#i hope you all understand that max is terrible. like he's awful. he's also managed to become panems emotionally distant father... its not | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gukyi · 4 years ago

Text

the love project | jjk

summary: from running to mcdonald’s at 3am after a halloween party where the two of you dressed up as the teletubbies to timing how long it takes for him to drink a cup of monster mixed with mountain dew and iced coffee and then do fifty push-ups, you’re used to your best friend jungkook asking you to do all sorts of crazy things. but, of all the shit the two of you do, letting him follow you around for a week with a camera and take candid photos of you for a photography assignment might just be the craziest of them all.

{college!au, friends to lovers!au}

pairing: jeon jungkook x female reader genre: fluff, comedy word count: 12k warnings: college antics, hopeless pining, slow burn a/n: me: this fic will be 10k max! also me: actually nevermind on par for the course of this blog, i hope you enjoy this fic! it was so much fun to write and it definitely got me back into the ~writing mood~. more fics coming soon!

These days, the weeks pass you by like trains on a platform. They whiz past you, the only discernible features being the beginning and the end of them, with the middle nothing but a blur.

At least, that’s how it feels when you’re in college, and the days bleed into weeks bleed into months, and suddenly you’re one year closer to graduating, one year closer to figuring out what next to do with your life, even if you’re still missing that one general education requirement you forgot to take in your first year so now you’re trying to cram it into your schedule at the last minute.

Okay, you’ll admit it. Introduction to Astronomy is kicking your ass. That’s what you get for putting it off until junior year, when you’re supposed to have reached the point in your History major career where you don’t have to look at numbers anymore and the idea of doing basic math is absolutely unfathomable. History majors don’t do math. They just don’t. It vanished from your academic arsenal long before now, alongside your ability to interpret word problems and understand science textbooks.

Perhaps in another universe, you would have actually retained those skills past high school, but that universe is not this one, and so your problem sets can solve themselves or not be solved at all.

Your best friend would have to disagree.

“It’s not even calculus!” Jungkook exclaims over a mouthful of a Starbucks tomato and pesto panini, pointing to your laptop in exasperation, as if the answer has been staring you in the face for the past fifteen minutes. “It’s just algebra! All you’re doing is plugging the numbers into the formula and finding the missing variable!”

“Easy for you to say,” you huff, furiously erasing at the notebook in front of you as you get yet another incorrect answer. Who knew math could be so difficult? Oh, that’s right. You did. “You took that advanced differential equations class for fun last year. It’s not even required for your major. You’re just a masochist.”

“Says the person who convinced their advisor to let them take seven classes because they, and I quote, ‘all seemed so interesting’ and you ‘didn’t want to miss out.’” Jungkook rebukes pointedly. “Because your life would be so terrible if you didn’t take Economic History of Pre-Industrialized Europe.”

He’s got you there. Seven classes is a lot. In your defense, Economic History of Pre-Industrialized Europe was very interesting and you got a 4.0 that semester. So who is he to judge? Jungkook’s favorite pastime is pretending that taking three different computer science classes in a single semester isn’t going to single-handedly kill him.

Jungkook watches you struggle for a few moments more before he sighs, like he can’t take looking at someone so mathematically incompetent any longer. He stuffs the remaining third of his Starbucks panini into his mouth all at once like the ravenous beast he is before he reaches over the tiny table you’re sat at to look at your problem set himself. He turns your laptop towards him and grabs hold of your notebook, furrowing his eyebrows as he enters Work Jungkook Mode.

Work Jungkook Mode is the mode of him you see most often during finals week or the rare occasions where you meet up to actually try and get work done. Work Jungkook has tunnel vision for whatever assignment is currently in front of him, which he will do either in one sitting or die trying. Work Jungkook lets his coffee get cold and forgets to answer your text messages, even when you’re sat right across from him and you know that he can see the notification on his laptop. Work Jungkook refuses to turn in anything that he hasn’t devoted his entire being to, even if it’s something as simple as a discussion board post. Some of his other friends say that when Jungkook is in Work Jungkook Mode, they won’t even try to contact him, lest their messages get lost in the flurry of his coding assignments.

But you are not “some of his other friends.” You are his best friend. So rules do not apply to you. And Jungkook has long accepted that fact.

“Hey, don’t mess up my work—” You exclaim defensively, grabby hands reaching over the table to retrieve your notebook. “Wait, how did you do that?”

Jungkook scribbles something down in nearly-illegible font, determined to solve the problem in front of him. He thinks for a few more seconds before eventually jotting down an answer, circling it with his pencil. Holding the notebook out so both of you can see, he scoots his chair over to your side of the table, your shoulders pressed together in this tiny corner of the Starbucks, right by the bathroom, and explains, step by step, what he did.

He does that for the following two problems in your set, walking you through the kind of math he was doing in freshman year of high school like it’s nothing, answering all of your stupid questions and giving you tips on how to finesse the system by taking as many shortcuts as possible. Teaching you things you never learned, or possibly had just forgotten. Things that a professor would think is idiotic to re-teach to a junior in university. Things that Jungkook wants you to know because he just wants you to have a little more faith in yourself.

“Does that help?” He asks when he’s finished, still doubting his fantastic teaching abilities despite the fact that he just taught you more in the last thirty minutes than your professor has managed in a month and a half.

“It actually does,” you tell him, pleasantly surprised. Looking back down at your notebook, what was once a shapeless blur of numbers, letters, and formulas is suddenly a clear and organized outline of each and every step to follow. “I didn’t know it was that easy.”

“Anything can be easy if you just commit yourself to learning how to do it,” Jungkook says, one of those random sentences that are too wise for a college student surviving off of RedBull and Starbucks food, the ones that always make you think Jungkook is secretly an immortal sage with life experiences far beyond your own. “Except coding. Which is hard no matter how good you are at it.”

“Aw, you can do it,” you rally, reaching up to pinch his chin in between your fingers and squeeze it tight. “It’s also too late to change your major now, so you’re stuck.”

“Wow, thanks for the encouragement,” Jungkook chides, hand coming up to rub at where you held his jaw, rolling his eyes. “You should let me help you with your Astronomy work more often. Gives me a break from Python.”

“I would have made you help me whether you liked it or not,” you tell him pointedly, because he is your best friend and he doesn’t get out of things as easily as he thinks he can. “But thanks. I’ll definitely take you up on that.”

“Of course,” Jungkook says with a good-natured grin, always so selfless and kind and giving. He practically signed himself up for a semester’s worth of TA-ing for Introduction to Astronomy despite the constant mountain of work he has himself. Just because it’s you.

“My very own personal genius,” you muse, wrapping your hands around his arm and snuggling into his body, a whisper of a language only the two of you share. It’s something the two of you have long gotten used to, pressing your fingers all over each other’s bodies like it’s second nature. One of the things that makes you feel so certain about having Jungkook in your life. About wanting him to stay with you for the rest of time. “I’m never letting you go.”

Jungkook smiles, a warm hand coming to rest atop of your own. He breathes, in and out, chest rising beneath your touch. “Like I’d ever let you,” he says.

There is no question about it. Jungkook is one hundred percent, absolutely, undoubtedly, positively, indisputably smarter than you are. It’s something that the two of you used to jokingly fight about (because Jungkook claims that he’s a bad essay writer, even though he’s not), but at this point it’s cemented in stone—he’s a damn genius. A genius who is inexplicably good at everything. A double threat. Triple, if you count the fact that he’s built beyond belief and could probably chuck you into next week if you really, really ticked him off.

The truth is that, ninety percent of the time it is you who is going to Jungkook for help. Whether it be an assignment you need assistance on (namely Astronomy, because Jungkook probably couldn’t help you on your Mesopotamian artifact and primary source analyses despite his best intentions), a date that was a lot worse than you were hoping it would be, or even just the right coffee to order from that expensive place on the corner. Jungkook knows how to fix everything.

So when Jungkook slides into the seat across from you in the food court after his Mastering Photography class with that I’m in trouble look on his face, you know something is horribly wrong.

“Are you alright?” You ask, concerned as you watch him devour the sushi takeout in front of him, stuffing the spicy tuna rolls into his mouth like they’re Skittles. His camera hangs haphazardly out of his open backpack, like he barely had enough time to stuff it into the pocket while he was making his way here. There’s a worried expression written all over his face as he fumbles with the chopsticks in his hand, losing his grip on them every ten seconds.

It’s not until Jungkook has finished the container of spicy tuna rolls in front of them that he finally seems to work up the courage to answer you.

“My Photography class is gonna be the death of me,” Jungkook exclaims, exasperated.

“I thought you liked it,” you comment unhelpfully. Jungkook had been so excited to be enrolled in it, because you needed a recommendation from a different professor and you had to submit a portfolio in order to join the class, making it one of those exclusive (and thus, much better) courses. Not to mention the fact that Jungkook is basically already a professional photographer if his Instagram is anything to go by. He’s going to walk out of university with a Photography minor whether he realizes it or not.

“I do,” Jungkook insists, even if right now it sounds like the two of you both need convincing of that fact. “But this project is ridiculous. I don’t even know how my professor expects us to have the time to finish it.”

“What do you have to do?”

Jungkook sighs. Just thinking about it seems to stress him out. “I mean, it’s only really a week long. So I guess it’s not too bad. But we’re supposed to compile a portfolio of the same subject, taken over the course of the week, with them in all sorts of different poses and lighting and locations, to express a personal theme.”

You scrunch your nose up in confusion. “I might be wrong, but isn’t that what photography… is?” You ask cluelessly.

“Yes,” Jungkook argues, “but also no. Photography is taking pictures of things just for the hell of it. Not because they necessarily speak to a part of your soul. You just like the look of it. You want to capture the scene. That’s it.”

“Oh,” You say dumbly.

“And our subject can be whoever or whatever we want, but he recommended choosing a person because taking pictures of our water bottles in different places is boring,” Jungkook huffs, though his professor does have a point there. Modern history wasn’t made out of photographs of store windows and miscellaneous items. It was made out of people, out of events in their lives that shaped the rest of the world, out of personal experiences that changed their point of view. “But I don’t even know anybody who would be willing to let me photograph them for a whole week! I’d basically have to follow them around like paparazzi!”

“I’ll do it,” you suggest casually, because it seems like the most obvious choice to you. There’s no one Jungkook spends as much time with as you.

Jungkook’s eyes pop out of his head. “What?”

“I’m serious,” you insist. “Think about it. You need a subject for your project that you can photograph in a wide variety of places and over the course of a week. Who else do you spend that much time with, other than me?”

“Well..” Jungkook begins, trying to fight your reasons with his own. “Would you even be comfortable with something like that? I mean, I’m literally going to constantly be taking photos of you.”

“Like we don’t already do that on our phones,” you tease, having amassed quite the album of terrible Jungkook pictures over the years.

“A camera is different from a phone,” Jungkook protests weakly.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. But I’m just saying. It won’t bother me,” you say with a shrug. Why is Jungkook being so… weird about your suggestion? You thought he would be jumping at the offer, especially considering it means he won’t have to go out of his way to find and photograph someone else for this assignment. But he’s being rather hesitant. You watch as he glares down at his empty sushi takeout box, eyebrows furrowed in that thick, nervous way. “But you don’t have to,” you backtrack. “It was just a suggestion.”

He breathes in and breathes out, expression solid. Even from here you can see the cogs whirring in his brain, placing each and every potential result into a pro and con list inside his mind, trying to work out whether the benefits will be greater than the cost.

Quite frankly, you don’t know what all the holdup is about.

“You’re… sure about this?” He asks, looking up at you, determined to ensure your comfort. As if that’s even an issue. “You’re cool with being photographed and everything?”

“Only because it’s you,” you tease lightheartedly, expecting some sort of equally cheesy response. Instead, it makes Jungkook do something weird. He freezes in place, darting his eyes away from your gaze for a split second, collecting thoughts you can’t see. “Yeah,” you say loudly, trying to bring him back. “I’m fine with it.”

He inhales, exhales, closes his eyes, and opens them. “Okay then. I guess it’s settled. You’ll be my subject,” he declares, an almost unnoticeable wobble to his voice. It’s probably nothing, so you don’t think too hard about it.

“Can you at least pretend to be a little more excited about this?” You ask, jabbing him in the chest with a wooden chopstick. “It’s the first time we’ve ever gotten to be part of a project together!”

“Yay,” Jungkook says, lifeless.

“How about a photo to commemorate it?” You suggest, reaching over to pull the camera out of his backpack, pushing it into his hands. “This can be the start of your portfolio.”

“Fine,” he eventually caves, bringing it up to his eye as he turns it on, twisting the lens to perfect the focus. Even caught off guard like this, he looks like a professional, like someone who was born to be behind the camera. He’s a computer science major but you know that photography will always be something special to him.

You strike a dramatic pose, holding your chopsticks out, one in each hand, with a wide, excited smile on your face. “How do I look?” You ask, scrunching your eyes together.

Jungkook’s finger hovers over the silver button. “Perfect,” he tells you, voice soft and honest.

Click.

“So, how many photos are you supposed to take for this portfolio?” You ask as you flop around on Jungkook’s bed, pretending that the open tab on your laptop with your fifty-page reading doesn’t exist. You don’t even know why professors assign readings that long. Do they really expect you to read all of it?

From across his room, you can make out the top of Jungkook’s fluffy brown hair over his sleek gaming chair, one of the ones that look like high-tech airplane seats. “I don’t know,” he says. “He said at least twenty. And no more than fifty. Which really makes me wonder if someone once submitted like, one hundred photos for this project that he had to grade them on. But yeah.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” you say. When you’re around a cute animal, you can easily take twenty photographs. Granted, they aren’t exactly award-worthy photographs, but it’s not a physically demanding task.

“Yeah,” Jungkook says. “Hypothetically you could finish it in a day. But it looks really obvious.”

“Well, how many do you have now?”

It’s been a day and a half since Jungkook agreed to let you be his so-called muse, but already you’ve lost track of how many photos he’s taken of you. He loves his camera, you know that, but you didn’t realize exactly how much he loves his camera. And with you as the sole subject for his project, he’s practically letting it hang from his neck all day long, just waiting for the right time to snap a photo of you standing in line at the food court, frowning at your textbook, or waiting to meet up with him. Every time he sees you he snaps a picture, even if the lighting’s bad, even if you haven’t had your morning coffee yet, even if it’s midnight and you look like a zombie. In his mind, there are no bad pictures. Just memories.

You wonder what the hell he sees in you.

“A lot,” Jungkook answers unhelpfully, making no effort to elaborate on that statement.

“Have you counted?” You ask, getting off of his bed to join him at his desk.

Jungkook doesn’t seem to realize what you’re doing until you’re standing right next to him, placing a hand over his shoulders as you lean down next to him. He fumbles around for a second, the mouse slipping through his grip, and you catch a glimpse of one of the photos he’s taken of you, a sliver of your pursed lips, the wrinkles between your eyebrows.

It’s from the library yesterday. You didn’t even know Jungkook had taken a picture of you there. You had a stupid reading to complete last night, one that made no sense and was terribly-written, and you spent an hour just trying to figure out what the damn argument was, and Jungkook captured it. You were there for an hour and Jungkook was there too, watching you like it was nothing, waiting for the perfect moment. He was there, sitting across from you, camera at the ready. You didn’t even hear it click.

He closes it before you get a closer look at the photo, frantically hitting the little red dot at the top corner of the window before you have a chance to ask why.

“What, I’m not allowed to see?” You chide, a little bit hurt but more confused than anything else. Why is Jungkook being so secretive?

“No,” Jungkook spits quickly. making you raise an eyebrow in alarm. “I mean, it’s a surprise. You get to see when it’s finished. I still have to… uh, edit. And stuff.”

“Edit? You think I’m that ugly?” You tease, knowing that he probably means color correction but enjoying the way that he gets all flustered when he hears your voice.

Jungkook’s eyes widen at that, like he just realized he made a wrong turn and is desperately backtracking. “What, no! I don’t—I don’t think you’re ugly.”

You laugh, letting the sound of your voice ease the tension in his shoulders, reveling in the way his big doe eyes seem to soften when he realizes you were just teasing. He looks like a kid caught stealing a candy bar from a gas station, looks like one of those boyfriends in the viral videos where the girl reveals that she got him a present or something instead, all nervous and full of explanations.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” you assure him, rubbing up and down his arm to soothe him, calm his heart down. “You don’t have to show me. I’m just excited. No one’s ever taken photos of me like this before.”

“I would,” Jungkook speaks up softly. “If you asked. I would.”

“I know,” You say. You’re not sure if there’s a thing in this world Jungkook wouldn’t do for you, and you, him. If he asked, you would pluck the stars from the sky for him. Bring him back a piece of the moon. Stop time. Anything. Everything. Just for him. “I know.”

“What are you doing?” Jungkook asks, changing the topic as he whirls around in his gaming chair.

“Just another reading, like always,” you dismiss, because you’re positive the last thing Jungkook wants to hear about right now is your primary source reading on irrigation techniques in agrarian Europe. You don’t even want to hear about it. “But I could use some help on Astronomy.”

Without another word, Jungkook gets up from his desk and the two of you head over to his bed, where an untouched problem set waits on your computer. He grabs a notebook from his backpack along the way before sitting down next to you on the edge of his bed, bodies pressed together. Slowly, he begins to coach you through each problem, step by step, drawing pictures and diagrams if he has to, until you finish all ten problems.

The truth is, you didn’t really need help with this unit. Astronomy’s gotten a lot easier now that Jungkook has taught you the strategies to tackle it. But Jungkook sometimes feels like a ghost when he works, especially when he’s sitting at his desk, quiet and focused and almost invisible. And call you clingy, but you like it when you can look up and see his face instead of the back of a chair, a little tuft of wavy brown hair. You like it when he’s right beside you, in a place where you know you won’t lose him, where you can hold on if things get rough. Where you can see his stupid brown eyes and his goofy smile and know that he’ll always be there for you.

When he’s finished, Jungkook doesn’t get back up to sit at his desk. He flops down on his back, staring up at the white ceiling of his room, eyes tracing the cracks. You join him, side by side, pretending that there’s something there. Looking up at the sky would be nicer, but it doesn’t really matter, so long as you’re with him.

“I didn’t know you took so many photos,” you say.

“I never want to miss anything.”

“You should give me more warnings, next time. I feel like I look so ugly in some of them.”

“No, you don’t. Don’t say stuff like that.”

“You don’t think I’m ugly?” You ask him, for real this time. It’s not that you think he’s going to say that he does, it’s that you want to know what he really thinks. How he really sees you. You turn your head to him, back pressed against his comforter, barely a foot apart. And he turns back to you, and he’s right there, right there in front of you, big brown eyes wide and blinking. He’s right there, how could you miss him?

“No,” Jungkook says, honest and true. He looks at you, looks right at you, right into you, and he muses to himself, chuckling. “Why would I ever think that?”

At the end of the day, you can’t really be bothered to put on real pants in anticipation of Jungkook’s trigger-happy camera-taking tendencies. He’s seen you spill a boiling hot bowl of tomato soup all over yourself in the dining hall. He’s seen you at four in the morning in the library the night before finals begin, eyebags down to your knees and mismatched shoes on your feet. He’s seen you in the middle of a frat house, sweat dripping down your forehead and smelling of nothing but straight alcohol. Getting dressed up just for him would be antithetical to the very foundation of your friendship.

You have, however, become keenly more cognizant in the last few days of when Jungkook is about to take a photo of you. Mostly because you glance up at your surroundings every three seconds to make sure you aren’t getting sniped from across the food court. Nobody else needs to see a picture of you picking up three pieces of sushi with your chopsticks and stuffing them all into your mouth at once. And, from what you can tell, you’ve been pretty successful, which either means you’ve gotten better at telling when Jungkook might be taking a photo of you, or Jungkook’s gotten better at hiding it.

Either way, he’s got a lot more pictures of you reflexively flashing a peace-sign in his direction when you hear the telltale sound of his camera lens focusing, so you’re not really sure what that means for the fate of his portfolio.

Besides your newfound hyper-awareness of the sound of a camera lens adjusting, the strangest part of you and Jungkook’s little project is how quickly the rest of your friends adjusted to this brand new dynamic.

This is not to say this assignment is the weirdest thing you and Jungkook have done together, because there was once one week where you and Jungkook challenged each other to only eat bananas for every meal to see if anything would happen to either of you. Nothing did, but after that week you swore off bananas for the rest of your life and have had little appetite for them since.

It’s more that your other friends have just accepted the fact that ridiculous, extravagant shenanigans are a necessary part of you and Jungkook’s relationship and have simply chosen not to question them anymore. At least, most of them have.

“So, how’s you and Jungkook’s little photography fling going?” Maisie asks, and even through the phone you can hear the way she’s wiggling her eyebrows.

“It’s not a fling, and it’s fine,” you hiss back, trying to keep your voice down as you pack up your belongings, phone pressed between your ear and your shoulder. “Stop speaking so loudly, everyone else in the library can probably hear you.”

“Good, because they’ve all probably noticed the way Jungkook’s been following you around like an unrestrained fanboy for the past four days taking pictures of you,” Maisie says pointedly, voice so sharp it causes you to look around at the other tables to make sure no one’s listening in.

You frown, hoping your deadpan expression is audible through the phone. “It’s not like that and you know it.”

“Don’t you think it’s even a little strange that you’ve given Jungkook full permission to take photos of you like you’re a model and he’s some sort of weird, professional paparazzi?” You can practically see Maisie’s face in front of you, all wide eyes and raised eyebrows as she makes her point.

“No, it’s what we agreed on,” you remind her for the umpteenth time. There’s nothing weird about this. You’re helping him with a project, what more could it be? “Jungkook needed someone to take pictures of for his photography project and I thought it would be a good idea if I was that someone.”

“Hmm… wonder why…” Maisie trails off, deliberately vague and suggestive all at once.

“You’ve been going on about this ever since Jungkook and I met, Maise,” you say with a roll of your eyes, tossing your backpack over your shoulder. “You know that Jungkook and I are just friends. Like we have always been.”

“Friends that take candid photos of each other under the guise of a project,” Maisie adds, and you can see the air quotes around the word “project” right in front of you.

“Friends that help each other out because that’s what friends do,” you correct. “You’re just going to have to accept the fact that Jungkook and I are always going to be just friends and nothing more. No matter how much money you’ve bet on us getting together.”

Maisie gasps. “I have not bet money on such a thing! This is slander!”

“Don’t think I don’t see you and Jimin’s damn Venmo history.” You pull up to the front desk of the library to check out a primary source book needed for one of your classes. It’s the first edition, and it’s battered beyond belief, but it’s better than paying for it. “Just this, thanks.”

“The only way you could convince me that you and Jungkook are just friends is if you go on a date or something,” Maisie comments snidely. “I don’t think I’ve seen either of you romantically interested in someone else the entire time you’ve known each other. Isn’t that proof enough?”

“You want me to go on a date with someone?” You demand, determined to get Maisie to hop off your ass about this.

You and Jungkook are just friends. If swiping right with someone on Tinder and getting dinner and a movie with them is what will convince Maisie of that, then that is what you will do. It’s not as if being friends with Jungkook is mutually exclusive with you going out with other people. Should be easy, right?

The boy behind the counter tells you your book is due back at the end of the semester, and you nod your thanks before heading out of the library.

“Fine, I’ll go on a date with someone. If it’ll get you to stop trying to convince me that Jungkook and I are gonna get married and have babies,” you declare, pushing your body against the door handles as you leave, five minutes to spare before your next class begins.

“You guys would have really cute babies, I’m just saying,” Maisie points out like it’s nothing.

You roll your eyes, taking the phone away from your ear as your finger hovers over the red button. “See you, Maise.”

You’re barely three steps out of the library, still rolling your eyes at the Call Ended screen on your phone when a voice catches your attention.

“Y/N!”

You turn your head just in time to see Jungkook’s devilish grin disappear behind his camera, and you don’t even have time to blink before he begins snapping away, finger mashing the silver button at the top as your expression morphs from surprise to defeat, unable to counter his sniping abilities with a signature peace sign. Even from twenty feet away, you can hear Jungkook laughing as you take the opportunity to pose for a few moments, like you really are a model and he really is your personal photographer. The sound of his giggles fills the air, music to your ears, lingering between you like dandelion wisps, blown by the wind.

Another voice breaks you from your trance.

“And here we have our resident celebrity and her paparazzi,” Jimin says, motioning to the two of you as he speaks to an enormous tour group of potential applicants and their parents. Caught in front of them, the heat suddenly rushes to your cheeks as you instinctively cover your face, embarrassed to have been pointed out by Jimin, whose amicable, lovable personality is both a blessing and a curse when it comes to his part-time job as a tour guide.

The worst part is how some of the parents and students seem to believe him for a second, that you really are famous and that Jungkook really is your photographer, looking at the two of you inquisitively as you shrink beneath their gazes.

“I’m kidding,” Jimin quickly continues as Jungkook joins you where you stand, laughing at the way you look like a deer caught in headlights. “They’re just some friends of mine who we happened to catch outside the library, which is our next stop. But don’t they look so cute together?”

“Are you guys dating?” One of the students pipes up, asking what no one else dared to.

Your eyes widen at the notion, wondering if you and Jungkook really are cursed to always be mistaken for a couple when you two have never been, and most likely will never be one. Shaking your head, you force out a laugh, “No, we’re just friends.” Beside you, Jungkook is noticeably silent. You suppose he’s gotten just as sick of explaining as you.

“Bummer, right?” Jimin asks his group, earning a couple of disappointed nods from innocent high-schoolers that still believe in love. “But I’m working on that, so don’t worry. Anyway, this library will be your main destination for studying, book-reading, and everything in between, and is conveniently located two minutes away from the freshman dorms…”

The conversation finally drawn away from you and Jungkook, you let out a breath you hadn’t even realized you had been holding in. “Weird, right? Even high-schoolers think we’re together.”

Jungkook doesn’t meet your eyes, fiddling with the settings on his camera just to keep his hands busy. The quiet makes you wonder what is going on up inside his head, makes you wonder what it is he’s thinking about, what it is you’re not seeing. Lately, it’s felt like there’s something on Jungkook’s mind you wish he felt comfortable telling you.

“Hey, you alright?” You ask, giving him a little nudge with your side. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No,” Jungkook says, voice soft, barely audible. It doesn’t make you feel any better. “No, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it. Don’t you have class soon?”

“Oh, shit, you’re right, fuck,” you say, checking your phone only to find you have barely a minute to get to your next class. Guess you’ll be using one of your allotted absences today. “Thanks for reminding me. Dinner tonight?”

