#which is often difficult because we usually take longer due to having to sit | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fizzingwizard · 2 years ago

Text

so after thursdays work rant...

I went into work on Fri to discover that me and several coworkers had a choice of either no prep time or no break time. We are supposed to have one hour prep, which we rarely ever get, and one hour break. If a one hour break seems long, don't forget that we often use it to prep because we have far more work than can be done in an hour, AND that time is unpaid. It's just an unpaid hour of the day where we end up working anyway.

Prep and break time is divided into 15 or 30 min blocks as well which makes it especially difficult to get anything done. By the time you lay stuff out it's time to clean it back up. Also we have cleaning duties as well which can be as quick as 10 min or as long as 30.

So anyway. Friday. I'm at the end of my rope and I walk in to discover I'm with the kids constantly from 9:30-3:30, and again from 4-5. I have 30 min from 9-9:30 and 30 min from 3:30-4. It's the end of the year. I have a bunch of shit to do that I have been struggling to do because of consistently losing prep time elsewhere and our third teacher who is quitting using all her PTO in one go, leaving me and my other co-worker with her share of the work and less time to do our own. And our manager keeps adding new stuff and saying "I know you're busy but I need this done ASAP."

But that's not what bothers me. What bothers me is the reason it happened this way.

The manager knew my coteacher would be out on PTO. She also knew that two of our teachers would be unavailable in the afternoon due to recurring commitments they have with elective classes. Despite this, she still allowed another teacher to be sent away in the afternoon to do training for the job she'll take up in April. Which leaves us already at half power in the afternoon. On top of that, Friday was a full-school assembly day. On those days, we usually have more students than usual because parents of kids who don't come that day will pay for an extra day so they can join in the fun. There's also a lot of prep to do for the assemblies as well as cleaning up after, and as much fun as they are, they always leave the kids extra wired because they are two years old and any change in the normal routine is a Big Change for them.

Basically assembly days are exhausting for teachers. And THEN, what happened was a teacher called in sick. So now we had two teachers just out all day, the one on PTO and the one out sick, two teachers doing afternoon electives, and one going to afternoon training. (That one is actually the same as one of the elective teachers, but usually she would be around to help for part of the afternoon and now she was going to be gone for all of it.)

The teacher being out sick meant I had to teach her lesson as well as my own. Also my coworker was going to sit in on another coworker's elective class because she will have to do it in April. In her case, there's no other chance for her to do this, so that just had to happen even though it meant she wasn't free to help out for an hour, making us even busier. In the case of the teacher going for training in the afternoon, I don't understand why she can't have done that training in April. If she's been a new hire that would have been the case, and she was going to be away much longer than the other teacher doing the hour-long training. Maybe there really was no other way, but if so, why was it scheduled on an assembly day and a day when there were other electives, AND a day when one teacher had already been given PTO??

Please, managers, don't assign EXTRA stuff on days when we're extra busy and extra understaffed to begin with!!! That really is what's bugging me so badly. Now and then stuff happens, there are unavoidable circumstances... I do understand that. I try my best to be a team player. But this has happened consistently All. Year. Long. Even my coworker who never complains said, "The manager doesn't understand what it's like to be a teacher." Other coworkers were encouraging me to talk to her about it and said "We're here together for the morning meeting and we'll back you up."

But I said, then, that I didn't want to pile on the manager over this, and that I didn't want to make the teacher going for the long afternoon training feel bad because it's not her fault in any way. Later I regretted not saying something. I am feeling unsure about what is my place to say and what isn't. I'm not a leader. I have been offered the option to apply to become one, but I don't want to. It's a lot of extra responsibility with no clear benefit, and I just watched upper management treat the two leaders who were here before like crap, so. Anyway, I don't know how reasonable it is for me to talk to the manager about her decisions. I've been operating under "leaders need to handle it" and "the manager knows things that I don't when she makes her decisions." But that really no longer seems to be the case. The manager seems confused and like she really needs experienced teachers to help her prioritize things. She forgets to tell us things until the last minute, and sometimes doesn't tell us them at all, like multiple times when students were added to our classes and we weren't told they were younger than usual. (Which is a big diff when kids are so young to begin with.) Her response was that we would be able to know by checking the attendance. Well, we did, we have to, because we celebrate kids birthdays and put them on the walls. But that's not the point. The point is she's supposed to tell teachers as a safety measure as soon as she knows so they they can adjust their expectations and their class routine if needed BEFORE the kid shows up. Some kids that little are really independent, others are totally helpless. But either way, they need extra attention because they don't know danger exists. We need to know to mentally prep for them: not just discover it on the day they show up and we're given the attendance sheet for the first time.

