#it feel so surreal to type all their names again after so long | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

domm1etae · 10 days

Note

Hi! I’m not sure if this is the type of suggestions you’re looking for, so feel free to ignore if it’s not

Ateez member of your choice x idol!reader, dealing with jealousy and regret after finding out you’re marrying another idol of your choice

Ending is up to you 💙

Behind Closed Doors

hongjoong x f!reader

fluff ig?

4.2k

The moment Hongjoong found out, his world seemed to shatter. You, the person he’d shared so many secret smiles, stolen moments, and late-night phone calls with, were suddenly no longer his. The headlines had announced it first. You were getting married. To Jungkook.

It was all over the news: “Idol Power Couple: Y/N and Jungkook Announce Engagement!” The media praised the union of two of the biggest stars in the industry, painting a perfect picture of love and harmony. But Hongjoong knew better. He knew this wasn’t real, just another move by your agency to protect your image, to keep your popularity soaring. Still, the knowledge didn’t dull the sharp edge of jealousy that cut through him.

tags under

m/f, wedding, jealousy, drama, celebrity life, jungkook from bts mentoined, seonghwa helping because he is just like that (pookie), regret, kissing

author's note: this was very difficult to write, which is why it’s a bit short, but I hope you like it guys!

Hongjoong had just finished a long day of practice, his muscles aching as he sank onto the couch in the dorm’s living room. The familiar buzz of notifications on his phone barely registered in his mind, until he caught a glimpse of your name lighting up his screen. His tired eyes immediately brightened. He hadn’t heard from you all day, and he missed your voice.

As he reached for his phone, he saw it wasn’t a message from you—it was an article notification. Normally, he’d swipe away these news alerts without a second thought, but this one had your name in bold, accompanied by the name of another idol he knew all too well: Jungkook.

Confused, Hongjoong clicked on the headline: “Breaking News: K-pop Power Couple Y/N and Jungkook Announce Engagement!”

He froze. His heart skipped a beat, then pounded faster, echoing in his ears. The words felt surreal, like a nightmare, but no matter how many times he blinked or reread the headline, it didn’t change. You were getting married.

He quickly scrolled through the article, his eyes skimming the paragraphs, looking for some sign this wasn’t real. His breath caught in his throat as he saw photos—you and Jungkook. The two of you walking hand-in-hand, smiling at each other. You looked perfect together, like something out of a romantic drama. His thumb hovered over one of the photos, zooming in on your face. The smile you wore was beautiful, but it wasn’t the one he knew. It wasn’t the smile you gave him when you were alone, when you felt safe and unguarded.

“No…” Hongjoong whispered to himself, shaking his head in disbelief. “This can’t be happening.”

He could feel the panic rising in his chest, a suffocating weight pressing down on him. His hands trembled as he tossed his phone onto the couch beside him, trying to distance himself from the cruel reality it had just revealed. But it was no use. The image was burned into his mind—you and Jungkook together, the engagement, the smiles for the cameras.

His mind raced with questions. Why hadn’t you told him? You had been together for months now, secretly meeting whenever your schedules allowed it, cherishing every stolen moment like it was a lifeline in the whirlwind of your busy lives. But now, all he could feel was the sting of betrayal. He had trusted you, and yet, here you were, announcing to the world that you were marrying someone else.

Hongjoong’s phone buzzed again, and this time it was a text from you. His breath hitched as he unlocked his phone to read the message.

Y/N: Can we talk?

His jaw clenched as he stared at the message, the words so simple yet loaded with meaning. Can we talk? That was all you had to say after blindsiding him with the news of your engagement to another man? His fingers hovered over the screen, torn between anger and confusion. He wanted to demand answers, to call you and ask why. Why Jungkook? Why hadn't you told him? Why now? But he was afraid of what your answers might be. Afraid that this wasn’t something you could explain away.

Before he could stop himself, he texted back:

Hongjoong: What’s there to talk about?

The seconds ticked by as he waited for your reply, each one stretching longer than the last. His mind swirled with memories of you—your secret dates, the way you’d laugh when he made a joke, how you always listened to the demos he was working on, offering quiet encouragement with a soft smile. It had felt real. But maybe he had been wrong. Maybe it had never meant as much to you as it did to him.

His phone buzzed again, your response lighting up the screen:

Y/N: It’s not what you think. Please… meet me at the studio.

Hongjoong exhaled sharply, frustration knotting in his chest. Not what I think? He couldn’t even process what that meant right now. The studio had always been their safe place, a haven where they could be together without prying eyes. But now, the thought of seeing you there felt tainted. Could he really face you, knowing that the rest of the world believed you belonged to someone else?

Still, against his better judgment, he found himself grabbing his keys and jacket, heading out into the night. The cool air did nothing to calm the storm of emotions swirling inside him. Every step toward the studio felt heavier than the last. He didn’t know what he was going to say, or if he could even bear to hear your explanation. But he had to know. He had to understand why you hadn’t told him.

When he arrived at the studio, the familiar hum of the city outside faded away, replaced by the quiet tension that filled the space. You were already there, sitting on one of the chairs near the mixing console. You looked up as soon as he entered, your face pale and your eyes wide with worry.

“Hongjoong…” Your voice was soft, tentative, as if you were afraid he might turn around and walk out before you had the chance to explain.

He didn’t say anything at first, just stood there, hands shoved into his jacket pockets as he stared at you. His heart was still racing, his mind still struggling to piece together how things had gone so wrong so quickly.

“How long?” he asked finally, his voice low and strained. “How long have you known about this… this marriage?”

You bit your lip, looking down at your hands. “A few weeks,” you admitted quietly.

“A few weeks?” Hongjoong echoed, his voice rising in disbelief. “You’ve known for weeks, and you didn’t tell me?”

“I wanted to tell you,” you said quickly, standing up, “but I didn’t know how. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“Well, guess what? You did.” His words cut through the air like a knife, sharp and unforgiving. “You think finding out through some news article was better? You should have told me, Y/N.”

You took a step toward him, your eyes pleading with him to understand. “It’s not real, Hongjoong. The marriage, it’s just for the public. My agency… they’re forcing me to do this. They said it’s to protect my image, to stop the rumors. It’s all fake.”

Hongjoong laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “Fake? It doesn’t look fake. The pictures, the smiles, the engagement—none of that looks fake.”

“It’s all for show,” you insisted, desperation creeping into your voice. “I don’t love him. I love you. I’m with you.”

“But no one knows that, do they?” His voice cracked, the weight of the situation finally sinking in. “We’re a secret. Always in the shadows, always hiding. And now the whole world thinks you belong to him.”

You swallowed hard, tears welling up in your eyes. “I don’t want this, Hongjoong. I never wanted this.”

“Then why didn’t you fight it?” His question hung in the air, filled with hurt and frustration. “Why didn’t you fight for us?”

“I tried,” you whispered, tears slipping down your cheeks. “But you know how this industry is. They don’t care about what I want. They only care about what sells, what keeps me relevant.”

Hongjoong ran a hand through his hair, his emotions warring inside him. He wanted to scream, to cry, to tell you that he understood—but the jealousy gnawed at him, twisting his heart. The thought of you standing next to Jungkook, even if it was fake, made him sick.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know if I can handle watching you be with someone else, even if it’s all pretend.”

You closed the distance between you, gently placing a hand on his arm. “Please, don’t give up on us,” you begged, your voice trembling. “We can make it through this. We just have to keep pretending. Once the media moves on, we’ll figure something out. But I need you, Hongjoong. I need you to trust me.”

He looked down at your hand on his arm, then up into your tear-filled eyes. He wanted to trust you, he really did. But the hurt was still too raw, the jealousy still too strong.

“I need some time,” he said quietly, pulling away from your touch. “I need to figure out if I can live like this.”

Before you could respond, he turned and left the studio, leaving you standing alone in the place that had once felt like home to both of you. Now, it felt cold and empty, just like the space between you and him.

The days that followed were a blur for Hongjoong. He threw himself into work, burying his emotions under endless hours in the studio, long rehearsals, and late-night songwriting sessions. But no matter how hard he tried to distract himself, you were always there, lingering in the back of his mind. Every song he wrote seemed to echo with the words he couldn’t say to you. Every melody reminded him of the nights you’d spent together, curled up in the quiet of the studio, sharing secrets and dreams that now felt out of reach.

He would open his phone sometimes, scrolling mindlessly through social media, only to be slapped with another reminder of you and Jungkook. Every entertainment site was buzzing about the "golden couple." The photos of your fake smiles, the ones that were meant for the public, stabbed him every time. Even though he knew it was all a show, it didn’t stop the jealousy from gnawing at him. It looks too real.

He found himself on a fan site one night, something he rarely did. His fingers hesitated on the keyboard before he typed your name into the search bar, his heart sinking as he saw how quickly the site filled with posts about you and Jungkook.

“Y/N and Jungkook spotted at dinner together! Couple goals!” “Y/N talks about wedding plans in new interview!” “Fans are obsessed with Y/N and Jungkook’s chemistry!”

He scrolled through the photos—the two of you laughing at some fancy restaurant, walking together through the airport, attending an event in matching outfits. It made him sick. When did it get this far?

His phone buzzed with a notification from Seonghwa.

Seonghwa: You good? We haven't seen you much lately.

Hongjoong let out a sigh. The other members had noticed his absence, but he didn’t know how to explain what was going on. He didn’t want to dump his personal issues on them, especially when he hadn’t even figured out how to process them himself. Instead, he texted back something vague:

Hongjoong: Just working on music. Be back soon.

But even the music wasn’t helping anymore. Normally, he could pour his heart into a song and find some sense of release, but lately, everything felt empty. He kept replaying that night at the studio, the look on your face when he told you he needed time. He remembered the way your voice had trembled when you said you didn’t want this marriage, how you had begged him not to give up on you. And yet, he had walked away.

Now, sitting alone in the darkened dorm room, Hongjoong couldn’t help but wonder if he’d made the right choice. The regret was heavy, weighing him down more with each passing day. Maybe he should have fought harder. Maybe he should have trusted you when you said the marriage was fake. But seeing you with Jungkook, day after day, smiling and playing the role of the perfect couple, had twisted something inside him. It wasn’t your fault, and he knew that deep down. But the jealousy was like a poison, clouding his judgment and making it impossible to think clearly.

He glanced at his phone again, thumb hovering over your name in his contacts. It had been over a week since you last spoke. You hadn’t tried to contact him since that night, and he wondered if that meant you had finally given up on him. The thought made his chest tighten. What if I lose her for real? The idea of you slipping away, of choosing to stay in this fake marriage because he had pushed you too far, terrified him.

But then, almost like a cruel twist of fate, another article popped up on his screen: “Jungkook and Y/N to Announce Wedding Date Soon!”

He blinked at the headline, his stomach flipping. Wedding date? Already? He clicked the article, quickly scanning through the words, his mind racing.

The agencies confirm that the highly anticipated wedding between Y/N and Jungkook will be taking place next spring. Fans are thrilled at the news and can’t wait to see the stunning couple tie the knot…

Hongjoong sat in his dimly lit apartment, staring at the glowing screen of his laptop. The announcement of your wedding date with Jungkook had hit him like a tidal wave. Each headline was a painful reminder of what he had lost. He tried to focus on work, but the melodies that usually inspired him now felt hollow and empty.

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration and regret swirling in his mind. The studio, where you had shared so many intimate moments, now seemed like a relic of a past he couldn’t reclaim. Why didn’t I fight for us? The question echoed in his head, mixing with the guilt that had taken root ever since he walked away from you.

His phone buzzed, and he glanced at the screen, seeing a message from Seonghwa. Hongjoong’s heart sank. Seonghwa had always been perceptive, often the first to notice when something was off with him. And Hongjoong knew that his absence and recent behavior hadn’t gone unnoticed.

Seonghwa: Hey, Hongjoong. We need to talk. Can you meet up?

Hongjoong hesitated, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. He didn’t know if he was ready to discuss the mess he was in, especially when it came to his feelings about you and the situation with Jungkook. But he knew he couldn’t avoid this forever. He needed to face the consequences of his actions and, perhaps, get some clarity.

Hongjoong: Sure. Where do you want to meet?

The response was quick.

Seonghwa: How about the café near the studio? I’ll be there in 30 minutes.

Hongjoong agreed and got ready, trying to push away the dread he felt about the upcoming conversation. He needed to talk to Seonghwa, but he was afraid of how much he would reveal. Would Seonghwa confront him about what he knew? And how would he react?

The café was quiet, with only a few patrons scattered around. Seonghwa was already there, sitting at a corner table with a cup of coffee. His expression was unreadable as Hongjoong approached and took a seat across from him.

“Hey,” Hongjoong said, trying to sound casual but feeling the weight of the conversation pressing down on him.

“Hey,” Seonghwa replied, studying him closely. “You’ve been MIA lately. What’s going on? We’ve all noticed you’re not yourself.”

Hongjoong took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. “It’s been… a rough few weeks. Things with Y/N and Jungkook… it’s been hard to process.”

Seonghwa’s gaze softened slightly, but he didn’t press further about the details of your relationship. Instead, he leaned in, his tone gentle but insistent. “I know you’re going through a lot, and I can see how much this is affecting you. But you don’t have to go through it alone. We’re here for you, you know?”

Hongjoong nodded, feeling a lump form in his throat. “I messed up, Seonghwa. I walked away when I should have stayed. I should have supported Y/N, but I let my own fears and insecurities get in the way.”

Seonghwa’s expression remained sympathetic, but there was an edge of frustration in his voice. “You’re not alone in this, Hongjoong. But you also need to confront what’s happening. Running away or hiding won’t fix things.”

Hongjoong’s eyes dropped to his coffee cup, his hands trembling slightly. “I didn’t know it would get this bad. I thought I was doing the right thing by stepping back, but now I see that I only made everything worse. The wedding… it’s all happening so fast.”

Seonghwa’s gaze was steady. “You’ve always been good at taking charge and leading the group, but this is different. This is about your personal life and feelings. You need to make a decision about how to move forward. It’s not just about what happened with Y/N and Jungkook; it’s also about how you handle your own regrets and actions.”

“I know,” Hongjoong said, his voice barely a whisper. “I’ve been thinking about it non-stop. I realize now that I should have been there for Y/N, and now I’m paying the price for it. I don’t know if I can fix it, but I want to try.”

Seonghwa nodded, taking a sip of his coffee. “It’s good that you’re recognizing that. But remember, you can’t change the past. All you can do is try to make things right moving forward. If you want to reach out to Y/N, if you want to make amends, you need to be prepared for whatever comes next.”

Hongjoong’s heart ached at the thought. He wanted to reach out, but he was scared of how you might react—or if it was already too late. The idea of you being with Jungkook, even if it was for the public, was a heavy burden to bear. And the thought of confronting it made him feel vulnerable in ways he hadn’t anticipated.

“I just don’t know where to start,” Hongjoong admitted. “It feels like everything is out of control.”

Seonghwa’s voice was calm but firm. “Start by being honest with yourself. Then, if you’re ready, be honest with Y/N. Apologize, explain your feelings, and see if there’s a way forward. It won’t be easy, and it might not work out the way you hope. But at least you’ll know you tried.”

Hongjoong looked up, meeting Seonghwa’s eyes. “Thank you. I needed to hear that.”

Seonghwa gave him a reassuring smile. “You’re welcome. And remember, whatever happens, we’re here for you. You don’t have to go through this alone.”

As they finished their coffee and prepared to leave, Hongjoong felt a glimmer of hope amidst his regret. The conversation with Seonghwa hadn’t resolved everything, but it had given him a clearer path forward. He knew that confronting his feelings and trying to make amends with you was the only way to find some closure.

He left the café with a renewed sense of purpose, ready to face the difficult conversations and the possibility of a future that might still hold a chance for reconciliation.

The day had come. Hongjoong sat in his dimly lit apartment, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the room. Every ticking second on the clock seemed to intensify the anxiety coiling in his chest. He had spent weeks grappling with the weight of regret and the impact of his decision to step back. Today, he was finally going to confront the tangled mess of his emotions and the consequences of their actions.

His phone buzzed, jolting him from his thoughts. He glanced at the screen to see a message from you: “Can I come over? I need to talk.”

Hongjoong’s heart pounded. Is this it? he wondered. Is this the moment everything changes? He quickly typed a reply: “Of course. Anytime.” He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the conversation that was about to unfold.

When the doorbell rang, Hongjoong’s breath hitched. He stood up, his legs feeling like lead, and walked to the door. He opened it to find you standing there, looking weary and emotionally drained. Your eyes were red-rimmed, and the weight of your exhaustion was visible in every line of your face.

“Hey,” Hongjoong said softly, trying to keep his voice steady. “Come in.”

You nodded, stepping inside with a sigh. “Thanks.” The fatigue in your voice was palpable. “I’m so tired, Hongjoong. This whole pretending to be happy, this fake engagement with Jungkook… it’s draining me.”

Hongjoong guided you to the living room, his heart aching at the sight of you struggling. “I can’t imagine how hard this must be for you,” he said, sitting beside you on the couch. “I’m really sorry for everything. I should have been there for you, not walking away when you needed me most.”

You sat down next to him, your shoulders slumped as you tried to hold back tears. “It’s not just about you leaving. It’s the entire situation. I never wanted any of this. I didn’t want to be part of this charade. I just wanted us to be together, without all the lies.”

Hongjoong reached out, gently taking your hand. “I know. I know now how much I hurt you by stepping away. I thought I was protecting myself, but all I did was push you further into a situation that was never fair to you.”

You looked up at him, your eyes brimming with tears. “I needed you to understand that I wasn’t just a part of this public display. I was struggling too, and I needed your support. But instead, I felt like I was fighting this battle alone.”

Hongjoong’s heart clenched as he listened to you. The pain in your voice was a stark reminder of how far apart you had grown. He took a deep breath, his thoughts racing. How could I have been so blind? How did I not see that I was making things worse instead of better?

He gently cupped your face in his hands, his thumb brushing away a tear that had escaped. “I’m sorry. I should have fought for us, not let my fears drive me away. Seeing you with Jungkook, even if it’s just for show, made me realize how much I’ve lost.”

You leaned into his touch, the warmth of his hands comforting you. “I don’t want this fake life anymore. I want to be with you, Hongjoong. Even if it means facing the world’s judgment, I’d rather face it with you by my side.”

Hongjoong’s heart swelled with a mixture of relief and resolve. He leaned in, his forehead resting against yours. “We’ll get through this,” he promised, his voice full of conviction. “We’ll face whatever comes our way together. I’m not going anywhere.”

The room seemed to close in around you, the noise of the outside world fading into the background. Hongjoong’s gaze was steady, and for the first time in weeks, you felt a sense of clarity and calm. The enormity of your situation still loomed, but in this moment, all that mattered was the truth you both shared.

Hongjoong’s lips brushed against yours, a gentle, tentative kiss that spoke of all the unspoken words and emotions between you. It was a kiss full of apology and longing, a promise of a future where you both could be true to yourselves. Your lips moved together in a rhythm of mutual understanding, a silent vow to confront whatever lay ahead.

When you pulled back, your eyes met his, and you saw the sincerity in his gaze. “We’ll keep up the public act,” Hongjoong said, his voice steady. “We’ll do what we need to do for now. But behind closed doors, we’ll be honest with each other. We’ll find our own moments of truth and love.”

You nodded, a small smile forming on your lips. “Yes. It won’t be easy, and there will be sacrifices. But I’m willing to make them if it means being with you.”

Hongjoong held you close, his arms wrapped around you protectively. “We’ll figure this out, one step at a time. We’ve been through so much already. This is just another challenge we’ll face together.”

As you both sat together, wrapped in each other’s embrace, the weight of the world seemed to lift, if only slightly. You knew that the path ahead would be fraught with difficulties, but you also knew that you were no longer facing them alone. The world might continue to judge and speculate, but the bond you shared was real, and that was what mattered most.

In the quiet of the apartment, away from the prying eyes of the public and the pressure of the industry, you found solace in each other’s presence. It was a bittersweet reality, but it was one you were both willing to navigate. The love you held for one another was a precious truth, and as long as you could cherish it in secret, you were prepared to face whatever came your way.

With a renewed sense of commitment, Hongjoong and you embraced the challenge of balancing the public façade with your private truth. As you both held each other close, you knew that no matter how difficult the journey ahead might be, you would face it together, bound by a love that was strong enough to endure even the harshest scrutiny.

#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fic #ateez imagines #kpop #atz #kim hongjoong #hongjoong fanfic #ateez hongjoong #hongjoong #hongjoong fluff #ateez fluff #kpop fluff #fluff #x reader #hongjoong x reader #kpop fanfic #kpop x reader #female reader

41 notes · View notes

infernalodie · 1 year

Text

𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞 || 𝐉𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐎𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐠𝐚

“𝘓𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘨𝘰 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘐'𝘮 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘧𝘢𝘳 𝘍𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦“

Inspo: Michael Bublé - Home

Pairing: Jenna Ortega x Male!reader

Summary: The distance made you chose home and you would do it again...

Warnings: Fluffy

Words: 1726

Out on the road, it held some of the greatest moments in your life. Going big and being able to travel across the world or on a tour bus, seeing places, meeting fans, spending years with friends getting to experience all these things together. It truly is a gift that you wouldn’t take back. Fame and the extra responsibilities were meaningless when you got to live the dreams you had since a child.

But as years went on and as you got older, you met people. You had partners that came and left, but none felt like something you wanted to have for life. Until Jenna met you backstage. She was beautiful, far more beautiful than what you saw on the internet or in movies. You two talked until your manager pulled you to the stage. But in those 5 minutes of talking, seeing her smile, hearing her laugh, some part of you had this feeling. It was a swelling effect in the chest that hadn’t been prevalent for so long. So, you had made it your mission to exchange numbers and see if it would work. If it just meant being friends, then that would be enough.

