ‘This is going to work. It will work. Go on. Have faith in yourself, as Wil said…’ You took a few deep breaths and stood up, picking up the letter once it was dry and reading it over as many times as you physically could before your mind couldn’t handle it any longer.

Walking to the door, you cracked it open to search for any sign of your president, sighing again as you realized he was likely out helping gather resources. “Is… This enough?” You mumbled sadly as you stared down at the simple letter before looking at your Enderchest in thought. Surely you could give him a few emeralds or some gold… Yeah! That’s what you’d do! Smiling in victory, you quickly wandered over to the chest and opened it, digging through it for a few moments.

It was sort of empty…

You groaned as you remembered that you haven’t really been one of the miners or forgers for Pogtopia. Instead, you were one of the warriors, focused on protecting others instead of gathering supplies.

Going to shut the chest, you suddenly paused as you saw something colourful resting at the bottom. Pushing aside your old L’Manberg uniform, you gasped as you found your old painting of Wilbur from a few months ago. It was old, yes, and a little dusty but you were still proud of it even now! Perfect.

Pulling out the painting, you began to lightly brush the dust off of the picture, smiling at the splashes of paint and colour forming a picture. It was your magnum opus.

It was a painting of Wilbur holding up a massive L’Manberg flag against the sunlight with a wide smile and hope in his eyes… This was the day that L’Manberg won independence from DreamSMP…

Standing up again, you quickly hurried out the door and walked to Wilbur’s room, silently creaking open the door and looking around, even though you were well aware that he was gone for the day. You walked over to his desk and gently setting the painting down on top of the countless sheets of work, making sure not to mix up any of the papers, then putting your letter on top where he could see it before hurrying out before you could change your mind.

Thankfully you got out when you did because, by the time you pulled an already baked potato out of the furnace, Wilbur came down the stone stairs, looking extremely exhausted, “(Y/n), my artiste…” He murmured with a smile, “I’m glad to see you’re still up and going… I was worried we would have to make you a healing pot.”

“It’s not too bad… It’s mostly just my hands that hurt.” You chuckled and held up your shaking bandaged hands, “You want me to cook you up some potatoes and carrots? Or I could maybe try and get some steak cooked up before you go to work?”

Wilbur tried to smile a bit, deciding not to question why your hands were shaking so badly, taking everything out of his inventory and placing them in their designated chests. “No, no… It’s alright. I’m going to go get ready for Tubbo’s report… I’ll see you later tonight, okay?”

You gave him a small wave before Wilbur disappeared into his office. Taking a sharp intake of breath, you quickly followed after him and peeked through the tiny crack in the door where he didn’t close it all the way. He stood in his room silently for a moment before throwing his hat off at a wall, screaming into hands, muffling it heavily to the point where you wouldn’t have heard it if you were still near the furnaces. Wilbur threw off his jacket before plopping himself into his chair with his head in his hands for a few moments, then lifting it to stare at the painting that you had placed.

He was still for a long time, then he slowly picked up the note, his eyes softened slightly before his face broke out into a wide and genuinely happy smile before his mouth twitched and the smile began to fall, tears bubbling into his chocolate coloured eyes. Wilbur held the note up to his chest and slouched back against his chair, sobbing into his hand, whispering ‘I’m so sorry’ repeatedly.

Frowning, you realized that he physically couldn’t return your love because of the stress of caring for Pogtopia and trying to win back L’Manberg. With a sad smile, you stood up and walked to your room, putting your head down as you saw water droplets hit the stone below you, “It wasn’t a no…” You tried to tell yourself, ignoring the tears running from your eyes as you shut the door, sliding down to your knees.

The next few weeks after that were hell, the complete opposite of the Utopia that you were blinded by for the past month. Wilbur asked Techno to pick up your training, and he never even spoke to you about it again… It was the Piglin hybrid that awkwardly told you. During dinner, Wilbur would practically eat as little as possible as he ignored you, trying to make any situation where he would be in the same room as you as short as possible.

“Wil-...” You reached out to the president but watched as he only gave you the saddest gaze before walking past you as if he never saw you. But he would have no problems talking to Niki, or anyone else! It wasn’t fair!

Time ticked by in a haze of fog and you quickly watched the man you had once fallen in love with becoming a complete shadow of his former self… It was sickening… He… Lost it… His mind was becoming twisted… And all you could do was watch in horror…

You knew something was wrong when he crept away from the festival and the celebration… But you just decided that he was going to take a break from the excitement. He was quite old after all…

Then the ground shook with booming roars as TNT blew craters into the earth, sending debris scattering and people screaming, scattering for their lives. Gasps of terror escaped your lips as you realized the cause of it all… You hopped over gunpowder scented broken stone and batted the smoke away as you saw the final picture to paint the last stroke of horror in your heart.

There was a blond man with massive avian wings holding a diamond sword glimmering with enchantments as the brunet clung to his clothing, slowly sinking to his knees. With a sob of despair, you watched the man you once loved so dearly, get stabbed through the chest by his own father.

“WILBUR!” You shrieked, your ears ringing from the blast as you sunk to your knees, sobs racking your frame violently. Wilbur’s head lazily rolled to look in your direction…

And in his last dying breath… He smiled…

“That painting…” A light airy whisper echoed through the darkened stone halls of your home, “It’s familiar… Yet so foreign...”

You gave a hum as you hung your netherite armour on your stand before turning to stare at the spectral figure floating in your doorway, “Which painting, Ghostbur? There’s many… You have to elaborate.”

“Right! Because you’re an artiste!” The transparent male chirped happily, not seeming to notice your flinch, “I mean the one hanging above the fireplace, of Alivebur.”

“Right…” You nodded, following behind the eager sweater-wearing ghost down the eerie hallways and into the office, "I'm going to take it down... I think it's doing more harm than good..."

Ghostbur didn't seem to understand your reasoning, but he didn't say much, knowing that Alivebur hurt many people... But he didn't think he hurt you, "It's pretty though... But your art style has changed, in a good way though!" He smiled softly as you opened the large dark oak double doors.

You walked past your grand dark oak desk to stare at your former magnum opus, dangling above the unlit fireplace. "Hey, Bur, if you have a flint and steel, could you light the fire please?" You glanced over and watched him nod as he dug through his pockets. In the meantime, you climbed up onto the mantle and began to struggle to pull the canvas off the wall. With a bit of hassle, you managed to pull it down and toss it onto the ground before climbing down, just in time for your ghost friend to light the fire.

"Don't damage it, (N/n)! It's still really good!" Ghostbur scolded you with a pout once you hopped down and picked the canvas up, "And you used to be proud of it!"

"I'm not, don't fret too m-" You paused mid-sentence as you saw a letter tucked into the bottom corner of the back of the painting. Frowning in confusion, you slowly picked it up and turned it over into your hand, only to discover that it was addressed to you in fancy cursive, sealed with a light red and white wax seal, "What's this?"

He looked over at you and tilted his head, seeming almost as genuinely confused as you were. Ghostbur shrugged as you propped the painting up against the wall before sitting at your desk, using your letter opener for its purpose, "Love letter, perhaps?"

"I doubt it..." You mumbled softly as you carefully unfolded the paper, recognizing that it was probably a few years old, "Let's see... Who wrote this..." You hummed before beginning to read.

My darling artiste... I'm sure by the time you read this, I'm either dead or... Well, most likely dead, if all goes to plan...

I am writing this letter to you to let you know that life without you is not the same. Life without you is very sad and lonely. I have realised that it was you who keep me alive and cheerful.

I thought I would get used to your absence from my life, but every day has been harder when I think of all the good times we spent together.

There are so many things which I want to confess. It's killing me because I don't want you to go another day without knowing how I feel about you.

And I'm not able to tell you I'm in love with you.

What an idiot I am.

And for the past few days, I've been trying to figure out, why there aren't some words to describe it. I want to tell you exactly how I feel but there isn't a single goddamned word in the entire dictionary that can describe my love for you.

But I need that word. I need it because I want you to hear me say “I love You". I want to make the sweetest gestures in front of you which make you feel even more loved.

Trust me... I know... I act like an absolute ass towards you. I'm so scared of your life being in more danger than it was... I really did love you, and still do, but I didn't want it to hurt you more when I blow up L'Manberg...

Darling, I could have simply called you on your communicator and took you out on a surprise date but I couldn't have expressed my feelings. You have become an integral part of me. I want to give you all my love throughout my life.

The painting you made me is beautiful and I will cherish it for as long as I'm alive... It's a perfect picture of imperfection...

I Love You, (Y/n), even if by now you'll never love me back.

- Wilbur Soot

"That... That idiot..." You whispered, holding your head in your hands in an attempt to hide the tears from Ghostbur, "He planned blowing up L'Manberg from the beginning... That's why he refused to acknowledge me after I... He wanted me to hate him..."

Ghostbur held a bit of blue in his hands tightly, avoiding your gaze as you murmured to yourself, "Yeah... Most of my happiest memories involve you... That's why I couldn't understand when you said Aliverbur hated you..." He glanced away again as he saw you look at him.

"(Y/n)... Are you ever going to move out of Pogtopia?"

"Probably not for a long time, Ghostbur."

#pogtopia wilbur #pogtopia wilbur x reader #c!wilbur x reader #wilbur soot x reader #pogtopia wilbur soot x reader #dsmp x reader #dream smp #dreamsmp x reader #mcyt x reader #wilbur mcyt #villain wilbur #villain wilbur x reader

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alphabravocharliedelta · 3 years

Text

Therefore I Am | Russell Adler x Bell! Reader X

Series: Call of Duty: Black Ops Cold War

Therefore I Am | Russell Adler x Bell! Reader

Word Count: 7500+

[Chapter IX] [Epilogue]

Summary: After somehow reconciling with Adler, Bell and the team are left to continue their pursuit of bringing down the undercover spy ring, but it proves to be more of a challenge as Bell struggles to move on from their Perseus-affiliated past.

Content Warning: mature content, vulgar language, straight up agony, self-deprivation

Notes: I kind of tried to explore/experiment with Adler’s character in this one, it’s one of my favorite chapters (although a bit slow). The next installment is going to be the epilogue, so be prepared. Also, Writing’s on the Wall by Sam Smith. Thanks for reading!

January, 1984

New Jersey

Bell...

Bell!

Listen to me.

I need you to calm down and relax.

You're in the hospital, not in the lab. Remember the mall?

Good. You're in bad shape, and the doctors are trying to help you, so you need to listen carefully…

I need you to stay still.

It'll be over in a second, Bell. They're just going to sedate you, okay?

They're not here to hurt you.

When you wake up, I'll be right here. Just like I promised.

Yes, good.

See? You're fine.

It'll be over before you know it.

Adler watched as you stopped fighting against the nurses. Your hand released itself from a woman's scrubs before dropping back to your side, your stare never breaking contact from him.

“Strap them down,” one of them instructs.

He didn't even have time to object. It was apparent that you were frightened, and he couldn’t even begin to imagine what was going through your mind, and instead could only hope that it didn’t stir up any past trauma from before. The look in your eyes was something that stuck out the most— You were practically begging him not to go.

Just seconds ago, they exited the ambulance just right outside the ER. Everything was a blur as they struggled to tend to your injury while rolling you down the white halls. All the medical talk threw Adler's head in a spin, and he eventually became lost on what they were going to do with you. Any attempt to ask what was going to happen was ignored.

Then you suddenly awoke, petrifying both him and the nurses, and as a result, you began to freak out uncontrollably in paranoia, opening your wound even further. Adler immediately went to your side, pushing aside anyone in his way while he attempted his best to quell your confusion.

When you came through, he couldn’t do anything but witness the medical personnel get to work in the aftermath. The nurses scrambled to put pressure over your open laceration, causing you to wince. A sedative needle was stuck into your arm.

The urge to hold your hand arose once again as a result. He wanted to grasp it on his own, while saying sensical words of reassurance, and anything else to comfort you. In the end, he wasn't allowed to. His part was done.

Security guards then pushed the large metal doors open, and the medical personnel rolled you down the long white hallway as the main doctor spewed out instructions.

Agh, fuck!

What was wrong with him? Adler immediately regretted the decision of staying behind. His feet that were stuck in place started to move on their own, about to follow them, only for the two officers to step between him and the door. He could only stand idly as it closed on its own, leaving him to peek through the tiny rectangle window.

"Sorry, sir, but only authorized personnel are allowed beyond this point."

"I'm part of the CIA—" He digs in his pockets, looking for his identification, only to be stopped by a hand. The look in their eye was condoling, and it only made him feel worse.

"Even so. Please, just let them do their job."

You'll only be a burden.

They didn't even need to say it.

0000

Adler was exhausted from the mall operation, with muscles aching. After the hospital staff parted with you, he was escorted to get some proper treatment. His face stung as they wiped his face clean and strung some cuts closed, but he could only stare at the wall in defeat.

With each step he took, he could feel his strength leave. Leaving the room, his face was covered with various sizes of padding, and a few of his fingers needed a splint. The rest of the squad didn't obtain any serious damage either; although the operation nearly cost their lives. It was a wonder as to how they all made it out in one piece.

Adler attempted to make his way to your surgery room, only to be once again stopped by more staff. Why couldn't they just let him see you?

Waiting for any news about your condition was gruesome, just breaching hour three before Adler was forced to leave. Tight lipped and firm, everyone that he encountered reminded him that he wasn’t even allowed to be there with you, and was instead situated out in the waiting room on a cold, cushioned chair. And when they ended visiting hours, he was made away from the premises, and returned to the team’s temporary base of operations just at upstate New Jersey, where everyone else awaited his arrival in the gathering area.

"Well?" Woods demanded. "How's Bell?"

"Don't know."

The first thing that stood out was the tone. Why did he sound so distant? It was like he had lost any hope for your recovery, and was already mentally preparing himself for isolation, as if you were already confirmed dead. It made Woods' blood boil. That apatheticness was the same he heard prior to the mission, and it continued to persist. Had he no shame?

Repulsed by the thought, he seizes Adler by the shirt.

“Woods—” Zenya attempts, only to be held back by Bulldozer, who shook his head. They both watched as Woods shoved their leader against the wall.

"How fucking dare you!" he seethed. "You lectured me about letting Bell run through the line of fire, yet here's your sorry ass back at the compound. Bell needs you, and yet you return here."

"I don't have authority to stay overnight, Woods." Adler pries the hand off of him. “Staying would just cause unwanted attention.”

Woods scoffs. “'Unwanted attention'? Cut the bullshit, since when did you care about that?” He flicks his hand multiple times in an attempt to get feeling back to his fingertips. Adler’s grip was way tighter than he estimated. “Fuck that. The moment you’re allowed back there, I better see your sorry ass next to that hospital bed."

He storms off.

"I'm sorry, Adler," Zenya utters empathetically.

"I had it coming."

It took a few hours before Adler got the appetite to eat again, but even then, food that once tasted good presented itself to be bland and discouraging. During times like these he would have thrown it into a container later for anyone to grab, or even offer it to you if you were still hungry, but he just slid the remains into the trash.

He crashed the moment his head hit the pillow but the horrors of recent events followed him through his dreams. Three hours later he was shocked awake, the bed sheets and his own shirt sticking to his skin thanks to sweat. Adler could only stare blindly into the pitch black darkness of his resting quarters with an arm thrown over his forehead, thinking why everything always went wrong.

Maybe he shouldn't have stuck with the plan. Adler should have instructed someone to investigate the shops and restaurants upon entering the mall instead of everyone following the damn beeping noise. But, there were only four of them, and it turned out that they were outnumbered by a long run. They should have brought more people instead of Hudson's team on standby. It was lucky enough that Woods found you when they got separated, but CIA reinforcements took a while to arrive, and by then you were already—

Enough.

He tried not to dwell on it whenever he was awake, but it didn't help that whenever he washed his hands, he could only remember the extreme warmth of your blood that coated them. The first time he purged his hands in water post-mission, it felt like the red would never disappear, spiraling down the drain in a never ending cycle. As a result, he scrubbed slightly more vigorously at his already dry and callused skin, and every following instance he did, he would always think back to the mall.

There was the light that seemed to fade as he watched your lids fall to a close, and the limpness of your hand as he tried to let it cradle his cheek. How you didn't even flinch as he continued to apply pressure over your stomach. His once pristine orange scarf now turned an entirely different shade. The crimson that continuously kept pouring out like a leak, with no signs of coagulating or stopping—

Stop. Everything's going to be fine.

For a man great at reassuring others, it did nothing to benefit himself.

The bathroom was just an opportunity for his survivor's guilt to come at him. Even if it was a place of weakness, Adler would still open the fucking door and walk in even if he didn't have the need to. It was the only place he could really wallow in pity without the concerned gazes of others. They didn't need to know.

After washing his hands, he would then throw water onto his face before drying it with a towel. His eyes would drift up to the mirror, focusing on the stripes on his face. The scar was just another part of his character (nothing special about it anymore) but it was on this occasion that he would stare at himself in the mirror.

What did you see in him? There was nothing about him, that he believed, that it was worth sacrificing your own life for. You didn't need to do it.

Adler knows clearly that he already caused you more than enough trauma, and even so, you were gracious enough to once again work side by side with him. An additional bonus of platonic activity was thrown in there as well. It was all he could have asked for but, at the same time, within the deep depths of his mind, he knew he didn't earn the honor of any of it. Yet he acted against that, taking another shot at intimacy with you.

So, why?

Just what was it about him that compelled you to commit yourself as a sacrifice? You did the exact same thing in 1981— you aimed your sidearm at him, yet never fired, even with the skill to.

He couldn't understand you, nor could he comprehend how you managed to make him feel in such a way.

Did he even deserve to see you? He failed you. He couldn't protect you.

He was—

No.

He is a coward.

"Fuck!"

A fist met the mirror, creating a web-like system on the glass.

Adler's reflection crinkled, segments of his face becoming misaligned. Tiny shards fell into the sink as he ignored the stinging pain at his knuckles. It was nothing compared to what you have gone through and he didn’t even dare to flinch or complain. Unable to bear the sight of his own patheticness, he shut his eyes, and a single tear fell and rolled off the side of his face, unacknowledged.

There were very few instances that these types of emotions would be let loose from its bottle, and this time he couldn't even compel himself to screw the cap back on. He could feel his throat begin to constrict as more tears dared to form, so he held his breath, trying to force it back down like all the other previous times.

