#and that in itself adds to the angst for MY own personal muse because god. he really IS just like his father and he's just like the demons | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kookiebunnii · 4 years ago

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love you a latte || mark tuan

Working part-time at your aunt’s café was supposed to be a relatively easy task. You get to strike up conversations with regulars and your clothes always smell like dark roast. However, as large coffee chains begin popping up around your neighborhood, your job and your workplace are suddenly threatened. As you scramble to find a way to keep your family’s business afloat, meeting the God of Coffee might just be what you need.

→ pairing: coffeegod!mark x barista!reader

→ genre: fluff mixed with angst

→ word count: 4k

→ warnings: n/a

“How does Love You a Latte have such good drinks? Simple, they make regular sacrifices to the Coffee God.”

→ a/n: this is my submission for @got7writerscollective‘s virgo project! please enjoy my short work and be sure to check out the other talented submissions

Having the desire to burn down a Starbucks had never been on your to-do list, but recently life was full of surprises.

You continue wiping down the same table that you’ve cleaned for the third time today. The giant green competitor occupying your thoughts looms just outside the windows. Slumping into the nearest seat, you fold the dish towel in your hands into neat little squares. Recently, every time your aunt came into the store to check in on you and the other baristas, her face dropped at the empty room. The sadness in her eyes almost breaks your heart, and you don’t think you can stand it any longer. Wracking your brain for a solution, you watch as rows upon rows of laughing customers walk through the doors of the new coffee shop across the street.

How could you possibly beat a brand that had notoriety, cheaper prices, and all the funds in the world at its disposal? As much as you adored the little slice of heaven your aunt built for herself, this shop is a small business that barely makes ends meet when faced with such a famous competitor. You could not afford to lower prices while maintaining quality, nor continually develop new drinks to use individuality as a lure.

At least the one positive, if you could even consider it that, was how quick and easy closing time became. There were less pitchers to clean, less trash to empty, and less in the registers to account for at the end of the day. As you let your hair out of the high ponytail you typically make for work, you take your singular trash bag out to the dumpster in the alleyway.

When you dispose the garbage for the day, you make an immediate beeline for the sink to wash your hands. However, there is a tall man your do not recognize observing the ceramic mugs kept behind the counter, and suddenly your shift becomes a little more eventful than usual.

“Oh, there you are,” he says, as if you were a friend he was waiting on.

You point at yourself incredulously before realizing that this stranger could be very dangerous or very delusional. It wasn’t everyday someone hopped behind the counter without permission and started admiring your workplace appliances. God, was this man trying to rob you?

“There’s no point stealing from us. We don’t have much anyways,” you mumble, raising your hands up slowly in surrender.

This seems to amuse him, because he chuckles darkly before replacing the pastel pink mug in his hands back to its designated spot on the shelf. Hands tucked in his dark jeans, he almost glides over to you and you instantly feel the hair at the back of your neck rise in fear. His head tilts as he observes you, his dark eyes identical to freshly brewed coffee and his skin glowing like the gentle honey brown of the lattes you like to make.

“Are you afraid of me?” he muses, giving you a teasing smile that immediately sparks the fight-or-flight response in your brain.

“There’s a stranger in my store fiddling behind the counter. You tell me,” as soon as the annoyed words leave your mouth, you realize that it would probably be best not to provoke the man.

As you brace yourself for his response to your snide little comment, you don’t expect the laugh that comes out of him. He reaches out to fix your apron strap, the small act immediately causing your skin to flush, before offering you a more reassuring smile.

“I’m not here to rob you.”

Fiddling with the edge of your apron, you try to relax your nerves—a difficult task considering how muddled with anxiety they were. Gathering what little confidence you have, you reply, “Either way, we’re closed for the day. If you’re looking for something, please come tomorrow.”

As you brush past him to hang up your apron, you’re quickly tugged back with an insistent hand on your wrist. His deep chocolate eyes find yours again, and you can’t help but hold your breath as you wonder what would be coming next.

“I’m here because you called me,” he states plainly, as if this fact should be obvious to you.

Your mouth opens and closes like a gaping fish before you stutter, “I don’t even know who you are?”

His features are painted with amusement, as if your confused expression was funny to him. He backs up to lean against the counter casually, letting go of your wrist in the process. The warmth from his grasp lingers, and you find it hard to concentrate on the words he utters next.

“I’m here to help your store. You’re struggling, aren’t you?” he gestures around to the untouched tables, their accompanying chairs all properly tucked in due to lack of use. The observation makes your heart sink again, and you struggle not to let his comment hurt you. Even if this was something you knew already, hearing another person point it out so obviously nevertheless rubbed salt in the wound.

“Hey…I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m here to make a deal with you, and I promise in a week this place will be packed,” he hurries forward, tilting your chin up to look at him as you try to blink away tears. You offer him whatever semblance of a smile you can, and he offers you one of his own in response.

“How are you going to help?” you wonder, “How do I know I can trust you?”

The stranger snaps his fingers and all of a sudden, the ties of your apron begin undoing themselves as if an invisible hand were working at them. You watch, stunned in silence, and your apron drifts over to the man and serenely loops itself over his neck. Apron secured, he strides over behind the counter and sets to work. His motions are practiced with a smooth hand which make his actions as exquisite as a performance. Mesmerized, you watch as he gathers the perfect amount of milk foam over the espresso shots. As he hands the finished cappuccino in front of your eager eyes, you swear his fingers glow slightly against the side of the mug.

Abandoning all reason, you take a sip of the mysterious man’s finished product. Immediately, your lips curl into a smile. It tastes as amazing as it looks, and you swear it’s the best drink you’re ever had. All the notes are balanced perfectly, and the temperature isn’t too scalding either. Even the most experienced barista may not be able to create such a masterpiece, especially with the average ingredients Love You a Latte supplied.

“Who are you?”

He doesn’t answer for a second, simply tugging the cup from your hands and taking his own sip. His mouth lingers slightly against the rim, his eyes observing you with satisfaction. Humming slightly, he taps the handle of the now-empty mug and it begins cleaning itself within your sink before settling back on the shelf to dry.

“I’m the God of Coffee. However, you can just call me Mark. It’s a lot easier to say,” he finally answers, before hanging your apron on the hook with his own hands and not whatever magic he controls.

“You’re a god? I never knew there were actual gods, especially not for coffee…” the idea almost makes you giggle, as you wonder whether there would be a god for cinnamon rolls too.

“Well, fortunately for humankind, we’re very real. You were hoping for a way to save your aunt’s café earlier, and now I’m here,” he rests his chin against his hand that’s propped up against the counter.

“I’m thankful you made me that cup of coffee earlier. I think anyone could trust you after that display,” you quip, much more comfortable now that you accepted that you could actually help your aunt’s business stay afloat.

He blushes, and the dusty pink across his cheekbones actually surprises you. You didn’t think gods would be so easily fazed over a compliment, but his bashfulness only makes Mark more endearing than before.

“So, are you just going to make all our drinks from now on?” you tilt your head slightly as you question him, wondering how you could convince your aunt to accept Mark’s help. She sure wouldn’t be as accepting of a supposed “god” since she was so strung up with figuring out finances already.

Shaking his head, he gives the top of your head a pat before saying, “Nope. I’ll just give you some of my powers.”

“What do you mean?”

“From now on, you’ll be able to add a little special something to any coffee order you make. In fact, I’ll be magicking this store a little so it’ll help improve the customer experience,” as he finishes his thought, he quickly adds, “I don’t just help anyone. You and your aunt have worked hard for this café, so it’s only right that it gets the attention it deserves.”

“You said you’d make a deal with me. What’s my end of the bargain?” you didn’t have much, so you were genuinely curious about what he could want from you.

He reaches for your hands, pressing his fingertips against your right palm before switching to the left. As he does this, you feel a strange warmth flowing throughout your hands, and you’re unsure whether your heart is racing because of the magic or because the way he brushes against your fingers with his own.

When he’s finished, he simply straightens up and replies, “Just make me a cup of coffee once in a while.”

With that, he fades alongside the setting sun.

☕☕☕☕☕

It appears that Mark is telling the truth, because your store is bustling by the end of the week. Word seems to travel fast when it came to delicious foods and drinks, so the amount of new faces you’ve seen make it hard for you to remember names—even if that was your special talent.

You call out orders, taking the time to hand each customer their order and personally wish them a pleasant day. You knew to be grateful for the new development, so you did your best to offer what little you could to add to the positive change. Even if Mark had helped make your drinks stellar, kindhearted customer service was essential too.

Even though you had only seen the man once, you sense the moment he’s in the room. Brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear, you look up from the croissant in your hands to see Mark sitting across the room with a smile. You can’t help but grin back, handing the last customer of the day her warmed-up pastry. When she leaves, you sneak off from your position behind the counter to approach him.

As soon as you’re within earshot, Mark says, “You look much happier Y/N.”

Assuming one of his godly duties is to already know the names of those he assists, you brush away the shiver that dances across your spine when he says your name.

“All thanks to you of course. What can I get you?”

“Surprise me,” he replies.

You can’t help the way your arms tremble as you adjust the steam wand into your pitcher of milk. Watching the way foam begins developing as a result of the heat and air bubbling in the liquid, you pray that whatever magic he gave you helps you also make a good decision for what to offer a literal God of Coffee.

Tapping the side of the cinnamon shaker in your hands, you watch as small brown specks dot the snow-white of the milk foam. Satisfied, you carry your creation over to the figure watching you with interest. Your coworkers don’t pay you much heed, opting to simply clean up as quickly as possible in order to clock-out on time. Since you were the manager’s relative, they were relatively lenient with you, never giving you a hard time or questioning you. It was nice at times, but it also made it difficult to befriend them, as they always placed you on a pedestal.

As he takes the drink you offer to him, his fingers brush against your own. It’s a small gesture, but it still does wonders in dispelling the fear you felt in approaching him. Almost immediately, Mark nods in appreciation.

“Pumpkin spice latte. Fits the season quite well,” he notes, before tipping the coffee into his waiting mouth.

“You knew that before tasting it?” you admire, wondering what the extent of his powers were.

“Of course,” he says as if agreeing that the sky was blue.

He waits for you until you finish locking up. In the time that he had been gone, you always wondered whether the sacrifices this god sought paled in comparison to how much he was helping you. After all, the sales generated were well over anything the café had previously mad. Your aunt had been ecstatic, immediately setting to work developing new menus to keep up with the growing engagement. Perhaps she felt that if she questioned why everything was happening, the bubble would burst like a dream. You were grateful for her easy acceptance, smiling whenever you noticed the gentle glow against a customer’s coffee cup that reminded you of Mark’s lingering presence.

“Are all gods like you?” you ask, tucking your keys back into your purse before running a hand through your hair in an attempt to fix any stray strands.

“Not quite. I’m one of the lesser gods, so that probably makes me less full of myself,” he jokes, laughing slightly when he notices the way you cover your mouth to laugh as well.

“I’m glad,” you reply.

He leads you all the way to your apartment, and the fact that he’s aware of your residence is simply another observation you accept as part of his godly duties. When you’re right outside the black metal gates, your hand hesitating against the keypad to open them, you realize that you’re reluctant to leave him.

“Y/N?”

You sheepishly turn to face him with an embarrassed expression, “You’ll be back again? Soon?”

Your question surprises him, as if he couldn’t believe you would request his presence in the way you did. Gathering his composure, he only ruffles your hair adoringly in response. He takes two steps back, his form barely visible when he finally whispers, “Yes.”

You stand there until you’re completely sure he’s gone. The soft ‘thank you’ that escapes your parted lips is quickly caught by a passing breeze. You pray that he hears it.

☕☕☕☕☕

Fall rushes past like a memory that’s difficult to grasp in its entirety. You developed a habit of counting the times Mark had visited you. Originally, you only offered him items available on your menu. You were confident that those drinks would at most be passable, and free drinks were a worthy trade-off for Love You a Latte’s sudden flourishing. Eventually, after some teasing encouragement from the Coffee God himself, you began experimenting. Taking ideas from flavor profiles you already knew would mingle well, you would happily offer those to him instead as his scheduled sacrifice. He was an honest critic, providing tips on how to improve taste or mouthfeel. Laughing whenever you would take notes and hang onto each word he utters; he’d simply call you ‘cute’ before returning to the drinks you offered him.

You wonder if being a deity also means he notices how you were slowly admitting him into your life.

Mark hadn’t been in the store for a week, something that was atypical for the man. Your fellow baristas had long clocked out for the day, bidding you half-hearted goodbyes after you insisted on doing some inventory review. Counting the boxes of oat milk remaining in the storage for the third time, you sigh and hang up your apron. Remembering the way he had fixed your strap absentmindedly the first day you’d met him, you run your fingers against the fabric in mimicry. It was a stupid emotion, but you missed him.

Even then, you couldn’t help the hope rising in your chest that told you he would be waiting for you at one of the tables you wiped down earlier in the day. When that didn’t happen, you told yourself that he would try to scare you as soon as you turn your back to lock the front door of the coffee shop. The music you listened on the way home still couldn’t soothe your powerful expectations, which chased you like hungry wolves all the way back to your apartment.

It’s only when you’ve changed into an oversized hoodie and worn sweatpants, ready to jump into bed and call it a night, that your wishes are finally answered.

“Y/N.”

No many how many times you heard his voice rumble with your name, you couldn’t help the way it felt like a shot of espresso to your system. He’d say it in warning whenever he notices you slyly trying to slip salt into his contracted offering as a prank or in a sort of gentle happiness when he leaves you outside your apartment in goodbye. You knew it was futile, letting yourself be affected by the natural awe that gods likely possessed. Your foolish mortal feelings would mean nothing to him, as he was merely here for business purposes.

“Hi,” you push away the sadness in your tone and clear your throat, “You usually don’t show up in my bedroom.”

Your tease garners an immediate reaction from him. Even though the night settles early in the winter evenings, you notice the scarlet color he tries to hide. You sit up from under your blankets, hoping that he stays longer than he used to tonight.

“I’m sorry I’ve been away,” he continues, averting his gaze.

You’re not used to the sudden awkwardness. Previously, the two of you would talk nonstop at the café and the walk home that were occurring two or three times a week. It was as if the god you knew had been replaced by this uncomfortable clone. It hurt you more than the idea that you would never be meaningful to him.

“It’s fine. I’m sure you’ve been busy.”

You’re not sure what you want. You want him to return back to the Mark you knew, the one who would tell you funny stores about his brothers and help you in the café whenever you needed a hand. You missed the Mark that looked like he didn’t want the day to end whenever he took the time to consume your coffee offering while laughing at your stories of unique customer experiences. You missed the way his hands would brush against yours, whenever he leaned in closer to hear you above the harsh winter winds on your nightly walks.

But above all else, you suddenly want him to tell you he missed you too.

“Y/N, I have other obligations elsewhere,” he finally relents, body sagging with the weight of the information he just exposed.

Even without the details, you know what this means.

“Will the café be fine without you?” you add, hoping to keep the disappointment in your tone at bay.

He moves forward to settle down on the edge of your bed, leaving the previous spot he’d occupied by your window. When his hand rests on your knee, you know you should push him off to rid yourself of the jolt of something you suddenly felt. But you were frozen, eyes trained on the way he looked at you. It was utter, tender love.

“It’s been without me for the past month, Y/N.”

His confession causes you to momentarily lose your train of thought. Did he mean that he hadn’t been using his magic for the past few weeks? But he still stopped by and complimented the drinks you were creating…why would he still be around if he was no longer holding up his end of the bargain?

“The magic in here,” he continues after taking your hand in his, “isn’t simply limited to what I gave you when we first made our agreement.”

You wait for him to continue, unable to help the way your fingers instinctively tighten around his. He doesn’t seem to mind, because he adjusts his grip to allow your fingers to intertwine with his own longer ones. You know you’re blushing, and you don’t need to see the small smirk tugging against his lip corner to know that.

“You didn’t need me to be successful. I gave the shop a small push in the right direction, but soon enough, the hard work and love in each coffee you sold echoed stronger in your customers than whatever strings I could’ve pulled,” he says.

His fingertips brush the tears away from your cheeks. You sniffle, upset that your vulnerability showed so obviously in front of Mark. He tugs on your hand slightly so you direct your gaze to connect with his again. In his eyes, you think you find comfort telling you that he didn’t mind your crying.

“Ever since that pumpkin spice latte, I’ve never given you access to my magic when you made drinks for me.”

“But wouldn’t magic have made them better? Everything I made must’ve only been subpar to you then,” you bite your lip, worrying that he had been lying to you all along that your sacrifices had been enjoyable to him at all.

He chuckles before pulling you into his arms. You drink in the soft scent of coffee beans against his skin, nuzzling close to the crook of his neck to seek the warmth there. His skin radiates heat like a freshly brewed batch of morning coffee. The way he rests his hand against the back of your head, slowly brushing his fingers through the strands of hair there does wild things to your pulse. There’s no way he doesn’t feel it drumming against your chest, with the two of you being this close.

“I wanted to enjoy whatever you made as something uniquely you,” he pulls back so you can see the stars shining in his eyes, “If you’ve learned anything from our companionship these past few months, it should be about how talented you are.”

You grip his own hoodie in your hands, fearing that if you didn’t hold onto him, he wouldn’t disappear just like he had the past 52 times.

“Please don’t go.”

The words fall like fractured pieces of glass on the floor. You let the pain fully seep into your voice now, hoping that he would stay even if it was out of pity. Instead, Mark simply presses his palm against your cheek before leaning in to give you the best kiss you’ve ever had.

He tastes bittersweet, and you wonder if it’s the coffee he’s probably had already or the fact that everything about this moment is a sort of painful happiness. His other hand joins the other to cup your face delicately, as if he couldn’t believe you were real. Lips soft yet desperate, you match his pace as you etch each detail into your memories. As long as you lived, you didn’t want to forget Mark.

At your insistence, he stays with you for the rest of night. Pressed up against his chest, you can almost delude yourself into thinking that you were a normal girl sleeping beside her normal boyfriend. You force yourself to stay awake as long as you could, not wanting to forget the small details of his face. From the bridge of his nose to the sharp line of his jaw, you trace these features until you fall asleep. Giving him a final kiss goodbye, you let the final tear cascade from the corner of your eyelid when he finally murmurs those three special words against your hair that you’ve been waiting to hear.