So, on nights when you were laid up in a hotel or on the tour bus and you couldn’t sleep, you sent her a quick text. Feeling your lips twist into a smile when she texted back. She was a movie star and you were just some unknown (almost) jazz artist that lived for the music. Yet, she gave time to you when she was also free. Your friends would joke when they found you smiling at your phone. Teasing you for being so whipped over a girl you met once.

And it only felt inevitable that you guys attempted to give it a chance. When the tour ended, you guys met again and went on countless secretive dates since Jenna wasn’t prepared for that type of press. You supported her and she did you. Most days, you attempted to just call her if she wasn’t busy and would see her when she had a day off. Going with her to TV and movie premiers is a plus one that the two of you labelled as “best friends.” And something about your guys’ relationship being so secretive gave it that much affection and genuine love behind the scenes because it was your guys’ secret. It was only for you two to know, feel, and experience.

That was a year ago. The two of you were still going strong but tours and shows were sucking more of the life out of you. Performing was still magical and a god given gift to you, but being away from Jenna was hurting more and more as time passed. Seeing the fans were great, but you missed Jenna’s arms around you. Hearing the crowd sing the lyrics was exciting, but feeling Jenna’s lips against yours was different and better.

You started touring at 17 and that was after putting out two studio albums. You were 22 now and the love for music was still there, but it wasn’t the forefront like it used to be. And you accomplished everything you needed to. Going to countries and cities you wanted, doing certain events, going on talk shows, meeting your celebrity idols- all of it was done. The last show of your tour was in the 3rd biggest stadium in the world. You had reached the top. So, where else were you supposed to go? There was only so much you could do before the drive was lost and you might’ve wanted to conserve it honestly. Maybe drop the whole music thing for a few years and come back with a fresh mind and new things you’ve experienced. It was a tall order and one you believed and everyone close to you did too.

So, walking out on that stage with the sound of fans screaming in excitement, cheering your name as far back as your eyes would allow you to see, it felt surreal. It also tore way at your heart. But you managed to force the tears down and smile, adjusting your suit and bringing the mic to your lips. “Michigan.” Your monotone voice was overtaken by the screams, making you laugh. “Who is ready for the show?” They screamed again.

The night slowly divulged down into you giving the best performance of your life. Dancing, running, jumping, screaming, you gave your all to the show and the crowd was loving it. But you knew time was whittling down and the eventual final song would have to be performed and you would be left sorrowful. Because you knew that the moment you stepped on stage, this would be the last show for a while. And it almost felt like you were saying goodbye to someone or losing someone. There would be a grieving process and it would take long to overcome it. But you knew it wasn’t over.

Soon enough, that time came and you had to pull the stool in the center of the stage close to the piano and sat down. “Listen, I know I’m 22, but I am getting too old for this,” you grumbled, taking a sip at your water as the crowd laughed. “But I am sure you guys realize that I haven’t played the last song. But there is a good reason for that. I…I am going to be taking a break for a while.”

You lowered the mic as you felt your nose start to tingle and burn. Sniffling as you swallowed the lump in your throat. “I met someone a few years ago and being on tour has been a gift and I love every single one of you, but I need to spend that time with them. They changed my life and so many ways and I love them too much to step away any longer.” you explained. “It hurts being away from loved ones and it hurts more not being able to be in their arms.” Exhaling shakily, you allowed the tears to flow down your cheeks without care. “I’ve been doing this since I was 13. Making music out of my parent's basement and when I was 17, I finally went on tour and it’s been nonstop since. So, I made a few calls and cleared it, but an album will be dropping my birthday with this next song.”

The crowd cheered, seeming to support your decision. It made your face twist in so many emotions and your heart swell in happiness. But when you turned your head, you found her standing on the other end of the stage, tears in her eyes, hands clasped to her chest. Your bottom lip trembled and a choked laugh fell from your lips as you got up and walked toward her. When Jenna stepped out from the curtain, the crowd screamed and cheered.

Yet, the world became so meaningless when you were wrapped in her arms. Her warm tears wet your cheek, which made you sigh shakily. “I love you so much.” It was the truth. In so many circumstances, you felt like the four-letter word didn’t have the much weight as it did now. You also didn’t feel worthy of being the one to say it. But you were giving up so much money to just be with her because she meant more than the money. She gave more memories than the road could ever, so you hoped she knew how much you meant it.

Jenna rubbed your back, pulling away to kiss you on the forehead. Her hands hold your face with her lips etching into a grin. “I love you too,” she whispered. Taking your hand, she pressed a kiss to the back of it and tilted her head. “You gonna sing that song or keep ‘em waiting?”

You smiled, taking her hand and pulling her further out on stage. Raising your interlocked hands, causing the crowd to cheer in bliss. The band began to play with you and Jenna sat at the piano. Her hand rested on your lap as you played the keys just like you practiced so many sleepless nights. “Another summer day. Has come and gone away. In Paris and Rome. But I wanna go home, mmm,” you sang. “May be surrounded by, A million people I still feel all alone. Just wanna go home. Oh, I miss you, you know.”

The crowd was a sea of lights, waving from left to right with the rhythm of the song. Making you smile as you moved closer to the mic and tilted your head to glance at Jenna. Her eyes dreamily admired you as you smiled. “Let me go home. I'm just too far. From where you are. I wanna come home. And I feel just like I'm living someone else's life. It's like I just stepped outside. When everything was going right.”

You had created the song while on the road. A distant cry of what you wished for more than anything else in the world. Just to be with Jenna. You were mainly surprised by the fact that you were allowed to do this. The record company had cleared it and was in full support of the long break from music. And they had been helpful to make things easier to create your new album while on the road. Willing to pay and have equipment set up and ready for you to use.

“Another winter day. Has come and gone away. In even Paris and Rome. And I wanna go home. Let me go home.” Head bobbing to the drums, you looked at Jenna and smiled. Her hand reached up and threaded through your neatly styled hair, gently caressing your scalp in the way you liked it. The sting behind your eyes grew as you licked your lips. “Let me go home. I've had my run. Baby, I'm done. I gotta go home. Let me go home. It'll all be all right. I'll be home tonight. I'm coming back home.”

With the last chord of the piano that played, the crowd screamed and cheered as you sat there with your hands resting in your lap. Blinking rapidly as you sniffled, pursing your lips and nodding. Looking at Jenna, you smiled through the tears. “Let’s go home.”

#jenna ortega #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega imagine #jenna ortega x male reader #jenna ortega fluff #jenna ortega x male!reader #jenna ortega fanfiction #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega x you #x male!reader #x male reader

552 notes · View notes

folklore-girl · 9 months

Text

ek ladki bheegi bheegi bhaagi si — a short story

a/n: okok so i tried my best for you @androgynous-pavbhaji <3 since this is your secret santa gift? im so sorry for posting this so late, this was supposed to come out a long time ago.. but ig happy new year? hope you like this!

word count: 0.6k

warning(s): bad writing, cringe dialogues + a shitty asf story in general :( im so so sorry.

raindrops splattered on the sidewalk as i hurriedly made my way to the bus stop, my clothes drenched from the downpour. my hands held up my handbag to shield my head from the rain and to try and deflect some heavy raindrops, but all in vain. for the millionth time, i cursed my stupid self for not carrying an umbrella, even though we were deep in winter, and there was no way I could’ve predicted this. i still should have.

and, to top it all, i was horribly late to my bus.

when i reached the bus stop a thousand years later, my shoes were soaked and my head was in an overdrive. i noticed a guy—probably my age—waiting at the stop too and decided i should probably wipe the mess off my face.

so, i took out my napkin, just to drop it on the ground like an absolute idiot. and as i bent to pick it up, the guy on the right offered me his napkin, in spotless white.

i was scared. not of the guy, but of ruining his napkin by using it. he saw me hesitate and said, “arey, it’s fine. i have spare.”

“pakka?” i asked, uncertainly.

“yup,” he said and i thanked him, smiling.

he smiled back. and i thought, wow. i guess men aren’t all bad, then.

i took the napkin from him and dabbed my face with it gently, still scared to damage it. when i was giving it back, he said “it’s ok, you can keep it.”

“you sure?” i asked again.

“yes!!” he laughed, “it’s alright, you know. i don’t bite.”

“no, but, i’m not used to all this,” i gestured with my hands and his eyebrows rose in confusion. “kindess?” i finished lamely.

“well then, you will be soon,” he winked and i looked away because i was in a loss of words.

meeting a decent man made me feel like i was in some other dimension, some dream where kind strangers were real and not a thing to read in tumblr posts and fawn over.

by now, my heartbeat had slowed down and my breaths were much less frantic, so we talked about our buses.

“oh, me too,” he smiled, “we’re both going to mumbai.”

“that’s nice,” i smiled as the bus approached the stop, “i bet the ride is gonna be fun.”

he smiled, “hopefully.”

we hauled up our luggage and sat in the bus, me in the window seat with him by my side.

we talked for almost the entire ride there, exchanging our names and talking shit about distant relatives (my lord, we had the same type of humour). and when we grew bored of talking, we both decided to do something else. he plugged in his earphones and i found out that i couldn’t find mine anywhere.

i looked out of the window and i could tell it was going to be a long road.

he noticed and offered to share his wired ones. feeling utterly helpless, i gave in.

later, we discovered that our music tastes were very similar and i soon found myself scooting closer to him as we listened to his playlist together.

by the time shuffle lead us to ‘i guess i’m in love’, i knew the feeling burning up in my chest, threatening to spill over. it was beautiful and warm, like sunlight filtering in through the curtains. like the first day of spring, my heart was blooming and after a long time, i felt the butterflies.

but it couldn’t be, could it?

i woke up to the sound of mumma calling my name. i’d fallen asleep with my head in my arms, crossed on the windowsill while rain poured outside and my chai grew colder with each passing minute. right next to it, my phone had just finished playing the song “ek ladki bheegi bhagi si” on my wired earphones and suddenly the surreal scenario in my head made sense.

i guess it was a dream, after all.

xoxo

#. ༉‧₊˚ — her writings !#desiblr secret santa 2023 #dss2k23 #desiblr #desi aesthetic #desi tumblr #desi tag #writers on tumblr #female writers #writeblr #writing #moodboard #bollywood

91 notes · View notes

petrichor-idyllic · 2 years

Note

Hi! I'm nervous this is my first requests and you have already so many Minhoxreader so if you don't want to don't do it! but I was wondering if you could do a scenario with a more calm, mother like reader rather than the usual spice and fighting one? (Although those are really good too!) where Minho has a big crush and the others like to tease bc reader is dense. I really like how you portray everyone so thank you so much in advance! Hope you have a great day 💕

I am honoured to be your first request- don't be nervous, I will try my best to give you what you want :))

With some recent attempts, I am realising that I clearly have a character type that I write lol, so these type of asks allow me to add some variety.

Also, I am assuming that this is fem!reader because you used the word "mother" instead of "parent", though if I'm wrong let me know and I will change this to be a gender neutral reader.

BLIND EYE

MASTERLIST | MINHO MASTERLIST

SUMMARY: See above. Fem!Reader x Minho. Takes place before the arrival of Thomas. More movie based.

You were the first Glader to arrive in the Maze, and the only girl. With the help of Alby and Newt, you run the Glade. You take your job seriously and are the mother-figure of the Maze. Though, your business has led to complete oblivion on your end, especially when it comes to the Keeper of the Runners- who is desperately trying to get your attention.

WARNINGS: Inappropriate language, mild thirsting/simping from Minho, teenagers attempting to flirt.

You have the entire Glade under your thumb.

It wasn't by choice, more like circumstance above anything else, but you rose to the role.

The first month in the Glade was surreal. You didn't know anything; where you were, who you were, why you were there. It was just you and a dumb dog- you'd named the dog Buddy, but the future Gladers prefer to call him Bark.

Back then, the Glade was nothing more than an empty field. You left the safety on the first day, only to chicken out when you heard growling somewhere in the depths of the walls.

Fuck that.

You jumped out of your skin the first time the Doors closed. You thought at first you were trapped inside, but you quickly learnt that the Doors are your friends. They're keeping the Grievers out.

After a couple of days of laying in the grass and playing fetch, you ventured out again. And again. And again. You spent your nights building some, admittedly not very stable, structures after it rained one night, and the trees in the Deadhead didn't make for great shelter.

You'd figured out pretty quickly that this was a strange and elaborate punishment for one person. Maybe it was a dumb hope, but you woke up everyday, for thirty days, praying someone else would join you. Sure, you felt selfish, but you didn't want to live in fear in isolation anymore.

But you would, you could have- if you had to.

You learny in that long month, that you're a strong person- level headed, calm and smart.

But still when Alby popped up in the Glade, you were thrilled that you weren't on your own anymore, even if you were stuck with a panicked teenage boy.

Then Nick. Then Newt. Then Minho. Then Zart. Wiston. Gally. Jeff. Clint.

Boy, after boy came up and the dawning feeling that you were left in a sea of testosterone wasn't a problem you'd anticipated. Not only that- you were the captain of it. Of course, doing this on your own isn't an easy task, so, you enlisted Alby as your co-leader. And Newt as your second-in-command after you lost Nick.

The first year was rough. It took you forever to sort out roles and rules and how the place should be ran, but it took more trail and error than you wanted.

But eventually, with more boys and will power and all the time in the world, the Glade became a fully functioning mini-civilisation.

All because of you. And Alby, but mainly you.

He's a nice foil to you- sometimes aggressive, physically intimidating and willing to hurt people when necessary. He's not scared to enforce the consequences of breaking the rules.

By comparison, you come across as a more of a mother figure- nurturing and collected, helping Gladers with their problems and making sure things run smoothly.

You hand picked the Keepers yourself. Some more obvious than others, but your best decision by far was making Minho Keeper of the Runners.

He's perfect for the job. In the early days, you were in charge of the Maze- you had the most experience with it, after all. But Minho far exceeded your skills- fast, smart, observant and strong. He shows promise where the other Gladers lack it.

He's also the only Keeper you let pick his men. Anyone can garden or slaughter animals if they're up for it; you just dictate what they're best at. After all, you can do it all- you had to when you were on your own.

But Minho is better than you at Running. And you can see that, so why should you or Alby say otherwise?

Obviously, you get the final call. But you very rarely question his judgement. Even arguing and shutting down Alby when he does.

Maybe that's why Minho likes you. You hold him highly and with more respect than most. Obviously, it's not exactly unheard of for Gladers to have crushes on you. Minho is no different.

Well, except he kind of is.

Normally, the crushes die as fast as they start when they realise that you're busy and emotionally unavailable. But not Minho.

He's always been attracted to you- your stability and skills. You juxtapose his reckless actions and quick thinking with your deep consideration and calming atmosphere.

He'd watched boy after boy fail to impress you, when you're so naturally impressed by him that he doesn't even need to do anything. You respect him for what he does, and the feeling is mutual.

Though, you're a bit dense.

It's probably because you're always getting hit on, or maybe you're used to Minho's naturally flirty personality, but no matter how hard he tries to hint at something more, you remain oblivious.

In fact, you are the only person that has failed to notice that he's completely smitten with you.

"Earth to Minho," Newt clicks his fingers in front of his friends face, "anybody home?" Him, Minho, and Ben sit at one of the makeshift dining tables, all in a row.

Minho swats his hand away. "Shuck off, man."

"You could always just tell her, yanno, instead of staring at her like some kinda freak."

"Yeah," Ben chuckles, "and we need some entertainment- watching you get rejected could definitely provide that."

Newt leans around Minho to punch the boy in the arm. "Shut your bloody mouth, shank."

"What? She rejects everyone."

"Yeah, but she likes Minho."

"She does?" Minho sparks up, looking at Newt and raising an eyebrow.

"Well, not like-likes, I mean she might, but I just mean that she respects ya- you guys, yanno, get along, init."

Minho pulls his lips into a thin line. "Great, thanks, Newt- real eye-opening."

"Well, I'm just sayin'. If anyone has a shot with her, it's you, mate."

"What are you shanks talking about?" Minho just about jumps out of his skin when you approach. He didn't even see you leave his sight because he was too distracted by the conversation to even realise you'd snuck up behind them.

"Oh, uh, nothing," he tries to play it off.

"We were talking about you, actually," Minho shoots Ben a stern glare, only to get a wink in response.

"Oh, yeah?" Your tone is playfully and unassuming. "I'm nothing, am I?"

"No, that's not what-"

"Have you guys even eaten yet?" You blink at the empty table in front of them, immediately distracting yourself from whatever they were saying.

"Uh, no," Newt clears his throat, "we were waiting for the queue to die down a bit. But-"

"Well, I'll get you guys something to eat," you put your hands on Minho's shoulders, making him jump as Newt and Ben exchange a knowing look. "Can't have my best Runner going hungry now, can I?"

He looks up at you like you're the stars and the world combined. Like an old stray dog admiring it's owner whose given him everything and nothing could ever compare to what he's witnessing. You're so close and warm and your goal is always to support him. And the other Gladers of course, but he desperately wants to believe that it's him above all else.

And you haven't fucking noticed.

Again.

You walk away, making your way over to Frypan's Station and ignoring his complaints as you slip behind the counter, taking your time to make the dishes yourself.

"Dude," Newt scoffs. He's never been more entertained than watching Minho watch you. It's like seeing a whole other side to his friend. "You're shucked."

With Newt's, and Ben's (but mainly Newt's) advice, Minho had decided to pick up to hintsa and flirting. Except despite being naturally quick and witty, you make him nervous and stuttery.

And you're still oblivious.

"Hey, (Y/N), you look good today."

"Oh, thanks, Minho. Someone's in a good mood today."

But he keeps trying.

"Hey, do you wanna eat together later- feels like I barely see you."

"Oh, yeah, that'd be great; I'll get Alby to join us- we can discuss your progress on the Maze."

And again.

"New Greenie up today, you reckon you'll be able to take a break from baby sitting to have a drink with me?"

"Oh, yeah, maybe. If I'm not too busy. Oh! It might be a smart idea for you to tell the Greenies about the Maze- might help them understand a bit more- good idea!"

And again.

"Yo, Newt said you got some new clothes from the Box, haven't seen you in them yet- I bet you'll look great, as always."

"Pfft, shut up, man- they'll be the same as all the rags I normally wear."

And again.

"You know, I'm so happy to have you as a Leader. You're incredible at it; Alby should think himself lucky to have you helping him make choices."

"I'm only doing my job, the same as everyone here. You don't have to praise me for that."

And- well, you get the picture.

It's been months. Literally, months since he decided to up his game, and he's about to start ripping his hair out.

So, after returning from the Maze one night, he's had enough. He doesn't even bother going to the Map Room. He immediately asks where you are and marches over to your hut.

The knocking at your door startles you. You were simply changing your shirt after an incident helping the Slicers.

"Hey, (Y/N)? You in there?"

"Minho?" You pull your shirt over your head and grab the door in a hurry, opening it. "Is everything okay? Shouldn't you be-?"

"I need to talk to you," he blurts out, stunning you slightly.

"Right, okay. Yeah, of course, come in." You step aside and he he pulls his lips into a thin line, internally attempting to psyche himself up for what he's about to do.

He slips past you and you speak. "Do you want me to shut the door, so we can talk in private?"

"Uh, yeah, please."

"Okay," you nod, shutting it behind you and turning to face him. "What's going on?"

"I don't- shuck, okay, I just- I mean-"

Concern dances across your face, stepping towards him at his flustered state. "Is everything okay? You seem stressed; you know you can tell me anything, Minho. That's what I'm here for. Has something-?"

"I like you!" He snaps, throwing his hands up.

You blink, confused. "I, uh, like you, too? I mean, you're one of our best and you're very important here."

"No!" He groans, hands flying to his hair in frustration before he calms himself. "I don't mean... I mean I like-like you, like as in I think I might even be in love with you. A-and I've been trying for so long to hint at it, but you just- either you're ignoring it or you genuinely haven't noticed- but I have to know, okay? You can reject me and things can go back to normal, but I can't go on like this."

You stand in shock.

Okay, so, you may or may not have also developed a crush on him. Your higher affections towards him haven't been because you just thought he was great at his job, but because you do have stronger feelings towards him.

You're just busy and have created these rules for yourself to not date anyone. And since Minho has never flat out said it like most boys confessed to you- you have genuinely remained oblivious.

"Why aren't you saying anything?" Minho asks, pulling you out of your trance. "Shuck, you're not saying anything. Shit. I'm sorry, let's uh, let's just forget this ever happened and-"

You step forward, catching him off-guard as he turns to face you more. "You like me?" Your voice is soft and almost gleeful as his eyes flicker to your lips.

He sighs. "Of course, I do. How could I not?"

You hover in front of him, feeling nervous for the first time since you came up in the Box. Your noses brush for a second before you have the courage to move in.

Pushing your lips against his, he kisses back immediately, his hands coming to your waist, pushing in the years of feelings he's been tormented with.

After a few seconds, you break.

"Take it you like me, too, then?"

You smile at him, giving a small smile before kissing him again.

Back again with more Minho whilst fighting through my illness. I've got a break off of work coming up so I should be able to write some more, so expect some more requests.

Hope you enjoyed :))

#🌿 petri writes #🌿 petri writes tmr #🍃 petri tmr #🌿 petri tmr minho #tmr fanfiction #tmr minho #minho tmr #minho the maze runner #minho tmr x reader #tmr imagines #minho maze runner

464 notes · View notes

lemurlegs · 4 months

Text

Bewitched

Hi everyone!! This is my first fanfic I've ever written so it's probably not gonna be too great, but I had this idea festering in my brain for months and I just need to get it out into the world. Also if some sentences seem a bit strangely worded or there's some grammar mistakes bare with me, English isn't my first language.

