#anyways! holiday drawing because i felt obliged | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sserpente · 4 years

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A/N: Request from @wrenstrange! Put up the decorations, it’s finally time again! Enjoy, everyone!

Words: 1957 Warnings: pure fluff, blood sample/needle/syringe, soft!Loki, fatique, fainting

You dropped like a piece of wood right about when you were making yourself a cup of tea in the kitchen. Knees ceasing to support you any longer, vision darkening, stars dancing around you making you dizzy. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head and before you knew it, your body finally won and shut down.

Although if you could have chosen, you would not have fallen straight into Loki’s arms whose reflexes caught you, preventing you from hitting the hard floor beneath you. He cradled you with his brows furrowed, his blue gaze almost helpless as he looked at Thor and Stark for support.

Then, everything went black.

“Welcome back.” You blinked, the artificial lights above your head blinding you. A hand held you down when you attempted to sit up drowsily. Bruce was leaning against a metal table in Tony’s lab, hands crossed before his chest and with a concerned expression on his face. “You blacked out,” he explained, “out of the blue.”

“How are you feeling?” Tony added.

You only realised then that it was Loki who had held you down. He was sitting on a chair right next to the makeshift bed they had carried into Tony’s lab and he was observing you with Argus eyes. Your heart sped up when you noticed. You usually tended to avoid the God of Mischief at all cost. There was a part of you that was afraid of him after watching him making an entire crowd kneel in Stuttgart, the other was hands down swooning over him. It had all started when he had rescued a cat from a tree, honouring a cliché he had not even been aware of. But someone who helped defenceless little kittens had to have a soft heart deep down, no?

Thor had brought him to Earth along with him after Asgard had been destroyed. He could not exactly be considered an Avenger but he had long surpassed the villain image… at least, to some extent. Well, you were no Avenger either. You used to be a SHIELD intern and then somehow ended up with the superheroes themselves. Apart from some basic fighting skills and the ability to use a gun, you had been trained to spend most of your time in front of a computer, often working twelve hours or even more a day. What did they say? Evil never sleeps.

“Any idea what might have caused this?” Bruce continued.

You shook your head. “No. But I’ve been having migraines and a persistent fatigue that just won’t go away.”

“I see… anything else?”

“Um…”

“You can talk to us, (Y/N).”

“Well, I… I’ve been dizzy a lot lately but that sometimes happens during my special week of the month so I didn’t think anything of it.” You took a deep breath but hesitated.

“And?”

“I’ve been sweating way more when working out. Like, a lot more. Instead of making progress… I feel like I’m getting weaker every day. It’s frustrating.”

“Uh-huh. I’m taking a blood sample. FRIDAY will run a couple of tests on you to figure out what’s wrong.”

“What? No! Nothing’s wrong! We don’t need a b-blood sample.”

“No one faints for no reason, (Y/N), especially not on Loki.” Loki rolled his eyes but did not leave your side, even when Bruce started fiddling around with some gear and apparently, a first-aid kit and then approached you with a syringe and a small clear vial.

“I’ve done this a million times before, I’ll be gentle.”

“No! No, no blood test, Bruce, please!” Almost hysterically, you moved back on the bed, your heart in your mouth.

“(Y/N),” Loki suddenly said calmly. You shivered when he spoke your name, his head tilted slightly. “Are you afraid of needles?”

“N-n-no…” You lied. Loki raised an eyebrow.

“Look at me.” He said. Hesitating only a little, you did as you were told. It wasn’t like his tone allowed any contradiction anyway. In fact, it reminded you a lot of his strict and bossy tone when he had caused chaos in Germany. “It has to be done. Hold my hand and do not take your eyes off of me.”

“Who are you and what you have done to Reindeer Games?” Tony tossed in, throwing the Trickster a suspicious glance. Loki rolled his eyes once more. As if he had any obligation to explain himself to Stark of all people.

In the meantime, you were panicking even more. Loki was being nice and considerate with you and Bruce was about to pierce your skin with a needle. Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck… your breathing sped up.

“Look. At. Me.” Loki repeated. You obeyed this time, allowing him to take your hand and press it gently. Much to your surprise, it immediately calmed you down a little. You gaped at him unbelievingly. You didn’t even feel the needle going into your skin and drawing blood. Wait… was he casting a spell on you?

“There. All done.” You could not bring yourself to look where Bruce brought your blood sample but when both Tony and he stepped away and turned their backs on you, you swallowed.

“T-thank you…” You had to ask—not because you did not think he was not capable of offering his help without seeking a personal advantage and not because you didn’t think he was too evil to even think about being selfless… but because you were genuinely curious about his motivation. Loki did nothing without a reason, he was always one step ahead. “You put a spell on me, didn’t you?”

He nodded. “Why… why did you do that for me?”

“We are all afraid of something.” It was the only response he gave you. For a few moments, you merely sat there quietly, neither of you uttering a single word. Only when Bruce and Tony returned did you realise that Loki was still holding your hand.

“Okay… I’ve got the results from your blood test and FRIDAY couldn’t find anything suspicious.” Tony announced, scrolling on his tablet. Bruce adjusted his glasses to take a peek.

“You said you’ve been feeling tired? You sweat a lot, you get dizzy, and I’m presuming you barely have an appetite?”

“I don’t have time to eat a lot to be honest…” You confirmed.

“Any concentration problems?”

Pressing your lips together to a thin line, you thought about it for a moment. Now that he mentioned it… it had gotten obnoxiously hard to focus on your work lately. Eventually, you nodded.

“Sounds like severe exhaustion to me.” Bruce said. “Do you have issues with low blood pressure or diabetes or any other medical condition? No, FRIDAY would have found something like that. You know what I think? You overworked yourself.”

“Like… a burnout?” You probed.

“Most definitely.”

You grunted. Oh, that was just great. There you were, attempting to squeeze in regular workouts in this awesome training hall the Avengers called the HARM room after work to get stronger and hence, eventually gather up the courage to speak to Loki and now you looked exactly like what you did not want him to see you as—a weak and meagre human.

“The best medicine would be for you to quit work for a while and stop physical exercise altogether.”

“Banner is right,” Tony added. “Take a few weeks off and rest, sleep in, eat more and healthy… the whole program. I officially give you a holiday.”

“You’re not my boss, Tony, you can’t give me a holiday.” Your smile was weak. “But I don’t have time for this anyway! I can’t believe this is happening so soon before Christmas!” You whined. “I can’t stay in bed, I’ve got so much to do! I have to buy presents and decorate and bake biscuits and make gingerbread… Besides, I’m gonna fall behind on all the data.”

He shrugged. “I’ll take care of that. Let me talk to Fury. You let us know if you need anything. Can you take her to her room, Reindeer Games? And please, no funny business.” Beside you, Loki was just frowning, utterly ignoring the billionaire’s request.

“Why were you pushing yourself so hard?” He finally spoke when the two Avengers had left—whether it was genuine confusion or mere curiosity in his voice, you were not sure. “Why were you training for battle in the first place? I have never seen you out on a mission.”

You sighed. Time to let the cat out of the bag, it wasn’t like you were still going to make a good impression on him anymore now.

“I wanted to impress you, I guess…”

“Impress me?” Loki repeated incredulously.

“Yeah… catch your attention… in a way. I mean, part of me is still terrified of you, of course but… you have a good heart, Loki. I knew when I saw you rescuing that cat from the tree.”

The God of Mischief rolled his eyes. “I knew this was going to damage my reputation.” He responded with a sly smirk, making you grin. “It was an innocent kitten, what was I supposed to do?”

“See?”

Your heart skipped a beat when his blue eyes locked with yours. He appeared… uncertain; not used to dealing with affection. Loki swallowed.

“Can you walk?”

“I’m not sure…”

The God of Mischief sighed, his lips pressed together to a thin line. Without any hesitation, he snuck one of his arms under your knees and wrapped the other around your waist. He lifted you off the makeshift bed as if you weighed nothing—and to him, you probably didn’t.

Loki carried you to your room in utter silence and eventually lay you down in your bed. Your heart jumped when he sat down on the edge of the bed himself, with a peculiar interest in his hands so he would not have to look you in the eye.

“There is no need to impress me.” He suddenly said. Your head shot up. “I did not think anyone would even… never mind.”

Oh. It almost felt like you were finally getting to know each other, for real this time.

“Do you want to stay for a while? I was going to watch some Christmas movies if I’m not allowed to get out of bed.” You sighed. “I can’t even decorate. You have no idea how many decorations I have to put up. None of the others care to make it a little more festive here, especially not Fury.”

“Yes, I have seen the boxes.” Loki replied. “It’s a little… corny, wouldn’t you say?”

“Honestly, when living among superheroes who risk their lives every single day, you could use a little corny.”

“I see.” Loki simply waved his hand and before you knew it, your entire room was decorated. Green and red tinsel shimmered on your window sill, holiday lights were blinking above your door and fake—but incredibly real-looking—snowflakes hung from the ceiling. Many of your favourite decoration items were now sitting on your nightstand and your desk, including your tiny little Christmas tree. The rest of the decorations, so it seemed, Loki must have spread all over the Tower.

“Oh my Goodness… Loki, this is amazing!” The God of Mischief winked and when you looked down on yourself, you noticed you too were wearing a green and gold Christmas sweater. Heavens, you could kiss him. “Thank you so much! What did you… is the entire Tower…”

“Yes.” He confirmed. He didn’t have to. Tony did only a fraction of a second later.

“Thor! Can you tell me why my Ironman helmet just grew metal antlers? I swear to God, if Reindeer Games has something to do with this…” It was then you exploded with laughter despite your exhaustion.

A/N: If you enjoyed this story, I would appreciate it so much if you considered supporting me on Kofi! It’s either for caffeine or red wine, I’ll take both. ko-fi.com/sserpente ♥

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rosencroix · 3 years

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That moment when....

.....you realize you were in over your head when you accepted a request that you not only had no idea how to approach, but it's an art style you've never drawn in within the timeframe of your existence and during the time you normally have a hiatus.

In other words, I'm a dumbass.

I know I wanted to draw stuff something nice during my hiatus because of what happened in the summer and I hadn't done so at that time, but I was not thinking about what the request was going to be....

I guess I'm more afraid that it'll reflect in my normal art style that someone would notice. It's happened once before, although it was in an art style i actually liked, so i didn't mind that. But uh, yeah....

Asking someone who drew in an anime style for years to draw something Disney-related is...rather bothersome. Plus, it's put on a timer, so I'm more stressed out about it as I am with working this time of year with the holidays.

Although, the last time i was this reluctant in drawing something different was when i used to draw anthro cat characters when i was younger because I've always love cats (before you say anything, i refuse to address my nonhuman characters as anything but what i call them, so they are not "furries" or whatever, and I'm not one, either. Having someone's characters shoved under some blanket term is rude in my opinion). Anyway, cats to humans. I was more angry at that time before because I felt like my art and love for cats was being insulted. Thinking about it now, i guess that feeling was back, not as anger but as worry. Yeah, it's great to try new things, but i think that sometimes, it's not as great as it sounds. Yeah, it's the whole "come out of your comfort zone" thing, but I would rather have at least one comfort thing that I can stay in than give it up and that's with my art.

Also, trying to convince someone who has no interest in making money with their art and telling them that they'll become a "famous artist" one day is not always the good thing. I get this sometimes and it's really annoying, especially when I don't want to tie something that gives me joy to something that becomes like an obligation. It's something I often think about and i wish I could convey in a way that doesn't often end up with discussions about money. I'm more worried about what would happen if I did start selling my art for money and something happens to me to where i wouldn't be able to continue with that kind of income. I don't want that to happen and the most i can do is just nod my head and forget about the conversation.

Sorry for the rant, it's something that's been plaguing me for a long time and i feel like I'm at a breaking point that I don't want it to finally crack.

EDIT: i just remembered that I had done something Disney-related, but it was aligned to my artstyle because i didn't feel pressured to draw it EXACTLY like the art like i do now. I had done a series of pictures of the Organization XIII members if they were to show up in the Lion King world in Kingdom Hearts 2, but that was ages ago (although I did need to update one of them as i had found out what their actual weapon was some years later...)

My point still stands, though.

#Been forever since i made a rant post

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blood-rad · 3 years

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24, And Feeling Lost

This is not about to be a depressing post. In fact I am writing from a good place.

A couple of weeks ago, I left an unfulfilling job to pursue another job that I felt would be exactly what I needed. It was supposed to be a brand new beginning - my big break. For some reason though, they decided to let me go on my second day.

Now clearly anyone in my position would have felt betrayed, disappointed, and victimised. But this is where all my hard work paid off. I did not feel upset for long. I just knew that this means there is something better out there for me.

So here I am, with a lot of free time on my hand, writing this blog post that nobody is ever going to read.

Back to the drawing board, I have been thinking a lot about what I want my life to amount to.

A few months ago, I thought I knew what I needed to be happy. I thought I just needed a fulfilling job in marketing that pays well enough for me to buy the perfumes I wanted, and go on annual holidays with friends and family.

I learnt a couple of days ago that a person's wants do not actually stem from their needs. Instead, it is the other way around. People say they need a stable job to put food on the table, but if you don't want to live, you won't need a job. He said it better than this, but that's the gist of it.

Basically, I was encouraged to think about what I want before considering what I need. And what I want is actually really simple.

I just want to be happy. And what makes me happy is spending time with my friends and family, to see them happy, and being able to help people around me be happy.

I am already so grateful for the roof over my head, for having my own bed and a warm blanket. I am already so grateful to have my brother and my dog healthy and safe with me. With this, I am already so wealthy.

Clearly, this mindset isn't helping me find a job. But I think I am doing fine without the stress and worry. I am still putting in effort to apply and get a job, but I am prioritising jobs that would actually make me a better person.

I don't really care about the salary, or the hours. I just want something that fuels the creativity and hopefulness within me.

I have an interview tomorrow. Usually I would be so anxious that I cannot sleep because I would pin the entire value of my existence on the success of the interview. But not this time!

I have been watching a lot of christmas movies lately, and they mostly make me feel good. But it is cuffing season isn't it, and I am as single as single can get. I want that special someone to share my time with, but I can't seem to be interested in anybody.

Covid's really fucking up my love life - I can't even meet people outside of dating apps. And you know how dating apps are, they're just so depressing. You meet someone you think could have the potential to form a meaningful relationship with, but somehow you'll find out that they aren't who you thought they were. And the thing with dating apps, people don't have the accountability as they would if you met them through a friend of a friend. There is no social obligation to treat the other person respectfully, and there's no consequence if you just ghost them after three dates. You're strangers again, no bother.

So, I don't really use them anymore. It's just not worth the time and effort anymore. Also, every time I watch these dumb christmas movies and it comes to the lovey dovey scene where the two main leads kiss and fall in love - my mind keeps going to this ONE person and it is driving me insane.

I am already having a hard enough time trying to get back out there in the dating world, yet he so casually waltz into my brain looking all cute and shit. It's so unfair.

Yes, this is an unrequited love kinda story. We have been friends for years now, and all these years, he's still tagged special in my heart. After all these dates, and I've been on a lot of dates, like a lot. What's so special about him anyways. I really don't get me sometimes.

I need that christmas miracle that happens in all of these darn christmas movies. I need that knight in shining- no i WANT that knight in shining armour, that Mr. Right, the perfect man to just come and change my entire world.

Maybe I just need to write a letter to Santa, for the first time in my life.

Maybe if I just believe hard enough, I'll get my christmas love story this year.

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blackfemmecharacterdependency · 4 years

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12. On Your Side

Decided to publish what I had worked on before my hiatus, mainly for Tina and nem, as a Xmas thing. Ion celebrate that shit, happy holidays or whatever. I was hoping to have completed the story by now, but with my break for mental health, I guess it's either pushed back or gonna be abandoned. Will know in a couple of weeks or so what, if anything I intend to do with it. Its an Apex centered chapter. I'm still on hiatus. You can leave a review if you want to, but don't message me about Simon or this story. Thanks.

*The Grace St. Catherine Playlist, featuring songs used in chapter and songs that inspired the chapter*

“Even through the darkest phase

Be it thick or thin

Always someone marches brave

Here beneath my skin…” Grace let the music play in the background as she tried to do all of the things suggested to her by her “spiritual advisor,” Sunny, whenever she moved into the place. She was doing more drawing - mostly sketches of carnage and rage. She was journaling a lot, mostly in the form of a narrative told by a hypothetical fictional character, because admitting to the things that she was doing on paper was a huge no-no, so she simply projected her life through her journaling character, The Saint, whom would never be referred to by name in any of the entries. In this particular one, The Saint was contemplating calling The Shadow. What would the conversation even be like? He would tell her how bad she was for being mad at him. She would tell him that she only hurt bad people, but he hurt a friend… he hurt her. That was different. So different. But she MISSED him.

She had began to sketch him. She was more of a doodler/drew cartoons and comics on her phone and stuff… but she was shut up in this place for hours at a time and hadn’t really used a pencil and a sketch book seriously in a while. Then, it got away from her. After a few days, she had almost filled up a sketch book with drawings of Simon. She winced when she thought of his name. She had been avoiding speaking it and thinking it. “And constant craving has always been…” She stared at the phone, then changed the track. The last thing she needed was to think about craving, of all things…

Now, that the phone was in her hand, she glanced around, feeling that paranoia that she had since she left home. Nobody was watching her here, but she felt obligated to check, anyway, and upon verifying what she already knew - that nobody was fucking watching her - she went to visit his social media. Private? Since when? She checked another. Same thing. A third, same fucking thing! “UGH!!!” She threw her phone onto the couch and went to go chop wood. She didn’t really like to chop wood, but it did make her feel better to swing a tool and see destruction come out of it.

“Old wounds

Old fights

Another day goes by

I'm not playing by the rules

They can't take me for no fool…” Her phone continued singing as she went outside.

Jalicia Barrett was not the same type of watch as Grace was. She obviously wasn’t as upscale as Grace, so she wound up having much to do that was necessary, unlike Grace’s schedule of playing a typical woman. Now, to say that Jalicia was typical would be a stretch of the imagination, as Simon knew that none of Grace’s people were that and she had possibly an unreasonable amount of tiger items, but she was closer to an average person than Grace was.

She went to Seattle University, but hadn't selected a major. She was still doing general studies after taking a few years to get her GED (She began trying at 16 and only successfully received it less than a year ago), so.. a freshman in college, which wasn't bad. She was 19. She worked on campus and seemed to have other odd jobs, like being a delivery driver or personal cab, and stuff at that Infinity Foundation place.

She didn’t have rich parents. From what Simon was able to find, she was never reunited with them, whoever they were. If they had lived in Seattle when she was taken, there was nothing on file to indicate that she was reported missing. Of course… he didn’t know what her real name was. The name Jalicia Barrett only became a name for her in the year after Grace left the mental institution. He knew that was likely connected.

Maybe… she wound up in the system after Grace touched base with them? At any rate… whoever the girl who was brought into trafficking had been, she was now Jalicia Barrett, a girl who began existing when she was 13 or 14 and obviously probably didn’t know her DOB either, as it was on record as the day that her name was given, her documents were created all around the same time, so she had to either have been a baby whenever she was taken, or simply never knew her personal information like birth date and full name.

BUT, she did have prints on file, so she probably had birth records that could be matched to them somewhere. He didn’t know if he wanted to get into that… or if she hadn’t done so herself and simply decided that life was easier being the person that she knew herself to be now. He certainly couldn’t imagine separating from his loved ones and then not finding them for a decade or so and then just… trying to pretend that they were family after all or something. She had the family she wanted… Well… she lost one. He felt bad for her. It wasn’t the same, but whenever he lost Grace, he felt like his world collapsed. To even pretend to understand how this woman must feel losing her life partner after years of being together, he wouldn’t insult her like that. Instead, he looked into the details surrounding that. Whatever happened to that investigation?

He’d provided an alibi for them and the police never spoke with him again. He’d done his best playing ignorant and pretending that everything was casual. Whenever they asked him about Heath, he said that he didn’t know Heath. “I’ve only met him once and he didn’t show up to the gathering… Is he alright?” They didn’t answer, just wished him a good day.

Now, he was looking through their paperwork and he was sure that he might find something interesting, if not useful. Simon had no idea what he was looking for with these other people. Something that led him back to Grace’s trail, and he had to figure out how they worked to even presume that…

Here’s the thing… Simon wasn’t going to write himself off as wrong or going too far. For crying out loud, the things that these people did, and they felt justified in their reasonings, so he wasn’t going to allow himself to feel bad. Grace might need him, and Xander was keeping her away from him. He cursed himself over that gun, though. However, IF she would have just let him explain that he only had it to keep Xander from getting it! He didn’t know what to think when he holstered it, but it wasn’t for her! Why would he hurt her? He scanned through paperwork, trying to take his mind off of Grace’s lack of faith in him and then, he was sure that he found what he needed. If not; he’d found something interesting. “Huh.”

Grace called Sunny for more tips. She was doing everything that she told her to, and reading all these books and articles, ordering all sorts of holistic woo woo shit, and trying SO HARD just to not lose it out there… Sunny was always a mood lifter for her though. They would talk for however long, laugh, joke, sometimes get entirely too serious and cry… they hadn’t done this in a long time, but Grace had been calling her more frequently lately and, well… it was necessary for her to be available.