Well, that was a rabbit trail. But that's the sort of thing this manager does all the time. So I spent several minutes walking back and forth in the hall, trying to decide whether I should talk to the manager after all about the scheduling nightmare. In the end, too many parents wee going through her office on their way to drop off their kids, so I decided I'd do it later, forgetting I didn't have much of a later, lol. We got through the day, it was exhausting as usual, and - the teacher doing the elective training actually had to leave to go start halfway through our assembly. This meant that the sub helping in my class then joined that teacher's class instead to meet ratio. The problem: The only reason my class could have just two teachers that day was because we had an absence. If that kid had showed up, we'd have been over ratio. And if this had happened last month, we still would have been, because we had another student who stopped coming on Fridays only this month. So, if this had happened THEN (which it totally could have because we don't have advanced notice of kids absences), who would have helped MY class? The sub would have had to go to other class because they had only one teacher. But then my class would have had two teachers but been over ratio.

So what would probably have happened is one or two of my kids would have been sent to join the other class. Reason that sucks: The biggest reason, imo, is safety! It's just not as easy for a classroom teacher to remember and think about random kids who are dumped in her class from other classes. We care about all of them and we have their medical information posted in every room, so it's something we do if necessary. But we are doing it too, too often. And what I hate the most is having the extra kids for only a short time versus the whole day. I think some people think that makes it easier if they are only there for a short period. In some cases it's okay, like during lesson time because the kids are just sitting. But when more supervision is necessary, it's harder to think about the kid who just showed up a few minutes ago, isn't usually here, and will leave again in twenty minutes. But that kid NEEDS to be thought about MORE, not less. They are in a less familiar environment. The other kids don't know them. They are really young and even if they are capable of telling teachers when they need something in their own class, they may be too confused by the change in setting and not do it! So that's why I prefer to have extra kids all day long. Then they are on our radar consistently and we can plan the whole day around making sure they're taking care of properly. Don't just show up with them at lunch and dump them on the floor to play with toys while my coteacher and I feed lunch to our kids, clean up after them, wash the floor, take them to the toilet and to brush their teeth, help them pack up, fill out their notebooks... the many many many things we have to do which make supervising our OWN kids hard enough. It's unsafe. We're rushing around and can't watch the extra kids properly.

But the other reason it would have sucked on Friday particularly is because it was our graduation party. Which isn't much of a party, but my coteacher made paper mortarboards for each of them, and we practiced some songs, and we took lots of photos. If two of my kids had to go to the other class so we could stay in ratio, they wouldn't have been part of that. And I really hate the mentality of "It's ECE, no one cares about their silly graduation." We know it's silly. It's about celebrating our year together. Letting the kids feel accomplished and helping them set their minds on the next year. They're old enough now to be able to do that a little. It's also, yeah, for the teachers. We were with them all year, we worked hard for them to grow and we got to know them really well, and we just will miss them. I always miss my class each year. Each year I think "This is the best class I ever had." I know I'm just a teacher and it's about the kids, not me. But everyone WANTS us to make bonds with the kids. They want the kids to trust us and learn well from us, which requires those bonds. And then they want us to be able to cut those bonds like nothing. At least let me say goodbye, geez. Kids aren't factory-made and teachers don't work on an assembly line, fuck you very much.

So all this culminates in I was extremely pissed off and tired even before Friday, and Friday was just too beyond ridiculous for me. Although my coworkers seemed to feel similarly, I felt that I was the most bothered. Maybe it's because although several of us had limited prep/break, only mine and one other coworker ended up on duty with the kids for such a long time in one go. Maybe it's because me and that same coworker are the only ones who will still be here in April. It's also that time of the month for me and it was heavier than usual, so I may tired because of being a little anemic, idk. I'm still feeling shitty right now after sleeping for 12 hours lol.

