#it's potentially even more unhinged than i ever was here (wait i just remembered demon hailee nothing could be more unhinged than that) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

7-wonders · 4 years ago

Text

Hardships Unnumbered

Summary: The quest to save Julia begins, but not everything is as it seems in this mystical land.

Word Count: 1969

A/N: Hi friends! This is the second chapter of my Labyrinth King!Michael AU fic, "It's Only Forever." I'll link the first chapter down below. I hope that you enjoy and, as always, likes, comments, and reblogs make my world go round.

(also there's a couple of little easter eggs/one big one and I'm really excited to see who figures them out)

Chapter One

Though you put your hands out in front of you to brace yourself, it doesn’t help you to discern which way is up and which way is down until you finally stop rolling. With a groan, you shove yourself up to your feet. Your palms are scraped and slightly bleeding, your jeans are torn at the knees, and leaves and twigs now adorn your hair. All in all, this is not the way you had hoped to start this mission to get Julia back.

Now that you’re already at the bottom of the hill, it’s easier to decide how to start this jaunt through the Labyrinth. After all, you certainly can’t go back up, and the solid ground beneath your feet only leads one way. The shining spires of Michael's castle at the center of the maze, closer than you had thought, rise high above you and act as a compass. All factors considered, you can definitely run this in a couple of hours. Then, once you’re both safely out of here, your first order of business is to call the cops.

Your confidence begins to fade the longer that you walk along with the wall separating you from the inside of the maze. There’s no door, or arch, or opening anywhere to be seen. Turning around, you look back to see if you’ve missed the entrance. Instead of finding one, movement catches your eye. A man, tall and willowy, cries out victoriously at something trapped under his foot. He seems to be your best bet, and you decide to approach him.

“Excuse me?” you say.

The man startles, obviously not expecting to see anybody here. “Oh!” he cries in surprise, looking at you as if you’re the first person to ever cross his path. His hair is bleached to look almost white, and he has a pair of oddly-shaped sunglasses with purple lenses covering his eyes. The checkered jumpsuit, complete with ruffles on the shoulders, both does and doesn’t go with the sunglasses. You’re not quite sure why the people that live here dress so funny, but it’s making you feel underdressed.

“Which way do I go to get into the Labyrinth?”

“Now, why would I tell you that?”

“Because you must have come from there,” you pause, looking down at the man’s foot when you hear a squeaking, “oh! Is that a fairy?”

“Mhm.” Your childlike wonder is abruptly swept out from under you when he kicks the small, blue creature into the forest.

“Why did you do that? That wasn’t very nice!”

“Go ahead and pick one up,” the man says, “you’ll see how nice they are when you’re missing a finger.” As if to prove his point, a fairy flies up to you and hisses in your face, showing off two rows of razor sharp teeth. “What is it that you wanted, again?”

You huff. “To know which way to go to get into the Labyrinth.”

“Did you try asking it?”

“I’m sorry, what?” You roll your eyes in disbelief before mocking him. “‘Labyrinth, please let me in!’ Is that what I should say?”

He doesn’t have to respond, for a sudden rumbling has you turning around. To your shock, there’s suddenly an open space in the wall that hadn’t been there just a second ago.

“You’re joking.”

“No, I’m Gallant.” You want to tell him that you weren’t guessing his name, you don’t even want to know his name, but he continues. “Who are you?”

“(Y/N).”

“Ah, that’s right.” So this is one of Michael’s ‘subjects?’ After all, if your dreams have been right (and you’re still half-convinced this is just the elaborate scheme of some unhinged weirdo and not magic, despite what you just saw), then that means that Michael is also the ruler of the Underworld. With that logic, Gallant must be some sort of a demon. If that’s the case, you certainly don’t want anything to do with him.

“Well,” you say awkwardly, “I’m going to go now. Running on limited time, and all that.”

“You’re just going to go in there? Alone?”

“Yep.”

“But--but the Labyrinth leads to the Labyrinth King!”

“That’s kind of the whole reason why I’m here.”

“You’re going to get hurt in there.” Gallant gasps. “You could even die in there!”

You set your shoulders, walking to the hole in the wall and glancing back. “I won’t, but thanks for the concern.”

“Wait!” Even if you did want to listen to what he had to say, you couldn’t, for the wall closes back up on itself the moment you step through it. Mildly jarred though you may be, there’s not much you can do to change this, so you turn around and try to figure out whether to go right or left. Both directions look exactly the same, so with the flip of a mental coin, you go right.

After both walking and jogging for what must have been over a mile, you’re no closer to any sort of landmark that would tell you where you are or how close you are to the castle. There haven’t even been any corners to turn past, just one long, unending aisle. You’re starting to feel a little claustrophobic as you finally come to a stop, needing to take a break for a minute. Sinking down against the wall into a sitting position, you find yourself looking back and forth down the path. Both directions look exactly the same, for as far as you can see. You groan dejectedly and put your head in your hands, allowing yourself a moment of pity before getting up and trying again.

“Hey there!”

You jump at the sudden Southern-sounding voice. “Who’s there?”

“Me, of course!”

Looking around, you see a small door just to your left, and a small woman, probably less than a foot tall, standing next to you. Her curly blonde hair is pulled up into a ponytail, showing off her pointy ears. “And you’re...talking to me?”

“There’s nobody else around, is there?” The woman glances inside the open door. “‘Cept the missus, of course.”

Another woman, also blonde, pokes her head outside and smiles up at you. “Hello!”

“Why don’t ya come inside for a while? ‘Delia makes a killer gumbo.”

“Uh...no thanks. I’m just taking a break for a moment before I find a way to the castle.”

The woman’s face turns severe, and she holds her shawl tighter around herself. “You must be awfully brave if you’re so determined to go up there.”

Brave? You wouldn’t call yourself brave. Stupid, maybe, for bowing to the whims of the guy who’s kidnapped your charge, but not brave.

“But anyways, just go through the wall across from us and you’ll be on your way.”

You look in front of you to see the solid wall. “Through there?”

She nods.

Logic is telling you that this is obviously false, but, considering the same thing happened with Gallant, it can’t hurt to try. Standing up, you cautiously put your hand up to the wall, expecting to meet, well, a wall. Instead, you almost fall through a doorway that leads to another passage in the Labyrinth. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

“You will be if you keep going.”

You choose to ignore this, at this point knowing that everybody who lives here is terrified of their ruler. “Thanks for the help.”

The elf stares at your back as you walk through the new corridor, figure becoming smaller and smaller. “If she would have stuck around, I would have been able to get her on the right track back home, not towards that horrible man.”

From inside the house, a timer beeps. “Misty, supper’s ready!”

///

In the stone chamber of the King of the Underworld’s throne room, a three year old girl is currently winning a staring contest against a demon. Michael watches as the demon’s eyes begin to water (with blood, of course), before he eventually gives in and blinks. The little girl cheers before looking at Michael.

“My daddy’s gonna kick your butt, you know. He saved mama from aliens once.”

“Silence, child,” Michael commands, but he can’t help the twitch of a smile at the corner of his mouth. It’s difficult to hide his amusement when this child is the most lively thing to grace his castle since...well, he can’t quite remember since when.

Being surrounded by demons of all shapes and sizes, with a variety of horns or extra eyes or tails, gets old after a while. Demons, quite frankly, are a bore. All they want to do is scare people and cause mayhem, yet continue to use the same methods that have been in place for thousands of years. If Michael’s being honest with himself, everything’s a bore to him here. In the early years, this job had been quite fun. Lots of naive humans to terrify and endless souls to torture.

Michael himself had been prone to naivety, then. It was easy to deal with the buffoons that called themselves demons when it seemed that, soon enough, he would find somebody to share this burden with him. After all, it was the guy upstairs who believed that emotions were for the humans. Michael, however, found it to be one of the most carnal pleasures. To love, and to be loved, seemed like the greatest sin. As the years passed, and the whole routine of ruling the Underworld became stale, Michael began to embrace the feelings of dejection, while simultaneously dreading the thought of an eternity alone.

That’s why, no matter the outcome of tonight, Michael would at least have something to add a little color to his black-and-white world. At the very least, the child would provide much-needed entertainment in the Underworld. She seems quite creative, which could potentially lend itself to some new and innovative torture methods. But, that would almost be a non-starter, considering the whole reason that she’s here, the whole reason Michael implemented this plan in the first place, is to get to you.