“I’ll text you,” Jungkook promises, and you nod your agreement as you dash off, determined to turn a five-minute walk into a one-minute one with the power of exercise. As you leave, you watch as Jungkook flounders outside the library, staring down at his camera and scrolling through his photos, and you still find yourself feeling like you’re missing something. What is Jungkook not telling you?

What do you not know?

By the time you reach your class, two minutes late and completely out of breath, tardiness is the last thing on your mind.

This project was just meant to be a friend helping out a friend. So why does it feel like you and Jungkook are losing each other?

Using Tinder is easy. Dangerously so.

You’re no expert in app design, but its simplified “yes or no” mechanic has you swiping through people like it’s an extreme sport, barely giving some of them a second glance if their Tinder profile description doesn’t make you laugh within the first sentence.

Tinder was, admittedly, not your first choice of potential date-finding methods. Call you old-fashioned, but whatever happened to asking someone in person if they wanted to get a meal with you? To showing up at their doorstep with a rose bouquet and a toothy white grin? Perhaps all of those old-timey movies you and Jungkook always watched have given you unrealistic expectations. But can you blame them?

Even if Tinder wasn’t your first choice, it was certainly the fastest. It takes a second to look at someone’s designated Tinder thumbnail, two to read their description, and three to decide if they’re worth a swipe right. Compare that to actively meeting up with someone, getting their contact information, and then continuing to dance around each other until you finally decide to get dinner together. That’s the sort of thing that could take weeks. Maybe months. And in some cases, years.

Besides, it’s not like you had very many options at your disposal. You don’t trust Maisie to set you up with someone because she’ll probably just choose one of the many boys from her management class and call it a day. Asking someone yourself is absolutely out of the question. And, for some strange, unknown reason, the idea of getting Jungkook to hook you up with one of his friends just doesn’t sit right with you.

So, Tinder it is. And as it turns out, chivalry isn’t dead. It’s just archaic.

An hour into your mindless swiping, you get a message notification. Two hours after that, you’ve got plans with a nice senior boy whom you’ve never met.

And for the first time in a very long time, there’s something to mark on your calendar for Saturday night.

The little blue block on your Google Calendar tab stares back at you from where your open laptop sits on your desk, the red line that signifies your current time slowly inching towards it as you fumble around in front of your mirror, more dressed up than you have been in weeks. Maisie was right. It’s been so long since you’ve gone out with someone that you’ve completely forgotten what the dress code is for something like this. A dress? Heels? Makeup?

You don’t want to overshoot it, but part of you thinks you will anyway. What if he’s wearing a hoodie and sweats while you look like you’re about to attend the goddamn Academy Awards? Maybe the eyeshadow was a little too much.

You don’t want to overshoot it, but part of you thinks it’s inevitable that you do. The door to your apartment swings open, and you can hear heavy footsteps making their way to your bedroom, that easy gait of his familiar as always.

“Hey, do you think we can just get some take-out and watch a stupid old noir movie, or something? I’ve had a day,” he shouts out, the sigh audible in his voice.

You don’t want to overshoot it, but part of you thinks you definitely have when you turn around to see Jungkook standing right outside your bedroom in the floppiest sweater you’ve ever seen and jeans with holes in the knees, mouth agape as he stares straight at you. It’s impossible not to notice the way his eyes are blown wide at the sight of you, at the way they rake up and down your figure, like he can’t even believe what he’s seeing. It’s impossible not to notice how he seems to flounder at the sight of you.

The only thing that breaks the both of you out of your stupors, frozen in place like two criminals caught red-handed, is the sound of his hulking black backpack thudding to the floor.

“Whoa.”

“Do you think it’s too much?” You ask, voice wobbly. God, why are you so nervous? It’s just Jungkook.

“Too much for what?” Jungkook blinks, deliberate and slow, as if he’s determined to make sure his eyes aren’t deceiving him. “Where are you going?”

“I think we’ll have to do a raincheck for the noir movie and takeout,” you say sheepishly, pursing your lips together in fright as you force out a small, tense smile. “I’m… going out. With someone.”

“Like,” Jungkook begins, and even from here you can hear the way he stops himself, hear him breathe out every word, thick on his tongue. “On a date?”

“Yeah.”

It’s a one-syllable word and yet it takes nearly all of your willpower just to say it. Just to confirm what Jungkook’s already thinking. Just to tell him, your best friend, your ride or die, your number one, that you’re going out on a date.

“Oh.” Jungkook’s voice is lifeless. “Do I know them?”

“No, uh, it’s just some guy I met on Tinder. I don’t know, I just wanted to see what all the hype was about, I guess. And I haven’t really been on a date in a while, so I figured I might just take up the opportunity, so we’re probably just going to go out to a restaurant and maybe go to a club afterwards if we’re still in the mood, and—” You cut yourself off, so nervous that you’ve resorted to your terrible habit of rambling to try and ease the tension. “Why? Do you think it’s too much?”

“You use Tinder?” Jungkook asks instead. It sounds like he’s shocked to hear this.

“Yeah…” you trail off. “Why?”

Jungkook freezes at the question, but it’s not because it seems like he doesn’t have an answer. It’s because it seems like he does. Only it’s an answer he doesn’t want to share.

“Nothing, it’s nothing,” he eventually settles on, shaking his head. “You, uh, you look good.”

“You think? I feel like it’s a lot. I don’t know how to dress appropriately for stuff like this anymore,” you ask, palms sweaty as you furiously straighten out the skirt of your dress. “Should I change into pants, or anything?”

“No, no, I think that’s fine,” Jungkook says with an honest smile. “You look nice like this.”

“It’s probably been like, a year since you last saw me in a dress,” you comment mindlessly, turning back to face the mirror as you fiddle with your makeup, finger wiping away a bit of smudged lipstick or a stray bit of mascara. “I miss my sweats. Hey, whoa, wait, what are you doing—?”

You whip around to find Jungkook slowly fishing out the camera from his backpack, hand gripping it tightly as he brandishes it in front of you.

“I, um, I just wanted to see if I could maybe take a photo of you,” Jungkook says, a small, little grin decorating his features. “Since you’re all dressed up.”

“Seriously?” You ask in disbelief.

Jungkook nods, holding the camera out in front of him. “Just one.”

He looks so small, standing across your bedroom. He looks so small and delicate and intimate, body curled in on itself ever so slightly as he looks at you, the yellow glow of your ceiling light reflected in his hazelnut eyes, drowning beneath his clothes. He looks like he has never seen a moment more perfect, never seen an opportunity as clear, looks like he thinks that if he blinks he’ll miss it.

Looks as if a photo will be the only way to remember it.

And you nod. Because he is your best friend, and who are you to deny him of something so simple? Of a press of a button? It doesn’t feel like a project anymore. It just feels like a memory.

Jungkook brings the camera to his eye, and you smile at him, soft and gentle and warm. He grins back, focusing the camera lens before snapping away.

You wonder what he sees.

(You wonder if it’s as beautiful as what you see.)

“Have fun tonight, okay?” Jungkook asks of you as your Google Calendar notification sounds, letting you know you have approximately two minutes before he’s supposed to pick you up outside your apartment.

You nod. “I will. And if I don’t, then I’ll come over afterwards. And we can watch that stupid noir film.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Jungkook says with a roll of his eyes, a shrug of his shoulders.

“But I want to. So I will. Okay? I’ll text you,” you promise. “Don’t think I’ll forget about you.”

Jungkook smiles at your little tease, at the way you cup the side of his jaw with your hand as you head towards your front door.

“Wait, Y/N,” Jungkook sputters out, running after you. He reaches you right as you get to the door, hand grasping the doorknob. You turn to look at him, blinking. “I hope tonight is everything you dreamed of.”

There is something so distinctly sad in his voice. It makes you wonder who has broken his heart. Makes you wonder what you can do to fix it.

“Even if it’s not,” you say to him, taking his hand in your own and squeezing it tight, reminding him that, no matter what, you’re still here. “I know you’ll always be there to take care of me afterwards.”

Your phone buzzes with a message from your date, and you scurry out the door.

For some reason, there’s a part of you that wishes you never even left.

The date is okay. Not bad, but nothing to write home about. By the time you finished eating, it was obvious neither of you had any interest in continuing the night elsewhere, whether it be a club or a karaoke bar. He pays for your meal despite your insistence that you can handle the check perfectly fine on your own, thanks you for a nice night, and drops you right back at your apartment. And so goes your one and only Tinder experience, blowing away like a leaf in the wind.

You look down at your phone. It isn’t even nine o’clock yet.

[November 7th, 8:48PM]

You: you still game for that movie?

[November 7th, 8:50PM]

Jungkook: you finished your date already?

You: is that a yes or a no

Jungkook: my door is always open, you know that

You: you’re gonna get robbed one day and it’s gonna be by me You: i’m coming over

The walk from your apartment to Jungkook’s is six minutes and thirty seconds on a good day, and seven minutes and fifteen seconds on a bad day, which is usually dependent on if the traffic light over the main road has decided to be extra slow or not. You could walk the damn route in your sleep if you really wanted, having done it so many times in the last year and a half, ever since he moved out of on-campus housing and into his own place.

Tonight, it takes you nearly eight minutes to get to his apartment, but you mostly chalk that up to the heels you’re wearing. If you cared any less about your dignity, you’d probably take them off and walk barefoot like a defeated heroine in a romance movie, shoes dangling from your fingers as they hang low by your side.

But you aren’t defeated. You didn’t have the world’s most spectacular date, but the night isn’t over just yet.

Jungkook’s waiting at his front door by the time you arrive.

“Eight minutes, huh? You’re getting old,” he asks snidely, looking down at the invisible watch on his wrist.

“Your counting is just off,” you retort easily, falling into that same friendly rhythm, that familiar little beat that the two of you share. You push past him and into his apartment, instantly feeling more at home, shoulders sinking and heartbeat soothing as you soak in the scent of his room, of his home, of him.

“How’d it go?” Jungkook asks, eyes hopeful as they watch you tug off your heels. They were hardly three inches tall and yet you still want nothing to do with them.

You shrug. “Eh. It was okay.”

“Just okay?” Jungkook asks, sounding seriously upset for you. Upset that you didn’t have a good night even after you promised him that you would. Upset that it didn’t turn out to be everything you wanted.

“I don’t know,” you admit, looking over at him, dejected. “It just—I just had this feeling that it wasn’t going to work out.”

Jungkook scowls to himself, eyebrows furrowing like he’s trying to figure out what exactly you mean by that. And the truth is, you’re not sure either. The date was fine, and he was nice, but even when you first met it felt like you weren’t going to get what you wanted from him. Like you were just going on the date to go on the date. Like you already knew that it would mean nothing.

Jungkook was going to be waiting for you at the end of the night whether it went amazingly well or terribly bad. And knowing that, strangely enough, almost made you want the date to be horrible. Like it would make seeing Jungkook afterwards that much sweeter.

“Oh,” Jungkook says lamely. “Well, I’m sorry. It seemed like you were really looking forward to it.”

“It’s alright,” you assure him. “Can we just watch this movie now and make fun of how sexist it is? Please?”

To that, Jungkook easily agrees. As he’s queueing up the movie, you raid his closet for a hoodie and sweatpants, desperate to strip yourself of your dress and tights and cozy up in clothes that are much more appropriate for your comfort level. At this point in your friendship, Jungkook doesn’t even question it when he sees you march into his room, fishing through his closet and drawers for your favorite matching set of his, this grey pair that he’s worn so much it still smells like him even after it’s come right out of the wash.

He only stares back in awe when he sees you emerge from his bedroom wearing them.

“Ready?” You ask, breaking him from his resolve.

Jungkook blinks wildly from where he’s seated on his dinky old couch, as if to clear his vision. “What? Oh, yeah, I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Then hurry it up, Mister,” you demand, sitting down next to him and curling into his body. It’s instinctual, at this point, wanting to be close to him. To feel the warmth of his body radiate upon your own. To feel his chest beneath the palm of your hands, his arm wrapped around your side. “All good?” You ask, looking up at him.

Jungkook looks down at you, and you swear, you’ve never seen him more at home. “Always, when I’m with you.”

The movie is predictably good and predictably sexist, but your favorite part by far is when Jungkook reaches around on the coffee table in front of you for his camera, holding it up to his eye and snatching a picture of the television, the film grainy like an old polaroid, faded like an antique photograph. He clicks away at the scene in front of him before turning on you, the lens so close to your face you’re almost certain all he’ll manage to capture is your nose. You laugh, pushing yourself away from him as he snaps, and snaps, and snaps, image after image after image, until his camera battery has died and there’s no more room left on his card.

“Guess I’ll have to charge this thing, then,” Jungkook sighs as he declares his camera dead, screen black.

“You aren’t going to include any of those, are you?” You ask, an eyebrow raised.

Jungkook shrugs. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Don’t you have enough?” You deadpan, thinking back to the hundreds of photos Jungkook must have taken of you over the past week, and even more that you don’t know about. There’s certainly no shortage of them in his current camera inventory. That’s for sure.

“Never,” Jungkook says wickedly. He stretches out an open arm, and you don’t have to think twice about falling into it, letting him wrap you up in his hold, curling into his body.

The black television screen crackles before you, DVD player waiting for Jungkook to turn it off. There’s no need for either of you to look up at each other. Not when you’re strung together like this. Not when you already know exactly where he is.

“It’s due on Monday, right?” You inquire softly, fatigue slowly overtaking you.

“Yeah. I’m almost finished, just have to do some curating and editing.”

“I want to see it.”

“What? My project?”

“What else?”

“It’s just a project, it’s not that exciting.”

You pull away from him at that, looking up at him with furrowed brows and scrunched-up nose. “What do you mean ‘it’s not that exciting’? It’s your photography project. You’ve spent a whole week working on it.”

“Yeah, but it’s just you, you know?” Jungkook objects. “Like, you know what you look like. It’s just going to be a bunch of photos of you, like I said it’d be.”

“That’s exactly why I want to see it,” you say like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You took pictures of me for a whole week. Don’t you want to share them with me?”

“If you really want some of the photos, I’ll send you some, but you don’t need to see the whole portfolio, you know? It’s just for my professor,” Jungkook says stiffly, surprisingly resistant. What’s the big deal? It’s not like there will suddenly be new information about you that you didn’t know before. You want to see what Jungkook has been working tirelessly on this entire week. Where’s the harm in that?

“Why are you getting so hung up on this? It’s just photos,” you say with a frown.

“Why are you getting so hung up on this?” Jungkook challenges back.

You sigh, sinking back into him, defeated. Even a little disagreement like that is enough to knock the wind out of the both of you, so you decide not to push it much further.

“Do you promise to show me eventually?” You ask, hopeful.

Jungkook pauses for a moment, and you almost expect him to say no, considering how protective of his work he’s being. “One day,” he declares. “One day, I will.”

And that’s good enough for you.

You lose track of how much time passes after that, feeling your eyelids getting heavy as the warmth of his body envelopes you, drowsiness settling in. There’s just something about this moment, right here, right now, that makes you want to fall asleep.

You’re on the verge of slumber when Jungkook’s voice breaks through.

“Why didn’t you think your date would work out?”

“I don’t know,” you respond sleepily, barely even opening your eyes. “It just felt wrong.”

“How do you know what feels right?”

Good question. Perhaps if you had the energy, you’d answer it. But right now, all you can think about is how cozy you feel in Jungkook’s hoodie and sweatpants, how the scent of him surrounds you, that indescribable, boyish aroma that can’t be replicated. Right now, all you can think about is how easily your body molds into his, like two pieces of a puzzle meant to fit together. Right now, all you can think about is him.

The worst part about each and every week is when it ends. Because the end of one week signifies the beginning of the next, and when you’re in university, the beginning of the next week means a whole new batch of assignments that you have to complete and a whole new batch of due dates to meet.

So, yeah. The weeks have been blurring together for you lately. But what else could you expect?

Sunday evening, as per usual, finds you right back where you always are: Jungkook’s apartment.

The two of you have been regularly getting together on Sundays to study, ever since you both realized you work significantly harder when motivated by the other, determined to finish all of your work on time so you can spend the rest of the night fooling around by mixing Monster with as many unhealthy drinks that you can possibly think of. And it’s been working out well for the both of you so far. Jungkook powers through his coding assignments and you whiz through your readings, intent on keeping up to date with your tasks so they don’t all come crashing down on you at the end of the semester.

Studying with Jungkook has always been easy, largely due to the fact that it’s the one allotted time during your friendship where the both of you deem it best to not speak to each other for the sake of your work. The moment one of you opens your mouth it’s over, so you sit on opposite ends of the room and pretend that the other person isn’t even there.

Jungkook told you earlier today that he had already finished his photography portfolio, so there would unfortunately be no sneaky glances over his shoulder to see if you can catch a glimpse of one of the pictures. Which is fine by you, you’re just a little embarrassed that Jungkook had told you this outright. Not that you were planning to do exactly that, but you were planning to do exactly that.

Part of you. more than anything, wants to know why Jungkook won’t just show you himself. Why he’s being so secretive, so protective of his photography project when you both know already exactly what’s in it. For God’s sake, he just spent the entire week taking photos of you non-stop. It’s like not as if any part of this is a mystery to either of you. What more could he have done?

Whatever. You aren’t going to force it if he doesn’t want you to. You suppose that maybe one day, far into the future, he’ll finally decide that the time is right.

“I’m so fucking tired,” Jungkook declares lifelessly as he gets up from where he’s sitting on your bed, dead inside. “I need a break.”

“Are you going to the kitchen? Can you make me some tea, please?” You ask him, looking up from the laptop on your desk.

Jungkook nods wordlessly before disappearing out of the room.

You and Jungkook’s best study practice to maximize productivity is the taking of each other’s cell phones so that the other cannot be tempted to look at it. It’s worked plenty of times before and will probably work plenty of times again, because as they say, out of sight, out of mind.

Unfortunately, it’s hard to pretend that your phone is out of sight when it’s been buzzing on your bedside table for the past five minutes, and your fingers have been itching to get over there and answer your damn notifications. So, while Jungkook is out of the room, you decide to cheat a little by dashing over there just to see what the heck is going on in the rest of the world.

As it turns out, nothing much. Just Maisie texting you as she binges yet another television show, giving spoiler-free updates anytime anything remotely dramatic happens. You have a couple of new emails as well.

The thing that actually catches your attention the most, is Jungkook’s laptop screen.

There’s just a Word document open on it, but a Word document is a far cry from his usual coding program or Photoshop. Because you can’t help yourself, you peer over to see what he’s written.

What did you learn about yourself through this assignment? How do you think you’ve changed?

Hard to say that I have. I don’t think I learned something about myself so much as I confirmed what I already knew, cementing it as a real thought in my brain, rather than just a daydream. Nothing changed in the way that my best friend and I interacted, and I can almost confirm that nothing changed in the way that she feels about me, just as nothing changed in the way I feel about her. I guess you could say I learned that I don’t think anything could ever change the way I feel about her.

What?

Do you think you’ll ever look back on this project, whether it be as a reference or a memory?

Yes. Not as a reference but to remind myself of this very moment in my life—a single week over the course of my life that I felt was worth saving. I imagine that there will come a time, far in the future, where my best friend and I have separated a little bit, found our own lives and created our own families with our own people. And when that happens, I will look back on this project to remind myself of who we used to be. How we used to feel about each other. Maybe, by that point in time, it won’t hurt as much as it does now.

This feels personal. Maybe you should stop reading. But there’s just one more question left on the page…

This assignment forced you to create an entire portfolio, from scratch, using a subject you would have to regularly schedule time with. It was demanding. But, that said, would you ever do this again?

Yes. If it meant getting to spend more time with her, take more photos of her, see her smile once more, I would do it a thousand times over.

“Y/N?”

You hadn’t even heard the kettle whistling.

“Jungkook,” you say, breathless, caught red-handed.

“What are you doing?” He asks, placing your steaming cup of tea down on the desk as he stares back at you in horror, in surprise, in worry, in something. Something that gives you this imminent sense of impending doom.

“Uh—”

“Were you reading my computer screen?”

It’s not like you could say you were doing anything else.

“I couldn’t help myself, I came over here to check my phone since it’s been buzzing like crazy and your computer was right there and I just…” you sputter out, thoughts swirling inside your head.

(I will look back on this project to remind myself of who we used to be. How we used to feel about each other. Maybe, by that point in time, it won’t hurt as much as it does now.

If it meant getting to see her smile once more, I would do it a thousand times over.

I guess you could say I learned that I don’t think anything could ever change the way I feel about her.)

“What do you mean, how you feel about me?” You ask, because you can’t help yourself. Because the sound of his voices echoes in your head like the beat of a drum, over and over and over. Because you’re staring back at him and even if he just caught you snooping through his computer you can never be worried when it comes to him. Because everything he has ever done puts you at ease.

“Y/N, that is private, why would you read something like that?” He asks, each word a sucker punch into your heart.

“Because I just had to know, okay?” You shout back. “I had to know what you were hiding from me.”

“So you decided to snoop through my computer to see if you could figure it out yourself?” He demands, storming over to you.

“So you are hiding something?”

“That’s not the point, the point is that—”

“What are you not telling me, Jungkook?” You cry out, watching as he approaches you, dark eyes piercing your gaze. “Why won’t you show me your goddamn portfolio? If there’s really nothing to be afraid of, why are you keeping it from me? I’m your best friend, I’m the fucking subject of your project? Don’t I deserve to see it? Why won’t you show me?”

“Because then you’d know!” Jungkook shouts back, leaving deafening silence in his wake. You look up at him, blinking. In front of you, Jungkook is out of breath, chest heaving.

He looks so strained. So tired. Like he’s been carrying around this secret for months now, maybe even years, and this is the final straw. This is what has sent the both of you crashing down upon each other. This stupid fucking project. You’ve known Jungkook ever since the beginning of your freshman year, and never before have you seen him so hopeless.

“Jungkook—?”

“You’d know, goddamnit,” Jungkook says, hand coming up to rub at his forehead, dragging down his cheek. “And I wasn’t sure if I was ready for that.”

“Know what? What would I know?”

Jungkook closes his eyes. Takes a deep breath. Opens them again. “That I’m in love with you.”

The words drift in between the two of you, hovering in the air like feathers. You see them, clear as day, in front of you, hear them echoing in your head, over and over and over again. Feel the way your blood is pumping, the way your heart is beating.

“You’re in love with me?” You ask him.

“I didn’t want you to find out this way,” Jungkook admits. “Or at all, really. But I have been, for a while now.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was afraid that I’d lose you.”

You chuckle, a small, little thing from the back of your throat. “You must have known I’d never let that happen, hmm?”

Jungkook smiles softly. “I was scared. Can you blame me? You’re my best friend.”

“And you are mine,” you remind him.

“It’s just—” Jungkook begins, like the gates of a dam are opening up. “We’d known each other for so long, and we have such a good thing going as is, always texting and calling and hanging out together, studying together on Sunday nights and seeing each other during the week, and I didn’t want to ruin anything. And then my professor assigned this project, and the only person I could think of to take photos was you, but I didn’t want to ask that of you in case you thought it was weird, but you suggested it anyway so I said yes, but I knew. I knew then that the moment I took one goddamn photo of you it would be obvious, and that if you ever saw you would just know. Stuff like that is easy to pick up in pictures, because a camera is like, tunnel vision for whatever it is you want to focus on most, and that’s you, that’s always been you, so I—”

“Jungkook,” you interrupt, reaching out to him, pressing a soft hand to his cheek. “Just, shut up, okay?”

And then you cup his head in both of your hands, and press a kiss to his lips. A small one, if nothing else, but a kiss nonetheless. You press your lips against his own and immediately you feel the sparks rush through you, this flash of heat that settles into something softer, something sweeter. It ignites and soothes you all at once, like a stray lightning bolt out on the open ocean. Like a single clap of thunder and the pitter patter of rain.

You press a kiss to his lips and when you pull away, Jungkook’s eyes are closed, lips parted ever so slightly. And for a moment there, you almost think you did the wrong thing.

But barely a second more passes before he’s scooping you up in his arms and pulling you in close to him, his lips finding yours like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. He holds you tight, hands pressed against the small of your back as he kisses you, warm and fiery and full, as if he can’t get enough, as if this is his only chance. You gasp into it before relaxing in his hold, cold hands on his warm cheeks, body melting at the feeling of him, of him all over you, of his hands and his mouth and his chest, this perfect, solid figure.

He kisses you and it sends heat shooting through your body, filling you up from the inside out, like your heart has burst and filled your bloodstream with fire, with sparks of warmth that tingle all over. He kisses you, and everywhere his hands press is another sizzle to your skin, an electric shock that makes you giggle into his mouth.

He kisses you and it feels like a storm has settled, feels like gentle rain after a hurricane, feels like waves crashing against the shore. He kisses you and it is the only thing you can think about.

By the time you part once more, you don’t think you’ve ever seen Jungkook so blissed out.

“See?” You point out softly. “Nothing to be afraid of.”

Jungkook looks positively dazed. “I think I need to lie down.”

“Ooh, was I that good?” You tease.

“I’m dreaming.” He shakes his head. “I’m definitely fucking dreaming.”

Jungkook sinks onto your bed, hitting the mattress with a thud. He stares mindlessly in front of him, like his brain needs time to process.

You smile to yourself. He can have all the time in the world.

“Is this real?” He mumbles when you sit down next to him, press another kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Are you real?”

“Just like you,” you promise him. “I didn’t know this is what we had been missing, all this time.”

“It wasn’t missing,” Jungkook assures you. “It was just hidden.”

“I love you,” you whisper, watching him swallow the words like a glass of wine. “I think I always have. You just needed to say it first.”

“Oblivious as always.” Jungkook grins, smiling against your lips. “But I’m glad. If this is what it would take, then I’m glad.”

“You wouldn’t change anything?” You ask him, eyes wide and curious.

It’s hard to know how long you and Jungkook have been secretly pining over each other. Hard to know how long Jungkook has known that he’s loved you, how long it’s been since you started to feel the same, even if subconsciously. It’s hard to know how long you would have kept going if not for this project. It might have been months. Years. Years that Jungkook was willing to spend holding back, if only it meant keeping you by his side.

“No,” Jungkook says like it’s the easiest answer in the world. “I have you now. Why would I?”

What did you learn about yourself through this assignment? How do you think you’ve changed?

Previously, I had responded to this question by saying that I hadn’t learned anything, and felt that nothing changed in my life. Then, some things happened. And after those things, I learned that I am the luckiest man alive. To know my best friend is one thing. To love her is a privilege. To have her love me back is nothing less than a miracle.