Woods was right. Adler should have fought tooth and nail just to stay at your side, and to be there right behind the doctors as they operated on you. This was probably one of the most petrifying experiences of your life, and he wasn't even there to support you through it. He didn’t take the opportunity when he subjected you to the injection, and when the second chance rose, he didn’t even bother to fight for it. Third luck was the charm, but to wish for such an event was anything but.

And if you were to die in that hospital while he's lounging about back at this makeshift base, then everything you both built up during these past months was all for naught. He wouldn't even have the chance to say goodbye before your final breath.

With that, a single notion came into mind:

How long would it take before he unintentionally abandons you?

It was a question he couldn't even answer, and a shy knock coming from the closed door behind instead.

"Adler?" Bulldozer's voice comes through. "You good?"

Snapping his eyes back open, Adler turns on the faucet, pulling away from the mirror and running his knuckles under the water.

"I'm fine."

He was fine being alone, but being lonely was different.

0000

“We headed into the mall. The doors were blocked off, so Jones had to breach it. Right in the middle of the place was the collection of the Nova Six, rigged to explode.”

General Haig sat across the table, drumming his fingers on top of a blue folder. Placed nearby were matching files of reports and collected evidence from the Pines op. “How many?”

Adler shrugs, withdrawing an irritated huff from being let out. “I couldn't get an estimate. They were everywhere.”

Even with the unsatisfactory answer, Haig didn’t falter. “The operation after-action report states that the Nova Six canisters were successfully disarmed. You reported that Frank Woods had thrown a knife, which lodged itself into Kuzmin’s skull.”

It wasn't Woods that did the deed, but there was no need for correction. All credit would have been given to you, but your current existence was listed as MIA, and Adler fully intends to keep you a secret until he had the full capabilities to forge the documents needed to make you a genuine CIA special operative agent. Until it happened, he was going to shield you from any further authorities. Already he had to draw a line with Emerson Black with the follow up email, and he would do it again if someone ever decided to poke their nose into your business. It was the least he could do for you.

“Hudson made it clear that the orders given were to prioritize the gas, Stitch being second,” Adler responds overtly. “I fail to see the issue at hand here.”

“There was failure to confirm Vikhor Kuzmin’s body. It wasn’t there during the final run over.”

He takes a long drag of his cigarette, before exhaling the plumes of white through his nose. It was his third one within the span of ninety minutes. “Your point?”

“The point is that he could still be alive. If there’s no body to recover, then where do you suggest it is?”

Fishing through the mass of folders, Adler plucked out the most recently dated one. It appeared to have never been opened, the paper clips still fastened at the top, holding everything together.

“Sir, with all due respect, I find it improbable that a man who took a military-grade knife to the forehead would be walking about. And for someone that’s the General of the U.S. Army—” he condemns, flipping through the contents. He stops at one of the plastic bags secured between a few papers. Opening it, he takes out the one on top before tossing it on top of the table. “—You clearly don’t look through everything we give you.”

It was a photo of Stitch, who laid sprawled on the ground with the murder weapon right where you chucked it into. The colors were a bit dark with low saturation, but it was possible to depict the unmistakable build of Kuzmin. Haig returns a look of bewilderment as he plucks it from the desk. “When did—”

“One of Hudson's men happened to have a camera on them. This was before the clean up crew came in an hour later. It took a bit to process, given everything else we needed to wrap up, but I believe that should answer your question.” Adler leans back in the chair, gaining some pleasure seeing Haig’s confliction. “Happy?”

To be called into a room to have a meeting with the General of the U.S. Army, only for it to turn into a mini-interrogation, wasn't taken kindly by Adler. He was already in a labyrinthine state, and to be subjected to useless questions that could be answered if someone simply knew how to use their eyes didn't help his mood. It was already difficult enough holding up the image of a functioning being that wasn’t on the verge of snapping.

"Your methods are, like always, unconventional," Haig finally lets out, setting the photo back down. "I suggest you tread these waters carefully, Adler. Your reputation may be great, but there's only so much we can do to keep you out of the light of the public."

"For you to think of me in such a way is an honor on its own, sir. But, your preferences have been noted for consideration."

He receives an apprehensive glare. "This isn't a subject we can afford to—"

A knock came from the dark brown door behind them. After a few seconds, a man in a suit enters and holds a phone out to Adler. "It's for you."

He raises an eyebrow, tapping his cigarette out on the tray in front of him before taking the call. "Adler."

Haig could only wait and listen to the short and abrupt statements Adler delivers to the person on the other end. Whatever the context of the conversation was, his face didn't even contort, remaining stone-like with a couple nods. The call lasted half a minute before Adler hung up.

"Well sir…” Handing the phone back, he rubs the cig out before placing his hands on the wooden desk, pushing himself up to a standing pose. "As much as I would love to continue our talk, it seems that it'll have to be cut short.

"We're not finished yet, Adler."

"I got you the results you wanted. There's no need for further discussion." Adler slips back into his coat, making a beeline to the door that was held open for him. He turns to Haig at the last minute, as if to add further insult to injury. "Now, if you excuse me, I have someone to visit. Adieu, sir. Have a wonderful fucking day."

0000

Adler walks up to the front desk, flashing his CIA badge. The receptionist nods, flipping through the stack of papers on her clipboard, before handing it to him. After filling out the forms, he makes his way to the direction the doctors last rolled your gurney through before he was kicked out.

"Wait, sir!"

He freezes in his tracks, before pivoting back around back to the desk, where the lady from before looked at him sheepishly.

"Is something wrong?" Adler asks. He hoped to whatever god was out there that nothing had happened while he was out. If something did, Black better cross his fingers that he wasn't going to retire on the spot. There was enough bullshit as is.

Fuck! What if something did occur?

A string of swears began to fill his head as his heart began to wrangle itself at the mere thought of you passing. The call he had earlier said the surgery was finished and you were stable enough, so there shouldn't be room for speculation. But, on the chance that something did happen just mere minutes ago right before he arrived—

"We moved them to a new unit."

He releases a long sigh, not realizing he held his breath. Adler nods as a thanks, while silently cursing them for the build up as he strides towards the direction they pointed to.

Fast forward a few minutes later, a couple of wrong turns, and resisting the urge to just yell, Adler now stood under the doorway of your assigned hospital room. There was no nameplate, or any other bed. It was just you in the center as a nurse quickly catered to your form and filled out the chart on the clipboard.

He lingered for a moment, watching them work. The doctor came in shortly after, explaining what happened during your surgery, and he nodded along silently.

You were unrecognizable at first glance with half your head covered, still sleeping under the mass of bandages that covered your body but his own dog tags gave away that it was you.

You had his dog tags with you? And wore it?

The nurse and doctor take their leave and he sits next to your bed in one of the chairs. You didn't stir at his presence, not awake, but it was understandable.

As time elapsed, Adler spent it watching your chest rise and fall at a slow even pace with the assistance of a breathing mask. His hands flipped the cassette tape in his hand anxiously, observing for any signs of you waking up.

Your figure looked so frail against the medical equipment around you. Half of your head was wrapped up in bandages, covering up your left eye. Crawling out underneath them was a long gash that went down your face, sewn to a close with medical thread. It shook him to the core, just looking at the state of you. He's seen worse injuries, sure, but seeing you lying down on the hospital bed was different.

There were so many things that were left unsaid between you and him. It took him a while to realize it, but he eventually came to terms that he was starting to develop feelings for you. It was something he hasn't felt for the longest time. Adler couldn't pinpoint exactly where his love for you started to bear its fruit, but it was clear to him that you meant something to him. And that kiss you shared was proof of it.

All those missions you went on with, he automatically knew that you both were a dynamic duo. As you had his back, he had yours. How you were just able to tell what move he was going to take next, or how easily you adapted to a change of plans was something he had admired about you. It was extremely upsetting, knowing that you had both met under unfavorable circumstances, but he had no choice back then.

The mission came first.

That's what Adler always told himself. It was the words he lived by for the longest time he was on the force. Many sacrifices had to be made, many soldiers left behind, but in the end it was a stride towards keeping America free.

You were originally just some Soviet that was converted into a little science project. Everything he learned, every motto he always followed, only to face the fact that he's become blind, driven by the force to stop Perseus— Whatever it takes. That's why he followed through it all. Yet, at the same time, nothing could have warned him about the magnitude of influence you would come to have on him. With your simple existence, it made him doubt those beliefs of patriotism. Your willingness to so easily challenge orders, or your determination, no matter what the circumstances, changed him. The longer he worked alongside you, the more difficult it was to hide his feelings. Adler came to care about you, despite you being the enemy.

And he didn't know what to do.

It was the same confliction he felt after executing you on that arctic mountain. The CIA was something he devoted his life to, and for Adler to choose his job over love, and everything else he once cherished, was nothing short of easy. Leaving behind those types of emotions became less difficult over the years, as the things that he threw away for the sake of freedom never came back to bite him in the ass. If there were another alternative than MKUltra, he would have taken it, but he still stood by the decision and was fine if you are never able to forgive him. Shooting you on that cliff took a lot of willpower, but he had to do it.

So, the moment he laid eyes on your figure after two years, the moment he let you cave his face in, he couldn't think about anything else but you. Adler had to come face-to-face with the results of his actions, and from that point on it was always about you. You were no longer the person he left behind. Your act in the mall was the representation of the person you have grown to become, and what you were willing to do.

Whatever it takes.

It was beyond his understanding as to how you were even to move, much or less stand. The injuries that you sustained were way worse than you presented it to be, and yet you toughed it out, and managed to pull yourself together. You saved his life.

And, despite everything he's done, he was let off with a slap of a wrist, while you always seemed to receive the punishment in his stead.

Now, he could only fiddle around endlessly with the cassette tape in his hand, flipping it over and over, sitting in a chair as he waited for you to stir. Adler never really did thank you enough for the things you do for him (when was the last time he did?). With that, showing his appreciation immediately skyrocketed to top on the list of "things he should first say when you wake up."

Except you never did.

You never woke up.

He waited patiently each day at your bedside as if a dog was waiting for its owner, ready to be there the moment your eyes fluttered open. Adler had to convince multiple people to even get consistent access to your room, and did what had to be done in order to avoid getting penalized for overstaying. Days turned into a week, and then one week turned to two...

You were still sound asleep in the comatose state, giving out no indication of coming back to consciousness.

Whenever there was an opportune moment, Adler would jump into the car and drive to the hospital. He would make frequent mental notes on the songs that played on the radio as he pondered which ones you would like. Lyrics was something he didn’t pay much attention to originally, but now it was something he found himself reciting and playing back.

For someone stingy like him when it came to money, Adler was quick to head to the gas station every few hospital visits. The nurses, receptionists, and cashiers from the ER and nearby stores had already adjusted to his spontaneous appearances, giving him a pitiful nod each time.

Each paper he filled out, whether it be work related or visitation requirements, Adler lost motivation to think about it thoroughly. Sure, it served as a great distraction, but once it left his hands, reality swooped back in.

How many times did he walk in and take a seat on this old creaky chair?

A knock came from behind. Looking back, Adler sees Lazar standing at the door with a handful of balloons. He was wearing a dark green scarf with a dark grey vest jacket and black jeans. Dark circles were under his eyes as well, it seems like no one had gotten some sleep since the mall.

"You came here lookin' like that?" Adler muses loudly.

"C'mon Adler. Like you look any better."

He was right. Adler hadn't gotten as much sleep as he wanted ever since he first arrived at the hospital with you. Nor has he shaved the past few days, only taking time to half-ass his hair for a pathetic assurance to others that he was perfectly fine. But, how could he, knowing that you were practically playing roulette with Death? The mere thought of you never waking up, or never seeing you again scared him.

Lazar walks over to your bedside table with the balloons trailing behind him, and Adler watches in small amusement as it dragged along the roof. "How'd you even get in here?"

"Told them I was Bell's brother."

Adler shakes his head with a dry chortle, at least finding some humor in his colleague’s words. "You two look nothing alike."

"Good thing the desk lady was old then." Lazar's eyes lingered on your bedridden form, and a pang of regret hit him. The image of you back at Pines was ingrained in his memory, and it was awful. "Anything new?"

“Same old. You?”

“Could be better.”

Unable to find a good place for the balloons, Lazar just ties it to the side of your bed. You didn't stir a bit, the only signs of life being the constant beating of the heart monitor and the fogginess of your ventilator mask. A tense silence instilled itself in the room.

"The rest of the team is worried about you," he relays somberly.

"They shouldn't be."

A part of Lazar partially blamed Adler for all of this: he was the one to kickstart your entire spiral down the pit of chaos, and for things to turn out the way it did was thanks to Adler's part of incapability to go against orders. If he never shot you on the cliffside, would you now have been lying in a comatose state in a hospital?

There was something with your eyes, he noted, that seemed to glimmer brightly and confidently despite the horrors you've both been through. Yet, behind it was the cold, dead feeling, with nothing but a shell of your original self, now filled with the horrors of war and leftover remains of brainwashing.

Lazar sighs. "We're always here to talk, you know."

Albeit at the same time, he couldn’t bring himself to constantly project his anger at Adler. He must have been suffering in his own way as well. Their leader was a mess during the exfil, and Woods had to pry Adler’s hands away from your body just so they could put you on a stretcher. There was a collective inaudible agreement amongst the rest of the team members that to see him in such a state of distress and defeat was something they should tread carefully on.

"I think I'm good."

Yet for a guy who acted in such a way then, Adler sure didn’t do much to comfort himself. As far as Lazar knew, Adler didn’t even mention your name or have an outburst, as one should in his position. Those that approached him had to lead the conversation and get specific with questions. Everything was so complicated when it came to Adler, and the easiest solution for people like him was to just suck it up and keep it all in.

"How can you just sit there?" he blurts out in frustration.

Adler raises his eyebrows. "What are you on about?"

"Are you a brick wall?" Lazar lets out an irked groan. "Cry, hold Bell's hands, go talk to them. Anything but just sit there, because moping around and feeling guilty isn't going to help anyone. So do everyone else a favor, and just spit out whatever you want to say to Bell. At least spare them the courtesy of waiting for you."

Adler sat, appalled to hear Lazar berate him in such a way. "Are you suggesting romantic relationships on the job? If that's—"

"Who cares?" he interrupts. "Stop avoiding it, I see you. Just because you made some shitty decisions in your lifetime doesn't mean you get to die alone. Bell likes you, Adler. And I know you do, too. And you're just killing us here by not acting on it."

"I don't like them."

Did he just say that? How could he lie through his own teeth? Why was he acting like this?

Lazar throws his hands up and rolls his eyes. "Your fucking kidding me. The entire safehouse knows how you two look at each other."

How do I look at Bell?

He clicks his tongue at the thought. "No idea what you're talking about, Lazar."

As far as Adler knew, there wasn't any prolonged staring or obvious daydreaming that would indicate to the team members that he, to an extent, coveted you. What, then, gave it away? Did they catch you with his belongings? Or maybe it was the time when he tagged along with you to the practice range… No, it had to be the one where he shared his dinner with you back in October. So much happened within the last quarter of 1983 that he lost track of the time. He made sure to restrain himself, therefore lacking in deep physical affection other than bumping hands or shoulders because he was secretly afraid of it developing into something more.

Yet, now he came to realize that he came to crave a bit more than just passerby contact.

"Face the facts, Adler. Enough lying to yourself. You can put up this nonchalant and detached character for all I fucking care, but you know damn well that there's no way to avoid those feelings inside of you." Lazar's voice softens up, "Don't become the monster they make you out to be.”

Before they're gone.

He never got the chance to get that drinking date with Park. No drinking the beer she called "horse piss". Lazar didn't even have the chance to fully confess what he thought of her, only leaving it up to the flirtatious attitudes and conversations that continued to bug the rest of the crew. And now, with her gone, there was that loose end that will never be finished, leaving him to deal with whatever he could scavenge.

And he didn't want Adler to go through the same thing.

“...Monster. Huh.” That was a title he hasn’t heard for a while.

Even then, what would Adler talk to you about? There was nothing about himself he found interesting, nor did anything of importance stir up as of late. Bringing up work related subjects was contraband, so that would leave civilian life and whatever he did in his free time.

Lazar notes the struggle, retracting back his anger. "Don't think about it too hard. Why don't you read a book out loud or something? Actually, Bell likes music right? How about you sing—"

"You did not just suggest that I sing, Eleazar."

"Hey, it's all up to you. Maybe Sims still has that radio he tinkers around with."

The radio was the one no one was allowed to touch. But, Adler could perhaps find a way to convince his friend to hand it over. "I'll think about it."

"Like I said. If you need ideas, just ask." With a satisfied nod, Lazar takes a look at his watch, only for his eyes to widen. "Shit, papers are due. Did you—"

"I already submitted mine."

"Damn it, and no reminder?" Lazar heads towards the door in a rushed manner, tugging at the ends of his jacket to tighten it over his chest. Lazar pauses right under the frame, shooting Adler a final look. "Do you want me to bring you anything, or…?"

"No." Adler pauses. "Actually, wait. Since they're sending a few people back to the warehouse, tell them to find Bell's jacket. The black bomber. Fairly new, started being worn after Christmas. There's fur around the neck and inside—"

"I know what it looks like. Isn’t that the one you gave them?"

Such an article of clothing was hard to forget and easily identifiable with the patches sewn onto the sleeves. It became commonality for you to wear it every time you had to go out, and with the frequency of its use, it was almost like it was specifically made for you. The jacket practically became a must-wear whenever you left the safehouse.

"...Don't you have papers to tend to?"

Lazar gives him a cheeky grin, savoring the small victory for putting Adler on the spot, before exiting.

0000

"Hey. You're back early."

Adler sheds his jacket, before tossing it over his shoulder to let it hang. "Just came to pick up some stuff."

"You holding up okay?" Sims asks, holding out a styrofoam take out box to him.

"Couldn't be better."

It was an obvious lie, but Sims didn’t pry any further.

The whiteness of the hospital was starting to become an eyesore, and sitting in a chair sulking wasn't going to get anything else done. Adler could wait by your side as long as he wanted, but the world around him moved on, and he needed something to occupy himself. He prided himself in the inability to get bored easily, yet sitting in that hospital with no changes did some damage to his sanity. Seeing how there was little to nothing left he could do for you, he was left with the choice of paperwork or seclusion.