That being said I just want to say a few things before we start this journey. So this is more of an OC fic then a y/n fic. I don't want to say much about her character since you guys will learn about it later, but there are a few things to note before starting off.

Her name is Elizabeth but uses a fake name with is Ginger. She was born in 1539, and she died of foxglove poisoning. That's all you need to know for know.

Wordcount: 3.5k

Also a few warnings: swearing, murder, death, torture, stabbing.

Chapter 1.

I Payed Off The Reaper And It Only Costed Me My Soul

As you lie on the cold, unforgiving hardwood floor of your apartment, a chill crawls up your spine, matching the coldness creeping into your veins. Your once-steady heartbeat falters, each thud weaker than the last, as if whispering its farewell. The room spins in a dizzying whirl, blurring the edges of reality, a cruel trick played by the poison coursing through you. Your trembling limbs betray you, shaking uncontrollably, as if bidding farewell to the world above. With each shallow breath, you feel the darkness beckoning, pulling you down into its silent depths, offering solace in the embrace of oblivion.

Your senses reel as consciousness returns, greeted by a sharp stab of pain in your back. Gradually, you rise to your feet, wincing as you gingerly assess the source of the discomfort. Eyes adjusting to the surroundings, you find yourself standing in an open field, the sky ablaze with hues of crimson, casting an otherworldly glow upon the landscape. A single road stretches out before you, disappearing into the horizon.

"So this is what hell looks like, huh?" You mumble to yourself. You always knew you would end up down here one day. Certainly didn't think it would be your "loyal" apprentice who would cause your demise.

You were a powerful witch, powerful enough to avoid the cold hands of death. You made sure to prolong your mortal existence by performing intricate rituals and potent spells. Anything to not face them again.

While your spells certainly made sure you wouldn't die of old age, in fact wouldn't really age at all, you were still vulnerable to other types of deaths. For example, the little witch you've been training that had oh so graciously poisoned you this morning.

With a cautious hand rubbing your tender back, you take your first steps forward, embarking on a journey into the unknown under the watchful gaze of the scarlet sky.

A sense of urgency propelling you forward, you choose to follow the road ahead, leading towards the promise of civilization. As you tread the asphalt path, your senses remain heightened, scanning the horizon for any sign of life while silently praying that your pursuers remain far away from you. They must know you're down here now, you just hope they don't know your exact location.

After a half-hour trek, the sight of a sprawling cityscape emerges, it’s bustling energy pulsating like a beacon of hope in the distance. A sense of relief washes over you as you take in the towering buildings and labyrinthine streets. "Perfect," you whisper to yourself, here you can definitely hide away for a while.

As you walk down the city streets you finally have the time to observe your surroundings. How interesting all the sinners looked, and how similar this city was compared to the ones topside.

Gazing down at your hands, you're struck by the startling transformation that has taken place. No longer the familiar appendages you once knew, they now resemble claws, sharp and menacing, as if longing to sink into flesh with every twitch of your fingers. A sense of surrealism washes over you as you take in the sight of your newly acquired extremities, a stark contrast to the hands you once relied on.

Turning your attention to your behind, you're greeted by the unexpected sight of a fluffy fox tail, swaying rhythmically with each step you take. It’s russet hue stands out against the backdrop of the urban landscape, a hellish addition to your newfound form. You wonder what other strange features you've gained, do you also have fox ears?

In the midst of your bewildered observation, a sudden onslaught of hands ensnares you, their grip firm and unyielding. Panic courses through your body as ropes constrict around your body, binding you in a suffocating embrace. A gasp is stifled by the rough pressure of a hand clamped over your mouth, silencing any attempt at an outcry. Darkness descends as a blindfold is forced over your eyes, robbing you of sight and further disorienting your senses.

With a surge of primal instinct, you thrash and struggle against the unseen captors, desperation fueling your futile attempts at liberation. Yet, despite your efforts, their grasp remains steadfast. You recognized them immediately, your old coven members, who else could it be? They must have used a tracking spell to locate you, that's why they knew where to find you the moment you fell. Those bastards. They shoved you into a vehicle, your body still bound by what you assume are some anti magic ropes, since you can't use your powers. Escaping now would be impossible.

After a few minutes of travel, the car came to a halt, and your old coven members forcibly pulled you out, their grips unyielding. You realized the urgency of escaping this predicament. Given your past with the coven, forgiveness wasn't on their agenda, and what you did to them? Well, they sure as hell would want payback.

You were ushered into a chilling chamber, momentarily released before being bound at the wrists with heavy shackles, suspended from the ceiling. Only then, as the blindfolds were removed, did you behold the revenge etched upon their faces. Ten of your former coven members stood before you, clad in their ritual cloaks—dark brown fabric adorned with bloodstains, their signature hoods concealing their identities. It was evident that you had been brought into a space where sacrifices were made or where their dark magic was practiced.

One of the cloaked figures broke from the group, unveiling herself—a woman with goat-like features, her gaze filled with disgust as she closed in on you. With the chains restricting your movement, you could only retreat slightly, snarling in defiance, baring your pearl-white teeth as a warning. Despite your display, the goat demon merely chuckled, unfazed, and persisted in her advance.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't Elizabeth," the witch sneered, "It's good to see you finally join us, High Priestess."

"Oh fuck you!" you spat back at her. Pulling on your shackles as they rattled, digging into your skin.

"I see you're still as charming as ever. We've been eagerly awaiting your arrival, but since you refused to cooperate and die, we had to take matters into our own hands."

"Now that you're here," she continued, "we can finally exact our revenge for our premature demise."

You scoff at that comment.

"You have nothing to avenge Sabrina; you got what you deserved. You know what you did, what he meant to me. He was everything, and you all took him from me."

"Still upset that we rid you of that unclean brat of yours? Honestly, Elizabeth, I fail to see why you're so attached to such a vile creature. I consider what we did to be quite generous. Don't you agree, girls?"

In unison, the other members echoed their approval. Sabrina turned to you with a smug grin, closing in. She seized your jaw, forcing you to meet her gaze.

"Now, it's time you learned your lesson."

The coven members surround you, they form a circle around your strung up body. As the goat lady puts a hand on your shoulder, grabbing onto the shirt you've been wearing, with a swift motion, her claw snags your clothes, ripping them apart, revealing your bare body. You feel a sudden coldness surrounding you, the chilly air makes you shiver. Out of the corner of your eye you notice one of the cloaked figures pull out a knife, and hand the object to the demon in front of you.

Your eyes widen in shock "What the hell are you doing?!!?" You shout at her, as she turns to you with a sinister grin, she brings the knife to your chest

"My, my so distrustful towards your old friend?" She chuckles as she digs the knife into your skin, wincing as Sabrina carves a pattern between your breasts. Looking down you're unable to recognise the sigil. Panic fills your every being as you realize what exactly is happening. They're putting a curse on you.

You start thrashing, trying to lean away from the sharp blade, or at least mess up the sigil work, anything to get out of this situation. Sabrina withdraws the knife, casting you a glare laden with pure animosity. She then addresses the cloaked group, approaching one of the figures clutching a large leather-bound book. She whispered to the demon, you couldn't seem to make out what she said. Though soon you found out what she whispered. The feeling of their dark magic, like thick, heavy chains wrap around you, constricting tighter and tighter with each passing moment. It's as if invisible shadows grasp at your limbs, pulling you into a suffocating stillness, rendering you unable to move.

Desperately trying to make any sort of movement, trying to move away from the approaching blade, but all you could do was endure. You watched as the goat in front of you continued to carve into your skin, tears rolling down your face like rivers. Amidst the pain you hear eerie chanting, and the curse seeps into your body like icy tendrils. It feels as though a heavy weight has settled deep within you, dragging you down into a suffocating abyss. Every breath becomes a struggle as the oppressive magic wraps around your soul, binding you in its dark embrace.

As the chanting begins to die down, Sabrina removes the knife from your chest. As the dark magic leaves your body, your ability to move comes back too, but you feel a burning sharp pain in your abdomen. A loud scream leaves your throat as you look down to your stomach, as Sabrina leaves a big gash making you howl from the pain.

She takes a look at your pained face, clearly enjoying the suffering she's putting you through. You start heaving, trying to calm yourself as best you can, trying to ignore the wound on your stomach.

Sabrina takes a step back, inhaling deeply before letting out a heavy sigh.

“You have no idea how long I've been cooking up this curse for you, it's the perfect retribution for your betrayal against the coven, against me.”

“Wha… what have you done..to m-me?” You managed to stammer, weakened by the wound, blood staining your thighs as it trickled down.

The goat demon hums in amusement.

“I'm glad you asked Lizz. This curse is quite special. It's a fusion of three sigils, forming what i call 'the soul-rotting sigil’. You can probably guess it’s implications, but I'll elaborate anyways.

Sabrina comes up behind you, grabbing your throat while pulling you into her body, your back leaning into her. A gasp leaving you as you try to move from her grip, only for her to tighten her hold.

“The curse will decay your soul like a carcass. It will take a whole year to wither away completely, and when It does… Well, let's just say you're gonna discover what comes after the afterlife.” Her laughter drips with malice as you absorb her words. “Of course we will certainly have fun tormenting you until that day arrives.”

She pulls away from you, letting go of your throat. The goat lady appears in front of you as she continues her speech. “Now I must depart, being the new High Priestess is a very demanding job after all. But fear not, I'll ensure one of the girls keeps you company.”

She turns away with a sinister grin on her face as the coven follows her to what you assume is the exit out of this place. Your eyes follow them, disappearing as they turn the corner.

Turning to the sound behind you, a cloaked figure approaches you, she pulls the hood off her head revealing her cat-like features, she leans in towards you, smiling like Sabrina did moments ago. She looks at your wounded and beat up body. Then she begins circling around you, making awful comments about you, but you don't acknowledge them, as your mind is already thinking about an escape plan.

You quietly assess your surroundings, searching for any potential exits or tools that might aid your getaway. The cat-like demon's words become background noise as you mentally map out your next move. You look up to the shackles, tugging at them slightly. On closer inspection you realize that they're just regular metal chains. Not some anti magic bullshit like those ropes were. As you focus your energy, a warm sensation emanates from your palms, enveloping the chains. With each passing moment, the metal begins to soften, succumbing to the intense heat of your concentrated magic. The links start to warp and bend, like molten wax under a flame.

Your determination fuels the transformation, the once solid chains now resembling twisted strands of metal, weakened and pliable. It takes you a few moments to free yourself, since your body is very weak at the moment, the pain and blood loss certainly not helping your situation either. But with a final burst of energy, the weakened chains give way, breaking apart like brittle twigs. Freed from their restraint, you take a deep breath, relishing in the newfound sense of liberation. Your escape plan is now in motion, empowered by your resourcefulness and resilience.

As your hands free from the shackles you turn to the cat demon who looks at you with a shocked expression. With adrenalin coming to your rescue, you lunge at her and begin tearing her apart with your sharp claws. The demon lets out a guttural scream as you sink into her flesh, blood splattering across the room.

In a flurry of motion, you overpower her, your primal instinct drives you forward. With each swipe of your claws, the demon's resistance weakens, until finally she collapses to the ground.

Breathing heavily, you take a moment to assess the situation. Blood drips from your wound, mingling with the demon's on the cold stone floor.

You lean yourself next to the wall, trying to steady yourself, putting pressure on the wound on your stomach, trying to lessen the blood loss. Slowly limping towards the room you saw Sabrina and the coven pass through, you enter some sort of lounge or dressing room of sorts? You're not entirely sure, the point is they kept their cloaks here. You reach up, pulling one off the coathanger, ripping one of the sleeves off of it, turning it into a makeshift bandage of sorts. It's not great but it's the best you can manage now. Taking another cloak, putting it over your naked vulnerable form, you continue looking for an exit

Despite the pain and weakness gnawing at your body, you press on, determination driving you forward. Carefully navigating the unfamiliar surroundings, you scour the rooms for any sign of an exit. Your eyes scan the walls for hidden passages or concealed doors. Your heart pounds in your chest as you push through the pain.

Finally your perseverance is rewarded by a faint glimmer of light emanating from the corner of a room, you stumble towards it, hoping to get out of this maze of madness. As you draw closer the source of the light becomes clear. A small narrow doorway partially concealed by heavy drapes. Without hesitation you push the fabric aside and step through the threshold.

You are greeted by the red sky once more. Though now it's darker and much more foreboding. You take a deep breath, the smell of sulfur filling your nose. You need to find shelter before they realize you escaped. You might have gotten away, but you weren't out of the frying pan just yet. You slowly limp towards the sidewalk, scanning your surroundings. You remember that the journey to the chamber was quite brief, indicating you can't be too far from where you were ambushed.

You begin walking, trying to find a place to hide away, feeling weaker and weaker by the minutes. As you struggle to keep yourself conscious, you notice a beacon of hope emerging in the distance—a hotel, appearing almost like a heavenly gift amidst the chaos. It's the ideal sanctuary to seek refuge and regroup, provided you can reach it before bleeding out from your injuries.

Summoning every ounce of strength left within you, you press on towards the hotel. Each step feels like a herculean effort as you battle against the encroaching darkness threatening to consume you. Your vision blurs, the world around you swirling in a haze of pain and exhaustion.

But the promise of safety drives you forward, a flicker of determination amidst the despair. With each faltering step, the hotel grows closer, it’s lights a comforting reminder of the safety and respite it offers.

As you draw nearer, your body screams in protest, the agony of your wounds threatening to overwhelm you. But you refuse to succumb, gritting your teeth against the pain, fueled by sheer willpower and the desperate desire to survive.

Finally, you reach the entrance of the hotel, collapsing against the door with a ragged gasp. Relief washes over you as you feel the cool touch of the doorknob beneath your fingertips. With your last ounce of strength, you push open the door and stumble into the lobby, collapsing onto the floor in a heap.

As darkness edges in from the corners of your vision, you cling to consciousness, clinging to the hope that help is near. With a final, trembling breath, you surrender to the darkness, your body giving in to the sweet embrace of unconsciousness.

When your awareness returns you're met with two ruby red eyes staring back at you. You jump up as you realize you're laying on the lobby floor of some strange hotel, with some strange demon in front of you. You look at the owner of said ruby eyes, a man who looks like he's dressed for 1930s styled Chinese new year or something, all in red. You notice his deer-like characteristics, he exudes an aura of mischief, and oh god that sinister looking smile of his is downright terrifying.

“Ah you're finally awake dear” the demon greeted you "I thought you were going to meet your end on our freshly cleaned floors. My name is Alastor, a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

You blinked up at the tall demon looming over you, unable to say a single word as you continued your staring contest with the strange deer man. You broke your gaze away to look down at your stomach, you were still bleeding heavily, you realized your dire predicament.

“You know it's quite rude to not introduce yourself after i oh so graciously kept you from your second grave” he chuckles.

Struggling to lift yourself slightly, you propped up on your elbows, gazing back at the smiling demon before you.

“ Than…thank y-you… my na-name is ….”

Well shit you can't just tell him your real name. you hesitated, it would be unwise to reveal your true identity. This man seemed dangerous, and your intuition screamed caution. Besides, how were you still alive? If you passed out from blood loss, you were surely done for, and you doubted this peculiar deer-man knew anything about blood transfusions.

Realizing you'd been lost in thought, you heard him clear his throat, snapping you back to reality. Quickly, you give him a fake name.

“...My n-name is Ginger….”

“Ah what a pleasant name for a young lady like yourself. It seems you’ve gotten yourself in quite the pickle, didn't you Ginger?”

All you could manage was a slow nod, hoping against all odds that this demon could somehow help you.

“Well, I can certainly assist you with your… situation, let's say.”

You scoffed inwardly. Situation, he said. I'm literally bleeding out, dude—you thought.

“Pl..please “

“Oh, why of course, after all, I wouldn't be the gracious facility manager if I didn't help poor sinners like yourself.”

“Thank yo-

“Ah ah ah, not so fast, darling,” he interrupted with a sly grin. “You didn't think I would be handing out freebies now, did you? Ohoho, how silly; must be the blood loss making your mind all fuzzy. No, dear, nothing's free here, I'm afraid. So, why don't we make a deal?”

Leaning towards you, the demon extended his hand, surrounded by a swirling green light, a soft glow emanating from his palm, casting a neon color glow. You stared at him, a mixture of shock and exhaustion clouding your expression, feeling your consciousness slipping away. Something tells you that it has to do with the demon in front of you, as if he was keeping you alive and conscious till this point.

“Wha-what would you like to gain from m-me?” you managed to choke out, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Why, your soul, of course. I think it's only a fair price after saving your life,” he replied casually.

Your soul?? This guy wants your soul?? Well great, you knew this was too good to be true. You weighed your options, die now or sell your soul to the strange deer man with a color scheme reminiscent of a strawberry.

Perhaps it was the delirium, or maybe it was the sheer desperation of not wanting to die just yet, or perhaps it was because deep down, you knew your time was limited regardless. Against your better judgment, you shook his hand.

“Deal.”

#hazbin hotel #fanfic #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor fanfiction #alastor x reader #alastor x you #alastor x oc #alastor hazbin x reader #alastor hazbin x you #alastor the radio demon #radio demon

24 notes · View notes

shipmistress9 · 2 months

Text

Made to Order - 3

More of Xaden pining and being down bad for Violet. 😇

Previous Chapter (AO3)

. o O o .

For over a week, I hear nothing from Violet Sorrengail.

It’s not uncommon, I keep telling myself. Not unusual for customers to focus on some parts of their planning and to all but forget about others. She’ll get back in contact. Or she won’t in case she called the whole wedding off. Which I hope happened for reasons I’m not willing to think about too long. But also, I hope that’s not what happened. I was somewhat looking forward to this order—because of the unlimited budget, mainly. No other reason involved.

And I’m definitely putting too much thought into an order that never got officially placed.

It’s not just the order, though, I think to myself as I’m stacking cake layers for a cake that’s due in two days, my thoughts wandering idly. If I lose it, then there’s no harm done, there are enough other orders to make ends meet. It’s about her. Or rather, about my sanity.

Is it possible that I just made her up? Liam keeps telling me I’m working too much. And I admit, I’ve been busier lately than usual. Wedding season and a growing reputation can do that. Maybe she was just a mirage, something my mind conjured up to make me take a break. The paper she wrote that number on must have landed in the bin at some point so all I have from her is a name and a phone number. And she’s not responding to my messages.

Later that night, I sit in the sitting area in the front of the shop, the entrance door long closed and lights turned off, and stare at where she sat. Where I think she sat. I remember it. And yet, it feels surreal somehow. As if she was too pretty to be real. Also, who has hair like that?

Sighing, I pull out my phone and open the chat with her number. I left her a greeting message, letting her know it’s me, followed by the list of additional information I need. There are two grey checkmarks behind those messages, the sign that they reach their destination—but that she hasn’t read them yet. Or she has turned off the read receipts. Both is possible. Or the number is a dead end. Just something I made up.

Gnawing on my lip, I keep staring at the screen. Should I message her again? Ask whether the order still stands? Whether she’s all right? Should I call her?

The checkmarks stay grey, just like they did all week.

Noises echo toward me from the bakery in the back room, and I turn my head just in time to see Liam poking his head through the door.

“Ah, here you’re hiding.” He walks over to me, a frown on his face. “Is something up?”

“No, everything’s fine,” I say, placing the phone face-down onto the table. Getting worked up about this is ridiculous anyway. “How was school?”

Liam snorts at the obvious change of topic. He really knows me too well. “Like every other day, I’d say. Today’s topic was ‘apple’. We had to depict one in as many different ways as possible. Is there a reason you’re sitting out here in the dark?”

Right back to it then.

I glance at my phone again but shake my head. “No, it’s nothing,” I sigh. “What’s for dinner?”

He snorts again. Guess we’re on to a theme for tonight. “It’s Thursday. What do you think?”

Right. Pizza day.

“Okay. Go ahead and clean up, I’ll be there in a minute.”

Liam lets out an audible breath and shakes his head. “Whatever.” He leaves, and when I hear him walking up the stairs to our shared apartment, I stand up as well.

I should forget about all this, about her. I have enough to do without constantly thinking about some woman that might not even be real.

I grab my phone and turn to follow Liam when something on the screen catches my attention.

The checkmarks turned blue and beneath them, the bubble with the little dots tells me she’s typing.

. o O o .

So, she’s real after all.

It’s the only thought I allow myself as she stands in the middle of my shop, dropping puddles of rain water onto the floor. Nothing about how beautiful she looks with her face all flushed or how her hair is clinging to her damp neck and forehead. I’m just glad her coat kept her clothes mostly dry, because I don’t know what I’d have done if her blouse was clinging to her skin in a similar fashion.

“Ah, thank you so much,” she says as I hand her a towel for her hair. “And sorry for the inconvenience. The weather report said it would rain today, but I didn’t expect…this.” She waves toward the window where the world outside is seemingly coming to an end right now.

“You’re welcome,” I murmur, fighting not to stare at her. After this last week of trying—and failing—to not think about her all the time, having her here again is even more distracting than it was the last time. “Is this enough? Or do you need something else?”

She sits down in the same space she occupied the last time, then throws me a self-conscious look. “Something warm to drink, maybe? It’s become pretty cold all of sudden.”

That makes sense, why didn’t I think of that? “Sure, no problem. A coffee? Or…” I hesitate only for a moment then add without thinking, “A hot chocolate, maybe?”

What am I doing?

Her face lights up, and I feel like I can’t breathe. “Oh, a hot chocolate would be fantastic. Just perfect for this weather.” She chuckles, throwing another look outside the window—and I fucking flee.

