#this has been festering in my drafts for a few months now | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wol-fica · 11 months

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-ℂ𝕠𝕟𝕗𝕖𝕤𝕤𝕚𝕠𝕟: ℙ𝕣𝕖-𝔹𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕤-

pairings - wednesdayaddams x elemental!reader

summary - in which reader has a crush on a certain goth…

warnings - angst, pining, rude Xavier (sorry), happy ending

an - i miss writing for Nessy, so i think this would be a good addition to my bliss series; this is before they got together :) shit writing btw

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Shit.

That is the word you would use to describe yourself right now.

Mornings have never been your thing, you hated getting out of your warm bed just to immediately go and sit in a boring class for a ninety minutes learning about the anatomy of a mythical horse or whatever the lesson plan was. School was an agitator for you, but you still valued your education so waking up on time was a need-to-do.

Usually though, you at least get yourself ready and look decent enough for the day, but this morning was different. See, yesterday during lunch in the quad, you were writing the final draft of your confession letter to a certain raven haired goth. Your crush had been festering for a few months now, and you had decided to write a little something for her to let her know how you feel.

Everything was going perfect, you were just about done with the letter and was going to slip it under her dorm after folding it up, but a gust of wind ruined your whole plan. The letter flew across the quad and into the hands of Xavier Thorpe, who happened to despise you.

He read the whole thing in one go, snorted at it and stared at you with a little condescending smirk before walking it straight over to his friend group. Everyone, including Enid Sinclair, Yoko Tanaka, Eugene Ottinger, Ajax Petropolus, the twins Kent and Divina, and Wednesday Addams herself all read it collectively.

Xavier was laughing his head off while they did, and Kent joined in once he finished. Ajax chuckled while Enid giggled with a little blush of her face, Eugene looked confused to who wrote it, Yoko and Divina smirked and shared a look before squinting at you, and Wednesday just looked blank.

You watched in pure horror, your body shrinking into your seat while the whole thing unfolded. You felt sick to your stomach, and to top the whole thing off, Wednesday took the letter and crumpled it into a little ball, tossing it into the trashcan next to her.

Your heart shattered, mouth dropped open in shock. Xavier turned to look back at you, pointing and leaning on his knees while laughing at your expression. Tears formed into your eyes, and with one last look at the girl you so badly liked, you snatched up your things and ran.

Fast forward to now, where you just looked dead. Your hair was disheveled, there were dark bags under your eyes, and you barely made any effort to make your uniform look fit and well kept. Your tie was loose, your jacket was unbuttoned, and your shirt was wrinkled and dusted at the collar. You had no socks on, and you didn’t even bother to put a belt on your pants.

People stared in class, whispering amongst themselves while pointing at you. At one point, you thought you saw Enid shoot you a look of pity, but you shrugged it off to being your sleep-deprived brain playing tricks on you.

You looked depressed, because you were, and it did not help when you crossed Xavier in the hallway and he said loudly to Kent, “Looks like a dirtbag!”

You sighed, glancing up at the darkening sky before hurrying to get to the quad for dinner. You planned on eating, and getting back to your dorm as soon as you could so no one would have to endure looking at you any longer.

After standing in line and grabbing your tray, you trudged to an empty table and sat down, slumping in your seat. You were exhausted from lack of sleep and crying all night, and it wasn’t a surprise to you when you leaned your forehead against the table and tears started to form again. Your tray of food was left untouched while you cried to yourself, and the stare from a certain goth went unnoticed by you.

Wednesday was watching you, her black eyes burrowing into the side of your head while your body shook slightly with each painful sob you produced. She felt a weird feeling in her stomach, one of pity and remorse she didn’t understand. Her heart was telling her to go to you, to pull you into her arms and hold you close while she comforted you, but her stubbornness refused the idea.

“Wednesday.”

She turned her head away from you, choosing ti look at Enid now, “What.”

Enid sighed, glancing at you before looking back at her roommate, “You should talk to her.”

Wednesday furrowed her brow, “There is no reason for me to.”

“Yes there is.” Enid replied, bringing her fork to her mouth and chewing on a piece of steak.

“Just because she sent me a confession letter, doesn’t make me obligated to take care of her.”

“Wednesday c’mon!” Enid said, giving her friend a look, “You read that letter, she really likes you!”

Wednesday glared back, “And? I still see no reason for me to go talk to her.”

Enid sighed, glancing around before leaning in to whisper lowly, “What Xavier did was unacceptable and rude, you should at least make sure she is okay.”

Wednesday turned to look at you for a moment, the pang of guilt returning when she saw you had lifted your head. Your face was stained with tears, eyes heavy and tired from crying. You meekly picked at your food, not even bringing the utensil up to take a bite.

“I suppose I could check in to see how she is.” Wednesday murmured, her heart beating slightly faster at the thought of talking to you.

“You should.” Enid said, turning back to her steak, “It’s the right thing to-.”

“But her sadness is not my problem.” Wednesday finished, sparing you one last glance before picking up her book and continuing to read.

“Wednesday!” Enid exclaimed, “Really? You won’t even ask her how she is feeling?”

“She’s clearly sad Enid, I don’t need to ask to see that.”

“Wednesday.” Enid growled, gaining her roommate’s attention, “Go talk to her, now.”

“You cannot make me-.”

“I see how you look at her.”

Wednesday’s mouth snapped shut, her eyes locking with Enids.

“I see how you stare in class,” Enid said, “I notice how you have her schedule in your desk, and how you blush when she walks by.”

Wednesday opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

“You like her, it’s clear as day. But you can’t break her heart just because you don’t want to accept your feelings for her.”

Wednesday glared at Enid, practically foaming at the mouth in anger. She wanted to respond, a little clap back about how she barely even knows you, but nothing came forward.

“Go to her, before it’s too late.” Enid finished, nodding her head at your retreading figure as you left the quad.

Wednesday huffed, giving her roommate one last silent threat before slamming her book shut, stuffing it in her bag, and quickly following after you. Her steps were quick and quiet, not wanting you to spin around and see her before she could get to you.

She eventually followed you to your dorm, coming up the stairs right as you shut the door. Her breathing was strained, and her face was slightly flushed with color from moving so fast. She slowly approached your door, apprehensive and suddenly nervous for the first time in her life.

What should she say to you? How should she speak? Should she be defensive? Or should she just confess her own feelings and see how you react? The consequences of all the outcomes were dreadful in her mind, but she had no other option than talking to you.

So she did what she does best, lost all expression from her face, sucked in a deep, and knocked on your door. She waited an antagonizingly long moment before stepping backwards when the lock clicked.

The door swung open, revealing you in black sweatpants, a white tank top, and still looking as depressed as you were during dinner. You froze when your eyes locked with Wednesday, your lips parting and eyes widening when you realized who was in front of you.

You both stood there for a moment, the world seeming to stop while you stared at each other. Wednesday was waiting for you to move or speak, while you were thinking the same.

“Can-.” Wednesday swallowed, clearing her throat, “Can I come in?”

You closed your mouth, eyeing around behind her, and nodded. She walked past you, turning when you closed the door and locked it. Her eyes scanned all over your walls, taking in the movie posters and tapestries that you had taped up. She awkwardly placed her bag at the foot of your bed, choosing to sit on the end of it while watching you move around and clean.

“Y/N.” Wednesday said, slightly irritated with how you were trying to ignore her with doing a spontaneous house-keeping.

“Yeah?” You replied timidly, still sweeping over by your closet.

“Come here.” She requested softly, patting the spot next to her.

You gulped, your shoulders tensing before you dropped the broom and sulked over to her. You plopped down next to her, leaning back until you laid flat on the mattress while she sat next to you.

“I read your letter.” Wednesday said after a moment of silence, “It was…passionate.”

“Oh my god just say you felt uncomfortable.” You groaned, putting your hands on your face.

Wednesday paused, letting you ramble and complain about the incidents from yesterday’s lunch fiasco. She listened until she had enough, slamming her hand onto your thigh to silence you.

“I actually found your confession to be quite exceptionally written for someone like you.” She murmured, her thumb absentmindedly stroking your skin, “You should consider a writing class.”

You eyed her warily, skeptical of her words. Slowly, you sat up, trying your best to not cause her to move her hand, “You really think so?”

“Yes, and I also have some of my own things to confess…” The ravenette said, tearing her eyes away from yours to look at the floor.

You placed your hand on top of hers, a silent encouragement to speak her mind.

“I have realized that I myself have my own feelings I need to share.” Wednesday started, her hand twitching under yours, “It has come to my attention that I have gained something called a “crush” on you-.”

Her sentence was interrupted with lips crashing into her own, salty but soft and welcoming with warmth. She instantly reciprocated, her hands sliding around you neck while yours grabbed at her waist.

Her lips were plump and tasty to you, flavored like black cherries and stale burgundy lipstick from this morning. You pulled at her, guiding her into your lap so you could kiss her more properly. Her tongue slid against yours, a small whimper passing through your mouth and into hers from her hand scratching at your neck.

You soon parted for air, giggling when she chased you. She huffed, but sighed in satisfaction when you tucked your face into her neck, pressing a few kisses there that made her stomach all fluttery.

“Your heart is beating super fast.” You noted, hugging her closer when her fingers wound into your hair, “Do I make you that flustered-?”

“Be quiet.” She whispered, smirking when she heard you purring from her fingers scratching your scalp.

You complied, leaning back with her in your arms when she pushed you slightly. She murmured soft praises to you, guiding you into a deep sleep that you so desperately needed.

“Sleep Y/N.” She cooed in your ear, humming when your eyes fluttered shut, “I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

You felt your brain drift off into slumber, a smile etched on your face while you held the girl of your dreams.

What wonderful bliss…

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taglist: @cartierdreamx @tundra1029 @red1culous @vorsdany @andsoigotabutterfly @theafterofnevermore @yomomisgay @house-of-lovin @slvt4lanadelrey @thenextdawn @nepobaby08 @dunohilly @somekindofpoet @alexkolax @cinffy23 @pedrosprincess @amberfreemansburntface @myfturn

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gravelish · 9 months

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RAGBRAI Part 2 (Iowa)

22-29 July 2023

This is Part Two of my account of this year’s ride across Iowa. These posts have been festering in a ‘drafts’ folder for a month and a half and now I’m determined to just get them out. This one is more of a chronological account of the last few days of the ride, combined with some overall observations of the whole spectacle.

Day 5 of RAGBRAI began with a beautiful pre-dawn ride through downtown Des Moines and out of the city to the east. This was the longest and hilliest day of the week-long ride, covering about 90 miles and climbing 4000’. We passed through Newton, where I’d stayed on my eastbound ride in 2019 and Grinnell before ending the day in the twin towns of Tama and Toledo.

Day 6 included Marengo and the Amana villages, but Oxford has become the most memorable pass-through town of the whole trip for me, simply because of the heat. The fire station doors were wide open and there were tables lined with folks enjoying shade and cooling fans and ice cream. There was an old fire truck parked outside and an open hydrant spraying water across the passing riders (all walking their bikes through town). The final 15 miles to Coralville was miserable but misery shared among thousands. It was hilly and hot and humid (‘feels like 113’). People, including me, were stopping at virtually every hilltop farmhouse to sit in the grass under the trees and to empty water bottles over our heads. Everyone was checking on everyone else for signs of heat stroke. And there were clearly several riders along side the road getting attention (from other cyclists and from occasional ambulances).

I arrived at the Pork Belly camp in Coralville around 3:00. I was not looking forward to pitching my tent in the hot sun, so when I heard that they had opened up more space in the nearby Xtreme Arena for a small donation, I jumped on it. I set up ‘camp’ on the concourse, amidst many others. I didn’t even hear the sirens and commotion outside when the storm arrived two hours later. Strong winds were tossing tents around and sending folks fleeing for the arena (which they had opened for everyone by then). Pork Belly moved the dinner service and the band into the arena which was wonderful (this was still mainly just the Pork Belly crowd, so while it was crowded, it was pretty spread out given the size of the facility. Things were crazier in the main RAGBRAI camps). It was so nice to spend a night in an air conditioned space.

Saturday (Day 7) was a very early start because of the potential heat and the urgency about getting to Davenport in time to get the afternoon shuttle back to Omaha. Route finding out of Coralville and through Iowa City in the dark at 5:30 was confusing, in part because the route was designed to go through the University of Iowa and Kinnick Stadium, but that wasn’t actually open until 6:00 am and instructions weren’t clear. The 70 miles went fast and was one of the nicest rides of the trip, in part due to cloud cover. We reached the Mississippi River in Muscatine, but then followed it the final 25 miles to Davenport. I stopped for ice cream at a Beekman’s stand along the way and joined others on plastic chairs along the shoulder cheering the crowd as they rode by (in previous days, the lines at Beekman’s had always been prohibitively long and the lack of cloud cover meant little interest in sitting anywhere without shade).

I dipped my wheel in the Mississippi around 11:00 (I’ve never ridden 70 miles by 11:00 am before!). The boat ramp was crowded, but it was only a few minute wait (I heard that by afternoon the line was much, much longer). I took my time riding along the riverfront park - this is where I crossed the Mississippi River in 2019 on my way west. Then it was a mile uphill to the St. Ambrose campus, where Pork Belly was set up. I put my bike on the ‘Stupidity’ trailer, retrieved my bags, visited the shower truck, grabbed a burger and a drink, and made it onto the first (of 8?) coaches headed back to Omaha that afternoon.

The bus trip was 5-6 hours, all on I-80, but it went by quickly. Everyone was excited about finishing the 7-day ride (and having already ridden 70 miles just that morning). I think we all let our guards down, since I’m pretty sure that’s where I picked up COVID, which I proceeded to share with M and C when I arrived home two days later!

Aside from the heat and the crowds and the lines, RAGBRAI was an amazing experience. I’m really glad I did it. Once. I appreciate that many people will want to do it again and again. But it’s just not the kind of experience I ride for. I like solitude. I like the interaction with locals in their normal lives, not during a traveling festival that has turned their lives upside down for a day. I don’t like heat and mugginess and damp gear that never dries out and sleeping in a tent when the temperature never drops below the high 70s. I’ve always been a bit bugged by the collegiate focus on partying and drinking - which may not accurately characterize most participants, but which was a dominant theme leading up to and during the event. Serving up vodka lemonade slushies in front yards and crowded beer gardens and countless Facebook posts about riding from beer stop to beer stop along the route contributes to this.

I talked to a lot of other riders on this trip. They came from a wide variety of places and personal histories and biking backgrounds. It was a great reminder of how different we all are, in what we’ve done, what we enjoy, and what inspires us, despite the fact that we all share an interest in the same thing and look sort of the same in our Lycra and our helmets.

I spent the week thinking how this ride compared with 2019. That was a tough five days, but if I ever want to ride across Iowa again, that’s the way I’d do it. And while I enjoy the landscapes of the Midwest, I’d rather be riding in the mountains or along the coast, through the forest or in a dramatic urban landscape.

#bike #bike journal #ragbrai #iowa

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queenlorea · 2 years

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While i’m here i might as well post a snippet that’s been sitting in my drafts for a while:

It’s another ASOIAF AU focusing on Shiera and Daenerys’ relationship as sisters who both really hate their dad: also there’s magic involved because why not

“Shiera is four when her sister takes her swimming for the first time.

Daenerys is six years her elder; she is a trueborn Targaryen, and so her scales – birthmarks wound around her wrists and ankles – gleam burnished red in the sun as they wade into the tide pools at atypically ungloomy Dragonstone, poking at moss-green barnacles, admiring spiny starfish and tiny colourful sea creatures that have made their home in those warm, blue-green waters. The tidal pools are too shallow to swim in, are safe to enter only at low-tide, and so it is that Shiera learns to swim in the grey-green ocean just off Dragonstone’s glittering black shore, under the watchful eyes of her sister, and occasionally their cousins as well, smiling Baelor and quiet, curious Rhaegel.

Scaled wrists and ankles often mark those who are blood of the dragon; most Targaryens have red scales, though gentle Queen Naerys’ are pale lilac, near translucent against her pale skin: Shiera caught a glimpse of them once when she and Daenerys accidentally burst in on the maester tending to her sprained wrist. They say before the Dance killed the last dragons, only Targaryens with the potential to be dragon-riders were branded with the mark, but now the dragons are all gone, so it hardly matters anymore.

At least, that is what their father says. He is their king, he sits and stews and barely rules from the Iron Throne; crowned and garbed in scarlet, his heavy, gold-lined sleeves hiding his bare wrists. He never visits Dragonstone, cannot stand his crooked-backed son and his Dornish family. On Dragonstone, laughing and splashing through the tides, running over Dragonstone’s warm black sand, Daenerys is as free of him as she can be, trueborn daughter she is. They spend years like this, splitting their time between Dragonstone and King’s Landing. Daeron takes them under his wing, after Naerys dies and Aegon’s health worsens, giving them fine rooms at Dragonstone and paying the wages of Daenerys’ retinue of household guards and septas. Shiera misses King’s Landing, for Dragonstone is more secluded and quieter, but at least Daenerys seems happier here, or as happy as she can be, with her beloved mother and uncle both dead in the span of a few months.

At least the king has been ailing for a while now, swollen as a festering boil that has yet to burst, and Daenerys, now twelve to Shiera’s six, freely tells her, while they are walking over black sand, picking out sun-warmed orange sea glass and polished smooth obsidian to make a bracelet for Myriah, that she hates their father for pushing her mother into the birthing bed, again and again, until it killed her, and hopes he is rotting and suffering and worms are eating him alive. Most people would be horrified to hear a gently-bred princess speak so, but even Shiera thinks it is a bit ridiculous to expect Daenerys, still clad in mourning blacks for her mother and her stillborn sibling, to be sweet and mild-mannered and meek.”

#shiera seastar #daenerys daughter of naerys #good intentions (pave the road to hell)#rough drafts #my fic

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chrwoohyun · 3 years

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oof i’m late as hell but hi this is jem (she/they, 21+) and my idiot sandwich ex-jailbird son shin woohyun. like this to plot and keep on reading for some possible connections!

only kid practically raised by his grandpa bc mom and dad couldn’t be assed to take him along with their travels and commitments (they’re renowned creatives or wtv)

u’d think there’d be festering mommy daddy issues pero at that time everyone was telling him he should be grateful that the old man was taking care of him so he kept those feelings to himself /:

grandpa owned a bougie artisanal tea farm in boseong and that’s where he’s been for most of his childhood. a country boy at heart!

starts playing baseball for fun and next thing u know he’s actually pretty good enough to start doing little league and get a partial athletic scholarship at hannam

moves to seoul, gets a growth spurt and starts looking cute and knows it

girlies at school know it too and next thing you know he’s just the local sweet lowkey dumb boytoy jock that seems to have a rep for serial dating (only here’s the thing: he’s the one that got dumped constantly, and he’d never been the sort to really initiate these rels in the first place)

about to get drafted into the kbo until someone called the cops about a party where people were using drug$ (only weed tho) and without really thinking abt his own consequences he takes the fall for a drug possession charge for a bestie

prisoner life for 5 years, and he’s out finally. been about 6 months and it’s been...a lot

that time is filled with the few visits from friends, even fewer visits from the parents who just give him the Disappointed™ look every time, and (tw: death) grandpa passing away 2 days before his release date. at least he learned to woodwork a bit i guess?

frankly among the general sphere of hannam kids and co he pretty much poofed, so i imagine if there’s any rumors it’s about where he’s been at

now working at a custom furniture design shop as a carpenter’s apprentice and building cool stuff and trying his best to reassimilate into civilian life again and keeping as low of a profile as possible

looking for established connections (can be close or distant) with class of 2014 mates, the asshole who inadvertently ruined hyun’s life, the past heartbreakers (limiting this to like...2 1 ), fellow rocks for brains jocks, rocks for brains jock-antis, a past relationship that was a lot of sneaking around because dad didn’t approve but it was super cute 💔 while it lasted (really this is just an excuse to reenact that window scene from never have i ever iykyk), (because i want pain) a plot totally ripped off from this, people that recognize him in spite of all the time that has passed. and yeah. open to any and all, premade and new, ideas if yall got any to throw into the mix!

#chrintro #( ooc. )

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actual-fucking-clown · 3 years

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Take your time then.