Do you think you’ll ever look back on this project, whether it be as a reference or a memory?

Yes. Every day for the rest of my life. I don’t think I’ve ever been as thankful to receive a homework assignment as I am, right now. I owe everything to this project. It is the reason I have her.

This assignment forced you to create an entire portfolio, from scratch, using a subject you would have to regularly schedule time with. It was demanding. But, that said, would you ever do this again?

Yes. I want to take photos of her for the rest of my life. I want to save every memory we ever share together. So that far into the future, we can look back on them together and say, “Remember that?”

↳ links are broken, but don’t forget to message me with any thoughts or feedback!

#jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #bts fluff #bts angst #bts scenario #jungkook scenario #bts imagine #jungkook imagine #bts au #jungkook au #jungkook x reader #bts x reader #w: the love project #yes i am finishing this at 6am on the day its meant to be posted... MIND UR OWN BUSINESS

4K notes · View notes

percywinchester27 · 4 years ago

Text

A lot like ‘Us’ (Part-34)

Word count: 3.4K

Pairing: Sam X Reader AU

Warnings: Feels, fluff

Series Summary: Y/N Y/L/N is eager and honestly, still in awe that she managed to get herself an acceptance from Stanford Law School. On the face of it, her life seems as put together, mysterious and independent as one might hope for. On the insides, she carries the burden of past that haunts her till date. Seemingly, she’d left it all behind; that is until she sets foot in the class of the Law School’s youngest, most promising professor.

A/N: The story employs two different timelines. The present timeline for the story takes place in 2014. Please let me know what you guys think :)

Beta: @deanssweetheart23. I love you so much, darling <3

A lot like ‘Us’ masterlist

The rest of the week was hard.

There were things you wanted to do and then things that you had to do. Unfortunately for you, the Venn diagram of those two things were two circles that did not touch.

Normally, you loved your job, you loved studying and your classes. But sitting through Sam’s class was becoming a new, different type of torture. The pretension was wearing you down. You could see it grating him, too. You rarely spoke up in his class now, trying not to draw attention, neither did he call upon you like he did with other students.

The library was still your second home, though, thanks to the untimely desertion of the other odd shifts librarian, you were left to run double shifts. Molly was sorry about it, but she didn’t have a solution for you, not until she had a new hire. That meant you were stuck in the library all the time. The guys in the apartment were starting to miss you. Kevin came over one evening to inform you everything sucked when you weren’t around. His face had made you hug him.

As for you? Without the free evenings, you couldn’t go over to see Max. You missed him terribly and it would do no good to whine about that to Sam, since you were still unsure about how he would take your excessive attachment to his son.

Not that you didn't have the chance to talk to Sam. After Sam put Max to bed, each night he’d call. You would sit in the alcove of the library widow and talk to him for hours- about the day, the classes and everything under the sun. Sam told you about the cases he was working on, the judges he really disliked and the girl Chase was chasing. Sam thought he was named aptly. He was also your faithful informant about Max. Apparently the playground bullies were back at it with the mean words. You blurted out loud how you wanted to punch the kids and Sam piled on top of that. Cheerful conversations about shaking kids followed.

It felt so juvenile to talk with him over the phone, like when he worked in New York and you were stuck in Lawrence, but not quite. Now, it was exciting to imagine him blushing on the other end when you accidentally said something complementary. Or if a student decided to stay in the library late night, you had to giggle in hushed voices so they wouldn’t overhear your conversations. The thrill of it was exciting. Those few hours had become the highlight of your day.

So, when Madison asked you what you were smiling about in the last lecture on Friday, you had to make up a reason. You couldn’t very well tell her that the bruise Sam was sporting on his cheek was because Max outran him on the basketball court and Sam slipped and fell.

“Just thinking of something funny.”

“Wouldn’t have to do with the green eyed hottie from Monday, would it?” Madison wiggled her eyebrows.

“Who, Dean?” You burst out laughing. “Maddie! He’s married to my sister.”

She laughed with you, face apologetic. “Dang! He’s really hot. Is it bad that I’m sorry he is married?”

“Definitely not,” you giggled. The good old Winchester genes had caused many casualties.

On the dais below, Sam collected his things.

“Ooohh, Professor Winchester is heading out. I better catch him before he leaves. You wanna come? Talk about the assignment?”

“No, you go on.” Sam had given you a run down of the assignment last night. You wanted to pout that he was right. You could have done better.

“Still awkward about the whole drowning thing, huh?”

You looked away, not wanting to remember the pool.

Madison wasn’t paying attention. “You were… I don’t know, delirious. You kept calling him by his name and…” Madison looked at you warily. She did not complete the sentence.

“Y/N saw the opportunity and took it,” said Rebecca from the next row. “I would sell my soul to be lifted like that.”

You slung your bag around your shoulders and made a move to get up. For all you cared, Rebecca could get hit by a truck. Not only were you furious at her for planning that prank with Brad, it made you feel murderous when she objectified Sam like that, reducing him to some greasy creep of a professor. It was insulting.

“Wait up now, sweetie!” She came up from behind. “Don’t act so prissy now. We all know you’re not as innocent as you make yourself out to be.”

“Excuse me?”

“You think I’m blind? To not see how you’re playing with all these men to get what you want? First, you have Brad panting after you, so you get the attention? Then you’re dancing with some random blue eyed man at the induction dance. The very next day you’re swaying in the arms of Chase Lincoln of all people. The moment you touch the pool water, somehow Sam Winchester is miraculously saving you… and two days later you’re crying like a damsel in distress in the arms of yet another man!” She was counting off her fingers. “And people call me slutty! I’m going to find out what your secret is, Y/N. Because I know you have one! And when I do...”

“You know what, Rebecca?” You said as calmly as you could. “Why don’t you go screw yourself.”

With that you headed straight for the library. When Madison caught up with you, her face was red. “Can’t believe I was ever friends with that hag! Gave her piece of my mind.”

“Madison, you should catch professor Winchester before he leaves. I’ll be okay.”

She assessed your words against your expression, then nodded and left.

You wanted to be by yourself.

Thankfully, cataloging was time-consuming and tedious. It took your mind off of Rebecca’s awful words. For the life of you, you couldn’t understand why she was so mean to you.

“Excuse me, miss, can I borrow this book?” Enquired a sweet voice.

You dropped the marker in your hand and looked up. Max was standing beyond the desk, a huge grin on his face. You gave a little yelp of your own and hurried from behind the counter to throw your arms around him, kissing him on his cheek.

“Gosh, I’ve been dying to meet you,” you said, pulling back to look at him.

He was wearing a plaid shirt over a small faded t-shirt and jeans. Such a mini-Sam. You couldn’t resist the urge to lean over and kiss his other cheek.

Max started blushing, looking down at his shoes.

“What’re you doing here?” You asked, leading him to one of the benches.

“Alex broke her arm last night. She couldn’t come over today. Dad’s got work. He asked me to hang out here.”

“Oh, no, is Alex okay?”

Max snickered. “Yeah. She was trying to sneak out for a party and fell out of the window.”

You pursed your lips trying not to laugh with him. “Poor girl.”

“Aunt Jody’s super-mad!” He added and you couldn’t help the giggle that burst through your lips.

“Max, is that you?” Molly asked, sticking her head from behind the shelves. “Darn kid! It’s been ages. Where did you run off to?”

“Mechanics camp!” He told her. “I know where an engine goes now. And how to hot-wire a car.”

“They taught you that at the camp?” You asked, skeptic.

“No, uncle Dean did.”

This time you laughed in earnest.

“You know Max?” Molly frowned.

You nodded. “Remember my little friend I told you about?”

“The one you were holding a bake sale for?”

“Yep, he’s the one.”

Molly put her hand to her lips. “Well, no shit! Do you know who his father is?”

You and Max immediately looked at each other, confirming your secret with a tiniest of nods.

“He’s Sam’s boy, this cute little nugget here.” Molly pulled his cheek. To Max’s credit, he didn’t rub his cheek afterwards.

Which reminded you. “You wait right here, Max. I’ll be back in a minute.” You quickly found the stash of cookies you were saving for tonight's dinner and hurried back to him. Eating at the library wasn’t allowed, but Max was an exception to every rule. “Cookies for you. I know these are your favourite.”

Max’s entire face lit up. True to his nature, he offered you one before digging in. You watched as he took a few bites, sneaking looks to the book he was holding- Adventures of Sinbad.

“I read one of those when I was kid. It had a monster bird that carried Sinbad away to its nest.”

“Oh, the Roc! That one’s my favorite!” Max clapped his hand and the cookies clattered to the floor.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, trying to pick up the bag.

You stopped him with a gentle nudge. “Let me.” After cleaning the cookie crumbs from the carpet, you unwound the scarf from around your neck and used it to clean the crumbs stuck to Max’s mouth and shirt, fussing over getting it all away.

When you made him stand up to clean the hem of his pants, you noticed Sam standing behind you, arms crossed over his chest. He had a peculiar expression on his face- tender but also guarded.

“You’re not supposed to eat the library, young man!” Sam tried for stern, but ended up sounding amused.

You straightened up. “I make the rules here. Max can do whatever he wants.”

Max gave Sam a smug look, before running to him. In a motion that must have been more of less a reflex, Sam reached out and hefted Max up in his arms.

“Look, what I found!” Max showed him the book.

Sam made a face. “Sinbad again? That sixth voyage was lame.”

“I wanna find out how it ends. There’s only one adventure left!”

“Alright, but this is the last of Arabian tales for the year. I get second hand sea-sickness just reading about it. I’m starting to miss Charlie and the chocolate factory.”

“You hated Charlie and the chocolate factory!”

Sam smirked. “You’re this close to getting my point.”

Max turned the book over. “We’re out of authors,” he told you.

The words shook you out of your quiet and you smoothened your expression. The scene before you was making your throat close up. You had never seen them together before. Max’s entire body language changed- his shoulders relaxed and he became less polite… just a bit more demanding, the way a child should be. Sam on the other hand radiated contentment. His voice changed, becoming softer, loving when he spoke to Max. You were sure you had been staring at them hungrily as if you couldn’t get enough of the interaction.

“Any suggestions?” Sam asked, tone still mild.

“T-Tolkein,” you stuttered. “You should try The Hobbit.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Elven songs. Wonderful.”

Molly came over to greet Sam and you excused yourself to go back to the desk and take a stock of the emotions coursing through you. At any point it could get too much and you didn't want either of them to see that.

On their way out, Max waved at you. “Bye, Y/N!”

“Bye, Max.” You blew him a kiss. “You turned my day around, bud!”

There were too many people in the vicinity, so when it came to Sam, you nodded. “Professor.”

He mirrored your gesture. “Ms. Y/L/N.” And with a look full of promise of later, he walked away. You waved at Max till he was out of sight.

“Such a lovely boy,” Molly sighed. “Horrendous business what happened to him.”

“Yeah.” You cut the topic short, still unable to think of Max’s past without feeling faint. Thinking about it was so hard for you, Max had lived through it.

Molly was in no mood to change the subject.

“Sam’s an amazing guy to give up the lawyer life and settle down here for that kid.”

You narrowed your eyes. “What do you mean?”

Molly threw out her hands, slightly embarrassed. “It’s Sam’s personal choice and all that, but he had a solid career in LA. After that Simmons affair blew up in the media, he could’ve stuck around and bagged A-list celebrities as clients. He moved out to this place for Max’s sake- so there was some normalcy and stability in his life. Then, again, Sam’s had his share of downs.”

Your back felt like ice, knowing what was coming.

“I’m not supposed to talk about it but it’s just you.” Molly leaned in closer. “Did you know his wife left him?”

She must have interpreted whatever your face showed as shock, because Molly continued. “Don’t know much about the whole thing. I heard bits and parts from the grape wine. Some girl he met in Kansas straight out of Yale. Took a plunge in a couple of months and this girl bolted not even a year into the marriage. Can you believe that? I mean, look at him… What the fuck was she looking for that he didn’t have!”

You could taste the blood by biting into your lip too hard.

“Never heard of him dating anyone since. I think he’s still in love with her.” Molly whistled. “At least they have each other- Max and Sam. That kid spends a lot of time here. You’ll keep finding reasons to feed your little friend cookies.” Molly flashed you a grin. You couldn’t quite return it.

It was past twelve when your phone rang. You’d just locked the library behind you and had given up on all hopes of the call.

You hurried to pick it up.

“Hey,” Sam breathed. “Sorry it took me so long.”

“It’s alright,” you sighed in relief at the sound of his voice. The sinking feeling in your stomach since the talk with Molly began to dissipate.

“It’s your fault really,” Sam said. “Max liked The Hobbit too much and went to bed real late. How am I supposed to wake him in time for his class tomorrow?”

His concerns were so normal, comfortingly mundane. Sam made it sound so easy, when in fact, all this must have been so hard. One time you heard someone say a mean thing about Sam’s wife and it had you rankled. Sam must’ve lived through years of whispers, stories and ugly rumours. He must’ve had to defend his choice of staying committed so many times. Hadn’t the words shred his heart?

“Y/N? Everything okay?”

You cleared your throat. “Uh it’s just… it’s good to hear your voice.”

He was immediately on alert. “What happened?”

“Nothing. Weird day.”

“Where are you?”

You looked about your dark surroundings. “Crossing the playground, almost to my building.”

“Do you want to come over?” He asked, voice hopeful but unsure. “We can sit in the front lawn if you want.”

You made an impulse decision. “Yeah okay.”

Ten minutes later you were sitting on one of Max’s swings. Your tan sweater wasn’t helping much as you shivered in the chill, waiting for Sam to show up. Weird how you made it before him. He lived right there!

Noiselessly the front door opened and closed. Sam walked briskly towards you. He was dressed in dark grey sweatpants and a black full sleeve t-shirt. In his hand he carried an afghan, a thermos and two mugs.

“Here,” he handed you the afghan. It was the same one that was wrapped around you on the night of the pool party. The memory brought blood to your face.

“We don’t have adult juice around here today, but we do have hot chocolate.” Grinning impishly, he tilted the thermos in your direction. He sat on the ground in front of you, carefully filling up the two mugs with the rich, brown liquid while you wrapped yourself in the Afghan.

Eagerly, you took a sip and moaned indecently.

“Good, isn’t it?” Sam chuckled.

This was very close to what heaven would feel like.

“So, what’s the deal, huh?” He asked after a few sips.

You hesitated, not wanting to admit what the real problem was. It would be the case of a teapot crying to a boiler.

“You know you can tell me things, right?” His voice was soft, beguiling.

“It’s something Molly said after you left.” You gave in, selfishly spilling it all.

Sam listened to the whole story, then shook his head at you in exasperation and beckoned you with his hand. You blinked a couple of times, then gave up and went in willingly.

What the hell, right?

Sam tucked his arms around your shoulder once you slid on the ground next to him.

“You and I, we know what the truth is,” he said. “How does it matter what anyone else says?”

“Is that what you told yourself all these years?” You asked in a small voice, unable to meet his eyes.

Sam sighed. “Why are you doing this to yourself, Y/N?”

“You didn’t answer me.”

His fingers curled around your shoulder over the afghan. “No, I didn’t have to tell myself anything. I knew I loved you. That was enough.”

“I don’t know if I can be as strong as you.”

“That’s because you’re so much stronger,” he said. “None of those people have lived your life, they don’t know what you’ve been through. I can bet my ass, they wouldn’t have made it out of half of it in one piece. It’s easy to judge.”

“That’s not my problem,” you argued. “I don’t care what they think about me. But I can’t stand how it makes you look!”

Sam surprised you by chuckling lightly. “You’re cute when you’re indignant. Especially on my behalf.”

“Quit making this into a joke, Sam.”

“I seriously don’t know what else to do.” He put a finger under your chin, tilting your face up. “Look at me. I’m the happiest I've been in years! Do you really think I give a rats ass about what anyone’s got to say about me? My personal life has never been anyone’s concern except mine and yours. The only other person who has any say in this is Max. And that kid doesn’t shut up about you.”

Sam’s eyes were scorching, melting against the night sky.

“Molly’s wonderful, and I know she has a soft spot for me. But by the end of the day, it's just gossip. There’s no substance to it. So will you please drop it?”

At long last you nodded.

“That’s like my Y/N.”

A rustle from the other side of Sam’s fence made you stiffen. The bushes behind the planks began to shake.

“What’s that?”

Sam shrugged. “Probably Alex sneaking out.”

You frowned at him. “Didn’t she break her arm doing exactly that?”

He snorted. “When has that stopped teenagers? It does make life a bit difficult. Jody’s grounded her. She can’t babysit Max for a while and I got work tomorrow.”

You saw Alex creeping on the sidewalk in front of the lawn. She saw the two of you huddled and froze like a deer caught in the headlight. Sam winked and waved a salute at her. After a minute she unfroze, returned the gesture and went off on her way.

“Why don’t you drop him off at the library in the morning? I’ll keep an eye on him. I’m covering the first shift.” You worked to not sound too excited.

“Yeah, that still doesn’t fix the afternoon. I won’t be back before four.”

“Easy. I’ll wait with him here.”

Sam looked at you, hazel eyes wondrous. “You’d do that?”

“Sure. I owe him a pie anyway.”

“You’re a lifesaver!” He exhaled. “Seriously, I could kiss you right now!”

All you had to do was look up. Sam was right there.

Another crash sounded over the fence, louder than the first, followed by a muted ‘ow.’ You saw lights flare up in what must be the living room. From somewhere inside you heard Jody curse. “Jesus fucking Christ! Claire, what’re you doing on the ground.”

“Why do you always have to catch me!” Claire whined in the darkness. “Alex just left!”

“What. The. Fuck!” Jody yelled. “Get in the fucking car! We’re going to find your sister.”

That did it for you as you buried your face in Sam’s chest, smothering the giggles. His arms wrapped tightly around you. Sam himself was shaking with silent laughter over you.

Yeah, this was pretty close to heaven.

*********************

A/N 2: Thank you for all the support over the last week.

Sam was right when he said- “You and I, we know what the truth is. How does it matter what anyone else says?”

I’m going to take his advice :)

If you want be tagged, you can send me an ask or add yourself to the taglist here.

Or here’s my side blog @percywinchester27-writes. You can give that blog a follow and turn the notifications on to know about updates.

ALLU taglist:

@gabavaldman @im-a-light-child @cosicas-cuquis @bllyjianne @hoboal87 @i-is-for-inspiring @daughterleftbehind @wackiekebab @mylovelydame21 @dancing-the-hellfire-rumba @superbadassnatural @babypink224221 @badlittlehabit99 @anathewierdo @sams-bubblegum-bitch @fandomoverdose666 @superstarmarvel @atc74 @aiofheavenandhell @rebel-author-chick @death-unbecomes-you @cookiechipdough @kbl1313 @linki-locks11 @miss-nerd95 @sunflowers-n-rocknroll @stoneyggirl @like-a-bag-of-potatoes @niyahgray @traceyaudette @blueaura @awfulmoons @waterlily502 @mrsbatesmotel53 @superblyscrumptiousdonut2 @spn-ficfanatic @threstalsaregood @shesnotmaria

#Sam winchester x reader #sam winchester fanfiction #sam winchester reader insert #sam x reader fluff #sam fluff #lawyer!sam #professor!sam #lawyer!sam x reader #professor!sam x reader #dad!sam #spn fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction #anawrites #anawritesspn #Ana writes ALLU #allu 34 #q

98 notes · View notes

rosethornewrites · 5 years ago

Text

Fic: Breaking Point

Relationships: Caline Bustier & Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir & Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug

Characters: Caline Bustier, Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir, Alya Césaire, Max Kanté, Nathaniel Kurtzberg, Juleka Couffaine, Lila Rossi, Tikki

Tags: caline bustier salt, Reveal, Badass Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Adrien Agreste Knows, Protective Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir, Caline Bustier Knows, ml salt, Harassment, Lila Rossi Lies, Bad Classroom Environments, Gaslighting, enablers, Bullying ,Salt, Identity Reveal, Spitefic, Swearing, Adrien Sugar

Summary: '“For instance, being a superhero is not a viable career path,” was what made her tune in, her attention fully pulled to Mme. Bustier, who seemed to be looking right at her.'

Note: This was written based on a prompt by @norakwami.

AO3 link

------

Marinette wasn’t really paying attention to Mme. Bustier’s lecture. To be fair, it was about career options and how to achieve them, something she had researched so completely she already had a list of universities she intended to apply to, along with possible companies to intern, all carefully tabbed in a binder at home that was also slowly filling with application and portfolio ideas.

Given that she was only fourteen and still had four more years before she reached the point of applying, she was ahead of the game. Perhaps she could be considering going to another lycée instead of the feeder for Collège Françoise Dupont, perhaps somewhere private that had a focus on fashion. But she didn’t want to put pressure on her parents, who would have to pay the tuition for such an institution, when she was already winning awards and making a name for herself through designing for Jagged Stone and the up-and-coming Kitty Section, among others.

“For instance, being a superhero is not a viable career path,” was what made her tune in, her attention fully pulled to Mme. Bustier, who seemed to be looking right at her.

What.

The.

Fuck.

Marinette felt frozen by that stare, pinned like a ladybug by an entomologist. How could she know? Did other people notice her stare?

“Ladybug is almost certainly harming her civilian future through these superhero antics, which prevent her from fulfilling all her obligations.”

Alya snorted. “That’s not Ladybug’s fault—it’s Hawkmoth’s. Ladybug protects the city. And maybe Paris should pay her for her services!”

“Ladybug is a teenager who should be concentrating on school,” Mme. Bustier declared, still staring holes into Marinette.

“Ladybug has never released her age,” Adrien murmured, his voice sounding strained. “So that’s conjecture, Mme. Bustier. How does this have to do with our future careers?”

To her horror, he turned and followed her gaze to Marinette.

She felt as though she might hyperventilate, panic rising in her gut. If she was compromised, that put her family and friends at risk, put the Miracle Box at risk, played right into Hawkmoth’s hands. She’d never been good at a poker face, and she wasn’t sure whether she was managing now.

Adrien’s eyes widened, and she knew she’d failed, at least with him. Kwami, she hoped she could trust him.

“I’m glad you asked, Adrien. For instance, Marinette, would you please share your current preparation for your future career.”

All eyes were on her, and she could feel the thoughts swirling around them as she was called out. She swallowed, trying to push it all down.

“I-I… I have a binder. At home. F-fifteen different universities with fashion p-programs. In order of where I want to go most. Also c-companies that offer internships.” She took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves—it helped a bit. “I’ve started my portfolio, including the b-bowler hat that won M. Agreste’s contest, and my work for Jagged Stone and Kitty Section, and p-pictures of clothing I’ve designed and made.”

She could hear murmurs around her, and Alya gave a low whistle beside her.

“Girl, no wonder you don’t sleep. You’re on top of this!”

Mme. Bustier’s mouth became a thin line, her lips pressed together as though she was irritated.

Marinette wished keenly that Master Fu was still around, could handle this situation. She’d come to realize Mme. Bustier was a terrible teacher, enabling bullying and shaming victims as though they were at fault for their treatment. But this was a whole new level of awful.

“Still, the way you run off during Akuma attacks interrupts your daily life and prevents you from—”

“We all run away during Akuma attacks! They disrupt all our daily lives.”

Adrien stood, his back rigid from tension.

“Marinette has been personally targeted multiple times during Akuma attacks. So have I! A lot of this has been documented on the LadyBlog. It’s traumatizing—and we keep our memories of that because we’re not the Akuma. I run and hide, personally. Why would you shame Marinette for that?”

The class fell silent, and glancing around Marinette could see the tension in their faces, their own memories of being chased by Akuma.

Adrien had moved this away from the idea of Marinette being Ladybug to her being shamed for her reaction to Akumas. He was protecting her. And she loved him all the more for it.

“There was Evillustrator,” Marinette murmured, jumping on the red herring.

She glanced at Nathanaël apologetically. He offered a sad smile.

“I had to help Chat Noir with that. It was scary. André Glacier became Glaciator and came looking for me, and Chat Noir saved me from getting frozen. And Gamer was looking for me. Chat Noir saved me again.”

She could see Max wince across the aisle.

“Reflekta turned me into her clone because she was mad at me. And it was my fault.”

Marinette turned and mouthed ‘sorry’ to Juleka.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Juleka whispered, then cringed as she realized her voice had carried far enough for everyone to hear.

She smiled, then turned back to the front.

“My own grandmother tried to turn me into coal when she was Akumatized because she was upset I wasn’t like eight years old anymore—Chat Noir saved me again there, too. And then my dad was Akumatized and Chat Noir and Ladybug had to save me again.”

Marinette hadn’t been able to transform, needing to be saved as a civilian before she could get back as Ladybug. Too many of them had been so public she’d had to trust Chat Noir would be able to hold his own until she got there—and she did, but she was afraid sometime that would be fatal.

“And I saw footage when Adrien was dropped from a building and then when Volpina pretended to drop him from the Eiffel Tower. That’s terrifying!”

She didn’t turn around to look at Lila. Instead she looked at Adrien, who was still standing, alternating between glaring at Mme. Bustier and glancing back at her with concern in his eyes.

“And then there’s mind control Akumas, like with Miracle Queen. I’m scared of Akumas, Mme. Bustier. Even when they’re across the city, they won’t always stay there, and I want to hide. And I refuse to be ashamed of that!”

It wasn’t a lie, either. Civilian her absolutely wanted to hide—and did, just behind a mask.

She turned her attention to the teacher, keeping her back straight, remembering she had Adrien on her side, even if she wished he didn’t know—damn Bustier for that. Marinette steeled herself.

“I don’t understand why you’ve singled me out to try to imply I alone am somehow failing to perform because of Akumas, but you always seem to do this. I’m at fault for being bullied. I need to be an example and not react when my belongings are destroyed and my locker is broken into. Or when someone gets me expelled by somehow putting test answers in my bag and a new Gabriel-brand necklace—supposedly an heirloom—in my locker that’s been broken into before. I’ve spent the last year feeling I’m not allowed to have emotions. But this is the last straw.”

Marinette stood, picking up her bag. When she glanced down Tikki was giving her the Kwami version of a thumbs up.

“Frankly, Mme. Bustier, you have been toxic for my mental health for quite some time. Time I’ve spent researching to discover what you’re doing isn’t appropriate for the classroom; it’s abusive and reportable. If you’ll excuse me, I need to speak to the M. Damocles, as well as my parents. And perhaps the Board of Governors, as I am no longer willing to tolerate this treatment and its continued harm to my education.”

