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angellesword · 3 years

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YOUR EYES TELL | JJK (13)

Summary: You live in a world where people see in black and white. The solution to finally see the colors? It’s simple. You need to meet your soulmate and look at him in the eyes, but what if the person bound to you is already contented with the monochromatic world? What if…Jeongguk, your soulmate, is already in love with someone else?

Alternatively:

“A future without you is a world without color.”

Genre: soulmate au, e2l, slow burn, angst, fluff, roommate au

Pairing: Artist!Jungkook x Lawyer!Reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: discussion of injuries which i know nothing about, effects of drunk driving.

SERIES: CHAPTER 12 | CHAPTER 14

Jeon Jeongguk missed you.

He missed you so much he felt like he was going crazy.

He didn't realize that a big part of you was occupying his whole being to the point that when the two of you separated ways, he felt like everything he had meant nothing if you weren't in his life.

He had been dreaming of buying his own apartment ever since he was young, but now that he finally had a house that he could call his own, Jeongguk came to know that this wasn't what he wanted.

What he desired was not a house—he wanted a home and home was wherever you were.

The walls surrounding him weren't going to protect him. It actually hurt him. The deafening silence kept on bouncing that he felt like he was gonna lose his sense of hearing.

Jeongguk decided he hated silence.

He wanted his house to be filled with your laughter.

"Seriously, Guk. Why am I here?"

Jeongguk couldn't speak as Red continued to glare at him.

Ji-eun and her father couldn't visit today because Namjoon had work to do. This left Jeongguk with no choice but to invite his ex-girlfriend in his abode. He hated being alone since it reminded him of how fucked up he was.

He needed a distraction.

"So now you're giving me the silent treatment?" Red rolled her eyes. This was one of her ex lover's habits that she hated. Jeongguk was so bad when it came to communicating.

"You need to tell me the truth if this is about her." Red sighed and Jeongguk froze. The former hadn't mentioned your name, yet Jeongguk was already affected. He knew Red was referring to you.

"I like her a lot and as much as I enjoy doing you a favor, I can't do this forever."

"Msorry..." Jeongguk avoided Red's eyes as he bit his lower lip. His heart hurt a lot.

"No." She shook her head as if her ex's apology was pure bullshit. This was truly unacceptable. "This isn't just about you, Jeongguk. Did you know that the whole office is either questioning my sexuality or thinking I'm a kiss-ass?"

"What?" The confused boy flicked his gaze at Red.

She snorted and then rolled her eyes once more.

"People think I'm in love with your soulmate because I basically cook her three meals a day. I also remind her to drink water, take her vitamins, leave her sweet notes, and change the flowers in her vase just because you are too much of a pussy to do it on your own!"

Jeongguk averted Red's glare again. She was right. He was a fucking coward—too scared to do all these good things on his own.

He was the one who left you, but he felt like you didn't want to do anything with him anymore. Jeongguk had accepted his sad fate, but it didn't mean he would stop taking care of you.

The truth was he was the one who cooked the food you eat every day. He was the one writing you sweet notes, he was the one bombarding Red text messages to kindly remind you to do the simple things you usually forgot because of your busy schedule.

Jeongguk was doing all of this without your knowledge.

How could he tell you when he knew he was unnecessarily mean to you?

"I mean it's about right. I told you I'm gonna stay here for a few months. It's over now. I don't want to be your tenant anymore."

What he said to you six months ago was deeply engraved in his head. This lie was what kept him awake at night.

Jeongguk was lying. Yes. It was true that he didn't want to be your tenant, but it didn't mean that he didn't want to live with you anymore.

But he was so confused—so fucked up in the head that the only solution was to push you away.

He stood by his belief. You did not understand anything and you did not love him.

But Jeongguk was sure of one thing—or at least he thought so.

"I-I," his adam's apple bobbed up and down. He was nervous. "I think I like her..."

The girl's scoff indicated that she didn't like what he just said.

"You think?" She crossed her arms, making Jeongguk flinch. Her reaction reminded him of the time he met Red at Seokjin's birthday party.

"Why did you follow me, Jeongguk?" Red looked like she had seen a ghost, but she still folded her arms over her chest to intimidate Jeongguk.

It was easy to frighten him. All she had to do was to raise her brow and cross her arms.

"Wow," your soulmate gritted his teeth. "You haven't seen me in so long and this is how you greet me?"

Jeongguk wasn't expecting to see Red at this party. He was here because he wanted to be your date. The thought of you bringing Hoseok to this party made him so angry.

"How do you expect me to react, Guk? I don't want you here!" She was panicking. Jeongguk called her a bitch the last time they had seen each other.

Right now, Red couldn't help but think that Jeongguk would cause ruckus again.

This couldn't happen. Not right now. Not when people were watching Seokjin, and definitely not when you were here.

Red went to the veranda to get some air. She couldn't face you, couldn't face Jeongguk, and couldn’t face Seokjin. The latter had no idea that Jeongguk was the ex she was talking about. They hadn't had the chance to talk about your soulmate because Seokjin was too caught up with the divorce trial.

"So that's it, huh?" Jeongguk clenched his fist. "You'll just decide you don't want me anymore just because you found your soulmate!?"

"Yes!" Red did not even hesitate. Tears were streaming down her cheeks. She was so scared. All she could think about was the fact that Jeongguk could destroy this evening.

"I found my soulmate and I'm okay now. You should be happy too, JK. You have met the person destined for you."

Jeongguk looked away. How could he be happy? He found you, but he liked Red.

Red knew what was running inside his mind, so she shook her head and looked at Jeongguk straight in the eyes.

"Do not hurt her, Jeon. She's a one of a kind girl. You can't find another person as sweet and smart as her."

'But you're sweet and smart too!' Jeongguk wanted to argue.

"She saved my life. I owe her everything I have. I wouldn't even be able to meet my soulmate if it wasn't for her." She sobbed.

"So don't. Please. Don't hurt her."

Jeongguk blinked back to reality upon realizing that he broke Red's request.

He hurt you. Bad.

"You have to be one hundred percent sure about what you feel for her, Jeongguk. She deserves better than this."

He remained quiet, still pondering on what he felt.

Six months passed, but he felt like it wasn't enough to ease his doubts.

"No." He blurted out. "I-I like her,"

Red's expression softened, but she wasn't convinced yet. Jeongguk was stammering as if he wasn't certain.

"Are you really sure? I know I'm always pressuring you, but I want you to be real." She said carefully.

Jeongguk's heart was hammering. It felt like it wanted to be free from the cold cage he built.

"I don't know!" He looked like he was in a lot of pain. Tears were actually threatening to fall down his cheeks.

Jeongguk hated feelings. Why were they so complicated?

"Okay, Gukkie. Calm down."

Gukkie. You called him this. Jeongguk had another realization. That nickname was only cute when it came out of your pretty mouth.

He wanted to kiss you.

"I think you're just guilty and confused right now," Red started.

He could only listen.

"Guilty because you are being held back by the amount of time we spent together. You drilled it in your head that I am the one for you. You ignored the fact that soulmates exist and now that you're experiencing how the soulmate bond works, you became confused."

Red could feel that Jeongguk was skeptical of his own feelings. He was probably thinking that it was impossible for him to fall in love with you with just a few months.

But you see, that was how the soulmate bond worked. It made the impossible possible.

"I know it's hard to suddenly believe into something especially when all your life, you ignored and denied the existence of it."

Jeongguk only pursed his lips into a thin line.

Red continued.

"You feel guilty for trying to unlearn what you believe is a myth, but it's okay, Jeongguk. It's okay to let me go. You aren't cheating. Your feelings simply changed. Don't let our memories together ruin what your heart truly wants."

Confusion was eating him alive again.

"H-How do you know all of this?" He asked softly, making Red chuckle.

"Why do you think it took me so long to tell you that I found my soulmate, huh?"

Jeongguk shook his head. He honestly had no idea.

"It’s because I also went through this, Guk. It took me months to finally admit the truth to you since I was so guilty. We have been together for almost a decade and I feel like it would be such a waste to just let you go, but the heart wants what it wants. It's so much easier to just let things go."

Jeongguk grimaced. He regretted being an ass to Red when they broke up. If he only knew that it was this hard to be in denial...

"But don't get me wrong, okay? Letting go doesn't mean that you have to completely erase your memories with people. I still treasure the moments we spent together and I love you, Jeongguk—not in a romantic way, but I will always love you."

He was his first love, his first friend. Jeongguk had always been there for her. She knew he truly loved her.

As Red talked about their memories together, Jeongguk then started to reminisce the moments he had with you.

It was weird.

Weird that your memories together were not even half as many as the moments he spent with Red, yet all that's on his mind was you.

This was what terrified Jeongguk. You barely spent time together, but what he felt for you was strong—too strong that it defeated his ten years with Red.

"I don't know what to do," Jeongguk choked out a sob. It's annoying because Red was laughing.

"You poor bunny. I wish I could tell you how I did it, but you have to figure this on your own." This was the last thing she said before leaving Jeongguk alone.

Alone with his treacherous thoughts.

He kept playing the conversation he had with Red, making him realize that his own thoughts was the one making this hard for him.

Red was wrong.

Jeongguk wasn't confused.

He knew exactly what he felt for you.

He was just too much of a coward to admit it.

He never learned.

The six months he spent away from you should have served as a lesson by now, but no. Here he was, still ignoring the ache in his chest.

Jeongguk regretted leaving you months ago. He had to admit that it wasn't instant though.

That's the thing about regret. It came into a beautiful form—a disguise telling him that this was what he wanted even though he knew deep down that it was not.

He hated himself because of this. There were many warning signs from other people. He had heard so many times that regret was a two-faced bitch. It felt good at first, making him feel like he was floating because he was finally free.

But then it would come back to haunt him—to drown him with what ifs and I should have—to suffocate him until he couldn't breathe anymore.

Jeongguk hated himself because of this. Why couldn't he be like others? He envied those people who could express their feelings in the right way. Those people who knew how to dodge regret.

He wasn't like them. He got overwhelmed too quickly—causing him to panic and do stupid things.

But really. What was his way of expressing himself? How could he ease the doubts in his head?

What kind of outlet would serve as his way to be able to express the heaviness in his chest?

Jeongguk could only think about one thing.

He went to his art room. There was too much space in this house, but his loneliness still couldn't fit.

Everything in this room was sad. The easel looked sad, the palette looked sad, his blank canvas looked sad.

It was sad that he couldn't find the will to paint anymore.

What was the use of seeing colors when he couldn't do what he loved? What was the used of seeing colors when he couldn't see the color in your eyes?

Jeongguk's lips trembled as he gripped the brush in his hand.

He really couldn't do it.

Maybe he should look at his previous works to get inspiration?

Yeah. That's probably the best thing to do...

Jeongguk brought out the box full of the things you had bought for him.

It had been half a year since he touched these materials. He couldn't bring himself to even look at this before. It reminded him so much of you.

Jeongguk let out a shaky breath.

The box was overloading with art. The months he spent with you caused him to produce these lovely sketches.

He smiled while looking at the pile of sticky notes on the floor. These were the ones he drew when he was overwhelmed with colors.

Sketching was much simpler. It calmed his raging emotions.

Jeongguk started to absentmindedly piece together the pictures in the sticky notes drawn by him.

"Holy shit," his eyes suddenly dilated upon realizing that these tiny sketches made up a larger picture of your eyes when they were put together—similar to a puzzle.

Jeongguk's blood was rushing. It was as if he was slapped by reality.

The larger picture was your eyes, the small ones that were drawn in each sticky notes were every tiny detail about you: your mouth, your neck, your fingers, and everything in between.

This was it.

This was his way of expressing feelings.

His lips lie, but his artworks tell.

Jeongguk understood now what Red was implying. She was right. No one could help him, not even the love you claimed you felt for him.

This was all on Jeongguk. He realized that he had to admit it himself that he loved you, that he wanted to be with you, and that he believed in soulmates because he wanted to and not because other people force him to do so.

Realization was the complete opposite of regret. The latter was slow, the former was instant. It would hit you when you least expected it.

Jeongguk was certain.

His doubts were cleared because he knew you could see colors now.

You should be able to see with flashing colors and light, so why weren't you?

"J-Jimin?" You whispered, uncertain, unstable, and unhappy.

You were surrounded by negative prefix that was making him feel sick.

When Jeongguk found out that he loved you, he imagined begging for forgiveness at your feet— telling you how much of an idiot he was and that he was willing to take whatever you could give—no, scratch that. You didn't have to give anything at all.

It was his time to show you how much you meant to him.

This was why Jeongguk texted you, asking you to meet him. When you didn't answer, he was forced to call you.

Unfamiliar voice welcomed him to bring the terrible news.

The person on the other line told him that you were in a hospital. Your car crashed because you were driving under the influence of alcohol.

Jeongguk didn't know what to do after knowing this information. He was out of his mind. It was a miracle that he was able to reach the hospital in one piece.

He remembered running like crazy, he was crossing the street even though cars were approaching. He ignored the profanities leaving their mouths.

He just didn't care about anything. He just needed to get to you.

He couldn't get to you—at least not now. The doctors were still treating you. Luckily they told Jeongguk everything. He didn't even need to show his I.D to prove that the two of were related. He only needed to tell them that he was your soulmate.

It's funny how he refused to believe in the idea of soulmate before, but right now, he was using it to beg other people to believe that you were destined to be together.

Jeongguk waited in vain, staring into the space and praying to God he didn't believe in.

Desperation always led people into doing things they never thought they'd ever do.

"You're Jimin, right?" You continued to ask, still unsure.

Jeongguk didn't know how to answer. You were acting strange. Couldn't you tell that it was him who was in front of you now? Was this one of effects of the accident?

"I'm sorry I keep asking," you bit the inside of your cheeks as tears filled your eyes.

Jeongguk was quick to wipe your tears away. His touch was gentle, but you still winced.

Everything about you hurt.

"I can't see you. I-I can't see anything. It's all black..."

Jeongguk's heart sank, his blood running cold.

What did you just say?

"I'm so scared, Jimin-ah. This is different from the colorless world." Your tears were flowing non-stop, similar to the painful sound that kept on hammering your soulmate's chest.

"I feel like I'm going crazy. There's nothing here, it's just darkness sucking me in."

You were quivering in agitation. You felt helpless. It was as though everyone was fully geared up and you're here, naked—just waiting to be taken advantage of.

Being blind made you more vulnerable. You just wished this wasn't forever. The doctors said that there were two probable reasons why you couldn't see.

The first one was because of the accident. They already treated your injuries, but they said you still needed an eye surgery. Apparently, you hit your head when your car crashed. They said you didn't need to worry since this was the most common type of treatment for people experiencing temporary blindness.

Temporary.

You hoped this was temporary. Your heart couldn't take it if the reason why you were blind was because of your tragic fate.

The doctors told you that your blindness might be because of the existence of soulmate. It had come to your learning that the medical world was now considering this myth as a reality.

If this was the case, you were really damned.

"I'm sorry..." Jeongguk blurted out. He couldn't stop crying after knowing what happened to you.

This was not how it was supposed to go. Why was the universe being so cruel to him? Was he wrong? Was breaking from the phase of denial not enough? Was he really your soulmate? But why...why did you turn blind after he finally accepted the love he felt for you? Was it not enough?

Was Jeongguk not enough? Did he hurt you to the point that nothing, not even his love, could bring you back to light?

"I'm sorry, baby. I'm so sorry!" Jeongguk wailed, he was aching to touch you, but he was scared to cause you pain.

He caused you pain.

He would always cause you pain.

This was evident when you felt a sharp pang in your chest upon recognizing his voice.

He wasn't Jimin.

You did not pour your heart to Park Jimin.

You told everything to the wrong person.

You made yourself vulnerable in front of Jeon Jeongguk. Again.

"J-Jeongguk?" Your voice was loaded with disappointment and sadness.

He sobbed even harder.

"I-It's me," his voice cracked. "I'm here."

It's me. I'm here. If you were the person you were before, you would probably be rejoicing now.

Jeon Jeongguk was here. You didn't know if he was here because of you or not. In the end, it didn't matter since: "I'm glad," you said." I'm glad you're here."

You did not sound like you were glad. Not at all. Jeongguk couldn't be mistaken. Your voice was too monotonous to be considered happy. Your expression was impassive it made you look like you had no life.

But you were glad. You're sure of this because at least you didn't have to beg Jimin or any other people to ask Jeongguk to come see you.

He was here so you could already tell him what you had been meaning to.

"I'm sorry, Jeongguk," this was what you meant.

He did not understand.

Why were you saying sorry when he should be the one begging you to take him back?

"I'm sorry I made you feel uncomfortable so many times. I didn't mean to—"

"Don't say that," he cut you off, but you continued.

This time you were smiling.

"Allow me to," you gulped. "Allow me to so that I could understand why."

What were you saying now?

"I have to apologize and you have to tell me what I did wrong, Jeongguk. You have to tell me what I did to make you hate me this much."

You were crying. The pain was unbearable. It was making you think of the worst case scenario. It was making you imagine things that weren't true. It was making you feel like his hatred towards you was the reason why you couldn't see.

You were blaming him.

You had the right to.

He hurt you so much.

"What did I do to deserve this?" You had been a good person. You weren't hurting anyone consciously. You had been giving everything you had, so why? Why was your soul still bleeding?

"I let you go, Jeongguk. I am letting you go. Can't you do the same? Can't you really let go of the hatred in your heart and just let me live?"

Jeongguk couldn't speak. You were feeding your head with lies.

Jeon Jeongguk did not hate you because Jeon Jeongguk loved you.

He loved you with all of his heart.

"Let me go, Jeongguk."

With his body.

"I don't want to be your soulmate anymore."

And soul.

You did not want to love Jeon Jeongguk.

You loved him. Once. But not this time.

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ktheist · 4 years

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heartbreaker of mine

muses. jungkook x reader

synopsis. ah, here we are again. the overtold, cliche as hell story about two best friends who might or might not be in love with each other. except you can’t - wouldn’t dare to dream about being with jungkook.

alternatively, wherein you fell for the one who could break your heart.

words. 7.5k

universe. university / slice of life

warnings. mentions of physical insecurities; appearance, commitment issues

you should have known that in the absence of two of your best friends, nothing ever goes right when you decide to hang out. it isn’t the fact that you’ve known each other since diapers and basically know anything and everything about the other, that at some point you feel like your friendship is stale and need new additions - that’s where park jimin and kim taehyung comes in; a year older but several younger at heart, you couldn’t have imagined going through uni life with someone but them - but it’s the fact that realization hits you at the end of your final year that makes you drift apart.

the fact of the matter is, you prefer the solitude of your room, the library of that one spot in the cafe that you’ve claimed as yours. and jeon jungkook prefers the blare of music, strobe lights and bodies grinding against him.

by your final year, as you receive a job offer at the company you interned in on your second year, taehyung is already working part time at the company he interned in, jimin thinking about that modeling offer he just got scouted for and jeon jungkook is getting daddies of the girls he’s having a thing with to get him to work at their office just so their daughter can see their favorite boy more - yours and jungkook’s friendship has dwindled down to mere silences as you wait for the other two to knock on the door and fill the place up with their endless bickering about whether dumplings are better than mochi.

“shouldn’t you like, give me advice?” are the words jungkook said to you while you type away on your laptop, trying to do some light reading for tomorrow’s class before your mac gets confiscated for ‘pooping the party’ as taehyung likes to call it.

and you know what he’s talking about without even having preambles of the topic make its way into the conversation.

yet you still take off your glasses and set it down in your lap and ask, “what could jeon jungkook possibly have not known and needed advice on?”

he scrunches his nose, not appreciating your sarcasm but humors it anyway, “you know,” he shrugs, as though shrunk into the sofa from either shyness or embarrassment - you don’t know, “on like, how to start being serious about life - and settling down.”

the silence that stretches is a stale one, filled with your blank stare and jungkook’s peering eyes - even at the age of 22, the stars still glimmer like they’ve been freshly plucked from the skies.

“you want me to help pick, out of the many job offers you got from your girlfriends’ rich parents, for you to do?” is your conclusion - though if you were 2 years younger and had a little bit more faith for the boy you basically called your twin, it would have been a good natured jest. but you’re older and jungkook isn’t exactly portraying characteristics of an upstanding citizen either.

“no,” his hair brushes against his brows as he shakes his head almost too eagerly - as though he saw that coming but still got upset and wanted to prove you wrong, “like how to start taking things seriously like settling down with someone and no, not with out of my many girlfriends - can we not call them that? it makes me sound like an ass.”

it takes you less than five seconds to digest his words, eyes drifting to the white screen of your mac for the sole reason you can’t bear to hold his intense gaze while you conjure up a response, “well for one, you are but there’s honestly nothing i can tell you that you don’t know already and there’s nothing i can possibly say to make you want to change - it has to come from you. or like, a professional that could help and if you think you need one, i’ll be with you all step-“

the brief scoff is what puts a rest to your racing thoughts while the smile on his lips put your heart at ease, “i’m not addicted to sex.”