You, who managed to somehow win over demons disguised as beggars that loitered outside of the bookstore you worked for. You, who was constantly coming up with your own ideas for stories, creating and erasing entire worlds within your mind (a power far more powerful than any regular magic, Michael believes). You, who had somehow managed to vex and enchant him, without ever having spoken a word to him. He had seen you on one of his visits up Above, talking to a beggar demon as if they were your equal, offering food and shelter to their grotesque form. From then on, he knew that he had to have you, and from that, a plan was born. The Labyrinth, which he had subtly placed in every single one of your dreams for months now, was impossible to run through. You would inevitably lose. And when that happens, he’s prepared to accept your frantic offer where you exchange yourself for the child. He is, after all, a benevolent ruler.

“Mr. Michael?” Julia questions, breaking Michael out of his pondering.

Michael hums, deciding that he won’t lecture her on the importance of referring to rulers by their titles. “Yes, little one?”

“Do you have juice here? ‘M thirsty.”

“Abaddon!” Michael calls, the demon appearing in a puff of smoke. “Get our guest some refreshments.”

The demon turns to do Michael’s bidding, shocked when Julia grabs their clawed hand and skips along with them. “I really like your spiky horns,” she says.

Michael looks up at the clock on the wall, noting that only nine hours remain for you to reach the center of the Labyrinth and rescue the child. Perfect. He’s not one to get too cocky (yes he is), but these are odds he’s willing to take.

Tag List (send me a message if you want to be on this!): @sojournmichael @dark-mei-rose @blakescoven @xavierplympton @michaellangdon @trelaney @ajokeformur-ray @babyloutattoo89 @bloodcoatedeclipse @threeminutesoflife @annikathebananana @wth-trippy @thatonehumanbeing05 @dumybitch

#labyrinth au #labyrinth imagine #labyrinth fanfiction #michael langdon #michael langdon imagine #michael langdon imagines #american horror story #american horror story apocalypse #american horror story imagine #ahs #ahs imagine #duncan shepherd

151 notes · View notes

beholdme · 4 years ago

Text

All the Many Shades of Gerry - Chapter 9

Chapters: 9/19

Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Gerard Keay/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist

Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Gerard Keay, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Sasha James, Gertrude Robinson, Elias Bouchard

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Library AU, Librarian Jon, Artist Gerry, Trans Male Character, Trans Martin Blackwood, Canon Asexual Character, Asexual Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Ace Subtype - Sex Positive, Polyamory, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Romantic Fluff, Falling In Love, Boys in Skirts, Kissing, Demisexual Gerard Keay, Minor Character Death, Past Character Death, Canon-Typical Child Neglect, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Flirting, Minor Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker, Adventures in Hair Dying, Happy Ending, Banter, Gerry has a lot of sass, Gerard Keay is Morticia Adams, Jon is a very grumpy Librarian, Martin adores them anyway.

Summary: In which Gerry is a kaleidoscope and Jon and Martin can’t help falling in love with him.

He happens to love them back.

Find it on Ao3

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8]

On a Tuesday in the middle of November, not long after Gerry's 28th birthday, the three of them eat dinner at Gerry's flat, as they often do these days. Jon cooks for them and after, Martin and Gerry wash the dishes and debate the book they both just finished reading.

Jon has been twitchy all evening, so they leave him to read his own book in peace.

He wanders in at one point, leaning against the counter. "Gerry, do you know what day it is?"

Gerry looks over at him in such a way as to indicate that he really doesn't.

"Our six-month anniversary?" He tries.

"No," Martin pipes up, "That's not for weeks yet."

Jon and Gerry both look at him askance. "What? Your boyfriend starts dating another man, you remember the date. I can't believe you two don't know." Martin says as if that about covers it.

"Nevermind that." Jon snaps, and even with his previous moodiness, the others are taken aback at his blunt words and even harsher tone.

"Something wrong, Jon?" Gerry asks quietly, leaning against the opposite counter to Jon and crossing his arms. His tone suggests what he actually wanted to say was 'Do we have a problem here, bitch?' but he manages to reign the actual words in.

"I want to know why you left without saying goodbye." Jon's words are filled with a multitude of frustrations, none of which are actually conveyed in his limited words.

"Yesterday?" Gerry asks, incredulous. "You were asleep!"

"No! Not yesterday." Jon snaps back. "When we were younger. It's been ten years today since you disappeared off the face of the planet."

"Oh," Gerry responds quietly, his defensive posture dropping. He leans his hands back on the table behind him, bringing his shoulders up around his ears. It’s a rare display of confident, edgy Gerry trying to shrink himself.

"I thought we were, you know. Together. Then one day you were just gone! As if you had never existed. Your mother wouldn't tell me anything at all, just sat there smirking at me, said that you were gone and she didn't know when you were coming back, or if you were ever coming back. Which you never did, actually." Jon has been pacing, his voice rising with each new word until the final words are shouted accusatorily into the space between them.

Gerry knew Jon had wanted to talk about this since the day he walked in the library and back into his life. He had waited, been patient, and Gerry had put it off in the hopes that he would never have to choke the words out. Now, that patience was obviously over, and he knew he owed Jon this explanation.

"We were together Jon. I loved you."

"So why? What did I do so wrong, that I got to wake up one day and find you gone ?" Jon's voice has become desperate, and they can all hear the tears that he is trying to hold back.

"Don't say that. You didn't do anything wrong. We weren't perfect, but we were always so good together. I... I had to get out of there. And I couldn't leave any clues behind, so I couldn't tell you anything, because it wouldn't have been safe for either of us." Gerry reaches towards Jon to soothe him, but he flinches away and Gerry doesn't pursue him.

"I don't understand." The tears have come, and Gerry desperately tries to hold back his own when he sees them.

Martin had up until that point been standing resolutely in the corner, trying not to interfere in their pre-Martin argument. At the advent of tears, Martin moves to stand at Jon's back, gripping his shoulder for comfort. Gerry looks bereft and Martin holds out a hand to get him to come closer as well. They huddle all together, both Jon and Gerry taking comfort in Martin's steadiness.

Gerry leans into Jon, sliding his hand around his neck and pressing their foreheads together. "I'm so sorry, love. I've never forgiven myself for just disappearing on you. I thought about you every day."

"I love you," Jon whispers as Martin rocks them both gently. "But I need to know."

"I love you too." Gerry shuts his eyes and wishes more than ever to erase his shitty legacy of pain and blood.

Martin drags them to bed and offers to leave them alone to their talk.

"Please stay," Gerry says, grasping his hand. "You both need to know, and I don't want to have to talk through this twice."

So they all pile into Gerry's bed together, sitting in a vague circle like teenagers at a slumber party.

As Gerry starts to talk, Martin drags him over toward him and begins braiding his dark blue hair. It's both an offer of physical comfort and affection (easily Gerry's main love language) and a simple way of letting him off the hook for eye contact.

With Jon staring at him quite intently, Martin doesn't think he needs any further pressure.

"Jon, you-" He starts and then halts abruptly. Jon reaches over and grasps his hand, attempting to further ground him. "You remember my mother. I know you saw how, how just off she was. Manipulative and controlling. By turns demanding and completely uninterested in me. One day I would be free to run wild for weeks at a time, the next she would have a meltdown if I wasn't exactly where she wanted me, every second of the day and night." Gerry blows a breath out, shuddering at the memory of a particularly bad incident with a vase that had left him needing several stitches over his left eye.

"Well, she wasn't always like that. I remember her being a pretty good mom when I was young, if distant. She was always far more interested in being a wife than a mother, and she loved the way my father adored her.

“When I was 7, my father was blinded in an accident at work. I remember the day the phone call came. She spoke very calmly to the hospital, before hanging up the phone and shattering every picture frame in the house." Martin is finished with Gerry's hair and simply leans into him, offering silent comfort. "He coped okay with his new disability actually, and I liked helping him learn the world again with no sight. My mother never recovered from her initial breakdown though. She was angry and petulant that she needed to help and support him for the first time in their entire relationship and became more and more unhinged over the course of a year.

"One day I came home from school to find a puddle of blood soaked into the floor of the living room. She said there had been an accident and my father wasn't coming back. She hit me for the first time when I cried. She told me that I was a man now, and tears were for useless girls and disgusting… Well, you get the picture."