With that, she marched down the stairs, past an open-mouthed Bustier, and out of the classroom, holding her head high.

Once in the open hallway, clear of the windows, she deflated.

“Well, fuck,” she whispered. “I guess I get to do research on a new collège, too.”

She supposed, at least, she’d been successful at diverting Bustier from the Ladybug accusations; the last thing she needed was for Ladybug-hater Lila to know and come after her.

“You and me both.”

Adrien’s voice behind her nearly made her jump out of her skin. She was relieved to see no one else had followed him. She could hear the hullaballoo of the classroom behind her, all control having been lost.

He quirked a grin. “We’re in it together, Bugaboo. As always.”

She stared, feeling like there was a hamster lolling on the wheel of her thoughts instead of running to turn it.

Adrien took her arm. “Come on. I’ll support you. Let’s go talk to M. Damocles.”

“Ch-Chat?” Marinette managed in a hiss as her brain finally caught up.

He gently guided her forward. “My Lady.”

She wasn’t sure whether she wanted to laugh, cry, scream, or some combination of the three. But as they approached M. Damocles’ office, Marinette pushed the issue aside.

After all, she had work to do, and Ladybug didn’t leave work unfinished.

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous fanfiction #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #bustier salt #alya cesaire #max kante #juleka couffaine #nathaniel kurtzberg #caline bustier #lila rossi #lila 'the liar' rossi #ml salt #adrien sugar #identity reveal #my fanfiction #miraculous salt

1K notes · View notes

gale-gentlepenguin · 4 years ago

Text

ML AU: In Another Life: Miracle Queen

(Loveater)

-Queen bee transforms into miracle queen because of the akuma.

-Hawkmoth smiled as he watched the heroes look in horror.

-”Miracle Queen, use your power and get Paris under your power.”

-Miracle queen nodded as she summoned her swarm.

-Ladybug and Chat noir fled and avoided the bees by jumping into the water with the Aqua powerful. The two made their way into the sewers and escaped the swarm.

-Fu was relaxing in the hiding spot at the park when he heard the sound of insects. His instincts kicked in and asked Wayzz to transform him. He created a barrier around himself and the miraculous.

-The bee swarm overtook Paris.

-Hawkmoth told Miracle Queen to call forth everyone who has ever used a miraculous. (believing that the guardian would have done so at one point.)

-This gets Nino, alya, kagami, Luka, Kim, and Max like in canon. Miracle Queen makes her commentary, but Hawkmoth notices that the guardian is not among them. Knowing that the guardian is an old man, and couldnt be a teenager.

-”The guardian must be out there!”

-”Ill have all of Paris searching for him”

-Hawkmoth calls back Mayura to come and assist

_____________________________________________________

-Ladybug and Chat noir realized they were both on borrowed time since they only had a few minutes until their transformations wore off, But going to the surface was a risk because of the bees.

- Ladybug didnt have any of the other miraculous on her and felt trapped. But Fu contacted her while in his bubble.

-”Ladybug, are you and Chat noir alright?”

-”Yes master, but we are sort of trapped underwater.”

-”Ill meet you both in the sewer.”

-Sure enough, Fu made his way to them and created a bubble so the two could safely emerge from the water without worry.

-”Chat noir turn around, we cant know eachother’s identities.”

-Chat noir said nothing, but complied. A bit of guilt about knowing butting its ugly head.

-They feed their kwami while looking away from the other. Fu is a bit sus of chat noir but says nothing. He is also under stress.

-Fu reveals that he snagged the miracle box and that Ladybug can prepare with the stuff inside.

-Ladybug hands Chat noir the snake miraculous and she takes the dragon.

-”In case I get stung, you will need to have a back up.”

-Chat noir ignores the brief bit of snake pain in a flashback. He can do it this time.

-”Ill go a different way. You focus on the akuma.”

- They thank Fu and rush back down to go fight Miracle Queen and Hawkmoth.

-Dragonbug and Snake Noir arrive and find that Mayura has summoned a unique sentimonster called Miracumaker. Which turned the teens that had touched the miraculous into the hero versions of themselves. So Rena Rouge, Carapace, Viperion, Ryuuko, King Monkey, and Pegasus. But they have strings on their backs that when its cut, will turn them back to how they were before.

-Mayura, Hawkmoth and Miracle Queen are waiting outside the big bubble arena Dragonbug created. Mayura was clearly looking worse for wear by creating the sentimonster.

-Hawkmoth is prepared to enter the fray, when Fu calls his attention.

-”You’re looking for me?” Fu calls out. Knowing that the villain was indeed looking for him

- Hawkmoth turns his attention to Fu. His eyes narrow.

-”You have made a grave mistake showing yourself.”

-”My mistake was not showing up to fight you sooner.”

-Cue the two charging at eachother.

-The team work of Ladybug and Chat noir allowed them to fight the six controlled heroes, taking out Viperion and Ryuuko first. Exploiting the lack of coordination on the enemies part.

-Mayura tries to move to help Hawkmoth but coughs loudly. Fu notices.

-”Wait, that miraculous she is using... its damaged. The amount of strain that is being placed on her is...”

-”Worry about yourself old man! Hand over the miraculous and reveal to me your secrets!”

-Fu avoiding Hawkmoth’s strikes, through his barrier, frustrating the Villain.

-Snake noir got King monkey’s toy to hit Miracle queen, allowing them to break the hold of the bees and de-akumatize her

-Hawkmoth was furious, and stopped attacking Fu and charged at Ladybug (who had de-unified from Dragon bug). He had caught the heroine off guard and was about to snag her earrings,

-”You think you won. But I WILL take your miraculous!”

-but a shield came and Captain america’d the villain causing him to let go. Jade turtle had Found his moment to strike. He then proceeded to trip up the villain.

-Ladybug calls her lucky charm, It was the same as in the canon episode.

- Mayura noticed that the control over the heroes was gone due to miracle queen’s de-akumatization. She insisted that they leave. They were outnumbered and the plan had gone south. Her health clearly failing.

-Hawkmoth growled and roared that this wasnt over. He knows her allies faces, and He will get the miraculous.

-He and Mayura managed to escape and the sentimonster vanishes. The day is saved.

-Ladybug and Chat noir approach Queen bee. Queen bee apologizes for not listening to them, she hands over the bee miraculous willingly (since this time she wasnt willingly accepting of the akuma)

-Ladybug tells her that she understands and that she doesnt need the bee miraculous to be a hero. But the statement she said before still holds merit. That it is dangerous for her, along with anyone else today to hold a miraculous.

-Chloé is still depressed about it. But she at least knows she isnt being put down for personal reasons. She walks away still sad, but not hating ladybug, she gets it.

-The other teens were confused on what happened, but then head back to where they were. Thanking Ladybug and Chat noir.

-Ladybug wonders what the key is.

-Fu explains that he knows what it means, and she can use it to fix things

-Ladybug uses her lucky charm to fix all the damage.

-Fu seems happy, since the feeling of foreboding and worry he had seemed to pass. He had the impression that he would lose himself because of the events of today. He tells Ladybug that she made the right choice and that she is pretty much ready to be a full fledged guardian...

-Ladybug pleads that she doesn’t want the role yet.

-Fu Laughs. “Dont worry, I still have a lot to teach you and I dont plan on going anywhere.”

-Fu compliments chat noir and says that he is the perfect partner for Ladybug.

-Chat noir thanks Fu. He still feels a twinge of guilt.

-”Perhaps one day, you both can fully know who the other is.”

-Chat noir prays its soon.

-Ladybug offers to help Fu get home. He did expend a lot of energy today.

-”Thank you ladybug.”

-Ladybug wishes Chat noir well and that she needs to go. He smiles and lets her go. He knows he will see his girlfriend later.

_________________________________________-

-Now safe and detransformed.

-Fu does explains that one day, he will pass on the guardian status to Ladybug and he will forget everything because of it.

-Ladybug comments that it sounds awful.

-”Would be terrible if you had to do that earlier and we just find out about it after you did it.”

-”That it would, that it would. Thank goodness it wasnt and probably will never be necessary. Besides, I have other things to teach you, like how to fix a miraculous. Hawkmoth’s Partner is on borrowed time if she continues using that miraculous.”

-”You can share with me all of that another time, how about you rest.”

-Fu smiles at her.

-”I will, thank you Marinette.”

-Marinette leaves and gets a text from Adrien. He had called all of their friends for some ice cream, since their plans got derailed.

-Marinette is happy about it and eagerly goes to meet up with everyone.

-Marinette his sharing ice cream with her boyfriend.

-The sitting order is different. Luka is sitting with Kagami.

-Luka can tell that Kagami is feeling the same way he is. Sad yet happy for them.

-”You know i had written this song about... but it might never be for her now.”

-”I wouldnt mind hearing it. Whats the point of holding it in.”

-Luka chuckles, kind of amused at the comment.

-Luka plays the song that he wrote for the girl who was happy with another guy. It was a not sad or dreary, but something warm and kind, something hopeful. At least thats what Kagami believed.

-Adrien and Marinette enjoyed their ice cream, after the day they had. It was well overdue.

#ml #miraculous ladybug #alt Miracle Queen #In another life au #in another life #ml au #adrinette #Fu #jade turtle #dragon bug #snake noir #ladynoir #ladybug #chat noir #queen bee #hawkmoth #mayura

120 notes · View notes

sloppy-butcher · 4 years ago

Note

Maybe J, K, L, W and X for Hillbilly?

anon... you know DAMN well what you are doing. playing with my heart like this. i legit screamed when i saw this. thank thank thank YOU !!! he's JUSt what the doctor ordered <3 much love anon. hope you enjoy

edit;; i wrote SO DAMN MUCH I i need to go to horny jail

Fluffy Alphabet for The Hillbilly (Max Thompson Jr.)

Jealousy - Do they get jealous easily? How do they deal with it?

Oh yes, but he would never even know he was. Max doesn't know what being jealous is nor does he know what it feels like. He would just begin to feel angry for no apparent reason, a burning familiar fury igniting in his stomach making him want to scream and get his chainsaw. Watching you interact with other people, be it killer or survivor, makes Max very sour. It’s extremely bitter when he sees you talking to others - were you happier with them? He’d get mad and his intrusive white noise would threaten to blind him with unjustified rage.

He’d growl as he looms over you, silver eyes burning with unspeakably deep anguish. No words would fall from his mouth but you could tell from the mere way he stood there that he was upset. You tentatively reach up for him, Max flinching away from your gentle hand. Your heart breaks as you see a wave of unworthiness wash over his deformed features - he feels undeserving of your affections. Max is unsure if you even love him anymore. You belong with normal people with normal faces. How could he ever have believed that you would want to be with him? He recoils from your attempt to touch him again and you feel tears well up in your eyes. There was such profound sadness in that face and your inability to alleviate some of that pain scorned you more than any knife ever could.

Before he could react, moving faster than lightning, you engulf him in a hug. Desperation to soothe his obvious heartache seeping through your embrace. Suddenly he breaks and gives in to your understanding and unwavering love. You must teach him how to recognize and deal with jealousy in a less self-destructive manner.

Kiss - Are they a good kisser? What was the first kiss like?

Hell no. Gonna be dead honest, he would be terrible. There would be too much teeth, his lips would not be able to conform to the correct shape and his tongue is untrained and a little too eager. But what he lacks in technique, he makes up for in passion. Once he knows that you don't mind that his kisses are wet and unusual and his confidence to seek you out grows, he wastes no time in getting quite accustomed to smooching your face. Every chance he got, Max would be planting multitudes of kisses on your person, moving up and down your body with his mouth leaving behind moist teeth-marks and red skin. His favorite place to kiss is your face - be it your cheek, the corner of your mouth, the top of your forehead, it is always your face that gets drenched in his love.

The first kiss was an awkward one, Max had been acting suspicious all day. When the elephant in the room became too much to leave unchecked you approach him and ask him softly if something was wrong. You’d notice right away that he was shaking, his nervous hands fidgeting with the frayed edge of his shirt and his gaze never once having the confidence to meet your line of sight. After having a moment to compose himself, Max finally raises his head and meekly asks if he could give you a kiss. It's such a jarring, out-of-place question that for a few minutes after you remain stuck in stupefied silence. When you manage to give him a gentle nod, Max shuffles closer, his breathing hot and flustered across your face. In an instant, his lips are on yours, not even kissing you more just sloppily pressing themselves against you, and his eyes are closed. The kiss lasts only a heartbeat then he's pulling away, filling with embarrassment and shame. He begins to hurriedly apologize for the awful attempt at such a delicate and intimate act, shrinking away into his own self-doubt.

He stops when you put your hand on his shoulder and sweetly plant another kiss on his forehead. “It was great, Max.” You whisper into his ear feeling all tension drain from his body at your reassuring words. “You were great.”

Love Confession - How would they confess to their s/o?

He’d be an absolute mess. Why was he feeling this way? What even was this feeling? Perhaps he was sick? Maybe he was dying? He had never expected dying to feel this good, however. If he was dying then he’d gladly do so because then he’d get to stay longer with you. It was always you who set off that suffocating goodness in his chest, his knees always felt like straw when he’d steal a sneaky look at you. He would assume that feeling like this was normal for everyone when being around such a wonderful and kind person such as you so it would take a long time for him to realize that pining the way he does was not actually the norm.

He remembers how the men did it on T.V, how they expressed love to their partners, and though nervous, Max knew what he had to do. So one night when alone he pulls you to the side gets down on one knee. He produces a strange bundle of dead flowers and other miscellaneous items that you supposed was meant to be a bouquet. He coughs and tries to force the words to come out but all he could manage was a pathetic mumble. Getting over your stupor at his forwardness, you suddenly sigh and let out a gentle giggle. He looks up at you with wide, unsure eyes - so much like a desperate child that you couldn’t help but place your hands around his crooked face. You call him a goofball and he smiles. You weren’t refusing him so, that means you love him, right? He’s elated. Ballistic! Wild! Walking on air! He stands up quickly and effortlessly sweeps you off your feet, cradling you to his chest as he spins around, all the while laughing his relief and joy.

Wild Card - A random Fluff Headcanon.

Max has a great fascination and strange enjoyment in being openly flirtatious with you. He absolutely loves it when you make crude jokes, smacking his ass and calling him sexy. He blushes and buries his head in his hands, unsure about what to do with himself when showered in such open tenderness. He babbles and shrinks away and to anyone else watching it would seem that he hates being so degraded but really he absolutely loves it. Call him a good boy, a strong, handsome man and he crumbles like a sandcastle against a wave. It makes his insides burning in a most fabulous way and he feels something fuzzy buzz up in his chest. It's a borderline praise-kink thing.

He also enjoys showering you in that same raunchy show of likeness, though do forgive him for all the lines he uses are the same ones he picked up earlier from you (he’s not very creative). He’d smack your ass then would pull away and wait for your reaction. When you’d smile, he’d wheeze and produce a sound you assumed to be his own version of laughter.

XOXO - Are they very affectionate? Do they love to kiss and cuddle?

Yes. Most definitely. Having been deprived of physical affection all his young life, Max would behave like a starved man when you first introduce the concept of cuddling. He’d never want to stop cuddling you. His love language is touch. If you are at the point in your relationship where he is comfortable enough to allow you to touch him, Max constantly begs you for attention.

He loves, and I mean LOVES, when you rake your fingers through his hair. It's an odd thing, coarse, wiry, and scattered across his shoulders in patches, but you manage to always find the best spots to gently stroke as he lies peacefully in your lap. Often you find that Max has fallen asleep and his ragged breathing simulates a cat purring.

When he wakes expects to be covered in kisses and wrapped in an impossible bear-hug. He’s careful to not hurt you with his strength but sometimes he can't help the urge to bring you as close to his chest and humanely possible. He kisses the top of your head and goes wild when you start peppering his face with butterfly kisses. He giggles and can’t help but squeeze his eyes shut and grin like an idiot. You just made him feel so good.

#i lobe #I LOBE HIM OK #hes my baby #dbd imagine #dbd x reader #dbd the hillbilly #dbd the hillbilly x reader #dbd max thompson jr #dbd max thompson jr x reader

91 notes · View notes

pluviophile-bookworm · 3 years ago

Text

Understanding and acceptance: a short story consisting of things that actually happened

[A/N: I was on the phone with my mum and she told me that I seem to be in a creative mood and that I should write something. I decided to kill two birds with one stone and share a personal story while also writing it as if it’s fiction. So here goes.]

Word count: 2K

-- 2 weeks ago --

It’s a quiet Saturday evening. My brother Max and I are walking home together, deep in conversation. I have no memory of what the conversation had been about when it started, but I do remember that it somehow got to this:

‘...all this assuming you’re straight, of course, and I’m not assuming anything--’

‘What does being straight mean?’ Max says in a tone that tells me he genuinely doesn’t know. So I feel obligated to explain it in the simplest terms possible. ‘Well, in your case it would mean that you, a boy, like girls.’

‘Well, that’s the normal thing for any person!’ He nearly cuts me off with this. I calculate my next step carefully.

‘Not every person,’ I say, keeping my voice as calm as possible. ‘I’m not straight.’ Of course, he knows that. I came out to my whole family at once three years ago, hoping for the awkward discussions to be over with that. It hasn’t worked out quite as I envisioned it yet.

‘Yeah, but you’re not normal either,’ Max parries. Can’t argue with that. Lucky for me, that is when we reach the front door and each one goes off to mind their own business.

I know very well just how ‘not normal’ I am. Not in that cliche ‘I’m not like other girls’ way, but in a way that causes Bulgarians undereducated on mental health and identity labels (which is unfortunately most people over 30) to brand a person clinically insane, unstable, a threat to the Traditional Bulgarian Family™. Being aroace and having severe social anxiety and ADHD to top it off, I hardly classify as ‘normal’. This is a frequent cause for arguments at the dinner table at home, most of which end in a. tears and/ or a panic attack on my part, b. my father storming off and pretending to be asleep whenever someone goes to call him back to dinner, c. my brother gluing himself to his phone, leaving his plate half-untouched, d. my mother crying over ‘what kind of mother am I that I can’t even have my family together at the table once’, and usually e. all of the above.

For this scenario to play out, however, the whole family of four is required to be present. So fortunately it only happens every other weekend when Dad and I come back home from the capital, where we have been living for the better part of three years now, ever since he got promoted and I started uni. When I’m away from my loving but over-controlling mum and my brother, who seemed to become obnoxious overnight the moment he turned 13 a little over a year ago, I usually have significantly fewer reasons to cry or feel anxious about... you name it. So we do fine. For the most part.

-- this evening --

I am watching Joe and Frankie’s performance of A Whole New World for the thousandth time today when I get a text from Mum.

Mum: How’s my girl doing?

Mum: I haven’t been able to hear from you with all the fuss about your brother.

Max is at that point in his education where he’s applying for high schools. His exam results have just come in and now everyone in the family is stressing about whether his scores will be enough to get him into the school he wants to go to. It’s a big deal, but with all the Rodfini magic going on (and with how terribly behind I am on my internship assignment) I have just been completely unable to care.

Speaking of Rodfini and A Whole New World, I have been repressing the instinctive urge to send my mum the video all day, and when I get her texts, I almost nearly muster up the courage to do it. But between me and her, this is not something you do over text. So I give her a ring instead.

When she picks up, the sound of her voice combined with the anxiety over what I want to tell her makes me tear up and the words are stuck in my throat.

‘Erm-- Mum, can I tell you something?’ I say, still not sure if I’m not about to regret taking up the subject at all.

‘Dear, you know you can tell me anything,’ she says, sounding concerned at my obviously-trying-to-swallow-tears voice.

‘You mean it?’ I ask, listening to her tone to make sure. I wish I could read tones better. ‘Anything?’

‘Is something wrong, honey?’ Oh gods, she’s in a really benevolent mood. I grow more and more afraid of ruining that with my ‘obsession with gays’.

‘Erm, so I guess you should know Dad and I had the tiniest disagreement just now,’ I say, deciding last minute to start with something she might deem ‘more relevant to the family’s personal lives’. ‘You know, we were watching the Euros and then the match ended and we watched the news, and then Dad changed the channel so he could watch the next match. And I was like ‘whoa, what’s with the video quality’, and so dad was like ‘you really need go get your eyes checked out’; and I tried to explain that there was a very obvious difference in quality between the two channels, and he kept yelling at me that I was ruining my eyesight spending all day staring at a screen.’

‘Did he sound annoyed or just concerned?’ Mum asks me.

‘I know what you’re thinking. And I know full well that he’s my parent and he’s concerned about my health. But you should have heard his tone.’

‘So are you two in a fight now?’

‘No. Well, I don’t know.’ I really don’t. It’s hard to tell when one side of the argument refuses to talk about his feelings as if that will kill him. But I don’t tell Mum that. She’s been dealing with Dad since long before I was even planned, so she knows him better than I do. ‘The thing is, he called me back and said that, well, one of the channels was HD and the other was not, so there was indeed a difference, but he thought it was ‘unnatural’ that I was able to register it so immediately, and he kept insisting there was something wrong with my eyes. I should think that seeing something quickly would be a sign of good vision, not bad. Besides,’ I keep talking, nearly desperate to justify myself, ‘I did some research and sensitivity to light is a symptom of ADHD. So it’s nothing new, really.’

‘Oh, please, dear. You’re of a new generation, and ADHD is something of the older generation. Don’t be so quick to self-diagnose.’

I guess there’s some reason to what she says, or at least the last part of it, so I give up on pursuing the subject further. ‘Yeah, anyway,’ I say, ‘I just thought it was all a bit rich coming from the man who refuses to wear his prescription glasses. I haven’t got any prescription glasses, you know.’

I don’t want to come off too cheeky because I still want to try and talk to her about how happy Rodfini have made me today. A while ago, Mum would accuse me of only calling her to complain when I was unhappy, so I have since made it a point to call her when I am happy and tell her so. That’s why I’ve been itching to share this with her. And now the time has come.

‘You know, I’ve been crying in a completely different way today,’ I begin tentatively. ‘A good way, A really, really good way,’ I add quickly before she can get worried again.

‘Yeah? So what was it that made you so happy that you cried?’ Goodness, there’s no turning back now. I decide to proceed with caution.

‘Oh, well, it was this performance, you know. A really beautiful song. So I’ve been wanting to show it to you, but I was worried about how you’d react.’

‘And why would that be?’ she asks in the same kind tone that keeps making me anxious about potentially ruining everything.

‘Well, erm...’ I feel myself start to stutter. ‘See, it’s a love song, and it’s... ok, I’ll just say it. It’s sung by two guys. As in, a couple, you see.’ I keep feeling up the ground with my words, anxious to hear her reaction. It’s like when I’m opening an exam result -- I want to know, but I’m too scared to look. And so now, in my anxious despair to know what she thinks about it, I miss the beginning of her response. ‘And I know how you are about those things, so I...’ I genuinely don’t know what to say. I’ve done my thing again. I’ve kept talking so much that she hasn’t even been able to react audibly. So I trail off, determined to let her speak this time.

‘Ok, but... why do you get so affected by those things?’ Mum says, starting to sound suspiciously like she’s about to question my own orientation again. I feel the need to justify myself for the second time since the conversation has started.

‘Well, it’s just that... I really wish you would just see them, Mum. If you could just see how they look at each other, you’d see that there’s just love. So much love. And joy at being able to express themselves as they are.’

I’m speaking from the heart now. I am finally letting out how much I want her to give them a chance because she deserves to see and hear their magical performance. She must be sensing the anguished sincerity in my voice as I finally manage to stop crying and I smile through the tears, because she says, ‘Dear, are you... are you trying to tell me something there?’

I sigh. She’s asked me this question nearly every time I’ve started speaking ‘too’ passionately about anything LGBTQ+ Which isn’t an awful lot in her presence, but there have been several occasions. Once about Solangelo, at the beach. Once about NPH and his husband David and their children, at the dinner table, as I was trying to explain how same-sex couples can have kids; that one resulted in a seriously bad scene of the type I described earlier. Once about a participant in a reality show who identified as a gay man then, but has recently come out as a trans woman; whenever she’s been mentioned on television, I’ve fought to repress my inner urge to express my happiness for her and the representation she is for the Bulgarian LGBTQ+ community. I wonder even now if my parents have noticed my silence on the subject -- because they certainly do notice when I am not silent.

So now, when the time seems to have come for me to set things straight about my non-straight-ness (bad pun very much intended), I try my best to keep my voice from shaking. ‘I’m not trying to tell you anything I haven’t already told you, Mum. Really.’

‘Are you perhaps attracted to the same gender, dear?’ It seems so unbelievable that she’s said it, and even more that she’s worded like that, but she really has. I force myself to be calm and patient.

‘No, Mum. I’ve told you -- I am not attracted to any gender, be it male, female or anything else, really. You know that.’

‘Well, it sounded as if you--’

‘No, Mum. Really. But I do need you to understand that part of my identity is that I feel the need to support people with other identities different from straight. I’m happy for their successes. I'm concerned about their issues. They’re a sort of family to me. Do you understand that?’ I say, relieved to be speaking my truth at last. At the same time, I try to sound as reasonable and mature about the whole thing as possible. I don’t want to put her off, especially not now that I’m knee-deep in the subject already. I’ve gone too far to turn back now.

‘Yes, honey. Yes, I do. I just don’t want you to exert yourself emotionally, is all. Plus I’ve been so stressed out about your brother and all, you know...’

‘Yeah, I do know. And I know he’ll be fine. He’s a nice boy. I just wished he didn’t keep calling me ‘abnormal’ all the time...’

‘Oh, well, don’t listen to him. He’s been quite stressed out too. And he’s 14. It’s just how he is at this age.’

I’m not too sure about that. ‘Boys will be boys’. It’s ok for boys, then, to pour salt into their neurodivergent sisters’ wounds? I don’t think so. But I can’t fix every problem in one talk. Plus my mum sounds tired now.

So I just say, ‘I guess... Well, anyway, thank you so much, Mum. For hearing me out, and for supporting me, and for everything else. Please don’t worry so much.’

But I know she can’t not worry at all. I’ve got that from her.

‘If you’re sure you’re all ok now, dear...’

‘Yeah, mum, I am. Or I will be. You know, there’s this expression with English, ‘to run with something’. So I’ve been telling myself, I’ll at least try to walk with things. You know I’m not much of a runner anyway.’ I actually laugh, even though the pun is quite untranslatable into Bulgarian.

‘You know I’m proud of you, right?’

I know that has very little to do with the kind of pride I’ve been celebrating all month, but I say, ‘Of course I do. And you know what? I’m quite proud of myself, too.’ I can’t believe I’m saying it, but I mean it. I mean it wholeheartedly this time.