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dylanxmin · 4 years ago

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painkiller ∣ 5 ∣ j.hs

breakups are habitual, ordinary maybe even easy for some other people, and maybe it could be easy for you, too, if you haven’t been dumped by your boyfriend after finding out that you were pregnant. no, it wasn’t easy even a bit. and a stranger who wants to be your side doesn’t make this all easy for you, at all.

pairing; jung hoseok x reader

genre; angst, fluff, humor, pregnancy au, strangers to lovers au, single!mom au, slice of life au,,

warnings; little high on angst, swearings, mention of abortion, mention of adoption, mention of miscarriage, unedited(rlly sorry about this)

word count; 5k+

rating; nc17

a/n; heyyy, it’s been a month since i last update this story and i only blame my finals, my sudden lost of muse, and some side effects of my life but there it is, freshly served, angsty episode!! ion know how did this come out but im feeling positive for the next episode! so,,,, hope you all enjoy reading this part, and as always, i do really appreciate a little comment soooo... lol, love y’all ♡

previous ➭ ˚masterlist˚ ➭ next

taglist; @xxluckydreamsxx ,, @parkminhee

∣ send me an ask if you want to be on the tag list ∣

‘‘Yes, can we have a brief explanation about the story of our current project?’’

‘‘Miss Y/N?’’

‘‘Y/N?’’

Light, red and yellow mixes and crushes down when something hard nudges at your shoulder and brings you the reality. Shake of your body startles Namjoon, who was nudging your shoulder to wake you up. Pairs of eyes currently stares at you, wide, curious and surprised, too, as no one expects you to fall asleep in the middle of an important meeting. But, you did anyway. Surprising yourself with such an action, yet you lost control of your sleep schedule way before this meeting, so you weren’t that ashamed as the sleep still lingers around your head.

Blinking, blinking, blinking for a couple of times before your vision loses its blur, and the faces look way better to your own eyes. Shock still fresh on their faces, a weird sound rises by your throat as you try to clean it before talking. Namjoon holds his laugh back, but you can see it in the redness of his cheeks and the veins that struggle under his skin.

‘‘I-’’ you clear your throat, once again as it comes hoarse from sleeping. ‘‘I’m sorry, can you say it again?’’ Mr. Lee stares directly into your eyes, he opens his mouth but closes again. And you know you will try to drown yourself in the sink if the corner of his mouth hasn't curled up.

You sigh, before he asks again, and listens to your explanation. You try to keep it smooth, and once you start to talk about your work, all the sleep leaves your head, enthusiasm fills it place.

You love your work. Falling asleep doesn’t mean the opposite.

‘‘I swear to god if you won’t stop laughing, Kim-’’

‘‘But..- but you told the story of our new game, drool drying on your chin, with such an enthusiastic manner.’’ Namjoon’s giggles cut himself, palm hangs in the air, other on his knee. A manager who is in his thirties enjoys his coworkers suffer, laughs his lungs off. Such a mature man. You sigh, hand curled around the cup full of water for you to go to the bathroom after. Countless times.

Fingertips pinching the tip of your brows, you stand on the kitchen side of your office. Shame still red on your face, you barely able to hold yourself back from either crying or smashing the cup on your friend’s head. Which, you like the last option very much. It’s a shame that you possibly couldn’t do that here. Maybe later, on one of your movie nights.

‘‘I think it was cute, though.’’ the man in his much more formal clothes rather than his usual sweatpants and his shirt enters the kitchen side. Brown hair brushed neatly on the left side, his features look good. ‘‘Don’t pressure yourself anymore. I’m sure they are used to these things.’’

‘‘Thank you for helping my self-reliance to gather itself, but I don’t think it’s that simple, Damien.’’ imitating his smile, even though it’s more faint then he has, you sigh once again. Taking a spot on the table, you let your head fall on it. ‘‘I was literally drooling all over myself. Ugh… such a mess.’’

Another laugh escapes by Namjoon’s lips, but he pats your head also. ‘‘Damien is right. You know Jihoon and Yeona will be cool about this.’’

You scoff. ‘‘Yeah, but I don’t refer to them by their first names as they are the Ceo’s of this company. Like you,’’

‘‘Then you shouldn’t refer to me with my name, too, as I’m your boss.’’ an annoying smirk alive on his mouth, he swipes his body on the table. Gulping down his coffee, his stares never leaves you. Something hot, almost burning coils in your chest. Reminding you red, as you stare at him back. Mouth wrinkled, your breath felt heavy.

It was anger and you didn’t know how to pressure it back where it came from. Even before your pregnancy, you weren’t good with handling your emotions, but now. With so many hormones not knowing what to do, you were even worse. Sudden crying sessions, constant fury always ready to burst out, and the sneaky, dark anxiety getting you at the worst moment, where you were alone and in the dark. It was hard, and too much. Even before being pregnant, and while being pregnant. You weren’t good with them.

‘‘You know what, I decide not to cook for you anymore.’’ heartbreak flashes in Namjoon eyes, you crossed your arms over your chest. ‘‘You can buy your own chicken breast from somewhere and eat that shitty sauce.’’

‘‘Ouch..’’ Damien who is currently watching the cold vibrations coming from you, stays silent after your gaze lands on him. He is scared, and not ready to be the next target of your stinging tongue. Though, it doesn’t last that long.

Once you see the tremble of Namjoon’s lips, and his hug follows his sorry’s, your coldness melts away. Shame creeps back, sits heavy as you lower your head on the table. But before you can dive in your bad scenarios in your head, brutal yet familiar bickering starts when Nara enters the kitchen, after she takes her place on the table. Her nose crinkled with disgust while waiting for Namjoon to end his insults, only to throw another to him. Damien tries to cut them off, but it’s useless as he gives up and rests his back on his chair. Hesitant stares gather on you, only to tear them apart while you pretend like you didn’t notice.

Yet, you don’t want to suffocate yourself with your thoughts, you raise your head, eyes meeting with the brown haired man. Because you don’t and probably can’t break that cold war between your friend and Nara, you find your escape on Damien.

‘‘So, we have to prepare a meeting for you to put a suit on?’’ cocking your brow high, you ask. His surprise fades after a moment of waiting. Maybe because you aren’t the warmest person or because of the effect of your friends that filled your head with the idea of him having some feelings for you, you never attempt to talk with him first. Not that he isn’t a decent man, but more likely, you weren’t into him and did not want to make a wrong move. For him to get the wrong idea.

But maybe you are being stupid for believing your delusinal friends about his feelings, and he just wants to be friendly. Though, it’s good to not risk anything, right?

‘‘Suits just not my type, and also, who is wearing these other than him?’’ Damien points Namjoon, who is in a deep, hurtful conversation with your other coworker. You tear your eyes from him to land on Damien once again, his smiling this time. Wide, eyes imitating it. ‘‘Also, doesn’t it hurt your feet? You weren’t wearing heels for a long time.’’

After he mentions it, your feet start to pulse with pain. Embarrassment clouded all over your other senses, but his words bring them back. And you wrinkle your face in pain. Of course, it hurts. How it won’t hurt while your feet try to set themselves free by growing bigger inside of its cage and the process isn’t an easy one. Though, these whining are the last thing for your coworker to hear so you simply go with a soft smile.

‘‘Yeah, a bit but nothing I can’t handle.’’

‘‘Oh okay then. Good to hear.’’ he leans closer, eyes gleaming like a child in his pre-mischievous stage. ‘‘Just in case, I have a pair of nice sneakers waiting in my closet. All comfy and less deadly.’’

Mirroring the act, you also get close to him. Palm covering the side of your curled mouth, ‘‘I will consider it, but why are you acting like you were selling drugs?’’ whispering the half of your words, you cocked your head aside, watching his face wrinkle due to his growing smile. And seeing him from this side, you realise how good looking he is. Radiant smile adds more point to his charisma as he does, eyes narrow but curls cutely on the ends, and for a second you just stare at his side profile. His spotless skin dips on the cheek as his dimple wants to show off. Thankfully, when he starts to talk the silvery sheet goes away, to your luck.

‘‘Well, we won’t want other heel wearers to come at my desk for my fancy shoes, right?’’

Nodding, you point your finger at him as if he made a good point. ‘‘I see… Of course we wouldn’t want that, of course.’’

After the short break, everyone turned in their work the same as you. And you find yourself so tired after talking about the details of the story of your current game with Heejin. Trying to find reliable reasons and motives is hard for some time, as you continue to work on the specific character’s choices in the game, and why and exactly how they should do is sometimes irksome even when you have someone who tries really hard to help you. Yet, you know you can’t put all the weight on Heejin’s shoulders as the poor woman barely had some sleep because of the pre-cold effect.

When she sneezed for the fourth time in the last five minutes, you had to stop and be sure of her well being. Putting your palm on her clothed arm, you mimicked a smile to look sympathetic rather than annoyed. Even though you were a little bit. Thankfully, she doesn’t have to know that.

‘‘I know I asked this before but are you sure you are okay? Maybe you should take a rest for the rest of the day. Obviously, you need some.’’

She looks hesitant at first, eyes widens at your words but she covers it with a faint smile and nods. ‘‘Oh, I’m okay, I’m okay. You don’t have to worry about me.’’ Heejin bites down her lip before continuing again. ‘‘Did I annoy you? I’m sorry, I just took a pill, so I think that will make me better in a couple of minutes.’’

‘‘No, no…’’ pulling your hands in the air, you shake your head in denial. It did bother you but not much for her to apologize for being sick. ‘‘I just wanted to check on you, I’m not… disturbed. It’s okay.’’

Your half reassurance works barely, as she tries to lower the voice of her sneezes after that. And everytime, a drip adds to your growing guilt. As Heejin is younger than you for three years, and you have been working here longer than her, it puts some stairs between you two and now with that, you fix the ice between you two. The ice that you have been trying to melt from the first day she was here, and now, thanks to your pregnancy hormones, it started to build once again. Not just with Heejin, but everyone around you was walking on eggshells around you as your rage came out of nowhere, so sudden that sometimes it even shocks you. But for a stupid reason - well, it’s not stupid as you are pregnant and that played with your emotions -, you couldn’t control the sudden change of your feelings.

One second being calm and the other being tense did tire you for sure as senses flow through every nerve you have. Breathing exercises merely helped, and that led you to staying away from the people around you. As sometimes words come out rude before you can realise. And nobody deserves that kind of attitude, even the ones you know from your childhood.

For that reason, you turned down Taehyung’s offer to come with you as you know that owing to his nature, he will do something silly to make you angry or stressed even when he does it with all his good intentions. Some days, even when you are in your usual state you can’t stop being bothered by him, and you had no intentions to taste it today. Which, nothing was normal in your current mental state, so that’s for the best.

Driving past the now familiar streets, you learned a new thing: Driving with a jean without opening its button can be hard, as you have to undo the button while your stomach growls in need. While your stomach become visible, looking like you ate too much for your stomach to handle, sudden thirst for stupid cravings increased day by day. Sadly, it affected your friends as much as you.

In the middle of night, you woke Yoongi up for him to get you apples, pickles for Taehyung and last but not least, ice cream for Namjoon. As your cravings decide to choose the oddest times, three of them find the solution to fill your fridge until there is no space left. Well, after you sat on your kitchen floor and cried they had to eat some of them with you, as they basically called you fat by doing that, and paid for it. For them, they just wanted to make sure you get what you want but at this point, what they thought barely mattered.

‘‘Okay, that was tiring.’’ you whispered through your exhale, while parking the car. For the records, parking turned into a hell show for you as going further and back, further and back, further, further and back has your nerves strain like a string. Though, you never liked it anyway. You were ready to leave your car, but the ringtone of your phone cut the act.

‘‘Hey, mom.’’

‘‘Nope. Your voice sounds the same, rather than I thought so.’’ sighing, you brushed your face by your palm. Words like a needle on the skin, your mother always knew how to use them. ‘‘Well don’t ‘ahhh’ at me. As we barely speak, I obviously expect to forget your voice, tell me if I’m wrong.’’

Nodding as if she is able to see you through the phone, you put your head on the wheel. She was annoyed as it was very clear by her high and thin tone.

‘‘Yes, Ma’am.’’ your reply earned another high pitched warning from her so you had to calm her between your giggles. ‘‘Okay, okay… You’re right, Mama. I should call you more but you know work and everything keeps me busy. But I will try my best, promise.’’

‘‘Apology accepted. But even though I know you prefer to talk about work, and the video thing you adore talking about, I’m most likely interested in my baby’s baby. So, how’s the pregnancy going?’’

This is the exact reason why you didn’t call her more than you did. As she is very interested in your life and interior with it, of course pregnancy will be the same. And you couldn’t ignore the things you can as she will talk about them, will want to know about them and give some advice from her past experiences. Not that you will need any of them, but of course as you postponed everything, you did the same thing to this topic, too, and left your mother in the dark. You will run as far as you can.

‘‘They called games, not video thing but it’s your choice.’’ while thinking of it itched your tongue, you swallowed all the tensing thoughts down, and ready yourself to talk. ‘‘And the… pregnancy is going good if we don’t count the constant eating, peeing, crying, being tired twenty-four-seven, not fitting in my favorite clothes and all the pain it put me through.’’

She laughs as if you just told the funniest joke she heard. Cocking your brows, you run through what you said to make her laugh this much to fail.

‘‘Ohhh, my baby. Stop talking about this as the things are all bad. You have a baby in your belly, your baby. They will become your everything, and mostly good things because you will love them more than anything you can. Believe me, I could die in return for your laugh. A bubbly, vivid laugh. Ahh… remembering it made me soft, right now.’’

‘‘Trying to be unbiased about gender, I see?’’

‘‘Well, I don’t want to affect the baby.’’

Though you want so bad to ask how that could actually affect the baby, you stay silent. All the baby talk is already pulling you down, it is better if you can stay out of the gender topic as much as you can. Not that it mattered, you thought.

‘‘What do you mean? Why it wouldn’t matter darling?’’

Huh?

Clearly, you weren’t thinking, but murmuring under your breath as your mom heard it. When you hit your head on the wheel, the horn startles you both. Fixing your posture, you answered your mother’s hurried question.

‘‘It was horn, I’m in the car. Yes, yes I’m okay, don’t worry. I’m at the hospital- No, no- Mom, for the appointment. Yes… yes, for the baby. I will talk to you later, okay? I will call, I promise- Yes, I promise. Okay, love you, too.’’

You sigh once again. A loud one.

You do hate lying to the woman who would do anything you want, but you know she is not ready to lose her grandchild, yet. You are not ready for the speech you will receive, also. Not that it will be harsh or critical, you just are not ready to accept the whole thing. Yes, you still had problems with the whole pregnancy thing even though you made your mind with adoption. You still had thirty weeks to go, and that won’t go fast. Not in a normal time, or in the pregnancy.

Head full of blurring thoughts, you missed the man who shakes his hand from afar. The black haired man’s smile faded as you passed by his side without sparing a glance. Too busy with thinking how to calm your mother after you give her the news. The news that she won’t have a grandchild anytime soon. Fuck… that’s gonna be hard.

Well, maybe not hard as much as the door you decide to welcome it with your face rather than opening. A loud thud, and muffled curse under your breath, instinctively you checked your nose if there is more than the pain you feel, as there is no blood you calm down, shoulders drop their usual place. Apparently, you were conscious enough to lead yourself to the floor where your doctor’s office, past the stairs, and find his door but when it comes to open the door you fail. Tears sit on your eyelids at once as you close them due to the pain that crushes your sight. Trying to massage your nose bridge barely helps but giving it a try won’t hurt, you think.

‘‘Oh my, are you okay?’’ from your closed and blurred eyesight, you can’t choose who is the one talking but his voice lets you know that he is your doctor, Seokjin. ‘‘I heard a loud thug but couldn’t understand it was a human until you groaned. Are you okay, you bumped your nose? Let me get a look at that.’’

Not forgetting to thank him while he guides you inside his office, now you are able to open your eyes and set the tears free as they go down. Seokjin sits you on the white sheeted chair, handles your head to go right and left as he scans your face and nose behind creased eyes. He looks really concerned, more than you, and somehow it puts you on a stage where you feel like you have to make him sure that you were okay and nothing was wrong. It still feels weird when someone gets concerned over you more than yourself, as who would care for someone more than one’s self so it’s still vague.

‘‘I-I’m actually okay. I didn’t hit that hard as it sounds, it doesn’t even bleed so…’’ wry smile is all you offer him as your voice trails down when his eyes meet with yours, a bit keen rather than you thought they will.

Seokjin sighs with a line between his brows but he lets go, and when he puts a decent distance between you and himself, professionalism settles in his features as he adjusts his tie.

‘‘It does look okay, but make sure you put some ice when you can as it could leave a bruise behind.’’ he smiles, both sweet and very technically. As he practiced it for every client he had and now performing it without any difficulties. It looks natural. ‘‘So, tell me how are you feeling? You should still have the early pregnancy symptoms such as morning sickness, sleep issues, and more likely they will hang around for a few more weeks. But it’s more important if you have a symptom that comes unnatural or unbearably painful for you?’’

After taking two deep breaths, you feel ready to give him a reply. Nose still throbs by the hit but it’s faint now.

‘‘Uhm…- yeah, other than the ‘expected’ symptoms, I don’t feel like something is wrong, or not supposed to happen. No more painful urination, though I still need it frequently.’’ you grimace lightly as you share, shifting a bit. ‘‘But yeah, I’m okay.’’ you try to wipe the fresh embarrassment with the non glowing smile you had in your storage. Probably he should but you still don’t know if he needs to know that you choose adoption. As he is your doctor, and the one who is taking care of you and the baby, you know that he must know about it, but unpleasant eerie stops you from doing what you should.

Old habits die hard, that’s for sure.

‘‘Excellent. It’s good to hear that everything is going on it’s way, and today, as now you are in the tenth week of your pregnancy, I’m recommending you a genetic test in case there is any birth defect.’’

‘‘What is that?’’ even though Seokjin was done with talking, you utter so fast that it feels like you interrupted him, as you shut your mouth with wrinkled brows. It was just getting tiring day by day with all of these tests, things to do and not to do, being extra careful because you have another living creature in you to take care, more than yourself. No more selfish, damaging, stupid choices can be done as your body no longer belonged to you. At least not only to you and this was really, really tiresome.

As he was expecting this, Seokjin comes up with some papers as you can understand them. ‘‘As I said before, it’s a test to acknowledge any kind of defect in the baby. These tests take two forms: screening tests and diagnostic tests. And a screening test tells you the likelihood that your baby could have a birth defect; a diagnostic test tells you with more than ninety nine percent certainty whether the baby has the disorder.’’ He explains more as you take the papers from him, scanning the words but they are almost identical as Seokjin continues with his further explanation. The blank eerie gets heavier and heavier the further he talks, and when he comes to the risks, it feels like your pulse palpitates on your throat. Tearing your eyes from the papers that sit on your lap, you stare at the man who is still talking.

‘‘There is small risk of miscarriage, that’s why you need to carefully consider tha advantages and the disadvantages of these test before you make any decision, even it’s small.’’