“It’s like… I don’t want to use this word lightly, and I especially can’t tell Xan, but I feel like I’m like… addicted… Does that sound stupid?”

“Xander doesn’t own the word addicted, Grace. He’s struggled with a few drugs over the years, but one of the reasons is because he’s sick. Some people can try things and never really become addicted to them because those things didn’t appeal to them in that way. This dude appealed to you in a way that your body wasn’t used to. He got into your mind, and most likely changed the chemical balance. Affected your hormones and shit, only to find that he wasn’t what you thought and now your chemicals gotta try to balance back out without his influence, so no, it doesn’t sound stupid. Perhaps melodramatic, but I don’t know. You could be addicted to the way that he made you feel. Going through dick withdrawals is a struggle that people don’t give enough credence, too.”

Grace snorted. “I’m… not… going through that. We weren’t like that. I don’t even know if he ever was into me that way? It was like… I don’t know… I never got the feeling that he desired me physically.”

“What feeling did you get?”

“For the most part, that he wanted me around. I don’t know why. He never seemed to be asking anything of me but to let him be near me. He was very good about not entering my personal space, and even when I got comfortable, he still never made any move on me or anything like that. He just seemed to like to be… present.”

“Okay, but what would he be doing when he was present?”

“Sometimes nothing, really. Just looking at me, or listening to me. Sometimes, we were doing our own thing - me reading a book. Him playing video games or writing, or… Idk, working on a cosplay outfit.”

“Girl, on what?”

“He’s a fantasy fanboy before he’s a fantasy writer, so he you know… makes cosplay costumes and stuff for conventions. Whenever he’s not scheduled to be on a panel at one… This is something that I’ve observed, not something that he’s said. He… doesn’t talk about himself a lot. Not at all, come to think about it.”

“Xander makes him out to be a literal serial killer.”

“Xander hates him. What about 808? What does she say? Xan seems to think that he “got to her” or played some kind of mind games or something?”

“Well… she didn’t say anything to me about him, except that he was very talkative and apparently worships you. She was pretty thrown off guard at how comfortable he seemed with being caught and held hostage. She said that he is either the most nonchalant person ever or the craziest fucking person that she’s ever drawn a weapon on, because he acted like they were buddies just chitchatting, and we all know that he knows what we do to people.” Grace didn’t reply. Sunny offered, “Well, whenever I think about the shit that I went through with Xander and how we always seem to find each other in the dark, it's usually in terms of No Angel.”

Grace said, “Beyonce’s No Angel?”

“”Is… Is there another one? Because, if there’s anything AND a Beyonce song, just go ahead and assume that I am only speaking of the Beyonce option.” Grace laughed. Sunny recited, “ I love you even more than who I thought you were before.” Grace held her breath, unsure of what to say to this. Sunny continued, “All I mean to say is that sometimes people aren’t who we initially thought. Sometimes they’re worse. Sometimes they are seriously fucked up. Sometimes, they’re absolute trash… But… you might still love their ass.”

“Damn, Sis… Is this how you feel about Xan? Because those are some hard descriptions.”

“No. Xander is definitely a hot mess, but I was absolutely describing your… thing… over there. Jimony?”

“Simon,” Grace said, trying not to laugh.

“Right. I knew it had “mon” in it.”

Jalicia didn’t know what it was about that station that made her put it on all of the time, but her streaming service generally stayed on an old r&b from the 60s and 70s station, and sometimes 80s and 90s, whenever she was at work. She had a journal with a tiger on the front that she was writing down poetry in, but she could never think of titles for any of her work, and she didn’t feel like she was that artistically creative, so she’d title everything, “(Song Title) Plays in the Background,” whether or not the song had any bearing on the poem. Today’s? Let’s Groove Plays in the Background.

Work was a little bit overwhelming, these days, but only because of the things that had nothing to do with it. The fact that she wouldn’t just receive flowers sometimes and have her coworkers wonder why her boyfriend was this thoughtful, but they never saw him. Or the days where she would pout about being broke and having to pack a stupid sandwich and he would insist on having something sent to her at lunchtime, if he didn’t just make her a different, more fulfilling lunch instead. The way that she would get a text whenever he went on his own lunch break, and it would just be some hilarious video or a new thing that they just HAD to buy. Work was overwhelming, because what she had leaned on every shift was the fact that he’d interrupt it with something nice and that she would leave there and get to see him every day.

Now, she was listening to Earth Wind & Fire, in a gray pantsuit and fooling around on her computer while she waited for something to do. She heard the tone of the doorway and she got up to see if somebody needed help. It was a college bookstore and she was often far overdressed, but all she had aside from her typical attire were the pantsuits she wore when she had to do something other than be casual - like functions and interviews or whatever, so that was what she wore to work.

The O. He looked at her like they were friends or something. A polite smile and warmth in his eyes. She stared him down and reached for her phone. “Hi. Can I just have a moment?” He asked. She texted: The O is here and hit “send” to 747. “It won’t take long, I just wanted to give you something.” The O reached into his bag and Jalicia had already identified four common objects in her immediate surroundings that she would definitely use as a weapon against him if he tried something slick. He handed her an envelope, one of the big yellow ones and she frowned.

“I’m not taking whatever that is. For all I know it’s got anthrax in it.”

He laughed and opened it himself, pulled out the paperwork and handed it to her. “I figured out a better method of tracking people down than Heath had the resources for. I know that Xander is trying his hardest, God help him, but he’s not much on a computer and some of these things are hard to find.” She took the pages and glanced through them. Simon helped her find a certain page, “I’ve guessed that you maybe didn’t know much about this part of the situation that you all walked into. The… X, I suppose you’d call him, was very paranoid that he might be on your list and he hired protection.” He pointed out a few key lines that he had highlighted. “Professional protection, and yet when the time came to protect him, Heath wasn’t shot in the arm, or hell, if they didn’t want him to escape, the leg is an option as well.”

“They killed Heath on purpose,” She said, the wind knocked out of her as she did. She tried to take a seat, but just fell back onto a table and leaned against it, knocking down several books.

“They wanted to send a message and since you all slacked up since then, I’m sure that they think that they did.” She started crying angrily and wiped her face. “Flip to the next page.” Her hands were shaking and she wasn’t sure of what she might see, but she flipped to the next page anyway. “That’s your shooter. Since he was on the job, he confessed to being the one who fired and because Heath was breaking an entering and had no family to intercede for an investigation… the cops seem to be fine with what happened to him, despite the fact that our laws state that a person may not use more force than is necessary given the situation.” She shut her eyes and squeezed out tears, her fists tightly holding onto the phot0 of the man. “Next page are his personal details. Do with it whatever you think is best. I just thought that you would want to know.”

She shivered and cried, “This doesn’t mean that I owe you anything. I didn’t ask you for this and I don’t feel indebted to you for it.”

“Jalicia… I’m on your side. Whatever side Grace is on, that’s where I am. I did this because I want to help.”

“Well… This is the most help you’re getting from me - Xander’s on his way.”

“Then, I’ll be on my way.” He had that polite smile again and she was almost terrified how easily it came to him. He left quite a few minutes before Xander arrived.

She instantly fell apart as soon as she saw him, handing him the papers and explaining to him what he was looking at. She left work and was going to call Grace, but Xander snatched her phone while he was driving. “No, what if he. like, cloned your phone or something?”

“What? This ain’t Person of Interest, Boy. What the fuck are you talking about, Bro? He’s rich but it’s not like he’s Lex Luthor.”

“We can’t chance it. He’d do anything to find out where she is.”

“Give me yours, then.”

“Just hold off. I need to check this dude out. For all we know, Simon is just blowing smoke up our asses to get us to lead him to Grace.”

“The fact that you think it’s more likely that he falsified a bunch of police documents than that he simply sneaked them away is making me wonder about you .”

“I let him get too close to her before, and I’m not doing that again.”

Jalicia snatched her phone back from him and they wrestled for it but, he eventually heard Grace on speaker.

“What is happening on that end?” She asked, laughing a little bit nervously.

“We need to talk about Simon,” Jalicia said.

“I disagree with that sentiment!” Xander said in the background.

There was a pause. Grace was panicking a little bit. Did they know that she was trying to check his pages? That she was trying to see if she could make a temporary account just to try to get to them? How would they know that, Girl?

Jalicia added, “It’s about Heath.” Xander turned red in the face and he shook his head and tried to breathe. “Oh, fuck you, Xan. You left him there to die. The least you could do is chill out while I speak to Grace about this.”

“Whoa… That’s not extremely fair. The Apex protocol is that if somebody is hit, we leave and regroup. We go in with the expectation that if we’re hit, we would slow everyone down and jeopardize everything. So, Xander and I both left him,” Grace said the last statement laced with sadness and guilt.

“He pulled you out and sped away,” Jalicia said.

Xander scoffed and then burst into tears, “I’m glad that you’re telling us how you really feel.” His voice was surprisingly calm, but the ladies knew that hurt him more than anything ever had in this world.

“Tell me what you need to say,” Grace said.

“Simon found Heath’s killer.”

“Simon found a person he alleges is Heath’s killer.”

“He had all of the paperwork to corroborate it. More than Heath has ever collected on any X.”

“He had paperwork on a man who works in security who may have shot Heath dead, but as far as we know is not a bad person. He probably was just on a security job. Somebody broke into the house he was guarding and he shot!”

“WHY DID HE SHOOT HIM IN THE HEAD???” Jalicia squealed. “I’ve been over this myself, before Simon EVER said anything about it, but WHY didn’t they shoot him to survive and answer questions about what is one of the most infamous string of serial murders to ever hit the city? Why would he risk his job to kill someone that way in security, if there wasn’t a reason that Heath needed to be dead?”

“You… you think that the security dude is old Apex?”

“I think that at best, the security dude wanted to kill a person that he didn’t HAVE to kill and he used Heath as a perfect excuse, making him a shitty person, in my opinion, and at worst, he didn’t want us saying anything to anybody, because he knew why we were there!”

“But, we did release what we had on the X. The information is out there now. Nothing was done about it,” Grace added.

“Precisely! Just as nothing was done about this trigger happy buttfuck, even though our laws state that you’re not supposed to kill motherfuckers if you don’t have to!” Jalicia said. She looked at Xander, poked him in the arm and reminded him, “You were the first one to claim you’ll avenge him”

“And you told me to go fuck myself.”

“Emotions were definitely running high, but if you’re looking for the chance to make good on your word, you’ll have to suck it up and just live with the fact that Simon gave us this, like I have to live with the fact that Heath is never fucking coming home!” She got louder than she intended. Xander wiped his tears with the back of his hand, but more just poured out. He nodded, but he was still extremely upset.

“Send me what Simon sent you. I’ll let you know what I decide from there.”

“Thank you, Grace.”

Grace sighed, paused, then said, “Heath would have wanted us to get out, but even if you had driven away and left us all, we wouldn’t have faulted you… That’s the protocol. Heath knew that…”

“Does that make it easier for you?”

“No. But, we shouldn’t make it harder on each other, either…” Jalicia sighed, rolled her eyes and let more tears fall. “I’m sorry, Jalicia. Heath was the first person in the warehouse that I ever cared about. I would trade myself for him, if I could.”

“He’d never let you,” she hung up and reached out for Xander. He accepted her hand. “I was mean to you…”

“You were honest. It just fucking hurts. Heath was the backbone of this family, and everyday he isn’t here, I lose more and more respect and control. He kept me grounded.”

“Doesn’t Sunny do that too?”

“That’s not the same thing.”

“Maybe you don’t let it be. Maybe the reason Heath was your rock was because you thought that you only needed one. That’s what I did, too. I didn’t even realize how much of my life revolved around him until I was just spinning in space, with nothing to pull me back. Why do you think I moved in with your ass?”

“To split rent.”

She gave a resigned shrug, but shook her head, “I thought that it would make things better, if even just to put me in a spot where I could just not think about it and not be alone. I figured I wouldn’t get over it, but that at least I would logically be able to grant myself some peace because you’re there too, and that there would be some type of comfort. Not emotionally. That’s gonna take more time than I even believe that I have left in this world. But… at least I wanted that solid ground to stand on, to be able to say, Heath would want his two favorite people to lean on each other and find some strength in his absence.” Xander sniffled. She finished, “But it didn’t matter, and I don’t even know what to do, because I thought that being around you would guarantee some balance, even if it didn’t truly help… I still have all of my grief, and I’m..” she whimpered, “So tired. And empty. And distant. My closest living friend is sitting right next to me, and I have been so alone…”

Xander pulled the van over, unlatched his seatbelt and hugged her. She wasn’t done. She was so focused on her train of thought that she hadn’t even actually noticed that Xander was hugging her. “Heath was always in my life. Before any other human that I can remember. Like, logically, I know that Grace took care of Todd and Heath took care of me… but… I don’t even remember anybody else until maybe I was 5 or 6. I know he wasn’t the only person around, but in my mind, he was. I have NO frame of reference that doesn’t involve him. He was…” She finally realized both that Xander was already holding her and that she was crying again.

She remembered something. She was 4 or 5, her brain was never good at that part. She wasn’t in school or anything. All of her special days were simply moments and occurrences. This particular occurrence. A boy with light hair, getting hurt really bad by the stewards. Heath covered her eyes and started talking about flowers. He found a new book about them. He’d help her try to read later. The noise of the boy being beaten up was in the background, but at the time, she was too young to pay any attention to it and listen to Heath. So, she listened to Heath and the beating was background noise filtered out. Afterwards, he took her to the side of the building and let her pick flowers for their new friend. The new boy was mean. He was mean to Heath and Grace had to help Heath. Then, he was nice. She looked at Xander’s face and saw that same boy, just as hurt and just as angry as the first day she recalled a memory of him.

“He wasn’t always in mine… but he was the first person who was ever just nice to me for no reason other than to be nice,” Xander said. “There’s nothing that I want more than to punish a person who would take him away from us, but to have Simon, SIMON, give us that…” He was red in the face and shaking his head. “He’s using it to get to Grace, and I just didn’t want to give him that kind of power.”

“Then why didn’t you just say, ‘Hey, lets not tell her where we got the information?’ If you had just sent it to her with X confirmed, instead of fighting me in traffic…”

“You didn’t give me a chance!”

“I just… This ONE thing, then maybe I can move on.” He nodded and buckled back in. “I’ll get to work on the logistics. In case Grace gives us the go ahead, I want to be ready to move as soon as possible.”

Simon pulled his hair up into a high ponytail. He was going to try to get it into a bun, but it had been getting longer and thicker, and while he’d normally just pull the top part into a pony and let the rest hang, but it was windy and he was going to be pretty active, so high ponytail, it was. He had been checking out the X that he gave Jalicia, to see if they were going to make a move on him. He wasn’t positive of the typical turnaround time on an X, so he simply went to watch every night. He wasn’t going to do the car. Dude was in security. He’d probably make him.

Instead, he parked around the block and went to a big tree across the street from the X’s home to post up. He had binoculars and an awkwardly applied hunting tree seat. It wasn’t made for him to be up this high, but he situated it only to have a seat that wasn’t tree bark. He spent the time that he wasn’t watching the house on social media, checking out Sunetra’s pages… which… apparently she went by “Sunny…” which… Simon noted to himself that he had seen a little sun tattoo on Xander, and whenever he came across Sunny’s very tasteful artistic nudes, he saw that she had a little tattoo, as well, on her chest, of an “X.”

Her photos were really nice and she seemed to… possibly be a stripper? He checked a few of her posts and captions. She hashtagged #burlesque in some of them, so maybe not a stripper, but something risque. She was in the fine arts program in college, for dance and had many posts from the Infinity Foundation of her doing dance workshops, yoga, and stuff. She had a lot of witchy posts, too. Simon rolled his eyes, but kept scrolling. Several of her posts were really funny. He noticed a yoga and meditation program that she would be doing at a community center and saved the post.

He watched the X for about a week and a half when he saw the van pull up. In the dark, he couldn’t tell who people were, but two had gotten out and through the binoculars, he could tell that Xander was one and the other was Jalicia. He checked the van. That was an unfamiliar one behind the wheel, but he presumed that it was Sunny or 808, and that he simply couldn’t see them... There was a loud noise and screaming in the house. He turned to see that Jalicia had a knife to a woman’s throat while Xander was escorting the X out, with his hands up. He got him to the van, injected something into his neck and tossed him in. Jalicia unhanded the woman, but appeared to take a bag along with her and the woman ran next door.

Jalicia had taken all the phones with her. The woman had to run next door to call the police. Simon realized that she was probably doing that, and he got out of the tree to get back to his car. If he hurried, he might be able to catch the van!

He went the direction that they had, and when he came to what he thought might be them, he put on a mask of his own, but it was a medical mask, just because that was… possibly not as weird as if he wore like a clown mask or something. They had NOT handled that in the way that he expected. Something told him that they either were rushing or desperate. He wondered why.

But, whenever they pulled the van into an old train station, he parked behind the building and got out of his car. This is fucked up. This is fucked up. This is fucked up. This is fucked up. This is fucked up. This is fucked up. This is fucked up. This is fucked up.

He could hear their voices, and he followed the sound of them, but didn’t come from the shadows of the building. They were dragging the bag into a field that Simon knew that he had passed several times in his life, but never paid much attention to. Nobody really did. Was this where they buried them? He wondered. He only saw Jalicia and Xander, pulling the body bag with one hand and carrying shovels in their free hands. Where was the driver? He went around the other side of the building and the van was pulling off. Where were THEY going? He couldn’t start his car. Jalicia and Xander weren’t far enough away to not hear him. He groaned and went to look back towards the field. He couldn’t see anything beyond the tall grass, but he used his phone to try to record where they were… maybe he could find it in the daytime. Besides, they were now far enough away that he could start his car without alerting him. He felt like he had enough.

Simon drove home, wary of a van behind him for a portion of the way. He took some loops and turnarounds that he wouldn’t usually take before he was comfortable that they weren’t following him and it wasn’t the van… but after he got home, he noticed at the bottom of the hill a van, and it looked like the van that they used. It looked like the van that he was nervous might be following him. But. There was no way that the van had found him after those turns. Was it one of them, just letting him know that they knew he had followed them?

He rushed inside and looked out of the curtains. They were there for a moment. They turned the van off and he took a deep gulp and reached for one of his guns. They got out of the van and stood, staring up at the house. DEFINITELY APEX. This is fucked up.This is fucked up.This is fucked up.This is fucked up.This is fucked up.This is fucked up.This is fucked up.This is fucked up.This is fucked up.This is fucked up.This is fucked up.This is fucked up.This is fucked up.This is fucked up.

They stared, wearing a gold mask, a tam hat, and the all black outfit that he had gotten used to, but then not seen for a while. “Grace!” He said. He put his gun down and rushed out of his door. “Grace?” He called, but she rushed back into the van, tossed something out, and peeled off. “Grace…” He ran down the hill and out to the road. She was gone… He looked down to see what she had thrown down on her way off. It was a Stop sign with a red squiggly line underneath the word “Stop.” He picked it up, roared and began to smash it against the pavement, before flinging it into the middle of the road and going back into his house. He called Jalicia and she looked at her phone, not recognizing the number, so she answered it. “Hello?”

“Was that Grace?” a voice asked.

“What?”

“The person who just followed me home and told me to stop. Was that Grace?”

“No,” was all that she said. He hung up. She put her phone away.

“Who’s that?” Xander wondered.

“Non issue,” she said. It wasn’t a complete lie, and there was no way that she was about to ruin their night with… whatever that had been about. She and Xander were still digging when their third came walking up, her gold mask on her face and a shovel in hand. “Girl, where did you rush off to?”

“I knew he was gonna still be alive,” she said and pulled up the mask onto her head. Sunny. “Had to make a stop,” she said with a shrug. She and Jalicia stared at each other a moment, and Xander kept digging, oblivious to the exchange of them questioning each other with their eyes. It was short lived, because Grace was connecting for the video call. “Hey, Girl, Hey!” Sunny cheered.

“Bitch, I’m so mad that I’m not there right now.”

“Be mad at Jimona,” Sunny said.

“Simon!” Grace said, laughing. Then, more solemnly, said, “Draw a squiggle right across his face, for me.”

“Sure will,” Sunny said, pulling her knife out. “What are you listening to, Woman?”

Grace checked the info on her streaming, “Hurts by Emeli Sande.”

“That’s dope. Send me the link to that.”

Simon was at the apartment now, crying and sitting in front of the cameras. He wondered if she would return with them, but looking at the feeds he had placed to check the outside of their homes, he noted that the three entered Xander and Jalicia’s home at 3:47 am… and that… wasn’t Grace. It was the woman that he had initially identified as, “One who looks like Grace.” It was Sunny… He flared his nostrils and set an alert to remind him about the yoga and meditation at the community center.

His phone began to ring while it was in his hands. It was a private number. For a moment, he let his heart accelerate. “Hello?” He answered.

Silence. He sighed and almost hung up, but… he felt something. His tears stopped, he sat up erect and waited. She was silent, still. He was afraid to break it, but more afraid of her losing whatever nerve she had at the moment and hanging up. So, he dared to speak. He kept his voice soft and low. Gentle, like he knew she would remember him being. “Hey…” He said. He heard her sniffle and it tore at his heart. “Hey,” he managed to say even softer. “Are you okay?” She sniffled again. “Tell me what I can do to make you okay?”

“Why did you do that, Simon? Why did you?”