Gerry pauses and glances between them. A few tears have started to run down his face, but he doesn't seem to even notice them.

"We moved a few days later, and that was all I ever knew about my father's death until I was eighteen, almost ten years later. I'll spare you the horrid details, but as I'm sure you've already guessed, she murdered him. She explained very, very graphically what she had done with the body, and that she would never be caught, no one would ever think to blame her, even if anyone could ever prove that he was dead at all."

The words hang heavy in the air between the three of them. Gerry feels the comfort of their touches, but can hardly stand the affection anymore. He gets up off the bed and goes to look out the bedroom window, arms crossed and posture hard.

"Then she looked me right in the eye. And she told me that was exactly what would happen to Jon if she ever caught me with him again."

Dead, cold silence fills the room.

Gerry turns back around to find them both watching him. "So, I packed whatever I could fit into my duffle bag, and I got the hell out of dodge. I ran. I ran because I couldn't close my eyes at night with seeing your face white and cold and covered in blood and," he breaks off and takes a shuddering breath, covering his eyes and sinking to his knees. "And I couldn't stand that she would hurt you because of me. That all your light and potential would be ripped away from you in blood and pain and nothing I felt for you could make even the risk of that worthwhile."

He lifts his head to look up at them, where they’ve moved to the side of the bed towards him. “And do you want to know what the worst part is, actually? I can’t get over the idea that even though I haven’t seen Mary Keay in 10 years, the ghost of her demons lives inside of me. That I'm really just… Her. That one day my mind will snap and I'll be a danger to you both and I'll be the one hurting you, just like she hurt him. And then I'll just be the same monster who has always haunted my dreams."

Martin and Jon exchange a heavy look. They can scarcely believe that Gerry had endured so much and yet is still… Gerry. Happy, flirtatious, loving Gerry. Gerry, who fills their lives with colour and spontaneity, always showing up when they least expected him, pushing himself into their gravity and asking for space in their lives.

Despite the rather violent nature of Gerry's confession, it doesn't change anything for either of them. Things are not yet settled between them, but they curl around Gerry on the floor and they cry together over shattered innocence and sacrificed futures, and Jon promises himself that he will never let Mary Keay come between him and Gerry ever again.

#the magnus archives #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #gerry keay #jongerrymartin #fic #also on ao3

20 notes · View notes

dearcupidcandy · 4 years ago

Text

My Dear Demon

FEM READER X OVERHAUL

💞Art doesn’t belong to me~ All credit goes to the owners! Just thought they’d help with the visual!💞

AU:

(Takes place in a My Hero Academia x Demon slayer world)

Makes it more complicated but fun :D

Important background for the story before this all goes down:

You decided to go to the store with your boyfriend, Kai, since you started cooking and didn’t have enough ingredients. You forgot you cut your finger with a knife. You turned around in the alley to see your boyfriend who turned into a demon(his bird demon self) he took a huge bite out of the middle of your body and was too overwhelmed to try to think reasonably in his demon form. Someone from the demon slayer corps was called right away without your knowledge.

Warning: CONTAINS A LOT OF BLOOD

He stood above his angel’s corpse. She was bleeding out. But that angel’s last concern as her lover’s demon form hovered above he looked like a giant crow. that had unhinged its jaw at the full potential. His mask still on him with long black strings that stayed outside as blood leaked through them. The scene looked like this demon crown was trying to peck at a worm. His teeth filled with blood as it dripped back onto it’s victim. His amber eyes swelling with tears as his mouth remained open. He had a purple feathery neck while the rest of his body had wings and flowy brown locks that rested on his head. He was disgusted with himself. He was always careful to not let his demon side take control. He had every restraint ready for the moment he needed blood. But was a kiss on their Now last date really how it ends? He cries as his mouth opens wider as his teeth become more visible. Dripping with his angel’s blood.

His teeth grow sharper and the rests of his feathery body around his beloved as demon slayers appear before him. Warned by his neighbors since they had somehow seen it take place in the alleyway. “Your fine, Angel.” I won’t allow anything les-.”He was interrupted by his angel. “Kai.... just live for me....” His eyes widened in shock as he grabbed onto me tighter. Trying not to worry me more with his expression. If he wasn’t tending to you at the moment. He would have killed everyone who even dared try to “save you” from h i m.

Zenitsu Agatsuma. Appeared in front of him. “L-let her go!” He quivered through his words. “I...I- I!!” Ze-Zenitsu Agatsuma will slay y-you!” His sword shook back and forth. Trying to threaten him. But wings wrapped around her bloody body. He held you for a moment. Not letting you say a word. “I love you (Y/n.)” Thank you for always...being with me....”Even though his mouth has sharp teeth. His lips touched yours in a bloody embrace. Due to his demon form. He could consume the blood from your mouth. You both gasped out. His deeper as he placed you back on the soft grass. He stared at the one with the yellow hair and his worried expression made him an easy target. He came at Zenitsu with all his force. Unfortunately he wasn’t alone. A girl with something like a barrier in her mouth smelled like him but she was trying to get her out of his grasp as he grabbed her with his wing and widened his mouth. Ready to take a bite of his own kind. He shook and tightened more but due to the girl’s claws. She was out of his grasp and he had bruises on both wings. Even some blood marks. Nezuko picked you up and jumped over to her other teammates. This enraged Chisaki more, and he chased after her with all his might. “YOU BRAT-!” He called out as hissing echoed. “GIVE HER BACK TO ME!” He reached out angrily and his once calm amber eyes had the intent to kill. “GIVE ME BACK (Y/n)!”

His voice sounded like a mixture of anger and sadness. Like his will was breaking with each parting space he had away from his angel. His anger was at it’s limit as he saw Nezuko caress your (h/c) locks and how your (e/c) eyes seemed to weakened and rest while she ran. How dare you have any comfort in this. How dare you find comfort in anyone other than him.

“Nezuko! Bring her here!” A boy with hanafuda earrings calls out the girl with fangs. Her speed allows her to glide fast and follow the orders. But before she can. Chisaki snaps. He goes into a full rage, and strikes the bright pinked eyed girl right in the back with his wings. Using his quirk to heal the blood wounds and attack at full force. You fell on the ground. Now wide awake. But unable to move. It seems like your bleeding had worsened. Now you were bleeding out more than before. But all you wanted was to go back home with Kai, and figure things out. Nezuko falls to the ground. Followed by the hanafuda earrings guy to rush over. Zenitsu panicked and went to make sure his precious Nezuko was okay.

Overhaul turned back to his darling on the grass. “Y/n.” He spoke. His voice not sounding like his usual self. “My dear...My angel, (Y/n)....” He said. Gently stroking your head. His voice broke into parts and he eventually lost control and took his now claws and held you close to him. Putting you in a tight hug as his demon from fades and you were in his arms once more. Facing his back. He put your head on his shoulders. Making sure you didn’t move. He could heal you. But before he could even take off his gloves. You grabbed his hand. Almost barely missing it, and held his blood covered chin closer to yours. Your (e/c) orbs shined as tears fell. Not for your sake. But for his. Tears fell more from his sullen amber eyes. “All- All you have to do is tell them-.” You open your eyes periodically. You go wide eyed. Unable to move since the pain in your chest and the blood pouring out is too much to bear. He sees your struggle and tightens his grip more. Your eyes meet and he begins to flood his vision once more.”I’m sorry....(Y/n).... I should have controlled myself better.....”

You both looked into each other’s eyes calmly. Admiring how loving you both were. “I love you.....” you spoke. Making his eyes tilt down. Making him remember just how much you were his weakness. The only thing that helped him forget his real form. You both looked at each other and exchanged words of love. “I’ll love you forever...only me....”You nodded in joy as you exchanged kisses and held each other as you both forget about the demon slayers around you.

You started again. Ignoring the chaos around you. ”My love.... He stood up. You still hanging in his arms. “Will you stay with me....even if this happens again?” You were silent. He stared at you. Waiting for his response. “I love you Kai....I always will.” You were heartbroken he’d even have to ask that. You loved Kai, and you always wanted to be with him. Demon or not. Once again. A grin appeared from his face. He wiped the blood forming on your mouth. “I’ll fix you angel....” He used one hand to hold onto you and used his mouth to pull off his glove. “Thank you, Kai- I-“ He reached for your open wound. Before a knife appeared through his chest.