A slap to the face, a weight falls on your stomach after Seokjin is done with his statement. Mouth hangs open, you stay still, silent as the Doctor waits patiently, now he is behind his desk, sitting his hands intertwined. As if he knows the new information would put a heavy dullness in you as he searches your every movement, yet you gave him hardly any.

‘‘Do I… have to?’’

The idea of taking these tests would be tiring is there but the cause of your nausea is not just that. More likely, it’s the idea of losing something. Even though that something doesn’t belong to you because you never wanted it, and nothing has changed since then. Whether it's the guilt of knowing everything caused because of your recklessness, or it’s because you feel obligated to give the baby a good life due to your current maternal instincts - you hardly say you had one -, whether it’s beside you or far away from you, you feel the suffocating necessity. Even if the risk has one percent chance, you can’t take it. Maybe it’s odd to push your one percent chance to become free with the back of a hand, but that would be running away, and both of you already had one runner in your lives, and the baby wouldn’t need another.

‘‘I know it sounds scary but you can take your time, you don’t have to do it now. You can search it a bit more about the cons and pros but I never had any problems with my former clients if you need any consolation. And you can always ask for me more.’’

Chewing your bottom lip, you still look at him in the eye like you need to give him an answer. You do trust your doctor but that doesn’t mean that you purposely rejected the idea of getting abortion while you deal with an unwanted pregnancy only to come across with a risk of miscarriage. Of course it is always there whether you do the test or not, but that's nearly a consolation.

Nodding, you put all the papers in your bag before leaving the doctor’s office. Biding your goodbyes after ending with this week control.

You come to the hospital with a dazed head, and you were going to leave it even more wrecked. But you just needed some air, somewhere to ease the wave of emotions that is going through your head. To catch your breath, you adjust your route to the cafeteria in the outdoors. Maybe, that could help you somehow.

Not temporarily, but taking fresh air in your lungs somehow helped you. The phone call you had with Taehyung while you were at the verge of tears, too, and you sit in the cafeteria during all of these. Mimicking the doctor's words to your friend and Taehyung had listened to you, hang on your every word as much as he can on the other side of the line. Tried to console you, said that things will be alright and nothing bad will happen as if he was as sure as his name. And momentarily, you believed him. Both because you needed it, and he was being a good friend and you didn’t want him to feel useless.

For good or ill, now, your heart is resting in ease.

Well at least it was until you see a glimpse of dark uniform in the corner of the wall, and then a familiar face you haven’t seen in a while. A smile that softly shaped as heart, causing your heart to palpitate fast but in a much different way than the news you learned today, or the idea of your mother's future disappointment. It’s more thrilling and in a way even scarier than the other two options. As the opposite of how familiar the face is, the reason for your heart going this insane was abrupt. Even odd when you think the very less time you spent with the owner of the familiar face, yet it was there, forcing you to gulp down, consume every emotion he forced you to feel.

Contrary to what you expect - and you didn’t know why you were expecting him to be happy after seeing you - his face falls, the shape of heart shutters around his mouth. And to your shock, it put needles somewhere near to your chest.

The last time you saw him, the atmosphere was intense as you shared things that normally you wouldn’t do with a partially stranger but with him even though feelings were gloomy, you weren’t uneasy. And to you, when he was consoling you, internalizing what you were telling him, he wasn’t disturbed. At least he didn't look like that. But, the more you size him up, the more you get sure of his strange disturbance. And it did burn. Smoke choked you down, and put tears on your eyes. Fucking pregnancy hormones…

Not aware of your action, you caught your hand in the air, in the middle of a shake as Hoseok greeted you by the tiny bow of his head. And expecting more cutted harsly, as a knife in the gut.

Whether it’s because of your blind act, or whether he feels obligated, Hoseok comes closer to the table you were sitting, leaving the person behind he was talking to before he saw you. With every step, you breathe another air to gather your confidence a bit high, but it’s useless as your hands start to tremble under the table, fortunately away from his sight.

‘‘H-hi,’’ no matter how much Hoseok tries to sound friendly, it’s not, and you can hear in his voice as it comes out broken. His eyes are still deep and candid but not glowing the way it fascinated you when you first saw him. Still, you greeted him with a tight smile, wave of your hand small.

‘‘Take a seat-’’ pointing the available chair, you cut yourself to say something else. To correct your words. ‘‘I mean if you want… of course,’’

To your surprise, he holds the chair to adjust for him to sit on. But everything feels so forced and awkward that you can’t stop wondering if you said something to him and cause him to feel uncomfortable around you. Your brain works so hard to scan the memories of that day, but you fail to find something so disturbing to make Hoseok shift in his seat, a line between his brows and a noticeably insincere smile.

It takes minutes for someone to talk first and scare the clouds away only for a moment.

‘‘Are you waiting for your appointment or has it already finished?’’

‘‘Ah, yeah, it’s done. I just needed to take a moment and fresh air because…’’ your voice eventually trailed off as you realised he just asked to look friendly and probably doesn’t want to hear your whelming emotions anymore. ‘‘of stuffs, you know.’’

Hoseok nods, his mouth thin as a line, and even though it shouldn’t, it breaks your heart. Yes, this man owes you nothing, and of course he doesn’t have to sit there and listen to how sorry and depressed you feel over the things doctor Seokjin have told you, but it still hurts to see him this… joyless. The curiosity burns deep and wild as you desperately want to know what the hell you did to make him this anxious, but your mind barely helps as you wander in the empty field.

‘‘I should probably get going-’’

‘‘It’s been a while-’’

Words clashing and drowning one another, silence takes over and Hoseok abruptly stops above his chair as he was about to leave before you parted him. And now he looks at you with wide eyes, fear in his chest growing big as your bottom lip trembles for only a second but he catches it.

He sits back on his seat with hands on the air. ‘‘Oh, yeah, it’s been a while since we last saw each other.’’ he says but you know it’s out of pity, and you would rather die than crumbling under his gaze. So you shake your head with a false smile, though hammers work in your chest.

‘‘Ah, don’t mind me. Go ahead, you are probably busy and have so much to do. So, you can leave, seriously.’’

‘‘No-, no, no, Y/N. I’m sorry, I want to stay and talk to you, really. I really am sorry for acting rude.’’

Maybe because the look on his face, or the warm tone of his voice, you decide not to pressure him to leave after you ask if he really wants it for a second time. But he nods and smiles, and this time it reaches his eyes, a hot pink blossoms in you.

Though, before either of you can say anything, a touch at your back stops you. You hear the breathy voice before you turn your head. ‘‘Ahh, finally I found... you. Care to explain why you are-...not picking your phone?’’

And when you turn over, you see a panthing Yoongi. His hand on his knee and looks at you with concerned gaze. Then, they leave you only to land on the man on the other side of the table, and Yoongi’s eyes go wide.

He extends his hand in a non-moving shake to the air. ‘‘Oh, hi. Sorry to butt in.’’ he stretches his hand towards him, the ghost of a smile appears on his lips. ‘‘It’s Yoongi,’’

Voice deep, and it takes long to draw out when the man in dark uniform mirrors the act. ‘‘Hoseok.’’

#heartsforbts #bangtanhq #bangtanarmynet #houseofddaeng #btsgoldnet #btswritingcafe #hyunglinenetwork #hoseok x reader #hoseok fanfic #hoseok fluff #hoseok angst #jung hoseok #painkiller #dylanxmin

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yet-another-fan-girl9 · 4 years ago

Text

Heart Of Stone

Summary: You were taught to show no emotions. Emotions were your weakness.

Warnings: language, some angst, blood, self-inflicted pain, death, abusive parents (maybe more)

Word Count: ~5000

A/N: This is one of my submissions for @the--sad--hatter ‘s Birthday Tea Party! Happy Birthday Kara ❤️! Also I’m posting this at 3 am 🤭

Bucky Fic Here

You felt the tickle of the forced tear as it rolled down your cheek. Your target seemed to buy it. Of course, he did. Shaun Bartlett was a friend of your asshole of a mother. He may have been rich, but he had nothing going on upstairs. Nothing good, anyway. He was one of the men who sponsored your mother’s ‘experiments,’ unbeknownst to the Avengers. They suspected the large amounts of money disappearing from his accounts were being funneled to Hydra.

When you sniffed, the grey-haired man put his arm around your waist and pulled you out of the busy gala room. Natasha’s red hair caught your eye before you entered the hallway where, surprise, Steve came out of the bathroom. He made eye contact with you and sent you a small nod. You faked a stumble in your heels and then let out another sob.

“Oh, I just can’t do a-anything,” you cried and hid your face in your hands.

“Shh. There, there.” Bartlett rubbed your arm in what you thought was supposed to be comforting. Instead, it made you want to stab him even more than you already did. “I’m sure you’re good for something.” How ominous, perverted, and condescending.

“We saw you leaving,” Sam’s voice came out of the comm in your ear. “Give us the signal when you’re alone.”

Bartlett led you to his large, ornate office. You did a quick survey of the room before discreetly tapping your comm for your team. Now all you had to do was put a bullet or blade in Bartlett.

“Get yourself comfortable, darlin’.” He shrugged off his suit jacket.

If he thought anything of your sudden lack of tears, he didn’t show it. Honestly, you didn’t think he thought at all. You smiled at him and coyly teased the edge of the slit in your dress. When you finally pulled it away, it revealed a holster carrying a Glock 42 and a simple throwing knife.

Sam, Nat, and Steve burst through the doors at that moment. Your smile quickly disappeared and as Bartlett realized what was happening, your blade found itself embedded between his eyes. His body fell to the ground and the three Avengers in the doorway gaped at you with varying looks of shock and disappointment.

“What the fuck?” Sam broke the silence.

“We were going to question him.” Steve glared at you and Bartlett’s body. “We don’t fucking kill them.”

“And that’s the problem.” Your face remained in its usual stoic expression, but you knew you fucked up when Captain America swore at you. “These types of people—”

“You’re right,” Natasha cut in with a gentle tone. “There are some bad people in the world and maybe they deserve to die, but it’s not your job to decide.”

“Don’t talk to me like I’m a fucking child. I’m—”

“Can we do this somewhere else?” Sam interrupted this time.

You glared at him but Steve and Nat agreed. You don’t know what happens to dead bodies on missions, but maybe it’s because there usually weren’t any. The entire way back to the compound, someone’s eyes were on you.

Tony was waiting for you when you landed. He raised his eyebrows when he noticed that the four of you were empty handed.

“Aren’t you supposed to have some guy with you?” he asked and studied everyone’s expressions. “What happened?”

“Ask her.” Steve nodded at you before stomping away. “F.R.I.D.A.Y, call everyone to the briefing room. Now.”

You rolled your eyes slightly and Tony looked at you quizzically

“He’s being dramatic,” was all you said.

“Not as dramatic as you’d think, though,” Nat added before following Steve.

“You do know you fucked up, right?” Sam glared at you.

Apparently, everyone had time to let their anger stew on the flight home. You just rolled your eyes again.

“Emotion,” Tony said. He had gotten into a habit of pointing out whenever you made a facial expression. “So what happened?” It was your turn to walk off.

Somehow, you made it to the briefing room without going insane due to Tony’s incessant questioning. Couldn’t he wait one fucking minute? Surely Steve was going to talk all about it during the meeting.

It was quiet when you walked in. Everyone was already situated around the table. You noticed that Loki was here. Loki sightings around the compound were rare, but based on his disgruntled expression that contrasted Thor’s large grin, he didn’t come by choice.

The few times you had seen the raven-haired god, you could have sworn his bright eyes were following you. Like right now, as you took your seat, he was watching you. In a challenge, you narrowed your eyes the slightest bit and saw a small smirk grace Loki’s perfectly sculpted face. Wait, what?

Tony leaned over and muttered, “Emotion.” You resisted the urge to roll your eyes lest he do it again.

“You may be wondering why you’re all here,” Steve began. “You may also have noticed that Shaun Bartlett is not with us.” Damn, he was really mad mad about this. “Someone decided to kill him, leaving us without any leads on Hydra. Yet again.”

“I don’t think—” you began before Steve jumped in.

“Yes, you didn’t think. There was no reason to kill him.”

“Yes there was,” you growled.

“Care to share with the rest of us?” Sam crossed his arms.

“We’ve all taken lives before. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“You took a life. Of someone who could have had information on Hydra, I might add,” Steve said. “You can leave now. You’re benched for the following three weeks.”

You were about to protest before you realized that the rest of the team was just watching you and Steve go back and forth like a tennis match. You pushed back your seat, which didn’t make as big a screeching sound as you had hoped, and left the room.

Control.

You were a personal person and Bartlett was a personal problem that you were not going to share with the team.

[Week 1, Day 1]

They were leaving. They were all leaving to bust some shit Hydra base. The only ones that were going to be in the compound were you and Loki.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y. will be keeping an eye on you,” Tony told you.

“Stay out of trouble.” Steve gave you a hard look.

“Why are looking at me when you say that?” You asked and raised your eyebrow a millimeter. “You do know Loki is standing right next to me. Loki. The fucker who invaded New York.”

“Stay out of trouble.”

You couldn’t believe it. They thought you were going to cause more trouble than Loki? At least Tony gave you an empathetic look before he left, but it was probably for your poor company. Loki turned to you with a mischievous hint glint in his eyes. You rolled your own before marching away.

Don’t let your emotions show, your mother’s voice shot through your head. Emotions are your weakness. Learn to turn them off.

Face muscles relaxed, but hard, calculating eyes. You’ve been slipping up in the year you’ve spent with the Avengers. There was nobody here to beat the emotion out of you.

Except you.

So you found yourself in the gym, improper workout clothes, in front of a punching bag. You looked momentarily at the two acorn-sized pieces of jagged amethyst you always carried. You remembered summoning them on accident when you were five. Your father had promised to carve them into those mini sculptures you’d loved, but that was before your mother betrayed him. Before your mother betrayed you.

It’s because of you she does those… things, this time, it was your father.

Pushing the thoughts of your father out of your head, you placed each amethyst into each unwrapped hand. Each punch you threw at the bag sent sharp pains up your arms as the hard crystals cut into you already scarred palms.

Pain is temporary. Don’t let it stop you.

Yes, mother.

It’s your fault she hurts people.

Okay, father.

If you can’t control your emotions, you can’t control anything.

Her inspiration.

If you can’t get yourself under control, it’ll be your fault they died.

Her muse.

“I’m pretty sure you’re doing that wrong.”

You didn’t jump at the sudden voice, but you noticed a small quartz you had summoned sticking out of the punching bag. Control.

“Don’t sneak up on me,” you replied and looked at him. You weren’t easily spooked, if you could call it that, but somehow the infamous God of Mischief had avoided your senses. You’ll let it slide this time because he was a god. This time.

“I wasn’t trying to.” Loki leaned against a wall and watched you examine your split knuckles. “I’m not an expert but I think you should have protected your hands.”

“Yeah, no shit.” You clenched your fists tighter and noticed small trickles of blood escape from your palms.

“You’re bleeding.”

“No shit,” you said again.

You opened your hands and revealed the bloodied amethysts. Then you pulled the quartz out of the bag, sand pouring from the rip, and stomped past Loki and out of the gym. Thankfully he didn’t follow you.

[Week 1, Day 6]

You haven't seen Loki in the past five days. The only sign of someone else in the large compound was the food missing from the cupboards.

“How are your hands?”

Fuck. You had to restrain yourself from throwing the TV remote at the god’s head and instead, sapphires appeared to bedazzle it.

“Fine,” you held up your scabbed knuckles and scarred palms. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you out of your snake burrow.”

“What are you watching?”

“A movie.” He looked at you for more details so you obliged. “It’s a home invasion movie, but the protagonist is deaf. Do you want to join? I’m not that far in.”

You didn’t know why you had invited him to join, but you were happy when he shrugged and sat at the other end of the couch. Every minute you found yourself glancing over at Loki. He was always wearing green, gold, and black Asgardian clothes. In comparison, you were wearing a sweatshirt and leggings.

“I do believe you’re watching me more than the movie,” he said. Shit, were you really that obvious?

“I’ve seen it before. I like watching people’s reaction to something I know is coming,” you explained. That was true, but it wasn’t the only reason.

“You enjoy observing others.” He wasn’t watching the movie anymore either.

“Are you observing me observing you?” You quirked your eyebrow.

“Perhaps.” Loki smirked.

“Tell me,” you moved so that your body faced him and you were able to rest your head on your arm propped on the back of the sofa. “What do you see?”

“A lot.” He mimicked your position so you mimicked his smirk. “I can see the difference between what you want me to see and what is involuntary. I can see that you see more, think more, and know more than you let on.”

“Then we have that in common.”

You realized how quickly you had gotten comfortable with Loki and honestly, it scared you. You were never comfortable with people. You were never supposed to be comfortable, your parents made sure of that.

“I’m going to bed.” You stood up abruptly and left the living room before he could react. Keep your emotions in check.

Loki didn’t follow you.

[Week 2, Day 2]

You scraped your fork across the bottom of your plate to get the last bits of your dinner. Your white bed sheets were still, thankfully, without any stains. Yes, you had been eating in your room for the past couple of days to avoid Loki. It seemed as if you had become the hermit in this situation.

You placed the empty dish by the door, promising to bring it to the kitchen tomorrow, and stretched your sore muscles from the quick excursion to the gym. The next thing on your nightly routine was relaxation, and you sure utilized the time. With your comfortable sleep clothes on and your favorite show playing, you sunk into your welcoming bed.

“—under arrest for kidnapping, murder, and illegal experimentation.”

“NO!” Your mother’s arms pulled you back. “DON’T TAKE HIM! HE DIDN’T DO ANY OF IT! IT WASN’T HIM!”

“I’m sorry agents,” your mother sniffed as convincing tears rolled down her cheeks. “All of the evidence points to him. I can’t believe I didn’t see it.”

“DAD! DON’T LEAVE, DAD!”

“Be quiet. That’s enough of that. Enough!” Sharp nails cut into your shoulder. “Enough with the fucking stalling. Shoot him.”

The familiar gun suddenly felt heavy in your hands as you stared at the gagged man tied to the chair. Your mother said he was an evil man. You raised the gun. The man whimpered against the cloth in his mouth.

“It’s about time you took a life, you’re already eleven.”

He shook his head and pleaded with his eyes.

“Do you see that?” A stray tear cut a path through the blood and grime covering his face. “Emotion. He is fucking weak and the weak ones always die.”

You squeezed the trigger and the man slumped forward.

“Good girl.” Her mouth twisted into a smile. “Good girl. Focus on the items.”