“I wanted to be close to you. I wanted to know you. I wanted you… I didn’t know what to do. I was desperate. I am desperate. Please, tell me where you are…”

“You let Xander catch you.” There was the longest pause since the conversation started. Eventually, she spoke again. “I feel like the kids walked in on me doing something dirty…”

“I feel like it’s none of ‘the kids’ damn business what we do.”

“They can’t see stuff like that. They can’t see me being followed and watched, obsessively. They can’t just move on from that. You have no idea the kind of people who… Why did you have a gun?”

“Because, I had just been attacked by somebody that I know is a murderer and I was on edge…” They were quiet again. “I can keep them out of sight from now on. I can keep them away from you, at all times…”

“If I come back into town, my crew is gonna get… difficult. It won’t be safe for you.”

“I can’t prove myself to them? To you? Did you see what I found for them? For Heath? For Jalicia?... For you?”

“Yeah. Yeah, Jalicia told me right away…”

“You sound like you’re smiling,” he observed, daring to smile, himself.

“I can’t help it… but… we can’t… do this, Simon.”

“Don’t…”

“We’re both in really weird places and us coming together isn’t good… for either of us, I think…”

“Please…”

“We shouldn’t be together, see each other, anything. You should… get on with your life.”

“No!”

“Bye, Simon.”

“NO!!” She hung up. He bit into his lip so hard that he drew blood, trying to keep his composure. He couldn’t even go to the gun range right now! But.. He could… go back to that field. He knew where it was. He knew where the bodies were now… he… was running out of patience, but he reminded himself that it wasn’t her fault. The longer they kept her away from him, the more confused she would be. She just needed to understand that he was on her side. If she couldn’t… she would have to learn that there were consequences for going against him.

13. A Shot in the Dark Pt 1

#AU Infinity Train #Infinity Train #Nesha Fanfiction #Infinity Train Fanfiction #fics #People Watching

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cilldaracailin · 4 years

Text

A Kind Of Magic

Here is the next part. Thanks for all the Tumblr love :)

“There is nothing like a shared interest to draw people together.”

They cleared away all the breakfast dishes and tidied the kitchen, Taron washing and Robyn drying as before. They also took the time to dress each other’s stitches.

“Did Doctor Keane give you any tablets like I got some?” Asked Taron as he tapped the dressing to Robyn’s shoulder.

“Yeah she did. My prescription finished on Thursday morning. I just have to go and get these stitches out next week.”

“Your shoulder still looks bruised though. Isn’t it still sore?”

“If I lay on it with direct pressure yes but I can move about and lift and stretch.” She felt Taron run his finger down the tape to keep it secure and stuck on the dressing. “Thanks Taron.”

“Anytime.” He said as he pulled the strap of her top back up.

She got to her feet and kicked her shoes off. “Garden.” She said simply and skipped out into the deck and onto the grass before turning back. “Suncream.” She said as she walked past Taron who had been following her but stopped as she walked back into the apartment and into her closet in the bedroom before she walked out again. “Case.” She said but turned and walked back into the bedroom. “Purse.”

Taron couldn’t help the fully belly laugh that he made as he watched Robyn walk around her apartment from one room to another just randomly saying words and it felt so good, but at the same time quite sore and unpleasant as his side hurt to laugh like that.

“Key.” She returned holding a tiny key in her hand and walked to the laundry room. She opened the door, disappeared for a second before coming back lifting a very heavy looking case.

“Whoa, that’s heavy Robyn!” He went to give her some help but with ease, Robyn lifted the case up higher and onto the island. “You are a little freakishly strong.” He said as he watched her put the small key in the lock and open it.

“Lifting three and four years old builds some serious muscle. I don’t know if this is something you want to see inside of. It will completely change your opinion of me.”

“Why?” Asked Taron intrigued.

“Well this is my case from Florida that I had great intentions of coming home to pack properly after I went to the 7/11 to get my turtles, which I never actually got by the way. Anyway, after I left you in the hospital…” Robyn gave him a sad smile. “I had about an hour to pack up the rest of my things before I needed to leave for the airport so I literally just threw everything in.”

Taron moved a bit closer to her. Although he was hurt when he found out she had left him so suddenly, he hadn’t really thought about how Robyn had felt as she packed up to leave so quickly to return home. As much as he was upset with her departure it must have been just as horrible if not worse for Robyn.

“I just want the suncream but yeah. It’s in here somewhere, in this mess.” Robyn heaved her case open. “Left or right?”

“You haven’t unpacked this yet?” Asked Taron as she unzipped the left side.

“Erm no. Haven’t really had the motivation to do it.” She walked away and back into the laundry room and carried out a white wicker laundry basket. “Might as well sort the washing out too. You really don’t have to watch this Taron. Not going to be very interesting at all. Ya know girly delicates and dirty clothes.”

Taron pulled a stool over and sat on it, feeling the need to sit rather than stand, his body feeling tender and rough. “We have already crossed barriers that others haven’t. I think we might be past the dirty laundry stage.”

“Okie dokie.” Replied Robyn as she started pulling clothes out and throwing the majority of them into the laundry basket. Pants, t-shirts, bras, shorts and bikinis as well as many pairs of socks were put in along with some jeans. Robyn stopped when her hands pulled out the blue polo shirt she has been wearing the in the 7/11. It was still frayed at the bottom from where she had cut it to use the material as a bandage for Taron’s arm, the back-left shoulder covered in her blood and it was littered with spots of Taron’s blood too. She turned to look at him before moving over to the bin beside her kitchen door. “Well I don’t need that any more.” She then pulled out the jeans she was wearing and threw them into the bin too. “Or those.” The white pair of converse she was wearing were next but she dropped them in the laundry basket for a wash. She wasn’t quite willing to part with an expensive pair of shoes that cost her more than half a day’s wages.

“I am pretty sure my ripped white t-shirt is in a bin too. Couldn’t really salvage it when someone decided to rip it in half.” Taron tried to lift the spiralling mood and was glad to see that Robyn had thrown the clothing out that she was wearing in the 7/11 because he had done the exact same thing once he was given back his belongings that he came in with in the hospital. It was a reminder he didn’t want and it seemed Robyn was thinking the same.

“I was updating your boring white t-shirt look. It needed some rips.” She welcomed how Taron quickly made a little joke about the clothes they had been wearing when everything went to shit in the 7/11 and she returned to her case, making quick work of pulling out more dirty clothes and finally at the bottom of the left side of the case she found the bag of suncream she was looking for. “Ah-ha!” She said proudly as she pulled the canvas bag out. She left the suncream on the island and closed her case over, zipping it fully. She lifted it off the island and kicking her laundry basket across the floor she put both in the laundry room to the side, closing the door behind her.

“Robyn!”

“What?” She asked as she came back to stand beside Taron, opening the bag of suncream.

“You are seriously going to leave that in there like that?”

“Yeah, I will fix it later. I really am not in the mood for clearing out the rest of it and sorting the washing? Ugh not happening right now.” She enjoyed the disapproving look he gave her. “I told you your opinion of me was going to change. I only wanted the suncream for us.” She turned the bag upside down, emptying it all out onto the island. “Ok factor fifty for you and I shall take this ten.”

“Ten? Absolutely not. I saw your sunburn in the 7/11, I even rubbed the aftersun in. Factor fifty for you too.” Taron took the ten away leaving the bottle of fifty.

Robyn grinned. “That was because I didn’t use any suncream. I will be ok with ten and you can take the fifty. I already have a very good base. I am normally not this colour. I just tan easily and took full advantage of my weekends on the beach.”

Taron got off the stool. “Let’s compromise with a twenty-five then.”

“Twenty-five for you and fifteen for me? Ten for me? Or I could go straight for this factor four tanning oil.” Robyn picked up the brown bottle.

Taron grabbed the bottle from her. “No tanning oil. Seriously? Tanning oil?”

“I love a good beach holiday and I like a tan. Tanning oil helps, near the end of the holiday. Not at the start.”

Taron pulled two bottles towards him. “Twenty-five for me and fifteen for you.”

With the suncream factors agreed on and rubbed in, Taron making sure he got Robyn’s shoulders, both Robyn and Taron took to the garden and a sun lounger each, Taron on his back, a soft pillow under his head, Robyn sitting up reading a book. His right side was still giving him hell after laying on it all night and lying on his back was the most comfortable position for him. Robyn had asked him to tie the strings of her top behind her back after he had finished rubbing her suncream in. ‘Tan lines’ she had simply said and he obliged tucking them in the back of her top. As the time passed on, his had opened the remainder of the buttons on his shirt and the heat of the sun felt just perfect on his shattered body.

Robyn had given him free reign over the music and he would ask Alexa to change the song or artist but he had settled on Elton John who was playing through the speakers which Robyn had connected to her Alexa so the music could be heard inside and out. It was exactly what he was sure Doctor Hart would have been expecting of him. Relaxing, listening to music and it was pure heaven. He sang along every now and again, having to stop when he gave it too much gusto, his whole body protesting but he definitely enjoyed it when he heard Robyn joining in at times too.

She had thrown back the doors to her bedroom too, turning off the air con and letting the late summer fresh air filter the whole way through her apartment. She took a glance every now again to Taron as he lay with one leg bent, his arms down by his side, his whole pose looking stress-free, his eyes closed, his breathing easy. His open shirt fluttered in the breeze and the bruising on his ribs and side still looked very sore, even a week after he had been hurt. Seeing how much slower Taron moved that morning, his hands moving to his side as he turned too quickly or bent the wrong way, Robyn knew he was trying to hide how much discomfort he was still in despite the strength of his pain killers. In saying that, the picture of Taron lounging easily in the sun was another image she was adding to her album of him in her mind. It was her perfect idea of a very lazy Saturday.

For three hours they lay in silence, the music enough for both, Taron dozing in and out of sleep. He wanted to pocket this feeling of surreal tranquillity and pull it out whenever he felt stressed or his anxiety start to rise. Every now and again he would look to Robyn and she looked just as peaceful as he felt. He watched her mouth the words along to whatever song was on as she flipped through the pages of her book. He couldn’t explain how much he enjoyed her company and he took delight in the fact that there was no pressure for them to talk or make conversation and it was a wonderful easy atmosphere surrounding them. He felt like she knew what he needed before he even needed it and he needed this rest. The angst and worry that had plagued him were slowly leaving his body as the sunlight and warmth crept in. As much as he loved his family, he knew he would never get respite like this at home. His mam would be almost fussing over him, being overly concerned which he loved about his mam but it was the not the attention he needed right now. He knew Robyn was keeping a very close watchful eye over him too, just doing it in her own stealthy way, letting him just rest in the silence, but ready to move to him if she needed.

Their quiet was interrupted by a ringing phone, Taron turning his head as he recognised his ring tone. He went to move, a grimace filling face, a groan leaving his lips and he had stop getting up as his head felt light and his delicate chest twinged.

“I got it.” Said Robyn as she jumped to her feet. “You stay.” She saw how Taron’s whole body froze as he experienced a serious wave of pain as he moved off the low lounger. It just added to number of times she had watched him cringe so far that day and she wasn’t liking it.

She walked into the bedroom from the garden and picked up his phone from the bedside locker where he had left it and brought it back out to him. Taron had sat up very gingerly and moved so his legs were either side of the seat and she handed him the phone, watching as his eyes lit up as he read the name on the screen. Robyn hadn’t looked but knew it must have been somebody special for the call to get such a reaction.

“Elton, hey!” Robyn’s head turned twice as Taron answered the phone. “My mam yeah? Ahh man thanks Elton. No, I am ok. I’m good. I’m really good. I’m at a friend’s house. Yes, her name is Robyn and what else has my mam told you?” Taron looked to Robyn as he spoke on the phone and patted the sun lounger beside him for her to sit down and she did so copying the way he was sitting. She listened to the one ended conversation as Taron spoke to who she could only presume was Elton John. She had never seen Taron’s face light up so much and his eyes shone as he laughed and joked and spoke to his good friend, but she did notice how a frown tinged his features every now and again, his hand going to his side or his head. “I haven’t been doing much singing, no. I have to wait until my ribs heal up but Robyn and I are going to have an Elton/Freddie sing off.” Taron’s smile spread wide. “I haven’t heard her sing a lot but I know she can sing. I will represent, don’t you worry though with the looks I am getting now, I have a feeling I should be a little worried.” Robyn smirked and nodded. The conversation lasted two or three more minutes, Taron assuring his friend that he was ok and thanking him very much for the phone call. Taron said his goodbyes, wished Elton’s family well and ended the call, casually placing the phone down on the lounger between himself and Robyn.

“So, Elton John regularly calls you on a Saturday morning?” Asked Robyn.

“Yeah.” Shrugged Taron with a breezy tone but as he looked to Robyn who was raising an eyebrow at him, he had to laugh. “My mam phoned him to tell him what had happened and let him know I was ok. He is holding a charity action in a few weeks time and just wanted to make sure that I would be able to attend it after what happened. We are supposed to be singing together but he told me I was only to do so if I could.”

“Elton John was just calling you.”

“Robyn.” Grinned Taron, watching her eyes light up.

“Let me freak out for a little bit ok? It’s Elton John!”

Taron chuckled but his laughter was disrupted his phone ringing again. “Let’s play guess the celebrity caller.” Robyn grinned as he picked up his phone.

“Ahh this is a celebrity we both know.”

Robyn looked at him puzzled until he answered the call. “Hey Richard!”

“Richard!” Echoed Robyn.

“Let me put you on speaker mate. Robyn is here too.”

“Hello my fake co-star girlfriend.” Laughed Richard.

“Hello my fake boyfriend.”

“It is good to hear your voice Robyn.”

“You too Richard.”

“Taron, I have literally been calling you for the last two days.”

“Aww sorry mate. I have been sleeping for the last two days. I have made one phone call and that was to my mam.”

“So, you made to Robyn’s then?” Asked Richard, so glad to hear his friend’s voice. He had been worried when he had been getting through to Taron’s voice mail for the last two days.

“Yeah I did.”

“And she let you in? Robyn, I thought you would know better than to let strange men into your house!”

Robyn laughed. “You would think I would but I guess not and I don’t know if I count you two as complete strangers. I mean we did spend a whole night together.”

Another round of laughter filled the air.

“Taron how are you mate?”

“Yeah I am good Richard. Getting there and you? How are you?”

“Make up has had to cover the bruises but I am good too, Straight back into it. It’s been a good distraction.”

“Richard, can I just say something before, we have a catch up?” Robyn’s tone of voice turned serious.

“Sure Robyn.”

“I am so sorry for leaving you in the hospital Richard and for the letter I wrote and leaving all the responsibility of dealing with the fall out of what happened in the 7/11 with you because it was something that should not have been left to you to deal you. You were affected as much as Taron and I by what had happened and we all needed to talk about it but I got scared and ran away, which is a normal Robyn reaction. I am trying to be better. Taron has helped a lot and is teaching me that its ok to let people in but I just cannot apologise enough for what I did. I am really really sorry.”

As she spoke Taron reached over and took her hand.

“I am only going to say it once, but you do not need to apologise to me.” Said Richard over the phone his voice sterner than Robyn’s. “I am firm believer in things happen for a reason and this, whatever happened between us, happened for a reason. I won’t lie, when I found the letter, it took a while for me to process it and I don’t think I was the best person to speak to Tina but I imagine that by now all that air has been cleared and Taron is going to be ok, me too and you as well Robyn. It was you who held us all together in the 7/11 and whatever happened after that, might have been done in haste and because you were scared and had your own responsibilities but it’s done. You two have probably had that conversation by now so let’s leave it there. We know we will always be bonded by what happened and know we can turn to each other when we need to and that is what is most important.”

“Jesus did you two take lecture lessons after we met? You are both seriously knocking it out of the park with these speeches.” Robyn might have answered Richard’s touching words with her usual defensive sarcasm but she could feel the burden of guilt and worry she had been carrying about leaving Richard leave as he spoke and she wished he was there so she could give him a very grateful squishy hug.

“So, we are all forgiven and know that we can talk to each other when we need to?” There were a firm yes from Taron and Robyn. “Great. So, what have you two been up too?”

A long light-hearted conversation followed as the three caught up with each other, telling stories of their last three days, Richard very jealous of the baking Taron had been tasting as well as their chilled-out time in the garden. Richard was up to his eye in script changes and re-shoots. It was relaxed and carefree chat, jokes and giggles being thrown about and when the phone call ended, the three had made a promise to meet up when their individual schedules allowed it.

“So, can I expect any more phone calls from your friends?” Asked Robyn. “Maybe Hugh might give us a call, sing us a song…” She grinned.

“I can call him if you want.” Said Taron as he went to look for his number in his phone but Robyn pulled his phone from his hands.

“I was messing, God no.”

“Seriously, though, I can do that.”

“I know you can but you won’t. I am going to put this phone back now.” Robyn got up from the lounger, walked back to the bedroom and put the phone on the locker beside the bed.

“You’re a Hugh fan?” Asked Taron as she walked back.

“Have been since is Oklahoma days. He’s an amazing performer.”

“Did he come to Ireland on his tour?”

Robyn pulled her lounger closer to Taron’s so they could lay comfortably back down in their own space but closer than they had been before. “Yeah, he did and I missed out on a ticket at first. The two nights sold out so fast but two days before the concert Claire sent me a link saying more tickets had been released and I bought one. Right in front of the small stage and it was the best one hundred euros I have ever spent.”

Taron enjoyed the smile on her face. “Right so I know you like Hugh Jackman and that you like to bake, that you don’t really sleep and you work with children. I don’t know much else. I think it’s time for twenty questions.”

“Only if I get to ask twenty in return.” Taron rose an eyebrow towards her. “Just because I like your work and enjoy your movies doesn’t mean I spend my days googling you. I honestly don’t know a lot about you. It’s only fair.”

“Ok then. First question. When is your birthday?” Asked Taron.

“Twenty-second May, eighty-eight.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? May twenty-second?”

“Nope.”

“The day Rocketman was released?”

“Yep. I even went to see Rocketman on my birthday, brought my mam with me.”

“It’s destiny Robyn. Definitely destiny.”

She laughed. “Ok well when is your birthday and I can see if I have any connection to it at all.”

“November tenth, eight-nine.”

“Yeah no. Nothing. I have nothing. Guess it’s not meant to be!”

Taron reached over to swot at Robyn but she dodged him, giggling. “Eight-eight?” He questioned. “You are older than me.”

“Older and wiser.” She replied laughing as he went to playfully slap her arm again. “Only by six months.”

“Six months.” He repeated.

“My turn.”

Questions were fired back and forth and while Taron learnt that Robyn hated scary movies, was an only child, could speak Irish and had two degrees, Robyn learnt that Taron would eat anything put in front of him, adored his little sisters, could speak conversational Welsh and had his own degree.

“Two degrees and two diplomas?” He asked.

“I have been studying since I was eighteen. Couldn’t figure out what I wanted to do after college the first time and because what I wanted to do is so bloody specialised I kind of fell into childcare. I literally finished my second degree last year and I am done.”

Taron admired her pure determination to get back up after been knocked down when she applied for the same masters twice and failed to get it both times.

“It wasn’t nice being told we love your experience but your grades don’t encourage us to take you on. I am not an exam person. The pressure of having your entire year graded on a three-hour exam does not suit everyone. My college grades never reflected what I could do. I have always wanted to work with dolphins since I was a little kid and that is heart breaking to hear, that your marks were not good enough. The dolphin therapy diploma for me was giving all those who said I couldn’t do it, or that it didn’t exist, the finger but like I said, the field is so specialised it is hard to get into it. I kind of went back to work with the kids with my tail between my legs after that but then the promotion happened and I felt like I was doing something right and I realised that I was good at what I do, which spurred me to go and get the childcare degree. Worked my arse off, got my one one and once again shoved in the faces of those who said I couldn’t.”

“I love that take no bullshit and determined attitude you have except when you were standing up to those maniacs with guns but I know it is hard to get back when you have been told you are not good enough, or you won’t make it. It’s not easy to keep going after hearing that.” Taron shared some his own experience of auditions that didn’t go the way he wanted.

They moved onto hobbies and interests both talking their experiences of being in choirs since they were kids, both having sang in church and school choirs.

“Ok favourite skill you have learnt from your work.” Asked Robyn.

“Even though I didn’t get to do it on set, learning to shoot three arrows for Robin Hood was a pretty amazing experience.”

“I was in an archery club in college, the first time I went to college.”

“I am telling you Robyn, destiny! But seriously, archery?”

“Yeah seriously. I can’t shoot three arrows but it was good fun. Good responsible fun.” She added. “I shoot with my left hand though.”

“Left hand?”

“Yeah I know. I am one of those people who can use both hands for doing things!” She laughed. “No, my mam is left-handed and I just find things easier with my left and shooting arrows was one of those things. We met twice a week and it was a good laugh. Went to a few competitions too. Now I was never competition material but it was a great group of friends and we had a good time together.”

Taron smiled. “Maybe we need a shoot off as well as a sing off.”

“I haven’t shot a bow in years. Actually, the last time I did was when I was on holidays a couple of years ago and I hit the centre of the target first time. Complete fluke but it made those people watching stop and stare for a minute. I think we will stick to a sing off.”

