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leejeongz · 4 years ago

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jealous treasure (asahi-junghwan)

🔅i’m gonna use another member in each one because it’s easier than making up a whole new person and explaining a bit about them for each one if that makes sense. but this is just for fun, it’s fictitious, remember that pls🔅

find the other members here

🌷 asahi:

“it’s wednesday” junkyu announced. it wasn’t out of the ordinary for him to say whatever was in his brain, but today the other boys decided to humour him a little and asked him to elaborate.

“we should wear pink” he clarified as if everyone should know. asahi rolled his eyes, you’d been pestering asahi to tell junkyu to watch mean girls since well, forever, and that now he’d finally watched it, he wouldn’t shut up about it.

“but you’re not wearing any pink” asahi pointed out after scanning his whole body.

junkyu corrected him by fetching the hoodie he was expecting to wear. it was a soft, baby pink colour, with a little heart on the pocket right in the middle. asahi recognised it straight away.

“where did you get that?” he asked. junkyu couldn’t lie, he’d been caught red handed.

“from your closet” he confessed “but you always wear it and i thought i might look cute in it, can i wear it just for one day?” he begged with pleading eyes.

“hm let me think” asahi put his hand to his chin with sarcasm written all over his face “no” he snatched it from junkyu’s hands. “why would you wear y/n’s hoodie anyway?” he asked

“i-” junkyu stuttered “i didn’t know it was theirs” he said while assessing the situation “but are you really jealous right now? i didn’t know you were the type” he laughed, drawing the attention of the other members.

“no” he scoffed, “i’m not jealous, i just don’t think that they would want you wearing their hoodie. you smell” he spat out, turning his back and heading for his room.

“someone call y/n” junkyu said, wanting you to hear what a jealous man your boyfriend really is.

“don’t you have something better to do, like finding your own pink hoodie, you know, like the one you never take off your own back?” asahi snaps back, referring to the infamous pink hoodie from junkyu’s trademark outfit. as he leaves the living room, asahi takes a hesitant sniff at the jumper, hoping junkyu hasn’t infected it with his scent so much so that it no longer smells of you.

🍄 yedam:

having been stuck inside your house for what felt like a year, you were grateful and willing to accept any invitation to leave. today’s invite came from your boyfriend, yedam, who’d recently been too busy working to come and see you, which was completely understandable. he’d asked if you’d like to join him and a few of his friends on a walk around a nearby park, you of course said yes.

with beautiful scenery came the chance to take beautiful pictures. noticing that your boyfriend was too preoccupied by the ice cream van, you asked one of his friends, jeongwoo, to take a picture of you by the fountain. he agreed and instructed you on how to pose so that it wouldn’t look awkward. you followed his advice and managed to get a few shots. you walked back over to jeongwoo, who innocently stood with your phone in his hand, when you saw your boyfriend come rushing over.

“what are you doing with their phone?” he questioned “they let you take photos of them?” he spat out in a hurt manner.

“yes…” jeongwoo replied before you stepped in.

“how much are they?” you asked, pointing in the ice cream van’s direction, not understanding what all the commotion was about.

“apparently they’re all out of ice cream” he mocked “but why did you let him take photos of you? that’s my job” he pouted with a soft tone to his voice.

“ooo our yedam is all soft for y/n” jeongwoo jeered which, judging by the look yedam gave back to him, was not appropriate. “it was just 3 pictures” jeongwoo clarified “the model isn’t that easy to work with anyway, they have no fresh ideas of their own to spice up my business” he scoffed jokingly while handing your phone back to you, causing yedam to finally crack a smile.

“⅕ stars, pictures came out wonky and the photographer is bossy, unlike my lovely yedam” you smiled, playing into the joke. it wasn’t long before yedam was back to his usual cheerful self and had also finally decided that an iced tea was a good substitute for ice cream too.

🧶doyoung:

there was a lot of things in your house that didn’t make sense, but the worst was definitely the paintings hung up in your room that you’d never gotten around to taking down, mainly because you couldn’t reach them but shhh. you’d always been too shy to ask doyoung, knowing he’d laugh at you and tease you for being too short to reach them, and given you hadn’t been together for that long, you weren’t sure how much you’d appreciate that being your first inside joke.

a friend of yours, jihoon, had come over to your house while doyoung was there, which wasn’t exactly an issue, he knew you and jihoon were friends and he respected that. the three of you often gossiped and gamed together, it was a common thing these days.

“i tell you this every time im here but those are so ugly y/n, please take them down” jihoon glanced up, locking eyes with the spooky man in the painting and shuddering.

“i can’t reach” you joked, forgetting your boyfriend was also there.

“i’ll do it then” jihoon announced, standing up and reaching each painting easily.

“i could have done that” doyoung whispered under his breath while staring at you. you turned to your left to see your boyfriend's unimpressed face. “why did you let him do it?” he questioned, seeming really quite angry.

“he offered, i wasn’t gonna say no” you defended yourself. jihoon took this as his queue to leave and take the artwork elsewhere, he didn’t know where, but anywhere was better than being in that room with you two.

“is it because of his big muscles? is it because you value his opinion more than mine?” doyoung asked, laughing at his own thoughts and how ridiculous they were but possibly true.

“no” you rolled your eyes before making eye contact again “its because he offered” you repeated.

“and if i offered?” he asked, expecting you to say that you would have declined.

“obviously i would have said yes” you replied, “they were horrible i don’t care who got them down i just wanted them gone”

“oh” he sat back and relaxed into the pillow “well i’m glad they’re gone. i didn’t like to say it, but they were creepy” he laughed with you. “the next thing to go is him though” he joked, seeing jihoon walk back into your room, which of course was replied to with a scoff from your sassy friend.

💥haruto:

your sleeping pattern was well and truly out of the window, so you decided to stay up and call one of your friends that you knew would be awake, hyunsuk. he was just like you, you both slept at 4am and woke up at 2pm, so he wasn’t that shocked when you called, wide awake like him.

“where’s haruto? wasn’t he supposed to be staying at your place tonight?” he asked, genuinely concerned about his friend. you flipped the camera to show your bed, where a certain sleepy haruto lay, peacefully entering dreamland. “he’s so cute” hyunsuk giggled, you cooed in agreeance, he really was the cutest.

you stayed on call for about an hour. you were currently laughing about the tiktok he’d just sent to you, your humour was exactly the same too so it’s wasn’t hard for you to crack the other up. all the commotion woke your boyfriend, whose bed head was clearly visible in the reflection of your opened laptop when he sat up.

“did we wake you?” hyunsuk laughed upon hearing a groan from his friend.

“we?” haruto responded in a sleepy voice. “who’s we?”

“uhh us” you pointed between you and the phone.

“y/n? hyunsuk?” he snapped out of his sleepy state quickly. “why are you two up at this time and on the phone together?” you looked at hyunsuk on the screen and smiled, trying to hold in your laughter. “turn that off and come to bed, i want cuddles, and i want you to get some sleep, unlike him” he flung himself back at the bed, only inches away from hitting his head on the headboard.

“wait for me” hyunsuk joked in a teasing tone.

“no, not you” haruto whined. “just y/n please” he smiled closing his eyes and opening his arms, ready for you to join him.

“i guess this is goodnight then” you said to hyunsuk, which haruto followed up with a goodnight for his friend too before you put the phone down.

“now, cuddles please!”

♟jeongwoo:

for jaehyuk’s birthday this year, he asked for a small gathering, just close friends, which you of course are included in since you and jeongwoo had been together for over 2 years now. when you arrived, you quickly gauged the atmosphere of the party was pretty light and fun, it wasn’t oppressive in the slightest. usually parties you attended were fully kitted out with loud music, dimly lit rooms and a bunch of strangers in every room, instead your friends were in the living room, just chatting and laughing.

“you came!” jaehyuk screeched, running over to hug you. “oh and you bought a plus one, jeongwoo” he joked around with your boyfriend, who just rolled his eyes in response.

it wasn’t long before the boys delved into the games cupboard and pulled out the “who’s most likely to” box. the oldest of the boys shuffled the cards and took the top one which read “who’s the funniest”. whenever you played, this one always seemed to come out first, so you changed your answer every time to please everyone.

you turned around your board with the name “jaehyuk” written on it. your eyes scanned the room to see almost everyone had his name written on their boards, probably because it was his party after all. you quickly diverted your eyes away, however, when you saw that jeongwoo had written your name, which should have made you feel happy but instead, you felt quite guilty for not writing his.

the game went on, and your name wasn’t written on jeongwoo’s board ever again, despite you putting his for almost everything positive. the rest of the evening, jeongwoo didn’t come near you at all, everyone noticed, everyone questioned it, it was so obvious that he was jealous, but there was no way he was admitting to it.

as you got ready to leave, you glanced over at the boy who was supposed to be staying with you tonight, sat firmly in his place on the sofa.

