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obeythedemons · 3 years ago

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His Office [Obey Me! Headcanons]

I got my own cubicle today with my promotion. I may or may not have bought cat-themed office supplies. They’re not masculine in any way, but they’re cute and I play Obey Me! do you think I’m worried about my masculinity and also I don’t care for gender norms

Obey Me! Masterlist

Lucifer

Everything has its place

If something is moved even a centimeter he’ll know

Both as a way to ensure Mammon doesn’t steal something, but also to ensure he’s as efficient as possible when it comes to his work

Splurged on some very nice pens that write smoothly and doesn’t smudge

Everything is clean, he has a hand vacuum that he uses every day on his desk

Has a very high-end computer - he cannot deal with IT issues, not today

Mammon

Paperwork is everywhere

Not because he gets a lot, he just refuses to ever do it and it piles up

Has no idea where anything in his office is

Has a framed picture of Goldie on his desk

That picture changes to MC after a couple of days of knowing them

After that picture changes to MC, he starts to actually do his work and the pile of paperwork decreases and becomes more organized

Leviathan

Anime stationery, especially Ruri-chan themed!

Brings in a gamer chair to be his office chair, otherwise, he’s not comfortable

Has a bunch of sticky notes around his desk with anime doodles from when he’s in a meeting

Got rid of the phone to his office, if people want to talk to him they can IM him or email him

Set up RGB lights for his office and uses that as a light source

His desktop is whatever anime or video game he's obsessed with

Satan

Has binders that are clearly labeled and organized - he likes to read their contents when he's bored

Also has a binder that has whatever book he's reading in it - that way he can read and look like he's working

Knows everyone that works there, so he knows exactly who to contact when a problem comes up - meaning his workload is minimal

Also keeps a chair in his office for anyone that wants to visit with him

His desktop changes every five minutes to a new picture of a cat - it seems to never repeat itself

Asmodeus

Rose gold décor everywhere

Has a couple of mirrors in his office so he can look at himself when he's bored or fix his appearance

Has a cup for pens and a cup for makeup brushes

In fact, his desk has more beauty products than actual office supplies

Is the perfect person to go to if they need a breath mint, some lotion, chocolate, or menstrual hygiene product

Beelzebub

His desk is filled with snacks and like two pens

Has a minifridge under his desk for cold snacks and drinks

There are crumbs everywhere - Lucifer comes in once a week to clean up for him, but it's still not enough

There's a trophy he won for playing Fangol on a corner, it's not front and center

What's front and center are pictures of his family and MC, he got a digital frame so he can have a lot of photos of them

Belphegor

Has a blanket hanging off the back of his chair

His chair also has a cushion on it so he can sit on it and be comfortable - also uses it as a pillow for his desk

Has wrist supports for his keyboard and mouse - they're squishy

Has an essential oil diffuser where he regularly uses lavender

Uses a single lamp for light, but usually keeps it off so he can sleep

Diavolo

Has a very large desk, it's ridiculously large and he only uses a small portion of it

Though, what he doesn't use starts to fill up with knickknacks from the human realm after he meets MC - he likes to show MC them to try and make them laugh or smile

Keeps personal items to a minimum, he doesn't want business rivals to visit his office and try to blackmail him

He does have a couple of chairs for when people visit him - he likes it when it's just to visit and not for a business meeting

Tries to not be in his office too much, he'd rather go to other peoples' offices and see what they're up to

Barbatos

Has an electric tea kettle on his desk with a couple of mugs

One of his drawers is completely filled with different teas

The drawer below that has snacks that pair perfectly with the different teas

The top of his desk is completely clean and organized - has little to no paperwork as he completes it faster than anyone else

Is usually away from his office to meet with Diavolo

His desktop background is rarely seen as he always locks his computer when someone enters or when he leaves - it's a picture of Lord Diavolo, MC, and himself

Simeon

Has the oldest computer that he doesn't know how to work - he wouldn't know how to work a new one on either

Does all of his work on paper - much to the annoyance of some of his co-workers

Has so many binders, folders, and notebooks on his desk - they're unlabeled, but he knows exactly what is in each of them

He uses a Rolodex - no one knows where he found it or that they even made them anymore

Is the person people go to to rant about their job while he patiently listens and offers the best advice

Solomon

His office is off in a weird corner that people didn't know existed until they had to go find him

He looks young, but it seems like he knows everything that has ever happened in the office - that should be impossible

Has all of the old, archive documents that seem to be irrelevant and should be tossed

He has his own microwave in his office after the incident in the communal area

Has polaroid photos of Simeon, Luke, MC, and himself posted along a wall

Luke

People walk into his office and then back out thinking they have the wrong spot - who brought this child here? He works here? Is this legal?

Has a lot of HR forms at the ready that show he does work there!

Still not sure if it's legal

Is always bringing in baked goods for the whole office to try - is always nervous when Barbatos tries his baked good, but lights up when Barbatos praises him

Has a cushion on his chair to help him reach his computer, his legs dangle off the edge

Is in charge of converting Simeon's forms to a digital format

#Obey Me!#Obey Me #Lucifer #Mammon #Leviathan #Satan #Beelzebub #Belphegor #Solomon #Simeon #Luke #Headcanon

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justalost4girl · 3 years ago

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" If anything can go wrong, it will."

Good night!! (Here it's still night :p )

A few weeks ago I said I would do a oneshot Lorraine Broughton x F! Reader, but it got too big so I decided to follow the initial idea and turn it into a mini series. I have two chapters written and I'm going to post them here and in Ao3, I think there will be 3 or 4 chapters in total, but I'm not sure yet.

English is not my first language, so all mistakes are mine.

Enjoy!!

warnings: mention of violence, R cursing, forgery of documents (?)

Words: 4573

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1989

Berlin, East Side

You feel in your bones, when you wake up, the consequences of last night and think that the famous Murphy's Law decided to test you. On this side of the wall few things go right, but having an order in your head two days after joining STASI's wanted list proves that nothing is so bad it can't get any worse. Courtesy of a dumb customer who messed with the wrong people and thought revealing where you find your customers would be enough information to escape death. The Local Gang (or Angels, as they call themselves) loves to eliminate competition from the market.

Now he's dead and you have to deal with the STASI AND the Local Gang (you refuse to call them Angels).

The local fucking gang that sent a team of idiots to break into your favorite bar and made you run out the back door before meeting a customer who was going to pay well. The local fucking gang who must be pissed that you shot the six dumbest members you've ever had to face in your life. No really fatal shots, but of course that won't matter as they do business with the KGB.

Sometimes you want to ignore the rules you've made for yourself, especially "never kill someone unless it's in defense of yourself or someone you love", but you think killing six agents who don't have the ability to set up an ambush of success would be a great waste of bullets. Now you know you're going to have to leave town soon and you have no idea how to break the news to your brother/partner, how do you honorably abandon a war before it's over?

Damn Murphy's Law

You know you need to sort this out, but you refuse to stay in bed crying over what's already written and decide to leave the wonderful Egyptian linen sheets you got from your favorite client last month to face the world and it's impossible to face the world without a good amount of coffee. After a quick shower with a cup of Blue Mountain in hand, your newest addiction, you sit in a robe in a nice armchair, look out the window at dying Berlin and thank heaven for the comfortable life you've earned by working with one of the greatest smugglers on this side of the wall, perhaps from all over Germany. Some desperate customers offer you valuable items from them in exchange for passports and unlike your idiot “brother”, you don't have a rule about only receiving cash. Almost everything here comes from gifts, from the sofa, pictures, bags, clothes and even some books on your shelf. You don't even remember buying that cup, or the coffee set, for gods' sake.

If he saw you now he'd complain about being soft with customers and say something about how items aren't a bargaining chip in the real world, you'd get into a tiresome discussion about enjoying the finer things in life and how bills don't compare in the importance of yours. silver chain with moon pendant that was once an amulet for more than three generations for a French family.

At the end of the day, Merkel has a large information network and an office that takes up half the block, where she keeps as much money as she has secrets, and you have a house decorated by other people where each object symbolizes someone you've helped.

Four walls don't make a house

The thought takes away some of the almost peace you feel and you decide to finish your coffee before it gets cold.

After a quick glance at the calendar you remember about the march that will take place in Alexanderplatz square and decide to go scream for Germany one last time, hopefully you'll be able to hide long enough to see the fall of the damn wall that divides this country. It's not your country, not really, you don't even like to remember how you got here, but the experiences you gained wouldn't be exchanged for anything, not even for an original Van Gogh. Also, Merkel asked you to go and bring a black umbrella, the reason was not explained and you didn't feel like asking, sometimes you think Gordon Merkel is not his name, but how to judge the man who is your only family in this end of the world? You smile when you remember that he shouldn't have an umbrella with a story as cool as his and decide to piss him off for it.

Your phone rings, and you notice you've lost track of time. Merkel was helping a blonde woman named L, he didn't give you more details other than a few stories about how she was a perfect and dangerous assassin that you should keep your distance, as few people know how to deal with her. You thought he overreacted, but you had to take over some business from him while she was in town. She seemed important considering the way he told you about her and you knew better than to deny help to the person who always supported you and declared himself a brother, you trusted him because not even the best agent in the world could fake so much sincerity and affection in claiming this title for himself.

You reach out, pick up the phone, and decide to answer it. “Hey little sister, how are you out there? I called to say that everything is fine for dinner today, but there was a mishap and the wine ran out, bring the best Bordeaux you have, I'll return the courtesy as soon as possible." A code, of course.

He needs your services ASAP. Wine is a passport, Bordeaux means two elements, courtesy involves a child.

You can combine business with pleasure "Hi brother. I'm looking forward to today, I'll take the best wine I have, don't worry. I already know how you can thank me. I need to clean the house and go to the office first, but I'll be there on time. wait for me." you say in a voice that oozes normalcy, you never know when someone's listening on the phone especially now that you're a fugitive, disgraced customer. Your body sinks into the armchair noticing the oncoming cloud of worry

Merkel now knows you need his help, as cleaning the house means getting away and going to the office shows you're in a hurry.

"Alright, do you want me to send the driver?" He asks like he's not freaking out and offering the bloody job of one of his mercenaries

“No, bro, thanks, I know the way.” You say as if you really have an escape plan besides getting a fake passport, emergency backpack and all the money you can find.

“See you later, don't forget the wine. Are you sure you don't want the driver?" You wonder if he has forgotten that knowing the way literally means everything is fine

“Relax, see you later” It takes a few seconds for him to hang up and you can hear his sigh.

He will be SO pissed.

You put the phone down as you get up to gather the passport forgery materials and put them in a briefcase. Your cookbook is already there along with some banknotes from different countries. As you pick up the black backpack of standard clothes and accessories that always waited for you in the corner of the door, you decide to wear the first jacket you bought, the dark blue jeans, the combat boots you got from a skinhead, the wristwatch you bought. you got for your brother's birthday, thick leather gloves and a thin white shirt that matches the rest of your outfit. After all, if you can die when you open the door, then die well dressed. Be sure to keep the Colt 1911 around your waist and the Russian dagger around your ankle, after yesterday you never know, Your pocket watch with the coat of arms of the Brazilian imperial family indicates that 15 minutes have passed since Merkel's phone call

You take one last look at the house you've been so proud of in recent years, snap a photo with the Polaroid you've won, and, with a bittersweet smile, close the door. One day when the wall comes down, the government changes and your face is forgotten, you can come back here, until then you will have to make do with the photo album you keep in your backpack and this photo.

Putting on your sunglasses, you arrive on the street and decide to take a taxi on the other corner, make sure you look around before leaving your home, no one knows your address, but you can't be sure the local gang is so stupid to the point of not following you after last night.

Getting a taxi was relatively easy. Neil, the driver, thanks to the boots, mistook you for a revolutionary and talked for 10 minutes about how he hoped he could take down the wall with his bare hands, you thought it was cool, but as you passed the big river that was just a few blocks away from the your brother's office, you couldn't hear a word from him.

A sign signaling that the river was closed to visitors made your eyes fill with tears. You used to go there when the day was bad, spread a blanket in a corner and watch the stars, or just laugh at the distinct reflection the water made of the moon and stars. Merkel accompanied you on anniversaries, justifying them as bonding experiences. After some freaks started swimming in the river and executions increased, STASI took over and you replaced the dark water for the restaurant's bright lights. But seeing it tightly closed gave him a feeling of anguish and rancor. You would silently curse the wall builders for the rest of the trip.

Neil seemed to notice but didn't comment on it, you thanked him, wiped your tears and left a good tip as you descended a block away from your final destination. This time you didn't need to look around because even though Merkel was super busy, he made sure to leave some security close to where your landing place was.

A tall man dressed in a red T-shirt approached you and hugged you as if he hadn't seen you in a long time. You've known him since the beginning of last year, when he arrived at Merkel's office begging for a job, and from the first moment the way he turned grief over his brother's death into a thirst for revolution made you admire the young man. The two of you walked through the great gate hand in hand as you asked about his life with genuine interest, and Klaus increasingly believed in Merkel's theory about you having such a pure heart that you didn't care about motivation or the number of lives they took, your explanation of the judgment not being your responsibility, crossed the man's head before he escorted you to the main office.

You thanked him with a smile, opened the door and stood in front of the table in the windowless room, where your brother was already waiting for you.

"What the hell happened? Are you okay? I was about to send J to get you, please tell me what happened"—he said hurriedly as he got up and pointed at the couch for you to sit on. J was one of the most dangerous women in the building and you were grateful for not wasting her time.

Putting your backpack and umbrella aside, you answered:

"I'll explain later, little brother, now let me help you. You need passports urgently, don't you?" Yes, you were stalling and postponing the conversation. He'd call you an idiot for going out on the street right after you got on the wanted list, and he'd feel guilty when he found out why you didn't tell him. Merkel wasn't going to understand that her fear of failing him was no one's fault but yourself.