“I am going to ask you the same question. A skill you have learnt during your years of working with children apart from reverse phycology”

“One of the girls I worked with, who has now left, well she and I could change thirteen nappies in ten minutes.” It was not the answer Taron was expecting and it made him laugh so hard for a good minute before he managed to somewhat control himself. “I am also a master of paper plate animals.” Robyn added with a very serious face which she could only for long as Taron giggled more, her own face changing with laughter. “And am a very good referee and negotiator.”

“Referee?” Asked Taron, still chuckling.

“Hell yes. You have one red truck and two children want the red truck; you learn to mediate quickly. Three-year olds are fierce headstrong little things.”

The changed the topic to allergies, hospital visits and favourite place in the world.

“Aber for me, Aberystwyth in Wales is my favourite place in the whole world. I am not allergic to anything and my latest hospital visit has been my most exciting.”

“Here, my home is my favourite place and I wouldn’t call it an allergy as such but mosquitos love me but I don’t love them and I have no appendix or tonsils.”

“Mosquitos?”

“Ugh I get eaten alive and some of the bites swell. I am sure I have a picture of one on my arm that looked like a swan. I have lots of littles scars on my hands and arms from them too.”

“Lovely.”

“Not so much but yeah.”

“And I think I understand your liquid panadol comment now. You have been in hospital twice?”

“My appendix was horrible. I sat college exams with a rumbling appendix not knowing what it was, sat in A&E for a long time before I was admitted and then in surgery, they realised my appendix had burst.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah key hold surgery turned into proper surgery and an eight day stay in hospital. It wasn’t nice, let me tell you. It was pretty frightening. I reacted to whatever medicine they were giving me and I started to cough up blood.”

“Jesus Robyn.”

“Yeah, like I said it was frightening, I was ok though, just had to take it easy at home after and I have four scars instead of one. My tonsils were nowhere near as complicated. When I started working in the creche, I was ill every six weeks or so with my tonsils so after six months my doctor referred me to a specialist and three weeks later no more tonsils. I have health insurance, so it happened quickly and touch wood…” Robyn tapped her head. “I have been sore throat free since. I have a fabulous immune system though. Working with children, you become immune to almost everything.”

“I don’t think I want another hospital experience like the one I had or any like yours either but I could do with a stronger immune system at times, especially on set. It can take quite a toll on me after a few weeks and I just get run down and ill. Makes my days harder. I just want to sleep but have to be up at five am to get to set.”

“I can only imagine. Your work comes with such expectations and you to be ‘on’ all the time. At least I can hide in the office if I need too.”

“I might come and hide in your office, or actually, maybe I will just hide out here in your garden instead.”

“Even when it’s raining?”

“Even when it’s raining. I don’t mind the rain.”

“My garden is not as much fun when it rains.”

“Well then I can just lay on your couch.”

“I think it might be time for me to change my locks.” Laughed Robyn.

“Don’t you dare.”

Another easy quiet fell between the two, Robyn lay back on her lounger, while Taron did the same on his, the afternoon sun still glorious on his skin. He enjoyed getting to know Robyn and he secretly loved the fact that she honestly knew nothing about him. It was refreshing and he saw that she genuinely wanted to get to know him and willingly shared as much information with him as he shared with her. She was naturally funny and he loved how easily she made him laugh. It was another feeling he was going to bottle up and keep for when he needed a pick me up.

#Taron Egerton #Taron Egerton Fanfiction #Taron Egerton Fanfic #Taron Fanfic #Love #Friendship #Humour #Loyalty #Getting to know each other #Twenty Questions

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goldenclosethq · 5 years

Text

O.C.D (Jeon Jungkook AU)

PLEASE READ THIS NOTE BEFORE READING!

***This is fiction. Remember that the thoughts and feelings of a character does not represent my own beliefs. I'm not going to sensor a characters thoughts or development so that you're not offended. It's a book...fiction... I refuse to put a sensor on creativity. I hope you can respect and understand that. If you don't like it, then don't read it. But please- don't give up on the book as a whole because you don't agree with what a character says or does.

“O.C.D”

_Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD) is an anxiety disorder in which people have unwanted and repeated thoughts, feelings, ideas, sensations (obsessions), or behaviours that make them feel driven to do something (compulsions).

(Y/N) was confused, to say the least. She wasn’t completely sure of how she got herself in this kind of predicament, seeing her weekend was already thoroughly planned out in her head—sitting in her flat and doing nothing at all sounded marvellous—in order to make her holiday, worth it. She made sure to stay away from anyone that could influence her into to going out during her well deserved break, however she still couldn’t draw herself away from Jeon Junghyun when he came knocking on her door. He lived in her building, same floor and all, and though they’ve never had a real conversation, he asked

(Y/N)

to babysit his brother anyway, which of course, she felt obligated to accept. By the looks of it, he was desperate and if

(Y/N)

counted the egg Junghyun loaned her once, perhaps this whole thing could count as returning a favour.

“Can you at least tell me his name, and why he needs to be watched?”

(Y/N)

frowns, a bit confused, another bit curious. ** **

“His name is Jungkook, and he needs to be watched because he doesn’t like being alone,” Junghyun sighs, hurriedly packing his bag with the needed necessities. “Look, he’ll probably be in his room the whole time staring at the ceiling, you have nothing to worry about, thank you so much again,” he pulls

(Y/N)

in for a hug, yet she finds a way to hug him back, even if it’s in the most awkwardest way possible. Maybe the Jeon’s family are a bunch of huggers.

“It’s no problem,” she tells her once she’s gained her breath, and then the hug is over.

(Y/N)

watches as Junghyun walks out of the flat, leaving her alone in the sitting area. The living room resembled her own, same furniture and placement. It wasn’t until the door was shut and locked did

(Y/N)

realise she didn’t even know the age of this boy, Jungkook.

She wasn’t sure if she should go to his room and introduce herself, or if she should wait for him to come out himself. After a few more seconds of ridiculously self debating all her options, she sighs, removing herself from the couch and walks to the room Junghyun introduced as his. The closer she got to the door, the louder the voice got. It was hoarse. It sounded as if it was under a simulation. It sounded like a man.

“Seventy-two, seventy-three, seventy-four, seventy-five, seventy-six...”

She enters the room with furrowed eyebrows, slightly scared of what she might see. She didn’t know what she was expecting, when she opened the door. Maybe a little boy under the covers as he played a video game or at least something along those lines, however she’s met with something else. The boy was much bigger than she imagined, sitting at the edge of the bed. His hair was straight. He wore a plain white shirt and from the looks of it, black briefs.

When he sees the small girl enter his room, he stops counting. He stares with his eyes, as he curiously examining her. “Are you my baby-sitter?” he asks, and it feels like the world stopped.

“Uh,”

(Y/N)

looks around the room with books scattered all over the floor. There were posters stamped on the wall too from various boybands. “Yeah.”

“Well,” he smiles a little and suddenly all the awkward tension is over. “Hello.”

His face cringes, “Hello.”

“Hello.”

He coughs awkwardly, “Hello.”

“Hello,” he sighs, “again.”

(Y/N)

breathes out a laugh. It was slightly amusing, the whole thing. “I’m

(Y/N), I live across the hall.”

“You have a beautiful smile,

(Y/N). I’m Jungkook.”

“Was there a reason you repeated yourself four times, Jungkook?”

(Y/N)

asks, eyebrows knitted together. She looked at the boy waiting for an answer, thinking to herself that he was completely mesmerising.

“Yes and no.”

“What do you mean?”

“Yes, there was a reason. And no, because the reason is dumb.”

“Well, what was the reason?”

“Do you want me to be honest? It’s a bit ridiculous,” he rubs his left arm nervously.

“Yes,” she nods.

“Well,” he starts unsurely. “The first time I said it, my voice sounded hoarse and I didn’t like it. The second time was too rough and I didn’t want to seem rude. The third hello was fine, really. I just don’t like odd numbers.”

“Oh,” she says, but still didn’t understand where he was coming from. He sounded fine each time, in her opinion. “Well your voice sounded the same to me.”

“Are you insisting I greet you again until it comes out perfect?”

“No, I just think it sounded perfect the first time.”

“If it was perfect I wouldn’t have repeated myself,” he argues, a bit aggravated.

“I don’t understand,” she rolls her eyes, leaning on the wall for support.

“Neither do I,” he sighs. “But it’s normal for me.”

“Are you a perfectionist or something?” she chuckles.

The question makes him smile a little. “Something like that.”

“That’s kind of impracticable, you know.” she shakes her head because of how ridiculous the boy is being. “No one can be perfect all the time.”

“Well,

(Y/N), you’d be surprised to know how exact I am.”

The moment she came in his room, everything in Jungkook’s head went quiet. All the tricks, all the constantly refreshing images in his head just disappeared. It was hard, having Obsessive Compulsive Disorder because you never get a quiet moment, there’s always something ringing in your head, there’s never anything right. There’s always something out of place. Because nothing was perfect, ever, and Jungkook needed things to be as perfect as possible — always. Even in bed you’re listing things in your head. He asks himself if he washed his hands before climbing into bed, if he made sure to set the alarm — did he put the toilet seat down after using it, or did Junghyun do it for him?** **

Jungkook thinks about (Y/N) and the hairpin curve of her lips. Also the eyelash on her cheek. He noticed it, even in the faint lighting. It was stuck there to her plump cheek; even after she smiled and her face ensued it didn’t move. There was an eyelash on her cheek, and Jungkook wanted to remove it so badly, but he didn’t. He couldn’t.

“Jungkook?” Junghyun barges into his room, dismissing his thoughts.

“Hyung,” he says, staring at his wall.

“Are you okay? You’re hitting your—”

“I know what I’m doing,” the boy rolls his eyes. When his anxiety rises, he taps on things persistently or rather counts in order to settle himself. Sometimes he has no control over it, and sometimes he’s able to mere his actions, even if it’s only in the slightest. His eyes shut as he stops hitting the side drawer to turn to his brother. “Why didn’t you tell her?”

“Who? (Y/N)?” his brother goes to sit next to him, “I-I’m sorry.”

“Why are you so ashamed of me?” Jungkook asks, hurt.

“I’m not ashamed of you,” he rests a hand on Jungkook’s shoulder, but he’s quick to brush it off. “I didn’t know you wanted me to tell her.”

“You’re lying! You already know how hard it is from me and you let some girl come in, completely unaware of what she’s getting into. I can’t control how I act around people and you know that. She looked at me like I was crazy!” he yells, tears forming in his eyes. “I hate you so much.”

Junghyun ignores the hateful comment, because he knows Jungkook doesn’t mean it. He’s just angry and this always happens — he says all the wrong things when he’s angry. “She doesn’t think you’re crazy.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that you’re ashamed of your own brother.”

“I’m not ashamed! I love you Jungkook, you’re my little brother.”

“(Y/N) is never going to talk to me now and it’s your fault. You should’ve told her.”

“You could’ve told her,” Junghyun fires back.

“I don’t want to talk to you right now,” he closes his eyes once more. “Please leave.”

“You’re angry.”

“I’m not angry. I want to be alone.”

“Yes, you are. Your hands are shaking and you’re shouting at me. That’s anger.”

“Get out hyung!” he shouts—and okay, he’s angry—once more and he feels like he’s on the verge of exploding.

“Jungkook—”

“Please?” he repeats once more, his voice much more softer, more weaker.

“I’m not ashamed of you,” Junghyun mutters under his breath before leaving the room.

“You are ashamed of me!” he exclaims once the door is shut. His whole body shakes and he’s not sure if his head is on straight, or if his legs are able to function properly.

“You are ashamed of me.”

He closes the door, re-opens it again, then searches for anything hiding in any of the creaks and corners. After fifty times, he re-opens it to check if all the lights are off, so that he will not be wasting energy; not once, not twice, but twenty-five times. Jungkook checks to make sure the alarm is on so nothing bad happens while he departures. He checks this thirty-three times.

He’s going across the hall today. He wants to visit (Y/N), and Junghyun is letting him — not that he had much of a choice. He checks the alarm once more, just in case, before marching out the front door. He closes it three times before he hears a click! signalling Junghyun locked it. He has the sudden urge to fight him, tell him that it didn’t sound like the door didn’t close properly, but he tells himself it’s all in his head. The door is shut and locked, and he’s only overreacting. The new pills he takes allow him second guess his actions. But Jungkook hates his pills.

He reaches her flat door within seven steps. He took four steps on his right foot and three steps on his left. It was uneven; he had to start again. He walks back to his front door and starts his quest again. He walks from and to her door five times to get it right.

Jungkook was never the one to reach out to people. No one ever did it for him, and he was just returning the favour by never doing it back. But he really wanted to talk to (Y/N) more, even if this'll be his last time. Nervously, he knocks on her door four times. After a second, he knocked another four times, then another. It took twelve knocks for her to answer the door.

She wore boxer shorts with a baggy t-shirt. Jungkook noted how adorable looking she was in messed up ponytail.

“J-Jungkook? What’re you doing here?” she looks down at her outfit and her cheeks flush, “I was studying for some of my classes.”

“I wanted to see you,” he grins widely.

“Oh,” she smiles. Jungkook wanted to think about that smile forever, which was quite possible with his condition — he wouldn’t mind it at all. “How about you come in and I make myself presentable?”

Though Jungkook wants to object and say she looks beautiful whether she was wearing a wrinkled shirt or an ironed one—that wouldn’t get him where he wants to be. He wants to know more about (Y/N), he wants her to be comfortable with him in whatever she’s wearing, if she lets him. “Sure,” he responds respectfully.

While she changes, Jungkook walks into the fairly similar flat. He closes the door, re-opens it, closes it, re-opens it and closes it back — Jungkook does this five more times. He locks and unlocks the door fifteen times before he feels someone behind him.

“You know, if you keep opening the door, I’ll have a bunch of intruders.”

“What do you like to do, Jungkook?”

“I don’t really do much,” the boy shrugs.

“You’re lying,” (Y/N) hits him, playfully. “I saw a bunch of books in your room.”

“I guess,” he scratches the back of his neck. “I like to read books a lot. But it takes me a while because I have to count each line in each paragraph first.”

“Have you ever tried getting someone to read to you?” she asks.

“No, why?”

“It’ll be easier for you to read more books, don’t you think?”

“What are you suggesting, (Y/N)?”

“I can read to you sometime, if you want.”

“That would be nice,” he then thank her. “What do you like to do?”

“I dunno,” she moves her shoulders back on the couch. “Read?”

“Other than reading. Tell me something interesting,” Jungkook inquires. The two of them have been talking like this for the past hour. At first he felt bad for distracting her from her work, but he started to not mind at all after the conversation got going, and she told him she was looking for a distraction anyway.

“I like to write poems.”

“Really? About what?”

“Stuff that makes me feel something, I guess.”

“Can I read one?”

“They’re not that good, really,” she flushes.

“I don’t know why you underestimate yourself, (Y/N). You are very enrapturing. Very enrapturing,” Jungkook tells her fondly, his eyes locked on her.

“I can say the same thing about you, Jungkook,” the girl replies, and it feels like they’re so much closer—physically.

“No, I’m quite problematic. I repeat just about everything I do.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that, we all have our quirks.”

“I actually came over so we can talk about Jungkook.”

(Y/N)’s eyes pop at the mention of Jungkook. She’d be lying if she said the boy hadn’t popped in her head occasionally these passed two days. “What about him?”

“I finally got him to talk to me,” Junghyun rests his coffee down. “He finds you interesting.”

“Well, he’s very captivating,” she laughs. “He wasn’t talking to you before?”

Junghyun sighs and looks around the small living room. “That’s also what I wanted to talk about,” he says. “Jungkook is.. special and smart, he’s a good guy, amazing, even. He got upset with me because I allowed you to watch over him without consulting you about his disorder.”

“Disorder?” she quirks. It was her turn to rest her coffee down. “What does he suffer from?”

“Obsessive Compulsive Disorder — OCD. He’s had it for a couple years now. At first we thought he was joking around, but one day we take him to the doctor and find out he’s suffering from that and manic-depression. He’s been in the hospital so many times, he even went to rehab for a while. Look, I’m just saying that he hasn’t really had a real friend, or any friend at all in a long time. I just wanted you to know because he seems to really like you, and I don’t want him getting hurt.”

(Y/N) listened intensely as Junghyun spoke. It made more sense to her now, why Jungkook acts the way does. She understood why he repeated his words, why he would lock and unlock the door consistently. When he told her that he has to count the lines of a book before he actually read them, she didn’t think it was because a damn disorder, more like a bad habit. “I always thought he was special, but I didn’t think he had a disorder as serious as that. Does he still have manic depression as well?”

“It’s complicated with him. He gets angry and frustrated really quickly, over the simple things, but he doesn’t take his pills anymore. The doctors said it wasn’t fully necessary, so Jungkook stopped taking them. For his OCD though, he still does.”

“Oh,” (Y/N) looks down at her lap. “He hasn’t always been living with you, though. Where was he before?”

“He was with my eomma in Busan, b-but there was a little... accident, and he was in an institution for about a month, until I practically forced him out. He didn’t want to leave, but God, he was rotting in there. So I said he can live with me here, in Seoul.”

“He was in an institution? What did he do?”

“It’s Jungkook’s story to tell,” he bites his lip. “I’m not even sure if I have the full details.”

“You’re right, that’s fine,” she gives him a small smile. “Thank you for telling me about this,” (Y/N) reaches out for Junghyun’s hand and squeezes it. “I can only imagine how hard it’s been for your family,” she whispers.

“I hope this doesn’t change how you look at him,” the man exhales.

“It has,” (Y/N) nods. “He’s even better than I thought he was.”

His life was made up of fours and eights and sixteens stacked on top of each other, so much like lego pieces to get him through the day. Jungkook was diagnosed with OCD and manic depression when he was only sixteen years old. He was twenty-one now, and was still very stupefied on why he had so much issues mentally.

Jungkook remembers the beginning days—or what he considered—the worst days of his life. It was terrifying, going from being an ocean of emotion to a dry, parched riverbed in a matter of days. His ribcage, one filled with whirlpools and life, was stagnant, iced over. A dead wasteland; no signs of life or happiness or sadness anywhere. But, Jungkook was getting better with his bipolar disorder. Some days were better than others, he still had off moments, but he was still recovering, and it was his new normal.

Jungkook sat in his bed tapping on his side drawer and counting in tens.

“—fifty, sixty, seventy, eighty, ninety, one hundred, one hundred and ten, one hundred and twenty, one hundred and thirty, one hundred and forty, one hundred and fifty...”

It was one in the morning and Jungkook couldn’t sleep. His mind was stuck on many things. He was very cautious, not knowing if the bathroom light was on or not, so he had to get up to check. It was off, of course, and Jungkook knows he was being too vigilant. He sits on the edge of his bed now, his mind fully alive, wandering. It’s fine though, because it’s usually this time of night when he thinks of (Y/N). He really liked when she’s in ponytail. He also liked when she smiled because her small dimples on the corner of her mouth, even when she talked they were there. Her hair was always out of place, and it usually would have bothered him, but he also loves her hair the way it is, and that’s not even the confusing part.

Jungkook got upset at Junghyun earlier because he wanted to tell her himself, about his disorder. (Y/N) is never going to talk to him again. She’ll soon realise exactly how hard it’ll be to cope with someone like him, that it isn’t easy. He repeats things, has ridiculous rituals (he doesn’t even understand why he does them), and soon she’ll give up (if she hadn’t already) and leave—which isn’t fair because she was barely in his life as it is.

It was one thirty in the morning when Jungkook got out of bed.

“Jungkook, what are you doing here?” (Y/N) asks, softly. It was very late, and the last person she would suspect was at her doorstep, his legs shaking furiously. “Are you alright?”

“I-I-I couldn’t sleep,” he stutters. His eyes are soft and have dark circles, and his hair, it’s scruffy.

“Do you want to come in and talk about it?” the girl offers. Jungkook is glad to accept, telling the girl thank you four times after walking in.

(Y/N) wore pajama pants and a plain blue tank top. She tried to ignore how chilly it was in her flat at this time, but only because she wanted to focus on Jungkook and what he had to say. She also couldn’t exactly wrap around her finger how beautiful he was at almost two in the morning, but she tells herself it’s only an observation.

“Junghyun-hyung said he told you about my disorder,” he sits smugly on the couch. “Do you hate me?”

She almost laughs at his quick assumption, “I could never hate you, Jungkook.”

“Do you hate me?” he asks again.

“Do you hate me?” he repeats himself. He looked so oblivious to what he’s doing, as if he’s under a compulsion to iterate his words. (Y/N) can’t help but wonder how people are cure themselves from their mind, when the mind is the most powerful thing of all.

“— because I really like you. I know it’s crazy because I met you like a week ago, but it’s true. I wanted to tell you about my disorders myself, but I didn’t know how without you running away or labelling me as a freak so I stayed quiet. I mean, when we first met I guess it was evident I had problems—”

“You don’t have problems,” she cuts him off.

“I get stuck on things. I get stuck on too many things. I can’t go to sleep, let alone leave the flat, without making sure everything is locked and shut, and the lights have to be off so I don’t waste energy... my brain is like a damn script. Half of my thoughts don’t even feel real,” he groans loud. “I’m stuck on you! I’m stuck on you. I’m stuck on you. I’m stuck on you,” he recites with his fingers gripped in his hair.

“I hate my thoughts. I hate them and then you come along and now I don’t hate them as much as I used to. I hated my thoughts, all of them. But I like when I think about you because it gives me an unexplainable joy, something I can’t put into words, but I like it. I like.. you.”

