#nothing does. nothing eases the pain of existing or makes it even a little easier to bear | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sharpen-your-hatchet · 2 years ago

Text

Old Wounds - Wenclair fanfic, chapter 12

Description: Now aged 22, Wednesday Addams is an up-and-coming author. Her time at Nevermore is well behind her, and she is alone, and that suits her just fine...But when a 'new' neighbour shows up in her apartment building, she'll truly be tested on whether her "bad habit" of caring truly has been broken. (Hint: It hasn't.)

Pairing: Wednesday Addams / Enid Sinclair

Rating: Teens & Up (subject to change in future)

Click Here For Previous Chapter

Click Here To Read This Chapter On AO3 or keep reading below!

x-x-x-x-x-x

As time moves forward, so does Wednesday.

Though it’s a somewhat painful transition, she finds that over the course of a few days, it becomes slowly easier to accept the way her thoughts are evolving. That is to say - her thoughts regarding Enid, friendship, and her own place in relation to these things.

It is by no means easy. At times her head feels as though it would be better suited as a pin cushion. Wednesday might even liken it to pulling teeth… and Wednesday has pulled many teeth from many people in her time, so she knows first-hand the struggle to yank them out.

In the grand scheme, Wednesday is coming to realise now that nothing really changes. As she and Enid continue to text and gently begin to know eachother once more, the world at large remains perfectly cruel and twisted… And aside from the attempts to be friendly with Enid, Wednesday gets to remain her usual stoic self; unbothered by almost everything. There is still beauty in all things morbid, and she is still allowed to find pleasure in her sadistic interests - and just as before, she does not have to let anyone see that enjoyment.

Well, aside from her family… and now - of course - Enid. Wednesday’s chest still tightens at the idea of sharing herself with the other woman. However, she knows what she is signing up for; that sharing the details of her existence will happen. In due time. She is not sure if this was something she found easier as a teenager… but looking back, it certainly seemed simpler.

The thing is, Wednesday sees herself like oil; relationships (platonic or otherwise) are water. They can mix for a time but eventually, they always separate. Destined to never be one. Her leaving of Nevermore and the last few years are evidence of this. But Enid? Enid is an emulsifier. She fights the nature of these opposites; makes them stick together. Enid was the person that binded Wednesday to others at school - It would seem that she is back again to do the same. Although, on a much smaller and personal scale…

However, to be frank, Wednesday is tiring of all this thinking. With life easing back into normality, it is a relief to know this overthinking and guessing will come to a stop - Especially now there have been boundaries laid. There is little time to spend hours laying in the dark having self-debate when there are chores to do, books to write, family to contact, and an Enid to placate.

Speaking of these things-

Wednesday’s phone begins to ring. She glances away from the book in her hands, to the device vibrating beside her on the couch. Of course, it is her mother, like clockwork: An Addams always knows the importance of a schedule. Wednesday knows she must pick up. After her last stint of ignoring these calls for 5 days, she knows her mother will begin to worry… and the last thing she cares to deal with right now is Morticia’s concern. She loves her parents, but their concern might be the only thing that can rival the suffocating nature of her current emotional turbulence.

Wednesday clears her throat. She answers the call.

“Hello mother.” She greets plainly.

“Wednesday darling, hello.” Morticia replies warmly, “coming to the end of another isolation session, I see? Well, it is good to hear your unwavering voice.”

Wednesday can already tell her mother is planning to seek information from her. This isn’t unexpected by any means: It’s been a few days with little to no communication and Wednesday is unfortunately predictable in this manner. She will have to be careful with her answers, lest she want further prying. Which she does not.

“Yes. I have been extremely busy the last few days.” Wednesday confirms. A technical truth, even if vague on the context, “...I assume you and Father are keeping well.”

Morticia hums.

“Of course. We miss you terribly - as does your dear brother. He found your hidden poison-dart trap the other day. Oh, he adored it. It was a lovely gift for you to leave him.”

Wednesday smirks to herself. She is very proud of that particular contraption, though is admittedly disappointed it took him this long to find it. Poor Pugsley must really sharpen his investigative skills… Regardless, it is a sadistic delight in knowing it was a success.

She enquiries, “Did any of them hit?”

And how glad Wednesday is for the power of misdirection. With this single question, she can now keep her Mother on this topic for as long as the phone call lasts. With Morticia’s strong familial whims, there is to be no further questioning of her own whereabouts or actions, allowing Wednesday to avoid the Enid situation until it is suitably settled. It’s genius.

“Just the one.” Morticia answers, “Caught him right in the shoulder.”

Wednesday sighs.

“Damn, I was hoping for at least an eyeball.” She mumbles.

There is a moment of silence.

Wednesday then hears a deep breath and sigh from the other side of the phone: her mother, seemingly taking pause to collect her thoughts. This is not a common thing. In fact, Wednesday is most unfond of this sudden quiet. Surely she is not about to announce something morbid such as Pugsley’s accidental death due to her trap… No, that would have called for a personal visit, or a raven delivered message requesting Wednesday’s immediate return home. So what could it be?

Wednesday scowls, her impatience growing.

“Wednesday.” Her mother starts slowly, “Your Father and I are aware of the new tenant in your building.”

Ah.

Well, this is most unexpected.

So much for keeping her on the topic of family.

“...It is a surprise that the management thought it was worth alerting you.” Wednesday acknowledges, silently seething at the reveal.

And truly, it is a surprise.

The truth is, the outcast friendly apartment block Wednesday calls home is actually one of a few… and they are owned by the Addams’ estate. Wednesday neglects to acknowledge her parents’ ownership of them most of the time. God forbid she has to admit to her parents technically being landlords. Her parents are decidedly hands off, for this reason. The apartments are managed by a charitable company - and their actual goal is one of great pride: To provide safe and accessible housing for outcasts. Large cities often contain swathes of buildings with distinct rules concerning outcasts and so, there are some who took matters into their own hands. Unfortunately, it is still somewhat controversial to own such an amount of property and so, the Addams’ fund the upkeep from afar.

It seems Wednesday has misjudged just how far they truly are.

“Yes, well, the management knows we trust them in full capacity, especially since your Father and I are busy poisoning the roots of corrupt anti-outcast politicians - quite figuratively, of course, we poisoned a member of the senate last week… regardless, the management does alert us to high-interest tenants.” Morticia explains. Her tone is deliberate and sharp. Even without a visual, it is clear there’s a knowing smile affixed to her face.

Wednesday says nothing. She grips her phone tightly.

“Darling, did you think we wouldn’t notice a ‘Sinclair’?”

Wednesday works her jaw, lightly grinding her teeth. This is less than ideal. It is vexing, frankly. She had planned to mention Enid to her parents - After all, she eventually tells her parents everything. But right now? It feels too soon.

“Are you intending to question me about her, or do I simply have to be tortured by this insufferable game of yours?” She asks.

There is a curt laugh from Morticia. Wednesday huffs quietly.

“Wednesday,” her mother says fondly, “Nothing of the sort. I have known for some time, alas I wanted to give you some space before speaking on it. It is rather fateful, don’t you think?”

Wednesday recalls her Mother’s knowing tone from their prior calls, and everything suddenly clicks into place. This conversation was inevitable, it would seem.

“It is certainly an interesting turn of events.” Wednesday offers.

“Have you two spoken?”

Wednesday is quiet for a moment… After this reveal, it seems pointless to hide details now. Wednesday knows her parents eventually learn everything from her - after all, she trusts them with her life, and rightfully so. It is just somewhat disagreeable to no longer hold her cards close to her chest. But, it seems there is no turning back. She decides to concede to her mother’s questioning, despite not feeling ready. If she regrets it later then it will simply be another item on the list of recent mistakes - and truly, what is another sin on the pile?

“We have. Then we stopped speaking…but now we are speaking once again.”

Morticia tuts, “A disagreement?”

“That would be a simplification,” Wednesday states, “ My purposeful neglect for social skills caused a miscalculation on my behalf. Though I generally care little for such things, I am intrigued by Enid, and as such have followed through with fixing it.”

Even the extended explanation feels over simplified, but with Wednesday already pushing herself to say this much, it will have to do. Besides, it occurs to Wednesday that her mother knows everything about her, and as such likely doesn’t need a grandiose description of her actions to understand what went wrong regarding Enid. Fortunately, it seems Morticia is not interested in learning further anyway.

“I always liked that werewolf girl,” Her mother hums agreeably. “Though I think you’re perfect the way you are, my little raven, I think this companionship will be good for the both of you.”

Wednesday feels herself soften slightly at Morticia’s fond words. She still feels defensive about it all; about showing any meagre sign of caring, but… she will privately admit that it is a relief to know her mother is fond of Enid. It makes things simpler.

“Perhaps it will.” Wednesday replies quietly.

A thoughtful silence falls over the both of them. However, it is quickly broken by a buzz from Wednesday’s phone. Wednesday pulls the device from her ear to check the screen. This creates a small cascade of noise, and Morticia makes an intrigued noise, eager to discover the cause of the movement.

“What is it, darling?” Her mother queries.

“A text message from Enid,” Wednesday says, thinking nothing of the way her voice unintentionally lightens, “It seems she would like to meet up.”

“Ahh” Morticia breathes out, “Well, then I shall make myself scarce.”

The knowing tone returns; Wednesday frowns at its appearance. She does not understand the way in which her mother speaks sometimes - It is as if she is aware of something Wednesday is not. It is most irritating. Even worse, there is an unsettling flutter in Wednesday’s chest and she cannot ascertain its origin. Whatever the case, she will gladly take her mother’s lead and end the call.

“We will speak again soon.” Wednesday affirms.

“Of course, my dear” Morticia replies tenderly, “Oh- and Wednesday?”

“Yes, mother?”

“Enjoy your date. ”

The call ends with a click.

#wenclair #wednesday x enid #wednesday #wednesday netflix #wednesday addams #enid sinclair #fanfic #AO3

15 notes · View notes

skylerskyhigh · 2 years ago

Text

"Drowning"

Sequel to this post I made. Warning for a long story plus trigger warning for angst, hurt/comfort.

I stare at the darkness of the water that surrounds me. It's stagnant. Still. Endless cold darkness. It feels fitting for the state of my life. The sky above me is dark, with no stars in sight or even the moon to light the way. It feels like I'm floating in a void, unable to find my way around. Adrift. Alone. In pain...

I lift my hand to stare at the healing bruises and cuts. A glance down my legs showed more healing injuries. Visible evidence of my attempts at swimming, to find my way out of this ocean, but it has gotten me nothing but pain and exhaustion.

A feeling of bitter resentment rises inside of me like a tide. But as quick as it came, it disappears back under the wave of apathy that washes over me. I deflate, the feeling fading away like the waves of the sea hitting the shore. It will come back, like it always does, but I don't want it to come back.

That's a lie. I want to feel something, anything. But not this. Not these feelings.

A splash alerted me to a new presence and I look over to the side as my friend swims up to me.

"Hey!" They smile at me, full of curiosity and interest. I could see the moment they were about to tell me about something they wanted to share, a snippet of their day, something interesting they found, or maybe a little idea they came up with. Then their expression shifts when they notice the look on my face. "Are you okay?"

I stare at them, mulling over the words and how to respond to it.

Such an innocent question. A sweet gesture of interest and concern from one friend to another. A greeting, an acknowledgment of my existence, a way to say 'hey, I care about you and I want to know how you're doing. You are important to me.'

Had anyone else asked this question, my instant reply would be "I'm fine." Because there is a chance they only asked out of courtesy, maybe a surface-level concern from a human capable of sympathy. There's a chance that whatever advice they might give is not what I needed because they don't understand the pain I'm feeling. They don't understand, they don't care, they don't know what I have been through, and whatever advice they might give would just be another cookie-cutter answer I've heard over and over again with no true solution or resolution. Just a way to ease their guilt or to fill their conscious.

But this isn't any other person. This is my friend. Someone who has seen the worst in me, someone who has been by my side through the things I've been through, and someone who understands me in ways I don't understand myself.

An outside perspective, but one built on understanding and care.

So I look away, staring off into the distance. I replied, out of everything I could say, I chose the words that only the people who I trust can hear from me.

"I'm drowning."

My friend frowns, staring at me in concern. They adjust their posture so they are sitting beside me in a more comfortable position while also opening themselves for any act of physical comfort.

They wait for me to continue because they know that I will. I just needed to find the words.

My throat burns as I spoke. "It's hard. It's like I'm drowning with every step I take. I'm struggling to keep myself afloat while also swimming in one direction."

"I-" Tears fill my eyes and I stubbornly held them back. "It hurts so much. I can't- I know I said I'll keep trying but sometimes trying hurts me more than dying! How can I-"

I blink and the tears fall from my eyes, down my cheeks, and into the water around me. The endless sea that stretches on forever, unforgiving and expansive. A void trying to drag me down to suffocate me.

My hands reach up to rub my eyes to try and get rid of the tears but more take their place. Once it has begun, it wouldn't stop. It wouldn't end. I couldn't make it stop.

"Drifting was easier," I confessed through choked sobs. "I know it's bad for me but it hurts too much. I don't want this. I don't want to be like this. I don't want to feel like this! Why am I like this?!"

My scream echoes in the void.

The void doesn't answer me back.

I sob, curling myself into a ball as my tears drop into the sea. "Why is this all so hard? Why can't I just be better? Am I not trying? Am I doing something wrong? Am I just a failure?"

My friend stares at me, their face is solemn and their eyes teary. They frown, staring at the still water around us.

"Life isn't easy... But you know that," They said. "It's hard, but healing is always hard. Life isn't fair and I wish that it was. I wish the world is kinder to you. But I can't make things better... I can't make the pain go away... that's life."

I smile bitterly. Some people would say the words were callous and rude, but it is what I needed to hear. Some things are just not meant to be sugarcoated or covered up.

My friend continues. "You're not a failure. You're not weak. You are strong, so so strong. And you are trying. I can see you trying your best."

"Then why does it feel like nothing has changed?" I ask.

"It does feel that way but I promise you that things are changing," My friend moves closer, offering comfort. I lean into their side. "You're changing small things. It might not feel important but it is. Small steps are needed to make a big change."

I roughly blink my tears away. "I hardly did anything. It's been a month and I haven't done anything."

"You have done a lot. You're trying. You are trying so hard despite what anyone thinks. And that means more than you think."

My friend pulls me into a hug. I lean into their embrace.

"Small steps," They said, their voice shaking as they spoke. "You don't have to change everything all at once. One by one. One pebble at a time. Even a pebble of effort is enough. Just don't give up."

Tears slide down my cheeks. How could such simple words hurt so much? How could such simple words provoke such a reaction?

Maybe it wasn't the words. It's the acknowledgment of my struggle. The affirmation of my efforts. The comfort that it isn't just me and that this is a process. A reassurance that even the smallest effort as trying is enough.

That's enough for me. To help me pick up the pieces of myself. To drag me from the slump and keep moving.

But still... "It hurts."

"I know."

"...Thank you. For everything."

For being my friend. For comforting me. For your words. For your support. For your love and care.

"Always," was their reply.

#creative writing #short story #skylerskyhigh writes #original story

5 notes · View notes

ellemusing-it · 4 months ago

Text

ORange You Glad I Didn't Say RAGE? Peeling Back the Citric Layers of Female Fury

𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘰 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘴 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯

𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘥𝘢𝘺, 𝘣𝘪𝘵 𝘣𝘺 𝘣𝘪𝘵

as i’ve grown both increasingly ill and increasingly visible, i’ve had to face my relationship with my own sickness. for women, it’s often tempting to simplify illness into a consumable narrative—turning deep-seated issues into just smudged eyeliner and wild escapades, or transforming childhood trauma into mere “daddy issues” and suicidal depression into a mysterious allure. it’s easier to market your pain than to truly confront it.

this month, i’ve been overwhelmed by a profound depressive episode—one that feels like wearing ankle weights and having time swirl around you like soup. i’ve spent most days lying on the mattress in my small, rented apartment, staring at the ceiling and straining to hear the whispers of my bunking neighbors through the walls. often, i’ve struggled to tell whether i’m dreaming or awake.

you could blame it on your hormones, the unpredictable tides of your period, or the dull ache of seasonal depression that seeps into your bones as the days grow shorter. you could trace it back to the shadows of your childhood, the echoes of your parents’ arguments that linger in your mind, or the wounds left by your exes that never seem to heal. but deep down, you know that placing blame wouldn’t change a thing. it’s just a fleeting relief, a temporary balm that does little to ease the gnawing pain.

i find myself in a melodramatic, 20th-century woman phase—sleeping erratically, sobbing, writing without publishing, and seeing shapes in my wallpaper. i neglect personal care, indulge in lavish fasting, and tarnish my reputation for battling dehydration. i make sure to nibble the tip of my fingernails during these depressive episodes, hoping they’ll stop writhing as an urge to run down my wrists. even at my lowest, i still view my experiences through a consumer lens; the urge to romanticize our own struggles and shape them into a compelling story has become as natural as breathing for women.

gaslight yourself if it helps you sleep at night—convince yourself that it’s all in your head, that you’re imagining things. it’s all the same, a cycle that repeats itself endlessly. deep inside, you know there’s nothing that can truly take it away. you carry it with you, a constant companion that lurks in the corners of your mind, whispering doubts and insecurities.

𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘪𝘵,

there’s a strange comfort in being understood, even if it’s only as a caricature. this feeling is genuine because i can contrast it with other experiences. i’m living through my own diane nguyen phase, my own the bell jar moment, my phoebe bridgers - chapell roan spectrum; i am a complementary mix of the 'buzz' & 'this is how tomorrow move' albums; i am eternal sunshine of the spotless mind. do you see it now? do you understand? despite my efforts, i find myself only able to grasp my identity through the stories of those who seem more complete. and while i tell myself i’m drawn to this media because it resonates with some intrinsic part of me, i wonder if it’s shaping me, too. who would i be without the things i consume? what feelings would remain?

you’ll tell yourself that you’re okay, that you’re resilient, stronger than before. you don’t cut, nor do you burn. you don’t smoke, nor do you get high. but you know another form of harm, one that consumes your mind, a silent battle that rages within. you understand why they did it, why you are the way you are, and you possess a clarity about what’s wrong. your insight, your maturity—a double-edged sword, a parasite that eats at you from the inside. the very thing that people praise you for becomes a burden too heavy to bear.

in a world where mass consumerism reigns, perhaps we’ve lost touch with what it means to exist beyond something marketable. this struggle echoes themes from juliet ivy's "we're all eating each other," where the lyrics explore how we consume not only products but also each other's identities and emotions. the song reflects on how we lose ourselves in this cycle, becoming products of our own creation, shaped by the endless need for validation and recognition. it’s a poignant reminder of the struggle to maintain a sense of self amid the chaos of external expectations and the relentless pace of modern life.

it follows you like a curse, an invisible chain that binds you, making you wonder what sins you’re paying for. there is something sick and twisted inside you, a darkness that refuses to let go. you will never be rid of it because it’s woven into the fabric of who you are. it is what you make of it that determines your life, the choices you make in spite of it, or perhaps because of it.

you'll try to find meaning in your trauma, searching for a purpose in the pain because this damage can't have been for nothing. 𝘴𝘰, 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘥𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳?

this is female rage at its deepest, saddest, most self-annihilating. it’s the quiet despair that whispers, "i want to burn my clothes," which translates to "i want to crawl out of my fucking skin because you've touched it," and "i want to change my name because i can still hear it in your voice and it sounds like a slur." it’s the desperate longing to fake your own death and start a new life somewhere else because you've ruined mine, and the wish to erase every memory of you from my brain.

female rage doesn’t take a golf club to your car or throw your flaming clothes on the lawn. it’s an inward implosion, a fire that eats itself alive, sets itself ablaze, screams itself sick. the only vengeance it seeks is in hoping you witness our self-destruction, that you see the wreckage you’ve left behind. female rage wants to grasp the knife you dangled over our heads for weeks, to take control of the threat that loomed over us as you slithered away, hoping we wouldn’t notice. hoping we wouldn’t text you after 19 days of silence and ask, “can we talk?” but it doesn’t want to turn the knife on you. it just wants to finish the job itself. it doesn’t want blood; it wants to bleed out, to let go of the anguish once and for all. and it wants you to fucking watch.

this is the paradox of female rage—a desire to implode rather than explode, to internalize rather than burst out. it’s the silent scream that echoes within, a testament to the strength it takes to endure. it’s the quiet rebellion against the constraints imposed upon us, the fierce determination to reclaim our narrative, even if it means burning it all down to start anew.

just as an orange is divided into twelve segments, each layer of rage and pain reveals a new facet of the struggle. each segment is a fragment of a tumultuous year, each peel an attempt to grasp the essence of our suffering. and while peeling back each layer might feel like removing pieces of ourselves, it’s also a testament to the complexity and depth of what we endure. in this process, we come to understand that while our pain may be segmented, it is no less significant.

now .. would you still 𝘱𝘦𝘦𝘭 that for me?

0 notes

theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin · 4 years ago

Note

Hey, you once mentioned something about Tom Riddle being a little suicidal. Your new post reminded of that and I wonder why you think that. It’s the complete opposite of what the books want you to think.

Alright, it’s time, let’s do this.