“oh, okay.” is all you say, not seeing where the conversation is going as you watch the boy scratch the back of his ear, lips pulled into a pout - one way you know he’s trying to strum words into existence. and when he does, confused is an understatement to describe what your face is portraying.

“okay, i’m saying if and if you’re looking for a husband, no, scratch that, would you even introduce someone like me to your parents?” but that’s the thing, you’re not confused because you don’t know where this is going but you’re confused because you don’t pretend to be oblivious.

but you’re also not a master at the art of heart-to-hearts and the gargantuan elephant that it brings. so you settle with a, “uh, i don’t know, you already know my parents, don’t know how i can reverse that and reintroduce you-“

“that’s not the point,” he blinks, the sight almost endearing as he freezes in his spot for a split second in contemplation of how to approach the matter and explain it to you who seem like you’re way off, “the point is-“

“i get it.” you nod, arms crossing over your chest as jungkook’s wide eyes peers into you like a mixture of relief anticipation.

“you do?”

“you’re worried if your future partner will be insecure about the bodies you’ve seen before them,” there’s a knock on the door just as you’ve finished speaking.

as you get up to get up to answer it, knowing already who’s there from the obnoxious chatters - more like argument - you’re not sure if your brain is playing tricks on you or if jungkook’s shoulder line really falls as well as his face.

but the, “uh, yeah, i guess,” is what makes you push the image of dimmed stars and downturned pink lips to the back of your mind as you unlock the door, welcoming the two halfway-into-a-deep-quarreling men and their two bags of take-away roasted chicken, chips, mashed potatoes and whatever else they thought necessary to fill the game night with.

“thanks, shortcake,” taehyung smiles at you after you take a plastic bags off his and jimin’s hands and proceed to place it on the coffee table.

“tae, you’re literally taller than everyone,” throwing him a side glance, you shrug as you begin taking out the packed chicken wings and placing it in front of jungkook while taehyung helps with unpacking the add-ons from another bag, “calling me short isn’t exactly an insult.”

“i’m just saying we should demolish mint chocolate chips all at once,” jimin plops down on the couch adjacent to jungkook, “and no, we can’t let these savages go eating them - we need to educate-“

somewhere in the middle of jimin’s colonial-esque speech, you turn to the boy who’s never said a word since the two came in. not that those too needed an additional converse partner with how taehyung is advocating for leaving mint chocolate chip eaters alone and jimin staying with his stance that these people haven’t had a taste of all flavors in the world yet.

the way he seems to look at something past your shoulders tells you enough - he’s still deep in his thoughts about settling down, or changing or whatever. you don’t know why exactly he wants to change his heartbreaker ways but- “there’s nothing wrong with two adults having a - or multiple - consensual sexual relationship prior to finding their significant other. and if they have a problem with that then that’s something they need to work on, not you so no, i don’t think you should change anything unless you want to.”

it’s some days later that taehyung brings up the remnant of the conversation he overheard before the four of you began arguing about what movie to watch and ended up putting the fate of humanity in rock paper scissors. and so you tell him, without ever thinking of the one thing that spurred his ridiculous thought and the hesitance of pouring it onto you.

“don’t look at me, i’m not snitching.” jimin’s round, disbelieved eyes stares back at taehyung as though surprised the latter would ever think he’d do such a thing.

“okay but someone’s gotta tell her.” taehyung lowly mumbles, upper body turned to jimin, gracing you with his beautiful side profile - whoever gets to date him will forever be the lucky one.

“guys, i’m literally right here.” the sound of your voice warrants a turn of heads and a wide-eyed stare as though they’re seeing your ghost rather than your physical form that entered and picked a spot together with them.

it takes a moment for the elephant to settle somewhere in the corner and crush you with its invisible weight before taehyung turns to you, hand behind his mouth as he fake coughs into it. then, another moment for you to register taehyung’s words as you watch his mouth move and his gaze trained on you like a father teaching his daughter a life-lesson before he lets her out into the world. once his mouth stops moving and a second passes for you to take in the information, only two words leave your lips.

“you trippin’,” with a half-manic smile and brows knitted together, you look almost like you’re made for the asylum- but understandably, your admittance is overdue.

as your heart palpitate inside the confines of your rib cages and the scene from that night replays at the back of your eyes like a broken record - jungkook’s hesitant glance, the windows to his soul shutting tight with hesitance and the teeth that traps his lower lips as though his body is forbidding him to say whatever his heart and mind wanted - as much as it pains you to admit it, the signs were all there.

you just didn’t want to admit it.

that’s what pining over a best friend you’ve known for over a decade does.

the denial that comes after realizing you don’t want anyone else to touch jungkook when im nayoung stood on her tippy toes and pecked jungkook’s lips before running off with a flustered expression - you were both in elementary and jungkook was more into sleepovers with the abundance of plushies you had than hanging with ‘other kids’.

then comes the ugly head of self-loathing and guilt as you fixed park jihyo a smile as jungkook introduced you two. one, as his girlfriend and the other, his best friend.

both, in love with him.

it’s ugly and disgusting, jealousy that is. but you’re uglier for smiling and laughing with jihyo over the things you would with a best friend who’s a girl - there were things you couldn’t share with jungkook as a girl. but you’d let your eyes linger a second too on them as they shared a peck when he’d meet you too in front of the school gate after his extra class was over - you lost count of the times you wished you were her.

you carried the pathetic little mask of a smile to uni. by then, jungkook had broken up with jihyo. there was a lot of tears and consoling and empty words of assurance.

“hey, if you guys are meant to be, you’ll meet again someway somehow.” you’d fixed her an encouraging smile as your heart bloomed with hope for when you’ll get jungkook’s attention all to yourself once you start uni.

getting into the same one had been pure luck.

it didn’t bring you far though. jungkook started gaining attention for his friendly nature and bunny smile that attracted both males and females. it wasn’t long until he’s bringing you to parties where he’d keep you by his side because he knew you didn’t know most of these people. tried to get you involved in the conversation but there was nothing interesting about the dude who drank himself silly and woke up in front of an old lady’s door butt naked or about that girl who woke up a five minutes before class in a city an hour away from where her dorm is.

well, at least, none of them seemed like jungkook’s type. he never had a girlfriend throughout his years in uni though he had plenty of other experiences that makes you wonder what in the world he hasn’t tried yet.

being in a relationship, is probably the only thing he hasn’t done.

jungkook liked kind people. ones that didn’t point at a random person and say an offhanded comment and collectively laugh about it. someone that laughs and smiles a lot because and didn’t have a single bad bone in their body.

liked.

because you don’t know what kind of person jungkook likes now. but you never thought him asking a hypothetical question from what seems like another person's perspective about his lifestyle would be, as taehyung calls it-

“i’m telling you,” he slams a hand on the table, a loud pap! resonating in the air but he doesn’t seem bothered by the pain - if there is any - as his eyes bore into you, “that was jungkook shooting his shot!”

“i don’t know,” you take a sip from the metal straw of your matte black tumbler for the sake of doing something, “it doesn’t feel real but i can kind of see it?”

“take it for what it is, love,” the pull of his eyebrows together couldn’t have been more frustrating, “jungkook has every reason to have the fattest crush on you - i mean look at you, you’re funny, adorable and nicer than all his friends combined.”

jungkook has multiple friend groups he hangs out with. funny how you started out as duos and merged into a quadruplet and ended up being that friend group that jeon jungkook doesn’t really look like he fits in but he’s probably hanging out with you guys from time to time because you’d known each other the longest. or so word has it.

“that’s basically everyone who’s not his friends.” with an eye roll, you wrap your mouth around the straw. this time, for the sake of hiding the smile that threatens to bloom on your face as it is in your heart.

and that’s how you find yourself in more than one ‘don’t you dare’ moments. jimin has begun randomly pointing out something about your hair accessory to your clothes to your fucking strawberry printed socks.

to prove a point, he said.

“hey beautiful,” oh, and he’s resorted to calling you all the adjectives in the world - but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t work in making jungkook’s face scrunch in displeasure for the briefest moment as he glances at jimin as though he’s an adjective away from beating the man into a bloody pulp, “nice shirt.”

despite knowing the comment is every bit staged - and probably doesn’t mean that your minnie and mickey mouse shirt is anywhere compliment-worthy, you still look down at the two mice, one kissing the other on the cheek.

the “uh, thanks,” couldn’t have been more dubious and skeptic.

and so begins jimin’s not-so-secret mission to bring jungkook’s attention to you.

“isn’t the stickers on ___’s mac cute, jungkook?”

jungkook skims at the grizzly, panda and ice bears scattered across your mac before breaking into a smug smirk, “of course they are, i bought them for ___.”

you can almost hear jimin and taehyung high-fiving on the row behind you just as the professor walks in.

while jungkook seems to oblivious to it all, eyes trained to the display on the on the front, you allow yourself to indulge in the heat that seeps through your pores and warms your heart.

it’s not like jungkook stopped going to parties.

but finals season is almost upon you and he’s been hanging out with you more. sitting next to you in class while jimin and taehyung dozes off at the back.

“they sleep in class just to spend hours on end studying at the library,” jungkook huffs, eyebrows knitting together adorably as he stresses over your two friends’ stamina for sitting in one place for six hours straight and only needing a bottle of water at their disposal, “i mean, why can’t they just focus in class so they don’t have to study a whole semester’s worth of syllabus in the last minute and drag us into it?”

the six hour mark ended and they’re out getting some snacks for you to secretly munch on until the library closes.

“i mean,” you begin, eyebrows jolting upwards at the more-than-obvious fact he’s supposed to already know, “you technically came here with your own free will, you’re free to leave whenever you want.”

another sigh hits the air as the boy slams his onto the book he has open in front of him, “yeah, but i need to study to pass and i needed you guys to push me,” he laments.

ever since then, there’d been far too many moments of where you’re stuck with jungkook to wait for the two non-time-abiding asses. at first, excuses like ‘sorry we’re late, we were getting mcdonald’s’ or some other poor fast food restaurants’ name that became the patsy, but they started dwindling to ‘oh hey, sorry, we didn’t notice the time’ and eventually a ‘hey, jimin’s got a meeting with a professor and he’s my ride so you guys go first’.

and before you know it, finals pass and you’re visiting your hometown while jungkook stuck around for a part-time job with taehyung whilst jimin drops off the face of the earth after having mentioned that he’s going on a family vacation at some private island with apparently the worst wifi connection ‘like ever.’

the two now-co-workers keep spamming the group chat with pictures of them in their uniforms, holding different drinks which they personally every time. when you’re staying over with your grandmother, it’s your turn to spam pictures of her great black cat who seem to only like sitting in her lap and glaring at you in every picture you take of the two watching tv together. almost as if he had a sixth sense when it comes to cameras.

“when are you coming back?” jungkook grumbles from the other end of line.

you’ve just got a shower and he’s just got home from a night shift. he’s probably haven’t even taken off his jacket yet when he proposed calling you like the sporadic times you both did throughout the break.

“i don’t know. i don’t feel like going back maybe even until the ceremony,” you confess, half-meaning it. the gardening, and saying hello’s to everyone you see while buying groceries because everyone knows everyone here, and the best-tasting cookies your grandma make, and waking up to her cat suffocating you in your sleep, isn’t so bad.

“i’m dying here,” he sighs, sounding more relaxed and probably lying on his bed now, “if i have to insist that i can’t ‘reheat’ coffee and can only make a new one and end up having to hide in the kitchen for five seconds to pretend like there’s a secret microwave only for coffees,” he says all in one breath before letting a suspenseful silence hang in the air and then finally revealing the next big thing he’ll do, “i’m seriously going to spit in their coffee while in the kitchen pretending to reheat it with an invisible microwave.”

the laughter that tumbles out of your mouth is probably ugly and you probably snorted a couple times but jungkook doesn’t seem to notice. or care as he keeps insisting ‘i’m really gonna do it’ whilst you end up laughing until your stomach hurts and tears begin to prick your eyes.

“is this the same regular that like, wants their coffee like super hot?” you finally manage to ask, traces of laughter still threatening to spill from your lips.

“yeah,” his sounds impressed, “how’d you know?”

“tae told me,” you make an incredulous face and shrug even though he can’t see, “you do realize you work at the same place, right?”

“yeah but i never see him talk about it in the group but i probably missed it-”

“oh no,” your hand goes up in a dismissive wave, “we talk on the phone and he told me about it.”

“you guys talk on the phone too?” there’s a strain in his voice, possibly out of surprise.

“yeah, like every day.” you say, tongue subconsciously lapping over your bottom lip.

“oh,” is all he says for the longest moment before chirping out the billion dollar question, “why aren’t we talking every day?”

“i don’t know,” your shoulder line rises, almost swallowing your neck as a war breaks out within yourself, “we did try at the beginning of break but you always had a party to go to so...”

“oh,” this ‘oh’ is a little bit dejected and perhaps hits a little different before he continues, “i don’t go to those anymore.”

this time, it’s your jaw that falls. your voice is small, almost as though cautiously teetering on tightrope as you ask, “...why not?”

“i just didn’t see the point of going anymore you know? once we graduate, i won’t even talk to these people anymore - but i wanna continue being friends with you guys.”

the ‘you guys’ meaning you, taehyung and jimin. the bros. the homies. it’s no secret that he probably sees you all as the same gender, not a guy nor a girl but just friends.

well. it’s not the first time jungkook’s friendzoned you.

“that’s great,” you can’t help but nod even though you know he can’t see you, “i wanna keep being friends with you too, jungkook.”

ever since then, you talk almost everyday. sometimes in three’s and when taehyung had a shift and jungkook got off his, it’d just be the two of you. and for the first time, in ages, it feels as though the ‘best’ in your friendship has somewhat reintroduced itself once more. jimin somewhat manages to get a connection somewhere along the way and the first thing he did was complain about the three digit number in a red bubble in the corner of the message app and then managing to get one picture of him in flowery trunks, and a baby monkey eating a banana perched on his shoulder with the beach in the background before disappearing for the rest of the month until two weeks before the graduation ceremony.

“so like, do you have anyone to pick you up?” jungkook asks from he other end of the line. he sounds more free since it’s the last day of his job.

“yeah,” you announce, attentiveness laced in your tone for your next words might be indicative enough, “my sister.”

“what.” he drags out the word in a disbelieving tone and it’s no secret why he’s doing that- “i haven’t seen you in ages! and you’re going to your sister’s? wait - this isn’t like a permanent thing right? we’ll get to hang out before the ceremony, right?”

it takes you a moment to register the series of questions he bombarded you with and before you know it, the silence has already turned your voice into a small and guilt-ridden, “um, yes and no?”

a groan.

“i haven’t seen seulgi in forever too and she kept nagging me to visit her during break but i never did so now she has like a whole week’s worth of itinerary planned out for us to do before the ceremony,” the excuse trickles out of your mouth hurriedly, “jungkook, i have to do this, or the next time we’ll meet it’s at my funeral and you’ll be talking to my dead carcass before they bury me.”

it takes a moment of anticipating silence before he grumbles out a “fine. but after that, you’re staying over at my place.”

“okay but i mean if we’re having stay over’s wouldn’t tae’s place be better since he has a whole ass apartment for himself?” you’re at that point where you’re discussing stay over arrangements before actually consulting the owner of the place.

“i guess,” his voice is a little lower and smaller but it revives at the mention of the new pizza place that just opened before you decided to invite the other two in the call to make plans to visit there.

when the day finally comes for you to don the royal blue robe and cap, you do so with barely enough grace and composure for someone who’s about to receive her blood sweat and tears on a stage all because you and your sister are - this must be karma for shading taehyung and jimin for being - a bunch of non-time-abiding asses.

the double doors are almost closed as you struggle with not tripping on your high heels whilst trying to keep your hair out of your face.

“where have you been?” you almost didn’t recognize the golden man who tapped you on your shoulder from behind.

“jimin! you made it!” is the first thing you say.

“rich coming from someone who barely got to her seat in time,” he gives you a once over and you’re not quite sure what he sees because your back which he’ll be looking most at is clad is oversized blue robe. but despite that, you reach out to give his hand a squeeze and he takes it with just as a tight, ‘we made it’ kind of squeeze before you turn to the chancellor that’s beginning his speech.

you’re not sure which row jungkook is at or if he even sees you and you read taehyung’s ‘i feel like a proud momma’ text because his major adds another year to his studies than you, jimin and jungkook.

the ceremony goes on without a hitch and you’d like to believe your picture is as perfect as your make up which your sister claims to be ‘out of this world!’ - only because it’s her that did it.

“so you guys talk everyday?” jimin pulls you into him, a smile gracing his beautifully tanned skin as he steals a glance at something behind your shoulders - possibly jungkook whom you saw was being swarmed by his friends to take pictures with.

“yeah, i guess,” you casually say with a shrug.

“it’s true, i was there,” taehyung comes up next to you, replacing jimin’s arms with his in a side hug.

“man, i really wish i witness it all,” jimin grumbles, “but the connection on that island was shitty.”

“i’m sure you connected in different ways,” the taller man adds, a strain in his voice which the shorter doesn’t seem to notice as he try to wave off the belatedly relayed fact that his family is a different kind of family.

like the kind that invites sex workers and other business colleagues alike to enjoy themselves for as long as they wanted, as long as the park family was there.

“okay but how long is he going to take?” jimin quizzes, eyebrows soaring whilst you and taehyung follow his gaze to the growing size of people a few feet away who clearly look like they’re here for a photoshoot than a simple graduation ceremony, “my parents kinda skipped work to see me go on stage and get a piece of paper they paid a lot for so i kinda want to get the family pic done before i go to my second family...”

time doesn’t seem to stop like they do in the movies. it happens all too fast, in fact - jimin’s voice fading into the background, the countdown of the person taking the picture of the group of graduates jungkook’s in starting from three, two, one! and a girl with the prettiest curls that seem to bounce as she turns around and stick her tongue into jungkook’s mouth.

it must have been your uncanny silence that draws the attention of the two boys and a ‘oh shit...’ from one of them - you’re not sure who even though taehyung and jimin has two distinctly sounding voice.

all you’re sure of is the involuntary movements of your feet as they carry you away from the scene. your eyes are dry but that’s probably only because your brain hasn’t registered what exactly happened though deep down, you’re perfectly aware of the fact that those daily calls, the spams of good mornings and randomly sending each other selfies were nothing more than exchanges between two people who were onlu ever connected through a childhood bond that got translated into best friendship just because there was no other name for knowing someone for so long even though you probably stopped being friends first year of college.

“___! wait!” someone calls for you and you wish it so badly to be jungkook but you know better than to expect for the impossible. a modern day fairy tale.

“hey, don’t cry. jungkook’s a fucking dick,” the tall stature that finally caught up to you and trapped you in his arms, whispers. gentle, understanding and pitiful.

it’s not just the comforting warmth, it’s also the hand that’s rubbing your back that you know is probably jimin’s that makes you break out into your first sob. whilst the day isn’t exactly free of tears, those who did shed them did it out of gratitude and a sort of ‘i did it’ kind of relief but not you.

today, your cheeks are marred by the excruciating pain of a heartbreak. you might as well tear your chest open, take out the beating organ and hand it over to jungkook so he could crush them with his own two hands.

maybe it’d hurt less.

somewhere amidst your fit, you choke on your laughter as you catch the two bickering.

“that’s not how you comfort a crying lady, taehyung, what the fuck?” jimin doesn’t hold back with his colorful words.

“what? what did i do?” the taller man sounds all the more confused but still pass you on to the shorter one like a gift basket when a hand pulls you into another pair of arms.

a hand patting your head as jimin murmurs, “there, there, you’re going to be okay, sweetie,” he hugs you just a tad bit tighter as though to say i promise, “you’re young, you’re beautiful and you just graduated with honors. in five years you won’t even remember your little crush for jungcockhead.”

you would have laughed if not for the shadow in your periphery stopping dead in its trek just a few feet away from you and close enough to hear every word jimin uttered in his attempt to placate your rising desire to flee the scene.

“what?” even a simple syllable is enough to tell you who the voice belongs to. perhaps it’s because you’ve heard it in real life and on the phone countless times and countless more during the span where he worked sporadic shifts and you were gardening and getting scratched by your grandmother’s cat that you tried relentlessly to befriend.

