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glitxhwayventeen · 3 years

Text

Ghostin

Seungkwan: Chapter 1 (Jealous)

Characters: Seungkwan x female reader

Genre/Warnings: multi-member au (different scenarios), werewolf au, fantasy, angst, blood mentions, genocide, runaways, death mentions, mental illness, loved one loss, torture, violence. Any others will be put as warnings when future chapters are thought up/written.

Author’s Note: Please note that this chapter is very heavy in violence and in torture. I tried to tone it down as best as I could, but it’s probably still pretty bad for some people. So PLEASE don’t read if it could upset you. Also, I recommend listening to Jealous by Labrinth. It was a really good song that fit this chapter’s mood.

Please remember that all of these chapters and the content within them are a work of fiction! They’re just for fun/entertainment!

Bold= Dialogue Italics= Thoughts

🥀

Ghosting Master List

Chapter 1: Jealous

You had mixed feelings about this whole “imprinting” thing. I mean, your feelings for Seungkwan, you came to know, were incredibly strong and hard to ignore. But on the other hand, you had another mate. He took care of you and protected you. You still thought about him everyday. You still dreamed about him every night. You missed him more than anything in this world, but now, you had another mate and you weren’t sure what to do.

He offered you his room to stay in while you healed. At least, that’s what he told you, he was really hoping you’d just stay with them from now on. Though, given that you still seemed very skeptical of it, he wasn’t gonna push it. You, being tired of sleeping outside in the cold on the forest floor, agreed and thanked him. But you felt bad, it was his room after all and you didn’t know how long it would take you to heal. You knew he was your mate, everyone did, and so, despite your misgivings, you told him he could stay in the bed with you so long as he kept his hands to himself. And he never ever wanted to put you in a bad place or make you uncomfortable, so of course he obliged with no problem. He had never really done anything like that before so he didn’t really mind.

You were both sleeping in his bed, you on the left and him on the right closest to the door protectively, when you suddenly started whining. Immediately, Seungkwan’s eyes darted open and his attention went straight to you, disregarding his sleepiness completely. You were still out cold, but your face was moving, like it was in pain and the sounds you were making such painful sounding noises. He swore to you he wouldn’t touch you without your permission, but here you were crying in your sleep. How was he supposed to just let his mate cry and not do anything about it? So he picked you up gently and wrapped his arms around your small body, holding you close to his chest so you could heart his heart beat. Your tired form moved your hand to his chest instinctively, and right as your hand made contact with his skin, suddenly all his surrounding changed.

He was now in the middle of some sort of village square, watching something. The town didn’t look like the one they went to, the symbols on their flags were different, and the colors of the buildings weren’t the usual gray he was used to. There were unfamiliar people all around him. And they were speaking and murmuring in a different language, it sounded like Chinese based on what he’s heard from Minghao and Jun when they had spoken to each other in the past, but he wasn’t 100% sure. He thought maybe he had suddenly fell asleep, but the colors and sounds were far too vibrant to be a dream to him. He could smell and hear every little thing going on. This couldn’t be a dream, could it?

And In the center of all the commotion, there was a taller man tied to a wooden pole with a few people with weapons scattered around him. It felt like he knew the tall man for some reason. He could sense he was in trouble and Seungkwan wanted to help, but his feet felt like they were glued to the floor. He could feel the man’s fears and his anger.

“For such heinous crimes against our country” a man projected to the crowd, “this man is sentenced to the slowest, most painful death possible. Death By A Thousand Cuts!”

As the man let out the last part, the people around him cheered with joy. That sounded terrible. Why would they enjoy watching that? More importantly, why would they ever DO that to someone? He was so confused, it felt like his head was full of concrete, it made his head feel like it would to topple over at the slightest possible movement. The man was struggling, not wanting the silver sword to be grazed on his body, but the ropes tied his hands behind his back. He could do nothing. The man looked around. Soon after scanning his surroundings, he halted his actions, almost as if he had seen something in the crowd that changed his mind about fighting.

Seungkwan wanted to go. He wanted to run as he saw the blade get closer to the man’s body. He couldn’t help but squirm in his spot as it made the first cut, he could hear the sizzling sound from the man’s skin. He must’ve been a wolf too.

“Just tell us where the other one is and we’ll let you die quickly dog!” The man holding the sword yelled. “Just give the other up and you’ll be free” Other one? Other wolf?

Seungkwan had to get out of there. But, as his fight or flight instincts kicked in, he recognized a face in the sea of people. It was you.

You looked slightly different than the you he was holding in his room moments ago. You had a scarf wrapped around your head, hiding your hair and you were dressed in very plain looking clothes. And your face looked… somehow younger, even though if he were to look at the you he was holding, you’d probably physically still look the same. It was an aura that you have off, it as innocent in this place whereas at home, it was more tired and fragile. Almost like you were trying to not stand out among the people.

Still, Seungkwan could always find you. You were his mate. And You were looking at the man captured in the middle of the square with watery eyes. You were shaking. He didn’t understand what was happening or why he was here, but he remembered you telling the pack something about your powers. You had told them you could always feel what the people around you were feeling, so he chalked it up to the man in the square being the one that wanted to cry and you were just feeding off his energy.

But when Seungkwan turned his attention back to the wooden pole, he noticed that the man now had a stone cold face, like he wouldn’t give his murderers the satisfaction of seeing him afraid. He no longer felt any feeling really coming from the man other than concern. It couldn’t be from him.

When he found your figure again, you were silently crying into your hands. He felt his heart breaking as he watched you stand there with your tears falling down your face and to the ground below you. You weren’t making a sound. You seemed too afraid to. A voice started booming in his head, though no one around him seemed affected or to have been hearing it.

“It’ll be alright my love, you’ll be okay. Don’t worry about me” it said with a slight wince at the end, just in time for another lash to have been struck on the male attached to the stake.

Your tears turned into full on sobs with every word he heard. And that’s when it hit him: you were the one who was being spoken to. This was in your head, this was your dream, your memory. It was why you were whining in your sleep. This was a nightmare or a horrible memory and you had somehow managed to pull him into it and show him everything you were feeling and seeing. But why?

Lash after lash was given to the man. His skin bleeding and bubbling at the silver caused wounds. He didn’t even look human at this point, he was a cut up bruised mess. More kind words were given between the voice’s whines.

“I love you.” Slice “Don’t forget about me.” Slice “They’ll never find you.” Slice “I won’t let them.” the voice spoke again, in a deeper male voice. “I told them nothing.” Lash “And I never will.” Lash Lash “This isn’t your fault.” Lash “I dont want you to stay and watch me die.” the voice quivered as you let out a loud cry and turned your back away from the man on trial.

And it clicked again: the man on the stake was the one speaking, and he was speaking to you. He was trying to comfort you as he was dying. He was trying his very best to protect you with every last word he had. Just as Seungkwan would if he were in that situation. And he was a wolf. Was… was he your mate?

“Last chance wolf!” Screamed the torturer, “Just tell us what we need to know and this will all be over!”

“Please tell them where I am. PLEASE! They’ll stop this torture!” Your sweet voice let out in Seungkwan’s head in a pleading manner.

“No. I won’t tell them anything. I love you. Keep yourself safe okay? Try to be happy after I’m gone my love. You deserve all the happiness in the world. And I know that you’ll find happiness again some day” the voice said one last time before one final slash of his throat made it fall silent.

“No.” You softly let out loud, tears stained your cheeks as you started shaking you head. “No.”

From here, the villagers started attacking the wolf’s body, in the most vile ways possible. You ran, probably not wanting to see your mate in such a state, probably from heartbreak. Seungkwan wasn’t sure. He didn’t understand. You had another mate? But you never told him that. Why wouldn’t you tell him that? He tried to catch up with your running form, but you were too quick, and before he knew it, you were gone. He was so disoriented, his heart hurt, his head was spinning, his feet were burning. What just happened?

Suddenly, he was ripped away from the village and found himself back in his bed with you in his arms. You had woken up and in doing so you brought him back with you. You quickly realized where you were and though part of you wanted to stay in Seungkwan’s warm arms, you jumped out of them out of respect for your past mate and the memory of him that was still fresh in your mind.

“What- what are you doing??” You questioned him, grabbing the blanket closer to your body while wiping your tears away, hoping he wouldn’t notice they were there to begin with.

“You… you were crying in your sleep. I was just trying to help you. But then I-” he tried to explain himself before you rudely interrupted him.

“But then what?? I told you I didn’t want you to touch me and I meant it!” You snapped, “You had no right!”

“I know. I’m sorry! I just thought that holding you would help but I didn’t know you were dreaming of that- that memory!” He defended, trying his absolute best to get you to see that he meant no harm to you.

You stayed silent for a moment in thought. That memory? Does that mean he knew what you were dreaming? Did it happen again?

“… What do you mean that memory?” You quizzed, praying to any god that was listening that he didn’t actually know what had happened.

“I dont know. I just know that one minute I was pulling you on my lap to calm you down and the next I was watching some poor guy get killed by an angry mob. I dont know how I saw it, but I did” he spoke softly in a quite traumatized voice.

“You mean you saw it too?” You asked meekly, shocked that you had shown him in your sleep without realizing.

“Yeah. I thought it was just a really bad nightmare at first, but it felt too… REAL to be a nightmare. I figured it must have been a memory of yours… I don’t know how I saw it…” he trailed on, looking down at his hands and playing with his nails, too scared to look you in the eyes.

“… I did it” You responded, “I showed you”

“You can do that?” He questions gently, not wanting to upset you.

“Not by choice. It’s just… sometimes when someone’s around me and I touch them, I can share what’s in my head with them. I must have done it in my sleep. It’s why I told you not to touch me!” You punctuated the seriousness of your statement by pointing you index finger to his chest. “But you went against my wishes anyways.”

Seungkwan looked to the finger attached to his chest, then to your face. You looked so tired. You looked so sad and depressed. You were trying to look tough, but he was your mate, he knew how much you were really hurting.

“I know. I’m sorry. But I was just trying to help you. I didn’t know” He said while looking deep into your icy blue eyes. Why did he have to be so kind when you were trying to be angry?

You let out a defeated sigh and continued “Yeah Seungkwan, I know. I just… I didn’t want you to see anything I see in my sleep. And out of all the things you could’ve seen, that was one of the worst.” You looked down, wanting to hold back any tears that were now burning your eyes as much as you could.

“Who- … Who was that?” Seungkwan asked in a whisper, barely loud enough for you to register what he said.

“That was… Cyrus. He was my mate…” You whimpered out, nearly tearing Seungkwan’s heart in two.

“Oh… Is that- is that what happened to him?” He wondered aloud, attempting to hide the hurt in his voice.

“Yeah… a long time ago… he died protecting me.” You cried as you put your hands over your eyes and sobbed into them.

Seungkwan quickly pulled you back onto his lap and into his chest, rocking you tenderly in an effort to bring your sadness to a halt.

Seeing you so hurt cracked him, but knowing you were so hurt over your mate is what broke him. He hated that he felt that way. Was he seriously gonna be Jealous over your DEAD mate when you were still a complete wreck over his dead? What’s wrong with him? It was his job to protect and love you, even if it meant hurting himself in the process. And that was exactly what he was gonna do. Even if it killed him to.

“I’m so sorry (Y/N). I can’t even imagine how horrible that must be for you” he hushed out, wanting nothing more than to kiss your pain away.

“It’s not your fault. He died a long time ago. I’m just… I’m just not okay. He was the only person in the world who loved and took care of me, and it cost him his life” you cry into Seungkwan’s chest. “I didn’t mean to come off as cold and distant to you. I just- I just didn’t know what else to do. It’s just unfair for you to have to deal with me being sad over him when I still love him.”

Seungkwan had to suppress a growl that wanted to make its way to his mouth. It hurt like hell that you just admitted that you loved someone else. You were his. But, as much as it got under his skin that you were still in love with him, he knew it wasn’t your fault. If you were to die, he’d be the same way. He’d just have to get over his stupid primal possessive instincts and help you as best he could.

(Updated 7/28)

#seventeen #seventeen angst #seventeen au #seventeen fanfic #seventeen fluff #seventeen smut #svt au #seventeen x reader #boo seungkwan #svt seungkwan #seungkwan

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words-writ-in-starlight · 4 years

Note

Untamed TAZ Balance AU? Don't have to write anything, just consider that (is Wen Ning Lucretia in this or is he too nice for that)

NHS IS LUCRETIA, NHS IS ABSOLUTELY LUCRETIA, I HAVE THOUGHTS, my girlfriend yelled at me for these thoughts. Hell this got long, I’ve literally been saving it in my drafts until Tumblr fixed the Read More issue.

WWX is Taako, JC is Magnus, WQ is Merle, JYL is in the umbrella (became a lich to keep her brother from doing it), WN is the Red Robe (became a lich because he thought it seemed reasonable), NHS is Lucretia, XXC is Davenport, LWJ and LXC are mutually Kravitz (LXC sets his bro up with the death criminal wizard), Wen Zhuliu is John Vore, LSZ is Angus but also a baby Reaper

ONE

So Wei Wuxian isn’t really a wizard, is the thing. Like, he does the wizard magic, and apparently he has strong Wizard Vibes because wherever he travels, people ask him if he can solve their magical bullshit problems, but he’s, like, barely a wizard. He’s an inventor, technically, except that a few years back some stuff went explosively awry while he worked with this traveling show and–yeah. So he’s working as a wizard because, hey, he can cast Magic Missile and he needs to eat and he’s an Evocation specialist, anyway, so it’s not like he’s out here making food from rocks. He’s hired on with a couple other random jackasses, a fighter who took a dislike to Wei Wuxian right off the bat and a cleric with a bad temper and an itchy Sacred Flame finger, and they’re doing a job for some dwarf, or whatever. The dwarf has a guy hired on as muscle, but he doesn’t look like much, all wide eyes and baby face. He calls himself Qionglin, no last name, and stares at Wen Qing like he’s never seen a cleric before, and Jiang Cheng spends the entire trip to Phandolin messing with his whip, which is the stupidest weapon Wei Wuxian has ever seen.

Well, then everything immediately goes horribly wrong, though, and turns out that Jiang Cheng is pretty okay with that whip. Qionglin (Wei Wuxian spoke to the man all of one time, but he was sweet, if a little awkward) gets himself kidnapped by a bunch of goblins, and their employer is gods-know-where with whatever a Black Spider is, and suddenly this very boring escort mission is a very not boring rescue mission.

There’s a skeleton in the cave. Wei Wuxian takes an umbrella from it, and it crumbles into dust beneath its red robe. There’s a very annoyed man with a sword who calls himself Song Lan and speaks in static, and he’s somehow not the weirdest part of this whole day.

Phandolin doesn’t survive its brush with the Zidian Gauntlet, and neither does Qionglin. Wen Qing screams when he dies, and Wei Wuxian grabs her under the arms with Jiang Cheng and books it for the empty well in Song Lan’s wake, and they just hide.

And then they go to the goddamn moon, apparently.

TWO

The goddamn moon is run by an older man with hair still a glossy black, toying with a beautifully painted white fan in his hand. He calls himself the Director and–after some testing–hires them more or less on the spot. Something flickers over his face when Wen Qing, bemused by her own upset, makes an offhand mention of a man named Qionglin who died when the Gauntlet brought down so much lightning that it turned Phandolin into black glass. But it’s not Wei Wuxian’s problem, so he doesn’t worry himself over it too much. He takes the payment offered to him by the Director’s aide, a blindfolded, stunningly handsome man in Bureau blue and white who rests his hand on his own chest and says “Xiao Xingchen” and not another word.

The Bureau is–weird. They’ve got a giant jellyfish and a store run by–something Wei Wuxian Does Not Trust and a dorm. Wei Wuxian laughs and kicks Jiang Cheng cheerfully in the ankle and says “Just like college, huh?” and Jiang Cheng gives him a dark look and snaps “I never went to college.”

“Yeah,” Wei Wuxian says, blinking. “Me neither.”

Whatever. They go on a train adventure and there’s a kid, a kid who blinks and stares at Wei Wuxian like he’s seen a goddamn ghost and immediately walks up to introduce himself as Lan Sizhui, boy detective.

Wei Wuxian fucking loves this kid. He’s not sure why this wide-eyed fifteen-year-old latched onto him so hard, but he’s smart, funny, loyal, and extremely easy to pick on. 13/10 child rating, in Wei Wuxian’s book.

(Sizhui, for his part, more or less kicks down the door to his father’s offices in the Astral Plane the second the Reclaimers are gone and shouts “I HAVE A LEAD ON WHAT HAPPENED TO THE WORLD.”)

(His father, Lan Wangji, the Grim Reaper, is very interested to hear all about it–especially when his son casually name-drops three of the biggest bounties that the Raven King, his adoptive elder brother, has ever sent him after, with the exception of that absolutely insufferably sweet-tempered lich Wen Ning.)