Your sentence seemed to give him some responsibility back, but still, as he held out a glass of water for you, his eyes met yours with a glint that warned that this conversation was far from over.

"Yeah, I really do, but don't think I'm going to forget about it. Let's talk when this is all over. Even if it's the last thing I do today."

You accepted the glass with a bit of trepidation and stood up towards the large center table while opening the briefcase with the supplies you were going to need, if Merkel noticed the bills he didn't say anything. Once at the table, you made two passports for mother and daughter in record time. According to the clock, 10 minutes passed, faster than a car, this deserves a celebration. It would have been six if Merkel hadn't been so curious to make you waste time pulling your watch out of your pocket just for him to analyze.

Everything was going well and there was only one last detail for mother and daughter to be taken by one Percival to the other side of the wall. Percival, according to Merkel, was strange and fickle. Unreliable and extremely dangerous, you should also keep your distance from him, as this man had crucial contacts on both sides of the wall.

"He must have fewer contacts than you", you would answer

If a loud noise didn't break the silence

The annoying noise of the door creaking made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up and you almost missed the last signature, it made your body vibrate with irritation and your eyes follow to the offensive source of the sound. A tall man with short hair and blue eyes was holding the doorknob with a military posture and before you could release your anger and explain something about how people shouldn't be violent inside Merkel's office you noticed he was accompanied by a woman.

AND WHAT A WOMAN!

Your eyes connected to a pair of fierce, intent green eyes, surrounded by a pale skin tone and hair so blond it looked like snow. The barely perceptible frown showed she was surprised to find someone other than Merkel there, yet she looked ready for a battle. You looked into her eyes again and nodded in acknowledgment, this must be L, the woman he was talking about.

She looked at you suspiciously, but also as if she could see into your soul, and what must have been frightening, you found endearing. A few stories of murders orchestrated by her crossed your mind, but all you could imagine is how beautiful she must be when she's mad.

They say green eyes darken when we're high on adrenaline, does that happen to her?

Her analysis of the intriguing blonde ends when she notices that the man accompanying her has raised his voice and from his furious expression, it's not the first time he's repeated the question. You interrupt him before you hear him and make sure to direct the ghost of anger before him:

"Have you lost your mind? Who walks into the office without knocking? Surely you should be here asking about passports, but if it weren't for my experience and steady hands, they would be in the trash by now. Learn to be civilized. You're under two paws not four, so act human and not animal" you say in an explosive but articulate tone to make sure he understands what you say. Sometimes when you speak fast, you are betrayed by faulty diction. Not today. Today you want this man to feel every fiber of irritation that went through his body.

Hearing Merkel holding a nervous laugh, you try to relax, but judging by the cold, almost murderous look of the man in the doorway, you've definitely gotten yourself in trouble. Looking at the organized clothes, you notice it's an old police uniform, probably taken by your brother, and unless Merkel has hired new employees, you've never seen it around here. His eyes snap back to his and something inside you warns that this must be Percival. He probably wants to kill you.

Damn Murphy's Law

A brief silence settles in the room and you shake off the fear and turn away, refusing to play the glaring game with a man who almost spoils your art. On other days you might look at him at a party, but today you want to make him swallow the ink on the stamp in his hands and invite the blonde to dinner

And it's her voice that breaks the silence.

You're flipping through the two passports for failures when she says

"Sorry, miss. My friend is an unprecedented idiot. Shall I close the door and knock again? Perhaps your highness too--"

You turn her body towards her when you hear the slightest hint of irony in her tone and interrupt her with a fake smile as you look into her eyes.

"It's not necessary, I accept your apology, Miss. I always said that Merkel should have someone armed at the door to remind everyone of the need to knock on the door. Anyone who didn't knock would lose his mind as the law of my reign says. Perhaps I should start. for him, since the top head is the last thing he wears lately" you joke look at Merkel who doesn't seem offended by the statement, shrugging you look at those blue eyes again and say "the passports are ready. Let's get out of here."

You close the passports, reach for your backpack and umbrella and start moving towards the door, both agents let you lead the way and judging by the blonde's expression, she's not used to being interrupted, nor is she used to seeing someone talking like that with Merkel, but today it was acceptable. You really think she's adorable, but you know better than to let someone make fun of you, especially in front of your brother who wouldn't let you forget about it. Either she doesn't care, or she's a great actress. Anyway, that idiot is still by her side and you refuse to be the reason for his possible laugh.

Her friend probably didn't have the same acting classes and his resemblance to the local gang members, like he's going to kill you in the blink of an eye in a cowardly way, is almost frightening. If Merkel hadn't said L is a woman, you'd be scared. It makes you shiver a little and look for Merkel, but he's not following you. Looking over his shoulder you see him putting a few more piles of dollars and euros into your briefcase. With a snap of your fingers you get his attention and before you walk out the door, you hear the briefcase click closing.

Once out of the room, you look around and realize that nothing has really changed, all faces are familiar, except for three people: a couple talking to a child. After a brief analysis you find yourself facing the passport clients, mother and daughter. The man doesn't look older than 60 and has kind eyes, almost as if he doesn't live on this side of the wall.

They don't seem to notice you

Your observation is interrupted by Merkel's loud, proud voice, right behind you. Here it comes

"This is Elizabeth Loyd and Percival, two trusted clients. Elizabeth and Percival, this is my little sister, she will be on the march today, if you need anything in the future you can talk to her."

Hearing her name, you notice that Merkel really wasn't creative at all. Who would use the initial letter of a surname as a symbol? Anyone who heard the stories about L and met a loyde who knows a Merkel would make the connection. As you turn around, you swallow your nervousness and try to put on your best smile as you say your name to them. The blonde woman who finally has a name, Elizabeth, leans closer, her eyes never leaving yours, and you wonder if she can feel the jumble of emotions that is unraveling inside you.

She smiles a smile that makes you sure she does and reaches out and greets you with a firm grip, if she noticed the sweat on your hands, she didn't let on. She also looks a little more comfortable.

Maybe because she noticed you said her real name, idiot.

You hate yourself for one second and the next you want to be without gloves because it feels soft and warm.

The man, Percival, comes next and looks at you suspiciously and the smile fades from your face, you wonder if no one else can smell the strong smell he gives off, a smell of cheap whiskey and arrogance. Still, he holds out his hand and this time you thank the gods for the gloves. Make sure you don't bow your head or fail in your posture. He still looks at you like you killed his son. Useless even to pretend, for God's sake.

Merkel watches the exchange from afar and nods to Elizabeth, she responds and Percival walks away looking uneasy. You look around uncomprehendingly, feel a little left out, and wonder which computer must have Tetris installed.

You would kill for a distraction right now.

Going out on the street in a crowded march while being chased by two groups still makes you sick.

Your brother approaches and extends his hands around you. You've missed him for the past few weeks. He still wears the perfume you gave him for his birthday and it makes you sink deeper into the hug. You know he's going to be mad when he finds out what happened so you enjoy as much affection as you can

"Little sister, in addition to our conversation I need to tell you something" his voice is low in tone and you doubt you would understand the words if you weren't so close to him "but I can't do that until the march is over. Meet me at usual table at the restaurant where we celebrate our achievements, It's very important"

His even low voice is charged with strong emotion and you are genuinely worried, Merkel has never been like this before.

"I'll do it, brother, I promise. Whatever it is, we can work it out together" you say with all the certainty you can muster in your voice, because you need him to understand that this is true.

You feel eyes on you and as you look up you notice that Elizabeth keeps an eye on your exchange with Merkel while talking to the little girl's father, from the distance she probably can't understand anything and you don't know if she celebrates or cares with so much attention received. A little further away is a Percival who pretends to be busy with the coat he's wearing. He also pays attention to your exchange, but his talent for discretion is as effective as his ability to open doors.

Your eyes return to the concentrated blue eyes that are in front of you and Merkel speaks in an almost inaudible way:

"When I whistle, I need you to raise your open umbrella and stay alert. The three people we're going to cross are very important, nothing can go wrong. But if it does, I'll be at the restaurant, whatever happens find me there."

Noticing the proximity of Percival and Elizabeth, you place your hand on your brother's shoulder and smile as you speak a little louder:

"Don't worry man, it's always a pleasure to help you. I'll leave my briefcase here, then meet you to get it. Good march."

Merkel shows that she understands his strange move and smiles, you greet some friends of his that you haven't seen in a while and as you head towards the exit, you meet a pair of deep green eyes. Elizabeth is gleaming in the cold lights that are refracted by the mosaic of the gate, she looks into your eyes, ever alert, looks at the object in your hands and nods her head with a half smile, do you think the guard's idea black rain was hers.

As you wave back, you can feel that a pair of eyes haven't left your back since the moment of your brother's embrace, as the old man is saying goodbye to the family, you know who they belong to and decide not to look for them. If the STASI, KGB or local gang find you, he doesn't own the pair of eyes you want to remember before you die.

Taking a deep breath, you walk through the gate and blend into the crowd.

..........................................................................................................................

After leaving Merkel's office block, you take a hat out of your backpack and wear your sunglasses as you look around, not that a local gang member is here but because if he sees you in disguise he will ask a series of questions and he has enough problems already, plus STASI must be monitoring this area and the last thing you want is to be arrested. You decide to tuck your coat into your backpack to change your look, and while internally debating your ability to ignore the cold, your eyes catch the almost snowy blond hair in the crowd.

This signals that they are already on the march and you decide to get a little closer to them, but make sure you do this without drawing attention to yourself since the nasty man is still there. Elizabeth is on your diagonal absorbing all the extraneous details that might be a possible threat, she seems so focused on the job of passing the owner's gentle eyes in a safe way that it makes you wonder how important he is and if she's noticed you.

A few meters later a familiar noise floats through the march and you open the umbrella almost instantly, as do other protesters.

Out of the corner of your eye you can see Percival taking the man's family across and sometime later Elizabeth does the same. You notice that her posture has changed and when she decides to stop for a better look, the crowd drags her and you can no longer locate her.

Her feet continue forward and as some signs are raised by the protesters, you try to find your brother. Unsuccessfully. You decide to trust their ability and hope that you can meet him again at the restaurant.

You also want Elizabeth to be okay.

Continuing on the march, after two or three long blocks you notice the familiar silhouette of one of the STASI bosses, he is watching the crowd as if looking for someone, but he doesn't seem to notice you. You notice observers on top of buildings and decide to leave the streets. Whether it's the Local Gang, KGB or STASI itself you don't know and decide you don't want to know.

Your brain tries to design routes to escape and your body mimics the movements of the closest protesters so as not to draw attention to you, but when some agents in black point in your direction and make space in the crowd, you run between people to seek shelter in somewhere you know and at every step you are sure that the day will be worse than you thought.

Damn Murphy's Law

#lorraine broughton x reader #lorraine broughton #atomic blonde #charlize theron

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immortalonus · 3 years ago

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Where You Belong: Chapter 2

A/N: Hey folks, this is a day late from my posting on AO3, mostly due to tiredness/travel, but here it is! I'm not sure how quickly I'll be able to put out the next chapter (In addition to being mostly dialogue, it's also a mess,) but I'll try.

Read it now on AO3

Chapter 2:

“Nope, nope, nope.”

In the realm of the dead, there was no night. No dark reprieve from the inescapable glow. A state that wore on eye and mind alike in its obstinate refusal to diminish or fade.

This did not mean the Zone was without its own sort of cycles, however.

Every seven hours, perhaps eight, the thin, omnipresent mists scattered throughout the air would begin to thicken, coalescing into a deep, impenetrable fog that stuck to every surface with a viscosity not unlike that of cold soup. It's brightness, too would gradually increase until the traveler was left all but blinded for the unending wall of light now spread on all sides before them.

Navigation in such conditions was impossible, and even ghosts seemed to prefer squirreling themselves away during these hours of fugue than to brave the blind depths the mists made of the world around them.

It was really nothing like night, but for conveniences sake, Valerie had taken to calling it as such.

It was now well into what she liked to consider “evening.” The mists had already weltered up, thickening strands not yet impermeable to the naked eye, weaving themselves into fantastic shapes ever larger across the atmosphere of the zone. Soon to merge, but not now, not yet.

While she normally preferred to travel as long as she could safely dare, Valerie had opted to settle down early that evening, using the extra time to sort through the goods held in the bug ghost's many sacks instead.

“Nope, nope, nope, weird, gross, and oh--hell no!”

Valerie yanked her hand free, shaking off the clear slime that coated her fingers as she threw the parcel and all its contents, still squirming, over the ledge of the small outcropping that served as her latest campsite.

If she were ever forced to say one nice thing about the Ghost Zone, Valerie would admit, grudgingly, that it did make a remarkably good garbage bin.

She sighed, allowed herself to stretch out and rest after yet another day of continuous exertion. One would not think riding on her sled for hours on end would tire her so, but it did. And when she added the additional effort of chasing down and interrogating that ghost--She grimaced, still unsure it had been wise to let the creature scamper free, in the end.

There had just been something in the way it had begged, had cried and whimpered as it carried out her every command with that slump of abject surrender that had just made finishing it off seem so, so...Dirty. As though she would be in the wrong, somehow, for doing it. It gave her such a sense of frustration. She couldn't help but wish that ghosts were precisely the emotionless hulls the Fentons believed them to be.

Oh, ghosts were essentially selfish, no doubt about it, narcissistic chunks of ectoplasm that only rarely empathized with their own kind, and never with humans, but they did feel.

Phantom, the bug, even Plasmius, in his own, twisted way, it was no longer something she could reject.

A part of her hated them all the more just for that, as though it made her life better, somehow, to know.

Couldn't she just have this one thing? After all the shit she went through, all the misery she bore, couldn't this one thing be something simple?

Goddamn ghosts, ruining her life, her stuff, and now her morals, too.How was she supposed to be the hero here? how was she supposed to save anyone, much less Elle, if she couldn't crush one goddamn dirty bug?