“nothing, jungkook.” you wish it was you who said it but it’s jimin who’s hugging you tighter like a mother comforting their heartbroken child, “why don’t you go back to your girlfriend and stick your face where it’s actually wanted?”

almost as though physically slapped in the face.

with a brick.

jungkook’s shoulder line jolts as he flinches, brows knitting together as you can almost see the rewind of the moment your heart gets split in two. she has the prettiest, softest tanned complexion, luscious curls and body that fits the definition of a glowed-up.

he takes one step forward but stops when you shrink into jimin’s arms, almost as though seeking protection. but it takes everything in you not to run to him and make up an excuse about feeling hot and stuffy and that being the reason you left, when the crestfallen expression mars his otherwise ever-smiling features.

“that wasn’t what you thought it was-” you could almost swear he chokes at the end of his words but the pause is too short to tell, “i left her as soon as i saw you running off.”

“oh my god, cut the bullshit! this isn’t the first time and this won’t be the last. don’t talk to ___, don’t even look at her, douchebag,” the rumble of jimin’s voice vibrates against you as he pokes taehyung in the rib, making the boy cry out in pain.

the assaulted man has half a mind to ask for further instructions when he turns to you and jimin but decides against it, squaring up his shoulders and placing a warning hand, “just leave, man. ___ clearly doesn’t wanna talk to you right now.”

“ever.” jimin half-shouts.

those deep brown eyes search for yours as though holding on the last strand of what you call best friendship - hoping, wishing that it isn’t true. but as soon as they find your puffy eyes, you throw your gaze to the ground, finding the crack in the asphalt in a better state than your heart.

you can only imagine jungkook’s face falling at your refusal to affirm the strength of years’ worth of friendship. because the fact of the matter is, you’re not so sure if you want to keep pretending to be oblivious as he wraps his arms around another person and kiss them like he means it.

“___,” the bed dips as you feel the weight of the blanket get yanked off you. seulgi’s sweet peaches perfume filling your senses, “get up, it’s been days since you had an actual meal.”

“i’m not hungry,” you grumble against the pillow just as your stomach starts making the most monstrous sound ever existed in history of mankind.

“yeah right,” she scoffs but her hand on your arm is warm and soothing, “come on, please eat something - i’m saying ‘please’ here and you know i never say ‘please’. people say ‘please’ to me.”

you can’t help but laugh at that. seulgi’s never truly begged anyone for anything in her entire life. she would have asked once and left you be until you were done moping around over jungkook getting with jihyo. it was after you did get over your first heartbreak, did she get you ice cream and you’d spent the night in her room with fairy lights and forts, watching the notebook.

“don’t let a boy hurt you like that again, ___, promise me.” she held up a pinky, and yours felt like a ton of weight just dropped over you.

in the end, you hooked your pink with hers and made a promise of sisterhood.

but she hadn’t been there when you needed your off days in college when rumors started spreading about jungkook and a different girl every week.

the wounds to your ever bleeding heart don’t heal. but you got used to picking yourself up and you got better at that with that one class you failed, that one presentation you blew, the humiliating mistake you made in front of your supervisor and every time after that. seulgi had her own ways to deal with problems and you had yours - or maybe patching yourself up after a fuck up was more of your forte.

who knows?

“what’s for dinner?”

“really?” at your inquiry, the face you thought would light up like a christmas tree - doesn’t. if anything, she bites her bottom lip just like you just caught her red-handed for doing something you probably won’t like.

“what?” you ask plainly, at this point, you won’t even be surprised if she said the sky is falling.

it’s not.

but her next words are far more foreboding than the end of the world, “look, jungkook came over like he always did everyday since that day and today i wanted him to stop coming for good so i told him if you at least have the energy to get some food, i’d let him see you,” her eyes glimmer with a sort of remorse that you can’t even hold her against.

“then can’t you tell him i still don’t wanna eat?” is what you say, completely unperturbed or rather not registering the fact that your best friend whom you’ve been in love with for as long as you can remember is in your sister’s living room because he probably heard about your hunger strike.

but the only problem is, he’s not in the living room-

“he’s right outside the room. i told him he can stand there and see for himself how bad he fucked you over so he’ll feel bad enough to leave you alone.” she says in a hurried whisper, eyes glancing to the half-agape door every second.

a spark lights up inside you, like smolders blown by wind and flares into flames, “seriously? you couldn’t talk to me first about it?”

her eyebrows furrow as her mouth opens and closes for a moment before she confesses, “...i didn’t think you’d say yes to lunch.”

“whatever just-” you tear your gaze away from your sister’s involuntary puppy eyes just so you wouldn’t end up clawing them out yourself, “...just go, seulgi.”

for the longest yet briefest moment, the only thing you can hear in the room is your steady breathing. the flame still burns but it doesn’t flare into a raging fireball. and you know full well it probably isn’t easy for jungkook to pass to through the door after having heard how you reacted when you found out he’s just outside.

when he does, he doesn’t even hide the way his doe eyes shine with something you can’t pinpoint as he takes you in. all of you. with your mused, oily hair and three day’s worth of hoodie and puffed eyes.

“hey,” he murmurs ever so softly, the bed dipping where seulgi sat.

you echo the same greeting back but with a hoarser voice compared to his velvet one.

“so, what do you want for dinner?” he begins, cautious eyes finding yours.

“i don’t want it anymore,” is all you say as you shrug casually.

“oh.” he sounds fragile. nothing at all like the self-assured jeon jungkook you’ve come to know.

silence fills the room like a big, blue elephant. seconds stretch on into minutes and you find yourself leaning against the headboard, drawing invisible patterns over the sheets while jungkook-

you don’t know what he’s doing. he could be fiddling with his fingers like how 10-year-old him would whenever you met at your favorite spot after a fight. but you’re both no where near 10 and if there’s any traces of the boy you once called your best friend, it’s probably only his appearance that’s never really changed.

either way, you don’t dare to even steal a glance his way.

“i like you too.”

the words hit the air like a drop of water that vaporized faster than what science dictates it too. you almost thought you were hearing things if not for the way he looks at you. as though waiting for something. anything.

“i...” you trail off before shaking your head, almost as though coming to your senses, “i can’t do this.”

jungkook laughs awkwardly, hand scratching the back of his head, “yeah, i understand - i’m sorry i- i just wanted to make sure you’re fine and then i got carried away- i should leave.”

but before he takes a step towards the door, you call for him, “jungkook, wait.”

“i’m leaving for japan in two days,” you finally let the cat out of the bag.

“what?” comes out a second later - you don’t dare to look up from your hands to see what kind of emotion he’s making.

but he at least deserves an explanation, “for the longest time, i feel fucked up because i get so jealous of the girls that dated you...” taking a deep breath, you continue, “but i know it’s because i think i’m not enough-”

“you are - you’re more than enough,” the interjection is what makes you look up involuntarily, if not to confirm it yourself - the knitted eyebrows and heartbroken gaze proves it and then the sinking realization settles in, “but you don’t believe me.”

you shake your head, a bitter smile on your lips, “i’m not enough for me and that’s something i have to work with.”

“by running away?” his voice rises to the ceiling, confusion and frustration pooling in his eyes.

“by finding myself,” you correct, “you know like how people go to a different country and come back a different person except i’m hoping to find that person.”

“in japan,” he sounds like he’s a word away from hooking you up with a specialist - not that you haven’t thought of one but-

you laugh and he looks at you like he’s stuck in the middle of a never ending maze, “my mom’s planning to visit my aunt in japan and since i’m officially unemployed i guess, i’m tagging along.”

“oh,” his shoulder line sags as he sighs in relief, “so like a vacation.”

it tenses back up when you say, “i might look for a job there.”

“you’re permanently moving to japan?” jungkook’s body seems to be here but his conscience seems to have flown out - probably to japan.

you want to laugh but it doesn’t seem like a proper setting for it. especially when you’re confessing to your crush that you like him but also subtly admitting that he’s partly the reason you’re leaving the life you know for a new one. and you might not even do it willingly.

“i might find a job with a branch company in korea - work there for a year and then transfer here,” you shrug, “i don’t know.”

“i-is this because-” he starts but you shake your head.

“yes and no?” you say, “none of this is your fault but i’m projecting my frustrations onto you and this isn’t healthy... i need- i need to go away for awhile and figure myself out.”

and that’s how jeon jungkook finally comes to the realization that nothing’s been the same. you haven’t been the best friend you prided yourself to be for a long time and that best friend completely disappeared in second year of college after he started spending nights at parties and only lunches with you. until eventually, you’re stuck in a habit - a cycle that you can’t break from until something dramatic or life changing happens.

and so it goes, he sees you off at the airport with taehyung and jimin. unsure of whether they were still friends after they’d deliberately stopped him from running after you on your graduation day, they were the first to approach him. they understood that it’d only be worse if he chased after you but they didn’t hate him - dislike him at times when - as they called it - he was so damn clueless, yes but they didn’t hate him. and that was a relief.

nothing major changed. he moved in with taehyung and jimin and even got a job at the same company as jimin. you went off radar but still kept in contact every once in awhile - it was like that time jimin went to that private island except you had all the reception you needed, just not the time to text as much as you used to.

job hunting was tough and he understood the competition. when you got a job, you were plagued with a newbie’s role, having to do overtimes to finish up work that was piling before they gave you that position.

then one year turned to two and two years turned to three. jungkook became a manager while jimin took up the position as a secretary in their rival company - it’s funny because everyone at the office would shit-talk him and they would make fun of those people as they drink into the night.

jungkook lost contact with most of his party friends - they were great with hooking him up with a potential client but besides that, he was basically living the workaholic life with his two apartment mates as his only source of social interaction outside of work.

from meetings to gatherings to meetings and then private dinners with clients. the cycle goes on until that one evening where arrives at an invites-only event.

“jungkook, come here,” the director gestures him over and because there’s a server blocking his view, he only notices the girl standing in front of his superior, when he’s finally by his side.

“...a hardworker - every project he’s ever handled hits the internet like a boom!” the director was saying.

“ah jungkook,” the man taps him on his shoulder but he can barely feel it when his eyes are trained on you, stunning in that deep toned dress and new hairstyle, “meet ___, you guys will be working on the twin tower project together.”

“so you’re back for good?” he asks when you’re finally alone, lingering at the balcony and away from your superior’s eyes.

“not quite - i still have to fly to japan every week,” you shrug casually.

“oh,” he nods.

“you look great by the way,” he adds a moment later, scuffing his foot against the floor.

you can’t help but giggle at how boyish he is, even at the age of 25, he still acts like a child, “thanks - you don’t look half bad yourself.”

he echoes a “thanks” as well before throwing his gaze over the magnificient view of the cityscape. artificial lights from the buildings appear like stagnant fireflies. it’s sad that they’re the reason you can’t see stars anymore.

but fate is too cruel.

because hoseok, your partner is calling you over - a couple of middle aged people standing next to him, smiling that mechanical smile that isn’t any different from your business smile.

“i gotta go,” you sigh but shoot him one last melancholy smile, “i’ll see you this monday?”

“yeah, see you this monday.” jungkook smiles a smile that says he’s not so sure where you stand. colleagues. ex-best friends. acquaintances?

with a wave goodbye, he watches as you strut to the couple, transforming into a woman so sure of every gesture, even a smile and a throw of your head back as you laugh. everything you do, every movement you make is mesmerizing.

and he knows he’s not the only one who thinks so as he watches your partner gaze at you with eyes that doesn’t seem to see anyone else but you. laughs at something you say as if he’s completely enchanted.

jungkook turns around, hand propped on the railing as he takes a sip of the wine he’s been holding. without realizing it, a smile slips onto his face, he makes a mental note to check your company’s dating policy.

most forbid office romances anyway.

note. i’ve had this in the draft for forever! and thought i was never gonna finish this but i somehow got a burst of inspiration yesterday and here we are! hope yall enjoyed!

#bts smut #jungkook smut #bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #jungkook fic #bts fic #jungkook fanfic #bts fanfic #bts au #jungkook au #bts fluff #excerpt from a fic i'll never write

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yellowocaballero · 3 years

Text

Hey wouldn’t it be funny if I wrote a crossover between canon and the roleswap AU.

So I did <3. There’s no reason for this to exist, I was just bored and self-indulgent and amused myself by thinking about how fucking insane the Space Cadet team has to be in comparison to canon. This takes place at S4 Canon!Jon’s time, and basically between chapters 2 and 3 of solitaire. It is not canon. Do not think too hard about it. Enjoy. Story under the cut.

“Yes, in almost every way.” Jon wiped his mouth with a napkin, balling it up and dropping it on the table. “Jonathan Sims, thirty one years old, Aquarius. Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute. The Archivist.” He paused a beat, uncertain of how to broach this. “I think Helen may have deposited me in an alternate dimension? Best case scenario.”

Everybody stared at him blankly.

“Well,” Basira said finally, “sounds like the kind of bullshit you get yourself wrapped up in, Jon.”

“I knew it!” Sasha cried, before deflating. “I mean, I didn’t, really, not at all, but that’s fascinating! Will you answer some questions? Who’s the Queen in your universe?”

“I’m back from the dead for a week and my life’s already stupid again,” Tim said blankly.

“Two Jons?” Martin asked, far too excitedly.

“Can I leave you alone,” Melanie gritted out, between clenched teeth, “for five minutes?”

Jon woke up at his desk, which was so common that it was somewhat pathetic.

Not that a lot of things weren’t pathetic about Jon, but seeing as he no longer technically had anywhere to live he’d give himself a pass. Or was it pathetic to be homeless too? Jon felt strongly as if it was, but he was working on the judgemental thing. Martin had always -

Martin. Jon blinked blearily at his empty desk, scrubbing a little at the sleep that had accumulated in the corner of his eyes. Right. Speaking of pathetic. Jon didn’t like admitting that Martin was the first thing he thought about when he woke up and the last thing he thought about before he went to bed, but he was working on being more honest with himself. Denial about the situation didn’t do anyone any favors. Denial was what made him start stalking and hunting people like - like some sort of awful predator. No more denial. Jon knew who he was, and he knew what he was, and he was going to try and be as good a person as he can be despite it. It was the least he could do.

Wait. Why was his desk empty?

It wasn’t completely empty. There was a laptop on the center of it, and some assorted papers stuck haphazardly underneath. The usual recorder was tucked into the corner, clicked off. He swiped his hand over the trackpad of his laptop, quickly logging in, and instead of seeing his usual research or theory maps, he saw...a video game?

Jon squinted at the video game. What was The Sims?

He looked around his office, well-lit with the harsh fluorescent lights. It was his office, complete with the couch on the far wall that Daisy had taken to napping on and the two walls of metal shelving that held filling boxes and collections of tapes. Several filing cabinets were lined up behind Jon, holding his favorite statements. Organized by Entity. He was quite proud of it.

But the Statements seemed to be gone. Some loose papers were always scattered around, slipping out of boxes or sitting in haphazard piles weighed down by tape recorders. None of them were there. Basira must have taken them. Jon stood up, moving around the desk to pull out a box and peer inside. Empty.

Some part of Jon’s brain, growing louder every day, wailed and gnashed its teeth that someone had stolen his Statements, his knowledge. Most of Jon was just worried over what Basira could possibly be doing with them.

Unconsciously, Jon’s hand drifted down to his stomach. It was purely a habit, of course - the hunger never gave him stomach pains. He was so hungry all the time, he could barely feel it anymore.

The Statements were all gone.

Was Basira trying to starve him out…?

Jon shook himself. She wouldn’t - well, she wouldn’t go behind his back to do it. She knew that he’d just start preying on people -

His life had gotten so pathetic.

A loud crash and a yell echoed from the other side of the door, and Jon recognized Melanie’s voice. He winced, and decided to stay in his office for the time being. Best to stay out of her way. She always reacted somewhat explosively to him -

Then the faint, muffled tones of Martin’s voice echoed through the door, and Jon forgot all hesitation as he burst out of his office.

The bullpen was just slightly different from where Jon had seen it last - the desks arranged differently, different detritus scattered around, no sleeping bags or hair dryers - but he wasn’t paying attention to any of that. He was only paying attention to Martin, who was sitting at his desk as easy as you please. He was smiling.

Jon hadn’t seen Martin smile in so long.

He also hadn’t seen Martin wear those adorable little sweatervests in so long, but that wasn’t important right now. Jon cried out softly, like he had been punched - he did feel as if he had been punched, it wasn’t an unfamiliar sensation - and Martin turned slightly in his chair to look at him. He smiled when he saw Jon, so kind and happy and Martin, and Jon felt like he was dying at the sight of Martin just smiling, just looking at him.

“Look, you don’t need to worry about me,” Martin was saying, to an unamused and remarkably composed Melanie. He held up a large combat knife, the metal glinting off the fluorescent lights. “Jon likes it.”

“See, it’s not you I’m worried about,” Melanie said, arms crossed. She was dressed - in her jeans and green flannel, like she used to. Her hair looked clean. The crop top, cut-off shorts, and fishnets, that Jon hadn’t seen her take off in the last month, where - “It’s poor Jon. He’s too desperate for affection to stand up for himself.”

“Jon, you okay?” Tim asked, sitting behind Martin and sipping a margarita. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

That was when Jon - hungry, tired, hallucinating - felt his legs give out. It was just in time, too. He collapsed to the ground just as Martin threw the knife, sending it whistling where his head had been half a second ago.

Then he hit his head on the floor, and blissfully fainted.

****

“ - she’s not his mother, it’s not Georgie’s job to make sure he eats.”

“It’s because Daisy isn’t here.” That was Basira’s voice, almost mournful. “Daisy always used to remind him to eat.”

“How did this guy make it to thirty again?” An unfamiliar voice asked.

“If it wasn’t for this ragtag bunch of lesbians, I would have killed him months ago,” Tim said, then paused a beat. “What? I’m owning up to my mistakes.”

“Remind me to give you a sticker later,” Melanie said dryly.

Jon opened his eyes, to see five faces crowded in front of him. They were all bending over him, identical expressions of mild intrigue on their faces as they bickered with each other. Martin looked very, very mildly concerned, as Melanie and Basira just looked exasperated. Tim - and the woman - who was the woman?

Instinctually, Jon reached out with his mind and sought the answer. But it was as if he was reaching with a limb that had been cut off. No, a limb that had never existed. Dazed, Jon lifted his real hand, if only to make sure that he could still move - and found himself staring at an unmarred, smooth, healthy hand.

“Martin didn’t cut it off,” the woman said helpfully. She had a thick mane of curly brown hair, and brown skin a similar shade to his. She was holding a granola bar, and she easily stuffed it in his outstretched hand. “If that was a concern or anything. When’s the last time you ate, Jon?”

The question spent a spike of anxiety through him, Jon instantly interpreting it as an accusation. The granola bar wasn’t going to do anything. Of course he was hungry, he’s always hungry -

Jon wasn’t hungry.

Jon sat up, letting the assorted people, both alive and dead, step away. He mechanically unwrapped the granola bar and stuffed it in his mouth, chewing lethargically. It didn’t taste like sawdust and cement. It tasted like salt, and nuts.

He swallowed the granola bar, forming a hypothesis. He looked at Basira, who at least was the most familiar here. It galled him even having to ask, not just knowing, but - “What year is it?”

She stared at him, unimpressed. “If you hit your head we’re taking you to C&E. We can’t afford for you to get any stupider, Jon.”

“Your concern is noted,” Jon said, strained.

“Don’t make fun of him, he’s a concussion victim,” Melanie scolded. She smiled at Jon - hideously novel. “It’s 2018. I’m calling Georgie and getting you home, you’re useless to us with a brain injury.”

He no longer had a hypothesis. Jon shook his head mutely. The last person Jon wanted to field questions from was Georgie. “I’m fine,” Jon said hoarsely. “I think I just need to - lie down a bit.” And not look at Tim. He was wearing a Hawaiian shirt, and was still slurping his margarita obnoxiously. He was leaning against a desk, somewhat heavily. “I’ll be fine.”

Everybody looked at each other, then shrugged. Melanie reached down and helped him up, gently pushing him towards the couch set up in the corner of the bullpen, and he found himself stumbling towards it and lying down. Martin loudly offered to nurse him back to health, which incentivized Basira and Melanie to quickly push him inside the recording room and lock the door for...some reason. Jon wanted to go talk to Martin, figure everything out with him. But he didn’t - paralyzed, or maybe just frightened, or maybe just very tired.

The knife he had thrown was still lying on the floor, somehow innocently. The woman picked it up, inspecting it closely, and sighed.

“There is something off about that guy.”

“None of them are ever going to believe you, Sash,” Tim said dully, flipping through a brightly colored magazine on his desk. Jon’s breath caught in his throat. “Melanie thinks it’s freakier if you haven’t stabbed anyone.”

This was it. This was when Tim would say, ‘Everybody wants to stab Jon’, or something. It’d be fair. If this was a dream, a fantasy of dead friends, then that’s what he would say. But he didn’t. Tim - strangely small, strangely gaunt, with hollow cheeks that reminded Jon a little of Daisy - didn’t look up at Sasha, flipping through his magazine, and Sasha avoided eye contact with him. She looked at Jon instead, from where he was lying on the couch, and gave him a strained smile.