Your eyes were shut tight and your face was damp with sweat. You could feel the gems, crystals, and precious metals surrounding you. The hexagonal quartz and the amethyst that was shaped into a cube. A gold nugget and an emerald ring.

“Do the quartz first.”

You felt the dimensions. The depth. The small scratches on the smooth faces. When you opened your eyes you saw the original crystal and the duplicate you had summoned.

Your mother gave you a few courtesy claps before gesturing towards the nugget. You had the same success you had with the quartz. It wasn’t until you reached the man-made or modified objects when you had problems.

“Pathetic,” your mother spat and you felt her rings cut into your cheek. “Weak.” You heard the sound of a gun cocking. “Try again.”

“I—” you quickly wiped away a tear but your mother noticed.

“No fucking emotion. Emotion is weakness.”

The sound of the gun going off echoed through the room and you felt the bullet tear through your thigh.

You clenched your jaw to trap the groan trying to escape. The echo of the pain slowly faded but the memories lingered. The TV was still on and Netflix's ‘are you still watching?’ screen was up. You hadn’t meant to fall asleep. The glowing red numbers of the clock on your bedside table read 1:47.

It was time for a post-midnight snack so you made your way to the kitchen. With a cup of tea and some cereal, you sat in the darkness just… existing, trying not to think of your dream. How many episodes had you missed? Aw, shit. You could’ve brought your dirty plate down. Now you had to do it later. You groaned.

“Is everything okay?”

“Jesus fucking shit, Loki!” You actually threw your spoon at him this time but fortunately he ducked. “I thought I told you don’t sneak up on me.”

“You just make it too easy,” he responded with a smirk.

“Shut up.” You watched him as he moved to sit across from you.

“What are you doing in here?”

“I asked you first,” he responded and you rolled your eyes.

“Couldn’t sleep. I’m sure you can relate.” Loki hummed in agreement. “Your turn.”

“Same reason. Dreams of the past. You never answered my question, by the way. Is everything okay?”

“Yes.” You took a sip of your steaming tea.

“I thought we already established that I can read you. You can talk to me if you want. But,” he continued before you could shoot him down. “At least tell me why you’ve been avoiding me.”

“I didn’t want to get comfortable,” you said slowly. “It goes against everything I’ve been taught.”

“I pushed away a lot of people throughout my life. I always believed that I was unworthy. My father always told me I was unworthy.”

“It was my mother for me. She taught me most of everything I know.”

“My mother did the same, but with a lighter tone. It seemed as if only she, and occasionally my brother, cared for me.”

“At least you had a brother. My father was kind until my mother got greedy. Until she fucking betrayed us. She blamed everything on him.” You fell silent when you realized that Loki now knew more about you than anyone else.

“Thank you,” he said and he took your hand in his. “I know it’s hard, talking about your past, so thank you for talking to me.”

“You’re welcome, I guess.” You smiled.

“I think this is the first time I’ve seen you smile. It’s beautiful. You’re beautiful.”

Your smile grew and for once you didn’t try to hide the emotions that were painted across your face. The smile stayed with you until you fell into a deep, peaceful sleep.

[Week 2, Day 4]

Everyone was coming home tomorrow. You cared about the Avengers, they were your friends, but you couldn’t help but mourn the loss of peace and quiet. You liked being alone, though you have been enjoying time spent with Loki.

“Have you chosen a movie yet?” You sat in your new spot, next to the god, and offered him some of your popcorn. Your shoulders brushed against each other’s and the slight touch sent shivers down your spine.

“There are so many choices, but yes.” He took a handful of popcorn.

“Jurassic Park,” you read the title. “A classic. Who knew Loki the Trickster God liked dinosaurs?”

“Well, I don’t know if I like them yet. I haven’t seen the movie.”

“Oh, hush.”

You resumed your new favorite activity of watching Loki. You couldn’t help yourself. You analyzed his eyes, which you noticed changed between blue, green, and hazel in different lightings. You liked his sharp jawline and cheekbones. Your eyes followed the slope of his nose down to his lips. They were pink and they looked soft and all you wanted to do was—

“You’re staring again,” Loki said while Denis Nerdy unsuccessfully tried to flee.

“Well, I just like—”

“Watching reactions. I know,” he gave you his signature smirk. “As much as I enjoy you and your staring, this movie is getting exciting.”

“It was already exciting but you—”

He cut you off again but this time he did it by pressing his lips to yours. It was short, probably only two seconds, but your mind was blissfully blank. He brought his finger to his lips, winked, and then returned to the movie. Loki, you had learned, was the only person able to leave you speechless.

[Week 3, Day 6]

The sound of exaggerated gagging forced you and Loki apart. Your eyes landed on Sam, the source of the gagging. In the past week since they’ve been back, the rest of the Avengers still couldn’t believe the change that had come upon you.

“Can’t you do that somewhere else?” Sam made a face. When the group had finally gotten over the shock and suspicions that one of you had an ulterior motive, they let you and Loki grow closer together. “But honestly, I’m glad to see you happy. Though it’s still strange seeing you with real emotions.”

You rolled your eyes and turned to face Sam. Loki stood behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist and Sam faked a gag again.

“Oh, grow the fuck up,” you said and smiled when you felt Loki rest his head on your shoulder. “What do you want?”

“Briefing room. Everyone’s invited.” Sam’s gaze moved to Loki. “But I don’t want to see any of your weird, out of character, lovey dovey bullshit.”

You sat in the briefing room, waiting for the rest of the team to arrive. Loki held your hand and you put your head on his shoulder. You noticed Nat and Wanda’s smirks and Thor’s beaming smile. Tony narrowed his eyes for a second before giving you a grin and a nod. He, like many others, were wary of Loki but were happy for you. At least he had given up with that ‘Emotion’ shit.

“We tracked where Bartlett’s money was going,” Steve said as he walked in. Your blood ran cold and you sat up. “We had a bit of trouble tracking it after someone killed him,” maybe he was still a little salty, “but we’re getting everyone on this.”

“That means your benching is ending one day early,” Tony said to you. “We’re attacking a large base tomorrow.”

“Is it Hydra?” Wanda asked.

“We actually don’t know,” Steve answered. “But we need to prepare for anything.”

As you were walking out, Steve called your name. You nodded at Loki to go on ahead before going up to the blond.

“You don’t have to tell me the reason you killed Bartlett, but can I have your word that you won’t kill anyone.”

You thought for a moment. Chances were that you were going to see your mother again. Would you be able to control yourself?

“I’m sorry, but I can’t make promises I can’t keep.”

Nobody spoke on the flight to the mission, but the jet was anything but quiet as wind and rain pelted the sides. Your fingers were entwined with Loki’s. The jet landed harshly and when you stepped out, you were instantly drenched. Loki pulled you towards the building, following the glowing lights of Tony’s suit.

Everyone piled into the empty lobby, dripping puddles onto the tiled floor. Loki put his hand on your shoulder and warmth spread through your body as he used his magic to dry you. Sam’s longing stare at your dried uniform almost made you chuckle. Almost. The threat of your mother still hung heavy over your head.

You split up in two teams. Tony, Wanda, Thor, and Sam went left while you, Loki, Nat, and Steve went right. Your team crept down a hall with only a few incursions. You were drawn to a room that was emitting a glowing, blue light.

“What the fuck?” Nat gasped when she took in the room’s contents.

Rows upon rows of tanks filled with glowing liquid and people. This had to be your mother’s doing. Her experiments. A small white square at eye level was on each tank. When you got closer, you realized they were nametags of sorts.

“M. Cowell,” you read the one nearest to you. “Energy manipulation.”

“V. Hargreeves,” Loki read another. “Sound manipulation.”

“These people are all enhanced.”

Steve called your name from deeper in the room. “I think you’ll want to see this.” You found him next to an empty tank. “It’s your name.” He pointed to the tag.

A chill shot through your body as you read your initial and last name. Printed by your name were the words ‘Crystal manipulation.’

“Let’s get out of here,” you whispered and sped your way out to the hallway.

“Are you alright?” Loki asked when he joined you in the hall.

“No.”

The hallway opened up into a tall room, a balcony circled the perimeter above you. Across from you, the other team emerged from their side. Before anyone could say anything, the clicking of heels drew everyone’s attention upwards. Your mother came into view. She was flanked by four armed guards who pointed their rifles down at you.

“Who the fuck are you?” Tony asked.

“I’m hurt that my daughter hasn’t told you about me.” She dramatically placed a hand on her chest.

“Daughter?” the other team echoed but your team looked at you.

“Are you Hydra?” Steve stepped in.

“Oh, heavens no. My organization has nothing to do with Hydra. I’m surprised at how long it took you to track down the Red Sapphire.”

“You’re an organization?” you asked. “You’re not working alone?”

“You can stop playing dumb now, my dear.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You killed Bartlett so the weak little fucker couldn’t blab to the Avengers. But I thought I taught you to clean up crime scenes better. Your prints were everywhere.”

“Is that why you killed him?” Steve turned to you.

“No.” You glared at your mother. “You are not going to get rid of me the same way you got rid of dad.” You felt around with your powers. She was wearing a gold necklace.

“Don’t show emotion. Emotion is weak—”

“Shut up!”

You forced the gold chain around her neck to tighten until your mother was grasping at her neck. You blocked out the voices of the Avengers telling you to stop. The four guards readied their guns so, without releasing your mother, you sent up sharp ammonium phosphate crystals and impaled the four. Your mother’s face was changing colors. The necklace tightened around her neck until it cut her skin. Until she collapsed.

“What did you do?” someone asked before you passed out from the exertion.

You woke up on the floor of the jet.

“Perfect timing,” Tony said. “We just landed.”

The jet’s ramp lowered and everyone walked out without looking at you. You stayed on the ground for a moment, rethinking your actions, regretting nothing, before you picked yourself up and walked out.

“Loki,” you sighed with relief. The god was standing at the bottom of the ramp. When he didn’t return your smile you hesitated. “What’s wrong?”

“You killed your own mother,” he stated and crossed his arms.

“Yeah? She was a wicked, vile bitch.”

“You shouldn’t have done it.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” If anyone was going to be on your side, it would have been Loki. “You should understand. Your father was horrible too.”

“I wouldn’t have killed him. He lied to me my entire life. He hated me, belittled me, ignored me and so much more but I wouldn’t have fucking killed him.”

“You don’t know all the things my mother has done.” You felt tears begin to build up. “Try to think of what you would do if your mother killed hundreds, thousands, of people. She hurt others, hurt me. She made me do terrible things.”

“Not as terrible as what you did back there.”

You took a shaky breath and couldn’t prevent the tears from spilling.

“People always said I was the cruel one but all this time, it was you. You only think of yourself. You only care about you. You’re the one with the fucking heart of stone.” You didn’t bother to wipe the tears off of your face as you stormed away. He didn’t follow you.

Loki, you had learned, was the only person able to make you cry.

In the following week, everyone avoided you. That was fine. You didn’t want to fucking see anyone. You had reverted to your pre-Loki persona. No emotions. Turns out your mother was right for once. Emotion is weakness.

Your days were spent alone in your room. Plans to track down and dismantle the Red Sapphire spread over every surface. You spent your nights in the gym. Crystals clenched in your unwrapped hands as you pummeled the punching bags. Don’t show pain.

“I’m leaving,” you announced to the almost empty kitchen. Steve and Tony looked at you, their first acknowledgement of you in a week. “I’m taking one of your cars. Don’t try to stop me.”

“We can’t let you leave. You’re a danger,” Steve said the same time Tony said,

“At least tell me what your mother did.”

You looked at Tony, ignoring Steve’s comment. You took a deep breath and told your story, to the surprise of both men. You told them about the discovery of your powers. You told them about your mother’s greed in wanting more. More from you. More powered individuals to serve her. You told them how you walked past dead bodies every day. You told them how your mother hurt you when you broke your stone facade. When you trained. When you failed. You told them how your father blamed you for your mother’s actions. How he wasted away drowning in alcohol. You told them about your mother framing your father.

“I’m going to destroy the organization she worked with.”

“There’s no way to prevent you from killing them,” Steve sighed.

“No, there’s not.”

“How about you don’t die, huh?” Tony asked.

“Yeah, that’s a pretty big priority,” you said and Tony pulled you into a hug. You closed your eyes and savored the moment until you forced yourself to pull away. “Goodbye.”

You retrieved your duffle bag and backpack from your room. The whole elevator ride down to the garage, you fiddled with the car keys. One day you would regret not saying goodbye. You stepped out of the elevator but you were quickly stopped in your tracks by Loki standing in front of the car you were taking.

“I heard you were leaving.”

“Yeah.” You refused to look at the god and loaded your bags into the car.

“I’m sorry. Please, I’m so sorry. You don’t have to forgive me—”

“You’re right, I don’t.” Damn, he was blocking the driver’s door.

“I’m sorry that I couldn’t understand you. I’m sorry I didn’t let you explain. Just let me do one thing. Let me come with you. Please, I want to help you.”

“You’re in my fucking way.”

“Look at me, please.” You obliged. “I want to come with you. I will follow you anywhere.”

“Why?”

“Because,” he cautiously placed a hand on your cheek and you unconsciously leaned into his touch. “Because I love you.”

Fuck, your eyes were misting again. “I-I might go to some dark places.”

“I will follow you anywhere,” he repeated.

“Okay,” you whispered. “You can come.” Loki’s beautiful eyes lit up and went to go to the passenger side. “Wait, Loki.”

You walked over to him and kissed him. You kissed him like you were never going to kiss him again. You kissed him like you hadn’t kissed him in a week, because you hadn’t. You kissed him with everything you had.

“I love you too.”

A/N: I had to put that small Umbrella Academy reference in there, I just binged season 2.

#heart of stone #loki x reader #loki #mcu #marvel #avengers #steve rogers #captain america #tony stark #iron man #sam wilson #the falcon #loki x you #loki x y/n #natasha romanoff #black widow #challenge #the sad hatter

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tae-cup · 4 years ago

Text

Perfectum | Aeternae Luvenis (1)

Pairing: Jimin x Yoongi

Summary: You can’t be young forever...right?

Genre: Wellness!au, Angst, Fluff, slow burn FtL

Warnings: Medical nonsense, drug use, disturbing themes, a touch of internalized homophobia

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: 9.2k

A/N: I’ve been working for a while on this and am currently writing the final arc. I have a little ways to go, but thank you for reading and giving this a shot :) I put a lot of my soul into writing this, trying to perfect the characters (pun intended) and their personalities. I’ve written a bit of mxm before, but this is my first shot for long form! In future, this is helping me get some practice for a poly!BTS x reader story, so be on the look out for that!

Other:

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

Previous | Next (coming soon)

Jimin and Yoongi had always believed Taehyung to be... odd, but Jimin was kind, perhaps too much so, and he had reached out to the younger man. Jimin was a man of gentle caresses and softly spoken words in the dead of night. Yoongi was of piano and the quietest of melodies. His cold demeanor was overshadowed by his ego. It always showed itself in topics of art and music. Jimin didn’t mind this, not really.

The black haired boy was always patient with his musical counterpart. Yoongi had blonde hair and these brown eyes that felt like they could uncover any part of your being. Jimin on the other hand, had a softer presence. It was a delicate balance, often upset by Taehyung.

Taehyung was not a normal boy. They had known him for about a year and he was handsome, someone that girls would fawn over, but there was something in the way he spoke, the way he acted, the little quirks, that had always thrown off Jimin.

He had always assumed it was because of Taehyung’s upbringing, perhaps some schooling, but there was something so formal about Taehyung. The gorgeous man would always leave before any important events, he never took part of class, in fact, Jimin had glanced over once in class only to see his notes blank.

It was little things like this that meant Jimin, nor Yoongi for that matter, batted an eye at Taehyung’s question. The man stood in front of them after accosting them outside the apartment they shared. Jimin had always been a little nervous about living alone and this only worsened when college came around, so Yoongi had suggested they move in together. Now, Jimin stood, keys in hand, as Yoongi quirked an eyebrow.

“Young forever? Who wouldn’t want to be young forever?” The older man laughed dryly.

“What if I told you...you could.” Taehyung said, his deep voice rumbling in the hallway. Jimin was quiet. Yoongi brushed past the man.

“Ridiculous, it’s impossible.” He scoffed. Taehyung turned back to Jimin, who was still frozen in the doorway. His grip tightened on the keys. “Come on, Jimin, this guy’s a joker or something.”

“Young forever, hm?” Jimin mused to himself.

Then he glanced over his face for any tell tale signs of joking around. None were to be found.

“He’s probably just messing with us, let’s go.” Yoongi rolled his eyes.

“What does this entail?” Jimin finally asked, his voice unsteady.

Youth had...slipped away from him. Dancing, singing, studying. He never really had any time. A break would be nice and what could they do anyway? If it worked, great, if it didn’t, then there was no harm done, right?

“Oh my god, seriously?” Yoongi groaned, but was cut off when Taehyung’s eyes lit up, a boxy grin pulling onto his face.

It would be unnerving if it weren’t Taehyung. Again, the boy had always been...a little off. Yoongi rolled his eyes, turning back to retrieve his stubborn housemate.

“It’s a workshop, of sorts. They help to retrain your brain and body to keep you healthy and...compliant in your ways. It’s a six month...experience.”

“Compliant?”

“Shut up, we have to get to class.” Yoongi hissed, dragging Jimin towards the elevator.

Taehyung began to laugh a little. The hollow sound sent shivers down Jimin’s spine and Yoongi looked unnerved as well.

“I told you not to interact with weird people!” Yoongi whispered furiously.

“He’s not that weird, stop being mean.” Jimin complained, twisting around to look at him.

Jimin had always felt himself less than perfect, a flawed human being. He supposed that was human nature, but he always felt more flawed than everyone else; always too nice, too shy, too kind. Someone just begging to be stepped on. Did he not stand for himself? Taking a backseat was the usual, letting Yoongi take the more outgoing and outspoken roles in the friendship.

“What if you’d be paid?” Taehyung shouted over their hushed whispers.

Yoongi’s ears caught onto that. He’d been working several jobs, trying to pay for his tuition. Jimin tried to persuade him to let him take some of the workload, but Yoongi had been adamant on paying it off of his own volition. It’s a matter of pride. He had explained. Since then, Jimin had left him alone about it, though the stress had made Yoongi rather cross lately.

Jimin watched as his old friend slowly turned to the taller man. He stood, looming eerily in the hallway still. He hadn’t moved a muscle. Jimin thought, in this moment, that his movements were another odd thing to add to the checklist of odd things Taehyung did.

He moved with a certain stiltedness, something not quite natural, as if trying to mimic nature. Jimin was like a sea diver who saw the slightest changes to an environment in order to uncover the hidden octopus.

“How much?” Yoongi demanded.