Aizawa x gender neutral reader

Story under the cut :)

Unedited but like edited but still not properly edited :)

Hope you enjoy!!!

a/n: it’s been a hot min since I’ve written a fic. I think the last time i was 14 and it was shit and on wattpad. Ha. I hate myself. N e way, I was recently writing some shit for an au me and my friend thought up and in the back of my mind I was like, “you should start writing fics again bc this is kinda fun”, soo lo and behold I made a post asking if anyone would be interested, shared a little too much personal shit in it but whatever, and have now decided to write this mother fucker. (3/25/21)

a/n: not sure if anyone will care about this series of a/n’s but I’m just chronicling thoughts ig. rewriting rn bc my first draft was short and ass. Also I’m thinking about opening requests after this is posted, will go into detail in a diff post maybe. (3/28/21)

a/n: deleted everything, rewriting. I just want to make something that might be decent and if I can give that feeling, y’know those chills you get when you read something utterly gorgeous, but I’m bad at writing. sadge (3/28/21, like several hours later)

a/n: ugh (4/1/21)

a/n: ugh pt 2 electric boogaloo. I can’t seem to move forward with the writing. I realized something like this might happen bc to solve a problem feelings need to be discussed and I fucking hate doing that so you can see where I’m fucking up lmaooooo (4/2/21)

a/n: I read angst to fuel my writing brain. So, read some angst, finally writing agian. This first section is probs as long as the story itself LMFAO(4/5/21)

Started: (3/25/21) Finished: (4/5/21)

Warnings: uh angst, curse words, like a lot, (i saw someone else put this as a warning, do I actually need it?), avoiding problems instead of actually facing them, mentions of shit so-so parenting, mentions of not being able to live up to high expectations, y’know, the works

Synopsis: Aizawa takes in Eri without running it by you first and expects you to be okay with it. That’s funny. He was wrong.

Can I preface this with a thought? I’m going to anyway,

all the fics I read paint him as the sweetest partner and I’m sure he is but I think they miss out on how blunt he is and his whole “Mr. Rationality” thing. So as much as I adore him I think there are situations that he’d be a bit more colder towards, a bit more straightforward about. Maybe even like a bit insensitive about but maybe bc he doesn’t have the full picture or something. so I guess this is another warning but aizawa is a little insensitive in the beginning (but like not really but kinda. it’s complicated)

Rain pattered softly against the window. The smell of some old random Bath and Bodyworks candle you’d dug out from a box you’d never bothered to unpack smothered the room. Some Netflix show idly played on a low volume on your computer, you’d lost interest in watching tv awhile ago. You needed a break. After the eventful month you’d been having you really needed this.

Now of course your whole year so far had been eventful. What with all the villain attacks on you and Shouta’s class and the kidnapping of one of your students, to just dealing with the more mundane problems with your students. No. You had no problem with that. The villains, although not easy, were something you were trained to handle. The smaller problems with your students weren’t arduous either, after all you weren’t too much older than them.

When reflecting on your situation, from and outside perspective it could be seen as the straw the broke the camels back, which sure, makes sense. After all, you’re bound to be stressed out by everything else, so why would this seemingly insignificant thing weigh heavier than a villain attack? Well if that is the situation why does this single straw feel like it weighs a ton? This is not that. This is not culmination of the events of this year draining the life from you. This is something entirely different. A panic inducing life change that completely took you by surprise mixed with your inability to actually face your problems.

You don’t blame them. You can’t. They’ve done nothing wrong. A child. A small, probably mentally scarred child is your problem. Well not her personally but the fear taking care of her instills in you. Despite working in the field that you do, you cannot for the life of you handle actual children. Sure you’re a little awkward with your class but at least they’re young adults and (vaguely) mature and independent to a certain extent. The fact that your long term boyfriend just came back one day, small child in tow and said “Hey I’ve gotta look after this one now” not verbatim obviously, for a lack of better words, fucked you up. He basically solo adopted a kid and, let’s be honest, he probably expected you to help out. But how could you? How could this man look at you and think “I want this person to help me raise an already fucked up child?” Ok sure, he doesn’t at first give off the “I’m totally father figure material” vibe but in the end he is extremely competent. You on the other hand, not so much.

You’d never been good with children. Tried your best to steer clear of them. Didn’t matter the place, didn’t matter who’s kid, you couldn’t handle them. You would just stand there, awkwardly, not entirely sure of what to do and petrified that there was the possibility of making some mistake which would upset the child and then oh wow look, your head got chopped right of your shoulders. That’s hyperbole of course but it does sum up the insurmountable fear that overcomes you whenever you have to deal with a child. So considering the fact that your long term boyfriend had suddenly decided to adopt and not at least warn you, didn’t sit right with you.

So, the best and most obvious choice, was to avoid your problem. Avoid Shouta, avoid Eri. Avoid the mention of them and you, avoid it all. And honestly you’d done pretty well so far. You were able to have as little contact with them as possible considering the close proximity of your living quarters in the teacher’s dorms. After all they were legally supposed to give you two separate rooms but you never actually used yours, well until now. You were living it up honestly. Did you feel awful? Of course. He is your boyfriend after all and you were sure Eri doesn’t deserve your cold shoulder but this is probably for the best. What could you offer her? You weren’t sure that you were a good role model for her or anyone for that matter. What did you know about raising kids? it’s not like you had parents to set a proper example for you. Of course they might have shown you what not to do but where do you go from there? Is shit like that really avoidable? You don’t want to be like them. You strive to be better but what if you can’t be. There’s also the added bonus of the fact that raising a kid seems taxing on a relationship. Now matter how strong you were sure that the stress of a kid could break a relationship down that then festers into something toxic and unrecognizable. You didn’t want that. God you couldn’t let that happen. No. This was definitely for the better.

Of course Aizawa didn’t feel the same. He was confused on why his partner had been so blatantly avoiding him. Did he do something wrong? He doesn’t remember doing anything that might’ve upset you. So why now? Why pull away now? He had to get down to the bottom of this but catching you was the hard part. You had been taking on more work, offering more assistance to the other teachers, picking up extra patrols, doing everything and anything to stay away from Shouta. It took him a month but he finally caught up to you. You were tired, worn out he knew that. Instead of loading yourself with work you’d decided to hole yourself up in your room. It was now or never.

You were pulled out of your peace at the sound of a few gentle knocks to your door. You really didn’t want to get it. You honestly couldn’t be bothered.

“(N/n)? Are you in there?” He hadn’t gotten it wrong right? He hadn’t been too distracted earlier and missed you leaving right?

“What’s up?” You hummed from your place by the window, not bothering to actually open the door.

“Can I come in?” Shouta asked, voice soft. You could barely hear him above the patter of the rain and the low humming of your laptop.

“Uh, no, kinda busy. Got loads of work to do. Need to focus, sorry. Maybe later?” You hesitantly spoke. Not sure if you were convincing enough.

Apparently you weren’t.

He sighed. “It’s been “later” for an entire month. Please (Y/n) just let me in. Whatever this is we can talk it out.” You had predicted that eventually Shouta would start to try to crack down on whatever the issue was but you didn’t expect it so soon.

“Uh...no?” You tried, hoping that maybe he’d just give up but that wasn’t Shouta.

“No, you don’t get that option, now please, open the door.” Although it was still soft his voice had taken a more stern tone.

“Oh no I’m dead. I guess I can’t open the door. What a shame. I guess the only way to talk with me now is in the pits of hell.” You quipped, trying to lessen the tension that already ran thick.

“(Y/n).” Aizawa sighed.

“Jeez fine. Talk about pushy.” You quipped once more to no avail.

Opening the door you were met with, well exactly what you expected. He stood there, arms crossed, a stern yet gentle look in his eyes, his lips pulled into a slight frown.

“Come in.” You mumbled as you stepped further into your room.

“So tell me. What’s wrong?” The sentence stirred so much. Of course you wanted to tell him. You wanted to spill your guts to the man you loved in hopes of comfort but you just can’t. You know you’ll just scare him off. You know you’ll make things worse.

So you stay silent.

He says nothing as he grabs your hands gently and leads you over to your bed. He sits the two of you down on the edge, muting the movie on the laptop sitting behind him.

“You know you can tell me if something’s bothering you right?” Shouta sent you a warm smile.

You weren’t very comfortable with discussing your feelings sometimes, it mostly stemmed from the fact that you never really could discuss them with anyone growing up which made it harder to confide in anyone now, as at this point bottling things up was a habit. But this was also just something that you were sure that you couldn’t talk about.

Silence answered him once again.

Now he took sometime to think about his approach, think about what could’ve happened that made you pull away. What did he do that was different from his norm? He was genuinely stumped and the fact that you weren’t helping him confused him even more.

You decided to take this time to lament the situation too. What was he going to do? Should you actually tell him or play it off? If you play it off will he still insist that something is wrong? If you tell him will he leave you? If you don’t tell him will he leave you? You risked a glance at him, he was still deep in thought.

Why did you have to adopt this fucking kid without at least warning me?

“What?” Your head shot up at the sound of his shocked voice.

“What?” You asked, genuinely confused.

“Eri’s the problem...?” He spoke slowly, not entirely sure if he’d heard you right.

“Did I say that out loud?” You squeaked.

“I’m pretty sure you mumbled something along the lines of “why’d you have to adopt that fucking kid”.” Shouta said, unsure if he’d heard wrong. Wanting to have heard wrong.

“No no no no no no! It’s not like that! I mean it is like that but not like that!” You frantically waved your hands in hopes of defusing the situation.

The way he looked at you made you want to cry. You felt horrible. You felt like the biggest asshole in the world and, at this point you probably were. He looked at you with such a look of heartbreak and disappointment and confusion it made you sick to your stomach. You felt light-headed and started shaking. You were right. You were right. You were always right. God why did you have to be right! Why did you have to be like this? Scared of raising a fucking child! It was asinine and irrational and you could probably move past it but thanks to your stupid fucking brain you just sealed your fate.

You scooted away from him still waving your hands frantically as no’s tumbled endlessly from your lips. You tried sputtering an apology, anything so that he wouldn’t look at you like that but nothing stuck. Nothing was comprehensible. Nothing worked. Nothing would work. Nothing will work. You were hopeless. It was hopeless.

“If it isn’t like how it seems then tell it to me straight.” Shouta finally spoke up.

You took a second to come down from your panic. You steeled your nerves as much as possible before you spoke.

“Um well, I have nothing against her it’s just that a little heads up would’ve been nice? I’m not all that great with kids so this is just kind of weird is all.” You were purposefully being vague in hopes that he’d understand what you meant and also maybe drop it.

“Not great with kids? You’re literally a teacher.” He pointed out.

“Yeah you know but she’s like a kid kid and let’s be honest I’m not too great with the students either.” You awkward laughed. So he wasn’t getting it.

“Wha-you’re fine with the students and I’m sure you’ll be fine with Eri, there was no reason to avoid me over this.” Shouta sighed. As good as he was with dealing with people, he was equally as shit. Or maybe it was just the fact that you gave him very little to work with. It was probably a bit of both. Still his dismissiveness was not helping you right now.

“No, no, no, no. I think I’ll stay here. Uh, good luck with your parenthood escapades and sorry to leave you high and dry like this but that’s going to have to be a no from me.” You rambled. He seemed to be getting a little tired of this.

“(Y/n) stop being irrational. She’s not even our kid I’m just looking after her for now. Why are you being difficult? I told you you were fine with the students and you’ll be fine with Eri, what else do you want to hear?” Shouta grumbled.

“Well uh I don’t know, uh...” You trailed off, this seemed to be going in a direction you really didn’t want it to go. A slight hostility settling in the air.

At your lack of a proper answer he clicked his tongue. He took a moment to reassess the situation. There had to be something he was missing. After all you were getting really worked up but if you weren’t going to talk to him there was nothing he could do. He shook his head before running a frustrated hand through his hair.

“(Y/n), please, please, just be honest with me. Whatever it is that’s bothering you, you can tell me. But I won’t be able to understand if you don’t.” Aizawa sighed, deciding that getting worked up about this was not the way to go, especially when you seemed to be especially distraught.

“Uh, god the thing is I don’t know entirely what to say to put the shitshow in my head into perspective.” You mumbled, trying desperately to figure out what to say that could clear the air but nothing seemed to be coherent enough.

“Take your time.” He decided that this was the best approach to things, making sure neither party got too worked up lest this turn into a fight.

The rain continued to patter softly against the window and your candle continued to burn an slightly off floral-ish scent. A deafening silence hung in the air because even though he was being as patient as possible some of his frustration leaked through, it was bound to though so you couldn’t exactly blame him. After all, you were probably equally as frustrated with yourself too.

“I’m just not good in a position like this. I’m not good with kids, especially someone like Eri who’s already so broken. You have that nurturing nature, it comes natural to you but I’m not on that level. I don’t know the first thing about caring for a child let alone one as already traumatized as her. I’d fuck it up and only make things worse. I don’t want you to reassure me that I’ll be okay with her, I want you to understand that I’m not comfortable with this and that it might take me awhile to come around. I’m sure I sound like the biggest asshole ever but please understand that this just isn’t something I’m ready for.” You had rambled a bit, you were aware of that, but it was the only way that you could properly express your feelings without making things too complicated.

Aizawa said nothing. Trying to figure out how to go about things.

Was he upset? Yeah, you two, even after several long years of being together, hadn’t discussed moving forward in your relationship in depth. And if he’d tried you seemed content with the point you two were at so he left it be, no reason to try and move forward when what you had was already fine the way it was. But recently he’d been craving more. Some mornings, when he’d be the first to wake, he’d study your features in the soft light of the sunrise and wonder what it’d be like to properly settle down with you. Get married, start a family, all that jazz. He’d taken in Eri only because it was the most rational decision. His quirk would be good for quelling hers had it ever gotten out of hand. But it also seemed to quell his musings of something more with you. He had imagined you being a good parental figure for the little girl and it made his heart flutter and his stomach explode with butterflies. But now seeing that that wasn’t what you wanted and how you weren’t ready for it, it stung. But in the end, he loved you. He’d easily give his life for you. So, if that meant waiting he’d wait. He’d wait a million years if he had to. He could do it.

Once again he spoke,

“Take your time then. I can wait.”

Tagslist?: @captainchrisstan (I think you said you wanted to be tagged but I’m also just small brained lol If u didn’t want to and I misinterpreted things just let me know :) )

#bnha x reader #mha xreader #aizawa x reader #shouta aizawa x reader #aizawa shouta #aizawa #my first fic #mha #bnha

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therenlover · 3 years

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A Candid Chat

Hello all!

I want to say, before I say anything else, that I’m sorry. I’ll probably repeat that sentiment several times within this post, which I warn you will be absurdly long, but it’s important to me that you all know, every single one of you, that I apologize for my recent absence. I had and have every intention of fulfilling the promises I make you. That being said, life has gotten in the way recently, and I think it’s only fair to you that I explain where I am in life right now and why I haven’t had the energy that I should.

Just a quick warning, I will be writing about my depression, general feelings of anxiety, minimal bodily harm in minor detail, and, most importantly, very vague references to past CSA.

I repeat, there will be potentially triggering topics, as listed above, in this post, so please skip this if you feel you may be upset by any of the topics above.

With that out of the way, though, it’s time to get down to the brass tacks.

It’s easiest to start off this apology with a brief rundown of what my last few weeks (months even??? It’s hard to keep track) have consisted of. My house was... more than a bit of a wreck up until a little over a month ago. 4 people with severe depression who all contracted Covid-19 twice had been festering in it for months and I won’t deny that there was some serious problems with the conditions. Nothing too upsetting, just a carpet fully covered in dog hair and some rooms with piles and piles of stuff from undone chores, but it was bad enough that we wouldn’t take visitors.

I take no pride in sharing this. Hell, I’m massively ashamed. Cleaning up that mess, though, was a large project that took away a lot of time for about two weeks as we prepared to host members of my family in our house for our 2 week summer family reunion. Overall this was a pleasant time, but a busy and stressful one too. One such stressor was being in close contact with an older cousin of mine who victimized me when I was younger.

I won’t go into detail, but they took advantage of me when they too were young. I had been previously groomed by another, much older cousin, so it wasn’t my first time being put through a situation like that. My relationship with her is complicated but, as usual, it was hard to have her living in my house for 2 weeks and always having her in close quarters. Around this same time, my first abuser got married, and I was flooded in my personal social media with posts about her “happy day”, which lead to a lot of guilt. I worry that if I don’t come forward other people might be in danger. Unfortunately, I also know that most people just wouldn’t care. I’m too much of a coward to take the risk. I hate myself for it.

Overall, everything together- the cleaning and the visitors and the issues within myself -led me to dropping the ball on my responsibilities, both on tumblr and when it came to my college process.

I’m now in a... tough place when it comes to that. I’m having loan issues, I might not not have one vaccine dose that I should which might prevent me from signing up for classes, my online intake is in just about a week, and I’ll be, if all of that works out, leaving my home and the people I care about behind to go somewhere entirely across the country with no promise of seeing them until May or June.

Basically...life has been hard. It’s no excuse, I promise I’ve tried to write and post and I’ve planned a million comebacks, but I’ve been having so much crushing anxiety about literally everything lately that I feel immobilized by it. Life is like a pit swallowing me up and I’m just... terrified and scared and sad whenever I’m not distracting myself with an awful anxiety inducing task or conversation with friends. I’ve put a lot of strain on them through that though, and I hate it. I have probably over 20 half written drafts in my google docs where I sit and try with all my might to write something, anything, but I can’t figure out how to end it.

I’ve been having a lot of issues with endings lately.

Anyways, I digress. I’m trying my best to be more present here now that there aren’t loads of people in my house and I’m on the computer trying to figure out college stuff for most of my productive hours anyways, but I don’t know what the future holds. I have one month, no, less than that now, because I’m supposed to move in on the 16th, to figure everything out while saying goodbye to people I’ve seen every day for all of the life I can remember. I’m terrified I’ll come back to find people I don’t know.

I know I’ll miss watching my sisters really grow up.

I hate it, but I know the choice I made is for the best.

Well... that’s that. I’m sitting down to try to write something now, but I’ll be online tonight and willing to answer any questions you have as honestly and realistically as possible. I probably won’t look back on past asks for a while, so if you sent anything recently that you feel I need to see, just resend it. Again, I’m so sorry for dropping the ball, but I hope you know that I’m still trying and I’ll continue to try for however long it takes. Thank you to those who are willing to wait for me.

Finally, thank you to Lemur Heaven. You make my days so much brighter and help me not dread my notifications. I love you all. I couldn’t ask for better friends. Sorry for... well, me.

And thank you Chris. You’re the best friend I could ever ask for. Without you, I wouldn’t be even half near brave enough to keep pushing through this and trying to make the best of it. You deserve the world.

#tw: csa #tw: childhood trauma #tw: depression #tw: anxiety #jac rambles #rant

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corvusravenette · 3 years

Text

FanFiction: Qi Ye

Title: I Thought of You and Yet You Came Based on Original Work: Qi Ye || Lord Seventh Author: Priest Genre: BL Warning: Gore and Violence Rate: Teen / Young adults Pairing: M/M (Wu Xi + Beiyuan) Chapter: 3 of 5

*This has been sitting in my drafts along with the rest of the chapters for a good month! Have you ever written fics - and then start new fics - and completely forgot you have drafts you should’ve uploaded? Yeah. Me.

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Wu Xi swore to himself, if… if his beloved lived on through this night… he would force-feed him all the foundation building pills he could find. That grim almost humorless thought sank deep in his heart, taking root as he scolded the dying man in front of him in his head. This is what you get for not taking care of yourself! Now look what you’ve gotten yourself into! If you weren’t such a lazy bout, you wouldn’t have been this… badly injured… Wu Xi’s hands stilled as the voice reprimanding Beiyuan in his head immediately quietened. “Bei..yuan?” he whispered, gingerly holding two fingers to the pulse on his neck. “Nuahar! Ashinlae! Quickly get in here!”