“jeongwoo, aren’t you coming?” you shouted from the door. “jaehyuk is staying here so you don’t have to worry about him” you teased, everyone else smiling at you and giggling silently.

“fine” he grunted. you made up on the way home, he couldn’t even remember how it all started, he just “wanted to make a point” which, sure, he did.

🌍junghwan:

you and junghwan never got to spend much time together before you became friends with the members since he was always with them or at school, which is why he’s never complained or showed any jealousy when you are with them.

today you headed over to their dorms to relax and play when you remembered, today was the day of junghwan’s english exam. you pulled out your phone and dropped him a quick good luck text before continuing your journey.

yoshi brought you up to his room where he said you could chill for a bit since everyone else was still sleeping, other than those who had school of course. yoshi began to ask you lots of questions, you learnt a lot about each other in that hour or so, and the conversation was flowing so well that you didn’t hear the door.

“y/n, you did remember?!” junghwan asked excitedly, clapping his hands while smiling from ear to ear. “you came all the way here to see me after i finished?”

“remember what?” you asked, bewildered. “your exam? yeah i sent you a text, i’m sorry i didn’t realise until i was over half way here else i would have gone to see you first” you confessed, feeling guilty. his face dropped at your honest words.

“you mean you came all the way here just to see yoshi?” he asked. “everyone else was in the kitchen, but you two were in here… alone…?” disappointed in your reasoning and forgetfulness, he slowly backed out of the room. he wanted to cry, but he couldn’t. he wanted to feel sad and upset, but did you really do anything wrong, he thought. “you couldn’t have just turned around and gone home”

“well i didn’t want to, i wanted to see my friends. i didn’t realise that most of them didn’t get up until the afternoon” you walked closer to him, praying that he didn’t try and get away. “i’m sorry i forgot about your exam”

he shuffled closer to you. you’d never argued before, and he wasn’t sure how to respond, so he hoped a hug would go down well. as he hugged you, he whispered his own apology into you hair “i’m sorry for jumping to conclusions”

#treasure #treasure reactions #treasure imagines #asahi #yedam #bang yedam #doyoung #haruto #jeongwoo #junghwan

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vaguely-yandere · 2 years ago

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anyways oh my goodness chami its past midnight and i should really go to sleep since i need to be up early tomorrow! or today. idk! but ty for entertaining my sillly little asks....<33 i love your enthusiasm and i love your writing and i love indulging in this shared guilty pleasure of ours...!! <333

idk what time it is for you, but have a great rest of your day/night!! i hope to sleep and dream of cute yans and wake up all refreshed ready to talk to you!!

also drink some water! just a fun little reminder <33 i appreciate u sm i know we only talked today but i enjoyed speaking w you on and off!! see you in 7 hours !! want a yan to shyly kiss me goodnight and then i hold them close and grip them so hard in my sleep they cant escape!!

GO DRINK WATER.

-love love, SUNNY <333

maybe the real yanderes are the friends we've made along the way... /j

its currently almost 4am (shout out to sleep issues) so im queueing these asks for tomorrow! or today? in a few hours? so if ur wondering why im not responding with my usual speed, its cause of that!! and thank you for reminding me to drink some water, i have a bad habit of replacing my water intake with coke zero and fruit lol

i hope you have a good sleep!!! <3

#sunny darling #asks

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hazbbyhaz · 4 years ago

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sleepless || harry styles

twenty four

pairing: Harry Styles x OC

synopsis: the party cleanup

disclaimer: mentions of selfharm, mentions of scars

just remember that sometimes, the way you think about a person isn’t the way they actually are - John Green

At 3am the party had finally started to die down, people slowly funneling their way out. And by 3:30, All the guests were gone, leaving Avery, Harry, and Francis. Avery was on her fourth cup of coffee, the caffeine keeping her awake enough to not pass out on the couch. Everyone was sitting in the living room, strewn around the space. All of them winding down from the energy that the party created. It was silent. Serene. Comforting, in a way.

Harry was the first to move, starting to pick up the mess that swept the entire flat. Avery and Francis joined him soon after. They collected all the cups and plates that were scattered about, bringing all of them to the kitchen. Francis washed the dishes, Avery dried and put them away, and Harry made several trips around the apartment to collect all the trash.

Avery was lost in her own world, taking her time in drying the dishes and figuring out where they were kept. A tap on her shoulder had broken her from her trance. When she looked back, she saw Francis with a big soapy beard on his face. His jaw was completely covered in bubbles.

“How do I look, Avery?”

“Absolutely fabulous, if I do say so myself.” They were giggling like children, the sound echoing through the kitchen.

The laughter had Harry making his way to the source, and the sight in front of him had him laughing too. It was nice seeing Avery and Francis smiling and laughing. It was something that he hadn’t seen in a while, mainly from his friend. Maybe this party really was what he needed. Maybe this was a fresh start.

“Alright Old Saint Nick, let's get the kitchen cleaned up, after that we are finished till the morning.”

Harry chuckled, throwing a towel to Francis, and after he wiped his face clean, they continued. The rest of the dishes were washed and put away, the counters were wiped down, and the floors were swept. Avery had the cake she made in her hands, about to put it in the fridge, before she heard someone protest.

“Nope. You're not putting that masterpiece away until you try a piece.”

Francis hastily took it out of her hands, grabbed a paper plate, and cut a small slice out of the cake. He just about shoved it into her hands, not taking his eyes off of her until she took a bite. "It's very sugary," She said, grimacing as she swallows her first bite. "I think I need to cut down on that the next time"

"I think it’s great," Francis shrugs, getting a new fork to take a bite from her piece. "I mean, considering this is one of your first cakes, this is amazing."

"Thank you." After tasting the cake herself, Avery doubted that he was telling the truth. It was awful. "Harry, you try a bite" She holds the fork out to Harry and he doesn't even take the utensil from her, but eats it straight from the fork. The silly action instantly made her blush, All the heat rushing to her face and making it beet red. But the redness of her cheeks quickly vanishes as Harry loudly coughs, and nearly downs a whole glass of water after swallowing the small bite of cake.

"I'm sorry, Ave, but..." He takes a breath. "that is revolting. Francis, how are you just eating that?" Avery giggles, looking over at Francis, who has almost finished her piece.

"I can feel the cavities forming in my teeth..." He takes another sip off his water.

"I like it." Francis concludes with a shrug. "Anyways, Avery, are you staying here or should we take you home? I can play my charm and convince Mrs Sheffield to give us her car keys."

"It's 4am," Harry frowns.

“Trust me, she loves me!"

They keep bantering back and forth while Avery contemplates if she should stay or go. She had been with Harry for a majority of the weekend, rarely leaving his side. She didn’t want to overwhelm him. Didn’t want him to get tired of her presence or feel like she was clinging to him. "You can stay, Ave. It's no problem." Harry says, bringing her back into reality with his green eyes looking into her own.

"I don't want to bother you guys"

"You're not bothering anyone. Stay. I can walk you home after breakfast"

Her gaze moves over to Francis, who was putting the cake back into its container. She was looking for him to protest, for him to say that he didn’t want her there. But he didn’t seem bothered in the slightest, so she nods. "Alright, just til after breakfast."

Harry breaks into a smile and Francis puts the dessert in the fridge, slowly closing the door. "Great, now that this has been discussed, I am going to bed." Francis said goodnight to the two before vanishing in his bedroom. Avery noticed how Harry's eyes stayed fixed on his friends door for a moment.

"He likes you." Harry then says, turning back to her with a gleaming smile.

"I'm glad"

He walks over to her, leaning against the kitchen counter. "When do you go back to work?"

"Tomorrow."

"You're going to be tired."

"I'll be fine." She murmurs. In the dim kitchen light, Harry can see the three freckles on her nose, and the different shades of blue in her eyes. There had been numerous times where he’d thought about kissing Avery. More than he would like to admit. So many times where he wanted to sweep the loose strand of hair behind her ear, cup her cheek, and put his lips onto her own. He believed that, maybe, her pain would leave after he kissed her. He knew that it was stupid. That it was impossible. That something that mundane could ever fix the pain that she had felt.