There was an undeniable connection with the two, she realised. Jungkook was sitting right there breathing heavy, their legs brushing each others—and all she wanted to do was to calm him down, make him smile. And she didn’t know what it was but it felt like more of an honour to know someone like Jeon Jungkook in her life.

“I understand. I understand. I understand. It was far fetched for me to come here so late and dump that on you. Goodnight, (Y/N),” Jungkook gets up, looking to the ground.

“No,” (Y/N) pulls his arm. “Don’t go. I’m terrible with my words, like, utter trash, alright? But I could never hate you, not when I care about you so much.”

His eyes widen. “You do?”

She smiles a little, pulling him closer, and cupping his cheek. “I do, a lot.”

He responded by kissing her once, which lead to kissing her twenty-three times exactly, but once more for an even twenty-four. However, he had to redo two of them and when (Y/N) asked why, he responded with: “Our mouths hadn’t been quite aligned.”

The moment felt so perfect. He knew it had to mean something when he stroked her stubbled cheek only once. Not twice or three times, just once. He didn’t even feel the urge to make it the perfect four because the first time was perfect enough. After their kiss (which Jungkook found to be completely euphoric) he went back to his flat. He didn’t want to, of course. he wanted to stay and cuddle into (Y/N)’s arms, but she was already so tired, he decided to leave for the night.

Though it didn’t stop him from coming to morning after with a book in hand. And he didn’t want to be annoying.

“Jungkook,” (Y/N) greets the boy at the door. “Come in.”

He smiled, walking into her home. Jungkook realised that (Y/N) was always home. Always. He made a mental note to ask why she spends so much time at home with him instead of going out, especially when she had no class.

So, they read the book together. They’re sat close, Jungkook’s hands wrapped around her shoulders, and her head on his chest. There was another eyelash on her cheek, and this time he gently removes it away. It catches (Y/N) off guard and she stops reading, jumping a little.

“There was something on your cheek,” Jungkook explains. He strokes her cheek a little longer.

“You weren’t listening to me at all, were you?” she shakes her head. “Listen.”

She clears her throat before reading again. Jungkook tries to follow her as she goes, and he can’t help but count the lines in the paragraph first. But once he’s done she’s nearly through the whole page, so he’s behind. When he tries to listen again he’s not only confused on what’s happening, but frustrated about not knowing how many lines she’s read.

“(Y/N), how many lines does this paragraph have? I’m sorry, I just need to know.”

She looks towards him and sees the anxiousness written on his face. “There’s six,” she smiles at him.

“Here’s to all the places we went. And all the places we’ll go. And here’s to me, whispering again and again and again: I love you,” the girl looks at him when she recites those last words.

“Can you repeat the last sentence?” Jungkook asks.

“Mhm,” she looks down at the book once more. “And here’s to me, whispering again and again and again: I love you.”

“I like that line,” Jungkook says, when really, he just liked the way her lips curled when she said I love you.

“Me too,” she agrees. “Let’s read later. I wanna talk. How’re you feeling?”

“I’m good,” he pulls her even closer, inhaling her scent. “How are you?”

“I’m good, too.”

“So... we kissed last night.”

She chuckles slightly, “Yes we did.”

Jungkook’s not sure where he’s going with this conversation. “Did you, uh, like it?”

“Of course I did. Did you?”

“You already know the answer to that.”

Jungkook asked her to be his girlfriend six times in thirty seconds.

She said yes after the third one but none of them felt right so he had to keep going.

He was always turning the lights on and off, opening and closing the room door, counting as he went.

"—thirty-six, thirty-seven, thirty-eight, thirty-nine.."

(Y/N) grew used to it, it was something normal to her now. She laid in bed, under the covers as she awaited for Jungkook to join her. They were sleeping together. And not in a sexual way, they just liked to be close to each other.

She wasn't sure which was more intriguing to watch. Jungkook in the mornings, or Jungkook in the nights. He had his own mental schedule. In the morning, his routine is as follows: he makes the bed (and it has to be perfectly done. No wrinkles allowed, he says), goes to the bathroom (the first thing he does is wash his hands for about five minutes. Then he showers and uses the toilet, then washes his hands again), after he changes his clothes ((Y/N) realises that the boy only owns black and white shirts), then goes to check the alarm and stands in front of it for five minutes, contemplating if it's truly working.

At night, Jungkook makes sure all the windows are locked. The alarm is on. He makes sure the door is closed, that there's nothing creeping around. And he does all these things multiple times, mind you. He counts while he does these things, but only because his anxiety is most on edge at night.

When Jungkook finishes his procedures, he cuddles into (Y/N). That's the newest part of his routine, and his favourite.

"Goodnight baby," he whispers, kissing her forehead.

"Goodnight Jungkook," she leans and kisses his pink lips. He kisses back, slowly; passionately.

(Y/N) wakes up with Jungkook's arms no longer around her. He wasn't anywhere in the room. She hurriedly got out the bed and saw Jungkook sitting on the floor, repeating the word "fuck" over and over and over.

He had stubbed his toe on the bathroom doorway and couldn't stop cursing once he started. When he sees her, he doesn't stop repeating the foul word. He goes on, ignoring (Y/N)'s questions. "What do you want me to do?"

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck."

"Jungkook," she pleads. "Talk to me."

"—please, go back to bed. I'm coming right now."

Sighing, (Y/N) listens to him to avoid argument. She falls back asleep after staring at the floral print pillow.

Jungkook apologises to (Y/N) the next day. “The new meds make me feel like shit all the time, so I took myself off of them.”

“You can’t just stop taking them,” she sighs. “It probably made you feel that way because it was working.”

Jungkook frowns. “You’re not going to give up on me, are you?”

“No,” she shakes her head furiously. “Of course not. I'll never do that.”

Jungkook spots a difference in (Y/N). She was giving up on him, and he knew it. He could already tell all the disparate actions that occurred when they were together. She was easily irritable, it was as if everything he did bugged her. (And he understood that because he could be rather annoying, but still.) For example, he was taking off his sock (Jungkook felt like it was on the wrong foot) and (Y/N) snapped at him, saying they’d be late for their movie if he kept on taking his time. And when they were walking home from the movie, Jungkook stopped at a crack he saw in the sidewalk, but she kept walking. (Y/N) would always wait, but no, she continued to walk.

Jungkook’s thoughts were going rapid: she didn’t wait. She didn’t wait. She didn’t wait.

Now the two sat in his bedroom, in complete silence.

“Did I do something wrong?” Jungkook asks, truly curious—and very much worried—on why she’s acting like this, praying it isn’t the reason he’s been thinking off.

All she does is sigh, which isn’t a very good sign, from his eyes. “No.”

“I understand if you want to break up with me. Just do it gently—”

“I don’t want to break up with you,” she rolls her eyes. “I’m just confused.”

Now Jungkook was confused. “About what? You know you can talk to me. Talk to me.”

“You’re rather confusing. I mean, you take up a lot of time and then I have class to worry about, but I also have to worry about you,” she places her head in her hands. “It’s very stressful.”

“You don’t have to worry about me, baby. I’m fine,” he pulls her into a hug. “I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fine.”

“Are you really, though? Because you repeat things when you’re nervous or scared or your anxiety levels are high.”

This girl knew this boy too damn well, and she was completely correct.

“I love you, Jungkook. And I have the right to be concerned,” she tells him. This leaves Jungkook flabbergasted to the fullest. She loved him. (Y/N) loved him.

“You love me?”

“More than I should, probably.” She shyly chuckles.

“No one has ever loved me before,” he whispers, being barely audible but he knew (Y/N) heard, anyway.

“Well now you have someone who will love you no matter what gets in the way.”

“But I have so much—”

“I love you and all your non-existent problems, Jungkook.”

“I love you so much more, (Y/N). So much more,” he kisses her forehead, trailing down to her lips, then collarbones. repeating the words I love you each time. He lays her down slowly on the bed, his lips never leaving hers.

Their kisses fasten, her hands tangled in his hair, his hands tight on her waist. He presses himself against her petite body, sucking on her neck. a moan escaped her mouth, causing Jungkook’s whole body to tingle.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

The girl nods. “I’m sure,” her hand traces on Jungkook’s chest.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Are you sure you want to do this, Jungkook?”

“Are you—y-yes.”

They make love. And Jungkook can’t wrap around how he forgets that he’s meant to swallow. Or breathe. Or touch the headboard. Or touch her at all because the joining of his body to hers renders him incapable of coherent thought.

“You never told me why you were staying with Junghyun-oppa,” (Y/N) brings up as they ate. Well, as she ate. Jungkook was much more distracted with organising his vegetables by colour.

“Oh,” he looks down at his food. “It’s a long story—we don’t need to talk about that.”

“I think we do.”

It’s not like Jungkook didn’t plan on telling (Y/N) the real reason why he was staying with his brother, he just wanted to at the right time. And to (Y/N), that time was now, but he just assumed... that he’d do it some other time. “Fine,” he inhales. “I guess I should tell you from when I was first diagnosed, shouldn’t I?”

She squeezes his hand, reassuring him. “Please.”

“When I was sixteen, the doctor told me I had OCD and bipolar disorder. It explained a lot. I mean, before that, I thought it was normal to wash my hands after touching everything or repeating my words and to count in sequence, stuff like that. But I used to get angry so quickly when I was younger, I still do sometimes. one second I was happy, the next I was crying over running out of a bar of soap.”

“Anyway. He prescribed me pills and told me everything will be fine. That was a lie. I hate when people lie,” Jungkook frowns. “Liars. Liars. Liars. They’re fucking awful.”

“Maybe he was being optimistic?”

“No, he lie—ugh. Whatever. The first incident happened when I was eighteen. I was still living with my mom and my dad. I was incredibly unhappy, but I had nowhere to go. One day my mom was talking to me, saying I should consider moving out. She kept on touching me, trying to make me leave, saying I was too old and I couldn’t believe it. I know now she was just being motherly, but I felt so betrayed, so angry.”

“I started having an anxiety attack.” And he goes on to tell her about that it felt like everything around him was moving, like it was all out of place, and he couldn’t make it right. He started to throw things to the floor, his eyes clouded with tears, ignoring his mom’s protests. He was trying so hard to stop, telling his mom to leave him alone—but in the end he just pushed her. Pushed her to the ground out of anger, breaking her wrist and everything, all because of feeling out of control with who he was.

“I spent a few years in rehab. I made my own mom hate me. She hates me. She hates me. She hates me. She hates me,” he repeats, his eyes watering. “But I got out. And when I did, I got my own place. I didn’t talk my mom or dad or Junghyun-hyung for six months. Then one night, I don’t know what happened. My alarm stopped working and I kept trying to call the company so they could fix it, but they told me they wouldn’t be able to send someone until the following day.”

“I was scared. I thought someone was going to come and kill me—no, I was sure someone was going to come and kill me. I was shaking and crying and calling just about everyone I knew, telling them goodbye. I was throwing things and I couldn’t just, just leave. I had nowhere to go.”

“I called my mom last. I told her sorry for being such a pain. Sorry for hurting her, sorry for making her hate me. She lied to me after that, said she loved me no matter what. She told me I was overreacting, but I wasn’t. I told her I wasn’t safe. I wasn’t safe. I wasn’t safe. She came to me that night, apologising and trying to calm me down. It’s—I knew I would only be fine if I checked myself into rehab again, so that’s what I did. I wanted to go.”

“If Junghyun-hyung didn’t take me out, I’d still be there.”

(Y/N) didn’t know what to say. She knew his story was rough, but she didn’t imagine anything like this. To hear how broken he was, how damage— it broke her heart. She didn’t say anything, rather just pulled him into a hug while they shed tears. If she was close to Jungkook before—well, she was even closer now.

“I love you so much, (Y/N). Thank you for not leaving yet,” he sniffs.

“I’m not leaving you, Jungkook. I promise.”

(Y/N) never thought of the possibility of him leaving her.

“I just,” he sighs. “I just get so scared that one day I’ll do something to harm you.” And that day couldn’t have been any sooner.

“But you won’t. I know you won’t.”

It happened on a Wednesday.

(Y/N)'s classes had already started again. She was heading back home, completely mindless. (Y/N) had a surprise for Jungkook. He was still continuously nagging her to read one of her poems, so she thought of a fair deal. She'll let him read one of her poems, yes, but it would be one she wrote for him.

Jungkook had a surprise too. He was going to make dinner for (Y/N), even if he spends half the meal distracted due to his plate not being coordinated properly. He didn't know what to make her and after much discussion with Junghyun, they both decided that steak was the way to go.

Once (Y/N) reached back to her flat, she quickly changed into more comfortable clothes before heading over to Jungkook's. The girl made sure to knock four times on the door, and even number, so it wouldn't bother him. Jungkook opens the door straight after, a nervous grin on his face.

"What are you doing here?" he asks. He wore a plain white apron, (Y/N) thought it was very cute.

"I wanted to give you something," she tells him. "Why do you have that apron on?"

"It's nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing."

"Sure about that, JK?"

Jungkook folds his arms, defeated. "I wanted to make you dinner but you ruined the surprise!"

"I ruined the surprise," she says in a mocking tone, resting her arms around his neck. "How about I come back later, and I'll pretend I didn't see anything."

"Do you promise to forget?"

"Forget what?"

Their lips brushed for the last time, and this one was perfect. Jungkook didn't have to correct it this time.

"You know, I'm almost done. You could stay, but you have to cover your eyes."

Jungkook helps (Y/N) to his room, covering her eyes for her. He wasn't ready for her to see just yet. "Don't come out yet, alright?"

Once (Y/N) nodded her head, Jungkook headed back to the kitchen, making sure to shut the door closed. The two steaks were in the oven and he had some potatoes boiling in the pot. Everything had to be perfect. He needed everything to be perfect, quite literally. For some side vegetables, he started to cut up a few carrots and broccoli, humming a tune while he did so.

The boy couldn't leave the carrots unless he was sure them being perfectly cut. He heard the bubbling from the pot, the steam right above it. (Y/N) was calling him as well and he looks up too quickly.

"I couldn't wait in there forever. Do you—oh my God."

And Jungkook was always so clumsy.

"Jungkook," (Y/N) ran towards him. "It's just a small cut, it's okay."

And he was never good with chopping vegetables.

"Junghyun-oppa!" she called. "We're gonna take you and get that stitched. You'll be fine."

"What about our dinner?"

"When we get back, I promise. You'll be alright."

He wondered for a brief second if she forgot or if she was just scared by the amount of blood leaking from his wrist that the boy was known for hating uneven numbers.

"But our dinner, I was going to make you dinner! And we'd be happy! And. And I-I can't."

"What do you mean?" her eyes were glassy.

"I love you, (Y/N). I love you. I love you."

"I love you too. Jungkook, you're scaring me—I don't understand."

(Y/N) didn't get a lot of things about Jungkook.

"Thank you for not leaving," he says, picking the knife up once more.

"Jungkook, what-what-what are you doing?"

His shoulder tenses, his jaw locks up. his mind bends as Jungkook watches his blood erupt. All he could do is rub the palms of her hands.

He hears Junghyun on the phone with the ambulance in the background. He hears (Y/N) telling him to keep his eyes open.

It's blurry. Everything is blurry, but not her.

Jungkook was afraid to love. He was afraid to love (Y/N), but she happened to turn out to be the most beautiful thing he's ever been stuck on. She listened and understood. After everything, she was still there, and Jungkook loved her so much. He doesn't think he's looked at her so magnificently until now. He knows she'll hate him now, she'll hate him for lying to her, she'll hate him for hurting himself purposely. He's scared she'll hate him for leaving.

Jungkook was losing so much blood, he could feel himself dying. "Thank you for not leaving me. I'm so sorry for doing this. I hate myself for it. I'm too weak. Weak. Weak. W-Weak. I stopped taking my pills again, and I really fucking hate the number one just as much as the number three."

It wasn't Jungkook's fault. His mind was twisted. So if he accidentally cut his wrist with a steak knife once, nothing could stop him from doing it twice.

She hated spring because the remnants of the past grew, they stirred in the air from the warm breeze.

All around, everywhere, all she saw was their love. A love that died, but still lingered around, begging to become alive again. She tasted him on her lips, breathed him in her lungs. She used to love the feeling after winter went away, but now she couldn’t bared it. It was as if their love was meant to die, just so it could haunt her forever.

There were always days, days when she missed him more than others. Sometimes she would just sit and reminisce of the better times.

Their first kiss together was on her couch.

She read to him on this couch.

Jungkook asked her to be his girlfriend on this couch—six times.

She remembers the first time they made love. He was so gentle with her, making sure she was comfortable at all costs. She never realised how beautiful a person could be before she met Jungkook. His features had to be made by God himself, and those eyes and bunny smile. His body, all his quirks—the way he talked, the way he perfected things, the way he was always... safe.

He stopped taking his pills. Even after (Y/N) told him to start taking them again, he didn’t listen. He would still be here if he wasn’t so damn stubborn, and (Y/N) could blame herself and a part of her did. She should’ve insured that he was still taking his medication, maybe if she just stayed home that damned Wednesday things would be so much better than they were now.

But Jungkook couldn’t really help it, could he? He was the victim of an ungodly disorder. A disorder that took control of him on the inside, turned him into someone filled with a too big conscience. Nothing could ever be perfect in his world. Not even (Y/N) would be enough—she couldn’t help him escape the things that ran in his head. The mind was the most powerful thing, after all.

THE END.

#jeonjungkook #jungkook au #jungkook fanfic au #jungkook story #bts jungkook #bts #sad fanfic #ocd #jungkook #baby jungkook #alternate universe story #alternate universe #jungkookjeon #bangtan #bangtansonyeondan

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hallodraws · 6 years

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Spells & Spiders (Part 2) | Peter Parker x Male!Reader

Wordcount: 1,846

Genre: Male!Witch!Reader x Peter Parker/Spider-Man | The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina x Marvel (MCU) AU Summary: “When Dr. Strange informs Tony that an unknown power seems to be rising in Greendale, Peter is sent on his first solo mission under the Avengers to locate the source. Thinking it could potentially be a weapon (or even an Infinity stone brought to Earth), it’s agreed that Peter will go undercover to infiltrate the town to avoid drawing attention. While arriving in a new town brings with it new friends and new opportunities - the town of Greendale houses something far darker than anything the Avengers are prepared for.”

Warnings: None

Author’s Notes: I’m back at it with the writing! Sorry, it’s taken so long to get updates for any of my stories, I’ve kinda been going through some rough stuff the past couple of weeks. I’m okay though, and I’m so glad everyone enjoyed the first chapter of this fic. I had a lot of fun with this part (and I’m just glad to finally have Peter make his appearance) ♡ Also, if you’d like to be on the tag list, just say so in a comment below!

MONDAY, OCTOBER 20th, OF THIS YEAR

Peter sat impatiently in the back of Happy's limousine, tightly clutching the backpack Mr. Stark instructed him to bring. He hadn't given Peter any explanation for packing a bag, merely telling him to bring whatever he felt was necessary for an extended mission out of the city. Peter wasn't sure what that meant per se, so he might have packed a little more on the heavy side. He couldn't help it, he was excited.

It wasn't too long ago that Peter told Mr. Stark that he wished to lay low - continuing just to be your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man for a while. While Mr. Stark was happy to oblige to Peter's wishes, that by no means meant he was off the table team-wise. Things were reasonably silent from Mr. Stark after that, but it didn't last long. He never dreamed that Mr. Stark would be contacting him so soon - for his own personal assignment no less!

"So what's this mission about, Happy?" Peter happily piped from the back seat. Happy simply rolled his eyes, glancing at the boy through the rear view window.

"No clue, kid," he sighed, returning his gaze to the road, "I'm just a chauffeur after all."

"Aww, Happy. You're more than that!" Peter laughed, "C'mon, you're Mr. Stark's best friend. He must've told you something. Please, I'm dying here!" his constant pleas made Happy chuckle under his breath. He quickly hid his smile and sighed again as he pulled the car through the gates of the Compound.

"Really, kid. I don't know. If I did, I'd tell ya. But I don't. So stop begging." He brought the car to the front of the Facility, slowly bringing it to a halt at the base of the stairs.

"Well, thanks for the ride anyway, Happy." Peter could barely contain himself at this point, feeling as though he might literally jump from the car. He reached for the door to exit, only to realize it remained locked. Peter attempted to unlock the door himself but found the red button unable to be switched. He looked up, prepared to inform Happy of the malfunction - that is until he noticed Happy's finger pressed firmly against the 'lock' function. He turned to face the boy.

"Listen up," Happy removed his finger, instead using it to wave in Peter's face, "Just because this is your first official mission under the Avengers, don't let it get to your head. Take the utmost precaution and be careful. I don't plan on giving your Aunt any bad news while you're gone." The corners of Peter's mouth turned up into a toothy grin. Whether Happy wanted to admit it or not, he cared about Peter - and that made him feel good.

"Thanks, Happy. I will. I promise." and with a simple nod shared between the two, Peter finally opened his door, exiting the vehicle.

He looked at the entrance of the Facility, the stairway gently illuminated on this chilly October night. It didn't take long for Happy to drive away, leaving Peter alone at the base of the steps. On a night like this - with not a soul around - Peter found it hard not to be at least a little creeped out. Hero or not, Peter had a bad relationship with scary situations. Halloween wasn't exactly his favorite holiday, and even the mere thought about being alone in the dark gave him goosebumps. So without haste, he hurried up the concrete steps, through the swinging doors, and into the warm, comforting light of the Compound lobby.