The two men standing guard outside rushed in at the frantic command. They quickly lifted the Prince’s body into a sitting lotus position as the Great Shaman sat behind him, his hands deftly moving in a circular pattern. A very pale light blue force could be seen visibly distorting the air underneath the Great Shaman’s palm as he placed them on Beiyuan’s shoulder blades, channeling his qi into him, forcing it to protect his failing heart. Sweat dotted his forehead, and his vision swayed but Wu Xi kept this momentum up until yèbàn broke into the jī míng hours of the morning, holding stubbornly onto Beiyuan’s dimming life force. He collapsed into Nuahar’s frightened arms as the latter watched the Shaman’s ghastly pale complexion from energy lost, unable to keep going. The Prince spat out a mouthful of stagnant blood following the sudden energy surge and Ashinlae who was staying the Prince in his lotus position quickly tapped on his meridians to allow the Prince to breathe better. He exchanged a look with Nuahar, his eyes red-rimmed from fear and exhaustion.

Carefully, the two men position both their exhausted leader and his beloved flat on the bed, lifting the blanket to cover them both. The smell of blood pungent in the air. Their hearts dared not hope that the worse of the Prince’s injury was elevated for now. There was no sense in false beliefs. They knew he was not out of the woods yet. The deep cut on his chest was bound to be infected and the massive blood loss he experienced would set off a fiery fever. It would be a matter of time and it would be another long fight to keep him bound on this earth. Nuahar left to brew energy boosting tonic for his leader to take when he awakened, and called upon Ping An to look after them as they slept. The young man who had followed the Prince Nanning since he was six years old nodded in solemn understanding and stood by the bed in wait, his heart breaking as it had never before.

“Prince, if you died, what would have become of your household and your servants? Who would look after us? Who… Who would argue with me over small things? Please… please stay alive my lord,” Ping An whispered, rubbing the tears in his eyes with the back of his sleeve.

Ashinlae, who had resumed his post as guard by the bedroom entrance, overheard this lament and understood the overwhelming grief in the servant’s voice. To them, if the Prince left their leader, the heartbreak would be unbearable. The latter would be a shell of his own self, incomplete and forever punished to live a life in solitude – waiting for the day he died to be reunited again with his beloved on the Yellow Spring Road. The Prince, after all, was the receiver of the Great Shaman’s heirloom, the inconspicuous jade ring that was hanging around his neck even now. In this lifetime, it could only be given to one person – they all knew the significance and level of devotion attached to the ring. He couldn’t bear the thought, curling his hand into a fist, Ashinlae stepped away from his post to get a grip on himself. They were not completely safe yet. If Nanjiang lost their Great Shaman, it would be akin to losing the very foundation of their beliefs. He was the chosen messenger of God, the one who would lead their people into glory and prosperity. Ashinlae knew deep down in his heart, if the Prince left this world… their leader will follow suit soon after…

+-+-+-+-+- Wu Xi…

A voice so soft, so fleeting was whispering his name, urging him to wake. Jerking from his sleeping position, Wu Xi sat up quickly, his head spinning from the sudden vertigo and his hand quickly came up to support the side of his head to numb the discomfort. Realising something, he snapped his head to the side, almost wanting to heave in relieve to see the man lying next to him was in the flesh and not an illusion… but that sensation didn’t last very long. As though in tandem, the door opened to let Nuahar in, bringing a bowl that smells like a very pungent tonic. Recognising it for what it was, Wu Xi grabbed it quickly and downed the contents almost without blinking. He was used to this; he would experiment medicines on himself without hesitation. It would take a while before the familiar tonic kicks in and he would be able to function better. Nearly cursing his body for its slow recovery, Wu Xi handed the bowl back to Nuahar and turned his body over to better check on the man who was lying in the inside of the bed. Looking out the open window, he surmised that it was probably the second half of jī míng. He must have collapsed after channeling his qi into Beiyuan earlier, but he could not afford sleep at this critical juncture. Pressing sure fingers into the man’s wrist, Wu Xi counted the pulse to a hundred. It was there, but it was feeble and irregular. He then methodically untied the man’s chemise to expose the bandages covering his chest. “Nuahar: two buckets of hot water, fresh bandages, linens, towels, the red bottles with the purple ribbons, and ask Ashinlae to wake the servants and purchase this list of herbs from the apothecaries. Wake the owners up, bring my token,” Wu Xi recited very clinically, almost coldly, as he scribbled down the list of herbs he needed as if the person lying next to him was not his beloved but a regular comatose patient in need of urgent treatment, “Ping An, new robes, none of the frilly multi-layered ones, but thick enough so your Master doesn’t catch his death in this cold. I also need woolen blankets,”

Ping An wanted to protest the inauspicious way the Great Shaman was calling for death but the look Nuahar gave him shut him up very quickly. Nodding, and swallowing his grief, Ping An quickly left to fetch the clothes and blankets he was requested of. Nuahar gave the list to Ashinlae who took off hurriedly without a word with a few servants to run the errand whilst Nuahar went off to boil hot water and grab the items the Great Shaman had tasked him with. Less than half a shichen later, Nuahar came back to the Great Shaman’s quarters carrying the items in question. He was met with silent acknowledgment as the latter looked up, his obsidian eyes unblinking. It was unnerving to be the subject of that impossibly deep stare and Nuahar found his movements to have gone rigid before Wu Xi turned his attention to the bucket of hot water by his feet.

Taking off his outer robe, the same one he had worn for days now, Wu Xi rolled the inner chemise sleeves up to his elbow, tucking in the ends securely before submerging both arms in one of the buckets of hot water Nuahar brought in. The warrior was now acting as his medical assistant, handing over what smelled like medicinal soap and watched as the Great Shaman began scrubbing his fingers and hands meticulously with the soap, making sure that his hands were absolutely clean before redressing Beiyuan’s wounds lest he risked another bout of infection. Taking a clean towel from the rack near the bed, Wu Xi wiped his hands dry, took a deep breath and swallowed hard as his hands made quick practiced movements to completely strip Beiyuan of his upper chemise. Gently uncoiling the multi layered bandages now soaked with overnight blood, Wu Xi bit his lower lip from trembling, forcing himself to focus before pulling the last of the bandages away from his Prince’s chest. The deepest wound on his chest had begun to fester; yellow pus stuck to the bandage as it was taken off, dripping slowly out of the hastily sutured wound.

Wu Xi was afraid of this, no matter how quickly he had stitched and disinfected the wound on that damnable day, the rain had made his worst prediction come true. He looked up to Nuahar who, as though had read his mind before he even opened his mouth, handed him a very thin knife that had been held in the candle by the medicine table. Holding his hand steady, Wu Xi began the arduous task of reopening the wound, unstitching his handiwork thread by thread. In the corner of his eyes, he noticed Nuahar had begun scrubbing his hands, pouring hot water over them – mimicking his earlier movements. In his hearts of hearts, he would remember the sacrifices of this warrior who became his everything in his time of need. Him and Ashinlae would be rewarded with the highest of orders when they returned to Nanjiang. Focusing on the task in front of him, Wu Xi instructed his makeshift medical assistant to use fresh linens to press down on the blood bubbling up front the now reopened wound - his voice cold, bordering on apathy, almost mechanical without any emotional fluctuations. Without saying a word, Wu Xi sliced off the festering dead flesh in clean neat ribbons, deep red blood dripping on to the bedsheet and into a waiting basin where he deftly tossed the rotten flesh and blood-soaked linens in. He then carefully cut small nicks into the fresh wound to stimulate regrowth. Reaching over to the table again, Wu Xi picked up his little hook needle and held it under the candle to sterilise it before sewing Beiyuan’s flesh closed once again: neatly, carefully this time, making sure he did not leave any room for new infections to grow. Once he was satisfied with the new sutures, Wu Xi washed his hands and grabbed another linen, soaked it in hot water and squeezed whatever excess water it had before wiping the blood on Beiyuan’s chest clean. Making sure that the wound was sewn tightly, he uncorked three of the small bottles and deftly poured the purple liquid generously over the fresh stitches, ensuring that it was now freshly disinfected and sealed.

Wiping his sweaty forehead across his sleeve, Wu Xi reached last for the bandages on his side, and carefully began the slow process of wrapping Beiyuan’s chest and abdomen tightly, tying the edges into secure knots by the Prince’s shoulders. Standing up after what seemed like a long time, Wu Xi stumbled a little, realizing belatedly that he had not eaten since returning from the battlefield. Beiyuan was still not out of harm’s way and he refused to leave his side lest the Emperor decided to hasten his way here. That would not be ideal at all, in fact that would turn into a bloodbath on its own indeed. He would never let Beiyuan out of his view ever again. Turning around, his eyes caught sight of the large basin filled with the blood-soaked linens and the decaying flesh he had shorn off Beiyuan’s chest. An idea had begun forming in his head. Swiftly looking for the outer chemise Beiyuan wore on the battlefield, and finding the torn garment haphazardly tossed to the side, he rummaged through the inner pockets and pulled out a blood-stained cloth, almost unrecognizable if not for the embroidered initials in one of its corners. The initials of the Prince, a small Osmanthus flower with the emblem unique to the Prince’s household was delicately stitched in light golden threads.

Grimly, Wu Xi carried the bloodied cloth to the basin filled with Beiyuan’s blood and pushed it in, soaking in every last bit of fresh blood, staining the already browning cloth with deeper darker red. Not waiting to wash his hands off again this time, Wu Xi pulled on his outer robes, his appearance not any better than when he had reached Beiyuan by the waterfall. He hadn’t the time to bother with appearances. It had all been occupied by his beloved. His braided hair was pulled into a high ponytail secured with a leather cord, his outer robe unfastened, exposing the inner chemise freshly stained with Beiyuan’s blood; his very being holding the stench of overwhelming death about him. Nuahar didn’t stop him, he eyed the handkerchief in his Shaman’s grip and knew where he was headed… the Imperial Palace.

“GET ME MY HORSE NOW!” Wu Xi barked the order as he stepped over the threshold of his quarters. One of the guarding warriors quickly untied the black stallion waiting outside of the gates and brought it into the Great Shaman’s compound. No one wanted to be on their leader’s bad side at this moment.

“Nuahar, when Ashinlae gets back with the medicines, divide the packages into seven equal parts, boil the first set on low heat – don’t burn it – and add three drops of the contents of this bottle, no more than three drops! His body might not withstand the effects. Then get him to find Master Zhou. Tell him, it’s time,” Wu Xi instructed rapidly as Nuahar followed him out into the compound.

“But… Great Shaman… this is… this is the venom of the Manchurian scorpion?” Nuahar implored uneasily, recognizing the small yellow jade bottle in his hand. He had seen the potency of this venom first-hand.His uneasy tone was met with a sharp cutting gaze from the Great Shaman. “You dare question me?” Wu Xi growled in a low tone, his patience clearly running on fumes and the warrior before him immediately took a step back and knelt very quickly on one knee to the ground, a hand clenched above his heart. “I don’t dare, Great Shaman! Forgive my insolence!” Nuahar replied, realizing belatedly that he had misspoken out of turn. Who was he to question the Chosen Messenger of God? How dare he indeed, “I will follow your instructions to the letter!” Wu Xi gave him a sidelong look and turned on his heels, quickly making his way to his waiting ride. Lifting a foot into the leather stirrup, he hoisted himself up into the saddle and immediately pulled the reins towards the gates, the bloodied handkerchief warm and wet in his hand – as though he was carrying a pulsing heart – before tucking it safely in the lapels of his inner robe. Pressing the heel of his boot into the horse’s girth, his black stallion neighed and reared on its hind legs, before thumping down and galloping away onto the still empty streets. As though aware of its master’s urgency, the stallion charged forward, straining the strong muscles of its legs as much as it could. The cold dawn wind whipped bitingly against Wu Xi’s face, it wasn’t sunrise yet, but the horizon had lightened a little as he made the mad rush to the Imperial Palace – partially because he wanted to get this deed done and over with, and partially because Beiyuan still had one foot firmly secured in the netherworld and he didn’t want to be too far apart from him lest the grim reapers beckoned his beloved away while he wasn’t there. Reaching the outer gates of the Imperial Palace, and immediately recognizable by the unique silver adornments on the stallion’s armored forehead and the thick black robes of the Great Shaman who drove the fear of God into the hearts of the Vakurah warriors and the Great Qing soldiers alike, the guards stepped aside swiftly to let the now famed Great Shaman enter freely into the imperial grounds. Pulling in the reins, his stallion slowed down and trotted a few circles before it neighed lightly to a stop in the vast outer courtyard of the Imperial Palace. He wasn’t surprised the least when the palace guards immediately descended upon him. He knew from Zhou Zishu’s visit the night before that the palace guards likely had orders to wait for him. They quickly approached him: one helped steady his ride, and another quickly leading him forward – climbing the many steps of the Imperial Palace towards the Emperor’s inner courtyard. The Emperor’s own personal attendant, Yu Kui, received him anxiously, relief evident on his face when he saw the Great Shaman’s powerful long strides making his way towards him, but quickly the uplifted mood turned somber when he realised the state of the Great Shaman’s bloodied clothes. It was clear that the latter had not changed from the battlefield at all. His heart sunk in trepidation, already predicting the outcome of this visit. Swallowing the thought down in his throat, he gestured hurriedly to Wu Xi to follow him. “Your Majesty, the Great Shaman returned!” “Invite him over, quick!”

Wu Xi had followed Yu Kui in and could clearly hear the bellow from the inner chambers. His eyes took note of the line of imperial doctors and other eunuchs-in-waiting outside of the Emperor’s chambers: the anxiety and nervousness in their body languages, and how they averted their gazes when he bore his own challenging ones down on them. Entering the vast chamber, Wu Xi kept his eyes aimed straight at the monarch, and the words he wanted to say died in his throat at the sight of the disheveled Emperor. This was the claimed Son of Heavens, the chosen one of their Gods. Yet, at this moment, he looked no better than a man drowning in water, his features pale and ghastly, his complexion waning. He was thinner than Wu Xi remembered – majestic still – but somewhat less of the impression he had of him before. He saw the Emperor; no, he saw a man struggling to admit his forbidden love, the bitter desperation in his eyes evident, yet he made no claims on his beloved; that for a split second, Wu Xi knew his decision to take away Beiyuan had been right. There was never going to be anything between them yet this man in front of him was showing possessiveness over another he had not had the courage to fight for openly. If you loved him, you should’ve fought me for him. You should’ve shown him. You should’ve chased him, stopped him, shielded him, protected him, made him yours openly. Yet, you did none of those but you have the audacity to want to claim his life. Your own need for power and control overcame any love you have for him. You do not love him as much I do. Wu Xi disgustedly thought ro himself. He no longer had no patience left to deal with this half-assed man in front of him. He wanted to leave as quickly as he had come.

Without saying a word, he took out the small bloodied handkerchief out of his lapels and watched as the Emperor’s eyes widened, his entire body frozen, his breathing hitching as the latter’s gaze fell on his hand. Wu Xi had not washed the blood off his hands, and he knew the Emperor had seen his bloodied state when he entered, smelled the stench of blood on him as he drew closer. He watched unblinkingly as Helian Yi continued to stare at the handkerchief in a daze, only after a long while later did he moved stiffly to reach out and take the handkerchief out of his hand and into his own palms.

“Where is he?” Wu Xi heard him demand in a hoarse voice as the Emperor lifted large maddening eyes towards him. Of this, Wu Xi shook his head mutedly, neither confirming nor denying anything. “We… want to see him if he’s alive, his corpse if he’s dead! Someone! Come here!” the Emperor bellowed hysterically, almost dementedly. Wu Xi stared at him fixedly, unblinkingly, apathetically. His decision had been right. There was no way this man could be allowed to know the Beiyuan was still with him. He would not allow it in this lifetime or any other lifetimes. As the imperial doctors and attendants hurried into the room, Wu Xi turned around, ignoring the Emperor’s words amidst the chaos and left without saying anymore lest his face betrayed his own revulsion of the man. He knew that this would not be the last time he had to deal with the Rongjia Emperor... CLICK HERE: [1] [2] [3] [4]

#fanfiction #qi ye #lord seventh #jing beiyuan #wu xi #xiyuan #helian yi #priest

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yukeri · 3 years

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[YURI&Co. Headquarters]

THIS PIECE CONTAINS STRONG LANGUAGE AND ARGUING - Starring: Hong Yumin, CEO Na Deokhyun - Synopsis: Yumin, feeling as if she has nothing left to lose, makes one last attempt to save her career. - Year: 2019 - Length: 1,867 w.

Yumin stood in the elevator nervously wringing her white linen top. Just go in and make your demands. Don’t take no for an answer.

A chime signaled she’d reached her destination, and the following robotic voice confirmed it. She could feel the temperature drop as she stepped out of the elevator and into the frozen tundra that is the CEO’s floor. But it didn’t discourage her; it’s no secret that the CEO is very sensitive to warmth and keeps his office floor cool. It also serves as a cheap ploy to subconsciously intimidate any industry adversaries coming to meet with him and make them more susceptible to his coercion, but it won’t work on her. Hong Yumin was on a mission that she had been psyching herself up for over the past several days. Nothing could destroy her resolve.

She strolled up to his secretary. “Hi, Jeongho,” she said as sweetly as she could without cringing, “Is the CEO busy?”

He glanced at the man's schedule; “Uh, not right now,” he said hesitantly, “But he has a meeting in 10 minutes.”

This is your chance.

“Sorry, do you have an appointment? I don’t see one--”

“That’s all the time I need,” Yumin said, strutting right past Jeongho and approaching the CEO’s office. She could hear the secretary’s stuttering protests as she reached the door. She paused for a moment, took a deep breath, and entered the breach.

I did it, she thought as she closed the door behind her. Yumin slowly turned around. She had only seen the eggshell walls and cement flooring of the CEO’s office on two occasions: the day she signed her contract with Tastemaker and about a week ago when TM Girls was disbanded. Such a rush of emotions came over her that she almost forgot why she had committed this career-threatening faux pas in the first place. Flustered, she swallowed her feelings and greeted the CEO politely: “Good afternoon, CEO.”

“Yumin-ah...good afternoon,” the CEO replied curiously, looking up from his thick-rimmed glasses. He glanced at his iPad confirming what he already knew, “According to my schedule, you don’t have an appointment with me.” Yumin stood visibly trembling as he looked her up and down. “So either my secretary just lost his job, or you’ve lost your mind,” he said with a dry chuckle.

Then he stared at her with that look, his eyes fixed upon her and his eyebrows raised. The look was not openly nefarious as he is the CEO and must keep the appearance of approachability even behind closed doors, but to anyone who knew him that look was just as effective as a gorgon's stare.

Just like that, Yumin froze. She felt all that hard-earned conviction drain from her body and immediately realized the grave mistake she had made. Stop freaking out! You got this, Yumin’s inner motivation coach called out trying to preserve the last ounces of confidence she had left. You’re already here; you might as well speak! She opened her mouth, not particularly sure as to whether coherent words or her breakfast would come out, “Yes-- I mean, no. I don’t have a-- er, an appointment.” Alright, looks like we’re getting somewhere. She started regaining her confidence and spoke again with a voice significantly less shaky; “But please, if I could have a moment of your time--”

Suddenly, Yumin heard the subtle tones of the CEO’s phone. She looked down at the cellphone on his desk, then back at him as he pressed the tip of his AirPod. “Hello,” he answered, “Oh, Kyungsoo-ya! How’s filming going?”

Then it hit her: all the emotions she'd swallowed. The years of anxiety facing the possibility that she might never debut; the anger from the relentless hiatuses she had no choice but to endure; the devastation when she was told for the second time that the group she cherished more than anything in the world was no more. They were all festering inside her and had amalgamated into a feeling she rarely experienced: pure rage.

“Are you fucking kidding me,” Yumin thought. The CEO jerked his head up to look at her with an expression of plain shock. Oh, wait...no, she said that. To the CEO.

Before he could utter another word, Yumin’s hand had snatched the phone off his desk and ended the call with whoever was on the line. She clutched the CEO’s phone in her hand as he stared at her in disbelief. Yumin didn’t back down; she stared right back.

“Okay, I’m listening,” he said flatly, breaking the silence.