“Shit.”

Valerie flopped down on her back, staring into the viridian heavens with bitter eyes. The sky could not be bothered to stare back, rolling over in a cloud of mist instead.

“Shit,shit,shit!”

She tried to breath, but it caught in lungs suddenly shriveled against a breast-bone to tight for air.she clenched her fists, fingers squeezed into a shape fit for violence. Her body trembled, her hidden heart beat staccato as something hard and hot and sour twisted through her very soul.

“Stupid ghosts.” She whispered.Her eyes were cold marbles, but deep within her chest, she was still burning.

Valerie grabbed a stone laying loose on the ground beside her, pushed herself back up, and lobbed it with all her strength at the offending universe.

“You won't win!”

She picked up another rock, tossed it even further.

“I won't let you!”

She threw another rock, then another, as fast as her arms could reach them, intent on stoning the high green heavens for all the wrongs it had ever wrought against her. Each projectile went higher and farther into the encroaching mists, which swallowed them whole.

“You hear me! Not now, not ever!”

Even her screams were muffled, now, pressed against her ears by the haze. The stones made even less a mark, vanishing into clouds unrippled by their passing, engulfed the sound of their landing, if, indeed, they landed at all.Her chest heaved, her arm ached, but still her emotions threatened spillage. She felt at once utterly drained and full to bursting, squeezed of all verve even as her heart simmered still in some vague malcontent.

She flopped back to the ground, tired, but too troubled for rest.It wasn't all hopeless, she knew. She had an idea of where to go now, closer than she'd dared to hope, if the directions of the bug she'd captured earlier were to be believed.

And even if it was a lie, she'd still managed to buy herself some time.

She reached over to her right, where she'd piled everything of use from the insect's many stores. It was a pitiful stack, a single bag of food plastic wrapped or canned, adorned in letters and signs utterly foreign. But food it was, enough to keep her going a few days more.

She had set her stolen boot next to the parcel, and, resting just beside it, a crumpled polaroid weighed down by a worn leather fold.

She brought her hand down, shimmied the picture out from under its makeshift paperweight. Her other hand rose to brush across it, one last attempt, gentle, futile, at smoothing out the damage littering every aspect of its face.

It was fruitless, of course, but even broken beyond all repair, even with all the bitterness that lingered from the loss, the photo still soothed her, touching something deeper, more tenderly, than any hard flung stone.

She reached into the depths of her mind, grasping for those parts of the huntress that were always with her, woven in electric tapestry with the living currents of her brain.

Graphical Storage and Processing:Status: Active:

Recall request: Confirmed.

Data: Available, reporting 100% recall.

Overlay Request: Confirmed.

Initiating Command: Overlay:

Processing...

The change took place in the space of a moment. Emerald fragments reformed into broad leaves struck through with sunshine. Golden light struck their rays through the gaps where shadows fluttered down across the youthful oak that cast them, springing proud and slender from a meadow thick with blooms.

Beneath the shade of the tree, nestled between the long grass arches, there was a family.

They were at a picnic, the three of them, quilt littered with the remains of their meal. Cold chicken and half eaten corn cobs peeked out from broad folds of cloth, plastic water bottles refracted the scattered sunlight in their crumpled facets, where it danced across the surface of what liquid yet remained.

The man of the family sat beside a big wicker basket, arm resting over the thickly woven lip of its hatch. His face not yet wearied, his mustache quirked in a second smile as he looked into the long vanished camera with an expression of shy delight.Her father, Damian Grey.

A young Valerie could be seen sitting just in front of him, clutching a rubber ball nearly half her size. Grass stains streaked the young child's face, grin bold as she hoisted her rubber prize high above her head.

Besides the child, shoulders leaned in close press to the man beside her, knelt a woman. Acorn brown and satin soft, head tossed back in jubilation bold as summer. Her heat dewed neck curved swanlike above shoulders hunched up in mirth.

Valerie traced the outlines of the woman's face, slowly, ignoring—refusing—the ragged edges that brushed against her thumb as she outlined the vanished forms of her lips, her cheekbones, her chin, alight with a youth yet lingering even as the glow of motherhood softened the hard angles of ignorant adolescence.

A beautiful woman, vibrantly, vivaciously alive.

You would never know, looking at her, just how fast it would all drain out, her every pore a sieve for the good health she would never more contain.

But Valerie wasn't thinking about that, now, just as she wasn't thinking about the photograph or the damage it sustained.

Just for the moment, she allowed herself to focus only on the memory of a memory before her. If she imagined hard enough, she could almost see that sparkling smile turn, eyes opal dark and glimmering in delight at the chance to see her one and only daughter once again.

“Hey ma.” She said by way of reply. “Long time no see.”

#Fanfiction #Danny Phantom #Writing #Valerie Grey #Where You Belong #Chapter 2 #ao3 fanfic

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hyuniepot · 4 years ago

Text

the butterfly effect. || chapter 4

chapter word count || 1,843

genre || thriller, angst, drama

members || mark lee, na jaemin, lee jeno, huang renjun, lee donghyuck, zhong chenle, park jisung

warnings || mentions of death, implications of depression

pairing || fem!reader x jaemin || slight fem!reader x mark

synopsis || you never thought you’d be able to play with fate so easily, especially not through some shady app. but you suddenly must say goodbye to what you know and hello to a new world where everything seems perfect.

taglist || @gothboyjisung @jeongyoonohs @doiewonu @huanginjoon @wordsgodeep

a/n || as always, please check replies to see if anything is missing due to tumblr’s glitches. send me an ask or message if you want to be added to the taglist!

previous chapter

You sit in your room, waiting for Hyuck to show up. Thanks to his quick thinking, it gave you both an excuse to hang out without Mark. The door suddenly burst open, Hyuck slinging his bag onto the floor.

“Hey,” he says, sitting next to you on your bed.

“Hey,” you say, furrowing your brows. “How did you get in?”

“Your brother let me in,” he says. “Got here the same time as him, so…”

“Oh, right…” you sigh. “Anyways, I guess we have a lot to talk about.”

“Yeah.” Hyuck responds.

You nod slowly. Why was it so awkward? You’ve technically known Hyuck longer than you knew Mark. “It’s kinda funny we ended up in the same universe,” you chuckle. “What did you wish for anyways?”

“It’s not important,” Hyuck fires back.

You decide not to push him. You didn’t tell him what you wished for, so it’s not like he was obligated to tell you. “Oh... alright.” you look away from him.

“Listen, (y/n.)” you look back at him. His voice was stern, serious. It was a tone you barely ever heard from the happy-go-lucky Hyuck.

“What?” your voice is barely audible.

“We…” he sighs, shaking his head. “We aren’t supposed to be here.”

You stare ahead. “I know that. I know we both feel alienated here.”

“We have to leave.”

“What?” you look up at Hyuck and meet his eyes. He’s dead serious. “Why?”

“Because we aren’t supposed to be here.” he repeats, slowly enunciating each word. “We’re basically in a foreign country. We…” he pauses to collect his thoughts. “This just isn’t right.”

“Hyuck…” you say.

“I know you’re happier here. I can see it in your eyes. I can see it in the way you talk to Mark, I know.” he tells you. “But we have a life we need to continue. One that’s in the right timeline.”

“But…” you feel tears forming again. “We can’t go back.”

“Yes we can. There’s still a way to go back to our normal lives. That’s why the app refuses to get deleted.” Hyuck opens his phone. He enters the ButterFly app and goes to one of the sections within it. “As long as we leave before the one month mark of coming here, we can return back to our old lives. This is basically a free trial.”

You stare at Hyuck for a second before grabbing Hyuck’s phone from his hands and looking at the screen. There it was.

Not happy? No problem. We understand things can become overwhelming. If you feel like you’ve made a mistake. Simply text ButterFlyHQ “Reverse” to undo your wish within 30 days of the initial text.

Your face gets hot. You feel stupid for not looking there before you came here and becoming attached to your new life. “Okay. That’s how we get back, but…” you try to blink away your tears. It doesn’t work. “I don’t think I can…”

“But-”

“Hyuck, I can’t.” you repeat. You look back to him, tears falling down your cheeks. “All I wanted was to have Mark back… this stupid app wasn’t even supposed to work!” you cry out. “And now that I have him back… I can’t leave him. I don’t think I’d be able to live with myself knowing I had a chance to finally be happy and I chose not to.”

Hyuck flinches when you say that. “I understand. But there’s still a chance for happiness when you return back to normal, no?”

You pause, sniffling. He was right; there was always a chance to fix things. But why would you put yourself through the hardships of making things better when things were already better here?

“You don’t understand-“ you start.

“Yes I do.” Hyuck says. “Whatever you’re thinking, trust me, I understand.”

“No you don’t!” you stand up. “I was miserable back in my old life. Why would I want to go back?”

“Because I need you.” Hyuck responds, standing up as well. “I’m going back regardless, but how am I supposed to get things back to normal when I know that isn’t the real you?”

“So I have to sacrifice my happiness for the sake of you wanting to feel normal?” you snap.

“You know that’s not what I want.” Hyuck replies. “I did that exact thing for you. I know it sucks.” he admits.

It’s quiet for a moment. Hyuck turns his head away from you, shaking it before continuing.

“You know what I wished for? I wished for you to be happy.” he tells you. His words are almost venomous. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I’m not doing great here. I just don’t feel like myself.” he sits back down, putting his head in his hands.

Guilt floods your entire body.

“I don’t know if it’s because everything here is so out of whack or if it’s because that’s just… how I am here. But I don’t like it.” he says. “I’m so used to taking care of you that now I don’t know what to do.”

You sit next to him on your bed.

“So that’s why I was happy, because you were happy. My wish came true. But… I can’t fathom having to stay here any longer. And I don’t wanna go back to a universe where both of my best friends are gone.” he says. His voice shakes.

“But…” you shift uncomfortably in your spot. “I’ll still be there…”

“I’ll know it’s not you, though.” his response is quiet. “Just… think about it, please?”

You stare ahead, unsure of what to say. You understood where Hyuck was coming from, but you couldn’t let go of what you had here so easily. Here, you had Mark. Your family situation was so much better. But no matter how hard you tried, you could never stop thinking about Jaemin. You missed him so much it brought you to tears sometimes. You loved him.

You clear your throat. “If we go back… will we remember any of this?”

Hyuck nods. “At first, yeah. But the memories will start to fade.”

You sigh. “Okay. I’ll think about it.” you tell Hyuck.

“Alright. I don’t mean to pressure you, but I’m planning on leaving on Sunday,” Hyuck stands up, picking up his bag off the floor.

It was Wednesday. That gave you 4 days. You nod.

Hyuck leaves your room, and a few moments later you hear the front door close. You don’t know what to think. The fact that you could leave changed everything. The only thing you hated was the fact that you would soon forget all your memories from this universe. Although, it would ultimately make leaving easier if you couldn’t imagine living in a world with Mark alive again.

And even though part of you was telling you it was a mistake, you got up, grabbed your wallet and left your house. You walked into town to look for a disposable camera, preferably a Polaroid camera that would instantly print them out. You had plenty of pictures of you and Mark as children and young teenagers, but in the past few years, he had matured. He looked more like a man than a child. It was something you wanted to remember. You also wanted a picture of Jisung — it would be much less inconspicuous than having a picture of older Mark. You just wanted to remember their smiling faces before returning back to a world where seeing them was rare.

After walking around for a bit, you found a store that had a polaroid camera along with some film. You examined it, looking at the price. Luckily, you were able to afford it thanks to the money you saved the other day by Mark offering to pay for your food. You start to walk away to pay for it when you hear voices behind you.

“Ah, there’s no pink one? Still?” a voice whines. It was familiar. You turn to look at them and see Jiwoo standing where you had stood a few moments ago. You looked down at the camera in your hands. It was pink. You hadn’t really paid attention to the color you grabbed.

You turn and walk to where Jiwoo stood. Two girls stood behind her. You recognized them, but only as girls you had seen around school a few times. “Um,” you say, trying to get her attention. “You can have mine.”

Jiwoo gasps, and you can’t help but smile at how animated she always is. You realize how much you miss her.

“Are you sure? If you want it, you can keep it! It’s okay…” she says, holding her hands up.

You chuckle. “I’m sure. It’s fine.” you hold out the camera towards her and she grabs it.

“Oh my god, thank you so much! We go to school together, right? I’ll have to pay you back in some way,” she rambles. The two girls behind her giggle.

“It’s okay.” you tell her. “You don’t have to pay me back.” you grab another camera, one that was white.

After a few minutes of convincing Jiwoo that she didn’t need to buy the camera for you, you bought it yourself and started heading home. When you get home, Jisung is in the kitchen eating a snack.

“What’s that?” he asks, walking over to you.

“A camera.” you unbox it. “Isn’t it cute?”

“Mmm,” Jisung is much more interested in his snack than your camera. You unbox the film as well and look at the instructions of how to put it in the camera. You pick it up and turn it towards Jisung. He just stares back at you.

Your shoulders drop. “Can you at least smile?”

Jisung rolls his eyes. “Why?”

“Because I need to see if it works and you’re the only person here!” you tell him. “Now smile!”

After another eye roll, he smiles. You snap the photo before he could do anything else. You set the picture down and wait for it to dry.

“There, look. It works” you hold the picture out to Jisung once it develops.

He cringes. “Why do I look like that?”

You shrug. “I don’t know. I think you look… fine.”

“Why’d you hesitate, you jerk?” he says, playfully hitting your arm.

You laugh. “I’m serious. You look fine.”

Jisung shakes his head and laughs. “Why’d you buy that anyways? Can’t you just use your phone for photos?”

“Yeah,” you reply. “But having a physical copy of a nice picture feels more important, I think.” You knew your reason for buying the camera went much deeper, but you obviously couldn’t tell Jisung why.