Jon found the courage to speak to her. It should have felt familiar, like Sasha, but nothing about her was familiar. He had listened to her tapes a dozen times, any scrap of her voice he could find, but - well, everybody sounded different on the tapes. “Sasha. Can you get me my phone? And a...Statement?”

Sasha brightened enthusiastically. “You want a Statement? Say no more, Jon, I’ll hook you up. Nice to see somebody taking an interest. Let’s keep this between you and me, okay?”

“What…?”

But she had already disappeared into his office, and the faint sounds of banging echoed throughout the room. Melanie and Basira were standing in the kitchenette, chatting lowly, Basira occasionally laughing at something Melanie said.

Jon wondered where Daisy was, and instinctively tried to reach again before hitting that wall. He gritted his teeth, head still swimming.

The most important thing was figuring out if this place was dangerous or not. Wherever he was, whatever was going on, he had to discern if it was a danger. Could this have anything to do with an unknown ritual? No, how could it? Elias? He wouldn’t put any of this past Elias.

With a twist in his gut Jon remembered the cannibal priest’s Statement. Any suspicion of unreality, any feeling as if things were not as they should be...or was this a pleasant, Lotus Eater’s dream instead? If that was true, would Martin be throwing knives at him?

“Here you go! First one I saw on your desk.”

Jon sat up, mutely taking the paper and phone Sasha held out to him. It wasn’t his mobile - it was much nicer and sleeker than his own battered thing - but he had to assume it was Jon’s. He took the Statement too, scanning it quickly.

Of course, of course. It was Anya Villete’s. Jon thought about this one frequently, captured by the prospect of multiple realities. Not worth the danger of exploring, but there was an intoxicating element of danger. Maybe the Jon that these people thought they were talking to had been reading it, and accidentally triggered something -

“What did I say!”

Before Jon could react, the paper was unceremoniously ripped from his hands. Jon cried out helplessly, only to see Melanie standing in front of him with an unamused expression and his lifeline in her uncaring fists.

“We’ve been over this,” Melanie scolded - scolded? “No statements, they’re bad for your tummy.” She frowned at Sasha, who didn’t seem very guilty. “And I told you to stop enabling him. He’s already sick, and you know these things upset him.”

“I’m gathering data,” Sasha said cheerfully. “Something weird was happening in his eyes when he was reading that Statement. Give it back, I need to record it.”

“Can I have that back, please?” Jon asked planatively. “I need it.”

“You do not.” Melanie folded up the statement tightly, shoving it in her jeans and ignoring Jon’s cry of despair. “If you’re feeling under-stimulated, go play knife monopoly with Martin. Otherwise relax and make sure you aren’t going to faint again.”

“I’m not going to -”

“I will call Georgie,” Melanie threatened, and Jon clicked his mouth shut. Melanie nodded, satisfied in having won the argument. If it was even an argument. “Sasha, if you let Jon find another Statement I will be locking the library and giving the key to Martin.”

“Yes, boss,” Sasha said, depressed.

“Tim, you’re with me, we need to design our plan of attack for chasing down Daisy,” Melanie barked, and Tim straightened in his seat. Jon saw for the first time that there was a folded up cane on his desk. “I need your dumb fear demon powers.”

“That’s not how they -” Tim started, but at Melanie’s look he quailed. “Yeah, boss.”

“Great.” Melanie folded her arms, frowning down at Jon, and at the receiving end of the look Jon found himself quailing too. “If you leave the Archives to do anything other than go to the bathroom the rest of the day, I will tell Georgie that you were exerting yourself while sick again. And she will call you a poor little dear and give you lots of hugs and lots of soup. You will hate it. Is that clear?”

“Yes, boss,” Jon said, depressed.

“Good. I need to go psychologically torment more people, I’ll be in the library. Tim!” She snapped her fingers, and strode off to the library as Tim scrambled up and limped after her.

Jon watched her go dazedly as the library door clicked shut behind her. Sasha sighed and went back to her desk, cracking open the thick books on the top and relaxing. They weren’t even research books, just nonfiction about the Mayflower. Basira was back at her desk too, this time with her chin resting on her arms folded on the desk as she watched a...movie. Was that a romcom?

This was dangerous. The situation was dangerous, doubtless the plot of some force or another that hated Jon personally and wanted him to suffer. He had to do some research, find out what was going on, track down Elias and find his power and dig into that source of infinite knowledge lying dormant in his mind, uproot every terrifying thing that hated him and shake them down for answers.

But he was more scared of Melanie. Just because she didn’t seem to have any knives on her didn’t mean that it was the case. Unless Martin had them all. So Jon lay back on the couch, rotely pressed in the passcode to his phone, and idly opened up the internet browser in complete comfort and relaxation.

The couch was so comfortable and soft, in fact, that Jon soon fell asleep. Easy and smooth, as if he really was still a human, who needed sleep at all.

And when Jon dreamed, he dreamed of blissful and restful nothing.

******

He woke up to someone shaking his shoulder, and Jon screamed himself awake as his eyes flew open.

But it wasn’t anybody dangerous, or anything willing to hurt him. It was just - Basira. Just Basira. Jon exhaled in relief, ignoring Basira’s incredulous expression.

“It’s five, we’re heading out. You feeling well enough for pub night, mate?”

They were going home. The strangeness registered first, the fact that Sasha was shrugging on a jacket and Melanie was stuffing a laptop in a backpack, before Jon remembered where he was. Or where he wasn’t. He mustered a faint smile for Basira, but judging from her frown it came out closer to a grimace.

Pub night. They were going out for drinks, then going to their own flats. Eating dinner. Sleeping. Waking up the next morning, then heading off to work. The mundanity boggled.

Maybe it was a Lotus Eater, Jon thought, dazed. A world where there were no Entities, no fears or harm. Where everybody was human, and happy.

Maybe. He hadn’t actually been allowed to look at any of the Statements, so he didn’t actually know. He couldn’t imagine that this group would be so casual if the Statements really were true.

Part of him wanted to beg off, curl up and sleep in document storage so he wouldn’t have to interact with these people for any longer. He was out of practice: these days he rarely had long conversations with anybody who wasn’t Daisy, and he hadn’t seen Daisy all day. Basira exchanged a few curt sentences with him each day. Melanie...cried and screamed, a lot. Not exactly conducive to social skills.

Sasha’s face was buried in a book, not even looking up as she navigated the desks. Tim was talking a patient Melanie’s ear off about Nietzche.

“I think I can make it,” Jon found himself saying. “Just a pint.”

Besides, he had the feeling that if he curled up in document storage Georgie would...be mad at him. Or something. They were flatmates? Or something?

They walked out the door in a herd, talking and laughing. Jon found himself hanging in the back of the group, next to Sasha. She wasn’t looking up from her book, so Jon felt safe in staring unabashedly at Tim. He was using a cane, just like Daisy had for two or so weeks right out of the coffin. He even used it in the same way: not favoring one leg or the other, using it for strength instead of balance. Muscle weakness. He was just as emancipated as Daisy had been too, in that particular corpse-like way that made him look like a zombie. His hair was long and lanky, brittle strands reaching to his chin instead of his normal lush and gelled look.

The faces in the lobby were the same - Sabrina behind the desk, Roy playing security guard - even as the decorations were different. No portrait of Jonah Magnus, or of the other directors. They broke out into the London street, as smoggy and crowded as ever, and Jon found himself trailing behind the others in a direct route to their usual pub. The same one he, Basira, Melanie, and Daisy go drinking at sometimes. Only sometimes. They went without him more often, but Jon didn’t blame them, really -

“Something on my face, mate?”

Tim’s wry voice startled Jon out of his reverie, and he flushed. Tim smiled at him, thinly and without humor, and gestured him forward as he dropped behind Melanie. Jon stepped forward, tucking his hands into his jacket, fighting the rising swell in his throat.

“You’ve been staring. I’m not that much uglier, am I?” Tim asked lightly, a parody of his old good humor. That, at least, was familiar - Tim’s fragile and brittle humor, tightly leashing rage.

“You...you look good,” Jon said. He buried his hands deeper in his jacket pockets, fighting the lump in his throat. He couldn’t stop himself from adding, “It’s good to see you again.”

It was probably a strange thing for Jon to say - but Tim just smiled, even more bitter than the last. “You’ve always been too nice for your own good, Sims.” First time that’s been said about him. “You forgive too easy.”

“Grudges...aren’t worth it, in my experience.” Jon exhaled slowly, watching Melanie’s red hair glint in the sunlight in front of him. “Life’s too short and all.”

“Really? Thought you people loved grudges.” Tim blinked a second, before clearly remembering something. “We love grudges, right. Still, Jon, I never really…” He trailed off awkwardly. “You know.”

He did not. “Right,” Jon said.

“Apologized,” Tim said hurriedly, when it became clear that Jon wasn’t about to say anything committal. “For trying to kill you all those times. Uh, and trying to get you arrested. And helping frame you for murder. And that whole kidnapping incident -”

Something began to occur to Jon. A rational thought seeped into his brain.

“In the woods,” Jon said slowly. “Because you thought I was a monster.”

Tim winced, confirming Jon’s suspicion. “Right. Trust me, I’ve had a lot of time to think, and I know I was wrong. I’ve turned over a new leaf and everything.” He brightened. “Did you hear I’m bisexual now?”

“Everybody heard you were bisexual now,” Basira said, bored. “Ten times.”

“Good for you,” Jon said, as sincerely as he could. “That’s...great. Bi rights.”

Tim beamed. “Bi rights!” He clapped Jon’s shoulder supportively with his other hand as Melanie held open the door to the pub for them, ducking inside. “Man, I never thought I’d see the inside of a pub again. I only got to go a few times with you guys before everything. Can Martin still hustle the room at pool?”

“One way to find out,” Martin said serenely.

“Please don’t start a pub brawl,” Melanie said, pained. “We’ve been kicked out of three places already, I don’t fancy making it a fourth.”

But when Jon looked backwards, he saw Sasha looking up from her book, staring directly at him, blinking owlishly.

They crowded into a corner booth, squishing up against each other and all talking at once. Jon wanted to drift towards Martin, get him alone and ask what was going on, but after one look at him eyeing up the pool cues speculatively he changed his mind. Only Basira was acting even remotely normal, so he settled for sliding in between her and Sasha. He was dizzy with the noise and the clamor of the familiar pub, overwhelmed by the familiar-unfamiliar tide of voices, and it was taking all of his energy not to spend hours just staring at Sasha, memorizing every line and crease of her face.

The first thing he did was order every single crummy, greasy, soggy serving of pub food he found on the menu, ignoring the way his Assistants laughed at him, before settling in the corner of the booth and pulling out his phone. Jon wasn’t even hungry - he wasn’t hungry - but he was shoving every soggy chip into his mouth until he puked. A human body was a drastically underrated thing.

Out of curiosity, Jon turned on the front camera of his phone and scrutinized his reflection. He had noticed that his hair was shorter, tied back in a puffed bun instead of his customary ragged ponytail, but beyond that he hadn’t checked.

He looked...good. No longer gaunt and malnourished, he was a healthy weight. No bags under his eyes. Well kept fade and modest, well trimmed facial hair. No scar over his throat, no circular worm scars. That was less of a surprise - Tim, Martin, and Sasha were all missing the worm scars.

His eyes were brown. Just brown. No electrifying green, no spinning iris, no churning wheel of knowledge. Just his normal, boring brown.

He hadn’t known how much he missed it.

As the others started arguing passionately about...vlogs? Or something?...Jon pulled out his wallet. Money had the same old Queen on it, along with his old collection of take-out receipts that had all started disappearing when he stopped eating. A photocopy of a picture of his parents, heavily worn and creased. Still an orphan, then. Jon missed the days when that was his biggest problem.

His driver’s license was the same as ever too. Same name - Jonathan Andrew Sims. Same birthday - February 14th, which he had always considered life’s practical joke on him. The United Kingdom still existed, which was either a good or a bad thing.

He replaced his wallet, ignoring Sasha’s curious stare, and pulled out his phone. He had only gone so far as making sure that major world events were the same before passing out. This time, he pressed his text messages, and scrolled down his most recents. As usual, it was only a few people - almost all of which were at this table - but there were a few other people too.

Georgie was the obvious one, and the most recent. He clicked on that conversation, unsurprised to see an immediate photograph of the Admiral looking angelic as he rolled around in some grass in a patch of sun.

Georgie: Baby at the park soaking in some rays!!! <3 <3 <3. I caught him terrorizing a stray dog. Naughty baby!!

Jon blinked at the message. The Admiral did seem a little...more evil, than he once did. Why were his eyes green? Underneath was Jon’s own text, sent twenty minutes before he had woken up that afternoon.

Jon: He’s committing atrocities and you’re laughing. You’re laughing.

Jon couldn’t fight a smile. He missed Georgie.

He switched over to the text conversation just underneath. He squinted at the contact name. That couldn’t be right.

Gerry: can u pick up milk from aldis? and scented candles

Gerry: for necromancy reasons

Jon: Can you raise the dead tomorrow? Helen said she wants to talk to me so I may be home late. If you don’t hear from me in five hours she’s likely kidnapped me. As a heads up.

Gerry: OH, SO LONG AS I HAVE THE HEADS UP?

Gerry: I’m making Georgie give Melanie the money to buy that toddler leash she’s always threatening to get for u. If u die im not resurrecting u.

Jon: Have fun with one less person to share the rent

Gerry: we dont PAY RENT

Gerard Keay. Jon blinked at the phone. That conversation raised as many questions as it answered. Gerard Keay was alive? He was Jon’s flatmate? He practiced necromancy? None of it seemed very relevant right now, but it made Jon wonder who else was resurrected from the dead. Was necromancy common in this universe, like knitting?

Still, Helen explained quite a bit. It also suggested what Jon was already wondering: that the supernatural was far from foreign. If Helen was supernatural, and not just...a jerk.

If Tim was an Avatar of the Hunt...if he had been in the coffin...and Daisy’s been hard to track down…

Jon was interrupted in his increasingly coherent train of thought by his food arriving, and all thoughts were thrown out the window. His basket of fish and chips slid in front of him, and he wasted absolutely no time in cramming the fries into his mouth three at a time, not wasting time salting or putting vinegar on them. They were dripping with crease, soggy and burning his tongue.

They were perfect.

The waiter, looking somewhat intimidated, slid his bacon butty on the table too, and Jon took barely a moment to swallow before stuffing that in his face too. Bacon, butter, brown sauce - it exploded on his tongue, a cavalcade of salt and seasoning. Increasingly terrified, the waiter put his pie and mash on the table and quickly fled, as Jon finished cramming the sandwich into his mouth before moving back to the fish. It was hot, crackling on his tongue, strong and fishy and perfect.

Jon looked up from his food long enough to grab a glass of water and gulp half of it down. It wasn’t until he put his glass down that he saw the looks on the faces of his Assistants. All of whom ranged from frightened to terrified.

Everybody except Martin, whose chin was propped on his hand and was sighing dreamily. “It’s really hot how you can pack it all away, Jon. Do you want to come over to my flat and let me cook for you? I’d make a lot of food. ”

Jon choked on his fish.

That was it for Sasha. She slammed her book down, expression intent, and jabbed a finger at a now wheezing Jon. “Jon would never choke at Martin’s creepy flirting! That isn’t Jonathan Sims!”

Jon stole Tim’s glass of water, ignoring his squawk, and downed that too.

Now everybody really was staring at him, and Jon felt heat rise to his cheeks. As the kids say, busted. He should probably stop eating and make his escape while he still could, before Tim decided to change his mind on his ‘murdering Jon’ stance.

But outside did not have pub food. Inside had pub food. Jon made his decision with the knowledge that, if his Assistants reacted from a reasonable place of Imposter-based trauma and killed him for pretending to be Jonathan Sims, he’d deserve it. He was not moving from this spot until his food was gone or his Assistants killed him.

Jon finished off Tim’s water, dropping it back on the lacquered table, and hoarsely said, “I’ve been having a very strange day.”

Nobody leaped for his throat or pointed a gun at him, which was always nice. It was more than Jon had been expecting. Instead, everybody looked at Melanie, who narrowed her eyes. Jon realized, a second too late, that they were waiting for her. Whatever happened to him, Melanie would decide.

...why Melanie?

Melanie rested her elbows on the table, steepling her fingers in front of her mouth. She locked eyes with Jon, breaking him down like a judge at a dog show, and Jon tried to shovel mash in his mouth as innocently as possible.

“Sasha. What’s your evidence?”

“He’s been acting weird all day,” Sasha said promptly, as if she’d been expecting the question. She shifted her arm purposefully, and Jon realized with a start that she was concealed carrying. Was that legal? “Jon never asks me for Statements outright, he always just sneaks them behind Melanie’s back. If he really fainted because he was hungry, he would have eaten his lunch too, instead of just my granola bar. And he hasn’t talked to Martin since he fainted - he isn’t even sitting next to him.” Sasha drew herself up triumphantly. “And, he looked actually scared when Martin threw that knife at him. He’s never scared of Martin. He normally just role-plays the fear bit.”

“Which I appreciate,” Martin said supportively, making Jon blanch. That elicited more suspicious looks from everyone, which Jon couldn’t even begin to parse. “But he has been acting strange today, hasn’t he?”

“Tim?” Melanie asked sharply.

Tim sniffed loudly, wrinkling his nose a little. “Smells like him.” At Melanie’s intense look, he grudgingly added, “No sawdust or plastic. Flesh and blood, boss.”

Jon began stuffing forkfuls of pastry and meat crumb from the pie in his mouth as Melanie went back to squinting at Jon. Not glaring - just an intense, sidelong look, fingers steepled in front of her. “You aren’t denying it, Jon.”

Jon mumbled something.

“Swallow your food.”

Jon carefully swallowed his mouthful of dough. “I have not eaten human food,” Jon said delicately, “in five months. I will answer your questions momentarily.”

And then Jon cleaned all three of his plates, to the dumbfounded looks of his Assistants.

Finally, after everybody else’s drinks had arrived - including Jon’s pint, which he reached for so quickly that Martin stole it away from him and refused to give it back - and Jon had cleaned all three of his plates, he felt ready to talk. He thumped on his chest, burping a little, and leaned back in his plush seat. Melanie was nursing her pint, sipping from it slowly, as Basira gave him her usual ‘I don’t trust you as far as I can throw you’ look.

“Okay,” Jon said finally. “I apologize for not - ah, clarifying before. I thought I was dreaming. To be honest, I worry that I’m still dreaming.” He looked down at his empty basket and plates. “I dearly hope that wasn’t human flesh or something horrid like that.”

Sasha perked up. “Like in the cannibal priest statement? That’s fascinating -”

“Shut up about cannibal priests,” Melanie groaned, and Sasha guiltily shut up. Oddly rude, but nobody seemed surprised. “You are Jon, right?”

Everybody stared at him blankly.

“Well,” Basira said finally, “sounds like the kind of bullshit you get yourself wrapped up in, Jon.”

“I knew it!” Sasha cried, before deflating. “I mean, I didn’t, really, not at all, but that’s fascinating! Will you answer some questions? Who’s the Queen in your universe?”

“I’m back from the dead for a week and my life’s already stupid again,” Tim said blankly.

“Two Jons?” Martin asked, far too excitedly.

“Can I leave you alone,” Melanie gritted out, between clenched teeth, “for five minutes?”

Then everybody was talking over each other, arguing and exclaiming and yelling, and Jon frantically drank his pint. They were so loud.

Finally, Melanie chopped a hand through the buzz, and everyone quieted. She pursed her lips, looking Jon up and down, and he anxiously let himself get looked at. “How did you know it was an alternate universe? What’s the difference?”

“Martin threw a knife at me and Tim and Sasha are alive,” Jon said instantly.

“I’m not actually dead in your universe,” Tim said quickly, “just trapped in an infernal demon hell coffin. If you can get me out, I’d be really thankful -”

“No, you’re quite dead,” Jon said apologetically. “That happened to Daisy in my universe, though. A - a lot of what you did here, I think, Daisy did.” He looked at Basira, frowning. “Where is Daisy? She’s not…”

“She’s fine,” Basira said curtly, folding her arms and leaning back. “Having lots of fun ditching us and having fun at her little secretary desk. It’s fine. I don’t care. She can do what she wants, she’s an adult.”

“Basira’s been pining tragically ever since Daisy ran off to go work for Peter Lukas,” Melanie said sympathetically.

Jon felt a little called out. “Ah. That’s - that’s very unfortunate.” He slowly turned to Martin, who still seemed caught up in the ‘two Jons’ aspect of this. “And you’re...you would define yourself as full of rage?”