Your love’s eyes widened. He was sliced in the back. He dropped you and fell to the floor. Your bleeding worsened as you dragged yourself towards Kai. Holding onto his bare hand as his shaking pupils didn’t leave yours. You didn’t even have a chance to say your goodbyes. As your boyfriend grabbed onto your hand. His bare hand and just smiled. “Just be happy... Angel...”Tanjiro, Zenitsu, and Nezuko. Just stared as he vanished. Not used to how you treated him. You were crying by his side as he faded away. Tears never ending as your screamed out his name. If he was alive. He would have been overjoyed as well. You placed your forehead on his, and your tears went at the same pace as you both said you byes. Nothing you could do now anyways.

“You’ll always be my precious....*cough* angel.” He chuckled. Unable to wipe the tears. You laughed as you put his fading dissinagrating forehead onto yours.

“You dummy.” You laughed through the waterfall appearing on your faave. You’ll always be my dear demon.” Chisaki wishes he could have seen you with a smile for his last moments. But in the end. He knew you would never be the same without him. But he was just happy to get to have you with him while he faded. You both laughed in unison as the demon slayers backed away. It was better this way.... better... this way...

You lied to yourself that day. You may for the rest of your life, as you payed the demon slayers to go away. For their murder. But you couldn’t even began to describe the emotions you felt.

‘I’m f i n e.” You said through gritted teeth before the one named Tanjiro could even offer to help you off as Kai finally faded off. Leaving nothing but his jacket and gloves behind. You put on his jacket and placed his gloves on. Oh how annoyed he would be if he ever had seen you do that. ‘How u n s a n i t a r y angel.’ You mocked his voice in your head before turning back to the ones who had done their jobs. But had hurt their customer in the process.

As you payed them for their service. Just to get them to leave you forever. You faked a smile and watched them off. They smiled back. Not being phased by who they had just killed without asking. The one named Tanjiro patted your back and told you that you can find happiness again. You wound was healed thanks to them. But you just faked a smile and saw them off. Turning back to where the deed was done. Wondering now. What was next for you. While you walked down to the other side of the alley. You couldn’t help but let a few drops leave your eyes and you did nothing but stare down at the concrete and mutter to yourself.

“ I miss you, Kai....” I’d gladly bleed out again for you... just to have you with me...” You felt a breeze go through the jacket and you turned around slightly. Wanting it to be a sign. You saw shoes appear before you in the alley way. Coming out from the door that lead to inside the Shie Hassaikai. A man turned around and dusted off his black suit. He froze as he saw you in a very familiar jacket. You stared at him as he just peered down from the stairs. You saw a smirk under his back face mask as he leaned on the railing. “Very stylish.... wonder who you got it from?”

You paused for a moment. Stiffening in your spot as you looked up at him. Tears suddenly releasing from your eyes faster. Blurring your vision as he got closer to you.

“K-K- K-Kai?”

✨❤️Thank you for reading!!❤️✨

Might make a part 2 :p

141 notes · View notes

foolishlovebugbaby · 5 years ago

Text

ten-thousand miles gone

prologue

summary: they say time heals all wounds, but the one left by han jisung on your heart is one that you still treat tenderly. alternatively; han jisung reappears into your life like a whirlwind, knocking you off of your feet, after leaving you without a goodbye.

genre: angst

warnings: nothing triggering or rated

word count: 6k

note: in my head, the mind map of the way this particular fic ended went in so many directions, but this was very draining to write so i settled on the one that wouldn’t leave you hanging.

been travelling these wide roads for so long my heart’s been far from you ten-thousand miles gone

In your younger years, life had always seemed to move gradually. Time seemed to be muffled by all the firsts and seconds that came and went like waves, distracting everyone from the reality of growing pains. But college certainly ripped off that bandaid, a cushion no longer supporting your fall into the harsh realities of life.

Second semester of sophomore year had just ended, so now every college student across the country was making a beeline for the airports and bus stations, with tickets home clasped tightly between hands that were potentially developing carpal tunnel syndrome. Luckily for you, home was two train rides and a taxicab away. But like all your independent adventures of navigating life unhinged, no journey would be complete without twenty-something voicemails from your mother telling you to padlock your luggage and some vague, superstitious advice she read on Facebook.

[To ma: yes, i didnt forget to pack your scarf and no, im not going to drink ginger and ginseng to ward off bad train spirits.]

[From ma: thank you. suit yourself , you will be bad spirit magnet !]

You chuckle and shove your phone into your pocket, hailing a cab with one hand while the other slings an abnormally large duffle bag over your shoulder. “North-Hill train station please.” You say to the cab driver and shove your luggage into the seat next to you.

You let out a tired sigh and slump into the pleather seats. Butterflies swarmed your stomach- you always seemed to get them whenever you went back home. Back to the place of some of your greatest and worst memories. Somehow, through the years, the fear of seeing him again in that godforsaken town died down, because the thought of ever being able to see him again at all proved itself to be almost impossible.

Even a fool knows this, you’re the best thing I’ve got…

You almost choke on your spit when that song comes on the radio. Of course that song had to come on so conveniently in the middle of your trip down melancholy lane. You have half a mind to reach over and turn the radio off, but decide against it when you see the cute old man bobbing his head to it.

So instead your mind traces its steps back a few moments until all you’re reminded of is him.

In your head you remember all these great experiences- graduation day, senior prom, camp nights during wintertime and summer carnivals down at the boardwalk. But then your mind tortures you and conjures up these images of what it would’ve been like to have experienced it all with him next to you and suddenly the memories become less fond. It’s treacherous, really, being your own worst enemy. But you learnt the hard way that time slows down for no one.

When you get to the train station, you move in a daze. The muscle memory of validating your ticket and walking to the platform does all the work for you. And usually that would be a good thing, except now it only allowed you to stay in your head a lot more. It’s funny, really, how everytime you see posters and billboards of his group around you don’t flinch. Not anymore at least. Because you don’t know him anymore, and he’s probably forgotten about you.

Sometimes, you’re convinced he was just a character that your very active imagination conjured up to fill gaps in your life with meaning. But every time you open a picture of the pair of you way back when, you’re met with the reality that he was real. Even if it was just for a short amount of time, he was visible to you. Tangible. And meant galaxies to you.

[From mama han: cant wait 2 see u back again ! have dinner with us soon xoxo]

You smile fondly down at your phone once you’re situated in your seat, typing out a reply to the woman you consider a second mom.

You thanked the universe for still keeping her in your life. Sure, her son would probably be known to you as the biggest jackass to exist for eternity, but she would remain sweet and tender in your heart for longer than that.

[To mama han: can’t wait to see you too:)]

You don’t confirm your spot at their dinner table, because frankly speaking, the last time you stepped foot in their house was the summer before university when you went to drop off a box of jisung’s things that you found in your room- sweatshirts, t-shirt’s, notes and other miscellaneous items that demanded you remember every miniscule moment spent with him. And since then you’ve found every excuse not to go near that place. You knew it probably hurt the woman whenever you conjured up some arbitrary excuse to not dig in to her incredible cooking, but the finger is to be pointed at Han Jisung and Han Jisung only. Screw him.

She sometimes tries to address the elephant in the room whenever you do get to talk during her visits at your childhood home. Like It would be great to have you both visit at the same time or Would you like me to call him? I’m sure he’s not busy right now. Yeah, subtle as a gun, but you love her still.

You’re not one to believe in luck, and if you did you’d actually quite fancy yourself as the most unluckiest person of them all, but you thank the heavens that he’s never been back home the same time as you have. Either that, or you’re just way too good at being further than a 10-mile radius from him. Like last semester break, when you got word from one of your childhood friends that he would be in town so you decided to cancel all your plans of going back home under the guise of going on a group excursion somewhere up north. Obviously, all you did was stay in your dorm and binge watch Gossip Girl for three weeks, but you concluded that anything would be better than having to confront your demons- or demon. Singular.

What would you even say if you saw him? Realistically, not that much. Ideally, you’d destroy him with words. All that pent up anger for him leaving you behind and all the unresolved feelings left to concentrate in an urn you buried deep in yourself exploding like Pandora's box right before him. 5 years passed, and yet you still found it difficult to imagine what a conversation would be like with him again.

Honestly, you’d tell him to stay a while longer, just so that he’d remain vivid in your memories once he decided to leave again.