He shrugs. “I guess so.”

You look at the picture again. It seemed like a perfectly normal picture now, but you knew that soon, it would be one of the few things that reminded you of your time in this universe. Even looking at the photo of Jisung made your heart hurt a bit. You couldn’t even begin to imagine the pain that would come with Mark’s photos.

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fairiesherefairiesthere · 4 years ago

Text

A candle passed on.

My entry for @fuckyeahfraxus ‘s fraxusweek! Day one: He likes guys.

This also has some Chendy in it, old gays supporting young gays u know

Freed hadn't been wary when Wendy had approached him, but he had felt a certain type of nervousity that usually appears when someone who's seen you in less than graceful states approaches you. That is, until she stands right before him and he can pick up the little telltale signs that she's far more nervous than he is. Shuffling with her feet, bouncing toe to toe, yep the child's jumpy alright.

Deciding to give her time to speak her mind, he merely gives her a questioning glance and in return, is met with puffed up cheeks and little fists balled in determination. "Mister Freed!" she yells and he winces a bit at the volume, making the girl colour red. "Yes?", he politely answers and Wendy aggressively sits down on the chair in front of him. "I have come to bargain!" she continues, face still determined but voice definitely a bit softer.

Rest of the fic under the cut!

"Have you now?" He smiles in amusement, but tries his hardest to come across as non-judgemental. Most of the time coming across in such a manner is the least of his concerns, but he's got the feeling that Miss Marvell wouldn't like it very much. "I will give you this", she states and puts a pouch filled with tooth-rotting sweets in front of him, opened and well within reach. "And in return, you will accompany me and uhh... a certain partner in crime to the Festival of Fiore in Crocus."

Suppresing a smile and the urge to pat her head, he leans back, pretending to think it over. He hates overly sugared sweets and even if he didn't, there wasn't much stopping him from taking them and leaving. "I don't know Miss Marvell", he lazily drawls and she tenses up, "I don't know if I can agree to your terms. How 'bout this", he says, faking some type of accent and leaning forward conspiratorialy. She giggles, leans forward too and takes on the accent as well. "What's ya offuhr, Mister uhhh Freed?"

"My last name is Justine, if you were wondering", he interjects politely and she oohs softly, probably remembering it. "Here's the offer lil missy, you take this pouch right back", he says and slides it back to her, "Instead ya give me exactly one nice picture of that evening. Ya've got one of those polaroids dun'ya? Also, I'll be bringing a partner in crime of me own aswell."

"Oh okay", she says, already forgetting about the accent. "I can do that, thank you Mister Freed." He shakes his head. "No need to thank me and you can just call me Freed. Calling me Mister makes me feel old." Cocking her head, Wendy gives him a confused look. "Well aren't you? You're like, twenty or something. A whole adult."

Immediately, Freed is blessed with a flashback to yesterday, where he had stubbed his toe on the same table leg, three times in a row. Wendy, bless her heart, continues. "My other option was my team, but I'd like to enjoy the festival, not burn it down, you know?"

"Then I'll be leaving Ever and Bicks at home", he says, thinking about the things they've destroyed together. Contrary to team Natsu however, they've got a few good liars on their team and are consequently not known as an utter disaster of a team (though thanks to certain situations, they definitely qualify). Naturally he waves off Wendy's questioning gaze, unable to throw his team under the bus like that.

"Then me and my accomplice will meet up with you and Chelia at the station tomorrow?" Wendy nods before letting out a startled little gasp. "I didn't tell you that! Are you actually smart Mister Freed?"

"I'd like to think so", he frankly replies, brows furrowed and Wendy merely shrugs. "Our mission together", is all the context she gives and honestly, also the only context needed. "Ah", is the delightful answer he offers before they part ways. It's the most graceful one he's got for now.

The festival is fun, Wendy decides, swinging Chelia's hand about as the both of them skip from booth to booth. Even with their money combined, the amount they could comfortably spend is pretty low. This problem was solved by either Freed or Laxus chipping in when either of them has been staring too long or too wistful at a certain booth. Both of them had fervently tried to refuse, but Freed had merely shrugged. "Don't worry about it, we have the luck of being financially stable adults." Laxus had added his own two cents. "Just go and be happy go lucky little squirts, it suits you two better."

It's no wonder that Freed had brought Laxus along, Wendy realises, because the two are practically joined at the hip. By having the opportunity to watch them during the day, she comes to the conclusion that it's also no surprise that Laxus had agreed to come along, as the two of them are clearly close. Although they bully each other quite a bit and are ridiculously competitive (when she had see them 'playing' icehockey, she wondered if it had been a good idea to see them as responsible adults), they openly cherish each other.

The sound of violins catches her attention and hand in hand, she and Chelia go to investigate, the adults following in tow. The source of the upbeat music is a group of musicians and on the square they're gathered, there are also people dancing, waving intricate designs with their bodies. She really wants to join, but can't figure out what patterns the people are making and what the exact sequence of the steps is. Looking at Chelia, it quickly becomes clear that the other girl doesn't know either.

"Young Lady, may I have this dance?" a voice interrupts her then and it's Freed reaching out his hand. "As soon as you've got the steps down, I'll let the two of you dance together. Let's lay the foundation down first." He helps her with the steps, explaining them in a soft voice and helping her find the beat. It's fun. When glancing at Laxus, who's trying to teach an overenthusiastic Chelia the same steps, she finds herself giggling at the lack of progress.

"Are we laughing at people who are learning Miss Marvell?" he asks her, hidden grin obvious in his voice. "Then let's see how you yourself fare when the tempo picks up", he says and right at that moment it does. For a little while, Wendy holds her own, but then she has to give up. It's simply too much, she thinks and whines a bit theatrically about it at Chelia who also had had to tap out, as she lays her head on the other girl's lap. Together, they watch as the two older men dance, skipping from partner to partner until they finally meet each other right when the music ends.

"Boo", Chelia says softly, stroking Wendy's hair. "I wanted to see some competitive dancing. I think they would've turned it into an amical fistfight in seconds. That's just how boys and their friendships work", she says sagely and Wendy nods.

A new song starts, romantic and slow unlike the previous one and instead of meeting up with the girls, the men seem to melt into each other and forget the rest of the world exists. Their grip, previously somewhat clumsy and harsh from being thrown at each other in the last second of a song, softens considerably and becomes more intimate with hands upon hips and distances close. The sweet song is short, but the accompanying dance oh so telling. Their touches speak of familiarity and their expression of closeness, of a love that's built on a sturdy friendship and had bloomed into more.

"Oh", she whispers, "He likes guys." She isn't sure who exactly she's referring to, but the words tumble out of her mouth, clumsy and not really what she wanted to say. "People are staring at them", she continues, a bit uncomfortable by some of the glares and hyperaware of her own position. "But it doesn't change a thing, does it?" Chelia says absentmindedly. "They are in loves and they are dancing. Does the world even exist when you're so near your lover?" Sinking back into the comfort of Chelia petting her hair, Wendy comes to the conclusion that no, it doesn't.

They end the day by watching the fireworks together and from the corner of her eyes, Wendy catches Freed and Laxus exchancing a quick kiss. Turning her head away to give them privacy, she meets Chelia's eyes and the unspoken look of 'you saw that too right?' is present. With a little squeeze to Chelia's hand, she steps closer and puts her arms around the other girl as they watch the fireworks together. They aren't at the stage of admitting feelings or kissing yet, but looking at the adults who are doing alright, Wendy feels secure. They give her hope for her own future love, as theirs (a love already burning longer than hers), hadn't been stomped out by the world yet. Things would be alright and she had all the time in the world to make them turn out that way.

#Fraxus #Fraxusweek #Fraxus week 2020 #Freed Justine #Laxus Dreyar #Chendy #Wendy Marvell #Chelia Blendy #TheFairyWrites

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sell-our-skins · 4 years ago

Text

Day 4 of Paradise Motel Week Post Canon AO3 Link ~ Hum Hallelujah “Trying to honor the dead is really difficult when the person who killed them is *right there*”

The Girl was struggling to close her backpack. It was a fairly cheap thing, recently bought by her mom. The shade reminded her of apricots, and all of the times she used to steal fruit flavored candies with Ghoul. Actual fruits were impossible to come by in the zones, or at least they used to be, but with BL/ind being gone, she supposed that she could try a real one now.

It was hot in the car. She was sitting in the passenger seat and the sun was beating down on her through the windshield. Her door was open, occasionally giving a short gust of wind. ‘Mom’s getting the keys,’ she told herself. Soon she could crank up the air conditioning and try to relax. That was, if the bag would actually close.

The zipper refused to budge. She gave it another exasperated tug, “Motherfucker,” she hissed out. Stupid zipper. Stupid backpack.

“Motorbaby?” Maya poked her head into the front seat of the van. Her dark hair, which was streaked with the occasional grey, was pulled up into a loose bun and a leather jacket thrown over a plain green tank top, “You need help?”

The Girl sighed, silently handing her mom the backpack in defeat. Maya smiled warmly, opening up the glovebox in front of the Girl with a gentle click. It was filled to the brim with trinkets from their adventures so far. The older Killjoy pulled out a half melted blue candle and began to carefully rub it over the zipper lining.

The Girl arched one of her eyebrows.

“Don’t question me, child of mine,” she warned with a chuckle, setting the candle down on the dashboard. Maya firmly grabbed the stubborn zipper, and closed the bag with ease.

“I take back my eyebrow raise. You’re clearly a deity in disguise,” Maya rolled her eyes, handing the Girl her bag and buckling herself up. The Girl carefully set the fruit-colored-bag in the backseat.

Maya started the van, and she started to head towards Route Guano. It was only now sinking in, what they were doing and where they were going. The Girl could feel her stomach flip with anxiety and her head filling with doubts.

It was apparently visible in her face, since her mom commented on it, “You know, we don’t have to do this. We could… make an altar for ourselves. Just a family thing.”

She actually considered it for a second, but no. She wasn’t going to let some asshole ruin her day

“I’ll be fine.”

--=+=--

The two Killjoys pulled up to the Ultra V hideout, which was formally some type of restaurant. A fast food place, most likely, but it was nearly unrecognizable. It was covered in spray painted tags and other interesting looking ornaments. However, today, it was also decorated with different types of desert wildflowers.

Pretty much as soon as the car had stopped, a teal haired Killjoy burst through the front of the restaurant, followed by their pink haired twin.

“KIIIIIIID! KID KIID!” the twins called out, running towards the car as fast as they could. The Girl felt a little smile appear on her face as she opened the door and hopped out of the van. Instantly, Vaya had pulled her into a tight hug and loudly exclaimed, “I can’t believe you actually came!”

“Yeah, glad you could make it, tumbleweed,” Vamos tried to play faer previous excitement off casually. Fae leaned against the van, a caricatured version of looking cool. Though they somehow made it work.

“Don’t scratch the paint, pup,” Maya piped up, hopping out of their car with a bag slung over her shoulder, “Can ya’ lend me a hand?”

“‘Course, Ms. Psychic,” Vaya called out, letting go of the girl and rushing to the other side of the van, their sibling following closely behind.

Merely a few seconds later, Vinyl came walking towards the group. The Girl gave him a wave, grabbing her apricot backpack from the backseat. Vinyl pointed at her backpack, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, uh, I got it. You can see if mom needs help, though,” he nodded at her words and travelled around the vehicle. The Girl glanced over at the doorway. The last member of the Ultra Vs was just standing there. Staring back at her and leaning against the doorway. His hair had faded slightly, turning a sort of pinkish red.

She sighed and looked up into the sky. Probably around 4.

‘You’ve been through hell and back you can deal with this,’ she ran a hand through her hair and made her way into the Ultra V hideout. Val’s eyes were practically staring right through her. Like a snake watching its prey. The Girl just tried to not acknowledge it.

She looked around at the now decorated restaurant. There were a handful of wildflowers in a variety of colors in cans and petals on the ground. A desk had been pushed out into the front room, making a makeshift altar. It was extremely plain, the only things on it being a faded polaroid of Volume in a soft yellow frame, a couple bad luck bead bracelets placed on the corners of the picture frame, a bag of chips, most likely stolen from Tommy, and a hair dye kit in Electric Frankenstein.

She opened up her bag and began to pull things out of it. Beads, photos, and other precious items. The Girl started to add things to their shared altar, making sure everyone had a section. Her family, her friends, no one was left out.

“Surprised you’re even here, halo head,” Val finally piped up, after what quite possibly could have been the most awkward silence.

‘Halo head,’ she mused to herself, ‘haven’t heard that one in a minute.’

“I’m here to help, don’t get sour,” she said with a sigh, carefully setting out both the battery powered and real candles.

“Help with what? None of this even… matters,” he moved away from his spot in the doorway and towards the altar she was working on.

She didn’t even dignify his sentence by turning to look at him, continuing to set out the picture frames. Val was just trying to get a rise out of her, she knew it.

“I mean, what deity is this for, again?”

“The Phoenix Witch,” the Girl strung a string of bad luck beads around the top of the desk.

“Yeah, the humanoid in a feather coat.”

She gave Val a somewhat annoyed look from over her shoulder, “Just a few months ago you saw me explode into a ball of green electricity,” she went back to what she was doing.

That seemed to set him off, really make him flare up, “I’m not gonna let some bomb with a silver tongue make my crew-”

“Heyyyyy!” Vaya announced their presence as they burst in through the front door. When they noticed how tense Val was, they cleared their throat, “Hope I didn’t interrupt your little get together.”

“Nope, we’re fine,” the Girl put on a fake smile. Apparently it was believable enough, because they let it go with a shrug.

Vaya was followed in by the rest of the Killjoys, all holding different bags filled with goodies.

Val’s anger seemed to fizzle out, since he practically slunk back into the background. It was like a sparkler, going from loud, bright, and fiery to silent in a matter of minutes. A sparkler in Poison Red hair dye. It still made her frown when she thought of it.