My standard disclaimer whenever we venture into the dark pit that is my thoughts on Tom Riddle: I’m going to say a lot of controversial stuff that fandom generally doesn’t agree with, I will say so much of this shit that I simply do not have time to explain it all, I expect 99% of you to disagree with me and the other 1% to be so horrifyingly offended that I dare to contemplate a world in which Tom isn’t always an overly competent psychopath that they leave me notes telling me to take this trash out of their character tags.

We good? Alright.

So, when I say a little suicidal, I mean that he is suicidal.

Not on the level that he’s going to kill himself tomorrow, or even has plans to kill himself, but in that he makes very strange decisions for someone who desperately wants to live.

And yes, I realize I speak blasphemy given that Tom Riddle’s entire m.o. is supposed to be his crippling fear of death.

Oh man, this one’s going to be so long.

So, my reasoning comes down to a few things:

The location of the horcruxes and the nature of their protections.

The events of Deathly Hallows and Tom’s final actions in the novel

The nature of horcruxes and what it means to not only be able to create one but what it does to you (caveat that I am going to headcanon hard here and speak utter blasphemy)

So, let’s start in order this time, because I think the first two are actually far easier for me to explain.

The Location and Nature of the Horcrux Protections and the Trouble with Backdoors in Security

So, first, the horcruxes are all conveniently located in Great Britain. Not even just in Great Britain, all in places that Albus Dumbledore and later Harry Potter can track down with relative ease, all fairly close to each other.

Now, part of this is undoubtedly attributable to Tom’s overly romantic nature.

Yes, Tom Riddle is a giant romantic, though not necessarily in the traditional sense everyone thinks of. The film “Patton” and its treatment of Patton comes to mind. Tom Riddle is a man enamored by a sense of greatness, of being remembered in this world rather than fading into oblivion, by the significance of places and times in history not only of the world but of himself. He creates an entire, grand, persona for himself because to live an ordinary life for him is to be worthy of nothing.

So, given that, of course Tom places the horcruxes in sentimental locations that have personal meaning to him.

However, it also makes them perilously easy to find and collect.

By itself, this wouldn’t spark my notice.

The ability to destroy horcruxes are not easy to come by. There’s only one basilisk and it’s by chance/Lucius fucking up that Harry gains access to the necessary basilisk venom. Using Fyendfire is an incredibly dangerous thing to do and just as likely to blow up you and the next three towns over as it is to destroy a horcrux. And if there are other means of destroying a horcrux they’re just as hard to come by or just as dangerous.

It’s not quite throwing it into the fires of Mt. Doom from which it was forged but it’s pretty damn close.

So, really, without JKR’s convenient Deus Ex Machina giving both him and Dumbledore the means to actually destroy these things, Tom Riddle’s horcruxes are pretty damn safe no matter where we put them. As we see from the locket, which Regulus manages to collect but Kreacher cannot destroy even after several decades.

However, what does spark my notice, is that the horcruxes can be collected by someone other than Tom Riddle when it appears as if they were never intended to be. What do I mean by this?

From what we see, there’s no benefit to Tom if the original horcruxes are found by anyone. He doesn’t seek them out to restore his original body, they’re just anchor points that should be hidden at all costs. So, he’ll never need a Death Eater to go collect them for him should he be indisposed (indeed, to do so would require a tremendous amount of trust in people he has very little trust in).

So, why hide them in such a way that others can access them? There are canon based options which would have prevented anyone else from reaching them. Given the existence of age lines, I imagine Tom Riddle could make some arbitrary barrier keyed only to himself. There are mokeskin pouches, such as the one Harry is given in the seventh book, which we know can only be accessed by whoever they’re keyed to. There’s the Fidelius Charm which, true requires a secret keeper which Tom would be very meh on, but options exist.

Tom Riddle could wipe the locations of his horcruxes off the face of the map. He chooses not to. Which leads me to believe that, at least on some unconscious level, he wants the horcruxes to be found.

Then we have the protections.

Specifically, I’m thinking of the locket here.

Yes, the protections are very formidable, but they’re also goddamn weird.

Rather than make the horcrux simply inaccessible, kill all those intruding, instead the intruder has to go through a very “Saw” like puzzle in which they drown themselves in despair until they finally get the locket, at which point they likely suicide by zombie.

More, there’s no hint that there’s any other way to retrieve the locket.

Backdoors in security are a very bad idea. What they do is weaken the security as a whole and, if you can take a short cut is, it means that someone who is clever enough and motivated enough can to. Dumbledore is both clever and motivated enough, and I imagine if there was a way to get the horcrux that involved not doing this ridiculous task he would have done it.

More, we’d be back to the land of Tom making sure only he can access the horcrux by requiring a password, keying it to his magical signature, or something so that no one else could get it.

Which means, that’s right, if Tom wants to get the locket he’s drinking the goddamn despair juice just like the rest of us.

What kind of a person would do any of this?

I’ve gone over this before, but I don’t think Tom Riddle’s crazy. Rather, in this case, I think he’s driven by an unbelievable amount of nihilist rage and is also quite depressed.

Tom goes to collect his horcrux, “Ah, it’s time to remember what a miserable life I’ve led and the sheer awfulness of my own existence. Good, I was starting to feel a little too happy. Let’s see if I get eaten by my undead, vengeful, victims today.”

The Events of Deathly Hallows and Tom Riddle’s Death

I think Tom Riddle’s final death in the books was suicide.

Tom takes over the Wizarding World, finally, and it’s as miserable as ever.

He’s trapped in this sham, barely functional, probably very painful body. His Death Eaters are completely out of control and for all that he wanted society to burn it’s now burning and no one’s even learned anything from this. Children in Hogwarts are being routinely tortured and have now staged a rebellion in which he’s having to slaughter them (I have reasons to believe that this is not what Tom Riddle wanted, at all, but that’s best saved for another post), and then he learns his horcruxes have all been destroyed without him even noticing.

There’s so little left of him, he has accomplished nothing, and there’s Harry Potter back from the dead yet again, gloating at him that love conquers all and Tom Riddle will never understand.

And Harry’s right, Tom Riddle will never understand, the world is meaningless and flat to him now and he finally understand that there’s no point to it. I think Tom Riddle decides he’s done. He’s just done.

He enters in a duel with Harry Potter knowing the weird nature of their wands. Now, it can be assumed he used the Elder Wand, but we know they get locked in Priori Incatatum , and that makes no damn sense with the Elder Wand (well, wandlore in general is silly, but I’m working with what JKR gave me here). So I choose to take JKR at her somewhat established canon and say that, no matter what Harry thought, Voldemort was using his original wand.

He throws out the killing curse, despite having now witnessed Harry resurrecting twice to this thing, and within two seconds it rebounds and kills him.

Voldemort’s death is a lot like this scene from the recent, terrible, 2020 live action Mulan (10/10 do not recommend). Now, we’re supposed to think that this scene is the witch saving Mulan’s life and thus showing her hope for the next generation. In actuality, the witch literally flies into an arrow she could have easily deflected from Mulan’s path. It’s a suicide that Mulan is too stupid to notice.

Tom chooses suicide in the most ridiculous, flamboyant, and easily written off manner one can and no one even notices. Instead Harry crows that he has personally defeated Voldemort, with the power of love no less, HUZZAH!

And the castle parties.

The Nature of Horcruxes

I almost don’t want to include this because it’s so... well, I’m really drifting far from canon and fandom now.

However, with horcruxes, there’s always an overriding question of why Tom is able to make so many when we don’t see anyone else with these things around (especially as it’s clear that murder doesn’t simply happen for those that now have horcruxes).

Usually, you have fic authors just sort of shrug and go, “Well, he’s that evil, I guess.” Sometimes you have them go, “No one else is crazy enough to keep going, and that’s why Voldemort’s cuckoo bananas.”

One very good explanation I’ve seen is that it’s because most people, when they murder, feel remorse immediately. The soul split happens, but they’re haunted by the murder for the rest of their life, and thus the horcrux isn’t made. Voldemort, feeling nothing when he kills anyone, is thus able to make them even for when he’s only indirectly associated with the death in question.

However, to me that never really jived philosophically.

Mostly, I simply cannot imagine that tearing apart your very soul is an act of indifference. Here’s how I see it: to do something like that to yourself, you must care, you must care beyond all imagine and human endurance. Your soul literally cannot abide it and saws itself in half, purging what you cannot stand about yourself the most.

The remorse part is, yes, remorse for the act and the victim but more to the point it is the ability to forgive and reaccept the worst part of yourself. That part of yourself that you purged and destroyed, which is nearly impossible to do and might very well destroy the fabric of who you are).

In other words, while creating a horcrux is an abominable act of hatred, it is also one of profound self-hatred.

Tom Riddle loathes himself so much that he is able to do this over and over and over again.

As Tom Riddle goes on he makes himself into less and less and less of himself until he probably doesn’t even know who he is anymore. He just knows, whatever is left of him, he loathes that too.

And then, of course, he gives up, runs into the nearest flying arrow, and dies.

TL;DR: Tom Riddle’s is a miserable existence that ended in a miserable if unintentionally hilarious manner

#ask #anon #tom riddle #voldemort

521 notes · View notes

harrieatthemet · 3 years ago

Text

Mustache

He has never been keen on sharing.

And Gemma’s mere existence, as well as the small indent on her left thumb she swears is a scar (though Harry vehemently denies it is), is living proof.

Mr Ducky was his favorite bath time companion for a good bulk of his childhood. There were even times he’d carry it around with him in the house tied to a string like a pet, one of Anne’s fondest memories and favorite stories to tell whenever she found the opportunity.

Maybe it was Gemma’s own fault; she was only six at the time and was foolishly under the impression that the stupid rubber toy was at anyone’s disposal, which is what led her to try and situate the duck in her backpack as she geared up for school.

It’s also what led her to tears because Harry caught her on the way out the front door, Mr Ducky in tow, and he instinctively sunk his teeth right into the side of her hand in protest. And, okay fine, he may have bit down a little harder than he should have, but the overall message he was sending came across very clear. Gemma never touched anything he owned again for a very, very, long time; and eventually went on to tell everyone in her class she had a vampire as a brother.

“What do we think of this little number,” your hip jut, innocent as it was, just now became a permanent memory in Harry’s brain, “too much, like.. revealing?”

You like nice in red; devilish, even, and in the best way possible. There’s nothing revealing about the dress at all. Somehow, though, he finds himself perched squeamishly at the foot of your bed in complete fucking anguish. In theory, no, the dress is not too much. It’s the perfect ensemble and flatters you so well he feels like whoever made the dress conjured it up with you specifically in mind.

And no, it’s not too much, for literally anyone else except him. How is such a modest dress enough for him to think you up the way he is right now; bent over in front of him with your hair wrapped tightly up in his palm while that dress lays in a sloppy ball by his feet.

“Would be nice with nude shoes,” he mules, “like, those sandals y’ave, yeah?”

The way your eyes light up, that same way they always do when your mind starts to move at light’s speed as you start assembling a million different ideas into one, is enough to tug a grin onto his mouth.

He didn’t really want to agree to this. When you texted first to ask he ignored it, that way you’d have just carried on without him and he could blame a busy schedule or an overrun nap on his delayed response time. It’s much easier to blame a missed text for no response. Of course it’s not in your nature to send a text, and he knew that already. So it came a son surprise when he was bombarded by 4 phone calls. By the fifth one he had picked up, succumbing to you and just the flat out unfulfilled urge he had to hear your voice at the other end of the phone.

“Seriously Harry,” your voice is like fucking honey, sweet and sullen like it always is, and he’s in euphoria listening to it as you poke your earring through the lobe of your left ear, “it’s just, y’know I don’t- I’m nervous and I appreciate you helping me do something as stupid as picking a dress.”

“S’not stupid,” he reassures, “y’know I just like spending time with yeh, since y’so busy ’n stuff.”

Which is true. That’s the only thing that got him over here; and he rescheduled a zoom call just to sit in your bedroom for all of twenty minutes. Not one part of him regretted it, either.

“I’m busy?” You tease, “coming from the A lister who’s in London, than LA, than New York, London again, oh, than LA again oh, then ‘sorry love, m’in Tokyo.’”

Also true, he knows that, which is why he’s snickering at fault in response to your harmless teasing. He wouldn’t say it now, mainly because he doesn’t want to make it weird, but regardless of where he falls on the map he somehow still finds a way to fit you in. He’s never minded doing it, either.

Twenty minutes isn’t enough. Maybe another twenty more could be a sufficient amount. That’s almost an hour, right? Forty minutes is almost a full hour with you and he’d love to get even that much. Or twenty more hours, even, would be that much better. It’s better for him to think of getting more time with you than to let his thoughts wander and remind him of where you’re getting ready to go off to.

A date. It’s why he was so hesitant to come here. It’s hard enough as it is being a prisoner to his own thoughts, being around you and not getting to interact with you the way he actually wants; kiss you the way he wants, touch you the way he wants, hold you and talk to you the way he wants. Adding a new element to the mix, another man getting access to you the way he wants, well that’s just mental warfare.

You don’t know anything about though. And thank God, because if you could get a peak into his thoughts and see just a preview of what he thinks he almost knows for sure you’d ice him out in a heartbeat. He’s got a soft spot for you, nonetheless, which is why he swallowed the massive-sized lump in his throat when you told him you needed help on an outfit for a date and b lined it over to your place.

“Who’s this guy, anyways.” He chimes, following you similar to that of a lost puppy as you start heading towards the staircase, “Like, wha’s he look like ’n stuff.”

Immediately after he asks he wishes he hadn’t. The way that pesky fucking lump reappears when you wiggle your eyebrows in response, stuffing your hand into your leather purse in an attempt to fish out your phone. A simple response like ‘handsome’ or ‘he’s a nice guy’ would’ve sufficed for him. Seriously, that’s all he needed. What he didn’t need was an entire fucking slideshow of an above average looking guy. And he had a cool mustache, to boot, which really pissed Harry off for some reason.

“Should probably shave,” he squints his eyes at the photo you’ve got propped right in front of his face, trying his hardest to act like he isn’t so fucking jealous of that mustache, “kinda looks like a squirrel on his top lip."

“If I didn’t know you so well,” you tut teasingly, “I’d think you’re a dick.”

“You know me so well and still don’t think that?”

He likes the way your laugh sounds, and it makes him happy that he said something amusing enough to drag it out of you. And the toothy smile you pair with it practically knocks the wind right out of him. Everything you do seems to wow him, corny as it sounds. It makes him feel so at ease, and the butterflies he gets each time gets him reminiscing to the days where he was just a kid and had the worlds biggest crush on the girl who sat three rows ahead of him in grade school. He’s giddy and he doesn’t want you to leave for this date.

For a second he thinks about doing something elaborate; breaking his foot or faking an illness so that you literally have no choice but to hang back and look after him. That’s selfish though, and honestly just crazy and super fucked up, so he opts out of that. But he doesn’t want you to go so bad he seriously considers it, especially as you start sorting through the downstairs closet to find a coat that doesn’t clash with your shoes.

He could just be honest. He could just tell you that he doesn’t want you to go, solely because he’s absolutely infatuated with you and for every hour he’s awake and functioning you manage to consume every thought he has. He could just be an adult and tell you he’s got feelings for you that very much surpass a platonic, friendly demeanor. That might be a better way into persuading you to stay back with him than breaking his fucking foot.

“Ok now wait a minute,” he chokes, and there’s a painful twang that strikes his gut when you frown, “gotta tell y’somethin’.”

“What,” you groan, and he swears he would rather die right now than do anything else, “it’s the shoes, right? They make my calves look like I’m a running back don’t they?”

He wants to laugh but he thinks if he opens his mouth he would projectile vomit everywhere. But the thought occurs to him that if he does that than it would be an excellent excuse for you to skip the date. Though, of course, he runs the risk of grossing you out and absolutely humiliating himself all in one go of it.

So he shakes his head no. In fact he loves the shoes, and they make your ankles look slender and really compliment your legs quite nicely. Still, he’s scrambling to string together a coherent sentence because his brain is working a lot faster than the muscles in his mouth are and it feels like someone just super glued his lips shut.

“Speak now or forever hold your peace,” you tease, and the cheeky wink you shoot him over your shoulder just edges him even more if that’s possible at this point, “Styles.”

“I don’t want y’to go on this date, (Y/N).”

He’s well aware that he blurted that out in a way that he really, really, wish he hadn’t. Now the air in the room is stale and heavy, dense too, like someone just sucked all the air out and left the two of you here with nothing to inhale but words and unspecified tension.

And he’s starting to get more anxious as your playful manner dissipates. He can tell your puzzled not just be the demeanor of your face, but by the stance of your body because your letting shoulders hang the way you do when you’re a little uncomfortable.

“Oh,” you breath, and his chest starts sinking inward, “okay, I just- well why not? Do I not.. like, do I look bad or something?”

“No,” he coos, and he feels like the worlds biggest asshole when you start to frown, “No y’don’t- Christ, (Y/N) y’look amazing. Y’always look so fuckin’ amazing. It’s just-”

“What,” you huff, “than what is it, than? Why wouldn’t you want me to go?”

He’s really done it now. The proper thing to do would’ve just been to let you go, walk out with you and watch you drive off before he headed home himself. The proper thing to do would’ve been for him to just go home and think about you on a date with someone other than himself, curled up in a ball watching a Friends episode he’s already seen four times while he felt sorry for himself. But that’s not what happened, and what he should’ve done was just broke the fucking foot like he initially thought to do. That would’ve been less agonizing than this.

“Because,” he’s frustrated now, not with you but really just himself, “I should be taking y’out. M’absolutely in love with yeh, (Y/N), and I don’t have a cool mustache but I could take y’out on a date, ’n I want to so bad.”

There’s still that dense energy looming in the room, and his gut now too as he feels it winding up tightly in an anxious bundle of knots and twists. You’re not saying anything and the only thing he notices is that you’re breathing is vaguely staggered and your clutching onto that purse in your hand like he’s about to snatch it and run off. God, he should’ve just broken the foot!

“Please don’t go out wit him,” and now, his voice is small, “think it might kill me.”

250 notes · View notes

highdramas · 4 years ago

Text

steady now | b.b.

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝'𝐬 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 | 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader

warnings: language, possible tfatws spoilers, mention of death? sort of? mention of the blip mostly, some angst, references to sexxxx babie

word count: 4.3k wowie

summary: bucky is not the only one with amends to make.

note: here’s another installment in the twalb story <3 again, you don’t have to read these in order, they stand independently, but they do all work together! PLEASE leave feedback/reblog! this is extremely helpful for me writing future parts to know what everyone likes or doesn’t like! i’m extremely proud of this part so i really hope that you all enjoy it as much as i’ve enjoyed writing it <3

enjoy! <3

there was once a time where you loved california.

there was once a time where you had a boyfriend with an easy smile and charming demeanor and a family in ventura. his name was felix, and you always told people that he could make anyone fall in love with him with nothing but that stupid smile of him-- of course, you never said how that upset you. you never said how it hurt when the waitress looked at him with dazzling eyes and how he seemed to relish in the attention.

you never voiced how he seemed to eventually bore of the attention that you gave him. you never voiced the way that you wished he would look at you with those dazzling eyes and give you that breezy laughter and that look that said i have you in the palm of my hand.

he did. he didn’t need to give you that look to know that.

sometimes, you wonder if he felt any sort of relief after the blip. you wonder if when you dusted right before him, if he felt like he won in some sick way. of course, you know that he would never admit that. he would never make that known to anyone. maybe even himself. but subconsciously… you wonder if you were simply an accessory that was worn out of convenience, and if your fading from reality was the biggest convenience at all.

it’s sick. you know it’s sick, and likely not true. but still. you wonder.

when you returned, the first thing that you did when you got your hands on a cell phone was call him. you called him and you cried and you said that you were okay, you were here. you asked him what the hell happened. you asked him if it had really been five years.

you heard a voice in the background. it was feminine, light, airy. the voice of a fairy. you’ll never forget hearing that voice. you learned later that she was his fiance.

you’ll never forget the sort of heartbreak that you felt. it was visceral. the knowing-- the knowing that it wasn’t your fault, it wasn’t anything that you did. it was merely the absence of you. you still wonder how long he mourned. you wonder how long it took. you saw him only a handful of times after you returned. he had cried, and you had stared, unsure what to say.

how do you apologize for fading from existence?

that was the first time you saw him. the second was worse.

the second, you were angry. you were angry and you lashed out. what was supposed to be an easy dinner turned into an explosion of tears and fury, the words this isn’t fair and what was i supposed to do? wait for you? and so desperately you had wanted to say yes. you wanted to say that you wished he had held out hope, that he stayed up and dreamt of you and that he was devoted.

it was a selfish thought. he had told you politely to not contact him again.

you had learned that he had moved back to ventura with his fairy girlfriend from some casual facebook stalking. they bought a house on the coast. they’re planning a wedding.. she is beautiful, and you noticed something from the pictures you see of them together right away. he looks at her not like he was charming her, but like she was charming him.

that’s what made you realize he was never yours to begin with.

now, you’re in california again. now, bucky sits beside you and he drives and you control the music. now, he looks at you like you have hung the stars in the sky and propped up the moon. and you look at him the same way.

bucky has amends to make, but so do you.

when he reaches over and places his hand on your thigh, you smile. you place your hand over his and you squeeze. you’d insisted that you two rent a convertible, and though he rolled his eyes, he obliged. you drive down the pch and it is april and the sun is warm and inviting but not abrasive. he wears sunglasses and he doesn’t wear the gloves. he wears a short sleeved shirt.

it’s enough to make you smile and lay your hand back against the seat and make you think: everything happened just the way it should.

bucky is here to extend his amends to the chaplin family. well… really, he’s here to set them up with the CIA. they’ve been hydra sympathizers for years.

you, on the other hand, are here to extend amends of your own.

bucky knows. bucky knows and he watched you recall the story with tears blurring your vision. you would hiccup and say, “i’m sorry. i’m not sad over him, not anymore. i’m just sad that i could be forgotten so easily.”

he had held your face in his hands and he swiped at your tears and he said, “you’re impossible to forget.”

at first, when you brought up coming with him, he had been hesitant. his endeavors with the amends and with sam, he tends to like keeping separate. you get it. you know he doesn’t want to put you anywhere near the danger that he encounters, even if that maddens you. but then, your face fell and you held out the wedding invitation that had arrived in your mailbox. “i want to go.”

bucky takes it and he studies it and he clenches his jaw. he looks at you through his lashes. “i’m going with you.”

now, the wedding is in three days. you wonder if he was surprise when you sent in your rsvp marked yes. you were surprised that he invited you at all.

once, you remember him saying to you, “sometimes, you have to extend olive branches. you’re too damn stubborn for your own good.”

this is your olive branch.

bucky squeezes your thigh and his thumb makes small circles and it instills a calm in you that you haven’t felt since you stepped foot on the plane. he glances over at you. “we don’t have to go.” this isn’t the first time that he’s said this. “we can stay in our hotel all week. i’m sure we can find something to do.”

your jaw drops and you look over at him and he has that smug look on his face. it’s been nice, watching him slip into ease with you. “you are such a pig.”