“Enough to pay your tuition. I know you’ve been struggling.” Taehyung smiled wolfishly.

“When does the program start?” The other man inquired, taking a step closer to Taehyung’s figure.

“In a week’s time. All you have to do is sign up, we take care of the rest.”

“And you’ve been through this process?”

Taehyung fell silent, his gaze suddenly lacking a spark. He looked hollowed out. Then, almost robotically, he nodded his head. His fingers were interlocked, knuckles slowly turning white.

“Yes, it’s painless.”

“That’s not ominous at all.” Yoongi huffed, crossing his arms. Jimin remained silent. He was always silent.

“Trust me, it’s a good experience.” Taehyung assured, but it felt practiced and rehearsed to Jimin’s well trained ears.

“A break would be nice, Yoongi.” Jimin finally caved.

“But what about my piano recitals, your performances?” Yoongi protested, his voice raising slightly.

Jimin sighed. He always knew his friend would be hard to persuade, especially if the trip wasn’t ‘necessary’.

“Let’s talk more about this later, okay?” Jimin squeezed his hand twice.

Yoongi tried to ignore the soft pounding of his heart at the other man’s touch. He had known him all his life, was it not normal to feel an affection towards the people you grew up with?

He shook off any...abnormal thoughts towards his friend and decided to just agree to what he said. But Jimin could make Yoongi agree to anything, as long as he held his hand, as long as he looked at him with his glassy brown eyes. Yoongi would give him...the world.

“Just think about it, okay?” Taehyung took a step forward, drawing a card from his pocket. Jimin took the card and held it carefully between his fingers.

“It’s called Perfectum.” He pointed out. The other man simply nodded and watched as he strode away.

It was at dinner a few nights later that Jimin brought it up again. The proposition had been plaguing his mind all week, and despite Yoongi’s denial, it had been plaguing him as well. Yoongi, as per usual, bustled around the kitchen.

The clatter of pots and pans filled the apartment. The aroma of roasted tomatoes and freshly cut basil wafted through the kitchen and into the living room, where Jimin sat.

Yoongi may be cheap, but if there was one thing he didn’t skimp out on, it was food. To be a musician of his caliber, it was necessary to keep his body in good health, much like a trained athlete. Healthy eating and good food was important to both of their lifestyles.

Both Jimin and Yoongi had always been the quiet ones. They rarely needed to talk to each other and had known each other long enough to read when the other needed space. It was a perfect balance. The apartment itself was far from perfect, however.

The old place was falling apart. A leak was running down from the crack in the ceiling and the sound of drops of water collecting in a bucket was to the left corner. The wallpaper was faded and half of it was torn down as Yoongi claimed it would save money to just make an exposed brick wall. The problem? There was no brick and Yoongi was far from a carpentry prodigy.

Jimin sat, humming to himself, as he flipped through a magazine. His eyes glanced over the male model on the cover. The man was showing off a six pack with a slim waist and well toned arms.

He averted his eyes. The dark haired male continued to idly flip through the pages. He wasn’t really reading, however, he was mostly thinking about Taehyung. He hadn’t seen the man around since that first inquiry.

The younger man heard a crash and several curses from the kitchen. He chuckled a little and then stood, deciding to help set the table. He closed the magazine, careful not to crease it, and went into the small kitchen.

The old tiles were cracking and the oven needed to be fiddled with a few times in order to work, but Yoongi had said the apartment was passable and Jimin had enjoyed the balcony. Together, they both got a little of what they wanted.

Now, Yoongi was cursing to having agreed to this exact kitchen two years ago. Both men were equally on the shorter end. Jimin always held his centimeter of difference over Yoongi’s head, figuratively and literally.

The younger man reached over the other to access the plates. Then he set about making the waters. It was a great balancing act to bring all four items at once, but he managed it. He set the table, taking extra care to make things just right. He blinked a few times, tilting his head at the fork on the right. It didn’t look the same as the other one.

Frustrated, he moved the fork a smidge and that resulted in it looking even worse. He frowned and decided to leave it as it was, even if it felt a bit off kilter. Jimin then settled onto a dining chair.

His mind still running wild with the idea of eternal youth and perfection, his hands reached for his pocket where he had his wallet. Inside the wallet was the care Taehyung handed him.

Jimin ran his fingers lightly over the silver print. The card was easy to look at; perfect. Crisp white lines met the evenly spaced letters of each word. PERFECTUM was written in all caps in the center. Underneath were the words De Imperfectum Fit Perfectum.

The dark haired male pulled out his phone, puzzling over the inscriptions. On the backside of the card was simply an address; James St. 14. He didn’t recall that being anywhere near where they lived, but he really hadn’t been far outside his little bubble neighborhood since moving in. He typed in the trusty google translate and wrote the words down. Latin.

“The imperfect becomes perfect.” He whispered to himself, reading over the words like the gospel.

“Yoongi?” He called to his counterpart.

“What?” The other responded, shouting over the kitchen fan. The fan whirred loudly but did little to vacuum up the wisps of steam.

“Have you given any more thought to that retreat?”

“What?!” He asked again.

“I SAID-” the fan shut off and Jimin immediately lowered his voice. “-I said, ‘did you give any more thought to that retreat?’”

Yoongi lowered his head, peering at him through the opening between the stove and shelves above. He squinted a little, confused by the man’s sudden question.

“No, why?”

“I just...it’s coming up and I think we should go. You can pay for your tuition too.”

“I think it’s a scam, Jiminie.”

The pale haired man plated the spaghetti and brought them over. He placed one hand crafted bowl in front of himself and one in front of Jimin, but the other didn’t start eating.

“It might be a welcome break.” He offered in retaliation.

“We don’t need it.”

“I’m sick of you breaking your back to pay for everything. That’ll take years. This will only take six months!”

“We don’t need help.” Yoongi argued back, his voice raising.

“You never give yourself a break. Please, this might be some time to reflect and think back on your life, where you are, and who you are. Because I know...I’m pretty lost.” Jimin continued, his chest deflating.

Yoongi eyed him for a moment. As heartless as he seemed, he always had a soft spot for Jimin. He twirled a few strands of pasta around his fork and then lifted it to his mouth.

“Fine, but, I’m only doing this for the money and if I sense anything off, we leave, okay?”

“Yes, dad.” Jimin teased, but his spirits were instantly raised. Yoongi smiled a little to himself, watching the younger man chow down happily on his meal.

“I just think…” Yoongi trailed off for a moment. Jimin paused, waiting for him to continue. The man put his fork down, wiping at his mouth.

“I just think it’s a little sketchy that they’re paying people so much money for this experience. Don’t you think that’s odd?” Then he took up the fork and went back at the pasta once more. Jimin was quiet at that, lost in thought. But Jimin was always quiet.

Videtur Quod. Jimin read over the graffiti sprayed on the side of the building. The white concrete building of Perfectum was about seven stories tall and a clear cut rectangle. The only imperfection...was this splattering of graffiti.

Before Jimin could ask about it, Yoongi was brushing past him towards the building. The sky had been gray and overcast, but now there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. It was a blue that looked all too bright and clear to be real.

The green expanses of the lawn before it was fenced in with a perfectly straight white fence. The fence itself was without weather or wear.

“This place gives me the creeps.” Yoongi muttered, but Jimin just stared in awe.

Was it possible such a perfect place existed? Where Yoongi found the crisp and neat finishes to be creepy, Jimin found himself more intrigued. He longed to be just as...perfect.

“I think it’s beautiful.” He responded, but Yoongi had already gone ahead. The man followed after him.

The doors opened and slid seamlessly into the walls. The inside held a striking resemblance to the outside. The entrance was a square, the edges of the white surface fitting together neatly. Fluorescent lights flickered ever so slightly, an annoying buzz filling the room.

“Welcome! How may I help you?” The front desk attendant asked.

She had a rather plain and nondescript face. It was evenly proportioned, no one thing sticking out more than the other.

“We’re here to register for your experience thing-y.” Yoongi leaned haphazardly against the white marble. Jimin trailed behind him, clasping his hands behind his back.

Jimin tapped his foot while admiring the scenery. White walls made of a shiny surface enclosed the room. There wasn’t a crack to be found. What was perfection? His eyes traced the flawless walls. This was perfection. Everything was in its rightful place, everything was perfectly spaced.

The plain decor was a welcome break from the chaos of the exhausting reality of life. The messy art and uneven lines made him dizzy, but no, not here. Here, he found peace. His eyes could rest, everything was as it should be.

His morbid fascination with achieving perfection had been a flaw he’d known of for years now, but this place really brought it out of him.

“Jimin?” Yoongi’s gruff voice called out to him, shaking him from his thoughts. The man was done going over the money that would be paid to him.

Jimin blinked a few times and then went over to the desk. Two papers were placed down, evenly spaced. He took up the pen, one which fit so neatly to his hand, and glanced over the form.

He may be considered a pushover in their circle of friends, but he wasn’t stupid. His ears pricked to listen to Yoongi’s muttering. The older man hunched over his paper, scratching his head and looking rather displeased.

“Is something wrong?” The woman asked.

“Yes.” Yoongi answered immediately. The woman didn’t seem fazed. “It says here that once you sign this form, you’re dedicating yourself to six months of this.”

“Indeed it is, sir.” She dipped her head.

“Well, I just think...what if I want to leave?”

“You would be forfeiting all potential benefits and any money. I wouldn’t worry too much,” She smiled a bit too widely. “People are often pleased with our process and don’t feel the need to leave.”

“And for the few who do?” Jimin questioned, voice soft.

The woman turned to face him. If you thought of a stock photo image of a woman at a front desk, this woman was her. The attendant simply blinked a few times to his question. She behaved just a bit...stilted. It was like she was trying to be natural.

“You don’t have to worry about them.” She answered cryptically.

“Jimin, a word?” Yoongi eyed him. Then he grabbed his elbow and hauled him outside. “This place is crazy. There’s something wrong, all my red flags are going off and I think we need to leave now.” He hissed.

The younger man’s eyes shifted from his concerned friend to the smooth lines of the fence and the blank canvas of the building. He too wished to be a blank canvas, to be able to start anew.

“Something wrong? Yoongi, you’re just brushing off your health again. Stop trying to talk me out of this break.” He huffed, crossing his arms.

“I’ll take a break, I swear, please, this place is sketchy and I think we’re about to get murdered.” Yoongi pleaded.

Jimin had never seen him like this. Yoongi had always been about tough love; suck it up or deal with the issue. Running away wasn’t like him. Yoongi’s arm shot out as Jimin turned to head back inside, thoroughly entranced.

“You promised.” Yoongi whispered.

“I agreed and agreements are broken all the time.” Jimin retorted.

He furrowed his eyebrows and marched back inside. The woman was still standing there, stalk still, at the front desk.

The man stormed towards the desk and grabbed the pen, signing his name on the dotted line. Silence was simply not an option. He could have...all of this. This world made sense to him, however unrealistic Yoongi may see it. And Yoongi be damned.

Yoongi raced after him and watched as his pen skated across the paper. His eyes darkened. He wasn’t about to let Jimin walk into this mess alone. He had an obligation as a friend to make sure he would be safe. The blonde haired man heaved a sigh and walked over, writing down his signature.

“That money better be in my account after this.” He grumbled. The woman smiled and nodded.

“Follow me, please.” A man with blue hair and, once again, a nondescript face, led them through the doors.

Jimin began to question if this was the right move. Perhaps he moved too quickly, made a rash decision out of anger. The hallways were wide and identical on either side to his left and right. White metal doors lined the walls and the floors held not even a scratch.

There were windows on the ends of each corridor, but they were frosted over, only allowing the light to come through. This place felt otherworldly, beautiful, intriguing in the best way.

Meanwhile, Yoongi furrowed his eyebrows and glanced in either direction. His face gave away no emotion, but his hand reached for the other’s. Jimin welcomed his touch, interlacing their fingers. The thudding of his heart became awfully loud.

“Right this way.” The man strode ahead and to the right.

The younger of the two followed along quickly and Yoongi had no choice but to stumble after him. Their hands were locked together tightly.

“You’ll be on the first floor for now. There should be a welcome gift and other useful resources that you’ll find over on the nightstand! Orientation is tomorrow for you and the other newcomers!” The man chirped, showing them to two rooms next to each other.

“Thank you, sir.” Jimin shot him a kind smile, one to rival the other’s forced curl.

“It’s not a problem at all, just let me know if you need anything.”

He nodded and slowly opened the door to his room. The door was surprisingly light. He unwove his hand from Yoongi’s, his palms had begun to sweat uncomfortably. Yoongi was like a shadow, following him silently as he explored the room. There wasn’t much to explore. The room was a square, gorgeously under decorated.

While Jimin went to check how comfortable the bed was, Yoongi twisted around to talk to the man.

“Hey, where can we find you…” He trailed off, twisting to the other side, but the hallway was empty. It felt so quiet. The place was so...still.

“Jimin, doesn’t it bother you that there isn’t another soul in sight? Doesn’t it feel too empty?” Yoongi asked, but his friend didn’t answer, enraptured by the window at the far wall. “I mean, they kept talking about other applicants. Why weren’t there other cars, then?”

“I don’t know, Yoongi. Let’s just try it out, okay?” Jimin sighed, turning to face his friend. He walked towards his friend until he was directly in front of him. His eyes peered into his.

“Give it a chance.” He whispered, squeezing the blonde’s arm. Yoongi’s breath hitched slightly.

“Okay, okay.” He said in response, exasperatedly throwing up his hands.

The older man walked out of the room to explore his own, but it was the same set up. Honestly, what did he expect?

Jimin wandered around his room, the little square feeling more freeing than anything he’d known. The lawns outside were sprawling and green. They were so green it almost looked fake.

The vibrant hue painted the white room in a soft green color as the sun gleamed off it. He leaned against the window sill, tapping his fingers on the cool metal.

The bed was a single bed pushed against the far left corner. There was a side table which held a single glass of water and a desk pushed to the center of the right wall. The only splash of color was in the painting hanging right above the desk.

The frame was a painted white wood and inside was an image of a blue forest. A white mist was cresting the trees and the blue went from a murky navy at the bottom to a baby blue at the top.

He peered at the window, searching for anything off. Yeah, of course, he had his reservations as well, and so far it seemed too good to be true. Maybe this impulsive decision was right for once? Yoongi’s words from earlier floated back to him.

This place gives me the creeps. And it should honestly give any sane person the creeps, but Jimin was enchanted. Again, his eyes searched for the imperfections, but there were none to be found.

But then his eyes trailed lower and he crouched down, coming eye level with the window sill. At the very bottom of the glass were three white lines, much like scratches. The white lines extended past the window’s bottom and tore at the paint on the metal, dragging towards the floor. Now, as...intrigued by this place as he was, even he knew that scratch marks weren’t exactly the best signs.

He went to his knees, getting closer to the ground to try and follow the path. Across the smooth ground, the lines led him to his bed. He went to his stomach, ready to lift the sheets which draped over the underside, when there was a knock on the door.

Startled, the man stood up and dusted off his frontside. Then he went to open the door, pushing the mystery of the scratches into the back of his mind. In the doorway, stood Taehyung.

“Hello! I hope you’re settling in well. I’ve come to show you the way to lunch.” He greeted him.

“Sounds good.” Jimin smiled softly, following after the taller man.

Yoongi joined them, trailing behind. The older man tugged on Jimin’s shirt, forcing him to slow down as they turned to the right and entered another hallway. There were other people slowly making their way to lunch as well.

They followed each other, single file, but they might as well have been replaced with plants because it was silent. Not a word was exchanged, just the shuffle of cloth and soft shoes on marble.

“This place is weird.” Yoongi’s eyes flickered from side to side. “Seriously, everything in me is telling me to run, Jimin. I don’t understand why you’re not feeling it.” He whispered, but his voice felt like a shout in the quiet.

“I don’t know… It’s alright, Yoongi.” He stopped, for a moment, faltering in step and making Yoongi stop. The crowd just parted around them, not even looking up in acknowledgement. “Look, if something seriously fucked up happens, I’ll be the first one to tell you to leave.”

The other man still seemed unsure but nodded anyway. “Fine. I’ll only leave if you do.”

There was the sound of voices and both of them looked up, alarmed. Another boy, he didn’t look any older than Taehyung, was being escorted down the stairs by two guards. He grumbled curses at the two armed men.

Why are there armed guards at a wellness facility? Jimin thought, watching as they passed by. The boy locked eyes with him and fell silent. He watched them until he was out of sight, his gaze staring intently at them.

“Let’s just go to lunch.” Jimin said softly, to which Yoongi nodded and led the way this time.

The cafeteria was well spaced, the roof an array of skylights. Each tray was personalized with the correct portions. The boy from earlier sat at a one person table, his face darkened. Everyone else had lofty smiles on their faces, but this boy had the deepest frown Jimin had ever seen.

Yoongi slid across from him at a three seater table. Taehyung sat to his right. The meal looked good. A veggie sandwich and a cup of roasted potatoes sat under a glass cover. Jimin glanced around. Everyone was in unison as they ate. At first glance, it looked normal, but when he looked closer, everyone ate in intervals.

One person would lift a sandwich to their mouth and then a half beat later, another would. It was an odd rhythm. Taehyung followed their pattern, for once his stilted nature didn’t seem out of place.

The older man narrowed his eyes, watching Taehyung eat without thought.

“So...Taehyung,” He started, picking up his sandwich. No one paid them any mind.

“Yeah?” The other man didn’t stop his eating.

“How did you find this place?”

He stopped, sitting still. Something flashed in his eyes. Taehyung seemed torn. Jimin noticed the guards standing straighter, glancing over at their table. Taehyung remained still and Jimin swore he could see the gears turning in his brain.

“The same as you, but I came with a few others.” He answered vaguely.

A brokenness flashed across the man’s gaze, then he glanced to see the guards watching them carefully. He composed himself, rolling his shoulders back. Then, he plastered a wide smile on his face.

“Listen, just don’t...get on their bad side. Just do what they say and you’ll be okay.” He said, voice barely above a whisper.

“What do you mean by that?” Yoongi prodded.

“Well…” The stomp of boots startled Jimin. The man turned to see two guards, gripping guns slung over their shoulders, standing behind Taehyung.

“Ah, It seems I’ve made you uncomfortable. I must apologize. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” Taehyung bowed his head, standing, and following the guards out without a further word.

“What just happened?” Yoongi tilted his head.

Now he turned around to the left and right, confused and unnerved. Jimin turned back to his food, naturally falling back into the rhythm.

“He was disturbing the peace, it makes sense that they’d want to take care of that.” He shrugged in response. Yoongi stared back incredulously.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you, Jimin, but snap out of it. You’re freaking me out.” Yoongi said. “Anyway,” He eyed Jimin’s almost finished sandwich. He shifted uncomfortably, watching his friend eat in time with the others as if it were second nature.