So, out of all these times, he picked this one. He picked this time because he was tired. He picked this time because he still had some liquid courage coursing through his veins. He picked this time because she looked just… so unbearably sad. Even though he knew she had a great time that night, there was this underlying look to her. Even at her happiest, she always looked to be sad. Like she was in a great world of pain. Always.

He slowly leaned closer, his gaze fixed on hers. She didn't move away from him as their eyes met. "I don't think we should do that," Her breath is warm against his lips. "You'd regret it."

"I doubt that." His words are hushed, and if he leaned a bit closer, just the smallest bit, their lips would touch. Averys gaze switched between his eyes and his lips. She wants to be brave enough to close the gap. She does. But there is a small voice in her head telling her that it's wrong. That she will destroy everything that she has created if she moves forward with what's happening.

"You're so soft nobody knows how to take care of you".. "You know what you are? An ungrateful brat. That's all that you are, and that’s all you’ll ever be".

"You're pathetic, I can't deal with you anymore. No one can."

"I'm sorry but... I can't." She whispers and she doesn't have to tell him that's it because of her mind, her past, and everything that she continues to hide from him. He knows.

"I get it." Harry reassures her and instead of kissing her lips, he kisses her forehead.

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry.” He leaned in again, pressing his lips to her forehead once more. This time letting them linger.

“It’s okay, Ave. It’s alright. You don't need to be sorry.”

So, instead of kissing, they watch Lost In Translation. Harry had fallen asleep shortly after, his head resting on her thigh, and Avery’s fingers gently carted through his soft, honey brown curls. Somewhen, the morning sun illuminated the living room. The early morning rays casting a golden shadow over the room. Bathing everything in what could only be described as eternal light.

Francis emerged from his bedroom soon after the sun rose, stopping for a short second to look at his friend. Harry was asleep on Avery's lap, his face cuddled into her stomach with her hand resting on his head. He looked so at peace, even youthful in his sleep. He was getting the rest that Francis knew he deserved. That he needed.

Seeing him and Avery together made Francis happy. He saw the way that they had interacted during the party. They were always together, never spending much time apart.

Francis made his way to the kitchen, getting himself a glass of water. He got a cup out of a cabinet, one that had been washed only hours ago, and filled it at the kitchen sink. not bothering with ice, it was too early for ice cold water. Once the cup was full, he turned off the tap and turned around. He jumped and nearly dropped his cup, startled to see Avery stood at the entrance of the small space.

“Jesus! You scared me.” Francis leaned against the counter, holding a hand up to his chest in an effort to slow his racing heart.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

They stood there in silence for a while. Avery eventually made her way into the kitchen, sitting atop of the counter closest to the entrance. Francis was looking out the small window they had in the kitchen, and Avery watched. He didn’t seem to be actively in the room. His mind was elsewhere. This was a different kind of silence. Not like the atmosphere that they had experienced after everyone had left hours ago. This one was darker, in a way.

Somehow, Avery knew. She just knew. She knew that he was troubled. Maybe it was the worry that Harry always had in his eyes when looking at his friend. Maybe it was the dread that showed in Harry’s face whenever he called. Or maybe it was her own personal experience. But, either way, she knew. She could see the scars that littered his arms, the ones he had tried so desperately to cover, and it made her angry. Did she have a real right to be angry? No. She didn’t truly know the boy that was standing in front of her, but she knew enough. She knew enough to know that he shouldn’t feel that kind of pain. From what she had seen, he was funny, caring, and he stood by his friends. He cared for his friends. She didn’t want anyone to know half of what she had been through, what she had felt. And she knew that he had.

“Francis?”

“Yes?”

“Just… thank you.”

He looked bewildered by her words, not knowing what they were for. “For what, Avery?”

“For earlier. Eric. You saw that he was bothering me and you told him off. I never got to thank you for it.”

“Oh… it was no problem. He was being a prick. He kept on advancing towards you when you told him no, and I won't stand by to see that.” He made his way to the kitchen sink, Avery not too far from him, and started to rinse out his empty glass. Avery watched as he did so, closing her eyes shortly after to let them rest for a minute.

“Avery?”

“Yes, Francis?”

“Can you promise me something?” He looked into her eyes, a serious glint inside of them.

“I guess so… what is it?”

“This probably isn’t my place, and I apologize if I offend you in any way. But, just… please stand up for yourself. Okay? There are loads of blokes like Eric, people who will take advantage of you because you are too nice, people who will disregard your rejection of their actions. You have to stand up for yourself. I would hate to see you get hurt because of something like that.”

She was taken aback by what he was saying. She didn’t know how to respond, at least not right now. So she simply nodded her head, casting her eyes downward.

“And thank you for the cake, I really appreciate it.”

“Of course. I'm glad.”

Avery’s apartment was a wreck. Various papers and notebooks littered every surface as she tried to find a good sample she could send over to Hughes Magazine. This was a real opportunity, one that needed to be taken seriously. She has the chance to be a published writer, to have something that she had written somewhere in the world for people to see. To say that this was nerve wracking was a major understatement. Avery was sitting in the middle of her living room looking like a mad woman, frantically flipping through notebooks in hopes of finding something that she deemed good enough.

After going through every piece of writing she had, she decided to submit two short stories and a handful of poems. She chose pieces that, she hopes, shows her diversity as a writer. Avery wanted this to be something, just once. She added her CV and all the other required information before attaching the poems and stories at the end of the e-mail, sending it off to their office in London before closing her laptop, pushing every bad thought aside.

As she began to pick up the mess she had made in the process, Avery's phone lit up showing her a message from Tom.

Tom: Hey, is there any chance you could come in early tomorrow? I've found a potential new employee and I would like you to show her around a bit.

Avery: Sure. How much earlier?

Tom: Thirty minutes early will be fine, just need a second opinion on her. She would be starting work soon, if she is decent at everything.

Avery: I'll be there.

Tom: Thank you, Avery :)

"What do you think about the editing?" Harry questions Francis, showing his laptop with the edited photo on the screen. He spent the whole Sunday in front of the computer, trying to finish editing the set his boss needed for an upcoming ad. His eyes were exhausted and his head ached from the hours he spent looking at the monitor screen.

"I like it," Francis says with a shrug, continuing to eat his Ben and Jerry's out of the paper container.

"I need constructive criticism, Frany. Saying you like it is not cutting it anymore." Harry groans, putting his head back to regain composure and stretch his sore neck.

"You know I'm devoted to the numbers.'" Francis replies with a sigh. "I can't give you constructive criticism when I don't understand it."

"It's art. Most of the time you don't have to understand it."

"Why are you not doing your black and white photography? I love it and I know you do too, I'm sure there are some people who would buy it."

"Those “some people” aren't going to pay rent," Harry closes the laptop, realizing Francis really wouldn't be much help here, and layed down on the sofa, his head atop the arm rest. "I wish I could just do that."

"I’d say do it. Do what makes you happy. That's what you always tell me, anyway."

"Yes, but you're different," Harry murmurs, his eyes closed and his forearm shielding them from the sunlight. "And what would I photograph? I don't go out anymore, I barely see James or Emily or Anais anymore. And God, I have a million photographs of you already."

"First of all, you make that sound like a bad thing." Francis replies, before eating another spoon of his ice cream. "Why don't you do a series on Avery?"

"She doesn't like being photographed."

“May I remind you that that's what you do? Take photographs without people noticing, so it's not staged."

"Yes I know, but-" Before Harry can finish his sentence Francis makes his way to Harry's room only to come out a minute later with a large black and white print. Harry remembered that day as if it were yesterday. It was Anais’s birthday party. Francis wasn't well that day so Harry had to take him to the party, he didn’t trust him enough to leave him home alone. He had spent the whole evening making rounds around the house, camera in tow, capturing every guest he could.

The photo in front of him showed Francis in an armchair in Anais’s living room. There was a half empty glass of champagne in his hand and a red balloon tied to his pinky, and at the first glance it almost looked comical. This sad boy with all the balloons, presents, and dancing people around him.

That same night, Harry had gotten absolutely wasted. So, when Francis told him that he wanted to go home, he didn't hold him back. He didn't look at him, not really, not like he should have. Once he had finally made his way back to their flat, he found Francis cutting himself on the bathroom floor and immediately sobered up. They didn't talk while Harry gently patched his friend up, doing so with so much care that it made Francis cry. And they didn't talk while Harry sent Francis to bed before he cleaned the bathroom, blaming himself for everything that had happened in the process.