Anyway. I didn't complain to the manager. I got no balls. But the teacher who went for the long afternoon training was actually let out early, and thanks to that it freed up 30 min of break/prep. The question was, for who? For whatever reason, it was given to me. I don't know if it was the manager's decision or her own, I don't know if someone noticed I was pissed off and suggested I needed it, because I wasn't the only one with a lack of time that day. When she gave me the 30 min, I tried to split it with my coworker who also had just 1 hr, but she kindly refused, maybe because she goes home before the kids wake up from nap and doesn't have to do the aftercare duty which is very busy. So I found another coworker with an hour and she and I split the 30 min into 15 min for each of us. So in the end, it really wasn't helpful, because what can you do in 15 min? But I can't just take the 30 min all for myself when multiple teachers are low on off-duty time that day. I still have so much stuff to do next week and am just crossing my fingers that somehow I will get it done. Before all this happened I was ahead of the game because I worked instead of taking breaks. But then many things were added to be done before the end of the term, and, to be fair, there are things I added myself because I wanted to do them for my kids. It's those things the company would expect me to sacrifice first, but for that reason I want to sacrifice them the least.

When the new term starts, I want to talk to the manager more when these scheduling things happen. But again, I really don't know that it's my place. But I also don't trust the new leaders to say anything because they won't be on campus and so far they don't seem to be paying any attention to what goes on here unless we report it to them. So it seems like if I, or the sole other coworker who is staying here, don't speak up, we will just have a repeat of this year but worse because there will be more students and almost complete staff turn-over. (Not to mention more understaffing!) But I can just see the outcome not being good for me. Maybe the manager will listen and change things in the moment. I do think she tries to do things for us when we point them out. But if I have to do it too often, I bet she'll get annoyed and report me as bossy and confrontational. And then I'll get told it's not my job to tell the manager how to do hers or something. In the end it won't matter that no one's batting for us so we have to bat for ourselves. It will just be my fault. Been there, done that. No one wants to take responsibility, they all just want to say "this was inevitable, suck it up." I'm nervous even to document everything in case of being accused of being overly meticulous or intentionally trying to find fault. But if this year sucks I will be job-hunting for sure, ugh. I'm more concerned whether I can keep my cool the whole year. It would be nice to leave a place I worked at for five years with a good report rather than blow it all up at the last moment.

#work

0 notes

maketimecount · 2 years ago

Text

Tw: Death of a parent, blood, surgery, s**cide.

Preface:

My father Tom was abusive growing up. (Something that worried me was his continued abuse towards my mother after I moved out as I was the youngest)

Often times growing up my dad would threaten suicide in order to keep my mom from leaving him after many points of physical/emotional abuse he inflicted on us. So in this I will only be referring to him as “Tom”

Thursday the 29th

Something felt off all day.

The week leading up to moms surgery was tumultuous and stressful. It had just been Christmas after all, but to top it off we were severely understaffed.

The Friday before Christmas I worked alone for the majority of the day.

Christmas it snowed. It was beautiful and wholesome. I will never have a Christmas like that again in my life. Though what is to come will be different, it won’t necessarily be bad. It’s just melancholic to think about. A lost innocence.

Monday the 26th was a half day, and lots of people were mad we weren’t fully operating Friday. Tuesday was weird. We had no power due to a wind storm. We took a half day

Wednesday was catching up, but very busy at work with only two people working. (Including myself)

Thursday was the surgery. Thursday it was 3. Two other people working with me.

Something didn’t sit right. The surgery started at 7am, and was ‘only’ supposed to last till 3. (Only in air quotes because whipple surgery is a bitch and usually lasts around 7-9 hours)

So 4pm rolls around still no news. I’m starting to get antsy. I was planning on visiting mom this weekend while she was recovering. My main worry at this point is she will need to have more rest before I visit.

Surely the surgery will end before my work day ends at 6, it has too right? Worriedly I started googling things like “is it a bad sign surgery is taking longer than planned” and “does survival rate go down as surgery drags on” all I could find were reassuring articles. Obviously these articles were trying as to not to worry the worrier. But I am the worrier, so as I sat there in and out of doing my desk job I couldn’t stop myself. Peering down at my blue screen frantically typing the thought that consumed me; “Whipple surgery survival rate” all I could find were what seemed like low statistics. Hell one artical mentioned the fact that these ‘statistics’ only happened at smaller hospitals. My mom was in the best of care. A hospital that was world renowned for this specific surgery, right in our own state. Surely she wouldn’t become a statistic in these hands.

But anyone can become a statistic. I didn’t want this to be true. Angrily I shut down the pretreat machine. A machine who’s only job it was; Was to spray a thin layer of glue on garments. The glue then allows ink to add-hear to the garments. Purging the lines of any glue with boiling hot water. Aggressively whipping down the inside with windex. The smell of which reminds of ants. Summers spent spraying ants in the kitchen with this bright blue liquid.