“i’m just saying, we have options.”

you laugh and you swat his hand away. he grins and he places it on the head rest, his fingers idly playing with a few strands of your hair that blow in the wind as he drives. you pull up to the hotel and you check in and bucky carries all of your bags, which you try to object, but he simply does not care. you fall back onto the mattress and he follows suit and he presses his lips to yours, presses them to your pulse point, your jaw. he whispers against your skin that you are beautiful. he whispers against your skin that you’re an angel.

angel. he always calls you that.

hours pass and you spend most of them beneath bucky, breathless. eventually it is the middle of the night and you have done nothing but fuck and you’ll be the first one to admit that they were hours well spent. he’s propped up on an elbow and he looks down at you, dewy and heavy lidded. “why’d you want to come out here? to the wedding?”

you can’t help but laugh. “that’s what you want to talk about right now?”

he blushes, moves to hide his face, but you beam and you place your hand on the side of his face. you push yourself up and sit criss cross, holding the sheet to your body, facing him. he follows suit.

the two of you do this back home. whether you’re sitting on the living room floor or in bed. it’s easier to talk in the dark, bucky once said. you’d never forgotten. so, this became a sort of unspoken ritual. you would sit with your knees brushing and you would talk and you would laugh and you never wanted this to change.

“i guess i don’t know why i wanted to come.” you reach for his hand and he offers it to you. you run your fingers along the golden grooves, and you swear that you see the hairs on his opposite arm begin to stand up. “i didn’t want to be seen as the bitter ex. i hate-- i hate being perceived. you know? like, i can’t control how anyone views me. i can’t control them thinking i’m crazy or irrational. but… they don’t know anything at all.” bucky’s eyes never leave you. “i wanted to come because i feel like i’m ready to face it. the truth of it. i don’t feel fearful of it all. i used to feel so… gross. gross about how i reacted and how i felt. i felt so selfish. but now…” you can’t help but smile a little bit and you touch the place on his chest where his heart lies in his ribcage. “i’m glad for it. all of it. it’s stupid, but… it brought me here.” you lean your palm into his chest just slightly more. he covers your hand with his and he pulls you in, your hand splayed out on him.

bucky is softening before you. so often you are the one who offers an ear and a comforting touch, but he is happy to repay the favor whenever you need it. “you’re too strong all the time.” his words are definitive, with no room for arguing. “you were hurting. you’re allowed to hurt. you didn’t have a choice in missing out on five years while the world went on without you.”

of course, you know he’s right, but it just feels good to hear it. it feels good to hear it from him. “and he was an asshole.” bucky’s jaw sets. “he had five years to mourn you and your relationship. he barely gave you a month. what sort of guy does that? to a girl he loved?” he shakes his head, as if shaking the thought from his person. “if that were me, i would’ve…”

you watch as he trails off. he looks down and away. you gently take his face and move it up, getting him to look at you again. he gives you this smile that is equal parts sorrow and loving, and you wish you could take away all his pain. “i’d mourn you for life. and i… if i got the chance to have you again? i’d--”

“bucky.” you cut him off smoothly and you shake your head. “that won’t happen.”

he smiles. “i know.” he pushes your hair back and his hand rests on the back of your neck. “i just can’t imagine someone having you and not--” he shakes his head. “he’s a fool.”

gently, your hands lay on his knees and you lean forward. “you asked why i wanted to come,” you whisper, your lips nearly touching his. “i wanted to come because i want to thank him.” you press your lips against his, and his hand goes to splay on your back, pulling you in nearer and nearer. “he recommended the apartment building.”

bucky grins and you connect in every possible place. you roll between the sheets once more and eventually, sleep overtakes you.

the days leading up to the wedding pass by in a relative blur. bucky goes to make his amends and though you offer to come, he shakes his head. “i’ll be quick,” is his promise, and he keeps good on it. he’s gone barely two hours.

you spend time on the beach and sight seeing. you don’t know if you’ve ever seen bucky this… relaxed. yes, he’s always slightly more alert than your average citizen, but you will never fault him for that. you go and get ice cream and you sit on a little bench and bucky stares at you. “what?” you asked and you raise your brows. “something on my face?”

“actually, yes.” he reaches out and swipes your bottom lip, coming back with some strawberry ice cream on his thumb. he pops it into his mouth and it makes your heart plummet to your stomach. “yum.”

you all but drag him back to your hotel.

finally, it is the day of the wedding.

bucky has been ready for hours. he likes unbearably handsome-- you’d gone with him to a shop in new york and had helped him pick out some new slacks and a nice fitting shirt. he had chuckled at the way that the pants hit his ankles and said, “it’s definitely not the forties anymore.”

you had picked out a sage green silk dress, and you smooth it out in the mirror, tilting your head to the side as you looked at yourself. bucky approaches you from behind and you’re so stuck in your own head that you hardly notice him until his hands are on you. they go to your shoulders, rubbing soothing circles into tense muscles with his thumbs. “you look beautiful, doll.” he leans forward and he presses a chaste kiss to your shoulder, which makes you smile, because it’s so him. “i wanna kiss you but i don’t want to mess up your makeup.”

“like that’s ever stopped you before.”

“i’m a gentleman.”

a smirk works its way onto your face and some of the nervous, fluttering monarchs in your stomach have begun to dissipate. you turn and he gently holds your face, examining it. he opens his mouth to say something, laughs, and closes it. “i don’t even know how…” he clears his throat. you swear that tears prick at his eyes. “i don’t even know how to say how much… how perfect you are. i’ll never be able to say it properly.”

everything about james buchanan barnes makes you melt, and this is no different. you sigh and you lean your body against his, and he holds you ever close. “thank you for coming with me,” you whisper into the skin of his neck. “i needed you here.”

he holds the back of your head carefully. “i’d follow you anywhere, doll.” he pulls back and his hand holds your face, and the vibranium is like a kiss to your cheek. “may i kiss you?”

your lips part and you nod-- and he takes his time kissing you. he kisses you long and tender, making sure that you feel everything. sometimes you think that this is easier than talking for him-- this is the way that he can show you how perfect he finds you. it’s better than any words he could string together.

the ride to the venue is somewhat of a blur. bucky doesn’t take his hand off of you-- it’s constantly holding yours. from the car to the walk inside to taking your seats-- you can feel the eyes that are glued to you, but you can feel bucky’s hand in yours more. you can hear the muffled whispers of gossiping friends and family, but you hear bucky’s murmured complaints louder, and they make you laugh.

felix is at the altar already. he’s talking with a groomsman and he laughs at something and you smile a bit. he looks happy, you think. bucky’s arm is slung across the back of your chair and his fingers trail up and down your shoulder, his eyes fixed on you.

you turn to look at him, too. you lay your hand on his knee and your smile says your thanks over and over and over again. bucky’s eyes flick to the altar, and he sees that you’ve finally been noticed. felix may be looking at you, but you will never know. you are looking at bucky.

the ceremony is pretty. bucky’s bored, you think-- that thought is enough to make you chuckle. felix’s fairy girlfriend is exactly what you gathered from the pictures-- she is energetic and kind, she is sweet and beautiful. the more you think, the more you watch the way that felix looks at her, the lighter you feel.

a part of you had feared that you would never get over him. that you would never get over the what if. possibilities tended to haunt you, but now, being here… you had known for a long time that not only had you gotten over him, you had found something so much better than what you had. but it’s the thought that thrums through you that you were not expecting.

you can see this for yourself. one day. bucky at an altar in a suit, you in white.

you smile to yourself in your seat. bucky looks over at you. you look over at him, just for a moment. your heart feels full.

felix begins his vows. “carly,” he begins and he clears his throat. you can tell that he’s already getting emotional. “never did i once expect to find you. never did i expect to find someone who fit with me so… completely.” you watch as his hands shake as he holds the piece of paper. “but i did. and i’m so lucky it was you.”

his vows go on, and they are beautiful. through it all, you can sense bucky beside you, entirely attentive to you.

the reception is on the beach. the sun is setting, and it is stunning. the food is good and every gives speeches and toasts and you’ve been placed at a table with some friends that both you and felix had known. of course, when shit hit the fan with you and felix, you hadn’t exactly kept in touch, but they’re kind nevertheless. some recognize bucky, and the questions they ask make you cringe. “so… winter soldier,” one of them, kya, begins. “you actually did all of that bad shit?”

it takes everything in you not to lunge across the table. bucky’s hand finds your leg underneath the table, already knowing what you’d like to do. you open your mouth to interject, but bucky cuts you off. “hydra did.” he gives a clipped smile. it leaves no room for discussion.

they ask about the avengers and about thanos, and all of it makes you roll your eyes. they talk to bucky as if he’s a toy rather than a human being. as everyone is mingling, you see the couple beginning to approach your table. everyone cheers and scoops them up into hugs. it makes a part of you sad. not because of him, but because it’s another reminder of how life went on without you.

you and bucky stand and approach them. you can almost feel bucky’s hesitation as he sizes up felix. the protectiveness in his stance makes your heart swell. carly smiles at you, but you can tell that there’s a hint of nervousness in her demeanor. “hi!” she says and she looks between you and bucky. “we were both so happy when we got your rsvp. a little surprised, but…”

your eyebrow raises and you look at them. “i wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.” you place your hand on bucky’s arm. “felix, carly, this is my boyfriend, james. james, felix and carly.”

he shakes their hands and you note the way their eyes flick to the metal one on the other side. bucky and carly begin to make awkward small talk, and you look at felix. he looks at you. there’s something knowing in the stare. “want to take a walk?” he asks, nodding towards the beach.

you nod. felix turns to carly and you turn to bucky, who has a slightly concerned look written on his face. “it’ll be fine.” you lean in and you kiss him, wanting to take any insecurity from him. “play nice, but not too nice. if they say anything stupid, call them on it.”

bucky smirks. “you got it, doll.” he looks to felix and nods to him, and there’s something in bucky’s eyes that must scare him, because you swear felix pales slightly. and then you and felix set off.

for the first part of your walk, both of you are quiet. it’s as if both of you knew that this was inevitable, and now you’re just trying to figure out where to start. both of you begin to talk at the same time, and it causes awkward chuckles to fill the air between you. you stop by a log and you sit, staring out at the ocean. you cross your legs and you look over at him to find his gaze still on the ocean. finally, it moves to you. “i’m sorry.” you both say it at the same time.

a sad smile settles onto your face and you look away. “you first,” he says.”

“i’m sorry.” you look at him again. “i’m not sorry for the way that i felt. i’m not sorry for hurting. but i am sorry that i lashed out. i was… angry.” you suck in a breath. “people who stayed… they’ll always carry the grief and the trauma of those five years. but the people who came back? we came back to a world that had moved on. i can’t… i can’t explain to you how hard that was. it wasn’t just you. i lost everything.” you shake your head. “i took it all out on you. all that hurt. and i’m sorry for that.”

felix nods his head. “i’m sorry that i wasn’t more understanding of what you were going through. that i just… cut you off.” he swallows. “i had five years to come to terms with the fact that you weren’t coming back. even when you were back, it almost felt… fake. like i was looking at a ghost.” he swallows. “but i missed you. i want you to know that i missed you, and i thought about you.”

a small smile works onto your face. “thanks.” you look towards the crowd, where people are laughing and dancing. “she seems great.”

felix looks over his shoulder. “she is. she keeps me… in check. i can be kind of an asshole. i don’t know how either of you dealt with me.” this makes you laugh and roll your eyes. “you and bucky barnes, huh?”

“i have you to thank for that.” he looks at you in confusion. “the building you recommended me? we were neighbors.” you smile, thinking back on the memory of bucky barnes at your door, asking if you needed help building your cat tower. “he is the best thing that has happened to me,” you say it with no hint of hesitation.

felix smiles. “he looks like he’s crazy about you. he barely looks anywhere else.”

you bite down on your lip. “yeah, i’ve heard that before.” the wind ruffles your hair slightly, and you look at felix and he looks at you. “i’ve spent a lot of time being angry at you. i don’t want to be angry anymore.”

he shakes his head. “i don’t want to either.” he pauses. “maybe… maybe, one day, the four of us could… you know, get dinner or something.”

“yeah,” you nod your head. “one day.” you stand, and he follows suit, and you look up at him. “thank you. for inviting me.”

“thank you for coming.”

there’s a level of awkwardness that rests between you, and you think that perhaps it’s inevitable. but also, you can’t help the sense of relief.

part of you thinks that he’s itching to hug you, and you may be extending some forgiveness tonight, but you’re certainly not there yet. you begin to walk towards the party. “c’mon. you need to go to your bride.”

when you return, you think bucky might be ready to drive his steak knife through his eye. you approach him from behind, wrapping your arms around his shoulder and bending so that your face is beside his. “miss me?”

he snorts. “you have no idea, doll.”

you watch as felix makes his way to carly, and you meet his eye. he gives you a slight nod and a knowing smile, and you return it.

there’s a weight that’s lifted off of your chest.

“c’mon,” you say to bucky, tugging him up. “we’re going to dance.”

he groans and you laugh, pulling him by the hands to the dance floor. just as you are, you make me feel so young begins to play around you. as you step onto the dance floor, you begin singing the words quietly to him. your dancing slows to a light sway, and in your ear, bucky begins murmuring the words to you.

your eyes flutter shut and a sweeping calm comes over you. “you know… i never thought i would get married. did you?”

bucky’s hands have a firm place on your waist. “i grew up in the forties. of course i thought i was going to get married,” you two spin slightly. “but, after everything… i didn’t think that was ever going to be in the cards for me.”

your breath catches. “and now?”

“now?” bucky asks into your ear. “i can only dream i get lucky enough to have you as my bride.”

your cheeks grow warm. “mrs. barnes…” you lean back to look at him. “has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”

the look on bucky’s face, you don’t know if you’ve ever seen that look before. “yes.” his voice is so firm it nearly brings you to your knees. “yes, it does.”

you two slow to a halt and bucky tilts your chin up. “guess i have some work to do,” his lips ghost over yours. “mrs. barnes.”

the world around you stops, and in that moment, it is only you and bucky. it is you and bucky at your ex’s wedding, and there is nowhere else you would want to be.

you’re beginning to understand why bucky likes making amends.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes series #the world's a little blurry

371 notes · View notes

stardustprompts · 4 years ago

Text

the burning god - r.f kuang sentence starters change tenses/pronouns as needed !! some lines have been edited for clarity / length / ease of roleplaying tw : ptsd , addiction , death , murder , nsfw , language

‘do you think I’d ever let anything happen to you?’

‘you’re terrified. that’s why you’re fidgeting. you’re scared.’

‘soldiers are worth more than civilians, it’s just math.’

‘don’t cut off the head of the snake if you can tame it.’

‘none of this— our villages, our people, our freedom— will survive under their intended world order’

‘i’m the least terrible option you’ve got.’

‘I don’t mean to call you stupid, because I love you, but that plan is so stupid.’

‘i’m not sorry for this. you shouldn’t have gotten in my way.’

‘that wasn’t an insult. just being frank.’

‘they’re bullies. weakness is what they want to see.’

‘bad moral is a big weapon. don’t underestimate it.’

‘i’ve gotten you this far. trust me just a little longer.’

‘i’m not crazy right? this is clearly a trap?’

‘how do you think history will judge me if I throw away it’s fate for one person?’

‘it felt like you’d put the universe back in place. like you were balancing the scales. didn’t it?’

‘you don’t fix hurts by pretending they never happened. you treat them like infected wounds and then, maybe, you have a chance to heal.’

‘it’s not justice, it’s chaos.’

‘this is a revolution. it’s not a fucking tea party.’

‘cut me a fucking break. i’ve been fleeing for my life.’

‘I shouldn’t have counted on his virtue. but he didn’t count on my survival.’

‘they’re never gone. do you understand? they still come for you in your sleep. only this time they’re dream-wraiths, not real, and there’s no escape from them because they’re living in your own mind.’

‘your pain will always be mine.’

‘i’m not living my whole life like a beast on a leash.’

‘I should kill you. why can’t I kill you?’

‘you don’t behave rationally around her, you never do.’

‘’all right’ is not a term anyone would use to describe you.’

‘I used to hate myself for living, too. I didn’t think it was fair that I’d survived. that others had died in my place.’

‘it’s not fair. I should be in the ground with them.’

‘it doesn’t go away. It never will. but when it hurts, lean into it.’

‘this life you’ve chosen, you won’t get many moments like this again. but it’s the nights like this that keep you alive.’

‘give up, darling. trust me, this is easier. this is so much easier.’

‘you know, I think I’ve figured out where you get all that self - righteousness.’

‘their blood is on you. you killed them.’

‘I hate you. I wish we were all dead.’

‘do you think he loved you? do you think he ever loved you?’

‘this story will end. the way it was always meant to.’

‘I just want to sit for a second. in peace. can I do that?’

‘I don’t know, I thought maybe— maybe they’d realize that they need me.’

‘you are so bad at this. it’s cute.’

‘people are attracted to power, darling. they can’t help themselves. power seduces. exert it, make a show of it, and they’ll follow you.’

‘I killed him. and I don’t feel bad about it.’

‘stop pretending to care about ethics, it’s embarrassing.’

‘at some point, you’ll have to convince yourself that you’re above right and wrong. morality doesn’t apply to you.’

‘fear turns into despair, despair to panic, and then panic into utter submission. it’s incredible, the power of psychological warfare.’

‘knowing what I’ve done? yes, it hurts. unlike anything you could ever imagine.’

‘they want to erase us. they want to make us better, to improve us, by turning us into a mirror of themselves.’

‘any culture or state that diverges is necessarily inferior. we are inferior, until we speak, dress, act, and worship just like them.’

‘people pay you less attention when you don’t leave a trail of bodies in your wake.’

‘i’m just telling you what’s right in front of you. you know I’m right.’

‘you seem to have mistaken me for a dullard.’

‘it’s a tragedy we’re on different sides. you know that. we would have been so good united.’

‘he’s tried a million different things to break me. but he should have remembered he never figured out how.’

‘lost my mind for a bit. just starting to get it back now.’

‘you think we should just surrender. that we’d be better off under their rule.’

‘that’s the implication of your logic. and I won’t accept that. I can’t.’

‘i’m sure you said whatever you needed to to get them off your back. I don’t care about that.’

‘everything you do convinces them you should not exist.’

‘I did what I had to do to give him the only chance at peace he’d ever get.’

‘you are the worst thing to happen to this country. these people deserve better than you.’

‘you were only ever fighting to survive. I was fighting to win.’

‘we don’t need peace right now. we need blood.’

‘I don’t know what’s insane anymore. I just hope you know what you’re doing.’

‘there is no turning back. i’ve waited too long for this.’

‘I can’t take that from him. not even if he’s happier like this.’

‘there’s more, there’s something you’re not telling me, I deserve to know.’

‘let go of the man you remember. you’re never going to get him back.’

‘in times like these, you can’t let sleeping threats lie.’

‘if we ever feared him, it was because he was great, and great rulers always inspire fear in the hearts of the weak.’

‘you don’t get to forget. whatever you did, you don’t deserve to forget.’

‘she’s not a person anymore. she’s rage.’

‘it’s not just about the enemy. it’s about what the world looks like after.’

‘you’re trying to protect your people. I understand that. but I’m trying to protect mine.’

‘i’m not crawling into oblivion with a whimper, and you should have known that before you came here.’

‘I don’t care what else happens up there. but you come back to me.’

‘what’s this? finally developing a conscience?’

‘I know what you did. I know everything. and I don’t care. the past doesn’t matter. ____ is in danger now, and I need you.’

‘nature can’t be altered. only held at bay.’

‘don’t take on the burden of an entire nation. it’s too heavy. and you aren’t strong enough.’

‘you should know by now that when you leave your enemies alive, wars don’t end.’