Despite everything that came after, this was still one of his favorite photographs he had ever taken. The black and white didn't seem dramatic, but natural. He caught Francis without a mask, just Francis. It was safe to say that his best friend despised the whole thing, he didn't like it one bit and Harry was sure that if he hadn't stopped him, Francis would have ripped the print to shreds immediately.

"I really like that print..." Harry mumbles, eyeing the photograph that feels like it was taken so long ago. When he was still so naive and inexperienced, thinking he could just do this his whole life. "But I can't do it. I have to think about earning money, this dream won't take me anywhere."

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mistymark · 4 years ago

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VIGILANTE/S VIII

part eight // 4.8k words // superpowered!au // series masterlist

summary; in which you consider yourself somewhat of a vigilante.

warnings; swearing, they talk about death, lots of swearing, y/n plays therapist way too much in this chapter but its fine, swearing

“Do you think we’re going to be able to pull this off?”

You roll over onto your side so you can look in the direction of Donghyuck’s bed. It’s dark, but you can still make out his figure, lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling.

“Jaehyun has been working at this forever, you know? But what if we can’t pull it off?”

You clear your throat. You’re exhausted – you feel more tired now than you did after a day of training. “It’s going to work,” you say, softly, though it sounds less like you’re trying to convince him and more like you’re trying to convince yourself. You have to believe it will work.

Donghyuck turns his head to you, and you don’t need the light to see how nervous he is.

“I thought we didn’t worry about ‘what if’s,” you whisper, hoping the slight teasing would ease his nerves a little. It was something he’d said to you on one of your first days here.

It seems to work. He lets out a quiet laugh, “I am a ‘what if’. What if I don’t die? What if I never die?” It didn’t work. His tone is bitter, his voice louder. Then, you hear the panic in his voice, “What if I’m forced to live forever and watch everyone I care about die before me?”

There’s silence. You can hear him breathing in deep breaths, trying to calm himself down.

Sitting up, you settle on the edge of your bed to face him, “Donghyuck.” He looks up at you, “We’re not going to die.”

“Someday you will.”

You ignore his comment. “Jaehyun wouldn’t let us go through with this plan if he knew we were going to die.” He doesn’t answer. “This is what we’ve been training for,” you say, your voice as soft as you can manage. You’ve watched the team become stronger, become closer, become a family. You doubt there’s anything that could stop you now.

He’s staring at the ceiling again. “You can’t die. None of you can.” His voice is barely a whisper. It’s like he’s breathing the words. The way he pauses between the sentences gives the impression that he’s thinking about you specifically.

“Like you said: I’m going to die sometime, Hyuck,” you smile, and move to his bed, perching on the side. “Dying for you or the team would be the best way to go, I think.”

His eyes snap to yours and he quickly moves to sit up, his hand reaching across the gap between your beds and grabbing your arm, “Promise me that won’t happen. Promise me you won’t die for me.” You can’t see in the darkness of the room, but you’re almost sure he’s holding back tears.

You freeze for a moment, unsure what to do or say. So you whisper, “What is this about?”

Something about what you’ve said makes him remove his hand from your arm, “Sorry. Nothing.” His voice has returned to normal now, and he turns away from you, pulling his blanket up over his shoulder. “Goodnight.”

Maybe you were wrong, maybe you weren’t as close as you’d thought.

Confused by what just happened, you stay for a second, before moving back to your own bed, “Okay.” You want to sleep. You really do. “Goodnight, Donghyuck.” But you don’t.

It must be 4am. It has to have been hours. And you’re still awake.

Arrive with Jaemin. Mingle until the toasts are being made. Make your way to the garage. Leave. Find Jaehyun. Go home. Arrive with Jaemin. Mingle until the-

You can only think about the plan. Each detail was meticulously mapped out. Where you would be standing, what you would be doing, each possible path to the garage engrained in your brain.

West corridor, past the bathrooms. Take a right. Otherwise, go left. Find the central hallway. Go behind the main staircase. If there’s security there, go through the old dining room. From there-

You can’t take it anymore. You gently slide out of your bed, trying not to disturb Donghyuck, who finally fell asleep a couple hours ago. He doesn’t stir, but you still move swiftly across the hard floors, listening for a change in his breathing pattern.

The door squeaks most of the time, but you know how much you can open it without creating noise, so you slip out of the room without waking him.

The warehouse is quiet, but you can see light coming from Mark and Chenle’s room, a flickering orange that makes you think Chenle’s playing with fire. You can hear Mark’s soft snoring even through the door, and wonder if that’s why Chenle’s awake. From what you knew, he was a light sleeper already.

Jeno and Jaemin’s room is dark from what you can see, and you can hear someone snoring from inside. The others are dark, too, even Johnny’s, though you’re forced to wonder whether it’s dark because he’s sleeping or dark because he’s just not there.

Doyoung’s light is on, a warm yellow colour streaming out from under the door and into the hallway, and despite no lights being turned on in his room, there’s white light coming from Renjun’s room, probably from a computer screen. There was always light in Renjun’s room, and you knew he often slept without turning off the screens that took up most of his room. When you’d first noticed them – before you even met him – you’d wondered if he was afraid of the dark.

You’re thankful for the lights, able to make your way down the hallway without knocking into something, but you’re surprised to find there is no light coming from Jaehyun’s office when you make it to the main body of the warehouse.

You know he has to sleep sometime but your first thought is that he’s out.

“What are you doing?” You jump at the sound of the voice, and find yourself whirring around to find the source. Doyoung makes his way toward you, “I could hear you thinking.” He puts his hands up in defence when you open your mouth to protest, “I know, I promised not to invade, but I wasn’t prying. You were just thinking really loudly.”

“Why are you even awake?” You don’t mean to sound so exasperated, and he raises an eyebrow at you.

“Same reason you are,” he shoves his hands into the pockets of his pyjama pants, which you can see are made from bright blue flannel. It was odd, to see him wearing something typically childish. “Thinking about the ball.”

“Donghyuck was freaking out about it before… I think it rubbed off on me.”

A grim look passes over his face, “About dying, right?”

“About the team dying, yeah.” You frown, “How do you know that?” Surely, he hasn’t been listening the whole night.

“I wasn’t listening. I just know Donghyuck – it’s the only thing that does freak him out.” He pauses, then shrugs, “Other than lizards.” He frowns, “And birds, actually.” He shakes his head as if to force himself to stop thinking about Donghyuck’s phobias.

You smile, “I was going to make some tea. Do you-?”

“No, thank you. I just came to see if you were alright.” It’s only then that you can see just how tired he looks. Your eyes have adjusted to the lack of light in the room, and even in the dark you can see the deep-set circles under his eyes.

Nodding, you rock back and forth on the balls of your feet, “Yeah, I’m fine. Thank you.”

He nods and turns to head back to his room, which you can see is spilling light into the hallway through the open door. Bruce is standing at attention in the doorway, staring into the empty room with unwavering focus. You let your gaze drift back to Doyoung, who is looking at you again with a furrowed brow, though your mind is still on the dog for some reason.

He opens his mouth to say something but doesn’t, and turns around, his figure retreating into the brightly lit hallway.

The door closes softly, and you watch as the light under the door disappears, the hallway now dark again. You’re debating whether it was still worth getting some tea before going back to your room, but you make your way to the kitchen, anyway. Even if you didn’t make tea, you could always steal one of Jaemin’s snacks.

There’s a pot of tea already on the counter, though you assume it’s old because it’s cold now. It’s the early hours of the morning, and you brain is repeating, I’m tired, I’m lazy, this will do over and over again.

You reach for a mug, despite the liquid no longer requiring its insulating properties, and pour the cold tea into it. You notice Jaehyun’s ‘World’s Greatest Boss’ mug is missing from the shelf, and you’re sure if you looked into his office, you’d see it on his desk.

Taking a sip, you almost spit it out from how bitter it is, how terrible the tea is. You’ve never known tea to taste like that. Maybe because it was cold. You tip the drink down the sink and leave your mug in the sink. Someone probably forgot to empty the pot before they went to bed, you assume.

Grabbing the pot, you pour the foul liquid – because there was no way that was fresh tea – down the sink. With a bad taste in your mouth, you pull the fridge door open and scan the shelves for anything good. There’s a fruit yoghurt cup left – Mark’s favourite flavour – and you almost feel bad about taking the last one, until you remember they’re Jaemin’s.