--=+=--

The altar was almost completely done, and Vamos was helping with the finishing touches. It was packed full of gifts and photographs, all meant to honor the ghosted. Maya, Vinyl, and Vaya were all in the restaurant’s kitchen, cooking both for the altar and for all of the other Killjoys. There was laughter coming from the kitchen. Well, Vaya and Maya were laughing, Vinyl was trying to fight the smile that wanted to appear on his face. The others were able to hear due to the openness of the restaurant. Val was hunched over on the couch, scribbling in his notebook.

“Lookin’ pretty shiny,” Vamos adjusted one of the frames near the back, since the glare of the lights had made it difficult to see. In it was a photo of Dr. Death Defying and Cherri Cola that the Girl had stolen out of Dr. Death’s station. Faer smile faded almost instantly.

“Christ, I kinda miss the old man,” fae mumbled, tone somewhat sorrowful, maybe even regretful. Fae brushed some of their neon hair out of faer eyes and continued to stare at the frame for a moment. Val shifted on the couch, no longer hunched over. No, now he was listening.

“Yeah, but, I guess… it happens… in a way?” the Girl struggled to find the words, she could feel herself getting somewhat choked up.

“It wasn’t his time,” Maya added, her tone laced with bitterness, “It’s a damn shame, but he’s with the witch now”

“God can you hear yourselves? He was a broken record. A dust angel. What’s the point of all of this?” Val’s voice snapped through the conversation. Everyone was tensely staring at Val, now. A stiff silence having come over the room.

“You wouldn’t know a broken record if you were hit over the head with one,” the Girl snapped back, after what felt an eternity, “The hell is wrong with you? Why can’t you just enjoy something for once?”

Val wrinkled his nose at her, storming out of the building without another word. Fuck.

“Guess you really blew up on him,” Maya tried, her joke falling flat.

--=+=--

It had only been around 15 minutes. The Girl hesitantly poked her head out of the door, looking at Val, who was sitting on the stairs.

“What?” he didn’t look up at her, like he thought the pavement was the most interesting thing in the zones. The stars were just starting to pop up in the sky, the sun sinking behind its spot in the hills.

The Girl just plopped down next to him and stared up at the sky, “You don’t have to like me, Val.”

Val looked up from his pavement, staring at the Girl with a look of mostly confusion.

“We just can’t keep pretending like we aren’t bothered by each other,” she ran a hand through her hair, focusing on a particularly bright star.

There was a beat of silence, “And I know you’re too stubborn to agree. It’s fine,” she hoped that her words came off as lighthearted. The last thing she needed was Val snapping at her again.

“You like the stars?” he finally spoke up.

She broke her staring contest with the bright star to glance at her fellow Killjoy, “Yeah, uh…” The Girl ran a hand through her hair again, debating whether to share what just popped into her head.

“Party, they used to tell me that when you got ghosted you would get turned into a star,” Val looked over at her, his face unreadable, “It always made me feel better, when I would hear people talking about claps going South on the radio. Made me feel like they were just… turning into stardust.”

He looked like he was processing her words, struggling to find the right response.

“Shiny,” is what he finally landed on.

“Yeah, shiny.”

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gaylotusthatexists · 5 years ago

Text

The Whole ‘Being Dead’ Thing - chapter two

One minute newly-weds, next minute newly-dead. When Patton and Logan Sanders die, what they find isn’t quite what they expect. A new family move into their beloved house, and they’re willing to do anything (well, almost anything) to get them out. But things don’t quite go as planned, and with a demon running lose, who knows if life (or death) will ever be the same?

Pairings: logicality, roceit

Trigger Warnings: death mention

Word Count: 1242

Taglist: @theloveliestsweetspongy @callboxkat @quietwords-loudthoughts @coffee-fueled-art @why-should-i-tell-youu2 @oofmood (and i’ll also tag @aravenclawpotato just in case, since you commented on ch1 and I don’t want you to miss out haha, but please feel free to ask to not be tagged) if you want to be added or taken off, let me know ^^

Days keep passing by, like a blur. The same day, over and over. Nothing exciting. I go to school, I go back to the apartment, I walk somewhere, anywhere, I go back to the apartment, I sleep. I refuse to call the apartment 'home', as much as Roman insists on it. I don't think Dad wants to call it 'home' either, though. He says it's only temporary, that soon we'll find a proper house for us all. 'Us all' meaning me, him and Roman.

But I don't want to find a proper house. I don't want to live in a temporary apartment or proper house. I want to live at home, with you. I want to go back home. I want to sit on the kitchen counter and sing whilst you're making dinner. I want to lay on the couch late at night whilst you read a story from your book. I want to crawl into your bed at night after waking up from a nightmare. I want to be with you.

But you're gone. Everyone keeps saying that. They tell me that you're gone, and there's nothing I can do about it, so I should move on. But I don't want to move on. I want to go back and be with you. I don't want to lose you. I don't want to forget you.

Sometimes I'm afraid that I'll forget you. I have to go over everything I know about you in my head: kind, smart, creative. Auburn hair, green eyes, pale skin and freckles. Beautiful. Calming voice, sweet singing. The way you would hold me in your arms, securely, protectively. You were warm and soft and cosy.

My therapist told me that writing to you would help. That it would help me sort through my feelings. That it would help me move on.

He doesn't understand. I don't want to move on.

You liked writing, too. Maybe one day you can write back.

Because you're not really gone, are you? You're still here. I can feel it. Soon enough you'll be back. Maybe you're reading this as I write. You must be. You must want to know what's going on now.

The sun is setting. The air is cold. It's getting dark and I am getting tired. I get tired a lot these days, but I never sleep. That's funny. Maybe I should take a nap.

He closed the book, dropped his pen to the floor, and breathed in and out, in and out. Some remaining ink soaked into the grass. An offering, he supposed. She liked to write, so maybe she could use it.

He leant back, feeling the cold, rough stone on his exposed neck. His hair had just been cut earlier that day - he had wanted to let it grow out, but Dad had forced him to get it cut. Dad thought that he wouldn't look 'professional' with long hair. Whatever that meant.

His arms were cold. He really should have grabbed his hoodie before leaving the house, but he had needed to escape. So all he had was his purple t-shirt - the one with rips, the one that Roman hated - and his usual black, ripped skinny jeans.

Lifting up his Polaroid camera from around his neck, he took a shot of the view. Gravestones paving their way up the hill, bare trees at the top, the final sunlight seeping through the spaces between the ragged branches. When he moved back home - because he was going to move back home - he planned to fill his bedroom walls with photos like this. His therapist said that was good, that pictures would help ground him in reality.

"Virgil, there you are!"

Virgil shot his head around at the sound of a familiar voice, and groaned. Roman walked up behind him. Great.

"Your father and I have been worried sick," Roman said, bending down to kneel besides him.

"Wow, I'm flattered," Virgil replied, flatly.

"I'm being serious, Virgil," Roman said. "You disappeared so suddenly. Your father did say that you might be here, but..."

Virgil rolled his eyes. "I haven't even been gone that long. I told you I was going for a walk."

"It's almost sunset," Roman pointed out. "You left the house around midday."

"Yeah, and?"

"You are a child, Virgil," Roman argued.

"I'm fifteen."

"A child," Roman repeated. "You shouldn't be out all on your own all of the time. Especially not-" He glanced around, grimacing. "-here."

"What's wrong with here?" Virgil asked, leaning forward and propping his head up on his hands, with his elbows resting on his crossed-legs.

Roman sighed. "I just don't think it's appropriate for you to be hanging around in a graveyard all the time. Especially not on your-"

He stopped. Silence fell between them. Virgil stared at him, trying his best not to cry.

"Let's just get you home," Roman said.

---------

The moon was just beginning to rise as they made it back to the apartment. Virgil couldn't tell whether Dad was relieved or not to see him home - Dad was hard to read, rarely ever smiling. Maybe that's where Virgil got it from.

He went straight up to his room, to lie awake in his bed. He was tired, but he didn't want to sleep. He just wanted everything to stop.

But when he entered his room, his whole world seemed to collapse. It was empty. His bed was gone, his posters had been taken down, the walls had been painted over. Frowning, he turned and went back downstairs.

"Hey, Dad, uh..." He sat on the arm of the sofa in the living room, looking over at Dad on the armchair in the corner, watching TV. "Where's all my shit?"

"Language, Virgil," Roman said in a sing-song voice, as he passed into the kitchen.

"Sorry," he said, quietly, and then corrected himself, "please can you tell me where all of my shit has gone?"

"It's in the moving van," Dad stated.

Virgil frowned. "The what?"

"We're moving away," Dad said.

Virgil blinked. He stared at Dad, speechless. "Why is this the first time I'm hearing this?"

Roman came back into the room and sat down besides Dad. "We knew that if we told you you'd kick up a fuss."

Virgil frowned. "What, and you thought that I wouldn't kick up a fuss if you told me right before we left?"

Dad and Roman looked at each other, concerned.

"Look, son," Dad said, "we didn't want you to freak out. I know you like it in this city, but-"

"We're moving to a different city?" Virgil exclaimed.

"-but I think it's best for all of us if we get away. There are too many... not so good memories here, for all of us. We need to move on."

"But..." Virgil breathed in. "Our house. It's here. We can't-"

"Your house is gone, Virgil," Roman said.

"And Mom-"

"Mom's gone too," Dad said, standing up. "And it's time we leave this place. We need a fresh start."

Virgil stared at him for a moment, before standing up and leaving the apartment, sitting down on the curb outside the building. The moving van was down the street, with people filling it up. It was settled, then. They were going. There was nothing that Virgil could about it.

He would be away from her. He wouldn't be able to visit her anymore. He would be alone. And so would she.

Alone. Invisible. Forgotten.

#the whole 'being dead' thing #sanders sides #thomas sanders #beetlejuice #beetlejuice au #logicality #roceit #virgil sanders #roman sanders #deceit sanders #remus sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #my fanfiction #my writing #my fanfic #tw death mention

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prorevenge · 6 years ago

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Let's see how he looks at you now.

A few background information before I get into the story.

I am a bastard child, child born out of wedlock, but I am not the only one. I have a fraternal twin brother, we'll call him Dill. When my mother and father, who were both 25 at the time, found out they were having twins, my father left my mother in the hospital the day after we were born. Growing up, he was never in our lives and my mother didn't have any ill intent towards him. We resented the mention of a father who we never seen or met in our lives and was generally happy with my single mother. Even there was days my mother would share old Polaroids of them together, saying things like how we look like our father and how those we great days, but how nothing could compare to the day we were born.

Fast forward to 18 years old, Dill and I were at our graduation from high school. My entire moms side of the family was there to celebrate, take pictures and then have an after party at my aunts home. Before that could happen, my mother said she had a surprise for us as between the crowd, a man was emerging. Dill and I soon felt a terrible distaste as we could tell this man was the man who seemed to walk out on my mother all those years ago. We felt hatred towards this man even if my mother smiled whenever she would talk about him.

Our father cried, in turn making my mother cry as they soon told us how he was involved in our lives even if it wasn't in person or physical.

My parents told us that when we were born, they agreed that they couldn't take care of twins with the income they had. With a worded agreement, my parents agreed that my father would have to walk out for most of our lives to support us and sent money off from a job miles away from our birth town. So the years of birthdays, cars, Christmas presents, Halloween costumes and thanksgiving dinner wasn't only paid by my mother, but our father as well. They handed us envelopes that they said was for our college tuition. Our father even took us by the hands and got on his knees while crying. As if on an instant, it was like our resentment towards this man fluttered away. I cried and Dill was helping him up. Without a second thought, we embraced our parents and my father wouldn't stop apologizing.

Our relationship with our father 9 years later couldn't be stronger, we bond any way children and their father could have.

With their help we graduated from college, me in business and fashion while my brother in computer sciences. We are both 27 now, doing things we both love.

Now, you are probably wondering: "Maybe they got pro revenge on their father who abandoned them for 18 years."

I'm here to tell you, No, it isn't. My pro revenge story is about the woman our father brought to our high school graduation.

Our step-mother, her name being Heather for this story as for privacy reason.

Heather was and still is married to our father. At first glance, she was a very nice looking woman and we were happy that our father was in love with someone. Our mother had no qualms about the marriage as she was partially the instigator for my fathers proposal.

Heather was about 5 years younger than my father who is 53 years old now, and has 3 other boys (6, 8 and 19 then. 15, 16 and 28 now) with another husband. We also get very well along with them, my brother and I loving the fact we have friendly, kind and sweet step-brothers who would step in if anything was wrong.

But, what we first thought was not at all what we seemed.

The story:

Within the first 6 years we got to know our father and Heather, we noticed that Heather was extremely babied and spoiled by our father. She and our step-brothers wore clothing brands and had expensive devices. My father told us that he would shower us the same way if we pleased, but we passed on the offer as just reconnecting our father and the times he spoiled our behinds off when we were children while we resented him was enough to spoil us rotten.

The days we would spent at our fathers house, I would wake up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom or drink water to hear Heather shouting at my father, who would attempt to quickly calm her down in a nonthreatening fashion. I didn't understand why he was being yelled at but it slowly pricked at me whenever I experienced it.

It wasn't until I realized my father would often visit us with scratch marks, cuts and bruises on his face and sometimes his arms. That was always unsettling to my brother and I when our father would joke that a cat would dig in their trash or some random excuse that was a obvious lie. We figured we couldn't do anything until our father would stop bottling up his truth.

Our step-brother, the eldest who we will call Matt came with us to go drinking and dancing on our 25th birthday. My brothers got wasted, I had a bad experience with an ex-boyfriend and drinking so I stayed away from drinking. Therefore, I was the designated driver for that day. With the help of a few, less drunk, friends, I managed to get my brothers in the car. Matt in the front and Dill in back, his face pressing against the leather cushion while bumbling something silly.