Inside was surprisingly just as empty as it was outside. It was reasonably late after all, but Peter couldn't remember a time when the building seemed so quiet. Mr. Stark said to meet in his office. Lucky for him, he knew his way around by now and went straight for the elevator. The cheesy music that accompanied his journey upwards to Mr. Stark's office lightened the mood a bit. Peter didn't want to show it, but he was nervous. The call from Mr. Stark just seemed so out of the blue, and the lack of details regarding his mission made Peter more worried now than excited. He wondered where all that confidence he had in the car went. Peter wanted to show everyone that he was capable of anything - but now he was finding it difficult to assure himself of those claims. As the elevator reached the final stretch on its journey upward, Peter did his best to shake off these feelings.

With a gentle ding, the door opened into Mr. Starks office. Peter made his way into the room, still to this day mesmerized by its size. Finally, his eyes transfixed to the large glass windows ahead. There stood three men - Mr. Stark, Dr. Strange, and Mr. Wong. Peter didn't realize the other two men would be here, and while he usually enjoyed seeing familiar faces at the Compound, their presence made Peter worry just a bit more when it came to the details of his mission. He didn't have long to think about it, as the three soon took notice of him.

"Ah, kid! You're finally here." Mr. Stark waved Peter over to the windows. The other two men gave soft, almost nonexistent smiles as Peter slowly stepped towards them.

"Y-Yeah, Sorry it took so long. I wasn't really sure what to bring." Peter found his nerves rising to the surface as he stuttered. He tried to calm himself.

"No sweat, kid." Mr. Stark assured the boy, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. It wasn't much, but it was enough to silence the doubts in Peter's head - if only for a moment.

"You ready to get going?" Dr. Strange finally spoke.

"Whoa, Whoa, Whoa. Noone's told me where I'm going yet. What is this mission?" Peter sputtered out without thinking, his concerns now on full display. Wong looked to Mr. Stark with a raised eyebrow.

"You didn't inform him about his assignment?" Wong spoke with a tad bit of annoyance in his voice. Mr. Stark quietly chuckled and lightly pushed Peter towards the two.

"I felt you two would do a better job at explaining." With a final pat on the back, Mr. Stark left the windows, maneuvering his way to the other side of his office. Strange stepped closer to Peter, silently demanding his attention. Peter couldn't help but be at least a little intimidated by the man.

"Well, Peter. You're going to going on a little trip... out of state." Strange began.

"Out of state? Where exactly am I--" Peter tried to ask, but Wong was quick with a response.

"A town called Greendale," With a flick of his wrist, a sparkling image of a town shimmered into existence and floated before them. Peter was left breathless. He'd seen Strange and Wong showcase their magic from time to time, but it never ceased to amaze him.

"You will be going to into the town, undetected and undercover." Strange now took control of the astral image, zooming inward to a particular sign. It read 'Let Greendale cast a spell on you!' - the irony of seeing such a sign through magic made Peter chuckle to himself.

"We have reason to believe something powerful is residing in Greendale." Wong waved his hands and just like that the town flickered away into nothingness - snapping Peter out of his head.

"W-Wait... I don't understand," Peter turned to face the men, "If you guys know there's something wrong, can't you use your magic to just see what it is?"

"That's just it," Strange turned to his colleague, a twinge of concern in his eyes, "We can't."

"Our spells won't locate anything. We can sense there's a rise in power, but it's as if something is blocking us from the source," Wong turned away, looking out the window, "Such power is rather troubling, to say the least." Peter couldn't help but feel the two men felt defeated in a way. As powerful as they are - their magic couldn't do anything.

"That's where you come in, kid." Tony spoke from across the room, walking over with an envelope in his hand, "You're going to infiltrate the town, go to the school, speak to the townsfolk, and report anything suspicious back to headquarters."

"Suspicious?" The word worried Peter a bit.

"Relax. It could be anything," Strange placed a calming hand on Peter's shoulder, gently turning the boy to face him, "An individual coming into their powers, a weapon of some sort... or even a potential infinity stone. It's unlikely, but we don't know the location of all the stones just yet."

"Here," Now it was Mr. Stark who turned Peter to face him, albeit a little less gentle than Dr. Strange, "This is for you. It's cash - a lot of it. There's a card in there too. It should help with your food and housing during your stay."

"I-I mean--" Peter tried to get a word in, but Mr. Stark wasn't listening, placing the envelope into Peter's backpack.

"I've already signed all the paperwork - forged obviously - and tomorrow morning you're going to be attending your first day at Baxter High."

"I still have to go to school?!" Peter finally got his chance to speak. The three men quietly chuckled to themselves.

"Noone gossips quite like teenagers," Strange smirked as he stepped behind the boy, "Trust me, it's good for your cover." Without any further details on the subject, Strange stretched his hand outward over Peter's shoulder. His hand motioned in small circles as sparks materialized from the air. They formed a circle of light - and at its center was the sign he had seen earlier. This was his portal to Greendale - it was certainly faster than a car ride.

"First order of business is to find where you'll be staying," Tony stepped between Peter and the portal, "Find a hotel, get comfortable, and report in once you're situated."

"Yes, Mr. Stark," Peter put his worries aside, now standing tall with a bright smile, "I won't let you guys down."

"Good luck." the three men said in unison. Peter took a deep breath and without looking back stepped forward through the ring of light. The temperature immediately changed around him, the cold autumn air now enveloping him. Before he could turn around to say goodbye, he could feel the light from the portal fade away into the darkness of the night. He was alone now, and Peter couldn't help but find his nerves betraying him once more.

The sounds of the woods around him were so much different than that of the city. It was almost peaceful in a sense, but not quite enough to calm him just yet. He looked up; there it was - 'Let Greendale cast a spell on you!'. Beside the sign was a road, likely into town. With one final gulp, Peter wasted no time - beginning his journey down the road into unfamiliar territory.

PREVIOUS ▶ PART 1 NEXT ▶ in progress

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writinginstardust · 5 years

Note

is nikoli request almost done? or kaz?😔

Short answer? No.

Explanation (not that I’m obligated to explain but I’m nice and considerate) if you feel so inclined to read: there’s a multitude of reasons why but i’ll try to be as succinct as possible -

1) I have and have had A LOT on my plate at the moment

- I’m doing a shit ton of christmas fics which yes I don’t HAVE to do but it’s something that makes me happy and other people seem to be into as well so I am and obviously they have a bit of a deadline and there’s a lot to do there

- I did fictober where I posted a fic (sometimes 2!) every day for a whole month so that took a lot of time and effort and again I didn’t have to do that but I like writing as more than a hobby and it was a challenge that I really wanted to see if I could do and did

- I’m aware some of the requests were from a bit longer ago than the last couple of months but before that I was still busy as heck preparing to move across the country, on a couple of holidays (fine yeah that’s not a busy thing but a bloody needed them), and working quite frankly insane hours (6 days a week 8-12 hour days in fastfood) and that left me so physically and mentally exhausted that writing was just like not gonna happen most of the time

- I’ve started university and I’m a film student now and it takes up soo much time both with actual classes and all the work we have to do outside of them as well

- Unfortunately I have to be a proper adult now too and everyday household chores and stuff take up a surprising amount of time when you have to do all of them yourself and also clean up after a messy flatmate if you want to do anything else

- I also do a lot of drawing and it’s something I’ve recently got back into and honestly love doing so much so that takes up some of my free time too and yes this is another thing I have no obligation to do but I’m gonna do it anyway and I’m not gonna feel bad about it potentially making me take longer to write stuff

2) Specifically in relation to Kaz, I find him really tricky to write about generally especially in a relationshipy way due to the way he is in canon and how that does not translate well into a relationship setting. It takes a lot of effort to get him right and balance all the fic stuff with not writing him ooc or ignoring his trauma and it leaves me incredibly mentally exhausted so in general I’m more likely to write stuff for other characters if I have options. He’s also just generally not my favourite character to write about

3) Most of this year the books and stuff that I’ve been in love with and most excited to make content for are new things and not the grishaverse. I still love them but there’s just so much more I can and want to do in my new fandoms

4) I’ve actually received a lot of requests for fics when I have specifically said in either my bio or my request info - which I do ask people to check every time they want to request something because it changes - that i’m not taking any requests or only for a specific fandom or prompt list. I’ve been very lenient with people and agreed to take their requests anyway but have warned them every (or nearly every) time that it will take a while before I get to them.

5) Sometimes inspiration is just hard, y’know, and a lot of the fics people have requested, especially the Kaz ones, have been particularly difficult for me to figure out a plot or way to write it because words are also tricky fickle things to wrangle

6) This, I do for fun. When I stop having fun writing a fic, I’m not gonna force myself to keep going with it then and there, I’m gonna write something that I do enjoy. “But Amy, why don’t you just say you’re not doing it?” I hear people ask and it’s for one very simple reason: I still want to, just not right then. If I ever decide that I really will never manage to finish a fic, I’ll say

7) I hope people remember that I’m under no obligation to write a request quickly or even at all. I don’t beg for requests (except sometimes with the prompt lists when I want to write everything but know I can’t), I just give you guys the option of suggesting stories you’d like to see

> Honestly I know there’s even more stuff than that but it’s late and I’ve wasted the last hour of my evening explaining all this and I’m tired and tbh I really shouldn’t need to explain any further than that.

> Also I’m pretty sure I’ve said a fair amount of this a number of times before but whatever. I’m also sure I mentioned that most fics would be taking a back seat to fictober and ficmas for the time being and that it was unlikely much would be posted other than those until the new year.

> If y’all want to know if a fic is done/being done and when things might be uploaded there’s several places you can check on my blog very easily: If you go to my navigation section, there’s an update schedule there which I do change when I get fics finished and plan their post date, and if I have more than the 5 slots the blog theme allows then I make a post which gets linked in my bio and you can check out my ‘currently writing’ post which I keep updated and will show what’s been started and what’s been finished but not posted

Edit: Guess who just remembered another couple of reasons some stuff isn’t done?

8) I am so incredibly lucky to get a load of mental health problems which are officially undiagnosed and going untreated because my anxiety is so bad that just the thought of actually talking to a professional about it makes me feel physically sick. So quite often my headspace is just not good at all and if it’s alright enough to write, I’m gonna write stuff that I enjoy and isn’t exhausting. (it also gets worse during autumn/winter so that’s fun for now!)

9) My physical health is like really not the best either and especially in winter and especially lately I’ve barely had a day when I haven’t felt a little unwell so writing gets pushed aside and then when I am okay and write I have to prioritise and like I’ve said before, my priorities are/were fictober and ficmas

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uncultureddirt · 6 years

Text

Beneath Your Hate (Part 1/2) - Lee Donghyuck (Haechan)

~REQUESTED~

Warnings: Language, underage drinking/alcohol, potentially triggering car accident event, angst

“Can you give it up already? It’s the same damn thing every day.”

You watched your friend shovel food in her mouth as she sat across from you. You made eye contact for a moment, just to find your attention drift to the boy sitting a couple tables away.

“Hey,” she snapped in your face, “y/n, I'm right here.”

“Sorry, he's doing it again,” you replied while locking eyes with the boy. You tried to glare, but he only furrowed his brow and looked away.

‘Asshole. Stop looking at me.’

“How are you even phased at this point?” She dropped her plastic fork on the lunch tray and shook her head.

“I don’t know. Maybe if he gave me a reason or- I don’t know.” You looked back over to find his gaze fixed on you again.

“Still staring?” She snorted

“Yup.”

You picked up your tray and walked to the garbage can to throw it out. You could feel his eyes burning holes on the back of your skull. He always did this, your friend was right, it truly was nothing new. That being so, it still did not make you hate it any less. Donghyuck has known you for years and has consistently chosen to despise you. You often find yourself believing there was a time you two were friends, but reality always sets back in and reminds you where you two really stand, at opposite ends. You never could answer the question of why he held onto those cold feelings for you, but he did, and there was nothing you could do about it.

“What is wrong with me y/bf/n?”

“You care too much. He’s a dick, and that's that.”

‘How am I getting out of here?’

Those seven words seemed to find their way into your brain every time you prepared to exit the student parking lot. Leaving your school was a skill you had still yet to master, and one of the hardest tasks you had to endure each day. You sank your back into the old leather seat as you sat in the never-ending line of traffic. The windows were rolled down, letting the cool afternoon air spill in. You almost felt yourself relax, that is until your eyes met a familiar face as you turned towards your left.

Donghyuck.

He sat with his hand draped over the wheel. His head rested back on his seat as the wind lightly played with his hair. You liked the way the idiot looked, and you hated that you did.

The traffic began to loosen and finally, your cars began moving at the same pace next to each other. Though your eyes were fixed on the road, you could feel his gaze fall over you every once in a while.

At last, you felt a wave of relief wash over you; you were able to merge onto the exit ramp. But right as you began to move, you were forced to jam on your breaks because the car next to you aggressively decided to cut you off. Your heart jumped into your throat as you watched Donghyuck’s car nearly graze your own.

“YOU ASSHOLE!” You screamed at his open window after instinctively pressing your horn.

Unbothered. That's how he was. He kept his eyes glued to the road and smiled lightly to himself, feeling satisfied after pissing you off. It's a game he seems to play with you. But it felt unfair, because you never knew when it was your move.

Once you were on the main road, you lost sight of him and found yourself wondering yet once again.

‘Why?’

Really, that's all you could think.

‘Why?’

The confusion was routine, to the point that there was comfort in the pain of not knowing.

The bell rang before you could make it to class, but that was normal. The teacher nodded at you as you walked in, well accustomed to your timing. While you sat down and got out your books you began thinking about the boy behind you. Sometimes you tried to see if he would even try to be civil or how you liked putting it, “testing the waters.”

‘How far can I go before he’ll shut me down?’

You abandoned your notebook filled with messy scribbles of flowers and turned around to face him. He lifted his eyes to meet yours and sighed heavily as you tried to smile at him.

“Hey, did we have an assignment las-”

“Y/n.”

“Yes?”

“Turn around.” His face remained still as he spoke to you. His words were cold and cut through you like a blade.

‘What was I expecting to happen?’

Still, it hurt.

You furrowed your brow and turned back to your notebook and suddenly flowers didn’t seem so appealing anymore. You began drawing weeds.

Mind you, there are two sides to everything. Often times one side is unfathomable to the other. As you sat there scribbling angrily, Donghyuck shook his head. His stomach burned at the sight of your face. He was sickened by the feelings you gave him.

The feelings of those same flowers growing in his lungs, stopping him from being able to say the things he wants to say.

“It's like a really bad carnival ride,” you said looking up at your friend. She sat across from you on your bed, mindlessly scrolling through her phone. You figured she was too kept up in her Instagram feed to pay attention to you, but you continued anyway. “And they won’t let me off. Or more like I can’t get off. It’s one of the really spinny ones that you want to go on, but they also make you feel really sick and-”

“Okay, okay,” she cut you off, “You're talking at a faster rate than you run. Try to relax, alright? I want you to stop worrying, because we're going out in an hour to have fun, and I want you to enjoy yourself too. Okay? We’re leaving at 9.” She stood up and left your room, heading towards the bathroom.

You sighed and turned to face your window. He occupied so much space in your brain. You hated that he hated you. And it just didn’t make-

“And don’t even think about Donghyuck y/n.” She yelled from down the hall.

Basement parties. How is it possible that such a small space can house so much alcohol and so many people? You found yourself wondering that every time you made your way into one. The smell was always terrible, and the noise was quite ear-invasive, yet somehow you found yourself usually having some sort of fun, despite the uncomfortable conditions.

“Y/n! You made it!” One of your friends said as she came forward to hug you.

“Yeah, my week kinda sucked, I was looking forward to this” You smiled while grabbing a cup. You began to fill it with Sprite. As the designated driver tonight, you were obligated to be responsible and clean. You didn’t mind too much, you were a puker anyways. You searched around through the herd of teenagers, your eyes scanning the place. The room was dim despite the abundance of holiday lights strung on each wall. Empty solo cups polluted the ping-pong table and almost all other surfaces. But your visual survey was put on a sudden halt as he came into your vision.

‘No.’ You thought to yourself.

In a clump of laughing boys, there he was, the sweet fluffy-haired sunshine who loved to brighten your day, Lee Donghyuck. He stood with a beer in his hands and was visibly quite drunk. You hated when he was drunk. He was always too loud and even more of an ass than usual. You rolled your eyes at the sight and turned to walk towards your friends.

‘Don’t think about him. Don’t think about him.’

As the party progressed, you felt yourself feeling good. A weight had been removed from the pit of your stomach. His name failed to enter your mind, and you truly felt like yourself again. But for some reason, you had a faint sense that your pleasant state was too dreamlike to be true. And as you were laughing with all of your friends over something you probably didn’t need to laugh that hard about, you noticed something stir in your peripheral vision.

“Hey, y/l/n.” The voice that hit you was slurred and messy. You stiffened, keeping your face forward to try and ignore the body approaching you. “Hey, look at me when I’m talking to you,” it demanded. You turned to view him. His hair fell in front of his eyes and his mouth was fixed in a smug grin.

“I don’t remember hearing you were coming,” he started, “I wouldn’t have shown up if I knew.” His voice failed to remain consistent and audible, it was loud, but it was scattered. He inched towards your face until you could smell the alcohol fumes on his breath.

“Can you just leave me alone?” You replied back, keeping your eyes locked on his. You were all too sick of his shit. Your anger was peaking at this moment and you were struggling to restrain yourself from causing a scene.

“Can you just go home?”

“No.” You stood there breathing heavily. The music around you seemed to smudge into a noise similar to static. Your face twitched as you remained face to face with him. The next couple of seconds occurred in a fashion you could never fully comprehend. It was as if he moved in slow motion, but yet at a pace so quick you couldn’t react. Donghyuck’s arm raised and titled his half-full beer bottle over your head. The cold liquid poured down your face and back, soaking you entirely. You felt the confusion rise in the room and the attention fall on the two of you.

Should we laugh? What just happened?

Your eyes began to glass over. You hated him. You hated every part of him. You no longer wondered why things were the way they were because it didn’t matter anymore. You didn’t want to fix things. The only thing you wanted was to leave. And with that, you pushed past him and headed out of the house, sprinting once you were outside.

What the fuck just happened in there?

You were in disbelief. You stood in front of your car door shaking and fumbling with your keys. You placed the key in the door to unlock it but froze before you could move any further. Squinting slightly, you looked in the window and stared at the girl looking back at you. Her hair was soaked and matted to her head. Her mascara dripped in streaks down her cheeks. Her eyes looked sad and broken. You hated how she looked, you hated how she felt. You hated that he could do this to you.

Once you got into the car, you slammed your door shut. Maybe internally, you felt it would help to relieve some of your pent up frustration. Sadly, you felt the same.

You sat in the car and began to loudly sob while pulling out of the driveway. Your chest ached as tears poured down your face. You sat drowning in the smell of beer, and the feeling of disgust.

‘How could one night go so wrong?’

“WHY?” You screamed to no one in particular, slamming your hands on the wheel. The outside world began to fly by you. You were breaking fifty miles on the empty back roads of a neighborhood you barely recognized and dark streets began to wind as your vision clogged. Though through the pain you failed to recognize your mistakes. His stupid face flashed through your brain and you yelled aloud over and over again, almost as if he could hear you.

With each cry, you sank your foot further into the gas and before you could control it, the car began to drive itself. You became a passenger in this vehicle. You weren’t the one driving it.

‘Fuck.’

Reality found you, and you began to panic. You glanced at the dashboard reading the red numbers. How had you managed to reach that speed? Since when were you going that fast? You quickly tried to press your foot on to the brakes, but nothing happened. It was as if all your knowledge on driving was lost, your brain empty from the existential dread that began to wash over you.

Your car hurdled itself forward into the night, completely on its own terms. Your mind was racing and you felt your heartbeat match the speed of your car as you helplessly flailed, trying to regain control of the car. Tears dripped down even faster as you continued to press on the failing brake pedal.

‘How do you use the emergency brake in this car?’

“Please. Come on. Please” you began to speak aloud to yourself, your voice shaking.

‘I'm going to die tonight.’

Those words plagued your mind.

‘I'm going to die tonight.’

You pressed even harder on the break, but nothing happened.

Slowly you saw light drape along your face. And then you felt it. You were thrown entirely from your seat and hit the side window, feeling glass break around you. It all became black. And at first, you felt everything, everything you hit, every piece of glass breaking into your skin, but then, you felt nothing.

Your body lay lifeless under a flipped car and in your final conscious moments, you found yourself breathing out the one name your brain wanted to blame.

“Donghyuck.” Your inaudible voice tried to say.

How can an event happen in the blink of an eye, but leave enough pain to last a lifetime? One can’t measure pain by time, but only how deep it cuts.

Your life was in strobe lights for the next hours. Every now and then, you would break into reality, hearing sirens, and seeing light, but within seconds you would fall back into a silent void, vacant of life.

To be continued...

Part 2

#NCT #haechan #haechan imagine #haechan scenario #nct scenarios #nct imagines #lee donghyuck #haechan angst #nct angst #HELLO EVERYONE #thank you all for waiting #it means SOOOO MUCH #here is part one!!!#part two will be coming very VERY soon!!#ok LOVE you all heheh #g writes

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hermannsthumb · 6 years

Note

for the winter prompts (when ur done w school ps good luck on finals and all!) number 48!