Peeling the lid off, you settle on the counter, digging through the clean cutlery for a spoon.

“You’re awake.”

You jump a little at the sound. “God, doesn’t anyone here sleep?” You groan and look in the direction of the voice, recognising Jaehyun’s suit-clad figure standing by the dinner table. You’re annoyed that he managed to frighten you, but he only smiles at you.

“Too much to do,” his voice is deeper than normal, and you wonder if he’s tired.

Spooning another mouthful of yoghurt into your mouth, you squint at him, “This is going to work, isn’t it?” He nods, but there’s uncertainty in the way he holds himself. His eyes don’t meet yours. “Jaehyun.”

He looks at you, and the determination in his eyes surprises you, “If everything goes to plan, then it’ll definitely work.” He sighs, and his gaze falls, “I could see it. I could see it working perfectly.”

“But?” You prompt.

“But…” he trails off. Then his eyes meet yours, and he subconsciously adjusts his stance. “I always feel terrible when I endanger them.”

You know that’s not what worries him, but you don’t push it. Clearly, everyone around here has their secrets, and you’re not about to be the one to pry. You let your hand fall to his forearm, and his eyes widen at the contact, though he does his best to appear indifferent, “You’re a good leader, Jaehyun. And I trust you. They trust you.”

He sucks in a breath, but he doesn’t say anything. He’s not sad or emotional in any way, but you can’t look away from his face. He needs to see your sincerity, even if he thinks he doesn’t need it.

But he doesn’t look away from you, either.

Until he does. “Tea,” he says, turning to look away from you. He clears his throat, and his voice changes, though you can’t exactly describe how. “Is there any tea left?”

“Uh, no,” your voice sounds small, so unlike your natural voice. It makes him look back at you for a moment, before going back to trying to find the teapot. “It was cold – and disgusting – so I poured it out. I was just about to make a fresh pot.”

“You poured out the tea?”

You pause. “Yeah. I just said-”

He sighs, and you can almost see him physically deflate, “It’s supposed to taste terrible. It’s not normal tea. An elixir, if anything, to help with-” He stops. “Doesn’t matter.”

Suddenly, you feel awful. “I’m sorry.” And for the first time since you’ve arrived here, you truly mean it.

“It’s alright. You should get some rest.” No ‘goodnight’, no ‘goodbye’, just ‘you should get some rest’ and the same distracted look on his face you usually see at this hour.

“Careful, there. I might actually think you care about me,” you say lightly, a snort accompanying your words. Gracefully, you manage to slide off the counter and toss your empty yoghurt cup into the bin at the kitchen’s entrance, dodging him as you pass him.

He doesn’t acknowledge your comment, but he does turn around to see you walking toward the hallway. He doesn’t raise his voice, instead lowering it, “Goodnight, Y/n.”

You turn and give him a small nod, your words coming out short, “Night. Jaehyun.”

“Is anyone else bored?” Donghyuck asks for the fifteenth time today, and you roll your eyes, ignoring him. You’re all crowded into one of the few casual living spaces in the warehouse, a room with a bunch of cool leather couches and bookshelves. You’d never been down here, never even knew the basement had a living room, but from the look of it, you decided it was rarely used.

It was much unlike Jaehyun’s sitting room, which you’d decided was your favourite room in the whole place. It had so much warmth in it, especially compared to the sitting room you were in now. The couches here were red and white, unmatching, but tied together nicely with the cool white walls and a singular red wall painting that you felt you’d seen before. The plush carpet beneath your feet was the only thing that added warmth to the room, but it was split along the diagonal by an invisible line, separating a bleached white section and a firetruck red section. With each half of the carpet situated under the couch of the opposite colour, you wondered if Jaehyun had paid someone to fit out the room or he’d done it himself. Quite the interior designer.

You felt a little bad for brushing Donghyuck and his boredom off, until you noticed the responses from the other boys around you. You’re sitting on the floor in front of the red couch, the plush white carpet beneath you far more inviting than the new leather. Jaemin is sitting on the flat arm rest behind you, and Jeno’s in a small white armchair nearby, the two talking animatedly. Donghyuck is lounging on the white couch, despite Renjun claiming he’d make it dirty – which immediately prompted Donghyuck’s response of ‘You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’ followed by a terrible wink. Renjun sits on the floor beside you, earphones in, watching something on his phone, and Chenle on the couch at the opposite end, glaring at Donghyuck. You’re beginning to wonder if his face just naturally looks pissed off.

Donghyuck shrieks as the corner of his t-shirt alights and frantically tries to put it out, patting at his shirt. Each time his hand comes down on the flame, it moves to a different location. Chenle raises an eyebrow, “Are you bored now?”

Donghyuck gives him a level look, “You’re dead.”

This seems to bring Chenle a lot of joy, “I thought that was your thing.” You ignore them as soon as Donghyuck lunges at the younger boy, instead tuning into Jeno and Jaemin’s conversation.

“- give him? What can we offer that he doesn’t already have?” Jaemin is saying. Then he adds, “Prick.”

You look up and pat his leg to get his attention, “Who are you talking about?”

He looks down at you, and the look of annoyance on his face eases a little as he explains. “The guy Jaehyun’s meeting up with today,” he says, but halfway through the sentence, his attention is already back on Jeno. You’ve never seen him look so annoyed – not at Chenle, not during a team meeting, never. You’re about to ask what this guy had done to earn such a response, but before you can, Jeno gestures to the door and they both stand up to leave.

Renjun tugs out his earphones when he watches them leave, “Where’d they head off to?”

“I don’t know,” you frown, but then you catch sight of his phone. “What are you watching?”

Renjun’s face immediately lights up as he excitedly fills you in on the Super fight semifinals. “There’s a newcomer this year – some young kid, eighteen maybe? – doesn’t even belong to a club, yet.” You cringe when he says ‘club’, knowing full well that these sport ‘clubs’ were just fronts for small gangs. “He just walked in and put his name on the roster! Can you believe that?”

You try to match his excitement, try to look impressed, “Damn, what does he do?”

“He can summon lightning. And manipulate it.” Renjun suddenly looks so young – so innocent and eager. You knew he’d never been on assignment, stayed in the warehouse almost always and had probably never even step foot in a place like The Den. He’d seen so much yet so little while working here.

Whilst Renjun grins happily at the screen, offering you an earbud so you could watch, too, you feel a shiver run down your back. Lightning. Now there’s a man you remember. He’d seemed so much older when you’d first met him, despite being drunk off his ass. Eighteen. And it wouldn’t be long before he was recruited, enticed by the sheer amounts of money the ‘clubs’ could offer him.

“He’s about to come out, hold on… There!” Renjun points at a figure emerging from a crowd, dressed in the standard durable yet decorated combo all the fighters wore. His was white, with streaks of jagged purple lines running down the sides of his top to mimic the lightning.

Immediately, you recognise his face, but you keep your expression neutral, interested. Definitely the guy from The Den. A sudden thought crosses your mind, and you fight the urge to throw up. He’d probably just won a fight when we met. Probably his first one, too.

This guy didn’t help your preconceived belief that all fighters were assholes.

You watched as the camera panned to his opponent, a small woman in her mid twenties, you’d say. She was tiny, made apparent when she moved to stand beside the boy, their hands interlocking, raising and lowering in an extravagant bow. As if this was all a show. He had to have been at least six feet tall, and she stood with her head level to his lower chest.

But you knew better than to underestimate her, because despite her size – and her ridiculously long fake nails – she had made it this far. People often made the same mistake with you.

People like her opponent, who merely smiled at her smugly as soon as they stepped away from each other in the ring. This may be a fight you actually wanted to watch.

“Watch,” Renjun whispers to you, as the protective glass walls surrounding the ring begin to rise. There’s a countdown, and you watch the two fighters ready themselves. It appears they both have the same tactic – appear casual and indifferent to unnerve the other. You watch as the woman focuses on her nails, uninterested, and the boy stands with a lop-sided smirk on his face, one hand already raised, ready to summon coils of lightning as soon as the countdown reaches zero.

In the audience, people are chanting, excitedly waiting for the fight to begin.

“What’s her ability?” You ask. But he doesn’t have time to answer, because the speaker lets out an unnerving beep, and both fighters begin to move. As soon as the sound rings out, where there was once a woman, there is now a robot – or what looks to be a robot. But then it moves. It moves in a way that no robot, no matter how dynamic, would be able to move. “She can make herself metal?”