“Just a minute,” I mutter over my shoulder as I walk past the coffee machine and into the bakery. What am I doing here? Offering a customer coffee or tea is one thing. Normal procedure. Just polite. That’s why the coffee machine is there, after all.

A hot chocolate, though? Prepared from scratch from the milk and cream and baking cocoa and vanilla-scented sugar I use for the cakes? Not normal!

And the worst thing is that I know exactly why I offered it anyway. Because I’m a fool, a fucking idiot.

She’s getting married, for fuck’s sake.

On my way back to the front room, I grab my work notepad as well and keep my thoughts on work topics, even after placing the two mugs of hot chocolate onto the table between us. She thanks me again, and I try very hard to focus on the sound of the rain drumming against the windows and the wind howling around the building. Hoping they might drown out her little moan after taking a first sip.

“Mmmhh, that’s so good. And just what I needed.”

I will not let my thoughts run riot.

“You’re welcome.” I sit down opposite of her, open her order form, and wait. She was the one asking for this meeting, after all. Having to wait two days so I could finish another order before squeezing her in was plain torture, but it’s probably better this way. I shouldn’t jump at every opportunity to see her.

Her eyes fall onto my notepad as well, and she sits up straighter from where she was visibly enjoying my hot chocolate. “Uh, right. Yeah, the cake. But before…” She lets out a small sigh, her shoulders dropping. “I want to apologise for not responding sooner. This last week was…” She trails off, her gaze growing somewhat vacant. After a few seconds, she sucks in a harsh breath, as if sucking back life into her body. “Well, it was a mess. There was so much, time just flying by. I hardly noticed how much time passed, actually.”

“Nothing too bad happened, I hope?” I ask before thinking twice about it. Asking such a follow-up question isn’t weird, is it? Just part of a normal conversation. Not me trying to learn more about her life.

“Yeah, everything’s fine again.” Her gaze is still unfocused when she replies. “I just had to… It’s okay.” She visibly shakes herself out of her thoughts and lets out a weak chuckle. “So, yeah. I’m sorry if I caused you any inconvenience.”

I shake my head, a reflexive smile on my lips that probably doesn’t reach my eyes. “It’s all right, don’t worry about it. I was wondering but all in all had too much to do anyway. But we should decide on a design soon, so we can get to work with the decoration. If your order still stands?” I raise my eyebrows at her, hoping she doesn’t detect the lie in my voice. She really doesn’t need to know how much her silence affected me.

Violet snorts, her lips twitching into a half-smile. “Oh, yeah, it still stands. And yeah, I talked to Dain, and… well, aside from a few key points, he gave me free rein. So we can pin things down for you to get started.”

“Perfect,” I say and open another section within her order form, actively having to keep myself from rolling my eyes. If this Dain isn’t interested in coming here to plan their cake together, then leaving the decision to her alone as well is the least fucking thing he had to do. “Then shoot. What’s the cake supposed to look like?”

“Well, I told him about your suggestion to make this cake with multiple layers but only have the top one be real cake, and he liked it a lot.”

I nod, forcing my expression to stay neutral. No surprise there. I bet he picked five layers. Not three, that’s too common, but seven would seem too pretentious, if I got the right impression.

“So, it should look like five layers in total and—is everything okay?”

I nod and hold up a hand, making a show of clearing my throat with a sip from my mug. Coughing was the only way to cover up the laughter bubbling up in my throat. Some kinds of people are just so predictable, even if I never met them in person before.

“Yeah, everything’s fine. So a stand of four layers with one layer of cake on top.” I put the note into the form, just to give my hands and eyes something to do. “Do you already have ideas for the filling?”

At that, Violet grimaces. “Not really. Dain’s still trying to get a comprehensive list of everyone’s taste and allergies and preferences. Is that a problem?”

“No, not a problem.” I shake my head, making another mental note against this Dain. The wedding cake should be for the wedding couple. Being mindful of other people’s allergies is commendable, but… As Violet mentioned the last time, they would have enough other desserts to choose from. Trying to make other people happy by inquiring after their tastes—well, it fits in with the whole ‘more appearance than reality’ theme of this cake, I guess.

But I should stir myself away from those thoughts and back into professional territory. I gain nothing by convincing myself that her future husband is an ass.

“I won’t be preparing the filling and cake until a couple of days before the wedding, so there’s enough time. What we should decide on as soon as possible though is the design. Most importantly as it would take the longest, do you want figurines as topper? My coworker is pretty skilled at making individual ones that resemble the bride and groom, and any pose you’d want, too.”

At that, she smirks. “Any pose, eh?”

My lips twitch into the first true smile since she arrived today, honest and natural and, despite the topic, without second thoughts. “Well, if that’s the theme for your wedding party, I’m sure Liam can create something… satisfying?”

Violet laughs. True eyes-closed-shoulders-shaking-silly-noises laughter that makes all and any thoughts about professionalism evaporate in an instant. Zihnal, help me, I want to hear her laugh like this again. Forever.

“I don’t think that would be a good idea,” she says, still giggling. “Unless we want a few people to drop dead from the shock.”

Her eyes sparkle as if that thought isn’t entirely unpleasant to her, but her words—the reminder—have the opposite effect on me. Gods, that comment was entirely uncalled-for. I can’t—mustn’t—flirt with her, dammit. It’s already messed up enough as it is.

“But no,” she continues, thankfully unaware of my inner conflict. “I think such figurines on top might come across as… too cheesy for this setting. So, I was thinking…” She looks around and then points at a decorative cake standing in the window left of the entrance door. “Something like this. With lots of flowers… flowing down the side?”

“A flower cascade.” I nod. How unsurprising. “That’s what I would have suggested based on what you said, too. Classically elegant yet still impressive and beautiful. And we can at any point adjust how large you want it to be, whether you just want it on one side or actually ‘flowing’ a bit.”

I add the information to the file. It’s not a bad choice. I like flower cascades. But it also fits in perfectly with the cliché in my head.

“And what colours do you want? Did you already order a bridal bouquet or flower arrangements, something we can use as a guide?”

“Ah, yes.” Violet reaches for her purse and, after only a short moment of searching, pulls out a piece of paper. “This is the colour palette for everything, the flowers, the dresses of the bridesmaids, general decoration. The cake should fit in there. Although, as it’s the special eye catcher, it may come with one alternating colour as highlight, if that makes sense?”

With raised eyebrows, I look at the palette. If I was to marry a woman named after a colour and then have a wedding with a designated signature colour… shouldn’t those two colours match? Shouldn’t the colour for this wedding be purple and not… orange?

“Sure, we can do that,” I murmur without paying too much attention, my mind still stuck on this strange choice. “Pick up the various shades from the palette and colour the paste accordingly. The best colour to work as highlight with orange would be a rich blue or purple then.”

“You’re the one with experience there, but that sounds good to me,” she says with a light smile in her voice

I was just thinking out loud, but then realise purple would be perfect indeed. Maybe this colour was another thing picked for appearance, so bringing her back in as the highlight feels almost mandatory.

“All right.” I glance at my watch. It’s already pretty late, and my day has been long enough. Even though I don’t really want her to leave. “There’s one last question we should talk about now, and that is which kind of flowers do you want. Violets?” I feel like that’s a given, but I still have to ask.

However, to my surprise, Violet just laughs again, a bit more forced this time. “That would be cute, wouldn’t it?” She smiles, a bit wistfully, as she gazes at her engagement ring. “But I think something more elegant would be better. Roses, certainly. I think… this cascade, it should be completely overflowing, lots of big flowers but countless smaller ones around them so you can barely make out where one ends and the next begins. You know what I mean?”

Slowly, I nod. “Yeah, I do.” I see it in my mind, this wedding cake. Certainly more appearance than content. It’ll be big and impressive and proudly boastful in elegant subtle ways. And completely not her.

It makes me sad to think about. She deserves so much more than this. She deserves a wedding that is about her and not a social statement. She deserves better.

But it’s not my place to decide for her.

“Right.” I add the last note to the form, then shut down the notepad. “That would be all for now then. I’ll let you know when we have a few first flowers ready. Then you could come here again to inspect them and decide which ones exactly you want?”

Violet stands up and nods. “Sounds good to me. And I’ll send the list for fillings and allergies your way as soon as I have it.”

“Perfect.”

I’m about to open the front door for her again, when I realise it’s still raining. Sitting here and talking with her just now was so easy and comfortable that I didn’t even notice the weather raging against the windows anymore, but if anything, it only got worse over the past half hour.

“Uhm, should I maybe call you a taxi?” I ask as we both stare at the deluge running down the glass front door alone.

“Yeah, I think that would be more sensible than walking home.” She lets out a short, almost desperate little laugh then turns toward me. “I’m really sorry for all this trouble.” She throws me an apologetic smile and—

My brain circuits. Fuck, I want to kiss her. Those sweet lips, so pretty when she smiles. I want to taste them, want to feel their softness, want to—

I turn away from her, the only way to save myself from a horrible mistake. “It’s no issue at all,” I mutter, trying to get grounded again. But without the direct work context between us anymore, it’s difficult.

I use the phone in the hallway to call a taxi, partially to make it more official so one actually comes here in this weather, but also to get away from her for a moment. I need to get a grip on my emotions or the last minutes of her visit might turn into a disaster.

When I return to the front room a couple of minutes later, I feel—no, not calmer, not around her, but a little bit more in control of myself again. She’s a customer, I repeat in my head. And she’s getting married. This is nothing but stupid daydreaming, and I have no time for that.

“The taxi should be here in a few minutes,” I announce as I reenter the front room.

“Okay. Thanks again.” She picks up our empty mugs and carries them to the counter.

I blink, freezing in place. It’s really no big deal, or it shouldn't be. But the sense of domesticity in that simple gesture is still enough to throw me off. So much for my control. “You don’t have to do that,” I murmur, pointlessly as it’s already done.

“Nonsense,” she replies, her voice ridiculously unperturbed in contrast to the turmoil within me. “Helping you clean up as we wait is the least I can do with how much you’re helping me.”

She hands me the empty mug and glass, and as I take them, my fingers brush along hers. And time seems to just fucking stop.

Her touch, this tiny unexpected contact, feels like a shock. Like lightning sizzling along our skin and up my arm. I can’t stop staring at where her skin touches mine, my pinky finger moving without my help to brush along hers. When I can tear my eyes away, it’s only for them to land on her gorgeous hair instead, hanging in messy damp strands over her shoulder. Even dulled by the rain, they look like metal, like the edges of countless daggers, shimmering in the dim light in here. Swallowing, my gaze wanders up further, back to her lips, so pretty and inviting, and some distant part of my brain is glad there’s the counter between us, saving me. And then my eyes meet hers, wide with surprise, see the realisation in them. See the light dusting of pink on her cheeks, too.

Fuck!

“I’m sorry.” I pull my hands back, having just enough control to hold on to the mugs, and turn away from her. What am I doing?

I can’t look at her again, can’t meet her eyes, can’t even be where she is now. So instead of placing the mugs into the sink here, I carry them back again. But I know that no matter how much distance I put between us right now, it won’t be enough to make that awkward slip-up just now undone.

She’s standing by the door when I finally join her again, gazing out into the stormy night. Not turning to look at me, for which I’m grateful. I should say something, though. Set this right. I don’t want her to get the wrong impression, that I’m some creep lusting after my customers. Even though I don’t even know how true that is when it comes to her.

Before I can say even one word, however, she beats me to it. “There. The taxi arrived.”

I follow her gaze, and there it is indeed, waiting right in front of the shop. With the driver making no attempt to leave his car and hold the door open for her or anything.

“Wait,” I call as she’s about to open the door and leave. I reach for the umbrella beneath the counter and walk over to her. I do this for every customer, I remind myself. That’s why the umbrella is there, after all. A stupid part of me still welcomes the excuse to get close to her again, though. I open the door and hold the umbrella out for her to step beneath. “Okay, now.”

Violet makes a small noise, barely audible against the thrumming rain, but doesn’t hesitate as I lead her outside and to the waiting taxi. She doesn’t turn as she climbs inside, nor does she say anything. It’s only after the door closes behind her, when the umbrella keeps the window clear for a moment that our eyes meet again, hers wide and with an unreadable expression in them. It lasts only for a second before they drive away into the night.

. o O o .

A few minutes later, I’m back in the bakery, preparing yet another mug of hot chocolate. I just need this now.

As the milk heats up, I take a few dearly needed minutes to calm down. As best I can, at least. I really need to get a grip on my emotions.

Yes, she’s beautiful. Gorgeous, even. And even though I don’t know much about her, I can already tell I like her humour and wits, too. And yeah, if I’d met her anywhere else, I totally would have asked her out without hesitation.

But I didn’t meet her anywhere else.

And no amount of daydreaming will change that.

Next Chapter

#riorgail #xaden riorson #violet sorrengail #fanfiction #modern AU #bakery AU #the empyrean #rebecca yarros #fluff

14 notes · View notes

malina-33 · 1 year

Text

Single choice

Summary: It’s summer 2022, Nortern Italy, Miles and Alex are on vacation before The Car tour.

And they are happier than ever.

Word count: 3,5k

A/N: I missed the everyday cozy life of their relationship, so I wrote this :) Creative-crisis conversations presented as well, but they don’t take far away from the happy ending. Inspired by "Call me by your name", so for a better atmosphere, I advise you to include this playlist in the background.

Also, English is not my first language, so if you find grammar mistakes, feel free to point them out to me!

Enjoy these two sweeties💕

The wide shirt's hem fluttered in the warm wind, three buttons at the top were casually undone, and the sleeves were carelessly rolled up to the elbows. Alex, covering his eyes, lay on a soft sun lounger under the shade of the terrace's arches of their small villa in Portofino, stretching out his long legs. His chest rose and fell slowly in sleep, while his hands rested relaxed on the armrests. Silken curls played with the gusts of breeze, but surrendering, they fell onto his face and tickled his nose, causing the man to unconsciously wrinkle it like a child.

Miles couldn't take his eyes off this literally biblical scene. "Taking Al away to the Italian Riviera for two weeks before the tour started was my best decision" the man thought smugly. Only God knew when they would be able to spend such peaceful time alone again, without rushing anywhere and hiding from anyone. And now, leaning against a marble column with his hands folded on his chest, Kane smiled until wrinkles formed around his eyes, unable to believe what he was witnessing. These sprawling palm trees in their backyard, the deafening trills of southern birds, the sweet sea air, and a serene tanned Alex in a milky linen suit, quietly dozing off after lunch - all of this was now accessible only to him, Miles, and he savored every second of this vacation that sometimes seemed surreal, like a calm before the storm. But he persistently pushed away such thoughts, continuing to revel in his own paradise.

They had already spent 10 days here, the first 3 of which they didn't venture beyond their plot on the hill, which offered a breathtaking view of the coast and emerald water. They were lingering in bed for a long time under the biting rays of the sun, plucking mandarins straight from the tree, and listening to vinyl records of Celentano on the veranda in the evenings, intertwining in each other's arms, merging and becoming the one. Then, finally realizing that missing the opportunity to stroll through such picturesque streets would be a crime, they started going out in town under the mountain after the sunset, when the heat subsided and the cicadas began their twilight concert. Every time they ordered a new pasta dish in local restaurants, hoping to try them all, but that was Italy...

In the mornings, they descend to the pebble beach, where Alex could lie for hours, reading books, while Miles were snorkeling in the Ligurian Sea, growing tired of waiting for his lover and retaliating by playfully splashing him with cool droplets. They would play in the water like teenagers, dunking each other or taking turns piggybacking. When the sun would started to scorch their skin, they would go to the local deli for ready-made lasagna with eggplant, always getting a few types of cannoli, new bottle of wine, olives and fruits. They would then retreat to their villa for the rest of the day, either playing the guitar, the only one they brought from their stuffy LA studio, or playing board games (for which Miles constantly called Alex "nonno," while he calmly continued to roll the dice), or falling asleep under the shade of the leafy trees right on the grass.

Miles hadn't laughed so often and so loudly, and more importantly, so genuinely, since their last joint tour. He felt an immense universal joy that was bursting from his chest, causing his cheeks to ache from the ever-present smile on his face. He felt alive next to the dearest and only person who truly understood him, which Alex had been for the past 17 years.

"How have we put up with each other for so long, Milo?" Turner laughed, finishing his glass of semi-sweet red wine.

And Kane replied seriously, capturing his alcohol-glistening gaze: "I no longer know how to live without you, Al."

And it was the absolute truth. They often had conversations like this, but Alex never actually put up with Miles, he did love him. He only put up with being apart from him. And it was always important for both of them to hear this small confession, like a spark of a cricket in the foliage, but a heart-wrenching one, even after a year, or 10, or 20 years of their relationship.

Relationship? Friendship, love, presence by each other's side, support, musical inspirations, passionate desires, care, hurt, forgiveness, kisses, hugs backstage and on stage, touches all over their bodies, eloquent glances, and ending with a single word proposals. That's what their relationship was. And if Miles were offered to never be a musician but to love Alex, he would still agree without any hint of hesitation, somewhere deep inside bitterly realizing that if Alex were faced with such a choice, he would have to think about it.

But at this moment, Miles didn't want to think about it at all, he only wanted to listen to his lover's steady breathing and bask in the fading sunlight with him. Miles walked around the column and silently sat down on the edge of the lounge chair. He lightly ran his hand over Turner's knee, not wanting to disturb, and then traced chiseled fingers slightly higher, along his thigh. However, even these gentle movements made Alex squirm, furrowing his brow and rolling over to the other side.

"Shh, sleep, my dear, I didn't mean to wake you," Miles whispered, soothingly continuing to stroke the man's leg.

"But I'm already awake," mumbled Alex sleepily, opening his eyes and immediately squinting in the bright light.

"What a shame," Kane sang mockingly, secretly delighted by this fact because he had missed Alex during the silence at their villa and mindless wandering through the rooms while he slept in the fresh air, "Will you move over?".

Alex squeezed himself into the corner of the lounge chair, making space as much as the single bed allowed. Miles approached him with a cunning smile, lying on his side, unable to fit his broad shoulders on the mattress even if he was alone, and invitingly opened his palms. Turner simply snorted and muttered something about a smug cat, pressing his back against Miles' contrasting cool chest compared to the scorching heat outside, covering man's hand that rested peacefully on his waist with his own, and intertwining their legs.

"So, you woke me up just to sleep together all cramped up? I don't want to anymore," Alex slowly stroked Miles' wrists, who closed his eyes in pleasure.

"Mmm, I just got bored being alone, you've been sleeping forever!"

"Mi, maybe an hour and a half at most," Turner said in a lecturing tone, turning slightly to give Kane a disapproving look.

"Well, I call that forever. Anyway, since you're already awake, let's think about our plans for the evening," Kane quickly changed the subject, kissing Alex's back of the neck, "I saw a poster for a local concert in the neighboring town. We can rent a scooter to get there, it's just a few kilometers away."

Alex burst out laughing at the last words, turning in his lover's embrace and almost touching noses with him.

"Oh, Kane, you don't even have a driver's license! And the fact that I rode 100 meters on it in a clip means nothing."

"We'll figure it out somehow, it can't be more difficult than tuning a guitar for the first time."

"Well, since I have such an experienced and confident driver, I can't deny myself the pleasure," Turner teased, pouting his lips and furrowing his brows like a college girl.

"Gosh, how cheap that sounds, Al. Those are second-rate tricks from middle school. Did I teach you to flirt like that?" Miles rolled his eyes, hiding a smile in the corners of his mouth.

"No, I think we just fucked right away," Alex retorted, immediately receiving a playful jab in the ribs, "Hey! Am I lying?"

"Do I need to remind you who first put his knee between my legs in the dressing room, huh?" Miles smirked, tucking Alex's overgrown locks behind his ear and stroking his slightly stubbled cheek. He looked angelically peaceful now, despite his unholy words.

"And do you regret it?" Seeing the silent denial, he continued, "Well, neither do I. So you don't need to teach me how to flirt, maestro. If we want to find a free scooter before sunset, we need to start getting ready. I was also planning to take a shower," Alex casually mentioned, slyly avoiding eye contact and running his hand suggestively along Miles' waist.

"Well, that's better already, at least the hints are subtler, but you've lost your touch. I'll have to remind you."

"Oi, you better do it indeed" Turner whispered in his ear. Honestly, he was amused at how they, two grown adults, were behaving as soon as intimacy was mentioned - it was like they were back in 10th grade of the school.

Once he calmed down, he reluctantly slipped out of the warm embrace and gracefully got up from the sun lounger, stretching and rising on tiptoes to better loosen his stiff limbs. Miles settled himself more comfortably, royally occupying the vacant spot and propping his head on his hand, watching Turner's toned body with a hungry gaze. He could do this for hours, knowing every mole, wrinkle, and scar.

"What are you looking at? Trying to find gray hairs?" Unable to withstand his scrutinizing eyes, the frontman softly spoke. Now he had his hands in the pockets, exposing his face to the sun and wind, which cautiously peeked onto the veranda through massive columns. Somewhere far below, the sound of the waves and children's laughter could be heard. Idyllic.

"It's too early for you to worry about that. I just can't get enough of looking at you. Clearly, this lifestyle suits you well, even though I fattened you up a bit, considering you were all skin and bones when you arrived."

"Afraid of breaking me?"

"I am," Miles admitted, not completely sure if he interpreted the question correctly. Turner smiled disarmingingly, the way he only smiled at him, leaned in, still keeping his hands in pockets, and planted a chaste kiss on the man's forehead before disappearing through the door.

"Catch up, or I'll manage without you," Alex said over the shoulder, fully aware that he wouldn't be able to handle anything without Miles. Not in life, not in the shower.