THREE

So…the Crystal Kingdom.

Is it Wei Wuxian’s finest hour, shouting obscure tentacle-related threats at the second crystal construct they’ve seen in the past twenty minutes? No, probably not. But it’s been a stressful day, they’re already down one Regulator and Song Lan is fuck-knows-where with Mianmian and, again, this is the second menacing crystal construct they’ve seen in twenty minutes. Or maybe it’s the same one?

Whatever, doesn’t matter. They’re here to hunt down Meng Yao, a scientist who’s been dicking around with some seriously ill-advised necromancy and also the Philosopher’s Stone, and a crystal construct or two isn’t going to stop them.

Wei Wuxian actually physically cannot help himself, though, when the Reapers appear in the mirror, a matched set of beautiful men, and he grins broadly at the one glaring at him most viciously. They get let go on a technicality, along with a conduit still containing Meng Shi’s memory of a vision beyond the cosmos, and Meng Yao leaves with his life and not much more.

Later, Lan Wangji is absolutely betrayed by the realization that his brother willfully set him up to be the primary go-between for the completely breathtaking deeply irritating wizard-by-way-of-death-criminal. And that’s before the whole lich revelation. (He does get a kiss, though, after he watches his brother pulled under by the Hunger. That’s nice. He hopes Wei Wuxian will mitigate the death crimes now that they’re dating.)

FOUR

The seven Relics are as follows:

The Zidian Gauntlet, which can generate a lightning blast so powerful that it can obliterate an entire city. (Jiang Cheng–he watched the others try to lay in protections, try to make their Relics harmless, and he knew it wouldn’t work. All the Gauntlet does is damage. It can melt a city down to black glass, but it can’t be twisted, it can’t be made into any more of a nightmare than it already is. He’s a fighter. He knows all about damage, knew all about what he was making. That doesn’t mean it didn’t kill him by inches to watch it leave a path of destruction–so much that his beloved jiejie tried to seal it away.)

The Oculus, which can make any construct real. (Xiao Xingchen–Nie Huaisang didn’t take everything. He doesn’t remember the mission, or his own past. Something strange got confused in the process, and he lost most of his speech. But he remembers how to fight, handles his sword as cleanly and effectively as ever, and he remembers that he doesn’t think much of Nie Huaisang’s combat skills. Or maybe it’s just really obvious that Nie Huaisang isn’t much of a fighter. Regardless, Xiao Xingchen insisted on accompanying him, before–before. Then they went into the Felicity Wilds, and…Xue Yang is honestly delighted. He’s never managed to ruin someone so badly on the way into Wonderland before. It’s just a shame that Nie Huaisang sent Xiao Xingchen away before they reached the doors.)

The Healer’s Sash, which can manipulate natural forces like the wind, the tides, and tectonic plates just as easily as it can manipulate a heartbeat or a pair of lungs. (Wen Qing–she prays to Pelor, the Dawnfather, the healer and Lord of Light, but she’s long since lost her faith in him as anything but a contracted boss. It’s a shock to everyone including her when she’s granted a right arm made of glass and magic after losing it. She was so determined to make a Relic that could be used for good, but–well. She supposes she should have known better.)

The Philosopher’s Stone, which can more or less transform anything into anything. (Jiang Yanli–she’s a Transmutation wizard, she’s been feeding the crew of the Starblaster for a hundred years on whatever she can pull together. If the right person found the Stone, it would have ended world hunger. The wrong person found the stone. Jiang Yanli tried her damnedest to hunt it down, but she found the Gauntlet first, and, well–she already became a lich to stop one younger brother from doing it. It’s not a struggle to decide that she’s going to take responsibility for saving Jiang Cheng from his own guilt. Then things go horribly wrong, and she spends the next twelve years in an umbrella.)

The Temporal Chalice, which offers complete control over time. (Wen Ning–he was a strict scholar until his sister was contacted about the IPRE’s creation, but he always did want to travel, and his theories about bonds were too good for Xiao Xingchen to pass up having on his crew. Everything he’s done since they lost their home system has been about trying not to leave his family, about trying for second chances, he became a lich for them, he’s done everything to stay with them, of course his Relic is a second chance generator.)

The Animus Flute, which offers control over the spirits of the dead and, in the hands of a sufficiently competent expert, the living. (Wei Wuxian–he’s watched his brother, his sister, his friends, die so many times. He’s terrified of immortality, but he’s most terrified of being alone. He meant to make something that could keep the dead present, so that they would never have to fear being left behind again. Watching it rip Jiang Cheng’s soul clean out of his body in Xue Yang’s hands is the worst thing Wei Wuxian can remember, even after everything is over.)

The Bulwark, which Nie Huaisang never did explain to anyone, but took the shape of a hand-painted fan. (Nie Huaisang lost the only person who mattered to him when the Hunger ate their home, and then as he slowly, painstakingly, rebuilt something like a family, he had to watch them suffer and die for a hundred years. And then he watched them win, and grieve like dying all over again for the winning. He’s sorry they suffered for his actions. He’s not sorry for what he did.)

FIVE

Wen Zhuliu didn’t mean to make his whole plane give up. But he had spent his whole life being used, and it all just seemed so pointless. It all just seemed so pointless. There was always someone stronger, always something bigger, always a rule he couldn’t break, always something, and he started talking, started telling people as much, and--

Wen Qing is about the farthest thing in the fucking world from a peacemaker by nature, if you ask her, but she’s a healer first, last, and most of all. And, she thinks as she watches the sun sink with a very tired man crumbling away at her side, she might be the only person in the worlds who ever noticed that Wen Zhuliu needed a healer.

(They aren’t from the same plane, but--some of the others have found distant family, on their new home. It’s an unanswerable question, if they might have been family, a few dimensions removed. Wen Ning still thinks about it.)

#the untamed #mdzs #mo dao zu shi #taz balance #taz au #starlight writes stuff #*sprints into the room with this au multiple months late and completely out of breath* H E R E #this has been languishing in my drafts for. mm. ever.#i don't even remotely remember enough of my original thoughts about it to provide a lot of tags #but i do have a case for why wzl is john vore (and it's NOT just that i think he's interesting)#i could've made jgy the hunger BUT the plot of taz requires some...reconciliatory ending structure?#and honestly nhs still being something of a puppet master means that i couldn't justify that with jgy #i needed a villain less close to nhs' heart. so i thought about xue yang but i like him as the wonderland lich TOO MUCH.#so instead i thought about who i should make the parlay person--first instincts were jyl and wn because they're Nice #but then i decided that i didn't actually need Nice nearly so much as i needed Invested #and by god can wen qing Invest #so okay--if she was going to do the parlay then i didn't need someone who could be talked around i needed someone who needed a healer #so: wen zhuliu #i don't have to justify myself to you fools #also jgy is always everyone's biggest bad so he can let someone else have a turn #jyl develops a crush on a completely socially awkward rogue from inside an umbrella by the way!#pour one out for jzx because he is NOT equipped for an ethereal woman of violet fire to blush at him #a queue we will keep and our honor someday avenge #thishazeleyeddemon #asked and answered

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threeletterslife · 4 years

Text

Brevity (But Most Often Not)

→ [2/7] of the Glossary Series

→ summary: All your life, you've been with guys who didn't bother to read the news or appreciate the art form of journalism. But Hoseok... Even the way he carefully chooses his words is a sign that you and he are a match. If only he weren't in a dilapidating psychiatric hospital. Then maybe you'd have a proper boyfriend who treated you right for once.

→ pairing/rating: hoseok x reader | PG-13

→ genre: 100% angst (but like, soft angst?? mellow angst?) | journalist!au

→ warnings: depictions of a psychiatric hospital and mentally ill patients, slight manipulation

→ wordcount: 6.6k

→ a/n: based on this ted talk! *disclaimer,,, the characters in this fic are fictional and do not correlate with the real members whatsoever!*

Merrymoor Hospital stands before you behind the gray clouds of fog that have drifted mysteriously and rather suddenly following your rather nervous departure from your car. Almost as if you've walked straight into a horror movie and Merrymoor Hospital was the haunted castle that would end up dragging you down to your demise.

You swallow.

The foggy weather isn't helping your anxious nerves. The weeds are overgrown in the dirt and a collapsed sign catches your eye. It reads Merrymoor Asylum for the Criminally Insane. That used to be the name for Merrymoor Hospital before they changed it to something a bit more... civil.

No wonder they're trying to close this place down. The whole building looks like a brewery for disaster—or murder if you will.

They should've sent Namjoon up for this job instead of you. The man has thick skin and probably hasn't watched a horror movie in his life, which would probably make him immune to the fear of entering a hospital that screams haunted mansion.

Though your hands are clammy, you make sure to take quick notes in your notebook about the surroundings.

Inhospitable hospital, you write. Might have something to do with weather. Possible revisit.

But you hope it doesn't have to come to that.

You're this jittery for your first visit; you don't want to think of the possibility of a second.

All you can do is hope the first visit at Merrymoor Hospital is so horrible that you can convey the exact picture of it in your writing and get it published. Then the place will shut down.

For nearly six years, citizens have been wanting to shut down Merrymoor because just the thought of these criminally insane people escaping the confines of the asylum terrifies them. And now your agency is taking action. If you write an article convincing enough (about your horrible findings) then Merrymoor will finally be shut down.

Of course, there is a slight chance that Merrymoor isn't as bad as everyone assumes it is. You'll have to report the facts as they are. If there's one thing you hate more than horror movies, it's yellow journalism. You promised yourself that when you became a journalist, you'd write everything as it is without exaggeration and overly pretentious language that the common man wouldn't be able to comprehend without pulling out a dictionary.

So here you are. At Merrymoor.

In a way, the place looks a bit like a college campus. If the campus had been severely mauled by zombies in a post-apocalyptic world, though. Cautiously, you step closer to the entrance of the building. There are guards there—unusually large and buff.

You clear your throat. "Hello." Your voice comes out squeaky and if your body language didn't give away how terrified you are, your voice sure did. "I'm Y/N. I believe I was invited to inspect Merrymoor Hospital today."

"Y/N..." a guard mutters gruffly.

You fight the urge to shrink back.

"Oh, Y/N L/N. The journalist? Yes, they're waiting for you."

Oh, thank goodness.

The guards nod at you before opening the heavy-looking doors.

"Thank you," you manage to squeak out before slipping into the entrance. What waits for you are bright white walls on all four sides of the hallway. There's a bit of dust in the corners and what you hope are water stains on the welcome mat you're stepping on. But otherwise, the conditions inside are far better than the outside.

"Y/N!!"

Your head jerks up when you hear your name.

"Hello!" A man dashes toward you, wearing a white lab coat and flashing his white teeth in your direction. He looks a bit too friendly to be working in such a serious place. "Y/N, right? Sorry I couldn't meet you outside. We were making sure your visit here would run as smoothly as possible." He grins at you again and you're starting to think he's doing that to hypnotize you into liking the hospital.

"Yes, I'm Y/N," you say. "Nice to meet you, Mr..." Your eyes trail down to glance at the name embroidered with gold thread on his coat, "Park."

"Oh, please, call me Jimin," the man smiles again. You have to admit if he wasn't stuck working here, he could've appeared in some magazines and gotten rich. "Welcome to Merrymoor, by the way. We're a psychiatric hospital established in 1863. Pretty old, aren't we?" He laughs but you don't.

Est. 1863, you scribble in your notebook. "Sorry if I don't respond sometimes," you mutter apologetically. "But I'd love it if you can tell me everything about Merrymoor."

"The more information, the better article you can write!" Jimin answers merrily.

Oh god. It sounds like Jimin's adamant about keeping the hospital open.

He drones on and on about Merrymoor's impossibly high specs and their success in helping their patients reach a peak in their lives. You scribble the facts down but don't include Jimin's biased side comments about the wonders of the asylum.

"Want to meet the patients?"

Jimin's sudden question startles you especially because you hadn't expected to actually come in contact with them.

"A-Assuming they're..."

"They won't hurt you," Jimin says, shaking his head. "Just don't bump into Gladys. She tends to get fussy when that happens. And don't mention the color blue in front of Jungkook. He doesn't like that. Steer clear away from anyone who looks like they're living in their own world. Some of them think they can get away with homicide in their minds. If someone approaches you and you feel nervous, call for me, okay?"

"Don't bump in Gladys. Don't say blue in front of Jungkook. Steer clear from people living in their own little bubble. Call you when I'm nervous. Got it," you say. "Thank you."

"No problem," Jimin salutes you.

Hm. He's cute.

You'd think the wellness center where all the patients are located for the evening would be behind one or two gates at the maximum. Instead, you and Jimin pass through six gates with even more buff guards.

Not bad, you think. Good security, you write in your notebook. Jimin glances over your shoulder and smiles proudly.

"You ready?" Jimin whispers to you before the guards open the seventh gate. "There are red panic buttons on the side if there's an emergency. But that's pretty rare." He shrugs.

"Yeah," you say. "You can open the door."

The moment the gates open, a rather large room is revealed. It sort of looks like a hotel lobby but with softer, pastel colors that are universally accepted as calming hues. The only bright color that stands out is the reds of the panic buttons scattered across the pale green walls.

"The rooms used to be pastel blue," Jimin says. "But after Jungkook came to us, we had to repaint them. He thinks the color is a curse."

"O-Oh..."

The patients are lazily lounging around the old armchairs or rocking on the balls of their feet in front of walls. Some are talking to themselves. Others are entranced in a kid's television show playing on the cracked television screen.

"It's been a long time since we've gotten donations," Jimin explains almost apologetically. "There are games in the closet over there," he says, pointing at the closet that is locked shut. "We lock that for safety reasons. But not a lot of them want to play checkers and battleship anyway."

There doesn't seem to be a set uniform for the patients. You see comfortable clothes on most of them. Sweatpants with mysterious stains and t-shirts with worn-out holes. All of them have a battered name tag pasted on their shirts.

Inadequate funding, you note. Jimin's smile crumbles a bit.

"Are they always this... turtle-like?" You stop yourself from saying slow.

"Well... They're... medicated," Jimin whispers as if it's the most important secret in the world.

That makes a lot more sense as to why some older patients are drooling on themselves. A lot of them seem to be drifting along like ghosts in some sort of vivid slumber. It's unsettling.

"Ah... I see," you answer. "May I talk to a few of the patients?"

"Yeah! Sure," Jimin says. "I'll get out of your hair. Call me if you need me."

"Thanks."

In general, the patients seem content, but you're not very sure if it's the drugs that are talking. They hum off-key songs and talk to themselves. Some glance at you but others act like you aren't even in the room. You try to pick out a patient from the crowd who doesn't look very... threatening. Just in case.

There's a strange man in a well-ironed navy blue suit who catches your eye. His hair is pushed back and gelled into a stylish sweep, revealing his forehead for others to admire. His nose stands tall and his posture is impeccable. He's arguing with an obvious patient in sweats.

You don't mean to eavesdrop but—

"You're wearing blue!"

"Navy blue to be more precise," the strange man says. "What do you want, Jungkook?"

"I-I c-can't allow it!" Jungkook declares. "Take it off! Take it off!"

Upon closer inspection, the strange man has a name tag on his suit; it is the only thing that ruins his pristine image. Hoseok, it reads. You can't even fathom that he's a patient in a mental asylum.

"That would be considerably inappropriate," Hoseok says. He frowns. "I fancy this suit quite so, Jungkook."

"BLUE!" Jungkook shrieks. He begins to thrash about so hard that you contemplate pushing the red emergency button. But just as you move closer to the wall, Jimin comes to the rescue.

"That's enough wellness center for you, Koo," he tells the crazed man. "Want to go back to your room? The color won't haunt you there." Jimin shoots you an apologetic look. "I'll be right back. Refer to the other clinicians if you need them, okay?" You nod politely. Jimin looks at you gratefully before he and Jungkook walk away.

Great. Now you're left alone in a room filled with a bunch of potentially dangerous crazies.

"You're new here, ma'am?" Hoseok, the patient in the prim and proper suit says. "You aren't a patient here, I suppose?"

"Oh, no," you say, quickly shaking your head. "I'm just here to observe."

Hoseok points to your notebook. "A journalist, Miss...?"

"L/N. But I go by Y/N," you say. "And yes, I am a journalist." You quirk your brows. Insanely observative for him to notice.

"Ah, I reckon you're here to write an article about Merrymoor's imminent closure?" Hoseok drawls on. He sits down on a busted armchair and gestures you to sit across from him. He's so charming, you do exactly as he suggests.

"Well, I'll have to see what Merrymoor is like before I can write such a..." you trail off, trying to rack your brain to find a fitting word.