“At all times, all the time, without cessation,” Martin agreed affably. “Why? That’s not weird to you, is it?”

“Uh huh.” Jon slowly turned to Sasha. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to insult you, but...did you happen to once work as a Constable for the Met?”

Everybody winced. Sasha sighed. “I regret all of my actions and I’m very sorry that I was once a pig and I’ll never do it again because I value due process now.”

“Word, sister,” Tim said, raising his pint.

“Hm,” Jon said, far too much coming together. But that left a big question, one thing that didn’t make sense. “What about me? Do I - eat trauma?”

Basira stared at him blankly. “You try, sometimes, but we usually just spray water at you until you stop.”

“That explains it,” said Jon, despite the fact that it didn’t explain anything.

“Your questions are pointless, and this is a waste of time.” Melanie clapped her hands sharply, making everyone straighten to attention. She stood up from her seat, everybody scrambling to protect their glasses as Melanie clambered on top of the table. “Helen! Get out here!”

“She’s not - she’s not Beetlejuice, you can’t just call her name and make her appear,” Jon said blankly. “How’s she even supposed to hear -”

“She can hear me just fine,” Melanie called, “because she’s been sitting at the bar this whole time.”

Everybody’s heads craned around to look at the bar. Through the stream of people, carrying drinks and laughing, Jon could faintly make out a tall, willowy figure with a large afro sitting on a barstool at the bar, tapping the rim of one elegant martini with a long, manicured fingernail.

Then she swiveled around, and Helen grinned broadly at all of them. She waved cheekily with one hand, fingers waving and rippling strangely in the dim pub lights. “Hello! You rang?”

Melanie jabbed a finger at the table pointedly. “Michael’s too young to be here too, Helen!”

“They’re eighteen, they’re a big non-Euclidean concept!” Helen tittered, as she hopped of the stool. Jon’s draw dropped as a much smaller, slight figure next to her hopped off too. They were a teenager, with a curly mop of blonde hair and big, watery blue eyes that seemed just a little strange. Everything about them was on the edge of familiar, and not in the usual way of the Spiral.

“She was waiting for us to figure it out,” Basira murmured, catching Jon’s attention. “It’s definitely funny to her.”

“Helen defined schadenfreude, I’m afraid,” Jon said, depressed, as Helen and her tagalong popped up at the edge of their table. Melanie had said Michael - and the kid did look like Michael, younger and alive and wide-eyed. Their watery eyes caught on Jon, and they tilted their head curiously. The sight of them hurt Jon’s head more than the Spiral usually did - a testament to the human body he was borrowing.

Human. That was no defense. He was vulnerable, and judging from the angle of Helen’s smile she knew it.

“Enjoying your vacation, Archivist?” Helen tittered, folding her hands girlishly as Melanie hopped off the table and back in her seat. “I’ve been having so much fun in this universe I thought I ought to bring a friend! Buy one plane ticket get one free, you know. I have this coupon for a great spa around here -”

“Helen,” Melanie intoned dangerously.

Helen tittered a nervous laugh. Was she...scared of Melanie? “Don’t worry! Your darling little Jon’s perfectly safe. He’s having a great time in one of my favorite dimensions, this wonderful post-apocalyptic adventure with a werewolf -

“Helen,” Melanie said slowly, danger building with every word, “we talked about what happens when you remove Jons from their native ecosystems.”

“They get sick,” Michael said somberly, nodding their head. “An’ wilt.”

“It is very stressful for the Jon, Helen. You know what we don’t like?”

“A stressed Jon?” Michael volunteered.

“Yes, Michael.” Melanie smiled pleasantly at Helen, who blanched. “A stressed Jon. Because when Jon gets stressed, my girlfriend gets stressed. And when my girlfriend gets stressed, I get stressed. And when I get stressed, everybody is about to have a very bad time. Get it? Helen?”

“Completely understood, very sympathetic, I see your point completely,” Helen said hurriedly. “Really, you can say that I did my dear Archivist a favor! He hasn’t had a human body in almost half a year, the poor dear was so sad about it. It’s a break, really!”

Tim squinted at Jon. “You’re really full on fear demon, then?”

Jon squirmed guiltily, ashamed. “I prefer the term Avatar. But...yes, I’m an amoral monster distant from humanity, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Melanie said impatiently. “You’re about as far from humanity as I am. Having stupid superpowers or cramming shitty food into your mouth doesn’t make you inhuman, it just means you hang out with the wrong crowd. Go back to your own universe and get some rest, I bet you’re stressing out all your friends.”

“I’m really not,” Jon said weakly. “I - I really only have one friend.”

“No wonder you look so tragic all the time,” Sasha said thoughtfully. “Jon gets all mopey without affection. Like an unwatered plant.”

“I eat trauma,” Jon said, bewildered at the perception of harmlessness.

“You and half of the YouTube vlogging community.” Melanie clapped her hands again sharply, pulling everyone to attention. “Helen. Put Jon back where he came from or so help me.”

“Ruining all my fun,” Helen pouted, but at Melanie’s glare she sighed. She held up one hand, and static rippled through the air. The hand elongated, twisted, and turned into Helen’s signature lengthy claw. Michael eyed it with interest, before holding up their own hand and doing the same. “Fun while it lasted, Archivist! Now hold still. I wouldn’t want to lobotomize the wrong lobe.”

“Nice meeting you,” Sasha said politely, to a very freaked out Jon. “Don’t come back, though.”

“Come back if you want,” Basira yawned. “My life’s boring, spice it up a little.”

“Sorry I’m dead in your universe or whatever,” Tim said, waving a hand. “Life and death is meaningless anyway, so I’m sure it’s for the best.”

“I want my Jon back,” Martin complained. “Go on and get out, then.”

“Tell your friends what we told you,” Melanie said. “Don’t they know that you get all tragic when you’re lonely?”

And Jon didn’t know how to say it - that they didn’t know, or if they did then they didn’t care, because they had so many bigger problems than if Jon was sad or not. With Elias’ strange plans, with Jon’s encroaching monsterhood and his slow and steady starvation, with Martin’s loneliness and Basira’s desperation and Melanie’s instability, Jon’s feelings were the least important thing in the world.

Did it matter, to anybody but Jon, that he thought of Martin first thing in the morning and last thing as he went to bed at night?

“Hold still and look straight at me!” Helen said, and Jon had to be thankful - because that let him look at Sasha and Tim, eyes wide and intrigued, as Helen speared her finger through Jon’s forehead.

Jon blacked out, but the images of Sasha and Tim stayed burned behind his eyelids. He dreamed calm dreams, of him and Martin and Sasha and Tim, laughing together, as the world faded away.

****

When Jon woke up, it was with a crick in his neck, and he knew immediately he had fallen asleep on the battered old couch in his office again.

There was a heavy weight on his chest, and when he pried his eyes open he saw the top of Daisy’s head in front of him. Dusty blonde hair pooled on his chest as Daisy snored, deep asleep, arm stretched over his torso.

The taste of salt and grease was on his tongue, and Jon let himself go back to sleep. The dreams would be terrifying and desolate, but at least in them he was never hungry.

#my writing #tma #the magnus archives #tma fanfic #the magnus archives fanfic #im also doing an UNBELIEVABLY self-indulgent tim character study but im not sure if i should post it because tim's not funny #melanie king #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #slaughter!martin #basira hussain #sasha james #helen richardson #michael shelley

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mytrashcanlife · 3 years

Text

Ashes to Ashes Jasper X Reader Part 5

It took four days. Four day for the venom to take over. Four days of absolute anguish for the Cullen family. But when you did wake up, it was so much worse than they imagined. You didn’t panic at first. They weren’t expecting denial, or a sense of calm. You jolted awake and immediately sat up. You look around and notice that you are no longer in the kitchen where you remembered fainting. Rosalie is the first speak to you in your confusion.

“(y/n) you’re awake. Thank god, I’m so sorry this happened.”

“What? Rosalie it’s not your fault I fainted. I was probably just dehydrated. I forget to drink water sometimes. I’m sorry I scared you, but really I’m fine. How long was I out? A few minutes?”

“Four days.”

“What? No. If I was in a coma Carlisle would have taken me to the hospital.”

“Oh no.”

“Rosalie what’s wrong?”

“Carlisle!”

“Why are you calling him?” Carlisle and the rest of the family come upstairs to see you.

“She’s awake! Oh, thank god.”

“She doesn’t know.”

“What? What don’t I know?” Carlisle looks at you with guilt in his eyes.

“ (y/n) something happened.”

“Yeah I know I didn’t drink enough water I over-heated and I fainted. It happens all the time. You know this. Carlisle I’m fine just thirsty. See?”

You grab the water bottle you keep on your bedside table and try to drink it, but you move a little too fast and know over the lamp. “Sorry. I’m a little clumsy when I’ve been unconscious for a few minutes.” You take a sip of the water, but the second you try to swallow it you throw it right back up. Violently coughing on the liquid as it makes its way back up your throat. “Okay maybe I am a little sick. That’s weird.” Rosalie leans over to your desk and grabs a mirror.

“(y/n) I’m going to show you something, but I need you stay calm okay?”

“Rosie what is going on?”

She held up the mirror and you saw yourself, but it wasn’t you. Your skin was much paler than usual, and all signs of your usual acne were gone. You looked like you had died, but then you saw your eyes. Red eyes staring back at you instead of (e/c) ones, and you lost it. Your scream frightens even Emmet.

“CARLISLE!”

“Why does everyone always yell at me?”

“Carlisle my eyes are red! I look like a damn ghost, something is wrong! You’re a doctor fix me!”

“(y/n) I can’t fix this”

“WHY NOT?”

Jasper was behind the others in the doorway. He could feel the fear coming off of her in waves.

The others were obviously not prepared for this conversation. He thought about joining in, but Edward gave him a look and he decided to let the others try first. Edward decides to try calming her down.

“Okay (y/n) I need you to calm down. You want Carlisle to fix the problem right? To do that he has to diagnose it, so what are your symptoms?”

“I…I fainted in the kitchen and then apparently I slept for four days. I feel dehydrated and hungry, but I can’t even swallow water. And my eyes are red. And everything is so loud, and bright. This feels like a bad hangover, but worse.”

“Okay. Now tell me where have you heard those symptoms before? Red eyes, thirst, aversion to light…”

“Edward you aren’t making any sense. That sounds like a…” You look up at Carlisle wide eyed and trembling. You shake your head furiously “No…Don’t say it”

“Yes.”

“I’m a vampire? No! no that’s not possible. Vampires aren’t real. They’re horror stories you tell children, so they won’t sneak out after dark, they don’t exist.”

“They do. We are a family of them.”

“But nobody bit me.”

“You are correct nobody bit you, because we never had any intention of turning you, but you don’t actually need to be bitten you just have to get venom in your bloodstream, and it will take over from there.”

“So, if none of you bit me then how did I end up with venom in my blood?”

“You remember that necklace Jane gave you?”

“Yeah, I broke it. It was so fragile I didn’t realize, I cut my hand on it trying to pick it back up and that’s when…I fainted. NO. You can’t be telling me I turned because I cut my hand on glass that had Venom on it. You can’t!”

“I do believe that’s what happened yes.” You sat there in bed for a few moments in silence.

“I don’t believe you. I’m going for a walk.” You stand up to cross the room but you’re down the stairs before you can blink, with the rest of the family right behind you. “What was that?”

“That was a small demonstration of the speed you now possess.”

Jasper could feel the fear rise up again as the realization of what had happened finally hit you.

“So, you’re all vampires? That’s what you’ve been hiding from me? That’s what all this was about you didn’t want me to know?” Edward answers you

“Yes (y/n), you have to understand, we never wanted you to turn, and we aren’t allowed to tell humans about us unless we intend to turn them.”

“So, what you just thought I was never going to figure it out? You thought I’d grow old get a husband and some kids and never noticed my family wasn’t ageing?”

“Not exactly.”

“Then what was the plan? If you weren’t going to turn me exactly how did you think I was never going to catch on?”

“You were going to college”

“So what? You think I wouldn’t visit?” You look around at Your family as they look down with guilty expressions on their faces. Your eyes widen once more in realization “I was never going to get to visit was I? You were planning to never see me again after I left. You were planning to abandon me?” Jasper was concerned now. In the past few months he’d seen you feel a lot of emotions, fear, joy, sadness, but not this. This was pure Rage.

Carlisle tries to defend himself.

“It’s not like that”

“Yes it is Carlisle. You were going to abandon me like everyone else does. Fine then, I’ll just go.”

Alice finally returning from her trip had picked a very bad moment to walk through the door.

“Guys I’m ba-oh my god, (y/n) what happened?”

“Don’t worry about it. I was just leaving.”

You ran. You ran into the woods, and climbed cliff sides as fast as you could. You knew they’d send somebody after you but at that moment you didn’t care. If they were just going to leave you then you might as well save them the trouble. Alice turned to Jasper in shock.

“I didn’t do it.”

Rosalie jumped to his defense for once.

“He didn’t. The Volturi did. Sneaky little bastards.”

“What happened? I was gone for a week and I come back to this? This was not the vision!”

“Yes, it was Alice. You just didn’t realize it.”

“Well someone has to go get her before she hurts someone!”

Carlisle spoke up “I’ll go get her. This is my fault anyway.”

Jasper had enough, “No I think you’ve done enough.”

While they were arguing they failed to realize that Emmet was already gone. He was barely behind you for miles.

“(y/n) please just stop for a minute and talk to me. It’s me. Emmet, Your big brother.” You stopped and turned around

“You lied to me. You were going to leave me.”

“No (y/n) we hadn’t thought this through. You remember how you came to us in the first place right? We got into this situation and put our own lives on the line to help you because we couldn’t just leave you. I know you’re starving, and you’re scared but please just come home.”

You were about to listen to him when a man walked by. It happened so fast you barely had time to register what you were doing before you draining the poor man. The hunger was too much, but once it subsided you were left cowering on the ground with the corpse of an innocent and your hands covered in blood. Emmet tried to pull you off of him, but you sent him flying backwards into a nearby tree. Carlisle Caught up to you and looked down at you in disappointment, and pity.

“(y/n) it’s okay.”

“NO THIS IS NOT OKAY!”

“Do you understand now? Do you understand what you are?”

“I’M A MONSTER”

“No. You are not a monster. You are new to this. It’s going to be okay. Please just come home we can help you.”

Emmet joins Carlisle and reaches his hand out to you. You reach to take it but hesitate and pull back. You look down and shake your head.

“I can’t-“

“You can. I did. We all did. Even jasper did. You wanna know why he acted like he did? It’s because he is new to our lifestyle. We don’t feed on humans we survive on animal blood alone. Jasper is new to that. You were a constant test for him. That is why he was so cold around you. He did it. So, can you.”

You look up at the mention of his name. You pause a moment to think.

“Okay.” You grab Emmet’s hand and the three of you rush back to the house.

The second you enter the house the whole family is staring at you. Rosalie and Alice help you clean up and get some new clothes on. Burning the bloodied ones in the process. You wait until midnight to go to Jasper’s room. You knock on the door

“Come in” shut the door behind you and lean against it.

“I need to talk to you. Somewhere the others can’t hear.”

“Okay. Let’s go.”

The two of you leave through the window in his bedroom and run off into the forest. You follow him until he climbs up to the top of a tree in the center of the forest. He sits at the top leaning on one branch and you sit on another branch across from him.

“What do you need to talk about?”

“Carlisle said something when I ran off…He said that you were also new to their lifestyle and that the only reason you were cold to me was because you had to try really hard to not kill me.”

“That was part of it”

“If you were afraid to hurt me, why did you pick me up from that gas station?”

“Because you were scared, and I knew I wouldn’t hurt you.”

“How did you know that though?”

“Because I never wanted you to be one of us. You were bright, and happy. You embodied the opposite to everything we are.”

“But you didn’t have to turn me. You could have just killed me.”

“I wouldn’t do that. I don’t think I could if I wanted to.”

“But Carlisle said-“

“Carlisle is wrong. Why did you ask me all the way out here for this?”

“I didn’t. There’s something else I need to ask you.”

“Ask.”

“You never lied to me right?”

“Of course not.”

“Good. Don’t start now. How hard is it?” Jasper looks at you with a sadness in his eyes, while he thinks for a second about how to answer that. Finally, he leans forward and looks you In the eyes.

“It hurts like hell. It’s agonizing. You want human blood so much you’ll go through a hundred lions and it won’t be enough to satiate you. You’ll want to give up and run away, but don’t. Because once the withdrawals subside it gets easier. It gets better.”

“one more question.”

“shoot”

“Will I be okay?”

“Yes.” You lean over to his side of the treetop and he envelops you in his arms. You both stay there for a bit. Sometimes people just need a hug, at midnight.

“Okay. Let’s go home. And don’t tell anyone about this.”

“My lips are sealed.” You looked jasper in the eyes, those golden eyes, and smile. The two of you sneak back in through the same window and Jasper distracts the others while you sneak up to your room. You lay down, knowing you won’t be sleeping again, but as you look up at your ceiling you feel like everything is going to be alright.

#jasper #jasper cullen #jasper cullen x reader #twilight #twilight fanfiction #twilight renessaince #twilight renewal

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ayamari-no-goshi · 3 years

Text

Verboten 8 | (T)

ff.net | AO3

Fandom: Danny Phantom (DP)

Summary: AU. When Danny was five years old, he went missing for 2 weeks. In the years that follow, his family tried to make sense of what happened, only for the truth to be discovered years later.

Warnings: rated T for violence, mentions of death, language. Be prepared for some very weird things

Chapter warning: some gets physically sick, discussions of death

Parings: Danny/Sam

Notes: originally uploaded to Ff.net. Cross-posted to AO3 and tumblr. This fic is very heavily inspired by folklore surrounding mysterious wilderness disappearances

Chapter 8

"Hey, is it just me, or is the floor moving?" Danny questioned as he stared at the moving stone.

"No, it's not just you," Sam confirmed as she glanced at her friend. Although he was sitting rod straight as he watched, his coloration was still flickering, and there now seemed to be a green tinge to his cheeks.

"Don't you think we should run?" Tucker's question nearly made Sam snort. With Danny getting worse, there was no way he'd be able to escape with them.

Before anyone had a change to respond, the stone completely lifted and shifted to the side, exposing a hole. Seconds later, a furry head popped out. They watched in silent horror as it flicked one of its ears as if hear them and turned to face them.

The face that greeted them was terrifying. If Sam had to describe it, the appearance was like an angry polar bear who happened to have icy horns. Maybe calling it a yeti would be more accurate, but she could argue with herself about the semantics once she was out of this mess.

They just stared at the thing in the floor until it smiled at them. Whatever spell its sudden appearance held over them was broken, and they yelled in terror. There where several seconds of confusion as the three of them tried to escape. Tucker was halfway to the door while Sam tried to help Danny, who had fallen off the table, when the thing spoke.

"Children, please do not be alarmed," it gently requested as it raised itself up from the floor. Its entire body was covered in that same white fur, save for its one arm, which appeared to be made from ice. In an almost bemused afterthought, Sam noted it wore a blue clothing article which may have been a kilt. "We don't have much time before Plasmius returns."

When they didn't respond of move, the creature continued to speak as it tried to look as non-threatening as possible. "I am call Frostbite, the leader of the Far Frozen. I am lucky to have found out about you when I did. Plasmius has killed many humans in his experiments. If you allow me, I will help you return to your home."

"Why should we trust you? How do we know you won't take us somewhere and eat us?" Tucker demanded as he inched closer to Danny and Sam.

It laughed heartily at Tucker's question. "Myself as well as my clan do not eat people. We have made it the goal of our afterlives to try to assist as many wayward humans as we possibly can." Frostbite's smile faded. "However, I acknowledge your concern. This is the first time we have met, and if Plasmius has been your first encounter with the those of us from this realm, then you most likely do not think highly of us." It, possibly he, glanced at Danny as his coloration cycled again. "You are ill, and if you do not leave this place soon, you may not be able to return to the land of the living."

There was a tense moment as Sam and the boys stared at Frostbite. It… no, he… seemed genuine. Although his face was frightening, his eyes were sincere and almost seemed to plead with them.

"Alright," Danny eventually stated as he slowly stood, "but, you have to swear you won't hurt them!"

"I swear it on my honor, young one."

"Psst, Danny, what are you doing?" Tucker angrily whispered as he tugged on Danny's sleeve. "Are you trying to get us killed?"

"Call me crazy, but I think it's much less risky to go with him then it is to stay here and wait for Plasmius," Danny responded as he tested his footing. "He's a lot more honest than Plasmius, that's for sure."