He would take that time to drive around the neighborhood, staring at the city night lights as rush hour traffic started to dwindle. This time, after refueling gas, he returned back to base at around 7 p.m..

To have such emptiness follow him around was draining. Everything he did felt like routine, just letting a ghost lead him around to wander about while he submerged himself in overthinking and brooding. It wasn’t healthy by all means, but it made time pass in a blur. Three weeks wasn’t much in a long run, but in the waking moments it felt like an eternity.

“Where’s everyone else?” Adler inquires, taking a bite.

“Just down the hall, drinking. Since you're here, though…” Sims hands him a medium sized shipping box. Setting down his dinner and rummaging through it, Adler found a book, the radio, and your jacket, folded neatly and recently washed. “Don’t break my goods now, I spent a good chunk of my time fixing that player.”

“I'll think about it. What's the book for?”

“So you don’t get bored. Are you going to join us for a couple shots?”

0000

It was morning. The sun that just made it out of the horizon gave the skyscraper windows a nice white glare while a light drizzle came from above. With the hospital window open ajar, Adler leans on his elbows placed on the window sill, looking out to the street below.

His glasses were propped on his head, a cigarette placed in his mouth as he let the ashes fly away. A persistent headache kept pounding at the Adler’s temples from the amount of drinks he had the night prior.

Although temporary, the alcohol managed to relieve the stress he had continuously built up the past few weeks. He put down his barriers only for that moment, intaking more gulps than he knew he could handle to get wasted, just purging everything out of his head. For once the rambunctious noise of the rest of the team members settled his unrest. He knocked out eventually, getting a somewhat decent amount of sleep in.

Now it was back to reality.

Adler looked down at the book that rested open on the window sill, dusting away the remaining ash from the pages and continued reading a paragraph. He wasn't an avid reader, nor were the contents of the novel Sims provided all that attention grabbing, but it was enough to keep him engrossed for a short while.

A nurse walks in, about to go through the usual routine. “No smoking sir.”

Disposing of the stick without objections, he attempts to continue reading, only to lose track and get distracted by movement just right outside his peripherals. Instead, Adler shuts the book closed and walks over to the side table, flicking on the radio and beginning to fumble around with the knob. He watches as the red line slides up and down the station markers, trying to get an efficient signal.

The nurse eyes him as he does. “There’s a theory going around that music can actually aid in patients’ recovery."

Adler wasn't in the morning mood for small talk, but found the hypothesis worth paying attention to. “Really?”

“Having a familiar stimulus for them to listen to is thought to evoke increased brain activity.”

“At least there’s one thing I’m doing right.”

He continues to flip through the stations, listening to the ocean of static and incomplete sentences as musical notes cut off to their own accord with each adjustment. Upon first meeting you, Adler didn’t associate you as being the type of person who takes pleasure in submerging themselves into music, but after he gave you the Walkman, you proved him wrong. It was only recently, around early November, that you informed him that it helped you tuned out voices that visit sporadically.

Actually, what was your favorite song? All the ones on the mixes he gave you were a compilation of his personal tastes. Now he had another question he looked forward to asking.

Unable to come to a conclusion, Adler releases the knob and plops back into the chair, listening to what the radio had in store. The nurse takes her leave without another word.

A spokesperson with a low and pleasing voice spoke barely above a whisper, reading off the name of the arrangements before letting them play. It wasn't a displeasing genre to listen to. Quite the opposite, actually, but there was always that strange eeriness behind the musical notes.

Clair de Lune by Claude Debussy.

Erik Satie’s Gymnopedie No. 1.

Nocturne in E Minor by Chopin—

If anything, it was good for sitting in peace and falling asleep to. He couldn't catch himself in time, eyelids already drooping.

0000

Adler's eyes snap open abruptly. He didn't even realize that he had fallen asleep, but at this point it should have been no surprise. It happened practically everyday now as he waited for you, and he did his damn hardest to have his eyes open, just in case. Considering the multiple results from his lack of supervision of you, there was a growing phobia that if he were to look away, something bad might happen.

What time is it?

9:04 am.

Out for two hours. He has about thirty minutes to spare before having a meeting with Hudson.

Adler conjures up a sigh, and leans back to study the ceiling, waiting for the energy to kick back in.

So much happened in such a short span, and Adler had to give you credit for your hardship and ability to withstand it all. It was a dark thought, and he hated himself for it coming into bloom, but the current state that you were in was probably the best outcome. You didn't have to worry about work, you didn't need to hold a weapon. You could just rest.

How would you react if you woke up and no one was there? Adler felt revolted at himself for just even fathoming the idea of abandoning you here— cut off all of your ties with the CIA, so you can live a new life. But no, he couldn’t do that to you. He wouldn’t dare to.

If he did announce that you were no longer under the reigns of the CIA, what would you do? As far as he knew, there was no other place for you to return to, and he knew for a fact that the entire safehouse had become like a strange family to you.

So, what were you seeing behind those closed eyes of yours? Were you scared, floating in darkness? Or were you dreaming of a better tomorrow?

Adler could only surmise to himself, only hearing stories of coma patients and their experiences. It's something he came to think as of late, thoughts repeating over and over as he could only wait for an answer that no one could provide except yourself.

No use dwelling on it.

He gets up from his spot, the past couple hours uneventful like the previous days. He runs through a couple stretches, feeling his bones pop a couple times.

It was nearing 9:20 am. Adler eyes drift back to your bed, about to take his leave and give an unspoken farewell, only to do a double take.

Your current position was different.

It was way off from before.

Comparing it to the previous days, you were now more upright and apparently well. You were sitting up.

Face turned away and out the window, looking at the morning dews and drops that slid down the glass.

Outside, the sun was in a higher position, sunlight streaming through the clouds as it highlighted your white covered form. There were a few minor adjustments, some equipment no longer attached. The radio that was turned to a low right before he passed out was now clearly audible.

Not only that, but the heart rate monitor he became so used to hearing was now at a different tempo that indicated activeness. How did he not notice it right from the get-go?

No fucking way.

"Bell?" he manages to force out. It came out as a whisper, in awe and in skepticism.

Adler sees you practically brighten up at the mention of your name, the red line earning a sudden spike.

You turn towards him with a smile that he thought could compete with the happiness of a child waking up to the morning of Christmas, and he could feel his breath leave.

"Hey Russ."

#the ending for this chapter ends so abruptly I—#like it's just sudden but I couldn't really picture it any other way #anyways yeah woot final chapter next time #russell adler x reader #russell adler x bell #call of duty x reader #adler x reader #bo:cw #black ops cold war #cod black ops cold war #call of duty #fanfic #abcd briefing #text #russell adler #bell

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sumsebien · 3 years

Text

by design pt.2 // Prince Friedrich

series masterlist

summary: one room and two very confused individuals.

word count: 3.6k

warnings: none

a/n: don’t ask me how. i don’t know either :) (edited: i added another scene yall)

Friedrich stood awkwardly next to the coffee table, looking out the window while you sat on the couch all the way across the room from him. A queen-sized bed splitting the space into his side and yours that none of you were willing to cross.

“The weather-“ Friedrich began, taking a quick peek outside, “-is lovely, don’t you think?”

“It really is.” You were just going to say that.

It had been 15 minutes and that was the first thing you had said to each other after the doors were closed. Both of you were longing for lunch time to arrive for an escape, any escape from this tragic situation you felt developing.

“I-“

“Oh, you were saying?” he asked.

“No, nothing. You?”

“I was just-I think I’ll head out for a minute. Check on where the rest of the luggage is.”

It was confirmed. He absolutely despised your guts. That was not his job. A Prince never had to check on anything. If he wanted to stay, there was nothing that could stop him. Not even some stupid luggage. He must be leaving because he didn’t want to stay in your company any longer.

“Oh, of course.”

Friedrich gave you a small smile, walking towards the door with the least amount of elegance anyone had ever seen. His legs didn’t even feel like they were even his. There went all of his posture and diplomatic training.

As the Prince, he was forced to sit in numerous lessons on the art of making conversation and had to put it into practice almost immediately at dinner with his father. At Cambridge, he spent three years studying international relations, different societies and their interactions.

But somehow, the weather was the first thing he talked about. It was such a poor attempt that he was absolutely certain you found him dull. Even he thought it was dull.

And the walk? He could not explain where that came from. He was a giraffe who suffered an identity crisis and had no awareness of its legs.

There was no way in hell he was going to make you suffer through this the entire day. He thought as he asked his guards to find Heinrich. He was going to fix this.

Lunch had passed and soon came time for dinner.

You sat and watched the plate of beans, stale bread and soup go cold. It wasn’t because you were a picky eater by any means or that you held some sort of contempt for people less fortunate than yourself. It was none of that. It was the voice inside your head, feeding you paranoia every second that passed.

He would probably walk than sit on the same train as you. Remember his face? And the small talk that he kept having to make? Probably did not think you were worth any real conversation.

You stood up abruptly and then sat down again, the skirt of your dress rustling with your movement. You huffed, staring out the window with no intention of admiring the landscape. You just needed something else to think about. But there was simply nothing other than this.

Just as you were about to call your maids in to clear away the food, you heard a knock on the door. Careful this time, you stood up and told whoever on the other side to come in.

It was Friedrich. You scanned his expression with caution, hesitantly. He wore a gleeful grin on his face, his eyes gleaming. The happiest you had seen him. But it was fleeting, quickly wiped off when he saw your face. Were you that terrible?

He took a glance at the neglected tray and then back up at you. “Was the food not good?”

“Oh, I just wasn’t hungry.”

“Your lady’s maids are just outside. Would you like anything? Fruits?”

You shook your head. Through the gap he left, you could see Lea and Ilse’s figures. You walked past him to the doors, calling them in.

Once they saw your face, they immediately rushed into the room, curtsied to the both of you and took the tray away. You just stood next to the door and gazed aimlessly at the floors. Friedrich who was impressed turned to you with a remark that completely missed you.

“Yes?” you asked again.

“Nevermind that,” he smiled, “I have found a solution!”

“What?”

“A solution to our problem,” he gestured between the two of you. A glimmer of hope flashed in front of your eyes, so close that if you had reached out your hand you would have caught it. Your heartbeat hastened, your fingers clenching around themselves.

“I have rented out a compartment for myself. It should work perfectly well! You can have this room!”

Whatever else he said blew away. You heard none of it.

You could still see perfectly clearly though. A smile plastered on his face, his lips moving so fast you could not make out what he was saying even if you tried. He seemed so cheerful, so satisfied with himself that he had dealt with this, with you.

You blinked at him, your arms going limp at your side. Were you so despisable? That he had to leave the entire day just to figure out how to get away from you?

But where is the surprise? Even your own parents struggled to love you. All your life you had to live everyday knowing you were undeserving. Undeserving of your father’s pride from the moment you came into the world a girl. Undeserving of your mother’s affection for not being foolish enough. And undeserving of your betrothal’s tolerance. Not likable enough. Not pretty enough. Not Daphne or even Cressida.

“Y/N?”

His voice brought you back. You quickly ducked your head, rubbing away the tears that were gathering at the rim of your eyes. “Yes. Thank you.”

He paused, tilting his head to try and match your faze. “Is something wrong? Did I offend you?”

You waved him off, turning the corners of your lips upward in a show of pretend. “Not at all.”

“You’re crying.”

You sniffed. “Allergies. I apologize.”

You opened the door, “I believe your compartment awaits you. I will be completely fine, I promise.”

He walked over to the door, prompting you to take a step back and clicked it shut before you. “No,” he said, “there is something wrong. It’s my fault, isn’t it? You can tell me. I won’t be offended.”

You walked away from him, your back to him. “There is nothing wrong. There is nothing else I can say.”

“Y/N. I know you don’t trust me. But we are to be husband and wife-“

You spun around, all of your control gone. “Then why won’t you treat me so?”

Friedrich stared at you, unblinking.

“I know I am not who you expected. I am not who anyone expected,” you laughed bitterly, flicking your eyes up towards the ceiling to blink back the tears. “That much I know very well.”

“Y/N-“

You stopped him with the shake of your head. “But you must know that it is not my choice either. You don’t want to be in the same room as me yet you won’t let me leave.” Your fingers had been gripping on the fabric of your skirt. So tightly that it hurt when you yanked them away, throwing them in the air. “What must I do then? Disappear?”

“Y/N. Why do you think I did that?”

You sighed in exasperation. “You despise me!”

When your lungs were gasping for breath was when you knew you were done. Your breaths became deeper, easing the burning in your lungs but not the burning you felt in your heart. You took your time to watch him, really observe. His lips were pressed into a line as he watched you with pained eyes. Your words had slashed him but you did not know that. You did not think he would care.

Finally, he spoke, his voice barely louder than a summer breeze and calmer than a pond on a windless day. “I don’t despise you.”

“Y-you don’t...?”

He shook his head. “I got us separate rooms and I am giving you your space and your freedom because you clearly did not have in England.”

“I-“

“I didn’t have any freedom growing up either. People have a lot of input in my life. I know what it feels like to be an outsider in my own body, to want to run away and be myself. I may not have had it as bad as you but I still understand. And I am trying to give you your freedom.”

You stumbled onto the chair behind you and sat down. Friedrich sat across from you. The rounded coffee table was the only thing between you. He leaned against the arm, looking at you like he always did. But only now that you realized what exactly it was that he held in his gaze.

Sympathy.

“I am sorry if I made you feel like I despised you. Because that is not what I am trying to do.”

“No. I am sorry. I shouldn’t have lost control of myself like that. I obviously don’t know you enough to assume.”

An idea flashed in his eyes, he sat up, that excitement filling his blue eyes again. “How about we change that? I want to get to know you. And I will tell you whatever you want to know about me. Does that sound fair?”

“Fair.”

...

You were both painfully aware that there was only one bed. The both of you eyed it, wondering what you were supposed to do. It wasn’t as if any of you had any intention of doing anything other than talk. Right?

Well, you’d be lying if you said your mind wasn’t going somewhere else.

You didn’t know about him but you had been preparing yourself mentally for your wedding night ever since your mother gave you the talk. You just never thought that the first time you would share a bed with a man, your husband for that matter was to talk.

It was not that you were disappointed. You just did not know what to do. Somehow, this was more awkward than the ballet performance your father made you perform for his siblings and their children at Christmas. If there was ever a competition amongst the most humiliating instances in your life, that one would win, well, would have won.

“I will sit in the chair, you take the bed,” Friedrich decided.

It didn’t take a genius to see that the little wooden armchair was not going to be comfortable for him. Hell, you yourself had difficulty relaxing against the bumpy wooden backrest. He was essentially twice its height and had much more muscles than you. He simply would not fit.

“No, if anything, I’ll sit. It’ll be more comfortable for me.”

He quickly shut that idea down with the shake of the head. “No, I simply cannot allow that.”

“Why not?”

“Well for a start, I started this mess. You shouldn’t have to suffer the consequences-“

“I started it too!”

“You weren’t the one who placed a bet with my father, were you?”

“Bet?” What bet? He never told you about any bet?

Friedrich could see panic slowly rising in your eyes. He hadn’t meant to say it like that. It sounded as though this was all a game to him. You were probably thinking it was at that very moment.

“I,” he began, searching for the right words for a moment before he continued, “my father always wanted me to marry someone of his choice. It wasn’t ideal for me, I had had my freedom. I wasn’t going to give it all up. So I made a deal with him. If I ended up married at the end of the season, he would not be able to intervene.”

“But you weren’t married.”

He nodded.

Quietly gazing at the ground, you said nothing else and just sat down on the edge of the bed. Friedrich couldn’t see your eyes but he began to worry he had offended you.

Of course, he did. What was he thinking? He basically said marrying you was akin to being in a cell. He might as well have said that. What was the difference really?

Then, out of the blue, you apologized. An apology which felt wholly unnecessary. It sent him into a daze. “W-whatever are you apologizing for?” It was you who deserved an apology.

“I’m sorry,” you repeated, looking up, “about Daphne and about your father. I’m not sure I could have pulled myself together as well as you did at our wedding if I were you.”

Wordlessly, he sat down next to you, the both of you staring straight ahead. He didn’t think he handled it well at all. He just showed up. But then he decided against saying anything lest he ruined the conversation again.

After a little while, you turned to him with a question. “You loved her, did you?”

If you had asked him that question a couple of days ago, before he met you, he would have said yes immediately. He was very certain that he loved Daphne Bridgerton. But now that you were in the mix, he had other feelings to compare whatever he felt with Daphne to.

With Daphne, there was attraction. A lot of it. Perhaps so much that it had temporarily blinded him. There was also the pressure of the bet. Once he found someone he felt like he could love, he made the leap.

But something was amiss. There was always a concern that they wouldn’t quite connect on a deeper level. He knew that if he were to be having this conversation with Daphne instead of you, he wouldn’t have shared so much about his relationship with his father.

Yet, with you, he just knew you would understand.

“Did you love Simon?”

You shook your head, your eyes on your hands. “No, I didn’t. Not in the way I wanted to. I barely knew him. My parents did though. They were pushing me towards him when you and Daphne began to court.”

“And if they had asked you to marry him, would you have?”

The corners of your lips curled up ever so slightly. “I don’t have any other choice.”

Ever since that day at the abbey, he had suspected that this arrangement was forced upon you as well. Having it confirmed by you, however, saddened him. For you, it was never a question of this or that. It was either you did as you were told or you suffered. At least, he had a shot. You never did.

“I have no say in anything. Not even with my own performance at family gatherings,” you added, swinging your legs back and forth gently. The small smile on your lips lightened the mood. It made him smile as well.

“Me neither. It was quite the embarrassment.”

“I once fell flat on my face at Christmas trying to perform a ballet.”

“You did?”

You nodded. “And then I laid there. Like a log of wood.”

“That is still not as embarrassing as the time I got an awful grade in arithmetic. And came lunch time, it was splattered all over the papers: ‘Prince Friedrich does not know how to count.’“

You tried to hold back a laugh. But you couldn’t, your entire body was shaking with laughter. As a last attempt to save some grace, your hand flew to cover your mouth. A habit you had formed over the years living with a strict mother. Well, you weren’t sure if there was any grace left but it certainly sounded less like a hyena and more like a hyena with a rope around its mouth.