"Definitive article?" Hoseok finishes for you. Right, definitive. He crosses his legs casually and leans back, exuding the aura of an extremely young but successful CEO rather than a patient at a mental hospital.

"Yes," you say, cocking your head. "A definitive article."

"May I ask how you fancy Merrymoor as of now?" Hoseok says. "Awfully decrepit, isn't it? Such a dingy environment. Yesterday, I'm afraid I found a toenail in my meal. Not much up to par with the other hospitals, this one. Is Merrymoor too run-down for your taste as well, Y/N?"

"Yes, just a bit," you admit. "But so far everything seems to be set up for the best of the patients."

Hoseok laughs a merry laugh. "Y/N, there is hardly any regular Merrymoor inhabitant adept enough to hold an intellectual discourse with me. I'd say I'm always a little more than bored here."

"Oh... I'm sorry." You're not sure how a man like Hoseok got stuck in Merrymoor Hospital. He doesn't look very criminally insane to you at all. Just very well-spoken and well-dressed.

"Oh, you don't have to be sorry," Hoseok smiles. "But it's rather often that I feel forsaken here. With no one to converse with except the clinicians... Even then, they are vigilant around me though I try to convince them I am not dangerous. They check under my blankets—even my mattress. Won't let me around scissors. Y/N, it's almost offensive how fastidious they are."

I doubt any of these patients want to be dangerous on purpose, though. It's obviously a good thing that the clinicians are so attentive. Bonus points.

"They're just looking out for you, Hoseok," you offer. You scribble attentive clinicians in your notebook.

"I would like to beg to differ," Hoseok says. "As you can surely tell, Y/N, I hardly belong here." He gestures at himself and glances detestably at the others in the wellness center. "Quite obviously, there has been a mistake."

"A... mistake?"

"Yes," Hoseok says. He uncrosses his legs and crosses them the other way. Then, he leans forward, clasping his hands in front of him. "You see, I wasn't a very courteous young adult, Y/N. When I was 21, I committed a minor crime that would sentence me to jail for about six years."

You frown.

"Yes, I know," Hoseok sighs. "I've deeply repented my faults before my departure to jail. I was in the prime time of my life, Y/N. I couldn't spend six years in jail at age 21. Not especially when I already mulled over my actions and expressed great remorse to those I hurt..."

His words are so convincing that you nod along with him.

"I remembered what someone had once told me. To get out of an unnecessarily long sentence, all I had to do was fake a mental illness." Hoseok shakes his head disapprovingly. "Apparently, my act was so persuasive, they threw me in Merrymoor instead. Now I can't get out."

"Oh god... How long have you been here?"

"Nearly fifteen years. Almost three times as much longer than my original sentence," Hoseok laughs bitterly. "Turns out, it is incredibly difficult to prove that I am, indeed, sane."

"Oh no..." you breathe. "I'm so sorry..."

"That isn't necessary, Y/N." Hoseok smiles. "But my only wish is for Merrymoor to close down. So I am finally let loose to freedom."

You gulp. His charming smile is so eye-catching that you can barely look away from his handsome face.

"I've always wanted to be a journalist..." Hoseok says sadly. He looks at the notebook in your hands longingly. "Words have always fascinated me, Y/N. You see, the wielder of words is more powerful than any delinquent brandishing a weapon. Words are controllable and may hold so much potent..."

"Oh, I agree!" you smile. "As a journalist, I kinda think of myself as the informer for the people. I write so others can read! And my reports will benefit someone with good information. At least, that's how I like to think of it. I'm glad you think the same!"

"If we didn't meet inside Merrymoor, I would've easily asked you out on a date, Y/N," Hoseok smiles, shaking his head. "But it seems so that dates might be impossible here. There is little to no privacy."

"O-Oh!" Your cheeks flush bright pink. "Maybe you'll have a tribunal one day. And then we'll have to see."

"I'm afraid that might be unlikely," Hoseok sighs. "They are concerned about the feasibility of recidivism..."

"I-I'll visit," you blurt out before you mull over your choice of words. "Maybe you'll feel less lonely then. I have to come back here anyway..."

"Tomorrow. 11 a.m." Hoseok says. He quirks a handsome brow at you curiously. "I'll be waiting."

Your stomach twists in anticipation and you have to look away from his intense stare. "I'll be there."

Once in the safe confines of your room, you open up your laptop and begin to transfer your written notes to an open document. You like to get the most of your workload done the first day, so you end up researching the history of Merrymoor Hospital. Until you read the articles about it up-to-date.

Apparently, if the people finally decide to close down Merrymoor for good, they might turn it into a hotel. Kind of fitting, especially since the wellness center had a striking resemblance to a hotel lobby.

But after a while, you start getting distracted by Hoseok. The charming man had certainly known what he was talking about.

All your life, you've been with guys who didn't bother to read the news or appreciate the art form of journalism. But Hoseok... Even the way he carefully chooses his words is a sign that you and he are a match. If only he weren't in a dilapidating psychiatric hospital. Then maybe you'd have a proper boyfriend who treated you right for once.

Your exes all had one thing in common. They all told you that you talked like a journalist. Apparently, that's a big turn-off. Not as much of a turn-off when they think 'fancy' dressing means wearing cargo shorts with a t-shirt and socks with sandals.

Now Hoseok is a man who is an obvious connoisseur of words and clothes. And you deserve a man like that. A man who is so well-spoken that you become lost in his speech.

Your laptop begins to dim to save battery but you ignore the darker screen and instead, look at your lacking closet. Tomorrow, you should wear something nice for once. Rather than your usual pants and blouse, you should pick out something... more flashy.

At one point in your clothes hunting journey inside your own closet, you remember that the purpose of going to Merrymoor again is not to impress Hoseok but to write an article. Right. Your job always comes first. So you sigh, throwing away your heap of useless and bland clothes to the side and sliding in your desk chair to wake your laptop.

You'll have to finish outlining the main points of the article today. Then maybe you'll let yourself go out and buy a cute outfit for tomorrow.

Tomorrow comes so slowly that you swear time delayed itself while you were asleep and now the world runs not in seconds but in lethargic minutes.

Jimin greets you just like the day before and he seems pleased that you are in a brighter mood than yesterday. For one, the weather isn't as foggy, which actually does wonders to the outlook of the outside of the hospital. Without the fog, Merrymoor doesn't look like a haunted mansion at all. In fact, it looks more like a grandiose museum promising historic artifacts and old texts. Much less terrifying than the previous day.

"How was your visit yesterday?" Jimin chirps as he offers you a cup of hot coffee. His eyes linger on your shorter-than-usual pencil skirt and low-cut, silky black blouse. "I hope it was good." He beams when you accept the coffee with a smile. "Do you have any specific places you want to visit today?"

"Oh, thank you!" you say. "It was great," you tell him truthfully. "The guards already toured me around the outside today, but I was thinking I could visit some individual rooms."

"Of course!" Jimin grins. "The patients should be in their rooms right now. Good timing."

You realize Hoseok had said 11 o'clock with a plan in mind.

"Don't worry," Jimin soothes. "There are two guards at every door so you should feel safe."

Good security x2, you write in your notebook while making Jimin hold your coffee. The clinician beams.

Jimin guides you around the white walls of the hospital. "Did you know, these walls used to be green? In the old days, they thought green stimulated mental health because it represents the color of nature and growth. But I think white looks much better now. Blue is supposed to actually stimulate health, though. But Jungkook's sensitive to blue so we stuck with white for the hallways."

You nod thoughtfully. But you really wonder how Hoseok will greet you today.

"Um, Jimin?"

"Yes?" Jimin turns to you hopefully.

"Can I visit Hoseok? I met him yesterday and I think he'll be great to interview... You know, for the article."

Jimin visibly pales. "Oh... You mean, Jung Hoseok, huh? He's... um, are you sure? Jungkook might be a better candidate for an interview. Maybe even Yoongi. How about Taehyung? Or Seokjin..."

"Yes, I'm sure," you nod. "He's well-spoken so I think I could get good quotes from him. I can visit the rest of the patients later. Is that okay?"

"Um... yeah... sure..." Jimin says but he doesn't sound so sure.

Regardless, he leads you to the door to Hosoek's room. From the open wide slot on the door, you can glimpse at the interior, which looks surprisingly cozy with warm blankets and even a window letting some of the morning sunlight shine in.

"I'll be waiting outside," Jimin says. "The guards will follow you in if that's okay."

"Yeah, thanks."

"No problem!"

When you enter the room, you find that Hoseok's sitting on a little wooden chair in the corner of the room. Today, he's in a classic pinstripe suit with a red tie. He grins brightly when he sees you, but he scowls at the two guards behind you. The guards ignore him, instead, standing at the entrance. You cautiously walk forward.

"Hi, again, Hoseok," you say. "I was wondering if I can get an interview with you today... If that's all right with you."

"Of course that's all right, Y/N," the man beams. "Here," he says, standing up and letting you take the chair. "I prefer standing during serious discussions."

"Oh, of course. Thank you." You slide into the small chair, looking up to face Hoseok. "Can I have your permission to record the interview?"

"Yes, by all means. You look gorgeous, by the way. Lovely skirt. Beautiful blouse."

You blush, tugging at the ends of your pencil skirt. "Thank you." Bringing out your little voice recorder, you clear your throat before pressing record. Then, you begin to speak. "I'll be asking about your stay at Merrymoor Hospital. All you have to do is answer to your best ability. Don't worry if you need a moment to think. Can you please state and spell out your full name? If you are comfortable, you can state your age as well."

Hoseok does so in a relaxed, enchanting voice that makes you wonder how tortuous it will be for you to listen to this interview over and over again to transcribe it.

"Why were you admitted into Merrymoor Hospital? And what year?"

"I didn't quite mean to be admitted into a psychiatric hospital so young," Hoseok hums thoughtfully. "I suppose I was reckless in my twenties... But who isn't?"

You nod. Your twenties were disastrous. Full of bad men, too much alcohol and little to no care for the repercussions.

"I did use my fists quite rashly once when I was twenty-one and that resulted in me getting a six-year sentence for prison," Hoseok shrugs. "The roaring twenties is called the roaring twenties for a reason—aside from the historical reference, of course. Nobody desires to be locked up at the rush hour of their lives, do they?" He smooths back his immaculately gelled hair. "After I severely repented my wrongdoings, I came up with a brilliant idea to reach liberty. I heard they coddle you at mental hospitals before releasing you to freedom after a couple of days. So I figured it was genius to merely act mental.

"But my act was so convincing that they sent me here. In 2005, I was shoved in this little, dingy cell, forced into isolation from the rest of the world and being stripped from my well-deserved privacy." Hoseok scoffs bitterly. "For nearly fifteen years, I've been trying to convince every clinician in here that I am a normal, average citizen. I am definitely not insane. But how do I prove that I am sane?"

The last question rings in the room. You shift in your seat. "If the clinicians are suggesting—"

"Wrongfully accusing," Hoseok corrects with a small nod.

"Right. If the clinicians are 'wrongfully accusing' you of having a mental disorder, then which one is it?"

"They've wrongfully accused me of a plethora of disorders from a medical book. I was forced to take written or multiple-choice or even verbal tests that would prove my insanity," Hoseok says with a scornful frown on his face. "If I made every single clinician in Merrymoor take the same tests that I took, I guarantee you that all of them would definitely come out as positive for one or more disorders. Everyone's a little insane inside."

He grins but it isn't maniacally. It is almost consolingly. Convincingly.

"Are you finished with your inquiries, Y/N?" Hoseok asks. "I have some of my own for you."

"O-Oh, I only asked two questions so far—"

"Will I be able to see you again?" He stands over you with a dominant aura that makes you forget how to deny a request. "I enjoy your company very much, Y/N."

"Yes, surely," you reply. "When would you like to schedule another interview?"

Hoseok grins, reaching forward to pet the perfect curls of your hair. The guards in the back flinch forward but when they realize you're fine with it, they ease their tension.

The man cups your cheek with his hand, which is surprisingly ice cold. You stare up at him with admiration. He laughs quietly under his breath. He's got you wrapped around his finger.

When you're around Hoseok, it's easy to forget your duties as a journalist. You're supposed to poke and prod for information, but Hoseok is so good at speaking that he often gets away with not answering your interview questions directly. There's something about the eloquent way he talks that makes you want to stop everything and just listen to him forever.

Your laptop is open again as you transcribe five days' worth of interviews with Hoseok. Embarrassingly enough, it took five days to get a day's worth of quotes and questions from the handsome man. But you strangely don't mind. Those five days visiting Hoseok over and over again was blissful.

And now that you have no more questions, you don't have an excuse to go to Merrymoor any longer. But it's hard to focus on writing your article (even though the deadline is rapidly approaching) when all you can think of is Hoseok.

He's been trying to convince you that Merrymoor should be closed, but from what you see, Merrymoor isn't the problem at all. The patients are genuinely well-treated and the clinicians are respectful and kind. Safety is a priority, which was the people's largest concern. And even the guards are polite.

If the people wanted to turn Merrymoor into a hotel, they'd have to let go of that thought. Merrymoor should stay as a psychiatric hospital.

Meanwhile, maybe you can put in a good word for Hoseok to get him out of Merrymoor. You admit it had been silly of him to pretend to be mentally ill (especially when psychiatry definitely isn't a joke) but he's obviously matured since he was 21. He's spent nearly fifteen years regretting his past. You think it should come to an end.

Maybe you're doing it for your own good too. You can't help but wonder what your relationship with Hoseok will blossom like outside the hospital. When he pets your hair or caresses your cheek, you feel like you're going to combust. And the last few interviews, you told the guards to stay outside the room. He was this close to kissing you, too. But he had pulled away last second, smiling teasingly at you. It was as if he was saying you'd only get a kiss if he was finally liberated from the confines of what he liked to call the prison cell.

God, you remember how breathless you had been the moment he pulled away. Imagine how breathless you'd actually be if he'd really kissed you.

You let your laptop screensaver go on before sighing. Without a second thought, you grab a coat and rush out of your modest loft. You drive yourself all the way to Merrymoor and park haphazardly in the dirt. The guards are so used to you by now that they let you in immediately.

You're breathless by the time you reach Jimin's office. The young clinician looks surprised but happy to see you. "Y/N!" he greets you warmly. "I didn't know you were coming here again!"

"I have to talk to you!" you blurt out. "Please," you add for good measure.

Jimin laughs. "I didn't know you were so excited to talk to me." Usually, he's wearing his white lab coat but that stays hanging on a coat rack near the door. He has a black turtleneck on with some casual jeans. It's nowhere as near stylish as Hoseok's attire, but he still looks effortlessly fashionable. Jimin looks you up and down and grins. "I see you're participating in pajama day today." He giggles.

You gasp when you realize that in your hurry, you'd forgotten to change out of your home clothes. Your face turns a bright shade of red as you wrap your coat tighter around you. "I-I was in a hurry."

"I can see that," Jimin smiles. "What is it that you want to ask me about?" He sits down on his big chair and gestures for you to sit across from him.

You gather your breath, tucking your hair behind your ears as you take a moment for yourself. Jimin waits patiently.

"It's about Hoseok," you finally gasp.

"Oh. Hoseok..." Jimin sighs. "Yes, our patient. What about him?"

"Well, there's been a mistake," you say. "He's not supposed to be here. He lied about being mentally ill when he was younger, but I'm sure he's learned his lesson by now. Hoseok's as normal as we are," you plead. "He just wants to be released. Get the freedom that he deserves."

To your surprise, Jimin sighs. "Oh no, Y/N..."

"What?" you say, frowning. "What's wrong?"

"God, how do I break this to you?" Jimin shakes his head. "Wow. Um... Well, this is awkward."

"Why is it awkward?" Your inside twist at the impending bad news that you were going to hear any second now. You hope for the worst.

"Well... Y/N... Normal isn't a very good way to describe Jung Hoseok. He's definitely not normal," Jimin says, scratching his head. "I'm his clinician. I should know, right?"

"Not normal? Then...?"

"He's a psychopath, Y/N," Jimin says.

"A what." You deadpan so seriously that it's Jimin who flinches back.

"A psychopath. Not all are dangerous... But some do have a tendency to commit crimes and try to get away from the consequences," Jimin says. "They're cunning, manipulative people, Y/N. Very abnormally large egos. And lack of empathy. They don't feel the way we do."

But Hoseok... He'd... he'd liked you, though.

"I'm sorry," Jimin apologizes. He looks genuine. "The fact that Hoseok tried to fake mental illness to get out of a prison sentence makes him abnormal. He's a clinically diagnosed psychopath."

"What do you mean they don't feel the way we do?"

"They tend to lack emotions like fear and sadness and guilt, Y/N... But they're usually very good at pretending they do," Jimin says. "It's hard for them to make emotional connections with others, but they'll use their charm and way with words to get what they want. Usually, they're a bit narcissistic too. I mean, Hoseok threw a fit when he realized we weren't installing a mirror in his room... And he might think of you as more of a thing than a person."