Yumin took another deep breath and finally spoke her mind, “The only reason I signed a contract with this company was because you guaranteed that I would debut within 6-8 months. That was over two years ago; I--”

The CEO groaned and rolled his eyes as he reclined in his chair, his folded hands on his chest and his eyes fixed on her. Sorry, am I boring you?! I can’t believe this smug bastard...

His phone began to vibrate in her hand, but she swiftly declined the call. “I-- I am tired,” she said in a tone louder than what she had intended. “I’m tired of getting calls from my grandparents asking me to come back home because I have no future here; I’m tired of training trainees half my age that debut before I do; I’m tired of being the oldest trainee I know that isn’t anywhere near a debut; and I’m tired of putting my faith in old men who so easily crush the dreams of young, hardworking trainees because they’ve never had to experience this disappointment in their life.”

The CEO glared at her with his eyebrows furrowed, clearly offended. She decided it would be better to switch up her argument: “Look, when I left JYP...I was devastated. I worked so hard and all I got in return was a cancelled debut. Looking back, I can see that if I had debuted then I would’ve left the group almost immediately. I wasn’t ready; I would’ve been torn to shreds for my lack of ability. But I am a thousand times better than I was all those years ago because of Tastemaker. I was an alright rapper when I got here; now I’m the rap instructor. I can out-rap any trainee under this label, male or female. I was a good dancer before, and now I can out-dance our choreographer-- her words, not mine.”

The CEO chuckled lightly at her claim before she continued, “I have leadership quality, an attractive personality, and great visuals...but what good is having those attributes if no one sees them?” The CEO nodded thoughtfully.

Now we’re here, she thought, the hardest part. She took one final deep breath and gave her ultimatum, “I’ll always be thankful to you...and to Tastemaker for making me better...but if you don’t plan on debuting me, then...then just let me go. This way, we can stop wasting each other’s time.”

There. Yumin had said her piece and now it was time to listen.

The CEO cleared his throat and began to speak: “Wow…how dare you speak to me this way?! You have absolutely no idea why I make the decisions I make, and I will not be told what to do by some little bitch who thinks she’s talented because she can rhyme two words together.” Yumin was speechless; she could see what could’ve been a successful career flashing before her eyes...now it’s all gone. She felt her heart sink as tears welled up in her eyes. “Give me my phone!” He snarled at her, snatching his phone from her extended hands; “By the time I’m done calling every agency and talent scout in my address book, you won’t be able to open a fucking YouTube channel! You’ll have to go back to your grandparents’ and become a turnip farmer, shoveling shit to make a living.” He pulled her contract from his drawer, “You want me to ‘let you go’? So be it.” He pulled out a lighter from his pocket and set it ablaze. Yumin could only watch and cry as her dreams literally went up in smoke. The CEO threw the remnants of her contract in the garbage, “Now get the fuck out of my office,” he hissed, “You’re done.”

But no, he did not say that. In fact, he did not say anything. The CEO simply glared at her without a word and all Yumin could do was glare back. Say something, dammit! She thought. Yell, scream, something.

After what seemed like hours of deafening silence, he finally spoke, “Wow...that was impressive,” he stated flatly while opening his iPad. “Tell me, Yumin, do you remember Moon Yuri?” She was still reeling from the thought of what could’ve happened, but responded, “Uh...yes. Wasn’t he involved in THE FUN FACTORY?”

“Correct,” the CEO replied while checking some emails and notifications, “That call that you declined a few minutes ago? That was him. ” He gestured towards the phone that was still in her hand; she’d almost forgotten she had taken it. “Moon has made a request to establish his own label within the company. I just needed him to confirm some last-minute details.”

Yumin clearly didn’t understand, so the CEO attempted to clarify as he reviewed some charts and graphs, “Yuri is planning to debut a new girl group next year and he’s looking for 6-7 girls to be in it. Tastemaker isn’t planning on debuting any other groups as of right now, so any Tastemaker trainee may audition for him. Whoever is accepted will have their contract transferred to his label. No hassle.” Yumin finally realized what he was saying.

“But-- when is the audition?” “That was one of the details he needed to confirm. I’d say about a month or two?” “And...I can audition?” “I recommended you personally,” he said, making eye contact with her for a moment before taking out a pen and flipping through some important-looking documents. “I was in the middle of drafting a memo with all the details.”

Yumin stared into space, feeling like a complete idiot. If I had just waited a little longer...

“Um, may I have my phone back?” the CEO asked politely, but sternly, “I do have some important calls to make.” Yumin snapped out of her trance and hurriedly rested the CEO’s iPhone on his desk. The CEO continued to split his attention between the graphs on his iPad, the documents on his desk, and now the iPhone which was connecting to no doubt some other big name in the industry.

Yumin didn't know what to say. “CEO...I’m--” The CEO started chatting with someone on the other line. She averted her gaze as she pondered what to do next, eventually deciding to leave. She turned and walked towards the door. “Oh, Yumin-ah,” he innocently called out just as she was about to exit the room. She turned back to him, “Yes, sir?”

“Don’t pull this shit again,” he calmly ordered, “Because next time you won’t be so lucky.”

Slightly unnerved, Yumin nodded in agreement and exited the CEO’s office with another chance. Fourth time’s the charm, I hope.

#aesxocnet #deluxeocnet #kpop oc #kpop idol oc #kpop oc group #fake kpop idol #fake kpop group #fictional idol community #fictional idol group #lovemonth.💚💚💚#lovemonth.read #lovemonth.past

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queeniewriteshockey · 4 years

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Stay The Night || Final|| Nolan Patrick + Reader

A/N: So, here it is. The very last part of this story. It’s been a long time in the making and I’m truly sorry for how long it took me to continue this story. I hope the ending lives up to expectations. I’m very pleased with the whole of this story.

I want to thank every single person who liked, reblogged, commented, or messaged me about this story. Your words and your support have meant the world to me.

Word Count: 4,182

Your body has never felt more burdensome than it does right now, sitting there held down under the weight of Nolan’s stare. Escape isn’t really an option, though you are contemplating how fast you can get out of there. The bathroom is a viable option. You know there is a window in there that you could maybe slip out of like something out of a movie. If you did that, though, people would figure out that there was an issue, and you’ve worked hard to keep that to yourself. Still, maybe.

You down the rest of your beer to give yourself time to collect your emotions, though you've had months to do this, years even, and somehow never truly learned how to do this. When you set the glass down, you affix a smile to your lips and lift yourself from the seat to greet Nolan the way you should have when he first said hi. Appearances were important when trying to pretend everything was okay. You couldn't let them see the cracks in your veneer.

He lets go of Leslie as you walk up to him, and he turns to welcome you. The hug is awkward as he wraps an arm around you and pulls you into the embrace. Your body is tense and protective, as though he’s somehow going to hurt you. It’s stupid because, of course, he won’t, but you’ve already been damaged by your own mind when it comes to him. His scent fills your nose for the smallest of seconds, and it’s like a shock goes through your system. Every single moment you’ve been through together plays in your mind’s eyes.

You’re five and playing tag in the backyard of your childhood home. You can hear his laugh.

You’re ten and holding onto him because he’s crying after he fell off his bike and scraped his knee.

You’re 14, and he’s holding you because you’re crying. He just got drafted. The tears are happy and sad at the same time. He's going to leave you.

You pull back from the hug, needing the space to breathe and get out of your head. It’s too much to think about; it hurts more than you want to admit. You’ve been in love with him for longer than you can even remember. You just want it to all go away.

“Are you okay?” Nolan asks. Of course, he recognized the internal struggle. You’re just thankful he can’t actually hear you screaming.

“Yeah,” you say, though it sounds shakier than assured. “I just… I missed you.” It comes out honest because it is, but you can’t meet his eyes when you say it. The truth is you did miss him. You missed him so much it hurt, but being around him hurt more. It was a constant sharp pain like a stitch in your side that never went away. When you were apart, that stitch dulled. It didn’t tear every time you breathed. Having him there in front of you was like slicing open a freshly stitched wound.

The smile you peep on his lips does nothing to dull the pain. If anything, you can feel the wound opening deeper. The infection you’d spent several months digging out was growing again. “Excuse me,” you say, “I need another drink.”

You excuse yourself from Nolan and Leslie and make your way to the bar. About halfway there, you beeline into the women’s restroom to see about that window. It’s warm in the bathroom, and it looks like the window is open. You could make it through if you tried. Did you want to try, though? You’d run away from him once. You'd gone across more states than you wanted to count and into another country to get away from him. What was one window between escape routes?

Climbing out the window is no easy feat, but the hardest part was landing on the ground outside. You’re lucky the sink was there to give you a boost up, but face-first through a window is never the right way to go. You weren’t nearly as smooth as actors in the movies, but you did it in one take, how many of them could say that? You get up from the pavement and dust yourself off, brushing rubble from your hands and the back of your pants.

“You know,” a voice says, making you scream, “I had a feeling you were avoiding me, but now I’m sure you are.”

You turn around and see Nolan standing there, his shoulder pressed against the outside of the building. He looks so calm while he’s looking at you with his intense blue eyes.

“Nolan,” you say, trying for the calm, 'you totally didn’t just catch me climbing out a window vibe,’ but failing.

“The thing is,” he says as he pushes off the wall and walks over to you, “I can’t figure out why. The last time I saw you, you were asleep in your car, in my carport. Did I do something?” The hurt you can see behind his eyes doesn't match the casual tone he spoke with, but you’d long ago stopped marveling at Nolan’s superpower. He could lock down his emotions so tightly that almost no one saw them unless they knew what to look for. You unfortunately, knew what to look for.

“Nolan,” you say with a sigh, but you don’t know what else to say. How do you explain that the reason you left was that you loved him so much it hurt to see him happy? That was the epitome of selfishness, and you hated yourself for it. The hatred festered like a cancer, silently growing until it consumed you from the inside out, and you couldn’t take it any longer. “It’s not what it looks like.”

“Oh, really? Because it looks like you just used that window to duck out of a bar. A bar you were excited to go to, judging by your Instagram. So… What changed?”

“Nothing,” you say, but you know he’s caught you dead to rights, and you don’t know how to get out of this. “Why are you out here? You’re supposed to be inside with Leslie.”

“So are you,” he says, not answering your question.

You want to scream at him. Why couldn’t he just leave it alone? Why couldn’t he just forget your friendship and let you move on? Why did he have to stand there with this hurt look in his eyes? And why, gods why, did he have to catch you climbing out the bathroom window of a dive bar? What are the odds of that?

“I don’t want to talk about it,” you say in an irritated tone. You shoulder past him and keep going. You’re not going back inside; you’ve already made up your mind on that. Your evening is ruined, so you call it quits.

“Well,” he says, his voice loud enough for you to hear (which in and of itself was a feat considering who was talking), “I do. What did I do to make you hate me?”

The pleading in his voice forces you to stop in your tracks. You sign softly, eyes closing to block out the sudden rush of emotions that twisted your gut. Why couldn’t it be straightforward with him? Why was nothing ever simple with him? “I don’t hate you, Nolan,” You say honestly, “I love you.”

The moment the words are out of your mouth, terror takes over your body, controlling your actions. Your heart beats so fast you’re almost sure you’re going to pass out, or worse. Your legs feel like jelly holding you up. Fear claws at your throat, making breathing hard, and all you can think about, the only rational thought you have in your head is “go,” so you do. You run. Away from him. Away from your words. As fast as you can for as long as you can. You don’t try to explain yourself, you just run.

Running is easier when the person you’re running away from isn’t yourself, though. Nolan doesn't follow you, but you didn’t think he would. Your life isn’t a movie. He isn't going to stop you and confess his love for you. You never expected that in the first place. It was why you left after all.

Your running doesn't take you home, as you expected. Your feet have a mind of their own while you struggle internally with bitter hate and disgust. It burns its way through you like acid eating away at healed wounds and leaving necrotic tissue in its wake. When you finally let yourself stop running, it isn't because you were safe or free, it's because the air your lungs so badly need seems out of reach. You pause, hands on your thighs, and head between your knees, trying to pull in little gasps of air. Is it from running or the panic attack you are sure you are having?

It takes you a moment to catch your breath, but by that time, you’ve allowed yourself to sit for a moment and collect your thoughts. The weight of everything sits on your shoulders, and you rest your head in your hands. You can’t face him again. You can’t handle the rejection that’ll come when you see him again. Maybe coming back to Winnipeg was a bad idea. Perhaps you should have just gone somewhere else. Somewhere where running into Nolan wasn’t a possibility.

Time passes like grains of sand slipping through your fingers. You sit on the curb of the sidewalk, watching the number of cars that pass you by becoming less and less. It’s the only passage of time you have to go by. You haven’t looked at your phone since you left the bar, and you had no desire to look now. You were sure you’d have a few messages and missed calls from Leslie. Maybe something from Nolan. But maybe not. Which would be worse? You don’t want to find out.

Sitting in the growing dark with your thoughts serves no real purpose, it’s not like you can hate yourself any more than you already do. You’ve exhausted your ability to berate yourself. The only thing left now is pure exhaustion covered in a blanket of cold despair. The numbness will follow, once the weight of everything becomes too much for you to carry. You can't keep sitting on the curb, looking like a homeless waif wandering the streets.

As you pull yourself to your feet, you debate whether you want to reach into your back pocket and pull out your phone for a ride or if you're going just to walk home. You’re not exactly sure how far away you are from your apartment, which, ultimately, is the deciding factor. You swipe the phone open, ignoring any and all notifications you have in favor of pulling open the rideshare app. It’s such a simple process you barely think about it when you’re done requesting the ride and sliding the phone back into your pocket.

The wait for the ride feels like an eternity. Now that you’ve chosen to go home all you want in a hot bath, your PJs, and maybe a cute sad movie, you can cry your eyes out to while lying in bed. You’re practically dreaming about it by the time your ride pulls up, and you get in. It's like a song that you can’t get out of your mind. The idea rolls over and over, tripping over a few bumps when you get hung up on the evening events, but for the most part, it remains intact.

The drive is relaxing. For the first time since Nolan walked through the door of the bar, you feel like you can breathe and maybe not let every single thought or feeling crush you. Your driver fills the silence with useless chatter, and you meet it with your own. It was part of their job, after all. It didn’t hurt to be polite to the person driving you home, so the small talk occupies your time just as much as the thought of getting home and locking the world away.

When they pull up to your building, you thank your driver and make sure to leave them a decent tip and a five-star review in the app as you walk up the stairs to your second-floor apartment. Your nose is stuck in the phone, of course, which means you don't notice until it's too late that the stoop of your residence is being occupied by a rather large and distressed looking hockey player. He really was massive, especially when he was sprawled out on the floor, legs wide and impassable.

Your feet hit the landing just as you realize that he’s there. It’s almost automatic now to turn and go the other way, regardless of the fact that the door behind him was yours. You had a moment of hope that he hadn’t even realized you were there, but the moment you turned, you heard him move.

“Y/N, wait,” he says quickly as you head back down the stairs this time to your car. You had gone to the bar with Leslie, after all. There had been no point in taking two vehicles. A hand touches your arm, and you freeze a few steps down. You don’t have it in you to look at him, but you aren't about to fight to get free of his hold on the stairs. “I really need you to stop running away from me,” he says quietly.

It’s that statement that forces you to look at him. You fear what you’ll see when you finally do, but his face is guarded. More guarded than you’ve ever seen it. His expression isn’t one you can read, and his eyes, the windows into his mind and soul give nothing away. He's hiding from you. That thought alone makes you want to cry. That thought alone is proof enough that you've ruined everything.

“What are you doing here?” You ask. Your voice feels dry and empty; all the fire and fight has left you. You don’t even have in you to care anymore; it's already over. Maybe he’ll let you down quick and easy, and you can finally move on with your life. Nolan’s never been a vindictive or mean person. Not to you, anyway. Sure, you’ve seen him be mean on the ice or to people he doesn’t like, but he’s not cruel.

“Leslie told me when you lived,” he says with a shrug. He drops his hold on you, which wasn’t all that strong in the first place and sticks his hands in his pocket.

“Remind me to kill her later,” you mutter, more to yourself than to Nolan. “Why are you here?” You ask because really that was what you wanted to know.

“To talk.”

You almost smile. Almost. A sharp bark of a laugh comes out instead. Nolan, talking. That was rich. “Do you know how to do that?”

“Do you?” He counters.

The press of your lips and the furrow of your brows are the only answer he really needs. The truth is; lately, you’ve forgotten how to talk to people. You don’t know how to communicate anymore. You’ve lost touch with not just yourself, but everyone around you.

“You seem better at running than I remember and worse at communicating. That’s my schtick, not yours.”

“Whatever,” you say with a huff. You don’t really have a choice but to turn around and walk back up the stairs. You push past him and over to your door. The key slides into the lock and the click tells you you’re home. If only you were actually comforted by that. You drop the keys and your phone into the bowl by the front door, kick off your shoes and walk through the door, leaving it open for Nolan.

He doesn’t follow.

“Are you coming in or are you going to stand out there looking like a moron? I realize it’s your natural look, but you’re letting the air out.”

You don’t need to look over your shoulder to see if he came in. The click of the door shutting is answer enough. The silence that settles between the two of you feels thick, suffocating, and awkward. You’re not a fan of the distance between the two of you. You want both more and less, but you have no one to thank for the awkwardness but yourself.

“You wanted to talk,” you remind him. You busy yourself in the kitchen, digging through a cupboard to find your rum and a shot glass. The rejection is coming; you already know that. It would be nice to dull the pain, at least. Take the edge off, perhaps.

“Uh," he says. Nolan James Patrick, ever the eloquent speaker. “Yeah, uh, yeah, I did.”

“Ah!” you say to yourself as you find what you’re looking for. The glass clinks on the countertop so that you can unscrew the cap and pour yourself a drink. You step out of the kitchen, drink in one hand, bottle in the other and tip the glass toward Nolan, “Well, then, start talking.” You knock the glass back and down the rum in one swallow. No one has ever accused you of having healthy coping mechanisms.

“I-” he hesitates. Words were never his strong suit. It’s almost sad how bad he is when it comes to talking about things, especially when they make him uncomfortable.

“You… What, Nolan?” Are you being mean to him? Maybe a little. It feels nice being the one to have the upper hand for a moment, even if you know what he’s going to say before he says it. You go to pour yourself another drink, but the bottle is snatched from your hand. "I was gonna drink that," you say though you don't need to.

He sets it down on a coffee table after he walks around the couch. “I don’t know how to do this.” The honesty in his voice and his statement makes your face fall. You don’t want to see him struggling with anything, and you know it's because he doesn’t want to hurt you.

You follow him into the little living room, a sigh on your lips at his words. “You don’t have to do anything, Nolan. It’s okay.” It wasn’t, but you didn’t need him to know that. The knife that sits between your rib cage has been there long enough to barely recognize the sharp pain from it sliding deeper. “I understand.”

His face scrunches, and he shakes his head. “No, Y/N, you don’t.” That statement confuses you, but you’re not really sure how to react, so you stand there, quietly waiting for him to explain. “I didn’t know, okay? If I’d known…”

“Please, just. Drop it. Please. It’s fine. We don’t need to do this.” You don’t need to hear him say it. Honestly, you’re good with this right here because you’re pretty sure your imagination is worse than anything he could say, and you don’t need to add that on top of everything you can think up. You just want it to be over. You just want to walk away in peace and put him in the past.

“Y/N…” He steps closer to you, his hand reaching for you.

This time you do twist to keep away from him. You don’t need his comfort. “It’s fine, Nolan. It’s better this way, anyway. You didn’t need to come over. I’m sorry I ruined your night.”

“You didn’t… I’m confused.” His hand scratched absentmindedly at the back of his head, and he kicks lightly at the ground, toeing the edge where area rug meets floor with his sock. You hadn’t even noticed that he’d taken his shoes off.

“You’re overthinking this,” you tell him. “It’s okay. You don’t have to let me down gently or anything. We can just -”

“Shut up!” The force of Nolan’s outburst makes you step back for a moment, eyes going wide. He doesn’t typically talk to you like that. “I’m trying to tell you that I feel the same way. For you. Would you just let me say it? Fuck!”

“You… What?” You blink, shock etching your features. There are no thoughts in your head when he finally says what he came there to say. It’s like you’ve logged off. Your ability to process words and feelings all just stopped. The air feels heavy, and you feel dizzy. This isn’t what you were expecting. Of course, it wasn’t.