When the taxi cab pulled up in front of your childhood home, you were half asleep and in desperate need of a solid meal. “Thanks, keep the change,” you say groggily as you pass the money to the driver.

You take a deep breath once you’re out of the car, your duffle bag slung around your frame. It’s been a very long time since you were last here. The months seemed to pile up without you noticing, and now that you think about it, it had been a good whole year that passed. You don’t know where the time went, but you were definitely here now.

You trudge up to the door, ringing the bell once. “Hey ma,” You say as she squeals and pulls you in for a hug. “I’m glad you’re back in one piece, especially since you ignored my advice.” She says pointedly and ushers you in. “Yeah, well, I guess the train spirits didn’t feel like victimising me today.” She looks at you with her mouth hung open and slaps your arm.

“Don’t say that!” She’s about to scold you more when your dad enters the living room in his pajama pants. “My daughter finally decides to show her face around here! Send in the doves!” You always knew that you got your flare for drama from your dad.

“How are you doing sweetie, we missed you.” He gives you a big bear hug and you sigh. “I know, it’s been too long.”

“There is not enough time in this world to mope around! Now, darling, it’s very late so your father and I are off to bed. There’s some leftovers for you in the toaster oven in case you get hungry,” They both smother you in a hug and you almost suffocate. “We’d love to hear all about your university in the morning. Sleep tight honey.”

And so you’re left to your own devices. Again. Sighing, you reluctantly head up the stairs and make your way into your old room. A smile finds its place on your lips.

The room is oddly clean- you figured your mother must have emotionally cleaned in here (more than once) during your time away from home. But the walls are still the same ugly navy blue, and your star-print curtains remained planted in front of your windows with planet decorations all over the ceiling to match. Funny. He helped you decorate. Said it made your room feel like the universe was just the two of you.

You didn’t know that what he really meant was that you were his safe place.

You spend a good thirty-minutes unpacking, tinkering around your old room and texting your friends about your trip home. It feels like an eternity passed when you finally decide to listen to your growling stomach and go get something to eat. But you’re picky and nothing in your kitchen seems to entice you enough to devour it, so you swipe your house keys off the kitchen countertop and head to your door. 7-Eleven it is. You’re dressed in a pair of leggings and a pink sweater with fluffy slides to match, but you could care less.

As you walk out of your driveway and head down your street, you pass by his house. The lights are off (of course, since it’s an ungodly 1AM) and it practically looked like a dollhouse.

You turn your gaze away.

The walk to the local 7-Eleven is only 5 Hozier tracks away, so you reach there in no time. Your tummy growls when you enter, and you immediately head to the instant section. Hmm, ramen, tteokbokki or pasta, choices choices choices…

You’re too busy pondering to notice the figure clad in sweats and a baseball cap standing frozen at the end of the aisle, gaping like a fish your way. He practically isn’t breathing, but your presence had knocked the wind right out of his chest.

“Y-Y/n?” He manages to breathe out, and you look around, confused. Did someone just say my name?

Your eyes slowly turn to his figure, and you can barely see who it is from afar. Tan skin can be seen from the collar under his hoodie, and dirty-blonde hair peeks out at the ends of his baseball cap. You feel like you’re seeing things, because you know that baseball cap. You bought it.

Slowly, your eyes trail over his face, and you feel the air leave your lungs.

Jisung still remembers the last time he saw you. Well, the last time he saw you before he didn’t say goodbye.

It was a Thursday afternoon, History class had just ended. On the way out, he caught a glimpse of you. He hadn’t seen much of you the entire week, but that was because he was actively trying to avoid you. But there you were, at your locker putting away your books with that puppy-dog expression you always wore whenever you were tired and in need of a good nap. He stood for a few moments, taking you in. Even if your hair was messily up in a bun with a hoodie two sizes too big drowning your frame, he still thought you looked like an absolute dream. He wanted to go up to you and ask you how was calculus? And when you pout and say boring, he would suggest you come over for some hot chocolate and a movie. And you would say yes, with a sleepy, lopsided smile, and his body would feel all warm and fuzzy at the sight of you.

But he doesn’t do any of that. Instead, he leaves his heart by the lockers, and with one last look, he walks away. His jacket does nothing to warm the cold that creeps its way up.

Had he known he wouldn’t get to see you one last time after that, he would’ve watched you for a few seconds longer. Had he known that you would fall sick and stay home from school the day before his flight, he would have told you to take better care of yourself. And had he known that the last time he’d see you would be when you’re drained and tired and down, he would have gone up to you to make you smile, one last time.

He never stopped recreating pictures of you in his head, fearing the outlines of you would fade.

Except now, as you stand a mere six feet away, he feels as though you stepped out of his mind and into his world once again. He can see you. You’re there.

None of the pictures of you that he drew up in his head would ever compare to the way you looked right then. Beautiful, just as he remembered you.

Your name feels like a foreign language when it leaves his lips.

The air is so thick between the pair of you that it makes everything around him slow down. He sees your eyes move from confusion, to shock, to utter fear and bewilderment, and then to pain. It feels as though a knife impaled his heart when he sees your eyes quiver.

He always loved your eyes. Dark brown, like freshly turned over earth, warmed by the sun. They look at him with sorrow now.

Your arms drop to your sides and your lips quake, “J-Jisung?” God, he forgot what it was like to hear his name in your voice. He hates that it’s said with so much heartache.

You run out without thinking twice.

“Stop, slow down! W-wait!” You hear his voice call out for you, but you continue to run- where? You don’t know. You just wanted to get away. Your feet take you far down the sidewalk, lamp-posts your only source of light at this time of night.

But you’re not fast enough, and for the first time in a long time, you feel his grip on your arm.

“Let go of me,” You say, your voice already breaking. He breaks with it.

“Y/N listen-” He pants out.

“No, let go of me!” You snatch your arm away from his grip. God, you’re furious. And hurt. And every other emotion there is to feel when you see the person who left you with nothing.

Your raised voice startles the two of you, and you both stand there for a moment, breathless. From running, from shock.

He doesn’t say anything and just gapes at you, “Well?” You provoke pointedly. “What? Cat got your tongue?”

“No ‘Hey y/n! How’ve you been? Long time no see since, you know, I abandoned you’.” You say harshly and the knife in his heart twists.

“I know you’re hurt-” You cut him off.

“Hurt? Hurt? Hurt doesn’t even come close to what I feel, Jisung.” All the words you want to spew get caught in the back of your throat and you fight yourself to keep it together because you don’t want him to see you cry. You don’t want him to catch you vulnerable and raw, because you don’t know if you can trust him with that part of you again.

“Can we please just- can we please just talk?” He begs, and you scoff. “Please?” His eyes plead with you, and you frustratedly run a hand through your hair.

“So talk.” You cross your arms over your chest and look at anywhere but him. He doesn’t say anything, and each time he tries to, all he does is end up biting his tongue. Where does he even begin?

“I’m sorry,” He croaks out, even though it’s the worst thing to say.

“Great. All is forgiven.” You’re ruthless, but that’s only because he didn’t show any mercy when he left.

He searches your eyes, not knowing what he could say to make things right. Or if that was even a possibility anymore. You both stand in silence for a while, and slowly your resolve breaks away.

“Why?” You say, your voice coarse and exhausted. “Why’d you do it? I tortured myself for months- no, years asking myself what I did wrong that caused you to leave me like that. What- was it something I said? Something I did? Please- tell me, I’m begging you,” You’re full-on sobbing now, tears flowing down your face like waves. They twinkle in the warm streetlights and he feels the ground beneath him crumble. The wound he left on your heart was ripped open again, and you couldn’t help but bleed in front of him. “P-please, Jisung. It’s been killing me for so long.”

Tears leave his eyes, “It wasn’t your fault,” He says softly.

“Then what was it? Because for all this time I broke myself down, questioning why you left like that. For so long I thought you were mad at me- I thought you became tired of me, bored of having me around. Do you know what that’s like? Tearing yourself apart to find answers you know you can’t answer by yourself?” “Shit, I thought you didn’t need me anymore. Which sucked, because I needed you.” You whisper through ragged breaths and he takes careful steps closer to you.

“Of course I still needed you- I haven’t stopped needing you, y/n.” His voice is as broken as yours.

“Then why?” Your voice is barely above a whisper and you struggle so hard to not fall to the ground.