Snapping out of this memory; I had one mission. Leave. You need to go home. It is 6pm. Wait it’s 6pm, let me check my phone-

More fear rustled within me as radio silence filled my world.

It felt like I was taking a long breath in and then holding it.

Fast walking through 21st, blaring music through my headphones. I couldn’t be stopped. Suddenly I was home, and on the phone with my sister. Suddenly it was Friday morning 5am, suddenly I was at the icu.

Friday December 30th

It was so difficult finding the hospital entrance. Everything felt urgent, but I couldn’t find the damn entrance. “Why am I such an idiot” I blurted out. I ascended the parking lot stair case, and noticed I was in the lighthouse lot. What a coincidence. I was writing a story about a lighthouse. I guess it isn’t that strange.

Something else peculiar, I had been here before. Not on hospital grounds, but at the park across the street. I had biked this way last spring, and this was where I stopped to take a break.

Smoking a cbd cigarette at a vandalized picnic table. The wood carved, and written on. Awkwardly I read an antagonizing comment “don’t smoke”. It was probably right, but we all die someday right?

The hospital has strict Covid rules around its icu. Only 2 people allowed up at a time. The first thing I did was try to go up. So nervously I went, I knew two people were already inside so the chances of me seeing her before her next surgery were slim. Regardless I had tunnel vision; I had to try.

The elevator felt like an eternity. Like a floating flower it softly dance upward; up and up until it abruptly bounced to a halt. As the doors flooded open I felt my anxiety pull at me. This was it. Quickly my pointer finger found the call box button. I rang.

Molly warned me they would probably say no, due to the amount of people occupying the room. They said no. They sent me down into the surgery waiting room. I complied anxiously.

It was completely empty. In the corner 2 couches were pushed together. I wondered how silly it was of someone to spend the night. I pushed them apart, and then sat. Alone. In the dark. And then a call. Mollys warning. Mom doesn’t look great, this could be the last time you see her. The doctors are willing to make an exception. Come back up.

Mom had coded the night before. They broke all her ribs to revive her. She coded around 9pm. The surgery lasted until 11:00 pm. 14 hours. 7am -11:00pm. 14 hours.

Mom doesn’t do long stuff like that. Mom barely does 14 hour flights, 14 hour drives, 15 hour anything’s. Of course she won’t look her best, or be fully with it, but maybe she could pull through. Despite being unresponsive, and living through a breathing tube; She could pull through. Miracles happen, and why can’t I have a miracle. The cynic in me was fighting with this. While the balance in me was staying neutral. It could go either way.

I rushed up the elevator for the 2nd time. Or was it down? This hospital felt like a maze throughout.

It was now 6am. Amelia hadn’t made it yet, she was running late. Walking down the hall for the first time felt like an eternity. The worried looks from the staff followed our movements, as if we were out of place. Too young to be visiting someone in the icu.

When I got to the room at the end of the hall it all set in. Outside of this room the weight of the situation didn’t fully exist, but inside it sucked you in like a black hole. Tubes everywhere, worried looks from the nurses, and my sister and Tom morose. I sent Tom down as I came in. He seemed eager to find someone to blame, and I knew the staff needed a break. They had just fought tooth and nail for her. Imagine. Anticipating your job to only take 8 hours and having it take 14; Fighting to work a miracle. But that is their job.

Instant tears flooded my face. I couldn’t keep it in. My sister sang and I joined. My mom looked pale and felt cold to the touch. But she was alive. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I kept thinking over and over again. My sister Amelia was close, but hadn’t arrived at the hospital yet. We needed to stall so that she could say goodbye. She was pregnant. Due in 2 weeks. Of course my mother would go out like a soap opera. She loved those damn shows.

I remember her watching recordings of soaps all the time. In some small way I wanted to be like her so I started watching the telenovelas on cctv. I’m not sure she understood my action was of appreciation. I’m not sure I did at the time either.

Tom came back up to say goodbye, and he was stalling as well. At the same time putting down my sister for not being here in time. What a walking paradox. Always critiquing others for things they can’t change, while being unchangeable himself. Frantically molly sent her husband Wes to guide them up. (This hospital is a maze after all) Seconds felt like hours waiting.

Suddenly she appeared, just in time. We sang once more as the hospital staff trickled in. Preparing my mom for the next surgery.