“Did you check out the orientation pamphlet yet?”

“No.” Jimin said. “I didn’t have a lot of time.”

“We were in our rooms for an hour at most, what was so interesting?”

The world spun. An hour? How much time had passed? Jimin dropped the sandwich, reality punching into his daydream. This was it, right? All he had ever wanted; a perfect, care free, calming existence, and yet how was he still losing time?

“I don’t know.” He answered lamely, at a loss for words.

“Anyway, I brought the pamphlet thing. It has the schedule for tomorrow and the mission statement.” Yoongi pulled out the crisply folded card and passed it across the table to him.

Jimin’s gaze moved around the room. Everyone was wearing white and Yoongi and he stuck out like a sore thumb.

“Where are the other newcomers?” Jimin asked idly, flipping through the three pages.

Patients. He counted that they used newcomers and patients interchangeably about 15 times throughout the pamphlet.

“Who knows.” Yoongi shrugged. “This place is creepy enough. If I didn’t lo-like you so much, I would have left.”

“Thanks for your vote of confidence.”

“I’m telling the truth.” Yoongi slowly picked up his food, making sure to eat out of the practiced rhythm.

Jimin turned to the page regarding the orientation. The schedule was laid out plainly. There would be a welcome speech in the morning, a short health check, and a few videos to introduce them to their new life for the next six months.

Then there was lunch and freetime to explore until dinner. Yoongi groaned that ‘lights out’ was at 10 P.M. Jimin argued that the other needed more sleep anyway.

“There are some general guidelines here.” Yoongi leaned over on his elbows and pointed at the bottom text.

“Follow all instructions without hesitation; it is the only way to perfect your imperfections.” Jimin read. “Under no circumstances may you go to floor 7.”

“What’s up with floor 7?” Yoongi leaned back, looking skeptical.

“Who knows. I guess we should just follow what they say.” The scratches on the window floated back to him. As he was about to bring them up, Yoongi chimed back in.

“You know, it’s easier than I thought it would be. We just have to do what they say and my tuition is paid.” He chuckled, resting his hands on his head.

“I think they’ll have to fix that ego of yours, Yoongi.” Jimin tsked, pushing the scratches back for another time.

The boy with the intense gaze was escorted out, pushed upwards by the guards. A new person waited to take his place. The two figures exchanged a nod before they changed places.

The new man looked to be around Yoongi’s age with a sloped nose and high cheekbones. His lips were pressed into a thin line, his cupid’s bow pulled downwards ever so slightly.

Jimin’s eyes track the younger boy as he resists slightly, dragging his feet. Once again, no one even pays them a glance. A few people in white scratch at their necks and arms. He made eye contact with the boy. The boy, in turn, scoffed and looked away. Yoongi was watching the new man.

With a sigh, the older man turned back around to face Jimin. He picked up his sandwich and bit into it.

“This place is way too weird.” He mumbled under his breath.

“It’s too early to be awake.”

“Shush.”

“I’m just saying, it would be easier to understand what is happening if I could keep my eyes open.”

“Pay attention to the speaker, Yoongi.” Jimin shot the man a glare.

The blonde simply turned back towards the woman speaking on stage. Her movements looked rehearsed, perfectly time with every flick of the slideshow behind her.

“Here at Perfectum, we’ll be working on your lifestyles and being as a person. We do this with, clearly stated in our slogan, perfecting your imperfections; De imperfectum fit perfectum. Which means, the imperfect becomes perfect.” The woman smiled.

She was characterized only from her red lipstick that stuck out in the sea of white. It was an orientation, but the newcomers were only Jimin and Yoongi.

“After this, we’ll take you to have an evaluation to see how we can best help you. Then, you will watch some videos regarding our philosophy and the facility. Any questions?”

“Yes, when can we leave?” Yoongi raised his hand. Jimin slapped his arm, trying to get him to stop, but he didn’t put it down.

“You leave whenever you want...but I suggest giving the process a try.” She said carefully, a rehearsed response.

“She sounds exactly like Taehyung.” Yoongi whispered as she continued on the presentation. “Will we become like that?”

“I hope so.” Jimin murmured, watching her with fascination.

Her proportions were just right, her skin clear and almost doll like. Sure, her face wasn’t exactly special in any way, but everything was evenly spaced out and well sized. He wasn’t sure if it was natural or if she’d gone under the knife, but everyone in this facility had a perfect face.

Could he become like that? Sometimes, the yearning to be what he could not was suffocating, now it was within arms reach. He needed to grasp it while he could. Some could call this an obsession, he called it passion.

“Please exit to your right.”

Everyone stood at the same time and turned, marching off to the right. Yoongi was forced to follow along, tripping a little on the shoes of the person in front of him. The person didn’t even turn around to face him. Jimin remained in time with everyone else. If it weren’t for his clothes, he would blend right in.

The woman looked like a nurse, so Jimin decided to call her so. She had on a pressed white uniform and a neatly folded cap on her head. Her back was faced away from him as he shifted uncomfortably in the chair.

It was the first time Yoongi and he had really been apart since they’d come to this place and he was getting antsy. They had explained they were just going to take some diagnostics and learn how to best treat them.

While Yoongi had scoffed at the idea, Jimin had been eager to get on with the process. Now, however, he was having his doubts. He craned his neck around to see the woman knock the air out of a syringe. Inside the syringe was a green liquid. He eyed it warily.

“What is that?” He asked. The woman didn’t respond.

She bent over him, pulling a cart behind her. The plastic wheels rattled against the linoleum floor. She picked up a swab and began to wipe down his forearm. The woman had a warm smile on her face, but she looked a little vacant.

“What is that?” He asked again. This time, she paused and slowly looked up at him.

For the first time, he felt a shudder roll down his spine. Her eyes were hollow and her pupils were the same color as her irises. His survival instincts kicked in, as they should have in the beginning. Not human. Not right. The little warning bells flashed in his brain.

“It will help you see clearly while we diagnose you.” She said and then looked back down.

Usually, in a place like this, there would be a buzz, the hum of air conditioning or otherwise. Instead, it was completely silent. His ears began to ring. The needle sunk into his flesh. He sucked in a breath, trying not to tense up. As the liquid entered his veins, he felt a tingling sensation.

“Hey, is it supposed to feel like this?” He wondered. Once again, no response.

Then his world exploded.

Colors he’d never seen before painted the room a bioluminescent glow. He felt his eyes widen and his body spasmed as the liquid coursed through his veins. The woman began to ask him questions and he answered in response, but he didn’t know what he was responding with.

His hearing had become muffled and the world spun. His lips moved, forming words that didn’t feel like him. It was like he was trapped in a car that was driving itself off a bridge.

The car did a nose dive. He felt his stomach flip like he was sinking and falling. The woman just continued writing down his answers and asking him more questions. Her mouth moved and her head bobbed up and down to his words, but there was no sound.

He began to find it increasingly hard to breathe, his chest constricting. She didn’t seem bothered as he began to hyperventilate. What was he saying? Was he incriminating himself? It wasn’t like he had anything incriminating to hide, but still, the possibility was very much there.

After what felt like ages, the woman stood from her place and flicked at another needle. A few minutes felt like hours as she swabbed down his arm again. There was something freeing in losing complete control.

Something terrifying and cold, yet simultaneously the most exciting thing he had done. He barely registered the needle finding his vein once more. He only knew that he was back into control, his world zooming back into focus.

“Thank you, we’ll get your results back to you after lunch.” The woman said, not a hint of emotion on her face.

She then turned on her heel, in a sharp and robotic fashion, and exited the room. He glanced around, blinking a few times to clear some fog in his mind. The door slammed shut behind her, causing the man to jump at the loud noise.

He slowly got up and tried to leave. The door was locked. He banged on the door a couple times.

“Hey! I’m in here!” He called to no avail.

Then he turned around wildly to look for another way out. It was like slowly his perfect reality was falling apart. This place was perfect, so there must be some other reason he’s not let out, right? They all seemed like...reasonable people. He got the sense that things were not without a reason here. His eyes honed in on an object.

On the metal cart was now a glass of orange juice. Jimin looked upwards, taking note of the camera blinking steadily. He took a breath and wrapped his hand around the cool glass. A few sips later, the door allowed him to exit. He took a deep breath, stepping out and looking from side to side. No one. Just a long, empty, white hall.

The door to his left opened and Yoongi’s familiar blonde hair popped out. He too looked from side to side. Then they met eyes. They both jumped a bit in surprise.

“Oh thank god, Jimin. I was worried. Did they do what they did to me to you?” He spoke hurriedly, fully emerging and taking a hold on his shoulders.

Jimin was shook a couple times as he grilled him. He could only manage to nod aimlessly at the blonde.

“Yeah, it was weird, huh?” He said in a daze.

“Weird? A bit more than that, Jimin. I think it’s time to leave.”

“I might have to agree with you.” He admitted, the darkness of doubt creeping at his mind. “But we don’t know what they did to us, what if there’s side effects and then we can’t get help.”

Yoongi’s eyes darkened and he stepped away. “You’re just trying to find excuses to stay here. I know you too well, Jiminie.”

“Don’t you want to stay as well? I mean, what about the money?”

Yoongi bit his lip, crossing his arms and tapping his foot furiously.

“I don’t know, Jimin.” He deflated, tilting his head back and letting out a deep sigh. “I don’t know.”

“I was right.” Jimin pointed to the card in Yoongi’s hand, a small smile on his face.

“Yeah, big deal.” The man rolled his eyes. “Having an ego isn’t something awful.”

“You make it awful, Yoongs.” He replied with a chuckle.

Jimin chomped down on a fork full of salad. He was in time to the beat, as per the usual. He blinked a little, studying his food after tasting a bitter aftertaste. There was a fine sprinkle of white powder over the top.

He shrugged it off, deciding it must either be seasoning or some sort of parmesan cheese. He glanced up to see Yoongi’s sour expression.

“Fine. Fine.” He relented. “What programs are you in?”

“Programs?”

“In the file they gave you…” Jimin trailed off, opening his file to show Yoongi.

Inside his file were two classes; public speaking and How To Reach Fulfillment, a month long course. The other man flipped open his file.

“Mine just says ‘lifestyle readjustments will take place’ and that How To Reach Fulfillment class.” He read.

“I wonder what that means?” Jimin thought it over. Then he shrugged. “Who knows, but it’s easy money, Yoongi, you just gotta be humble.”

“I’m already humble.”

“That’s something a not humble person would say.”

“Shut up.”

The moonlight streamed through the window as he lay still on the bed. Jimin was lost in thought. Many things were passing by in his mind, such as Who cleans this place? And Is perfection possible? Is their version of perfection, something I want?

But the most prevalent, that stood head and shoulders above the other thoughts, was Why does he make you feel this way. It wasn’t really about that either, it was more What is he making you feel?

His heart thudded in his chest. Was it okay to feel this way...about another man? He shook off the thought, something he did quite often. Running away from problems and ignoring them seemed to be a big thing for him.

As if on cue, there was a knock at the door. He already knew who it was.

“Come in.” He looked at the clock. It was past curfew, but that hadn’t stopped Yoongi for the past two weeks.

The blonde trudged inside, his oversized, white, uniform brushing against the ground. He pushed back his bangs and took a seat on the floor. The door clicked softly shut behind him. There were no words for a moment. The soft breaths of the two men blended together as they sat in silence.

Yoongi moved to lie down on the floor. He had mellowed out a bit the past few days. His nature had become less domineering and more quiet, almost as if mimicking Jimin. In turn, Jimin had noticed his impulses and brashness showing themselves more.

“What are you thinking about?” Yoongi asked softly.

“You.” Then he backpedaled. “And just the changes.”

“I see.”

Jimin’s heart was thumping out of his chest, the stillness of the building amplifying the sound. He rolled over to his side to face the pale man. Yoongi’s skin glowed under the harsh light of the moon. The delicate cupid’s bow of his lips were pulled down slightly.

“I was actually thinking about the two boys we saw a few weeks ago, on our first day.” Jimin continued. “They just looked so unhappy.”

“Can you say that you’re happy right now?” Yoongi hummed.

“Well...no, but I’m not unhappy, there’s a difference.” He sighed. He moved to rest his hands on his chest.

“Maybe they want to escape just as much as we do.”

“Maybe I don’t want to escape, Yoongs.”

The older man shifted to sit up right. He leaned against the mattress, the fabric dipping down. Jimin craned his neck to meet eye to eye with the other.

“What do you mean?” Yoongi questioned, his tone firm.

“I mean, I want to be perfect, Yoongi. Like you, you’re perfect to me.” Jimin propped himself up on his elbows. “Your face is so well proportioned, you’re talented, you know how to stand up for yourself.” He moved to sit up straight and he took Yoongi’s hand in his.

He traced light circles around his bony fingers and into the palms of his silky skin. He gently leaned down and on a whim, pressed a light kiss to his palm. It wasn’t unlike anything they’d ever done before.

Yoongi had always been a touchier person than most would think and Jimin was an open cuddler. It was only natural that they’d share so-called ‘intimate moments’ together. But this time, it felt different.

When Jimin looked up and saw Yoongi’s face, he noticed how wide his eyes were. The man slowly withdrew his hand, pulling it close to his chest, like a secret.

“Don’t you think that to others, you’re perfect in their eyes as well?” Yoongi whispered, his voice small and croaky. “You’re perfect to me, already. You don’t need to prove anything.”

“Stop it.” Jimin’s voice quivered. He squeezed his eyes shut.

“Stop it stop it.” He covered his eyes with his hands. “It’s like you’re trying to make me feel this way and you need to stop.”

“What do I need to stop?” Yoongi gently pried his fingers away from his face.

The man drew in a shaky breath, coming face to face with Yoongi. They were mere inches apart.

“You come to my room past curfew, you tell me things that-that you shouldn’t and then you leave like nothing happened. You make me feel things I shouldn’t.” He said, scratching at his arms as if in an attempt to take away his emotions.

“I feel the same way.” Yoongi said, sitting back with a deflated slump. “And I wish I didn’t, but that got me thinking...if we both feel this way, then Jiminie,” He took his hands in his. “How wrong can it be?”

“It doesn’t matter what I feel, Yoongi. It’s that I know I don’t deserve someone like you.”

Yoongi’s face contorted into a pained expression. His eyebrows furrowed and his lips pulled downwards. And he caused it. Jimin shivered. Yoongi ran his hands through Jimin’s hair.

“Ah, you’re right, you don’t deserve someone like me.” Then he leaned in close and Jimin could feel his lips brush against his ear.

His warm breath fanned across Jimin’s cheek and cascaded down his neck. Yoongi’s delicate fingers grasped his cheek with the lightest of touches.

He then whispered, in the softest of tones, like a warm embrace on a cold night, “You deserve the world, Jimin.”

The dark haired man drummed his fingers on the sides of his sink. He leaned on the concrete while he stared with a morbid fascination at his neck. Little white patches of dry skin had begun to show themselves. He ran his fingertips lightly over the marks. This caused waves of itchiness to roll down his body. He resisted the urge to scratch.

It made no sense. The climate was far from dry and he took good care of his skin. Jimin leaned in, trying to get a better look. After searching the drawer for his moisturizer, he pulled out the small bottle and slathered it over his neck.

Then he found his foundation and smeared it over the patches. The lingering warmth of Yoongi’s hands on his and the gentle brush of his fingertips made him smile a little.

He hated the way he felt. Yoongi made him happy, so why was he not allowed to feel that? It was an unspoken barrier. It wasn’t even like he would be in danger of being kicked out or rejected if he came out about his feelings, but he didn’t really want to find out.

Besides, it was easier this way; ignore the problem and it won’t exist, right? Sadly, that wasn’t how it worked, and Yoongi most certainly existed.

Now his stomach twisted as he thought of the other man. His mind wasn’t in the right place to decide if the twist was good or not.

Breakfast was awkward at best, but Yoongi played it cool. In fact, he hid his emotions so well that Jimin wondered if last night was a dream. Drastic lifestyle changes had taken place for Yoongi.

The facility had decided the best way to mellow him out and bring down his ego, was to simply...ignore him. Well, they didn’t completely ignore the blonde, but they didn’t attempt to really listen to him.

Jimin didn’t understand why his heart thumped in anger at this. This is how they become perfect, but Yoongi was already as perfect as ever, to Jimin. Jimin pushed around his food halfheartedly.

“Have you noticed any dry patches on your skin, Yoongs?” Jimin asked idly.

“No, not really. I mean, I forgot lotion so if I do have any, it’s probably because of that.” He responded lamely.

“Oh okay.” Jimin spooned himself a mouthful of soup. “I have some lotion if you want it.”

“Thanks.”

There was a crash and both of them looked over to the one seater table in the corner. A different man sat there this time. He had a disheveled appearance and broad shoulders. He looked exhausted. His soup bowl had fallen to the ground.

The red substance had splattered across the white floor. That in itself seemed to draw more attention than the mess of a man. A few people exchanged worried glances while the other simply looked from the soup to the man and returned to eating in silence.

Yoongi’s eyes remained on the man and Jimin secretly wished he was looking at him. The broad shouldered man made eye contact with Jimin. In his eyes, he saw...pain.

“And how long has this been happening?” The doctor sat cross legged on a rolling chair. He had a very average face. His face had, once again, perfect proportions.

Jimin swung his legs on the table awkwardly. He bit at his lip, looking around the room and catching sight of a security camera in the corner. He wondered why they needed so many of those.

“I only really noticed this morning, but I also noticed the itching a few days ago.” He explained.

“Ah, I see.” The man scribbled a few notes.

Then he smiled warmly. He was the most human person Jimin had seen in a while and for some reason...it disgusted him. The unpredictable nature of being fully human had his skin crawling. At least with these...half people, he didn’t have to guess what came next. Now, he tensed as the doctor cleared his throat.

“It’s completely normal to have dry skin at this stage, so I’m going to prescribe some high strength moisturizing lotion to make the transition easier.” The man spoke factually.

Jimin’s eyebrows shot up. Adrenaline coursed through his veins like a primal fight or flight instinct.

“Woah, slow down, big guy.” He said in an uncharacteristically commanding voice.

Even inside, he was slapping himself, wondering where this self confidence came from. Usually he would just nod and take the prescription.

“One, what do you mean by ‘transition’ and two, what does ‘this stage’ mean?”

“One, I can’t answer and two, I can’t answer. They should have told you.” The man furrowed his eyebrows. Jimin found himself scoffing and rolling his eyes.