“Do you know what it felt like to wake up one morning, clueless and thinking everything was fine, and then finding out that it was, in fact, not? Do you know what it was like to find out the person you cared for the most up and left you alone and with no explanation- not even a single goodbye? To be desperate to hear his voice again, and wonder to yourself why it was so easy for him to cut you off like that?” He stood right in front of you, so close that he could touch you.

“I searched for you. I still looked for you in the hallways at school, hoping it was just one of your stupid pranks. I waited in my room for you to climb up to my window again and whisk me away to the park for one of our late-night walks. I called your phone for days, just in case you’d finally get annoyed and pick up. You never did. You never did,” You didn’t notice that your face was in his hands and that he tried so desperately to wipe your tears away, his own streaming down his face.

He sucked in a breath, “I left like that because I knew that I wouldn’t be able to get on that plane with you watching. That I would drop everything, all my stupid dreams, to stay in this stupid town for god knows how long with you. Leaving you was the most painful part,”

“That day I found out I passed the audition- do you remember? You were so happy for me, more happy than I was. The only thing on my mind was the fact that I had to leave everything behind to chase after this dream- to chase after a dream that came true because of you. I wasn’t sure anymore. But you were so sure of me, so ready to see me attain everything we talked about, that the thought of all of that being in vain because of my cowardice ate me up inside. I thought that maybe if I could keep you at a distance- make you mad at me for ignoring you, have you hate me- that it would make it a little easier to let you go of me,” Your lips quiver.

“It wasn’t easy-”

“I know, I know that.” He rests his forehead against yours and squeezes his eyes shut as he hears your soft sobs. “It was so that I wouldn’t have a memory of leaving you behind in an airport. I wasn’t ready to have that image in my mind haunt me. I’ve regretted it everyday. You have to believe me when I say that.”

“Then why didn’t you call back? Or even send a message?” Your eyes search his for answers as you pull your forehead away from his to get a clearer look.

“I thought you hated me. That you didn’t want anything to do with me anymore.”

“Bullshit. You thought wrong.” Angrily, you push at his chest with closed fists and shut eyes, “You thought wrong,” You push him away until you’re no longer in his grip. “Let me go,” You whimper when he tries to reach for you again. “That doesn’t justify why you left me like that. I felt like I meant nothing to you for so long. You threw me away like I didn’t mean anything- made me feel like I was insignificant.”

“You meant everything to me!” He shouts out, shocking you into silence. “Don’t you see it?” When you only stare at him in confusion, he sucks in a breath.

“The mere thought of leaving you was enough for me to think twice. Sitting with you in French class and giggling because we didn’t understand a word, spending so many nights with you in your ridiculous dinosaur onesie, getting to walk around aimlessly until 4am in this godforsaken town as if time wasn’t fleeting- I-,” He runs a hand over his face, frustratedly wiping his tears away. “I wasn’t ready for it to be over. I didn’t want to miss graduation, the day we looked forward to since grade school. I didn’t want to facetime you on prom night while you look so goddamn beautiful, knowing that someone else would be getting to slow dance with you. Knowing that I wouldn’t be there, that I would be missing out- that I would be missing you every goddamn day made me realise I wouldn’t be able to last without you.”

“Selfishly ripping you apart from me felt like the only option. And it was so cruel, I know that. I’m the selfish asshole,” He takes exactly five steps to stand in front of you, and places a hand tenderly on your cheek.

“I was selfish because I knew I couldn’t have you. I was in love with you, y/n. So fucking in love and you didn’t even know. And after all this time, I still am.” He says that last sentence in a whisper, and before you know it, his lips are on yours.

His mouth is so warm against yours, so tender, and yet they set your skin on fire.

You pull away and take two steps back.

“Y-you don’t get to kiss m-me like that, not again,” You say breathless. You’re reminded of sophomore year, and the kiss in his living room that made you feel weightless and lightheaded.

“Y/n-”

“I think we’ve talked enough for tonight,” Your heart hammers in your chest and the blood rushes to your face so fast that you swear you’re shivering. His eyes are illuminated by the streetlamps and you see them break right before you, defeated. Yours are no different.

You walk away, choking back sobs.

He doesn’t try to stop you.

It’s 4PM when you decide to get out of bed.

Your eyes are practically closed shut from your lack of sleep and you don’t bother to brush your hair, or undrape the blanket around your shoulders when you head downstairs. Your parents are sitting in the living room, oblivious and unassuming, but when they see you they almost go into cardiac arrest.

“What’s wrong?” Your mother asks tentatively, extremely unsure as to why her daughter looked so abnormally disheveled. “Did you know he was going to be back in town?” You croak out, and she sighs.

“So you saw him.” She states, and your dad pretends to read the newspaper.

“Why didn’t you tell me ma, you know what happened-”

“Exactly; everyone knows what happened, and everyone knows how ruined you’ve both been because of it. But nothing’s going to change if you keep sweeping it under the rug. Honey, I know you’re hurting,” She rests a hand on your cheek and you close your eyes at the feeling. “But this is your chance to get closure.”

“What if I don’t want it anymore?”

“Oh that’s a load of cow dung. Look at you; you’re a mess.” Gee, thanks mom.

She bites her lip and pauses for a second, “What if I told you that during your first year in college, the very first semester you were away, he came back? It was the autumn before things took off for him, and he showed up in town looking for you everywhere, not knowing you had left. I felt so bad, but you’re my daughter, and my first instinct was to protect you because I knew that for the first time in a long time, you were enjoying yourself. So I didn’t give him your new number, said your phone was broken, and he was absolutely heartbroken. I regret it slightly, but maybe this time you both can stop being constantly out of step.”

Your mouth hung agape and your head spun. He looked for me?

“Don’t leave things like this, you need each other.” She gives you a squeeze, and you sigh.

She was right. Years passed with so many things left unsaid, so much time gone. And as much as you hated to admit it, you were never going to get that time back. It would kill you knowing that you didn’t take the chance to fix things. You were already broken down to your bones, what’s left to chip away?

You uncoil yourself from your blanket and fling it onto the couch, groaning when you realise you’re going to have to face him again. The events that had elapsed last night were still hard to wrap your mind around, and you found yourself wondering if it ever did happen. You could already feel your heart pound at the thought of it. His words float in your mind ceaselessly; so much so that when you step out of your house, you almost miss the slumped figure on your sidewalk.

He gets up at the sound of your door closing.

His hair was messy, pointing every which way, and the same clothes from earlier were now wrinkled and crimped. His eyes devastated you. They looked worn down and exhausted, much like yours did.

“Walk with me?” He breathes out, and you nod.

Seeing him in daylight is different. As you two walk, you become increasingly aware of exactly how much he’s grown. He used to be only a few centimeters taller than you, but now you only reach his chin. Barely. But his skin is the same golden tan and his cheeks remained full. You’re close enough that you can smell his scent- a scent you didn’t know you missed until now. But in retrospect, you just missed him.

You both reach the small park in the middle of your neighborhood, and you find yourselves under the big oak tree that he had deemed our spot all those years ago. You look up into his eyes, and for a moment you remember what it’s like to feel home again.

“Do you remember the first time we found this place? You were always so terrible at hide and seek.”

You find yourself smiling at the memory. He hid from you, behind this very tree, for so long that it had felt like you spent hours searching for him. When you finally did find him, you were angry and upset with him with red cheeks to match.

“That’s only because you were always so good at hiding from me,” There’s ambiguity that you didn’t intend in that statement, which brings you both back to silence.

After a while, you gather the courage to speak again. “So about that kiss-” He winces and scratches the back of his neck.

“I’m sorry for catching you off-guard like that last night-”

“I’m talking about the one on your birthday, sophomore year.” His lips squeeze into a tight line and his round eyes stare at you dumbfoundedly.

“I-I always thought you never remembered that. You never brought it up, so I thought that it was just a mistake.” You fiddle with your fingers and gnaw at your bottom lip, feeling the heat creep to the back of your neck.

“Y/n, it was never a mistake. I wanted to kiss you- and I did- because I was sick of being confused about my feelings for you.” You look back up at him, “I didn’t bring it up because I was too scared of scaring you away with it all.”

“Well you should’ve, so that I wouldn’t be so confused either.” His expression changes, and you didn’t think it was possible, but it becomes even more defeated than it was a few moments ago. He rubs his face with his face with his hands, leaning against the tree.