Renjun laughs at your bewilderment, “You’ve never heard of Titan?”

“She calls herself Titan?”

“Sure,” he shrugs. “They all have fighter names. He’s Thunder. Uh, Impact was on before. She’s pretty epic. She fought Migraine.” He realises you have no clue who he’s talking about. “Impact has these really strong forcefield things. Migraine… well, he’s pretty self-explanatory.”

“You know what?” Donghyuck pipes up from the couch. You notice Chenle has disappeared, having previously been too absorbed in the fight to notice him leave. Donghyuck is laying with his head dangling off the couch and his legs over the couch’s back. Renjun doesn’t respond. Dismissing the fact that no one responded to his question, Donghyuck continues, “We should have fight names.” He swings his legs down so he can sit up, “I can’t believe we’ve never thought of that.”

“Oh, yeah? What would you be called?” You ask.

“I don’t know…” he thinks about it for a second before bellowing in deep voice, “ETERNAL!”

“Eternal pain in my ass,” Renjun mumbles to you, a smile crossing his face when you laugh. The fight is already over when you look back down at the phone. The lightning boy, unconscious, lays on the floor, whereas the woman, now back in her normal body, holds her hands over her head triumphantly. You can hear the loud eruptions of applause even after Renjun turns down the volume.

“Huh?” Donghyuck looks confusedly between the two of you.

“Renjun could be Spiritwalker,” you say, raising an eyebrow at him. He makes a disgusted expression, but when Donghyuck continues talking, you can tell he’s thinking about it.

“You could be… Mime?”

“Or,” a new voice offers from behind you. “Y/n could be Mine.” He says it in a teasing way – he knows it’ll make you squirm in disgust.

You instantly roll your eyes at Jaemin as soon as he meets your eyes, lowering into the small armchair Jeno was previously sitting in. He lets out a loud laugh. “That was a cheap shot,” you drawl.

And he shrugs, but he can’t help the smile that’s crossed his face at your judgment of his terrible flirting. “What can I say? I’m a dedicated guy. I take every opportunity to-,” but he’s cut off.

“Oh! I know!” You exclaim to Donghyuck in a fake perky voice, clapping your hands together excitedly, “Jaemin can be Douchebag!” You turn to him and the faux smile you’d been donning a second earlier drops from your face as you look at Jaemin pointedly.

One side of his mouth lifts into a half-smile and lets out a fake laugh, glaring at you in an exaggerated manner that says he’s not the least bit bothered by your joke.

“There are too many good names for someone with superspeed. It’s unfair,” Donghyuck notes.

“Like?” Jaemin looks to him, intrigued.

“Dick, trashbag, assface, asshole. If we’re getting creative, cockalorum, ninnyhammer-” You begin counting off the insults on your fingers. Renjun lets out a loud laugh and falls to his side on the floor, and Donghyuck erupts into laughter after him.

Jaemin rolls his eyes but his smile is genuine, laughing along with the others.

“What even is a cockalorum?” Donghyuck asks, though this only makes Renjun laugh again, and he never gets an answer.

That night, you manage to sleep soundly for the first time in a few days, though you don’t know how you’re so exhausted. Dinner had been a riot – Doyoung suggested that Donghyuck cook if he was so bored, and Jaemin ended up getting roped into helping him. You’d wondered if Doyoung’s ‘suggestion’ had been laced with any of his power, urging them slightly to agree.

Jaemin had prepared everything faster than it should’ve been possible, then got annoyed with how slow the actual cooking part was. He ended up lying across the kitchen counter in duress, reducing Donghyuck’s cooking space to a tiny bench beside the stove. Everyone ate together and pretended it was the worst thing they’d ever tasted, making Donghyuck pout throughout most of dinner. But everyone made sure to thank him when they had finished, which you’d thought was very sweet. It had tasted pretty good, though, you had to admit.

In the morning, everyone’s mood seems to have shifted. You couldn’t pin it at first, especially since the morning started the same way it usually does; with you having to wake up a complaining Donghyuck.

It was at breakfast that you’d noticed something was up. Jaemin was wearing an usually sour expression on his face, and even Chenle didn’t comment on it. There was none of the expected fire at the table. Renjun, who normally didn’t wake up until everyone had already eaten, was already sitting at the table when you arrived. Jeno wasn’t there, and neither was Johnny, and you wondered where they’d gone. Jaehyun wasn’t in his office, and emerged from the basement stairs as you sat down, stealing a piece of toast from the table with a half-hearted smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“What is-?” You turn to Mark, and notice that even he seems glum. “What’s going on?”

“Hmm?” Jaemin responds, though his attention is still on his uneaten breakfast. He’s holding a piece of toast in his hand, and it looks as though he’s been nibbling on one corner for the past fifteen minutes.

“Everyone’s so…” you shrug, “gloomy.” Except for Chenle, you want to add. He’s exactly the same. But you don’t. Because you know it’s not true.

“Yeah, well,” Renjun snorts. “That happens when you’re about to risk your life tomorrow.”

Jaemin casts him a sidelong glance and then stands, the sheer speed of his movement causing his chair to topple over loudly. He doesn’t bother to pick it up, or maybe he doesn’t notice what he’s done, but he walks back down the hallway. You hear a door slam and there’s a pause as everyone stops eating for a second, all glancing between each other. Renjun gulps, looking guilty.

Chenle’s the first to continue eating, and everyone follows. You grab a piece of fruit from a plate and stand, “Should I-?”

“God, yes,” Donghyuck responds, immediately. “I don’t want to deal with that.” There’s a few mumbles of agreement and you nod, taking a bite of the fruit as you walk down the hall.

You bump into Doyoung as he’s emerging from the bathroom, his hair wet. The dark circles beneath his eyes haven’t disappeared yet, and you can’t help yourself from noticing how different he looks with the small blemishes. His normally perfect skin looks harrowed and thin now, the dark circles a deep contrast to his light skin.

“Geez, I just haven’t been sleeping well,” he tries to laugh, but it sounds empty.

Your eyebrows raise as you realise he can tell what you’re thinking, “Sorry. I’m just worried about you.”

This makes him smile, and this time its sincere. “Don’t be. Once this is all over,” he gestures around him, “I’ll be fine.”

You nod. But then you remember why you came down here in the first place, “Is Jaemin okay?”

Doyoung stops for a moment, sucking in a breath, “No.” You don’t know why you expected to hear something different. You’d hoped to hear something different. “Wait a second.” You stop from where you’d been reaching for the handle that led to his room. There’s a thump against the door and the sound of something smashing on the floor. “Now, go.”

You nod to him in appreciation before twisting the handle, poking your head in the room. “Jaemin?”

He’s sitting on the floor by Jeno’s bed, his head on his knees. He looks up when you walk in, but his head hangs again. You can’t tell whether he’s angry or sad or a combination of both, but you could see the pained expression on his face as soon as you walked inside. “What h-?” You stop and sit down beside him. “Are you okay?”

He doesn’t answer. You notice him fidgeting, as if he’s got too much energy he needs to get rid of, “Jaemin.”

There’s silence, until, “Can you go?” You recoil from him like you’ve just been burned, and you suddenly hate yourself for it. “Please.” You nod, then mumble a ‘okay’ as you stand up. The door closes noiselessly as you leave, and you let out a breath. Renjun is the one that runs up to you, the one that explains what’s going on. His voice sounds slightly strangled, but he rushes the words out in a long string in a way that tells you he had just been given this information, “Jaehyun’s contact won’t trade his services for money. He wants Jeno. He has Jeno.”

And suddenly you have the urge to throw something at a door, too.

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lilithmichelle · 3 years ago

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Diary Entry #1

Dear diary,

I have made entries before this digital one but this one was made just to declutter my mind because everything is going so fast I can't see where I am in life in this very moment.

So I am 14 and is 100% trying my utmost best to make this course and e-book selling online business work to secure money for my college and to run away at 18 (still not sure). Next month is December which means that I have 6 months left to be 14 and I am on my own.

I can't believe I'll be 15 one day, it's like a nightmare. To make things worse, I'm not sure if I hate my city or I just don't belong here in general. I don't have friends or anyone other than myself since my parents are definitely close to putting me in the streets.

My mother is obviously still observing me in which I think is a...not so healthy for a mother-daughter relationship but I am not in control of her actions so I suppose I'll just let myself be stuck in this loop of almost having a breakdown everyday in the anxiety and stress of her going mad and violent towards me again and just continuingly disappointinh them again.