“This is why you left Philly, isn’t it?” He asks as he steps forward. His hand reaches for your elbow, but you’re too shocked to decide whether you want to pull away or step closer. What you do is wrap your hand around his forearm. At least if your legs give out, he’ll be able to stop you from falling. “Isn’t it?” He asks again.

You nod because you can’t exactly deny it. It’s pretty clear that was why you left. “I just… I needed a place to stay the night, but you and Jacquie were there and I just.. You were happy. It was easier to just leave for good.” There was so much more to it, but you didn’t need to explain that. It was best left unsaid.

He scoffs. “Not really. I don’t think Jacquie actually liked me. Just the idea of me.” You wished that came as a surprise, but you’d seen it a lot in the few short months you’d spend around the Flyers. There were a lot of fake people only looking to capitalize on the name of the players and the team.

“We didn’t last much after you left. She didn’t like all the energy and time I spent worrying about you.” He tugs on your hair and smiles when you roll your eyes.

“You were worried about me?” You ask. You try not to sound pleased, but the little blush that works up your cheeks gives you away.

“My best friend vanishes and refuses to take my calls? Hell yeah, I was worried. When I heard that you were okay and spending time with our friends," he pauses and shrugs, "I figured I did something wrong.” His voice isn't as nonplus as he wants. The little lilt of hurt paints the words.

“No!” You tighten your grip on his arm and pull him closer. “No, you did nothing wrong. I’m sorry I made you think that. I just. I’m an idiot.”

Nolan laughs, and it’s possibly the best sound you’ve ever heard. You’ve missed that sound. His tongue peaks between his teeth; it's a sight that makes your heart skip a bit. You can’t help but match his smile; it’s innocent and sweet and real. It’s unguarded. It’s Nolan like no one else gets to see him.

“Yeah, you are,” he says while he wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you closer to him.

Your smile slips a little, but it's not in a bad way. You’re shocked more than anything, to find yourself pressed against him. His fingers ghost through your hair, tucking it behind your ear before his thumb traces the line of your jaw.

His touches send a shiver down your spine, causing goosebumps to spring up. The mood between the two of you shifts almost instantly from light and joking to thick and heavy. Breathing is hard, but it’s a different kind of suffocation. It's the kind that comes with hope and anticipation. It's the kind that settles before a first kiss.

His eyes meet yours before they flick to your lips, the bottom on is caught between your teeth. His thumb tugs lightly on your chin, forcing your lip to come free from your teeth. Even though you see it coming, it doesn’t change the shock or the thrill that runs through you when his lips finally touch yours, and you’re allowed to get lost in him. It’s better than the dream ever could have been. He’s warm and strong and firm. He tastes like alcohol and hope, whatever that means.

Your fingers card through his hair as you lift up onto your tiptoes to give yourself more leverage and possibly not break his back. You don’t want to let go, so you don’t. You deepen the kiss, taking a little of the control from him and testing the water. You’ve imagined kissing him for so long, but it falls short when compared to the real thing. You want to commit this to memory before you have to pull away for a pesky little thing like breathing.

Nolan rests his forehead on yours when he breaks the kiss, a soft smile dancing on his lips. “Can I stay the night?” He asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You can stay forever if you want.” You tell him. It's a bit of a joke because you know he can't, but your heart is light, and you can't help but be happy.

“Forever sounds good.”

#Nolan patrick imagine #NHL Imagine #nolan patrick #philadelphia flyers #hockey imagines

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ktheist · 4 years

Text

twenty-six

chapters: 25 / 26 / 27

knight!jungkook x princess!reader

Silver armor encases Taehyung’s body almost as though he was made for it - for war and the blood that is bound to spill when he puts it on.

You would know, you’ve been on the receiving end of the battlefield.

Yet you ask for the same suffering of Goldwald’s people.

Something in the bottom of your belly churns with unrest as your mouth sews itself shut. You’ve been a silent watcher as Taehyung draft out the map of the rich merchant-filled land, marking red dots upon the blueprint of where the soldiers will lay in hiding. Whether they attack or not is solely up to the young King of Goldwald - if he agrees to become part of the Southern Kingdom’s territory, then there was no need to make use of the soldiers. If he so chooses to go to war, then he is bound to lose.

This is the first time Taehyung rides for war ever since you got married - some had expected him to seize what’s left of the lone countries at first light the day after he takes the throne. As what was expected from his tyrannic reputation.

Some, as your sister had belatedly relayed before she left after the ball, had thought the Queen - you - had finally put the savage beast to sleep.

You didn’t know the degrees of truth that holds, but you do know it was you who poured the promise of blood over the beast’s lust.

A peck lands on your forehead, just inches from the jeweled crown that sits atop your prettily made hair. Yerin’s hairstyling skill is like no other - you’ve summoned her back to the palace and she’d obeyed every one of your command without so much as a complaint. It is unclear whether it was a good thing or bad.

“You’ll get wrinkles before you turn 30 with a frown like that,” Taehyung jests, a smile making its way to his handsome features - he does that a lot now, smiling that is, “fret not, I’ve given orders to the men to strike down Goldwald’s army only and spare the weak.”

And he’s become more considerate - for you. Because he notices the troubled lines that appears on your face as the men hustled around the palace with polished sword and shields for preparation of war.

At times you find yourself melting from how warm he felt but most times you step back like what you’re doing now, as though reinforcing the invisible line between you two.

The slightest flash of hurt in his eyes does not go unnoticed by you yet you school a stern expression - the way you usually would in his unwanted presence. Though you aren’t so sure why, even though he’s leaving you alone for at least three months, there’s a heavy weight in pulling on your heartstrings.

“Thank you, my King.” You lower your head, “you are most considerate. Goldwald’s people are fortunate to be blessed with your kindness.”

When you raise your gaze, his is becoming shrouded with looming clouds. If there weren’t as many footmen and maids lined up from the palace’s doors down to the gate, you’re sure - he would have burst out. Begged you for your reason for being so distant when all he is, is granting your wish.

The young prince you married would have done so regardless of whether there were watching eyes - perhaps it’s true, the beast lying within the King has its claws clipped. He’s beginning to show much more refinement - a telltale of a wise ruler.

Surprise paints your face when he lowers his face to your stomach, a gloved hand caressing the side of your belly - between the ball and the preparation for Goldwald’s seize, you’ve found yourself due any day now.

“I won’t be here when you come into this world,” he murmurs low enough for only you and him to hear, “but I’ll come back as soon as I’ve conquered Goldwald. Don’t make mommy go through so much pain, yes?”

Guilt’s rears its ugly head at his tender voice and the jarring truth to the baby in your belly’s identity. You don’t regret having your child - but as days pass and as Taehyung’s tone begin to sound like a soft lullaby, the fact that you’re lying right to his face doesn’t sit as right with you. Not the way it used to.

He fixes you a smile - one that is so conflicted but at the same time longs to hold you. Yet he does nothing but bow before turning his back on you as he walks towards his horse, the men already in formation.

“Taehyung,” you find yourself calling his name, making him halt, one foot on the stirrup while he cranes his neck towards you.

Before you know it, the clicking of your heels echo into the air. His lifted brows are the last thing you see before your lips press against his. Surprise is still present on his face when you pull away - you couldn’t bring yourself to send him off with a smile. Perhaps it’s the gnawing feeling festering inside the lightless part of your heart, knowing Jungkook is somewhere in one of the towers, on the look out for enemies - possibly witnessing you run towards the man you swore to loathe. Perhaps it’s the brood of war that you’re sending Taehyung off too. But you mean it when you say-

“Come back to me safely.”

“My Queen, you shouldn’t be out of bed!” Eunha laments, deep creases of frustration marking the spot between her eyebrows.

Unbeknownst to you, before Taehyung’s departure, he had gathered all the servants and gave orders to be on the look out for their Queen in case she overworks herself - said orders to be effective immediately after he passed through the palace’s gates.

Not even a day later, the servants greet you with wary bows and gazes. As though the baby was going to pop out of you right that instant.

Eunha, having been with you for almost a year, had been more vocal than the first time you met her - but you supposed it was her own way of caring for her Queen. Even though some may deem it discourteous to speak to a monarch in that manner.

Perhaps, three days ago, you would have believed that she was genuinely one of yours if you hadn’t noticed the numbness in your fingertips and the slightest shade of purple underneath your nails - like that of a dead man’s.

“I was just getting some water from the table,” you simply say, holding the glass of water to your lips while you turn another page of the book Yerin lent you - for some reason she’d taken to standing by the sidelines rather than actively trying to get into your good graces.

It was not a mystery why - what happened that night with Taehyung had embarrassed her greatly yet her family’s status would be ruined if she’d quit being your lady-in-waiting out of the blue.

Two days ago, you would have let the tendrils of guilt bind around your throat until it was hard to even swallow.

You’d noticed it the morning after Taehyung left. The signs were subtle - you didn’t feel any pain but perhaps that was because of your high tolerance from the many times you’d sustained injuries during practice and on the battlefield.

Still, you’d skipped all meals, piling them underneath your bed, leaving empty plates for them to pick up until Eunha helped you bathe and Yerin helped you into your nightgown and combed your hair like she usually would.

It was something in the way the latter’s brows come together in a mutual uncertainty as she ran the comb through your hair, “your majesty, I hope I’m not overstepping my boundary but...”

“What is it?” Your tone was as cold as the fingers in your lap - perhaps, on days she didn’t hold so much motive to harm you, there would not have been so much animosity directed to her.

“Um - it’s just, you seem awfully quiet today - are you alright?” The mirror reflected every movement of her eyes as they darted away from your heated gaze, towards the corner of the room and finally fixed on your hair.

It could have meant many things. A mouse who got her tail stuck in the trap, being one of it.

But you couldn’t call the guards and have her thrown into prison with just a mere hunch - an assumption.

Eunha was not entirely out spared from it either.

With a sigh, you’d dismissed her with a, “I’m just tired - it’s my first time being pregnant and a Queen.”

As though you did not just snap at her a minute ago, Yerin had chuckled - it was the first time she ever did anything that required lowering the guard around you, apples on her cheeks and all whilst her hand went to cover her mouth, “I see, I can’t fit my foot on either shoes but I shall pray for my Queen’s health and safe labor.”

It had taken you awhile to register her well wishes and another to finally respond, “thank you, Yerin.”

As soon as she was gone, you’d hurried to the window. Torches lined down the pathway towards the garden and a few more scattered across the maze-like bushes. The moon had beamed at you in greeting.

“Jungkook?” You whispered into the night but it was another man who’d stepped out from the shadows.

“Not tonight - Jungkook has errands to run.” Yoongi informed, eyes as unfazed as ever.

By ‘errands’ he’d mean going to the bars and pubs - that was where rumors, regardless whether true or not, spread like wildfire. Jungkook had been your ghost - your eyes and ears.

“Come inside - we’re going to pay the physician a visit.” You left the window half-agape and disappeared into your closet where the cloak you’d used time and time again to sneak out, was lying in the corner underneath your ground-swept ballgowns.

There wasn’t so much as a thud to signal his entrance but you’d instructed him to bunch up the cloth that you’d piled your lunch and dinner over under your bed regardless. When you’d stepped out of the closet, dark cloak hanging around your body - you didn’t think it’d cover your stomach but it did - Yoongi already had one hand clenched around the cloth.

You’d use the servant’s passage to avoid the guards - anyone who could have been planted here to keep an eye on what you’ve been up to, make sure you weren’t going far and beyond what they wanted and if you did they’d-

“Poison, your majesty.” The physician had been a man in his 60′s with graying hair and beard and moon spectacles sitting atop his bulbous nose. He’d stood in front of you with a darkened expression in a worn out green robe he’d hastily thrown on after being woken up from his deep slumber, “the way the tip of your fingers were blue and dark veins begin to appear over your stomach - I’m sure it’s because you’ve consumed the extract of the bloodflower.”

The rapid thrumming of your heart had spread throughout your body yet your voice had been startlingly calm as you’d gently rubbed the skin stretched over your stomach, just above the spot where you’d felt the kick of another life from within - perhaps it was the knowledge that your child was still alive that had grounded you, prevented you from ordering an execution of whom you did not want to think about.

“And my child?”

“I cannot say for certain,” he shook his head, “it is difficult to ascertain the amount from the food you’d brought as it’d been mixed together - I will send my apprentice-”

“No,” you speak over him, voice as sharp as the two swords hung over the wall just above the headboard in your chamber, “speak of this to no one. I will send you one of my ghosts - he’ll assist you in getting whatever you need to do to get the antidote. For now, whoever orchestrated this thinks we don’t know so they will be unprepared.”

You’d stood up from the chair, forcing your wobbling knees to hold you up even though all you want is to crawl into your bed and bury yourself under layers of blanket as though it would protect you from the spiteful hands of those who wanted to harm you and your child.

But it was the unsettlingly warm desire of Taehyung’s arms wrapping around you that made you clear you hold your chin higher as inner protest.

The physician lowered his head as he cede before speaking again, “one more thing, your majesty, if I may be so bold, I would advice against straining yourself working given the circumstances and until I’ve made a concoction of the antidote.”

“That’s reasonable,” you say after a moment of pondering - the physician’s crestfallen expression being caused by your next words, not going unnoticed but neither do you plan to change it, “but I can’t simply put matters of segregating resources to cities on hold whenever I want to.”

“You could have rang and I’d come and get it for you.” Eunha’s huff tears you away from your recollection. Hands planted on both sides of her hips, she’s a remark away from bursting into a nag.

“Alright,” you shut the book gently, but not before marking the page you’re on, “will you help me prepare for the day, Eunha?”

Despite her drawn brows and conflicted pout, she relents a heartbeat later, “as you wish, your majesty.”

Eunha helps you bathe and change into a teal dress that arrived from one of the boutiques from the capital. Except where you would accept her hand in assisting you to walk, you hold yours out to Yerin. The woman stares at you as though you’ve grown another head for the longest moment before dropping her own in a courtesy, “your majesty.”

Smiling, you hook your arm around hers when she offers it, noticing Eunha’s darkening expression before you begin to tread towards your office. The whole time, she trails behind you and Yerin like a maid would had it been within your own castle in the Northern Kingdom. Had your rise not been so opposed by the aristocrats and ministers that you were forced to find alliance in someone whose status was on the other side of the sphere compared to yours.

#bts smut #jungkook smut #taehyung smut #bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #jungkook x reader #bts x reader #jungkook fanfiction #bts fic #bts fanfiction #jungkook fic #bts fluff #bts fanfics #bts fics #jungkook fanfics #jungkook fluff #bts jungkook #knight!jungkook #princess!reader

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forgeandgredimagines · 4 years

Text

Foolish 『 Percy Jackson x Spy! Reader 』

Request: I was wondering if I could request a Percy Jackson x reader imagine? Taking place during the pjo books and the reader is the spy for Luke instead of Selina. Percy falls for her, and at first she started dating him just to use him for information, but eventually, she falls for him too and has a change of heart. But before she can tell him he finds out some other way and feels really betrayed/upset. You don’t have to though, I just love your imagines and wanted to see you bring this idea to life! A/N: woot woot, this has been gathering dust in my drafts for so long. I really liked the concept but it took me a while to write something I was happy with because I’ve never really written angst much hehe but I tried my best!! I hope you enjoy Warnings: Swearing :> Word count: 2.8k

Masterlist!!

You still remember when you first joined the Titan Army. You were so undeniably naive and filled to the brim with unprecedented hate and resentment towards the gods. Towards your father, whoever he was. Towards the entirety of Olympus. Joining Kronos’ forces would mean that you could actually make a change, that you could actually amount to something. However, in a few short months, you would come to realize that that person was a fool. A dumb, dumb, fool.

You were eating breakfast when a satyr ran into the mess hall announcing the arrival of new demigods, two girls who were from the same school, but they didn’t seem to be siblings. Arriving at camp is a feat in it of itself but two demigods arriving at the same time was rare, to say the least. That wasn’t what was important, what was important was that the young halfbloods and their assigned satyr made it to camp safely.

You were there to greet them when they arrived, along with a handful of other campers and Chiron. They were bruised and bit shaken up but ultimately unharmed. Lucky, extremely lucky. They were healed and patched up and being the only camper in the Hermes cabin around, you were the one to lead them towards their temporary lodging.

You decided to tour them around camp a few hours after their arrival. You always enjoyed watching the easily impressed campers’ faces as you first show them the pegasi stables, the lava spewing climbing wall and all the other wonders the camp had to offer. You recall to when you still thought of camp to be paradise, a secret haven you never wanted to leave. But lately, it started to feel like a prison. Like you were a bird stuck in a cramped cage.

Later that evening, as the campers were gathering around the amphitheater, one of the girls from earlier was claimed by her godly parent. She was a child of Apollo. Her companion, later claimed that same week, a child of Hephaestus.

You were glad for the campers but every time someone was claimed, you couldn’t help the rage and envy bubbling inside you. Why? After all your years at camp, why doesn’t your father bother to claim you. Over the years, this feeling of hate just kept on festering and growing, until it completely engulfed your being.

It was no surprise for neither you nor Luke that you accepted his offer to join his side so wholeheartedly. It was your long awaited chance to get justice for you and the world, justice from the wretched gods.

What was a surprise however was that Luke didn’t want you to leave camp with him and his army. In fact, he wanted you to stay put.

This didn’t bode well for you. You were itching to leave, itching to go do something worthwhile, not to just rot at camp like you always have. But Luke was the boss, his word is law. You couldn’t do anything but comply with his instructions to be a spy for the Titan Army.

You stared contemplatively at the Big House as you sharpened your sword, your ears falling deaf of your cabinmates’ gossip about how Silena and Charles were caught making out in the strawberry fields.

You had been a spy for months now, gathering information and plans, and sending them off to Luke. But now, it wasn’t enough. You realized that every single detail of plans and courses of action weren’t disclosed to the average camper. The people that were entrusted with this information were the cabin counsellors, other important campers and staff members.

You pondered becoming the counsellor of the Hermes cabin before realizing that you couldn’t do that in a span of a few days. You grumbled and return your focus on sharpening your sword before your attention was once again drawn towards the big house.

A meeting had just ended. A dozen or so campers and staff members leave the big house, whispering amongst themselves, a serious look in their eyes. It’s evident that they were talking about something important. You were positively dying to know what it was.

The last people to leave was Percy Jackson and Annabeth Chase, who were discussing something with Chiron. Those two were undeniably the campers Chiron trusted the most. He’d never admit it, like how a parent would say they don’t have a favorite but secretly they really do.

The realization of what you have to do in order to get the information you needed hits you in a flash. You needed them. More specifically, you needed Percy Jackson.

The plan itself was simple and straightforward. It was inconspicuous and foolproof. You realized that you had to gain the trust of an important camper. Slowly, bit by bit, lowering their guard until you have them wrapped around your finger without them knowing it. They’d unconsciously tell you about their plans, their thoughts, and whatever info they could spill about the camp and Olympus, and you’d send this off to Luke and the army.

It was absolutely perfect.

Ideally, Annabeth would be this person. She was arguably the smartest camper and is the one who knows the most things regarding battle plans and strategies. But with that in mind, she might catch on to you and blow your cover. You decide that she may not be the best option, thus leading you to the next best one: Percy.

You know that Percy wasn’t an idiot, but he was certainly more softhearted than Annabeth. More extroverted and easier to befriend. He was an easier nut to crack. Asides from that, Percy was extremely loyal, once he trusts you, it takes a lot for him to take that trust away. You knew how much he tried to see the good in people, even when there really wasn’t.

You ignored the small pang of guilt you felt in your chest as you thought through your plan and force yourself to go to sleep.

“Hey! Jackson!” You call out, waving your hands out to him. “Can you lend me a hand?”

Percy jogs towards you and greets you goodnaturedly. You were surprised that he knew your name. He took in your drenched, cold state but didn’t say anything. “What’s up?”

You chuckle sheepishly and gesture towards the canoe a few feet into the lake. The water was still shallow, only reaching your knees. The canoe you were using earlier had tipped and water gathered into the it, making it start to sink. You tried to row back to the land as fast as you could but it kept on sinking until it got stuck on the sand. Well, that’s what it looks like anyways.