‘I’m nearly falling asleep, though, dear, so I say we call it a night?’

‘Good night, Mummy. And thanks.’

I hang up. Then I forward the video to her.

I’ve come so far, indeed. I reckon we both have.

#writing #personal #asexual #aromantic #lgbtq+#jnk #rodfini #frankie rodriguez #joe serafini #solangelo #hoo #neil patrick harris #family #family dynamics #found family #pride month #adhd #long post

7 notes · View notes

tanjhero-a · 4 years ago

Text

Shattered Pieces (Tanjirou x OC)

A/N: Commissioned fic once again for darling @knyheadcanons-imagines :)) Thank u so much for your constant love and support 💕

It’s a beautiful day today.

Even more beautiful, Tanjirou finds himself daydreaming, with Hayami tending to the garden at the Butterfly Estate. She simply radiates and shines just as bright as the sun; the flowers she waters help frame her like a gorgeous picture. If there was ever a way to save a single moment in time, for him to hold it in his hand so he can look at it and remember it forever- he’d easily find a way to create that with Nezuko. And then… And then maybe this moment, too.

Soft violet eyes meet his own, and Tanjirou barely registers it until Hayami’s pretty pink lips form a smile, directed toward him, and suddenly Tanjirou feels like bursting.

It’s also comedic how red he gets, but he tries to ignore it as he (eagerly) waves her way. She waves back, and to Tanjirou’s surprise, she sets her watering can down next to the flowers.

And walks his way.

Now would be a good time to tone down his blush, Tanjirou thinks. So she doesn’t notice- yes, that would be good.

Too bad it’s not going anywhere anytime soon.

“It’s good to see you, Tanjirou!” Hayami smiles again- and how can someone be so pretty so effortlessly?

“Good!” Tanjirou squeaks, and then clears his throat- “good to see you, too! I didn’t know you were coming to the estate!”

It’s totally embarrassing how he stumbled in his speech like that- but like the friend that Hayami is, she doesn’t acknowledge it and instead nods her head. He almost breaks down when she doesn't warn him before she pulls him into a hug, his arms stiffly and awkwardly hovering around her before he manages to kick himself into gear and hug her back. But again, if Hayami notices his default, she doesn't mention it as she pulls away. “Yeah! I’m meeting up with Kanao. We’re going on a mission tomorrow. Are you here for similar reasons?”

Her head tilts as she asks the question- it would have made him blush harder because of how cute it is, but unfortunately, Tanjirou is already at max-capacity with blushing.

“A-ah, no, actually. For once,” he laughs, nervously raising a hand to awkwardly scratch the back of his neck as he takes a small step back. Just enough so he isn't so close- so he can breathe a little easier. “Nezuko and I are taking a bit of a break. We’re trying to help Shinobu, too. She’s been tracking some of Muzan’s movements, so she asked for our help.”

Hayami’s eyes light up in surprise. “Oh, really? That’s good, then! The closer we can get, the better. I hope it leads somewhere!”

“Thank you!” He feels a rush of determination at her wish of good luck- and he responds in kind. “Good luck on your mission, too!”

A kind, simple exchange. Hayami smiles and thanks Tanjirou, and then she goes back to watering the flowers. Tanjirou leaves for his duties as well, heart beating a bit faster than before, but it always feels nice to talk with a friend.

The rest of the day goes swimmingly, but it feels like it’s a bit brighter now that Tanjirou knows Hayami is at the estate. He feels a bit foolish for going out of his way to find her several times throughout the day, but she always lights up when he comes around, so perhaps it’s not that foolish. When the night comes, she visits his room, visiting with Nezuko and wishing her a good night along with Tanjirou. He quickly wishes her the same, and he definitely doesn’t watch her as she leaves, walking off to her own room.

And no one can understand Nezuko anyway, so he definitely didn’t do that, and he definitely didn’t have hearts in his eyes, either. And, most importantly, he definitely didn’t go to bed smiling just from thinking of how cute Nezuko and Hayami looked together when they talked tonight.

——

Tanjirou wakes up with a gasp, heart thundering in his chest as cold sweat falls from his temple.

It wasn’t often that Tanjirou had night terrors, but when they hit- they hit hard. But he’s- he takes a deep breath, inhaling and exhaling shakily as his fists find the covers and twists the material between his fingers. He’s fine, he’s fine…

But then a flash of his dream hits him, kicks him in the gut- it was just a gruesome image of blood, blood, blood covering platinum hair and violet eyes.

Tanjirou shivers, and before he knows it, he’s on his feet.

Isn’t this weird? Isn’t this childish? He remembers all of the times that his siblings came to his side at night, crying and shaking from a nightmare- he remembers rubbing their back, holding them close, lulling them back to sleep with him under thin sheets. He’s always been that- the big brother, the pillar of stability and rationalization.

So Tanjirou hesitates when he finds himself in that same place, that same scenario- but this time, he’s the child, twiddling his thumbs outside of the door and wondering if he should really go through with this.

It was just a dream.

But what an awful dream it was.

“Hayami?” His voice comes out quietly, but it’s somehow still so loud compared to the thick silence of the night. Tanjirou winces, already regretting doing this, but unfortunately, the sliding door opens before he can run back to his room.

It’s Hayami on the other side, of course, properly dressed for bed and looking a little bleary-eyed, her hair more messy and tangled than it usually was during the day. He must have woken her up.

“I- I’m sorry, Hayami, you should go back to bed,” Tanjirou quickly whispers, but she merely shakes her head and rubs her eyes.

“No, it’s okay,” she whispers, too. It comes naturally because of how dark it is, how late it is. “Do you need anything? Everything okay?”

Tanjirou shuffles in his spot, his lips already pulling awkwardly on his face. He’s a terrible liar, really- he’s even worse when it’s Hayami. “It’s nothing big,” Tanjirou shakes his head lightly, looking at the floorboards. “I’m just worried.”

She doesn’t reply right away. When she does, it’s not with words- but an invitation as she slides the door open a little more, moving to the side as she looks at him kindly. Tanjirou doesn’t say anything either but eagerly takes her offer, slipping inside her dark room before he can convince himself not to, Hayami sliding the door shut behind him. She walks back to her mat, folding her legs underneath her as she sits down on the blankets and Tanjirou awkwardly moves to sit beside her; as she watches him, she laughs through her nose.

“No need to be so tense, Tanjirou,” She reassures him quietly. “Relax.”

“Right,” he does as she says with a sigh, pulling his lips together and lacing his hands in his lap. When he looks up, she’s looking at him expectantly, still wearing that kind smile. He melts. “I had a bad dream,” he admits quietly, “about your mission. I dreamed you got really hurt, and I just… I really don’t want anything bad to happen to you, Hayami,” his brows crease on his forehead as he speaks.

“Tanjirou,” Hayami softly sighs, and one of her hands reaches forward to place atop his on his lap. He flusters at the touch, blushing anxiously- and he’s thankful for the dark cover of night that hopefully hides his hot cheeks from her. “There is no need to worry. I’m alright,” she squeezes his hands, “and I will be after the mission, too. I’ll be back, and I will be fine. I promise.”

“Thank you,” he whispers meekly. “I know, it’s still just…”

“You can’t help it. I get the same way,” she hums. “Do you want to stay here for the night? I will probably be up early in the morning, but you’re more than welcome to stay.”

“Oh- I- I couldn’t-“

“Please. If it helps, I want you to stay,” Hayami reassures him swiftly, and Tanjirou hesitates. He looks at her sliding door, then back at her- and…

His head sinks between his shoulders shamefully. “Thank you, Hayami.”

“Come here,” The girl tugs on his hands, urging him closer, and he looks at her curiously as she helps him lay on the mattress. Soon enough, before he realizes what’s happening, his head is in her lap and her fingers are running through his hair.

Huh.

He’s pretty sure he’s blushing again- or he never stopped. Either way, if the moon cast her gaze on him now, she would reveal his wild beating heart and love-struck gaze, so he prays that he will stay blanketed in the darkness. No words are exchanged as Hayami begins to hum, her hands still coursing through his strands so soothingly that he feels his eyes getting heavy from the motion. Eventually, the hum becomes a soft, quiet song- lyrics hanging in the air that he can’t really grasp because of his muddled mind.

Before he realizes it, he falls asleep like that. Safe in her hands and her watchful gaze, he sleeps, and no more dreams haunt him that night. The only thing he pictures is a field of lavender that sways from the wind and a soft song that rings beautifully in the air.

——

Of course, when Tanjirou wakes, Hayami is gone. She said she’d be leaving early, and surprisingly, Tanjirou slept heavily enough that he didn’t stir even once throughout the rest of the night. It’s still morning, but it’s getting late- so he tries not to fluster too much from the idea of sleeping in Hayami’s bed as he rushes back to his room and gets ready for the new day.

Despite Hayami’s reassurances and the facts that he knew- which is that Hayami is more than strong and capable, she’s smart, too- Tanjirou couldn’t help but fumble around as he helped Shinobu today. It probably didn’t help that he was still replaying last night over and over in his mind- not only the dream, but the way Hayami sang, and the way she looked so beautiful with the moon shining behind her. And remembering how lovely, wonderful, beautiful she is… it creates more awkward fumbling and an anxious spike in his chest. He was worried. Something about his dream last night struck a chord deep in him and no matter how much he tried to push his anxieties to the side, the funk wouldn’t leave.

Because what if something did happen? What if she really did get hurt, all the while as Tanjirou was separating herbs for medicine? At least it’s useful, he thinks, because if she really did get hurt, Tanjirou knew first hand that they had more than enough supplies to take care of her, no matter what.

But even that still made his gut twist with fear. Because what if it wasn’t enough? What if, what if, what if?

What if Kanao walks into the estate alone?

That’s ridiculous, of course! Such a thing wouldn’t happen. Definitely not. Tanjirou eventually had to slam his head hard against a wall, almost creating a crack in it (the wall, unfortunately, as his head was still as thick as a stone and wasn’t splitting anytime soon) to shock himself out of his bad thoughts. He has things to do!

So Tanjirou buries his nose in his work, moving viciously and making the nurses make worried comments, but that’s fine. He’s fine! And so is Hayami! Yes, yes. Everything is fine.

And yet.

There’s something inside Tanjirou that shatters when he sees Kanao come through the Butterfly Estate gates, a limp body in her arms; the body covered in dark stains of blood and familiar blonde hair that covers their face, messily tangled and equally as dirty. He’s not exactly sure what shatters- a part of him, deep inside and hidden somewhere that’s locked away, and maybe it’s a part of him that’s been left abandoned and unassessed because of how undesirable and ugly it is. Maybe it was a part of him built up from seeing so, so many people die, seeing his family’s corpses, seeing things he shouldn’t have seen over and over again, grotesque and gut-wrenching- and seeing her, too. Seeing her just like that, just like all the other skeletons in his closet. It’s- it’s…

Something vicious and primal comes clawing up his throat, his heart, his head. Let me out, let me out, let me out, it begs. It wants to throw him into a frenzy, it wants to throw him into disarray, and it wants to destroy him.

And Tanjirou swallows that beast down, as hard as he can as he leads Kanao quickly to the private rooms in the estate. He keeps swallowing it down- because he has to. Even when his heart drops when he sees Hayami’s face; when he sees the slashes in her torso, the gash on her forehead. Even then, he clenches his fist, and that’s it. His blunt fingernails somehow manage to make indents and make his palms bleed, but that’s the worst of his damage. The physical damage, of course.

He can’t speak for the emotional damage yet.

Tanjirou is also keenly aware that he can’t do anything. He can’t help heal her, he doesn’t know how that works. The best he can do is protect her, but that opportunity has passed. Now there is nothing.

As the nurses rush in and out of the room, carrying out baskets of bloody towels and carrying in more and more gauze and supplies, he finds that the best thing he can do for himself is walk away. He walks to his room, and once he’s sure that it’s dark enough, he unlatches Nezuko’s box. Tanjirou was mildly expecting her to be asleep, so he’s a bit surprised to see her sakura eyes staring up at him.

He takes his shite luck wholeheartedly though, and he holds her tight. It doesn’t matter if Nezuko doesn’t hold him back, because he just needs something to ground him.

She does, though- one hand reaching up to hold his head against her shoulder, the other one rubbing his back. Tanjirou gasps, tenses, and finally, the beast in him comes out. It scratches his throat viciously as it does, causing him to cry out, and it bursts through his eyes and makes him sob.

Maybe he holds Nezuko too tight, and maybe he cries and sobs too loud.

But for now, in the safety of her arms, that’s okay.

So he lets that beast come out, as ugly and undesirable as it may be.

——

It’s hours later that Tanjirou finally feels well enough to go outside his room, and when he does, a little nurse immediately comes to his side and gives him the good news.

Hayami is fine, of course. It definitely looked scary, but she would heal and be back in the field soon enough. No lasting damage, no risks of infection.

The best outcome.

That was only mildly true, Tanjirou thinks, because the best outcome would be the one where she returned to the estate happy and unharmed. But- besides that- this was surely the best outcome. He thanks the little girl earnestly for the news, and he quickly makes his way to her room where she rests peacefully.

He comes in and out as the day continues. He still has a job he has to do, after all, but Tanjirou always comes back to her room when he can. It’s only a day later when she wakes.

When her eyes blink open, violet irises murky and slightly faded from exhaustion and confusion- it feels like Tanjirou is finally allowed to breathe again.

There’s an impulse he feels to jump and wrap Hayami in his arms, and his arms flinch from that impulse, but he stops. Freezes. That probably wouldn’t be a good idea- he’d probably hurt her even more if he squeezed her like he wants to, just so he can feel her heartbeat, make sure she’s really alive.

She is alive. Her eyes are open, they’re swimming with morality, shining as they look at him, and she smiles.

He’s still frozen.

“Tanjirou,” Hayami sighs, one of her hands reaching forward and placing atop his shaking ones on his lap. “I worried you again, didn’t I?” Her face falls a bit, the smile on her face becoming strained as she coughs and her eyebrows knit together. “I’m sorry.”

“No,” Tanjirou finally swallows, willing himself to speak as his hand wraps around hers, holding it tight and securely. “Don’t be sorry, it’s not your fault that you got hurt. I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” he apologizes quickly. It bursts out of him because the words have been repeating in his head over and over since he first saw her in Kanao’s arms.

Hayami merely huffs, squeezing his hand back as she gives him a knowing look.

“Why would you be? You were supposed to be here, not with me. There’s no reason for you to be sorry, either.”

His mouth opens and closes dumbly. Tanjirou wasn’t sure what to say to that- his brows furrow on his forehead as he squints. And then, reluctantly, he sighs and bites his lip.

“Then neither of us should be sorry,” he says and Hayami smiles.

“That sounds fair.”

A silence wafts through, then- it’s not unfriendly or bad, but Tanjirou still itches to say something else. And he’s also vividly aware of the fact that he’s still holding her hand, but he doesn’t really want to let go. “I’m really happy that you’re safe,” he says and winces. That’s not what he really wanted to say.

Hayami doesn’t seem to notice- she smiles and nods.

“I know you’re hurt, but…” Unknowingly, Tanjirou’s eyes grow big and soft, almost pleading as he looks her way. Unknowingly, it makes Hayami’s heart skip a beat as he asks, “would it be alright if I hugged you?”

“Of course, Tanjirou!” Hayami replies instantly, her smile growing already, and unknowingly, that makes Tanjirou’s own heart skip, too. She shuffles around on her pillows, using her free hand to help prop herself up on the pillows- and then Tanjirou is already surrounding her, arms holding but not suffocating as they cradle her body gently and securely. Tanjirou exhales a shaky sigh as he hugs her, her own hands coming to slowly wrap around him.

“I’m really glad you’re safe,” he says again, against her skin, and she hums. Her hands move up and down his back, her eyes shut as she relaxes against him.

He’s warm. Warm and safe, so unlike the cold feeling of demons, of war and survival. Tanjirou is a welcome contradiction of the world they are surrounded in, Hayami thinks.

“Thank you, Tanjirou.” She says earnestly and honestly, pressing her forehead against his collarbone with a sigh.

And then she winces when she tries to move her arms again, and Tanjirou bursts to life.

“Right! I need to get the nurses- and I need to tell Shinobu you’re up! And Kanao, too. She doesn’t show it, but she was really worried.” He paces around the room quickly and Hayami giggles as she watches him. The sound makes him freeze, looking at her with wide eyes.

His lips form a smile as his eyes soften. “I’ll be right back,” he promises, and then he leaves the room in a flash.

Alone in her room, Hayami laughs again, leaning against her pillows with a flustered grin despite all the gashes and slashes on her body that urge her to do anything but. The hummingbird pace of her heart simply disagrees with the burning and throbbing.

——

It was agreed, or perhaps the word is forced that Tanjirou became one of Hayami’s main caretakers as she healed in the estate.

It was ridiculous, of course, because Tanjirou really didn’t know the first thing about nursing other than the things he knew from being an older brother in a big family. But it was agreed (forced) nonetheless, as long as another nurse was by his side in case he did something wrong.

But he was careful. Always careful, always thoughtful. He always checked in with the nurse before he gave Hayami her medicine, and always asked if he was doing it correctly when he helped rewrap her bandages.

Hayami was honestly flattered by how determined he was to help care for her. Flattered, and maybe a bit embarrassed. Having Tanjirou constantly at her side was nice, of course, but she felt odd for looking so weak in his eyes.

So when Tanjirou focuses on making her herbal tea one day and accidentally trips as he moves forward one day, the tea porcelain falling to the floor and shattering in a million pieces, Hayami supposes that maybe something in her breaks, too. Some sort of subconscious decision that she doesn't have the resolve to hang onto anymore.

“Tanjirou!” She gasps, sifting upright in her bed. Thankfully, he didn’t fall along with the tea. “Are you okay?”

“Oh!” He laughs a bit shyly. When Hayami starts to remove her cover, his head snaps up and he quickly waves his hands as he reassures her. “No, don’t get up! You could step in it! I’ll clean it, don’t worry!”

Hayami isn't sure how she feels when he turns his back to her to clean up the mess. “Are you sure?” She hums with disbelief, frowning a bit as she strains to look at the mess.

“Of course- ah!”

The porcelain is surprisingly sharp, and Tanjirou winces with a small grunt as the shard he picks up digs into his skin and cuts, droplets of blood already running down his digit. He sighs, looking it over- it’s not that deep, but it still stings.

“Tanjirou!”

He freezes again. Oops.

“Did you cut yourself?” Hayami asks, concern and something mildly-accusatory in her tone as she desperately tries to look around him from her spot in bed. He looks at her over his shoulder, smiling reassuringly-

“It’s just a small cut-“

“Come here.”

He’s sort of surprised by how stern she sounds. “Wh- it’s no big deal, really! It barely even hurts-“

“Tanjirou,” her lips pull, and his stomach swirls as he sighs and stands, leaving the (surprisingly sharp) porcelain shards on the floor as he heads to her side. Hayami reaches for the medical box by her bedside- the medical box used for her needs, plenty of gauze and adhesives so she has plenty of supplies in case she needs it if one of the nurses isn't around to help. Tanjirou immediately shakes his head as he watches her rifle through it.

“That’s yours, Hayami!”

“I don’t care, you cut yourself. It could get infected!” Her hands reach toward him, grabbing and pulling him toward her bed. “Come on, Tanjirou. You know these things are important.” She only settles when he finally sits down beside her, and she grabs a cotton pad, dabbing it in alcohol and then grabbing his hand as she begins to clean the cut.

He barely reacts at the sting. “It’s just a small cut, it’s fine…” He tries again, but she merely shakes her head as she focuses on cleaning the blood.

“It’s still important.”

Hayami dutifully cleans the cut, and no words are shared as she quickly wraps it in a bandage. The amount of care she put into it wasn’t needed- not at all- and Hayami realized that, of course.

Her lips pull again as she holds Tanjirou’s calloused hand in her own.

“Be careful, Tanjirou. You don’t… you don’t have to work so hard to help me. I’m fine, too.” She meets his gaze with a soft exhale. “I promise.”

“You almost weren’t-“

“But I am,” she urges, her eyebrows furrowing tensely. “I am, Tanjirou.”

There's a cutting silence that drags heavily between the two of them. Tanjirou doesn't meet her eye anymore, his eyes heavily focused on the bed sheets instead. As the silence continues, Hayami swallows as she eventually breaks it, her thumb running across Tanjirou's palm. "I appreciate everything you're doing for me. It makes me so happy that you care," she whispers. "But you act as if I'm dying. And I need you to know that I'm not. I'm getting better, you know."

She knows that he knows. He's been by her side all this time- it would be impossible or extremely ignorant to be blind to her progress. And Hayami knows that Tanjirou isn't ignorant.

"You're right," Tanjirou sighs. His body moves again, coming to life as he squeezes her fingers gently. "I got so scared before, and I let that take over me. I know you're capable of doing things by yourself, but I just..."

It feels strangely similar, this moment. A sense of deja vu washes over him, and he realizes- this moment is not at all unlike when he came to her before, worried at the mere concept of her getting hurt from a dream he had.

"I'm sorry, Hayami," he frowns as he meets those beautiful violet eyes again. "I'll try to be less intense."

"You're fine, honestly," her head tilts as she gently smiles at him, "it's been irritating me, too. Not being able to get better fast enough. And I don't want to get frustrated at you for helping me."

Tanjirou nods. "That makes sense." And then his eyes drift back to the mess of tea, and he hums, his expression wincing again. "We should clean it before it sticks on the floorboards."

Despite the negative outcome of what he said- because Shinobu would surely be furious if the tea sank into the floor- Hayami beams at Tanjirou. "We should!" She agrees, and eagerly she stands with him, helping pick up the pieces with careful, loving hands.

#kamado tanjirou #tanjiro kamado #tanjirou kamado #tanjirou x oc #tanjirou kamado x oc #commission #writing commission #kny #demon slayer #Kimetsu no Yaiba #OC #kamado tanjiro

22 notes · View notes

fallen-imagine-angel · 5 years ago

Text

‘Accidental’ Run-In - Steve Harrington x Reader

Notes: Here’s the second Steve request! Others are still in the works, will be posted soon, hopefully! And by the way, if you’re super cautious about spoilers then I wouldn’t read this just in case, but I’ve re-read it like three times and I don’t see anything that’s really spoiling season 3?? But be warned that I could have missed something. Hope you enjoy!

Summary: You let it slip that you and Max are headed to the mall for a day.

‘Accidental’ Run-In

Steve Harrington x Reader

Requested?: Yes, by @divergentseagreengirl “Can you do a Steve story where the girl he ends up with also kind of takes on a big sister role with Max? Maybe she's also had some losses in her life and is a little broken and she and Steve connect and understand the other and what they need.”

Word Count: 1,591

Warnings: Possible ST3 spoilers, mentions of a neglective father, Steve being too cute?

You worked at the arcade when you first saw Steve Harrington. Scratch that, when you first talked to Steve Harrington. He and the kids he had befriended were there to play games. Well, Steve was there to watch them, mostly.

“I can teach you the trick to all the games,” You had told him. He listened to you, for the kids’ sake.

A year later, you’re applying to a job at the video store with the same boy. The two of you had grown close, finding comfort in the fact that both of you had awful dads. You had gained a fairly large crush on Steve in this past year, especially after you dealt with the whole Mind Flayer and Russian thing with him, Robin, and the kids. Adding on the similarity you already had, you two became even closer. Little did you know your crush was reciprocated.

“(Y/n)! Steve!” The kids rush into the store with large, suspicious smiles on their faces.

“What do you want?” You sigh, going back to putting up movies that had been returned.

“A discount,” Lucas tells you bluntly. You frown.

“Please, please, please? We only have two dollars and we really want to watch Star Wars!” Mike pleads, showing you the two dollars in his hands. You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose.

“What’s going on over here?” Steve walks over, putting a hand on his hip.

“The boys want to rent Star Wars and they’re forcing us to watch it with them. We don’t have enough money so we’re asking for a discount.” Max explains shortly. You look over at Steve.

“And I’m guessing (Y/n) said no?” Steve asks, cocking an eyebrow.

“She hasn’t said anything.” Dustin looks at you for an answer. Eleven looks up at you expectantly, a face of pure innocence and pleading.

“Fine. Just this once, though.” You point a finger at the kids. They all nod excitedly. You grab the entire Star Wars saga up to this point from the shelf and hand it to the kids, taking their two dollars.

“You’re the best, (Y/n)!” Max hugs you tightly. You laugh and ruffle her hair.

“Hey, we still on for tomorrow?” You ask her. She nods.

“Wouldn’t miss it.” She runs off with the rest of the gang. You had also grown close with Max over the bond of having a dad that doesn’t care.

“What’s tomorrow?” Steve asks, sidling up to you.

“Oh, I promised her I’d take her to the mall tomorrow. Her brother’s being a douche and she needs some girl time.” You shrug, going back to work.

“Aw, cute.” Steve laughs, helping restock the shelves with you.

“What, me or the fact that I’m taking Max to the mall?” You joke, nudging his shoulder.

“Both.” He grins at you. You blush and say nothing.

~+~

The next day, you’re in the mall with Max.

“Oh, no. That is not your style, please put it back.” You put the frilly dress back on the rack, right out of her grasp.

“I think I’d rather die than wear that.” She pulls a face. You laugh.

“I’d rather die than see you wear that.” You turn toward another rack of shirts, this time pulling out a shirt that looked more like her style.

“It’s perfect!” She grabs it and goes to the fitting room. You look through the racks for something you’d like.

She jumps out of the fitting room, showing off her new outfit.

“Cute.” You compliment, nodding as she twirls around.

“I’m gonna get it.” She grins and goes back into the fitting room. You grab a shirt off the rack and try it on, deciding that you like it.

“You ready to go?” You ask, grabbing the shirt she liked from her to buy it. She nods.

“Yup. Oh, how are you and Steve doing?” She asks as you head to the counter.

“Huh? We aren’t dating. You know that.” You furrow your brows. You set the items on the counter and pay for them.

“I know, I just...you should be.” She shrugs, leaning a hip on the table.

“Max, we don’t like each other--”

“Bullcrap, I know you do. It’s so obvious.” She scrunches her nose up at you, crossing her arms.

“Fine, I like him but there’s no way he’d ever like me.” You grab your bagged items and walk out of the store. She follows.

“Whenever he looks at you, his eyes are literal hearts.” Max rolls her eyes.

“You sure are blunt today.” You raise an eyebrow at her.

“I learn from the best.” She grins at you. You scoff.