I want to change but I somewhat can't. I don't want to be me anymore, but I am all I've got.

I am everyday conscious and aware that I am getting older and that everyday is just the same day, I can't believe that all of these will only be stored in my mind and will probably never be shared because I'll eventually forget about it.

Every day its the same to me, still feeling empty despite doing a lot to fill that hole in my chest. I wake up at 4am to just go back to sleep and wake up at 7, I just don't change don't I?

Recently, I noticed that the more I get older, the more that dating, marriage, relationships and marriage seem to be the top of my 'uninterested and irrelevant things that I can live my life without experiencing'. It's begining to be nothing to me. And I'm not sure if it's the recent imput in my brain from my mother that I'll be nothing and that I am a horrible person, but I think it's because I stood up and left the side of the 13 year old me that believe a man out there that'll see her as his everything. I hope she's okay with that because we both know abandonment more than anything.

If I visualize where I could be in the future, I see myself alone wandering the Earth. And I don't think that's a bad thing at all. All I could ever care in the recent moments of my life is that my future self is okay. Sound selfish but how can I be selfish if the person that I only know was myself?

Anyways I have to make this online business work, goodnight world.

P.S.

If you would think about it in this very moment, billions of people are doing really different things from one another. I think I should keep conscious like this to make me feel like I'm not alone in this world sometimes.

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tsarisfanfiction · 5 years ago

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Bedtime (Should Not Be 4am)

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Gen Genre: Family Characters: Jeff Tracy, Scott Tracy, Gordon Tracy, John Tracy, Tracy brothers

Familiar Strangers: The first night home should be relaxing, but for Jeff it's anything but as he readjusts to being back on Earth, and five sons who've grown up without him. Spoilers for 3.25 "The Long Reach (Part 1)"

Jeff couldn't sleep. Gravity was heavy all over, a pressure his body hadn't felt the force of in far too long, and the light cotton of his clothes was a foreign sensation after so many years in his uniform. And that wasn't including his underlying fear that falling asleep here would mean waking up back there, in the wreckage of the Zero-X all alone, with the sinking knowledge that being back home was just a dream.

He threw off the covers and scrambled his way to his feet. There was no sense in lying awake with nothing but his thoughts for company – he'd had plenty of time to do that in the depths of the Oort Cloud. Tracy Island was its own quiet paradise in the middle of the ocean, and he didn't have to double and triple check his oxygen levels before leaving his airlock prison.

That didn't stop him reaching for the helmet by his bed out of habit, only realising what he was doing when his fingers met air where years of instinct told him should be the smooth shell of his gear. He sighed, a deep exhale followed by a shallow inhale. Adapting to life on Earth would be a lengthy process.

The door opened soundlessly and easily – no airlock to shift, just simple light wood separating his bedroom from the rest of the villa and he padded out equally quietly on bare feet. Snuffles sounded from the room next door, the noises his mother made in her sleep still familiar despite the long absence and he smiled as he passed. Tanusha's - Kayo's – room was on the end, just before the flight of stairs to his sons'. A new change; one of many, so many he had no idea how he was ever going to adapt to the life that had gone on without him. He remembered her as being quiet, but even through the door he could hear slow even breathing.

Carefully he made his way down the stairs, the exactly equal paces required for descent a marked change from clambering over a rugged planetoid, and passed his sons' rooms. Doors closed, they should all be asleep, exhausted after the mission of a lifetime. No matter how badly he wanted to see them again, he could wait until daylight. They didn't need him disturbing their sleep. Not now.

There was light in the den as he descended the stairs towards it. More of a glow than light, it came from the desk – his desk? Was it still his? The holoprojector was on, a blue background defining white text he couldn't read at that distance, and in the shadows it cast, something gestured and it changed.

Someone was still up. He could hear their breathing, slow but not quite steady, and the tap-tap-tap of fingers drumming on wood. As his eyes adjusted to the off-kilter lighting he could make out the sight of his eldest son hunched over the wood, one hand propping up his chin while the other tapped at the desk by a mug.

He checked the time. It was gone four in the morning. Scott was still in his day clothes, shirt rumpled and hair falling loose from its gelled confines to flop weakly over his forehead. He looked exhausted, even as his hand paused its tapping of the wood to swipe the hologram into the next page of text.

Jeff remembered the days of paperwork, one of the few things he hadn't missed during his time amongst the stars. The fact that Scott had taken it on was not a surprise – he had had far too much time to think about what his boys would do in his absence, and while many of his predictions appeared to have been falling flat, Scott was the eldest child and therefore officially his heir. The paperwork required to keep Tracy Industries afloat would have settled on his shoulders.

The time of night he had chosen to work on it, however, was. He'd thought Scott would follow his example – work during the day when not on rescues. There was no reason for him to stay up all night, and his parental instincts flared in a mix of worry and anger.

Scott knew the importance of a good nights' sleep, had had it drilled firmly into him as a child. Why was he ignoring everything he'd been told as a child about bedtimes? He was only going to hurt himself!

He stepped forwards, deliberate and determined to get his wayward son into bed where he belonged at this time of the night only to be brought up short by a hand landing on his shoulder from behind.

His nerves lit up, the warmth of the touch unexpected and unwelcome in the darkness when he hadn't known it was coming, and he whirled around sharply to see who was foolish enough to sneak up on him.

It was Gordon, his second youngest's hands raising up in a quiet surrender as he rounded on him, breathing heavily.

"Shh!" the blond hissed under his breath, sounding like a leaky air tank as he pressed a finger to his lips in an unmistakable demand for silence. He looked tired himself, hastily suppressing a yawn before bringing a glass up to his lips and sipping it quietly.

Jeff remembered his midnight kitchen trips from before. But then it was sweets, sugary menaces that would keep him bouncing off the walls for most of the following day before crashing mid-afternoon. Not a simple glass of water.

He gestured for him to go back up to bed, not wanting to deal with multiple sons up when none of them should be, and Gordon responded with a shrug and clear invitation for him to join him. Jeff signalled later before turning back to Scott, only for Gordon to shimmy around in front of him, arms crossed and shaking his head.

Leave him, he mouthed, barely visible in the pitch dark of the island. His lips were barely lit by the glow of the hologram Scott still perused on the desk, seemingly obvious to their presence. Jeff frowned, digging his heels in at the idea of leaving his eldest to an ill-advised all-nighter, but Gordon had inherited the Tracy stubbornness and his mother's cunning.

Jeff wasn't entirely sure what Gordon did to get him climbing back up the stairs, away from Scott, but that was where he found himself heading, Gordon behind him – between him and Scott, almost like a guard dog.

"You won't get him to stop," the blond teenager said – was he still a teenager, or had he reached twenty yet? Jeff had lost track of the years in a place beyond Earthly time. "Interrupting him now is like trying to wake Virgil up this early. Violence, arguments, and ultimately futile."

The idea that this was something common enough that Gordon knew what would happen did not sit well with Jeff.

"This happens a lot?" he asked, looking back at the stairs that led to his eldest. Gordon sighed before draining his glass.

"I don't remember the last time he slept in his bed," he admitted, and Jeff's heart sank. "There's just never enough time in a day, you know? Rescues, rescue reports for the GDF, being badgered by the GDF about anything they please, keeping Tracy Industries running."

"The GDF?" Jeff's voice came out strangled as he tried to think what the Global Defence Force would have to do with International Rescue. They were two independent organisations, the GDF had no jurisdiction over them! Unless… no. His sons wouldn't-

"They think Scott's too young," Gordon said, sitting back on his bed and staring at the ceiling. "He won the battle to keep us independent, but it came with compromises."

Jeff thought back to how he remembered Scott, leaving him with a reassurance that he'd be home soon and that it was a simple mission – he didn't need the backup just to stop the Zero-X. Then he remembered the wrist he'd clasped as he stopped him falling to his death, the face that had looked up at him then.

Too young? Maybe the Scott he'd left behind that day had been. But the one he'd reunited with less than an Earth-day ago was too old.

"He'll pa- uh, fall asleep soon," Gordon continued, jumping back to their original topic of conversation. "His favourite blanket is kept tucked under the yellow couch." He said that as though it was supposed to mean something. Jeff nodded awkwardly, feeling the gap between them yawn into a chasm. He didn't know this young man in front of him. Not really.