***

Comparing guitar tuning and riding a scooter turned out to be inappropriate, as Miles pointed out rather immodestly, getting behind the wheel, because the second one was elementary. During their short ride along the coast, Alex couldn't stop capturing breathtaking views with his vintage Canon. The peach-colored waves gently licked the shore, competing with each other for ownership of every stone on the beach, while the numerous bushes along the road swayed in the wind.

The neighboring town turned out to be Santa-Margherita-Ligure, welcoming the men with the warm glow of lights strung between each café and the loud Italian laughter that didn't quiet down until late at night. Leaving their mean of transport on the waterfront, they headed towards the main square, where light jazz melodies could already be heard. Ordinary chairs stood right on the historical cobblestones, occupying almost all the space, and a small mobile stage had been set up in the center, where musicians were tuning their instruments.

Taking seats in the corner of the front row, the men waited for the performance to begin.

"Have you forgotten what it's like to be on the other side of the stage?" Miles whispered, his lips almost touching Alex's ear.

"Sometimes I even prefer it here," Turner sadly smiled, "no obligations, masks, rehearsed lines, or unjustified expectations. You just exist in the music without thinking about how to reproduce it. I miss that."

Kane anxiously studied Alex's face from the side, trying to understand if he was speaking in a state of creative melancholy inspired by the upcoming concert or if he was simply revealing his deep pain that had burdened him all this time.

"Hey, I didn't mean to put you into existential ponderings. We can talk about it if it really bothers you, but not now. I purposely brought you here to relax and spend these last days with an empty mind, not to reflect on one careless question"

Miles didn't condemn him, but rather tried to hide his own anxiety behind a feigned admonition. He gently squeezed Alex's hand, caressing his knuckles with his thumb, and warmly smiled, knowing that this was the only support he could offer in public.

"Sorry-sorry-sorry," Alex babbled, running his hands forcefully over his face and organizing his thoughts, "forget about those words, we'll come back to it another time. You can hit me if I utter another sad-philosophical phrase that upsets you tonight."

Miles only laughed at that, patting his friend's knee, and, unable to resist, left an unnoticed kiss on his cheek, indicating that he would never fulfill his request in their lifetime.

Lost in conversations, they hadn't noticed that all the chairs had been taken and the band on stage was counting down seconds until the performance began, tightly gripping their bows in their hands. The increasingly suspenseful sound of the violin filled the entire square, eliciting sudden shivers from the audience and instantly isolating them from the rest of the world. Alex's full attention was now focused on the five people on stage, the sound that seemed to exist right in his head, and the melting night air. Rarely could he simply enjoy the melody without trying to dissect it into notes or analyze the lyrics.

Miles usually smoothed out the crease between his eyebrows that arose from such contemplation with a kiss, and he was ready to do it now, but as his gaze slid across the side of the face, he unexpectedly saw a serene smile on partially open lips. Turner leaned back in his chair, holding his hands between his thighs and slightly covering his eyes, which indicated his complete absence in our reality and his presence in his own, understood only by him and undoubtedly bringing him pleasure.

The concert lasted only an hour, not abundant in a wide repertoire. Towards the end, young men and women, children, and even racy grandmothers and grandfathers stood up from their seats to dance right in the square, laughing loudly at their clumsiness. Alex and Miles only watched this scene with warm smiles, tapping their feet rhythmically on the stone pavement, not wanting to attract unnecessary attention to themselves. The clock on the tower, located on the western side of the square, as was customary in all ancient city planning laws, struck 10 o'clock exactly at the moment when the musicians, in the heat of the final chord, sharply raised their bows towards the pitch-black sky, ending the performance. The square drowned in applause and whistling, evoking familiar motives from men's careers.

The air intoxicated their heads, and not wanting to return back so early, they turned into the depths of the city. Turner continued to photograph the local architecture and Miles against its backdrop with mocking skill, not allowing the camera to hang peacefully on his chest for more than two minutes. And when tourists would disappear from their sight, Kane with the agility of a cheetah would press Alex against the nearest wall of another you-know-who-lived-in-this-house-you-lustful-bastard building, pulling him into a tempting kiss and, despite all protests about his indifference to history, smiled contentedly on his lips, feeling Alex pull him closer by the collar of his leopard-print shirt.

They would laugh drunkenly, without drinking a glass, immediately receiving Italian curses from open balconies in response. They would play tag on narrow streets, after which they breathed heavily, resting their elbows on thr knees and joking about their advanced age. They would eat mango ice cream, licking the sweet drips from each other's fingers, and would never stop thinking for a moment about how lucky they are to be loved here and now.

***

They returned to the villa at midnight, exhausted from their long walk, hastily discarding their sticky clothes as they collapsed onto the unmade bed. Alex, resting his chin on Miles' chest, looked at him with such devoted eyes that Miles' heart skipped a beat at the impossibility of resisting those bottomless depths. In the moonlight, his sharp features softened, Alex's fingers gently tracing along the line of his jaw, while a warm smile lingered beneath his closed eyelids, etching itself into Miles' memory with fiery strokes.

"Mi, are you asleep?" Alex asked in a barely audible voice, listening to the rhythm of Miles' heartbeat beneath his cheek.

"No," Miles replied just as softly, shifting slightly on the crisp sheets to find a more comfortable position.

"Do you remember what I told you today about not feeling freedom in music?" Alex continued, as if afraid to disturb his own thoughts, "well, I realized just now that I'm the one closing myself off from it. But you know when? When you're not here. I'm tired of pretending to be someone else without you, tired of feeling not myself without you. And today, there on the square, when you were holding my hand, it hit me that since we met, no one else has come this close to me. You were and still are the only person who truly knows me. Can you imagine?" His voice broke into a hoarse laughter that, truth be told, sounded hauntingly beautiful in the peaceful silence.

"No one really knows me except for you. And I've been afraid to show my true self to anyone but you. But today, for the first time in a long while, I was able to listen to music without thinking about anything else but your fingers on my hands. And I realized," he paused, unconsciously gripping Miles' shoulder tighter, "I realized that I can perform on stage, just thinking about your hands, and then I won't have to try to hide behind a fabricated image to entertain the audience. Damn it, at 36 years old, I've come to the realization that I can simply sing without pouring my own problems into the songs, but instead, just give people the sound. A sound that resonates in their minds, in their feet and hands, a sound that makes them feel alive. I can make at least one of their days truly happy, just like you make my life happy simply by being with me."

Throughout this entire time, Miles never removed his nimble fingers from Alex's head, combing through his hair and soothing him. He could listen to his voice forever, automatically arranging the words into lines for new songs. The sight of Alex — until it stole the air from his lungs, until it brought tears to his eyes, until his pulse faltered in his veins, until a volcano of warmth erupted in his chest. Until he feels alive again.

"Al, if you haven't realized in 20 years of performing what you do for the lives of everyone who attends your concerts, then I'm going to have to enlighten you now," Miles chuckled softly, continuing to massage his head, "everything you've done for the industry is your way of existing in this world. You don't know any other ways, and that's your strength, not weakness. Your music is literally you, it's not about trends or fan requests. It's about how you communicate with others. You have an incredible gift of conveying intangible values through your lyrics. I have no idea how the gears in your mind work, but damn it, you're exceptional. And I swear, anyone who has ever heard any of your songs has pondered the words, thought about what you wanted to say, and ultimately thought about themselves. Your music has meaning, it's not just a string of letters for the sake of rhyme. It's a dictionary of your life. And since the day we first met, I've been carefully studying all your meanings and embodiments, so my music is about you and for you. You are my only inspiration, and if all you need to write a new song is a notebook and an image in your mind, then all I need is you by my side."

Miles may have wanted to add something more, but unable to bear the weight of such declarations of love, Alex impatiently kissed him, exhaling loudly from the fulfillment of a desire that had been building throughout his entire speech. Kane, quickly finding another activity for his tongue besides talking, trailed it along Alex's lower lip, feeling every crack from the salty water.

Alex smiled like a child, whispering 'I lovelovelove you' into his man's lips, continuously running palms along his cheeks. They continued to gaze at each other for a long time, carrying on a quiet conversation interrupted by occasional kisses, shivers down the spine, and tearful thank yous for everything. Even the stars, cautiously peering through the open windows, blushed at their whispers under the thin blanket. Only with the first rays of sunlight, when words ran out and lips swelled from endless contact, men finally fall asleep in a tangle of intertwined arms and legs.

And if Alex were offered to never be a musician but to love Miles, he would without hesitation write a song about it. Because it would be meaningless to confront the person with a choice who made it 17 years ago.

---------------------------------------------------

A/N: I sincerely want to believe that this is how everything really happened for them. All in all, these two deserve a happy ending. I will be incredibly happy if you leave feedback after reading! Everything that was born in my head would very much like to find a response in you💔🥺

#alex turner #miles kane #milex #the car era #milex fic #milex fanfiction #alex turner fic #alex turner fanfiction #alex turner imagine #Milex oneshot #alex turner one shot #milex 2023 #alex turner fanfic #am7 era #milex au #tlsp2 #tlsp #last shadow puppets

24 notes · View notes

elaine-abroad · 1 year

Text

Volume 5 Part 2

The most anticipated part of the week was my trip to Busan. There was a lot of switching up with the original plan which was to go for the weekend with Grace and Bianca. It ended up being that Bianca was staying the whole weekend, I was only going for a day, and Grace wasn’t going at all.

I remember being obsessed with the movie Train to Busan a couple years ago. Vivian and I even made both of our families watch it. It felt surreal to take the same exact route from Seoul Station to Busan Station.

Our already long 3 hour ride was delayed so we ended up getting there an hour after, at around 2:20 pm. I knew it was going to be a long day as my return ride was leaving shortly after 10 pm so we had to hustle. We took this mini tour bus to one of the cultural villages. The bus ride was absolutely insane and ten times worse than the worst MBus driver.

The actual village was super pretty and nice to look at. It was refreshing to see so much color in one space and on buildings after being surrounded by bland high rises in Seoul. This layout reminded me a lot of San Francisco and Capitola Beach. It was very quiet too which was nice.

Bianca told me this was where a lot of refugees went to live after the Korean War so it was a lot more traditional than the trendy cafes and buildings elsewhere. The village was painted and decorated as a part of the Village Art Project, and has become a tourist attraction since. There were a lot of houses and old people there.

My favorite part was this trinket shop near the entrance. There was this cute golden retriever dog named Honey Jar and there was a sign that said to call him Jar.

The entrance had all the fun foods and snacks as the rest of the village was mostly houses and older restaurants.

I liked how there were little stories behind parts of the village. This stairway was called Stairway to See Stars because people would feel dizzy when going up the 148 steps with heavy loads on their backs.

We couldn’t stay too long at the village and booked it to the beach. Apparently Haeundae Beach is the most famous beach in Busan, but it was a little underwhelming. I’m sure the night view is more impressive than what we saw though. It just looked like sand on the side of the road, but it was peaceful. Swimming wasn’t even permitted, but I did see people surfing at the coast.

Bianca’s kind of an old man and likes to do old people things. Busan is her type of life. She would love it to sit on the beach, hike mountains, go fishing, and watch the sunset every day of her life. She says she just walks and walks when she’s traveling alone and gets up to 20-30,000 steps. She told me she was going to climb a mountain the next day.

It wasn’t long before our beach train time slot.

We rode sideways and saw the water. It was pretty, but nowhere near as nice as our sky capsule ride.

We booked a ride from 7:30 - 8 pm and it was actually the most perfect timeslot. We got to see the entire sunset and night lights.

We got off at the Blue Line Park which was filled with lights.

We both wanted to try authentic raw marinated crabs, but all the crab restaurants closed at 8 so we couldn’t get them. We opted for this porridge place that also served seafood dishes. Again, I’m not big into seafood, but we were in Busan so we felt obligated.

I got this bean sprout hangover soup which had an abalone in it. It was my first time trying an abalone.

Anyways I was really nervous about traveling back by myself. Bianca was so nice and took a taxi with me back to the station before going to her hotel. Once I got there I found out that my train departure was being delayed by half an hour. I waited by myself and eventually boarded. It was very scary because I had booked the last train from Busan to Seoul of the night so I couldn’t afford to mess up.

Luckily I did not mess up and got to Seoul at around 1:30 am. I immediately felt a lot safer there than Busan. I don’t know why but Busan was a little scary. We passed by buildings with totally busted windows and a lot of the city looked less populated/abandoned. There were also a significantly less amount of traffic lights which was intimidating.

The subway didn’t start again until 5 am and I didn’t want to call a taxi/get in by myself so I walked about 40 minutes back to campus. It honestly wasn’t even that bad because of all the street lights. There were still shop owners out cleaning up and people walking around.

I came back and took the whole day to sleep and rest. Grace and I went to the witch restaurant again, but this time in Hongdae because there looked to be more menu options. We also wanted the blue blood bag drink this time.

I got this mummy pizza that was pretty good. One thing stood out to me and that was that all of the pizzas said that they were made with pastry dough. That was true as it was super flaky. I was able to eat more that way which was nice. It’s interesting to see how everything in Korea is made to be sweet. I know that a lot of my classmates aren’t real big fans of that.

Seeing as I leave very soon, I am trying to get one more full day of fun. I’m really disappointed that the Ewha merch shop has been closed for the rest of the month because I wasn’t able to buy anything.

It’s definitely been an experience I’ll never forget, but I do want to go home.

-Elaine

4 notes · View notes

lake-archive · 4 months

Text

Chapter 29 - Begging For Your Aid

AO3 Link

Fandom: Ensemble Stars

Series: Alte Liebe Rostet Nicht

Characters: Izumi Sena, Anja-Sophia 'Ann' Wolff (OC), Izumi Sena's Mother (mentioned)

Previous Chapter - Masterlist - Next Chapter

Nothing could have foretold Ann about these events. Not even a dream once more could have prepared them for this. In fact, they had just been in their one room apartment and were working eagerly on something, typing whatever came to their mind. Instead of wasting time on their assignments, though it was something they had finished ahead of time, they used their evening to cook up something different. Besides, writing is writing and that was something they just loved doing. They would always make sure they were writing something, anything really, and if it were not for their job and them having to pay bills they would spend time in their room all day long, writing their silly, little stories. Or something like that.

Regardless, they were just engrossed in their work, this taking up most if not all of their focus. Ever since Nyeli moved with Ritsu they had a bit more time to do so. They were not relieved by his absence, no! Nothing like that! They just had more time to write and it was not something they complained about. Especially since they see Nyeli day in and out as they had to look after him while Ritsu was busy with work and would be unable to bring Nyeli for the time being.

This evening had not been one of those however yet they first had jumped to the conclusion when hearing a knock at the door. It must have been Ritsu with Nyeli in his arms, asking if the cat could stay over for the night because of work early in the morning or because he just missed his Sisnya that much. Ooor he was eager for a bedtime story, Ritsu unable to tell one and telling Ann to do it, only to fall asleep alongside Nyeli. Then again, their friend always came prepared with sleepwear to change into and his clothes for the next morning already in his bag. That was what they had been expecting.

But it would be nothing like that, not even close. They opened the door regardless, not expecting anyone else. However, they did come face to face with someone else which had their face in slight shock, a little surprised even.

A familiar male figure was standing in front of them, around the same height. The face was hard to make out as it was facing the ground below, having dropped from the looks of it. He was standing there like a sack of potatoes and trembling. A sight they were… Oddly familiar with. No, they had seen this before and it left Ann themself in utter shock when staring. Mainly because they never expected to see this outside of this dream they once had. But it was pretty real, realer than they could have ever imagined. It was so surreal but at the same time… It was actually happening.

“I… Izumi?” After a few more seconds they managed to utter the name out, slightly stuttering. And as if he had been in a trance his head suddenly lifted itself up, staring at the person right in front of him now. The expression pained them, to say the least. It was as if they were stabbed right then and there. Though not because he glared daggers at them, no. This would be the first time where he wouldn’t do that, where no sparks of any kind were flying. It felt like a stab in the chest because of the pain. They could feel it when just looking at them.

Has anyone ever seen an expression like this plastered onto his face? It was like some wound, he himself not having it under control. His eyes at the brink of emptiness, his body shaking, first only letting out jumbled nonsense while stuttering over and over. They wanted to say something and were about to. However, right then and there he did something very out of character, especially when it came towards Ann. Actually, they didn’t expect this action from him at all.

Out of nowhere he grabbed both of their shoulders with his hands. Yet he wasn’t clutching onto them either and making it painful, no. It was as if he was trying to keep himself steady while looking at them, afraid he might fall right then and there. All while staring right into their eyes, terror and frustration written all over his face.

“I can’t do this anymore!” It was the first thing he said out loud, something they were able to understand. He was in an audible panic, so close to losing himself, right at the brink of it. “I can’t handle this! I don’t know if I can! But what am I supposed to do!? Hey, tell me, what am I supposed to do here!?”

It came out of literal nowhere and they had not even a clue what he was talking about. It was so overwhelming, too much to handle. One might think that they would tell him to get lost or something, having the audacity to just show up like that and interrupt their productive time. But no, they didn’t. They couldn’t, even if they wanted to do that. But they didn’t want to to begin with. No, they couldn’t ignore this. They couldn’t shove him away like that. Besides, who knows what might happen if they did.

It was hard to keep a certain cool though, given that his panic was almost rubbing off on them. But they somehow managed in the end, taking a deep breath before speaking once more, this time more clearly.

“Want to come in?” They asked, trying not to stutter at this very moment. This made his eyes light up, wide in the next moment as he stared at them in near disbelief. “C… Come in?” He repeated with a shaky voice, them nodding. His grip became looser before his arms dropped off their shoulders, standing straight while staring right at Ann.

“Wh… Why?” He then asked shortly after, as if just confused by their offer. Maybe he was. Could he hold it against him?

“You… need a talk… with someone, right? And you are here.” They explained slowly, trying not to talk too fast nor mess this up. He had then noticed perhaps, the life in his eyes slowly returning. Yet that didn’t mean his attitude changed much, only a little. He seemed embarrassed all of a sudden, turning his face away with a quick ‘tch’ escaping his lips Now they were questioning something yet not for long.

“I don’t get you.”

“Don’t get me?”

“Yeah. You. Exactly you.” Izumi nearly scoffed as he turned his face back, a mild annoyance having formed right on it and yet it wasn’t exactly looking at them ungrateful either. It was odd to describe in all honesty. “I don’t get you at all. And it’s annoying me. Why are you suddenly so nice to me?”

“Huh? Because… Nyeli and you—” They wanted to explain yet he had heard enough it seemed.

“Are you serious? Because of him? That’s why you are suddenly like this?”

“He… doesn’t dislike you so… I mean, as—”

“Ugh, then again… I guess it was kinda obvious. You just have to make this harder on me, don’t you?”

“Harder? Wha—”

“It was so much easier to talk to you when you snapped at me, you know. Actually, everything was easier when we were at each other’s throats.” He sighed. “Why can’t you just continue to be a pain in my ass?”

Ann blinked at Izumi for a few moments, this being the last thing they ever expected to hear. And yet the meaning was somewhat unclear to them. What does he mean by that? Why would he ask something like that of them?

However, before they even wanted to ask or had a chance to, they stepped aside, allowing the male to enter their small place. A closer look at it would reveal a mess, things laying around except for a small corner filled with their merchandise collection. It was something they decided to build ever since going to Japan, though it wasn’t much. They had bills to pay after all so they couldn’t afford too much, but enough to scrap by.

Yet one look at Izumi revealed to Ann that this was… Not a sight he was too fond of nor would ever want to be fond of. “Have you ever heard of cleaning?” He even asked which nearly made them flinch.

“I… Not expecting visit!” They tried to defend themselves though he shook his own head soon enough.

“Sorry, force of habit. I didn’t come here to nag on you… For once.” He admitted, nearly making their jaw drop. Did… Did this guy just apologize!? Did he just apologize!? Izumi Sena, the local Arschloch , had just apologized to Ann of all people!? Something was up here, wasn’t it!?

“Izumi… Are you ok?” They asked, a little carefully because of how he might react to it.

And yet, the tone was oddly calm to say the least. “No, I’m not ok. I don’t even know why I came here of all places.”

That was surprisingly honest of him. But then— Hold up, something just shot into their mind. “I… My address… How did you found—”

“I asked Kuma–Kun.” He responded, having had a good guess where this conversation would have been going to begin with. That Ritsu would give it out just like that… Then again, if he looked as stressed in front of Ritsu as well, then there was all the more reason to do so.

“I see…” Their voice only responded, waiting for him to talk. It was silent for a few more seconds before he finally spoke up yet again, hitting them right on the head before knowing it with the following:

“Listen, I don’t know why I came to you for help. And I don’t really care about that right now either. I just want to know what you think about this. And I want to hear what you think I should do. Please… Just… Tell me, what am I supposed to do!?”

Needless to say, him being so vulnerable was something else. Ann didn’t know exactly what had caused this all of a sudden. All they knew was that he was at his lowest point — The point they never expected him to reach. Turning him down was never an option.

Previous Chapter - Masterlist - Next Chapter

1 note · View note

elizaellwrites · 11 months

Text

Legacy of the Fallen- Chapter 3

I meant to post this a long time ago; my apologies.

Prologue

Chapter 1

Last Chapter

Table of Contents

Freedom

Dear Mother,

I have to admit that I have no idea what is happening recently. I don’t know what insanity is supposed to look like, but I swear that I’m becoming insane. I’ve always heard voices inside my head, but lately, it’s like they are getting louder. Not only that, but I’ve gotten the feeling a few times now that someone can see into my head, like hear my thoughts and see my memories. I’m also seeing things in real life, or at least I think I do… Do I have schizophrenia? I mean, I don’t think I do, but isn’t seeing and hearing things part of that? But everything feels so real, I felt it in my hand! But why would father have a sword in a box he hasn’t opened in almost five years? Why does Father have a sword at all?