“I assume that’s me?” You smirk.

“Without a doubt.” She answers.

“Oh, hey guys!” Steve strolls up to the two of you, a smile on his face.

“Now’s your chance,” Max whispers before he’s close enough to hear her.

“Yeah, yeah. Shut up.” You silence her. She smirks proudly to herself. As Steve nears, you see Lucas behind him.

“Why is Lucas here?” Max questions.

“Your guess is as good as mine.” You shrug.

“What are you guys doing here?” Steve asks as he comes to a stop in front of you.

“I could ask you the same thing, Harrington. I told you I was going to be at the mall today with Max.” You tilt your head in confusion.

“Wow, that’s...weird. I don’t remember you saying that. Well, since we’re here, why don’t we give the kids a couple of dollars and make them go get us ice cream or something while we catch up?” Steve asks, shoving a few dollars into Lucas’ hand.

“Sure, whatever. Come on, Max, let’s go.” Lucas links arms with his girlfriend and walks off.

“You seem desperate to get me alone, Stevie.” You giggle, sitting down on a nearby bench with him.

“I- uh, yeah, I guess so. There’s just something I need to tell you.” He wipes his hands on his jeans, suddenly nervous. You frown.

“What’s wrong?” You ask, setting a calming hand on his shoulder.

“I like you.” He blurts, unable to stop the words once they started forming.

“You like, like me? As a crush?” Your eyes widen at the new information. Butterflies burst in your stomach.

“Y-Yeah, like I have a crush on you.” He admits, scratching the back of his neck nervously.

“I like you, too, Steve. I have for almost a year now,” You tell him, setting a hand on top of his. He turns his hand over and holds yours.

“Yeah? That’s a relief because so have I.” He smiles in relief, lacing his fingers with yours.

“I told you he came here to ask her out!” You hear Lucas yell. You look over and see him and Max hiding horribly behind a bush. She shushes him, but it’s too late. They’ve been spotted.

“Sorry! We’re gonna...uh, go get ice cream now.” She smiles widely, giving you a thumbs up. You laugh as they run away.

“Kids…” Steve chuckles.

“So, you were going to ask me out, huh? Was Lucas in on this plan?” You smirk and nudge his shoulder.

“He wasn’t in on it per se, but he did know that I came here to ask you out. Which I still technically need to do because I only told you I have a crush on you. Um, (Y/n), do you want to go on a date with me?” He smiles sheepishly.

“I’d love to.” You kiss him on the cheek.

“How’s your dad going to take this?” He asks, rubbing the back of your hand soothingly.

“He won’t like it, but when has that stopped me before?” You ask, giving him a sad smile. Your father is a sore subject for you, but you tell Steve everything. You trust him, and he understands you, so you let him in. In return, he lets you in and tells you everything.

“Good point.” He smiles, kissing the back of your hand. You two look forward for a minute, both thinking of kissing each other. You’re too shy to initiate it the first time.

“Should we check up on--”

“Can I kiss you? Like, actually kiss you instead of on the cheek or hand?” Steve asks suddenly, looking over at you. You blush.

“Um, yeah, I wouldn’t mind that.” You nod.

“Perfect.” He breathes out before pressing his lips softly to yours. You kiss back, wrapping your arms around his neck as his go around your waist. You pull him closer.

“Holy crap!” You hear from behind you. You and Steve break away from each other, looking over to see Max and Lucas standing there, shocked and holding ice cream.

“They kissed!” Lucas looks over at Max, his eyes wide.

“Did you guys get us any ice cream?” Steve peers at the kids, noticing only two cones in their hands.

“Um, no. We figured you’d be too busy.” Max backs away slowly. You turn back to Steve.

“It’s okay. I’ve already got the sweetest thing right here in front of me.” Steve presses his forehead to yours.

“Oh my god, Steve.” You can’t help but burst out laughing at his corny joke.

“Oh, yeah, (Y/n). Get used to this.” He grins at you.

“I think I’ll manage.” You smirk, pulling him in for another kiss.

You’ll definitely be able to manage corny jokes if it means getting to be with Steve after a long and terrible year of pining. In fact, you’ll be able to manage anything with Steve by your side. Even your father.

252 notes · View notes

juicylivy · 6 years ago

Text

❤ Daddy ❤

Don’t take the title in a dirty way lmao this is an imagine xD

Okay, so, here’s my first imagine on here! I hope you like and please tell me what you think(: I love to read your comments! <3 Just to inform you: I’m gonna post a picture of the boys of how they look in the smut/imagine all the time <3

Here’s how Taeil looks in this! /dies/ :

It’s been a whole year since you and Taeil first declared your love for each other and made the decision to become a couple. Everything was going great; you were happy, living in an apartment together. Your relationship with Taeil had started out to be difficult because he would always be off to work in his studio, working on songs with his bandmembers. You were okay though, you loved Taeil more than you’ve ever loved anyone in your whole life. But it was a bit difficult saying goodbye to him and ‘see you tonight’ since he would most likely first be at home at around evening.

You also knew that if you had time off from your school work, you could go and visit him. It was quite fascinating, watching him work, seeing him try out new tunes with the members and writing down lyrics. He’s said that knowing you were there gave him some sort of peace and harmony with his work.

Everything was as it should be, until one specific morning when you woke up feeling the most nauseous you’ve ever felt in many years. You stormed out into the bathroom and disposed the dinner you had yesterday into the toilet. You had just finished and were now resting your head in front of the toilet in case more should come, when a rather confused and flustered Taeil running into the bathroom, looking completely distraught with his hair pointing in kinds of directions. It would have been amusing to you, if it wasn’t because you felt like vomiting any minute.

“Babe?! What’s wrong? Are you okay?” He hurried over to you, still looking tired, but worried nonetheless. You gave him a weak smile.

“I’m okay,” you replied weakly. “Sort of.” He hugged you and you placed your head on his shoulder.

“Do you want me to stay home and look after you?” He suggested softly, but you shook your head.

“It’s okay, it’s nothing to worry about. Honestly,” you said, taking in a deep breath to try and stabilize your stomach. You looked up at him and smiled at him. He didn’t look convinced.

“But baby… you’re not feeling well! I can’t leave you like this. I’m sure the members would understand if I stayed home to look after you,” you let out a breathy giggle.

“Please, don’t worry about me, if anything happens, I’ll give you a call, okay?” You suggested, and he sighed, surrendering.

“Okay, but you promise you’ll call me, okay?!” he said and pointed his finger at you as he slowly let go of you. You again let out a breathy chuckle and nodded.

“I promise, baby. Now go, I can manage, okay?” You promised and waved your hand at him, signaling for him to go. It took some time before he finally left and left you to your own. You took a deep breath again and tried to stand up slowly. When you had succeeded, you leaned over the sink and looked at you reflection. You looked awful. Hair a mess, eyes droopy, face pale, and body shaking slightly. You sighed and started to brush your teeth to try and get rid of the horrible taste in your mouth. When you were done, you dragged yourself out into the kitchen and looked through the cupboards for some toast you could roast.

While roasting the bread, you went through your brain to think about any possible reason that could make you feel nauseous. You didn’t have any thought as to why, so you just sat be the kitchen table and ate the roasted bread with some strawberry jam.

An idea suddenly struck your head and you dropped the bread onto the plate. You sat completely paralyzed for a good two minutes before you really started to panic. You started hyperventilation and anxiety filled you.

Could that seriously be possible?! You had to find out, so you quickly put the plate in the sink, put the jam into the fridge and then grabbed your bag and jacket, went out the apartment, and towards the nearest shop.

A few moments later you sat by the sink with your head in your hands with you heart beating violently in your chest. You hoped for the best, but still you couldn’t help but to expect the worst. After the time had passed, as the package said, you stood up and checked the 5 pregnancy tests you had taken.

Sure enough, the worst you had expected, happened. You were pregnant. All 5 tests were positive. You stood completely speechless, looking at the two lines on each of the tests and felt as if they were judging you for not wearing a condom that one time. You felt like you had done something terribly wrong. You didn’t know, but you couldn’t help but feel the disappointment he’d show when you would tell him. You could practically see the sadness on his face, and you could hear him say: “We can’t keep the baby… what wouldn’t everybody think? We aren’t married. It will never work.”

You felt tears prick the corners of your eyes. If Taeil didn’t approve of this baby, what would you possibly do? One thing was certain, you didn’t want to rid of the baby, but the reactions Taeil might show, killed you inside. You hid the tests inside your closet, among your clothes and slumped down on your bed and began crying. You cried your heart out until there weren’t any tears left to cry. You stood up from the bed and went to stand in front of your mirror. Slowly you lifted your shirt and put both of your hands on your stomach. Right there inside your stomach, grew your baby. Taeil’s baby. The thought of having a little Taeil running around the apartment happily with Taeil chasing him made you cry once more. It was such a beautiful image. Such a precious thought that you never wanted to get rid of. The thought of Taeil holding your newborn baby, while swaying it from side to side with a smile, made your heart swell so much you thought you were going to combust.

You sat down in front of the mirror still with your hands on your stomach and smiled softly. “Hey there, little baby, I’ve just found out that you’re in there. Don’t worry, mommy’s happy to have you there, but I don’t know if daddy will be… he doesn’t know yet. I hope daddy will accept you and love you the same way mommy does.”

While speaking to your baby, you didn’t realize tears fell from your eyes again and how they didn’t seem to stop. You really loved this baby, and you wished with all your heart that Taeil would too. When you continued to think about the little family you would have, you began to fully cry with sobbing and hiccupping. A thought struck your head and you suddenly remembered something your own mom told you once. The baby can feel the same emotions you do. You tried your hardest to make yourself stop crying, since you didn’t want anything bad to happen to the baby. You took a lot of deep breaths and after 15 minutes max, you finally calmed down and sat up. It would probably be a good idea to tell Taeil. Better now than later. Anxiety went through you as you thought this, but you forced yourself to stop. So now you were packing a bag with the 5 tests and got dressed, putting on your shoes and jacket and then you were off to the studio.

Standing in front of the door to Taeil and his bandmate’s studio made cold-sweat form on your forehead. How were you going to tell him? Well, you guess you just had to take it as it comes and just try to be relaxed.

You turned the door knob and went inside. Inside sat all the members of NCT 127 around the table, while some was standing, with a lot of papers scattered around them and on the table in the middle. When you entered, they all looked at you and a bright smile spread across their faces. They all greeted you and went up to hug you. It was nice get these hugs, it kind of relaxed you and soothed you so it didn’t seem hard to tell Taeil this.

Taeil came out from the group with a loving smile, and you gulped here he is.

“Hey baby, are you feeling better?” He asked worriedly. The thought that ‘feeling better’ meant that you were pregnant, made you nervous again.

“Yes! I-I am,” fuck. You stuttered. You coughed and looked down. This is way more difficult than you thought, but you couldn’t back out now. You had to tell him now or you never would until it was too late.

This is it.

“Taeil honey… there’s something I have to tell you,” you started out shakily and looked up at him anxiety lacing in your voice. Taeil’s smile faded when he heard your tone and he got a concerned expression on his face.

“What is it, darling?” he still stood his ground and didn’t come over to you, which kind of made you happy, because you had to get yourself together and tell him this.

“Well… you remember how I was feeling sick this morning, right?” he nodded, and you continued taking a deep breath. “I did some thinking about i-it and a crazy idea struck me… I then went to-to see if that idea wa-as true... It was, and I thought I had to tell you, since you’re probably curious a-and worrie-ed” Another deep breath. The members were looking intensely at the two of you, but you only had your eyes on Taeil, you couldn’t get distracted now. He nodded his head slowly, taking in all the words you said. Another deep breath and you opened your bag, getting hold of the tests. Before you took them out, you closed your eyes, ‘he’s going to know now...’

“We-well, I hope this answers your curiosity…” you finished and took the tests. You heard a few gasps from the members, but Taeil was still clueless. You were happy they didn’t say anything; this was yours and Taeil’s big moment.

“Two lines means positive…” you added, and you handed them to him. He looked at them confused, but then his eyes dilated and his mouth stood agape. He looked up at you with a confused, yet happy, expression.

“Is-is this?...” he started out, and you nodded, a smile playing along your lips. “This? Is preg-pregnancy tests?!” His voice went up an octave at the end of the sentence.

“Yes, they are,” you giggled now. He looked happy. “You’re gonna be a daddy, Taeil.” A wide grin spread across his face and his eyes dilated even more. He stood there silent for a while, but:

Then it came.

He let out a happy screech and ran over to you and lifted you up, swinging you around. You laughed happily with him.

The members also cheered and celebrated.

Mark yelled: “We’re gonna be uncles!!” and clapped happily and Johnny butted in and they jumped around.

Doyoung and Taeyong began crying and had to sit down.

Yuta and WinWin were completely gobsmacked as to what was going on, but bright smiles were on their faces due to the fact Taeil, you, and everyone else were happy.

Jaehyun was so cute, rolling around on the couch, giggling like a child.

Haechan though. Haechan was screeching very loudly and jumped around the room, while yelling: “it finally happened!!!”

Taeil finally put you down and kissed you all over the face and then kissed you passionately on the lips. You began crying by the fact that Taeil wasn’t mad or upset about the fact he was going to be a dad.

“You’re not upset?” You sniffed and giggled. Taeil laughed.

“Upset? No! I’m the happiest guy on earth. I’m gonna be a dad to our child!” he laughed happily, and his eyes shone so much, you felt like crying even more.

“Thank goodness, I thought you would be mad,” you sniffed and dried your eyes while laughing. Taeil shook his head disapprovingly with a smile.

In the back the members were still cheering, and one sentence caught your ears and you began laughing hysterically: “LETS GET WASTED!” Taeil shook his head disapprovingly even more and even groaned and yelled back: “You’re not old enough, Haechan!” a groan was then heard and laughter too.

Taeil looked at you again and smiled widely. Then he did something unexpected that made your heart melt. Taeil went down on his knees, lifted your shirt, gave it a loving kiss, and said:

“I’m going to take such good care of you, little one. Daddy loves you so dearly.”

#moon taeil #happy birthday Taeil #nct taeil #taeil imagines #nct #nctzen #nct u #nct 127 #nct dream #this is so cute #i died writing it omfg #Tell me what you think!!!! :D <3

37 notes · View notes

egobangin-tonight · 7 years ago

Text

gOD okay im doing a rant about work bc i dont know where else to put it and i need to Screm™

(Its v long srry)

For people who are new, I work in a hospital, i work in an ER, and im a secretary. All i do is answer calls, transfer calls to doctors and nurses, and set up transportation for patients when theyre deemed ready to go upstairs (by the doctor and the nurse) after the admitting department has provided a bed for the patient.

I cannot stress that last bit enough; i set up transportation AFTER all steps have been checked off. I am the LAST person in a chain of events that allows a patient to get upstairs. As a secretary I have no actual power; i am physically unable to interact with any part of this process except for the one assigned to me.

Around 12:20, i get a call from a man asking for a status update on their father. Elderly man whos been waiting for a bed for about 2 hours now. Our ER is insanely crowded compared to most hospitals and today our census was around 90-100 (which is average for us). Having a long wait time is to be expected, especially since the floors patients get admitted to are equally booked and crowded.

So i tell the man the typical response i give to people inquiring about relatives waiting to go upstairs, “the patient is going to be staying overnight but there is currently no bed assigned.”

“so do you know when he’ll be going upstairs??”

“No, from my screen it says that they are still currently waiting for the bed to become available on the floor. So until the space is freed up somehow, they will have to stay in the Emergency Room.”

Now this is usually when they say “can i speak to the nurse taking care of so n so; i just want to make sure theyre okay” or “oh thats okay, i just wanted to make sure they were on the board”. But no, this dude couldnt be okay with either of those choices.

“So you cant tell me when theyre going upstairs?”

“No, I cant. Were not the ones who distribute the beds. Thats Admittings responsibility.” (I literally just gave him is answer 30 seconds ago)

“So who can I talk to to get information on my dad?”

“…do you…do you mean his current status? Because then I can transfer you to his nurse-”

“No i mean information on his bed.”

“Admitting.”

“Can u transfer me there?”

So I transfer him. Poof, gone, goodbye, hope he gets his answers.

IMMEDIATELY, he calls back. “Is this the emergency room?”

“Yes, how can i help you?”

*repeats the entire thing again*

“Sir, i CANT help, admitting is the only department that can give you any answers. If theyre transferring you back to me, its because they cannot help you.”

“But there has to be some kind of waiting list. If hes going upstairs, who determines who gets a bed upstairs first?”

So like, the problem is that he 1) does not work here and 2) does not understand what the actual issue is. Because his dad is most certainly next in line. The problem is that the floors are so filled to the brim with sick patients that theres No Space For Him. Its not us trying to withhold beds, its us having more sick patients than we can handle.

And its even more complicated than that: some people are special needs and require an enclosed room. Some people are in isolation, some people are contagious, some people are a fall risk, some people need security, some people need 24/7 surveillance. Because the floors are so packed, we have Hallway Beds which is basically just the ER but with less patients so its calmer and quieter. Some people dont qualify for the hallway placements or ‘Overflow Beds’ because of the aforementioned needs.

Basically, his dad needed a bed on a floor that was at max capacity and unless there were some extreme last minute changes, there wouldnt be any space.

So i tell him “We CANT speed up the process any faster, we have to wait for people to leave the floor and make space for him.” Its like a car on the curb blocked in by two other cars. Yeah, you want the space that car is in, but until those other two cars are dealt with, youre just gonna have to sit there.

He asks if he could get transferred again so I transferred him.

They IMMEDIATELY transfer him back. So i transfer him again. This time, before they transfer him back to me, they tell us to transfer him to our Charge Nurse. So we do that. And for 5 minutes, hes on the phone w our Charge before she tells us to transfer him back to admitting. So we transfer him AGAIN.

and he calls us !! Either they hung up on him or they ignored the call but he calls back asking for the Charge Nurse. And when she refuses to pick up, he asks for admitting.

This went on for over a fucking hour. An hour of ONE fucking ignorant entitled selfish piece of shit calling and harrassing us to page “The Charge Nurse” “Admitting” “The nurse taking care of my dad” “The DOCTOR taking care of my dad”.

And every single time he called it was for one of these people. And the problem was that we all talked to him!! All of us!! I talked to him! My coworkers did! The charge, admitting, the nurse, the doctor !! They all answered and he still kept calling. And it was getting to a point where we started ignoring his number because he was stopping us from answering OTHER calls.

And he would call from other numbers because we werent answering his call.

Just

AN HOUR AND A HALF of nonstop calling for what ?? To expedite your dad upstairs?? To skip everyone else whos been waiting ahead of him? Why do u think your dad deserves special treatment??

No one understands how our paging system works; i just hold the call and it gets set to 1 of 19 speeddial numbers. And i page that specific speeddial number overhead in the loudspeaker. I cannot physically force anyone to pick up that number; if they hear it and choose to ignore it, i can never MAKE them answer it.

At around 1:30, i notice that his dad has received a bed. Which is good! So when he calls, im still fucking irritated but i tell him “is this about your dad? Bc he now has a bed and-”

“Oh I already know that, i already talked to the charge nurse and admitting and made that happen”

What?

“You made that happen?”

“Yes, im just trying to talk to the doctor for something else”

So I transfer him to the doctor and stare at my coworker bewildered bc…this dude is full of shit lmao Theres no way HE did it, this is not any random fast food joint where you can complain to the manager and get shit done your way. Everything is done in order, no amount of yelling or grovelling is gonna make anything go faster. Because its not that we dont FEEL like admitting people, its that we as an entire unit cannot FIT that many people.

So either 1) the patient left. Either AMA (against medical advice) or discharged. And discharge is more likely because if the patient that left was an elderly or bedconfined patient, then an ambulance couldve picked them up to bring them back to a nursing home or something similar

2) the patient in the room was downgraded to a hallway bed WHILE they were on the floor. Which is believable but AWFUL. Hallway beds are just stretchers in the hall, and you can get an Actual room when one opens up: all it does is allow you to be in a floor with a max of 30 people instead of a floor of up to 150+ people. So to get bumped down is terrible

Or 3) someone who had a hallway bed and was waiting for a regular bed got bumped and skipped in favor of this random dudes dad. Which is EQUALLY bad

But also, I really didnt know what this dude wanted. Because now that hes got the bed i would assume thats finished and he could just go to sleep or something. Once the bed is assigned and the last charting is complete, getting them upstairs is SUPER quick compared to everything else. About 20 mins max to pick up the patient and travel across the hospital to get them upstairs.

But hes apparently been bugging the doctors to complete their charts, harrassing the nurses to do the same; the entire 20 or so minutes i was ignoring him was to essentially get them to finish the chart. But like…??? They have other patients?? And they had to stop what they were doing to answer the calls. And even they stopped responding because they knew that if they heard their name over the loudspeaker, it was because of this dude.

So finally, at like 1:50, I pick up the line. And hes asking for the doctor. And i ask him WHY is he calling the doctor, because theyre not gonna pick up for him, and all i can do is page overhead.

And in the most fake, cali girl kind of voice (bc he DID have a cali girl voice only now it was clearly fake chill) “well, i WAS trying to get the doctor to pick up the phone but maybe you can help me instead.”

“Oh, I’ll definitely try my best.”

“So is there anyway I can get my dad upstairs a bit faster?”

And im like u fucking idiot, you fucking dick wasting all this time, all MY TIME “See you called at 1:30”

“Yes.”

“And i asked, i specifically asked 'was this about your dad? Because he has a bed right now’ and you dismissed me because you felt that the doctor could give you answers, not realizing that if you had just told me 'yes, its about my dad’ i wouldve told you that everything was set up and that we were waiting for transportation to bring them upstairs.”

“Well yes but-”

“So because you thought you were cutting out the middle man, you made me page these nurses and doctors overhead to get NOTHING done. When I couldve just answered you from the getgo.”

And im so irritated and HEATED bc this dude called for 30 minutes just to make his dad skip ahead of everyone else and there was NO way i was letting that happen.

“So is he just waiting for transportation to go upstairs?”

“Yes.”

“Is there anyway I can do that myself?”

“??? No?? Only the transporter can bring them upstairs.”

“Why?”

“???????because its their job????????? Thats what they do???? Bring patients from the ER to the floor.”

“So you mean to tell me that I have to wait? Wait like I had to wait for admitting to get off their asses and get my dad a bed?”

“Thats generally what happens when theres a line of people; you go in order”

So i tell him, “Do you work here? Because unless you are a transporter you are physically unable to bring him upstairs” and hes like “well i should be because no one else in this hospital is doing their job. How is it I managed to get my dad a bed in just three minutes?? How is it that if hes being transported from one department to another, why cant I just wheel him up in a wheelchair.” Im answering his stupid questions as simply as possible but hes just refusing to listen. Like why we need to have transporters transport patients (bc the ID is the only thing that unlocks the door, bc the transporters are the only ones with access to the whole building) or like why its going to take longer because we have limited transporters tonight.

And like..i need to leave…bc i just have no tolerance for people anymore. I cant do it, i get so livid, i wanted to break my phone and smash it into the wall. If this fucker was out on the block i wouldve been throwing fists; he WOULD be catching these fucking hands.

I cant remember word for word what he was saying because it was just him yelling and cursing at me about how this entire building is incompetent, how we told him to wait until his dad got a bed and if he had listened, if he hadnt INTERVENED, he would STILL be waiting, that if he was working there things would be going alot more smoother, shit would be getting done, how theres no reason the place should be understaffed because its the holiday weekend and we should be prepared for this (not realizing that the department literally understaffs us BECAUSE its the holiday weekend and the census is always lower than usual)

Just him assuming no one was doing their job, then complaining for almost TWO HOURS and then assuming that his complaining worked when in reality it was just completely coincidental; that if he really 'got a bed in three minutes’ i wouldve seen a bed appear at 12:40, not 1:30.

And they taking it out on the transporters as if they WANT to be understaffed and stuck transporting patients to 7 different locations across the entire building; patients who need to go to the floors, to sono, to CT, to MRI, and then required to be taken back. To be so understaffed that people delegated to cleaning have to stop and pitch in once in a while to help their coworkers. And he had the NERVE to try and skip past people who were patiently waiting, who were waiting longer than his dad had been waiting.

He asked to speak to the “Head of transportation ” and i wanted to laugh so hard, i could not stop myself from mocking him “oh the HEAD of transportation! Let me transfer you.” Straight to the fucking operator lmao kiss my ass have fun trying to find that person at exactly 2:03am on a monday morning and a HOLIDAY no less

The dad eventually went upstairs. He waited like everyone else in this ER and from this point on, if he wants to cause a scene, im sending the son Straight to the floor his dad is sleeping on so he can harass them because i am done™

#long post #SUPER LONG POST #personal #i rlly want to Die why are people so entitled and nasty #anyway whats up w yall lmao #did u know tumblr added in a text limit on mobile???#or at the very least #they made the limit shorter #bc i wrote a fic on mobile and was able to fit it here #but this entire rant doublespaced (by mistake) couldnt fit #so strange

61 notes · View notes

forestwater87 · 7 years ago

Link

Who did they think they were kidding, anyway?

(Beta’d by @raenbowsofficial)

Summer 2017

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Gwen groaned, rolling over and pawing blindly at her phone. That was, what, her third time hitting snooze? That meant it was around 6:45, and she had fifteen minutes before breakfast.

Which . . . didn’t seem right. She sat up, double-checking the time on her phone with a sinking feeling in her stomach. Yep, 6:46 a.m., stark white letters against the New York City skyline that’d been her phone background for years.

David usually woke her up before now. In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept in this late, without the gentle rap on her bedroom door and a sunny “Good morning, Gwen!” Of course, it could be a coincidence that the one morning he didn’t come to get her also happened to be the morning after he’d turned her down for sex and she’d had a major freakout. It could definitely just be unfortunate timing; hell, maybe David had overslept for once.

It was always possible, right?

And if he wasn’t in the main room of the cabin, and if his bedroom door was wide open and neatly put together and empty, then that was just another unfortunate coincidence.

Gwen wasn't very good at positive thinking, not like David. But she managed to wrestle her brain into something resembling optimism — or at least not blind, shrieking panic — as she stumbled through her morning routine, and was proud that she only felt slightly nauseous as she approached the mess hall.

David was standing by the breakfast line, overseeing the Quartermaster as he served the campers. (This was deemed necessary after he “accidentally” impaled the hand of a camper who’d been trying to steal an extra pudding cup. Poor Chucky never quite regained total mobility of his pinky.) Technically the counselors were supposed to trade off this job, but he always volunteered to take her “shifts,” because he liked the extra time to greet the campers as they came to the end of the line.