Friedrich couldn’t care less though. Very quickly, he joined you, leaning forward with a chuckle.

You found yourself looking at him and thinking how nice his laugh sounded. It wasn’t obnoxiously loud like the ones that echoed all across the estate during one of your father’s dinner parties. It wasn’t too perfectly staged either. It was simply a delightful sound. A laugh anyone would be jealous of.

When the room returned to its familiar silence, his arms accidentally brushed yours. The unexpected graze was so brief that you didn’t think he even noticed. You, on the other hand, were very aware.

To mask your increasingly reddening cheeks and clammy hands, you opted to carry on with the conversation. “I guess gossip papers truly are everywhere.”

“For an appetite so voracious, it is only fair. At Buckingham, everyone reads Lady Whistledown.”

You paused, shaking your head to yourself. “You read Lady Whistledown?”

“I must admit it is quite entertaining when it is not your name on the front page. You read it too, right?”

“Of course!” you grinned,” I am not allowed to but I find my ways. Who could dare dream of missing out on London’s latest?”

“So what are you allowed to read?”

“Nothing. Which is why I read everything I can get my hands on.”

You then continued to recount your late night adventures sneaking into the library. You seemed so proud that he couldn’t help but smile and nod along.

There was also that sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach as he learned more and more about your upbringing. You seemed to know that the nonsensical rules your parents imposed on you were unusual too. But somehow, you had learned to accept it as nothing more than a fact of life. You never spoke of them or referred to them with spite. Certainly not had the same sour taste that Friedrich had on his tongue everytime he spoke about his father.

The Duke and Duchess of Clarence were damn lucky to have you as their daughter. They certainly did not deserve it though. He thought bitterly.

...

You and Friedrich ended up in bed, talking all night.

By the time dawn was on the horizon, you had both finished recounting your childhood tales, leaving nothing behind. In the end, the two of you found in this complicated arrangement so much more than either of you could bargain for. A confidant.

“Who is to say the betrothed can't be good friends?” Friedrich said, leaning against the headboard as he looked up at the ceiling.

You laughed. “Not us apparently.”

“Would you be able to promise me something?” He turned his head to look at you.

If there was one thing Friedrich learned after hours of conversation, it was that you were the best friend he had never had. And he was not going to let that go. Not even for his own feelings.

“Yes?”

“That we will remain friends even if we can’t love each other like we should.”

You grinned, sticking out your pinky. “Promise.”

...

Dear sister,

Everything is in order. All that is left to be done is for my ‘Diamond of the season’ to produce a male heir....

Bernadine closed the letter and stuffed it in her trunk of clothes at the faintest sounds of footsteps echoing in the hallway outside. Putting on the sweetest smile, Bernadine made sure she was the first thing he saw coming into the room.

“Good evening, your Majesty. How was hunting?”

The King entered the room swiftly, slamming the doors behind it. She did not jump, immediately following him and helping him with his cloak.

“Didn’t catch anything,” he said, shaking off his muddy boots onto the floors. “The weather. Too gloomy and rainy. Scared off the deers.”

Bernadine hung the fur cloak up. While the King disappeared into the bathroom, she quickly closed the blinds, of course not missing the bright blue sky and the royal garden bathing in sunlight.

“Yes, the weather has been absolutely terrible these past few days.”

When he came out of the bathroom, she made sure to cling onto his side, steering him towards the desk. “Are you feeling better, my love?”

“Much. Made sure the train stayed right here before I left. Good luck travelling with the lower-class, son.”

The King began to cackle uncontrollably at that, even had to sit down at one point. And Bernadine made sure that he sat right before the stack of paperwork sent for him this morning.

“That is a genius idea!”

“I know it was. What is this?”

“This is everything that needed to be signed while you were gone.”

The King cleared his voice, taking his quill and began to scribble his name on every page. Even the one that had nothing to do there along with the more important national matters.

A contract.

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250 notes · View notes

du0tine · 3 years

Text

༄𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐀༄

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄: 5.3K 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 | 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐖!

prominent use of bad language. mentions of people hooking up and using drugs but no explicit description, there is no smut in this prologue but are some light suggestive scenes. description of a drug overdose, drug intoxication and hallucinations. mentions of candy flipping: the use of MDMA and LSD combined. main character death and resurrection. graphic imagery. light mentioning of religious anecdotes.

viewer discretion is advised.

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄:

THIS IS THE FIRST PART TO THE PROLOGUE!

at the end of the second prologue you may choose a route that will lead you to one of the four stories with either:

na jaemin, jung jaehyun, wong yukhei or xiao dejun.

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓:

@stayinzencity @prettyjaems @hunjins @neonun-au @bumblebeenct @neojaems + there may have been more people but i kinda forgot to write them down sorry! lmk if you would like to be added. just let me know which member’s route, you can choose as many as you’d like.

It was all too confined.

Sweaty bodies aggressively shoving against each other in the mosh pit. People falling from side to side, crushing each other as they flailed their bodies around. The smell of DMT lingered in the air clouding your thoughts ever so slightly, tinging your mind with a light haziness. As the vibrant, disco lights blinded you, making your sight kaleidoscopic. You were seeing double and it didn’t help since it served as the only source of light in this underground club. You were pretty sure that had you not been so painfully sober and not shit faced drunk you would’ve been pressed against the club’s dirty floor next to some girls abandoned, dirty thong with people jumping on top of you, crushing your body.

It was hopeless. You’d lost sight of your friends from the moment you got into this dreaded hole of sweaty bodies, quite literally being engulfed by the ocean of people. Your body felt like a pulp, compressed and sweaty, falling apart at the seams. Even your feet were terribly blistered since your toes began to sink further down, your heels pressing uncomfortably against the leather material. Scanning the crowd, you desperately look for an exit to find the bathroom. Of course, you weren’t expecting it to be any better. There would most likely be people hooking up or doing drugs in the empty stalls but you’d at least expect less people inside and more space to just collect yourself and find your friends since there was no way you could just leave. The lineup was almost an hour long and the bouncer wasn’t going to let you in twice.

Finally you spot the broken LED sign that held the exit sign. It’s hues sparking above the crowd, omitting an array of bright colours that mostly alternated between red and blue. Overjoyed, you roughly shove people out of your way, getting shoved back a few times in return but overall, the heavy traffic pushed you closer to the exit and finally you were met with a dimly lit, long corridor. It was rather empty except for the few clusters of people either nearly fucking on the spot or passed out on the floor.

Carefully, navigating your way through the hallway you almost slip on some dark yellow vomit. Your heels squelching against the ground as you mentally cringe feeling disgusted. Nearly yelling out loud at the person who’d thrown up but much to your dismay they were long gone with their face against the floor, eyes shut tight. Roughly dragging the scuff of your shoe against the floor you wipe the putrid substance off before continuing your march through the hallway of hell.

The further you went, the darker it got and you were starting to think you’d come the wrong way. There was no bathroom. Hell, there wasn’t even an exit; it was just a dingy, dark hallway with absolutely no end. As you continued downwards you start to feel uneasy, almost as if there was someone watching you. With each and every step away from the dance floor you hear the music become more and more faint, the sound of the bass thumping lightly along with the sound of the crowd almost disappearing. Soon enough it became painfully silent, the only noise that bounced against the walls of the corridor were your own and they omitted from the clapping of your heels that clacked against the cold floor.

One, two, three, four steps and you start to hear double. Stopping in place, you’re met with a silence. It’s just you and this hallway you think to yourself before taking a few more steps ahead and then hearing it again. It was definitely the sound of someone’s shoes, ones besides yours. Perhaps, someone was following you? You weren’t sure. In fact, you were just too scared to turn your head around and take a look back mostly because something deep inside you warned you not to look back. Maybe there was something about how anxious this place made you feel.

As a result, it made your head spin, the vertigo making you feel nauseous as you struggled to even keep marching forwards through this endless abyss of a walkway.

Nonetheless, you push yourself to keep moving ahead. Forcing yourself to think that the further you went, the faster the bathroom would appear. A doorway that would you lead into a disgusting, nasty as hell bathroom filled with people from the club. This illusion you fed yourself forced you into a sense of false comfort as you tried your best to fight the urge to look back and keep moving.

Your mission was to reach the bathroom because you knew that you’d be safe then. Despite not even knowing what followed you, you kept your vision dead straight ahead becoming so focused you failed to realize how the walls around you twisted and contorted. The chipped paint started to come alive developing a pulse, beating as if it was alive like flesh inside the body of a human. Something that never saw the light of life until given the opportunity to do so and right now it was tearing itself apart stripping itself, revealing the grimy, almost ghastly white woodwork behind it as its paint wilted at your feet. Hypnotized you kept moving forward as the sound of those dreaded footsteps got closer and closer.

Clack, clack, clack it rang through your ears. Echoing through your eardrums and spiralling through your mind. The paranoia ate away at your sanity, it replaced all senses of feeling and thinking with fear and ignorance. You ignored how your mind screamed at you to turn back and stop going forward in fear of what lay ahead. Instead you listened to how your body forced you to place one foot right in front of the other and march straight into your doom.

Finally, you see an exit. A doorway that stands there perfectly still, illuminated around its perimeter with a bright mix of red and blue. You feel yourself fall at ease as you pick up your pace practically racing for the door as you hold a hand out eager to feel the cold, brass doorknob around your sweaty palms. The distance between you and the door close with each step that you take but so does the sound of those dreaded feet behind you. With merely a few inches between you and the door, you feel a gush of hot wind against your neck. Its someones breath.

It feels like your whole body falls into a frenzy, a complete panicking mess. As you finally grip onto the door knob giving it a rapid turn, twisting it with everything you had within you and yet, nothing. It doesn’t budge. Rather simply it stands there silently mocking you as you tug at the door. Your movements only becoming more violent when you feel someones hand atop your shoulder. Goosebumps erupt across your skin, decorating it like grains of sand, the granules sitting coldly atop your body. It surges through your frame and shoots up your spine as the hairs on the back of your neck stand up in shock.

“Going somewhere?” Questions the voice as you freeze in place. Your objective of getting the hell out momentarily pausing as you feel eerily intrigued by the voice. Who could it be? The voice was almost incoherent and yet, it held a tone that would perhaps come from a man. The vibrations from its voice made the shivers that stood at the top of your spine come tumbling back down onto your tall bone as you shudder in response. Just who exactly was this? You had to find out. After all, there was no going back now.

Mustering the very little courage that you had within the pits of your stomach, you tense up. Your muscles restricting themselves making your movements very slow as you take your time turning around. Your eyes glued to the ground, staring at the floor and only just realizing how it jiggled underneath you, almost as if you were standing on top of jello. It’s checkered black and white tiles moving around as you pivot, the toes of your feet sinking in ever so slightly.

You know you’re facing the figure when you see a pair of sleek, perfectly polished mens dress shoes in front of you. The gloss that radiants from the black shoes almost blind you as you can’t help but momentarily look away staring at your own feet that were beginning to sink deeper into the translucent, gelatine floor. Your heels doing nothing more but piercing into the meaty layer beneath you.

“My gosh, you’re so fucking high,” Snickers the voice as you snap your head upwards. Contorting your eyebrows in confusion as you quickly retort their observation, “I am not!”

As the words abruptly leave your mouth you can’t help but feel like you’ve had the wind knocked out of you. In front of you stands a masked man, dressed in a black suit that you could just tell was fabricated with the finest materials and by a crafted tailor no less. The tufts of his hair rotate between the colours of silver, an auburn brown, black and yellow blonde. The mask that adorns his face is plain white, with no slits for eyes nor a mouth leaving you astonished as to how exactly could this masked figure see but you don’t speak the thoughts of your mind. Almost as if you knew that questioning him would lead nowhere.

Instead you continue to gawk at him with your eyes wide, pupils extremely dilated. Your fruity lips drifted apart as you momentarily forget to breath. Slowly you watch as he brings a hand forward to rest on your cheek. Not even realizing how hot and flustered you were until you feel his cold hand caress your skin. He’s gentle as he continues to observe you. Making you feel like a delicate flower in the grasps of a strong being, one wrong move and you could be crushed.

“I’m not high,” Are the words that flutter past your lips once more as you stare at him, your thoughts are in a daze. You can’t even think straight as he lets out a laugh.

“Sure you aren’t. In fact you totally didn’t spend the night candy flipping for nothing, you’ve called upon me and that’s…pretty sweet. The taste of death, reward of the afterlife,” He replies, his fingers leaving your soft cheek and moving towards the locks of your hair as he runs his fingers through them, combing it gently ridding it of its knots.

“Death? I’m sorry what?” You question as you snap out of your thoughts pushing his hand away from yourself as you look around you. Nothing looked normal, the hallway seemed to replicate one from the inside of a twisted funhouse, except this was all but fun. As the realization of being somewhere that you don’t belong in hits you, you begin to panic. The fear settling in at the pit of your stomach, clouding your thoughts as your surroundings begin to darken. Everything seems to take a turn for worse as the floor beneath you continues to cave in faster and faster. Soon you find yourself knee deep staring in horror at the man in front of you, desperately you reach out your hand begging him to pull you up, to save you.

“You’re mistaken! I’m not dead, I was just fine. Perfectly sober in fact!” You shriek out absolutely horrified as you grip onto the jacket of his suit. You’re now thigh deep and sinking in faster. Calmly he holds your hand with his before bringing his other hand and placing it atop your head once more.

“I’m afraid you are dead. Having overdosed in the reckless amount of MDMA and LSD you consumed, eager to reach that ecstasy. That feeling of being in a euphoric state of mind, the bliss coursing through your veins only to be crushed by the mindless bodies of those whom you once danced with, then dragged out by your very own friends. Only to be left alone in the corridor soaked in your vomit.”

Deadpanned, the realization hits you hard. You really were dead and in fact, you’d walked past your very own dead body twice. Astonished and feeling completely drained you look up at the man with sorrowful eyes. This time you don’t speak as you stare at him with oceans in your gaze, the tears seeping from the ducts of your lifeless eyes as they fall down your now stone cold cheeks. You’re now waist deep into the ground as you continue to sink further down with nothing left to say.

“You’ll have a second shot, if you make things right,” He says before using his body weight and strength to push your body down into the ground with his hand. Eyes widening in shock you scream in horror as he submerges you completely, engulfing your voice in the floor beneath as everything swallows you alive and falls black.

It feels like you’re floating, your body is essentially weightless as you drift around in the dark mindlessly. You simply exist with no burdens atop your shoulders, no responsibilities and no sins. Your mind is a clean slate and it feels like you’re swimming around, sauntering inside a dark womb. Everything that surrounds you is inexplicable and unknown but it makes itself present. It’s a cold comfort. Perhaps, this is what it’s like to be dead. No hell, no heaven, simply a dark void. A looming and mysterious abyss where you’re overcome by nothing more except peace and eternal silence.

The silence is short as you suddenly feel a large pressure against your body. An unknown force dawning its mass, crushing you as your senses abruptly flutter awake. You begin to feel more confined, your surroundings no longer providing comfort but working against you. Slowly the unknown force begins to coat your body, covering every nook and cranny with its substance. Rubbing against your skin, grinding with pressure. Its the feeling of small, tiny granules but perhaps millions of them. Though this time it isn’t exactly goosebumps, no longer a natural phenomenon that occurs as a reaction in the human body. Instead, it seems to be sand as it works its way around your figure, engulfing you. Making you feel as if you’re caught inside an hourglass with no way to go but down. The sensation is suffocating as you catch particles of the sand inside your mouth, drying up your taste buds. Its objective is to swallow you whole and consume your existence with itself.

There is no longer any zen. The pulsations that once lingered through mind, body and soul is now gone and replaced with another kind of awakening. One that is urgent, one that screams for you to get out. In desperation you begin to panic, flailing your arms around. Your movements are drastically slower than you expect with the heavy sand slowing your momentum. With one arm in front of the other you swim your way through the sand, clawing your way out of the dark, pushing away from the suction that holds you down. You don’t stop until you feel the light breeze of what seems to be air brushing past your fingertips.

You’ve partially reached the surface. The adrenaline is now coursing through your veins, pumping through your heart with such speed. It feels like your heart is ready to burst through your ribcage at any given moment. But you don’t stop fighting against the quicksand until you’re met with the nights sky, seeing how the constellations are littered upon its dark blue canvas. Your eyes twinkle in the moonlight as you gasp for air, spitting out any of the remnants of sand that linger inside your mouth. Hacking rather loudly as you exhale the sand and inhale in the sweet air.

Mustering the last bit of energy that remains inside of you, you pull your torso out of the sand. The lower half of your body are next to follow as you flop onto the ground and onto your back. The scene is one that someone may have seen in a zombie movie, the undead coming back to life crawling their way out of their graves. Their resting place no longer sufficient. Reborn they quench for the thirst of human flesh except for you, you’re thirsty for life. To live again is all you wish for and you’ve been granted exactly that. Having been given the chance of taking another shot at this cruel game of life. Unbeknownst to you, you’re willing to do whatever it takes to make this permanent.

Gazing up at the nights sky you’re blown away at the sight. The sticky situation of being buried alive is no longer relevant having been replaced with the beauty of the world. Bringing forward a hand you hold it up towards the sky, holding it in reference next to the moon. Like porcelain, you shine. The flesh of your skin is soft and supple like a newborn baby, everything about you is new. You’re no longer dead but instead given the chance to take host in this new vessel. The body is still yours, it is you but it’s new and improved. There are no signs of your old body, no vomit seeping past your lips tainting your skin. Your bones are perfectly intact with no signs of damage, there is no wear and tear, everything seems to be working perfectly fine. All that remains is the black Saint Laurent minidress that you wore that night, in its pristine condition.

Sitting upwards you observe your surroundings before dusting the sand off of your body and proceeding to stand up. The landscape is rather vast and covered in nothing but sand. However, it seems like you’ve dug yourself out from the side of a sand dune. The tall hill that sits proudly behind you seems like a good idea to climb. Perhaps there will be more to see at the top, a perfect vantage point. Standing upwards you quickly start climbing, your feet dragging into the sand causing you to fall on your face a couple times but nonetheless you reach the top and what lies in front of you takes your breath away.