“Just give me the damn lotion. I can’t believe I went to this useless doctor’s appointment for fucking, dry skin.” He continued angrily, ripping the paper from the man’s hands and storming out. He could feel the weight of two stares at his back; the doctor and the security camera.

It felt like recently, everything set him off. The smallest of things had his blood boiling and he had these impulses that made him go into fits of rage. No one had mentioned it to him, in fact, all the workers had seemed very pleased every time he acted out.

Another issue was his paranoia. He had become even more aware of everyone, but what was worse, was that whatever was happening to him, made him disregard them completely.

He stormed down the hallways, having long since memorized the maze of identical corridors; it was something that Yoongi still struggled with, even after a month of being in this place.

Yoongi still mentioned escaping every now and then, but Jimin was adamant on staying and the facility had slowly broken down Yoongi’s will. He supposed it was a side effect of his ‘complete lifestyle change’.

The man ignored Yoongi, who poked his head out of his room with a questioning gaze, and moved straight into his room, slamming shut the door. He angrily tore through his room, he wasn’t even sure what he was angry about anymore, he just knew he was seeing red.

The dark haired male threw open his drawer in the bathroom and slathered lotion over his neck, ignoring the itching that plagued him upon contact.

Then, he raced to his window, eyes wildly searching for the white scratch lines as he crouched. He was like a mad man, looking for the scratches.

They felt like a lifeline in that moment, something to remind him of just how fucked this place had become, and now they were trapped in its web. He thought back to his feelings at first, how enraptured he’d been. He still was very much invested in fixing himself, but Yoongi’s words stuck with him.

He pressed his cheek to the ground, watching the lines slide to the floor and veer to the right. They led him under the bed. He knocked on the concrete floor, it felt solid. Jimin lifted his covers and felt around under the metal frame.

His sensitive fingers found a seam in the ground. He gently pried away at it and a flat, round, piece of floor came up. The man inspected the perfectly blended piece of concrete. Then he bent to look underneath. There was a shallow hole and he didn’t hesitate to put his hand down. His heart was no longer pulsing in rage and his efforts were now dedicated to finding out the mystery of the scratches.

His hand grasped something plastic and bendy. He carefully pulled out the object. He tilted his head, holding it up to the light with confusion. The object was a little plastic cup with three pills inside. The label read Kim Namjoon. His curiosity piqued, he pushed his bed to the side and peered over the hole.

The cup fell from his hands in shock, the pills spilling over. His breath hitched. Inside the hole were an assortment of differently shaped and colored pills, all in plastic cups and filling the hole to the top.

He shakily pulled out a few cups. One after another, each cup read Kim Namjoon. Who was he? And why did he need to hide his medication? He subconsciously reached for his neck and scratched a few times to relieve the pain he didn’t know he had been feeling.

He shoved the pills back into the hole, covered it once more, and pushed his bed back into place. It wasn’t the first time, but he wanted it to be the last time pure terror shot through him in this place.

He collapsed against the wall of his square cage. His head thudded against the concrete. His anger had dissipated and now he was left with a hollowness inside. Was this really perfection? Was this really...being young forever?

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diveronarpg · 5 years ago

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Congratulations, BRIDGET! You’ve been accepted for the role of HERMIA. Admin Julie: Bridget, your application for Hazel was, in short, incredible. Nothing felt unfinished out or out of place -- every word you wrote felt as though it just made sense. It was a true, genuinely pleasure to read; your in-character interview was especially heartrending, and honestly, listening to Hazel speak felt quite a lot like coming home and sitting down with an old friend over a nice cup of tea, or coffee, which is a welcome relief from the harshness that Verona can often personify if you let yourself get too drawn in to the chaos and the angst and the pain. Hazel is utterly human in an incredible way, and you hit that nail right on the head. We cannot wait to see her on the dashboard, and we cannot wait to have you with us. Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Bridget Age | Twenty-two Preferred Pronouns | She/they Activity Level | I am currently in a fugue state when it comes to both the perception of myself and of time, so while I will intend to be online everyday, sometimes a few days will slip through the cracks of my conscious and then I’ll realize I’ve been MIA and do my best to do about 123432 replies in an hour to play catch-up. That said, I can guarantee at least four days a week being online for at least an hour if not more. Timezone | EST How did you find the rp? | I feel like I’ve known this RP for years but honestly I’ve been capital-I Intimidated by it, but I was talking to Kay and figured I was finally willing to take the plunge Current/Past RP Accounts | https://rvncorns.tumblr.com/ https://birdieklein.tumblr.com/

IN CHARACTER

Character | Hermia ; Hazel Ruth Accardi

Hazel ; english: the hazelnut tree Ruth ; biblical, hebrew: compassionate friend Accardi ; a family who believes in God above all, following his teachings in all motions of their life

What drew you to this character? |

As mentioned above, I’ve seen this roleplay for years, and I have had friends be a part of it. In the depths of my Google Drive, I have half-started apps that I never finished due to the muse never being quite there, or for fear of submitting and facing competition itself. I’ve perused the masterlist every so often, but no one has quite piqued my interest quite like Hazel.

I think I knew I had to app them after reading the line, “ only a foolish saint believed that they could walk through a city of such sin with unblemished hands and clean soles of feet. ” It was so visceral, and it really made me start imagining this character further than what the biography offered. I could only picture her having found this solid identity, certainly marked by the world, but mostly unstained. I couldn’t help but think that this — being in Verona, that is — is going to change her. She might not realize it, She might not want to believe it, but it will happen slowly and surely.

I do love characters that have crises with identity. There is something soothing in being sure of yourself and who you are, and I do believe that fuels Hazel. She fought and struggled to find herself, and now she will begin to struggle and fight to keep herself as she is, as who she knows herself to become.

There’s room for both growth and regression within Hazel, and I genuinely would love to explore it.

I also was captured by her love and fervid passion for religion. As someone who has personally struggled with religion and their own views of it, I think Hazel will be an interesting projection. I want to see her lean into her faith with all that is coming to trouble her because that is who they are. God is her Shepherd and she is his lamb. He is guiding her through all of this, struggles and all.

I don’t think she’ll ever come to have a moment where she will renounce her faith. It is embedded in her. She is solid and unwavering in it — and I desperately believe that that can’t be changed, no matter what the world — Verona, specifically — will throw at them.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? |

I always fear that I’m not living right: I want to explore how far Hazel falls in with the Montagues. Is it forging only ? Does it stop there ? Or does it slowly become more and more until she realizes she is drowning in sin she could have never imagined ? I want her to have moral conflict. She loves Verona for its beauty and history — but is it worth the sin ? Is it worth the stain on her godly soul no matter how many times she goes to confession ? I gotta say I don’t think she’ll be necessarily cognizant of her doing more. It just seems like she’s paying off their debts. A gun to the face has put the fear of God in her heart ( — which leads me to wonder how much fear did she have of God to begin with, the righteous and Almighty, and I do suppose I could write a whole thesis on this but I’ll refrain ) and to question it seems like the wrong move.

ALSO HAHA I JUST THOUGHT OF THIS RIGHT NOW pt. 2 : what if she started forging for the Capulets too ? Like, to make more money on the side ? The money they’re earning from the Montagues is basically nil, considering it’s all going to debts. If she wants a little money in her pockets, maybe she’ll have to do what she has to. Maybe there’s no choice. It could be dangerous and risky — scratch that. It would definitely be dangerous and risky. But I think a part of Hazel is still somewhat blind to all of the danger. It hasn’t quite touched her yet ( a gun to her face aside ), so it hasn’t quite struck her how much is at play, at least not in a real, physical, palpable way.

I do have to say that I’m pretty sure she will end up more involved within either the Montagues or the Capulets despite what her initial thoughts are ( because that’s the path I’d like to move with her ). Slowly but surely, she’ll end up in deeper water, but I don’t think she’ll want to get out so long as she feels safe. That’s so important, a sense of safety. She has that in her relationship with her parents, and especially her relationship with God. That said, I feel like I need to add that she will stay involved with the gangs so long as she isn’t hurting anyone directly. She’ll have blinders on, specifically rose-colored ones, of her own making. Perhaps it’s naive, perhaps it’s selfish, but to think too long about it is scary. To add on the thought of hurting someone else by her direct action ? Unfathomable. It’s established in the biography that she saw the world in extremes, and I do imagine that, while she has grown, she still sees some things in black and white. I think getting more involved with the Capulets and Montagues will show her that the world isn’t just her version of black and white. What she sees as wrong, someone else might see it as right. I think she’ll be introduced to shades of grey she never quite was able to perceive anymore. I want her to learn more about people as she learns more about the war between the Montagues and Capulets.

I’m still petrified that I’ll die alone: I can’t imagine that leaving Harley didn’t hurt Hazel at least a little bit. It was the right decision surely — she’ll never think or believe otherwise — but now she’s grown up. I think that she wants Harley to be in her life because she loved them once, partly, not wholly, but as the connection says, Hazel doesn’t know where Harley is meant to fit. I think it would be really interesting to have them reunite and discover who she is now. Though Harley knew herself then, I’m sure she’s changed. I want Hazel to learn that, and I want her to reintroduce herself to her. It would start with a “ Hi, I’m Hazel, ” and it’d be a little shy and a little hesitant, but she’s open to possibilities. She isn’t as closed off as she once was. I really think Hazel needs to figure out where Harley fits, or, and hear me out, where she doesn’t fit. I don’t know if Hazel ever felt true closure from where they left each other before, but maybe she can find it. Whether it’s them together or not, it’s something she’ll work to figure out.

Ok I feel the need to say that obviously it would depend on the Harley writer and myself on whether or not they get back together and also their chemistry ???? okay but so: If they get back together, I think Hazel will definitely feel more pulled into the world of the Capulets and Montagues. I feel like I should state that, one, she would be incredibly glad to be with Harley again, and she would fall in love again, which leads to a very happy mindset and lifestyle, but the most heavy impact it would have on her life is for sure the one it would have on her role with the Capulets and Montagues. Honestly, right now, she doesn’t want to be involved. That’s the end goal. The only thing keeping her with the Montagues right now is her debt. Once she has it paid off entirely, there’s really no reason to keep working with them. I mean, besides money, but I digress. She wouldn’t plan to work for either. She could be pressed / convinced into it. However, regarding the Capulets, she wouldn’t want to put Harley in a difficult position were she still working with the Montagues when they got back together. Can she quit ? Probably not ! Would she try ? Yes ! Maybe she’d offer to assist the Capulets in some way to make it equal. In her mind, it would work. Harley: come work for the Capulets. I’m loyal to them. There’s some safety in Verona with an allegiance Hazel: Good point I think if Harley asked her to, she wouldn’t say no, not right away It would take time to make a decision, and she would definitely think about it ( not just an hour, but days, maybe a week ? ) She would be conflicted between her strength and resolve towards herself but also her loyalty towards Harley If they don’t get back together, I do think Hazel will be sad, but not cripplingly so. She would be the first person to say she isn’t the same as she was a year ago, let alone however long it was ago that her and Harley were together. I think it would loosen a tie between her and the Capulets, if there was one, but also loosen the tie between her and Verona. I sort of see it ( them not being together ) as a reason not to stay. It would cement to her that she wasn’t the person who fell in love with Harley. She’s different, she’s someone new. And that’s not a bad thing. I think it would be almost a relief actually, to know that she's changed. I would hope that they’d still be friends and would get to know each other for who they are now. Hazel wants to be excited for who she is now and what all that she believes in.

I’m still petrified of going broke: Hazel never imagined being in crippling debt, not to a college in the United States, and definitely not to a bank controlled by a mob in Italy. But here she is. This is her life. Is it worth it to stay ? What if she ran home to her parents, embracing their help and their charity until she found her footing once again ? She could do it. Would Verona follow ? She doesn’t think so. But guilt would. She made her bed, shouldn’t she lie in it ? Maybe running wouldn’t do any good, so maybe she should find purpose in Verona. It could start with a job. It could continue with getting out of debt and earning her freedom once more. Then, she could further repent beyond confession with charity and good deeds. Maybe she can set themselves on a godly path once more someway somehow.

To stay: I think Hazel wants to stay because it’s new. It’s beautiful and freeing to be so independent. She’s learning about the world, about herself, and, importantly, she feels closer to God here. She’d have more reason to stay if she had Harley, she’d have more reason to stay if she became better friends with those she’s found friendship ( acquaintanceship ? ) with. Felipe: You don’t forge documents for someone without at least feeling a little loyal to them ! I imagine Hazel is keen to remain in touch with them, to know they’re safe. Also, she told her whole life story to him. If that doesn’t add up to friendship ( in her mind, at least ), then what does ? Ajax: Listen. I just have thoughts about these too. They could become BEST FRIENDS. Obviously, that’s Hazel with her rose-colored glasses talking through me. I just imagine she feels close to him ( with him viewing her as a sister-like figure, I imagine it’s reciprocal ). Also please note that above I said Hazel wants to stay. Despite her debt and moral quandaries, she still wants to be in Italy. That’s how she’s feeling right now. I think staying will impact her self-confidence. She is enough. She is strong and brave in ways she never quite imagined. I think she’ll discover more about humans, the longer she stays in Verona ; rather, she’ll learn more about their particularities and peculiarities — who they are, their beliefs, their loyalties. That’s something that struck me particularly about Hazel, she’s always learning and she’s eager to do so, not just about herself but the world and the people in it, too. To not stay, in no particular order: there’s a war between the Capulets and Montagues going on and she’s somehow gotten involved. She’s in debt. Her ex is here. I think if she got hurt, saw someone get hurt, or knew someone closely who got hurt, she might be convinced to leave. Harm isn’t something she wants to be around. She doesn’t want it to happen to her and she doesn’t want to see someone be affected. Ultimately, though, it boils down to fear. If she’s scared of her life being at risk, she might consider it time to flee. I think this would ultimately cause her to shelter herself further. She’ll seek the familiar, her family and childhood home, perhaps, or somewhere with a heavily-religious population. Either way, she’ll fall back on her faith and the familiar, finding comfort in what she already knows, trusts, and believes in.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? |

What is life without a little risk ? Kill her if you have to. Let’s go for maximum angst and maximum pain. IN DEPTH

What is your favorite place in Verona?

The cathedral and its pews seemed awfully lonely and awfully cold, and Hazel wondered if one without god in their hearts would simply freeze if they stepped inside. It seemed foolish to wonder such a thing, but the cathedral was such a sacred and holy place. What good came to outsiders who stepped inside ? To come there was to seek God. It had to be for that purpose and that only. “ I found the Cathedral in my first days here — but saying it like that makes it seem like I wasn’t aware of it before I moved. ” Her head was tilted askew, her eyes not upon whom she spoke to, instead stuck on the multicolored panes of the stained glass windows. “ It was one of my reasons I chose Verona, actually. I — I needed a place I knew I’d be able to find God. ”

There was something that felt like home in a church. Hazel had never much enjoyed labeling a place as such, but the wooden pews were as familiar as her father, the velvet kneelers soft and comforting as her mother’s hand on her cheek. She’s staring down at her feet now, half-embarrassed and half feeling like she’s revealing her inner soul. “ This — it’s unlike the church I grew up in in a thousand ways, but I still know what to expect here. I know the prayers and the rites, the taste of communion on my tongue. I come here and find the familiar when I’m feeling lost. ”

What does your typical day look like? “ It’s really not that interesting, I’ll have you know. ” She shrugged her shoulders, brows raised, fingers reaching up to push long strands of hair behind her ears. “ I wake up when the sun peeks through my window and I eat breakfast. Usually coffee and a bread of some sort. I’m a real sucker for a good cornetto, honestly. ”

“ I’m a morning person so I try to get as much done before noon, otherwise I consider the day to be a wash. I — I have a lot of papers to work on. ” She doesn’t elaborate, nor does she plan to. The papers, the forgeries, take up so much of her time and effort. She has to be perfect and precise with them, fear of what would happen if she wasn’t has gripped her so strongly that she’s woken in the middle of the night with a cold sweat slicking her body. “ I can get lost in my work. I guess I can be a bit of a perfectionist. ”

She nodded to herself, thinking of what comes next. Her eyes flicked towards the window, towards the people below. For a second, she’s lost in her staring. She couldn’t help but think that people-watching was becoming a lost art. “ I like having my afternoons open to wander and explore. I’m still getting to know the city, and just when I think I’ve got it all figured out, I find something new. It’s beautiful and historic. A marvel. ” Her words had turned airy and distant ; her body was there but her mind was somewhere else. “ I didn’t think moving to Verona would involve me working so much. ” She snorted a laugh despite herself. “ I had to invest in a better pair of sneakers a week in, my old ones were falling apart. ”

“ I usually go to church every day, too, if not every other day. It’s a chance to think and check in with myself. With God.”

Again, she’s shrugging. “ It’s not exciting, okay ? I’m not — exciting. I never have been. I don’t think I’d want to be either ? ”

Silence hung.

“ I call my parents in the evening. It’s afternoon back in Colorado. Usually I can catch them in their free time. Then it’s dinner. Then bed by nine. ”

She feels like she’s being judged. She doesn’t like it.

What has been your biggest mistake thus far?

A loaded question. Does it mean since coming to Verona or within her entire life ? Her mind is reeling with possibilities of answers. She thinks of a beautiful girl she couldn’t give her heart to. She thinks of the Montagues, who she’s ended up helping in return for paid debts. One seems like the obvious answer, bigger than the other.

Her heart says otherwise.

“ I hurt a girl who didn’t deserve it. ” Her lip curls with self-disgust. “ I couldn’t not do what I did, but that doesn’t mean I wanted to hurt her. If I could have done it gentler I would have, but hearts ache. It’s what they’re meant to do. There was no avoiding it. ”

She rests her head in her hands and talk through her fingers.

“ I don’t like hurting people. It doesn’t feel good. ”

What has been the most difficult task asked of you?

This — this — is the easiest question asked. There is no doubt in Hazel’s mind when she answers. “ If there is a gun pointed at me when I’m told to do something, that goes to the top of the list. ” She leans back in her chair, her arms folded across her chest. It’s such a loaded question. How could they expect her to say anything else ? “ It’s like this. I’m good at forging things. I have to do it. This added pressure, though, it makes me feel like I’m drowning, okay ? I’ve never done it where so much was at stake, where it’s been my life on the line. ” Her jaw is clenched, trembling slightly. “ I just feel like I really played myself, you know ? I fell for a trick and into a trap, and the next thing I know is that I’m staring into the mouths of lions. ”

What are your thoughts on the war between the Capulets and the Montagues?