‘she told me I’ll never be afraid again.’

‘that’s power. and you’re not giving that up. I know you. you’re me.’

‘I know how humiliation feels. keep your secrets if you want. but there’s nothing you can say that will make me think any less of you.’

‘i’m not going to survive this war.’

‘do you want me to say I’m sorry?’

‘what did I tell you? you were never meant to serve.’

‘if you try that shit, I will kill you.’

‘good luck. don’t do anything stupid.’

‘keep down. and when you get the chance, run.’

‘you never want to hurt them. but you have to. you have to put them through hell, because that’s the only way anyone else will survive.’

‘I would have spared them if I could have.’

‘I wasn’t a person to you, I was a weapon, and you needed me to work.’

‘it’ll never stop hurting.’

‘you love them like your own family, and a knife twists in your heart every time you watch one of them die.’

‘see this through to the end. that’s the least you own to the dead.’

‘I wish things had been different.’

‘I so hate when you’re right.’

‘you kill me and you accomplish nothing. your world as you know it will end.’

‘i’m not going to kill you. you don’t deserve that.’

‘why does everyone think this war is over. am I the only one with eyes?’

‘it’s hard to prioritize the enemy that you can’t see.’

‘don’t call me crazy.’

‘you are being crazy. you’re acting like a fucking maniac. shut up for a moment and face the fucking facts.’

‘they can’t do this to me. I was supposed to win.’

‘we built an entire nation. we don’t have to let it collapse.’

‘what he wants is what we all want, which is to stop killing our own people.’

‘we’re about to have the world we fought for. can’t you see it? it’s so close, it’s just over the horizon.’

‘you can come back. I’ll bring you back. we’re in this together.’

‘we’re trying to broker a peace here. let’s not start off with death threats, shall we?’

‘i’m just trying to make this less painful for everyone involved.’

‘you can’t do this for me. I won’t let you.’

‘it’s not for you. it’s not a favor. it’s the cruelest thing I could do.’

#the poppy war series prompts #the burning god prompts #the burning god sentence starters #literature prompts #literature sentence starters #rp memes #rp prompts #rp sentence starters #weeeeeee I did it <3

264 notes · View notes

morsking · 4 years ago

Text

uhhhhhh to better grasp why rin is a host for both ishtar and ereshkigal and why sakura is a host for both kama and parvati you’re gonna have to read the vn since that is the only place where you will be treated to the different dimensions of both their characters and dispel any illusions and misunderstandings the ubw anime created (about rin in particular). i can explain it well but if you have the ability to, you should read the vn to really let it sink in and appreciate things more organically.

there are times in the anime where rin feels like a caricature of herself since she appears so confident and fun-loving and tsundere about it (the vn sometimes does this too but manages to balance things out a little better) that it overshadows how rin is also in her own way extremely repressed.

rin, while fashioning herself the ruler of her own world and a competent genius is still someone shackled to her duty as the last living tohsaka heir and denies herself a more profound and fundamental happiness because she reasons so long as she is the tohsaka heir, she can never be sakura’s sister, and wrongfully believes that sakura has moved on without her and belongs with the matous oblivious to what zouken has done to sakura for almost 11 years because it’s easier to think that sakura doesn’t care about her anymore than to confront all she’s taught and has lived for for so long is wrong and that she has a chance to make it right. rin however finds ways to keep running into sakura just enough that her true desires betray her efforts at keeping her distance, and if sakura just said “you are my sister, please let’s live together again” no doubt rin would be so torn to hesitate yet so hopeful to as to want it to be real.

rin’s apparent emotional independence and reputation is a product of her purposefully distancing herself from making any real human connections because she has no idea how to be emotionally available from years of stifling aristocratic conditioning. if she puts herself on a pedestal, it’s easier for others to not approach her and see through her facade. apart from that, as much fun as rin could possibly have by herself there is still something that will keep her from feeling truly fulfilled, and that’s the lack of opportunity (and emotional bravery) to reconcile with sakura. it’s also easier to forsake sakura and threaten to kill her when she’s out of control because acknowledging the horror of killing her own sister would break her own convictions and denounce her, and the tohsakas, as murderers and frauds. ishtar is that side of rin that finds being herself and living as the person in charge of her own existence. ereshkigal is the unhappy part of rin that yearns for more than what she’s been given but feels too guilty and too bound by responsibility to seek it out, and therefore denies herself her wish to connect with the person who would make all the difference in the world (sakura for rin, guda for eresh).

sakura is a naturally kind, gentle, yet strong-willed individual who has experienced that which would break and utterly annihilate most at a spiritual level. sakura only survived what she did because her mental fortitude, much like shirou’s, is so exceptional she will always retain her sense of self even if pushed to the very brink of suffering. despite that, she grew up extremely bitter, depressed, and with a disposition that utterly gave up on the world that abandoned her to the point where she wished others to fail and suffer at whatever they endeavored. if her life was pointless and fruitless as to be thrown away, why shouldn’t everyone else’s be too?

it’s really not until she met shirou that she began to change her mind and desire to have more than just numbness. a boy who just wouldn’t give up no matter how many times he couldn’t clear that jump, and accepted the outcome without regrets, second-thoughts, and self-loathing left such a deep impression on sakura that she wanted that thoughtless drive to live freely and greet tomorrow as a given to be hers as well.

little by little the broken doll with lifeless eyes restored more and more of her inner kindness and good faith, both because she gained a will that did more than just curse, and because there was someone who showed her what a real home, a real family looked like so she’d believe in love and happiness again. but much like rin, sakura struggled to believe she deserved happiness. years of abuse crushed sakura’s self-esteem, and thought her suffering made her unlovable and unnatural. her desire to be both loved and pitied clashed against one another, and were also contradictingly one and the same. it would be easy to be pitied, that means she would’ve been right about her hatefulness all along and she can just fade away along with the pain her baggage might’ve caused others. but if she’s loved, then how will she ever make herself worthy of it? how could she ever justify to herself that she’s being given love that hasn’t been earned? and even worse, what if she’s given love that can be lost?

sakura hides all the things that risk her losing all the love she’s accumulated, a desperate selfish tactic employed by a scared girl deathly afraid to lose the only light she’s ever known. if all her anger, bitterness, cowardice, jealousy, scars, and self-hatred were exposed, what would shirou think of her? once he does find out what she’s gone through, she pushes him away. she really believes she’s done for and has nothing else to come back to. even as shirou keeps asserting he does still want her in his life, she keeps hurling all the terrible things she’s done to him and herself without him knowing: that because he’s kiritsugu’s kid she spied on him for zouken, that she used him to run away from zouken and shinji, that she tried to kill herself, that she’s not a virgin, all to get him to reject her for good while guiltily clinging to the hope that he will still choose to love her in spite, or because of all that.

even after sakura’s killed shinji by accident and transforms into dark sakura, a part of herself is weak towards shirou. a part of herself lashes out when he’s around because she’s still rejecting him hoping he’ll forsake her so he’ll live without getting hurt by her while also begging for him to see how much she’s suffering so he’ll save her, going so far at the end that she tells rin to run away with shirou, having decided to kill herself alongside the grail. rin however, sees through sakura’s attempt to earn pity, but in her own fit of duty-induced forced apathy threatens to kill sakura herself before sakura has the chance to wipe herself out (jesus, rin) rather than comfort her and tell her she wishes for her to live. rin though fails to follow through with her plan. just as she overpowers sakura, she throws away all her lies and embraces her sister, telling her how she really feels, and the very first sincere expression of love her sister has shown her in a decade is enough for sakura to stop dead in her tracks and crumble in grief until shirou arrives to save her and insist that she deserves to live so that all the suffering she both caused and experienced and all the people she devoured can be given meaning. this parallels into how kama as beast iii/L wishes to render all love obsolete by drowning the universe in love to the point where all love becomes meaningless and kama no longer has to be hurt by love, with their defeat marking a change in their beliefs about the world and themself.

parvati tells you as much that she’s taken over sakura’s good side. she’s the earnest hardworking woman who is full of benevolence and enthusiasm after her purpose has become clear. however, what parvati doesn’t understand is that sakura’s good qualities are intermixed with her darker ones and fundamentally cannot ever be truly separated, and that’s why parvati also connects with sakura’s tendency to hide the ugly things about herself out of fear she’ll be rejected, and that it’s wrong and harmful for her to do that to sakura as much (if not worse) as it is for sakura to do it for herself alongside all the people that could be affected by that dishonesty.

apart from the obvious gross reasons, there is in fact a good justification for kama’s ascensions in fgo. their ascensions go from child to adolescent to adult to demonstrate that kama has a parallel to sakura’s personal growth. they are both individuals who, after being betrayed by their own kind (the gods and the tohsakas) and having their bodies destroyed (kama becoming the cosmos, sakura being devoured by crest worms and having her dna rewritten), have lost faith in who they were before and the world around them. kama starts out in sakura’s child body: the young girl who was sacrificed for a greater purpose and whose heart has been filled with depression, cynicism, and hatred for the world around her. their childish disposition however, marks that kama has truly been reborn and is going through the process of recreating their identity after it was shattered by trauma.

when kama is in sakura’s adolescent form, that signals that much like sakura around that age, they still cling to some anger and bitterness, but have begun to ease into forming new connections and their desire to be identified with love becomes complicated as it is both heavily resisted yet profoundly wanted. it is kama at their peak self-loathing, directing hatred to themself as much as their child form did to everyone else.

when kama shifts into sakura’s final adult form, it marks the period where they both have had some of their faith renewed in their existence. while it is still very difficult for them to truly know what love is and whether or not they’ve earned it, they nonetheless make it clear they want to believe in it again with the help of the person they’ve placed their trust upon (shirou for sakura, guda for kama). as the god of love, for kama to learn what love is is for kama to once more understand what it is to love themself again, and like sakura at the end of heaven’s feel finish constructing their brand new identity and move forward in a way that their happiness and reforged self-confidence can dignify their suffering and make up for all the damage they caused others and themselves.

this isn’t to say that pseudos as a concept are inherently good or anything. they are still very flawed because when mishandled for fanservice (and it happens a LOT) they do far more to displease both fans of the mythological figures and fans of the original fate/stay night characters simultaneously than to appease them both by robbing all characters involved of their complexities. regardless, that doesn’t mean that these gods wearing the faces of these girls is entirely pointless, lazy, and thoughtless. on the contrary, these girls were chosen because of all the different facets they have that match their possessors’ demeanors and themes, and i hope that this knowledge can help people see the connection with more clarity.

#anyway ooku event spoilers and vn spoilers for those who wanna go in blind #you don't have to reblog this if you don't feel like it i mostly typed this all out for myself #because i got tired of seeing either bad or somewhat disinformed pseudo servant takes #and needed to say something to keep my sanity

360 notes · View notes

vdlest · 3 years ago

Text

I'm home in your arms

Characters:

Bucky Barnes x Girlfriend!Reader

Summary:

Bucky always comes to visit you, but this time, he asked you to come over to his place. Upon your arrival at his apartment, you found him sad and emotional.

Warning:

Fluff

When Bucky called you to ask you to come over to his place, you immediately felt something’s wrong with him. He would not ask you to come over in the first place if nothing’s wrong or bothering him. Otherwise, he’ll come to your place like he always does.

At times like this, you would understand why he wanted you to move in with him or he’ll move in with you. You two have been in a relationship for three years now, and secrets have no room between the two of you anymore. You are each other’s family. It’ll be much easier for both of you to comfort each other in times like this if only you are both living under the same roof. But you insisted to still live separately since you two still deserve a little privacy and you two planned to build your own house, and once that dream house is fulfilled, that's when you and Bucky will live together.

When you arrived at his apartment, you used the key which Bucky gave you to enter his place. You did not waste any more time looking for him in other parts of his place, you instantly knew where he is.

The door in his bedroom is slightly opened, you peeked first to see and confirm if he really is there.

You saw him sitting on the edge of his bed, both of his hands, the flesh one and the vibranium one, are on his head. He's looking down that's why you can't see his face, but you could already tell his sadness and his emotional self. You start to wonder what is happening to him and what made him feel this way. There's only one way to find out, so you entered his room. You went up straight in front of him, kneeling to announce your presence, but since your boyfriend is a super-soldier, he must've known your arrival already because of his super-hearing ability.

"Hey," you called him as you kneel in front of him, "What happened?" you asked.

Bucky lets out heavy breathing before he answers you, "I miss my family, y/n," his voice is breaking, and you could tell he's on the edge of crying.

You froze the moment his eyes meet yours.

His eyes are red and full of emotion, full of pain. It has been decades since the last time he saw his family, his parents, and his sister, he's a hundred years old man, but despite the years, he is still longing for them, still hoping that he would be able to talk to them and see them once again. But you know what hurts him the most, the fact that he wasn't there for his sister. His sister died and he didn't know about it because HYDRA erased every bit of his memories.

"I miss them," he sniffles.

"I know," your hands traveled to his nape, pulling him for a hug, which he obliged. He rested his head on your shoulder as his emotions finally show up, tears finally ran down his cheeks.

For the first minutes of your arrival in his apartment, you two remained in that position. You just sat down in front of him, while his head is buried on your shoulder. You didn't want to stop him from letting his emotions out, you thought it can help him ease the pain because the more you suppress your feelings from manifesting, the more pain you'll feel and you will not be free from it.

"Buck, you'll see them again at the right time, at the right place," you spoke, finally breaking the silence between the two of you, "But right now, you're here. You're here with us, with me. We need you here, I need you. I know no amount of words can make you feel better right now, and I know you'll always miss them, but it's alright, my love. It's normal to miss the people we lost but the very best thing to feel their love and presence even though they're gone is through their memories with us."

When your feet and knees start to numb because you've been in that position for so long, you cupped Bucky's face, making him pull away from your shoulder and meet your eyes.

"You want me to stay tonight?" you asked him.

He nodded, "Yeah."

"I figured," you kissed the tip of his nose before you stood up to remove your shoes and your jacket.

When you're left with your white v-neck shirt and your pants, you climbed up to his bed and lay down. Bucky did the same thing, he climbed up to his bed, but when he's about to pull you for a cuddle, you stopped him by grabbing his hand and you are the one who pulled him for a cuddle.

"Come here," you softly said as you pull him towards you.

You guided him on top of you, you rest his head on your chest as you wrapped your hand around his nape, giving it a caress. In that position, you could feel his heartbeat, you could feel his breathing, you could feel him.

"Sometimes, I wish I didn't have to leave my sister for war, maybe I could have a little more time with her," he uttered while resting on top of you, making you feel his vibrations. "I wish HYDRA didn't captured me. I wish I didn't became the Winter Soldier. I wish I lived a normal life."

Somehow, you felt sorry for him for not being able to join his sister in this cruel thing we called life. He should have been with his sister, but war and HYDRA made it so impossible for him to do that. But you knew that if he didn't go through all of that, he wouldn't find his way to you, the two of you wouldn't not be here. Your heart flinched a bit when you realized that Bucky wanted to live his normal life, and it means a life without you.

"Buck, you're also wishing that the two of us shouldn't meet at all."

Your words made him stood up from his position, he moved to your side as he meet your eyes, "No," he shook his head. His hand moved to your cheek, "I would never wish for such a thing. Your existence made me surpass all the odds, all the miseries I've been through. You are the only person that helps me to fight everything. So please, don't ever think that way."

"I know there's no way I could fill the longing and emptiness you feel in your heart because only your family could do that, but I want you to know that I'm here for you. I will do everything in my power to help you in any possible way because.." you caress his cheek and smiles at him, "...because that's how much I love you, Bucky."

He gave you a small smile, "I know, and I'm sorry for making you feel you're not enough reason for me to be happy in this new life I have," he leaned forward to kiss your forehead before he continues talking, "You're more than enough."

"There's something I also need to tell you, Buck," you said.

"What is it?" he asked, a bit frowning.

Before you received a call from him, asking you to come to his place, you're about to take a pregnancy test. You've been feeling sick for the past few weeks, you would throw up, feel dizzy, the food you used to like, you hate it now, and most of all, your period is delayed. You wanted to take the test first before you consult a doctor, but you weren't able to finish the test because you are worried about Bucky.

"Hey," he sensed that you're worried after you told him that you might be pregnant, "You don't have to be scared or worried. We will make this work, and if you're really pregnant, that'd make me the happiest man alive."

When you first had a hunch that you might be pregnant, you got scared initially. You got scared that you and Bucky might not be ready for a very serious situation like this one, but you knew in your heart you will keep the baby once you confirmed you are really pregnant. But now, after you heard Bucky's reaction, all your worries disappeared.

You cupped his face, "You know, maybe you weren't given the chance to be a brother to your sister, but I could tell, your sister wants you to be a good dad," you told him. "Thank you, Bucky. Thank you for not freaking out, and thank you for making me feel better," you added.

He shook his head, removing strands of hair blocking your face, "I should be the one thanking you, my love. You always give me a reason to be happy, to fight, and now you just gave me another one," his hand moved to your belly, "I love you with all my heart. Thank you for being here with me. Thank you for choosing to go through life with me."

That night, you and Bucky ended up endlessly staring at a white rectangular-shaped gadget with two red lines on it.

In 9 months, both of you will be called parents.

Bucky might not be able to fulfill his obligations so his sister, you knew he would make it up to her by being the best dad he could be to your child. From then on, Bucky realized that he won't be able to turn back the time anymore, so he have to live in the present and make the world a better place for his child with you.

-v.dl

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #marvel fanfiction #marvel imagine #marvel #bucky barnes fluff

146 notes · View notes

sunsetcurvecuddles · 3 years ago

Note

Alex + Julie "You didn't deserve that... You deserve so much better."

you sent me this prompt a million years ago i'm sorry it took me so long to answer it. warning for friendship breakup angst. there's no carrie redemption arc in this fic but there IS alexjulie friendship.

with love on their throats | g | 1.7k | alex&julie, past julie&carrie

ao3 link in reblogs!

Julie doesn’t mean to ignore the boys all afternoon, but Carrie’s birthday was hard last year and so far, this year doesn’t seem to be getting any easier.

She has the foresight to turn her phone off, at least, this year. She can’t handle the social media posts from everyone else at their school. They’re probably in Carrie’s pool, in her kitchen, in her living room. Probably throwing around the throw cushions that Julie’s mom taught her and Carrie to sew covers for when they were ten. Maybe even smashing the glasses Julie used to drink Trevor’s homemade iced tea out of when she would come to visit before Carrie got home from sport in the evenings. The idea of seeing these familiar spaces still just… out there, existing, rather than stuck in the past along with her and Carrie’s friendship, makes Julie nauseous.

Plus, there’s the added bonus of not being able to text Carrie something reckless she might regret.

So her phone’s switched off. Her dad knows not to bother her today anyway, since he had a front-row seat to whole Carrie mess when it happened. He just shot her a sympathetic glance over breakfast and hasn’t spoken to her at all. Carlos is at a friend’s house, and wouldn’t bother her even if he were home.

It’s just the ghosts Julie is avoiding, locked her bedroom door, perched on her window seat with her headphones on, watching YouTube on her laptop.

Which means it scares her half to death when Alex waves a hand in front of her face.

She yanks her headphones off and curses, sharp and a little louder than she means to, and Alex jumps back like he’s been burned. “Julie! Uh, hi, hey. Sorry to scare you.”

“Why didn’t you knock?!” she demands, still breathless. “It’s you, you know better! Boundaries!”

At least Alex has the decency to look shamefaced. “I know, listen, it’s just -- we were worried about you! And we did knock, a lot, actually, but I don’t think you could hear us? So I said we should give you space but Luke and Reg started psyching each other out, and Luke’s never been able to handle space the same way since the Caleb Covington Kidnapping Incident--”

Which, okay, yeah, that’s fair enough. Julie still shudders at the memory of the Caleb Covington Kidnapping Incident.

“-- so then I got nominated because, well, Reg worried you might be getting changed or something, and that makes me the obvious choice, not that I wanted to be the obvious choice, just that -- okay, I’m doing a bad job, what I mean is --”

Finally, she decides to put him out of his misery. “Alex, stop. It’s fine.”

Relieved, he lets out a breath and leans on his knees, looking up at her with pretty, apologetic eyes. “Still. I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to frighten you, we just… got worried. And wanted to see if you were okay. You’ve been in here all day.”

Julie nods and looks back at her laptop, where the YouTube video is still playing, and pauses it.

She hasn't looked back over at Alex when he says, cautious, "Are you okay?"

When she replies, “Yeah,” it isn’t because she wants to lie to him, necessarily. It’s more because she doesn’t know how to untangle her feelings enough to lay them out in front of him. More because it’s hard to explain why she still misses someone who she knows hurt her, who she knows should have known better.

It’s hard to explain why she feels guilt, and grief, over something she chose to let go.

The window seat dips when he sits down next to her, fingers twisted together in his lap, shoulders rolled forward. He’s offering her the tiniest, encouraging smile in the form of a little quirk at the corner of his mouth. Julie loves him so much that it softens the heartache, just for a moment.

But then it returns. Just as strong. Just as unreasonable. Just as painful.

“It’s Carrie’s birthday,” she tells him, without even knowing why she says it.

“Oh,” he replies, which seems fair. She doesn’t know what she’d say in his position. He chews his lip, a crease forming in his brow. “You guys used to be friends, right?”