He’s about to speak again, but your lips reach his before he gets the chance.

His soft cheeks rest in your hands as you taste him, soaking in the feeling of his warm lips against yours. This time, for the first time, the kiss lasts longer than a few seconds.

The sensation sends shivers up your arms and down your spine. When he kisses you back, he kisses you with so much fervour that you’re worried you’ll pass out at the feeling. But his arms grip you tightly around your waist to keep you there, with him, firmly in place. Your mind is fuzzy and your heart beats erratically in your chest when he squeezes your waist. Craving him like this is new to you, and yet you can’t help but yearn for more.

Where words failed you before, you make up for it in slow dances across his lips.

“It was worth it, right?” Your question comes as a surprise to him.

Earlier, when the sun had begun to set, the two of you decided that public parks were not exactly the most ideal place to have a heart-to-heart. So you walked back to his place, hands shoved in to the depths of your pockets, but your shoulders brushing against his with every step.

The two of you laid face to face on his bed, pillow-width apart.

“Leaving, yes. Hurting you, not at all.” He answers quietly, his hand drawing circles on the small of your back.

Under his bedroom lights, you take his breath away. His eyes trace over your features, over every dip and bump of the outlines of your face and he hopes that this vision of you never leaves him. He takes in every mole and freckle on your face like it’s the first time he’s seen them, when the reality is that he always used to map out constellations on your cheeks while you slept. He’s afraid that if he blinks, you’ll vanish again, so he tries to keep his gaze steady on yours, unwavering and certain. The way he looks at you sends the butterflies in your stomach into a frenzy.

“I miss you,” You say, your voice meek and he feels his heart break all over again. “I miss you too.” You both speak in present-tense because even though he could touch you, see you, he knew it would take an indefinite amount of time for the pain of losing so many moments to heal.

He pulls you into him, savouring the feeling of your embrace. Holding you makes him feel at home, and god knows he’s been away for so long. You nestle into the crook of his neck, and his hands rest under your sweater and on supple skin, willing your pain to go away.

There are an infinite amount of things he wants to tell you, but he figures “I love you.” would suffice for now.

Life never slowed down. As much as it felt like it had when you spent your days with him again, the days piled up one by one. And soon enough, time caught up.

Soon enough, you would need to book your train ticket back to the city, because your three-week long semester break would draw to a close. He would have to book a plane ticket back to glitz and glamour, and the pair of you would wind up in the same dilemma that you were in five years ago.

Only this time, he never leaves your side during your fleeting time together. This time, he tries to make up for all the lost moments within the span of three weeks. He doesn’t let go of any chance to be with you- to hold you, to touch you, to kiss you. He imprints the feeling of his skin on yours so that you never forget. So that he never forgets. Your eyes are cosmic in the moments that you share intimately, and he soaks up every inch of you so that he never forgets what it feels like to share the same breath.

He listens to all your stories and all your bizarre adventures with a fond smile, because you tell them with such wonder that it makes him feel like he was there. Your voice is the only one he wants in his head.

When he drops you off at the station, he doesn’t say goodbye. But not like last time; he doesn’t say goodbye because instead he says I’ll see you soon and Get there safely. When he watches the train pull away from the platform, he prays he sees it soon again because it carries his heart with him.

He likes to imagine that you send him voice notes of your day and how frustrated you are with you OChem professor. That you send him pictures of yourself, and all the cute little cats you come across during your walks to class. That you send him long letters in the mail like the hopeless romantic that you are. In return, he would introduce you to his members- he knows you’d get along with Hyunjin the best, because you both would like to bitch about him while he’s still in the room. He likes the idea of facetiming you whenever you have the time, and getting to say he misses you, even if it’s only through a screen. He likes to imagine that in every lyric he writes, an essence of you treads in his words, because you’re his only muse. And he envisions the day when he’s finally back in the town where time slows, up in your room where the rest of the world crumbles away and your slates are clean once again.

But for now he watches as the train becomes nothing but a speck in the distance, waiting for it all to play out.

71 notes · View notes

fenfyre · 6 years ago

Text

Cleaner - Part I

For @colonel-curry who allowed me to dive straight into crackpair hell

Content Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence. This is gonna be dark and wrong, bloody on screen death, abuse of power and malicious manipulation dark and wrong. Indulge with me in this one at your own risk.

As long as Jean could remember he’d wanted to live the good life. And there simply was no place to live a better life than upper Midgar City. A metropolis with huge, shiny buildings, magnificent concert halls and theatres, modern museums showcasing the finest arts and restaurants serving their wealthy, elegantly dressed customers only the most exquisite masterpieces. All of it was overwhelming enough to make his innocent village boy eyes shine when he stepped off the train the very first time.

Now, there was one obvious choice he could have made to ensure his survival in the big city. But unlike all the other boys and girls taking up the pilgrimage to the promised land of the rich and powerful Jean didn’t come here to join the military.

He could have. He was young and healthy and strong, would have been fairly well off as a ShinRa Soldier. Only that he didn’t want fairly well.

Besides, he wasn’t just young and healthy and strong, he was also cunning and ambitious, willing to do almost anything to earn his place. And there were other departments than defence that he could offer his talents to. Departments that didn’t just blindly take anyone willing to sign up to use as cannon fodder during the next conflict.

No, if Jean was to sell his soul it had to be for the right price and to someone more willing to value the deal than some idiot commander in the habit of herding recruits like cattle. If Jean was to be faceless he’d choose to leave his face behind, not have it taken from him. He’d disappear in style.

Of course one didn’t just apply to the Department of Administrative Research, not if one was a nobody from a backwater village with nothing but an intense affinity for technology to their name. But Jean was patient, he was in this for the long run. So he got a job at another branch of Public Safety. Less exciting, less reputable. Less lucrative.

Good enough to start making a name for himself though and that was what he did for three long, boring years.

They started approaching him after about fifteen months, trailing shady requests to hack into this system or get them through that firewall, to program certain spyware or decode encrypted files. Always slapping him with winded confidentiality agreements before even disclosing what they were after this time.

Jean didn’t mind. He wouldn’t go around bragging about the secrets he found for them. He valued his life and his future too much for that.

Then, after another eternity of waiting and complying, of building his reputation, Administrative Research went up in flames. There were a thousand rumours about what had happened to Veld, the former leader, and most of their forces. A lot of them were wild assumptions but Jean also heard things that could almost be true, given what he already knew thanks to his research assistance. It might have been a tragedy. But it also meant that positions were opening up.

And when Tseng himself, now in charge of Administrative Research, visited Jean’s office one fine morning, he didn’t hesitate.

The screening process was insane. But Jean didn’t have anything to hide and in the end they seemed to like the fact that he could grow a silver tongue when necessary and still hold himself just fine in a fight. In addition to the way he made even the most advanced security programs roll over for him, of course.

Where he couldn’t impress with expertise they saw potential and what wasn’t quite there yet they said they could teach him.

Maybe he was lucky. Or, more likely, they very desperate.

The fact that the department was severely understaffed meant that the training he actually received was few and far between, interspersed with accompanying the veterans on actual missions that grew more and more serious the more often he took part in them.

But Jean went into this with both eyes open. He knew it wasn’t the safest job in the world and besides, it turned out field work was the most practical training he could ask for. He got to know the exact kind of work that was expected of him, the skills he’d need to survive for longer than a few weeks and, most importantly, got a chance to assess his new colleagues and supervisors.

Jean enjoyed working with Elena most. She was a little stiff and inexperienced herself but she was still a skilled Turk whose judgement he’d trust in every situation they encountered together. Besides, being the last addition to the department before he joined, she knew his situation and never hesitated to lend a helping hand. She was patient and kind even though it was obvious she had her own demons to wrestle.

Tseng was impossible to judge. Always serious and cold, always in control, always giving short, sharp orders that Jean followed on pure instinct. He was the strictest person Jean had ever met and their current leader for a handful of very obvious reasons.

It was easier to work with Rude, short-spoken and stone-faced as he was, Jean liked him enough. Even though the perpetual silence made him paranoid now and again.

And then there was … well.

After seven weeks at the department Jean still wasn’t sure what exactly to make of Reno. Which was strange enough in itself. Jean knew people, he was an excellent judge of character and had yet to run into a person he couldn’t connect to at all on a basic level.