48: we don’t like each other, but we’re at a mutual friend’s Christmas party and we keep getting caught under the mistletoe together

wintery prompt from here

these prompts are genuinely like...a delight...also this is literally canon newmann at all shatterdome holiday functions so

“I think it’s following us around,” Newt jokes weakly, after the third time he’s had to kiss Hermann tonight. Had to is a little strong. Was obliged to according to traditions of a holiday Herman doesn’t celebrate and Newt only half-celebrates, maybe, and even then the obliged to is shaky, because it wasn’t like Newt was opposed to the concept of kissing Hermann to begin with. Regardless, it doesn’t change the fact that--at numerous points throughout the night--Newt and Hermann have been caught beneath a branch of mistletoe and were subsequently peer-pressured, by a wolf-whistling crowd of tipsy partygoers, into pecking each other on the lips.

Newt almost passed out the first time: Hermann, red in the face, grabbing him by his tie with one hand and laying one on him was a little too much to handle. (Newt expected a kiss on the cheek at most, for God’s sake.) He also almost passed out the second time. He thinks he’s managed to keep his cool for the third time so far, but he did give Hermann finger-guns and say far out afterwards, for some reason. Nerves? Hermann kissed him. He kissed Newt. Three times. !!!!

“I think someone just decorated very strategically,” Hermann says, shooting a glare in the general direction of Tendo, who’s decked out in light-up felt reindeer antlers and a candy-cane striped sweater and schmoozing by the punch bowl. He catches Hermann’s eye, lifts his drink in a mock-toast, and waves cheerily.

Hermann’s right, now that Newt thinks about it. All the places they’ve been caught have been their usual spots they lurk in during Shatterdome (aka, Tendo’s) holiday functions in LOCCENT--the dark, deserted corners, the spot right near the door that allows them to sneak away without drawing any attention to themselves, the out-of-sight hallway that leads to the bathrooms. Almost as if it’s on purpose. And knowing Tendo, it’s definitely on purpose, especially since they’re the only ones who have fallen victim to mistletoe so far tonight.

Newt plays dumb anyway.

“Ha, weird, okay, Mr. Paranoid,” Newt says. He, very casually, looks along the ceiling. Spotting more mistletoe. Just so they can avoid it and all. “Uh, wanna...” There’s a little bunch hanging over the snack table, and Newt is not proud of what he does next. “...get some pretzels?”

“Pretzels?” Hermann says.

Newt squints at the table. “Or...chips. I’m hungry,” he lies. “C’mon.”

He drags Hermann over by the elbow, Hermann only very slightly resisting. And then--“Mistletoe!” a j-tech to their right exclaims, pointing at the patch of ceiling above Newt and Hermann. Newt and Hermann look up; Newt feigns surprise. “Oh, no!” he says. “Not again. Man, just our luck.” He stares at Hermann in anticipation. “Guess we gotta...?”

The look on Hermann’s face is something Newt can’t place, but all eyes are on them, so Hermann carefully cups Newt’s cheek, leans in, and brushes their lips together. No tongue or anything. Just very, very chastely kisses him, eyes open all the while, short and quick and professional. Newt can smell the (kinda gross) staleness of Hermann’s sweater (when’s the last time he washed it?) and the (also kinda gross) cheap beer he had earlier in the night, and his head spins with it.

His head spins with the kiss, too. (If just this kind of kiss from Hermann--tame, objectively vanilla--is making him dizzy, what would a real, honest-to-God one do to him?)

“Luck indeed,” Hermann says when they part, strangely flushed but half-smirking. He slides his hand down to Newt’s collar and adjusts it; when Newt doesn’t step back, just sways a little, lips parted, Hermann pulls him in and slots their mouths together again. A real kiss. Quick, but real, and kinda dirty, tongue slipping into his mouth, teeth bumping a little.

Hermann’s smug as hell when they part this time.

“Wow,” Newt says.

#newmann #maria's fanfiction tag #Anonymous

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2hrs2nevada · 6 years

Text

a lil short story i wrote uwu

i am proud of this hh pls give it a read!!

Clara

Clara was going to be late.

The ball was set to start in five minutes. The fact that it was taking place in her own manor was a blessing and a curse-- she would not have to take a wagon (she was terrified of the things anyway), but the pressure to look nice was multiplied tenfold. She sighed as she scrutinized her reflection in the mirror. Bustle dresses made everyone who wore them look stupid, but even so, she still felt like an idiot wearing one in public. Smoothing the powder-blue frills with her gloved hands, Clara racked her brains for anything else she could fix to make herself look presentable. She could hear Lucille puttering about in the other room, undoubtedly facing a similar challenge.

Deciding nothing more could be done, she picked up her hat and pin. She wouldn’t wear it the whole time, of course-- she found hats of such magnitude to be dreadfully uncomfortable, and besides, wearing one during a ball was strictly forbidden.

A blue stone on the pin glinted in the candlelight. Clara stopped to admire the long, sharp shaft and the elegant arrangement of gems on the end. She traced the sharp end over the palm of her hand. It hurt-- not terribly, but if she pressed down much harder, it would surely draw blood. It was long enough to do some real damage, and sturdy, like a spear. She rolled it over in her hands, and wondered what would happen if, say, she tripped while holding it, and someone made to catch her and met the sharp end of the pin instead…

“Clara.”

She jumped, not having heard Lucille come in. She dropped the hatpin onto the mahogany surface of her dresser and met her sister’s eyes in the mirror.

Lucille approached the younger woman and began to tighten her dress, probably without even realizing what she was doing. It was an old habit, one that Clara had learned to live with.

“Are you having the thoughts again?” Lucille said, as if asking for the time.

Clara nodded slowly, staring into her own eyes in the mirror.

Lucille let go of Clara’s dress and moved on to her hair. “There’s a man coming to the ball tonight-- Jasper Thomas. I heard he’s done some bad things.”

Clara made a half-hearted attempt at an acknowledging noise, barely listening.

“Very bad things,” Lucille continued. “The mutton shunters won’t take him away because they’re scared of his father, but frankly, I’m concerned about his presence in this house.”

Clara snorted. “Please, Luce, they’re called policemen. Show some class.”

Lucille exhaled stiffly through her nose. “I don’t think you understand what I’m saying.”

“That is true.”

“He’s a bad man. Probably has no friends.”

“Okay.”

“Wouldn’t be missed.”

Clara froze. Lucille raised an impatient eyebrow at her in the mirror.

“No,” Clara whispered. “Luce, stop it. You know I can’t do that.”

“It might help the urges, and you’d be doing the police a favor--”

“No!” Clara shouted, slamming her fist on the dresser. Lucille went silent. “I won’t.”

“But why? Why not indulge for once in your life?”

“Because I think I’d like it,” Clara whispered shakily. “I think I’d want to do it again, and again.”

Lucille sighed and nodded. But as they made to leave the room, Clara slipped her spare hatpin into the folds of her dress.

***

The ball was not a grand one, and not crowded, although Clara almost wished it was. The air was heavy and dreadfully hot. Deciding that the weather was the reason for the mediocre turnout, Clara seated herself on a chaise longue outside the reception room, where the other women waited regally for an invitation to dance.

Chipper music could be heard playing on the other side of the wall-- a minuet, or something of the sort, although Clara hardly considered herself an expert. She tapped her foot sparratically on the hardwood floor. A hot breeze was wafting in through the open window across from her, and she could feel beads of sweat trickling down her pale face.

To her relief, a man walked in at that very moment, and turned towards the women. Clara stifled a laugh as the girls seated next to her sat up stick-straight in perfect unison.

She fiddled with her dress. The pin resting on her thigh under her petticoat felt hot and heavy. The room was still horribly warm, so she pulled out her fan and snapped it open.

Too loudly, apparently, because the man’s eyes immediately fell on her. She took a moment to survey his appearance, as she was in no mood to dance.

He was tall and thin, with a face that might have been delicately handsome if not for the heavy scarring that reached his neck and ears-- he had the pox as a child, Clara decided. His hands were behind his back. She couldn’t help but worry about what they held, even though she knew he was simply in position to bow.

And bow he did, but not the kind of deep, obnoxious bow Clara was expecting. He asked her to dance, and his voice was deep and clear. She touched the slight lump in her dress where the pin lay before standing up to accept.

“May I ask your name, miss?” he said softly.

Clara made a face of absolute insult. “Why, the queen herself, of course. Did you really not recognize me?” She wasn’t quite sure where this sudden sarcasm came from, as she was not, in fact, the queen, but she wasn’t the least bit sorry.

A flicker of bafflement crossed his face, but he obliged. “Pleasure to meet you, your highness,” he smirked. “My name is Jasper Thomas.”

There was a terrible pause.

“A pleasure,” Clara smiled. She rested her hand on his arm.

In the reception room, pairs were standing ready to dance. The smell of sweat and humid hardwood made it hard to breathe. The music began again, and they danced as stiffly and maturely as anyone could dance. At one particularly boring bit of a song, Clara held her free arm out in imitation of a windmill-fan, which was of the highest offense at a ball such as this one. Jasper smacked it down, so swiftly and nonchalant that no one turned their heads. She let it hang loose at her side for the rest of the evening.

The last dance was coming to an end. Clara’s sweaty hand barely touched her partner’s as they waltzed rigidly, the floor squeaking beneath their tired feet.

“Jasper,” she whispered through the side of her mouth.

“Shh.”

She ignored this. “This is my house, you know.”

His mouth formed a tight line. “I believe it is your father’s. A shame he’s on holiday.”

The train of her dress swished around her ankles as she twirled in unison with the other women. “After supper,” she hummed, almost inaudibly, “I invite you to escort me to my room.”

His nostrils flared. “Enough, church-bell.”

Clara gaped, without breaking her stride. The use of slang was utterly forbidden during a dance. “Excuse me?”

The couple next to them glared. Clara glared back, breaking eye contact only for a scheduled spin.

“It’s not allowed,” he pressed. “I cannot accept.”

“Oh, come off it,” Clara murmured as the music began to reach its final crescendo. “It won’t hurt you to get out of those gas-pipes. And I’m clearly not actually the queen.”

She was surprised to hear him snigger. He said nothing, which she took as a yes.

***

The ball was over. The guests had left in wagons, rubbing their feet and swatting away the bugs that the nighttime brings. The moon was half-full and casting a blue-white glow across the house and the lawn, making everything appear faintly monochrome.

Jasper was waiting in the drawing room. Clara imagined he was standing in front of the window, looking out across the green with his hands clasped behind his back. Or maybe he was pacing.

They were alone in the great house, aside from the maids, and Lucille, who could be heard in the front hall, locking the door and closing the windows to protect the house from insects. Clara waited to hear her ascend to her room.

When she did, she met Clara’s eyes briefly, but did not stop to inquire. Clara said nothing, but could see her sister’s hand trembling slightly as it traced the railing. But then she was gone, and Clara hurried to the parlor to retrieve Jasper, who was seated in an armchair and gazing mildly out the opposite window. He looked up and smiled, genuinely, so that Clara felt a pang in her stomach that she ignored altogether.

“Shall we?” she said softly, fiddling with her skirt.

He nodded, and they made their way up the stairs, down the creaking hallway, and into her room.

There was a moment of stillness, and Clara stared deep into Jasper’s eyes, as if searching for something less pure and unadulterated than he himself had unfortunately turned out to be. Upon finding nothing, she turned around and made her way to the dresser, where she began to remove the many layers of her dress.

She watched Jasper in the mirror as she removed her excessive garments and jewelry. He trailed his fingers over the bedrail, and peered at the hip bath as though he had never seen one in his life. Clara smiled.

He hit your arm down, remember? He’s not a good man. You don’t even know him.

And even still, she felt a quiet excitement as she let the last layer of her dress drop to the floor. She was fine. Everything was fine. Maybe she didn’t have to kill him at all. The thought was strangely calming.

Some other time, maybe, she decided. But not tonight. She smiled to herself.

She turned to face Jasper, and his eyes travelled up and down her body with wonder. She crossed her arms over her chest automatically, gazing shyly at the floor.

Their embrace was quiet, rapid and careful and beautiful. Clara had never been to the beach, but she thought of one now. She thought of crashing waves, and being lulled peacefully to sleep.

But she wanted to stay awake, and so did he, so they got to talking about Jasper’s infractions. He shared with ease, as though there was no possibility at all of consequences, which may well have been true.

“My father is very rich, so I never had any need to steal,” he murmured, as Clara stared, intrigued, into his eyes, stroking his arm absentmindedly. The sheets were bunched up at the foot of the bed, thrown off due to the heat.

“I got involved with some rough crowds, thought, which no one even believed existed where I lived, but they did, and their main market was cannabis. I was stupid and young, and sick of my pretentious lifestyle, so I joined the business. But, half-rats, I ended up shaking a flannin with a group of my competition, and things didn’t end as they should’ve. I managed to get out only having copped a mouse, but the others didn’t fare quite so well. Meaters, all of them, good as dead before they were, but I had to run from the mutton shunters anyhow.” He stopped to take a breath. Clara’s eyes were wide, and she leaned in closer. Surely that was the most slang she had ever heard anyone use at once.

He continued to tell her about his past, his voice sounding completely different from the way it did during the ball. Clara’s insides were bubbling with fresh infatuation.

When Jasper finally caved to the irresistible call of sleep, Clara got up quietly and tiptoed to her dresser to blow out the candle, only a dripping stub after the long evening.

The most trivial of injuries! How prosaic a trouble, but it hurt nonetheless, for Clara had stubbed her toe on the leg of her dresser, handicapped by the darkness. She knew the urges would come, even before the shock of agony could reach her brain.

And they did. She keeled over, leaning on the dresser and breathing hard. Tears started to stream down her face. She wanted to scream, or sob, or stab someone, or stab herself.

In the moonlight, she caught a glimpse of her face in the mirror-- red-eyed and ghostly white, beads of cold sweat rolling down loose strands of hair. She let out a choked sob and picked up her hatpin. The pain in her toe was gone. Her whole body was shaking.

Everything inside her was screaming at her to stop, but it was as if she were possessed, or being controlled like a marionette by some malicious external puppeteer. She stumbled to the bed, hovering over Jasper’s peacefully sleeping figure, hatpin clutched tightly in her hand, poised high above his chest.

Maybe it was her dim shadow over his face, or the sound of her labored breathing, but something caused Jasper to stir and open his eyes, blinking sleepily. Clara froze.

He saw the hatpin and recoiled, suddenly fully awake. His eyes jumped from the pin to Clara’s face and back again, scared and confused.

“Clara?” he muttered, his voice hoarse. “What are you doing?”

“You’re a bad man, Jasper Thomas.” She wiped a tear from her cheek. “You deserve this.”

“I don’t understand.”

Clara sniffled pathetically. The hand holding the pin was shaking madly.

“Please,” he breathed. “Put that down.”

“I can’t,” Clara choked.

He stared up at her, and even in the dark Clara could see he was crying.

“Is this why you brought me here?” he inquired. “To your room? Was nothing we did out of your own passion?”

Clara rapidly shook her head. “I didn’t want to do this,” she whispered. “I don’t want to.”

“So don’t,” he pleaded. Clara heard a tear fall onto his pillow.

She let out a choked sob. “I--”

He lowered his head and slowly lay back down. “All right, church-bell,” he sighed shakily, and Clara could tell without seeing that his face was full of pain as he looked up at her like a sad dog. There was another emotion, too, and it startled her-- a sudden acceptance, or even indifference. “Do your wor--”

And before he could finish, the silver, jewel-encrusted pin was through his throat.

Clara sank to her knees as blood began to pepper her face. Her lungs convulsed, and she clutched the edge of the bed for support, recoiling at the feel of Jasper’s hand, still warm to the touch. She stumbled to the window and yanked it open, then fell to the floor… she didn’t remember being sick, but the carpet was slick with vomit, and the stench mixed with the hot blood on her face made her gag. Tears cascaded down her temples as she lay, naked and sobbing and cold on the floor, but the warm night air flowing in through the open window began to calm her riled nerves, and she sighed heavily, inhaling the smell of summer trees and smoke and the sweet aroma of the ever-shadowing nighttime.

#writeblr #writing #creative writing #short story #writers of tumblr #i am not a writer that tag is a lie #i wrote this freshman year of high school #i was in a victorian times phase

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magioftheseas · 6 years

Text

Saccharine

Summary: Junko gives Matsuda (poisoned) chocolate and Kamukura eats it. Komaeda is given too much chocolate by his classmates. Matsuda wonders about the three of them. TDP-verse. I guess.

Rating: G

Warnings: Mentions of hospitals/medical stuff. Junko poisoning chocolate in the background. Matsuda’s language.

Notes: I wanted to write something short and sweet for Valentines Day and this is what I came up with. It just kind of...ends so I guess it’s in the style of one of my ficlets, just considerably longer. Still only about 2K tho. I’ve had this idea for a while and it’s cute, they’re cute, so I was just like “eh let’s go for it”.

***Alternate Ao3 Link***

Commission? Donate?

“Spit it out.”

“Nnn...”

“FUCKING SPIT IT OUT!!!”

“Nnnnnn.”

“DO YOU WANT TO FUCKING DIE, YOU IDIOT?!”

Matsuda cursed colorfully, squeezing the other’s face harder and still getting nothing more than that impassive expression and a rigid, stubbornly shut mouth. It was definitely, abso-fucking-lutely like dealing with either a stubborn toddler or a dumb, misbehaving animal.

“For fuck’s sake, Kamukura,” he hissed, digging his thumb into the corner of that stupid, stubborn mouth. “Come on. Spit it out or else.”

Kamukura, just to spite him, swallows. Matsuda, actually taken aback, flinched with a sharp gasp. And then, he smacked Kamukura hard upside the head. Kamukura was barely affected, as per usual.

“I do not know why you are so concerned,” Kamukura says simply. “I am immune to most poisons.”

“It’ll still make you SICK, you fucking idiot!” Matsuda screeched. “Also—what kind of fucking dumbass knowingly eats poisoned chocolate anyway?!”

Kamukura hums, rubbing his cheeks, at least.

“I was curious as to what she could concoct.”

“She’s not out of the fucking fire, either,” Matsuda grumbled before spinning Kamukura around and shoving him forward. “Come on. We’re going to the hospital.”

“Matsuda Yasuke, that will be unnecessary.”

“Did I fucking stutter, asshole?” Matsuda gave another harsh shove. “Rather than talking back like the little bitch you are, you’re going to be formulating ten-page apologies to me for the fucking trouble you’ve caused.”

“Mm...” Kamukura moved, at least. “Very well, then.”

Matsuda rolled his eyes and kept on pushing for his own sake, grumbling as he did.

Seriously, what even the fuck was that?

The worst part is that he knows how much of a fucking nightmare it’ll be telling Junko off later.

I usually just toss her chocolates because I know better but the one fucking time I neglected to do so... Dammit, did that bitch plan this or what?!

God, Matsuda was so angry he wanted to scream. But he needed to hurry because the last fucking thing he needed on his head was Ultimate Hope getting sick in the middle of the damn hallway on his watch.

Urgh. This week is already off to such a shit start.

It only makes him feel a little bit better when Kamukura is in a more sullen than usual mood afterwards. He’s only slightly relieved that in the end, Kamukura wasn’t all that affected by whatever the shit Junko cooked up. But he couldn’t take risks and thus, the poison had to be extracted and thoroughly filtered out, which was never a pleasant experience.

It was Kamukura’s own damn fault. Just what the hell was he thinking?

The scientists say that his thinking goes beyond human comprehension, but I can’t help but think he’s just—a fucking idiot.

Still, with how Kamukura was pouting, Matsuda supposed he felt a little bad. But only a little.

“If you wanted chocolate that fucking badly, I could’ve given you one from one of the reserve girls,” he sighed, shaking his head. “And if you were that damn curious about Junko’s then we could’ve gotten it analyzed. You really, really shouldn’t have just eaten it.”

“What would you have done with it if I hadn’t?” Kamukura asked. “Would you have simply tossed it in the trash?”

“Uh... Obviously?” Matsuda made a face. “Did you think I’d eat it out of obligation? Like fucking hell?”

“You have done unreasonable things for her before,” Kamukura pointed out and—ouch. That stung a little.

Probably because it’s true. Urgh. But...

“I wouldn’t let her poison me,” he muttered. “I’d draw a line there.”

“I see...so you do draw lines...”

“Everyone has limits, dipshit. People aren’t absolute in anything.” Yes, people are always capable, but... Seriously? Is that really what he thinks of me? Gross... I feel so gross... “I mean...”

“They say love has no limits,” Kamukura said. “That when someone is important to you that there is nothing you will not do for them.”

“Yeah... That’s a load of bullshit. No one’s actually like that.” A pause. “Oi. Are you seriously curious about that? Love?” Matsuda cringed. “I don’t love Junko. Not like that. I don’t love anyone. Not... Like that.”

Disgustingly, he can’t help but get a little flustered about it.

It’s the fault of this shitty consumerism holiday.

“Boring,” Kamukura said.

“Yeah,” Matsuda agreed lowly, head ducking further. “Super boring.”

But I guess at least I get free chocolate out of it... Even if it’s going to backfire when I refuse to buy anyone candy for White Day.