It’s a bustling city, lit up by street lanterns and filled with people. It glows in the dark, radiating the silhouettes of its architectural elements. The tall and looming arabesque styled buildings make you feel tiny in comparison. As it draws you in, it doesn’t even look real. Perhaps, this was all a mirage. None of this could be real, you could just be in a state of delusion having just dug yourself out of a hole in the ground but nonetheless you feel hypnotized completely captured by the beauty what lay ahead. In a trance you make your way towards the city.

Your eyes don’t leave the landscape. Admiring how despite how late it seemed, the people were just as lively. The closer you got, the louder the sounds of the city came alive. The place was surrounded by the desert except for the large port docked with multiple ships to the left of the city where it stretched out onto a large body of water. Perhaps, it led out to the seas? You didn’t know. This place seemed almost mythical like a story coming to life, none of it felt real until you found yourself standing in the middle of it all, walking through its streets.

As you wandered around you were met with the confused stares of its citizens as they all gawked at you. Taking one look at yourself and back at them you soon realized you weren’t dressed like they were. The people of the city were adorned in different types of silk garments, light enough to withstand the heat of the dessert but strong enough to protect from the winds at night. Meanwhile you wore something that just seemed skimpy in comparison to their clothing, it made it obvious you weren’t from here.

Ignoring their stares you continue to wander around following the crowds of people. All of which seemed to be heading in one particular direction straight into the upper north side of the city. Up north stood a perfectly, coral white palace that overlooked the city. One that perhaps resembled the Taj Mahal but exceeded in size and was much more grandiose. Strung up in what looks like an assortment of lights it glistens brightly. People fluttering into the palace through its big gates but not just anyone. The people granted access inside were dressed elegantly and much more expensive than the average citizen.

Just what exactly lay ahead? You had to find out.

Stopping a random lady in her path you quickly question her about what lies ahead. After receiving a rather annoyed look from her she’s quick to give you a snarky reply, “We’re celebrating the success of the Jung Family. Their son has gratefully claimed our land back from those filthy pirates.”

“The Jung family? Pirates?” You question out loud as she looks at you stunned. Quickly you change the tone of your reply when you see her squinting her eyes at you in suspicion. Rapidly repeating yourself and fixing your mistake, “Oh yeah! The Jung family! And those pesky little pirates huh?!”

The women simply rolls her eyes in response before quickly scurrying up ahead not wanting to be bothered by your horrible facade. You watch as she walks past the guards and inside leaving you behind. Standing in the outdoor lobby, your feet are cold and perhaps rather grimy against the polished marble floors as you debate whether or not to go inside. It seemed like there was a definite possibility they wouldn’t allow you indoors but maybe going inside would provide you answers on where exactly you were. Taking a deep breath you stride towards the gates, not making any eye contact with the guards.

You maybe get a foot into the palace before you’re stopped and roughly thrown back out.

“No beggars allowed inside.”

Contorting your eyebrows in confusion you look at the guards with disbelief. Here you stood dressed in something that definitely cost more than what someone else was wearing and yet you were denied access inside. Before you could lash out at the guards for being so rough you remember these people aren’t bouncers, in fact it looked like they were from a whole other time period.

This only proved just how out of place you were and you weren’t going anywhere unless you found a change of clothes or somehow snuck inside. Standing back where you once stood with the guards glaring at you, your eyes wander the palace looking for a way in. Glancing at every potential entry point, you scan the entire perimeter. Finally coming to the conclusion that every square inch of the building seemed impossible to penetrate through unseen and with the last few posh citizens piling inside and the gates slamming shut you felt hopeless.

Here you were in a city you didn’t recognize. A place that looked like the Atlantis of the sands, something out of a mythological book with nowhere to go. Just as you turn around to leave the palace something catches your eye. Within the corner of your peripheral vision you see a figure dart in the near distance, whipping your head in that direction just in time to see a young man climb through a window. His silver hair whipping through the wind. One moment he’s there and the next he’s not.

For a moment you decide that maybe this isn’t worth it. Sneaking in couldn’t promise anything but if it did, the reward would probably be huge. Either that or it held huge consequences. Standing there you debate on whether or not you should go and when you remember the words of the man who’d greeted your soul that night his words speak to you once more.

‘You’ll have a second shot, if you make things right.’

Perhaps, this city you were thrown into meant something. A sign of the afterlife? Maybe something that held significant importance? After all, he was the one who’d transferred you here and granted you this new vessel and it seemed to be pretty clear to you by now that everything happens for a reason. Being granted this temporary second shot at life seemed too good to be true but it seemed like there’d be a price to pay if you didn’t accomplish what you were sent for. The only question was, what was it that you needed to do? Glancing at the window you watch as it blows the gold curtains from inside, fluttering it out in the wind. The entryway was almost signalling you inside. The silver haired man from before must have recklessly left it open.

Taking that as your signal, you run towards the opening. Quickly hoisting yourself up onto the window sill and before slipping inside, you hesitate. All that echoes through your mind is your subconscious screaming at you to just go for it, you do exactly that thinking,

“Fuck it. What’s the worst that could happen, dying twice?”

Like an absolute moron you tumble into the room colliding rather loudly with the hard floor. The whole idea of staying quiet and unseen seemed to be impossible for you to accomplish. Turning around you reach for the doors of the window thinking that at least covering your tracks would help. Just as your fingers brace against the metallic framing of the handle you’re stopped in your tracks.

“Hey,” Calls out someone. The tone of the voice isn’t commanding but instead rather friendly. Looking downwards, you’re met with a rather tall man. His black hair is sleeked back in a hairstyle, two small braids hanging from the side of his scalp. His dark , obsidian orbs are staring right back at you as you gawk at him like a deer caught in the headlights. Clad in the same attire as everyone else you simply brush him off, quickly reaching for the knob and trying to slam it shut in fear of being caught. Only to have your movements halted when his large hand makes contact with your wrist.

“Leave the window open will you?” He asks as the corners of his mouth stretch into a rather playful grin.

“What? Why don’t you just go through the gate like everyone else?” You ironically retort as you attempt to shake his grip off with no success.

“What if I don’t belong here?” He questions. Raising his eyebrows rather theatrically as you freeze on the spot, “Just like you.” With those words you’re quick to release the knob and he’s just as quick to release his grip. He’d clearly been watching you and you were absolutely clueless as to just exactly how long.

The encounter is quick to set off your fight or flight instinct as you make a run for the door, trying to get as far away as possible from the window. Only to be stopped by the same man from before, plummeting to the floor merely inches away from freedom. He rolls you onto your back as he straddles your body, his weight doesn’t crush you in pain but he’s certainly applying pressure and it doesn’t feel great. Using one of his hands to hold both of yours above your head making you essentially defenceless as you try and kick him off with no result.

“Let’s just make something clear,” He begins. Slowly leaning in closer and closer towards you, stopping merely inches away from your face and specifically from your lips. His breath is hot against your skin as you inhale the heavy smell of tobacco and light cologne that omits from his body. Despite having nowhere to look but at him, deep down you feel hot. The burning sensation that rests at the pit of your stomach makes butterflies erupt inside. You can’t help but admire just how good looking he is and how dangerous. A combination you always couldn’t resist. Your chest is heaving up and down as you struggle to stay calm, your breath even hitches a couple times as his eyes burn into yours. He’s reading you silently like an open book and you can’t help but feel like this vulnerability is lustrous and you want more.

Slowly his other hand snakes up your torso, starting at your navel and tiptoeing through the valley in between of your breasts, finally stopping at your neck. His movements are agile and it feels like his fingers are dancing upon your skin. He takes his time knowing that he’s got the upper hand and that the ship sails his way, not yours.

Suddenly his hand is wrapped tightly around your neck, gripping the flesh with his slender, calloused fingers. As they press into the sides of your neck skillfully avoiding your windpipe. You’re thankful he isn’t holding you directly down or else he’d probably crush your only main source of breathing. As your vision starts to fall hazy, you’re seeing stars. It’s like peering into the milky way through a telescope looking at the numerous planets and right now you’re looking at Venus. He is beauty, he is mysterious and he is bold. If Venus was a boy it’d be this man hovering above you. Helplessly watching his every movement as he leans down closer gravitating towards your lips before swerving to the left and placing his mouth close to your ear. The situation makes your heart bounce almost as if you’ve just dodged an astroid.

“If you tell anyone about our little encounter, about me. I’ll go out of my way to kill you first and believe me my schedules pretty full,” The tone in his voice is menacing, definitely evoking more fear within you and you can’t help but gargle out a weak agreement in response. This man came to do business and it seemed like he’d barely decided to spare you and he definitely wouldn’t the next time. He must’ve been convinced with your response because you feel his body weight shift away from you. The sounds of his footsteps move towards the door, his weight creaking against the floor boards and just before he leaves, you prop yourself up calling out to him weakly, “W-who are you?”

Slowly he turns around looking down on you, the light from the corridor behind him illuminating his figure. “Let’s just say, I’m not very liked here,” Is his response as he brings a finger up towards his lips, twisting them and playfully and throwing away the make belief key. With that he’s gone, disappearing down the hallway and you can’t help but think of one word and one word only. The exact definition of just exactly who this man was, a pirate. Given tonights circumstances that the lady from before had mentioned, it didn’t look like things were going to end very well in terms of the celebration.

𝑨𝑳𝑳 𝑹𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻𝑺 𝑹𝑬𝑺𝑬𝑹𝑽𝑬𝑫 ©︎𝑫𝑼0𝑻𝑰𝑵𝑬

#PART ONE OF THE PROLOGUE!#LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK AND IF YOUD LIKE TO BE ADDED TO THE TAGLIST!#nct #nct 127 #nct dream #wayv #this was shit but I figured I should release SOMETHING #LMK IF U COULD FIGURE OUT WHICH TWO MEMBERS APPEAR FIRST!#nct fanfic #wayv fanfic #nct dream fanfic #nct 127 fanfic #na jaemin x reader #jaehyun x reader #Lucas x reader #xiaojun x reader

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bluebuckstallion · 3 years

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the sun will rise again - mlp fic

part two this is part one! part two and so on will be updated/reblogged when they are out! contents: aj and big mac are like. 13 and 15. big mac realizes she is a trans woman, and is guided by applejack, but there is much more to it than just that lol. its also a little hard for her. sappy, feel-good, tough internal conflict but overall happy fic. paragraph one is previewed here, the rest is below the cut! (note: i am aware my blog makes posts a little hard to read bc of a glitch, i am trying to fix it at the moment, i apologize D: i rec reading it on tumblr mobile or highlighting the words as you read, im sorry!)

Big Mac shuffled his hooves awkwardly. Racing thoughts fought furiously, cluttering his hurting head, and he put a weary hoof against his temple in an attempt to clear the fog. No avail. It was as strong as ever, the rushing current of rip tide sweeping him in the more he struggled. He insisted he'd never felt this way before, trying violently to shake away the thought, it made him shudder. But deep down somewhere he knew, he couldn't hide this strong feeling he'd become so familiar with. It felt like home, but he was trapped inside with the windows boarded and the floorboards were so old they were making him fall through with every step, and there were thick dusty cobwebs everywhere he tried to rest his burdened hooves. He couldn't leave. Outside of his overflowing head, there was a faint knocking at his door, though he had tuned it out completely. His thoughts whirled, and everything was making *so* much noise, the ceiling fan, the electricity in the walls, the birds outside, even the trees being rustled by the evening wind. Everything was so loud, and so muffled and far away, so close and inside his ears, they twitched eagerly trying to bat the harsh noise away, all collected into one horrid ear-piercing amalgamation of staticy sound. His fur was disturbed by his blankets, and his teeth felt uncomfortable as they grit desperately in an attempt to relax, his eyes were dry despite how much and how hard he was blinking, it felt like even the smallest thing would throw him overboard in this thundering storm of unsettlement. -

The knocking got louder. "Big Mac!" The sound was lost in the chaos of it all, but it prevailed. "Big Mac!" There it was again. It didn't quite reach him yet, though. But my, was it there. Incessant. Pounding. Oh, the headache of it all. Just adding to the pile. It hesitated. "Big Mac." The gentle coo reached him, piercing through the overwhelmingly loud silence in the air, he felt this odd choking sensation in his throat when he registered the voice, so familiar and so loving. But would it continue to be after this? The thought scared him. Fear struck his spine in striking bolts, waves of dread sulked, creeping in and making their nest in his aching body. He was so tired of coming back to this again and again, but it plagued his mind like a cold. He realized his internal monologue had been ongoing - even though it hadn't really spoke - but alas he had been lost in his own downward spiral of paranoia again, and had forgotten to respond. "Yu- uh- eeyup?" he stuttered out like he was drowning, he felt and sounded like a silly foal learning to walk for the first time again. He pushed his hoof lightly against his throat, shocked at his own lack of voice. Usually he was calm and confident, knowing what he wanted to say, despite how little it ever was. However he feared this would give way to his sister finding out, that she would know something was awry with him. "Can I, uh, come in?" the voice questioned. He nodded, then processed he had forgotten to use his words, and managed a sheepish "Yup." "Uh, okay." She responded equally as softly, her voice leaving a tinge of confusion to be interpreted. Applejack trotted in, her hooves making the wood beneath her creak as the old house settled. She nudged the door shut behind her nonchalantly with her back hoof, not taking her gaze off of what was ahead of her. She made a gesture towards Big Mac's bed and tilted her head, knowing he was a horse of few words, moreso when he got this way. And goodness, how he could manage to get into his own head. Applejack understood the feeling, more than he was letting on. Applejack got up and sat down awkwardly, glancing at her hooves as they, too, dragged over one another slowly, she never did like eye contact. Big Mac was more fidgety - he was straight-up restless, as he clapped his hooves together ceaselessly, clicking them atop one another with a hard "Clink." The silence was substantial, but it wasn't like it bothered them, usually. It drove Big Mac up the wall, he was sweating buckets thinking about what Applejack could possibly say. *Did she find out? Does she know? Does she hate me? She hates you. She knows and she hates you. She'll never forgive you. She'll never see you the same-* his thoughts were cut off abruptly. "So, big brother," she chuckled stiffly, "what's on your mind?" Blunt and to the point. She looked upward briefly, catching a glimpse of his face, caught in an uncomfortable twist as his mouth hung downward and his eyes sunk, staring blankly ahead. Neither of them looked at the other, but this again, was not unusual. When she said 'brother,' the word stung like a mosquito bite. It was barely there, but just enough to irritate him. And it grew bigger the more he picked away at it and gave it the time of day. Maybe if he just ignored it it'd heal itself, he thought. Her words in general hung high above his head, and he had forgotten to respond with the way he was over-analyzing it a million different ways inside. What was on his mind, besides this scary, burning question gnawing him alive? He gave a lackluster response to divert any inkling of anxiety, "Oh, nothing," and with that he kicked his back hooves loosely up, and they swung back down heavily in the empty air. What else could he say? The silence sat for a couple of seconds. Too long for Applejack's liking, she was growing a bit impatient with his lack of answers. She looked up and moved her head upward in tune with her eyes, rolling her head from one shoulder to the other as her lips pouted and she let out a quick exhale. She looked down at her teetering hooves again. "Nothing..." she repeated, tapping her hooves together about three times, give or take, she wasn't paying attention. "Oookay.." she said in a quiet tone, and the cadence in her voice had shifted after this minute or two of waiting. She scratched the back of her ear. "Well, if you won't tell me, I'll figure it out myself." She looked up and beamed what was supposed to be a reassuring smile, which came out rather awkward. It fell just as awkwardly. She wasn't the best at conveying emotion, but neither was Big Mac. They had that in common. "Ok, I'll spit it out, rapid-fire," she said funnily, holding her hooves up and moving one in front of the other and back again in tune with the quirky enunciation of the last word. If nothing else, she was making an attempt to lift his low spirit. She inhaled, "Is it about me? About Ma or Pa? *Granny?* Baby Bloom?" and with that she exhaled overexaggeratedly. It took a second, but the half-smile she had faded from her face as he stood there saying nothing, simply folding one hoof over his other arm, rubbing it rigidly and looking away, and what she hoped was not true, had hit her. It was about himself. "Oh.. brother," she whispered to him, "You can tell me anything," she reached her hoof up toward him, pulling it back when it was halfway there as she winced at his lack of response, not even a lean-in to her gesture, but she continued anyway. She gingerly put her hoof on his shoulder. Becoming more confident with her comforting, she rubbed his back gently. "So it's about you?" He took a second, and nodded somberly. "Hey, that's alright. Tell me what's on your mind for real now, when you're ready. If, you're ready." AJ's voice, he found, was quite calming. Big Mac shot a glance at her timidly, then down at her hooves, and back up at her, but he couldn't look too long in order to stop the waterworks from coming. He gulped dryly and looked at the wall, and after the ceiling. He watched the fan dodder decrepitly, but so sure of itself, it's purpose, rotating on it's axis, again, and again, and again. He wished he could be so sure of himself, he wasn't sure if he ever could be, though. And here, he found himself envying the rotating of a ceiling fan. What an interesting moment, he thought sarcastically to himself. Was this really where he was at? He zoned out briefly, watching the blades go in circles, and then snapped himself back to reality with a hard blink, a downward motion of his head, and a squeezing of his hooves. "I..." he started softly and then trailed off. He sighed in dejection. "I- Well, I am me. But... I'm not. I look in the mirror, and it's not me looking back. I know that sounds... stupid, but it's not me. It's not like it isn't who I am, it's just not me. And I, don't know why. I mean I think I do, but I don't - sometimes-" He took a second to collect himself and inhaled, exhaling sharply after, he put his hoof firmly against his chest, as if almost trying to coax the words out. "I'm me, but I'm not. I'm not who I'm meant to be, I, I was born wrong. My body is wrong," he shook his head, like trying to shake the bad thoughts away. "It's not mine. I was born with something wrong about me, outside, inside I'm me, but outside I'm not. But - I'm not bad or anything, it's just that there was something different. And, you know that funny feeling of those butterflies in your tummy when someone you like says your name? I'll get that, but I won't recognize my name as mine, but I do get that feeling when...ponies accidentally call me what they call fillies, even though they don't mean to and fix 'emselves right after, and they act like it's so wrong, but I still get that funny feeling of, goodness. It catches me off guard in the best way... my heart skips a beat. And I know I'm s'posed to like girls, but there was something wrong about me lovin' 'em... it feels like. I feel real guilty-like when I start getting all lovey about one. It feels like I'm not allowed, like there's somethin'.." he teared up, "different. About me." He emphasized the last word quite significantly. He began to finish, not wordvomitting as much as he was before, instead saying it slowly, as if he was really trying hard to get his thoughts out. "I- I think, I think if I were born in the right body I'd be happier, but I don't want to change me, I just...want to change how people *see me."* Applejack raised her eyebrows and looked down, pushing her hooves together. She couldn't move, and she didn't. Big Mac's welling up had turned to a tear, gently rolling down his cheek. He held his breath, eyes darting back and forth from his sister's gaze - or lack thereof. Applejack held her breath as well. "Big mac, well - gosh." she let out staggeredly, anxiously chuckling, raising her hoof to her chest as she exhaled bluntly. Big Mac felt it coming, Roaring and Crashing. The water was surrounding him still, no matter how subtle it was before, it had been growing this whole time. Internal dread multiplying like a bilious bacteria, out to get him and cover him in it's killing spores. It must've been at least neck-high now. AJ chuckled, "Big Mac, I love you no matter what. You're my family." She looked him in the eyes, "It's gonna be ok." And there was the straw that broke the camel's back. It came through gently, like a soft breeze through his hair in summer, but it broke him so, so ruthlessly. He bit at his bottom lip and released, his mouth turning to a shaky U-shaped frown, and he bawled. Oh, how he bawled. He lunged for his sister's arms, which quickly opened for him to land in. Applejack huffed as the wind left her with his impact, but she regained control of herself and softly smiled, tenderly hugging him back. His head rested on hers, as hers on his. "It's alright big guy," she laughed. "In fact, I think I know exactly what's up." She pushed him off cautiously, and held her hoof against his shoulder. His tears subsided slightly, he wiped them with a trembling hoof. "Have you ever thought that maybe you feel like you're in the wrong body, because you're really a mare? I know nobody sees you that way right now, but I could start if that's who you really are." Big mac's pupils constricted, and he felt a leap in his chest. A mare? He tried so hard to push it out, but he couldn't. A mare. A mare! He let out a small smile, "A mare..." he then promptly shook his head. "But, I can't be. I wish it was that easy, that I could just be a mare, oh I wish so bad AJ," he put his hooves together and shook them, like he was pleading. He pushed her hoof off of him, sighing and speaking again, his voice cracking from the tears and raw emotion, "But I never could. I couldn't. I wish I could, but I'm not allowed to." he sighed defeatedly. Applejack chuckled, "Says who? All it takes is you saying you can. And I'll be honest, I feel like a lot of people don't give it much thought whether they want to be a mare or not - they just are." It all clicked. They, just are. He processed it for a second, and thought, and the thoughts slipped into words, "I'm a mare," he whispered. He smiled, the most genuine smile he'd ever shown. "I'm, a mare." He laughed, looking at Applejack. "A mare! I'm a mare!" His smile faded slightly, "But Applejack, am I still allowed to like other fillies? I figure now I'll have to like colts, that's what I've heard at least, and I really don't want to-" despite his concerns, he still looked quite euphoric. Applejack laughed again, "No, Big Mac, you can still like mares. It doesn't work that way I'm pretty sure." She rubbed the back of her head, "If it's any help, you can do whatever you want... What feels right." She closed her mouth and grinned, waving her hoof in the air dismissively of any negativity, her eyes in the other direction. Stopping, she looked at the ground and fiddled her hooves, "I, I actually know a lot about how you're feeling," she spoke nervously, cautiously, dancing around her words like she had something she didn't want to admit to herself as well. "I, know how you feel - about liking mares and, and the wrong body an' stuff. Feeling like your body isn't yours, it doesn't belong to you and never will, unless you make a big change, or somethin'. I get it. I feel wrong when people say I'm a girl, but I don't reckon I'd feel right with them callin' me a boy or something either - I don't think I really feel like either." She paused, cutting herself off, "I don't expect that to make sense to you, I know it's kind of weird and all." Big Mac thought for a bit, and then nodded, "No, I get it. I mean - I don't, but, I know you're you, no matter what, and I don't care who you are, you're still my sibling." Big Mac smiled nervously, trying to make sure he was doing the right thing. "And you're my sister, Big Mac," Applejack smiled back at him. "Now, how do you feel about me calling you by girl terms? Like, sayin' she, and stuff..." she struggled to think of an example. "Oh! Like, if I meet someone, I'll tell 'em "Oh Big Mac? She's my big sister!" Applejack let out a wide twinkling grin, feeling confident and proud with supporting her sister's feelings. "I, I like that." Big Mac said shyly, and she did. "Wait, how do I do the same for you?" she questioned. Applejack stalled, she really didn't think she'd get this far. "I think... I really like being called he, and brother and such. Although to be honest I'm not your sister and I'm not really your brother, and I still like other fillies - but I'm not one of them, or not in the same way, and - I don't know, it's a little confusing. I think the only way that I'm a filly is in the sense that I'm a mare who likes other mares. I don't really know what any of this is called," he voiced embarrassedly. "I wish I did." Big Mac smirked, "It's okay you don't, I don't know either. And we can learn together, little brother." She fluffed Applejack's hair playfully and her smirk became a toothy smile. Applejack laughed and joined her smiling. "Thanks," he said, quite gratefully. "To be honest, I've known this for a really long time, I just didn't know how to say it," he looked out the window longingly, "I wish I knew how to tell Ma and Pa, or Granny," he laughed a little, "and I don't even know how to tell a baby," he uttered, trying to lighten the mood a little after bringing it back down. Big mac grinned, "Why don't we go out to the orchard, little brother?"