"A thing?" you scoff incredulously.

"He must've wanted you to feel attracted to him," Jimin sighs. "He probably thought you were the key to getting out of Merrymoor. He's tried that with several other women around here—even men."

You stumble over your words, fists clenching. "You mean he can't really care for me?"

"He might... But for different reasons." Jimin fidgets with his hands. "He cares about you in a sense because you'll benefit him."

"So he's puppeteering me," you scoff. "Like I'm some doll he can show a little bit of love to and I'll come running back to him! God, I'm so stupid!" You bury your face in your hands. "I thought he really liked me..."

"Manipulation is the term we use," Jimin sighs. "Normally, most psychopaths can function well in a given society. But Hoseok's proven to struggle with that a little bit. Um, he has violent tendencies..."

You're left speechless.

And you really thought you could have a future with him. You feel foolish.

"T-Thank you, Jimin," you manage to stutter out. "Thank you for telling me... I just... wow. I fell right into his trap."

"He's a charming man," Jimin smiles warmly at you. He has a way of making you feel better. "I'm sorry... I should've noticed something was up..." His expression shows nothing but warmth.

If Hoseok smiles, you feel the cold ocean breeze kissing your cheeks. When Jimin smiles, you feel like you're basking under an orange sunset where the last of the sunlight warms not just your cheeks but your whole body.

"It's fine," you say, shaking your head. "I should've known better."

Quickly, you stand up, suddenly feeling rather flustered to have a serious conversation with Jimin in your pajamas. "I'm sorry for bothering you," you say. "Um, but good news. I really liked Merrymoor. And even Hoseok couldn't persuade me otherwise."

Jimin's lips curl up in a bright smile. "Oh, that's great! Thank you!"

"I'll make sure to write a good article," you promise. "Maybe you guys can get the funding you need to replace some of the old furniture."

"That'd be amazing," Jimin grins. "Thank you, Y/N. Really."

You shrug. "I'm only relaying the truth to an audience. You and the other clinicians did all the work."

Jimin blushes at the compliment. "Email me when the article is published—so I can brag about it to family and friends."

"Hm," you hum. "Isn't texting much easier?"

You leave Merrymoor Hospital with lost hope for Hoseok but a new number from Jimin. The day doesn't seem so horrible anymore.

Psychopaths value charming, beautiful words that sound like music to the ears. They're fastidious, choosing each word with scrupulous care. It also makes them awfully pedantic to the average person.

You didn't mind Hoseok's elevated vocabulary.

But you do mind the fact that he's incapable of love. With much research, you learn that psychopaths are able to fake their emotions to find their way into the top spots of society. That they value pragmatics over emotions. Usually, they don't even know that they're different. Sometimes that makes them dangerous. Other times, they're just humans with another perspective on life. Just because they have a superficial charm that they may switch off and on at will does not make them insane. It is what they do with their different brains that decide whether they are mad.

The psychopath test is online. And when you look at it, surprisingly, you find yourself checking off a few of the psychopathic points.

Hoseok's right about one thing. Everyone is a little insane inside. Maybe not to the extent of a psychopath who gets in trouble with the law but just enough so that nobody is really normal. Normal is just a social construct people created to form a little more equality in a non-binary world.

You have so many ideas to write about after this article.

You open your laptop, being greeted by a screen full of independent sentences that are yet to be placed in coherent paragraphs. The deadline for the article is near but you've been putting it off to think.

You'll have to paint a beautiful picture of Merrymoor for the readers to make this work. Describe the patients who truly need help and friendly staff who give help when needed. You'll need to make Merrymoor sound as least threatening as possible. To show people that this hospital is more important than whatever hotel that could be there.

Then, you type away.

Halfway through, you get an email notification from an address you don't recognize. Upon further inspection, you realize that Hoseok had somehow acquired your email.

My dear Y/N,

I miss you dearly—I yearn to see your beautiful face again. I've already picked out my best suits to wear when we go on our first date. To my imminent freedom, yes?

Did I ever mention I am prohibited to have a mirror in my cell? Every day is a pain to style myself without the proper tools. I don't think I deserve this kind of prisoner treatment.

Regardless, I hope I can see you soon, Y/N.

Best, Hoseok

It's subtle, the way he tries to get you to put in a few bad words about Merrymoor for him. But now that you know his manipulation tactics, you won't fall for them. You ignore the email and go back to writing.

Merrymoor: Hotel or Hospital?

Everyone in town scrolls through the article Thursday morning as you sit back and relax as the comments and responses flood in. It's the best article you've ever written, according to your editor. People are buzzing about the heroicness of Merrymoor Hospital and marveling at the jobs of the clinicians. The citizens have found respect for them.

You finally reply to Hoseok's email with a link to the article—no other words. He'll have to figure out where you stand for himself. With that, you close your laptop for good.

You'll take a little break from writing for now. Maybe relax a little from your journalist duties and enjoy other people's company. Namely Jimin's.

You're due for a date with him in about... five minutes.

You hope things go well.

[1 YEAR LATER]

"You sure you want to go to his tribunal?" Jimin asks in a worried voice. He wraps his arm around your shoulder and pulls you into his chest.

"I'm sure," you say, snuggling against your boyfriend. "He emailed me, asking me to come. So I'll go. There's no reason to refuse, right?"

Jimin rubs your arms. "Right..." You look at your boyfriend with such adoration in your eyes at Jimin giggles. "What? Do I have something on my face?"

"No, it's just that... you're amazing," you laugh. "You could've easily told me that I was delusional for loving Hoseok. You could've told me not to take part in clinician business especially because I don't even have the right degree. But you didn't do any of that, Jimin. You were respectful. And you just made me... understand."

"Well, that's my job," Jimin says. "I try to make everyone understand and respect each other."

"Hoseok once told me everyone's a little insane inside," you whisper, playing with Jimin's shirt. "Do you think that's true?"

Jimin laughs out loud. "Would you kill me if I said I'm insane about you?"

"Yes, I would!"

"On a more serious note, yes, we're all a little crazy," Jimin says. "You obsessed over your job before you met me, right? My other friend fusses about his looks the whole day. And I'm absolutely crazy about you." You roll your eyes but smile. "Everyone's a little crazy," Jimin chuckles. "But crazy has a whole spectrum of its own."

"So to put it succinctly, normal doesn't exist."

"Exactly."

—masterpost

—masterlist

#ficswithluv #btswritersnet #btswriterscollective #bangtanfairygarden #bangtanidx #hoseok #jung hoseok #hoseok imagine #hoseok fanfic #hoseok fanfiction #bts #bts fanfiction #yn having bad taste in men the never-ending saga #she rlly thought lmfao #brevity

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ks-010 · 4 years

Text

This is a theory I wrote about Amane in my MILGRAM group chat. It was written in 3 separate parts:

So we know a lot through context about Amane but I would like to know how everyone feels about this (this is long btw): So, at least where i live, at the age of 11 your responsible for your actions against the law. Amane is 12 but, honestly I think she just needs to get away from whatever situation she’s in cause it seems incredibly toxic & just be a kid.

Cults often cut off they’re victims from normal ideals, since I 100% believe she’s in a cult, she would have been set up with the cults ideals immediately, she wouldn’t know anything else. I can’t really blame her for anything because her secret/website voice lines show that she’s been heavily indoctrinated. This could change obviously, but I blame her environment & her parents. I could make this longer (Kazui parallels, parents ect) but I don’t want to overwhelm everyone to much so this is the final point: In the end her question is similar to Mu, can you excuse a deplorable action by someone who’s experienced trauma?

Part 2 electric boogaloo:

Amane was most definitely abused by her parents. The fear in her voice when she broke the rules & the talk of being ‘good girl’ is really off-putting given the sub-text. I can only imagine what she perceives as ok or normal behavior, she’s similar to Haruka in that regard, a poor child given a bad hand in life, having to suffer through horrible circumstances, & leaving a slue of mental problems in it’s wake.

The fact she’s paired with Kazui is very interesting, not only the parallel of their ages but their songs. The theme seems to be devotion, devotion to your lover or devotion to your society. I hope that one day they could comfort each other, Kazui showing her what normal, healthy, parent is like, & Amane helping him move on. Anyway Amane’s really interesting.

Watashi-wa-bakada responded:

I agree with the cult theory about Amane. It makes it hard to vote her guilty if she was raised that way. Not to mention we aren't really sure about who she killed. It might have been a friend who knew nothing about the cult's rules. Not to mention how she made a promise. I dont really remember if she broke the rules for the promise, so ill have to look at the voice clips again.

See for Haruka's instance, he was neglected as a child, which let to him longing to have attention from his mother and others. He also seems to extremely regret killing, so that let to me to forgive him. See i dont know if amane regrets her decision or is just scared of the consequences of breaking the rules. Her God complex is very extreme, so she might be scared of God's punishment or what the cult would do to her for breaking the rules. Like how you would be scared of a higher power, but sometimes protected by it.

My Response:

She doesn’t seem to feel guilty in the slightest for her crime, but she says in her voice lines that ‘I believe there are more important things than laws’ showing that what the cult is teaching her isn’t good. She obviously isn’t going to feel guilty for a crime they see as ‘good’ (it’s implied that it was the circumstances/cause that made it good in their eyes). One of the clips I mentioned was at 5:36 in the video, where she practically screamed ‘I’m sorry, i’m sorry. I’m sorry for breaking the rules.

Thank you to @watashi-wa-bakada & @aquatic-feline for discussing this with me & giving feedback, I appreciate it. Also Mahiru’s song on the 15th I can’t wait.

#milgram #MILGRAM #ミルグラム #amane momose #アマネ #kazui mukuhara #カズイ #theory #momose amane #mukuhara kazui

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a-pretty-nerd · 4 years

Text

Rebellion

Tomura Shigaraki x AllMight!Daughter!Reader

Chapter 2

Premise:

When The League of Villians discovers that AllMight has a daughter, they are quick to snatch you up and hold you hostage. Shigaraki had a careful and thought out plan, but that was before you got there. Now you're in the mood for some not-so-healthy rebellion.

Word Count: 1,567

Warnings: Kidnapping, mommy/daddy issues? Fictional politics? Future chapters will include NSFW content and violence!

A/N:

I cannot describe how much fun I'm having writing this. Like I'm genuinley having a blast with this concept. The more I learn about Shigaraki for, "reseach purposes", the more I fall in love with him as a character. He's so complex, that character development, GOD! That charactet design, FUCK! The exploration of the complexities of mental illness from trauma and grooming, DAMN IT! He's becoming an anti-hero and I 👏 AM 👏 HERE 👏 FOR 👏 IT👏 Anyways, Don't forget to check out my Patreon! ❤

Chapter 1 Chapter 3

You passed out again. Dehydration.

You woke up in a sleeping bag. Your wrists and ankles bruised slightly from the restraints, but free. You laid there on the floor, looking over you noticed a few bottles of water and a granola bar. You took down one bottle in a matter of seconds before discarding it and starting the next. A horrible aching pain in your head raged on as you took in your surroundings. Light trickled in between the cracked of the barred-up window.

Your heart began to race as you began to sort through your options. Could you manage to escape through the window? Or were you on a second or third floor? Maybe if you asked to use the restroom, maybe there was a window there where you could get a better look.

Poor All Might, he must be so worried. Did even know you were missing? Of course, he knew, it wasn't like you to be out all night and gone in the morning. He'd probably called Mom by now, she's probably on a plane already. She's going to be furious.

After you finished a second bottle and the snack, you stood. You felt better. Not good, but better. You made your way to the door and knocked.

"Hello! Is anyone there?" You called.

"The doors open!" A new voice answered. The door let out a harsh creak as you opened it. It let out into the living space you had been in before. There, the majority of the villains surrounding you earlier sat around. You looked up to the figure that stood, leaning against the wall closest to the door.

"You're new." You mumbled.

"My apologies, Miss. I believed I was absent when you first arrived. I'm Mr. Compress." His sing-song voice reached out from behind a mask.

"A pleasure." You groaned back. "Why is the door unlocked, aren't you afraid I'll break free?" You asked the room. They all turned to look at you.

"I doubt you could fight all of us at once." The red-eyed man had the hand again.

"Bathroom?" You asked. Mr. Compress pointed you in the right direction and you walked off. The only window in there was way too small and too high up to help you. You finished your business and washed your hands before looking at yourself in the mirror. You looked tired and worn out.

You shuffled back into the living room and found the group lounging around. A Tv played the news non-stop. A few of them were passing the time by playing games on devices.

"I'm sorry...Who exactly are you?" You spoke to the room.

"Wow! You really are clueless!" The girl mused.

"Don't you follow hero news?" Patchwork asked. You shrugged.

"I never really paid attention to what was happening over here. All I know is what Dad has told me. He's mentioned 'The League of Villians' a couple of times, but I guess I wasn't listening. Hero news back home is, different."

"You know of All For One, don't you?" The red-eyed man asked without taking his gaze off the Tv.

"Yeah. You're his associates, or something aren't you? Like his henchmen?" A few chuckled.

"You can call me Toga!"

"Twice!"

"Spinner."

"Dabi."

"'Henchmen'...hehe. No, I wouldn't say that." Red-eye stood and began making his way closer and closer, holding a bottle of water in his hand. Careful to hold a finger away from it. "There is nothing I hate more than heroes. This wretched society that rewards such self-serving narcissists." Closer. "We seek to destroy it." Closer. You're backed against a wall now. You watched him place his last digit down on the bottle. It began to crumble before shattering to dust in his grasp. "My name is Shigaraki Tomura. You can consider me, All For One's heir. The future King of Villians." He came so close the wrist of the hand on his face rested dangerously close to your chin. His red eye stared down at you. Your heart raced.

"Oh yes. I've heard of you." You whispered.

"Good." He hummed before turning back and taking his seat again.

"How could you let this happen!?"

"I didn't know this would happen! She's strong, she's an adult now! I thought she could handle herself!"

"She's just a kid! She could be dead by now or worse!" Your mother cried. Her fists firmly slammed on the table where your father sat. Policemen and detectives scattered about the apartment. When you hadn't returned after a few hours, All Might went down to the gym. He found your bag, but no sign of you. First thing he did was call the police and then your mother. She arrived less than 24hrs after receiving the call.

“Please Ms. L/N, we’re doing everything we can. We’ve got the best team in Musutafu looking for her.” Detective Tsukauchi was the second person he called. He felt better knowing his friend was on the case, he had faith that if anyone could find you, it was Tsukauchi.

“Everyone knows if a victim of kidnapping hasn’t been found in the first 24hrs its hopeless! How could you be so sure about this?”

“I understand your frustrations ma’am, but we already have reason to believe we know who took her, and motive. At this rate, we’re just trying to track down their location.”

“Its the League isn’t it? They’re using her to get to me aren’t they?” Your father sulked in his chair. His eyes fixated on his hands which sat in his lap. He shook with fear, rage, disappointment, all targetted at himself. He took sole responsibility for your kidnapping. Your mother fumed across the table from him, arms crossed, and nails digging into her arms.

“Don’t beat yourself up, we’re going to find her,” Tsukauchi assured him. Your mother sat there, gritting her teeth as she gripped her phone.

“I have to go.” She spat as she got up.

“Huh!? You’re not going after her yourself are you?”

“No. I sent for Xavier, Y/N’s boyfriend as soon as I arrived. I’m going to meet him at the airport.

“Boyfriend? Y/N never said anything about a boyfriend.” Your father watched your mother walk towards the front door as she threw her jacket over her shoulders.

“Yes, well, there’s a lot about her you don’t know, Toshinori. I’ll be back.”

“What’s it like in America?”

Toga asked with a wide smile as you sat with them. It was odd, they seemed entirely unbothered by you walking around doing your own thing. The front door was right there, you could have made a run for it. You knew that was a bad idea. They knew, that you knew, that was a bad idea.

“Oh, it’s alright, I guess.” You sat on the floor against the wall beside her.

“I heard heroes work for the military there,” Dabi noted.

“Yeah, they are. Back home, heroes are organized into ‘Military aids’, or ‘police aids’. Meaning, if you want to be a hero, you have to choose between working for the military, or independent police forces. A lot of heroes go into police work because it allows heroes to be community-focused. But Military, that’s where the money is. If you want to be a hero celebrity, that’s where you work.”

“Yeesh, there aren’t any independent agencies?” Toga asked, pulling her legs to her chest.

“I guess the police offices work like hero agencies do here. It’s just a group of people who are authorized to use their quirks to ‘keep the peace’.” You used your fingers to create air-quotes.

“You don’t sound too keen on the idea.” She pointed out with a sly smile. You sighed.