Kamukura seemed rather quiet, which wasn’t unusual and his expression was unreadable as always. His stride didn’t change, nor his posture—Kamukura Izuru really made for a convincing robot with human skin.

He might as well be that.

And yet, Kamukura just ate up chocolate that he left lying on his office desk like a child. Or a dog. Maybe a cat.

Cats are way cuter, though. But...

“If you weren’t such a weird damn cryptid who only lurked in the shadows, I’m sure you’d be given your own chocolate,” Matsuda said, huffing as he folded his arms back. “But I bet you would’ve stolen mine anyway, huh? Jerk.”

“Boring,” Kamukura repeated. “Obligation or affection—I have no need for such frivolities.”

“It’s consumerism, not necessity,” Matsuda replied. “It’s supposed to be frivolous.”

Although, sometimes there’s good chocolate to be had. Murasame has surprisingly good taste.

“Boring. So boring.”

“Yeah, yeah. Geeeez.” Matsuda groans. “God, what can even be done about you?”

And then, this happened.

“Matsuda-kun! There you are! Oh.” Komaeda’s once bright smile comes crashing down like weights from a snapped cable. “Kamukura-kun.” For what it’s worth, Komaeda does manager another smile, albeit one that’s stiff with unenthusiastic formality. “Greetings to you as well.”

“We don’t have an appointment today,” Matsuda said, unimpressed. “Don’t fucking tell me that your jackass classmates chased you away again.”

Komaeda shook his head with a laugh.

“Oh, no, no.” His shoulders shake and Matsuda realizes that Komaeda is holding something behind his back. “Um. I actually just got embarrassed and before I knew it, I ended up here, aha!”

Embarrassed? Hah?

Before Matsuda could ask, Kamukura speaks up.

“You were mortified by simple obligation chocolate? Is that really all it is?”

Ah. Komaeda flinched as Matsuda’s lashes lowered. So they offered him that, at least. And this guy—was still taken aback.

“U... Um...” Komaeda is still flustered, too, shifting and shuffling awkwardly. “Earlier, the girls got together and made chocolate for the class... And they didn’t forget me... I was so happy but also so ashamed for causing them such trouble...”

“Oi, oi.” Matsuda strides forward, reaching out and pulling at Komaeda’s cheeks. “Just because it’s called obligation chocolate doesn’t mean they were held at fucking gunpoint or whatever. You have no reason to feel bad, dumbass.”

Komaeda whined as he pulled.

“B-But...! Someone like me...!”

“I’ve met your fucking class, Komaeda,” Matsuda hissed. “You’re in the higher tiers, at least.”

“N-No way!”

“Haaaaah? You calling me a liar?”

“N-No!” Komaeda gasped, aghast at the thought. “N-No, no...! I... I-I... Uuu...”

Matsuda let go of him, grumbling and crossing his arms.

“Just fucking accept the damn chocolate. It’s free so what are you complaining for? You’re rich so I doubt money for White Day is even remotely an issue.”

“Aha... Haha... Receiving anything from someone like me might just be...” Komaeda trails off. “Gross...”

“You really are boring,” Kamukura remarked. “Your self-deprecation follows such a predictable and unrelenting cycle. Does it not get exhausting?”

Komaeda twitched, clearly a little irritated with how his brow pinched even as that smile remained.

“...I don’t really like sweets,” he went on, ignoring Kamukura entirely. “And they gave me quite a bit. I was thinking I’d share it with Matsuda-kun.” A pause. “But I guess Kamukura-kun can have some, too. If he wants, of course. Oh, right, Kamukura-kun doesn’t want anything.”

Matsuda snorted. Komaeda turned away with a huff, finally looking like the prissy elite he was.

...it should piss me off, but when it’s Komaeda...

“I will take some, then.”

“E-Eh?!” Komaeda jolted. “W-Wait, seriously?!”

Kamukura just took one of the chocolates from him.

“Thank you, Komaeda Nagito,” he said coolly, to Komaeda’s sputtering face. “It will be boring, I am sure, but I do appreciate it, all the same.”

“B-Buh...!”

“I guess I’ll take some, too,” Matsuda said, shrugging as he plucked up his own. “Did they give you any dark chocolate?”

“Oh, um...” Komaeda hesitates, looking down at what remained. “Actually this is...dark. Yes. I ended up with all three types.”

“Then you can keep that,” Matsuda said before turning to Kamukura. “Oi, if what you grabbed was white chocolate, you have to switch with me, got it?”

“Boring.”

“I’m taking that as an ‘understood’. Dick.”

Komaeda’s lips twisted, but Matsuda pulled him towards the patient bed so that he could sit with them, with Matsuda in-between. Komaeda blushed a little at their shoulders touching but Matsuda and Kamukura, of course, were pretty unaffected.

Externally, at least, Matsuda thought irritably. Internally, on the other hand...

It’s aggravating how he was just a little flustered at how Kamukura nibbled at his chocolate, at how Komaeda ended up chuckling before unwrapping his own.

“It’s nice,” Komaeda said. “Being together like this. It’s almost like we’re a trio of friends! Oh, but someone like me isn’t deserving of someone like Matsuda-kun as a friend.” Pause. “Also I don’t really want to be friends with a false hope like Kamukura-kun.”

“So boring,” Kamukura hummed.

“That poor attitude doesn’t help,” Komaeda huffed. “Matsuda-kun’s prickliness is cute, but you’re so dreary, Kamukura-kun.”

Matsuda nearly fucking choked.

“E-Excuse me?!”

“I didn’t say anything,” Komaeda said innocently.

“Ugh.” To forget about it, Matsuda just began wolfing down chocolate. It was sickeningly sweet. Enough to make him puke. He couldn’t get enough. “This actually isn’t half-bad. Fuck.”

“It is mediocre,” Kamukura said, popping the rest into his mouth. “However... It was made with enthusiasm.”

“Don’t fucking talk with your mouth full,” Matsuda snapped before swallowing. “That’s just rude.”

“Ahahaha...” Komaeda’s smile fades. “This really is nice.”

What’s up with that face?

Komaeda doesn’t elaborate. The one damn time Matsuda is half-itching to hear the other ramble at unnecessary length. It might be a sign of the dementia treatment working wonders in giving Komaeda a sliver of restraint and self-control, but—Matsuda couldn’t help but be seriously annoyed at how clearly deep in thought Komaeda is.

But I could probably figure it out if I really wanted to. And why should I care? I’m this kid’s babysitter, not his best friend. For him and Kamukura both... I really have my hands full...

For not the last time, he wonders if things will really be alright.

Not just for my sake but... For these two, as well. When we all graduate, will we still be together like this? Shit, gross, that’s so...sentimental.

Matsuda shook his head and finished up his chocolate.

“...so sweet it’s sickening,” he mused. “Just how I like it.”

Komaeda giggled.

“Maybe I should make you chocolate... Oh, but if I did that, you’d get food poisoning for sure.”

“Then Kamukura would love it,” Matsuda huffed. “So make some for him if you do.”

Kamukura perked up at that.

“...Komaeda Nagito’s cooking skills are incomprehensible.”

“I-I’ll look up how to make it on the internet, first,” Komaeda grumbled, a little red-faced. “I still don’t approve of your existence, Kamukura-kun, but I would rather not make you sick.”

“If you want to get your stomach pumped again, be my guest,” Matsuda said coolly.

“You really shouldn’t, though!” Komaeda exclaimed. “That’s just an unpleasant experience, Kamukura-kun!”

“...I am aware.”

“Then you really shouldn’t do it!”

After we’re done at Hope’s Peak—I wonder what’s going to happen to us?

“You both,” Matsuda said, rolling his eyes. “Are really fucking noisy.”

I guess I wouldn’t mind continuing to look out for them.

“You both really need me, after all,” he added, with that thought in mind.

Kamukura huffed, but Komaeda jumped at that.

“E-Eh?!”

#MatsuKamuKoma #yasuke matsuda #nagito komaeda #izuru kamukura #MatsuKamu #Magi fics #I actually don't write a lot of stuff in the TDP setting but that's because it's just confusing to me even if I actually really like TDP #for the most part #but anyway my OT3 is a good OT3 #sorry hinut #love you tho

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jewishconvertthings · 6 years

Note

My Fiance is Jewish, her mother is a convert. I have participated in holidays, events, etc and I felt at home for the first time at those events, I have never felt that way at catholic events. Myself and my fiance are planning to have children one day so all of my children will be Jewish. I am considering converting to Judaism myself. I have been told I can continue where I am and be ok and that I don't need to fully convert. But I feel I should convert, do you think I should?

Hi anon,

So, the short answer is that only you can and should decide if converting is something you want to do. The reality of it is that if you convert to Judaism, you’re Jewish, period, full stop. Even if your relationship, G-d forbid, were to not work out. It’s one of very few permanent choices in life and so you should do it as much for you as for any other person.

That said, if it’s something you’re seriously considering anyway, it will definitely make it easier to build a Jewish home and raise Jewish children. Interfaith households can work, but it’s definitely a balancing act. (I say this as someone whose spouse is not converting with me - he’s been wonderful about everything, but the reality is that it does make some things more complicated.)

Of course, her level of observance and the community you’re a part of will have an impact on this as well. Stricter communities as a general rule will be less happy about her marrying a non-Jew, while more liberal communities may not care at all. (Those are some pretty broad generalizations, just so you know. I can definitely think of counter-examples from my own experience.) Ergo, if her family is more observant and she is too or would like to be, it’s going to be much easier if you do decide to convert. If she’s more liberal, she and/or her family may not have a problem with an intermarriage. You’ll need to communicate with her about this aspect of it.

Do keep in mind, however, that converting solely for marriage is Not Great and frowned upon by the rabbis, too. Some won’t even do them. Sincerity is very important, because a ger who converts simply for marriage or household uniformity is less likely to take it seriously and/or maintain observance. It’s also just such a major commitment and lifestyle change that if you’re only doing it for another person, you may come to seriously resent it. These aren’t just picky details, these are serious concerns.

The reason it’s such a big deal (besides all of the obvious religious obligations that come with it, of course) is that you’re not just changing faiths. You’re actively assimilating into another culture and adopting it as your own as part of the process of becoming a member of a People. I would consider it just as seriously as your marriage and/or as if you were looking to immigrate to another country. Would you move out of the country for your spouse? Would you be happy if you did and it didn’t work out?

It sounds like Judaism may have some personal draw for you as well, in which case, great! - it really will make building a Jewish household and raising Jewish children much easier. On the other hand, if it’s more of a “should I convert” rather than a “do I want to convert” question, perhaps it’s best if you don’t. I don’t mean to be pedantic here, but while you can divorce a spouse, you can’t divorce your obligations to the mitzvot once you accept them.

I hope that regardless of what you decide, you make the best choice for you and your family, and that you are able to build a wonderful future with your fiance - whatever that ends up looking like. :)

Edit: I should add that you can certainly start the conversion process to find out if it’s something you actually want to do. Plenty of people start and don’t finish after deciding it’s not for them, and that’s part of why it takes minimum a year. Soul-searching and making an informed choice are embedded in the conversion process itself, so starting it may be a good way of helping you decide. I would definitely be up front with the rabbi about this, but most will be glad that you’re taking your commitments seriously.

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kawaiibobatea-blog · 6 years

Text

Chapter 04: Betrayal

All day, Papyrus had been sending him every which way to get stuff for the party tonight. Chips, dip, streamers, punch, etc. Sans hadn't asked why he didn't tell him to get all this at one time, but then again he didn't really care. His primary focus was keeping his brother happy. Other things had mattered to him at one time, but no more. It wasn't important anymore. She wasn't important anymore.

Like an old movie, his memories replayed at the grocery store. She had been standing there with that tall, blond human. Perfect from human standards. Tall, muscular, tan, all the things he wasn't or couldn't be. Another bitter smile formed on his face. He didn't care anymore, it was funny to pretend that he did. Yet, with every movement of his hand snaking around her waist in his memory, he found himself getting angrier. Now, he didn't know why.

"I hate you!"

He hasn't lied when he said that the feeling was mutual. He hated everything about her; her smile, her laugh, her clothes, her hair, face, clothes. He hated it all. Hated her personality and how she had reached out her hand to try and touch him. Without realizing it, he was scanning his bones for a burn.

Sighing, he adjusted the bags that were in his hands for what was probably the fifth time. It didn't matter what he thought or what she did. That was made abundantly clear. All he felt was anxiety and irritation that Papyrus had invited their friends to the house.

"I NOTICED YOU HAVE BEEN SAD LATELY, SANS, SO I BROUGHT EVERYONE TOGETHER TO MAKE YOU HAPPY!"

The innocence in Papyrus' eyes made his agitation dwindle down, like sand through fingers. His brother had good intentions, he always had. The younger skeleton didn't have a mean bone in his body. He was straight on good, even into his marrow.

A rip brought him from his thoughts and everything he had been holding in his bags had fallen from the bags; the strain having been too much for the flimsy plastic. He closed his sockets, looked up at the sky, and sighed. With hope, every sigh would expel some anger from his body at the day he was having.

When they were pooled at the end of the hill, he decided to walk down to gather it. Faced with everything he had bought, he was surprised the bags had lasted this long. He had bought more than he thought that he did. Kneeling down, he picked up as much as he could, stuffing some into his pockets to make sure he had to make as little trips as possible. He could always teleport back and forth, but he didn't feel like using that much magic right now.

Footsteps got closer, breaking into a run to make haste in his direction. He stopped instantly, the wound up streamers just barely in his pocket. "what do you want?" He asked when the footsteps had stopped right behind him.

"I SAW ALL THIS FALL AND BEING THE GREAT PAPYRUS, AND AWESOME BROTHER THAT I AM, I CAME TO HELP!"

That... hadn't been the voice he was expecting. Not at all. "you're right paps," Sans began hoping to distract from the fact that he had been plain out rude to his brother. "could you help me?"

"OF COURSE! I AM THE GREAT PAPYRUS AND BEST BROTHER! IT SAYS SO ON THE SHIRT YOU GOT ME!"

True to his word, Papyrus began gathering the rest of the fallen items. Between the two of them, they had only made one trip. He put everything down on the counters and brushed off some crushed flowers and grass. Sans stopped when he heard his brother gasp.

"BROTHER! LOOK AT THAT!"

"the flowers?"

"THEY'RE SAD!"

"sad...?" Sans looked at the flowers. Indeed, they did look sad. Then again, that was probably because they were dead.

"YES! CAN'T YOU SEE?! THEY'RE SAD BECAUSE THEY WERE CRUSHED!"

"well... i'd be sad too." Sans said and smiled gently at his brother who gathered them up one by one.

"WE MUST GIVE THEM A PROPER BURIAL!"

This wasn't anything new. He walked outside with Paps and dug a small hole with his fingers, all the while Paps looked with sadness and tears gathering in his sockets. He made sure that the hole was big enough to fit all six flowers.

"there ya go, paps. go ahead and put them to rest."

"I AM SORRY THAT MY SPAGHETTI SAUCE AND MY CHIP SAUCE CRUSHED YOU!"

"that's called 'salsa', paps."

"NOT NOW BROTHER, CAN'T YOU SEE I'M IN MOURNING!"

"you're right. how rude of me."

"I'M GLAD YOU UNDERSTAND."

A few more words of regret and sadness and the flowers were laid in their makeshift grave next to a plethora of broken acorns and torn leaves they had buried a few days prior. Sans had tried to explain that it was fall and things like this were bound to happen, but he didn't listen. They had spent hours planting all of them, and had gotten lectured when Paps had found him raking the yard.

"are you ready to go back inside?"

"YES..." They had not so much as made it back inside when Papyrus spoke again. "DO YOU THINK THEY'LL FORGIVE ME?"

"i'm sure they're in flower heaven having a good time and that they're not mad at you."

"ARE YOU SURE?"

"of course, paps."

With a great sigh, and a somewhat hung skull, Papyrus went back into the kitchen. Of course, Sans followed. He patted his brother on the back gently.

"they wouldn't want you to be sad, paps. they'd want us to continue to celebrate the party that you were going to have."

That seemed to be all that he needed to hear, because Papyrus began moving quickly in the natural habitat that was the kitchen, getting everything that he needed. Although he had tried to help, Paps had fronted him off saying that he didn't want Sans to mess anything up. So, he was assigned the role of "taste tester".

Surpringly, he had only wanted to puke from the taste a couple of times before the pasta had graduated into something that was edible, and shockingly, had grown into something that was good; on an amateur level anyway.

"I HAVE NEWS."

"okay?"

"I AM GOING TO MAKE THAT THING THAT UNDYNE TOLD ME TO NEVER TRY."

"garlic bread?"

"YES! IT SOUNDS SO EXOTIC DOESN'T IT?"

"i'm sure it is."

"WHY WOULD UNDYNE TELL ME NOT TO MAKE IT! I AM MASTER CHEF PAPYRUS!"

Now in addition to taste tester, Sans was doubling as supervisor. Not wanting to hinder his brother's emotions since he had just had a flower funeral, he lied and said that he wanted to learn from Master Chef Papyrus. Thankfully, that would give him a good view just in case the oven caught on fire... again.

It was a little crispy, bordering on burnt. Although, to his shock, it wasn't completely inedible. While Papyrus continued to make small things he didn't need supervision for, Sans hung up the small streamers and decorations.

"I'M STILL SAD YOU DIDN'T GET IT."

"we can't play piñata in the house, paps."

"WHY?"

"last time we did that, i had to fix the wall and get a new tv."

"THEY SHOULDN'T HAVE JUMPED IN MY WAY."

Sans chuckled and one by one, the blue and orange streamers decorated the house. Blue wasn't a Halloween color, but Papyrus had specifically said he wanted blue. Who was he to argue?

"almost done, paps."

"OUR FRIENDS SHOULD BE GETTING HERE SOON! I TOLD THEM TO BE HERE AT 8."

"it just turned 8:01."

Papyrus gasped just as the doorbell rang. He dashed to the door and opened it, seeing Mettaton standing there, brandishing his now perfect and complete form.

"YOU'RE LATE!"

"CORRECTION DARLING!" Mettaton said, flipping his metallic hair. "FASHIONABLY LATE!"

"NO MATTER HOW LATE YOU ARE, YOU CAN'T BEAT ME IN FASHION! I AM A FASHIONISTA!"

"paps, fashionistas are women." Sans corrected. "but, you can be whatever you want to be."

"THEN I CHOOSE TO BE A FASHIONISTA!"

"NOW THAT THAT'S SETTLED," Mettaton came in and put the burritos that he had made on the table. "I BROUGHT YOUR FAVORITE BURRITOS!"

"YES! WELL DONE!"

Sans peeked outside and saw Napstablook still standing outside, with a plate balancing on his head. "you coming in?"

"........ oh. sorry...... i didn't want to intrude." Napstablook apologized. Sans made a mental note that his apology count was at 1.

After Napstablook came in, before Papyrus could close the door, Undyne and Alphys came inside the house with a cake.

"I AM GLAD YOU'RE HERE!" Papyrus said.

"Of course! I'm always where there's good food."

"SO OF COURSE YOU WOULD COME GO MASTER CHEF PAPYEUS' HOUSE! IT ONLY MAKES SENSE! NYEH HEH HEH!"

Sans had gotten done with the streamers and was putting up the spider web and spider decorations. Truth be told, he had forgotten that today was Halloween. It was their favorite holiday, so he didn't protest when he was requested to go get the decorations.

"Dearie, I find these decorations offensive." A small voice chimed from the doorway and Muffet came in with all six of her arms full of cakes, pastries, and other cavity inducing treats.

"WHAT? WHY?"

"If you wanted spider decorations, all you had to do was ask, hehe. My friends would have been happy to oblige."

"I DIDN'T EVEN THINK OF THAT! NEXT YEAR!" Papyrus promised and helped Muffet put down the desserts.

Sans was informed that Toriel and Asgore wouldn't be coming considering that they had went out of town on a fourth honeymoon. It was alright, they needed time for themselves. He was about to go check on the oven for the additional garlic bread Papyrus was cooking before the doorbell rang.

"grillbs!" Sans smiled and welcomed his best friend in wholeheartedly. The fire elemental was excited and had brought a plethora of burgers and fries. Just behind Grillby was Jason with an arm snaked around her.

"Hey, Sans." She had begun. "We-"

Slam.

Sans shut the door in their face and turned around, seeing Grillby's disapproving glare. Papyrus came to the door and looked at Sans.

"I HEARD FRISK'S VOICE! WHAT HAPPENED?"

Ignoring Grillby's glare, Sans shrugged. "i think the door is broken. just slammed shut by itself."

"BROKEN?" Papyrus exclaimed and opened up the door and stared at a confused Jason and a slightly saddened Frisk. "THE DOOR'S BROKEN!"

"Oh, that explains it." Jason said.

"I AM GLAD YOU BROUGHT YOUR MAN FRIEND, FRISK!"

Anger. Betrayal. Nausea.

The two entered, and Sans made a point to move as far away from them as possible without drawing suspicions. "paps, mind if i invite someone?" He asked.

"YES! OF COURSE!"

Sans walked to the phone and dialed the number, a smirk on his face. This would be perfect.

#Mikuxmew85 #Undertale #Trouble #fanfiction #Sans #Frisk #Frans #Frisk x Sans #Sans x Frisk

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