As we drove home, Matt was slowly getting sober but I could tell he couldn't fully comprehend what he was saying. He smiled at me with his silly drunk face and slur some stuff about how lucky we were to have such a caring father and how much his younger brothers loved us. That made me happy until he would blurt out something that made me uneasy. What came out of his mouth would make me seethe with rage.

"Our mom always talks bad about him and your mother to us. Mom hits him too." He said with a laugh before he leaned against the door, said he was tired and went to sleep.

How dare she.. I would think as I got to my mothers house and got my brothers up enough to help them stumble into the house. I would tell my brother and my mother what Matt had said when he was drunk.

My Dill was pissed when he found out and my mother was just in shock as she thought she was good friends with Heather. Dill confronted Matt 2 weeks later about what Heather would do to our father and why?

Matt said that he knew Heather was extremely manipulative and spoiled, so much so that Matt's father was angry with Heather and divorced her after she had cheated with his slightly more wealthy friend. He told us Heather would scratch, throw stuff, threaten and belittle my father whenever she didn't get what her or any of her children wanted immediately. My father, being the kind man he is, would tolerate it and give her anything she pleased with a smile. Matt would be forced to stop her before anything worst could happen. There would be days where she took her kids and stayed at her parents house if my father would attempt to refuse or tell her that funds were low. It was terrible when she had found out our father was tucking aside money for our college funds.

She would talk terribly, in text and in person to her children, about my father being a filthy, broke Cambodian immigrant and not loving her, my mother being a gold digging woman "white bitch" trying to coax my father into help pay for our lives on the side.

We were disgusted and pissed at Heather. She would hurt our father and talk horribly of my parents without looking at her entitled self. This was a moment where we would need to put her where she belonged, we wanted to ruin her but we settled on changing the way our father would look at her, which would be damaging her in a special way.

Dill, Matt and I came up with a plan. Dill and I were our father's pride and joy after all, so why not put one of ourselves as bait. With the three of us, we scrounged up money we saved up together from jobs, birthday money, gigs and side tutoring from the several years we grew up together. Dill and I were saving money to buy my mother and her boyfriend a new place to live as their place was being littered with pests ranging from rats to termites each summer. So the money we pulled together came up to around $2800. After a argument with Dill, it was decided that I would be the one to enact the pro revenge.

The revenge:

After the 3 months of gathering and careful planning, I had taken the money and told my father and Heather that we wanted to buy mother and her boyfriend a home to live in. My father asked my budget and I pull out the money, making an effort to count it in front of them to push the bait. When Heather saw the money, I could see her eyes widen in surprise. My father told me that we were good kids, that he was proud of us that we grew up to be kind people. I felt kind of guilty, I was going to contort my father's feelings towards this woman. I was hesitant but looked at Heather's face, I was determined.

We spent the next hour finding a good home for mother, settling on one as we would visit the real estate place the next morning. I took the money and went to my room, I hid the cash under my bed mattress, the most obvious place a person would hide it, right?

During the whole house finding, my brothers were setting up something in my room, something that wasn't in my room before. One of those large Valentines teddy bears that Dill had got me when my ex-boyfriend dumped me on Valentines day.

Matt, Dill and I would leave the house, going to our mothers house under the guise of saying we were going to tell her the surprise. Fast forward to 5 hours later, we go back to my fathers house, he was at work, doing the night shift as a security guard. When we walked into my room, I will visibly surprised as all my drawers of my dressers were pulled out, my closet was ravaged through and my bed mattress was flipped, we didn't expect a hurricane to go through my room needlessly. The teddy bear was also disturbed though, thrown on the ground with it's face to the ground. We were slightly panicked as Dill had picked up the teddy and rip out threads of its back and pulled out something.

I went call to my father, a little panicked and said my room was rummaged through and the money was gone. Honestly, I was actually scared because it was most of the money Dill and I saved to actually get my mother a place, thinking it would have been spent soon enough. My father was panicked, saying he'd be home as fast as he can.

As soon as my father got home, I was joined in my room with Matt, Dill and our father. Dill and I expressed our disappointment and anger to my father about Heather. Next to my laptop was camera that Matt had received from his dad. It was plugged into the computer as Dill asked my father to sit down and watch the video.

The video played.

It had showed an empty room before Heather had walked in, not at all sneakily as she pulled out my drawers, pulled my clothes out and threw it to the ground before repeating it with my closet. She even walked over straight to the bear and picked it off before frustratingly throwing it to the ground. It was facing most of the ground for the time as there was no sound either.

As the video ended, Dill and I could see the gears clicking in our father's head. Our father was kind, not dense, after all. In our 9 years of knowing this man, we have never seen him angry until that night alone. Dad had called Heather, telling her to come home immediately. She got home 4 hours later with three bags of brand name clothing. I felt my heart break as I already knew she had probably spent all of that money. I started to choke back my sobs as Dill would try to calm me down, being angry himself. Matt just staring at his mother with a face of disappointment.

My father began to ruthlessly shout at Heather. He reprimanded her for spending all the hard earned money of their children. She scoffed, handing over the envelope with only three-fourths of the original money and some change. This only made father more angry as he would shout at her to get out of his house, threatening to divorce her and throw her onto the streets without the items. Her eyes got wide and her face contorted into a face of 'oh no.' She began to plead and beg as my father forcefully turned her around and pushed her out of the house, still yelling at how horrible she was. Matt was forced to follow because even if she was a horrible person, she was still his mother. For only 10 minutes, Heather banged and begged to be let back in before she was forced to leave my father's property.

My father apologized profusely that night as I did nothing but stare at the leftover money and cry in my room.

My father is still married to that woman, but he refused to look at her, most of the time or sleep in the same bed. He still loves her in a way as a husband would a wife, but now it is different for him as his wife was the filthy thief of his blood and flesh. We had given Matt his portion of the bait money and was given back a little of the money when Heather returned a few of the items back to the stores.

Fortunately, 2 years later, we finally bought my mother a three bedroom, 2 bathroom house in a non-infested neighborhood. She was unbelievably grateful.

Maybe now its time to help save up divorce money.

If you read this far, I'm so glad you had wanted to stick around to the end. That is all.

Thank you for reading.

(source) story by (/u/Heart_Garden)

#prorevenge #by /u/Heart_Garden #pro revenge #revenge stories #pro revenge stories #pro #revenge #last10

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ofdianaes-blog · 5 years ago

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DIANA ARCHIBALD [ VIRGINIA GARDENER ] is a JUNIOR at Broadripple Academy. She is SEVENTEEN years old, from BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS and has been at Broadripple Academy for HALF A year.

hiya all ! i’m meredith, i’m 18 and i never learned how to fucking read i’m super excited to be here ! feel free to slide into my ims if you want to plot at all, i’m down for whatever and am super excited to get to plotting with you all, and i hope you love/hate my new baby, diana just as much as i do. i’ve included some stuff about her under the cut, as well as some plot ideas i’d like to see. y’all can also message me on discord if you want for easier plotting, i’m meredith#3445

okay, her bio is all the way at the end of this just in case it’s posted on the main by the time i post this and i don’t wanna make anyone suffer through it. if you haven’t seen it, just scroll on down and it should be there for you to learn all about my girl. now for wanted plots/plot ideas ( i’m like, zero percent limited to any of these )

BLACKMAIL OR SYMPATHY? THE WORLD IS YOUR OYSTER basically, this plot is someone knowing that diana is a big fat faker. maybe they went to middle school with her, or one of her many different personalities in high school before they both ended up at broadripple. with all the times she’s moved, as long as it was in state ... it might very well be a possibility she knows one person. maybe they read her diary, she keeps it under her mattress. maybe they just caught her mouthing the words to a billboard top 100 song and her cover is blown. who knows! we can sort all that out. this person can either hold this over diana’s head, or they’ll feel bad for her and attempt to show her the ropes of everything and keep her secret on the dl. the first is more fun for me, the second is more fun for diana. your pick.

YOU’VE_GOT_A_FRIEND_IN_ME.mp3 someone that sees through that pretentious candy shell to the mediocre chocolate that’s beneath. i imagine most people have a low tolerance for when diana gets into one of her real cinema is dead, i was born in the wrong generation moods, but this is the person that sticks by her, reminds her she’s being obnoxious, and she can still listen to the smiths in 2019, no one is stopping her. did they meet in english class, sharing an illicit cigarette, bonding over how diana is always getting a coffee? it’s all up to you, but partners in not really crime is something i’d love to see for her. she gets lonely, y’all.

RIVALS TO ENEMIES TO RIVALS (100k, F/?) i’m running out of creativity for these plot ideas, okay? anyone who dare insinuate (or outright say) diana is wrong about, ahem, anything, or has poor taste or whatever is bound to be at the receiving end of her wrath. and by wrath, i mean glares across the hallway and the angry writings in her journal. don’t call it a diary, even though it really is, she’ll get mad. if this person wants to share passive aggressive quips and feuds, then ooh boy, is diana the enemy for them. this can be someone who’s uninhibited by her desperation for the cool factor and is just themselves, or someone who thinks she isn’t cool enough. either one will make her skin crawl.

FILM PROTEGE / HER YOUNG PADAWAN they don’t even necessarily have to be into the same shit she is, or film at all, though they could want her to teach them about shitty foreign films and 80s sadgirl music. if she sees anyone shy or meek or just not with big enough of a personality, she’ll ceaselessly volunteer to show them to the world of not knowing how to shut their damn mouth. god knows that’s the world she’s living in. while she isn’t necessarily a rebel (she always recycles and does her homework), she does partake in habits such as [ gasp ] swearing and the devil’s lettuce. whether this person is shy or just extraordinary strait-laced .... let diana ( holes voice ) fix that

okay, now her bio is below this line. enjoy !

Though Diana Archibald is indisputably a firecracker, to say she came into the world with a bang would be a bold faced lie. She was born to the archetypical white picket fence, upper middle class family. She donned pink onesies and cooed alongside family pet golden retriever, a friendly, brown-eyed creature named Max — Diana would vomit at how the stereotypes seemed to stack so neatly. Tragedy and betrayal, however, can taint even the most normal of lives, and with her mother’s cancer diagnoses, her father was out the door before she could toddle. Hindered by the cost of medical bills, Elizabeth Archibald, Diana’s partial namesake, withered away into nothing. With her father unable to be located for child support or to take her in, who was once a perfect, porcelain blonde baby doll became red faced and tearful toddler — a ward of the state, sent on the pipeline from foster home to foster home.

Diana was raised on half rewound VHS tapes and scratchy, skipping DVDs that she was shoved in front of to keep her docile and occupied. Her obsession with stories didn’t stop there, as she stumbling through the minimal words in picture books turned into devouring novels with a wind up flashlight under the thick covers of her bunk bed. She saw herself in the pages of protagonists burned by tragic backstories, of boys and girls who rose from the ashes and became strong and willful and exactly who she wanted to be. She wanted nothing more than to satiate the hunger she felt to be like them: to be something. And so, the lies began: carefully crafted, always a new story wherever she went.

The first half of freshman year, she was a bubbly cheerleader in a tiny town on the Connecticut border, where she reeked of bubblegum and painted her nails bright pink in class, doodling the names of the cutest boys in school amongst her math notes. Second half, she was a band geek in Cambridge, with grades imbalanced to direct her towards the arts as she nervously learned to play the clarinet, swapping spit under the bleachers with pimple faced boys who played the drums and frizzy-braided girls in the brass section. The first half of sophomore year she lived in the suburbs of Boston, where she had heavy black eyeliner and a permanent scowl on her face, she recited poetry and wrote her own, deep and dark. She got a stick and poke on her ankle in her best friend’s garage, and shoplifted religiously. Once January hit and she was somewhere else, demanding she was referred to only by her last name. She wore flannel and beanies and refused to speak in class, passing a joint back and forth around in the basement of a senior who looked at her with leering eyes. The first half of her junior year, she was the perfect church girl, her hair always in neat braids and a smile on lightly glossed lips as she perfectly enunciated hymns and messages of peace be with you. A golden cross hung loosely around her neck, and she meticulously frosted cupcakes for the school bake sale and highlighted passages in her bible.

That’s how she supposes, she ended up at Broadripple. After she was shoved out of that town, that school, that family, her newfound love of religion was deemed of enough importance: Diana was a lovely candidate for the philanthropy of Broadripple Academy, and they would be so happy to have her attend. She was used to moving, but not into buildings with ivy covered walls and pleated skirts being added to her wardrobe. The sudden, abrupt change unlike any other had left her floundering for a new personality to latch onto, a new story to spin: until she came up with the best one yet. The perfect story was a story maker, pathological liar turned into filmmaker. Polaroid camera is always tucked into her backpack, and phone is always ready to film. She’s no longer a participant: she’s an observer. Her father was an important producer in Hollywood, she told everyone in her science class. Her mother was a retired soap opera star, but she was just as beautiful as she was in her haydey. No one cared enough to Google, and ambiguities and carefully placed anecdotes were her specialties — it worked. Now, she was the creative, wide eyed and quiet, journaling late into the night and always with a cup of coffee in hand, contraband cigarettes kept in her bottom dresser drawer. She reads classic literature and insists music sounds better on vinyl, carefully critiquing the film taste of her peers.

No matter how carefully crafted, aren’t all ruses bound to end?

and her personality section !

She’s black coffee and vinyl records, she’s the crunch of fall leaves under your shoes and absent sharpie doodles up and down your arm. She’s ballpoint pens and perfume that smells like vanilla, she’s the big glasses perched on her nose that she doesn’t really need, she’s cheeks carefully dusted with blush to make her look kissed by winter air. She’s cinnamon bubblegum and sitting cross legged in the grass, snapping photos of bunnies as they trot between trees.