"You noticed it too?" Sam was impressed he picked up on it. Although, Danny was often clueless when it came to certain social cues, particularly flirting, he did have an amazing talent for picking up on whether someone was being honest.

Tucker looked at both of them for a disbelieving moment before he shook his head. "Alright. I'll follow your lead on this, but if we get eaten, I'm blaming you."

"Young one, do you require assistance?" Frostbite asked as he eyed Danny, who appeared to be somewhat lightheaded as he tried to walk.

"It's Danny, and no, I can handle it."

A frown crossed Frostbite's face for a moment before he scurried forward and scooped Danny into his arms. "I understand your desire to escape on your own, but you are not well, and time is of the essence." Frostbite then instructed Sam and Tucker to enter the hole in the floor first. Once they were safely inside which was revealed to be a tunnel, he handed Danny to them. He then entered the tunnel and carefully replaced the floor's stone.

There was little light in the tunnel save for the slight glow Frostbite and occasionally Danny produced. As if sensing their concern, Frostbite held up his hand (or was it more of a paw?) and created a soft blue light. "This way, children," he instructed as he began to walk. "I am sorry I cannot produce a better light source, but if I generate much more energy, Plasmius may discover our location."

"I was wondering why we were doing things so old school," Tucker whispered.

As Sam rolled her eyes at him. If it wasn't for the fact she and Tucker were both supporting Danny as they walked, she probably would have smacked him for being rude. But, his statement did bring up an interesting point. "So, you could have gotten us out in an easier way, but Plasmius would have caught us?"

"Correct. Most sentient ghosts can easily phase through walls, unless the object is something native to this world or is coated in something that disrupts our powers or repels us. Plasmius' palace is unusual as much of it is created from materials taken from the human realm, but his reputation and the barrier he uses is able to keep most ghosts away. He is very unkind to trespassers." Frostbite glanced back at them. "I know young Danny's name, but I have yet to learn yours."

As weird as it sounded, Sam was embarrassed by that lapse in courtesy. She quickly introduced herself, and Tucker followed suit.

"Sam and Tucker! Such fitting names!" The strange ghost seemed pleased, but after a moment, he stopped walking, so he could turn and look at them. "Please alert me immediately if you notice you are not feeling well or notice something strange about yourself." After they promised, Frostbite nodded and continued forward. "This world can do strange things to those who unintentionally enter it, and there are many ways the changes can occur."

"Can… can I ask a question?" Once Frostbite agreed, Danny continued, "I'm sorry if this is a bit rude, but were you human?"

"That I was." The ghost didn't appear bothered by the question. "While many of my human memories have faded over time, I do remember that I was once an explorer. As for how I came this this realm, I am uncertain, but I do know that by the time I once again found a way back to the world of the living, I appeared much how you see me now. Many of my clan seem were also explorers or those who spent a great deal of time in the woods or mountains. We are not sure why we have taken this form, but we use it to our advantage. We often patrol areas where portal formation is common and try to scare humans away from them. However, more recently we have been finding more and more humans who seem to be looking for us." He seemed absolutely puzzled by the concept.

Sam shared a look with her friends. Did that mean that he and his clan were what people considered Bigfoot? Maybe she was reading too much into it, but that's what it seemed like.

"So, does that happen to everyone who dies? Cuz I don't know if I can handle the fact I might not keep these good looks when I die," Tucker whined.

The soft blue light flickered as Frostbite chuckled. "I don't believe you have to worry. While it is possible, you are unlikely to become a ghost if you expire outside of this realm. However, I am no expert regarding the mysteries of life and death."

"But what happens if you die here?" It was Sam's turn to ask a question.

"It seems to vary. Some die, but their souls do not remain here. For others, their body and soul mingle and change, creating a ghost."

"That almost sounds like a zombie," Sam mumbled to herself.

Frostbite chuckled again. "I understand why you would think as such. However, zombies can only exist in your world. They are corpses reanimated, often through magic, but lack a soul. For us, our earthly bodies are somehow a catalyst for the new form our soul takes, but even though I have seen it happen, I do not understand the process."

His explanation somewhat made sense, Sam mused. It also lined up with what Plasmius mentioned about how his experiments didn't always work. Although, it posed a more troubling question. What exactly would happen to Danny? If he really did die and become a ghost, did that mean there would be no body for his family to bury? It was a troubling thought that wouldn't go away no matter how much Sam tried to think of something else.

However, something Sam also noted was that Danny was avoiding asking questions regarding what was happening to him. Other than when his hands flickered in and out of visibility in the lab, he hadn't brought up the subject. It was possible he was focusing on escaping. However, with the new knowledge Frostbite had given them, he was probably in some sort of denial. She wasn't certain if she'd be able to be as calm if she was the one affected.

What seemed like an hour later, although her sense of time could have been altered due to the darkness, they finally reached the end of the tunnel. It wasn't a moment too soon as Danny had fainted when they had first caught sight of the exit. Once outside, she and Tucker carefully sat Danny down, so they could take a quick break. Once she was certain Danny was settled, she took the chance to look around.

In front of them was a think yet somewhat dead looking forest, like what they first found themselves in when they fled from the first ghost. Behind her was the tunnel which had been cut into what appeared to be a rock outcropping. If it wasn't for the strange coloration, it could have looked like something found in the forests back home.

She started when Frostbite gave a quick whistle. Moments later, four more ghosts who had similar appearances to Frostbite appeared from within the forest. They had to be part of the clan the ghost had mentioned while they were escaping. The group exchanged a few words before Frostbite beckoned to the humans behind him.

"Children, do not be alarmed. These are members of my clan, and they will be assisting us in your escape. However, we need to stop at our realm first as we have an object that will help us locate when and where a portal will open. I would also like to assess Danny's health." The ghost frowned at the form of the unconscious teenager. "You have probably guessed this realm has a grip on him, but he is resisting the change more intensely than I have ever seen."

"That means he'll be able to come home with us, right?" Tucker's question was full of a wary hope.

"I am… uncertain. We may have to seek the wisdom of an older entity to know for sure."

…

The world wouldn't stop spinning when Danny finally came to. After rolling over and relieving the contents of his stomach, he finally was able to think clearly enough to take stock of his surroundings. He was in what appeared to be some type of medical room. Although the walls appeared to be made of ice, there was a light and almost friendly atmosphere about the place.

A sound caught his attention, and he turned just in time to see white creature duck out of the room. Puzzled at the reaction, it wasn't until it returned to the room with Frostbite that he realized it was simply retrieving the other ghost.

"You've wakened, young one!" Frostbite seemed exuberant as he examined him. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I got spun around in one of those centrifuges at space camp way too many times," Danny replied as he rubbed his head. Although the dizziness had subsided, he still felt somewhat ill. "Where are Sam and Tucker?"

"They are resting in another room. They've been eagerly waiting for news of your awakening."

Danny sighed in relief at the news. "Will I be able to see them?"

"Absolutely, but first I would like to discuss something with you," Frostbite sat down at a chair near the bed Danny was using. Somewhat unnerved by how serious Frostbite seemed to be, he carefully sat up and gestured for him to continue. "Your circumstance is nothing like what any of us have ever seen before."

"My circumstance?" That didn't sound good. Did it have to do with something Plasmius did to him?

"Yes. Before I explain, I need to ask if you've eaten anything while you were here?"

Danny shook his head. "Unless Plasmius fed me something when I was unconscious, then no. Wait," he paused for a moment as he tried to remember what Plasmius had told him, "maybe? Plasmius said something about taking care of me when I got lost when I was six."

"How odd, but as you must have returned home afterwards, it might have something to do with the unexpected results. Did Plasmius explain what he wanted from you?"

"He wanted me as his heir? I think?" Before he or Frostbite could say anything else, Danny felt something clench in his navel. Immediately afterwards, what seemed to be a flash of light momentarily blinded him. Terrified, he yelped and tried to move away. "What-what just happened?"

"This is what I have need to discuss with you." The ghost then rose and picked Danny off the bed before carefully setting him down in front of a mirror at the far end of the room.

It was the first time since he had come to this world that he had a chance to take stock of himself. However, the image looking back at him wasn't what he was expecting. His eyes weren't his usual blue but were instead an unnatural green. His skin had tanned, but the color somehow seemed unhealthy. His hair was now a silvery white instead of his black, and if he wasn't imaging it, he was admitting a slight glow. "What's wrong with me?" he asked in a horrified whisper.

Before he could get his answer, he felt the clench in his navel again. When the light subsided, he was greeted with the reflection of how he originally looked. Uncertain if his mind was playing tricks on him, he checked his hands and what he could of his bangs. Everything appeared normal.

"Usually," Frostbite started, which caused Danny to pause his examination and look at the ghost," when this world claims someone, they can no longer return to their human form. If they do, they often end up dead. You are somehow able to keep your human form, yet you produce a ghost form. In all my years, I have never seen such a thing."

"What exactly does that mean? What am I?"

"Unfortunately, I do no know. From what our tests showed, you have both a functioning human heart and a ghostly core, which is our equivalent of a heart. You've been switching back and forth between forms for some time."

======================================

Notes:

1) So… the Bigfoot mention. This is something that I've heard before. There are 2 major lines of thought regarding the famous cryptid. 1) Bigfoot is a flesh and blood creature, and 2) Bigfoot is an interdimensional, extraterrestrial, or spiritual entity (I seriously had a professor who believed Bigfoot could travel through dimensions. He even wrote papers about it). For this story, I'm going with the concept that people are catching brief glimpses of Frostbite and his people as they patrol areas known for spontaneous portal openings.

Interdimensional aspects are popping up more and more when it comes to paranormal topics, and they're a major theory when it comes to unexplained disappearances and weird creatures. Personally, I find the concept intriguing, but it's not something that can currently be proven. Though… there are a lot of rumors about how CERN is trying to do that. I know that group is just supposed to be studying particles and quantum physics, but there are sooooo many weird rumors about CERN.

2) For this story, I'm borrowing the type of idea where a ghost can't be created unless its former vessel (body) is used as a medium. You see things like this for Revenants, Strigoi Mort (Romanian ghost/zombie/vampire thing), and Gjenganger (Scandinavian ghost/zombie thing similar to a Dragur), and others. For those stories, the only way to get rid of them is to damage/destroy the body in specific ways which vary from region to region.

3) human centrifuges are real things. They are used by to help test the effects of G-forces on people, and astronauts receive training to handle said forces in them. They do, at least used to have, a version of it at space camp.

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incidentreport31 · 3 years

Text

Episode One: In the Middle of the Street TRANSCRIPT

[You can listen to the show wherever you get your podcasts.]

[Intro music players.]

ANNOUNCER:

Three-Eyed Frog Presents: Incident Report Number 31.

[Theme song fades to a stop.]

[click recorder on]

ARCHIVIST:

Test. Test. One, two, three. (mutters) Bloody hell, why does it smell like something died in here? Well, guess we can’t prove something didn’t, eh? The recorder seems to be working, at least.

My name is Val West. I’m the newly appointed head archivist at The [REDACTED] Institute, which documents people’s possible experiences with the supernatural for both emotional support purposes and to get recovery time off of work, school, et cetera if the trauma is deemed severe enough by their employers or other supervisory staff.[beat as they scoff] Supernatural doctor’s note, innit...

The Head of the Institute, Mr. Neil Banks, has asked me to record these accounts because, well, there actually isn’t really a good reason. [mutters] Didn’t spend eight years getting a masters in library sciences to read stories into a dusty tape recorder, but, we all have to get by.

I do, at least, have people to assist me: two researchers: Zach Zamuel-Imogen Baker, and Christine Lewis, along with, I’m told, a very well-respected psychologist: one [hesitant] Dr. Oliver Possum, who will be advising me on any cases where there is necessary psychological follow up. I haven’t actually met any of them yet, but hopefully they will be helpful.

I was also explicitly told not to look behind the bookshelf to my left, so I will be looking behind the bookshelf later today...right. Guess I should get started, then.

[Sound of papers tapped on desk to organize them]

ARCHIVIST:

[They clear their throat.] For the consideration of Ortolan Bunting Law Firm: Ayla Stephenson’s encounter with a house that did not exist and her subsequent request for thirty hours of paid time off. No date given. Fine by me. Not gonna lose sleep over improperly filled out paperwork. Well. Start? I suppose? Yes.

[ACCOUNT.]

I feel the need to start with this, so you fully understand what I’m trying to say. I have a feeling you’ll just dismiss my story otherwise. I’ve lived here going on ten years now. Moved here on the promise of a job from the same company that I still work for today: Ortolan Bunting Law Firm. I drive the same route to work every day. I mean, I looked up the quickest way on the map when I first moved to town, and hey, who am I to question that? If it works it works. No need to make something difficult when the map’ll just figure it for you that first day, right?

I guess I’m getting a bit off topic here, but my point is that I’ve been going the same way for a decade, which is to say that I know the route to and from work like the back of my hand. Sure, maybe I don’t pay attention to every detail every day, I mean after ten years, the drive is almost an unconscious thing-

ARCHIVIST:

(mutters) Not a great way to build up your story’s credibility but, I digress.

[ACCOUNT.]

-but I still know all the road’s quirks, even if they don’t stick out to me after all this time. I know that the first left turn light on the way lasts for about two seconds and if you’re more than two cars behind in line, you’ll have to wait a whole cycle to go. I know there’s a business center that, god knows why, has their logo done in comic sans just off to the right before I merge onto the highway. Once I’m on that freeway for about fifteen minutes, I can see this drive through coffee place on one of the adjacent streets. Every single morning the line’s backed up out to the street- you’d think there’d be a better way to do that, but that’s more of a personal gripe and certainly not the point. On my way back from work, I take a few side streets to avoid rush hour traffic on the main road- just the way the map recommended on my first day, of course, I’m not looking to get lost in the backroads. There’s a few old houses, sometimes I see elderly couples sitting out on their porches. Sometimes they wave and I do have the decency to wave back, though some of my colleagues might not believe you… I’m afraid I’ve been a bit put off by this whole experience and have been taking it out on some of my coworkers. All the more reason to give me the [THE ARCHIVIST sighs this last part out as they are once again pulled out of the story] time off that I so kindly requested.

ARCHIVIST:

That last line is crossed out. It appears that Ms. Stephenson was reluctant for her Firm to read that bit if this ever got back around to them. To be honest, the way that this is going, I’m not so sure that plea would have done anything for her, but I am, of course, to remain the impartial academic in my work here, so I suppose I’ll allow the defacing of Institute paperwork just this once, even if the scribbles are rather unprofessional.

[ACCOUNT.]

There're a few empty lots there too. I think at one point, the city wanted to buy them up and make a park, but I don’t think they ever got around to it. Really don’t think they will now. I’m getting ahead of myself. I guess what I’m trying to say is, I’ve been going the same way day in and day out for ten years… I’d notice if something was different.

ARCHIVIST:

I’m assuming… that is the point of this report yes? [beat] Continuing on.

[ACCOUNT.]

Nothing that day was really any different, I’d say. Just drove to work, hit all the usual landmarks: waiting to turn at the light, glancing at the comic sans sign, thinking that that coffee shop is definitely obstructing traffic, the usual. Went to work, got through the day with… minor amounts of stress… I mean it’s legal work, it isn’t fun, but somebody’s gotta do it. Got off right at five, gathered up my things and left. I took my usual streets, not really minding anything, but I noticed no one was out on the porches. That’s not unusual, I know, people can be inconsistent, it’s not a big deal, but looking back? Maybe they knew something was off… I mean if I’d lived in that neighborhood I certainly would have.

[Eerie music begins playing.]

I always drive with the radio on, can’t stand being alone with my thoughts on a busy street where road rage can make its way into my thoughts. Guess I should’ve mentioned that earlier, huh? Either way it seems important that I say it’s part of my daily life. I do it every day, and I’ve never had a problem with reception in that area, so when the sound started to glitch out, I thought something was wrong with my car. It was frustrating, sure, but not a big deal, even if I don’t necessarily enjoy the sound of static more than the average person.

I went through the usual useless attempts to fix it, of course. Smacked it a few times, turned it off and on again, but nothing changed. In the end, I just turned it off as I kept driving. Figured my own thoughts were better than the white noise that faded in and out of my speaker at an unpredictable volume. Things were fine for a few minutes. I’d almost gotten to the end of the street when I realized something wasn’t quite right.

At first, I thought maybe the light was just reflecting into my eyes weird. Maybe I’d just seen something out of the corner of my eye that there was a fine explanation for. Because… I knew this road. And there had never been a house there before. I was sure of it. A whole house isn’t something that could go up in a night, but you know that, you aren’t an idiot.

[Record scratch, cutting the music off.]

ARCHIVIST:

[pretentious bastard] I’d certainly like to think so, yes.

[ACCOUNT.]

But there it was. It wasn’t right next to the other houses, a few lots down the road instead. Other than my knowledge that it wasn’t there before, though, it could have blended into the neighborhood without anyone noticing.All things considered, it was a pretty nice house. Sure, it was done up in that fancy Victorian style and therefore inherently a little unnerving, you know how those old places just seem a little haunted even if they’re perfectly put together?

Still, beyond that, it was fine. Not broken down in that sort of creepy ghost way that you see in movies, or anything. The paint was pretty well done, only a little aged from the sun, and all the wood on the wrap-around porch was together. I mean if I was building a murder house, I would’ve splintered the boards and peeled up the exterior wall a bit, something along those lines, you know? It looked like someone could have been living out of it. Totally normal.

I know what you’re thinking, that I got out and had a look, but I can’t say I did. As the sun was going down? While I was all of a sudden unsure of my own thoughts? Really? No way in hell. I’m not an idiot either. So I kept driving. As I passed by, I got this strange feeling… like I wasn’t alone on the street. I don’t know if I imagined it or not, but with how much I was already questioning what I knew, I wasn’t sure I wanted the answer, and I sped away, not wanting to stick around any longer than I had to. Now, when I got home, I went through stages of denial before realizing that, hey, it wasn’t my damn neighborhood, and therefore not actually a problem that I would have to deal with.

At least until I was driving back from work the next afternoon. Funny how that works… your problems don’t just disappear because you’ve chosen to ignore them. Although ignore is a strong word considering I spent all day at work worrying about whether or not I should trust myself and whether or not I would see the house again when I drove home… I could’ve gone another route, of course. Could’ve gone even one street over and left it at that.

But that isn’t how it works, is it? I was so unsure of my own thoughts that I’d rather put myself in a situation that seemed potentially harmful than not know if I was wrong or not. [beat] So I went down the same route, just like I’d been conditioned to for the last decade. Once again, the couples were inside. They had to know something was wrong, I mean I was able to realize the house shouldn’t have been there and I didn’t even live in the neighborhood. I slowed my car to a snail’s pace as I inspected all about the street that I could. Not really sure what I was looking for if I’m being honest, but when I got to the house, I’d convinced myself that, yes, in fact, it was as real as the rest of the places on the block.

I don’t think it was really a conscious decision when I stopped the car. I’d just been going so slow already and… well I’d reached my target, hadn’t I? I sat and gazed over the house for a few moments. Looking over the perfect condition it seemed to be in, to no avail. It seemed to be perfectly normal. Maybe… Maybe I was really just in my head about all of this. Was it really that hard to believe? I should’ve just left, stopped staring at this place. Sitting there wasn’t going to change the fact that it was there, whether or not I could really trust my mind.

But… then I saw the curtains in the front window move. I snapped my gaze over to where I’d seen the motion and there was a little boy staring at me through the glass. He looked off to something behind the curtain before looking back over and waving, grinning a gap toothed smile at me. I... Well I wasn’t quite sure what to do with that so… I waved back. What else was I supposed to do? In an instance, I became convinced that I’d really just made the whole thing up. If there really was someone inside and nothing untoward seemed to be going on, the kid had seemed perfectly happy after all, then it had to be a real house. And really, if it had been some big spooky master plan, then why would he have acknowledged me? I’ve been to the movie theatre. I know children in horror flicks can be creepy, but just straight up waving at me like I was just another neighbor and nothing was going on? Didn’t exactly set up the sinister mood that I figured would have come from the place.

And then a hand shot out and. The kid recoiled as it shut, looking disappointed that he’d been caught doing something it was evident he wasn't supposed to. And I snapped back into trusting myself and sticking with my gut. I didn’t like the look of that. At all. Unfortunately, my whole life, I’ve generally been prone to the third fear response rather than either of the useful ones: I freeze. This time was no different. I couldn’t bring myself to drive away.

[In the background, eerie music begins playing.]

I sat there in dead silence for what felt like hours with a vague feeling of unease hanging in the air when the door opened. A man stepped out, wearing this fine tailored suit that I’d seen clients wealthier than I would ever be wear into my office and carried himself with the confidence of a person that knows no one is going to cross them. Despite all that, his face was soft. Approachable. Kind, even. Seemed like the kind of guy that knew he had money, but was willing to help you if you’d just say thank you afterwards.