God, can she talk about this out loud? It’s easier to joke with Flynn, to make fun of the situation, because Flynn saw it all play out, held Julie when she cried, stopped being friends with Carrie in solidarity. Explaining the situation from start to finish, to someone new, just feels impossible.

So instead she says, “Do you ever miss someone you know you can’t have back? Or not that you can’t. But you know you shouldn’t. You know that you can’t get them back, or you’d have to give up too much for it and it wouldn’t be worth it.”

Because sure, if Julie was really committed, she’s sure she could grovel her way back into Carrie’s inner circle. But as much as she misses her, she’s not prepared to do it.

Alex nods, understanding. “Yeah,” he says plainly. “Yeah, I do. Tons of people.”

Julie’s surprised, but she supposes she shouldn’t be. The boys talk about Alex’s family the way Julie’s mom used to talk about ghosts -- never directly, otherwise they’d hear her and be summoned -- and after the whole thing with Trevor, well. It makes sense.

“Can I get it to stop?” Julie asks. “I had to turn off my phone before I did something stupid like text her. What would I even say? Why would I want to say anything?”

“I don’t know,” he murmurs. He leans over so their shoulders bump together, and she leans her head on him. “It’s okay to miss her, you know. You guys had good things in your friendship -- I mean, I guess, right? That’s why you miss it?”

Julie nods, closing her eyes. There are so many good memories she doesn’t even know where to start. Running in the park. Sitting at the piano together. Fashion shows for their dads and Julie’s mom in the living room of the Wilsons’ huge house. Sleepovers with Flynn full of bickering and giggling and pillow fights. Birthday parties, their whole lives.

“But that doesn’t mean you didn’t have a good reason for stepping away,” Alex says.

That’s true, too. Julie’s pretty sure they didn’t have that good stuff for a while before their friendship ended, in reality. Carrie was becoming… snappish. Self-absorbed. All she wanted to do was boss the other girls in dance class around, and she didn’t ask to hear Julie’s songs anymore. Julie knew that being a good friend meant weathering the good with the bad, but she gave Carrie what felt like a million chances, and she wasn’t getting anything back. When she’d tried to bring it up to Carrie, things had… exploded.

She explains as much to Alex, in fits and spurts, and finishes with, “She just… blew up at me, she told me she’d been sick of me for ages and asked why I hadn’t noticed. Like I was just supposed to realise that we weren’t friends anymore without her telling me.” Sucking in a shaky breath, she manages, “And then my mom…”

“Oh, Julie,” Alex murmurs softly into her hair. She’s trying not to cry, she really is, but it feels all bubbly at the surface of her chest, and the way he puts an arm around her and squeezes tight shows that he can tell.

“I know it’s silly,” she chokes, “but it feels like we broke up, or something, even though we were just friends. It hurts so much just thinking about her.”

“It’s not silly,” he assures her, and wraps his other arm around her, too, so he’s hugging her close to him with her head against his chest. “There’s nothing less important about friends, and a friendship ending can really suck. Especially how she did it.” He presses a kiss to her forehead, and doesn’t draw attention to the few tears making their way down her cheeks. They sit like that for a moment, then Alex says quietly, “You’re a wonderful friend. You didn’t deserve that. You deserve so much better.”

Sniffling, Julie rubs her sleeve across her eyes, wiping away the tears. The thought dawns on her like the sunrise after a long, sleepless night. “I have so much better,” she realises out loud. “I have Flynn. And Dad and Carlos. And you and Luke and Reggie.”

“We are pretty fantastic,” Alex agrees, faux-smug, but his eyes are still cautious, and affectionate. “But it’s okay to be upset anyway.”

“I know,” she says. And she does. “But I think I’m almost done being upset. For now, at least. Maybe we could run through a few songs?”

“I’m sure the boys would love that,” Alex tells her, smiling, and he goes to stand up but she holds on tighter, so he won’t leave the hug.

He just feels so steady, and comforting, and she’ll never really get over being able to actually hold them. “Can we just. Stay here for a moment, first?”

Easing himself back down, Alex grins and pulls her closer, tucking her head under his chin. “Of course,” Alex says. “We can take as long as you need. Just us, or the others, too?”

She pauses. “The others, too.”

Alex closes his eyes, and Julie knows he’s reaching out to the others, through their one leftover remnant of their time in the afterlife, tugging at their leads until they come to find him. A moment later, Reggie and Luke both pop into presence in the middle of her room, puppy-eyed with worry and hope.

“Julie?” asks Reggie quietly, fiddling with his fingers.

“You good?” Luke asks, on the balls of his feet.

“Yeah,” she tells them. “Just needed a hug.”

Within moments, they’re all around her and Alex, Reggie’s arm around her waist, Luke’s leg somehow, inexplicably, over her lap. Alex makes an insulted noise, but he’s so relaxed, Julie knows he must not mean it. When she presses her ear to his collarbone, Julie can hear his heartbeat, solid and alive, miraculous. Her friend’s heartbeat. Her friends, all around her.

Things are still bittersweet, and it’s still Carrie’s birthday, but Julie is still surrounded by love, enveloped in it, living in it. She can be sad for what’s gone, and be grateful for what she has, at the same time.

#jatp #julie and the phantoms #julie molina #alex mercer #carrie wilson #ask #joyandthephantoms

67 notes · View notes

hongism · 4 years ago

Text

the little things - c. jongho

↣ pairing: jongho x reader; mentioned poly ot8 x reader ↣ genre: sfw, fluff, hurt/comfort, angst, fantasy au, witch ateez au ↣ wc: 3.6k ↣ summary: when the winters seem to drag and last forever, you find yourself slipping a bit into murky waters of despair. jongho is your lifeline, your lifesaver, your lifeboat, determined to guide you back to peaceful shores. ↣ warnings: mentions of intrusive thoughts, depression, lots of Talking about depression/grief/mourning, mentions of death/talking about someone who has died

The air bites harshly at your skin, nipping the areas where you can’t be bothered to pull your blanket up over, and if you were in a different emotional state, perhaps you would find it in you to care more. Instead, you remain rooted to the spot — a small stump behind your cottage that overlooks the quiet and expansive forest just over the lip of the hill. It’s a beautiful sight, even in the midst of winter like this where snow has just fallen and left a white sheen to the tips of the trees below you.

It would be wise for you to be inside just in case someone decides to climb the hill to your shop and request a prescription, but you know you will sense them coming before they even reach the stairs.

So, you stay where you are, letting your blanket slip a little more from your shoulders. Your guest — even the loud and boisterous one as he works — sings along to a silent melody, painting your ears with the pleasant sound of his voice as he moves freshly chopped wood to your dwindling pile by the house. Despite your attempts to help, he simply told you to stay put and not move a muscle while he chopped and moved them. Arguing with him would be a losing fight anyway.

In all honesty, as beautiful and delightful as the forest below you usually is, you cannot find it in you to see that beauty right now. Nothing seems to be working. All your wasted and helpless attempts to feel some type of way about your surroundings have failed time and time again. Either that or they are drowned out by that lingering ache in your chest, the one that clenches your heart tight in its clutches and pins you to the ground in a state of numbness that sadly is not foreign to you.

You wish you had a better explanation for that tightness in your chest. Whenever Seonghwa or Hongjoong asks after you and how you’re faring, you scrape by and say you are doing fine. Because yes, you are arguably fine. Not bad but not particularly good either. Just a middle ground of fine. (Nothing is ever truly fine in such a world where the word has become a cloak for how one truly feels, and you know both Hongjoong and Seonghwa can see right through your ruse each time you utter the words ‘I’m fine’. Neither push you further than that, however, so you don’t say anything else). Part of you feels the tuggings of guilt on your heartstrings when one of the others tries to cheer you up — Wooyoung with his playful jokes and endless tickle fights on the couch that end with you exhaling an exasperated sigh and leaving him there alone, San who does anything and everything to help but is too clumsy for his own good so he accidentally makes things worse, Yunho who tries his best to sit with you in absolute silence without moving while you read but inevitably cannot sit still for more than five minutes without doing something. So you do feel guilty for not being able to cheer up when they try their hardest to break that emotional wall around you.

It must be frustrating for them to have to deal with you while in such a state of emotional distortion and confusion; you aren’t sure whether you could be nearly as patient as they are with you (god, they are all so endlessly patient — another thing to feel guilty about). Yet you must admit that it is frustrating for you as well. Because as much as you want to be more than just fine or okay or whatever variation of “I’m not good, not bad, I don’t know what the fuck I am, I just am” you are on a certain day, you cannot will yourself into pushing those negative thoughts and feelings out of the picture. Almost like the thing holding you down has an anchor tied to your ankle and causes you to sink deeper and deeper each time you try to fight your way out of it.

Maybe you aren’t paying as much attention as you thought you were after all because when a firm hand reaches down to clasp around your shoulder, you are more than a little startled.

The little jump in your body as well as the sudden gasp that tears through your lips catches your companion off-guard too, it seems. Although Jongho is always a hard book to read; he doesn’t wear his feelings on his sleeve the way people like Wooyoung and San do. The slight and momentary widening of his eyes tells you all you need to know before you let yourself relax under his warm touch.

That’s another thing about Jongho — he is always so warm. Now, of course, you are fairly certain that part of that relates to him being an elemental witch, so obviously he will carry some extra warmth in his body because of those energies, but he holds a different kind of warmth with him as well. One that makes you believe for almost a second that it will be okay.

The sun flickering at the edge of the horizon.

Two swallows flitting across the bright and clear morning sky.

The rolling forest that rests at the foot of your hill.

It’s green today. The snow caps the trees just enough to leave hints of winter foliage peeking through.

Green and alive and beautiful.

Then the illusion breaks, like the anchor around your foot let up for just that moment to let you gasp in a desperate gulp of air and beauty before dragging you back into its abyss.

What a cruel, cruel mistress.

“Too cold?” Jongho inquires as he squats down beside you. A smile twists his lips, gentle and effervescent. (“Love,” your mind helpfully supplies, “he looks at you with love”).

“It’s not too bad today,” you reply in a quiet tone. There lies an alternate meaning to what you said, something contained and locked away in the box you call your heart, and Jongho takes that box into his hands so carefully as always. Sits down on the snow-covered ground without complaint beside your tiny stump and lets his hand slip down to rest over where your thigh meets your knee. It’s careful. Your lip twitches in some direction.

“That still implies it’s a little bad.”

You hum in response. There isn’t much for you to say to that even though he is unfortunately all too correct in saying such a thing.

“I chopped enough wood to last you through February. Should be a harsher winter than usual, so don’t hesitate to send for me if you need more before then.” You reach down to cover Jongho’s hand, tracing pointless and unknown patterns into the back of his hand. The touch is more for you than anything else; a peace of mind that allows you to disconnect the brutal reality of your pained chest from what is sitting right in front of you. Love, joy, care, warmth.

Why does your chest only grow colder in the face of something that burns so hot?

Jongho’s lips move again, and you are almost certain that he is speaking to you but the deep waters clog your ears and make it impossible to understand what he’s saying to you.

Why does this anchor never find a place to rest? You want to rest.

When you fail to respond or even acknowledge whatever Jongho has said in the slightest, he takes it upon himself to stand back up and nudge you away from your little stump. You are understandably confused by the action but too …absent to reality to complain or fight back against whatever he’s doing.

So you opt to simply stand off to the side and watch as Jongho brushes stray pieces of snow off your blanket. He wraps it snug back around your shoulders. It’s a bit warmer this time. Then, he guides you to the back door, hand closing around the soft white handle and pushing into the cottage without a word. This is just another language you speak. Understanding. Push and pull. The complex nature of working with an emotionally stunted and constipated individual who does not know how to communicate what exactly they are feeling or thinking in the moment.

You prefer to just exist rather than bog yourself down with such detailed intricacies — it makes things easier for you in the long run.

Once inside, Jongho continues to push you forward until you reach the positively tiny dining table you have set up next to the kitchen. Hardly an excuse for a dining table since it’s barely bigger than your bedside table but then again it’s made to seat you and only you. That doesn’t stop Jongho from pulling a second chair up to slot into the space directly to the right of your chair. Again you do not fight him when he eases you down onto the soft ivory cushion.

Instinct causes you to shift and look out the window above your table, finding the first few flakes of the morning snow beginning to fall. You wonder if Jongho sensed the weather shifting or if it’s merely happenstance that brought you both inside before the snow started.

“Seonghwa went on a rampage and cleaned the house again,” Jongho murmurs. He follows your gaze out the window but doesn’t say anything more than that, leaving the conversation open and hanging onto a hope for your response.

“Is he worried over Hongjoong?”

“No more than usual. You know how he gets. Can’t sit still even when you ask him to.” You shift to look at Jongho, noting the smile that curls at the corners of his lips, and this time you return the gesture with a lopsided grin of your own. “All before sunrise too.”

“He always has to be the first to wake up, otherwise he doesn’t get to tell you that you’re his darling sunrise.”

Jongho’s smile stretches wider and shows off his gums and teeth. It’s beautiful, you think, somewhere in the back of your mind that remains untouched by that cold sadness. Happiness looks good on Jongho — warm, alive, and beautiful. You wonder if it looks the same on your features as well, if it were ever to come back to you.

“Shall I prepare some tea?”

“You’re beginning to sound like Yeosang.”

“Maybe all those naps on the couch are finally starting to have weird side effects on me.” Jongho shrugs then laughs under his breath, but the sound is still clear and bright on your ears. He pushes back from the table to step into your small kitchen nonetheless, not waiting for your answer to his question as he begins to rummage through your cabinets.

“That would make sense; you’re his favorite after all.”

“Hm, I think Seonghwa has me beat there.”

“Only because of their familiar bond. Otherwise, I’m positive you would take the cake.” You prop your elbows up on the edge of the table, leaning forward until your chin rests atop your clenched fists, and you simply watch Jongho move around the kitchen with little on your mind for a bit. He’s quiet again; this time, he doesn’t speak as he works, and it allows you to stew in the silence while you can. You have to remind yourself that sometimes it’s like this. Some days are harder than others. Some days are easier, and some are like today where you can’t even manage to pinpoint the source of your negative feelings.

You glance over at the wall, staring hard at the small chalkboard that sits there with your messing scrawling and intelligible handwriting. Then your stare settles on today’s date. The small red circle around the number placed in roman numerals there. You left no other note there, no indication of what the red circle means, but after several years of practicing said habit, the knowledge is deeply ingrained in your mind now.

“Ah…” you exhale without thinking. You don’t notice the way Jongho’s gaze flickers over to you, how his hand hesitates near the kettle, or how he follows your stare to the calendar. You’re far too engrossed in the swarm of hurt in your chest. Suddenly your shifting moods make much more sense. “Another year, another birthday passed.”

The day always feels so odd and cathartic to you. A day one is supposed to celebrate that has long since grown cold and lonely because the one you are meant to be celebrating is nothing present. Birthdays are almost worse than the other melancholy anniversary that hasn’t left your mind.

You force your gaze away from the calendar to look back at where Jongho stands frozen as a statue in the kitchen.

“Did you… remember?” You ask. Jongho doesn’t typically come over unannounced, but he rarely explains why he comes to visit either. He did neither again today. It is far more understandable now that you’ve finally realized what day it is.

“I did,” he whispers back before settling back into his routine of making tea. “I did not want to mention it unless you brought it up first.”

His tone is careful and wary, like he’s treading on broken glass and trying not to make the damage worse. You are almost grateful for it.

“It’s okay,” you say through a strained smile. “At least I know why I’m feeling this way now.”

Next thing you know, Jongho is abandoning his station at the stove, leaving the kettle behind to heat up, and he returns to your side within seconds. Although this time, he merely stands beside your chair and brings his hands down to cradle your face in his rough and warm hands. You can’t understand why until his thumbs brush something damp away from your cheeks. You don’t even remember feeling the tears spring up.

“It’s okay.”

You nearly snap back and say it’s not okay, why would it be okay if you’re crying like this? But then it hits you that Jongho is not implying the situation is okay or that it is not something to be upset over. Rather, he’s telling you that it’s okay to cry like this, to be affected and hurt and in pain. You wish you could believe it.

“I thought it would get easier as more time passed.” You keep your tone quiet, knowing that if you lift your voice any higher it will begin to crack and break.

“Sometimes it does, sometimes it doesn’t. But I think you’ve made lots of progress as it is.” Jongho squats down until most of his weight is pushed onto his toes, sitting just beneath your eye level now. His hands don’t drift from your face for a second though, and right now, you couldn’t be more grateful for the warmth of his touch. “It’s not always about measuring the pain or comparing how much it hurts not to how much it hurt back then. Sometimes it’s about being able to see how you’ve grown and how you can look back at memories that were once painful with fondness now. And occasionally, it’s about being able to look at the calendar and smile because you know you get to celebrate a life and a soul that you still cherish.”

“What if one day I look at that calendar and don’t remember though? I don’t want to forget, but I want to be okay.” You suck your lower lip between your teeth and bite down hard on the skin. It doesn’t help with your sudden influx of tears (not that you expected it to) but Jongho wipes them away with each one that falls.

“Is that what you’re afraid of? Forgetting?”

“Y-Yeah. I get… I get upset because — I don’t know. Part of me feels guilty to even want to be okay when I know that he didn’t get to be. He didn’t have the chance to be okay, he was gone before he had that, and I’m here and I just… feeling a lot less deserving of that.”

Jongho shifts his weight to rest on his knees now, and he pulls you a bit further down to still comfortably hold your face between his palms.

“Would he want you to punish yourself for something out of your control? Or would he want you to rest in the knowledge that he is okay now? Resting easy after a long fight and at peace because he did well in his life? Even if that life did not last as long as we might have hoped, he still did well and worked hard and showed a life that was full of many beautiful things, no?”

“You’re right,” you murmur, eyes flitting away from Jongho’s ever so gentle ones. “I’m thankful for the time I had with him, even if it wasn’t as long as I imagined it would be. He’s at peace and he’s resting and okay now. Just the selfish part of me isn’t ready to let go.”

“You don’t ever have to let go, darling. Not completely. And if you don’t want to let go, then that gives me confidence that you won’t forget him or the memories of him. He will always be resting here.” Jongho’s left hand falls to rest over your heart, fingers barely brushing against the soft material of your clothes there. You instinctively reach over to cover his hand with one of your own and press him closer and closer until his palm lies flat against your chest. “He would want you to find the peace you deserve even if he isn’t here on earth anymore.”

“I’m trying my best to remember that,” you counter. The words come out a bit choked and thick thanks to your tears but you push through that and continue speaking nonetheless. “I’m trying to remember that he would want us to celebrate him and remember him fondly, not just the sad parts or the tragedy. He wouldn’t want to be remembered as something sad or a tragedy, and he wouldn’t want to only be remembered when times are sad. I just feel like I’m drowning in these feelings and can’t get out sometimes.”

“In times of grief, we often let ourselves sink because we lose ourselves in the feelings of pain and sadness. It’s easier to get lost in it than it is to fight your way out of it, but that doesn’t mean it’s impossible. There’s always a way out. Sometimes you just need someone to hold your hand and help guide you home.”

“I want to go home,” you whisper. It sounds utterly stupid to say aloud since you are sitting in your own damn kitchen right now, you are home physically, of course you are, and you are more than well aware of that. Still, your heart feels like it’s torn from your chest and off who knows where with no hope of coming home, yet Jongho just twists his hand around and takes hold of yours. You cling to your lifeline harder.

“Do you trust us to stand by you until you find your way home?”

“Always.”

“Then I promise that’s exactly what we’ll do.” Jongho pulls your hand close to his face, then presses his lips to your knuckles. The gesture is soft and intimate, even moreso with the knowledge that Jongho isn’t one to typically engage in such physical affection often, and you feel some warmth creep into your chest again.

“Will you stay even after that?” You ask through a breathless whisper, bracing your hands on Jongho’s firm shoulders and offering a teary smile. Jongho pushes up, and his head bumps haphazardly into your shoulder as he moves suddenly. It causes you to tip back a bit, nearly falling all the way off the chair, but he catches you before you can slip. It’s not a verbal answer, nor do you need it to be because you’d like to think you can understand what Jongho means in the movements without hearing him say it. “Thank you for being patient with me. All of you are so patient and gentle with me.”

“I think this is where Seonghwa would say something grossly sappy like ‘that’s part of being in love’,” Jongho murmurs before his forehead finds purchase against yours. You let your eyes flutter shut and rest in the gentle embrace. “Thank you for opening your heart to me.” You hum back, not bothering with words in favor of just drinking in Jongho’s presence. “The kettle is boiling away, you know.”

“Let me have this for just a few moments more.”

“Always,” Jongho sighs against you, but it’s not a tired or exasperated sound, merely content in the peaceful space the two of you have created. You’re content as well — okay for now, fine for now, but maybe even leaning more on doing well and feeling good. Not perfect, although you don’t think it needs to be perfect as long as you have the hopes of reaching safe shores.