I keep finding myself drawn back to that box, but I can’t bring myself to go back. It honestly terrifies me a little. If it has a flying sword in it, I don’t want to know what else is inside. Well, I do, but you know what I mean. I kind of want to forget it happened and just go back to living my life, but I can’t just forget something like that! Seriously, why would anyone have a sword and hide it like that? It’s beautiful, with silver and has crystal wings on the side and… I don’t even know how to describe it correctly. I want to see it again, I really do, but what happened last time was beyond comprehension and I’m pretty sure it would have killed me if I didn’t duck.

Maybe it has to do with this town? Weird things have been happening, not overly strange, but enough to notice, you know. There’s this boy at school that has just thrown off what is supposed to happen in the first few days at a new school. He pops up everywhere at school too, asking me questions and saying things that are just plain peculiar. Don’t misunderstand though, he isn’t exactly creepy, I mean, he stares at me, but that’s the creepiest he’s gotten. But I’ve been… adopted? Into his friend group, sort of. It’s only been a couple days, so I might be wrong, of course. It’s been a while since I’ve had friends so it’s hard for me to tell, but I’m kind of hopeful. Who knows how long we’ll be staying here, but I’m glad that for once it seems like I won’t be alone at least? If I don’t get decapitated by a flying sword too.

We’ll be going to Uncle? Joseph’s for dinner sometime in the next couple days. I’m nervous and looking forward to meeting him. I’ve never had any other family than Father, and this whole thing is exciting and surreal. Write again soon,

Annamarie Rose Olson

____________________________

Jacob’s feet rattled down the front staircase of the school, tennis shoes squeaking ever so slightly from the moisture brought inside from the spring rainstorm, the bag that was slung over his shoulder bouncing off his hip with each step. When he came to the last step, he pushed himself off with an extra hop, landing a good couple of feet away from the base, the echo of his feet bouncing off the white-painted brick.

He couldn’t help his good mood, the last week being more eventful- in a good way- than school had been for a few months. Sure, new students were common, but he, himself, had been the last to join his current group, and Anna had joined so quickly and easily.

He could not help but feel some type of draw to her, though he couldn’t identify exactly why. There was just this familiar feeling about her, just something about her itched the edge of his mind, reminding him of someone, though he didn’t know who. She also just had this overwhelming sense of innocence to her, that if one didn’t even know her name, they couldn’t help but protect her. Just like Rachel had done two days prior. He also couldn’t help but want to help her adjust, after all, he had been a new student not too long ago too.

He scanned the hallway junction as he exited the stairwell, checking for her sunshine blonde hair. No sign of her yet. Darn, he couldn’t help the thought as it came to the forefront of his mind even if he tried. He turned into the hallway on his left that ran directly underneath the school’s main entrance. The walls were completely covered by lockers with only three doors on one side, the swarm of students around him sending that slightly claustrophobic feeling that only this hallway accomplished. It was identical to the rest in the building, yet it had the power to make it feel like the lights didn’t shine as brightly, that it was narrower or that the ceiling was somehow lower than it was.

He pushed and dodged through the crowd quickly, a couple of classmates shooting him acknowledgments on the way, the occasional screech of shoe-on-wet-tile stabbing his eardrums as he walked. He hardly spared a glance at those around him as he approached his locker, the familiar buzz rising in his head. He gritted his teeth as he quickly entered his combination, keeping up the appearance of normalcy while his mind wandered.

He pulled his morning notebooks from the small shelf that sat at the top of the locker, the loud crinkling of loose papers he had shoved up there over time sending a small cringe down his spine. He glanced at the small, black watch that circled his left wrist, noting that he had plenty of time before class started. Perfect.

Mr. Wilson had given him an obvious eyebrow raise when he had shown up to class early the day prior, and Jacob hadn’t missed the amused aura of the older man when he had immediately tried to launch into a conversation with his new classmate. He didn’t need to read minds to know what his teacher and classmates were probably thinking, it wasn’t like he was the warmest of souls to everyone after all. Of course, they were wrong. He hardly knew Anna, though he couldn’t help his curiosity. He couldn’t figure her out, and it bothered him to an absurd extent. He needed to know more, and if it meant putting in more effort to be able to talk to her before class began, then so be it.

His thoughts wandered as he slammed the rusty, ugly blue locker door shut, swearing lightly under his breath as the edge just barely caught his finger, leaving a dull sting along the skin. He gripped his notebooks at his side, turning away to make his way to the third floor.

Finding himself crammed into the line of students waiting to be able to climb the stairs, he was once again reminded of the blatant overcrowding of their school. Four stairwells and lines were still able to consistently form on every floor, it was ridiculous. His muscles stiffened as a girl brushed against his side, shooting him a look over her shoulder in an obvious crude insinuation. He felt his lips curl in disgust, golden eyes narrowed, his grip tightening at his side to where the metal spirals holding his notebooks together began to form grooves in his palm.

He watched the flow of students coming down the stairs while he continued to shuffle forward in the line, watching for any familiar face. He tried to convince himself that he wasn’t looking for Anna specifically, but he knew deep down that he was just waiting to see her blonde curls in the crowd. He was disappointed at her absence by the time he had reached the actual steps, climbing up at an agonizingly slow pace. Going to class early gave him time to talk to Anna, but the costs of doing so were debatable in whether it was worth it.

Jacob’s defenses were screaming, the buzz in the back of his mind getting ever more noticeable. There was someone on the step directly above him, and the one directly below him, any stumble or gesture possible of making all of them fall like dominoes. The narrow structure, along with the stairways that were just wide enough to have a student going in each direction messed with his head. The number of people around him was not helping the matter.

If there was anything he hated about public schools, it was the huge amount of people around him. Suffocating, cramped, the smell of hundreds of sweaty teens, the ludicrous attitudes, and behaviors that the hoard of people around him had… He never had even a single moment to himself in a place like this.

His dislike of strangers aside, the positives definitely outweighed the negatives. As strange as some of his classmates would see it, the school had given him freedom. For once in his life, he was able to let go and be a normal kid with normal responsibilities. He didn’t like talking or even thinking about his home at all.

“Hey, Jacob!” The voice startled him from his musings, turning to look at the shorter boy who was approaching from the main floor line. Mousy brown hair cut just long enough to not be called a buzz cut, blue-green eyes still blurry with sleep meeting his gold behind wired glasses. His thin drooping figure and already downturned eyes made the boy look like he was about ready to drop where he stood.

“Asher,” he replied with a slight grin and cast aside his more serious mood. Asher Coleman occasionally sat with him, Rachel, and Ben at lunch, not often enough to be truly part of their group but enough to be friends. “You don’t look like you slept much.”

He winced, “Yeah, I might have lost track of the time in my game last night.” he leaned in as if to say a secret “I borrowed a game from another friend, but only for a couple days and I wanted to try and get through it.”

Jacob chuckled “And your parents still allow this? I thought they were cracking down on you a couple of days ago.”

Asher grinned, “Sure they did, they said I could only play after I got my homework done. They didn’t necessarily say when or how long that could be though”

Jacob snorted.

Asher’s grin only got wider. “Glad you approve then.”

“Just get to class before you’re late” Jacob chuckled.

“Sure, see ya!” Asher took a few steps away before turning back with a curious expression. “I saw a different girl, blond hair, sitting with you guys yesterday. Never seen her before.”

Jacob nodded, “Her name is Anna, just moved here yesterday, actually.”

“Cool! Might stop by your table and say hi then if that’s alright?”

“You don’t have to ask you know”

Asher laughed, “Sure I do, maybe not ask you, but Rachel… well…”

Jacob chuckled too “She’s really not that bad. By the way, Anna’s got a bit of an accent, and she’s not too fond of people going nuts over it.”

“An accent huh? Now I have to meet her at lunch today. But gotta go, see ya later!”

“See you!”

“See ya,” Asher slapped a hand onto his shoulder before peeling off into his class. The warning beep of the school bell rang through the halls, though no one even flinched.

Jacob watched him go before closing his eyes, taking the opportunity to re-center his mind, the buzz slowly backing away to return the true silence he craved. He instinctively weaved to the side to avoid the other students around him, keeping his eyes shut for a few more seconds before reopening them, blinking at the slight sting the light brought. He continued, not missing Mr. Wilson’s look from over his glasses as he, once again, arrived over five minutes early. He just had to hope that she would get there soon, otherwise, he’d look like a fool. Again.

He lowered himself into his seat, eyes darting listlessly around the room. His hand ran habitually through his dark hair, the coarse texture matching the callouses that covered his hands, the deep brown strands still retaining drops of rain. He shuffled his feet subtly under the desktop, his fingers moving to drum on the side of his right thigh, tracing what was no longer there.

The already familiar presence made him lift his head in time to see her walk through the door, a small smile playing on his lips as she brushed past him to reach her seat. As soon as her binder hit the flat surface behind him, he spun to sit sideways in his chair, resting his arms against the backrest and watching her expectantly.

Anna paused for barely a second, her eyebrows furrowing ever so slightly under his attention. “Hello,” she offered him a smile. He couldn’t help but notice that she had pulled her hair back in a loose ponytail, away from her face. He couldn’t deny that she was pretty, so he didn’t try. That was about the only thing he could confirm though, and in the end, mostly unimportant. Except that she looked strangely familiar, like a buried, almost painful memory.

“Hey,” he watched her as she pulled her color-coded pens from the small bag atop her binder, an idea prickling the edge of his mind as he looked at them. He reached up, grabbing the blue pen from the center of the bunch. She stopped, watching him with a blank expression, though her eyes swam with confusion. He grinned at her, twisting the pen between his fingers easily.

“Can I have my pen back?” She held out her hand lightly, her tone filled with the exasperation and patience he was expecting.

“How are you?” He purposely ignored her request; they had time before class started.

He could sense how much she wanted to roll her eyes, forcing herself to continue looking straight ahead politely. She held her hand out for a few more seconds before lowering it with a soft sigh. “I’m fine, how are you?”

He registered the word choice carefully. No, he didn’t know her that well yet, it had only been a couple of days after all, but no one said that they were fine when they were fine. “I’m good,” he clicked the pen a few times in his hand, tilting his head as a grin spread across his face.

“Good,” she smiled again, more strained this time.

He nodded absently while he lowered his guard just enough, glancing down towards the pen in his hands as he did so, his hair falling in front of his eyes. Immediately, the buzz filled his senses. He shut it down again, blinking his eyes quickly before looking back up at her. “You know the fun thing about these pens?”

“Hmm?” She shifted in her seat, her gaze swooping back to him from where they had wandered to the windows.

He began twisting the shell open, pulling the ink cartridge out along with the tiny spring that rested near the tip. “You can make a tiny cannon,” he grinned with what was probably too much enthusiasm for what had just come out of his mouth, but he kept going anyway. He shoved the spring to the bottom of the stem, placing the cartridge above it before barely latching the top of the pen back on.

Anna stared at him, obviously not impressed by his innovation. She opened her mouth to speak once, twice… “Why?” She finally just asked.

He shrugged, his grin growing unreasonably. “Because.”

A laugh escaped her, it was short and puzzled, but still a laugh.

He angled the pen down towards his own hand, pressing the clicker with enough pressure to dislodge the top. A light sting of pain hit him as the ink cartridge jabbed his palm, leaving a royal blue dot in its wake. “Ow,” he couldn’t help the small exclamation, even if it hardly affected him.

She didn’t hold back the eyeroll this time, her hand brushing over his while she pulled her transformed pen away from him. “You’re so strange,” she snorted. “Why’d you do that?” She began reconstructing her pen. The feeling returned that he had seen that eyeroll before, the familiar movement tugging at his memory painfully, but still annoyingly out of reach. He needed to figure out who this girl was and why she affected him.

“Why not?” He stuffed down the frustration and laughed at his own stupidity, the carefree feeling that he had quickly become addicted to rising in his chest. He was vaguely aware of the music playing over the loudspeakers, warning students that class was about to start.

More students flowed through the door, meanwhile, Anna had turned her attention to opening her notebook. He chuckled under his breath when he noticed that she had moved her pens toward the back of her desk, away from him. Yeah, he knew he was strange, but freedom was just plain fun while it lasted.

____________________________

Rachel blinked blankly up at the front of the classroom, her hand propping up her head mashing her loose hair into her cheek, pressing against the bottom corner of her glasses. Her elbow screamed under the weight, pressing heavily into the table. Her body swayed ever so slightly to the beat stuck in her head, her lips loosely forming the lyrics. Underneath the desk, her foot lightly tapped on the white tiled floor to the imaginary rhythm.

She was well aware of the fact that she should be paying attention to what her teacher was talking about, but she had been going on for what felt like hours. Math wasn’t her forte in the first place but going into the ‘factoring’ thing they were supposed to be learning about was just plain confusing. Algebra was annoying, plain, and simple.

She couldn’t help the small smile on her face as her thoughts wandered to when one of her classmates had called math: ‘Mental Abuse Towards Humans’. She pressed her lips together, taking a deep breath in, her brain shaken awake by the actions. Shifting in her seat, she looked uselessly up at the clock on the wall. No matter how many times Ben had tried to teach her to read an analog clock, she couldn’t understand it. Not that the concept was difficult, but her remembering to calculate the minutes was the main challenge.

Glancing around at the other students at her table, she saw the same glazed looks on each of them. A good number of her classmates were looking up at the clock as she had done, one in the back staring intensely as though the time would give him the answers to the universe. The bell had to ring soon, right?

As though she summoned it with her thoughts, the loud beep rang through the school, the classroom becoming a blur of movement as every student shot to their feet. Rachel zipped her fabric binder shut, following the steady flow out the door with her hand wrapped tightly around the handle, the material rough under her fingertips.

She looked around, searching for Ben’s face in the crowd, as his class was only two doors down from her own. He had been her best friend for almost six years now, to everyone’s shock and confusion. Still, she got questions about whether they were siblings or dating or if he was secretly rich. It was ridiculous, not to mention insulting. Like they couldn’t be as good of friends as they were just because he was a boy. Like he didn’t have people already tormenting him for stupid reasons.

She finally spotted him, head down and shoulders pulled in, trying to make his tall frame smaller. She started towards him before her eyes caught sight of a pair of boys, athletes, snickering off to the side. She diverted her path from him, marching straight toward the would-be oppressors. She saw Ben stop when he caught sight of her, his navy eyes burning into her as he realized what she was about to do.

She didn’t hide her anger, she couldn’t if she tried. No, they hadn’t done anything yet per se, but she had seen that look from others just like them enough. She extended her pointer finger at them, their faces freezing at the sight of the enraged girl barreling toward them. She wasn’t exactly tall at five feet, two inches, but she did her best to make up for it. “You touch him,” she growled lowly, her mahogany brown eyes narrowed to slits while her teeth gritted together, almost painfully. “And I guarantee you, I will shove a freshly sharpened pencil up your-”

Gentle hands placed themselves on her shoulders, his touch alone reminding her of the promise he had made her make. No killing people, Ben’s soft voice rang through her memory. I can’t have you going to jail.

The boys’ eyes flicked between her and Ben, only slightly pale now that someone had come to rescue them. “Who knew, the fire-head has a boyfriend,” one of them snickered daringly. “Though I’ve heard that he’s only with her because he’s hiding that he’s gay.”

She shrugged Ben’s hands off, her fists clenching at her sides. “You want to say that again?” She taunted, taking a slow step forward. “Or perhaps you want to meet me in the parki-”

Ben’s hand swiftly locked around her own smaller one, pulling her away and down the hall. His large, long strides meant that he was more or less dragging her behind him. “It’s time for lunch,” he murmured just loud enough for her to hear.

She sighed, forcing her anger down as she tried and failed to match his pace. They raced down the steps after only a few seconds in the stair line, once again, she couldn’t help but be thankful that at least one direction of traffic went at a decent pace. Her thoughts stewed silently on what the boy had said, the idiot. The insinuation that Ben would do a thing as to lie about himself, or the idea that he would ever hide anything from her was enough to infuriate. While Ben didn’t seem to care what other students thought, she couldn’t help but do it herself.

She had sworn to protect him the minute that they had become friends, though she didn’t remember exactly how that had happened. They were polar opposites from the beginning, him being the quiet kid hiding in the corner while she was up chasing other students and singing songs as loud as she could. Though, the longer they were friends, the more they could see their personalities match. Maybe it was more along the lines of them growing together and spending way too much time with each other, but between the two of them, they were more similar than anyone else thought.

The noise of the cafeteria reached her ears as they made the final stretch, turning the corner and jumping in the nearest line to pick up food. Today it was pizza on the menu, though few could say it looked like actual pizza rather than tasteless dough, slimy cheese, and grease. Lots of grease. Over the years, she had seen people drop napkins on their ‘pizza’ to make it more edible, only for the napkin to be completely soaked in seconds. Others just held their slice vertically over an empty compartment of their tray to let the grease drip free. It was gross, but at least it was better than the mystery meat they called turkey on mashed potatoes, doused in thick, bland gravy.

There truly were worse things.

She glanced at the tall, floor-to-ceiling windows on the other side of the room. Wet from the rain, they were misty and mirror-like, the small blacktop and field beyond morphed by the flowing water. Looking out, it was as though there was a pale blue filter over everything, the vivid green of the grass and far trees’ leaf buds leaping out at her.

When they reached their table, she noticed that the girl, Anna, was there once again. Of course, Rachel didn’t mind another friend, but she found it a little strange that she would want to sit with them again. She didn’t seem like the type to enjoy company like theirs. Then again, neither did Ben.

The blond girl was being questioned by none other than Asher Coleman, who sat across the table, the boy’s eyes alight with interest despite obviously being exhausted. “Ash,” she greeted, placing her tray directly beside Anna’s this time, while Ben took his normal place at the very end of the table.

“If you had any superpower, what would it be?” Asher fired off with a glint in his eye.

“Teleportation,” Rachel blurted out louder than she probably needed to, making the boy jump in his seat. She grinned, continuing at a normal volume. “Then I wouldn’t be late or need to run anywhere anymore.”

Jacob snorted from where he was approaching from behind Anna, the poor girl twisting to look up at him. “As if that would make a difference.”

Rachel glared at him as he sat across from her in his usual placement. “And you’re Mister Always-on-time-and-in-the-right-place- oh wait…” She shot him a look.

“And you sabotage your locker every single day with your books falling on your head when it opens,” Jacob shot back. “What does that say about your organizational skills.”

“It’s to stop thieves like you from taking things,” she leaned forward, narrowing her eyes playfully. “The fact that you know that tells me everything I need to know.”

“You forget to give back one pencil and you sign a life sentence,” he shook his head in false shame. “Maybe I should find new friends since you so obviously have an issue with my personality.”

“No, you just lost your sanity somewhere down the line.” She tilted her head with a small glimpse of a smile. “If only we knew where it went.”

“Did he ever actually have any sanity?” Asher chimed in.

“Good point,” Rachel nodded. “We could only hope for his sake that someone stole it, or maybe he stole someone else’s, and it wasn’t as great as he thought.”

“It’s possible,” Jacob shrugged. “If you think about it, I could have traded brains with someone! I could be an alien! Hello there, I’m here on a secret mission to kidnap all of you for some reason I really shouldn’t tell you because I’m not human, but I just spilled the beans on everything! What am I going to do?” He drooped, placing the back of his hand across his forehead with an exaggerated frown.

Rachel rolled her eyes at his dramatics, noting that he had to bring up an alien joke once again. He must have been infatuated with extraterrestrial tales and UFOs or something.

“Oh well,” Jacob mimicked a puppet on strings as he sat back up, his face lightened. “One can’t cry over spilled milk,” he shrugged and took a giant swig of the milk carton from his tray, unable to hide his grimace as he slammed the cardboard back down onto his plastic tray.

Rachel glanced over to the blonde beside her, Anna’s face a clear display of both confusion and amusement simultaneously.

“So, Anna,” Asher stabbed another carrot. “What’s your next class?”

“Phy-Ed,” her face twisted ever so slightly at the mention of it.

“Right after lunch?” Jacob sat up. “Who would do such a thing?”

Anna shrugged lightly, brushing her hypothetical loose hair away from her face, despite it already being tied back.

“That’s cruel,” Ben pitched in, causing the blonde to blink in surprise at the boy. A small smile appeared on his lips, the glance towards Rachel a signal that always warmed her heart. I’m trying.

“What are you liking here so far?” Rachel pitched the question to the girl, she couldn’t help but feel guilty, that out of them all, she had been the least welcoming to her after her first day.

“I…” Anna paused, her strange multi-colored eyes deep with thought. “I guess, it’s that you’ve all been so welcoming. I’m not really used to it; so, thank you.”

Rachel’s guilt melted away to reveal a sort of affection for this girl and the sadness she saw behind her eyes. At that moment, she had decided that she was going to try and be Anna’s friend, just as she had done with Ben many years before.

____________________________

Jol’s blood-red eyes opened to the darkened stone room he had been assigned, the hazy glow of the reddened atmosphere painting a picture in the beautifully carved windows. He sat up from his resting table, the firm surface under him steady against his smoky, rough, rocky skin. He stretched his muscles, feeling his spiny, curved wings stretch out behind him.

Looking around the room, he took in his surroundings once again, the amazement of being in this place once again crossed his mind. It seemed like only a short time before; he was alone, wandering in the perilous wilderness of his home. His heart boiled up in fury at that thought, the memories of smashing swords and powers his people had nothing to defend against.

Hecathians.