Usually she was too tired to give much of a shit about anything that was going on before her second cup of coffee, but this morning she couldn’t help but let her eyes linger on the back of the mess hall, watching as David playfully ruffled Max’s hair — easily dodging the boy’s sleep-clumsy shove — and asked Nikki about the caterpillar she was keeping in her overall bib pocket. His smile was happy and relaxed, effortless like it always seemed to be in the mornings. By the end of the day there’d be a bit more strain holding up that expression, but David was a morning person, of course. She’d hadn’t forgotten how much she missed seeing him first thing in the morning, but watching him put a hand on Space Kid’s helmet and comfort him over something QM had threatened, she was struck with a wave of homesickness so bad it felt like a weight on her chest, one that made her shoulders hunch up and her back bow. And for once that feeling wasn’t from seeing the city skyline on TV or from hearing a distant siren from town.

“Morning, Gwen.” David set her tray down in front of her — she hadn’t even thought of getting her own food, she was so used to him insisting — with a small smile that didn’t burn as brightly as the one he’d favored the campers with. “How’d you sleep?”

“Um . . . okay. Pretty well?” After curling up and crying with her teeth sank into her pillow so he wouldn’t overhear and wonder what was wrong. That kind of empty-your-insides sobbing was draining, and as awful as it seemed she actually had slept better than usual. “Overslept a little, I guess.”

She didn’t have the courage to be any more explicit than that, to come right out and ask if he was mad at her and that’s why he hadn’t gotten her up, but he nodded down at his breakfast like she’d asked anyway, twirling the gummy eggs with his fork and gnawing on his lower lip. “Of course. You must’ve been exhausted.” He swallowed, letting the eggs drip back onto the tray and coalesce back with the rest of the goo. “The first few weeks at camp are always pretty tiring, huh?”

His eyes met hers, then, and in them was that uncertain flicker Gwen had grown accustomed to lately, that waver of hope and nervousness like he was hoping she’d take the excuse he was offering and grant him some peace of mind. Just a little bit more, just to hold them together for a few more hours.

She nodded, dropping her gaze to her coffee and swirling it absently. “Yeah, it’s hard to get back into the swing of things.”

“It is!” And again Pavlov, that motherfucker, sprang to mind. Because it was just too automatic, mindless even. A reflex.

David smiled, Gwen felt better.

She felt better, she wanted him to keep smiling.

Which meant . . . lying. Lying until neither of them had the energy to buy it anymore.

But it seemed like the potency of their bullshit was starting to fade. Because that smile, the feeling better, only lasted as long as a quiet breakfast before David climbed to his feet, clapping to get the kids’ attention and beaming. “All right, kiddos! Why don’t you go brush your teeth and Gwen and I will meet you out on the activities field!”

She glanced up at him, confused. Normally they split up after breakfast so that she could watch over (and wrangle) the kids and David and QM would do dishes, but . . . “Who’s gonna take roundup duty?”

His smile didn’t falter, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes as he turned to her. “The Quartermaster agreed to supervise the campers so we can stay behind and clean up before morning activities. Sound good?”

It wasn’t really a question; the kids were already filing out of the mess hall, and QM had disappeared to . . . somewhere mysterious. Either way, this was clearly something they’d worked out while she was still asleep. So she picked up her tray and started to one of the other tables, snagging abandoned silverware and napkins and trying to figure out a way to avoid this conversation.

She had about five minutes to think, as they wiped down the tables and brought the dishes into the kitchen, as she scraped leftover food and campers’ experiments (and she couldn’t always tell them apart) into the trash and tried not to gag, as she joined David over the giant industrial sink and buried her hands in sickly gray-green suds and got to work. About five minutes of near-total silence, of clinking plastic and rustling clothing and not much else. In those five minutes, she failed to come up with anything to say.

But it seemed David had. "Gwen . . ." He swallowed, looking away for a second before taking a deep breath and forcing his eyes back to hers. "What'd I do wrong?"

It took her a second to recover, to swallow her surprise and meet his gaze, and it was just long enough to make every word that followed ring hollow. “You haven’t done anything wrong. Wh —”

Gwen cut herself off. Because what was the point in pretending that she had no idea where this question was coming from?

Instead she shrugged and returned to wiping out a glass with her washcloth. “Really, David, it’s nothing. It’s . . . I’m just —”

“Don’t say you’re tired,” he snapped, and it wasn’t quite angry but it was close, something anger-like but with a little wound in the center, bleeding frustration and impatience and a bone-deep weariness that felt too, too familiar. It was the same kind of pleading aching fatigue that she’d heard just over a year ago, in the words “times have changed, whether I like it or not.”

Times had changed. Whether they liked it or not.

She opened her mouth but he held up one soapy hand, bracing the other against the lip of the sink. “Please, Gwen. I . . .” He sighed, shaking his head. “I’m tired of you being tired.”

Something warm and barbed coiled in her stomach, and it was better than frigid dread or acidic guilt so she grabbed onto it with hands that would be lacerated bloody. He was tired of it? How the fuck did he think she felt having to live it every goddamn day? “Listen, David, I’m trying real hard to hide it and just be ‘happy sunshine camp counselor,’ but maybe it doesn’t come so fucking easily to everyone, okay?”

“Easily?” he repeated with a look of utter disbelief. “Who ever said that anything about . . . who said any of this was easy?”

“I’m just dealing with a lot of shit,” she said, forcing herself to take a deep breath and a few steps back, wiping her hand on a rag she really hoped had always been gray. “I’ve got a lot going on —”

“Like what, Gwen?” They both froze, realizing what he’d just said at the same time, and no sooner had the words left his mouth than he was covering it, ignoring the brackish water dripping down his fingers and wrists. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like — I just —”

“It’s fine.” It wasn’t, and her lips felt almost too numb to form the words, but it wasn’t David’s fault. She could hardly hate him for understanding how it was with her — how little it took to leave her moody and overwhelmed and a terrible girlfriend. How “a lot of shit” sometimes consisted of a few sad thoughts that clung to her brain like spiderwebs and gummed up everything that was supposed to make her work like normal people. An idiot would’ve noticed something as obvious as how pathetic she was, and despite his other faults, David wasn’t an idiot.

David shook his head, all the anger leeching out with the tears that threatened to spill over his eyelashes. “No, Gwen, I don’t . . . of course you have plenty going on, I just . . .” His voice dropped almost to a whisper. “I want to be a part of it. I miss you. I’ve — every time we aren’t together, I miss you. And since we’ve been back, even though we are . . .”

God, he was sweet. Sweeter than she deserved, sweeter than was good for him. And even though it was the worst way to respond, even though the Audree in her head was furious and wailing, she tightened her grip on the thorns of anger and dug her nails in, asked herself if she was honestly supposed to believe that he missed being teased and complained at by a bitch like her. He might be a closet masochist, but even he had limits. What kind of misguided hero’s complex kept him trotting back to her side, when her side was full of bad manners and a hideous apartment and no friends and a miserable family, a miserable life, a miserable person?

The same hero’s complex, she realized with a sickening lurch, that kept him chasing after Max. Another joyless, caustic fuckup who didn’t know what to do with such blatant affection and who almost compulsively had to throw it back in his face. Someone with so much potential, if only he had a friend who’d believe in him. A project to nurture and feel good about at the end of the day, a success story that probably only existed in David’s head, a DIY he was still working on.

Did David see her as a project, too?

"Please." She snorted, crossing her arms and feeling the barbs shred through another layer of skin. "You just miss having someone to fuck."

"Wha — ? I . . ." His lips hardened into a thin line. "That's unfair and you know it."

They were jolted back to earth by a shrill beeping, the Camp Campbell theme song that signaled the end of the free period.

He glanced down at his phone, then at the half-finished dishes, and sighed, wiping off his hands without meeting her eyes. “It’s time for the morning activity.”

This wasn't one of their busiest days — Harrison had a magic show, which meant most of the afternoon was spent on the rough wooden benches facing the camp stage — and under normal circumstances the two of them would take the downtime as an opportunity to talk, plan for the rest of the week or mutter snarky comments (while David tried to keep her quiet and pretend he wasn't trying not to laugh), their fingers would find each other's. But he kept his face turned toward the stage and his hands in his lap, so she followed his lead and kept her mouth shut, watching Harrison unfurl a flower from between his fingers with her face blank and her mind racing.

By the time the curtain fell to lukewarm applause, the anger had completely leached out of her, and what was left was cold and sick and sad. By the time they’d sat through a dinner full of stilted small talk and playing with food neither of them were interested in eating, Gwen was pretty sure she was going to throw up the next time she opened her mouth.

By the time they’d returned to the cabin after putting the kids to bed — no stilted, pathetic attempts at small talk, not this time — she was close to a nervous breakdown. Calm down, she told herself, focusing on keeping her breaths steady and regular. This is fixable. You were a cunt, so just apologize and try harder to not be so . . . yourself all the fucking time. David’s forgiving. You’ll be fine.

Probably.

He held open the cabin door for her, as usual, but as she slipped through his fingers caught around her upper arm. “Um, Gwen?”

Her stomach clenched.

Oh god.

David cleared his throat and let her go, stepping inside and locking the cabin door behind them. “Could we . . . talk? I think we need to.”

Oh god.

She was going to be sick. If she opened her mouth she was going to throw up all over the hallway and then she’d have to spend the evening scrubbing partially-digested broccoli out of the carpet and at least that’d be better because then they wouldn’t have to have The Talk — David couldn’t possibly break up with her if she was sick, so vomiting was starting to look like a better idea by the minute . . .

“Yeah,” she said, and she wasn’t sure how she sounded so casual, like she wasn’t talking around a throat thick with acid. “Probably a good idea.”

No it wasn’t. It was an awful idea. It was the fucking worst idea she’d ever heard of.

She followed him into the cramped living room, perching on the edge of her armchair. He didn’t sit down, to her surprise; he just started pacing back and forth, rubbing at the narrow pink scars on the backs of his hands. A nervous habit.

The knot in her stomach grew just a bit tighter.

The silence stretched for almost a full minute, broke only by the light scuffing of his boots against the floor, when she cracked. “Listen, David, I was a total bitch earlier and I’m sorry, I —”

“Wait.” He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. “I’ve been thinking about this for a long time. H- . . . how to say it. So please, just let me — I just need to get it out.”

She wanted to interrupt, drown whatever he was about to say in apologies because there was nothing good coming next, but his eyes popped open and focused on her just long enough to sever her vocal chords before he resumed pacing, wringing his hands and looking everywhere but at her.

“I’m . . .” His hands kept clenching into fists and releasing, like he was trying to grab the words long enough to force them out. “I’m not happy,” he finally said in a rush of breath, and it was like the tension had been sapped out of him. His shoulders slumped, relaxed, and his hands unfurled. When he turned to look at her, there was something like relief on his face. “I’m not. And — and I don’t think you are, either.” He paused, glancing at her like she hoped she would respond, confirm or deny or make still more excuses.

She didn’t. She didn’t know what she’d even say. Because she wasn’t happy, not even close. But she hadn’t been happy since graduating college, so what the fuck did it matter? And she couldn’t explain that, not to someone like David, someone who’d never understand, so she pressed her lips together and stared down at her thighs and idly wished they were smaller, more girly. As if having skinnier legs would make him want to be with her.

“This is . . . it isn’t working, and it used to. At least, I think it used to. And I don’t know what’s changed, if I did something or if you — or if maybe I was just misunderstanding things? And now . . .” David sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I don't know how you feel, about anything. Gwen, I'm trying so hard to be patient, but . . ." He shook his head, running his hands through his hair. "I mean — goodness, do you even actually like me?"

He looked up at her again, all big eyes and sincerity, and it didn’t make sense because the words coming out of his mouth were so goddamn stupid, but he was looking at her like they made sense, like he believed them. Like he thought she didn’t . . . that she could possibly . . .

He was waiting for an answer, she realized after a moment. The speech was done, and it was time to explain herself. But what was she supposed to say when she didn’t even understand what the fuck he was thinking? "That's — don't be — I —"

That's ridiculous.

Don't be crazy.

I do. Of course I do.

I like you so much I don't know what to do with myself.

"Gwen?" She snapped back to herself and realized that she had clutched the neck of her shirt and was crinkling it in one sweaty fist. Forcing her hands to relax, she avoided his eyes, because if she looked at him she'd shatter into pieces.

He wasn’t happy. David, the happiest person she’d ever met, the only man who could be tied to a spit-roast and smile, was unhappy. And she’d done that to him. All of this desperate clinging, excuses and being “tired” and half-smiles that must’ve looked as hollow and dead as she felt — it was for her benefit, and it was making him unhappy.

It was selfish, her wanting to be with him. If she had a heart she’d cut him free.

"Listen, David, I . . . like assholes. Guys who are self-involved, who make me feel like shit and who leave. That's my type." She shrugged, feeling oddly weightless. "This has been, I dunno, a fluke, an anomaly, whatever. It was bound to end sometime."

This was better. A dramatic speech, a tearful departure, maybe a little crying in the moonlight; it was downright Byronic. But most importantly, it was her leaving him. If it had to happen anyway, if the right thing to do was make it happen, she wanted it to be on her terms.

She'd been dumped by a lot of people, but she didn't think she could stand being rejected by David.

"Bound to end? I don't . . ." He moved closer, reaching out to take her hand. "Gwen, please —” oh god, his voice cracked and with it her resolve, “— just tell me what’s wrong. We can . . . can’t we talk about it?”

Goddamn it. Goddamn it, goddamn it, goddamn it. She couldn’t do this. She had to get out.

She had to say whatever it took to get out.

"I almost fucked someone else!" The words exploded out of her, totally unbidden; she covered her mouth but it was too late, they were in the air and they'd reached him, he'd heard them, she could see it in the way color bled from his face, making his freckles, usually almost invisible against his pink complexion, stand out in stark relief. And now that she'd started she couldn't stop, blurting out more and more things she'd never wanted to say. "I wasn't even that drunk, he kissed me and I let him, I thought about going home with him seriously thought about it, David! Okay? All this 'we can talk things out' bullshit? That only works with someone who — who —" Who works right in the first place .

For a second he just stared at her, frozen and white like a statue, all bloodless lips and wide eyes and hurt . "Wh . . ." He swallowed, licked his lips, looked down at his toes. "Why?"

His voice was so small. She'd never, ever heard him sound that small.

And that was painful, so she dug the knife in deeper, twisted it with everything she had as though it wasn't her own chest she was stabbing. "Because I make terrible decisions," she spat; he flinched away from her voice, wrapping his arms around his ribs like he needed a hug so badly he'd give one to himself. "It's fucking obvious! It's why I'm stuck in a job I hate, with an education that doesn't do shit for me or anybody else, and dreams that . . . that don't . . . matter." Her voice dropped, almost without her noticing. "All I do is make mistakes," she finally muttered.

Because when God was putting together all the little boys and girls of the world He must've dropped her, something was broken inside her chest, something was missing and there were monsters rattling around in that empty jagged space and everyone she'd fallen in love with left, because she could only pretend to be whole for so long before the rattling became loud enough that everyone could hear it, and no one could sleep next to that kind of racket. Even if they could, even if like David someone managed to ignore it or not hear it — the monsters brought out their claws, because it was a hell of a lot harder to avoid scratches and they wanted her all to themselves, to eat up all her insides and walk around her body.

And that all sounded good, but it was bullshit because Gwen knew there weren't any monsters inside her. She could blame God or her parents or whatever she wanted but she was the only one inside her head and she was the one who kept fucking up, and she was the one who knew David was too good for her and she went and fell for him anyway like the selfish idiot she was. Because if there was a monster it was her, and the only person being hollowed out and destroyed was him.

And there'd been a part of her that'd known that, and it hadn't stopped her.

"Oh." For a second he just looked at her, reading her face and she hated it because she didn't know what he was seeing but it couldn't be good. And she hated even more that his eyes still made her shiver, even looking at her the way he was she still preferred it to him not looking at her at all, even when she was trying to cut him free she still wanted to hold on as tight as she possibly could. "Okay, then!"

She didn't know how to respond, because his voice was taut and too bright, to the point where she glanced around to see if any of the kids had snuck into the cabin without her noticing and he was pretending everything was fine.

But it was just them, and it wasn't fine, and he wasn't pretending.

"I'm sorry," he said after another moment, still strange and cheery and broken, like she was watching a movie that'd been dubbed over badly, and nothing sounded like it came from where it should. And he wasn't smiling, his face was terrifyingly neutral but he straightened his back and squared his jaw and looked away and continued. "I didn't mean to be a mistake. I . . ." He trailed off, swallowing thickly, and now she couldn't look at him either and this was the longest they'd ever gone without eye contact and it just felt so wrong, "I'm going to go check on the campers."

Gwen wanted to leap forward and take his arm, touch his shoulder, say something because he didn't understand, but she just nodded and he left and then all she could hear was her own ragged breathing.

It wasn't fair for him to think that, not when the truth was just the opposite, and no small part of her wanted to chase him down and explain that dating him had been one of the few things she felt like she'd done right — for herself, anyway. Maybe not for him, because how could anything be right if it made him this sad?

And that was what kept her rooted to the ground, and when she eventually started walking it was what directed her toward her bedroom.

The thing was, if she told him he wasn't a mistake he might think they could still work out. Because he was too good, he didn't understand that some people weren't fixable and weren't meant to be happy and there was nothing he could do about it, but if she gave him even half a reason to hope he would try, try until his fingers were bloody and there was nothing left of his smile, and she wasn't going to let that happen.

She'd had her heart broken before and she was still here, and David was a lot more resilient than her so he'd be fine. It'd be a rough few months, he'd probably be sad for the rest of the summer but then he'd go home and next year she wouldn't be here, not even if this was the only job available and Campbell offered her a raise, because she couldn't do that to him and she definitely couldn't do it to herself. She couldn't watch him move on.

He would, of that she had no doubt. He was cute and sweet and sunny, and it was only a matter of time before someone scooped him up, some pretty girl with an easy laugh or a broad-shouldered guy who could give him hugs that'd swallow him. Someone else with the same tenacious optimism, who was so happy they made David look gloomy and short-tempered in comparison, with his favorite-colored hair, pink or green or yellow maybe, that didn't get tangled or knotted or kinked when he tried to play with it but fell through his fingers like cornsilk and reflected the light. Someone he could love effortlessly, without thinking. Someone considerate and perceptive who didn't insult him or push him away, who knew how to say they appreciated him, who never let a day go by without making sure he knew he was good, and special, and important.

Gwen wanted that for him. She wanted him to feel so loved he could drown in it.

She just didn't want to watch it happen.

#rest of the chapter under the cut #campcamp #cc david #cc gwen #gwenvid #my stuff #guess who hates this piece of shit chapter?#it me #because i can't writeeeee #forestwriting

86 notes · View notes

maximustherad · 7 years ago

Text

Skype Liveblog of Guardians of the Galaxy S01E12 “Crystal Blue Persuasion”

@thecorteztwins

[1:06:12 AM] Cool Dadneato: I found me an episode of the Guardians of the Galaxy show with Inhumans in it and if it's good I'm gonna liveblog

[1:06:21 AM] Cool Dadneato: or even if not

[1:06:25 AM] Hexiva: -chinhands-

[1:06:26 AM] Cool Dadneato: LIVEBLOG

[1:08:11 AM] Cool Dadneato: so Peter Quill is trying to teach his friends baseball, which sounds like an inherently awful idea

[1:08:58 AM] Cool Dadneato: they are trying but I don't think they even get the concept, much less the rules

[1:10:38 AM] Hexiva: I'm not sure I get the concept or rules

[1:11:48 AM] Cool Dadneato: ... I was going to side with the rest of the team here, BUT NOW I SIDE WITH PETER, BASEBALL IS VITAL KNOWLEDGE TO SHARE

[1:11:59 AM] Cool Dadneato: Lockjaw just appeared on board

[1:12:23 AM] Cool Dadneato: Rocket greets dogs by insulting them, I guess

[1:12:30 AM] Cool Dadneato: get off this ship

[1:13:01 AM] Cool Dadneato: why does Lockjaw have crystals stabbed in him

[1:13:52 AM] Cool Dadneato: Peter, Gamora, and Lockjaw just teleported

[1:14:17 AM] Cool Dadneato: Rocket is not even perturbed

[1:15:04 AM] Cool Dadneato: Peter is chasing Lockjaw through Attilan

[1:15:28 AM] Cool Dadneato: Lockjaw stole his baseball and Gamora is yelling to forget it

[1:16:09 AM] Cool Dadneato: forget you, Gamora, I've rped a lost in space Earth dude, this shit is important

[1:17:56 AM] Cool Dadneato: Peter is yelling now about how he doesn't even care about the ball, now this is about how he feels like nobody ever listens to him

jeez, Peter, this is only a few minutes in

[1:20:21 AM] Cool Dadneato: Peter: "So who's in distress?! There's nobody here but a giant, slobbering BASEBALL THIEF!!" -dramatic point-

[1:20:29 AM] Cool Dadneato: I want a gif of this

[1:21:16 AM] Cool Dadneato: Peter is being so fucking sarcastic to this dog now omfg

[1:21:29 AM] Cool Dadneato: who teaches these people dog manners

[1:22:48 AM] Cool Dadneato: Peter: "You see, on Earth it's totally hilarious."

Gamora: "I see why you don't go back."

[1:25:35 AM] Cool Dadneato: omfg, Lockjaw led Peter to some cryogen chambers and he opened one and it's Medusa and Peter said "aw it's like a princess" and made like he was going to kiss her and Medusa woke up to kick his ass

[1:26:13 AM] Cool Dadneato: kill him, Medusa

[1:26:30 AM] Cool Dadneato: feed his baseball to Lockjaw

[1:26:51 AM] Hexiva: MURDER HIM

[1:27:19 AM] Cool Dadneato: Medusa: "My husband would have words with you!"

[1:27:37 AM] Cool Dadneato: multiple ones? it's on then

[1:28:18 AM] Cool Dadneato: does she wait to say things like that

[1:31:43 AM] Cool Dadneato: meanwhile, I guess Groot, Drax, and Rocket finally decided to go look for Peter and Gamora

they seem very unrushed for people possibly doing rescuing

[1:32:02 AM] Hexiva: they're like "whatever he got himself into, he probably deserved it"

[1:32:29 AM] Cool Dadneato: yeah, they are all clearly thinking that

[1:33:54 AM] Cool Dadneato: they just tried to muss with crystal statues in the city, the crystals attacked

[1:35:33 AM | Edited 1:35:44 AM] Cool Dadneato: Medusa asked Peter if he's Kree and that's a surprisingly valid question

[1:35:57 AM] Hexiva: Kree rather than half-Celestial?

[1:37:31 AM] Cool Dadneato: Kree given the Inhuman context and that some Kree are white

in the 616 Peter is half Spartoi

[1:37:45 AM] Hexiva: What's a Spartoi

[1:37:56 AM] Cool Dadneato: and his dad once flirted with Medusa

[1:39:22 AM] Cool Dadneato: Spartoi look pretty much human but they are related to the Shi'ar somehow

[1:40:01 AM] Cool Dadneato: they come from Shi'ar space and share some common ancestor

[1:40:16 AM] Hexiva: what's their deal

[1:41:33 AM] Cool Dadneato: they have an Empire that's allied with the Shi'ar

[1:41:47 AM] Cool Dadneato: that's basically their thing

[1:41:49 AM] Hexiva: oh good, more douchebag empires

[1:42:11 AM] Hexiva: Aren't the Kree . . . like . . . blue . . .?

[1:42:12 AM] Cool Dadneato: Peter's dad is J'Son, their emperor

[1:42:50 AM] Cool Dadneato: Kree are usually blue but they have a large white population

[1:43:08 AM] Cool Dadneato: like Mar-Vell and Noh-Varr

[1:43:14 AM] Hexiva: oh

[1:43:16 AM] Hexiva: that's weird

[1:43:20 AM] Cool Dadneato: yeah

[1:43:25 AM] Cool Dadneato: weird af

[1:43:29 AM] Cool Dadneato: why

[1:47:58 AM] Cool Dadneato: Maximus: "Cease this senseless attack, Alpha Primitives! Oh! This has all been a TERRIBLE misunderstanding! Oh, I'm SO very sorry about all this... I was expecting someone else."

omfg on a scale of 1 to A Steaming Pile of Filthy Dramatic Improv he's scoring a perfect Irving Braxiatel

[1:49:03 AM] Hexiva: DOES ANYONE BELIEVE YOU, MAXIMUS

[1:49:30 AM] Cool Dadneato: "I am Maximus... the Magnificent, Supreme Leader of the Inhumans."

[1:49:52 AM] Cool Dadneato: who let him out of the house

[1:51:56 AM] Cool Dadneato: Medusa and Maximus are giving their respective back stories for the Inhumans to their respective audiences and it's hilarious

[1:53:08 AM] Cool Dadneato: and yet I think the best part of all is that they are both delivering the same biased story

[1:53:30 AM] Hexiva: with the same biases?

[1:53:37 AM] Cool Dadneato: yes

[1:54:02 AM] Cool Dadneato: Inhumans are superior, peaceful, and did no wrong

[1:56:21 AM] Cool Dadneato: oh jfc, Medusa just informed Peter that they were escaping a plague on Earth, and she pulled back a sleeve to show crystals growing out of her skin, apparently Inhumans are suffering from some slow Terrigen death thing

[1:57:11 AM] Cool Dadneato: that explains all the crystals sticking out of Lockjaw

[1:59:13 AM] Cool Dadneato: Maximus is describing the plague to the others very dramatically, apparently it completely changed the slave caste, -dramatic fists- THEIR STRENGTH INCREASED A HUNDREDFOLD

[2:00:59 AM] Cool Dadneato: "Unfortunately, for the rest of us-- " -DRAMATIC PAUSE IN FRONT OF FROZEN BLACK BOLT- "It will prove quite fatal!"

[2:02:13 AM] Cool Dadneato: question, Mad Max, why is your esteemed dramafullness totally fine, you look the least sick of anybody and I call bullshit

[2:03:28 AM] Cool Dadneato: "Fortunately, I have found a cure! Soon, I'll have enough to save the rest of my family!"

sounds fake but okay

[2:04:25 AM] Cool Dadneato: "Even Black Bolt, my poor, mute brother."

aw, even him, in this fake story

[2:06:01 AM] Cool Dadneato: Medusa: "Since it was the Kree who created the Inhumans, we hoped they'd find a cure."

really? and how's that working out for you?