“--and now I can’t get it to budge.” You conclude, thoroughly embarrassed. “I’ve obviously never really done this much before.”

“It’s fine! I got it.” Percy smiled kindly and started to manipulate the water into pushing the canoe to the shore. “You shouldn’t have tried canoeing on your own if you’re this inexperienced, you could have drowned or something.”

You shrug and sigh glumly, kicking the sand around with your feet. “I just, wanted to be alone for a while I guess.” You avoided eye contact from the male but you could sense him watching you carefully. “It was stupid of me, I know, I’m sorry.”

The canoe was now back on land and dry, as if it wasn’t just submerged in the lake a few seconds ago.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Percy asked cautiously.

You looked up at him and stared at his sea green eyes. They were so soft and kind. Your chest panged once again, just like it did a few days ago, but you ignored it.

“I’d like that.”

After that day, you and Percy started to spend more and more time together. That day in the lake, you two sat on the dock as you told him about your struggles in camp, with your parents (both mortal and immortal), and with your concerns regarding the safety of the camp.

Percy was surprisingly a really good listener, and actually gave you really good advice. He actually even made you genuinely laugh a few times.

You two slowly started to hang out more, you would have lunch together, train together and just goof around.

All though you were just forcing yourself to hang out with him before, you slowly started not to dread seeing him. It didn’t feel like a chore to spend time with him anymore. You would never admit it, but you actually looked forward to when you would see the son of Poseidon next.

He wasn’t all that bad, in fact, he was actually really fun. He didn’t make you feel like an outsider, he actually listened to you and you listened to him.

He made you laugh, and momentarily forget your woes, your mission, that this was fake, that your friendship wasn’t real.

Over the weeks, and soon months, the pangs of guilt taking root into your heart and conscience just kept increasing in intensity and frequency. But you keep on ignoring it, you knew where your loyalties lie, you already picked your side.

“--okay this is really hard, why is this so hard? Oh my gods, what the hell?”

You place your hand on Percy’s shoulder and stop him from rambling even more. You two were on the docks again by the lake. It was a secluded area and where you two first got close, it was where you two usually met up.

“Calm down, dummy. What is it?”

Percy took in a deep breath and said softly. “I like you...”

You take in a sharp intake of breath and heart began to pound as your cheeks began to heat up. You felt...*happy.*

“Wha-what?” You mutter out, completely flabbergasted.

“I said I like you! And you don’t have to say anything else, I just wanted you to know because I’ve liked you for a while now. Even before we became close I already thought you were really pretty and I always wanted to talk to you so I was really glad that we became friends and---“

Percy’s rambling started to fade out as a background noise as you realized what this meant.

It felt as if a million thoughts were flying in your head. All contradicting each other, all colliding and butting heads.

Your brief moment of joy was replaced by the guilt, the regret, which was more intense than ever. Your heart pounded even more, but this time it hurt with every beat.

Tears prickled in your eyes. “I--I like you too.”

Percy’s rambling was cut off short, his cheeks too were dusted pink. “Really? Oh my gods, I can’t believe it, wait, why are you crying?”

You didn’t realize that your tears started to pour freely. “Are you okay?”

I’m sorry.

“I’m just really happy.”

I’m so sorry.

Percy grinned sheepishly and embraced you tightly. Which only made you feel worse as you cried silently into his shoulder.

You were now dating Percy Jackson. People congratulated you, patted you on the back and wished you two the best. You even started to get closer with Annabeth and Grover. Things were going great, they were unfolding just as the plan said it would, it was going better than expected actually. Yet, the dull ache in your chest never seemed to cease.

Even as Luke commended you for your work, praised you and made promises that would normally have make you ecstatic, the pain never stopped.

The only time it stopped was when you were with Percy. When he holds your hand, wraps you tightly in his arms, only then does it stop.

When he kisses you, and whispers sweet nothings, only then do you feel at ease. He made you forget, just as he did before you two were together.

You found yourself seeking out for him, even when you didn’t need any new info to pass through to Luke. You began to seek his presence, his touch, his love.

It was like a disease spreading throughout your being. A poison injected into your bloodstream and it was without a cure.

You started to love him.

With each passing day of genuinely loving him, the feeling of guilt and shame tripled. You were trapped, you dug your own grave.

You didn’t know how many times you cried yourself to sleep, or how many prayers you’ve offered to the gods. You just wished for all of this to be over.

When you were with Percy, you liked to pretend that you two were just regular people. Mortal people, with normal lives where all you had to worry about were college entrance exams and assignments. And everything was okay, for a moment, all that mattered was that you were with him, and that was enough.

The spell wore off when you were alone. And you’re back in reality again and the guilt comes back in waves, always increasing in strength with each one.

How could you be so foolish?

“Hey where’s Percy?” You ask around camp, most of the campers shrugged and told you they didn’t know. It was still early in the morning, he was usually out and about at this hour.

“He and a couple campers left a few hours ago.” A nymph answered as she stared at her reflection in the lake, stroking her hair absentmindedly. “Someone came and said they spotted a couple members of the Titan Army near camp.”

You pressed your lips together disappointedly and thanked the nymph. You spent the morning in the strawberry fields as you thought through your new, more morally ethical plan.

Your mind was clear for the first time in months and your chest ached less frequently. You hadn’t been this calm since before being with Percy.

You supposed that you had subconsciously chosen your true side when you started feeding Luke false information a few weeks ago. But now you truly accepted it, you knew what you had to do. It was only right.

You realized that Percy might not want to be with you anymore once you tell him the truth and although the thought of it hurt, you knew that it was for the best. He deserved better than you anyways.

He would hate you. Well...you supposed you deserved it. You had it coming after all.

A small part of you still hoped though, that he might forgive you, that he might still want to be with you...that maybe he might still love you.

You were sitting on the dock when the sun was about to set. You were absentmindedly flipping through an old manual written in ancient greek, your mind elsewhere, when someone began to approach you.

You quickly recognized the footsteps and jump up to greet Percy.

“You’re back! I was so worried about you, they said--“ You go to hug the male but he backed away.

His head was low, his jet black hair covering his face. You took in his disheveled appearance. His clothes were torn in places and singed in others. His leg was bandaged and his arms were covered in cuts and bruises. They stayed locked at his side, his fists were clenched and shaking slightly.

“Percy what’s wrong--“

“I know.” He says, practically whispering, his voice wavering. “They told me, they told me everything.”

“You what? What do you mean--?” His face whips up and you knew what he meant even before he said anything.

His eyes, which used to be filled with joy and affection when they were on you, were now wounded. The pain was evident, the betrayal in them as clear as day.

“How could you?!” He cries out, his voice loud and shaking. “We trusted you, I trusted you.”

You take a step forward, he takes one back. Your hand starts to move on their own, inching its way to wipe the hot tears from his face.

He slapped it away. “Don’t fucking touch me!” He spits out. His eyes, no longer pained, but cold and hard.

It hurt, not the slap, but the way he looked at you. Like you were the lowliest scum of the earth.

He finally sees you as you truly are. You thought bitterly to yourself. It’s what you deserve anyways.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Percy, please, I can explain.” You plead as tears began to flow freely down your cheeks. You were shaking now as well.

As much as you tried to plead with the son of Poseidon, you knew deep down that it was of no use. The damage was done. And you couldn’t do anything about it.

You couldn’t believe how much of a fool you were.

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rpbetter · 3 years

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Raven used to be my friend but I had to cut ties recently due to feeling like walking on eggshells everytime we spoke and they never apologized to me for when I brought up something that they did upset me. I really miss them but I don't want to deal with the if it's not about me I don't care attitude.

Pt 2 of Ravens old friend. They reblogged anti fandom posts on their resource blog and I happened to be in that fandom and it hurt. A resource blog shouldn't be doing that.

Hey, Anon! I wanted to post this before I released one of my drafts, as that draft happens to be something I do not want you to misconstrue being about you. Thought about it after the fact and honestly, felt a bit ill over potentially making you think any such thing! The post is about how pushy people can be about what they like (usually as regards fandom) that you don't, and how that can be a contributing factor toward people saying hateful things about fandom topics. It was the quickest of the finished drafts sitting around to edit, so it was being queued, that's all! I do not think you were being pushy about your likes to "deserve" this, and frankly, even if you had? One's meme/resource/help blog is not the venue for shitting on your friends.

Okay, just wanted to clarify, everyone is stressed and feeling judged enough, I don't want to inadvertently contribute to that with any drafted posts!

I'm really sorry this happened, Anon. I don't mean that in a passing, flippant way that looks good on my blog. Not that I mean anything that way lol but I frequently have had "friends" in the past who felt like it was totally fine to reblog, even make original posts, like what you're talking about. Anti-fandom, anti my part of the fandom, my muses, my takes, and so on. Really hurtful things when we'd spoken in DMs about how upsetting it was, then they go and throw full support behind it in front of me.

It would be irritating with a grain of betrayal if it was a friend of a shorter time, or a mutual one doesn't really interact with OOC, but with a closer or longtime friend, it's actively hurtful. It feels like they looked you right in the face, said they do not give a single shit about either what is important to you or sparing your feelings, and went on. Yeah, it's just fiction, but the way we treat each other over fiction is real.

Given the behaviors displayed openly, it's not a shock you received no apology. Whether you got an apology or not, though, good on you for trying to bring it up to them! It's hard to do that with friends, even ones you're more certain won't blow up at you for it. I think if we could all be a little more (calmly, nicely, reasonably) open with each other like this, we could avoid problems that result from things festering and piling up, but it's hard to take that step...and I'm sorry this was your reward for it.

Just as blogs that are not one's RP or personal blogs shouldn't be openly judging and hating fandoms like that, friends shouldn't leave you feeling like you're walking on eggshells.

And, I'm going to say something unpopular here - sometimes, we all are capable of doing that to people we care about. Bad moments in lives combine, there are misunderstandings, sensitive topics, and things we can't entirely control otherwise. I don't like this idea tumblr has that anything other than a perfect, sweet, forever-cheery relationship is the actual height of abuse, so I want to be clear on that because it's just trivializing and blinding people to the possibility of toxic and abusive interactions. When you think "toxic" means "they don't like x, I love x, we don't talk about it," you're not aware of legitimate signs like being too worried to be yourself around them.

It's when this is the typical, established behavior that it's a problem. It's when there's never any meaningful acknowledgment, apology, or attempt at changing that it's a problem. If you constantly feel like you have to be worried about what a friend is going to say or do, it's not a friendship you need to be in, and I'm glad you recognized that and got out of it!

But there's also the idea that this is easy because it's the right and logical choice. It is not, and it's often made even harder because admitting to other friends that you miss the good times with the former one is all but impossible. They're often only reacting out of concern for you, the fear that if you miss this person they watched hurt you, you'll go back to that friendship, but it effectively shuts down a more healthy way of dealing with your feelings by sharing them with better friends who could support you.

So, Anon, it's also fully alright and normal to miss Raven! They were a longtime friend, and the thing about these kinds of friendships, these kinds of relationships in general, is that we seem to fail to realize that if things were straight awful from day one, we'd not have been friends. Of course, there are memories! Of course, you have the impulse to send them a link or that meme you know is their humor! It doesn't stop for a long time, either. That doesn't mean you're fucked up for it, it's something to be ashamed of, or that you're going to drop your better judgment and go send Raven a message immediately and rekindle that friendship. It's okay!

This right here: "I don't want to deal with the if it's not about me I don't care attitude." This is the place you should be in, and I congratulate you on being there because it takes a lot of shit heaped on someone by a friend to get there. Just keep remembering the good things you experienced with them, but always with this in mind, that their end of the friendship appears to have been predicated upon what they were getting out of it only.

Case in point, like everything they displayed to the whole damn RPC that encountered them these last few months, their personal interest and viewpoint was of greater importance to them with that anti-fandom post than a friend was.

I will say, it can be a delicate thing having this blog. I have opinions and takes that most of my friends share, what's important to me tends to run in the same lines as what is important to them, that's the basis of a lot of our friendship. We still disagree! We still have different interests, fandoms, favorite characters, songs, and experiences. Sometimes, I have to address a problem that they could misconstrue, in a totally normal and reasonable way, because while they're not doing whatever in a bad way, others are. I've made a point, more than once, to contact them and talk about it a little preemptively, and that's not just to keep up friendships, it also allows for extra insight from them and better phrasing from me so that other people I don't know won't take it the wrong way either.

Yes, I have some immutable, incredibly hard lines lol I think we all know what most of them are now, but expressing my purely personal opinion on something like fandom is not more important on this blog than anything else. I may genuinely feel like there is diseased connective tissue of disappointing behavior stemming from an origin point in a popular fandom, I'm not going to go off about it on this blog. It's inappropriate as hell, going to make people feel isolated and targeted whether they're my friends or not. Being passionately displeased about that does not have place here, and that's the kind of thing you have to consider, reconsider, force yourself to shut up about when you've got a blog that isn't for RP or a personal, you know?

I don't think everyone is cut out for doing that, and no one is cut out for doing it without ever making a mistake in judgment. Some people really should simply realize that there is nothing wrong with not being in the place in their lives or mental health to put that much effort into being fair or being quiet and concentrating only on memes. If you're one of those people, random reader? I'm serious, it's okay if you can't do it! It's not shameful, I'm also a deeply flawed human being, the quietest, politest, helpful meme blog out there is also run by a flawed human, they're just at a different place with themselves than you are. And. That's. Okay. Just don't hurt other people (and yourself, ultimately) by forcing it, please.

I suppose, knowing that it wasn't important enough to chill and reevaluate for the sake of a friend is some consolation lol what one won't do for friends definitely won't be done for random muns deemed problematic. So, maybe that'll make some other people out there feel a little better, and I thank you for sharing...as much as I wish you had nothing of this experience to share. I know it's an unpleasant one to have had, and I hope you have much better friends!

I promise you that I'll never post anything here that is viciously against any particular fandom or any such thing, and that if you feel like I've been unfair about anything at all, I welcome polite messages as a way of discussing it so we can all be clear and/or learn from each other. I know, I openly admit, it's kind of a draw of the blog, that I have a...um, tone of salt about things lol and sometimes, I don't phrase things the way they deserved. So, it's always okay to drop in for clarification or counterpoint, so long as it isn't being done with a shitty attitude that incites hostilities. Let's do have a legitimate conversation about it instead of hurt feelings!

Thanks again, Anon!

#vespertine #answered #anonymous #fandom #toxic friendships #drama cw

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yeojaa · 4 years

Text

TO THE MOON AND BACK - ft. ???

You feel winded and you're not sure why. Like you'd been walking on cloud nine and were now falling through the atmosphere, plummeting toward the ground at incredible speeds. When you speak, it doesn't really sound like you. "Yes." Because he was exactly right - you were a hopeless romantic. Always had been. It was hard not to be when your parents were childhood sweethearts and love was the thing you'd been chasing your whole life.

alt summary. You use your one brain cell for love. It doesn’t always end well.

pairing. who knows, honestly. the obvious ones are kim taehyung and jeon jungkook, though.

tags. blind date, strangers, strangers to friends, strangers to lovers, getting to know each other, alternate universe, alternate universe - modern setting, romantic comedy.

rating. general (for now?)

word count. ~3750

chapter 4.

Time passes as it always does, swirling around you in the form of hungry patrons and waning sunlight.

Occasionally, it crawls and the words don't come, weighed by an anchor you can't quite lift. It feels heavy in your hands, a door that won't open no matter how much you fidget, graphite leaving dots across pristine white paper. It taunts you and tricks you every time you hazard a glance at your phone.

Other times, it's gone in the blink of an eye, the glowing numbers on your screen a reminder of its perpetual movement.

The only consistent is Jeon Jungkook.

You appreciate his presence, the familiarity it brings as he sits quietly, every so often chuckling to himself when he scrolls past something funny on his phone. A snap of his friend's face superimposed over a pig (don't ask); a meme off the front page of Reddit. You're grateful for the fact that he keeps otherwise quiet and doesn't try to share his finds, taking extra care not to disturb whatever creative process you're in. He knows as well as you - you take inspiration where you can get it.

Still, it's hard not to notice him.

There'd always been something about him that drew your attention, like he was a planet and you were caught in his gravitational pull. You couldn't avoid him if you tried.

Looking at him now - sneaking glances when you know he's miles down his Instagram feed and won't catch you - he's everything you remembered and so much that you hadn't. It makes your heart ache a little, just as it had in the first few months of radio silence. You'd honestly thought you'd gotten used to it - draped a cloth over the Jungkook-shaped hole in your life - but sitting there with him, you realize you definitely hadn't. It's like a cold draft that won't go away, curling around his gaping silhouette and rousing memories you don't mean to dwell on.

Maybe it was your fault. Maybe your refusal to explore the how's and why's had festered the wound and kept it from healing. But if you were to blame, then so was he. After all, you'd never meant for it to happen.

Isn't that how it always happened?

Things had been fine, for a while. Better than fine, in fact. You'd found a kindred spirit in the boy that'd taken up root beside you, discovering fragments of your dreams in his film vignettes and buried between the layers of his watercolour.

You'd gone through the motions of getting to know each other before casual conversations in the lecture hall had transitioned to harried 3 a.m. texts about whether you'd completed the assignment or not. (He always had; you, not so much.) The Friday editing sessions had even turned to weekend day trips in search of inspiration, not realizing - or not acknowledging - you'd found it in each other. Of course, you never addressed it, finding too much comfort in each other to dare turn the spotlight on it. You'd thought that maybe, if you acted like it wasn't happening, everything would be okay.

You thought whatever you were would be safe, hidden among the moon and stars.

After all, it was inevitable, like the changing of seasons. Spending so much time with someone else tended to open you up to them in ways you'd never expected.

Still, it had hit you like a freight train colliding with a pipe bomb when you'd drunkenly invited him back to your dorm and he'd agreed, enthusiastic and intoxicated. You'd been celebrating the completion of your thesises (or theses, as Jungkook had so sagely reminded you when you were four bottles of soju in and slurring your words).

Never in your wildest dreams - and oh, how you'd dreamt - had you thought it would happen.

You should've known it was a bad idea when your adoration had nearly swallowed you whole, the familiar desire to stick your tongue out at him replaced by one to use that muscle in a very different way. But everything had happened so quickly that night, intensity engulfing every single one of your sensibilities and igniting it in flames. He'd felt so good - so right - like he'd been created just for you, all of his sinew and bone a testament to a higher power that had deemed you worthy enough.

If you were a recovering addict, he was the 40 year old malt that sent you right back into inebriation.

You hadn't cared then, drunk off something other than liquor. All you'd wanted was him and that beautiful smile for a little while longer.

You'd even told yourself you could get past whatever repercussions arose. That was the strength of your friendship. And yet, you'd been wrong. You'd hardly been able to look at him the next morning, fleeing to the library with a note left on your pillow. You'd been the one to run away, leaving him to wake up to an empty bed.

It was the right thing to do, you'd told yourself. Better to avoid an awkward morning after.

Except that silence had stretched on and by the time you'd realized your mistake, it was too late. You weren't sure who was ignoring who and you were too afraid to ask.

"Do I have something on my face?" Your companion is swiping across his mouth, alarmed by the intensity with which you've been ogling him. God - how long had you been staring at him?

Heat spills over your neck and you can feel it rising into your hairline, sweeping across your ears and drowning them in red-hot embarrassment. "No. Sorry. I zoned out." You're stumbling over your words, a choked half-laugh crossing the threshold of enamel.

Jungkook looks at you like he could unravel your excuses with but a word but says nothing. His capacity for silence always surprised you.

"Should we get going?" He finally offers. Your saving grace.

"Oh, sure." A cursory glance at your phone has you near bolting out of your seat. "It's almost two?!" You're immediately shoving everything back into your tote with manic energy, nearly stabbing your pencil through the fleshy underside of your palm when you miss its rightful pocket. You'd never been good with time management.

"You'll be fine - the studio's close by." He's not wrong but his reassurance has you halting, strap of your bag looped around the hook of your elbow. For a second, you're confused. He can see it in your eyes.

He debates saying something, waiting for the cogs in your head to click into place.