...

a/n: this came at an opportune time i think? april 7th/8th is always difficult for me and i know many people can relate to that well and understand that feeling, and i kinda unintentionally reflected those feelings into this part of little things, but i hope maybe that you can find comfort in this and understand how important and valid your feelings are, no matter what ❤❤

#atzinc #kdiarynet #kwritersworldnet #jongho x reader #ateez fluff #ateez angst #depression tw #anxiety tw #ateez x reader #jongho fluff #jongho angst #ateez imagines #ateez drabbles #jongho imagines #jongho drabbles #fic; the little things

179 notes · View notes

dissonantdreamer · 3 years ago

Note

Am I being oversensitive when I say I find some of the hatred towards TLOU2 to be disturbing? I saw someone post fanart of Ellie gleefully killing Lev in front of Abby and celebrating how it would've been the "better" ending. It's so hypocritical considering haters complain about the characters being 'ooc' but then have Ellie enjoy killing an innocent child. She broke down after torturing Nora and killing Mel, a pregnant woman, but sure, murdering Lev would be so "badass" of Ellie. Ugh. [1/2]

These are the same people who claim Abby is a sociopath and then they cheer at edits of Ellie murdering a child with ease. Every day I am more convinced some fans never cared about Ellie beyond her being Joel's daughter/sidekick, and that TLOU2's message of all-consuming hate and bias is more accurate than people give it credit for. Anyways, sorry for the long message. I appreciate your takes on this game and the TLOU community on tumblr is a breath of fresh air compared to other places. [2/2] (To make it a bit easier to answer I put your asks together) I don't think it's oversensitive to be aware of how horrendous some of the "fans" treat the women of the last of us. It can be annoying and upsetting to see. Ellie became the headstrong woman she is because of Ashley. She took a character that was initially going to be a basic sidekick type and made her into this feral little badass that was ready to say everyone she could. Part One is good because of that, they were able to make this world seem real and these characters alive because there is, among all the desolation and hopelessness, a child who not only has the cure for humanity, but still believes in a world long gone, one that is worth her time. That extends to Joel, not just the cure. Ellie is loved because she was smart, and reliable, and like she did for Joel, she grows on you. Yet she is still a product of that world, she has to fight for those things. That means fighting to survive. People forget that in this world that these characters exist in, most people don't derive pleasure from killing each other. Even Joel expresses his dislike of it, but he has to. If he is going to survive and keep his loved ones safe, he's going to fucking do it. We see that in his conversation with Tommy. Ellie isn't running around Seattle killing swaths of people for fun (and I'll point out depending on your game play style she doesn't have to) she's not killing Abby's crew for fun either. Jordan was to save Dina, Nora was her attempt to embody Joel and it visibly breaks her, Owen and Mel was brought on by high tension and panic and resulted in her feeling deep guilt. Holding a knife to Lev's throat (something done out of pure desperation for this pain to end) probably fucked her up too. Sitting in the water, thinking about how that could have been her and Joel at one point. Going after Abby was a twisted mockery of "after everything I've done it can't be for nothing" yes she has a loving partner and family, but she hasn't healed, Tommy hasn't healed and two broken people feeling hopeless doesn't mean they will enjoy the suffering, it means that if this Abby is dead, they'll heal. We saw Abby go through that process and we know, it doesn't. I say this often, but there are folks who love these games because they want a simple black and white Harry Wormwood view of the world " I'm smart; you're dumb. I'm big; you're little. And there's nothing you can do about it." There always is something you can do. That something will always take a lot of growth, and an active effort to want to grow. Joel changes, he grows. As does Abby. As will Ellie. When you play a series, you are going on a journey with this characters, not everyone wants to go on that journey. Unfortunately these people are vocal about it, even still. Which says more about them than anything. Life is easier when you put things into a binary, because you don't have to think about nuance, you don't have to view things as they truly are, you have your good vs bad outlook and you keep your head down at any sign that the world isn't that easy. Some people don't want to face that complexity. You play as these characters, but no one knows them better than the team that brought them to life. Joel was traumatized and that manifested in this anti-hero type that the some people love to play. But his character is more complex than that, the world he operates in is. Broken people always are. thanks for the ask anon, and for being patient with my response. Luckily we have a chill group here and there's always a place to discuss

elements of the game respectfully

#kind orb with sick shades #thanks for being patient :)#the analysis of us #always down for analysis asks

46 notes · View notes

flooffybits · 4 years ago

Text

Stay A While

Idol: Ha Sooyoung, Jung Jinsoul (Loona)

Anon: Yay. Okay so how about one with LOONA’s 13th member? Yvesoul are in a happy relationship and the 13th member who is especially close with them has feelings for both. She doesn’t say anything though, worried about making things awkward or interfering in what is already a happy relationship. So instead, she starts distancing herself to hide the symptoms. She doesn’t want to get surgery cause she can’t imagine not feeling the way she does but she also refuses to tell anyone so she starts getting worse and worse. Heejin, Lip and Chuu find out at some point by accident. The 13th member is really stubborn. Lots of angst and hurt feelings and protective members please. And a happy ending please (I was going for only angst but I’m too weak 😂) thank you so much in advance.

A/n: well since you asked so nicely 😂 i really tried to think of a way with making this interesting so i hope you enjoy! it’s really hard making this a happy ending but please ignore the crappy ending if you wish

Warning: blood, near death experience (sorta), heavy angst

☕buy me a coffee☕

You were known to be Loona's biggest fan, aside from Jiwoo, and your members and fans knew just how much you'd practically do anything for all of them.

It was what made you so likeable and the fans loved it when you would also try to hype them up whenever you get the chance to see them, making them feel as though you were the one who came to see them instead.

Your selflessness was one of your greatest strengths, but as time passed, it began to serve as your greatest weakness.

A little after Sooyoung and Jinsoul had officially informed all of you about how they were dating, you were beginning to feel a bit off whenever you saw them. It made your chest tighten and your throat itches as though something was stuck in there.

But you were extremely supportive of the pair even before they had gotten together. While they tended to act like cat and mouse, you were always there to make sure neither girls went too far or simply became the subject of their teasing when they wanted, claiming that you were the maknae of your unofficial subunit.

It took you time to understand what was happening to you. While you didn't think about it at first, you were actually very fond of the pair, enjoying their company and the way they took care of you. While they did love to annoy you, Sooyoung and Jinsoul did their best to take care of you and look after you whether or not you were aware of it.

When the first petal came falling on the palm of your hand right as the pair informed you how they were going out for a date, you brushed it off, confused as to where the yellow petal had come from. But a couple hours after that, you find yourself lightheaded and weak as your coughing begins to worsen.

Haseul was quick in giving you some cough medicines and ordered that you get some rest even as you assured her you would be fine.

"Stop being so stubborn and get some rest. I bet you were staying up with Jinsoul and Yves again." The mention of the pair caused another itching sensation in your throat but you had done your best to suppress it, at least until your leader had left you alone in your room.

As soon as she was gone, you quickly covered your mouth as you entered another coughing fit, one that made you feel even worse than you already were.

But as soon as you pulled your hand away, you stared, horrified at the blood stained petals that stared back up at you.

When everyone had gotten home, you made sure to stay in bed, pretending to sleep whenever someone came into the room, but no matter how much you tried, there was no ridding you of the thoughts that swam through your mind, all centered around the petals you had flushed down the toilet and the blood you had to wash from your hands.

You knew what the disease was, what caused it. But all this time, you had merely thought it was a myth, nothing but a made up fable.

And yet you were a living proof that the disease did exist and that it was slowly eating away inside of you.

You didn't dare tell any of your members about it because you know that they would fall into panic. And with Haseul having only just recovered, you didn't want to make her go through another difficult event, especially not one that involved you possibly dying if you didn't find a way to rid yourself of disease.

"Hey, is everything alright?" Sooyoung came up to you once when you were eating lunch, alone, and you honestly weren't too sure if you were in the mood to talk. "You've been awfully quiet lately and we were wondering if there was something bothering you." She explains while you poked your food and avoided her inquisitive gaze. "Yeah, just a little tired."

That had been your answer most days. And while that was true, you couldn't exactly tell her the whole truth.

Her expression becomes pensive without you looking because there was clearly much more that you weren't saying. "Y/n, if you need help, we're always going to be here for you. Jinsoul and I might be dating and everything, but that doesn't mean we don't have time for you anymore." She says while reaching out to touch your arm and you do your best not to recoil and tear your arm away.

Instead, you slap on a smile, one that doesn't quite reach your eyes, before nodding your head. "I know, Yves unnie. Don't worry."

Sooyoung stares at you for a moment, clearly saddened by your reply because, one, she knows that you were lying. It was clear as day. And, two, you had stopped calling her Yves two months after you had debuted and got to know all of them, unless it was during interviews and filming.

She mutters a quiet okay before watching you exit the dining area and head to the bathroom.

While Sooyoung left to find her girlfriend, you grip at the sink as your body shakes violently, yellow and red quickly filling your vision when more of the flowers come falling from your mouth and you desperately try to wash them away, getting rid of any and all traces of your suffering, before you sit on the cold floor, back against the door as you bury your face into your hands to muffle the sobs that replaced the petals that left your lips.

It had been nearly two months since you found out you were suffering from the disease. Nothing you tried was able to ease the pain nor was anything enough to help you get rid of it. Each day was only making you feel worse and weak that it was a surprise how none of your members had caught on yet.

Maybe it was because you kept your time away from your members, reading and searching about any known cures until you decided that asking a professional would be where you would get the best possible answer.

They were surprised when you revealed to them the truth. While they knew that it was a very rare disease, finding out that you, a young idol, was suffering from it had them all trying their best to help you in whatever help they could offer until the doctor you had consulted explained to you the complications of getting the surgery.

The surgery, you had no problem doing. You were more than willing to go through with it, but when he told you that you would grow numb toward the person, or in your case people, along with the potential of forgetting those who were the root of your unrequited love, the idea was quickly thrown out the window.

Even when you tried to deny the fact that maybe you were feeling much more love for Sooyoung and Jinsoul than you were supposed to, you couldn’t push through with it. To be numb and risk forgetting two of the most precious people to you? That would not only be too much for you, but it would be heartbreaking for everyone else around you. And in the event you do forget your members, that would cause much confusion to everyone else.

You quickly declined after that and simply settled with painkillers just so it wouldn’t affect you as badly whenever you had a coughing fit.

You avoided the couple as much as possible because, to you, the less you saw them, the slower the petals would fill your lungs. It also meant avoiding the rest of your members as much as possible because you weren’t so keen with anyone finding out.

But once during practice, the sound of Jiwoo’s voice calling your attention had nearly caused your heart to drop in your stomach. “Yah! I told you to stop picking at your lips!” You flinched at both her words and the volume of her voice before a hand pulled yours away from your lips when you quickly went to wipe away the bit of blood after another couple of petals decided to present themselves to you.

Whenever you were around others, you always opted to dress in either black or darker clothing in the event the blood tried to stain them, making it easier to avoid suspicions.

You blink owlishly toward the older girl and rubbed the back of your head. “Sorry, force of habit.” You apologize before Jungeun was grabbing a towel to wipe it away. Heejin was already shaking her head as the ‘99 liners started to lecture you about the stupid habit you’ve actually gotten rid of. “What’s wrong though? I know that you only do that when you’re anxious about something.” She asks while peering at your face, only to see that there was no wound present on your lip after Jungeun pulled her hand away.

She had to take a closer look and you felt yourself begin to feel nervous with how close she was being, your heart thudding against your ribs while Jungeun made a sound of surprise by the younger girl’s sudden bold move.

“Yah! What are you doing?” The blonde questioned as she shook your roommate’s arm, but Heejin was adamant to find out what was going on as she took your arm gently, concern now all over her face as she looked at you properly, ignoring the weird stares sent her way.

But her attention is solely on you when she doesn’t budge. “What’s going on?”

You aren’t sure what to tell her. Aside from being your roommate, Heejin was the next person you were closest to aside from Sooyoung and Jinsoul. When you weren’t with the pair, you were with her and Hyunjin or Jiwoo, thus the reason fans shipped you so much.

Majority of the time you don’t spend with either Jinsoul and Sooyoung, you spend with Heejin and you basically tell her everything. The first time you met, Heejin decided to take care of you the best she could, and the longer time she spent with you, the more that feeling grew because she saw you so much like a sister.

"Are you really okay? What's going on?" She asked quietly and you don't know what to tell her. Even if you did lie, it was easy for them to detect it and they would pry the answer out of you no matter what. You try looking around in hopes of distracting them, but when you find none, you know that there was no escape.

However when you notice Jinsoul about to come over, you squeezed Heejin's wrist before shaking your head. "Not here, please." You plead, and the three girls look even more worried with your panicked state, seeing that Jinsoul was getting closer, her eyes narrowed on you and Heejin.

Reluctantly, the latter accepted your request and Jiwoo pouted at you. "Y/n, you better be okay." She tells you. "I don't want anything happening to you." She adds and you smile weakly, because you know this would absolutely break her heart once she finds out.

"I'll explain everything, later." Unless they forget, you know that it was inevitable at this point.

When Jinsoul is close enough, she takes a quick look at you and you offer her a small smile. "Hey, is everything alright?" She asks curiously and Heejin wraps her arms around you with a smile. "Yep! We were just playing around like usual." She replies when she sees the slight panic in your eyes. Knowing your relationship with both Jinsoul and Sooyoung, the potential of you being in trouble was something Heejin knew you wanted to avoid bringing up with the two older girls.

But with the protectiveness Heejin was showing had only agitated the older girl as she stared at you and Jungeun cut her off quickly by stepping in front of you. “Unnie, come on. Let’s get back to practice. I think our break is almost done.” With one more look at you, you sent the blonde a thankful smile as she pulled Jinsoul away.

Jiwoo stared at you for a while before pulling you into a hug. “I’ll wait until you’re ready to talk about it.” She mumbled against your shoulder and you gave her a smile as well when she pulled away and squeezed her hands.

With Heejin left with you, her concern was still visible in her eyes, but she decided it was best to let you explain when you’ve collected yourself and that you were in a less crowded space.

Haseul quietly stared at you with her brows pinched together in worry. When she didn’t see you with the rest of the group, she quickly went to wake you up, thinking that you may have overslept, only to find you curled up in bed, shivering with a high fever.

“I think we should call our manager.” Kahei’s quiet voice broke through the silence and the leader nodded absentmindedly as she reached to fix the blanket around you. “She hasn’t been feeling well this whole week. Has she been skipping meals or anything?” But the older girl merely shook her head. “I don’t think so. She’s been spending a lot of time with Heejin, but I doubt she has.”

There’s a light knock on the door and Yeojin soon comes in with a basin filled with water and a towel. Chaewon and Yerim were quick to follow before they settled on the other beds inside the room.

“Thank you.” Haseul took the basin and placed it on your nightstand, wringing the towel before she was wiping your face and forehead, dipping it back in the water and repeating her earlier action before placing it on your forehead to hopefully bring down your fever.

“What about our schedules later?” Chaewon asked softly and Haseul let out a sigh. “I don’t think unnie is capable of even getting out of bed. She’s too sick.” Yerim whispered as she watched you from the side and Yeojin nodded her head. “But I don’t want to leave unnie alone, either.” The maknae voiced out before Kahei gently patted her head. “We’ll think of something, don’t worry. We’ll even get her some medicine and food on the way back.”

A little before your schedule, Haseul has already contacted your manager to inform them about your condition and they agreed to let you rest after being informed of how badly you were feeling. And while everyone was busy getting ready, Heejin sat next to your bed, taking the seat Haseul occupied that morning and stared sadly at you.

“We need to tell them, Y/n. This isn’t going to do anything but make you worse.” She whimpered while gripping your hand and you crack a small smile. “You know I can’t do that. And even if I did, it’s not going to change anything. I’d rather go through with this without making anyone feel bad about me dying.”

But your words had managed to force tears in her eyes as she shook her head. “Don’t say that. Please.” She pleaded while trying to keep her voice from cracking and you squeeze her hand the best you could. “I can’t lie about this, Heejin. You, Chuu unnie, and Lip unnie know that I refuse to get the surgery and that it’s probably too late already.”

“But what if there’s another way. There has to be another way.” She wasn’t sure who she was trying to convince; you or herself. Heejin has known you since for a good two years, but those two years has already cemented you into her life and she has never imagined losing you so soon, especially not like this.

You try to say something, but once again, a cough interrupts and Heejin tightens her hold on your hand when the other is colored with the blood stained petals of yellow Carnations. She tries not to look at them, bringing the trash bin closer after handing you some tissues to conceal the petals, and then wiping her cheeks from the tears that had trailed down her skin.

She grabs another towel to wipe your hand before she sets it down next to the basin with a heavy sigh.

The door quietly opens behind her and Jinsoul peers inside, surprised when she sees the girl before she offers a small smile while stepping in, her girlfriend following close behind with a frown on her face. “How is she feeling?”

Heejin looked over her shoulder and she tried to keep her composure when she spoke. “She’s okay, just really tired.” She replies when she turns back to you, watching the gentle rise and fall of your chest after finally calming down from your wheezing.

Sooyoung stays standing while Jinsoul sits down to look at you closer. There’s a pang in their chest when they see you looking so small and fragile. Your face lacked color - life. It was like staring at a corpse, minus the breathing and it was terrifying to imagine, yet they didn’t know better.

Not the way Heejin did.

And seeing the way the younger girl held your hand and looked incredibly distraught by your condition had caused the pair to be even more suspicious than they already were.

“She’s going to be alright, Heejin.” Jinsoul says quietly, the smile still present on her features while Sooyoung purses her lips and Heejin bites her tongue to stop herself from saying anything.

No matter how badly she wanted to tell them, the faint squeeze to her hand reminded her that this was your decision to make. She was merely there to be your support system when no one else could.

But to see both Sooyoung and Jinsoul be so clueless yet speak so optimistically about you getting better made her nearly forget that she had promised not to tell anyone about your illness.

So instead of saying anything, Heejiin merely kept her mouth shut while she waited for the rest to call the three of them or for the two to leave her alone with you. But it seemed like they had other plans.

“Is there… anything going on between you and Y/n?” Sooyoung suddenly questioned after a few seconds of silence and the girl seemed a bit taken aback by her question before Jinsoul quickly intervened. “We’re not trying to be nosy! We just noticed how you’ve been so close recently and wondered if, maybe, you were…”

Heejin seemed dumbfounded by the assumption. In other circumstances, she would have laughed because, while she did love you to bits, that love was merely platonic.

“No. Y/n and I are pretty much like sisters so I doubt we’d ever be anything more.” She answered and the couple looked a bit tense now that she properly assessed them. “I know that a lot of people think and assume that we might be together, but that’s really not the case.” She explains with a shake of her head before she noticed you shifting in bed.

The movement catches the couple’s attention and they immediately look at you when your quiet voice cuts in on their conversation. “Heejin, I’m cold.” Sooyoung’s frown deepens before she was already heading to your closet and grabbing the thickest jacket that you had, which was something Jinsoul had given you on your first birthday with all of them.

“Do you want something to drink?” Heejin asked while brushing your hair from your face, replacing the towel on your forehead with a new one and Jinsoul shifted closer to gently touch your arm. “It’s okay, you’re going to be okay.” She murmured softly when she saw the grimace on your face and Sooyoung came back to gently put your jacket around you without moving you too much.

Heejin makes sure the heater is working, and when it’s time for them to go, she’s hesitant to leave your side in fear of losing you when she’s away.

“Come on, we have to go.” Hyunjin called after her, but when she saw the way her friend couldn’t seem to move from her place, she could feel just what the other did. So, she quietly walked over and rubbed her arm in assurance. “Don’t worry, when we come back, we don’t have to leave her alone again.”

The promise, though having good intentions, was obviously empty for Heejin. In the event that your illness took you away, there was no guarantee that you would be staying for long.

Jungeun and Jiwoo came in with frowns on their faces as they saw you, but they quickly masked their worries upon seeing Hyunjin in the room with you. “Hey, we have to get going or else we’ll be late.” Jungeun informs them and Hyunjin nodded before she gave her friend another pat on the shoulder. “Let’s go.”

“We’ll be back before you know it.”

Jiwoo glanced beside her and Jungeun kept her phone in her hand as Heejin anxiously stared out the window. They were finally heading home after five hours and the three were quietly hoping to arrive back to the dorm sooner.

And amidst the chattering of everyone around them, the three have been oddly quiet, talking between themselves. “You should really stop worrying, Y/n unnie will be fine.” Hyejoo spoke up with an encouraging smile. “It’s just a fever, she’s stronger than that.”

It was no secret that the young girl looked up to you so much. She’d been intrigued by you since the first time they met you in Canada, and her fascination only grew the longer you spent together. Hyejoo always found herself learning things from you and she appreciated it every time. Whatever secret or worry she had, you were always one of the people she would first approach.

“Olivia is right. I’m sure she’s feeling much better by the time we get home. We even have her favorite soup and medicines to help her feel better just in case.” Yerim stated happily while Heejin pursed her lips.

Jiwoo squeezed Heejin’s hand and nodded her head, making the younger girl slowly lean back and sigh, forcing her worries down as she shut her eyes and prayed that you were alright.

“Heejin looks really worried about Y/n.” Sooyoung muttered from her place and Jinsoul shook her head. “Y/n doesn’t usually get sick, so I can understand.” But her girlfriend merely huffed and crossed her arms. “I know that, but don’t you think that maybe there’s more to it? We don’t even worry as much as she does.” Jinsoul frowned at Sooyoung and took her hand. “Whatever is going on between Heejin and Y/n is none of our business. If they aren’t ready to tell us, then let them. We didn’t tell Y/n as soon as we started dating, either.”

Grunting, Sooyoung accepted her defeat because what Jinsoul said was true. It wouldn’t be fair if she demanded answers on whether or not you and Heejin were dating when they kept their own relationship a secret, but she just didn’t like the feeling that crept up in her chest when she sees or even thinks of you together.