This surgery was to remove blood. They weren’t sure why there was internal bleeding, they weren’t sure why the surgery didn’t work. They weren’t sure what was going on at all.

So we waited. Was this the last time I would see my mom?

Flashing thoughts of a dream filled my head. A separate universe I escaped into. My mom fine. Sitting up in bed talking and joking with us about how terrible the food was. “I need salt!” And we would provide it for her. Like magic salt packets from our pockets, like gifts from above. I imagined how she would be in pain, but hopeful. Allowed to heal. Allowed a miracle.

I hadn’t eaten. No wait I had. I had, peanut butter toast and coffee, but the protein was waining, and I felt myself slipping.

I needed to eat. David, Amelia, and I headed to the cafeteria. We each got Korean noodles. It was okay. It was on the better end as far as hospital food goes, but it was no arupa.

Arupa was one of my moms favorite restaurants in Salem. I remember it was the first expensive meal I ever had. Mom would take us there for special occasions. I especially remember going for my birthday.

Eating out on the terrace next to the sky tram felt like I could breath in again. But it didn’t last long

We went back into the waiting room. For what felt like weeks was packed into hours of a single day. Suddenly mom was out of surgery, and suddenly we went back up the elevator. She survived.

They weren’t sure where she was at mentally so she was going in for a brain scan later on. Most of what is to come is a blur due to how many times we went up and down/in and out of the icu. But keep in mind this is still Friday the 30th.

I visited her 3 times I believe that day, taking turns to give people the opportunity to visit or the opportunity to take a break. Each time it felt like the gravity could sink me through the floor into the level beneath. Like the floor was water I was wading through. Directly beneath her room was a caffe. I’m sure mom wouldn’t mind me grabbing a cup while I sink below the floor tile waves. In fact she would probably request I bring her back up a cup. Coffee cream and sugar. But not too much sugar unless she was treating herself.

One moment I was alone with her. I felt aloof. I didn’t know what to say. All I could do was cry. But I felt bad for crying. I didn’t want to stress her out but I couldn’t help it. I tried talking to her when the nurses left. I told her we were going to go on that trip to Japan she desperately wanted to do, or Victoria. Honestly wherever she wanted to go. We would go. All the while sobbing. And then a twitch. A finger twitch. The nurses said this was probably convulsions and not actually her.

This couldn’t be the end.

Amelia joined me, and as she did she filled the room with balance and reassurance. We joked and talked. Eventually the topic of baby names came up. The whole time we were holding moms hand. Amelia said the top secret names. And I could’ve sworn I saw mom smile.

Suddenly we were being ushered out for a brain scan.

Suddenly it came back, and nothing was off. She was her.

As I was waiting in the room downstairs I felt a pull to walk around. I needed to go outside.

After which I came back to a pleasant surprise. My mom was responsive. And you’ll never guess; she made us laugh.

Molly and Amelia were chatting about an ex Amelia had. And as his name was spoken mom shook her head no. I could only imagine the glimmer in Amelia and mollys eyes in that moment. “Do you not like Michael?” Molly uttered. Another defined head shake swooped back and forth. “What about my ex” the swift disapproving head shake continued. “What about Emma’s college partners?” The third no.

Upon hearing this I cried in utter joy. Swiftly apologizing for the cry, but living in it. Maybe we could have a miracle on our hands.

3rd time up, 4th time up? I couldn’t be bothered on the count. Turned the corner, and reached the room.

I held her hand. It was warmer than before. She kept telling us how uncomfortable she was. I kept asking if she needed anything moved, Amelia applied chapstick for her. She kept nodding when asked if she was in pain. My stomach sunk. Each time I would ask what hurts. Each time something different. We tried to get the blazers on but the television wouldn’t work. So Amelia played it on her phone.

The blazers were her favorite. I remember going to games as a kid. The room was colorful even though we lost. This was how the games went. Happy excitement became the crowed regardless of the outcome.

Mom kept trying to ask for the breathing tube out. Of course she wasn’t actually asking just replying to us in yes or no head nods until we answered her thought.

Some part of me wonders what she would’ve said if we could’ve taken it out. That’s the thing about what ifs. They will burn you running you in circles. And what if we had. She wouldn’t have survived. She was going to survive right? She had to survive. Wait I meant to stay neutral. The neutrality was the only thing keeping me stable. The unknown was a life vest I clung too in deep ocean waters.