“I know things seem bad here with heroes, but in America, it’s worse. The system was built so that people wish flashy quirks get the best out of life. It’s created a highly militarized country that only cares for those who have something to offer it. If you can’t serve your country, you’re considered trash.”

“I’ve seen the anti-hero marches online. Things seem really out of hand over there. I wouldn’t be surprised if there was a league over there too.”

“It’s not anti-hero, it’s anti-military. If we could take away the idea that we’re supposed to serve the system, then heroes could be held accountable for their actions as individuals, not part of a flawed system. When you give these people so much power, they ultimately abuse it and leave the rest to rot.”

“You sound like a villain,” Dabi smirked. You sighed, having realized how loud you got. You were passionate on the subject. You spent your college years working to analyze and fight against the system. The system your mother so willingly played into and encouraged you to do the same. The system that killed your friend.

“Maybe here things are a little more simple. But back home not everything isn’t so black and white.”

“It isn’t here, either.” Shigaraki groaned from his place on the couch, facing away from you.

Taglist

@craftybean13 @babayaga67 @imjustverable

#mha #bnha #Shiguraki x reader #shigaraki x reader #Tomura Shigaraki #Tomura Shiguraki #league of villians #LoV

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dehducer · 3 years

Text

FULL NAME: Pieck Finger MEANING. though i coudn’t find too much, a few things i managed to find was ‘pieck’ is of polish origin, though i couldn’t find much of a solid definition. Finger - of german origin. meing one with a peculiar or unusual finger; one who came from a place using this word in some transferred sense. NICKNAME(S): Cartman, cart. piku. GENDER: cis-female, she/her &/or they. ETHNICITY: Liberian Eldian. HEIGHT: 155cm, 5′1. AGE: 25 ( DOB: August 5th ) ZODIAC: Leo SPOKEN LANGUAGES: English (marleyean dialect)

PHYSICAL CHARACTERISTICS:

HAIR COLOUR: black EYE COLOUR: grey to silver with blue relfects in the correct lighting/when paired against an oceanic background. SKIN TONE: light skin colour, burns easily but also has the capacity to tan afterwards. BODY TYPE: small, petite. light definition of a muscular tone however it can disappear after month being in titan form. VOICE: soft. sounds like what velvet would be if it was an audible substance. her voice sits high in her throat, the tone not quite high but not low, either. it’s a pleasant middle ground. however, she has the capability for it be velvet dragged across gravel. something grating about it when pieck is called into action. pieck can drop her voice by octaves when needed to (this is evident when she interrogates eren). not to mention the mixed near demonic sound of her voice when she speaks through the cart titan. DOMINANT HAND. ambidextrous. POSTURE: horrible. in her youth, it was impeccable - shoulders always set straight and her spine followed it’s natural curve to a perfect T. but as age & exhaustion riddle her body from the exasperation & wear the cart titan has on her body, pieck is rarely seen with proper posture. her shoulders slump, head carries forward and her vertebrae have slightly compacted, making her shorter than she used to be, too. SCARS: this has become negated since inheriting her titan. few minor scars remain along her hands mostly from cooking meals for herself (and bertholdt on occasion) during her youth. however most of those have faded. TATTOOS: none MOST NOTICEABLE FEATURE(S): eyes. despite her always sleepy look - even before the toll of the cart titan consumed her body, pieck’s eyes always had this tiredness to them. slightly sunken & half lidded. they glisten silver in the night & are often rather expressive whatever emotion she’s portraying on her face.

CHILDHOOD:

PLACE OF BIRTH: Liberio, Marley. HOMETOWN: Liberio, Marley. MANNER OF BIRTH: natural & uncomplicated. FIRST WORDS: dad. SIBLINGS: none. PARENTS: Jakub Finger Father (alive), Ariel Finger Mother (deceased) PARENT INVOLVEMENT: despite having no real memories of her mother, pieck still to this day finds little things around her family home that brings her comfort. not to mention the stories pieck forced her father to tell her about her mother while she was growing up. pieck has her mother’s clothes in her cupboard, though she seldom ever wears them. along with some hair clips, a tea set & some photos however, there is little else to remember her by. just that her father loved her mother more than what pieck would ever understand. pieck’s father, however, is the single most important person in her life. he is the reason pieck ever decided to enter the program in the first place. she cherishes every moment she gets when she returns home to liberio to visit him, spending as much time as possible with him (whether that’s in or out of hospital). pieck always comes down with bouts of anxiety whenever she is tasked with long missions away, afraid that she would come back to the news of her father’s passing. while she was growing up, jakub would read encyclopedias to her since they were too poor to afford actual bedtime stories. he’d make up his own stories about the contents of those books. she vouches that to her incredible intelligence.

ADULT LIFE:

OCCUPATION: warrior/titan shifter. CURRENT RESIDENCE: liberio. CLOSE FRIENDS: marcel and porco galliard, bertholdt huber, annie leonheart, reiner braun & zeke jeager. though after the events of the series, mostly anyone who survives. RELATIONSHIP STATUS: single FINANCIAL STATUS: very unfortunate. has had to beg for money in her youth to pay off her dad’s medical bills. even now as a warrior, things are still incredibly tight for pieck when her dad needs to be admitted. DRIVER’S LICENSE: none, but she is the cart titan so she is a car i suppose. CRIMINAL RECORD: none withstanding. VICES: blocking out/ignoring her own emotions. smoking.

SEX / ROMANCE:

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: bisexual ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: demiromantic. PREFERRED EMOTIONAL ROLE: pieck excels at being an empath & emotional rock for those she loves. while she is incredibly independent and doesn’t need anyone, she does love being there for others. PREFERRED SEXUAL ROLE: switch, prefers to usually let other’s take control though she is no stranger to dominance herself. LOVE LANGUAGE: touch & quality time. LIBIDO: high, though is suppressed during missions. RELATIONSHIP TENDENCIES: while pieck has the capacity to be a hopeless romantic if given the correct setting - she is rarely that. pieck is all about small touches, soft tender moments. small things such as reading together, letting her rest on her significant other’s chest while she is exhausted. due to her independence however, she can occasionally come across as stubborn - thinking she can do anything and everything on her own.

MISC:

THEME SONG: "violent” - carolesdaughter HOBBIES TO PASS TIME: knitting, reading, she has tried painting on occasion but has never found an immense sense of joy over it. MENTAL ILLNESSES: anxiety (induced during long missions in the cart). dissociation tendencies - mostly during her youth but has followed her into her mature age self. PHYSICAL ILLNESSES. permanent exhaustion resulting in physical stress to her body. though the titan regeneration typically heals all wounds, it has yet to heal her body after the toll the cart titan takes. it has even resulted in her forgetting how to work on several occasions. LEFT OR RIGHT BRAINED: left-brained PHOBIAS: failure, fear of losing her father SELF CONFIDENCE LEVEL: medium to high - she knows she is intelligent & good at what she does, however still (behind closed doors) doubts herself from time to time.

TAGGED BY: no one i yoinked this shit clean from the dash and i encourage everyone to do so

#headcanons.#//this was fun!!#//good morning kanye

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sloppy-butcher · 4 years

Text

Waitin’ On a Superman - Chapter 3 : Like Pulling Teeth

(The Hillbilly (Max Thompson Jr.) x female!reader)

notes: i just wanted to say thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read and enjoy what i have managed to produce so far <3 its really helps me with my confidence and such

also i have made a spotify playlist of songs that i personally listen to when getting in the mood of the story. i would like to share it but only if yall would like to hear it ahaha er anyway, thank you again <3

Previous ; Next

Pulling your head free from the grasp of the hay straws felt like something akin to being born. All at once you were alive again, breathing in the cool barn air having just awoken from the land of musky earth. It was refreshing; cleansing; jarring. The dream world fell away and noise and smell bombarded you, crashing in like unforgiving waves against a wayward boat. You were confused by your surroundings, head turning around frantic for clues, until your eyes landed upon familiar yellow and you remembered everything.

You remember walking. You remember the dog. And you remember him.

It was brighter now, your mind more inclined to function as intended without fog or muck to slow production. You remember his voice, the sound of his heavy footsteps, the way in which he spoke and how he had helped you. Kindness, even small as his was, was such a rare oddity here, strangers only being associated with unforgivable violence and cruelty. But he was kind, offered you rest and protection where others would simply chase you out. It surprised you, more now than it did when it had occurred. How strange, how very strange indeed.

As you stood up from your make-shift bed, dusting stray straws off your jeans and t-shirt, a part of you started to construct a way of saying thank you to the man. Though you had nothing to give, nothing of material value, you somehow felt obligated to present to him your utmost appreciation for his generosity. It was an ingrained and practiced habit that consumed you until you started to focus more on the man himself.

You remember feeling oddly familiar with him - something about his voice perhaps? Or the way in which he walked and presented himself? Whatever it was, it triggered something from you, a deep, visceral response that made your stomach grow heavy with lead and your palms begin to sweat. And the more you tried to identify the specifics of your sudden upheaval, bringing it to the forefront of your attention, the heavier the response became and the more panicked you began to feel. Dread crept up your back and nestled into your shoulder whenever you thought about him. Something about trying to remember him made you feel … terrified. There was simply no other word to describe it. He terrified you. You just couldn’t understand why.

You were stuck at a crossroads. A part of you wanted to find the man and personally thank him for everything, to pay forward his kindness using gestures of companionship and see how far one could push this unique experience. The other part of you never wanted to meet the man ever again, demanding you flee at once and never looked back. Each road pulled at you, neither one able to one-up the other in strength and appeal thus leaving you at an uncomfortable, pointed balance. You rub your face with your hands, sighing as you tried to sway yourself to make a decision. You wished you were back asleep.

Nothing offered itself as assistance to your plea as you paced the barn and with no other option, you relented your fruitless battle and walked out into the night. Whatever will happen, will happen - whether that be you see him again or you finally manage to escape the corn-maze, you were going to meet it head-on regardless.

You stood on the border of the clearing between the barn safety and the yellow ocean, gazing into the sweet abyss that had been devouring you for so long. You wanted to stay at the barn, at the only sign of land where you could not drown. But you remembered his warning and with a heavy sigh you set off. Without looking back you stepped out into the field, casting yourself once more off to sea, letting go of the red barn and allowing the wind to swallow you whole and carry you to wherever it wished. However, you had only been walking for a few minutes before you heard the heavy panting of the dog behind you. So this is what has been decided. No fighting it, no running.

“Hello again.” You stopped and breathed in, gathering your confidence in the face of the beast, willing yourself not to give in to the unjustified fear. You had no reason to be so afraid, he had done nothing to you. Not yet. “I was hoping I’d find you again.” Your voice was calmer, collecting itself in idle conversation. You slowly, careful of quick movement so as not to frighten him or yourself, roll your head around your position, trying to spot any sign of the man hiding away. “I wanted to thank you for your generosity.”

“Did you sleep?” The man answered almost immediately, somewhat throwing you off balance. From how reserved and mild he was during the previous encounter you were sure you’d have to sweet talk him a little more to get him to open up. But his eagerness was not unwelcomed and you gave yourself over to talking.

“I did. On the hay pile in the barn. It was…” You paused from a moment, all cylinders in your brain firing in an attempt to find the appropriate word to describe your rest, “...great, I suppose.” At this he paused, probably to take in your response and work out a retort. In the silence something stirred, curling itself into your already weak stomach. You shooed it away and willed him to speak.

“Donny always liked the hay. It makes a good bed.” He said finally, drawing your mind away from the coldness in your palms and to his voice. You tilt your head at his mention of ‘Donny’. Was he referring to the same pig from the other night? Or in some weird way was he calling you ‘Donny’? For now you let the confusion slide and instead pushed on with the discussion.

“Do you not sleep?” You asked, your head continuing to timidly scan your surroundings. If he was opposed to your efforts to locate him, the man did not show it and without him actively stopping you, you endured without complaint. You practically heard the man shrug.

“Don’t try to.” He mumbled halfheartedly.

“It's because you’re stuck, like me. Right?” His perplexed quiet was enough of an indicator for you to example yourself. “I mean, you’re stuck here in this corn field. Just like me. I may not know exactly how long I have been here but I know it’s been a while.” You look down at your hands, fingernails dirty from stains you could not remember getting. “I’ve been walking through this field forever and yet I never reach a fence. Or a house. Or anything.” Speaking your fears into life was somewhat cathartic for you, reaching out to this strange person with a hand trembling and unsure made you hope beyond reason that he could sympathize with your plea. To be human and experience and understand the toils of another as if they were your own. You lifted your eyes to the corn and towards the position where you guessed him to be. You smiled, lips chapped and cracking from the stretch but persevering regardless. It hurt you to grin, a gesture you had not partaken in for so long that you had almost forgotten how to even do it. You hoped that it at least looked more sincere than it felt.

“You are stuck.” The man replied in his ever gruff and rocky voice, like stones crashing around in an engine. “I am stuck sometimes. The corn is like mud. It sinks.”

“Sometimes?” You inquire, an eyebrow lifting as your interest peaked. He grunted, sounding as if nodding with force.

“I can leave only when Boy is called. Called by the spider in the sky.” Suddenly, you jumped and gasped loudly.

“You know about that thing!?” You twirl on your feet, spinning around the corn looking for any hint of the man. Your eyes were ablaze with glory, ironic relief washing over your body at his words. Here you found another lost soul. Another person who could feel the sky pulsing and eating. Someone who knew that there was more to this world than just psycho killers wielding axes. “I thought I was the only one who could sense it! No one else at the campfire believed me when I said there was something up there.” Your victory waned at the mention of the campfire. Your smiling dwindled and your movement stopped, eyes clouded and downcast. The campfire? The others. When was the last time you had seen them? The last time you had seen anyone for the fact? You could barely remember their faces. They were all a blur like mist on a foggy bathroom mirror, there were faces but no details. Names but no meaning. You suddenly felt very lonely and longed to go back to that horrible campfire with those equally horrible people.

A most nasty habit that people had - the want to flock together like sheep. Though to be with people irked you, riding up with an ill-fitting pair of jeans on tender skin, there was no denying that your heart ached when it realized it was alone. You always said you liked being alone but you always hated being lonely.

“Will you walk with me?” Your voice was distant as your thoughts drifted back to the people waiting at the campfire, your tongue moving before your mind would react. “Will you walk with me to the fence?” In your stupor, the man’s reaction to your request went unnoticed. He was shocked, gawking at you with wide, disbelieving eyes and his mouth agape. He examined you from head to toe, tearing you apart with suspicious eyes, trying to uncover if you were attempting to hurt him or not. Was this some kind of joke? Were you going to laugh at him? You knew that there was no real fence, no true boundary to this place, and yet you wanted to exhaust yourself trying to find it? He was baffled by your ignorant persistence and resorted to studying you harder for any cracks in your outward appearance. Where he expected to find half-hidden malice, he only saw sadness. You were sad, he knew what it looked like on people. And it wasn’t fake sadness either, not the kind that people on the T.V wore when something bad happened. Yours was real, he could smell it.

“I will walk with you. To the fence.” The man replied softly, speaking at a volume that was tentative and hesitant, a part of him still remaining apprehensive to your next actions. You raise your head at his confirmation, a glimmer of your former smile returning to your lips.

“Thank you.” You lowered your head in a meager bow and after a moment debating whether to let him lead or you, you walked off in a direction you presumed to be forward with the man setting off behind you.

All through the walk you racked your brain from conversation topics; lovely weather we are having? What do you think someone would do with all this corn? There were so many different options to choose from yet each fell flat when pitted against possibility. Try as you might, you just could not think of anything to say. It also did not help that that horrible, foreboding feeling had followed you out there, trailing you like a dark cloud. With the man so close your familiar fear kicked itself into overdrive. There was just something so recognizable about him, something dreadful and vile. But what? What about him had spooked you to this extent? Sure, his voice was raspy and congested and his breathing was that of a sleeping beast, but his words and the soft tones he used were all of that of a boy. A simple youth who bled this pure form of compassion and slowness. Such a contradicting feeling he gave off, to be the reason you wanted to flee yet drawing you in with a need to know more about him. You yearned for the talking of frivolous topics to distract you from the gnawing panic that resided in your stomach but the rivers ran dry of inspiration and you were left to walk in pitiful, heavy silence.

In one last, desperate grab at distraction, you started to pay attention to his footsteps, a task made easier in the barren landscape of only corn and wind. His pace was loud and large, landing with each step in a heavy stomp. He must be very tall, you supposed. Or very big. The weight of the sound, after being taken into consideration, was not deemed as important to focus on when you noticed the odd rhythm he had. Instead of a consistent 1-2 pace that most people would have, the man had a rather jolted one. The space between thumps were uneven and gave you the impression that he had some kind of limp or poor leg. In a strange sense it almost sounded like a heartbeat.