They were why he was here. They had come, calling them daemons, and slaughtering every one of them they came across. They called it war, like war meant destroying their lands and the souls of their already fragile people. So when she had addressed the when a Hecathian had turned on her own and welcomed them and others, the race of murderers had destroyed, they, in turn, had destroyed their homes and souls. It had only been fair.

He had been unbelievably disappointed when word had come that several groups had managed to survive.

When he had been given the chance to join her mission, to finish what they had started, he jumped at it. He was especially aware of his privilege in working so closely with her majesty, one of only one hundred to be able to meet her face to face; or rather face to darkness, as the queen hardly bothered to show her face to anyone. Even if she had never actually spoken to him, instead being a higher commander or an advisor of hers, it was an honor to be occasionally allowed into her chambers.

He pushed himself up, his clawed feet finding comfort in the textured grit that ran between the slabs of smoother stone, their brown tone faded to black by the permanent haze of smoke. He made his way to the door, taking one last glance around the room, a habit he knew very well. Venturing into the hallway, he passed a couple of Vorakur, their spiny hairs rising sporadically across their veiny, patchy skin. Huge teeth were permanently visible, their jaws pulled back to leave room for the huge canines. Just looking at their hands made him uneasy, claws the same size as fingers with the ability to slice through almost anything expanding out from each paw-like structure.

He rippled his wings unnecessarily to enlarge his presence in difference to theirs, though it didn’t fully change anything. His golem-like appearance was enough for most to fear him, his species was known for camouflage and ambush rather than brute force like the Vorakur. Truly, their ugly and terrifying image made up for their lack of mental ability. He would wonder how any of them lived through their stupidity, if not for the fact that they had a habit of eating just about anything.

Jol navigated the winding halls he had grown used to seeing, making his way to her chambers carefully. He nodded to a fellow Gisrulat, bowing his wings in greeting. He stopped short when he reached her chambers, recognizing the voice of one of her advisors already inside.

“-seem to forget so often...” The voice that had always chilled him to the bone despite the hot nature of his home world. “He is an actual threat to us.”

“No,” the queen’s exasperated voice rang out clearly. “I know that.” He paused. He had only heard the queen’s voice on rare occasions, always in a commanding, superior tone. This time she sounded … normal.

“Finally,” the woman’s tone didn’t falter as she continued. “Last time was bad enough, too many mistakes happened that day.” There was almost a sneer in the way she said the words, but the tone was restrained in the presence of the queen.

Jol stood frozen, keeping as still as possible to not disrupt the conversation.

“Now tell me, Nedira,” her advisor sighed, the casual usage of her majesty’s name sending a shock through him as he continued to listen. “Has this imposter attempted to reach out to you?”

Imposter? Jol took in the information, eager to hear the answer. He knew he shouldn’t be listening; he had no right to hear the personal conversations of her majesty, especially with an advisor, one that she kept close for when she needed such conversations. He was enthralled with it, thrill rising his intrigue of hearing his leader be so vulnerable.

“He has not,” her voice came with more strength this time. “And if he does, you know I will put a bullet between his eyes.”

“Do I? You failed last time.”

Jol’s mouth gaped at the audacity of the advisor, fully expecting the queen to execute her.

“I was weak; we both know that I would rather see him dead on the ground!” The queen’s rebuke lashed in a snap. “And I am not as weak as her. Mi layarkan faisk rid hain ure.” Her voice lowered to a growl as she switched to the language that he had learned to hate, her native language. He could only imagine what she had said, none of which could ever be considered flattering.

The advisor hummed, a brief silence filling the space. Jol felt a prickling feeling run down his spine like someone was watching him, though no one else was there when he looked.

“We must be aware of his presence,” the woman continued. “We cannot be sure of what he wants after these years. And if he walks free again…” The statement was left unfinished, and he didn’t think he wanted to know what that meant. What had happened last time? “Now, I believe we have a briefing to give.”

“Yes,” the queen’s voice abruptly regained some of its regular authority, strengthened by its prior absence. “Let him in.”

Jol held himself steady as the door was pulled open, revealing the woman he regularly attempted to avoid. Her long black hair was pulled half back, held by a blackened gold circlet that wrapped her head, a faded green gemstone centered above her sharp eyebrows. Her angled eyes, a dark blend of darkened green, gold, silver, and a haunting black, surveyed him. Her dark olive skin contrasted by the dark blue of her attire, a black arm cuff with a matching gemstone, something he had never seen her without.

“Jol,” her piercing gaze made him uneasy; it was like she could see straight through him. He had heard that Hecathians with gold in their eyes held dangerous powers, some having the ability to look into one’s past. “How nice of you to join us.” Her impassive expression made him wonder if she knew he had been listening.

He swallowed, looking past her into the darkened room. He could just make out where the pale face of the queen was, too hidden in shadows to read. “Your majesty,” he addressed her, bowing his wings to lay on the floor as he lowered his face in respect.

“As you heard,” the advisor’s voice rang out icily. He hid a wince as she continued, keeping his submissive posture for good measure. “We have an imposter roaming these parts, as of yet, he has not reached our walls. Make sure to keep it that way.”

He raised his head, but not his wings. “I will do my best,” he promised. “I’ll double the guard patrols.”

“Make sure you do,” the woman narrowed her eyes, the colors sparking to life for just a moment before returning to their former state.

He bowed his head once again. “Is there anything more you wish of me, your majesty?”

The adviser turned back to the queen, whom he could see shook her head in answer. “No,” the woman’s tone was smoother this time, uneasiness crawling up his spine. “You may leave.”

He bowed his head lower for a split second before turning on his heel, aware of the advisor’s eyes remaining on him as he moved down the hall.

Taglist: @hxad-ovxr-hxart, @the-printed-words, @frostedlemonwriter, @on-noon, @my-cursed-prince, @thesorcererspen, and @avocado-frog. If you'd like to be added or removed from the taglist, please let me know!

#legacy of the fallen #legacy of the fallen text #my writing #writing wip #writer #fantasy writer #writeblr #aspiring author #aspiring writer #Jacob Sagael #Rachel Delaney #Jol the Minion

1 note · View note

louduvelleroy · 2 years

Text

// Is that your wallet ?

« I’m sorry what’s your name again ? I can’t see it on the list. Can I check your invitation ? Can you please wait on the side, we are trying to figure it out as fast as possible ». That is the type of common situation you can observe during the fashion week. In fact, for seven days, more or less, fashion shows of the greatest designers are presented one after the other. The models are running, the guests too. Every time, this long-awaited week is all about people. People in a hurry, the specific art and message they want to convey through their clothing and mostly the way they appear. But , what I find more interesting than the people who are invited or the people who are inviting them, are the little objects connecting them.

One day, Natalia Antunes, the oldest Balenciaga staff member who worked for thirty five years in the fashion house, lost her wallet and it appeared like a significant event. And Demna Gvasalia, the creative director, had an ingenious idea : to give it back to her. For the Balenciaga SS23 show at Paris Fashion week this year, the attendees did not receive a simple piece of paper, an ordinary invitation with a date, a place and time. They received a small leather object that made them become the mistaken recipients of Natalia Antunes’s missing wallet, allowing them to live a surreal experience they couldn’t expect : rummaging through a stranger’s belongings. Everything is false but every single element had been reproduced, from her health insurance card, to her expense reports and even her own cat pictures. Obviously, the invitation contained all the information about Saturday’s event : the location of the show and what appeared to be the title of the SS23 collection, « The Mud Show ».

A few years ago, when social media weren't existent and when marketing departments focused on elitist and high social classes, designers opted for a rather simple, traditional approach to the flyer, despite the creative scale of their own event. Now the show’s precursor has evolved and has become essential, we can qualify it as being as important as the event itself. This year like the seven previous ones, Balenciaga has managed to ignite the anticipation before the show, and even weeks before the collection’s debut. Demna Gvasalia worked for three years for Martin Margiela’s eponymous label. For the brand's Fall/Winter 2009 show, they sent their guests a 3D plastic television set as the invitation, which fitted perfectly with the House's minimal aesthetic. It is not surprising that Demna kept his taste for storytelling, even if sometimes, certain invitations have been controversial.

Broken iPhones, or wads of fake cash used as invitations can seem to be provocative even when every choice of the process is thoughtful. The objects contain hidden messages that reside within them. The superficiality of the fashion events is obvious and the designers are very aware of it. When the Russian invasion of Ukraine began, Demna Gvasalia included elements referring to the exodus of the population to his show and wrote a text explaining his intentions : « Because in a time like this, fashion loses its relevance and its actual right to exist. Fashion week feels like some kind of an absurdity […] This show needs no explanation. It is a dedication to fearlessness, to resistance, and to the victory of love and peace». Models walked in (fake) snow like refugees, holding big improvised travel bags.

A show to alert about the climate emergency using broken iPhones as invitations and producing fake snow among a lot of other waste can be criticised. Even more so when the show evolves as an expression of support to the Ukrainian people, using the figure of the refugee walking in front of one of the most wealthy public. It does raises questions and just like the wallet invitation, it’s too outrageous to ignore.

Lou Duvelleroy.

(Publié le 20 novembre, 3861 caractères).

0 notes

noxiatoxia · 6 years

Photo

I grew up with Warrior Cats, and as such I created these characters around the 3rd or 4th grade (as you can tell from the crazy color pallets). They all live in WindClan, and the most important one is Wildmask because that’s me! She was my warrior name I was given on the old official site (not around anymore) and I made her my persona for the longest time and referred to myself as “Wildmask” online up until last year. Even if she isn’t my definitive persona anymore, she’s still me and still very special to me. I’m sure my younger self would be so happy to see all her characters and how much her art’s improved :’D

#oc: Wildmask #oc: Goldencloud #oc: Gravelfur #oc: Rosepelt #oc: Icywind #warrior cat oc #it feel so surreal to type all their names again after so long #i really missed them. i had a story and everything #noxiart

31 notes · View notes

sor-vette · 3 years

Text

#6 Surreal Sunday

“It’s a refurbished student housing,” you explain as they trail after you like ducks in a row. Even if they don’t understand what you’re saying, they seem to be clinging to every word. Wherever you look there’s always at least one pair of doe eyes staring expectantly back at you a.k.a. what do you do when you open your doors and find a certain retired boyband for some reason wants to move in

▶ type: ot7 x fem! reader (poly)

▶ word count: 3.1k

▶ series’ masterlist

▶ other works

▶ t/w: smoking

▶a/n: So I'm a liar. There is barely any fluff fest. Uploading this on my birthday, thinking I'll be in a mood to do happy birthday events but no beans. I don't like this one at all but hope you will enjoy nonetheless

What you learnt from living with BTS is that ramen is cooked at all hours of the day. 3 a.m. = ramen. 7 p.m. = ramen. Watching a tv show? Ramen. Feeling bad? Ramen.

So it’s no surprise that once you sneak out of your room, there’s a pair of quiet voices and the smell of ramen permeating the air. You glance at your phone. 2:35 in the morning.

The walk to the small balcony is a daunting one, especially at night because of two things. One - down this hallway the most rooms resided. Jin and Yoongi the closest to you, then Hoseok and Jimin, then Namjoon relishing being alone in his slightly smaller room, right next to the doors of the balcony. It worked well in your favour as he had more space for his plants and you were delighted that he could decorate the space with some greenery. Two - if any, any one of them would catch you in this compromising position, you’d get a scolding of the century. Namely, with a cigarette between your teeth and the lighter geared ready to go. Smoking was a habit you’d ditched already in the university, so why now? You yourself hadn’t the faintest. It was just an urge, steadily climbing up and up and up until at long last, you couldn’t take it anymore.

You close the doors softly behind you, breathing in the cold air of the city and observe the quiet, dark windows of neighbouring buildings. You flick on the lighter, ready to settle it against the bud only to jump when a chair, sitting further away, moves on its own.

Of course, it didn’t move on its own, it was moved by the most unlikely of hands. Hoseok, kneeling down, hiding behind the chair with an equal cigarette between his lips, but the smoke was already curling around him.

“Hoseok?” you call out in disbelief, taking the bud away from your mouth. “You smoke?”

Sure, you’d spotted a makeshift ashtray, shoved into the corner, out of sight, but you had thought it to be Taehyung who shared your dirty habit.

“No,” he mumbles, even in the faint streetlight, blushing bright red.

“Then what is between your hands, then?” you amusedly demand and he scoffs, pointing at your own hand.

“Yours then?” he snaps at first seriously, then begins to soften into a grin. You laugh with him and sit down on one of the chairs when he comes out of the hiding. You’re just about to light the cigarette again when Hoseok sniffs and rips it from your fingers.

“Not healthy.”

You do the same to him and he nods, scrunching up his nose.

“Can I ask you something? About Namjoon?”

Hoseok peers into the dark, contemplative. You vaguely realize that he was the one you’d spoken least to. It almost seemed that instead of someone like Jimin, who would completely casually somehow need to be in the same room as you, Hoseok had an inclination to avoid you. Which was understandable, ergo you gather up your conversational skills to not torture this guy longer than necessary.

“His birthday is coming up soon, right?”

“Right.”

“Does he plan on celebrating?”

“Celebrating, yes.”

You narrow your eyes at him as he glances away, finding the children’s swing unfoundedly fascinating.

“Are you just repeating the last word I say?”

He laughs unexpectedly, somewhat demure but still bright.

“Sorry...Namjoon teach us...when don’t - when I don’t know words, then to repeat.”

You bite on your lip, alike Hoseok focusing someplace else. He momentarily glances down at where your teeth are tugging at your bottom lip, before hurriedly turning away, brows furrowed.

“Do you...you want to give something to him?” he asks, lightly and you shrug, shivering in the cold.

“I...I know I missed Jungkook’s birthday, didn’t even congratulate him,” you confess, scuffing the tip of your slipper against the balcony railing.

“He was very happy. You let him stay here. He likes that enough.”

You turn to look at Hobi, actually, look at him. There was something off about his expression. He was smiling, yes, but you didn’t trust that smile one bit. He used to be an idol, an idol who had labelled himself as the ‘happy one’. The rules back in the day must be that no matter what he must keep smiling. As someone who couldn’t fake happiness in the least, that sort of condition seemed cruel to you.

“Are you happy? To be here?”

Maybe he didn’t want to. Maybe the reason for their uproot lay in someone else’s mind and he had just been forced to tag along. Hoseok grins, as he always does, a simple incline of lips that doesn’t at all reflect in his eyes.

“I’m afraid to be.”

“What? Be happy?”

He peers over your face, briefly grimacing as if something unpleasant had crossed his mind.

“Yeah.”

Just before you get to say anything, he shakes off the grimness and erupts in a blinding, albeit fake smile.

“So you want...want to gift something to Namjoon?”

“There’s a festival,” you begin slowly, taken aback by his sudden turn of attitude, “tomorrow night. I just didn't know whether he’d be okay going somewhere with me.”

Hobi casts you down this expression. Not more than half a second long, blink and you miss it, but it clearly didn’t think highly of your intelligence.

“Why are you looking at me like an idiot?” you ask, brow raised.

“You are,” he giggles casually and you punch his arm lightly, still earning a bout of dramatics as though you punted him with a steel pipe. “Just a bit, a bit!” He defended, squirming away.

“You and Jungkook,” he grumbles, “violent people.”

“So is it okay for me to ask him?” you question again, slightly shaking with unshed laughter. Or maybe it was just cold.

“Yes. He...he love it.”

“Would,” you mumble, earning a curious glance, as he cocks his head. It was weirdly endearing and reminded you much of Molly, how she tilted her head when something didn’t make sense.

“Hmm?”

“He would love it,” you correct, hoping to God Hoseok wouldn’t take it the wrong way. Like you had mocked him for his language skills. But it doesn’t seem the case as he remains relaxed and keeps inspecting the neighbouring residence just as before.

“He would love it,” he repeats.

You sit in silence for a short while until he nudges you away.

“Go back,” he pushes his palm against your lower back, making you stand. “It’s cold.”

“Okay, but don’t hang out here for long.”

Hoseok nods in agreement. You’re just about to enter back into the apartment when it rips away from you, legs frozen by the ledge and mouth moving on its own volition.

“You don’t have to smile you know,” you whisper and Hoseok turns, surprised.

“If you don’t want to, you don’t have to pretend you’re happy,” you continue, not knowing if he understood you. His face was devoid of expression as his fingers twirled around his sleek lighter. Bought it from the nearest gas station. You recognized the logo.

“No one here will hold it against you,” after saying that you close the doors and waddle as quietly as possible to your room. Hoseok only turns away when he sees the last line of your hair disappear around the corner, at which point he takes another cigarette from his pack and breathes deeply in.

“Didn’t I tell them,” he muttered to himself. “I couldn’t do this.”

But there’s no one else on the balcony and his worries are left only for himself to hear.

Namjoon smoothly rips the book in two. You stand slightly awestruck, slightly horrified, gawking at the copy of “A Theory of Justice” residing now on each of his thighs. These people ate gym equipment for breakfast. There was no other way.

“You want to go out...with me?” he echoes, voice very feeble, very uncharacteristic for the man of his size.

“I mean only if you want to,” you rock back and forth, nerves spiralling. You could have just gotten him socks like Jungkok did. Of course, they wouldn’t be bright pink with embroidered words of “Big Daddy” on each calf, but more so of a general idea. A nice notebook, a plant. Why did you have to be “sPeCiAl”?

“I would,” he begins. His voice breaks. Namjoon sinks deep into the couch, embarrassed almost purple. Then strangely gathers himself, raises all his ten-meter Kim size in your face, effectively becoming a wall and shakes your unextended palm.

“I would love to accept your offer. Thank you.”

You passively sway along with his vigorous shaking, not just because of the handshake, but because his entire being is vibrating at a worrying frequency. And then Namjoon scurries away, in search for more appropriate clothing. He had a habit of wearing shorts around the house. In between him and Jungkook, you were certain that piece by piece you’d get nothing left to the imagination. You absent-mindedly estimate how many people would personally bury you alive just to get a minute of this kind of chance. You heave out a deep sigh and from the corner of your eye notice that Hoseok was the only one present. He seemed to be entirely engrossed in reading a cereal box, however. You check out your hair in the mirror, making sure that everything stood where it was supposed to and straighten any wayvard curve in your outfit.

When you leave through the door with an unexpectedly sombre Namjoon in tow, Hoseok gives you a thumbs up from his seat by the counter.

Hoseok lowers his hand, smile melting away as quickly as spring snow. Jimin rises up from where he was hiding by Hoseok’s left leg and Jin from his right.

“Of course, it was Namjoon,” Jimin pouts.

“What else did you expect,” Hoseok shrugged passively, putting away his cereal decoy. “He can at least understand her. It’s not that much, but some of us are just special.”

Jin raises his brows at the poorly concealed snark dripping from the words. Jimin put his chin on Hoseok’s neck, sneaking his hands around his torso but recoiled back when inhaling the familiar, albeit unpleasant smell.

“Have you been smoking again?” he accused as Hoseok slipped out from his grasp. “You told us you quit!”

“I am in the middle of quitting,” he mumbled, cracking his knuckles and looking at the floor.

Jin and Jimin exchanged worried glances, before throwing their arms around Hoseok’s neck, ignoring his whining protests.

“Let’s go drink, huh! Like old times! They have an actual Korean BBQ place on the far side of the town,” Jin passionately pulled Hoseok towards the door.

“Guys, can’t I just stay home?”

“Nope,” Jimin replied cheerfully, plopping an ugly, yellow bucket hat on top of Hoseok’s head. “Come on, please, for us?”

“You want to just go out? By ourselves?” Hoseok crossed his arms but they were soon uncrossed by his bandmates' helpful hands.

“Why not?” Jin tossed on the ugliest plaid jacket known to man. “No one has recognized us before.”

Hoseok sighed heavily, shoulders slumping down but Jin and Jimin continued to beg and moan, nearly shredding his jumper in half as they yanked him through the door.

“Alright, alright,” he half yelled, locking the doors behind them. “Stop ripping my clothes off! I’m going to get the wrong impression!”

“Or the right one,” Jimin snickered with a suggestive raise of eyebrows and unwillingly Hoseok’s lips spread into a heartfelt smile.

“Are you planning to kill me?” Namjoon worriedly inquired, scrutinising the dubious old buildings stretching around him. It almost looked like the back garden of a church.

“I’m impressed that you think I could bring your elephant ass down. Truly.”

“Elephants are afraid of mice, you know. It’s psychological warfare,” Namjoon stated with a shake of his shoulders even as he genuinely became dumbfounded as to where you were going.

“Jimin is also smaller than me, but I’m still afraid of him. You’re both similar that way.”

You stayed in front of the crossroads, kneeling down and deeply inspecting the grass below. You’d done that three times already and Namjoon was convinced you had lost something. Like your mind.

“What? Being smaller than you?”

“No, you both can be catty.”

You step back, narrowing your eyes perilously up at him, only proving his point.

“I’m literally leading you to your birthday surprise.”

“As far as I’m concerned you're looking for dog poop,” Namjoon pointed at the brown pile further away. “What else do you want to find on the ground?”

You turn around, shoving your hands into the pockets of your jacket, stalking away.

“Signs,” he heard a grumbling reply.

Soon enough he had to take his words back as after one turnaround and three more suspiciously odorous alleys, he was welcomed with a pleasant smell of food and a sound of a flute, for some reason.

They came out into a busy, makeshift street where there were mostly students insight, with their official hoodies and tote bags. Mouth agape, Namjoon inspected the many stalls, trying to take it all in. There were CD’s, knitwear, sandwiches, wood carvings, old perfume, anything that anyone could get their hands on, whether a vintage inheritance or something clearly stolen from a shop, it was here. Underneath his feet, there was a broken stone path and around him, two old, gothic buildings, with long spirals stretching as far as his eye could see.