After leaving her room for the last time that night, we had to join a new room for the 2nd time.

The conference room was small. We all packed in per doctors request. We needed to talk about what we all dreaded. This time we had joiners. My aunt and uncle. We had to discuss something we had discussed earlier that day. The discussion of recessitation. Hinging on the advanced directive which Tom forgot to bring. More importantly in this situation would my mom be deemed do not recessitate.

The doctors highly suggested this option. There was a high chance that at this stage if recessitation was utilized she would become a vegetable. The hard part being my moms advanced directive was not present.

We had to make the most difficult choice. It seemed like a lose lose situation, and the walls were closing in. For an hour we sat there and debated.

In hind sight I remember something my mom taught me when making a tough decision. Something her dad taught her actually. Always weigh the pros and cons.

The doctor had left for a moment.

Even if I had weighed the pros and cons, I’m not sure I would have found very many pros in either direction. My mom wanted to live. She was fighting for her life in there. She wanted to make it out. But on the other hand it was so difficult to watch her suffer. To prolong that suffering for the benefit of myself, to lose her brain function most indefinitely in the process. It all felt sickening.

Suddenly I remembered I had a recording of the advanced directive on my phone. Suddenly we listened. Suddenly we had more questions than answers. But then we came to the last question. Her answer? Do not resuscitate.

Even so the group was divided. We all had to come to the answer verbally. The tough conversation kept circling. Back and forth. Back and forth. Always circling back to the same answer. The answer no one wanted to pick. The answer we all dreaded. The most difficult answer to the most difficult situation.

The doctor joined in and we gave him the answer.

Do not resuscitate.

We trickled out somberly and headed home.

Suddenly it was morning. I had slept in. Suddenly I was at the hospital at 7am. I wanted to get there at 5am.

Saturday the 31st.

My mom was unresponsive again. She wasn’t worsening, but she wasn’t getting better. I hadn’t seen her yet so I still had the naive hope from yesterday’s improvements. My breath was waiting on a miracle.

I had forced myself to eat peanut butter toast again.

I wasn’t hungry.

I was empty.

I was hopeful.

The chairs of the waiting room neatly lined the corners. It clicked. Those chairs the day prior had been pushed together to sleep on. I wondered what poor soul before us was waiting, and who were they waiting for.

I inspected the room. Who was there today. Today a young man sat in the corner. He was crying on and off.

Oh wait. What is today? Today was something- today was New Year’s Eve.

What a paradox.

I went up several times that day each time losing hope more and more. Her hand was cold to the touch again. The toilet was full of blood from her transfusions. Not sure why the doctors left it there. Were they going to flush it down? In retro spect feels like a bio hazard. In the moment it felt like a mirror of the situation. Chaotic, and strange, and unusually cruel.

Her hand was cold to the touch. I was sobbing the entire time. It was sinking in. Slowly but steadfast. It was sinking in.

Back in the waiting room, I wondered where everyone was. It was only us three and my siblings spouses. I called Tom. A call I would immediately regret.

10am call.

I’m on my way, but Emma can I ask you something?

Yes?

I’m taking mom home.

Tears flooded my face. I wanted that more than anything. But no amount of pleading would change the situation. Mom wouldn’t last more than a minute off the dialysis machine. Ambulances don’t have dialysis machines. She had to stay. Angrily he pleaded with me sobbing. I handed the phone off to Amelia. She took over. I started sobbing uncontrollably. My mom would’ve hated dying here. I know this.

Everything felt chaotic, but my inner world felt still. I could not face what was happening. So I turned inward. Disassociating at every turn. I still am if I’m being honest.

Waiting room lasted a lifetime. 12pm rolls around and it’s still just us. We get whisked up stairs and it’s looking worse than before.

I feel myself going back on my choice for do not resuscitate internally, but have to keep my wits about me. No amount of shoulda coulda wouldas would change this lose lose situation.

The doctor warns us her internal organs are failing, and there is one more thing we can do. Open her back up. She would most likely pass. My gut instinct said yes. Whatever we can do we should do. But part of me also said no.

Would we have had more time with her if we hadn’t?

We will never know.

I cant stall death and we needed to make a choice. So we chose resurrection. We held onto the miracle.

We lost.

Downstairs waiting for the answer to the surgery I took a stroll to the closed cafe. It had the same view as my moms room just one floor down. It was beautiful. The mountain glowing in the background.