Her face flushes as more time passes. She doesn’t like being considered ignorant, but as time passes and no words spill from parted lips, it’s clear that she doesn’t have much to say. “ I don’t know much about it. ” She speaks slowly and carefully, considering. “ All I know is that it scares me, and I’m on the precipice of falling into it. ” Isn’t she ? She’s forging for the Montagues. That makes her involved with one side of the war, if not both by association. Still, she wants to stay away from most of it, if she can. “ I don’t know what’s started it, and I know that hate and rage has kept it going. I’m scared of being touched by its bloodshed. No good can come from being involved. ”

Extras:

HEADCANONS

001. Of the few things she brought with her to Verona, very likely her dearest possession, is a pearl and crystal Holy Rosary she received after completing her confirmation from her parents.

002. She learned she had a penchant for forgeries in high school. It started with a signature missed from her parents. Her few friends caught on and asked for a few favors. It ended as quickly as it started, guilt eating at her core. But it always seemed to come back. In college, a doctor said they would fax over a note that would grant her an extension for certain assignments. When they didn’t, Hazel did it herself, making a pastiche out of old notes and documents from the practice. That wasn’t lying, was it ? It had meant to be done by the doctor anyway. But she was offered money a few more times when others found out what she could do. She always found herself feeling a pit in her stomach, deciding the possibility of being blackmailed if she said no was worse than the acts of fraud itself. She thought post-college that it would stop. No more trickery and fooling others. And then she ended up in Verona with debt weighing her down, letters sent to her asking for payments nearly everyday. She went to the bank with a letter, signed by the head of the bank itself, saying she had been granted an extension. Most didn’t bat an eye. It looked good, it looked real. Perhaps the extension was too generous because she was caught. Instead of pursuing legal options against her, an offer was laid at her feet. Make some forgeries, lose your debt. How could she say no ?

003. She has a favorite coffee shop just outside of the little apartment she’s living at. She goes there for breakfast. Sometimes she orders extra pastry to have them at home. She’s considered asking for a job there. Something real. Something legal. Something with low risk.

004. She calls her mother frequently. To not worry her, she says everything is fine, just dandy and golden. It’s a white lie, the teensiest of things, but it’s to her parents. Surely God would understand that she wishes to not stress them out.

PINTEREST BOARD

#accepted: hermia #accepted

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stcrmys · 5 years ago

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god !! i hate that i had to rush this but i promise i am so beyond excited to write with all of you ! stormy , thanks kylie jenner for the name idea hehe , is a brand new muse and i am so excited to explore her and see where she goes !! i love plotting, like i find it so fun and am a hoe for angst and drama and friendships ! god if i dont get a cute bff plot you will see me pouting until the end of my days !! asdfg . basically though my point was if you want to plot please just like this ?? message me ? i have to switch to mobile but ill still be here !! also i still have to figure out my tags and finish my plot so i repeat do not desktop my good sis’s blog . anyway please let me shut up !!

* lawless paparazzi flashed photos of a 2019 , zenvo st1 pulling into the sparkling gates of quincy park , indicating that stormy of the prosperous villeneuve lineage has returned home . college ended for the female in 2018 , but they’re already flourishing in their field , proclaiming that their bachelor's degree in music production is being put to prolific use . the general public may be unworldly enough to believe that her accomplishments were earned honestly , but the people of new york city are painstakingly aware that it's impossible to snag a top paying position as a music artist right out of university . the family’s been tormented with a well - known rumor that they buy out every record company to eliminate their competition and when that goes south they have a tendency of releasing career damaging scandals to the public to ruin the company’s reputation and their talents career’s for years , so it was news to no one when the villeneuve’s made local headlines claiming the only reason their obstreperous progeny’s career is what it is is because her father paid spotify, billboard, and apple million of dollars to make sure that her first album went number one and stayed number one . tempest has done a splendid job of keeping the bloodline’s furtive truths confidential , but their reputation of being effervescent & gaining a postgrad inheritance of 724.8m hasn’t been enough to cease the counter blast from new york’s angry civilians . if they’re not heedful , not even quincy park’s sturdy golden gates will be capable of keeping out the city’s vengeance . ( madison beer , twenty one , the skookum / )

‧ * i. ╱ stats .

name : stormy avania genevieve villeneuve

nickname(s) : storm , storm - storm, little villeneuve, honeybee.

age : twenty one .

birthday : november sixteenth .

zodiac : scorpio .

gender ╱ pronouns : cisfemale , she and her.

sexual orientation : heterosexual

romantic orientation : heteroromantic

languages : english, french, italian.

occupation : music artist

voiceclaim : madison beer.

‧ * i. ╱ summary .

hazel hues dipped in virescent , locks of chocolate that sits on honeyed skin . the tempest . boisterous . captivating . a goddess true to the name that carved itself into her flesh , stormy . her arrival itself being chaotic winds and whispers of a mistress who had set themselves out to tear apart a home . a concept twisted and concealed by the hands of the villeneuve’s . sob stories and apologizes along with the preaching of “ i’m becoming a better man everyday, “ clinging to the ears of the media , and soon the world . expected . andres villeneuve could do not wrong . a powerful man within the world of music . respected and adored . someone whom inherited the ability to make the world drop to their knees and worship mediocre musicians . why would they stone him for one single mistake ? or at least , why would they stone him for one single mistake for the rest of his life . they forgive him in the name of everyone . and soon , the villeneuve became a family of seven .

she was privileged . her tiny feet walked on thousand dollar carpets , the fabric that clung to her body should have been carved from the hands of an angel at what they were cost . private school . tutors . cheerleading and then volleyball and then soccer and then back to cheerleading . the piano . the saxophone . the drums . the guitar . her childhood consisted of experiencing everything there was to experience . sports . music . art . learning at two languages by the time she reached ten . she was raised to be intelligent . athletic . talented . she had to be talented . within the arts , if she was not picking up an instrument or holding a note her dad grew bored and annoyed . something that the small brunette learned quick . and so like most children , she impressed . she really impressed . she was polite and respectful . well mannered . the strictness of her father and step mother weighing on her shoulders . they wanted perfection .

being with her father and his wife and kids was almost as if she stepped into a dream . flashing lights , luxuriousness . and while her mom had a status of her own , her dad was shaped and formed different . the fame . the respect . it was everything to him . bouncing back and forth , stormy felt like two different people . with her father , she was all work no play . and her mother ? she was play and whatever she wanted to do . her mom taught her the importance in life was not the cars and the houses and the clothes ( “although they are nice.. reallly fucking nice ) but the character behind the objects . and she refused to let the vibrant child of hers be locked into a box of running to fame like it was the only thing that would make her life and her impact important . her mother ? she was all laughs and giggles . jokes and shopping days . sky diving in greece and pretend music videos in italy . the one that mostly shaped stormy into who she is now .

for the last twenty one years is one person that reflects a childhood split into two . the ambitious sometimes selfish sometimes ruthless “ ill pretend im stone cold if that what it takes “ and the vibrant boisterous life of the party and the light of your life . the twenty one year old girl who has heard be yourself and be better from two different voices and is still trying to decide who she even is underneath the all the expectations .

‧ * ii. ╱ personality .

she is an animated laugh escaping parted lips , affectionate hands reaching out to pull you into her embrace . she’s the sound of her own heart beating in her ears as her foot is on the gas or her hues pear out at the sky of blue she’s about to jump in . she is tired eyes in result of not sleeping and instead writing song after song . she is one am studio sessions and three am shots . she is the small girl who pears up at her daddy and just wants to feel like she is more then just another way to benefit him . she is the desire to be wanted . to be loved . she’s spontaneous trips to tropical islands and dramatic scenes . she is harmless teasing and a goofy smile . day dreaming about falling in love . she’s the whisper in your ear that she loves you but the coldness in your bed as you reach out and realize that she’s no longer there . she’s not thinking about consequences . the honeyed dipped voice that tells you to do it . she’s gentle kisses against your skin . she’s feeling everything all the time and feeling it deeply . she’s the girl you just cannot take your eyes off of . she talks to you and suddenly you feel as though the world revolves around you . she’s scattered thoughts and rosy lips that never stop moving . a broken heart that never knows if it wants to grow cold or have someone come and fix it .

‧ * iii. ╱ headcanons ?? .

asdj she’s a mess? basically that’s all i got for her.

she’s the second youngest out of five.

is an artist under her dad’s label, and while she loves making music she does not love him having a say in her creative process.

she’s such a light !!

affectionate, playful, ambitious, careless, boisterous, hard to control, talkative, an adrenaline junkie! jealous and petty, vehement.

is such a different person around her dad? basically blocks him from seeing her true personality.

truth is she still fears his rejection.

she has a journal that she carries everywhere.

craves feeling important to people? if she doesnt feel like her bond with you is meaningful she gets all weird and annoying!

is hot and cold in romantic relations.

but so god damn affectionate! with everyone! let her hold your hand or lay her head against your shoulder or run her fingers up and down your arm !!!

is the ultimate adventure buddy .

needs excitement twenty four seven sorry.

will give you a nickname, she doesnt care if your name is cat. its not just c ! asdfg.

i have so much more but ill add later, im kind of rushing asdfg !!

‧ * iii. ╱ connections .

best friend, platonic soulmate, ex best friends, group of friends preferably all girls, family friends, childhood friends, other clients who are signed to her father, first love, ex lovers, toxic relationship, toxic friendship, on and off relationship, confidants, partner in crime, the mom friend who always moms her, rivals, friends who drifted apart, friends with benefits, ex friends with benefits, one sided friendship, one sided relationship, unlikely friends, cousins, hardly related cousins, love hate relationship, forbidden romance or friendship???

#york.intro #this is so ugly #forgive me pls #and love stormy anyway #i hope this is small and sup because thats what its saying but #its showing up on my dash all big and annoying #my loudest sigh ever

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lachalaine · 6 years ago

Text

HOW I RUN MY BLOG

SPEED: my god i am slow. i am the slowest of the slow - the slowest slow to ever BE slow. i have threads in here from two months ago and asks from three months ago and it’s not that i don’t have the will nor the muse to answer any of it tbh. it’s more so that i just don’t have time. between juggling work, friends, family and the additional need of trying to make up my overtime hours for the dates i’ll be overseas in august and october, it’s been more than a little difficult to try to keep everything afloat. that’s one of my issues.

my second issue is that i... tend to try to write in depth threads and responses, as much as possible; and i’m a perfectionist of my work to the worst degree. to the point that if i don’t have the right idea or the right flow of words at the time - my work is not getting posted. at all. in fact, i’d likely rather delete something i spent two hours working on rather than take the risk of posting it only to hate it for the rest of my life. it feels like shame for some reason i don’t ??? get it ???

like i want to try to create variety, but also i want to try to build an actual story. something that will be fun for both me and my partner, that will be a thread that will have some possible semblance of weight to future interactions. and sometimes the ideas don’t come as quickly as i would like. or they do, and then my brain runs out of vocabulary. and throttles a pillow i hate it, i hate that my standards for myself are like this, but my god - it’s the only way i can be confident about my work and know that i’m not wasting mine or anyone else’s time and it just has to be my own standard of perfect or i run myself into the ground with my anxiety and have a minor breakdown and that’s the worst thing i can do to myself, honestly asdbhsabdha !!!

REPLIES: i write long replies, unfortunately. though i never expect people to match ( and honestly it fluctuates; sometimes it’ll be long, sometimes short, so there’s no pressure or requirement at all really ) , and all i care about at this point is i’m given something to work with and it’s not the kind of thing where it’s a reply for the sake of a reply. i also would prefer to have threads where people add stuff to the threads, and like... i don’t really have to run the show by myself to keep things interesting? that would be nice tbh. in terms of length however, i will likely do at least two or three paragraphs, because one paragraph threads don’t quite encompass everything my muse tends to feel, and sometimes it can get longer - meaning like... two word document pages long. though that type of novella is usually reserved for people i know can match it, otherwise, i try my best to keep it as succinct as possible.

my brain sorta has this.... organization thing going tbh? where its like i can only do ask replies today, or i can only do threads today, or i can only do headcannon or ooc stuff today. sometimes it even goes by verse, where it decides if it can manage pokemon threads, or main threads, or fate threads, etc. which i understand isn’t quite the... best way to go about things, and it’s weird. very, very weird. but that’s also really the only way i’m able to sort of figure out where to put my attention nowadays. so everything gets replied to in truth, it just. it takes a while. :c :c :c please be patient with me, i’m trying my best!!

STARTERS: i hold starter calls a lot. sometimes it can be every two months or it can be ( most likely ) when i get a new influx of followers and i want to interact with them. though it can tend to take a while for me to get them out, even if i have them on a list. usually its because i want to try to create starters that will be interesting enough to keep going ( which is sorta my overall theme with everything on here, if you’ll notice ) and sometimes the ideas don’t quite click. or, like with the organization thing, my brain needs to be able to conjure up starters in particular for anything to work.

more often, i will do inbox calls instead, and those i do personalize according to the muse i’m sending it to. that way if the other mun replies with a response i like, i can continue it into a thread, so that’s sorta like a reverse starter call in that way, i guess. i always clear out my starters owed though, i promise. it just takes me a good while.

INBOX: sucks in sharp breath

i’m gonna be way honest here - once upon a time, i didn’t get that many asks at all, so i thought like, if i got like 20 of them, that already was a heck ton and i had to get the number lower. and then somehow i got an influx in asks a few weeks ago and that number jumped to thirty. and then it kept going until forty. and then i thought ‘okay you know what, so long as its not 50, you can still get it down, you’re good!!’

let me tell you - i am at 76 right now and i am confused as all fuck as to how it got to this point. BUT I HONESTLY DON’T MIND. i love getting asks !! even if i take a while to answer them, because like the starters, i try to give it an actual moment and not a quick snip of an interaction that doesn’t matter in the long run. so asks? same length - two or three paragraphs and more, nothing less. and i tend to do anons first because i know whoever sent it might check back and i don’t want them scrolling through the whole blog thinking they missed it, but tbh, i try to do my older asks first overall. and sometimes there are some asks that require a lot of emotion on jackie’s part, so those get long and take a wee bit longer than most, but i always try to make the wait worth it. luckily, things appear to be going kinda well on that end tbh. i have a good pace set up so i don’t feel like i’m drowning in stuff, and if i could just have ONE DAY WHERE I CAN WORK, I CAN CUT BACK THAT NUMBER EASY, I SWEAR TO GOD.

i just. i need that day dashdhabdha

but on that note, please. feel free to send me anything you like at any time, i’ll get to it asap, even if i have six asks for you in my inbox still from past memes. and tbh, i’d rather i always have the option available to answer that particular interaction rather than leave it so it never happens no matter what. so always remember, as always -

FEEL FREE.

SELECTIVITY: severely selective. to the nth degree. i follow about less than 180 rp blogs because the rest are aesthetics at the moment, though i’m always looking for more. i try to find blogs with muns that i feel really care about their muse as a whole, and blogs that have a pretty good grasp on writing. i decide whether or not i can make jackie work with them somehow, and then i sorta check the writing itself to make sure i can jive with it, and then that’s when i decide to follow.

i have. a very particular standards with other blogs that need to be checked off tbh? because i want these interactions to actually matter. so besides the writing, honestly the thing that rings out the most for me would be their passion and their ideas. like, i want to make sure i can create something new with this mun so i just try to see if they will match what i give them with their own ideas, because coming up with a majority of the plots on my own is the most exhausting thing, and i can’t do that consistently. if i can get that sense from them that they’re willing to try to push their own ideas forth, that’s really what makes me follow them back asap !! on the other hand, i also check the mun - make sure they’re not the type i’ll likely have trouble with down the line. i check tags, i check ooc posts, i check everything. i am a self proclaimed blog stalker and tbh, its the only way i keep my dash in check. and so far its worked out very well so it’s all good on my end, even if that means less people to interact with.

quality over quantity, always.

WISHLIST: FIGHT THREADS. POTENTIAL ROMANCE THREADS. FWB THREADS??? though i am selective on that one. SMUT THREADS FOR ROMANCE PEEPS. PLATONIC THREADS. ADVENTURE THREADS. HARD TO GET THREADS. CRIME THREADS. JACKIE FUCKING UP YOUR MUSES LIFE THREADS. ANGST. MURDER. HEARTBREAK. INJURY. ROAD TRIPS. NAPS. LATE NIGHTS IN THE CITY. JAIL. HAUNTED HOUSES. MUSIC FESTIVALS. MUSIC COLLABORATIONS. FATE VERSE THREADS. POKEMON THREADS. PERSONA THREADS. I DON’T CARE, I LOVE IT ALL, JUST GIVE IT TO ME, AND IF YOU HAVE A PARTICULAR THING YOU WANNA TRY, LEMME KNOW AND I’LL MAKE A VERSE FOR IT NO PROBLEM !!!

but also i have a wishlist here :”> and i will love you if you boop me for it, thank you !!

HONEST NOTE: i love all my mutuals. i love all my non mutuals. i love people that like my posts. i love people that reblog my posts. i love when people feel comfortable enough to plot with me. when they’re comfortable enough to send me stuff randomly. when they’re patient with my sloth like tendencies and still they find the muse to respond to my threads even if a whole month has passed. i love people that are understanding and don’t mind the wait, because i do promise that i don’t delete anything. it’s there, and its waiting, and its only taking a while because i want to provide you with something good. something that will make you smile, and make you want to pursue the interactions with my muse. i want all this to mean something, and its never because i’m bored of you or your muse or our thread.

my brain just has a filing cabinet i never asked for.

but honestly, come plot with me, just boop me randomly, send me all the things no matter what it is. i promise you i will LOVE IT and in truth, NOTHING at all makes me HAPPIER than that. and though fair warning i am exhausted a lot which impacts my response speed ooc - it’s honestly never because i don’t want to reply. my timezone as a whole is shitty and my energy levels doubly so, and i want to be sure that once we start talking or plotting, i can give you as much energy as i can spare, as much energy as you deserve. not five minutes of conversation and then i pass out. so if that means taking some time to respond, please understand that i’m trying my best.

please be patient with me, that’s all i ask. and i promise you, i will make it up to you. as best as i can. as fast as i can. no matter what.

thank you, i love you, have a amazing day xx

TAGGED BY: S T O L E N

TAGGING: anyone who actually went through and read this as a whole heckie !! I JUST NEEDED TO GET THIS OUT IN CASE ANYONE WAS CONCERNED BECAUSE I SLOW, PLEASE UNDERSTAND. I’M TRYING MY BEST I LOVE EVERYONE WITH ALL MY HEART AND SOUL AND ENERGY I PROMISE T.T

#&& did you think i wasn't real (about j)#/ look i did this today #/ its important to me i guess ?? in case anyone thinks im ignoring them ??#/ im not im just #/ very slow #/ always slow #/ i will wave a slow flag for years #/ i swear to god #/ i will catch up soon but for your information !!!

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