#applejack mlp #big mac mlp #mlp fanfic #mlp fic #mlp writing #mlp au #mlp #applejack #big mac #trans applejack #trans big mac #my little pony #lesbian applejack #lesbian big mac #orchard blossom #trans au #the sun will rise again

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kojinnie · 3 years

Text

Flirted With You All My Life | Erwin Smith

Tags & Warnings: Erwin Smith x Reader | canon universe | deep, deep angst

Word Count: 1K+ (I know you said drabble, but I couldn’t help myself. I need SALVATION)

A/N:

Dear anon, it seems you like to hurt yourself, so I couldn’t help myself to take the liberty in twisting your request into something even more painful. I’m so sorry to disappoint you, I’m just in the mood to write a really painful fic rn 🥺

But please! Send me more of your ideas, I hope I’ll be able to stick to the script for next!

There was only the look of agony in your eyes, hidden by the dark of the night underneath your cape, and it only became obvious once you stepped into the light of Trost District’s streetlamps.

The messenger noticed your bloodshot eyes and the hoarse voice as you spoke to him, “Please deliver this letter to the Commander.”

With shaky hands, the meek and timid cadet quickly took your letter and kept it secured in his horse’s tack room, alongside with other letters to be brought to the frontline. He nodded earnestly and strode away in his horse as the dawn started to crack.

The young cadet was in the last squad to depart for the frontline battle. A reinforcement squad from the Garrison to strengthen the Survey Corps’ defense against the horde of titans that appeared out of thin air inside Wall Maria. The Corps had set-up a retreat camp by the Wall, and a season had passed, neither news nor dead body ever came back anymore. Just reinforcement by reinforcement, dispatched under the supposedly request of your newly-wedded husband, the Commander Erwin Smith.

The reinforcement would bring ration, medicines and clothes, yet none were to ever return. At first, there was grief hanging in the air as the people assumed everyone in the troops to be decimated to death by the titan’s might. The idea of complete destruction left wailing to be heard all through the cities. People’s morale was at all-time low. But then, one by one, letter would arrive, delivered by a lone soldier. The letters, sealed with a wax and signed with the name of their deployed husbands and sons, said the same thing: We’ll be back soon. Please pray for us.

You’d spend the day waiting for a letter from your husband, yet while everyone rejoiced as they receive the letters from their loved ones, you were left with nothing but growing pains.

Soon became later, and later became never. Another season had passed yet the only one coming back was another lone soldier requesting for more reinforcement to the Royal Government. And the letter that arrived became less and less; and there was none for you.

With the incomprehension came the murmurs, that said the military was no longer fighting titans, rather they were establishing new colony beyond the wall, with indulgences and whores. What could there be beyond the wall?

Ignorance labors evils, and mighty was the devil to turn your night into a battlefield of sorrow. Your mind fought between what’s left of your trust towards your husband, against paranoia, jealousy, agony of being kept in the dark for months without any trace left from him. How hard could it be to write a letter?

The thought finally came to your mind. The memories of your husband – the tall, handsome, and commanding figure of a man. With a deep, contemplating voice, and the eyes as deep as the tale of a vast prairie of water called ocean in the world that had gone by.

You thought of him, and how he’s warm to the touch, and how soft were the kisses he left on your skin. You thought of him and you had realized, how painfully plain and mundane you were in comparison to him. How utterly expendable and replaceable.

The thought became nightmares, of Erwin’s flirtation with strange women in places less than sacred. The nightmares grew to be persistent and eventually it drowned you into false conviction.

“Am I a widow?” you asked the empty sky one night, “’Lest I’ll choose to be.”

So, finally you wrote that farewell letter. It said: “I will not be home when you return, for journey is where your heart lies.” Final letter sent for a man who was never yours to begin with, for his heart was devoted to humanity, and humanity was too vast for the acres of the home he made with you. No matter how warm, no matter how safe.

There was an eerie silence as the horses rode through the plains before reaching the Survey Corps camp deep in the forest past the Wall. The meek and timid cadet navigated his horse closer to the main formation, as fear crept down his spine. He looked ahead and there he saw what’s left of the camp: A vivid picture of desolation.

He rode pas through countless of nameless mounds; men and women with blank expression scattered around the wage tents – wounded and helpless. The uncanny smell of rotting flesh, and the atmosphere of despair, filled up the lungs of the cadet that he couldn’t bear to let down a tear.

He climbed off of his horse and walked through the path of the camp. Beside the fire, sat two men writing down letters by letters, muttering the names of their death comrades. The lights of the fire gave the cadet a peak at what they were writing: “We’ll be back. Please pray for us.” It became clear that the letters were nothing but an empty, false hope – for it was better for the people to cling on to hope as long as one could, rather than to be devoured by grief and pain.

He walked through the paths and finally found the largest tent of them all, one where he was told he could meet the Commander. The cadet pulled out your letter and held it close to his chest, as he entered the dilapidated tent to deliver the Commander the letter that was meant to break you free from the shackles of endless suspense in waiting for a man whos heart no longer home.

As he stepped in, a body immediately blocked him from gazing further into the tent that was partitioned into several areas. Section Commander Hange Zoe stood tall before him, “What do you want?”

“I came from Trost District. A letter for the Commander from home.” The Cadet could feel his voice squeaked in fear.

There was a breaking point of Hange that the cadet never knew before, for their face was immediate to become wearied. Hange quickly took the letter and fiddled with it in their hands. It was obvious that Hange was torn on what to do, before a grim voice asked from an area veiled with a thin curtain that one could almost see through inside, “Hange, what’s that?” The voice of Captain Levi Ackerman seeped through.

“It’s, uh… A letter for Erwin. From home.”

There was an immediate silence gripping the tent. The cadet could hear a creaking sound of movement from a mattress behind the veil. To his surprise, he saw the Commander laying there.

“Bring it to him, Hange,” Levi muttered, there was a pain in his words, so real that it felt almost tangible.

Hange stepped aside and let the cadet came in and walked through the veil to where the Commander was. With no warning, the cadet gasped in a discernible shock as he saw what’s left of the great Commander. There was no color to his face, his blue eyes had gone dull half-opened, his mouth murmuring incomprehensible words in a state of delirium. Commander Erwin Smith had lost all of his limbs, with the dull ends of where his limbs used to be blackened by gangrene. The cadet finally saw the horror of war that the military had tried to suppress from the civilians’ knowledge: an outbreak of plague at the end of the war against titans.

Levi took the letter from Hange and knelt beside where Erwin laid, “Erwin. It’s letter from home. She must have missed you so bad.” There was a dim smile on Levi’s face. A smile seemed foreign on the face of the captain who was long hardened by war, and it became even stranger given the situation.

Levi knifed through the wax, and tore the letter open. But suddenly, a sense of misery deeper than the trenches engulfed the tent as he read through the letter in silence. The faint smile on his face was quick to freeze into a palpable agony as he closed his eyes. The letter hung in the captain’s hand. His fingers were trembling with anger and despair.

“Levi?” Hange cracked their silence in obvious worry as the captain broke into a deep, soundless wail next to Erwin. Something that no one had ever seen before, “Levi...?” Hange called for the captain’s name in an increasingly agonizing anxiety.

With what’s left of his heart, Levi gasped for air, trying to muffle the sound he never thought would hear coming from his words. Hange cupped their face with their fingers, left not knowing but painfully distraught upon seeing the struggle Levi was in as he tried to straighten his voice.

“Commander,” Levi said, looking into the tiny slit of Erwin Smith’s eyes, one that was strain opened by what’s left of him – a painful longing to hear from home, “she misses you. And she’ll be home when you return.”

The Commanders’ murmurs stopped, and he nodded his head solemnly.

“You may go now.”

The only time he had ever flirted with anything other than you was with death and the flirtation finally bears fruit as death finally takes him home.

As if he finally heard the words he had been waiting for, the Commander let out a deep sigh, before he slipped into the eternal cold. His blue eyes stared, but he was no longer seeing. The Commander had succumbed into a painless death.

For the first time in years, Levi Ackerman sobbed in sadness and anger. Looking at the man who had bathed with the fury of war; all he wanted was to bring peace to home, only for his home in the heart of a fickle spouse be anguished by the long wait. How selfish, how cold, Levi thought.

Maybe you were right, maybe these soldiers were not meant to live a life in the safety of a warm house in the town. Maybe they thrived while flirting with death and bruising dangers against their skins. Maybe it's all they knew of. But for better or worse, Erwin once dreamed of coming home to a feeling other than grief, and he had found it with you.

Levi reached for the pocket inside Erwin's jacket, and pulled out a letter yellowed with time. His heart broke to see that it was an old letter from you, one Erwin held close until his last day.

The most painful realization was not that Erwin died in vain, neither because his wife chose to leave him in the day he died. It's the realization that Erwin fought and died for someone and something that never belonged to him to begin with. There was no you nor was his home with you. Erwin's home was here, with his comrades, amidst death and wrath of war. You let him fought and died for a false hope.

Levi grazed the Commander's eyes close with his fingers as he finally murmured to the lifeless body, "Erwin, you're home already. With us."

Inspired by Vic Chestnutt's 'Flirted With You All My Life'

#erwin x reader #erwin smith #aot erwin #snk erwin #erwin angst #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #aot fanfiction #anon requests #requested

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moonlitceleste · 4 years

Text

straight up villain (Villain AU)

This is a songfic based on “Villain” by K/DA ft. Madison Beer and Kim Petras. There’s really no plot to it; I started with a vague idea and just went along with whatever my brain told me. It kinda jumps around and I didn’t proofread this at all, so sorry if it’s confusing!

I’d suggest listening to the song and watching the visualizer video because it’s honestly such a vibe. If I could animate I’d totally make a video full of epic fight scenes, but unfortunately I don’t have that talent learned yet.

This version of the song is a little more chill, so if you find the original too intense you can always listen to the slowed one instead.

On the low Only love myself, no more Take you to the grave, I'll ghost I know I can be so cold In the dark Where I like to keep my heart Know I'm all bite, no bark Like to catch you way off guard

A shiver ran down the crime boss’ spine.

His eyes darted around the room, searching through the darkness.

Shadows flickered. He swore he could see movement in them.

The night was crime’s time to rule; people feared the darkness it brought.

Now, he was the scared one.

I'll stay so deep inside your brain And take you somewhere far away

“Who’s there?”

A bead of sweat trickled down his forehead, revealing his false bravado.

Shaking hands gripped the gun around his waist, knuckles turning white with pressure.

Creeeakk.

The man whipped around, heart hammering in his chest.

Who—or what—was lurking in the shadows?

A snap echoed through the air as he fired a round.

Silence.

The only sound came from distant echoes of Gotham’s nightlife and the frantic beating in his throat.

He swore he had seen something sweep out in the corner of his vision, if only for a moment.

Perhaps it was the paranoia.

He slowly lowered his gun, shoulders relaxing—

Only to whip around when he felt a phantom hand brush his shoulder.

A pair of eyes flashed in the darkness, gone the next second, but he knew what he had seen, what he had felt.

Icy fear seized his body, taking hold of his limbs.

Something was watching him.

Time to roll the dice, you know I'm the type Type to risk my life, not afraid to die Type to make you cry, type to put a price All up on your head, do just what I said I'm a straight up villain, straight up villain Yeah, no feeling, yeah, no feeling Straight up villain, straight up villain Yeah, no feeling, yeah, no feeling

“Stop toying around.”

The gravelly voice was met with a cackle, almost cat-like in nature.

That was his only warning before it stepped from the shadows: a creature out of his nightmares, shrouded in darkness like part of the night itself.

Sharpened black claws glinted under the streetlights, and dark black orbs pinned him in place as it slunk forward. He couldn’t move, frozen like a deer in headlights.

The thing was so human-like in shape, but it was too monstrous to be one.

A wicked smile spread across its face, and his face blanched as he caught sight of the fangs protruding from the top.

The creature stalked forward like a predator chasing its prey.

Then, it pounced.

I'm alive, but I'm dead Hear my voice up in your head Watch it fill you full of drеad 'Til you go pow

It was common knowledge within Gotham’s criminal underworld that the Arkham Knight worked alone. He played by his own rules, merciless in his distribution of justice.

But lately, it was rumored that the Knight had an ally.

There was no proof of this, no sightings to go by, but there was a subtle shift that could be felt—an underlying sensation of imminent danger.

Gunfights and confrontations lessened, and the Knight’s enemies started disappearing without a trace. No blood, body, or evidence of struggle could be found; it was as if they had simply ceased to exist.

Whoever this new player was, they were dangerous.

Is it really a surprise if I'm playing with your mind And I treat you likе a prize, then I throw you to the side? And am I really that bad if l love to make you mad? And get happy when you're sad, only care about a bag

Jason shook out his hair, metal helmet in his hands, and leveled a glance at his companion.

“Did you really have to take so long to kill him?”