As he approached my car he called out to me: “Hello there!”

Nice and friendly. Even with the strangeness of a few moments ago and my lingering unease, I could hardly bring myself to believe that this man would do anything to me. Sure, I was still stuck to my seat in fear, but he seemed perfectly safe. Maybe that’s just what it’s like to be charismatic though, looking back. I wasn’t sure what to do at that point, but my pre-programmed social response got the better of me and I rolled down my window to meet him.

“Hi.” I said. Just a simple greeting until I could really figure out what was happening.

He put one hand on the top of my car and leaned down to meet my eyes. As he spoke, his smile never faded: “So… I take it… you can see this place?”

Well, I was so taken aback I wasn’t really sure what to say, so I just nodded. And the next thing he said, well… threw me a bit off. He stood up, brushed off his pants calmly, turned back to the house, began walking, and he just said-

[Record scratch, cutting the music off.]

ARCHIVIST:

Now there’s a profanity here that I will not repeat, but it seems Ayla’s statement finishes there.

[The Archivist sighs and shuffles their papers.]

ARCHIVIST:

There’s not much followup to be done here. Ayla gave us a street address, but didn’t actually tell us which house it was. [mutters] Perhaps she’s more of an idiot than she claims to be.

Regardless, upon investigating the street, nothing appeared to be out of the ordinary, though none of our staff were familiar enough with the area to tell which houses should and shouldn’t be there. In my personal opinion, this is a mere case of a poor attention span. I can’t blame Ayla, I suppose, but was it really worth coming here and telling a whole dramatic story over it?

[scoff] There are some other areas of this statement that leave room for questioning and research, such as the radio static and the house’s residents. For now, however, I will be filing this one under “Irrelevant” in my mind. End recording.

[Recorder clicks on.]

[Recorder clicks back on.]

[There’s footsteps as HR walks down the hall. They knock on the Archivist’s office door. Meanwhile, the Archivist can be heard moving something.]

HR:

[muffled] Uh, hello? I’ve got something for the Archivist.

ARCHIVIST:

Oh, uh, yes, of course. Just let me— [They curse as they are heard tripping over piles of statements.]

[A pause.]

HR:

...should I come back at a later time, or—?

[The door suddenly swings open.]

ARCHIVIST:

Right. Blimey. Sorry about that, mate. What’s all this, then?

HR:

Er, are you the head archivist?

ARCHIVIST:

That depends, who’s asking?

HR:

Your HR. I’m also an intern under Mr. Banks, which brings about a whole array of other useless titles, but for your purposes, I’m just HR. My name is Luca.

ARCHIVIST:

Oh! Lovely. Mr. Banks told me I’d be seeing you. Um, pleasure to meet you.

HR:

Thanks, you—wait, wh—?

ARCHIVIST:

[trying to change the subject] Say, why are you here, Luca? Any plans for after your internship? I mean, surely, you have a field of study, a career plan?

HR:

[slowly, growing increasingly confused] Oh, um, yeah. I, um—well, I started here—um, yeah, after my internship, I. Uh.

ARCHIVIST:

It’s alright if you don’t have a plan, y’know. Took me a while to figure all my stuff out, and, well, I got out alive, didn’t I?

HR:

No, it’s just—I know I have something, I just. Um. [desperately trying to change the subject] What are you doing in there, exactly?

ARCHIVIST:

[beat] Oh, just some housekeeping.

HR:

...and that required you to move an entire bookshelf?

[A long pause.]

ARCHIVIST:

Listen, I know what this looks like.

HR:

Doesn’t he have a weird thing about that?

ARCHIVIST:

[passionate] Which is exactly why I did it! I mean, they’re not the heaviest bookshelves in the world, so it’s certainly not a matter of safety.

HR:

[mutters] As if Mr. Banks has ever valued the life and safety of his employees.

[Both are heard walking back into the office towards where the bookshelf was.]

ARCHIVIST:

[cont.] Which means there must have been something weird about the bookshelf—and I was right. See, look, there’s like a weird...hole. Thing.

HR:

...I’m guessing that’s why Mr. Banks made me bring you a shovel?

ARCHIVIST:

Hm? Oh, right, the shovel. Kind of forgot I had asked for that.

HR:

How did you not notice I was carrying it when I came here?

ARCHIVIST:

You see, within the hole, there’s this big mound of dirt, and I have reason to believe that there’s something hidden beneath.

HR:

[They sniff, then, disgusted] Oh god, why does it smell like something died in there?

ARCHIVIST:

That’s what I’m trying to find out.

HR:

Look, can’t you just...I don’t know, leave it? Like, just put the bookshelf back, spray some air freshener, and then be done with it? I really don’t want to have to write this up.

ARCHIVIST:

You expect me to work under these conditions? Having a mysterious hole in my wall with no idea what’s lurking within?

HR:

Look, I just think this is a really stupid idea. If Mr. Banks finds out—

ARCHIVIST:

He’s not going to! You— [they huff a sigh.] Would you just hand me my shovel? I’m going in!

HR:

Whatever you say.

[HR hands the Archivist the shovel.]

ARCHIVIST:

Thank you.

[They are heard shoveling for some time, before the Archivist finally seems to hit something.]

HR:

Is...is that…?

ARCHIVIST:

My god.

HR:

That’s a dead body.

ARCHIVIST:

Appears to be. [beat.] Do you know who it is?

HR:

I mean, they’re sort of hard to recognize now.

ARCHIVIST:

Perhaps the previous archivist?

HR:

I dunno, I never knew them.

[A long pause.]

ARCHIVIST:

Right, then. Back to work. Mind helping me move this bookshelf?

HR:

(under their breath) God, I’m gonna have to write this up, aren’t I?

[Recorder clicks off.]

[Theme music plays.]

[CREDITS.]

Incident Report Number 31 is a podcast made by Three-Eyed Frog Presents. This episode, “In the Middle of the Street,” was written, directed, and produced by Val West and Luka Miller with sound design by Luka Miller. This episode featured Val West as the Archivist and Luka Miller as HR. Music is produced by Luka Miller. To keep up with the show and find transcripts, make sure to follow us on our Twitter at @IR31Pod and on tumblr at @IncidentReport31. To contact us with any questions or concerns, feel free to email us at [email protected]. Thanks so much for listening!

#ir31pod transcripts

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barry-j-blupjeans · 4 years

Text

TAZ Balance Fic Recs

I’m making this 90% because I love these fics and the world needs to know and 10% because I need help finding them once I’ve read them. Let’s begin!! (I will not be tagging authors because I only know a few writers on this list, but if anyone else wants to tag them, feel free :>)

Refractory - Written by Nesswrites on Ao3 - Rated T

Refractory adj. (rih-frack-tuh-ree) 1. Stubborn or unmanageable. 2. Resistant to a process or stimulus.

Kravitz, a young orthopedic surgeon, is thrust into what feels like a different reality when he meets psychiatric patient, Taako. In a strange flurry of events, he finds himself being drawn toward this man, spending more and more time in a department that he used to hate and becoming invested in a patient who isn't one of his own.

Taako, an in-denial anorexia patient, is forced into a long-term hospital stay by friends and family who worry about his waning health. When he meets an attractive doctor from another wing, he begins to wonder if maybe this was the star-crossed love that he was always destined for. At least, that's what hundreds of episodes of Grey's Anatomy taught him.

In other words, the hospital drama nobody wanted but everyone got

I just really love this fic, guys, there’s not a lot I can say. It’s well written

Bury the Lead - Written by marywhale on Ao3 - Rated T

Taako’s senior year at Neverwinter High could be going better. Faced with a choice between joining the school’s floundering newspaper or being expelled, he opts for a career in journalism.

Lucretia, the paper’s editor, kind of wishes he'd gone the other way.

As the first TAZ fic I ever read in my life, this was really good. Even if it wasn’t the first fic I ever read, I still would love it. It captivated me in a way I didn’t think fics could.

Seven Raptors - Written by DragonWrites on Ao3 - Rated M

In a distant plane, Fate brings together seven scientists and explorers, who set out to explore the unknown and find themselves on a mission to save all of existence.

In another, far harsher plane, Fate brings those same seven together again. But these Seven Birds have been shaped by a crueler, much less forgiving world. These Seven Raptors are the villains in their story.

And when the two flocks meet, each of the Seven Birds must come face to face with who they might have been--who they might still become--if they let the darkness consume them.

I’ve had an idea in my head for a while of the birds meeting themselves but on a different plane? And this fic makes that idea so much more than I ever thought it could be. The first chapter really drew me in and I read it all in one night (with help from insomnia).

More below the cut!!

Serendipity and it’s inconspicuous faults - Written by TasteofDeath of Ao3 - Rated G

The morning after Angus comes home with a sore tummy and a stomach bug, things are starting to get better.

Or, Angus’ fathers have a fun time loving their little boy and a not so fun time worrying about his health

This is absolutely the cutest fic I’ve ever read. It made me tear up but in the good way. Also everything by TasteofDeath is amazing, check them out.

From the blackest room - Written by FordRiverBlues - Rated M

The authorities on a new plane mistake Barry for an enemy spy. They want information he doesn't have. Barry just wants to survive.

What can I say, I like angst. I’ve spent long hours thinking about this fic. Barry is a comfort character of mine and apparently I love seeming my comfort characters going through hard stuff. It’s just a good fic, my dudes.

The Sweetest, Dorkiest Love - Written by ceilingfan5 - Rated G

Anxious about giving Taako the perfect Valentine's present, Kravitz trades Lup two weeks of night shifts so she'll teach him how to make chocolates. It doesn't go as planned, but love wins out anyway.

Okay listen. I just said I liked angst buuUUUT - Heck, this fic is so soft and I really love and it made me cry because they’re just so soft.

All the Things You Prayed For - Written by anonymousAlchemist and marywhale - Rated T

Taako's been dead for two years. Taako's been dead for seven decades. Depends how you count it.

Her brother is dead and Lup’s a whole lifetime into the future. It’s a brave new world out there and she’s trying not to think about it too hard. She gets the feeling that if she starts thinking, she won’t ever stop, and she can’t afford to be out of commission. She's the only Captain America the new century’s got.

Lup is Cap, Taako fell from a train, and eventually all ghosts come in from the cold. You guessed it—it's a TAZ/Marvel shakeup baby. We're bringing the party to you.

If you’ve been anywhere on tumblr, you’ve heard some mention of this fic and for good reason!! I’m not into any superhero stuff so it took a while to read it because I didn’t think I’d understand it. But honestly? You don’t need to know anything about any superhero to read this. It’s written excellently and I really like it.

It's Difficult To Learn About Yourself When You Didn't Know You Could - Written by Casual_Scribbles - No rating

He licks his lips, running his knuckle along the spiral binding of his notebook. “I was reading my Caleb Cleaveland books – some of the newer ones, where he's a teenager – and one of the characters that were introduced was, um, they’re nonbinary. And I- I've heard of that before, but I didn't know a lot about it, so I looked it up.” He looks up and Miss Lup is listening to him attentively, her ears perked up. She nods at him.

“And I found out- I thought it was just one thing, ma'am,” he feels bolder, having seen the encouragement on her face. “But it's not. It’s a lot- it's so many things, Miss Lup! And I was looking through them and I just- some of them felt really familiar. Like- like I knew exactly what the writer was trying to say and I-”

(They'd been more than familiar. They'd been-)

No. They weren’t his.

Angus struggles to come to terms with something new he learns about himself, but thankfully his family is there to support him.

Non-binary Angus!!! Non-binary Angus!!!!!!! That’s all I have to say!!! Read it!!!!

Back to Wonderland - Written by OhWowAltMal - Rated G

When lich twins Edward and Lydia pull a trick far too convincing for Taakos liking, he may have found himself panicking and making some rash decisions. Just a little, though.

He definitely doesn't break the umbrastaff in half, looking for his (real?) sister.

An alternative look at the live show in Orleans, and how it could have gone.

This idea was something I didn’t even think of but I love it so much?? Half of me wishes this is what really happened, but they write the characters so well that it feels like it did.

I Know I've Kissed You Before - Written by Desiree_Harding - Rated T

"He thinks, one day, that maybe what he’s been feeling is the urge to show Kravitz, really show him, how much Taako cares about him. To make it… official. That he’s not going anywhere. Because Kravitz doesn’t live off of implications like Taako does, and maybe Taako’s a little tired of making him translate.

Maybe Taako wants to do a little bit of the work for him, just once."

AKA The story of how Taako and Kravitz got married alone in their kitchen on Candlenights (on purpose they swear)

This??? Is incredible?? It’s a (long winded but worth it) process of Taakitz proposing. I have no words, truly.

Six Years - Written by WritingIsMyCoffee and zumbah_plumbah - Rated T

Six years ago, Taako was kicked out of culinary school for an altercation between him and his roommate, forever crushing his lifelong dream of becoming a chef.

Six years ago, Merle was fiddling with the ring on his finger that he no longer needed to wear.

Six years ago, Magnus was sitting beside a hospital bed and holding his wife's hand.

Now, Taako is burdened with the struggles of raising a ten year old. Merle is wondering whether or not he wants that ring to become an obligation. Magnus is struggling to overcome the grieving process. For the past six years, the three of them have been running away from their problems and the reasons that brought them to where they currently are. Now they will be forced to face the music and deal with what happened in the past in order to move on.

FUCK!!! Fuck this made me cry?? I really like it. I really really like it. It’s so raw and emotional. All the characters fit perfectly.

synecdoche - Written by androids_fighting93 - Rated M

Echoes of the seven of them stretch into infinity, and now there’s Kravitz, a parallel line that they keep crossing despite all physical laws. Taako can see how they are bound together, he and Lup and the rest of the crew, white shimmering cords that stretch between them, between himself and Kravitz, and every aspect of Kravitz and every aspect of the Raven Queen in every world, all existing simultaneously. The Light falling to countless worlds at once, the Hunger descending over it all, the same patterns into infinity and nothing to stop it except for a silver ship, a bright beacon, unique among it all. He can see all of it.

They’re hunted by two immensely powerful creatures now, the Hunger and the Raven Queen’s servant. It's too bad Taako can't seem to stay out of harm's way.

I read this again recently and it broke my heart all over again. The idea is wonderful, the writing is even better. Please go read this fic!!!

#vic speaks #taz balance #taz #taz fic #taz fic rec #The Adventure Zone #the adventure zone balance

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youlooklikearealbabetoday · 5 years

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the conversation between eve and konstantin in 2x03 is easily one of my favorite exchanges in the entire series so far. these two people, not adversaries but also not quite allies, with one singular person ultimately tying them together. sandra and kim owned this shit. of course the following are all just my thoughts, others may see this differently, but what stood out to me is konstantin’s gross underestimating the level of eve and villanelle’s connection. sure, he’s saying a good deal of these things selfishly motivated in hopes of he and villanelle going freelance without eve and mi6 breathing down their necks (and yes i think he was planning it since he was recovered by mi6 he’s a smart dude lol) and the rest of what he says is based on his understanding of villanelle’s previous relationships including his own. however one major way he underestimates eve — even villanelle to a point — is that what he’s describing of villanelle is actually something we see eve do(ne) or head towards in following events in the episode. they are far more similar than he knows; konstantin is simultaneously describing eve’s path in so many terms and a great deal of what we see further in is how eve and villanelle’s parallel paths are truly starting to overlap and cross in so many ways even beyond the near physical missed connections.

not to mention the key information konstantin hasn’t been privy too yet and that is eve stabbing villanelle. so much is about context and here sit these two people, the ones who care about villanelle the most, an mi6 agent and a former handler.... but the roles are far murkier than first appearances. konstantin deeply cares for villanelle, i have no doubt, but he’s ultimately fine with using villanelle for professional gain while supposedly abandoning his family (for now). on the other side of the pond we see eve systematically abusing and destroying those same professional avenues in the name of personal gain. it isn’t something konstantin sees and even eve completely recognizes. at least this point in time.

oh this line. THIS LINEEEE. what i love about it is that eve is saying it to dismiss konstantin and also unconsciously ends up singling herself out as a main differential to everyone else he references. no, eve hasn’t given up on villanelle and the extent to which i still don’t think we’ve really seen which is both frightening and arousing lol in all the ways that make sense and the ways they shouldn’t. 2x03 cements their mutual refusal to give up on each other — they’re obsessively, destructively relentless.

these previous relationships are complicated but for the sake of this post what’s interesting about anna from the perspective of villanelle, even though the full extent of their dynamics is still somewhat of an enigma, anna gave up on her. with nadia she really didn’t measure up to the game which transitions nicely to konstantin who understood it and both he and villanelle ultimately prioritize self-preservation. pour one out for the She’ll Love You To Death(TM) squad.

i still believe at the end of the day villanelle wouldn’t completely put eve before herself, BUT BUT.... we see villanelle risk a whole lot more for eve than we’ve seen before. not just her job but even her own life, more so than when she was in the good graces of the twelve. i believe villanelle knew how precarious her situation was as soon as she saw that VOHLVOH and of course when raymond strangled her, even before konstantin spelled it out for her in no uncertain terms about raymond’s particular role in putting out assassins to pasture. however similar to eve, villanelle was comfortable in living in a semi-denial state and sticking with the twelve.

just like eve playing happy homemaker and cooking niko what looked like ground up finding nemo, i’m sure there’s a level of comfort and stability in staying with villanelle in staying with the twelve and what she knows and what she thinks she’s always done best. i wrote some things here examining villanelle’s idea of freedom and control which ties into that idea. the past few days for villanelle have been upturning, to say the least, and in addition to being jealous of eve’s potential wandering eye towards the the ghost, it’s also the slightest hint that someone might be better than her at what’s given her a life’s purpose.

it really is about “making space” for themselves and how those spaces are inextricably carved in each other for the other — if we talk about the apple as a symbol as temptation we can also think of it as one of knowledge. of possibility, of autonomy, of an existence beyond what is comfortable and safe in all its messy glory. funny how the hungry caterpillar starts its process with the apple cronch cronch. we see eve and villanelle completely push their boundaries to get closer to one another, much farther than before.

eve knowingly risks her relationship with carolyn, extorts one of the most important key witnesses mi6 might’ve had in konstantin, not to mention compromising his family by giving him their location. and kenny! my twink kid “i thought you were different.” going back to the beginning and konstantin’s line “you still have something worth having, don’t let her take it” one can’t help but start to see the similarities in eve’s relationships — a means to an end. and niko? an immediate, pleasant enough, boring distraction. sound familiar to a s1 distraction? *cue national anthem*

villanelle making those calls to the school to presumably have niko fired or arrested, giving gemma tips on getting niko’s attention, disguising herself to integrate herself further into eve’s personal world — this is villanelle’s love language. the manipulation, which is a form of her hatred of niko, is manageable and something she excels at. no doubt she believes she’s doing eve a favor, much like bill “he was slowing you down” pargrave and anna’s husband. when mi6 comes storming into the hotel and villanelle sees eve she knows that they can continue to play this game if she joined up with konstantin. that laugh behind the hotel door? villanelle re-invigorated and downright horny. she realizes there really is no viable option for her to continue this dance with eve in staying with the twelve which shows how “burrowed in” eve is with villanelle and vice versa.

this is also why this self-realization eve has with kenny is so so so so incredible and important after villanelle and konstantin escape. she’s absolutely run out of professional excuses, there’s nothing left but the extremely personal. this is why the fact that eve and villanelle will have to come to terms with this obsession when they work together under professional guises to find the ghost is hilarious and that shit’s gonna be so tasty.... what will they bring out of one another when the outside playbook has been shifted? GOD i can’t wait.

i mean really it’s all about the potential, right? the inhale / exhale / nursing dual wounds synchronization a sign of their romantic-sexual-intellectual connection but also of respective epiphanies about their true motivations and inherent prospect the other represents — they’re actively fighting against the world, burning bridges and salting the earth for one another and that is something that no one expected. will eve get eaten up by villanelle? will villanelle be eaten up by eve? or maybe.......? i’d like to think the possibilities between these two are endless.