Something flickered at your revelation. It was such a unique walk pattern that it triggered a memory in you, a vision of running and hiding away and the sound of a chainsaw. The fear flexed itself in your stomach. It did not help when the breeze shifted and you managed to catch a whiff of that previously undisclosed smell. His smell. The coppery smell of fresh blood. The coldness spread further, you mind reeling as the fingers of your panic threatened to grab you. You remember that walk. You remember that breathing. You remember that heartbeat.

You squeeze your eyes shut, mentally willing your body to calm down and stop racing to conclusions. Stop thinking about him. Stop thinking about the dog. Stop-

You come to a sudden stop when you realize that he was not behind you anymore. Snapping your eyes open you were greeted by the sight of the dilapidated red barn and its open doors. Disappointment mingled with your fluttering chest, terror mixing well with despair in a deadly concoction.

“I really am stuck here.” You mumbled to yourself, hands falling from your arms to hang useless at your sides. “There really is no way out.”

“Not unless Donny is called.” The man, oblivious to your dawning anguish, muttered from somewhere to your right. Though you knew that ultimately that you were never going to find a way out of the fields and that even thinking about it would only cause misery, that moment when your feeble hope died you were sure your heart had stopped altogether. This was your eternity now, to barely be alive when drowned in yellow. Nothing to run for, nothing to fight towards. Listlessly you feel your body regain itself, standing tall at the edge of everything. If this was all there is, then what are you scared for?

“Donny can stay at the barn again. Boy will be here soon. Stay. Sleep and I will come back.” You heard the man shuffle to leave and before you could even think you shouted at him.

“Wait!” The world shook in the wake of your outburst, such volumes never being reached in this sea of feigned tranquility. “Wait please.” You exhale, finally feeling the full weight of the fear you had tried so fiercely to run away from, settle mercilessly upon your chest. “I know you.” With your eyes looking at the ground, you turn your head over your shoulder towards the man. “I know you so there is no need to hide anymore. If I am to be stuck here with you, I want to see your face. And know your name.” He did not respond right away, a part of you suspecting that he had simply left before you had even asked your question, unaware of everything. But you could still hear his breathing, coming now in hollow gasps.

“No one likes my face.” He answered, voice surprisingly dangerous and bitter. You did not shy away from him however, did not give into the rising uneasiness of the mood.

“But I already know you. And I don't remember not liking it.” That was a blatant lie and you wished that he could not see through it. There was a growl.

“No! No! No one likes my face!” He was shouting, angry words springing forth from the same person who was so soft spoken just moments before. You turn more of your attention to him, your eyes still lowered allowing yourself one last opportunity to back down. You did not. There was nothing for you to go to if you backed off now.

“Please.” You knew he could not resist your request when you presented it in such a placid manner. There was a shout, an explosion of noise and violence and you jumped at its severity. You heard the rush of footsteps leap out from the field as a shadow loomed itself over you.

“Look! Look Donny! Look at Max and laugh at him!” He was right behind you, his hot breath bursting against your neck in towering waves. Without giving yourself the chance to consider anything, you spun around and came face to face with the fuming dog, his teeth bared.

At the sight of him, your knees went weak and the floor beneath you fell away. You wanted to scream, to run away, to give in to horror and fear and go hysterical and wild. He was hideous, truly monstrous and hardly even a man at all. It was flesh at war, torrents of skin fighting itself as it connected head to neck and neck to torso. Beneath that storm was a face pushing through, with a mouth wide, teeth crooked and eyes like fiery pinpricks in the dark. He was awful to look at yet your eyes could not be torn away. He stole from you your sanity with nothing but the mere look of his being alone.

Though your mind clouded with uncontrollable panic and fear, you could still recognize the man, his face unforgettable. It was him alright, no more denying it, no more pushing it away. You had known it was him from that very first encounter yet foolishly you had rejected everything, ignoring every piece of awful evidence that had sat itself right in front of your nose, all in favor of self desires. You wanted him to be someone else. You needed this strange man to be a good person whom you could hold on to, you could reach out for. But as the cruelest twist of fate, he was the complete opposite.

It was the Hillbilly - the monster who hunted you and the others with that wicked chainsaw of his. Nothing but a beast made of only the poorly defined form of man, a shape with no purpose other than to kill. You knew it was him from the moment you heard him behind you, breathing like that roaring engine he always did. You never forget the sound of the dog trying to kill you. You had been weak, allowing him to get close enough to you to practically have his bloody hands wrapped around your throat.

You wanted to run, to flee and try to live just that little bit longer - give your body and soul over to inherent prey instinct. But as you looked into those blazing, hateful eyes framed by grotesque threads of dirty skin, you found that all you could do was wait. It was like facing off against an oncoming train, reckless and unstoppable coming at you at full-speed fuming with noxious smoke. You had seen this movie before and knew how the story ended - he would kill you and leave your body for the rats.

Every fiber of your being screamed at you to leap out of its path but something stronger and more persistent held you tightly in place. He was not moving so why should you? He was not attacking so why should you run? He was talking so why should you not listen? Once again you clung to the belief that if this man was able to talk and reason then there was something human inside him, something that could be grasped and felt. Regardless of all logic and reason you sought that something and waited for him to offer you another chance to try to dig it out of him. If this was the end, then you would not die with your back turned.

“Hello Max.” You said, your voice a quiet light in the gloomy atmosphere. You saw him visibly retract at your calmness, his eyes darting around your whole body in search of something, anything that would indicate malcontent. “It's nice to meet you.” His stupor lasted only a second longer before he roared and lunged forward, hand twitching around the handle of his chainsaw.

“Donny always laughs! Donny is always scared!” He reeled his head back violently, stretching up into his full, powerful height. You sank into his shadow but did not waver in your stance. Come rain or ruin, you could not find the effort to move your feet even an inch. “Everyone is meant to be laughing at Max! Everyone is meant to be scared!” He brought his attention back down to you and you shuddered under his glare, trying beyond anything not to flinch in his presence. “Donny is always scared!”

You waited a moment, allowing for his fuming words to cool and settle in the night air before answering with yours. “Donny is scared. They are terrified.” Max tilted his chin inwards to his chest, looking as if preparing to attack, a deep gnarl resonating forth from somewhere in that twisted body. “But not of you, Max. Donny is scared of your anger. Of your…” Your eyes drift to the chainsaw clenched tightly in his hand. Max’s own attention followed yours and for an instant you saw him relent his hold on the weapon. He shot his head back to you, had he had eyebrows they would have been furrowed with muddled anger.

“Donny lies! You lie! You laugh!”

“But Donny is not.” You retorted, your tone never raising above a mellow reassurance. You closed your eyes for a moment, letting the blackness offer you strength as your confidence crumbled. You opened them again and, with a slow, soothing exhale, let your lips extend into the faintest of smiles. You gave him everything in that moment, putting forward all compassion and comfort you could muster into your eyes and smile for him to consume and judge. “I am not lying. And I am not laughing at you Max.” This earned a slack-jawed, wide-eyed expression from the man, his emotions, though messy under his tangled flesh, portraying clearly on his face. He was completely and utterly astonished.

You watched as he took in your coolness, sucking from you all the serene and hushed energy you had given. He shuts his eyes, slamming his jaw closed and shaking his head vigorously as if trying to shake something loose. He roared again, a most horrible sound that carried for miles in every direction across the field, making the corn around you shake from the sheer magnitude of his power. He raised his empty hand and started pounding his fist into his ear, screaming louder and harder with each contact. You were startled by his reaction and by the way he jumped so quickly from seeking your comfort to out-right rage. Without thinking you step closer to him, a hesitant hand lifting to reach for him.

Suddenly he jumped forward at you, coming so close that you can feel the heat of his anger eminent off his heaving chest. He stands over you, his fist, with knuckles gone white from stress, moves dangerously closer to your face and hovers there as if debating whether to choke you or not. You subconsciously gulp and take in your final breath, sure that this was the last moments of your pitiful life. You look up at him, his eyes bursting with something between uncontrollable hatefulness and a desperate pity. He tightens his fist and it shakes from the sheer force.

“Donny stays in the barn. Stays in the pen. Until Boy is gone.” His words were more rough, coming from behind gritted teeth. You nod up at him.

“Of course.” Max runs his eyes once more over you body, scanning every corner of your face for anything that he could use to call your bluff but finds nothing. With one final snarl he pulled himself away and disappeared into the corn, leaving behind no reminisce of himself to prove that all that happened was real. In the silence that filled the gap he had left you felt the universe cave in. Conflicting voices erupted in your head, your trembling legs buckling under your body weight. You felt cold and despondent, eyes lingering on the spot where he departed. While your mind wanted to stay and think, to mull over everything until you had worked yourself into a vile panic attack, exhaustion beckoned and you submissively and gratefully followed. Walking inside the barn you find your hay pile and within minutes you were floating away to the safe land of earth and nature.

#dbd imagines #dbd fic #dbd the hillbilly #dbd the hillbilly x reader #dbd max thompson jr #dbd max thompson jr x reader #dbd x reader #long post #waiting for a superman

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mokuhchi-manuscripts · 3 years

Text

Salvere: Chapter 2

A/N: I apologize that these chapters are somewhat short, I'm trying my best :)

Word Count: 1,540 CW(s): mentions of nausea

Find this on my AO3 as Well!

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Yamaguchi sat on his bed, legs crossed and school work scattered around him in an arc. Textbooks, loose papers, and pens were sprawled across his covers. He had been attempting to study for English for hours, but his mind was racing, prohibiting him from even attempting his school work.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the front door unlocking. “Tadashi?” the melodic voice of his mother called.

“Upstairs.” he shouted back. He could hear his mother shuffling, most likely removing her shoes and coat. Footsteps began to approach the stairs, followed by the creaking of their old wooden staircase. His mother popped her head through the doorway.

“How’re you feeling?”

Tadashi shrugged in response. “The same.” She nodded in acknowledgement. He watched as she made her way into his room, pushing aside scattered papers so she could sit next to him.

She ran her fingers through his hair as she spoke, “So I was able to get a doctor’s appointment-” he immediately opened his mouth in protest but she raised her hand in a silencing gesture, “and you’re going to go.” Yamaguchi slightly deflated. Going to the doctor meant accepting something was wrong, and he was still hoping that he’d wake up after months of feeling ill and finally be okay again. A part of him didn’t want to know what was wrong out of fear, but the other part was desperate to have an opportunity to fix his ailing body.

“Tadashi?” his mother’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts. He looked over to her and could see the expression that had become all too familiar to him: worry.

“Okay.” he acknowledged his mother’s earlier statement. She sighed, stood up, and made her way to the doorway where she paused. “I love you, Tadashi.”

“Love you too mom.”

He flopped backwards into his pillows, suddenly incredibly tired. He felt horrible that he had to visit the doctor knowing that bills existed and volleyball equipment was an expense already beginning to burden his mother. He eyed his sports bag in the corner of his room. It felt like it was mocking him, laughing at the money they spent on it and its contents only to have the sport ripped right out of his hands. The urge to cover the bag began to overwhelm him, so he removed his sweatshirt and tossed it across his room, it landing atop the bag. He breathed a sigh of relief when it was no longer clearly visible.

He turned his head to face the ceiling. There, above him, were the old glow-in-the-dark stars he had forced Tsukishima to help him put up when they were younger. In an attempt to steady his mind, he dug into the back of his brain for the constellations they had placed. He raised his arm and traced the shapes of Ursa Major and Minor with his finger, dragging it along until he found Leo, and Lynx, and then he couldn't remember the rest of the names.

“You’re pointing at Draco.” Yamaguchi snapped his head to the side and of course, there leaning against his doorway was Tsukishima, “or so I’m assuming. And your mom said I could come up. Before you ask I haven’t been standing here long.” The blonde righted himself and made his way to Yamaguchi’s bed. He moved Yamaguchi’s papers to the floor, and laid down next to the other boy. “Over there is Gemini,” he explained, pointing as he spoke. “And by that is…” Tsukishima’s voice trailed off in Yamaguchi’s head. No longer was he staring at the ceiling, but instead at his best friend’s features. His eyes grazed up the sharpness of his jawline, he looked to his eyes and traced the slope of his nose. Sometimes he forgot just how beautiful Kei was.

Yamaguchi could remember back when they were children, lying in the grass and looking through Kei’s telescope. He could practically hear the sound of laughter as fireflies buzzed around them. Kei always compared them to stars you could hold in your hand.

He thought back to when they first put the stars up in his room. He had begged his mother to buy him the stick-on stars and promptly invited Tsukishima to help him. His friend had showed up with a reference book and a grin, and together they got to work planning out the constellations that would fit on Yamaguchi’s ceiling. Kei was determined to have it be accurate, leading him to check, double check, and recheck again.

“Are you even listening?” Tsukishima tapped the center of the other boy’s forehead, effectively pulling Tadashi out of his memories. He realized he had been staring, and with a warmth to his face he looked away.

“Sorry, Tsukki. I was just remembering when we put those up.”

“Oh, yeah. I remember. You had trouble reaching the ceiling so I had to put most of them up.”

“It’s not my fault you’re freakishly tall!” Yamaguchi laughed. He could sense Tsukishima rolling his eyes, followed by the sound of the bed creaking under the taller boy’s weight as he shifted to face Yamaguchi. Tadashi couldn’t help but flush under his friend’s gaze.

“Are you okay?” Kei’s soft words fell like feathers onto Yamaguchi’s ears. He was being quiet, as if sharing a secret.

“I don’t know,” Yamaguchi responded honestly in the same hushed tone, “I know I’m going to the doctor in the next couple of days but I’m torn. On one hand I want answers because answers means treatment, but going to the doctor means accepting something is wrong when I don’t want anything to be wrong.” Yamaguchi darted his eyes to the right, momentarily interlocking glances with the same intimacy as holding hands. He wanted to look away, afraid of his own impulsivity at this small distance, but he was so engulfed in the concept of Tsukishima that he didn’t dare look away. “I don’t want to be dramatic but what if I can’t play volleyball? I’ve also been missing some classes from getting sick so what if I fail? I guess I’m just kind of lost and confused and I want things to go back to how they were but at the same time I know it’s impossible but I’m terrified of what the future holds.” Tsukishima nodded. It was obvious he didn’t know how to respond, and he could tell Yamaguchi wasn’t expecting him to.

A song loudly began to play from behind Tsukihima’s head, and a groan from the blond quickly followed. “It’s your phone,” he said. Yamaguchi sat up and reached over Tsukishima’s body, quickly recoiling back as soon as he grabbed his phone from embarrassment of the position they were almost in. A part of him wanted to stay close and over Tsukishima, but in an effort to fight that urge he reeled back, effectively smashing his head against his wall. Tsukishima couldn’t help but snicker as Yamaguchi rubbed the back of his head. Tadashi looked down at the caller ID. ‘Suga.’

“Hey, Suga.”

“Hey, Yamaguchi!” he could hear another voice in the background but it was hard to pinpoint who’s it was, “I was just wondering how you were doing.”

“Oh. I’m fine. Tsukishima’s actually over right now so..”

“So you don’t want to talk? I got it. Well if you need anything just now the whole team is here for you. Bye!”

“Bye.” Yamaguchi hung his head and let out a sigh as soon as he heard the line drop. Tsukishima nudged him, causing him to look up. Tsukishima quirked an eyebrow, a silent question of ‘what happened’.

“Suga was just checking on me, and I get why but having everyone wanting to keep an eye on me has never felt so frustrating. It feels like everyone is handling me like glass, like if they don’t protect me I’ll shatter. I’ve just gotten sick a couple times-” Tsukishima gave Yamaguchi a look, “okay, multiple times, but I’m not dying.” Yamaguchi lowered his head again, his voice following suit. “It’s just so frustrating to know that for most of my life I’ve felt invisible, but the moment something seems to be wrong with me and I want to be invisible, suddenly all eyes are on me.” Tsukishima nodded once more in acknowledgement, although this time the brunette didn’t see it.

“You know,” Yamaguchi turned his head to face Tsukishima who unexpectedly spoke, “I rarely ever see you this frustrated.” A smirk played against his lips. Yamaguchi couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh.

“Shut up, Tsukki.”

“You’re stealing my line.” Yamaguchi couldn’t help but laugh again at the comment.

“What made you come over anyways?” Tadashi changed the subject.

“I saw you struggling with english earlier so I thought I’d come help.”

“Thanks, Tsukki!” Yamaguchi was delighted for his best friend and the help he offered. The shorter boy slowly made his way off his bed, making sure to climb over Kei, and eventually found himself sitting on the floor with his school books. Tsukishima soon followed. He thumbed open the book and began to explain the material, “Okay so first what you’re going to want to know is these grammar rules.”

And for a moment, Yamaguchi Tadashi felt normal again.