The two were in one of their few safe houses, recuperating after their long night of fighting.

“It’s the thrill of the chase.”

Marinette, no longer transformed, stated this as if it were obvious—which it was. Jason had been with her long enough to understand her concept of fun. She leaned forward and stretched, looking much like the animal after which her magic ring was themed.

“We can’t waste time playing around. There are more important things to be done,” he growled.

Marinette simply giggled, bounding over to bat her eyes at him with mock innocence.

Jason’s eyes narrowed. “You know what you’re doing.”

Her smile grew wicked, arms darting out to wrap around his waist.

“You look so good when you’re mad,” she purred.

Jason leaned down, and their lips met in a kiss.

In control That's how I like it and I'm never letting go, nah Never had a soul (soul) So you ain't taking nothing from me when you go, nah

Crack.

Marinette smirked as her staff made contact with the target’s skull.

Normally she would use Cataclysm for a more swift kill, but the remains were needed in order to send a message to Arkham Knight’s enemies.

They were growing more volatile, more desperate to expose whatever they thought she was.

Phantom Killer, they called her. The name sounded like something out of a badly-written horror movie. Marinette much preferred the one she had already: Reine de L'ombre.

Of course, she didn’t need a title, but Jason had come up with it. She was pleasantly surprised by his naming skills—it meant Shadow Queen, for she was a queen, and Jason her knight, as he put it.

She didn’t feel any remorse as the pile of bodies below her grew. Perhaps this made her soulless, but she didn’t need one anyway.

Marinette had all she wanted right beside her.

I'll stay so deep inside your brain And take you somewhere far away

“...you do what you gotta do, am I right?”

Marinette nodded at the man standing across from her, a smile on her red-painted lips.

He had been leering at her from across the bar the whole night, and although that was the goal, she was still disgusted. He had to be at least twenty years older than her. Heck, he was old enough to be her dad.

The intel she and Jason had acquired said the businessman had a thing for younger women, which was apparent. According to the same source, the company he ran was also a front for trafficking and drug rings.

Marinette wanted to see him bleed.

“How about we take this to my room?”

The comment was abrupt, and Jason would probably kill her for her indiscretion later, but she was getting tired of the man’s blabbering.

Her hand moved up his arm, the expensive material of his suit cool against her fingers. She bit her lips seductively, which seemed to convince him.

Bingo.

Time to roll the dice, you know I'm the type Type to risk my life, not afraid to die Type to make you cry, type to put a price All up on your head, do just what I said I'm a straight up villain, straight up villain Yeah, no feeling, yeah, no feeling (yeah, yeah) Straight up villain, straight up villain Yeah, no feeling, yeah, no feeling

Marinette gritted her teeth as the man tried to reach for her butt again.

She attempted to stop him by saying she wanted to wait until they entered her room, but he was persistent. She couldn’t wait to get rid of him.

As soon as she opened the door to her hotel room, she shoved him inside and up against the wall. He seemed to be expecting a kiss, but she punched him hard. For a crime lord he certainly wasn’t a good fighter. Maybe it was the drugs she slipped into his drink earlier that contributed to his quick defeat.

Marinette cuffed his arms behind his back with a pair she had stashed earlier. She could have waited for the man to undress so she could ensure he didn’t have any weapons, but she had gone through enough torture already. Her eyes didn’t need to see that.

She turned him around, giving him a smile that promised warmth and kindness, before pulling out a dagger and pressing it to his throat.

“Now talk.”

I'm alive, but I'm dead Hear my voice up in your head Watch it fill you full of dread 'Til you go pow

“Claws in.”

Marinette’s black suit faded away, revealing her now blood-spattered red dress.

She flopped onto the couch, not bothering to remove her shoes or dirty clothing.

After hours of trying to get information out of the businessman, she only managed to wring a few coded phrases from him. He seemed to only be a figurehead of his shady organization rather than its actual leader.

A Cataclysm later and here she was, back to the drawing board.

“Jay?” Marinette called.

It was unusually quiet in the safe house; usually after solo missions they’d greet one another with a kiss. Now, he was nowhere to be seen.

“Jason?”

Silence.

Marinette huffed. She knew exactly what this was about.

Bang, bang You can do anything No fear, no pain Listen to your brain go Go stupid, go dumb, go stupid and Then we go insane, woah Just do what I say Follow me, I'll lead the way

“Are you jealous?”

Jason whipped his head around, caught off-guard by the appearance of his girlfriend in his doorway. It seemed as if she wasn’t wasting any time.

“I’m not jealous. That guy couldn’t get you if he tried.”

“Then why are you mad?”

His jaw clenched.

He wished he hadn’t agreed to let Marinette extract the information alone; Jason almost wished he was there to see the man in pain.

“He was putting his hands all over you.”

“It was for a mission. Besides, I thought you said he couldn’t get me even if he tried?”

Her last words were said with a lilt, and Jason knew she was riling him up. He couldn’t stay mad, anyway—she had a point.

He deflated and leaned forward to brush his lips against her. Marinette smiled into the kiss, then pulled away. She looked him up and down, a glint in her eyes.

“I guess I’ll have to make it up to you, hmm?”

She paused, then wrinkled her nose.

“After I take a shower. I don’t want this guy’s blood on me any longer.”

Maybe they acted stupid sometimes, but the two always followed one another in the end.

Time to roll the dice, you know I'm the type Type to risk my life, not afraid to die Type to make you cry, type to put a price (Woo-ah) All up on your head, do just what I said I'm a straight up villain, straight up villain Yeah, no feeling, yeah, no feeling Straight up villain, straight up villain (Yeah) Yeah, no feeling, yeah, no feeling (Woo-ah!)

Marinette panted deeply, adrenaline coursing through her veins.

A mass of bodies surrounded her, but she wasn’t paying attention. This wasn’t just a battle. It was war.

It was a fight for her life, and she wasn’t going down now.

Reine de L'ombre tore through her enemies like a terrifying force of darkness, one after the other. The Arkham Knight fought by her side, fueled by pure destruction.

Maybe they wouldn’t make it out, but they wouldn’t go down without a fight.

I'm alive, but I'm dead Hear my voice up in your head Watch it fill you full of dread

'Til you go pow

A week later, a couple rose hand-in-hand from the ranks as new rulers of the Gotham Underworld.

Reine de L'ombre and the Arkham Knight—a queen and her king.

PERMANENT TAGLIST @avengerthewarrior @enternalempires @freesportspalacesalad @h1sss @nathleigh

#maribat #celestewrites #jasonette #cel's fics

126 notes · View notes

aquaquadrant · 3 years

Text

the little things

Kenji’s mouth is dry. “Ben…?” he croaks out.

Ben swallows. “Oh,” he says, in a very small voice. “It’s you.”

~*~

Ben’s been reunited with the other campers, and seems to have come out the other end of his experience stronger than ever before. But as he slowly finds his place back within the group, a bigger picture starts to emerge, piece by piece.

Rated T for: mental illness, mild language, panic attacks, PTSD, anxiety, insomnia, eating disorder (not in a traditional sense, but definitely not a healthy relationship with food)

A/N: Hey Camp Cretaceous fandom, y’all mind if I uhhhh write six-thousand words about Ben’s trauma?? Basically, Netflix kept recommending the show to me so I watched the first ep out of curiosity and then ended up binging the whole thing in like two days, and now here I am.

(Dear sweet, patient, regular readers of mine: I’m so sorry my main fic’s been delayed but I promise it’s getting updated next week, I just had to get some feelings out about Sad Dino Boy)

Hope you enjoy, please reblog and leave a comment if you do! - Aqua

Click here to read on A03 (with more complete tags)

~*~

the little things

~*~

Ben Pincus has returned from the dead, and he’s never been better.

The other campers are amazed. What he’s been through must have been horrible. He thought he was the only one left, that there was no one to help him and no hope of rescue because he was presumed dead. It would’ve been enough to drive anyone into despair, or off of the deep end.

But Ben shows no signs of this.

They didn’t find him holed up somewhere, near starvation and waiting to die, like one might’ve expected. They didn’t find him at all, really. He found them, and by coming to their rescue, no less. And when he did, he wasn’t a trembling mess, he wasn’t a half-mad ball of paranoia, and he wasn’t a hollow-eyed skeleton fueled solely by desperation.

He’s an all new and improved Ben, the best version of himself.

He hasn’t just survived, he’s flourished. He’s brave, he’s confident, he’s capable. He gives his opinions freely and without second-guessing himself, suggesting things the old Ben would’ve recoiled at. He fits seamlessly into the team like he never left. He faces problems head-on with determination and grit and not a trace of fear.

The turnaround is unbelievable. But even more important is that while he’s a new and improved Ben, he’s retained all the best parts of his old self.

Ben is easy smiles and meticulous organization of a leather waist bag and doting affection for a four-ton armored lizard. He’s sensitive and soft-spoken and accepts hugs from his friends gratefully. He still can’t quite pull off coolness, with a voice that sounds as gangly as his limbs look and an awkwardness he hasn’t grown out of.

And it’s perhaps because of this that no one thinks to look closer. This image is an easy thing to accept because it’s what they all want to believe, that Ben is okay- in fact, better than okay. But the truth is not always big and obvious upon first glance.

It’s the little things, as they soon find out.

~*~

That first evening after Ben’s return, after Mitch and Tiff and everything else, they don’t eat dinner.

They all ate their fill at the campsite and, after a month of scarcity, it was more than enough to sate their appetites. It’s Darius who thinks to ask Ben if he’s hungry, remembering that the boy hadn’t had the chance to eat with them. They have a good stockpile of food at the moment and he figures Ben must’ve been struggling.

But Ben shakes his head with an easy smile, and says, “Nah, I ate earlier.”

Darius leaves it at that, because there’s still so much catching up to do. They show Ben around their clubhouse, make plans for where to build a bunk for him (he insists he’d be just fine sleeping on the ground next to Bumpy, but they all veto that immediately). They talk well into the night about the day’s crazy events, filling each other in on their own sides of the story, and everything that’s happened since Ben got separated.

There are some more tears, some more hugs. But ultimately, the mood in the clubhouse is ecstatic. They never thought Ben had survived the fall so to have him back is better than a dream come true, it’s a miracle.

Darius thought he knew what it was to experience a miracle when they first saw that bonfire smoke on the horizon. But if he had to chose between the miracle of them finally leaving the island or the miracle of getting Ben back, it’s not even a competition.

Eventually the exhaustion catches up with everyone, and they turn in for the night. Bumpy parks herself underneath the clubhouse, her presence incredibly reassuring. Ben ends up sharing Kenji’s bunk because it’s bigger than Darius’s even when occupied by two, and the older teen had insisted in a very faux-casual way, to which Ben had rolled his eyes but nonetheless seemed touched by the gesture.

Darius takes the first night watch shift and gets to see all his friends sleeping peacefully. And even though Tiff sailed away with their only means for escaping, he feels a lot more hopeful than he has in a long time.

~*~

It’s canned peaches for breakfast.

A far cry from yesterday’s buffet. But no one’s complaining because the meticulous rationing of their food, courtesy of Darius, means they’re all starving by meal time and couldn’t care less what it tastes like. Darius is in the process of separating the food out into bowls, half a can for each of them, when he realizes Ben has yet to take a seat. He’s lingering at the edge of the room, watching.

“Hey,” Darius calls, “you coming or what?”

Ben shakes his head. “Thanks, but I already got my own breakfast.”

Before Darius can respond, Brooklynn shoots Ben a look. “What? Where?” she demands. “You holding out on us, jungle boy?”

Darius shoots her a look, but Ben just gives an easy smile and unzips the leather pouch that’s reclaimed its spot around his waist. He withdraws a small handful of bright red berries, no bigger than blueberries. It’s not even a fraction of the half-can of peaches the rest of them are settling for, and Darius sees his own unease reflected in the others’ eyes.

Brooklynn glances away. “Oh. Um, sorry. You don’t… you can have some of ours, you know?”

“I’m good.” Ben tosses a couple berries into his mouth. “You guys go ahead, I’m gonna go check on Bumpy.”

“O- oh, okay…” Sammy murmurs, watching Ben go with uncertain eyes. “If you’re sure…”

They’re silent for a moment.

Kenji inhales quietly through his teeth. “So… that’s weird, right?”

Yaz leans forward in her seat. “What do you think, Darius?” she asks lowly.

Darius bites his lip. Even though dinosaurs are his specific topic of interest, he’s gained a lot of second-hand knowledge about general biology and psychology. After all, he has to understand the processes behind behavior in order to identify patterns and deviations.

And right now, he has to admit that Ben is displaying a very concerning behavior.

“I’ll talk to him,” Darius decides.

There’s a collective sigh of relief around the table, and the others start eating. It takes Darius longer than usual to finish his serving.

~*~

“So, uh, bottom line is… you don’t need to feel bad about eating our food. You’re as much a part of this group as anyone else, and we’re happy to share.”

After a couple tense days, Darius is finally talking to Ben about the food situation. Or rather, talking at him. Because Ben’s not looking at Darius- his eyes are tracking the small spider that’s crawling along the railing next to them. Normally, Darius would take it as a sign of boredom and inattentiveness. But there’s an intensity in Ben’s eye that’s a little unsettling-

Quick as a flash, Ben shoots out an arm. He crushes the spider under his thumb and swipes it into his mouth. And then, untroubled as can be, he returns his focus to Darius as if nothing had happened.

Darius has overheard Kenji teasing Ben about eating bugs, and Ben has admitted as much in the stories of his time alone. Berries and grubs were what he lived on. Darius, for one, can’t imagine being hungry and desperate enough to snatch a bug off the ground and eat it.

But it’s even harder to imagine having access to real food, good food, and still choosing to eat bugs.

“Don’t worry so much,” Ben says lightly, patting Darius on the shoulder as he turns to go. “I can take care of myself.”

That does it. “You can’t keep living off berries and grubs!” Darius finally snaps.

Ben whirls around. “Says who?”

“Basic human biology!” Darius retorts.

Ben glares at him, but there’s something shaky behind it. “Darius, I told you it’s fine,” he says evenly, though he doesn’t fully meet Darius’s gaze. “Don’t make a big deal out of it. Please? If I’m hungry, I’ll eat.”

Darius hesitates. “You promise?”

Ben breaks into an easy smile. “I promise.”

Darius sighs. It’ll have to be good enough, for now.

“Okay.”

~*~

Darius knows he isn’t the only one still concerned by Ben’s lack of appetite.

Right from the start, Ben was the scrawniest one among them, and it’s only gotten worse. But surely he’ll have to eat at some point, right? Basic survival instincts will win out over whatever stubborn mindset is holding him back. Plus, it’s clear that he’s got enough energy to run and climb and stuff with no problem.

Maybe it’s not as serious as Darius thinks. Maybe Ben just needs time.

~*~

Ben doesn’t know what’s wrong with him.

He just- he can’t take their food! Why don’t they get that?

And it’s not because he’s stubborn, it’s not- no matter what Darius thinks. There’s nothing wrong with letting others help you (as long as you don’t let it make you soft, of course). After all, he relies on Bumpy. He just… when he looks at the food, and imagines eating it, he just knows it’ll sit in his stomach. Like a rock, weighing him down.

Plus, plus, if he gets used to eating like that, it’ll just- it’ll be harder to cope once it runs out. He’s already gotten used to roughing it and it was hard enough the first time, he can’t let himself slip back into complacency. And- and really, how long do they think it’s going to last? They’ve searched all the previously inhabited areas of the island and there’s no more food for them to scavenge.

Do they think they’ll be rescued before it runs out? No one is coming to save them. They know it as much as Ben does- they wouldn’t be bothering with rafts if they didn’t. Do they think they’ll escape, then? Sure, because their current attempts have been going so well.

No, they just aren’t thinking long term. Ben is.

There’s nothing wrong with that.

~*~

It’s the sixth day in a row where Ben eats nothing but berries.

He wants to search around some more, see if there’s anything more substantial. That would require him to leave Bumpy, though. And he can’t leave Bumpy. But the hunger is excruciating. It gnaws at him every waking moment, keeps him up at night. He’s never felt such hunger in his life, not even close. He can’t keep going like this, can he?

But there’s nothing else.

Except… something’s crawling up his arm. Something small, and leggy. Ben turns his head, squinting to focus his eyes in the dark. It’s some kind of beetle, with a shiny shell that catches stray shafts of moonlight poking through the roof of his lean-to.

Ben stares at it for a moment. Then, before he can think, he snatches it up and pops it into his mouth. He barely registers any taste, mostly just the crunchy texture. And even though it wasn’t any bigger than a quarter, after he swallows, he feels… fuller. Even if it’s purely imagined, it’s a comfort.

Berries and grubs. It’ll have to be enough.

There’s nothing else.

~*~

Ben continues to decline their offers of food.

~*~

A few weeks after the reunion, Kenji is starting to get antsy.

As the self-designated ‘pro-fun police’ (a clever play on ‘no-fun police,’ if Kenji does say so himself), he’s made it his responsibility to make sure none of his friends just keel over and die from stress one day. That means it’s his job- no, his duty- to lighten the mood with copious amounts of joking, goofing off, and, of course, pranking.

Jumping out to scare his friends while they’re trapped on a dino-infested island might, on paper, sound like a bad idea. But it keeps everyone on their toes, and the relief of realizing they aren’t facing a dino attack, just Kenji pulling a prank, helps keep any real anger at bay. It’s typically an exasperated annoyance, which Kenji will gladly take. His main targets are Brooklynn and Darius, because he can’t fathom doing that to Sammy, and Yaz is- while perhaps in the most need of lightening up- super freaking scary.

But now that Ben’s back, Kenji knows what he has to do.

Before, back when they were just campers and not survivors, Ben was easily the most frightened of them. The kid was scared of dirt. And his over-the-top hysterics always managed to, somehow, put everyone else at ease. Because if Ben was scared of something, that didn’t really mean anything. Again; scared of dirt.

(Now, if Yaz is scared of something, that’s a different story).

Since Ben’s, uh… departure, they’ve been sorely lacking that energy in the group. Kenji would wager he’s not the only one who misses it. He used to have so much fun riling Ben up with just a couple words (none of the others are so easily baited). And whenever Ben would freak out and instantly cling to him, like some kind of scrawny spider monkey, it made Kenji feel… capable, in a way.