But after all this time the only thing Jean could be completely sure of was that Reno was dangerous.

It wasn’t like the other Turks weren’t, that was a trait right out of the job description, after all. But Reno … there was something about him, something dark and violent hiding behind his sloppy, lazy attitude and goofy facade.

He wouldn’t be the second in command of the planet’s most powerful intelligence agency if he actually were the careless idiot he wanted everyone to think he was.

No, Reno could flirt with as many secretaries and screw up as many reports as he wanted, Jean had seen how he could get on a mission. How his eyes would flash when he reached for his weapon, how he’d grin maniacally while extracting information in the most brutal, inhumane ways imaginable.

He knew that behind the winks and shitty jokes there was something unstable, something completely unhinged that could run rampant at a moment’s notice. Which was why Jean kept his distance, watching, thinking.

It didn’t always work.

Part II

[If you enjoyed this story consider buying me a coffee or check out how to commission me!]

#JeanReno #RenoJean #Jean Kirschtein #Reno #Reno ffvii #snk #ffvii #CrossOver #crackship #commission #give this some time to ramp up my friends #and give it a shot even if you don't know anything about the setting #i'll make it worth your while #i swear i haven't been this excited to post something in a little while

20 notes · View notes

tinymixtapes · 8 years ago

Text

Music Review: Chief Keef - Two Zero One Seven

Chief Keef Two Zero One Seven [Self-Released; 2017] Rating: 3/5 “A Nietzchean ‘aphorism’ is not a mere fragment, a morsel of thought: it is a proposition which only makes sense in relation to the state of forces that it expresses, and which changes sense, which must change sense, according to the new forces which it is ‘capable’ (has the power) of attracting.” – Gilles Deleuze, Nietzsche and Philosophy “Y’all got questions/ I can’t answer.” – Chief Keef, “Fix That” To still be a devoted Chief Keef listener in 2017 is to be an ecologist. That is, it is to search for meaning within something that has zero interest in you and the meaning you seek. Said meaning emanates as a force rather than as a story: I’m still here, inscrutably thriving. This audience-facing ambivalence is precisely what allows Keef’s work to slice through the over-narrated and perception-managed ether of the present moment. Sosa’s early work in part made possible the realization of hip-hop’s contemporary dominance, yet his response to this insider status has been to become an insider-as-outsider, disavowing industry-oriented success in favor of attenuating every aspect of his work to an intuited vibe, expressed through the cultivation of a self-contained aesthetic universe. “Sosa what’s your goals? I don’t really know.” This blunted disposition has pervaded every aspect of Sosa’s work throughout the last three or so years: distribution method, vocal delivery, production, visual brand. The cartoonish, darkly humorous visual contributions of artists like Bill Da Butcher and Casimir Spaulding have spurred Keef’s vision to evolve beyond early Glory Boyz Entertainment and 300 imagery to the more disturbed GloGang look, which fashions a profane iconography from the various symbols and characters in the Sosa universe. Marred by the loss of two GBE associates over the past few years – one a cousin and another a best friend and day-one – this religious symbology has taken on a eulogistic quality. “The life I’m livin’ rough/ I’m tryin’ not to cuss.” Keef’s musical output has followed a similar fall from grace, concurrent with a liberation. Following the ascendant jolt of 2012’s hit-heavy Finally Rich (Interscope), Keef has refused to follow all industry-prescribed guidelines for role-playing, brand-building, and hype-cycle timing. His unilateral aversion to compromised vision has lost him a major label contract and countless opportunities to cash in, but it has resulted in something far rarer and more valuable: an artist capable of both developing an aesthetic in 360 degrees with total independence and circumventing the aesthetic conformity of whatever cultural moment he occupies. Leaked tracks and scrapped mixtapes with botched mastering set an intention approaching process art. Lyrical non-sequiturs and abusive autotune experimentation engender a poetics unto itself that calibrates the listener to its own internal symbolic structure rather and rebukes a priori modalities of listening. To be a Chief Keef listener is to learn a style of understanding and to see a new world in the process. It is also a refusal of quotidian values, a hovering between life and death. “When I look in the mirror/ Sometimes I see a demon.” This suspended mode of production has produced works clumsy, “unlistenable,” and downright ignored, but it has also yielded some of the most singular art of the decade. Most of my favorite Chief Keef tracks, the Xan-cauterized, terminally zoned-out fare circa 2014, are loosies that I don’t know if he even intended to release. Back From The Dead 2 and Sorry 4 The Weight are both self-contained masterworks in their own right despite reaching a limited audience. The sprawling, self-taught anti-production of the former approached a bizarre 21st-century gothic, uncompromisingly severe in its bleak treatment of FL Studio cellos and cavernous white spaces between bars, over which Keef perfected the snarling mid-career delivery most popularly witnessed on surprise 2014 sleeper hit “Faneto.” “I remember when the big homies used to shit on me.” By comparison, Two Zero One Seven is nowhere near as austere or single minded in vision, relatively soft-spoken in delivery even when channeling anger or pomp. Half self-produced, while the other half falls to Lex Luger (whose currency in 2017 is inscribed by absence, his continued influence looming larger than his actual presence on the scene), the tape’s unhinged, unmastered atmosphere congeals via Sosa’s opaque, deadpan eulogies to ascent, struggle, loss, and empty celebration. While he claims to be charged up, the deflated quality of his voice and repeated impenetrably dark lyrical twists betray that he is drained, morose, and disaffected, even during the relatively melodic and bouncy numbers. “You can put me in detox/ Don’t think I’m staying sober/ Jump in front of this metro train and get ran over.” Keef-produced standout “Knock It Off,” intractably insular in mood and awash with narcotic vocal affect, relates to outsiders by a bleak, suspicious, and embittered proximity: “I just po’d up four threes/ You’re running out of lean/ I’m tryna be on Forbes/ I’m running out of dreams.” Drug abuse has been a theme from the beginning with Keef, and Two Zero One Seven is no exception. Lean and dope permeate the record not as transcendent pinnacles or perceptive agents, but as a cauterizing agent, taken in and become lifeblood itself. There is a sense of protracted death, an eerie finality, hanging over the proceedings: “I’m sipping lean/ Till it put me to sleep/ Counting all this money killed the thief in me.” Keef’s dayglo burlesques are in full force, though, and the tape is nothing if not consistent with the Sosa universe. “Swear I be feelin’ like Bankroll.” This universe, borne from irreverent humor as much as it is from loss and struggle, takes shape through a strange mix of non-sequitur, pun, and aphorism. Tadoe is the sole inner-circle associate, his verses even more world-averse than Sosa’s; with the exception of an inexplicable mid-album duet with newish GloGang addiction Kash, all others are banished. Keef’s productions here are not the elephantine grotesques of Back From The Dead 2; they bounce with Zaytovian baroques reminiscent of ChopsquadDJ’s contributions on Sorry 4 The Weight or else plod and pummel in the style of the aforementioned Luger. Sometimes he is nimble, nesting meters within meters as on “Reefah;” elsewhere he is moribund and drawling, more drained than ever, snarl siphoned away from recurrent tides of loss and anaesthesia. He is altogether uninterested in sex and human connection, chemicals and capital in their stead. The tape’s unmastered thinness gives way during its second half to a withered state of immateriality, concluding in the minute-and-a-half-long Leekeleek-produced “Anything Gets You Paid,” whose melancholy sparkle recalls Almighty So’s “Baby What’s Wrong With You” in a classic example of how Keef’s compositional arrogance pays off. No chorus, uncompromised flow-switching cultivating a vibe of tectonic flux, avowed anti-romanticism betraying romantic preoccupation, all cultivating in a beat drop yielding an emotionless payoff suspended within a frieze of simulated, ironic half-bitter sentimentality: I’m leavin’ girl, you awful to me Don’t want me to see my shawty That’s that shit my mama taught me For all the shit my mama bought me I owe her a million times forty A fittingly recursive and inscrutable dissolution to the record, it is impossible to tell whether Keef says “a million times forty” or “a million times for it,” his words swallowed by a premature final downbeat. Here we arrive, suspended again within the potentially infinite wait for (the alleged) release of Sosa’s long-awaited, nearly mythical Thot Breaker project this Valentine’s Day, which might contain hits or indigestible experimentation, revelations or throwaways. Or we might never hear it at all. http://j.mp/2iIczlK

0 notes