· · ─────── · ☆ · ─────── · ·

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#.series: Salvere #.multichapter: Salvere #.fandom: Haikyuu!!#tsukishima kei #tadashi yamaguchi #yamaguchi tadashi #kei tsukishima #haikyuu #haikyuu fanfic #haikyuu! fanfiction #haikyuu!!#haikyuu!! fanfic #haikyuu fsnfiction #chronic illness #disability fic

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peachbearies · 4 years

Note

Can I have #12 from the fluff with wooyoung🥺

Safe Haven J.Wooyoung

Requested prompt:

“I wanna kiss you right now”

⁞ ❏. Synopsis: Wooyoung wants to comfort you after you isolated yourself due to insecurities and overthinking.

⁞ ❏. Genre: Angst > Fluff

⁞ ❏. Pairing: Female Reader X Jung Wooyoung

⁞ ❏. Warnings: Unhealthy coping, cursing, mentions of suicide, and mental health.

⁞ ❏.A/N: I just wanna say babes I love you! And I know how horrible and rocky life is for you right now, but you are worth it and you always have me to confide in. I lowkey made myself cry I listened to one day at a time by ateez then after that I listened to seasons by 6lack so I'm fucked up clearly.

The silence in the apartment. The trickle of eradicated breathing, the fingers of a tornado gripping the sheets. Beads of sweat staining the pillow hair and skin infusing to the bed. Your eyes open to stare at the blank canvas of a ceiling. Eyes wandering over the cracks painted in the crevices. The technicolor screen projected on the palette, weakly your fingers reach over for your phone. ”Babyboy🦋” the bold font decreasing your heart rate, the white-blue screen glowed upon your skin.

”Hello?” you choke through the silence; wooyoung knew you better than anyone after your parents. His body immediately sat up against his headboard, the unsettling aura settled on him, yeosang stared at his friend; unaware of what he heard all he could recognize was wooyoung rambling his hands through his hair. ”hey, you okay? Baby talk to me” wooyoung already has one foot out the bed. But the bold numbers on the clock prevented him from going any further. He wanted to hold her; dip his fingers into her back to soothe her he wanted her hair tickling his collarbone. Her scent of vanilla extract and caramel seeping into his nose comforting him.

”i—” you start, but the fear of speaking too much opening and closing the glasshouse spiking cracks. You knew you couldn't hold water; you didn't want to drown him you didn't want to smother him. ”oh my god” you dropped the phone the sheets muffling your hard cries. Wooyoung stuck between breaking rules to come to see you, to knock on your door. But it was too late.

Wooyoung wouldn't be able to step an inch out of the dorm, and that is what frustrated him even more. ”baby? Baby?” is all you heard as it faded into the background. The line disconnected, as the stress shadowed on wooyoung. Yeosang ran up to wooyoung who was desperate for a hug. But was more desperate to hold you. “Let’s go talk to the CEO,” no questions asked wooyoung took off faster than his words.

When he was granted the okay, the driver arrived at your house. You were sitting on your carpet dried tears stained on your cheeks, with puffy eyes. The way your eyes glided you to the pills pleading you in with its poised stanzas. The sound of banging on the door was the only thing saving you from slipping into subspace. Your legs quivered as you answered the door. Both from anxiety and the brisk air. “Wooyoung?” You called his name, realizing your mistake you shun your head down “I’m—“ wooyoung leaving no room for an apology engulfed you in his arms, his hand protectively around your head. Helping you back in the house.

“Baby—don’t leave me, please. I know it’s hard to express how you’re feeling and admitting to the pain. I’m here for whenever you’d like me to know your worries, baby I just want you to know you’re not alone, even when you feel like it, I’ll hold you and let you cry in my arms all day I don’t care” wooyoung pulls out of your neck to stare into your broken eyes. “I just want to make sure you’re okay, even if you don’t tell me what’s wrong” his thumb sweeps through tears under your eye ducts.

“I’m scared to rant to anyone—“ your hiccups interrupted you as the tears travel down to your chin hugging it neatly. “Hey-hey, you don’t have to explain everything to me right now, let’s get you comfortable first” you go in his arms his fingers hugging your thighs that are attached to his waist. His foot pushing open the door. His fingers delicately removing himself from your body. Whining in a touch starved form wooyoung placed a soft print to your temple. You missed him. As much as you pushed him away, you missed him and you felt bad. Another reason you’ve been crying. His smile appears from the edge of his bed holding a hoodie of his.

“Wear it” he implies, you sat up grabbing the cloudy fabric sliding your head through, and smiled from its warmth. “I need you warm my dear” wooyoung pats your head, his fingers cruising over your head. “I’m sorry” the mumbles escaped, only made him frown. Wooyoung was pondering why you were apologizing to him, you’ve done nothing wrong in his eyes. Pain is inevitable, no one can control that.

Wooyoung says nothing but pulls you into his arms your nose touching his collarbone, fingers attached to your burning skin “do you know why I enjoy performing on stage every night?” Wooyoung ponders, you wipe your face in the hoodie cuffs “because I can feel my emotions, I can let them out in the form of art, and atiny enjoys it, why? Because feeling emotions are honest art, it’s honest feelings. And it doesn’t make you inconsequential, it doesn’t make you lesser okay? It makes you mortal it makes you vital in a sense that you can let out these sentiments and that you've held it together for so long” Wooyoung kisses your hairline, dancing his fingertips on your jawline.

“You don't have to be perfect, because who is? All you have to be is unique. Just be the best you can be, I'm not going to nitpick what's wrong with you, but for every bad thought, I'll cloud it with compassionate poetry” Wooyoung withdraws his face from your hair to show you his sincerity, “I mean that I know j farce a lot and I'm overly theatrical. But I take you very seriously, I promise I won't hurt you and ill shelter you from your demons, only if you let me” you reach up to his stature to give him a delicate peck, Wooyoungs nose looming over yours.

“Be my safe haven?” you state, but it wailed more as a reassuring question, “nothing else I wouldn't want to be I wanna kiss you right now, is that okay with you love?” you nod your head as Wooyoung leans posterior into your space, coinciding your lips with his, your fingers swaddled upon his shoulders. Feeling a smile on your lips that are stickered on his. Wooyoung would do whatever he could to protect that smile. That smile is what makes his day. You pull away from the endearment, your head on his chest, his chin on your head.

“I've been overthinking, about my image my life. I wonder am I doing enough, especially at my age. Compared to everyone around me what the fuck is so special about me?, u feel like everything I've tried or wish for just hasn't gone my way, I've been trying to stay afloat but fuck I'm just sinking faster and faster, u just wanna be okay for once in my life, I wanna be proud of myself and not stare at myself in disgust” Wooyoung draws circles on your arm and strokes your jawline with his thumb. “I'm so proud of you for learning our dance choreography in a day, you were so happy that day, out CEO even said “yah Wooyoung your girlfriend is so talented, we need her here each time we learn a dance “, that time you painted Hyung-Joong a pair of boots I swear he wore them for so long and still till this day he has them on his shelf”

“When you bought us food during thanxx, the staff fell even more in love with you, they wanted you around us all the time, they love your energy, remember that one time we were watching the sunset sitting on the carpet on front of the window? You wrote me that poem in a matter of seconds, till this day its pinned up on my wall in the dorms, you have so many achievements under you belt I’ll be here all night, baby big achievements are amazing don’t get my wrong,but the small one you do for people around you goes a long way, we’re still young baby we have time to blossom, don’t feel pressured by others success because yours will be just as good and a memoir for you to fall back on”

“Why don’t you write songs for Ateez?” You joke with him; he punches your cheeks slightly to earn a whine from your lips. “Who said I don’t , what am I going to do with you?” Wooyoung pokes your cheeks “love me?”

“I do, I’m so in love with you”

You both fall asleep holding each other closely, the morning arrives for you to see the sunrise, wooyoung’s arm draped around your abdomen his fingers planted on your stomach, nose printed on your neck. “Baby? Look”‘excitedly you cheer, your nails caressing his muscles, feeling him stir in his sleep. “Yes my love?” His voice vibrates on your skin.

“Look at the sun, I’m sorry to wake you, I just feel happy now seeing the sun, because of that poem I wrote you, it makes me want to do better because even the sun gets up after it’s downfall, can’t have light with a little dark, if only the moon existed how else would the numbers appear on the clock” Wooyoung’s lips spread across your skin pulling you in closer, propping himself up on his elbows. “You’re so beautiful my dear,” Wooyoung bends to your level kissing your lips softly, holding you face like glass he caressed every scar you deemed to be ugly.

“If you’re bit scared you’re living on edge, it’s hard to escape your worries” Wooyoung starts singing ‘one day at a time’ your fingers wrapped around his wrist never breaking contact with him. Yeah, Wooyoung is your safe haven.

#kpop #ateez wooyoung #wooyoung #jung wooyoung

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ponds-of-ink · 4 years

Text

A short (?) fanfic inspired by @frosted-firefly‘s latest answer to a drawing request. I was going to post this as a genuine fanfic, but I wanted to “publish” it here first. Y’know, because context.

Enjoy this semi-rushed piece and let me know what you think.

A carriage sped down the narrow roads leading to the town of Marseilles. The driver, eying both sides at each turn, urged the horses to roll faster and faster. “I’m sorry, Monsieur Morrell,” he called over the thundering hoofbeats. “I’m afraid there’s no turning back.”

The coach’s rider opened the window and leaned his head out. “What do you mean, Philipe?” he asked in fluent French. “Marseilles was my childhood home, not a den of thieves or a hideaway for the corrupt. My father lived and died here, and I never heard of such a horrible implication from him. For shame if someone has ruined this beacon of hope for France’s commerce or her people!”

The driver we now know as Philipe winced as he watched the fog build around them. With great swiftness and an even greater knowledge of how to master horses, he slowed the beasts down to a trot. “With all due honesty, Master Maximillian, I didn’t mean to imply that Marseilles is a smuggler’s cove,” he admitted as he lit his lantern. “It’s not, really. Think of it as a place where krakens might lurk the seas or ghouls lurk in every corner.”

Maximillian shuddered at the mention of krakens. The questions he wanted to ask died in his throat. He put his head back inside then shut the window. His heart throbbed. For all his years as a soldier, he had never experienced the terror any soul under the haunting song of ghost stories. Was Marseilles doomed by some eerie calamity? Did a shipwreck unknowingly set off a chain of events that led to this? Or a vengeful ghost wishing to ruin everyone in its path until its “justice” was finished?

As the passenger contemplated the past, the driver focused on the present. One hand pulled tightly to the reins while the other held the handle of the candlelit lantern. All he could rely on was the yellowed map on his knees and the sensitivity of his horses. Such sensitivity was well tested when the pack rose to their back hooves and whinnied in fear. “Whoa!” Philipe yelled, tugging back the reins and trying to regain control. “What did you lads see?” His answer emerged as three ring-tailed animals with its leader wearing a tattered hat. They scurried up to the coach and clawed at the door. “Get away from there!” Philipe growled, preparing to leap down and confront them himself.

“You heard the gentleman,” a snakelike voice said, alerting the rodents. “Leave the coach alone. We don’t want to scratch any gold paint off, do we?”

The trio chirped as if disappointed, then hurried to the stranger’s side. “You’ll have to forgive them,” he chuckled. “They”re just as greedy as their namesake. Old Caderousse loved his gold as much as these wretches love their garbage.” He approached the carriage and placed an arm on the motionless driver’s seat. The man was a well-dressed (if not slightly gaudy) figure with a deep plum top hat and an orange bow-tie to match his suit. His face was scuffed by decades-old injuries, but his mood certainly seemed unaffected by them. “Say, you look a bit agitated for someone startled by raccoons,” he noted, taking a good at his surprised listener. “May I ask where you were headed?”

Maximillian, who had been listening to the entire scene from inside the coach, peered outside from the window. “We are supposed to be at Marseilles tonight,” he explained. “I was given a letter by—“

“A mysterious person known only as Sinbad,” interrupted the stranger darkly.

“How did you know?”

“Because I myself had received a message like that months ago. The promise of gold lured me in, then I got this job as payment for my stay here.”

“Payment? For what?”

A bitter laugh escapes the hat-wearing man as he approaches the solider. “My dear Maximillian, I’m surprised at you,” he said, placing his elbow on the paneling. “Time may have eroded any childhood memories, but I thought your father would have mentioned my disappearance before he died.”

Maximillian started. “Danglars?” he asked hoarsely.

“Very good. Maybe I’m not as ill-remembered as I thought.”

“But how did you end up like this?”

Danglars’ expression strained. “Let’s save that story for another time,” he answered with some hesitation. “You must be on your way, and I don’t want you to be more than fashionably late.” He then paused to watch Philipe and the black-masked bandits quarrel. “May I serve as driver’s assistant for the rest of the trip?” he resumed. “I’ve guided many a carriage down these roads like Captain Leclere led the ocean-fairing boats.”

“Anything to put Philipe at ease,” Maximillian replied, putting a hand to the doorknob. “But be sure to not mislead us, or I will take action when our next stop arrives.”

“Don’t cast such a dark cloud of thought upon yourself,” Danglars grinned before turning to face the tense battle of man versus animal. “I’m legally obligated to make sure each person enters in safely. So, on behalf of the town, allow me to say ‘Welcome Home’.”

A few minutes later, and all six members of this motley crew rode past the gate that served as the west entrance. The lights in each window dispelled the fog, allowing Philipe to park the horses in an orderly manner. Once the journey had officially ended, Maximillian stepped out into the narrow cobblestone street. A grim atmosphere and an ever-present chill in the air greeted his senses as he processed what had changed. The buildings, though clearly still strong in their construction, had a look of decay and corruption. Anyone who passed him dove inside somewhere or rushed by without a word. If he had seen an old acquaintance in that moment, they were unrecognizable either due to some dramatic change or to their clothing choices. “What is going on here?” Maximillian asked Danglars, who had busied himself with paying the raccoons in jewels. “Philipe warmed me of krakens and ghouls, but there are none to be seen!”

“That’s because the ghouls are a little timid this hour,” explained the guide, joining the young solider’s side. “If you want to see them, I suggest waiting until some time past midnight. As for krakens, that’s just old sailor’s tales. If they did exist, they would be the only thing in this lot I would be genuinely afraid of.”

Maximillian nodded. “My father did say you dreaded storms because of that,” he added. “But that was when you were young and inexperienced.”

“‘Inexperienced’ is not a strong enough word,” Danglars muttered to himself, adjusting the brim of his top hat. The realization that his job was not yet over helped him regain his composure. “Mercifully, the past is the past,” he resumed with a confident air. “Now I have a mission that is not guided by the stars, but by a strong sense of direction. Follow me, and I will show you your inn for the night.”

Maximillian silently complied. As he wandered through the winding streets of his old home, his ears caught a faint noise mixed with the gentle breeze. It was almost as if someone was in the deepest throes of agony, but did not want to be found. He looked at his guide, but nothing in his posture had significantly changed. “Maybe this is one of those monstrous souls who now resides here,” the soldier figured. “Maybe I will meet this strange fellow later on tonight, if my fate gets any more strange and fortunate.”

#the count of monte crisyo #fanfic #halloween au #is this the start of something?#dunno #we’ll see #baron danglars #maximillian morrel #raccoon #caderousse #memtioned

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elliemarchetti · 4 years

Text

Red Queen Pride and Prejudice AU (Part 4)

I wanted not to publish this part until I had reached at least a dozen notes on the third, but I’m a clown and I wanted to share this so bad, so, here we are. Hope someone is still interested, hope someone could enjoy something so silly in this trying times.

Tag list: @lilyharvord

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Masterlist

Words: 2456

The day passed practically as the previous one: Miss Samos and Lady Haven spent a few hours with Wren, whose health continued, albeit slowly, to improve, and in the evening Mare joined the others in the living room. The table game, however, hadn’t been organized and the General was writing to his grandmother while Miss Samos, sitting next to him, controlled the progress of the letter, of a considerable length, and continually diverted his attention with messages for the recipient and congratulations for her friend’s handwriting and the regularity of the lines which, together with the complete disinterest with which they were received, formed a curious dialogue, in perfect coincidence with the opinion she had of both.

“You write at an extraordinary speed.”

"I'm sorry to admit you're wrong, in fact, I write rather slowly."

"How many letters do you have the opportunity to write in the course of a year?" she asked, though she didn't seem particularly interested in the answer. "Many will be about business. I guess you’ll find them hateful. I certainly would."

"Your guesses are becoming less and less correct day by day, my dear Evangeline," he replied, sardonically, and although she didn't seem particularly pleased with the answer, she asked him to tell her grandmother that she wished to see her again as soon as possible, which she must have already done, given his reaction. A brief period of time passed, in which all three were silent, when she started again , this time asking him if she should fix his pen, but the General replied he was fine and that it was anyway a job he always did by himself. The more time passed, the more Mare could understand that young man, whose pride was gradually diminishing, revealing he was actually unable to converse or stay in a company, a sign he must’ve had a cold and rigorous childhood, without friends or confidants, full of mentors and teachers, books and lessons.