Like, if Ben was trusting Kenji to protect him, maybe he wasn’t so useless after all (which was becoming an all too frequent feeling as the others continued to adapt and grow, leaving Kenji struggling to keep up).

Problem is, Ben’s really hard to scare now.

It’s not always obvious, like when he’s bragging about taking down Toro or itching to blow things up. Sometimes it’s the little things. Whenever they’re out in a group, foraging or gathering supplies, and there’s a sound in the distance that makes them all freeze, Ben’s frozen in readiness, not fear. He looks more like Yaz, tense and waiting with his fists up and eyes narrowed.

Sometimes, when they aren’t occupied by any particular task or imminent threat, and have the chance to enjoy some downtime, Ben drifts off to the side and just… watches, all tense, silent, and anxious. He’ll watch the tree line, or Bumpy on the ground below, or even just the rest of them as they go about their business. Kenji is sure he’s not the only one who’s noticed but none of them bring it up.

It’s… unsettling, seeing Ben like this. Kenji figured he just needed a couple weeks to fall back into the rhythm of the group, to see that he didn’t have to be this loner Rambo type of guy anymore. But even though he talks with them easy enough, seems to enjoy their company, and has a good handle on teamwork, it’s like there’s a part of him that can’t fully shake that mentality.

At least, not without help.

~*~

Kenji’s plan is- in his humble opinion- pretty dang brilliant.

He waits for a time when it’s just him and Ben in the main level of the clubhouse (Yaz is running laps around their perimeter, Darius is in his bunk writing in his nerd book, Brooklynn and Sammy are upstairs going over inventory) and then announces he’s going for a shower. His daily showers are common knowledge at this point, so Ben just nods in acknowledgement and goes back to leaning against the railing, watching Bumpy graze down below in that tense-silent-anxious way of his.

Kenji sets up the shower and lets it run (he’ll go down to the river later and get more water to make up for the waste, because even though he tries to avoid manual labor whenever possible, it’s totally worth it in this case). And then, being more careful and silent than he’s ever been (except maybe in cases where he’s being hunted by dinos), he slowly creeps up behind Ben before leaping forward with a shriek, grabbing him by the shoulders.

Ben doesn’t just jump and scream. He jumps, screams, then spins around and swings a fist into Kenji’s jaw in one smooth motion.

Kenji’s laughing even as he staggers back, his jaw stinging (because at the end of the day, even though Ben’s kind of a badass now, he’s still Ben and his arms are pretty much chicken wings so there’s no real harm done, just a bruise at most). Plus that’s a valid reaction, considering everything, and he can’t say he didn’t deserve it.

“Oh man, I totally got you!” Kenji says anyways, to rub it in. “You should see your… face...”

And Kenji trails off because now he’s seeing Ben’s face.

What Kenji expected is this:

Once Ben realized it was just him pulling a prank, he would get mad. In that totally non-threatening dorky Ben way, where he scrunches his nose and puffs out his cheeks, his little fists clenched at his side like an irate toddler. Maybe he’d stomp off but it’d be worth it because being mad is better than being tense-silent-anxious and it’d give him the chance to be annoyed with Kenji. And maybe Ben being annoyed with Kenji would help everything feel a little more normal, a little more like before.

What Kenji gets is this:

Once Ben realizes it was just him pulling a prank, he doesn’t get mad. He starts shaking. Violently, uncontrollably. Like he’s suddenly come down with hypothermia despite being in a tropical jungle, staring at Kenji all the while and not saying a word. His chest rises and falls rapidly in little panicky breaths and the kind of fear in his eyes isn’t the kind that’s funny. It’s glassy-eyed with shrunken pupils that dart around Kenji’s face, frightened and searching, as if he isn’t fully seeing it.

Kenji’s mouth is dry. “Ben…?” he croaks out.

Ben swallows. “Oh,” he says, in a very small voice. “It’s you.”

Kenji hasn’t heard Ben’s voice sound that small since before, and it doesn’t feel like a victory.

By now, of course, the others have noticed the commotion and it doesn’t take more than a second for them to piece together what happened. Yaz rounds on Kenji with a furious snarl and whisper-screams a lecture about how stupid and irresponsible he is. Darius is immediately trying to mediate the situation while Sammy frantically asks Ben if he’s okay, to which he doesn’t respond. Brooklynn steps in, citing an unboxing video about dealing with shock, and when she goes to put a hand on Ben’s shoulder, he lets her.

And now Kenji realizes where he miscalculated. Ben never showed discomfort with physical contact before because he’d never been surprised by it before (because Ben has gotten scary good at being alert, always keeping an eye and an ear out on his surroundings even in the middle of a conversation). And when it came to his friends, it wasn’t unexpected for Sammy to rush in with a hug or Darius to pat his shoulder or Brooklynn to playfully knock elbows.

But Kenji snuck up on him, so Ben’s first thought wasn’t that it was a friend. It was that he was going to have to run for his life, like he has countless times since being stranded on this island.

Kenji apologizes over and over again as Darius gently leads him away by the elbow and Brooklynn talks to Ben in low tones while Sammy squeezes his hand and Yaz takes up a lookout position because they can’t afford for all of them to be distracted even though she occasionally cuts a glare at Kenji out of the corner of her eye so it’s really debatable how vigilant she’s actually being.

Throughout it all, Ben doesn’t get mad, but he doesn’t stop shaking.

~*~

Darius explains it, later.

“The sudden fear reaction signaled a bunch of adrenaline to be released into his bloodstream, to give him the energy needed for running. And then, when he didn’t, there was nowhere for that energy to go. It’s like, even though his mind knew there wasn’t any danger, his body wasn’t convinced.” Then, a sympathetic look. “You didn’t know, man.”

Kenji only nods. But knowing doesn’t make it better because even though Ben’s stopped shaking he doesn’t turn his back on Kenji anymore and somehow that’s a million times worse than if he’d gotten mad.

~*~

There are claws wrapped around Ben’s shoulders and shrieks in his ears.

Wind whips his face and his stomach lurches as he’s carried through the air, weightless, at the mercy of the Pteranodon. He’s never felt so small and utterly helpless before, not once in his life. Even his screams aren’t big enough to carry, snatched away by the wind and deafened by the roars of the terror-birds fighting over the right to tear him limb from limb.

And then he’s falling and has other things to worry about.

~*~

Ben stops sharing Kenji’s bunk.

~*~

In a rare moment of downtime, Yasmina is curled up with Darius’s field guide, adding a few more illustrations, when she feels Ben staring at her.

It’s not the first time she’s felt him staring at her. It is the first time, however, that she decides to stare back.

She means it to be playful, at first. She meets his eyes, one brow quirked as if to say, ‘What, is there something on my face?’ But instead of glancing away in sheepish embarrassment or jolting out of a daze, Ben just stares back. There’s no emotion in his expression at all except intense focus.

The faint smile drops from Yasmina’s face as she stares back in surprise. Then, with ever-growing confusion and a fair amount of alarm, she realizes that Ben’s shoulders are rising, tense and hunched like he’s trying to make himself look bigger.

Like an animal.

Yasmina knows what it is to stare down a wild animal. She’s felt predatory eyes on her before and either bolted or turned to face the challenge. And that’s what it is, for some of the dinos- a challenge. Sometimes they’re testing your mettle, and standing your ground is enough to make them back off.

Ben must’ve learned that, too. And for whatever reason, he’s slipping into that behavior now.

It’s a ridiculous thought. This is Ben, her friend. Her very scrawny friend who can’t weigh more than ninety pounds soaking wet, and prefers a diet of berries and grubs. And yet, here he is, staring her down like she’s a particularly bold pack of Compies that’s decided to threaten him.

Yasmina gives a slow, deliberate blink. “Ben?” she calls. “What’s up?”

Just like that, the spell is broken. Ben gives a violent start, blinking and shaking his head. Yasmina sees confusion flash across his face, and then realization. And now the embarrassment comes, but it’s darkened by something like horror.

Without a word, Ben turns and darts away, scrambling down the ladder to the alcove underneath the house where Bumpy’s napping.

Yasmina lets him go, too baffled and unsettled to form words.

~*~

Eventually, Yasmina tells Darius about it.

His expression is troubled as she runs through the incident. But in the end, there’s nothing more he can tell her than what she’s already worked out on her own. It’s just another side effect of the mindset Ben has adopted throughout his isolation. Those habits were what he relied on to survive, and it’ll take time for him to realize he doesn’t have to constantly be on edge now that he’s got a team to look out for him.

Though privately, Yasmina wonders if maybe the rest of them should take a page out of Ben’s book. Seems like he’s got a better handle on survival than they do.

(And then she thinks how Sammy would react, if Yasmina started acting like a wary animal around her, and she realizes Ben’s methods come with a price.)

~*~

After Ben runs the Compies off for the first time, staring becomes a defense tactic.

It’s not always the Compies, who are slowly but surely learning not to mess with him. Sometimes it’s the Parasaurolophus in the river, or the lone Pteranodon perched in a tree, or the group of Edmontosauruses grazing on the hilltop. As soon as he feels their eyes on him, he knows his best chance is to stare back, to show that he’s willing to put up a fight, that chasing him wouldn’t be worth it.

Obviously, there are some dinosaurs that doesn’t work on. But if Ben can drastically cut down the amount of time spent running for his life by standing his ground, then he’ll take it.

All he has to do is not back down.

~*~

Ben avoids Yasmina for the next few days.

~*~

Brooklynn wakes up in the middle of the night with an unshakeable feeling that something is wrong.

Her bad feeling is confirmed when she gets a look at the moon. Based on its position in the sky, she should’ve been woken up by Ben to take her night watch shift at least an hour ago. This practice, established by Darius months ago who insisted they should always have at least one person awake, has already become routine within the group. Brooklynn couldn’t sleep fully through the night if she tried.

Ben’s only just recently become a part of the routine. Immediately after his return, Darius thought it best just to let Ben settle in and get as much rest as he could, now that he had the security to do so, and everyone agreed. Ben had insisted he didn’t mind, but Darius stood firm, so it’s only been within the last few days that Ben took part.

But this is the first time he hasn’t woken Brooklynn up and her heart is in her throat as she rushes to the lookout point-

Only to find Ben sitting right where he’s supposed to be, looking out over their compound as a small candle burns next to him.

As soon as Brooklynn’s relief passes, it’s replaced with anger. “What are you doing?” she whispers furiously.

Ben, not at all surprised by her presence, gives her a sidelong look. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“You were supposed to wake me up, so I could do night watch.” Brooklynn struggles to keep her voice low, so as not to alert the others. “What gives?”

Ben shrugs. “I knew I wasn’t gonna sleep tonight, so I figured I’d just take the whole watch myself.”

“That’s not how this works,” Brooklynn hisses, crossing her arms. “Even if you can’t fall asleep- and I’ve totally been there- you have to lay down and close your eyes and rest. You need to rest.”

Ben breaks into an easy smile, but Brooklynn can see the annoyed creases at his eyes. “Hey, it’s fine. I can-”

“Take care of yourself, I know,” Brooklynn interrupts, hating how frustrated she sounds but unable to help it. “But you don’t have to. We’re a team. We can take care of you too, alright?”

Ben stares at her for a moment. “I know that,” he says, sounding uncertain.

Brooklynn softens. When she reaches out to put a hand on his shoulder, he lets her. “Then… why?”

“I don’t know,” Ben admits. The muscles beneath Brooklynn’s hand are so tense, it feels like they’re going to snap. “I don’t know.”

They finish the night watch together.

~*~

Brooklynn almost hates to bring it up to Darius.

Dude’s stressing almost nonstop about everything, all the time. And it really isn’t fair for him to be responsible for the rest of them, including Ben. But Darius is the only one who seems to have the… what’s it called, emotional intelligence, she supposes, to weigh in on the situation.

(Sammy is a close second, but her brand of caring is a little more touchy-feely, and this doesn’t seem like the right time for that.)

Darius is immediately worried, pointing out that Ben might accidentally fall asleep on watch if he keeps this up (something Brooklynn hadn’t even thought about). He promises to talk to Ben about it, and that’s that.

Brooklynn is only slightly relieved because she knows if Darius had a real fix for the problem, he would’ve said so. And if Darius doesn’t have a fix for it, maybe there isn’t one.

~*~

Those first several nights, Ben doesn’t sleep at all.

And it’s not for lack of trying. But how can he sleep, when it’s pitch black and the jungle is full of unfamiliar sounds and he’s got no one but a baby Ankylosaurus by his side? He soon finds it’s even worse without Bumpy, though, because at least he trusted that Bumpy would wake up if there was any danger, as her senses are more powerful than his.

On his own, there’s no one to wake him up. So he has to stay up, and settle for catching short scattered naps throughout the day (if he can find a tree to hide up in).

It’s hard, but he’d rather be tired than dead.

~*~

Ben is taken off night watch, but still ends up awake more often than not.

~*~

Pyromaniac is a word no one ever expected to become synonymous with Ben, and yet here they are.

It’s one of the first things he always suggests as an answer to a problem; blow something up. Darius has a million reasons for them not to do that; they could get hurt, they could start a wildfire and burn the jungle down, they could attract unwanted attention from predators.

But that doesn’t stop Ben from cataloguing everything on the island that can be used as an explosive, memorizing their locations or creating hidden stashes. It doesn’t stop him from using the candles that came with the scavenged emergency kits. He’ll light them for no reason, just to watch the small flame flicker back and forth.

(Someday, months later, they’ll encounter a horrific hybrid dinosaur that is drawn to flames, and they’ll all think about how unsettling it is that Ben shares this trait, but none of them will say it.)

~*~

It’s been one week since Bumpy left, and Ben is starting a fire.

Just a small one. It rained all day and he’s soaked to the bone, which normally wouldn’t be a huge problem considering the jungle climate. But now that it’s nighttime, there’s a chill in the air and he can’t afford to get sick. It’s risky, because at night he knows the light could draw attention to him, but his teeth are starting to chatter so there’s no helping it.

When a Stegosaurus stumbles upon him, baying low and angry at finding another creature in its territory, it’s the fire that makes it balk. Rumbling displeasure, it retreats back into the dark jungle. Ben quickly adds torches to his arsenal, using the rest of his shirt as tinder.

Fire is safety.

~*~

Ben lights his candles in silence.

~*~

“You can’t just run off like that,” Kenji says, deadly serious.

Ben scoffs. “I think you’re forgetting who defeated Toro,” he says with an easy smile.

“You’re not invincible, Ben!” Kenji snaps. The anger churning inside him is deceptively hollow, like it’s masking something else. “And I can’t lose you again.”

Ben isn’t smiling anymore. “You won’t,” he mutters, pushing past Kenji. “I can take care of myself, now. I don’t need you to play the hero and protect me.”

Kenji wants to protest that’s not what this is about, and that’s never been what this is about, but Ben is already gone.

~*~

Ben still lives off berries and grubs.

~*~

“… and so I was thinking, berries have seeds in them, right? So if we plant some, we’ll have our own berry bushes at the clubhouse. It’ll cut down our foraging time in the mornings for sure, and-”

“Uh, who are you talking to, Ben?”

Ben blinks at Yasmina’s voice, the girl having only just entered the room.

“Um, Bumpy?” he says, as if this should be obvious.

Yasmina glances out at the compound, where Bumpy is fast asleep and well out of earshot.

“… right.”

~*~

Ben can’t sleep, even when he’s actually trying.

~*~

“Alright,” Darius says, “so we need to get the T-Rex out of Main Street so we can do another sweep for supplies. Any ideas?”

Ben’s hand goes up.

“For the hundredth time, Ben, we aren’t going to feed the T-Rex to the Mosasaurus.”

Ben’s hand goes down.

~*~

Ben feels more at home with Bumpy than the other campers.

~*~

“You know we didn’t mean to leave you, right? We would’ve come back for you if we’d known…”

~*~

Ben never talks about getting off the island.

~*~

“You have to tell us where you’re going, Ben, you can’t just disappear-”

~*~

Ben keeps slipping away.

~*~

“Blowing stuff up isn’t the answer to everything!”

~*~

Ben keeps saying he’s okay.

~*~

“We’re a team, we have to work together-”

~*~

Ben keeps smiling.

~*~

“Don’t you trust us to protect you?”

~*~

Ben doesn’t know.

~*~

Sammy finds Ben sitting on the roof of the clubhouse one day.

Her footsteps are loud and obvious as she approaches him. No chance of sneaking up. She knows he’s noticed her, from the subtle shift in his body. He doesn’t acknowledge her, though, continuing to stare off over the jungle and into the horizon, his skinny legs slotted through the railing and dangling over the edge.

The sun’s about to set, a few stars already twinkling in the purple edges of the sky. Sammy can remember another night, months ago, where Ben wasn’t here but everyone else was and they spotted bonfire smoke in the distance. She remembers the way her heart raced, the overwhelming joy and relief flooding through her. And yet, there had been undeniable heartache, because the realization that they’d made it out only meant it was more unfair that Ben hadn’t.

Sammy breaks the silence after a few moments.

“Are you okay?”

Ben doesn’t look at her, but she can see the easy smile that slants across his face, dying sunlight reflected in his eyes.

“Yeah.”

Sammy sees the lie for what it is. None of them are okay. No one who’s been through what they have would be. But there’s a certain danger that comes with not being willing to admit it, and an even greater danger that comes with not being able to see it.

“Y’know, it’d be fine if you weren’t.”

Ben doesn’t answer.

Sammy sits with him until the sky turns dark.

~*~

It’s the way he struggles to eat anything he hasn’t obtained by himself.

It’s the way he sometimes goes off on his own without telling anyone.

It’s the way he talks to himself when he thinks no one else is around.

It’s the way he takes any concern for his safety as a personal attack.

It’s the way he leaps at the chance to blow something up.

It’s the way he can stare silently for hours.

It’s the way he smiles a little too easily.

~*~

It’s not jumping at every unexpected movement, or screaming awake from night terrors, or flinching away from the slightest touch. It’s not loud meltdowns or hysterical sobbing or uncontrollable fits of rage.

(Even though those will come, someday, when the island is just a memory.)

It’s the little things, that- once you notice them- keep piling up.

And suddenly, they don’t seem so little anymore.

~*~

#jurassic world camp cretaceous #camp cretaceous #jwcc #jwcc fanfic #my writing

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