By the time they all arrived at the dorm, the three were the first ones out, forgetting the food and medicine they bought for you in their haste at getting to you as fast as they could. The rest of the members looked worried and followed after them.

Heejin quietly opened the door to your shared room, peeking inside to see if you were awake, but as soon as her eyes landed on your figure when she flicked the lights on, her heart dropped before she was running inside. “Y/n!”

Jungeun ran to your other side when Heejin tried to help you up from the floor and they gasped upon seeing the various bloodstained petals on the floor and the blood on your own hands. “Stop manager oppa! Tell him we need to go to the hospital!”

Sooyoung stopped dead in her tracks when she saw what was happening. She felt her blood running cold and she wouldn't have been able to move if Jiwoo hadn't ran past her, bumping into her by accident in her haste to call your manager and stop him from leaving.

Jinsoul pushed past everyone and ran to you, taking your face into her hands and shaking her own head as tears welled in her eyes as yours refused to open. "Y/n! Wake up, come on this isn't funny!"

She held a hand close to your mouth and nose before she pressed her head to your chest just to hear your heartbeat.

"Unnie, you have to move." Yerim said urgently while tugging at her friend's arm when your manager came running into the dorm. Haseul was doing her best to keep calm as she gripped Yeojin's hand in her own when they watched your manager pick you up from the floor.

He looked at all of them. "I'm not going to bother asking you if you'll be coming along, I just need you all to follow my instructions until we get help." They all nodded immediately and followed the man back down and to the van with Heejin insisting to hold you as your manager drove.

The poor girl was silently crying as she held your fragile form as close to her as humanly possible, Hyejoo holding your hand when she sat beside Heejin, willing back tears as the first girl wiped the blood from your mouth.

The ride to the hospital was the longest and tense one they've all ever experienced, but as soon as they arrived, your manager quickly parked the van and went back to retrieve you from the girls before running inside with all twelve girls running after him.

"Y/n L/n." The man said quickly and the receptionist seemed surprised as she typed in your name, only to quickly rise to her feet, calling for the same doctor you had consulted with before nurses soon came over to get you and relieve your manager.

Seeing how quickly people were reacting with your appearance, all of your members looked on with confusion except for the three girls aware of your actual condition.

"What's going on?" Chaewon was the first to ask and all eyes turned to their manager, who looked just as troubled as Heejin, Jiwoo, and Jungeun. "What's happening to Y/n? What was that?" Sooyoung demanded, her voice growing more and more adamant as Jinsoul held her back.

"You know something and you aren't telling us. Y/n said it was just a fever." Haseul tried to keep her voice steady. "A fever doesn't make you cough out blood." The maknae said shakily, terrified of what she had seen.

All four of them exchanged glances before Jungeun let out a sigh. "Y/n is sick, but it isn't a fever or a flu." She crossed her arms to keep her hands from shaking. "She's suffering from Hanahaki. It's a rare disease that makes you cough up petals because of an unrequited love."

"Unrequited love?" Jinsoul muttered, her brows pinching together before she looked to Heejin. "Aren't you together? This isn't making any sense."

"Y/n isn't in love with Heejin!" Jiwoo cut in while hugging the said girl. "But we can't tell you who she's in love with either because she made us promise not to." She added with a grimace. "Y/n is dying in there! Whoever this person is needs to know and do something!" Sooyoung retorted and Heejin snapped to look at her.

"It doesn't matter if the person she's in love with knows! They're happy and in a relationship. Y/n never wanted to ruin what they had so she kept her feelings under wraps no matter how much it was killing her! She didn't want to get the surgery because she didn't want to forget either of you!"

Jiwoo quickly took the younger girl by the shoulders when she had accidentally slipped up due to her emotions, but there was no stopping now as Sooyoung and Jinsoul went quiet after the sudden outburst.

“Forget us?” Jinsoul slowly released her girlfriend as she took a step forward and Hyunjin went to her best friend’s side to calm her down while Jungeun and Jiwoo decided to clear the situation up the best they could with their manager’s help. “We discovered Y/n’s condition a while back. And while it was the wise decision to pull through with the surgery, she declined for various reasons, the main one being that there was a risk of forgetting the person she has such strong feelings for.”

“She refused to do it, and it seemed like that there was no convincing her otherwise. It would also cause some trouble if she ever does forget both of you because that would be a major shift in your relationship and it won’t take long before people find out.”

“But what’s going to happen to unnie now? Are they going to operate on her?” Hyejoo questioned while the man shook his head. “I’m not too sure. We have to wait for her doctor to come back.”

The male paused, looking grim as he observed each girl, hesitating before finally breathing out. “In the event that this is the worst case scenario, I need all of you to be ready.”

They hated that he had opened up the idea of possibly losing you. While they all knew what this disease would entail, they just couldn’t accept the fact that they could permanently be losing you.

Led outside your room, the girls each waited anxiously for your doctor to come back and tell them what was the condition you were in. The overwhelming fear and anxiety bubbled in all of them and Haseul bit her lip as she did her best to keep a calm face whilst Kahei held her hand, running her thumb across her knuckles.

What seemed like years was only an hour and a half before the door slowly opened and your doctor came with a grim expression across his face. "How is she?" Your manager questioned and the man shook his head while glancing over his shoulder. "She's stable for now. It looks like she was choking on her own blood along with the fully bloomed flowers." He winced before letting a regretful sigh pass his lips.

"I highly advise that she get the surgery as soon as possible because at the rate we're going, there won't be much time left for Y/n." He informed them and Heejin slowly shook her head. "We can't… she doesn't want that."

No matter how much Heejin wanted you to get it, your wish was above her own in wanting to save you. And if she ever allowed it to happen without your consent, it would be in her conscience forever and she wouldn't be able to properly look at you, knowing that she had gone against your wishes.

"But what are we going to do?" Hyunjin questioned seriously. "Y/n is dying. If we don't go through with it-"

"We know that, but this is Y/n's decision." Jiwoo cut in, a serious look on her usually cheerful face. "I want to help her. We all do. But Y/n made her decision clear ever since she found out. She doesn't want to be numb or to forget about Yves unnie and Jinsoul unnie and we can only respect that decision."

"Chuu is right. We tried to talk her out of it, but Y/n said she would rather die than forget the people she cares about. It isn't fair to you, but it isn't fair to her, either. She knows the risks and she knows the consequences but she chose to take her feelings to the grave rather than burden Jinsoul unnie and Sooyoung unnie with what she felt for them." Jungeun sighed while anxiously running her fingers through her hair.

"... Can we see her?"

The question was from Sooyoung as she stood stiffly next to her girlfriend, eyes trained to the door that separated you and them whilst your doctor nodded his head. "I recommend going in groups, just so she isn't disturbed or stressed out." He advised before excusing himself and giving the girls the time that they needed.

They didn’t need to discuss who would go first because the couple were already in front of your door as soon as they could and Jinsoul sucked in a deep breath before she slowly pushed it open and stepped inside.

Once there, they immediately spot your body laying on the hospital bed with various wires attached to your fragile form that it makes their own hearts ache at the sight.

Sooyoung quickly came to your side and instinctively reached to brush your hair, only to stop when she hears Heejin’s voice echoing in her head. Jinsoul looked worried before she placed her own over her girlfriend’s and gave it a squeeze. “We’ll be okay.” She whispered before pressing a kiss to her temple and then turning back to you.

Your face was peaceful, minus the lack of color and life in it. It was as though this was the first proper sleep you’ve had in how long and it pained them to know that you were enduring all of this for their sake.

“You’re such an idiot, I swear.” Sooyoung finally muttered as she let her hands fall to the sheets. “Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why couldn’t you have told us?” She tried to hold back a sob, but when you didn’t respond to her with your usual banter, it was getting harder for her to keep her composure. “You were pulling away from us because you didn’t want us to worry, now look at us.” Jinsoul sniffled as she wiped her cheeks.

“We could have avoided all of this.” She whimpered quietly while reaching for your hand, your usually warm skin now cold to the touch as she laced her fingers with yours. “Please, we’ll make it better. We’ll take the pain away, just please… please stay with us.”

“Don’t go, Y/n. We need you.” Sooyoung begged as she buried her face to your neck, clutching at the front of your hospital gown while Jinsoul placed her other hand on her back.

The clock was ticking and they knew that the other girls were wanting to see you as desperately as they did, Heejin most especially. So, forcing themselves to part from you, they held each other tight as they headed for the exit.

“... unnie.”

The pair stopped in their tracks as the weak rasp of your voice called out. Turning back, they saw that your eyes were still closed, but the small movement from your hands was all it took for them to know you were awake.

Running to your side, Jinsoul took your outstretched hand and pressed her face against your palm as her watery eyes watched you. “You’re okay.” Sooyoung breathed out as she stood behind her girlfriend.

You struggle to open your eyes, but as soon as you do, you immediately see them watching you with worry swimming in their own tear filled gazes. “Why are you-” You’re cut off by a cough and Jinsoul squeezes your hand when a bit of blood dribbles down your chin before Sooyoung wiped it away.

”Why are you crying?” You forced out, a frown on your features. But the question throws them off and Jinsoul can’t help but cry more. “What do you mean why are we crying? We found you nearly dead in the dorm, do you expect us to be fine?” Sooyoung snapped at you and you blink slowly while trying to properly decipher her words.

Their voices sounded so faint yet they were right there. Your vision was blurry and you had a great struggle with understanding everything they were saying. The only thing you could tell was they were crying, and you didn’t want that.

“I’m scared.” The words were hushed as they fell from your lips and Sooyoung squeezed her eyes tight just so she wouldn’t cry anymore than she already has. “D-Don’t be scared. You’re going to be fine. We’re right here.”

“We love you so much and it hurts that you’re going through this.” Jinsoul muttered against your palm, pressing a light kiss against it. “You should have told us, but we should have told you, too. We were just so scared of how you would think of us and-”

“Unnie…” Your breathing was growing weaker from all the flowers that have bloomed in your lungs. “It’s okay.”

It’s not your fault.

You don’t have to say it.

It isn’t your responsibility.

“Y/n, we love you, okay? We love you, too, just as much as you love us.” Sooyoung told you, desperate to make you believe that what they were saying was true. But the yellow carnations fell from your lips once more and she’s forced to wipe them away before Jinsoul stood properly to look at you.

They were desperate and time was running out. Either you believed them or they lose you forever. So, with a final resolve, Jinsoul leaned down, pressing her forehead against yours as her lips slotted perfectly against yours in a slow and tender kiss, one hand holding your cheek as you felt the wind knocked out of you.

She doesn’t give you time to respond because Sooyoung was quick to replace her, a little more aggressive, yet still gentle enough to not hurt you before she pulled away to kiss your forehead and the weight on your chest gradually began to fade away.

When they both give you enough space, your hand shoots to your mouth before your body is wracked by a violent coughing fit. Alarmed, the girls pressed the button on the wall to call for your doctor when blood slipped past your fingers and fell on the white sheets of the bed.

Everything happens fast as they’re basically thrown out of the room and your doctor hurries to check on you as the door closes. There are various things that they hear through the door but it dies down after a while, leaving a tense silence outside as the girls looked at the couple. “What happened? What did you do?” Heejin asked, terrified. But neither of them said anything as the door opened with your doctor looking perplexed but relieved.

“It would appear that Y/n will... no longer be needing the surgery.” He stated and Haseul’s shoulders tensed up as she came closer. “Why? Is she okay? What happened?” Your leader demanded and the male nodded his head before stepping aside.

“She’s coughed up quite a lot of the flowers, one of them containing the roots.” They were surprised by this as a nurse walked out of the room with the flowers in a plastic bag. “We’ll need an xray, but judging from that alone, it would appear that Y/n might be alright.”

Hearing that made Heejin’s knees buckle and she leaned on Jiwoo’s side for support whilst Hyejoo felt a lump forming in her throat when she gripped both Yerim’s and Chaewon’s arms and Kahei hugged Yeojin tightly as Junguen comforted her friends the best she could.

“We’ve taken off some of the machines and wires. She’s looking a bit better, just a bit more rest and food and I think she’ll be able to fully recover.” He informed them before turning to your manager, who smiled, feeling just as relieved from this whole ordeal.

All twelve girls entered your room when given the okay and you greet them all with a meek smile and a small wave of your hand. The color was back on your face and it looked like you have enough energy now compared to when they found you in the dorm.

Jinsoul and Sooyoung approached you with smiles on their faces. “You believe us now?” Sooyoung asked lightly and you blush, the red spreading to the tips of your ears as you slowly nodded your head. “I’m sorry you had to go through all of that. If we hadn’t been such cowards and assumed, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“To be fair, everyone else assumed we were dating.” Heejin piped up when she approached the bed to wrap her arms around you in a hug, kissing your cheek as she did, before Sooyoung gave her a warning glare as Jinsoul lightly pushed her.

Noticing the stare, your best friend laughed before she shook her head. “I mean, we do look good together. What do you say, Y/n? Will you date me instead?” You chuckled at your friend’s joke before giggling when you see the puppy eyes Jinsoul sent you and the slight huff that came from a pouting Sooyoung.

“I love you, Heejin, but you and I know that would be weird.” You give her a kiss as an apology, but she happily accepts it before turning to the other two. “Take care of her or else I’m really going to date her instead.”

“Yah!”

Sooyoung rolled her eyes in good nature before she took your hand. “We’re not letting go of her, you can bet on that.” Jinsoul nodded in agreement, smiling softly at you before she pressed a kiss to your cheek and you were finally able to smile a real one, one that showed the spark in your eyes and emanated the life that flowed through your veins.

And with a promise like Sooyoung’s and Jinsoul’s, you know that you wouldn’t have to hide your feelings or worry about the petals blooming in your lungs.

You were saved and they make sure to remind you that your love for each other was always going to be unconditional.

250 notes · View notes

missinghan · 4 years ago

Text

aria of an assassin ⤖ lee minho

❖ genre : assassin au; fluff; angst

❖ word count : 6,2k.

❖ warning : mentions of blood & violence, explicit language

❖ summary : minho hasn’t been fazed for decades throughout his bloodied career until the next target happens to be a black cat and he’s suddenly incapable of pulling the trigger.

❖ note : okay, so it’s been a year? this tiny, stupid blog is turning one year old today? yea I couldn’t believe it either. this is to all of my mutuals and readers out there, I don’t say it enough but I truly appreciate each and every one of you 🖤 I wish I could have written something longer but due to school, this random piece will have to do for now.

❖ the sequel : with felix is out!

one.

“Shit.”

Minho grits in a hushed tone although all that has been accompanying him is the pitiful moonlight and icy breeze dissolving into every fiber of his skin. Every minuscule movement suddenly becomes too irritating to his eardrums. The hustle and bustle life of the city at night. Terrible traffic. Even the sound of his own inhales and exhales.

What is that thing?

He thinks to himself, proceeding to expand his eyesight with the pair of scopes; confusion soon flares into curiosity, then faint anger and dead silence. He swears his heartbeat just paused awkwardly like a broken record for a split second there. Such strange, or odd targets are no stranger to him; nor do they stir something inside the coldness of his rib cage.

Not an easy kill, they say. And not easy it is.

Because whatever he’s watching with his very eyes is a cat. A goddamn cat with a coat as sleek pitch as the dark canvas upon his head and piercing golden eyes. The peculiar animal walks with its head held high like it’s lording over everyone else—such self-reassurance, such radiance some humans cease to possess.

It’s dangerous, they say. But it’s a fucking cat! Irritation bubbles up at the back of his throat, makes his skin crawl, and causes a bark of profanity to leave his lips once more. Has it not occurred to his client that he doesn’t kill children and animals? When it’s clearly been written on the contract? In bold, underlined, and everything?

They could have at least given him more details on what he’s getting himself to this time.

An exhale. He packs up his things, pulls his black cap down a little, and leaves the top of the building without looking back. If he did, he would have seen those starry eyes boring holes onto his back.

two.

The road Minho is walking through is more than familiar. For one, he takes the same path every day to grab a drink at his go-to place—a vending machine near an old, plain high school.

It’s fair to say he knows every corner of the neighborhood like the back of his hand—from the dark alley where bullies beat up their classmates to the small stall of lemonade of a middle school girl who waves at him every morning. He never reciprocates though; it doesn’t feel right. The amount of apathy in his heart isn’t enough for him to act normally when taking lives is what he does for a living.

For two, he used to have a part-time job at that particular high school for an old request. Due to his conscience, he did go out of his way to take the kill outside of the school—causing a catastrophe in such an environment makes him uncomfortable.

Just then, he stops. His brow raises. Isn’t that…

The black cat slinks through the crowd of nosy students in the direction of where he too is heading. It raises its nose and gives the air a rough sniff, making a face as though the general stagnant with exhaust fumes stench of the city disgusts the entirety of its existence.

Watching it take a slight dip to avoid being hit with someone’s bag, Minho holds back every urge to come running at the creature and wrap his arms around its small figure. He wonders how long it’d take for the cat to reach its final destination because it’s definitely taking some sweet ass time to stride through the front of the main gate like a supermodel. Meanwhile, he’s stressed to the core as if the harmless high school filled with teenagers is nothing less than a battlefield.

Is it testing him?

Something is oddly unsettling about an animal staring straight into his eyes. Paranoia fuels the forgotten irritation inside his chest, sets out to make him actually think those golden eyes are memorizing every inch of his feature. Then, they soften with what seems to be exhaustion, its tiny head turning and its tiny feet take it skipping gently away from the scene.

Minho finally acknowledges the knot inside his stomach and the breath he’s been holding. With a harsh gulp, he no longer takes notice of the fact if his cap is hung low enough or if he’s walking too quickly. For the first time in long, a rush of adrenaline hits him hard enough to make him speed walk through the herd of chatty teenagers.

Questions naturally pop up as his shoes kiss the ground, his shadow sprinting into a dark, though familiar alleyway. Was he hallucinating? But he’s been getting enough sleep and eating well. What makes him so certain that it was the same cat? Instincts or some sixth sense bullshit perhaps. If it was the cat that’s assigned to be killed off in a week, what’s so dangerous about it? And how long has he been running for? Seconds? Minutes? Hours? And to where?

“You.”

Half-way through trying to keep his thoughts off of his face, Minho stops himself when a rather feminine voice echoes through the narrow space. Unsure of whether the voice was reaching out to him, his legs stop moving while his eyes are peering through the dark. Much to his heart’s dismay, shivers run up his spine when something comes in contact with the warm flesh of his neck.

“What’s your name?”

Slowly, with his hands on the back of his head, he turns on his heels. “Excuse you?”

You retract your gun-shaped fingers into the pocket of your jacket, phlegmatic eyes gazing at him through the thickness of the night. “I want to know your name,” you try to make your point clear, utterly unfazed.

Minho stares you down for a good five seconds. Neatly dressed in the school uniform, an oversized jacket thrown over your body but no backpacks. There’s a name tag being embroidered onto the fabric in red “Shin Yuna - 1A”. Whoever you are, he’s certain that isn’t your name. That name doesn’t even suit you. That isn’t your uniform.

“What’s the point?” he questions, hands dropped to the sides in slight relief.

You tilt your head, expression neutral. “I have a habit of collecting names of people who tried or are trying to kill me. It’s quite relaxing to write it down on a list actually. You know, easier to keep track.”

He’s trying hard to not let any impulsive urges overthrow the rational side of his brain. Everything suddenly twitches in slow motion. His silence seems to bore you. Your eyes are more dead than angry, more done than irritated. Like you’ve been through this shit one too many times already to care.

“At least say why you’re sent to kill me.”

That, Minho can answer within a blink of an eye. “They sent me because I don’t exist.”

Your gaze glistens with a glaze of boredom. “Everyone said so.”

“Yeah, no shit Sherlock. Where’s your house, kid? I’ll walk you back. It’d be a pain in the ass if your parents found out how you’re wandering alone after school,” he brushes it off like you’re a slight nuisance (which you are). His heartbeat spikes up once at the mention of family, one that you’ve acknowledged with ease.

Your arms are folded over your chest now, to cover up the sudden stab of sympathy inside your chest. “There’s no need. I don’t have a place to go back to nor do I have parents who will nag me for staying out late.”

His mind automatically blackouts along with his senses, blurred with such peculiar feelings swirling at the pit of his stomach. You make it sound like it’s not that big of a deal like you’ve utterly been numb for so long. It’s tragic but understandable. This isn’t the first time he has witnessed a story like yours—your parents, dead or alive, he does not know; by the sound of it, you’re an orphan. Another unfortunate being to graze this planet like himself. This means you can’t afford school, so that uniform really doesn’t belong to you.

“You still haven’t told me your name.”

“It’s Lee Know. Call me Lee Know.”

“Don’t bother trying, Lee Know. No one has ever made it. They never did.”

You didn’t mean to expose anything about your life to a total stranger, or specifically an assassin. However, nothing matters when you most likely won’t meet him again nor will he succeed in taking your life. Even the fact that he chose not to give you his real name amplifies how much shit he does not give about you. You don’t expect anything more honestly.

“Alright, we’re done here,” you feign enthusiasm before clasping your hands together. “Go home. The sun is already going down.”

Strangely enough, Minho can only watch as your shadow shifts to the outline of a black cat before dipping into the depths of the starless night.

three.