DISHONEST: There’s an itch that can’t be scratched away, and it’s to tell another lie. One more won’t hurt. She tells herself, in fact, it might just help. She’s lived in Beverly Hills and Brooklyn, she tells them, twirling her hair nervously around her finger. She’s never even left the state.

ASTUTE: There’s no denying Diana is smart. One has to be, to stop themselves from getting tangled in a web of dishonesty. Math and science aren’t specialties of hers, but they still come easily, and her natural flair for artistry and the dramatics has made her an excellent writer and creative student. Good grades are easily achieved, and Diana easily takes notice of things other people try to hide.

SELF-IMPORTANT: Diana does everything better, she’s sure of it. After all, she’s had to put in the research into how exactly to do things right. This new personality of hers only amplifies the airs of betterness she seems to put on — though there’s no cracks shown in confidence, it certainly is a facade.

GREGARIOUS: Even in her quite states, it’s always been easy for Diana to make friends. She’s naturally empathetic, and has no issue molding herself to suit what the conversation needs. She’ll donate to charity or talk shit behind your back — whatever the conversation calls for. She’s a social butterfly that can never seem to settle on a hive, and that leaves most of her relationships at surface level.

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whittynovels · 7 years ago

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juliette & nazeera fic

My suggestion for this fic is to give it absolutely no context. It’s set in NZ, and somehow Nazeera is there, but that’s all I’ve got for world-building. But after Restore Me I think we can all agree that Juliette is bi and Nazeera is a lesbian, and if this scene hadn’t been written, I don’t think I could’ve survived it. So, here we are.

I don’t need to turn around to recognize her footsteps. I hadn’t quite been anticipating them, but my indifference at being disturbed doesn’t shock me. My eyes had blurred from staring in the same place so long, so lost in my own head I had nearly forgotten where I sat. The noise of boots crunching on sand recalibrates my pulse, and my vision clears. It clears to lavender and ash mountain peaks dusted in snow flurries coral the landscape in a semicircle. The peaks climb so tall that the secrets and friends and societies beyond them are lost to their jagged tips and the clouds. The gentle, lapping waves of the lake look the same as they have for the past three hours, the foam leaving a rim of froth just inches from my feet. Sitting on the shore, arms wrapped around my knees, it still shocks me to revive my senses and remind myself where I am. The numbness in my limbs recedes a fraction, just to climb back under my skin as soon as the footsteps stop beside me. Neither of us speaks, and she doesn’t move to sit next to me, either. If I embed myself into this earth and become a tree, she’ll go away. Solitary and life-bearing. It must be nice to a tree. I can hardly suppress the chuckle. “Here,” she finally says, and a beige flutter enters my peripheral vision. My fingers have been clasped to my knees for so long, they must have become stone by now. When she realizes I’m not going to turn to her or accept whatever she’s offering me, a gentle sigh erupts from her chest. I wait for her to turn and retreat; instead, she joins me on the sand. The warmth of insulated nylon falls over my shoulders, the empty sleeves of a jacket draped across my back flapping in the breeze. Afterward, it’s graciously silent between us. I hadn’t noticed how much I must have been growing colder in the sinking sunlight until tickles of warmth runs its fingers down my back and some numbness lifts. For a long time, the gentle caress of water occupies the only noise between us. And then-- “I wanted to tell you,” Nazeera says. “So much.” I try to laugh with what little bitterness I can spare her, but the sound erupts from me like a scoff nevertheless. But it’s this, this admission that finally makes my spine crack, my head turn toward her. Nazeera doesn’t meet my gaze. She’s staring solemnly at the water with just the barest wrinkle in her brow as if trying to decipher a message written at the bottom of the sand. Her brown face is creaseless, devoid of a single ripple of emotion. “You knew,” I finally whisper. The words pummel into my heart like rocks tumbling down a storm drain. My ribcage expands and aches with the invisible wound, the betrayal. For the first time, her chin snaps in my direction, her face already transformed into misery and her lips already parted. “El—Juliette—” “Please,” I protest, my voice catching. I have to turn away back to the water again, counting and breathing and digging my fingernails into my palms. Nazeera quiets dutifully, but her face is still turned to me. Waiting. I’m hardly breathing. My head, my heart feels heavy. I don’t know how to walk away from this. I don’t know if I can. I look up at the mountains, at their ferocity and imposing stature. “Do you remember it?” She asks, her voice low and mournful. “At all? Do you remember me?” And I want to close my eyes to savor the few images that surface with spotting like frayed edges of a photograph, but I don’t trust myself to decipher what’s real. And yet, I don’t want to lie to her. “I don’t know,” I admit helplessly, perching my chin on top of my knee. My eyes grow unfocused again as they gaze across the water. Nazeera shifts, not quite closer to me, but somehow more angled toward me than before. I don’t know if she’s looking at me or away when she next whispers, “Do you want to?” The answer to this question takes me more seconds to find. I think of the photographs in my pocket, the relics of a past life that is still so new it doesn’t feel real. The sundresses and bikes and smiles all belong to an imaginary girl, although I’ve seen the dress hanging in the closet and the bike in the garage. I’d been too afraid to verify if the smile remained the same. I now allow myself the clearance to marvel over Warner’s propensity to avoid mirrors. For the first time, I think I understand. A smile can’t possibly be hers and mine simultaneously. I spend so long contemplating this that Nazeera must assume I’m declining. She must have been watching me, then, because the sun catches the gleaming folds of her burgundy headscarf as she turns her face away. I stand abruptly, the jacket nearly slipping from my shoulders before I remember to slip my arms into the sleeves. Nazeera stands beside me, brushing errant sand from the back of her leggings while watching me cautiously. I dig in my back pocket. Her eyes study the movement, calculating my nerves. Calculating me. Calculating the photograph I produce. I bite the inside of my cheek instead and stand up straighter, though Nazeera is easily four inches taller than me without the heeled boots. When I produce the little stack of pictures, I select the third picture without needing to shuffle through them. I turn it to her, hating my hands for shaking. Nazeera only glances at it briefly, however, before returning her gaze to my face. Her eyebrows are pulled together. Concern for me, not for the contents of the photograph. My lungs collapse. “What is this? When was this?” I ask, the words spilling from me. “Do you remember this? Is this—here?” I gesture wildly to the trees and diameter of purple peaks around us, and the louder I become, the firmer Nazeera’s lips settle into a grimace. “Maybe you should discuss with—” “No,” I interrupt, emphatically shaking the picture at her to recapture her attention to it. “I need you to tell me. I need you.” She looks down to the polaroid once more, but her expression stays the same. She doesn’t take the time to inspect its creases and the smiling expressions of the girls and the way their eyes lit up as they regarded each other. My arms fall to my sides in defeat, the revelation slamming over me like a weighted blanket: she doesn’t just remember, but she’s also seen this picture before. None of this is new for her. “I—” she begins, seemingly unable to decide between staring at my watering eyes or my shaking hands clenching the pictures at my sides. She seems to take a moment to collect herself before locking her eyes onto my face. “I refused to forget,” she finally finishes. I slide the polaroid back into place among the others. Though I’ve been successful at refusing to look at the pictures constantly, especially the ones I know I shouldn’t be carrying, an unnamed instinct reaches for the final picture in the stack. My eyes have traversed its contents for so many hours that each dust mote in the air and grain of wood in the stairwell bannister are imprinted behind my eyelids. I turn the picture to Nazeera, but still hold it close to me so that she doesn’t try to take it. “And him?” I ask. She shakes her head and backs away a step. “It’s . . . complicated. I think it’s best he tell you in his own time.” “If he’s alive!” I shout, incredulous laughter lacing fingers with my strained vocal chords. As her light brown eyes assess me, the diamond of Nazeera’s lip piercing sparkles in the setting sun. Nazeera watches me watch her, and when I return the pictures into my back pocket, her gaze lingers there for a second too long. “This is bullshit,” I continue with a choke, abandoning the numbness and solitude, damn sounding like a petulant child. “Everything’s been a lie. Everything. I don’t even know who I want to be anymore. Which girl am I? The Supreme’s daughter or the Supreme Commander?” Tears are overflowing freely, and my boots are creating deep treads in the sand where I’ve begun pacing. “I don’t know if I can be both and I don’t know who would let me and, God, I don’t even know if my entire staff is alive and—” “Hey,” Nazeera interrupts, and before I can turn and wipe my eyes, her hands are clasped against my cheeks. The suddenness of the touch startles me, her unflinching resolve to touch me bare-handed even more so. My eyes are freshly watering, warm tracks of tears navigating in rivulets down my cheeks. I wait for her to continue speaking, my chin quivering between her thumbs, rapt. She’s silent. Instead, her fingers slide up my cheeks so that her thumbs sweep away the chill of fallen tears. The panic that had risen in me is dulled to the sensation of her warm hands cradling my cheeks and the comforting shadow of her nearness. Her fingertips, damp with the evidence of my misery, caress the edges of my face. You’re so strong and so pretty, I had said to her. So strong and I want to be like you. Up close, she’s every bit as otherworldly as she had seemed when I was half-dead. Radiance uncontained. Her skin, the shade of the sand beneath our feet, only warm, and smoother than a coat of paint. In this heart are stampedes, I think. My pulse beats beyond my control, swept up in an inevitable tide. My feet move with the momentum of my racing nerves, my weight rising onto my toes, and through the blurriness of my own emotions I can only hardly register the anticipatory parting of her lips as my mouth seeks hers. For a moment, the taste of her is so debilitating that I can only breathe her in. The intoxicating sweetness of her mouth coats my lips and the tip of my tongue. I wait for her to still, to push me away, for my heart to realize this is not what I want, but she steps closer and parts her lips against mine, and I’m captured again by the sweetness of her. Those candies, I realize. How she always offered one to me. Always seemed to have one on her person. Sure enough, as I slide my arms around her waist beneath her jacket, I hear the crinkle of wrappers through the inner fabric of her pocket. My hands are so unaccustomed to the new curves they encounter, I can’t help but marvel at the shape of her. She is the precise balance of softness and angles; the soft dip of flesh before the hard ridges of ribs; the sensuous dip of lower back before the hard ridge of her spine. Her mouth is eager against mine, insistent and prying in a way that isn’t at all invasive. I keep waiting to be overpowered, but every new incline of her head is mutual, reaching new depths in my capacity for exhilaration. She breaks away to breathe, inclining her forehead against mine and letting me sink back to my heels. I don’t realize I’m clinging to her, my arms wrapped around her in a tight embrace until her own slide around my shoulders. “I missed you,” she whispers, her voice crackling like static on a radio. “I’m so sorry.” I lick my lips, savoring the aftertaste of sugary sweet strawberry staining them. Even her breath makes my mouth water anew. I feel so dizzy, the hollowness in my chest feels for a moment without a source. Intoxication drives my fingers to caress her ribcage once more. “You found me,” I murmur, opening my eyes. Hers are looking back into mine, our faces so close that our eyelashes are practically skimming. Nazeera runs a single hand from my shoulder blade to the base of my neck, cupping my face close to her. A laugh escapes her, incredulous, and as her lips navigate across mine again, the pull of our smiles slowing the tempo our heated embrace. She finally pulls away to press a kiss to my forehead, and I breathe in the herbal undertones of the scarf wrapped beneath her chin. “And now,” Nazeera says with a note of finality that signals I should drop my arms from her. I’m quickly growing colder with the absence of her body heat, but she extends a hand to me, an unwavering hardness in her gaze. “We have to find Emma.”

#the ending of this is sloppy but oh well #i couldn't wait until book 5 for a f/f ship #fanfic #fanfiction #restore me #tahereh mafi #nazeera ibrahim #juliette ferrars #shatter me book 5

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wizardingbias · 8 years ago

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HP!headcanon - BTS V

|| WIZARDINGBIAS - where your fave bands live in hakho’s hogwarts au ||

Character Headcanons ↳ BTS V // Taehyung Marshall // Gryffindor

okay this boi will be the death of me and im not even a taehyung stan

Why is this boy a Gyffindor?

lemme tell ya listen up, buckle up, put on that strap

strap on

more under the cut hoes

such soft bebe

but also dangerous bebe

he is notorious for not giving a fuck about rules

like he used to

but then his mama was like

yolo my child

So in my au, taehyung has an incredibly liberal japanese mother who is very hippie-esque and he has a twin sister, and i chose wheein from mmm bc

fuck yeah

tae’s best friend in the entire world is his mother

but wheein comes a close second lets be honest

and growing up, taetae doesn’t really need much more than his sister and his mom, but he does wish his dad came home from ukraine a little bit more often

he’s a dragon trainer

it’s so gd cool, lil taetae gushes about it every time he meets someone new, and then he points at his eyes because they have golden flecks in them and the story is that his father was so exposed to dragon’s and dragon fire and dragon scales that a mutation occurred and golden flecks planted themselves in his eyes like the ambers of a fire

and both wheein and tae has them but only tae thinks they’re the coolest thing in the world

wheein is all like ‘?????’ bc her brother gets weird abt stuff like that

YEAR 1

taetae and wheein are so lucky to have each other tbh, because if not tae would roam around the entire train and probably make friends with the weird kids that accidentally but not-accidentally try to poison you

so thank merlin wheein is there to reel him into a compartment and keep him busy without getting into trouble

taetae needs a leash honest to god

it’s here lil 11 y/o taetae meets überly shy-

shy shy shy

-little Jimin but jimin is so cute and fluffy cheeked tae can’t contain himself when jimin asks if he can sit here with them

taehyung leaps at the answer

“yES!”

and they click so well and jimin blushes so much at taehyung’s compliments on his fluffy cheeks

and they show each other pictures of their cute little pets

taehyung loves animals so much and it’s totally okay if Jimin’s owl doesn’t like him rn because it’s beautiful and fluffy and jimin’s eyes are halfmoons as taehyung gushes over this pretty little baby owl