"You always write her letters so long and beautiful?” she asked, and just then her brother walked in, accompanied by Lady Haven, which annoyed Mare a little, since she still hoped he and Wren could soon begin an official courtship.

"They are generally long, but as for always being beautiful, it’s not my job to judge,” replied the General who, although he had registered the newcomers, didn’t lift his head from the sheet.

"For me, it’s a certainty: a person capable of writing a long letter can't easily misspell," interjected Lady Haven, who had quickly rushed to snoop in turn. Mare didn’t agree with her, anyone could write long letters, even with a not particularly large vocabulary and a bad grammar, yet she said nothing, determined not to draw further attention to herself and too interested in the conversation, which had shifted to the General's use of extremely refined terms, evidently also in the letters addressed to his friends, something in sharp contrast with the writing style of Mr. Samos, which his sister defined as a set of sloppy scribbles.

"My ideas flow so quickly that I don't have the time to express them, hence sometimes my correspondents can't understand practically anything."

"It means that you let your heart write and not your mind," Mare commented, "and this does you credit, because you show yourself vulnerable to the people you love, something in stark contrast to your character with the rest of your acquaintances."

Mr. Samos seemed surprised by the compliment, while the General didn’t seem to like it, but Mare wasn’t in the mood to endure his malevolent comments, which always showed an ill-concealed wickedness and a stubborn decision to contradict her, so, before he could reply, she asked him if he didn't care about the influence of friendship and affection.

"The respect for the writer often leads me to overlook possible errors of little importance, but I would do better, perhaps, to wait for Mr. Samos to write something for my eyes before judging."

"It wouldn’t be advisable, before pursuing this topic, to agree with a little more precision on the degree of importance to be attached to this letter, as well as on the degree of intimacy existing between the parties?" the General asked, and before Mare could reply, it was the person directly interested who interrupted the discussion, which almost resembled a quarrel, with a joke, bringing his friend to end his task , while the three young ladies devoted themselves to analyzing the music sheets placed on the grand piano that dominated the right side of the room. Lady Haven sang with her friend, and while the two were busy, Mare couldn’t help but notice how the General's gaze stopped very often on her. She certainly couldn't suppose to be the object of the admiration of such a great man and that he looked at her because he disliked her would be even stranger. Eventually, she could only imagine that he turned his attention to her because there was nothing more out of place and reprehensible, according to his ideas of correctness, in any other person present. The hypothesis didn’t bother her: she liked him too little to hold on to his approval. After playing some Italian songs, Miss Samos started something more lively, and soon after General Calore, approaching Mare, asked her if she didn’t feel the strong desire to take the opportunity to dance. She smiled, but didn't answer. He repeated the question, a little surprised from what could be interpreted as a shy reaction. The truth was that she had heard him the first time, but had found herself undecided on what to answer, as she was sure that her interlocutor hoped for her assent, so he could denigrate her good taste, but for her it was always pleasant to upset these kinds of plans and deprive people of their premeditated contempt, so she replied negatively, with the sole purpose of offending him just as she had been offended by his comment when he called her not beautiful enough to tempt him. He, however, was incredibly gallant and found himself thinking that if it weren't for her humble origins, he would’ve found himself in serious danger because that young woman had bewitched him like no one before. Though she seemed too busy at first to notice, Miss Samos saw everything, and her strong impatience for Wren's recovery was somewhat reinforced by a desire to get rid of Mare, which risked to seriously jeopardize her plan. In this regard, she tried to instil in Cal a dislike for her own guest, talking to him about the alleged marriage and offering him a glimpse of the happiness that would follow such a union.

"I hope," she said, as they were walking in the grove next day, "that you’ll give your mother-in-law some advice, when this desirable event takes place, about the advantages of holding her tongue, and that you can limit the younger girl’s desire to run after officers, not to mention the delicate subject of your lady’s presumption and impertinence.”

"Do you have anything else to propose for my domestic happiness?" he asked, but before Evangeline could answer they ran into Lady Haven and Mare herself, coming from another path.

“I didn’t know you were going to take a walk,” she noted, a little embarrassed for fear of having been heard.

"You treated us horribly," Lady Haven replied, glaring at her, "running away without telling us you were going out."

Then, taking the General's free arm, she left Mare to walk alone. The path had room only for three and when the young man realized the rudeness he immediately proposed to move to the avenue, but Mare, who had no intention of staying with them, replied laughingly, before walking away with a brief farewell, that they formed a charming group and that a fourth person would ruined the picturesque appearance. From the window, Wren, who had felt strong enough to get up, saw everything and decided that she would come downstairs for a couple of hours that night. Making sure she was well protected from the cold, Mare accompanied her into the living room, where she was greeted by her two friends with many manifestations of joy; she had never found them more pleasant as in the hour that passed before the gentlemen’s appearance, and the demonstration that their remarkable ability to converse weren’t limited only to describing precisely the receptions they had attended but it was also extended to reporting anecdotes with a sense of humour and laughing at their acquaintances made her feel invigorated nearly as much as Ptolemus’ attentions who, on his arrival, spent the first half hour poking the fire and made sure she sat on the side of the fireplace farthest from the door. When he finally sat down next to her, he barely spoke to the others, which Mare noted with great pleasure. Once they had tea, Lucas Samos reminded his cousin of the game table, but in vain: Lady Haven had learned, in a completely confidential way, that the General hated cards and the few times he had played it had been only to not offend them, so suddenly everyone had lost interest in it, and seemed much more determined to devote themselves to reading, although Miss Samos's attention was much more concerned with checking the progress of the one she wished to make her husband soon than to read her own book; she never stopped asking him questions or peeking the pages, but she couldn't draw him into the conversation as he just answered her questions and kept on reading. Finally, completely exhausted from her attempts to amuse herself with her own tome, which she had chosen only because it was the second volume of his, she gave a loud yawn and said: "How pleasant it is to spend an evening in this way! I feel like saying that basically there is no entertainment like reading! How quickly one gets tired of anything other than a book! When I have my own home, I would feel really miserable not to have an excellent library. "

No one replied, then she yawned again, put aside what, in her words, should’ve been her new favourite pastime, and glanced around the room for some amusement when, hearing that her brother was talking to Miss Skonos about a dance, she immediately turned to him, reminding him that for some of those present a dance would be nothing but torture. It was evident that the dig was thrown at the General, but he let his friend answer for him and raised his head only when Mare joined Miss Samos, by invitation, to stretch her legs. The platinum-haired young woman invited him too but he refused, noting that he could only imagine two reasons for that choice to walk back and forth in the room, both of which his participation would interfere. Miss Samos was dying to know what he meant, and as Mare was of no help to her, she insisted on her childhood friend, who replied that the first reason was that the two women had suddenly become intimate and had private affairs to discuss, and the second was to be admired, which he would’ve been able to do much better while sitting.

"I've never heard something so disgusting!” exclaimed Miss Samos. “How will we punish him for such a speech?”

"Nothing easier, if only you feel like it," Mare said, perplexed by the fact that her interlocutor had taken her by the arm, as if they were great friends. "We are always able to torment and punish each other. Tease him, laugh at him. As intimate as you are, you sure know how to."

"On my honour, I don't know. I assure you that intimacy still hasn’t taught me to tease such a quiet temperament without losing in the attempt, and as for laughing, we shouldn’t expose ourselves for laughing for no reason. I suppose he can congratulate himself.”

"Miss Samos gives me more credit than how much is due. The wisest and best of men, or better, the wisest and best of his deeds, can be made ridiculous by a person whose main purpose in life is to joke."

"Sure," Mare replied, "there are people like that, but I hope I'm not one of them. I hope I never ridicule what is wise and good. Extravagance and nonsense, tantrums and absurdities amuse me, I admit, and I laugh at it every time I can. But these things, I suppose, are just the ones from which you are immune."

"Maybe this isn’t possible for anyone, but in life I’ve always tried to avoid those weaknesses which often expose even a remarkable intelligence to ridicule," he replied, and it soon became apparent that a conversation of that rank would only take place between the two of them, though it also attracted Lucas and Elane’s attention.

"Even vanity and pride, then."

"Yes, vanity is undoubtedly a weakness. But pride... where there is real superiority of intellect, pride will always be under careful control."

Mare had to hid a smile, and Evangeline, who hadn’t understood what had just happened, asked her what the outcome of her study was.

"I am perfectly convinced that General Calore doesn’t have flaws. He himself admits it without a doubt."

"I've never demanded such a thing," he corrected her. "I have several flaws, but they don’t concern, I hope, the intellect, even if I certainly cannot vouch for my character, which I believe is very little accommodating, certainly too little in the eyes of the world. I cannot forget the follies and vices of others as much as I should, nor the offenses done to me. My feelings don't shift at each attempt to move them, my character could perhaps be called touchy and my respect once lost is lost forever."

"This is a real flaw!" Mare exclaimed. "A relentless grudge is a stain in a character, but as a flaw it’s chosen well, so I can't really laugh at it. In mine opinion, you’re safe."

"In every temperament there is, I believe, a tendency to some particular sin, a natural imperfection that not even the better education can defeat,” he went on, "and if in my case it may seem that I hate everyone, which isn’t true, in yours it certainly is obstinacy in misunderstand them."

Mare would’ve liked to continue that conversation, but Miss Samos, tired of hre inability to take part in it, proposed to make some music and after a brief moment of reflection, Cal decided that it wasn’t a bad idea: he was beginning to clearly feel the danger of giving Miss Barrow too much attention.

#pride and prejudice au #p&p #red queen au #marecal #ptolewren #mare barrow #cal calore #ptolemus samos #wren skonos #evangeline samos #elane haven #lucas samos #anabel lerolan

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luzysabel · 4 years

Text

|| One Piece x Fem! Reader || Past || Part 1 ||

Memory

Okey, so I started to write a fanfic in wattpad and I want to publish here too. If you want you can read the fanfic here, the fanfic is in Spanish (my first lenguaje) but Google can translate the page to your language if you are using it.

Warnings: Mentions of dead, diseases and anxiety

● ● ●

I like look at the sky. It brings me peace, it makes me happy. Even if it makes me feel nostalgia, even if it makes my heart ache.

It's on nights like this, when the sky is totally clear and minutely adorned by the brightest spheres of light, when I appreciate that I'm not an astronomer. Because that's how I cannot see how different this sky is from mine and I can find comfort in the similarities that I want to believe there are. Allowing me to feel as if I were back home again. Even if I can't help but feel sad afterwards. Even though I know that no matter how much the two skies resemble each other, they will never be the same.

I like to admire the landscape. It brings me peace, it makes me happy.

The island I live on is very beautiful. Wonderful, rather. Makes want to draw it, take a picture, never look away, and everyone who has seen this place will agree with me. I never tire of exploring and strolling through it, it's a delight. It looks like a landscape taken from a book. A fantastic sight, almost unreal. Or at least in my world I have never seen such a place. It is not as if I had lived a long time, 15 years, and my family was not much traveller either. So it's not such a crazy thing. But it also doesn't look like any image I've seen on the Internet. However, I don't want to comment on something I don't know.

Another thing I like is that everyone here sings. Well, not all, but the vast majority yes. It's very rare to see someone who is not good at singing or without any talent related to art. It is the paradise of every artist. Here you find people singing, dancing or performing almost everywhere. Even I sang once (I was forced to do so) with other village children on a holiday. It was nice, I enjoyed it a lot.

I also like how peaceful this place is. The pirates don't attack us and nothing serious happens here, as far as I know. It is a very good place to live. Honestly, it doesn't bother me, I'm a rather calm person and not very adventurous (not to say I have none of that) so I could not be happier. This is all I need, after that the last thing I want is to live a busy life. What's I need is tranquility, a stable place to live. That which I always dreamed of in my previous life.

I'm very afraid of forget. It terrifs me. Every time I think about it my breath is cut off, I feel like crying. It is as if a bucket of frozen water were thrown at me. I feel cold, I don't stop trembling, my skin becomes pale, suddenly I feel bad, I feel sick. I don't like it, I hate it.

A few years ago (shortly after I turned three) I started a diary. There I write everything I remember about my past life. I write a lot, I'm very good at remembering, but lately I have started to forget. It's not something that happened suddenly, in fact, it has happened to me for quite some time. Little by little I've been forgetting more and more things, but it wasn't until not long ago that I started to realize it. It was almost like a stab to the heart. Suddenly I started to breathe through my mouth, the air that entered through my nose was no longer enough. My chest started to hurt, my palms became sweaty and I clung to my own clothes, I didn't stop trembling.

Although the worst time I had was when I tried to draw my mom and grandma.

It was on mother's day, we had just finished a surprise party we had for Adela, my mother of this world. We had spent a lot of time organizing it, we tried hard to make it special. But, I couldn't help but be sad and leave. I tried my best to hide my feelings and pretend I was doing well, I was doing so well...

I just wanted to make a draw of my mom and grandmother... I couldn't see them, I felt very lonely without my family, I couldn't say goodbye the last time I saw them, I couldn't tell them how much I loved them and I didn't want to think that those moment would be the last time I would see them. However, it was. Now I'm here, locked in this huge and dangerous unknown world, where I can die at virtually any time and in any form, yeeeeei. Please notice the sarcasm.

It happened in the night, everyone was sleeping, I couldn't sleep. I kept remembering my family, how we celebrated mother's day, the sad memories didn't leave me alone, I couldn't with it anymore. I cried. I Tried to calm down myself and not to make any noise, in vain, I don't stop of crying, instead, it get worse. I didn't remember my family's faces, everything was blurry, I couldn't see anything clearly. Luckily I sleep alone, so no one could see me. In a desperate attempt to remember, I tried to draw them, to put on paper two of the most important people in my life. I don't know why I thought it was a good idea, it just made it even worse.

While I was crying Adela came. She was worried, she asked me what happened, which was what made me cry. I couldn't answer, I couldn't say words, I was unable to speak. Adela approached me with care, she seemed afraid to scare me. She asked if she could hug me, I said yes, so she gently wrapped her arms around me, while caressing my head with one hand. It wasn't until that moment that I realized how touch starved I was. It's not that I'm not affectionate or something, no, not at all. It's just that is uncomfortable for me to be like that with them. Not that I don't love them, no. On the contrary, I love them very much and they have a special place in my heart, but my memories are a barrier that prevents me from seeing them for who they are, my family.

I don't want them to replace my family, I'm afraid they will, I'm afraid I'll forget them, it feels like a betrayal. It makes me feel guilty, it makes me feel bad.

She held me against her chest while she whispered comforting words to me. She asked me if it was a nightmare, I nodded. It was impossible for me to tell the truth, I doubt she would believe me. I also don't know how they would react. This is a secret I'm going to take to the grave.

She sang a lullaby to calm me down, I listen this song since I practically arrived to this world, it's a very beautiful song, definitely one of my favorites. She offered to sleep with her, in her room (along with my father and my little brothers of this world, obviously) I was too sad to sleep alone that night and I thought I would surely have nightmares, so I agreed. I slept well that night.

I miss been called by my name. I find it strange that they don't. It's uncomfortable, I don't like it. I feel like I'm someone else, like it's not me, it makes me feel false.

My name, now, is a nickname, although it was not my intention that it would be. What happened was this: all my stuff has my name somewhere. I did this for fear of forgetting it, initially everyone was a little bit surprised of me doing this and asked me why, so I lied to them saying it was a nickname given to me by a child I played with a time ago. It was from then on that everyone started calling me by my name and little by little they stopped using the one they put me here.

I really appreciate everything they do for me, they always makes me feel comfortable and happy. They have also endured me since I came into this world, they even helped me with my (I think) phobia of getting sick. After having died of an illness during a pandemic, I am afraid of illness and whenever this is mentioned I feel horrible. Especially when I pass it. It's as if I relive that illness, as if everything happened again. I hate it.

I can't deal with doctors either, I can't even be near to a hospital. So I try to take care of myself as much as I can so I don't get sick again. The few times I did it I felt horribly bad, I thought I was going to die, I almost had an anxiety attack when I noticed the symptoms. But fortunately they were able to calm me down before it all got worse, I am really grateful for that.

Adela and Ulysses are the best parents of the world, they have educated their children very well and they are all very united. They remind me a little of my family. I'm happy I was born here. Sometimes I feel I don't deserve them, but I don't want to think about it. I just enjoy the few moments of peace I have, and I couldn't be happier about it.

I like to be here. I feel well, I'm happy.

#one piece imagines #one piece #one piece x reader #one piece fanfiction #one piece fanfic #one piece imagine #x reader #reader insert #one piece reader insert

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