To Minho it’s always just another day in the office. Except his office is a windy rooftop overlooking the mark’s exact location. His tools—rather than a computer—is a state-of-the-art rifle with a telescopic lens. A silencer isn’t very important since traffic and people are more than enough to drown out any suspicious noises. Most will mistake it for a back-firing van. He takes aim with no more qualms than one would gossip about a colleague, then pulls the trigger while thinking about what to order other than Chinese for lunch. When the work is done, he carefully packs everything up into an inconspicuous rucksack. And leaves the scene, like a phantom.

It’s always been the same boring, bloodied cycle.

Yet something’s changed since Minho met you.

He used to maintain a cool detachment to his targets. His conscience prefers not to think of them; whenever he does, it’s as if they’re already dead, mobile meat bags waiting to be laid on a cutting board. He doesn’t like to think merrily of his job, he doesn’t see it as helping them meet their destiny. None of that bullshit. To put it more nonchalantly, everyone will die one day. Minho considers it as a good way to go. Oblivious and in pain for one moment before completely gone the next.

Simple. Convenient. Much less agonizing than this brutal world.

Although that doesn’t mean he isn’t traumatized by the amount of blood that has stained his hands. On good days, he might get three to four hours of sleep. Bad days, few minutes to none at all. Terrifying nightmares gnaws at his soul every night, the ugly scar like a reminder of every single one of his sins. He can’t force himself to lose his sanity like any fools out there going down the same path.

“Shit…” Minho mutters, running a rough hand through his hair. He didn’t sleep well last night—like every other night; hence the bad temper and bitter taste at the back of his throat.

After a deep breath, he stares at his Hecate II with mischievous eyes—those of a hunter framed in the expressionless face of an executioner. His blunt hands are steady as they lift the shiny weapon over the concrete of a rooftop, drawing out a dry shot in his mind.

Through his scope, he watches as you’re crossing the road in your human form before stopping abruptly in front of a random tree. You then proceed to squint your eyes and look up in the opposite direction. Minho unknowingly holds his breath, waits for you to release your iron gaze, and move on with your life. But his expectations don’t prevail.

“What the fuck?”

Without much patience, he curses before shifting his scope to the same direction only to find another shadow creeping around on the balcony of a nearby building. No time to think of a rational solution—killing them is an ideal one—Minho feels his palms growing sweaty when a small, peculiar object comes flying toward his way. His head quickly moves away before the bullet pierces through his scope, shattering the glass completely.

“Son of a bitch,” he lets out a shaky breath. Crimson starts to drip down on the side of his cheekbone, but he can care less.

Because that’s the least of his problem right now.

Another subtle ‘bang’ can be heard in the distance, like a broken record scratching against his eardrums. Kid��! Minho’s heart collapses in realization.

four.

It’s not hard for Minho to do research on quite an amount of vital information about you. When he saw your body dropped to the ground lifelessly and an ambulance immediately drove by to pick up your body, he knew things weren’t going to end just like that.

“Don’t bother trying, Lee Know. No one has ever made it. They never did.”

He isn’t a believer, has never been one. Yet when he managed to take out your kidnappers in that ambulance, your weak breaths startled his heart and shook his mind into awareness of how serious the situation is. After that, he tracked down the hitman who delivered the hard blow, put a bullet through his brain, and found an USB full of detailed information about your existence. Which just makes things a whole lot more complicated to understand.

Apparently, you’ve been ‘killed’ one too many times before—there are photographs of your supposedly dead body in a bag, thrown into the deep, dark woods, other times into a nameless river. The thing about you is that you were once an experimental subject to your own biological parents who are sickeningly vile scientists. At the age of nine, you fell down the stairs and had a big gash on your head. They never knew because your wounds were quick to heal themselves. However, your whole life was flipped upside down when they saw you shapeshifting into a black cat while running around at the playground.

From then, your life became a living hell behind cold metal bars with needles stuck in your arms and strange pills being forced down your throat almost every day. Their sudden change only nourished resentment through time until you managed to cut down the laboratory’s power supply and fled from your own home.

You have no one to lean on. No place to go back to. No nothing. And you’re just a teenager.

Minho feels awful.

Usually, he isn’t the type to be empathetic nor does he have the energy to. It’s very out of character for him to let his emotions linger on a homeless kid with some supernatural abilities that will make his life that much more dangerous. Because to him, more often than not, people tend to give their condolences only to forget after brief moments of grieving. At the end of the day, it isn’t their own problem, it isn’t their own life. But now when it comes to you, Minho feels a strong sense of responsibility that if you end up dying, it’s on him.

It’s stupidly conflicted, it really is. His job—blowing people’s brains out—is the sole reason why he makes a six-digit amount of money for every job. Therefore, he isn’t sure what picking a random kid up from a fake ambulance and bringing her back to his shabby apartment is going to do him any good.

“Ah, you’re awake.”

You hate the fact that you can recognize that voice.

Just then, you wake as if it’s an emergency, as if sleeping has become a dangerous task. Your heart is pounding loudly inside your ears, the sound echoing listlessly to the pit of your rib cage. It’s always like this. It takes you some time to calm your nerves before gathering what exactly happened the moment you blacked out.

Right, you think to yourself, groaning slightly while pushing yourself up. You were shot right in the chest, and your body was probably discarded somewhere. After that, you’d grab a hitchhiker so they’ll drive you back into town. Like always. The only difference, this time though, is Minho placing your limp body on his bed with a blanket to warm you up.

His face appears within your eyesight when you’re done adjusting your vision to the bright room—you’re not used to this much light around. “You look calmer than I expected,” he mentions.

Minho grabs your face and scans it over. “Let me see. Did your wounds close up properly?”

The tender action, which has become weirdly natural to him although this is his first time, accidentally triggers something inside you. Your hand automatically slaps his away. It is an upfront refusal, but it doesn’t surprise him. He only offers you a comfortable moment of silence before placing a tray on the wooden nightstand.

“Eat up. I’m not going to feed you,” he cocks his head toward the bowl of porridge with his arms crossed in front of his chest.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?”

You glare at him in suspicion. “Bringing me home. Giving me a bed to sleep on. And even food to eat. What are you trying to get at?”

“Nothing. I didn’t kill you only because you’re too young for my moral code,” he pretends to roll his eyes, voicing monotonously.

A frown adorns your tired features. “So you’re going to kill me when I get older then?”

“Probably,” Minho smirks faintly with a cock of his eyebrow. “That depends if you still remember my name, Y/N.”

One thing after another, this assassin only continues to baffle you. He was just going to shoot you the other day and now he’s giving you food? Preposterous! To put it simply, you’re unprepared for such kind actions, such gentleness from someone who takes lives for a living. You’re unprepared for dealing with people in general because they detest anyone who’s different from them—your kind, the kind with supernatural abilities and all. Hence, you’re left unwilling to befriend anyone and would rather be alone for the rest of your life.

Until such twisted moira pushes you to—what was his name again? Not his real name, the made-up one that he uses in the underworld.

You speak up softly after feeling safe enough to let your guards down, “Lee Know, was it?”

“It’s Lee Minho.”

“Pardon?”

He only smiles, “My real name. It’s Lee Minho.”

five.

“Y/N! A little help over here?”

“Coming.”

“Y/N, go check the fog machine!”

“Got you.”

“Y/N, can you put these boxes over there?”

“Alright.”

That’s all you’ve been doing for the entirety of your boring day. Getting yelled out at, having people ask for help nonstop, and responding with a two-word answer at max. You’re not complaining—they pay you well enough, the job is more on the down-low side because you’re nothing but a mere stage crew for an above-average theatre studio. So you simply hoist the three final plastic boxes into your arms with a jerk of your knees and place it where they asked you to. Thanks to your parents, their experiments along with skeptical-looking substances have efficiently enhanced your general strength and agility.

Another crew member perks up when you plop the heavy stack of cardboard boxes down with a loud thud. “Oh, can you carry those lights to stage left too?”

“Sure.” You could have pretended to pick up one box at a time and to drag your feet across the stage with difficulties to avoid being used. But you’re too lazy to repeat the same cycle two more times, so you really don’t have any other choice here.

Nevertheless, you suppose it’s not entirely bad to do all of this heavy handiwork. Because it keeps your mind off of unwanted things, such as Lee Minho for example. Lee Minho, the assassin, not the actor—you’d gladly fangirl over that certain celebrity rather than admit that you actually enjoy the hitman’s abrupt presence in your life.

The fact that you know he will find you even if it means traveling to the ends of the Earth and back doesn’t help to ease your insomnia. So for the past few days, you’ve been working extra hours along with picking up a job at a florist in hopes of not bumping into him. Stupid. You know it is. But how can you deal with a self-esteem crisis because the idea of being a burden just irks you so much?

It’s like you’re hopelessly proving that you don’t need anyone when you, in fact, want that kind of unconditional love that every other human yearns for.

After helping your colleagues out with the lighting, you simply sit behind those thick curtains until the show is over. Then, you head out, find a place to sleep, and head to an old lady’s place to pick up new clothes to change into for the next day. Since she’s been treating you with nothing but kindness, you’ve tried to pass by and helped her out at her son’s antique store too.

Your routine is supposed to go that way and stay that way. You won’t die because you don’t like overworking yourself. You’re doing just great.

“Hey, Y/N! Your brother is here to pick you up!”

Throwing your crewmate a blunt wave, you find your way out of the school’s theatre through a back door without shifting the expression on your face. You don’t have any siblings. And your colleagues don’t know anything about your family background either. So it, unfortunately, boils your guesses down to one.

Despite knowing who it is and why they show up, you open your mouth to speak, “How did you find me again?”

Minho shows up with a more casual version of his working attire—instead of the fully black, monochromatic outfit, he’s changing it up with a leather jacket, white t-shirt and jeans. He leans on his shiny motorcycle smugly like he knows something that you don’t, in which you very much dislike.

“Young lady, I’ll have you know that being an assassin helps me appear at places to do things I’m not supposed to do,” he ignores the fact that your question was purely rhetorical and chimes.

You attempt to throw him a glare which isn’t intimidating enough. “Call me ‘young lady’ one more time and I’ll put my foot where it’s not supposed to be.” Who are you kidding? He’s a hitman when you’re just a kid. Pigs would be flying by the time you managed to physically shoo him away.

“Am I supposed to guess where that is?”

“Enough. Go to work. Get out of here. Leave me alone.”

“I’m sorry, are you encouraging me to kill people?” Minho gasps, acting shocked and appalled. Clearly, he’s not good at it despite sharing a name with a well-known actor.

You can only retort harshly, “Don’t put words in my mouth, you ass.”

“Come on, kid. Let’s go get something to eat.”

“Why?”

His hand automatically reaches for your forearm. “Don’t people eat for pleasure? What’s wrong with you?”

Your heart leaps in, anger perhaps, pupils shaking when he closes in on you. Upon your reaction, Minho retracts his arm immediately. He should have thought better of it; you’re probably too traumatized to be dealing with him right now.

At that, your eyes round at the remorse on his face and you could have glared him off right then and there. But somehow, your basic human manners overcome your usual snappy self, letting you think that maybe he means no harm. Maybe he’s checking up on you one last time before going on about his life. You shouldn’t be too riled up about it just because he tried to kill you once.

Minho catches the familiar anxious gaze and sighs, “Okay, we don’t have to get something to eat. I’ll give you a ride back. Do you have somewhere to stay the night?”

It’s rotten work, whatever he’s trying to do. So you shake the harmless tingle inside your chest away before pushing past him. “No,” you answer dryly and leave.

six.

You go to work sick the day after because you couldn’t find a place to sleep in and had to make do with napping in front of a tattoo place. Yes, napping; because when you finally shifted into your cat form and allowed your eyes to rest, the sky started pouring waterfalls. The rain had soaked into your shiny black coat, making it frizzy and luring the sickness up your spine the moment you tried finding a different haven.

No one notices. No one.

Not even the mask, the extra layer of sweatshirt nor your hushed coughs every now and then. Despite downing the cold pills early in the morning, you’re only burning up harder by the second. Oh, you know! Maybe they just don’t care, that’s it. Because calling in off for work due to a minor cold isn’t a valid reason. However, you’re still shivering on the inside and burning on the outside. Enhanced genes or any of that bullshit isn’t enough to prevent you from getting sick like any other student. Perhaps something wasn’t complete, or they’d messed up somewhere. Perhaps that’s why they’re trying to get you back.

How foolish of you to think somewhere deep down, they still want you back. With a reason as blunt as you being their child.

Drowning in deep thoughts, you almost crash into a pile of boxes filled with equipment when your foot gets tangled to a random cable. Your eyes automatically screw shut as you wait for the impact but it never comes. Only a gentle pair of hands on your shoulders did. From that point on, you can’t hear or see properly. You don’t even have enough stamina to register who’s holding onto you so reassuringly. Whatever is happening gets hazier by the tick of a clock. It’s either you’re hallucinating or Minho is giving you that mirthful scowl of his.

Yep, you’re definitely hallucinating.

“Why didn’t you call in sick for work?”

“That’s a stupid fucking question.”

A frown adorns his perplexed features as his glassy eyes skim your face. He has a really pretty smile, he should smile more, you think. His hand latches onto your burning forehead, slides down on the side of your cheek with such grace as though he’s caressing you. A grumble leaves his lips at your dreadful state. This is why he should have never let you go in the first place.

“Come on, kid. Let me help you,” Minho says before giving your arm a light tug.

You don’t like what you just heard. “I don’t need your help.”

“You can barely walk.”

“Who said so-” As if on cue, he lets go of your arm bluntly. Caught off guard, your legs go weak without any remaining strength. You stumble and would have most likely fallen on your face if it weren’t for his grip on your arm. A gasp comes out inaudible when he hoists you upright, not planning to let go any time soon.

Minho scratches the tip of his nose with his ring finger, sniffing lightly. It seems like he’s arguing with a younger version of himself. He now knows how it felt like for those caretakers back then.

“You did,” he says with the same smirk when you woke up in his apartment for the first time.

seven.

That’s the only time you’ve ever allowed someone to help you with something. But Minho had to constantly check on you every two seconds, not wanting you to fall asleep on his bike while it’s speeding down the highway like a gust of wind. For a moment there, he really thought you would slip away into the night as he tried to find his keys because that’s just how you are.

Minho is no doctor, but he doesn’t go to one for a cold or a really bad fever. He can manage, he tries to convince himself.

After testing your temperature and giving you something new to change into, he slaps a cool gel patch onto your forehead before heading off to the kitchen to cook up something. You need to be full to be able to take your medicine anyway.

In the act of resting on his bed, you decide you can’t take staying in the same spot anymore so your body perks up in a sluggish manner. The aroma of home-cooked food wakes your senses almost immediately, causing you to look over at his busy figure by the marble counter. You think it’s endearing how he hasn’t bothered to change into something more comfortable. But he instead threw an apron over his working attire and dived right into the cooking process.

You have always felt like you were missing out on something whenever you looked at Minho. Perhaps it was how his striking eyes stared at you, whether mischievous or else. Perhaps it was how his lips were turning down most of the time with less than affectionate words.

Or it’s plainly how he has been trying to hide that he actually cares.

“Hungry?” He tilts his head to the side playfully once his sixth sense starts kicking in.

You can only nod. “Yeah.”

It takes Minho a lot of convincing yet you won’t let him feed you. Like hell, you would. Therefore, with helpless eyes, he watches you from across the table. He doesn’t laugh or get annoyed when your shaky hand drops the spoon and splatters the soup all over the table. His hand simply reaches for a piece of paper towel to clean up the mess, tossing it into the trash bin later. The same cycle repeats in comforting silence until you finish the entire bowl. The soup definitely wasn’t five-star worthy. But it’s enough to warm you up inside and out. Of course, Minho chooses to let the dishwasher do the job—his hatred for doing dishes is always at its finest.

Then, like the other night, he has already passed out on the table with a blanket draped over his body when you step out of the shower. Instead of plopping the weight of your exhaustion onto his bed this time, your legs stay frozen like cement on the floor while your eyes take in his reclined figure under the thin fabric. Minho is sleeping with his head buried in his arms, his glasses and messy files abandoned to the side. He’s definitely not a heavy sleeper because he doesn’t snore; only feather-like breaths can be heard through this endless beat of silence. The faintly blinking light from his laptop makes you feel exposed so you push yourself toward the balcony.

A hiss comes out hushed and quiet when your feet come into contact with the cold tile floor, bringing you across the studio apartment with small tiptoes. You peer over your shoulder, gazing at the only available source of light. Unconsciously, you ball your fists.

With a soft sigh, you slide open the glass door and step out to bathe yourself in the comfort of the moonlight. Despite the chilling air of the night, something warm fills up your lungs like an overflowed cup of wine. It suffocates you a little until the knots in your muscles and mind loosen; a sense of relief washes over you—you haven’t felt that in years.

Nothing makes sense.

A hitman hired by your parents shouldn’t be putting a roof over your head, tucking you into bed nor feeding you. Minho barely knows you; and your knowledge about him as a genuine person isn’t enough to convince you that this is reality. Because after years of wandering the streets, being tossed around like trash with plenty of a series of unfortunate events, you’ve made it a habit to sink into yourself.

So the longer you stay here, the more you’ll get attached to him. And the more you get attached, the more he takes away your default instincts to turn your back on everything.

Guilt wells up inside your chest as though it’s an old habit, a setting by default. If you ever try to go over the moderate line, you will break.

Holding back a croaked sob, you know that once you let it go, tears will only start flooding. With a push of your muscles, you effortlessly hoist yourself up the metal railings in one go. The wind combs through your hair like an empathetic hand but you ignore it, Minho’s sweater closing in on your skin.

You should leave, you try to urge yourself. You should jump off and dive into the depths of the night, let the allure cradle you in its emotionless arms.

Because after all, despite all those eyes on you out there, you’re ultimately alone within.

A foot dips out into thin air once the slump in your shoulders goes weightless. Immediately after, an incredible force pulls you by the ankle, and to the ground with a loud thud. Minho falls onto his back harshly, groaning slightly with you on top of him.

He knew what you were trying to do, he saw it the other night with his own eyes. Even under the knowledge of your capabilities, Minho still feels a rush of panic rising inside his chest. It’s only until his arms fully have a hold of you does his racing heartbeats slow down. Supernatural abilities or none, you’re still sick. And he’d be losing his mind if he woke up to an empty bed tomorrow morning.

“Don’t ever do that again,” he speaks with trembling vocal cords, in a tone you’ve never heard before. Strict but mellow. As though there’s a race inside his mind but he’s desperately trying to keep his cool. It’s fear. The moment he’s introduced to the idea of losing you—it’s genuine fear.

“Minho, I can’t die. Didn’t I tell you—“

His grip squeezes you in a breath tighter, cutting you off completely. “The fuck were you thinking? You can’t just jump off the balcony like that!”

“I already told you. I can’t die. Minho, I’ve done that plenty of times before,” you furrow your brows in a troubled manner, unsure of how to react.

Minho widens his eyes at you in sheer disbelief. Shock riddles his senses and gets the best of him. So now he’s fussing with his hands, incoherent profanity leaving his lips non-stop within the next thirty seconds or so. He’s usually very calm, collected, calculating, and cold. This is very unlike him. It makes you wonder why he’s acting this way. He knows that you can’t die from jumping off a building. So what’s there to worry about?

“You’re such an idiot! Try doing that again and I’ll kill you with my own-“

You truly don’t know how important you are to him. Frankly, he hasn’t even realized that yet.

“I’m sorry,” you say, pulling him closer. Since you’re bad at resolving any kind of conflict, you opt for the most rational solution—going with his flow until he’s calmed down. “I won’t do that again, promise.”

His lips fall agape at your words. He wasn’t expecting that. And even when you see how he’s reacting to your sudden change, you decide it’s no time to back down. This might be the only time you could show him that you’re at least grateful for everything he’s done.

He’s quieted down now. And when he manages to speak again without tripping over his own words, his voice comes out as a whisper. “Hey kid,” he looks down at you, wanting to stroke your hair but drops his hand in sheer defeat. “You didn’t answer my question earlier. Why didn’t you call in sick for work?”

“Who would do my job when I’m gone? Isn’t that irresponsible?” You exhale deeply before fluttering your eyes close, finding odd peace within the rhythm of his heart.

Minho says pointedly, “Well, you could have asked someone to help you with it.”

“No one would help me.”

“How’d you know? Have you tried asking them before?”

Your eyes shoot open and flicker around your surroundings, you’re at a loss for words for a split second there. Heat rushes to the apples of your cheeks in shame, your head hung terribly low. “I’m not used to asking for help. I’d hate to be a burden,” you confess.

Innocence glimmers in your eyes when you look up at him, waterlines threatening to break any second now. Your lashes are slightly damped and how lost you’re looking right now can physically draw crimson on his heart. At the end of the day, you’re just a kid. You had to grow up the hard way, with no one by your side telling you what’s right and what’s wrong, even simple things like how to react to non-verbal affection.

Don’t let her go, Minho. Not now. Not ever.

“Then fix it now.”

“What?” You pause.

“If you need help, ask for it. If things are hard, say it. I’ll be there to give you a hand.”

Tears well up in your eyes, croaked sobs shake your body, only prompting him to pull your closer. It’s warm. Damnit, why is it so warm? “I-I can’t sleep. Sing me something?”

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

Minho just knows that he would bleed with you even when the rain pours and the sky falls one day.

318 notes · View notes