They finally do and you finish your motion, hiking your tote comfortably onto your shoulder. Your over-ear headphones are tucked neatly into the pocket in the front and zipped in for security before a single AirPod replaces the quiet left behind by their departure. Habit. You always need music.

He knows them too, you remind yourself.

(You don't know how it hasn't come up yet. Maybe because it's been eight excruciating months of the Great Depression, as you tended to call it.)

You're about to bid him farewell, the words primed, when you catch his expression. It might just be your own emotions projected across the chiselled curvature, but he looks almost wistful. Like he's not quite ready to say goodbye.

You decide you aren't, either. "Do you want to walk with me?"

You know he doesn't take longer than a moment to consider the offer, though he plays at mulling it over, a decidedly artificial look of deliberation spreading.

"Fine, your loss," you state with an exaggerated roll of your eyes.

When you move toward the door, he's right there with you, and when you head into the early afternoon light, he's at your side. You try not to think about how close he is, how you're not sure whether the heat is from the sun or his body or the emotion that boils beneath your skin. It's hard.

"How long have you been interning?" He's sweetly curious, the picture of friendly attention.

"Since September."

"Do you like it?"

"I love it." He hears the animation that threatens to drag your words into overdrive, throwing ending syllables into one another. A quirk of yours - like your heart couldn't catch up with your mouth. "It's been a really incredible experience and I have so much respect for the people that put their entire lives into it. Namjoon and Yoongi - they've been so great. A little rough around the edges," Jungkook's hum is wrapped in understanding because he intimately knows what you mean, "but so, so good to me." You seem to realize you've taken off like a rocket and slow, allowing yourself to readjust as you plummet back to Earth. "It's like everything I'm feeling finally has a home, you know?"

"I get it." Something tender lingers in his gaze as your eyes meet. Your heart skips a beat. Then he's still, forcing you to do the same. You realize you're at your destination, imposing building rising high above your heads. "I guess this is goodbye."

You hate the sound of that more than you should. You offer a little wave as you begin backwards, shoulder meeting the glass door. You can't look away. "How about see you later instead?"

He looks like he's just won the lottery when you disappear inside.

They're two figures huddled together when you slip into the studio, your Dr. Martens replaced with soft Ryan slippers that stand in stark contrast to your neon green socks. You think they must not hear you by the lack of acknowledgment and take your time in setting your bag down, extracting your items one by one.

Phone, notebook, headphones. Your water bottle. Pencils and pens in every pastel shade you could find. If only you were this organized in school.

"So, you and Taehyung, huh?" Yoongi's low drawl has you whipping around but he hasn't even turned, instead still preoccupied with the melody that filters through his studio headphones, one side trapped against his head by the flat of his palm. You see more than hear the silent laughter that catches his shoulders, rolling over his lithe frame.

"Hello to you too, Min seonsangnim," you chirp, ignoring the question in favour of settling down behind them. It's your usual spot beside the electric piano, comprised of a sleek Herman Miller lounge chair and simple black table that you neatly arrange your belongings onto. You unfold your notebook and drag it into your lap, legs crossed in your seat, as you wait for them to finish whatever they're working on.

Namjoon hums to himself, fingers tracking with practiced precision as he lays a certain beat differently, dragging a note to the forefront. You watch, ever curious, as his deft movements transform the sounds that reach his ears, bringing an appreciative nod from the man beside him.

What you wouldn't give to hear what they were working on.

Instead, you focus on the litany of lyrics scrawled across the pages of your notebook. You drag them over and over in your head, letting them curve across different melodies in hopes one will stick. You know it's backwards - tune first, Namjoon always said - but you're stuck on these goddamn lines. You want them to make sense so badly.

You must look as frustrated as you feel, because you register a soft laugh and your name right as you're about to slash out another two lines.

"You're going to regret it." You know he's right. You huff, all but slamming your pencil down on the table as you meet the expectant stares of your mentors. It feels a little different today, as if you've crossed some invisible line you hadn't known existed. It's not an unwelcome feeling.

"Just another thing to add to the list," you answer, dryly.

"Woah now." There are tendrils of concern wrapping the words, something unspoken in the way Namjoon looks at you rather than the words he speaks. His chin cants, mouth pursed in that distinct way of his, and you can't help but feel a little childish, like a student caught red-handed by their principal. How fitting that that's what he was to you. "Is everything okay?"

The smile you offer is genuine, steeped heavily in appreciation. You're fine - you know you are. The past few days have just gotten weirder and weirder and it's a little hard to wrap your head around it. You're not sure how to explain that.

"Is it because you're pining over Tae?" It doesn't seem like he's going to let it go any time soon so you level Yoongi with a stare that would make him proud, reeking of barely concealed dissatisfaction. It's a complete facade, meant only to act as an apathetic mask. He knows that. You know that. He snickers, arms folding across his chest as he maintains that look of anticipation.

"I'm not pining over him," you retort. And really, you're not. You're just pleasantly intrigued.

"But you do like him." Now it's Namjoon locking you with the implications of his question, the words acting as proverbial blinders. You can't look anywhere but his eyes.

"I mean, I hardly know him." You know your answer isn't enough by the silence that meets it. You blow a steady stream of air through your nose, trying to find patience among the fluttering in your chest. "Fine, I like him. I'm interested." It feels strange talking to them about this. They've never involved themselves in your personal life. Not even when you'd asked them to help you with your songs, begged to pour your heartbreak into something material.

All things considered, you can't blame them.

"Good. Because he's a good guy." You don't doubt it but it's still nice to hear, especially from those whose opinions you hold in such high esteem. It lightens your burden a little, stripping worry away from your heart like daisy petals.

You like him, you like him not, you like him.

With a languid roll of your eyes, you edge closer, sock sliding back into your slippers. Your notebook is set down, forgotten temporarily, as you rock to your feet and cross to join them in front of the various monitors. "Can we focus on something other than my love life now?"

The sun is but a flicker of burnt orange over the horizon when you exit the building, drifting low behind buildings and casting faded warmth over everything it touches. It's colder than you'd anticipated, the soft knit of your cardigan doing little to rebuff the evening air. It's invigorating, if not a little unwelcome.

You slot your earphones into place before you begin walking, enamoured with the strike of ivory keys and unfiltered lyricism. A quick swipe through your messages, nothing immediately catching your eye. Good. You're ready to go home and dive into a bowl of ramyeon.

Or, at least, you were - before you're colliding with a solid mass.

You blink once, twice, trying to make sense of what's happened. You know this area like the back of your hand, have walked it both sober and drunk, in the afternoon and hours past midnight. There's certainly not supposed to be an obstruction in the middle of the street.

"I'm so sorry." The voice registers as desirable, heavy in its timbre, a sound you'd gladly tumble headlong into. It's also familiar, though that recognition comes more slowly, in bits and pieces that form a haphazard picture in your mind. It's fuzzy around the edges because you're not intimately familiar with it but oh, how you could be.

"Kim Taehyung?" You're not sure how many times you've uttered those same few words but it falls again, framed in surprise and perhaps a little hope.

"Hi." He breathes the greeting like it's a secret, his big boxy grin stopped short only by the way he catches his bottom lip between his teeth. There's a flash of pink as his tongue follows suit not long after, laving at the indents he's left behind. A tic of his, you notice. One that stirs butterflies in your chest and tension in your stomach. You mimic the action without realizing and it's his turn to inhale sharply, his attempts at suffocating the excitement with a lungful of air feeble. "Surprise?"

It's an understatement if you've ever heard one.

"What're you doing here?"

The reminder that this isn't normal - that your meeting isn't planned nor somehow caused by some sort of cosmic interference - seems to bring him to his senses. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, hand rising to scratch at the nape of his neck. He's tonguing his lip again, the tell-tale flash of pink distracting you momentarily. In the open, like this, he's even more handsome than you remembered and you admire him with little hesitation.

"Namjoon-hyung mentioned they'd have a late night."

That certainly doesn't answer your question. "But what does that have to do with me?"

"He said he and Yoongi-hyung would be here all night but... that you were leaving soon." By the way he speaks, it almost as if he's ready for a reprimand or rejection. He won't even look at you fully, his gaze bouncing from your eyes to your mouth to some indeterminate spot behind your left ear. He looks like he's about burst when he finally meets your stare. "I thought you might want to get dinner. "

You can't deny how charming it is, how giddy it makes you feel. You're beaming as bright as the sun. "I'd love to."

The breath he'd been holding escapes as one giant laugh that reverberates his shoulders and crashes out of his mouth in unadulterated mirth. He tries to hide it behind his hands, palm pressed to his lips as his face contorts into a makeshift cage. He's a kid on Christmas morning and his excitement is infectious.

"I guess this is our first date then." There's that aching sweetness again, blanketing his words in promise as he extends his hand. Maybe it's a little too forward, a little too much - you can see the uncertainty buried deep in his irises - but you take it nonetheless, slotting your digits with his as if its the most natural thing in the world. You like the way he feels, the weight of his hand in yours. You're gladdened by the fact that you still feel sparks where your skin connects, a live wire linking the two of you together.

It hadn't just been all in your head.

"Where should we go?"

"Anywhere." You don't mean to sound the way you do, a girl on her first date. It causes a revolt against your cheeks, pretty pink painting the apples. "I'm not picky." A poor attempt at sounding somewhat blasé. Why you try, you're not sure, because Taehyung looks just as enamoured as you. It's both powerful and terrifying. "You choose."

So he does - and you like that, too, allowing him to lead the two of you to a nearby shop that specializes in jokbal. He won't stop talking about it the entire way, regaling you with stories of late night munchies with his hyungs and making you laugh so hard you shake.

He never drops your hand, not even when he's opening the door for you with his other.

You find your seats quickly, settling across from each other at the small table. It's reminiscent of the first time you'd met and you can't help but smile, mouth pursing so as to stave off the expression. It catches his attention, though you're uncertain it'd been anywhere else. "What?"

"I feel like we should be answering questions again."

There's playfulness curling his lips, stretching his cheeks and rounding them into his characteristic smile. "Do you want to?"

You're surprised. Why not? "Sure. It'll be like old times."

Now, he snickers, once again hidden behind the slope of his fingers. "What percentage did you put at the end?" It's like a flipped switch how quickly he goes from cherubic aegyo to serious, effortlessly handsome in his sudden gravity.

"I'm not telling you that!" You gasp as if affronted, voice warbling like an old widow asked about her dearly departed.

"Come on!" He comes back, just as quick. A hand cradles his heart now - lays right over where it lies beneath the soft cotton of his plain black shirt - and tenses. Some sort of very fake sob comes out, hushed in consideration of the other diners, and he levels you with a look that makes you want to kiss him. "You're breaking my heart, Cho Jiyeon."

A part of you wants to drag this on, keep that all-encompassing smile in place for as long as you can, but he's already shifting. He's leaning across the table and you can count each individual eyelash and every mole. You're once again left breathless by the sheer beauty of him.

"I put 100." The admission comes so easily from him that you almost feel bad for holding out. Almost.

You think you might if you weren't completely over the moon and lost to the stars above. "Me too."

He's never looked better than when he hears that and you try to memorize the way his eyes squint, the start of his smile when his mouth pulls subtly to the left, the deep lines that run the length of his chiselled cheeks. Like a painting by the old masters, it speaks volumes.

"You're not just saying that?"

The juxtaposition is laughable when he finally speaks. Here he is, devilishly handsome and brimming with euphoria, and yet his words sound like they've taken everything out of him. It makes your heart squeeze in a downright lovesick way. "One hundred," a pause that's meant to be cute, "percent serious."

Your bad joke has him laughing, sweeping you up in the sound. "You won't regret it."

You tell yourself you believe him because you're hopeless and you don't know better. But when he focuses on you like this, you can't help it. He's like every wish you've ever made, a shooting star across a spotless night sky, illuminating everything in its path. He makes you see in full spectrum colour, setting your vision to ultra HD. You don't want to go back to shades to grey.

notes. just when kook was getting some face time, in comes taehyung. whoops!

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stevenuniversetanzanite · 4 years

Text

Gone and Left Your World (Venable x reader (Part 3))

Warnings: N/A

Parts: One, Two, Three, Four

Everyone was assembled in the music room as they always were at 6:45 every night, there was talk about a newcomer. It had been 18 months since the booms had dropped. How was someone supposed to survive that long out there in the destroyed remains of civilisation? A man you didn’t recognize walked in, he had long platinum blonde hair and was dressed in an evening suit.

The man approached Venable before introducing himself to the occupants of outpost 3. His name was Michael Langdon and he was there to evaluate candidates to take to The Sanctuary. The other American compounds in New York, West Virginia and Texas have been overrun and destroyed. Those not selected will be given suicide vials in case of further incursion. You were allowed to skip the interview process and be given a veil immediately, but you were automatically disqualified for selection. To put it simply, a death wish (given the name of the vials it made sense). All of the occupants had survived long enough and dealt with enough shit to do a simple interview.

Gallant was the first to volunteer to do the interview. Evie explained that Gallant's volunteering to Langdon's "cooperation" technique is a survival trait. One by one Michael Langdon interviewed the residents.

Langdon, you knew that last name from somewhere, you thought as you sat eating your nutrition cube. The man gave you the willies. The way he looked at people sent shivers down your spine. It was as though he could see through your soul.

The spirits in the school turned underground bunker grew louder. The ones that had remained mainly dormant up until now. All male and majority under the age of 25. There were two older ones, teachers you presumed.

A gut feeling told you to pipe down your abilities in the sake of survival. The spirits enjoyed making it difficult to concentrate on anything other than them. You could give someone five minutes before you had to leave due to the pounding headache that was forming due to the traffic filling your ears.

Langdon sat at Venables desk, the room only light by a few candles by his person. His laptop to which he was previously on prior to being joined by the leader of the outpost had fallen asleep. The redhead wondered how he powered the device as there was no power after the bombs. All had been destroyed beyond repair or at least for the unskilled upper and middle turned lower class of outpost 3.

Venable stood in the centre of the room, her cane’s topper gripped tightly in her dominate hand, the other laid on top to keep her firmly standing upright as well as make her more intimating to the man. He saw through her persuade. He was wiser for his short time alive, his power giving him an upper hand.

The man remained sitting as he began to talk to the older woman. “You have a gift for making the ugly look presentable.” Venable chuckled; flattery rarely got to her. Something about him made her want to believe him. She only felt that with one other. She shook her head, remembering you were waiting for her back in the library.

“Order on the outside does wonders to keep the chaos safely on the inside.”

“I'm onto you.” This made the woman raise her brow. What was he on about? “You've created your own rules in here. I understand why. I’m sure it was impossible to resist the temptation of making this place over in your image, especially when you thought that no one who knew any better would ever be around to notice.” She stiffened.

“I'm not sure what you're talking about.”

“Complete abstinence? Punishable by summary execution?”

“I received my orders in an encrypted communiquã from The Co-op before all communication lines went down.”

“Do you have it?”

“No, I do not. The orders were to destroy it after I read it.”

“Odd. I was instrumental in drafting all of the directives in regards to the running of the outposts.”

“And nothing would be more humiliating to a man such as yourself than to learn that a woman had more information than he did. A man such as myself? You and the others. Masters of the universe, titans of industry swinging your dicks around so much that you managed to blow the whole world to hell.”

“You're a fighter. I like that about you.”

“I'm just doing my best with the mess men made of things.”

“Maybe that's what was needed around here, hmm? Some improvisation. I'm gonna give you some important information instead. You're the leader in here. You need to understand what's at stake, what's really going on out there.” This caught the red head’s interest.

He told her a story about a woman and children affected by the toxic air. When into detail about the pain they were in and how they were some of the unlucky ones who were far enough from the blast radius to survive the fireball but not the radiation. She begged him to kill her and her child (one, the young one in her arms was already gone).

“Did you?”

“No.” Venable looked at the man, almost disgusted by the man and the lack of humanity he had. “So, who deserves a shot at salvation? Let's start with Coco Saint Pierre Vanderbilt.”

“The Vanderbilt girl is a vacuous abomination of inbreeding. She'd be my last choice to propagate the human race. The hairdresser is a cowardly homosexual. His grandmother is a festering pustule who just will not die. And the talk show host well, actually, I don't know that much about that one.” She listed off some of the elite members of the outpost. None of them were worth saving. Okay, one was.

“At this rate, it sounds like you and I will have The Sanctuary all to ourselves.” He exhaled deeply. Michael stood up, circling his desk to get closer to the woman. He stopped in front of the desk, opting to lean against it before continuing. “There’s one person, sprightly young-ish woman who could be a perfect fit.”

“Who?”

“That shy purple, Y/N, I believe. Tell me about her.”

“She’s tolerable. Doesn’t cause much trouble. I don’t know much about her.”

“I’ve heard from the others that you’re the person who knows her the best.”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“You’ve read her file, that would give you an advantage plus from what they said, she keeps a distance from everyone but has been caught on occasion talking to you.”

“I have been integrating her on why she isn’t socialising with the others. Her timidness caused me to believe she is up to something.”

“Is that really why you’ve been integrating her?”

“Yes,” Venable said sternly.

The man shrugged making the woman believe she got away with it. “I’m aware of the little mishap that happened with the tickets.”

“I can assure you I had no control over Vanderbilt and who she brought along with her. Her choices were- well I detest the lot of them.”

“They’re not who I’m referring to Ms Venable.” Again confusion. Then she remembered, you weren’t meant to be here either. He hadn’t moved on from you being the topic. “They were in part to thank for the person being here. If Coco’s father didn’t accidentally by a fifth ticket, your friend wouldn’t be here. Yes, I know your past relationship. Her being your personal assistant.” He took this as a good moment to clear his throat, implying more from the final two words. “I don’t blame you keeping her around, she’s quite the catch.”

Venable wanted to growl at the man. Snarl at him to keep away from her girl.

“Unfortunately, the girl seems unsure of herself. As if something is holding her in the past. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

“Those four years,” she muttered absentmindedly. Maybe you weren’t hiding your past from her but actually clueless as to what happened? It felt like a leap, but she had faith, she wanted to believe. You wouldn’t hold something back from her.

“What four years?” He asked. Shit, he heard her.

“You read the file; she was an alcoholic for years. Her mind was a blank slate when she showed up here.” It was her only reasoning for what happened.

“You don’t trust her.” Bring back something Venable briefly mentioned earlier.

“What is there to trust? She has a history of alcoholism which she hid from us, what else is she hiding?”

He leaned towards the woman, “That’s exactly what I want to know.” He walked over to her. They were face to face. “Come. There's no need for us to be adversaries, Ms Venable.” She knew she shouldn’t trust the man. “Take off your dress.”

“I will not.”

Michael chuckled, “Part of your cooperation includes a physical examination.”

“You can read my file.” It wouldn’t show him what he needed to see. Her shame. The part that humiliated her, making her feel not feel good enough for anyone. The part of her you had managed to convince her to unveil to you. She still held her shame on her back even after all those nights of passionate love that you tried to convince her that it didn’t make her any less of a woman in your eyes. She didn’t see it your way. It only got worse when you left. The only person she loved, the only one to see that part of her. It probably drew you away.

The area didn’t hurt to the touch, but it brought her great pain. Her breath shook as she hesitantly allowed the man to gaze upon her back. To keep her put together, she imagined it was you running your hand down the curvature of her spine. Still, with that in mind, she couldn’t help up shutter at the touch. It was her only chance to get to the sanctuary. She had to get there with you.

“Is this part of my test?” She breathed out shakily.

“Isn't everything?”

So, then do I pass?

“No.”

Her heart sunk. She was denied her one chance of safety. A knock at the door cut off her time to rationalise what just occurred. Ms Mead needed her.

Gallant was caught copulating, ratted out by his Grandmother. The old bat didn't get a look at the guy's face because he was dressed head to toe in black latex. Venable only had one idea who the seducer was, it couldn’t be any clearer. Everything went wrong the moment Langdon showed his face in the outpost. The air felt colder; you’d been on edge, eyeing him every time he was in range; the snakes’incident and now the breaking of the sex rule. She wasn’t projecting her problems onto him. He was to blame.