Gordon looked at him after a moment, a why are you still here look in his eyes – one Jeff recognised from the mirror, not because he'd ever seen Gordon wear it with such gravitas before – before he flinched and sighed.

"Oh yeah, you don't know," he said, and Jeff got the feeling he wasn't the only one facing someone who should be familiar but wasn't quite as expected. "Scott won't go to bed. He sleeps at the desk. Whoever finds him first throws the blanket over him. Unless it's Virgil. Virgil can at least carry him to the couch. He's too tall and heavy for me and Alan."

Jeff had expected some things to have changed while he was gone. It was only natural, after all. But this change he would need them to explain, in detail, why they let it happen.

A conversation for the daylight. For now, he had a son to leave to sleep, and another son to handle. Gordon made it sound like he was as volatile as uranium, but Gordon was prone to over-exaggeration… unless that was another trait he had dropped or changed. He reached out to brush Gordon's hair back, the urge to kiss his son goodnight overwhelming even though dawn was approaching, and Gordon made a small, blessedly familiar noise of protest and quiet squirm before muttering "night, Dad."

It was good to know not everything had changed.

Jeff closed the door quietly behind him, the quiet click of the catch engaging a contrast to the clunk of the airlock door, and he forced himself not to shut it again just to ensure it was truly closed. Gordon's window had been ajar anyway.

One erstwhile son dealt with, although it felt uncomfortably like he'd done nothing at all and Gordon had been the one doing the handling, one to go.

He padded back down the stairs, just as quietly as the previous time and just as jarred by the artificial evenness of each foothold, to find that Gordon had been right. Where before Scott had been hunched over the desk, fingers tapping agitatedly, now he was slumped over it, head at an uncomfortable looking angle over the hard wood and looking more like he'd fainted than fallen asleep.

Then again, Gordon had started to say pa-, which Jeff could now easily finish as pass out.

"Oh, Scotty," he breathed, falling into the childhood nickname without thinking as he quietly approached. The holoprojector was still on, showing rows and rows of figures – annual turnover, Jeff recognised – and under its bluish tinge Scott looked grey and washed out. The mug beside one of his hands was still half-full, a long-missed scent of strong coffee wafting out of it but unaccompanied by any steam. Despite himself, Jeff buried his nose in his arm. Packet coffee from the Zero-X's rations had been nothing like the real thing and the smell was overpowering despite its welcoming nature.

He turned the holoprojector off, both because it was unrequired and because he didn't care for the light it was casting his eldest son in – Jeff had had many nightmares about his sons with a sickly dying pallor and seeing it even as an illusion caused by lighting made his heartbeat accelerate. Now the only light came from the stars and crescent moon, shining through the glass wall of the house. It bathed Scott in silver, and did little to improve his appearance.

Gordon and Alan threw a blanket over him. Virgil carried him to a couch. John hadn't been mentioned, but Jeff had already suspected his second eldest spent more time than he should in orbit. Like father, like son, for all that he wished his love of space hadn't been inherited in such a self-destructive fashion.

Jeff wasn't quite as tall as Scott now, or as broad as Virgil, but he was a father and carrying sleeping sons to bed came as naturally as breathing. Scott always was – had been – a light sleeper and he had no cause to suspect that had changed, so he was as gentle as his weakened body could manage as he oh so carefully shifted his eldest son into his arms and started the journey up the stairs, counting them carefully and realising he didn't recall exactly how many there were as his carefully questing foot met resistance one time more than he'd expected.

Scott shifted in his arms, a sign that his shallow sleep was losing its hold on him, but Jeff didn't let himself hurry as he continued his journey, nudging Scott's door open with a toe and frowning at the neatly-made bed that clearly hadn't seen any occupancy in far too long. The sheets were cool to the touch as Jeff set Scott down on them, and his frown deepened as Scott shifted some more, his subconsciousness aware that something was happening.

He hadn't dealt with shoe laces in forever, the texture of thin cord rough against his hands, but muscle memory prevailed as he unknotted them – Scott still tied his laces the exact same way Jeff remembered, and he let himself enjoy the unchanged moments as he found them – and slipped them off his feet.

Easing the sheets out from underneath his barely sleeping son was a challenge, and his heart sank as he pulled them up to Scott's chin – the way he'd always had them as a child, taking comfort in being all bundled up even if he wouldn't admit it out loud – and caught sight of blue eyes blearily opening.

"Ssh-sh-sh," he hushed, barely audibly, one hand carding back the escapee hairs from Scott's rigid gelled style. It took several repeats of the motion before they slid back closed again, a quiet Dad? breathed from between slightly parted lips.

I'm here, Scotty, he wanted to say, but words would only wake his eldest child up so he kept them at the forefront of his mind instead. Go back to sleep. He risked the same goodnight kiss as he had with Gordon, and received little more than an unintelligible murmur in response.

To his relief, it didn't take more than a few seconds more before Scott was fast asleep again, and as with Gordon he gently padded out of the room and shut the door gently, hearing the click instead of the clang as the catch caught. This time the desire to try again until it sealed didn't rear its head – his desire for Scott to sleep improbably overriding survival instincts.

With two sons out of bed and since settled back into them, Jeff couldn't rest until he knew the other three were tucked in and sleeping soundly. John's room was next to Scott's, he thought until he nudged it open – aware that his ginger son was the most likely one to be awake – and found a mess of a bedroom with a blond mop of hair on the rug in the middle.

When had Alan taken John's room?

And why was his teenage son – Alan was definitely still a teenager – sleeping on the rug instead of his bed? The bed in question was piled high with all sorts of paraphernalia not best for sleeping with, including a holoprojector blinking at him, declaring that it was in sleep mode and not turned off, as holoprojectors should be at four in the morning – more like four-thirty now, he realised.

Still, Alan was sleeping soundly, and moving him would require tidying his bed, which Jeff knew he was not up to in his adjusting-to-Earth state. He settled for readjusting the blanket the lanky boy had half thrown off at some point, running fingers through thick blond hair and finishing the ritual with another forehead kiss before quietly leaving again.

Next along was Virgil's room, unmistakable even only lit by the moonlight by the numerous paintings hung on it. Relieved at finding another thing still the same, he gently pushed the door open. Faint snores heard through the door turned into loud ones as the barrier was moved, and Jeff smiled at his middle child, sprawled out in the middle of his bed with blankets everywhere and snoring to his hearts' content. Recalling Gordon's warnings about waking him, and his own memories of a grumpy dark haired child declaring that school was at an ungodly hour of the morning and how the education system should have more sociable hours, Jeff resisted the urge to fix the mess of blankets and instead pressed a customary kiss to this son's head as well, rewarded by a brief pause in snores, before backing out of the room.

He skipped Gordon's room, the second-youngest already seen once this side of midnight, and went for what was once Alan's, closest to Jeff's own room one story up. If Alan had moved to John's room, between Scott and Virgil's, then by process of elimination John used Alan's room when he was down from orbit.

He was down from orbit now, but as Jeff had suspected, not sleeping. He was sat by the window, eye pressed to his telescope as he looked at the stars up above them.

"Circadian rhythm," John said before Jeff could say a word. He held his hands up in surrender, managing to find a smile on his lips for the first time since he'd found Scott working himself past exhaustion at the desk.

"They look different from down here," he said instead, crossing the room – empty, barely lived in – to stand by John's side and look up at the stars.

"They do," John agreed, breaking away from the telescope long enough to share a grin – an in-joke, one only recognised by those who spent more time in space than on Earth. "It's trained on her," he continued, sliding sideways and gesturing for Jeff to look through it himself. He took it, knowing which star John meant and drinking his fill of the beautiful sight his second-eldest son had named after the most important woman in both their lives. Lucille-20181325 shone as steadily as he remembered.

John wasn't the most tactile of his brothers, not by a long shot, but he didn't resist as Jeff wrapped a delicate arm around his shoulders and pulled him in for a one-armed embrace.

"She'd be proud of all of you," he said quietly. "As am I."

Circadian rhythm or not, he wouldn't let John miss out on – or escape, depending on the point of view – the same treatment his brothers had received, and gently kissed his forehead.

"For my next sleep?" John asked, smiling. He'd never been as dismissive of the affection as his brothers, for all of his desire for personal space.

"For your next sleep," Jeff confirmed, matching the smile with one of his own.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds are go fanfiction #jeff tracy #gordon tracy #scott tracy #john tracy #virgil tracy #alan tracy #tsari writes fanfiction #familiar strangers #midnight conversations #thunderfluff

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