Carrot, Taehyung’s tabby cat,

is named carrot bc of the really really orange fur duh

looooooooooooovvvvessssss jimin so muuuccchhh

same carrot same

and taehyung grabs his portable camera, (wizarding technology has come so far to use polaroids to take wizarding pictures cuz that thing Colin Creevey used in the second hp film is just waaayyy too big boii), and takes a snapshot of carrot spreading his limbs out over Jimin’s small lap

its so cute

taehyung can’t

i cant either

and when Jimin and Tae are sorted into the same house, it’s gd amazing cuz yas gryffindor yas, and they jump into each others’ arms so dramatically when they meet each other at the table

everyone in the Great Hall coos at them

as they should

and everyone knows this friendship is gonna go down in the history books

yEAR 2

obviously, jimin and tae have hung out over the summer, and tae has introduced his best friend in the whole wide world to his mother who absolutely adores him

but not as much as taehyung adores jimin

and their entire summer is spent playing with wheein and her new found best friend hwasa and it’s great

lots of new friends

who are good influences

bc tae is totally the type to accidentally befriend the troublemakers and fit in so well with them and their antics lets be honest

but in year 2, he gets a lot of new friends as well, because he’s such a social butterfly and here at Hogwarts, people actually think tae’s dragon eyes story is cool thank you very much, wheein

*snappy sass fingers*

and he makes friends with all the people in his year, like guys named joshua, and jeonghan and a girl named jisoo and so many more

and he loves hanging out with so many friends

and being able to greet them fondly every time they pass each other in the hallways

his eyes light up as he waves

don’t imagine squishy little gryffindor tae smiling like the whole world is at peace okay. don’t. your heart will hurt.

but jimin suddenly seems a little distant

doesn’t really wanna eat together anymore

always so busy

and tae’s like

“we’re second years. there isn’t that much going on”

but eventually jimin tells him

like in the middle of the night when he can’t sleep

that jimin feels left out

replaced

and tae’s heart hurts and he cries for making jimin feel like that because of course he’s not replaced, jimin is his bestest bestest friend in the whole wide world

and things get better from there

thank god bc imagining mini jimin all sad and sitting alone bc he thinks his only friend has gone off and gotten newer, better friends hurts my heart, my soul, and my entire ancestry

YEar 3 is a fucking wild one

bc suddenly, wheein has a stalker that refuses to let her go

and even tae, who is notorious for having no boundaries, is freaked out by this older guy prying on his sister like hell no mister, back the fuck away

but the dude’s a fucking 6th year (which makes it even creepier) and is literally twice taehyung’s height and abt 3x jimin’s height

and this is where tae’s real gryffindor instincts come into full gear

bc he makes an incredibly intricate plan and invites all the other third years and the whole of the gryffindor house to help him send a message to this weird stalker

and on a cold ass winter morning, a helpful seventh year levitates the stalker’s sleeping body out of his bed and all the way outside, keeping a warming spell around the boy’s body so he doesn’t wake up

and out on the quidditch field, there are about 100 students standing ready with bursting whip cream orbs (something taehyung invented himself that are meant to burst upon contact)

and as soon as the seventh year sets down the stalker and removes the charms, taehyung yells on the top of his lungs “fIREEEEEEE!” and the stalker abruptly wakes up, is suddenly pelted with bursting cream balls, and is freezing in his underwear as a sort of ultimate humiliation

it’s safe to say that that stalker will continue on the rest of his hogwarts life with this humiliation lingering

and tae smiles wickedly, so proud of himself

he doesn’t even mind the two months worth of detention he gets

bc no one does something as creepy as that to anyone

especially not his sister

and gets away with it

Year 3 is also the year jimin and tae discover a very lonely little slytherin first year eating alone in the courtyard instead of in the Great hall

and instinctively, taehyung drags jimin over with their lunch to eat next to the boy

and they drop next to the slytherin whilst casually continuing on with their mindless conversation

this is repeated for about 2 weeks before the slytherin boy says anything, and when he does it’s just before tae and jimin leave, and he grabs onto tae’s sleeve and says

“thank you”

in the softest voice ever

and taehyung melts for this boy

same tae same

bc jeongguk, as he introduces himself later on, is the most adorable, especially now that jimin isn’t as puffy and chubby as he was two years ago

and they become great ass friends and tae encourages jeongguk to make more friends in his own year bc it won’t hurt and he’s not gonna be able to be there for his classes and jeongguk should always have someone by his side

bc it’s wrong to leave people lonely

tae firmly believes every one should have a friend

jimin strongly agrees

and it’s the cutest thing ever to see jeongguk smile widely at that

my heart for jeongguk in this au omfg his backstory is just so sad so this really hits me in the feels okay, if you haven’t read jk’s profile, fucking do that so this can have it’s full effect my heaaaarttttttttttt

lemme tell you that lots of stuff happens in year 4 for tae

first of all, taehyung discovers that divinations is

zing

and he and a hufflepuff in his year named taeyong become such good friends after they’re paired up for this one project and they both have their minds blown by divinations

but obviously, he still likes care of magical creatures the very best. it’s been his fave since last year and it’s only getting so much cooler every year

and herbology is getting cooler as well but only because it’s tying into the care for magical creatures syllabus

either way

this is the year jimin suddenly is obsessed over quidditch

like all summer, the only thing jimin has been talking about is quidditch this and quidditch that so obviously it’s not a surprise that jimin wants to try out for the team

except

he drags taehyung with him even though tae has 100000000% no interest in the sport

like he’s not a bad flyer, he was actually pretty amazing in first year when they were learning how to use a broom

he just doesn’t know any rules

but bc jimin is so cute when he smiles with his half moon eyes and bounces on the balls of his feet like a lil child, taehyung indulges his bestest friend bc tae is awesome like that

and tbh the tryouts weren’t all that hard

actually pretty fun

and it turns out Tae is amazing with a bat

and both him and jimin make the cut easily with happy smiles on their faces

taehyung eventually learns to love the sport

it’s amazing as a stress relief

especially since O.W.L.’s are coming up next year and wheein is doing amazing in all her classes and he isn’t

whatever

tae you don’t have to be amazing at your subjects just do what makes you happy

His mom is btw the most amazing person ever

she sends him manga all the time and tae hides it from all his friends until he’s read the latest issue of one piece or something

and then he hands it out to his friends who literally pay him to read the latest issue and dayum how many lemon sherberts can he buy with this much money????

why are you in slytheirn

but ofc he always gives jimin and jeongguk the issues first

for free

bc they are his bestest friends

but his mom also sends him porn which is totally not weird, albeit a slight bit shocking at first, but his mom is so liberal and open about anything and everything like she even sends wheein jumbo packs of tampons and silk pads bc she knows the cotton ones dig in her areas

why does tae know this? bc they’re all really open with each other duh

omg but jimin would be so scandalised to see porn on the breakfast table just sitting there

barbecue sauce on my titties

Year 5555555

This is the year all students get some sort of existential crisis

people are growing up, mentally and physically, people are getting into somewhat serious relationships, identity crisis mode, all that jazz

yall know exactly what im talking about don’t ge triggered im here for you

and obvs tae is different from everyone else

like he doesn’t get why people are all of a sudden paying attention to their hair everyday, or why girls are wearing makeup, and boys for that matter

“jiMIN IS THAT EYELINER WHAT?????”

“how do you even know what eyeliner is?”

“I like watching makeup tutorials with my sister”

“that’s.....weirdly cute, bro. watch with me next time.”

*boxy smile* “okai”

But the weirdest thing yet is probably all the flying heart letters he keeps getting, like these fluttering pink confession paper thingies are really cute but tae doesn’t for the life of him understand why he’s suddenly getting a bunch of them

“you have really pretty eyes”

tae likes those the best tbh #DragonForLife

“you look so cool playing quidditch”

those are pretty nice too bc Tae feels hella cool playing quidditch

“your ears look soft”

Tae’s pretty sure that’s a joke one from jeongguk but he isn’t too sure

either way, people are starting to pay attention to him and slowly, little by little, he’s getting a tiny bit self conscious too, so obviously, he confides in jimin for some help

“maybe you want to switch up your look too?”

“i don’t wanna be mainstream. I wanna be main-meme”

*gang signs*

but it’s been on his mind enough so that by the christmas break he whines to his mama that taetae is no wonger cool anymwore

i failed at baby language in high school okay?

so his mom totally helps him out and dyes his hair fUCKING LAVENDER

this will forever be the greatest look tae ever had bring it back

and when he comes back from the hollidays HE GETS SO MANY MORE FLUTTERING HEART LETTERS ITS INSANE

like honestly, they’re everywhere

and they’re the type to follow him around if he doesn’t open them and read them

and it’s so embarrassing

why does this even exist????

he’s kinda comforted by the fact that he’s not the only one around school who has them frantically following them like even jeongguk, certified loner and awkward bunny, has a few following him around whilst jimin reads all the ones he’s got almost immediately bc lil chimchim hates attention okay

VALENTINES DAY

WE DO NOT TALK ABOUT IT

TAEHYUNG OFFICIALLY HATES THE COLOUR PINK

NEVER WANTS TO SEE IT IN HIS LIFE EVER AGAIN

FUCK THAT SHIT

In year 6 however

things get a little dramatic okay

bc just like everyone else, tae’s hormones are going wild

he’s a sixteen year old boy and he’s starting to get sensitive okay?

and he’s like faced with a major dilemma

besides his almost failed Arithmancy grade but who really cares about that when he’s gonna be a dragon trainer like his dad, right?

he’s kinda

you know

feeling things

feelings

but not just any kind of feelings, but feelings for a certain friend, who’s not supposed to make him feel all of these feelings, but taetae can’t help feeling these feelings for this certain friends

uuuuggggghhhhhhhhh

so he tries to confide in jimin without being too obvious

bc obvs he’s not supposed to be crushing on jeongguk

oh fuck, that wasn’t supposed to be revealed

uuuggghhhhhhhhh x2

but jimin gives him shit advice and tells him to confess to the guy he likes, obviously not understanding the severity of the situation

thanks for nothing chimchim

so he kinda just avoids jeongguk for a while, immersing himself in extra quidditch practice and extra time in the forbidden forest with hagrid

he’s basically hagrid’s apprentice now

but winning quidditch matches and feeding exotic animals isn’t really cutting it bc he gets so stressed out whenever he has to avoid jeongguk

bc he knows jeongguk’s really sensitive about friends and social stuff so tae should totally not just drop him like this, that goes against his morals

everyone should have a friend, remember????

so tae kinda suppresses the warm affection and goes on with life normally, apologising to a sulky jeongguk for being totally MIA

“I was totally not like in love with you for a minute and decided to do the most cliché lets-avoid-our-best-friend-slash-crush or anything, what are you talking about???”

*nervous laughter*

Seventh year comes along

and Tae has somewhat of a better grip on himself

over the summer he’s been able to evaluate his life, where he’s heading, what he wants to do, who he wants to be

obviously with a lot of long ass talks with wheein bc she’s the only one he can actually talk about everything with

yes, that means his jeongguk feeeeeeeeliiiiiinnnngggggssss as well

and he decides that it’s better to focus on himself rather than confess and get into a bunch of awkward situations with jeongguk and with jimin for that matter

and year seven is about true self discovery

Exploring TaeTae, sundays at nine on discovery channel

he’s seventeen ffs he’s gotta figure out a plan for after Hogwarts bros

and all he knows is he wants to be like his dad and work with animals and dragons

even tho he’s never seen a dragon in real life

so he sends a letter to his dad who gets him a summer internship at the dragon sanctuary he works at

longest yeaaaaaaahhhh boiiiiii everrr

so with that set, his fucking fingers tingling in anticipation, Tae gets Wheein to help him study for N.E.W.T.’s

and it’s so cute bc imagine jimin, tae, wheein, and hwasa with ruffled hair and pencils behind their ears (bc who the fuck uses quills outside of official examination) taking up the entire gryffindor common room room with countless of empty coffee mugs and balls of scrap parchment all around them

reminds me of stressful times nvm its not cute anymore

and then there’s quidditch

and even though they don’t win the cup, it’s okay cuz at least they didn’t come last

tho the rest of the team is sulking pretty bad

gd gryffindor pride

Tae’s just glad that the last year is a pretty damn good one

oh by the way

tae’s dyed his hair back to it’s original dark brown bc it felt more like himself, soft and sweet with a dark mystery

“lol wtf tae so dramatic”

“shut up, this is my narration for my discovery channel show, wheein”

But seventh year turns out to be pretty okay after all

Tae passes all his N.E.W.T.’s

(thanks to wheein obvs)

and Tae gets free butterbeer whenever he goes to Hogsmeade

and the dragon intership

pretty sweet bro

when graduation comes, Taehyung doesn’t cry like a bunch of his sappy peers

he just wears the biggest boxy smile ever

bc he’s so happy

and jimin looks fucking ugly crying

but so soft

they take a pic with the polaroid camera taehyung used when they first met

he’s posted all the pics over the years on his dorm wall but now he keeps it in a shrinkable album that he carries on his keychain so he can bring it everywhere he goes

and under the picture of him forcing jimin to pose with him for a photo, snotty and crying and red faced, it says

“7 awesome years end with snot and love”

and in the picture he’s kissing jimin’s puffy cheek sloppily and it’s so cuteeeeeee

and Tae takes pics with everyone, forces jeongguk into several of them, and wheein and hwasa, and with joshua from his charms class and jeonghan from Arithmancy and seokjin’s little sister jisoo and taeyong from divinations and yuta from the slytherin quidditch team and everyone else bc it’s all so cute and amazing and people are crying

what a time to be alive

i cannot with this image in my head like im about to graduate myself and i’m gonna cry so much nooooooo

and that’s it really

awesome

eventful

happy

not so happy

perfect

↳ Taehyung’s official profile

okay there we go, hope you liked this one :) Feel free to request in my ask who you want me to do next ^^

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