Interrogating Gallant went nowhere. She was stressed and needed some time to wind down. You weren’t in the library like she suspected instead, she met you in your bedroom. You were huddled up on your head, buried under a ton of blankets. A book laid abandoned above where your head poked out. You hadn’t noticed her presence until your name was called for the third time. Her voice was quiet yet filled with worry. Her gentle hand brushed some hair out of your face.

“Honey.” You hummed in acknowledgement. When had she sat down on your bed? “Are you feeling okay?” Stupid question. You hummed again. “Sweetie, are you listening?” She tilted your head, forcing you to look at her. Your eyes were blank, staring off into the distance as if you could see through time itself.

You only got one word out, “Loud.” But it was dead silent. There was no noise from noisy occupants. Your breathing was the only noise.

“Baby, there’s nothing-”

You winced. “Shush.” Her grip loosened and you turned your head back into its original position.

Venable was at a loss for what to do. She picked up your book, deciding to move it out of the way. She put it on your vanity. She found a bookmark for it so you could continue from where you left off. Her eyes caught a glimpse of the title, The path to the spirit realm. Venable believed all your ‘abilities’ were bullshit, how could someone speak to the dead? In an attempt not to hurt you she never shattered your belief, she cared for you to deeply to do so. She couldn’t explain how you knew so much without witnessing events. You knew what happened about Stu (in detail), had questioned her about her reasoning behind it. She denied it and you allowed that to be the final answer.

She would talk to you when you came back to your senses about her interview. You hadn’t seen the man yet, probably for the best given your current state. She didn’t know how to break it to you that she didn’t make the cut, or his strange fascination with you during her interview. She needed to warn you to be careful.

You drifted off to sleep, your head resting on her lap as she ran her hand through your hair. You fidgeted in your sleep. She wished to wake you but feared that doing so would only bring you back into the state you were before.

Sadly, she had to leave you not to draw further suspicion as to why she was in your room.

~~~

“I can’t do what you want me to do. That’s impossible,” You said to the blonde resting on the couch of the shack you both found yourselves in. It wasn’t yours and it couldn’t be hers. She seemed to proper to have a shack as a getaway location.

“Please try,” the older woman begged.

“Even if it was possible, how the hell am I meant to do it. I’m only a beginner. My powers are weak. I can’t teleport or read minds or control things. I hear the dead- that’s it.”

“That’s why you’re best for this. You already know something about it. It’s your speciality.”

“You can’t bring back people once they're erased. They don’t exist anymore. No deal with the devil is going to bring them back.” You argued. “I promised I’d look into it, and I have. With the little resources I have, nothing.”

“We can get you more resources-”

“-Cordelia, we’re in a shack in a swamp, hiding from the devil spawn. The school is no longer safe- there was nothing there any way I checked- If I make it to obvious what I’m looking for we risk being found.” Cordelia moved to face you back she stopped letting out a groan of pain. You ease her back into her original position on the couch. “Your weak Delia, you need to preserve your strength. Myrtle will be back soon with an update about on the plan. For now, rest.”

“You’re too kind to me.”

“What are friends for?”

She grimaced.

“You’re not weak.”

“Cor-”

“I wouldn’t lie to you. No good has come from me lying to my students.”

“You wouldn’t be the first person to tell me I’m better than what I am.”

Cordelia went to say something when the two of you felt eyes peering into you. You turned to see Coco looking at you. She asked if she was interrupting. Cordelia shook her head and said no. Apparently, Mallory wanted you for something. You nodded saying you would be there in a minute. Mallory, now she was a witch who could do what Cordelia wanted.

“We all have our parts to play Y/N. She has hers, you have yours.”

There was no reasoning with this woman.

~~~

You jolted up; a wave of cold sweat washed over you. In the early hours of the morning, all was restless. How could anyone sleep with all this noise?

The spirits among the outpost’s walls screamed at to be heard. Never in all your time here had they actively sought you. You tried to filter them out, but their cries suffocated you.

“SHUT UP! ONE. AT. A. TIME.” They quietened. “Thank you!”

There was a knock at your door. You went to open it. A grey stood there. He asked you if you were alright. You assured him you were fine and thanked him for checking on you. It was nice to see people still had some level of compassion under these circumstances.

You got on along with some of the greys, you were known for being one of the nicer purples to them. Sadly, that didn’t stop the rumours from getting out. You didn’t know about it at first, you’d been out of it for days since Michael Langdon’s arrival. You only left your room for dinner (the one meal you had a day) and mandatory time in the music room.

A group of purples cornered you in the hallway on your way to the library. “Uh~ hello guys,” you tried to be nice even if you weren’t up to dealing with them.

“L/N,” some said, “Ghost girl” the others did.

“Can I help you?”

“We heard about what you did with Venable.”

“What did I do?” You asked confused. You tilted your head to the side with a dumbfounded look on your face.

“Someone caught you two in the hallway. Another heard you two later. Apparently, she’s quite the screamer.” You didn’t pay attention to who was speaking to you, you were too in your head. Alarms were set off screaming danger for you. If you couldn’t contain the situation quick you were dead meat, and someone would get hurt.

Someone mimicked what the person had heard, including your first name and nicknames.

You gulped, blushing scarlet red. “What?” you stuttered out. Your gaze lowered to the ground. Come on y/n, think quick! “I was in the hallway with her, an-d she d-did do something inappropriate, but it was all her, I pushed her away after the grey left.” You peered up at them. “She was interrogating me about- about earlier that night- the alcohol thing. Why she wasn’t made aware and things like that. I told her I didn’t know. She didn’t believe me and tried a new method to get me to talk. Thankfully she was distracted enough for me to get away.”

“Too bad you’re not with her, maybe you could have gotten her to get rid of the stupid rule on sex,” Timothy said. You gave him a sympathetic nod, hearing whispers that he is with that Emily girl.

“Then what was heard?” Coco asked.

“My best guess, what we all do alone in our rooms. A hand is better than nothing.”

“How did you meet her? The outpost wasn’t the first time.” Gallant asked.

“I don’t think it would be wise-”

“Did you date her or-” Gallant was interrupted.

“I worked for her in the late 2000s. It’s as boring as that. I saw her in passing. I knew all the names of the employees, saying her first name was a slip of the tongue.”

They didn’t know whether to believe you or not, but it was the closest thing they would ever find out to the truth. They could take it as gospel or leave it. Not your problem. They weren’t the ones who get immunity by sleeping with the leader.

They left you alone, but you knew they would be watching you carefully from now on. Any interaction you had with Venable now had resembled how they interacted with her. You had to be one of them. The thought made you sick. Why did she have to introduce that stupid rule?

You were called to go to Venable’s office. Michael had been using it to conduct his interviews. Michael was sitting at Mina’s desk, a file in front of him along with a notebook and pen. The man stood up as you swung the door open announcing your presence.

“Mrs Venable.”

“Uh~” You stood there confused. “Were you expecting Venable? I can go and-”

“No, come in… Ms (L/N), was it?”

“Okay.” You wandered into the room taking a seat where the man motioned for you to sit. “Yes, that’s correct.”

“I read your file but to make sure you are who you say you are, I am going to get you to answer some questions to further, evaluate you.”

“Did you do that for everyone?”

“Everyone I have interviewed thus far.” He flipped open the folder. A voice told you he lied. This room was noisier than the others. Voices of the long-gone stacked on top of each other. It happened whenever he was in your presence, the voices followed him, screaming at him, blaming them for their demise. But that’s impossible, he only arrived a while ago. Your filter was too weak. You needed to concentrate twice as hard to hear what he was saying. “State your full name, age and state/country of birth.” You answered this for him. He jotted some notes down. “Gender and sexual orientation?”

“Female and uh~ gay, well lesbian.” You had never said to anyone here that you were gay, not that they would care about it, but it wouldn’t help people knowing about you and Venable.

“Ever dated a man?”

“No. If you need me to have children in The Sanctuary count me out right now.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“Okay, good.”

“How many women have you dated?”

“Seven.”

“Ever been engaged?”

You cock your brow. He knew? Who was he? What the fuck! Is that why he said Venable’s name before? Wait, he said Mrs not Ms. He knew from the start.

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“Your file says-”

“No, it doesn’t.” Why would it? “The file would only mention if I was married or not and unless I got drunk one night and got married in Vegas, I haven’t.”

“Hmm. Speaking of drinking, a recent note mentions you were an alcoholic.”

“Yep. Why are you interviewing me, I am the worst person you could pick to take to a sanctuary? I’m gay and an alcoholic.”

“Former alcoholic the files said. Those details don’t interest me as much as your mind does.”

“My mind?”

“You have a lot of experience at working.”

“No, I don’t. I’m easily replaceable by a grey.”

“Why are you so willing to pass up the chance to be safe?”

“How do I know that you aren’t making this all up? You could be a phoney.”

“I assure you, I’m not.” Wow, convincing, you thought sarcastically. “You were a medium, correct?”

“Yes. Briefly.”

“Would you go so far as to say it’s a power or gift?” More like a curse. You shook your head. “Can you hear the dead?” You shook your head. “So, you’re a phoney?” You nod. Should you be lying? You were warned not to trust him. “Let’s change the topic.” He circled the table and leant against the desk in front of you. “Something’s worrying you like you don’t know who you are. Who are you?”

“You have my file-”

“A file is just paperwork; it can’t perfectly describe an individual. So, I ask you again, who are you?”

“I don’t know.”

“You're not the first person to say that to me in one of these. Who are you?”

“I just said-”

“What happened in those four years that you wanted to forget?” WHAT? WHO IS THIS MAN? He can’t be human, that’s for sure. “Who… are...you?”

~~~

Your life was just starting to get better. You had the girl of your dreams, the world’s best job and enough money for a comfortable future. Life was perfect.

Then you found out you were a witch. You thought you knew everything you needed to know about yourself. This news threw you for a loop.

You remember watching the interview announcing witches to the world. You were cuddled up in your Wilhelmina’s arms as the segment came on. Mina wanted to change it claiming it was some wacko spouting out nonsense, but you knew better. You told her you wanted to see it. She kept it on for you. The blonde's words resonated with you. They stuck to your thoughts every time you remembered something that happened to you. Mina's mind didn't change, and you didn't expect it too. If she knew what was going on inside your head, she may have given the idea a chance.

One moment you were kissing your girl goodbye before she went to work, the next you were outside the witch school in New Orleans with nothing but a carry-on suitcase.

Wilhelmina had no way of getting into contact with you. Your phone was left on your nightstand next to the empty engagement ring box.

It had been three years since you found yourself at the gates of Miss Robichaux’s. Not a single day went by where you didn’t think about going back to your old life. What you had given up trying to find out more about yourself. She may have understood if only you talked to her. You had no idea what had come of her.

The other student’s had theories about why you always wore an engagement ring. You didn’t let them get to you. A dear friend of yours and Supreme, Cordelia Goode did her best to tell them off when they started to bombard you with questions. No one, not even your friends at the academy knew the true story but they helped you in any way they could whenever you got in your head.

Everything seemed to be going well at the academy. The council kept the dangers under wraps so none of the students knew what was going on until it was too late. You were out in the greenhouse alone, you ditched class for some alone time. It was getting too loud in your head. You put on a pair of noise-cancelling headphones to block out the noise so you could calm down and focus on your studies. You did get a pardon from some classes if you weren't up to it, but you had to prove that you were keeping up with the lessons.

You missed the gunshots and the screams of your sisters as a Hawthorne boy shot up the school in an attempted to kill the supreme.

It was nightfall when you returned into the house turned school. It struck you as odd that the lights were off. On your way to flick on the light, you tripped over something. You fell into a pool of something tacky. You felt around, you spread the substance about. Your hands stuck to the floorboards. Your hands stumbled across something lying on the ground. It felt fleshy. "No." You closed your eyes, wishing for a fire so you could see. You didn't care if you were scolded for burning for lighting the curtains, you had to disprove your suspension.

Bodies, dozens of them laid on the floor. More in other rooms. You counted them, taking record of who was gone. Teachers and students alike. They couldn't all be dead, right? People were missing, about five. The council as well as two students you recognise to be Coco and Mallory.

You had no time to weep, you had to find out what monster did this to them. None of the girls was responding from the afterlife. "Come on. Come on. Please come back to me." You begged and begged but no one came. You couldn't help them if they didn't respond.

You tried every summoning spell, every chant, hell you even tried to calm down in case that was preventing you. As a last resort, you called an old friend. It wasn't hard to get into contact with her, she hadn't changed her number after all these years.

"Y/n, what brings you the pleasure of calling me so late at night?" She probably assumed this was a booty call.

"I-I need your help. How fast can you get to New Orleans?"

"It's 2am-"

"Please~ I'm too weak. I can't hear them."

The woman on the other end sighed. "Text me the address, I'll be there as soon as I can." She was a busy woman now that she was a Hollywood famous Medium with a television show, but somewhere in her heart she still cared for you enough to fly across the country to help you.

There was a ring at the doorbell. You ran to the door flinging it open. Your outfit was stained with other witches’ blood. All you could do was sit and wait for Billie to show up. Your face irritated from your constant sobbing.

"Y/n, what happened?"

"They're dead. Someone killed them. I can't hear them anymore." You pulled her into a hug, sobbing into her shoulder. "I didn't know who else to call."

You showed her all the bodies. Somewhere missing from when you tried to help them and their body's disintegrated.

"I've seen this before…" she went on to tell you about a family that lives in a haunted house. From that tale, a boy of ghost and human was born, the Antichrist. He was able to dissolve a soul-making it as if they never lived at all.

"There must be a way to get a soul back."

"I've never heard of one,” Billie admitted. “I didn’t know it was possible until recently.”

“This can’t be it. They can’t be gone. They existed, there must be a place they’re being stored, their memories like data in a recycling bin on a laptop.”

Billie shrugged, “I only talk to the dead. Resurrection isn’t in my job description.” You couldn’t believe her. If she couldn’t do it then who? “Only someone with knowledge on witchcraft or voodoo would be able to do something like that.” You sighed; this was hopeless. You rubbed your forearm with your now clean hands, standing there awkwardly, unsure of what to do next. “If anyone can figure one out it has to be you."

"You’re just saying that to give me hope."

"I wouldn't tell you if I didn't believe it 100%. I knew you all those years ago. You have changed a lot since then. I knew you would-"

"Where do I look then? All my resources have been taken from me, my sisters have been erased, the ones who are alive are god knows where and I can't master a stupid incantation because it's in Latin."

"What's the spell?"

You showed her the page for a simple location spell. You needed something that belonged the person you were looking for, a map and to be able to speak the incantation in fluent Latin. You didn't own a map because no one uses physical maps these days so you used your phone opened to google maps instead, a blouse you stole from Cordelia's wardrobe for the personal item and Billie helped you by figuring out how to say the enchantment(You think she called someone up so you could learn to pronounce it but you couldn’t recall).

You thanked her for her help, and you were off. You had cleaned off, not wanting to cause a scene in blood-stained clothes in the early hours of the morning. The only belongings you had with you were your phone and the clothes on your back. Everything else was left behind in the crime scene that the school had transformed into.

Who would have guessed there was a little hut hidden away in the woods? You walked up to it, scooping out the area before knocking on the front door. You heard voices from behind it, feminine voices.

You had to try and figure out what you were going to say. How do you explain, ‘I did a spell that led me to this shack, I'm looking for a group of witches please help me?’

The door opened far enough for the person on the other side to see who it was.

"H-hello, I'm Y/N L/N. I was wondering-"

"Y/N," a voice gasped. The door flung open and you were created by the supreme tackling you into a hug. "You're alive? How?" She pulled you into the hut shutting the door after scooping the area quickly. The other witches checked to see who it was. Coco and Mallory light up and reacted similarly to Cordelia. Myrtle told you it was good to see you and even Madison happy enough to offer you a smile.

"I was in the greenhouse and when I went back inside for the night- the girls- I couldn't-" you choked up. Cordelia pulled you into her embrace. "I-I tried. For hours. Called an old friend. Nothing."

"Their souls have been erased."

"I was told their souls have been erased. Wait, you know?"

"Someone told us this information too late," she glared at Madison.

"My friend, she said it was the work of an antichrist or at least last time it was done it was."

"This friend of yourself did she described the person?"

"Male, blonde, looked to be in his twenties…"

The end of the world was coming. An apocalypse to wipe out all but a select few humans who were shoved into outposts all around the world. The spots were saved for the smartest minds and the wealthiest of people.

Myrtle ‘convinced’ the cokeheads organising who goes to the outpost to allow Mr St. Pierre Vanderbilt to purchase tickets to outpost three. Myrtle retold what happened on her trip to comfort a weakening Cordelia. The six remaining witches of your coven hideaway in Misty Day’s home while she was away. Cordelia was curled on the lounge with a blanket on top of her facing Myrtle. The other witch rested at the end of the couch trying to give the blonde as much room as possible. The other girls were fast asleep in the other room. You tasked yourself with making tea for the other two witches.

You were more focused on the tea for Cordelia than Myrtle’s tale. She went on about the interior of the place, nothing important but the blonde seemed to enjoy it.

“Sounds like a place I used to work at,” you reminisced. Cordelia turned to look at you as you walked slowly carried the tray towards them. “Only for a bit before I got a better job. It’s where I met- uh, sorry carry on.”

Your interruption wasn’t minded, the two (mainly Cordelia) was happy you were opening up more about your past before the Coven. It meant you were comfortable around them and that was important now more than ever.

“It’s alright, dear.”

“So, what was this place? What do they do other than plan for the end of the world?” You placed the tray down on the coffee table in front of them. You began pouring a drink for Cordelia.

Myrtle basically told you their one of the leading companies specialising in hyper-realistic robots- mainly for sex purposes without using any of those words. She always spoke with class, which made it more entertaining when she was talking about more vile topics.

You went to hand the teacup to Cordelia when you heard the name of a place you thought you would never have to hear again, Kineros Robotics. The cup slips out of your hand, smashing onto the floor.

“Mina,” you whimpered out. You got stuck in your own memories of the months you worked there as Venable’s assistant.

“Y/N?”

“Hmm~” you hummed.

“You with us?”

You nodded not paying attention to any of the words being said. A hand on your shoulder snapped you back to the present.

“Sorry. I’ll clean that up and make you another.” You go to pour her another tea when your hands are stopped by Cordelia. She seemed to be straining herself to stop you from stressing yourself out any further. She always put others before herself. You didn’t notice until now that your hands were trembling. She asked kindly, for Myrtle to do it for you instead.

“It appears that the ‘Mina’ Y/N mentioned was the secretary,” Myrtle informed Cordelia. “As I was talking to her I noticed the only personal item she had on her desk was a photo and another woman.” Your head was lowered, not wanting to meet either woman’s eyes. You listened to the oldest woman’s words. She moved on. Of course, she did, why would she wait around for a woman you ran away before they joined unions. “It was Y/N.”

You began sobbing. Cordelia pulled you into her embrace.

“I-I don’t know what happened,” you choked up on every second word. Cordelia ran her hands through your hair. She calmly shushed you, wanting to wait until you had calmed down to talk. You kept pushing on, “I-I was with he-r and then I wasn’t. I le-ft her and I don’t remember why. I was happy, why would I-”

“Shhh, you’ll figure it out.”

~~~

“Who… are… you?”

“(Full name)”

“That’s not what I’m asking.”

“That’s my name.”

“I’m done with you. You deserve to rot here.”

You got up and walked to the door. As your hand settled on the doorknob something clicked in your mind. You knew where you knew that last name from. It was an old client/friend of your former boss. You knew the client enough to know they were somehow related to the man in the room.

You turned around and stared him down. Your hand tightened around the handle. The room grew chiller and you weren’t the only one to notice it for once.

The four years. Something made sense within you. You were here with a purpose. You weren’t sure what it was yet, but you knew it was involved with stopping him. The antichrist.

“No, Michael, you deserve to rot here after all you have done.” The haze you’d been lost in was clearing up. “The spirits are restless and waiting for you to join them. Don’t leave your ‘brothers’ waiting, it will only make them angrier.”

Was that a stupid thing to say? Definity. Was it true? yes. The dead weren’t happy out his current status and if given the chance would stop him by any means. You might be the thing that helps them to do so.

Next Part Link :)

#venable x reader #wilhemina venable x reader #wilhelmina x reader #wilhelmina venable X reader

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