“What is this place?” he asked, trying to read the sloppy handwriting on one of the stalls. “History class, second course.” This one was where the music was playing from and the stall was minded by what looked like a 19-year-old in a generic wizard costume, wielding a long staff and currently prodding off drunken passersby away from his merchandise.

“This,” you explain, somewhat proud, “is the annual Night Market of the National University. As you can see every course of every faculty actively participates and here you can find anything your heart desires. Along with indigestion but that’s the admission price at this point.”

“Is this legal?” Namjoon asked as he trailed behind you, irrationally scared he would get lost, even though he towered well above everyone present.

“God no,” you reply as if such a thing should be understood on its own. “Fun fact this is also the place where you can get the biggest selection of weed for the entirety of the year.”

“Fascinating,” he muttered, looking at two teens, crumpled in laughter on two plastic seats as you both passed them by.

“I used to have my own stall here,” you reminisce. “We sold exam answers back then.”

Namjoon let his gaze soften at your back, though despite his worries he let the question slip.

“We?”

Immediately you tense, just momentarily, but enough for him to notice. Yet, the moment he couldn’t decide between asking further or changing the topic, you did it for him with a vague gesture of hands.

“Just some people I used to know. Anyway, we’re going to see your present soon.”

After a short while, they came to a shabby stall selling an array of mechanical items, from gears to batteries, minded by a guy with a rat tail in a leather vest.

“I have an order for Kim Namjoon,” you spoke and he started shifting in his place. He’d be okay with anything you’d give him, a card would have been more than enough, but Namjoon found himself wrecked with curiosity, especially hearing the guy struggle to wrench whatever his present was from the back.

When he saw the familiar outline, he doubled over in jovial laughter. It was a bike. He should have seen this coming. You had been far too invested when the guys ripped him to shreds for still not having a license.

“Do you like it?” you ask, suddenly uncertain. The bike was clearly vintage, with green paint and a noticeably brown seat. “Is the basket not too much? It’s kind of grandma - ish but…”

Namjoon wanted nothing more than to hug you so hard you’d squeal but the incident with the younger ones was still fresh in his mind, so he, though with great difficulty, managed to lower his raised arms and give you a series of affirmative pats on the back. That seemed to be okay.

“I love it __________! I love the basket, I love the colour, I love everything about it! Thank you, it’s so cool!”

He could only preen underneath your somewhat shy smile.

“Baby, just you wait, I’m going to make you this happy every day!” he thought to himself. A daydream, a fantasy almost lewder than the other ones he had, but there was no helping his spiralling mind. He had been a gone man the second he pushed those flowers in your face. And perhaps long before that.

“Happy Birthday, Namjoon,” you wish and he sits on the bike, trying to drive, so there’s not a moment where he spills the small dirty secret that they all kept locked in their hearts.

“You ever think how weird this all is,” Hoseok slurred as he kept suckling on his straw. Jin’s eyes were steadily growing heavier and the glasses around Jimin’s hands only kept increasing, not so steadily.

“We’re all soulmates right?” Jin nodded, forehead centimetres away from the desk.

“And she’s our soulmate?”

Jimin lifted his glass and downed it like a shot, even though no one had made a toast.

“So we’re all like what collective soulmates?” Hoseok scratched his head, barely able to speak at this point.

“Why is it - why is it so shock,” hiccup, “ing. We’ve accepted each other as a soulmate.” Jimin laughed as he put the glass in front of his eyes, warping the world to a weird angle.

“I meant in a poetic way, not literally. Also, it’s not like we found it out ourselves,” Hoseok grumbled, taking a long sip through the plastic flamingo.

“Yes, but she was a very nice lady,” Jimin defended, barely stringing words together, “a very nice lady.”

“She smacked me with a crystal,” Hoseok raised his eyebrow, but Jimin only erupted in a fit of airy giggles.

“Maybe she had a reason, ever think of that Hobiiiiiahh?”

Jin suddenly stirred, pointing a finger in the sky and the rest of them stilled, awaiting some ancient wisdom from this bastard of a beautiful man that he would grant upon their unenlightened heads.

Jin pulled in a deep breath and promptly passed out, head conking with a loud “BANG!” against the small desk.

“No, finish, please,” Jimin urged on.

previous ⟷ next

Tag list (open/if you want to join let me know replies)

@amarillyis; @ah2002; @alpacaparkaseok; @bag-of-peanuts; @beaniebanby; @becomingbts; @blushingatyou; @bunzom; @crewzie-chan; @dreamamubarak; @expectonothinfromme; @fangirl125reader; @halesandy; @i-really-dont-like-it; @juju-227592; @ksooed; @leannsw; @loveyoongles; @mattsunsupremacy; @mayla548; @ot7nem; @riknata; @savage-aespa; @scentedsope; @shownusshoulders; @sippinpeachtea; @spidcrweebs; @stcrwhiz; @themoonsblueside; @thesavagegirlslife; @toughbook; @wordsaremyswords; @xyahrinx; @yessii-i; @yuuji1core;

425 notes · View notes

simpforroses · 2 years

Text

1 Year Blog Anniversary

—Law’s hat addition on my persona recommended by another lovely artist/writer @starrybrujita 💖 (it actually suits the Lady of Heart anniversary dress I designed lol)

It’s surreal how it’s been a year! Thank you to all 163 of you for taking a look at my small art corner on here and leaving a follow, along with all the positive and substantial feedback for miscellaneous creations I make too ❤️ It makes me happy to see that I can inspire some emotion and make someone’s day through my works or surprises that I sometimes do on a whim, as I take pride and genuine time in everything I make, since most of what I create here is from scratch and from the heart, whether it be art, writing, graphics, ideation, etc. As some may notice, I’m not as active as I used to be last August-March due to work and other reasons, but it was an experience being on the content-creating & active side of things, after years of only using this platform as a passive viewer for hobbies and fandoms ☺️ Once again, I can’t believe I made it this long and I am grateful for your support! 🌹

‼️Important Notes (please read)‼️:

-> I’ll continue posting art here & try for a rebound, but will go back to square 1 with making art for its own sake, without tagging people on my main account’s artwork—for now—to see how this blog continues organically (unless someone asks for a taglist or to be tagged. If so, please feel free to let me know which characters/content-type 😊). At the beginning & when I was most active, I usually was the one taking the 1st step towards people, bending over backwards, and speaking up for others, even if it did not directly affect me or could be shown on the surface-level of this blog, because in my mind, taking initiative was, and is, the right thing to do, even if it meant being ignored, burned, or blacklisted…it’s been a ride with ups & downs, but now it’s time I take a step for me.

->After some positive surprises on here during this week, I chose to set refresh instead of going with my other consideration to leave, so this blog can re-gear into the direction that I wanted it to be when I 1st started: a place that is artistic, fun, & unapologetically me, that still remains honest in integrity, actions, confidence, and eloquence of expression. I’ve tried quietly fading out from here, but wind up being pulled back in, in some way, so I may as well come back with a new approach. There are many things I can and wanted say about what led to these reflections. But, I won’t. After all, this is a small space that likes to make humble personalized tokens of happinesses, with big ideas, a big knowledge cache, and a bookish girl who only has 2 hands & voice that speaks more than what is seen or heard. Plus I’m going for a refresh, so I only look forward to what I can create from now on. I named this blog a “Shop of Embroidered Hearts” for a reason, after all ❤️ Though, I’ll also start being more active on Instagram by the same usernames:

@/simpforroses for general main art | @/scalpelandrose for OC/self-ship | @/michelle.hong is my personal account for general interests, memes, and hobbies. —I feel that who I am as an individual does not suit or ‘fit’ into what the Tumblr fandom environment is or has evolved into. After months of half-resolutions & holding out, I want to test my options with both platforms to see what happens (the ‘/‘ are there so there aren’t any pings)

I will be opening a digital commissions option sometime soon, as I now have a good workflow & am more confident in my skills 🎨

Writings & focused OC/self-ship content will still be on my sideblog or on my Blogger site once I fully set that up (for more personal freedom of content when it comes to naughty graphics) 🌹

I’ll still be around in the background per usual when I can ❤️ Occasionally for a few inbox drops, reblogs, or writing events when invited.

Thank you -M. 🌹

#one year blog anniversary #one year #michelle muses #personal thoughts #artist on tumblr

41 notes · View notes

ijustwant2write · 4 years

Text

Causing A Fuss-Anthony Bridgerton x Reader

(GIF credit to @hvitserkk)

Masterlist

Requested by @elennox03 : Can you write an imagine where Anthony’s wife is pregnant and she’s at the very end of her pregnancy and he is trying to make her stay in bed and rest but she refuses and she’s somewhere in the house and she goes into labor and Anthony freaks out and then after the baby is born a little cute dad Anthony fluff?

Characters: Anthony Bridgerton x Reader, Hyacinth Bridgerton x Reader (sister-in-law), Violet Bridgerton x Reader (mother-in-law)

Meanings: (Y/N)=Your name

Warnings: Pregnancy side effects, labour, mention of blood, fluff fluff fluff

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Anthony's strides were quick as he explored the house, desperately seeking his wife. Members of staff were ambushed with questions, startled by his tone. When he didn't get the answer he wanted, he would huff and storm off again. Where was his beloved? She wasn't where she was supposed to be.

(Y/N) laid back on the sofa as Hyacinth fanned her, the pregnant woman also fanning herself. She was just too hot, she was tired and her feet felt like they had been hit with a hammer. Her shoes were on the floor, it was far too painful to be wearing them.

"Thank you so much darling." (Y/N) said to her sister-in-law.

"Is it really that bad?" Hyacinth asked.

(Y/N) wanted to say yes. Despite pregnancy being an extraordinary feeling, the emotions and connections you made with your unborn child were confusing, there were quite a few downsides; the sickness, the tiredness, not being able to fit into your dresses or shoes, as well as feeling every single type of emotion everyday. But after seeing the young girls scared face, she knew she couldn't be entirely truthful.

"No, of course not." (Y/N) smiled, sitting up slightly."It can just get a little tiring sometimes. Have you ever held a baby?"

She nodded.

"It was heavier than you imagined, hm? Well, my baby is a little heavy right now. But they will be here soon."

"I'm very excited to meet them. I can't wait to be an auntie!"

(Y/N) melted at that."You'll be an amazing auntie."

"Here you are." Anthony entered the room, relieved to see (Y/N), until he saw what state she was in."What is wrong? Hyacinth, why didn't you fetch for me sooner?"

Anthony rushed to his wife's side, snatching the fan from his sister and fanning his wife. (Y/N) was irritated whenever Anthony was like this, it was sweet that he cared, but her fuse was short. She was resting, not bed ridden.

"I am not returning to bed Anthony. I do not wish to bicker with you." (Y/N) made it clear."I am just hot, that is all."

"The doctor advised that you stay in bed for most of the day-"

"Anthony, I cannot stay cooped up all day, laying down and doing nothing. I would go simply mad. And I have spoken to friends who are or have been pregnant, none of them did that."

"They are not professionally trained."

"That doctor has never carried a baby."

"(Y/N) said it isn't that heavy." Hyacinth spoke up.

Anthony slowly turned his head to his sister. "This is a matter for the grown ups. Go and...play somewhere."

Hyacinth knew better than to argue with Anthony, rolling her eyes before leaving. (Y/N) pursed her lips at her husband's behaviour.

"Did I ever mention how amazing you are with children?"

Anthony smirked."Well, it's a bit late to be getting lessons on childcare, isn't it?"

(Y/N) giggled, taking Anthony's hand and placing it on her bump. Anthony loved touching her growing bump. It had been strange to see his wife changing shape before his eyes. He was so used to her body having run his hands over every angle, seeing it every day from the time they were married. But it made him fall even more in love with her, if that was even possible. Anthony could write a hundred pages expressing his love for his wife, and it would still never be enough.

"I still can't believe we're having a baby." he breathed out.

(Y/N) scoffed."Are you saying I've always looked like this?"

Anthony laughed."Of course not. But no matter how much you talk about such a thing, no matter how much preparation you do, it just seems surreal."

(Y/N) hummed in response, putting her hand on top of his."I've loved carrying them, but it is time for them to come out into the world."

"Still not saying whether it's a boy or girl?"

(Y/N) shook her head."I just don't feel one way about it. Not that I care about that, as long as they're healthy."

"I still say boy."

"You would."

"You just said you didn't care."

"I don't."

"(Y/N), please can you just promise me one thing?"

"Anthony, I am not staying in bed-"

"Stay by my side as much as possible. The baby is due soon and I want to ensure you are safe when the time comes."

"Oh, Anthony, I'm with you for a majority of the day anyway."

"I know but, if there are moments where I am not present, I want to have a sound mind that you are in safe hands, such as family or a member of staff."

"Well, you know I'm not going to be leaving the house, much to my annoyance. So I will be guarded all day and night."

"You're making it sound like you're a prisoner."

"I'm just being dramatic. I just want to meet our child now."

"Well, I can't deny either of those statements."

Anthony wasn't exaggerating when he said he wanted (Y/N) beside him at all times. From then on, they were seen with each other anywhere they went in the house. Anthony didn't go out as much as he did, and he instructed there always be staff in every room and corridor. She didn't mind it, however, as her due date grew closer, the more nervous she became. Unfortunately, that meant her temper was shorter, she became more snappy and tired, and she didn't want everyone constantly reminding her that she was about to give birth. (Y/N) tried so hard to not take it out on her husband, but because he was the one always beside her, he was the only person she could lash out at.

"Anthony, I'm sorry but I just need a few moments alone. I'll return soon, just...let me calm down. I'm sorry." she apologised as she walked away from him, having screamed about how frustrated she was.

She didn't hide her deep breathing as she waddled down the corridors, passing by staff that worryingly watched her. (Y/N) wanted to calm her heart rate, try and clear her mind. Feeling too many eyes on her, (Y/N) escaped into the nearest room, slamming the door shut behind her.

"(Y/N)?" Hyacinth said behind her.

(Y/N) sighed. Would she ever be alone again?

"What are you doing in my playroom? I thought you would be with Anthony."

She was playing with her dolls, three propped up in mini chairs, as was she, as they indulged in an imaginary afternoon tea. (Y/N) couldn't help but smile at that, envisioning her child playing in this room.

"Sorry darling, I just...I needed some time away from the grown ups."

"Oh, alright. Would you like to join us for tea?" she gestured to the chair beside her, causing (Y/N) to laugh.

"I don't think I would fit in that chair, even if I wasn't with child. I'll take the rocking chair. You carry on darling, I'm sorry for the interruption."

Her aching feet carried her to the chair, cautiously lowering down onto it. She rocked her heels back and forth, though did so slowly in case it caused any nausea. Hyacinth continued her game as if (Y/N) wasn't there, but kept her voice quiet to be respectful. (Y/N) closed her eyes, finally feeling the stress lift for just a moment when a jolt of pain in her stomach startled her. It made her let out a cry, clutching onto her bump as she leaned forward. Hyacinth jumped at the sudden noise, suddenly frightened at the way (Y/N) sounded and looked.

(Y/N)'s breathing got faster and deeper, yelling out as an unbearable feeling coursed through her. Her hands wrapped around her torso, willing the feeling to stop. A shocked noise escaped her when she felt herself go wet in the chair, liquid dripping down her legs.

"Hyacinth, get Anthony!" (Y/N) groaned, thankful a staff member rushed in. Hyacinth didn't have to be told twice, running as quickly as she could to fetch her brother. She had never seen anyone in such a state, no one had ever mentioned this pain when having a baby. Tears were in her eyes as she finally found Anthony, who was standing with her two other brothers at the staircase.

"Hyacinth, what's wrong?" Benedict was the first to notice the little girl running towards him.

She immediately grabbed Anthony's hand, gripping tightly onto it."Quickly!"

"What's happened?" Anthony asked her her fretting.

"(Y/N)'s having the baby!"

A second of silence passed before Anthony sprinted in the direction his sister came from. He only had to follow the sound of screaming to find his wife. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen, she was meant to be upstairs in a comfortable position, surrounded by women staff that were prepared. He halted in the doorway when he saw her clutching onto the servant's arm as she struggled to stand from the chair. He snapped an order at another servant who followed him. The doctor had to get here as soon as possible, and the other students needed to prepare immediately.

"It's alright my love, I'm here. The doctor is on his way." Anthony reassured her as he took her other arm.

"I'm in so much pain Anthony." she wept."I can't do it, I can't do it, I don't have control over my own body. I'm frightened!"

Anthony's heart was shattering into a million pieces seeing his wife like this. He couldn't do anything to help. He couldn't ease the pain. If he could, he would take all of the pain she had and endure it himself. Anthony was a mix of emotions; fear for his wife, excitement to meet his child, terrified at (Y/N)'a reactions and noises. It was all too much, nothing would have prepared him for this.

"Anthony, you must leave!" Violet suddenly appeared.

"Mama, I can't leave her-"

"You wouldn’t want to see this Anthony. Go wait for the doctor, we all know what we’re doing here.”

Anthony knew of the steps to take in this event, it was not proper for a man to be present during the ordeal of birthing. But the love for (Y/N) was urging him to stay and protect her, that was what he was supposed to do as a husband, not abandon her. They went through everything together. Now he was being told to leave because of societies rules.

Benedict and Colin were able to pull away Anthony easier than they thought, due to him being frozen and confused about what he should do. He only registered that (Y/N) was calling for him after they left the room. Fighting against his brothers hold, he ignored their please for him to stop. They didn’t understand. They weren’t married, they had no idea what it was like to be bonded with someone in this way. However, he knew they were right, he had to stay away. All he could do now was help her from outside of the room.

“Where is the doctor?!” he demanded to know from the nearest servant.

“H-he has b-been called upon, Lord Bridgerton.” they stuttered.

“As soon as he arrives, he is to be brought here, quickly! Gather pillows, as many as you can, and blankets, we must ensure my wife is as comfortable as she can be. She should have been giving birth in a bed!”

Benedict and Colin stood back in silence, shocked by the quick turn around in their brother’s behaviour. They didn’t dare say anything in case they were snapped at.

(Y/N) was clinging onto Violet’s hand as she screamed, hating the way her body had taken over and she couldn’t take back control. Violet remained calm, knowing that (Y/N) could do this. She had birthed all of her children with no complications, she knew how much women had to endure, so Violet was equipped with the necessary grit and vigour to help her daughter-in-law. (Y/N) was grateful to have Violet there.

A gruelling eight hours passed, filled with (Y/N) screaming, crying, cursing, pleading and begging for Anthony. It took every ounce of his willpower to not dash back to her, he would never forgive himself for this. He wished he could change the rules so he could be beside her. He paced with a strong drink in his hand for those eight hours, his brothers sitting down, trying to support him. However, it was getting late, and they found themselves struggling to keep their eyes open. Anthony had got rid of his jacket, sleeves rolled up and shirt buttons undone as he got warm, fretting over what was happening to (Y/N).

“Lord Bridgerton!” a servant exclaimed as they entered the room, trying to stay composed.

The men perked up, suddenly awake. Anthony noticed the servant was smiling, which made him relieved.“What is it?”

“Lady Bridgerton has given birth.”

Anthony didn’t need to hear anything else. He instantly ran to where his poor wife had been in labour. Hyacinth would never step foot in that room again. He pushed past anyone that got in his way, halting at the open doors to the playroom. The first thing he saw was blood, a lot of it, alarmed at the sight. But as he entered the room, it was forgotten about when he saw (Y/N)’s grin aimed at the baby wriggling around in her arms. His steps were slow as he approached, scared that he would disturb the peace that had finally fallen in this room.

“Anthony.” (Y/N) breathed out, clearly exhausted.

“I’m sorry.” was all Anthony could manage, eyes still fixed on his child.

“For what?”

“For not being here.”

“You’re here now, and I understand darling. Now come meet your son.”

Anthony’s eyes widened.“I-I have a son? We have a baby boy?”

The doctor who had been crouched beside (Y/N) smiled at the Lord, standing to give the couple their space.“Yes, Lord Bridgerton, you’re now a father and have a son, who is very healthy, just like his mother.”

Violet also backed away, beaming down at her eldest son. She had never imagined him married and settled down so quickly, she expected to have many more years of her son fooling around with women not of a certain standard. Once (Y/N) waltzed in, Violet had seen a change in Anthony, and hope was restored in the Viscount.

“He’s finally here.” (Y/N) smiled as Anthony sat beside her.

“He really is.” one of his arms wrapped around her shoulders, whilst the other supported her arms holding the baby.“You’re amazing. You did this (Y/N).”

“We did it.”

“No, no, you did this all by yourself. I’ll be with you every time form now on.”

“Every time? How many are you planning to have?”

He chuckled.“We’ll discuss that later.”

(Y/N) giggled, gently kissing the top of their baby’s forehead. Anthony couldn’t stop smiling, repeating (Y/N)’s actions to her. He had never envisioned this, he didn’t want to be trapped in this life at first. He had so many responsibilities dumped on him after his father died, he wanted to make sure his family was secure and have the freedom for himself; until he met (Y/N), and suddenly, he could see his entire future planned in front of him with this woman. He never fathomed that his heart could give anymore love for anyone else in this world, and he had been proven wrong. (Y/N) was the love of his life, as was his son, and he would protect and cherish them for the rest of his life.

#anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton imagine #anthony bridgerton imagines #anthony bridgerton one shot #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton fanfiction #anthony bridgerton fan fiction #anthony bridgerton fanfic #anthony bridgerton fan fic #bridgerton #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton imagines #bridgerton one shot #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton fan fiction #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton fanfic #bridgerton fan fic

2K notes · View notes