[2:07:26 AM] Cool Dadneato: for the record, the Inhumans are a race of slave WMDs to the Kree

[2:07:56 AM] Cool Dadneato: that doesn't sound like a place to start negotiations on

[2:10:12 AM] Cool Dadneato: Medusa: -GASPS- "My husband, the king, is missing!"

-checks the chamber next to his- "And so is his rat of a brother, Maximus!"

[2:10:25 AM] Cool Dadneato: :.) this fam

[2:20:39 AM] Cool Dadneato: Medusa: "What have you done with my husband, the king?!"

Rocket: "I thought you was the king."

Maximus: -ULTRA DRAMATIC SPIN- "By right, I should be! I isolated the Terrigen plague! I found the cure! While this one said nothing! DID NOTHING! UNTIL HE HIMSELF SUCCUMBED TO THE THREAT! Black Bolt is unworthy of the crown! Maximus is the true savior of the Inhumans!"

Rocket: "Okaaaaay... Well good luck with that."

[2:21:09 AM] Hexiva: that third person

[2:21:55 AM] Cool Dadneato: no time for theatre

[2:22:36 AM] Cool Dadneato: Medusa and Maximus are going to continue this without Rocket

[2:22:52 AM] Cool Dadneato: the show must go on

[2:25:12 AM] Cool Dadneato: "BEHOLD!"

Maximus, what am I beholding, will you please stop this bullshit if we put you on the Genetics Council with a cute title

[2:26:06 AM] Hexiva: why would you let that guy on the eugenics panel

[2:27:32 AM] Cool Dadneato: what damage can he possibly do there besides suggest terrible marriages

[2:27:43 AM] Cool Dadneato: "COMPLETE AND TOTAL MIND CONTROL!!!" -WILD LAUGHTER-

[2:28:09 AM] Cool Dadneato: okay fine, lock this fool up again

[2:31:08 AM] Cool Dadneato: "OBEY ME, BROTHER! DESTROY THEM! DESTROY THEM ALL!"

ho, they were such a decent audience

smack him in the mouth, Drax

[2:31:31 AM] Hexiva: maximus why

[2:32:16 AM] Cool Dadneato: Drax got his ass beat by mind-controlled Blackagar

[2:32:51 AM] Cool Dadneato: Maximus is looking through the hole in the wall

[2:33:05 AM] Cool Dadneato: AND LAUGHING AGAIN

[2:35:01 AM] Cool Dadneato: Maximus: "Finally! One of you will listen to what I say!"

I honestly wouldn't be shocked if that's what this is about

bitch needs attention

[2:36:13 AM] Cool Dadneato: Groot just got asskicked

[2:37:46 AM] Cool Dadneato: Gamora just got asskicked

[2:39:02 AM] Cool Dadneato: Rocket just got shrugged off because he's using an energy weapon and that's non-effective against Black Bolt

[2:39:54 AM] Cool Dadneato: my god Maximus is doing a little dance in the background

[2:40:06 AM] Cool Dadneato: while laughing

[2:42:02 AM] Cool Dadneato: Peter decided to use Lockjaw to teleport behind Maximus and MAXIMUS BITCHSLAPPED HIM

[2:42:09 AM] Cool Dadneato: EMBARRASSING

[2:42:27 AM] Cool Dadneato: DEFEATED BY MAXIMUS

[2:42:35 AM] Hexiva: GOOD

[2:45:43 AM] Cool Dadneato: Peter: "Don't... Make me open this box! Inside it is a weapon that can destroy the whole city!"

Maximus: "Oh?! This I must see. Open it!"

called

[2:48:07 AM] Cool Dadneato: Peter: "No, you don't understand! We'll all be vaporised! Instantly!"

Maximus: "How exciting! Open it! Now!"

called again

[2:48:37 AM] Cool Dadneato: this isn't working Peter

[2:52:21 AM] Cool Dadneato: Peter gave up and opened his box and there was a cosmic cube inside and the flash of light still managed to blind Maximus and make him lose control of Blackagar

[2:52:45 AM] Cool Dadneato: embarrassing, Maximus

[2:53:46 AM] Cool Dadneato: Blackagar immediately ran to Medusa and Maximus ran the fuck out

[2:56:24 AM] Cool Dadneato: they also found out the cube accelerated the crystal plague the Inhumans are infected with

[2:58:17 AM] Cool Dadneato: Peter: "That's AWESOME!!"

Drax: "I do not think that word means what you think it means."

[3:00:40 AM] Cool Dadneato: RONAN THE ACCUSER JUST SHOWED UP

[3:01:22 AM] Cool Dadneato: Maximus: "Ah, see, I told you I was expecting someone else."

[3:02:22 AM] Cool Dadneato: yeah how does selling out your species feel you evil fuck

[3:06:52 AM] Cool Dadneato: Medusa: "Maximus! What. Have. You. DONE?!"

Maximus: -mimicking her tone- "Just. What. You. Wanted! I have formed an alliance with the Kreeee!"

[3:13:01 AM] Cool Dadneato: "I give them an invincible crystal army, and in return Attilan becomes part of the Kree Empire, with myself as Supreme Leader, of course."

you negotiated Attilan's unconditional surrender? you truly are our hero

[3:19:39 AM] Cool Dadneato: Peter: "He can't do that. Ronan's an outlaw even among his own people."

Rocket: "You cut a deal with the one guy in the galaxy who's crazier than you!"

-Maximus' facial expression is beautiful-

[3:23:31 AM] Cool Dadneato: Ronan: "Get out of my sight, you filth."

Maximus: -pathetically- "But... I don't understand... !"

[3:24:40 AM] Cool Dadneato: jfc, Ronan just curbstomped Maximus

[3:26:11 AM] Cool Dadneato: who was already sitting on the ground looking pathetic

[3:29:18 AM] Cool Dadneato: Ronan plans to destroy the city, he is absolutely not impressed with the tribute army

[3:31:34 AM] Cool Dadneato: Maximus says this is fine, he rather die than bow to his brother ever again

[3:32:52 AM] Cool Dadneato: he threw a tantrum, destroyed the cure, and ran off

[3:34:31 AM] Cool Dadneato: does Maximus ever get bored of hearing himself

[3:34:47 AM] Hexiva: NO

[3:35:39 AM] Cool Dadneato: that is rhetorical

[3:38:00 AM] Cool Dadneato: he loves hearing himself

[3:39:02 AM] Cool Dadneato: Maximus: "Bravo! A front row seat for the apocalypse!" -LAUGHS MANIACALLY-

[3:45:58 AM] Cool Dadneato: omfg, this episode rapidly escalated to its dramatic ending

[3:54:52 AM] Cool Dadneato: Peter Quill uses the cosmic cube to cure the plague, Black Bolt destroys the Kree warship (leaving Ronan to shout that he will have his REVENGE!!! from within the shielded pieces of the Kree bridge)

cut to Maximus chuckling and talking to himself from where he's chained in a dark, windowless dungeon

Maximus: "Hahaha, oh the irony. Defeated by the great Star-Lord, who can't find what sees with a map, which he holds with both hands; the further he goes, the farther away he gets... !"

-starts laughing until the Inhumans click a mental dampening device in place and his expression goes blank in surprise and he's cut off abruptly-

[3:55:59 AM] Cool Dadneato: and then everyone happily goes home, except Peter wishes he knew what that weirdness was all about

#thecorteztwins #out of character

4 notes · View notes

blueyesandleatherjacket · 6 years ago

Text

Our last winter, 21/31

► Our last winter - Human!Ninth Doctor/Rose Tyler. ► Written for @doctorroseprompts 31 days of ficmas. Day 22: Santa Claus and/or elves. ► AU Verse, Teen. ► 1,628 words. ► A/N: This is a prequelle to Ghost of you.

“Winter is the time for comfort, for good food and warmth, for the touch of a friendly hand and for a talk beside the fire: it is time for home.” - Edith Sitwell.

Finally that long day of work was over. Maxence had managed to do as many things as possible in the afternoon to catch up with his procrastination of the morning. His mother would be so angry at him for acting this way. He was such an awful son. He should be honouring her memory instead of feeling so sorry for himself. She would want him to cherish her memory and to keep living like he had always done. Life is a present, Maxence. You can’t waste it. You only have one. Words of wisdom she had told him once and he had never forgotten about them until her death. Today, the bells had reminded him of happier days, of what he still had. He needed to keep fighting even if her loss was the most terrible thing that had happened to him in over thirty years of life.

So tonight, he was gonna gather his friends for a dinner at home. They would order something since he was an awful cook and he didn’t want Rose to be stuck in the kitchen after her day of work. Jack and Tegan would come over. So would Liv and Clara. Allegro and Zachary had accepted too. They would be nine tonight to celebrate life. None was a lot to cook for and that’s why he refused Rose to even do it. Even if they were just sharing pizzas or Chinese, they would all spend a good evening and that was the most important. Or he would find something at the mall. Rose wasn’t done yet with her work. He would come and fetch her later. She liked his idea of a dinner with friends. It wasn’t something they were doing much sadly.

Maxence drove to the mall. He was never going there alone because he hated dealing with people and groceries and malfunctioning automatic checkouts. Not finding what he was looking for also was a big bother for him. He was making an effort though. He had to think of it as an adventure. When he was little, he wanted to be an adventurer running from one side of Earth to the other but sciences won his heart quickly and he knew that was the real adventure of his life. He was already making experiments in the backyard and getting grounded for the mess he had created. He had had a chemistry kit once at Christmas. That’s how his mother had found out that he was much more intelligent than the average.

The mall was full as expected. People were making their last week shopping for Christmas and New Year Eve. It would be worse on the 23 or even on the 24. People could do their shopping so late sometimes. He was part of them he had to admit. There was always something missing after all. A small thing that was forcing you into waiting hours at the checkout. You almost wanted to do without that little thing. He sighed. He was just coming for a couple of beers and some wine for their guests. He hoped people hadn’t bought everything in sight and that there was something left. He wasn’t up for another stop in another shop. One was enough. He walked past Santa Claus’ hut. The man paid for the job wasn’t there yet but there were kids waiting for him and parents glancing at their watch.

“Psst,” said someone. “Sir?”

Maxence turned around to the person calling him out. Two teenagers dressed as elves were hiding behind the hut and making signs for him to come over. He shrugged and decided to go and see what they wanted. He was curious, that was the main reason that was throwing him into troubles.

“Yeah?”

“Do you have children?”

“Not yet.”

“But you like them?”

“What’s the point of this talk?”

“Our master, our dear Santa is sick and can’t do his job.”

“And all those kids are waiting for him.”

“They will be so sad if Santa doesn’t come.”

“You… you want me to be Santa?”

“You’d save Christmas.”

He couldn’t let those kids down. He had played Father Christmas for the lab, he could do it for a couple kids in the mall. He accepted the mission he was given. He was even doing it for free. It was just a service, like all those fake superheroes in the hospitals. He quickly pulled on the costume and made his way to the throne surrounded by the elves. The kids cheered when they finally saw their heroes and the line started moving. The first kid climbed on his lap happily and the mother took a picture of them both while her son was giving Maxence the whole list of gifts he wanted for Christmas.

He did so until the line was coming to an end, until a very special woman to him came and sat down on his lap. She wrapped her arms around him and took a selfie of them both. For people around them, it was weird to see someone doing this but he didn’t find it strange at all. He was even smirking in his fake beard.

“What do you want for Christmas, young lady?”

“Let me think about it, daddy.”

She put a finger to her chin and pretended to be thinking about a possible answer to his question. She had none to give because he already had her Christmas list and they already had made their Christmas shopping. Still she thought of something she whispered in his ear.

“I think I can do that.”

He chuckled and the two elves looked at each other, confused. They came to them to have a final word on the matter and understand the situation better. Plus, there were one last kid waiting before they closed the hut for the day. After that, Maxence would be free from the high responsibility they had charged him with.

“I’m Mother Christmas,” she joked.

The teenagers didn’t get it and the couple chuckled. Sometimes people were getting confused about their behaviour when they were together and they were adding more by the words they were saying.

“You’ve hired my husband for this job,” she explained. “And I’m getting him back as soon as it’s over.”

“My little elves are coming home tonight for dinner.”

“Which is why you were supposed to buy a couple things:”

He hadn’t done it and when she hadn’t seen him at home, she had guessed that he was still here. Knowing his aversion for malls and shopping, she had been surprised but when she had heard his voice speaking to those kids, she had understood better. That’s why she had gotten in line to have her picture with him. She would add it on the wall of their room in the lab. Or on her desk. She would see later. For now, she left his lap and let that last kid have her picture with him. She got her Maxence back soon after.

“Now that you’re done with playing Santa Claus, you need to hurry up and find stuff to drink and eat for our friends you’ve invited.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And with Christmas coming, the alleys will be as empty as a Black Friday shop in America.”

“Sorry. They were desperate because Santa was sick and those kids were waiting and they asked me.”

“And you couldn’t refuse:”

“That would have been too sad for the kids.”

“So you’re a saviour?”

“Sort of. Have you read my last interview?”

“I don’t need to, I was there.”

“Oh, yeah, right. You were interviewed too. Just after me.”

“And you were too nervous to go alone.”

“Not true!”

“So fucking true!”

He shook his head. He hadn’t been nervous. Or maybe just a little. However, he wasn’t gonna admit it to Rose. She would think that he wasn’t impressive anymore. It had taken so much time for her to believe that he really was impressive. Sometimes he was thinking that she was lying to him just to satisfy his ego. It was something Rose would totally do to avoid an argument or a sulking session, although he never pouted. Not him.

They got in the mall and got straight to the alcohol alley. Maxence grabbed two packs of beer and Rose added wine and rum. They got to the snacks session and she picked a couple crisps packages for the pre-dinner drinks. They got to the checkout to pay it all and quickly got back to their car. Rose had taken the bus to come back home because he wasn’t there. She thought he had forgotten her – wouldn’t be the first time – and he really had in the end.

“You took the bus to come and get me?”

“I haven’t had much of a choice because you’ve forgotten me.”

“I haven’t. I was called for help and I couldn’t refuse.”

“And you forgot that you were supposed to come back to get me.”

“No, I haven’t.”

“You totally did!”

“You’re getting back home walking!”

He closed the trunk and got into the car. He voluntarily locked the doors so she couldn’t get in the car. She would see what it was to really be forgotten.

“Max! You can’t do that!”

“Sure I can!”

He switched on the car and pulled off the handbrake. She knocked on the window and threatened him to deprive him from gifts at Christmas if he wasn’t letting her on. People were looking at them strangely and someone even came up to them thinking it was a real fight between them. Rose got what she wanted, she got in the car because he didn’t want people to think he was beating her or something. That was something he would definitely never do….

×××

Buy me a coffee?

#doctor who #doctorroseprompts #ninth doctor #human!nine #rose tyler #doctor x rose #prompt fulfilment #31 days of ficmas #day 22: santa claus and/or elves #our last winter

0 notes

c-is-for-circinate · 8 years ago

Text

Another lengthy list of Persona 5 thoughts and bullet points, before tomorrow’s inevitable ten-hour marathon of play.

(Spoilers through late June and the third boss dungeon)

Makoto is my favorite character, full stop. If you have read my epic capslock, you may have already figured this. She is so fierce and so badass and yet also, the whole judging her self-worth based on her utility thing resonates so hard with me, and I love her and if she weren’t seventeen and also fictional I might propose, but probably I’d just stand back in awe and crush forever. My new game goal is to max out her social link. Given that starting it requires significantly more knowledge than I currently have, I forsee a lot of studying in my future...

Current social links I do have: Fool, Magician, Emperor, Hierophant, Lovers, Chariot, Strength, Justice, Death, Moon, Sun. I am waiting on either stats or trigger events for Makoto (Priestess), Iwai the fence (maybe Tower, I’m guessing now? because who the fuck knows???), the fortune teller in Shinjuku (I am assuming Fortune...), my homeroom teacher who I have been told is an SL (maybe Temperance? IDK, she seems very ‘sigh why me I just can’t’, which isn’t quite Hanged Man, but whooooo knows), and the two party members I know I’m getting but don’t have yet. (I’m going to randomly guess Empress and Hermit just based on their character art and the fact that a hacker navi seems Hermit-y to me.) That counts up to 17 out of 22. Judgement and World/Universe always auto-level, so I’m still missing three--Devil, Star, and Hanged Man if all of my probably-terrible guesses are right. Really hoping Sae Nijima is one of them. Besides that--the reporter lady who gave me Kaneshiro’s name, and maybe that rival model of Ann’s who is such a bitch? Maybe? WE SHALL SEE.

Pretty sure I need to do Mishima’s damn Maidwatch thing to start an SL, damnit. I know I’m not going to max everything (I will max Makoto if she is the only thing I do so help me), but I refuse to deliberately not start something. Sigh sigh sigh.

Speaking of social links, I’m actually loving Strength most of all right now??? Mostly because of the twins talking about that mysterious list. I want Margaret or Elizabeth to have written that list for vague arcane reasons more than I can possibly explain. I am so curious about how these twins and their relationship with the protag is going to develop. So curious. That said, the whole ‘how did whoever wrote this list know our next guest would have Wild Card’ thing??? Who ever goes to the Velvet Room without a wild card? How is the Velvet Room even remotely useful to anybody without a wild card?

Also speaking of social links and also previous game references, WHO ELSE NOTICED TAKEMI CALLING UEHARA-SAN AT THE HOSPITAL AND MADE HIGH-PITCHED NOISES BECAUSE I SURE AS FUCK DID. Jesus those two need to be drinking buddies. I need one million words of Sayoko and Takemi going out to bars together. Maybe they go out in Shinjuku and run into the reporter-lady. GIVE ME SOMETHING.

Ahem. Moving on, can I just say some extremely enthusiastic words about dungeon design in this game? (Fun fact: it is possible to do the full exploration of Kaneshiro’s dungeon in one day in-game. Stock up on HP and SP restoration items first, but I have done it and I feel very proud of myself for it.) It’s so puzzle-y and labyrinth-y! There was definitely a while where I felt like I was being deeply frustrated by one of those point-and-click escape games I always find myself playing, which I enjoyed immensely. Everything is so cool and so full of stuff.

So far, we’ve robbed a castle, a museum, and a bank. We know we’re going to climax with a casino heist. What else do people classically rob? Thinking about Leverage is not super-helpful here; they took on a bunch of super high-security office buildings, but I’m not sure they have Sterenkos in the Metaverse, and beyond that it was either new and unusual locations or a lot of museums. Maybe some kind of ancient tomb/pyramid thing, with lots of traps, very Indiana Jones/Lara Croft? Possibly a temple to some dude who thinks he’s a god.

I have been theorizing that, as we go through bosses and dungeons, we’re going through the seven deadly sins--seven is a solid number for total dungeons in a Persona game (matches the number in P4), and I feel like we’ve been on par so far. Kamoshida’s lust, Madarame was specifically called out as ‘vanity’ (which is a subset of pride), Kaneshiro I would’ve expected to be greed but was explicitly called ‘gluttony’, which certainly makes sense with all the pig imagery. Which means we still need envy, greed, sloth, and wrath. I could see greed as a ‘greed for power’ final boss dungeon, but I can only imagine what sloth looks like in a P5 boss. Curious to find out if I’m right!

There have not been a lot of plot developments for me to mull over since last I did a big long one of these. Not a ton of other things to say on that!

I keep batting ships around in my head, thinking about what-if’s and maybes.

It’s cold and October when the protagonist invites Ann back to his room, just Ann. They both know what it means. He kicks Morgana out for the evening and makes coffee and doesn’t meet Sojiro’s eyes, but upstairs it’s... It’s strange, like their lives are strange, this big empty attic-room, this weird outside-of-the-world world where this boy lives like a kid and like an adult and like a thief, making lock picks and training his HP, watching DVDs on rickety chairs with his cat. And it’s strange because these two people...they lost everything months ago and rebuilt themselves anew. Panther and Joker are rough and scarred and ferocious, furious, determined. Panther and Joker don’t do this. They kill, shadows and now humans because this thing they started once keeps getting bigger and bigger than both of them and sweeping them along with it and they are young gods with magic at their fingertips, and-- here in this room, right now, they’re not the Joker and the Panther, they are. Children. They’ve never done this before, because the boy who is now the Joker (most of the time, even when he’s not wearing the mask--how will this train me to be a better thief, how can I use this person, what choices do I make?) well he was quiet and nobody and some core chunk of him still is, under so many masks that he doesn’t know himself any more. Ann’s never touched anyone like this, not really. And they are soft to each other, lying on their sides face to face under the covers on his bed, soft and a little wondering and he touches her, shoulder, waist, skin, and she touches him, chest, hip, face. Very few people have been soft to either of them in a long, long time.

Akechi joins the Phantom Thieves (we all know Akechi already has a persona by this point, right? Akechi who can understand Morgana from the very beginning, when the game makes such a damn obvious point of Makoto not just a few days later?) and Akechi runs with them and Akechi sells them out, because look if it’s not a fake-out then it’s more interesting that way. Akechi sells them out and the protagonist knows right away that it must have been him, because there are ways and ways they play this game. They are not soft to each other and they are not done yet. And however he escapes that jail cell--it is escape, not release, with cops and hounds at his heels, and the help of his team, probably, but our Joker is clever and he manages to twist the facts or appearance of the situation to make it very very clear that Akechi helped in that escape, maybe even masterminded it (even though he probably did no such thing.) That’s it, then, you’re stuck as one of us, boy, one way or another. The protag meets up with the rest of the team just long enough to make sure everybody’s alive and then they scatter, because he was in there too long and talked too much, and the people watching on that camera have every single name they need. Everyone in Tokyo is after them. They need to get out of the city and they need to split up and lie low. Protag calls his social links, sends party members in ones and twos--get to Shinjuku, the fortune teller will put you up. If you can slide through Yongen-Jaya without attracting attention, don’t go to Sojiro they’ll look there, go through Takemi’s back door. Drags Akechi with himself, no questions asked, and they end up in the secret basement Iwai so clearly has for the illegal crap he so clearly sells. Why didn’t you tell them? Akechi says, and the real answer is because that’s not the game, and that’s part of it, but also... We need you now. You need us. We’re stronger together. And also, also, because the team is everything and everyone is at risk now, game or no game, if you do anything like that again I’ll kill you myself, and he will if he has to. Maybe. If he actually can. But they spend thirty-seven hours trapped down there in the dark and the dust and the cobwebs, and it’s not the first time they’ve had sex, but every single time previous it was some how much does he know that I know masque of intent and suspicion, and this time, they know. They know everything. They’re still enemies. They’re still closer than the best of friends. That’s how a good enemy should be.

So look, I don’t know if Morgana ever stops being a cat or not, but if he does, there is going to be Morgana/protag bedsharing fic and I am going to write it. I don’t even necessarily ship it but that needs to exist. What’s more in your space than a cat that insists on curling up in your bed, at the small of your back, on top of your face, right next to you night after night? What’s more ingrained into our protag’s life than the cat in his bag voice in his ear? What happens if and when that suddenly goes away? (Sex. Sex happens. I am just saying.)

I am weirdly into Makoto/Ryuji right now? Because okay, look. Everybody assumes when they get paired together for divide-and-conquer team activities, it’s so Makoto can keep Ryuji out of trouble--impetuous, chariot, loud and somewhat reckless Ryuji. And it is, but it’s also so Ryuji can keep Makoto out of trouble--because everybody looks at the girl with the grades and the brain and the planning skills, and lets themselves forget the girl who marched into Junya Kaneshiro’s nightclub with absolutely none of that on her side. Her inner soul is a motorcycle made of light and she’s every bit as much a rebel as any of them, full throttle, no holding back. And so I see Makoto and Ryuji tasked with doing something together, casing out the next target, exploring some bit of a dungeon, and she’s getting a little bossy and he’s getting a little snappish back until, “Come on, Skull, we both know I’m here to keep an eye on you” and he shoots back with, “Nuh-uh, I’m here to keep an eye on you.” And they face off in annoyance until they discover that no, their leader literally told each one of them separately to keep the other on their best behavior. And look, it’s an effective personnel management technique. They respect that. But also, goddamnit. It makes them both want to do something reckless, just to prove the team wrong. Nothing to jeopardize the mission, that’s the opposite of effective, but. But hmm. So maybe they show up to the next meeting both of them on the back of Makoto’s real-life motorcycle, the one she’s said she has a license for, Ryuji squished up against her back with his arms around her waist in a borrowed helmet, and act like nothing’s changed at all while people gape. Maybe they go a little wild together. It’s good for both of them. (And they have conversations, the stop-start time that runs into awkward walls but then finds a way around, about their missing fathers, the female relatives they want to do right by and just keep disappointing, their self-worth, their dreams. Ryuji keeps up with her. She wasn’t expecting that from him. He doesn’t take over and he doesn’t try to, but he matches her. So okay, yeah. Sure. Yeah. This will work.)

They have to flee in the end, every one of them, the whole eight-person-one-cat team--out of Tokyo, and let’s leave all of Japan, and let’s leave the Pacific, leave Asia, get half a world away and regroup. They’ve got a hacker and they’ve got skills and they end up in Paris because that feels inevitable, in some grand loft apartment or a converted warehouse that looks like the hideout from Inception. They’re not real adults yet but they’re going to have to act like it, because every adult in their lives is long left behind. They were the teens and the children rebelling against the shitty grown-ups, but they have to figure out how to be the grown-ups now. Good luck not being shitty about it They steal because they need to get by and because they’re good at it, and to keep themselves from turning into just exactly the same sort of assholes profiting off the weak they target the biggest assholes they can spot. Not just in Paris--that’s too close to home, that was part of the problem, wasn’t it? They spend a week and a half in Belgium, the better part of a month in Germany, a very long weekend in London wrecking things from the base of a couple of hotel rooms, and then they go back to their beautiful huge empty warehouse loft with the tall high windows pouring in sunlight that traces beams through the dust hanging still in the air, and they figure out how to live next. They’re all on top of each other, every one of them, and the boundaries rub away from friction and proximity until they sleep on top of each other in strange piles, until touch comes easy--a hand on a shoulder, a back, a neck, a face. They pretend to date each other for cons and cover in a dozen different combinations until nobody remembers who’s supposed to be dating who any more, until it doesn’t matter. They fuck in pairs behind the screens they set up for something like privacy, and there’s no real privacy to it, so instead they start fucking in threes and fours and maybe that’s better. There’s no real rules here except the ones they make for themselves. They make those unanimously--well. Let them make this one, then. The team is the only family, the only life they’ve got. Let it be everything.

#C plays persona 5

5 notes · View notes