#IT'S A LOVE STORY PPL #hope this is coherent i wrote it in a fever dream lol #was going to do gifs for the entire post but bish is lazy #killing eve #killing eve analysis #villanelle #eve polastri #konstantin #long post

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sundaynightnovels · 5 years

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chinese mythology AU: the moon rabbit

so @insearchof-solace gave me this prompt a while back and i was immediately inspired and.... wrote nothing BUT i kept wanting to write it (that’s fair enough, no????) && now that i’m finally up to writing it, my word doc is acting up on me and i was ready to throw in the towel but i was like

well. i write a whole bunch and don’t edit my work anyway, so how about i try something different and write it right now, spontaneously, on this post here? are you nervous? i’m rebellious and low on energy and don’t have enough mind to be nervous so yea, i’m gonna give it a go. so there’s no like introductory post on how long it’s gonna be or what is it about or how vastly different it is from the actual mythology (very different, probably) like always, this is an AU of my wip like all things out of season, i.e. using its characters and whatnot. so yea. a little background: the moon rabbit is, well, a rabbit. who lives on the moon. it’s usually like seen pounding something with a mortar and pestle that the chinese (the moon rabbit exists in a lot of other asian mythology but i’m using the chinese one for this because, well. it’s a chinese au piece) assumes is the elixir of life, and is usually portrayed as being a companion of chang’e, the moon goddess. but who knows? will there be a companion here?? i don’t know. what i do know is that i’ll be personifying the moon rabbit, so yea. i won’t be describing an actual rabbit with rabbit limbs and features per se here, but something rather human. here it goes: edit: after writing, it seems a lil philosophical and kinda gloomy. not my usual light-hearted thing, so be warned!

The moon is round tonight. Well, that’s no different from usual -- it is round every night, there’s no way it can suddenly change its shape beneath his feet, but well. He supposes, for the mortals down there, the moon is round tonight. Below him, flickering lights dance like waves cascading over one another; they sputter and glow within their paper walls, orange and red and yellow and even purple. Laughter weaves its way between hooked arms and raucous chatter, explodes as someone butchers a poetry recital and recedes when a performance begins. He sits there, on the edge. The stone is cool in his grip, familiar and worn; it sets a rhythm alongside the pounding beats and traditional tunes of the music below. Each time, a push and a twist, a push and a twist. By the time applause breaks out, the herbs have already been ground to dust. He’s used to the smell; they prick at his nostrils and lingers in the air, but his nose always aches and the air around him is always heavy anyway. He’s used to it. Sometimes he wonders. Of course he does, he’s had more than enough time, so much that he doesn’t care to notice about the flow of the ages, passing so quickly beneath his feet that if he merely blinks, he thinks he might miss civilisation’s end. Not that it matters to him, of course. Eras come and go, mortals live and perish. And all that eventually remains are the ghosts of memories that have come to pass. Echoes, rather -- not ghosts. Ghosts are too corporeal, nearly substantial in their remembrance. And memories are fickle beings. They shift and change with age and perspective, warp with desires and denials; the more someone strives to recollect, the more they rebuild and break down the past, the less firm the foundation. The less solid the form. What’s left is merely an echo, a lingering afterthought. Something not as significant, yet remains hovering in the atmosphere like a miasma suspended over a grave -- doomed to haunt for all of eternity. Mortals are all chased by their echoes. And he wonders, of course, what his might be. If he were to be mortal. But of course, he isn’t. And that is a useless thought to contemplate on, for something that he cannot and will not be. He keeps pounding away. His moon is always round, after all. - The smoke is thick, almost viscous somehow. It snakes up into the air, wiggling and struggling, fighting to get out. It happens, occasionally. Though perhaps that might not be the best descriptor. Occasionally to him takes place over a rather large span of time, anyway. It doesn’t matter. The mortals move away, backs resolutely turned. Some are crying. Some press their palms tight and hold them close to their hearts, letting hushed words slip into open air. Others, younger ones, so tiny he can barely see them from where he sits, look confused. It’s bright again, but not like before. The flames are ravenous and fierce, hungry and unrelenting; they chase after the paper offerings and tear apart the paper house, eating and swallowing till there’s nothing left. The smoke dies down; it’s a little easier to breathe. He thinks. He doesn’t quite know. A physical release might not be quite the same as an emotional one. What he does understand, though, is that everything comes back to dust. You bring nothing with you when you’re brought to life, and you carry nothing away in your death. It is a cycle. It will eventually happen again, he doesn’t know why they grieve. He is no expert, of course. He continues to pound away at the mixture for an immortality elixir. - She’s here today. The moon is a large place, and they don’t often cross paths. He feels like it’s been eons since he’s last spoken. It might have been. She doesn’t speak. She sits at the edge and peers down. Though there can be no sign of age on the smooth lines of her face, she somehow looks weathered. Old and beaten. Tired, from an eternity of existence.

He clears his throat; it is resounding in the silence. “Hi.” “Hi,” she replies. She used to be mortal. She used to love and be loved. But it’s been ages. There’s no one there for her now. He sits beside her and doesn’t speak, just pushes the bottle towards her and looks at his hands. The skin is peeling and his palms are bruised. He is immortal, yet still they are bruised. It is an odd spectacle. He curls his fingers around them and squeezes. He stares at her and he wonders. If she’s a beautiful immortal worshiped by all and he’s her humble companion praised in textbooks. Or maybe she’s an idol for virtue and he’s one for diligence and utility. In reality though, he thinks it might be something else instead. That she’s a mortal stuck in a cage and that he’s her captor. Or that they are both trapped in a never-ending circle that chases after itself, sitting on the edge and trying to break the trajectory. Maybe it’s better not to think at all. After all, the moon will always be round. She will always be told in stories, celebrated in festivals. And he will always be here, pounding away for all of eternity. Memories will live on forever, anyway -- even if they are merely echoes. Especially if they are merely echoes. They are meant to live forever.

---------------------- okay! i don’t know why this ended up so depressing. like i said, i really didn’t plan anything. and i don’t know what this means. maybe it’s a deliberation on immortality VS mortality and how hou yi has maybe got the right idea the whole time? (okay, explanations about certain myths below.) or maybe something about myths being glorified and immortalised and wondering how that might go about in actual reality. or maybe that people should be given decisions about their own lives and not forced into a routine by fate i don’t know okay don’t question me i don’t think when i’m writing it also kinda, sort of, reflects a little about the beginning of my wip? alright so a few things:

the moon rabbit is.... dun dun dun!! i’m sure some of y’all have guessed! it’s shou!! (that’s why it kinda reflects the beginning of my wip a little bit)

and the female is obviously... dun dun dun! chang’e!!! and she is!!!! well, this might be a little harder to guess but it also does reflect a little bit of her past / backstory in the companion novel. anyway!! it is... zhen!!

basic background on the mythology of chang’e: she is married to a man named hou yi, and back then there were like, 10 suns on earth and everyone was suffering because it was hella hot and hou yi, being a great man and a saviour of the broken (oops, mcr reference), he shot down 9 out of 10 of the suns. he was rewarded with an elixir of immortality, but he didn’t want to take it because he wanted to be with his wife. anyway something happened, bla bla bla, in order to protect the elixir from some bad guys, chang’e downed it herself and became immortal, and she decided to live in a place where she’d be closest to her husband -- which was incidentally the moon. and mid-autumn celebration is kinda celebrated for her too. okay, it also celebrates a bunch of other stuff, but for chang’e as well!

the first part he’s watching the mid-autumn festival celebrations, traditionally celebrated with people holding a bunch of lanterns on the 15th day of the 8th lunar month, which is when there is a full moon (just fyi, the 15th day of all the lunar months tend to have a full moon)

the second part he’s watching a funeral procession (kinda more like a buddhist one, where you burn joss paper and paper ingots and paper houses etc.) not really in detail but yea

the phrase that i used ‘In life you carry nothing, and in death you bring nothing’ comes from this actual chinese thing that you say ‘生不带来死不带去’ which means the same thing

ALRIGHT. uhh. hope y’all enjoyed?? tagging my tag list @cabaretofwords @inked-waves @latechickadee @kidsarentallwrite @insearchof-solace @kaigods @inkpot-dreamer @pen-for-sword @thedreamsofthesky @cheap-pins

as usual y’all are free to drop me prompts any time alright!

#writeblr #writing #like all things out of season #AU: chinese mythology #snippet #writing snippet #writers on tumblr #my writing #my wip #my OCs #character tag #shou #zhen #chinese mythology #the moon rabbit #chang'e

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chimchimssenpai-blog · 4 years

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Alexandra Wallace Smith's Idea of Privacy

My sister is striking. All the ladies in our own family are. My Aunt Magdalene was notably stunning too. They have spitfire personalities. Daddy, you know, you of all understand my moved quickly notes, the journals that I even have kept from youth continued to beyond, the magazine, the rejected novel, the reckoning, the poems that I've scribbled, misplaced, that point and electricity and ego forgot. Then there are the black Croxley notebooks. I am decided to keep that away from you, and from the relaxation of the world for good.

Muirhead wounded me Loose Diamonds. I consider all his ladies inside the workplace area in Johannesburg earlier than I got here home to my formative years home in Port Elizabeth anxious to death of falling pregnant. Having a child out of wedlock. Becoming a unmarried parent and raising a child on my own with little or no cash. I rarely made any money or had an income to aid a child. How they included him, laughed at his jokes, how they positioned him on a pedestal, how they worshiped him, how they sat opposite him in fancy Johannesburg restaurants ingesting their cabernet or merlot. Thinking ladies, stunning ladies, women with youngsters, naivety and sexual inexperience (although the sexual impulse, the sexual power become there) on their aspect. How he winded hem up as if they may be electric powered dolls. I heated up the livers, mushrooms and bacon, the leftovers, scrambled the eggs and listened to the morning information on the radio. The bus coming in from Port Elizabeth to Johannesburg had flipped into the air off the highway. There have been no fatalities. The plums have been juicy and sweet. I might store them for lunch. I sat at the kitchen desk, buttered my toast, drank my lukewarm coffee, crossed my legs, scratched my knee absentmindedly and stared out of the window. The breakfast's grease turned into stuck to the pan. I should forget about about it. And the extra aware I became of the sky, the environment, the internal, the more conscious I have become of who created the invention, vision, dream, aim, and stop of this line of sky, of blue, of this author, this tortured poet, this fowl?

I felt his hand intimately as if it become a dream and then not anything. I felt ashamed.

The dream girl after leaving Johannesburg turned into a lady. She again to the coast, to her father's house, her mother's kitchen, her mom's expertise and the thrones of her early life persevered, to the artwork of a coronary heart undone. She again to the coast in which water may be discovered in wild places, where tides had been difficulty to trade, to the location where she spent magnificent blue hours staring up on the sky. She had her books. Her index finger could linger on the backbone in her father's grand observe, his library, and his 'London enjoy'. The residence changed into dilapidated. It changed into in a awful way. The tiles had been falling off the wall in the kitchen. The partitions needed a lick of paint. The interiors had been in need of restore. The whole house needed to be renovated. The dream woman had back. The dream female become also decided to alternate. She also desired to be heroic, angelic and magical.

Writing approximately grief is one of the maximum hard matters I have ever needed to do. Nerves I could fathom as I stood in front of them however what I without a doubt desired to do became break out. Everybody constantly speaks approximately the miracle of existence at a funeral. When death can pay a visit there's no apprehension about discussing what track to play while the coffin is decreased, what hymns might be played, what verse will be examine out of the bible, and who will make the potato salad.

Ocean of beads. Not intended to last long on this lifetime or the next. The people of South Africa are like that. My city is a dignified town filled with church human beings. In Central you'll locate the fine women within the international. They will detach themselves from feminism, and the tigers that come at night time, their competitors in a finite time and location. They are moneyed. Drugs have destroyed the very art in their soul. Every gram in their spirits have wasted away. Muirhead. Flesh have come earlier than you and after. The most exquisite elements of you portioned off like cubicles in an office space. Tell me the whole lot you need me to be I could have stated in my twenties. This doesn't need to be the give up of it however it's far. It is. And still I say allow it not be so. So comic. So tragic. I stand on this ice residence. In this residence from hell. Pale. The origins of smoke and mirrors, the cosmic bloodlines of my creativeness, may be seen thru the embodiment and timeline of my flesh.

Paper thin skating on ice is what I've yearned for my complete existence. Not to fail, no longer to discriminate, but to create art within the landscape of suicidal depression and contamination. All poetry and poetic justice seems to ask of us is to have a decided lust for lifestyles. I nonetheless need to familiarise myself with rituals that I found so comforting in childhood. Norma Jean where are you, where do you discover yourself now, who are you and what's that golden mirrored image staring lower back at you? Is there whatever more seductive than insanity, than being blonde and being favored via the world at big, to be quiet approximately your philosophy on existence, your starving targets to be a author and a poet? To triumph like you've got triumphed Norma Jean is to chortle within the face of men and women, of presidents, of feminists, to snigger in the face of the adversity that they have got confronted. No remember how quick, how solitary ecstasy is one can't get away its urgency, its survival manual, that stain of love no matter how powerful and sparkling it is probably, how dwindled it'd make you experience in the long run, you may discover that that revel in turned into worth it. I left the insanity and the heat of the city in the back of me in my early twenties. It will go away you superbly grown now.

The universe is sweeter, purer, greater honourable and I am less haunted, less ghostlike, much less transparent, baffled via denial. I cannot erase the treasured of life anymore and the fragility of it. How crushed and petrified my spirit once changed into. Am I, become I ever simply loved? The women round me in life, in the place of business, within the sphere of immediate own family were introspective cohorts. I am exhausted of writing about preference and that is the reality of the problem due to the fact in some manner it is invincible like scrapbooking on whatever at the inked tattooed patchwork planet that you stay in. I've end up a primitive girl in green spaces, inexperienced feasts of them, and foundations of iciness timber of them. I've grow to be an invention of a modern lady. The invention of the width of the thread of the other girl in a land that time forgot. What are the lyrics once more to that music? What are the lines that point forgot in that journal on the ones cold, harsh blue, blue traces? I am bored with feeding the beasts galore but should not angels usually be defended? Who or what in essence defines an angel? An angel is the unseen, the invisible correct and no person can hardwire your mind like God can.

And what's choice truly? Smoke and honey within the dance of anger, intimacy, duplicity and deception and the everlasting obsession of all those matters. It is meant for the gamine, the airy, and the otherworldly, the mystical woman. The adolescent. Children are intended for women and what takes place when you want writing about loss of life. For me I value feedback on dying, on eternity, at the paradise of heaven, the recognition-thinking in wishful questioning, the curious creatures that volcano human beings are and the many faces of saints. I've usually believed in angels. The dwelling keep on living whilst the dead turn to dirt. There's a dark aching, a canvas on which to play on, the haunting ache in my brother's soul is the identical ache which I actually have in my very own. There's a ghost state in my head. The faculties, the rooms, and all the white walled interiors of my imagination. And if I near my eyes I can consider all of our contours and the blue sharp mild poured into the cages of the heavenly sky. The lover and the mother and the drowning blossom that become me. Dirt swimming-swimming in a watery spool gene pool of garbage. The dying of a pet and a poet portray this elusive world with lucid thought styles.

Does decay, blood and the darkish each get lonely and the groom with the unspoken ardour he has for his bride? The bride in her wedded bliss. In her impossible high-heeled footwear. So I turned into there in spirit. If fish kissed oxygen they might surely die. Their pomegranate gills snuffed out of lifestyles. What are the grains of poverty? Where do they lay? Are they sequestered? Their souls lie in South Africa, perhaps even take root there. Roots tapping into the lifestyles of the soil, the subculture of the earth, tapping into the burden of water, or squalor (whichever it reaches first beneath the situations), keeping the fragility of phones as existence buoys, unspecified social media is the new sexy, tapping into religious poverty, the cemeteries of poverty, of the bone-tired. What sweetness! The unknown comes with anticipation. The anticipation of the attention of marvel and the prying eyes of society. Where does my soul lie? It lay with you for a while I bet. Sated bride, uninvolved girl, splendor meeting the stunning middle of a masculine identification, and the physical frame of a mysterious wellspring of the intelligence of the alternative of sexuality.

Alone, given way to non secular abandonment, inhibitory nostalgia and the holiest of holies privacy, and with the solitude status that includes intimacy I consider you. You burnt via. You not anything however a burnt and melted fragment yet still dispelling radiance. You like the crested burnt cease of a matchstick. Sooty cinders within the fire. Cinders from the coal. Cinders and smoke from your freshly lit cigarette. Give me mouth to mouth resuscitation so I can be brought back to life, your existence. I assume that the only aspect that genuinely mattered in the long run, and that was product of a substance that might be harvested from the cells of a everyday fact turned into inside the steps of Jean Rhys's haunting vulnerability. The haunting vulnerability of all ladies. I can see it in their eyes, their manner they keep themselves responsible to shielding themselves from being put on show if it is not on their phrases, the lengthy street in their guarded pilgrimage into humanity, spirituality. Gods to be made from their reflections interior of the looking glass. I marvel the way to prevent stammering. How to break out into letter-writing. If I cannot get away into love, its poetic grace, mercy and use.

Into wincing at its threshold of pain and but comprehending it at the equal time. Comprehending the sun, moon and big name fabric, the summer season's son and his empire. And so begins the letter to a brother in rehabilitation. Brother and anchor. The 'filthy special' ceramic little Buddha pottering around. You had been the anchor that cemented me, my symphony, my tool, my common aim, my oracle, my ardour. You had been my one direction to comply with homeward sure. What is living in the coronary heart is this. The walls of a garden manufactured from brick and mortar, stone and the whole thing this is recuperation. Winter timber and Whitman. It is time for the display, finding Isaiah within the gritty switch of the loophole. Why did not you come back once? Why did not you write as soon as healthy specimen of ownership, what's the tragedy of all of it however are you satisfied, refreshed by way of all the seeds, roots, vegetation and stems? I stared and stared at the photograph of him and questioned on the tragedy of all of it. Speechless earlier than the photo evaporates completely something takes location and soon the whole lot unearths its area on impartial ground, in gravity, in the world or in soil. There is no promise in the dying of the solar handiest the angelic, the whispers underfoot.

There is new life in vegetation, in love, in empathy and the ardour that humanity has for empathy. Everything frail earlier than it's far misplaced. Lost to the dark. What is black and what is darkish? Is it one and the same? The smell of cinnamon and bark. Salt and light. The colour of the day, dawn breaking into fragments. The stillness of the air. What are you manufactured from Mr. Muirhead? Skin and bone, flesh and tissue, a succession of the physical melting away around you to your immediate surroundings? The noise to your head, in that rush, are you able to feel it on your blood, that instance of possession. Where to from right here from following a street map into the complex intrigue of a sheltered formative years endured, and there I observed love. In the behaviour of an artist at paintings, the supply of verbal exchange, the self-portrait of human capital, the entirety heightened whilst it's illuminated as an instance visions of the cosmos disintegrating, collapsing below meteors on film. Drawings of earth's destruction, the bride of technological improvements, the use of the psychological framework of what got here before the humanity as we knew it as youngsters and as we get older, end up human beings with our very own thoughts to returned up our values we alternate, and we alternate the sector around us. We have Sci-fi to thank for that, Kubrick and Spielberg.

'Do no longer lecture me. You do not know anything about my scars.' My brother tells me. He says it together with his eyes too and I see a wild blue sky. Its journey is electrical in which its routes have become as important as the destinations of a diamond in the tough. Through the looking glass's façade comes the first harm, the poetry of my early twenties. Every family is dysfunctional of their personal manner. We live in a stressful society. I seem to have been born with this intuition to be considerate and touchy, knowledge and caring to others who appear to be in a less privileged role than I am but it has include a rate. My brother along with his cigarettes, stale smoke and moustache and the younger woman on his arm who herself is a fragile beauty. They are both stuck up in contemplative noise. They have discovered themselves only to fall amongst the stars. So I am left in mourning for what has been misplaced for each of them. A formative years.

'But I love you. Please don't do that.' I say in return and I see a revolution taking location inside him, the insufferable heaviness, and the uncivilised not anything of an echo vibrating like a shell casing. Something is let loose and communicated to me. Something bittersweet and sour.

And so I go back to love, loss and the elated appreciate I actually have of both of them. There is something inside each the innerness of the equipment for eternity (there is no bodily frame required for eternity, handiest the spirit, the soul, and kindred). There's an equilibrium inside the territory of the vacancy every so often determined in a human vessel after the sexual transaction and a symphony. Rhys's transactions and now I even have turn out to be really like her. I think that I have misplaced myself inside the very last analysis the preference to emerge as desirable. What would Moses do? I wouldn't be able to pick up the smartphone and speak to him up. He might pray in the desert history he found himself in. There become not anything else he may want to do inside the occasions he found himself in. He had a flame within himself that burned bright. Romance well what can I say except what a harsh experience that was. It become hellish. Love is a posed interlude, a pause among acts, oh the way it modifications the entirety approximately a bleak international enjoy, materialism, values, poverty, and that high commodity of spirituality. You could be as lovely to me now as you'll be in old age. I will do not forget you, wish for you, and that this romance will move ahead and go on and on however my soul lies in South Africa in which the ache of the mind may be greater devastating, felt greater acutely than the pain of the body. What taints the ache of a toddler feeling that another sibling has taken her region, overshadowed her. Let me now look at that distillate.

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