Suddenly we were all in the room with her. Suddenly Tom was there. It all felt like a bad dream. I just wanted a moment. But the first thing he did was blame the doctors. The same doctors and nurses crying in the corner. The same staff working 24 hours to make a miracle.

At this point I had no filter. “Can you not right now?” I sobbed uncontrollably. I just needed one more moment with her. One free of blame. Without distraction, just one moment. In retrospect I regret this sentiment. Knowing it was some of the last words she heard.

And then she was gone.

1:24 pm

I had to sit down.

The whole room was in disbelief.

I was in pain. Pure and utter pain.

We had time with her, said our goodbyes.

Suddenly I was downstairs again talking with cousins, aunts, and uncles.

Not so suddenly I was empty.

Suddenly I was back upstairs.

Coming back into the room it felt like a crime scene. Blood on the floor, blood on her hands. I was not okay. It was not okay.

Stepping through her blood I needed to say goodbye once more.

I held her hand. Cold to the touch, and no twitching this time. But still I could’ve stood there for hours if given the chance.

Goodbye,

After I exhaustedly drove myself home. I needed to sleep. I took a melatonin at 4pm, and woke up at 9pm in a cold sweet. Alone. The sound of fireworks filled my empty darkened room.

My neighbors partying, big booms filled the sky. But I was sobbing alone in my bed. I was embarrassed. Surely they wouldn’t care, but it felt uncomfortable. I didn’t want to ruin their good time but I was bleeding out emotionally in the next room over. So I bled out. 3:00am I was awake until 3:00am. Sobbing uncontrollably. Until I was a sleep again.

We did all we could;

But sometimes things feel off for a reason.

Written 2 weeks after. It kind of helped to write this down. It’s hard to read back/edit the ending. (So apologies if that part is a little rough)

#personal

0 notes

peakyblindersxx · 4 years ago

Text

whiskey buisness - john shelby x reader (part 2 of ?)

read part one here!

a/n: hey loves! i'm finishing up school rn, but i had to get this out and i'm about to start working on a tommy request immediately after i upload this. anyways, i'm so excited to post this series, it's incredible and i can't thank my bestie @stxdyblr-2k enough. she is a fucking genius :)

prompt: you can't get john out of your head. lo and behold, here he is.

warnings: fluff, mentions of smut, angsty af, soft john (ugh my heart)

Despite your best efforts, you'd been unable to stop yourself yearning for John Shelby. Your pokey flat now often lay empty; you were far too busy to mope at home due to your career as a personal assistant to a local solicitor who was allied with the Shelby's, attending rallies and lectures with Ada and the drunken nights you'd spend at various mansions, galleries and club openings with the "razor chasers" you'd become friendly with due to their refusal to leave Ada alone. Yet still, in those odd seconds of calm you seized over a cigarette, the first seconds after a bump of Tokyo, when you carefully applied your makeup, styled your hair or bathed, you'd think of him. The way the pads of his fingertips felt on your skin, how he’d muttered in your ear how pretty you looked.

But this was different to when you were dreaming about John at 15; he was no longer the allusive older brother of Ada who had a string of beautiful girls on rotation. He wasn’t a fantasy anymore. He was true flesh and blood, and for a moment he had wanted you.

It would be delicious if the whole situation hadn't left a bitter taste in your mouth. Of course you came back to Brum to only immediately fuck it up. The first night, and already you were so close to ruining everything? Looking back, now that you were so close with Ada once more, now that you knew who John had grown to be, that night was cringe inducing. Luckily, no one had seemed to catch on. Luckily, you thrived in the Small Heath rumour mill once again. All the gossip about you was mainly about your substance use, the lads you were seen curling up with outside nightclubs, your intelligence, your helpful nature, sometimes your questionable politics but that was all. John's was far darker, stories of blood, death and gasoline. Recently, the tales of his conquests had quietened, but only due to the lurid delight taken by the factory workers in talking about the recent blinding of some poor fucker who'd crossed the wrong person. Obviously, a lot of the detail had to be exaggerated for shock value and to boost the Shelby status, solidifying them as notorious throughout Birmingham city and its rural surroundings. There were murmurs everywhere about the violent John Shelby: ruthless, cocky, vengeful. It seemed impossible that the same man who cracked shit jokes just to see you smile, kissed you with so much desperation, and prioritised getting you off first could cause such harm without an ounce of guilt or shame to slow his swagger.

Whispers of war were far more constant, but then again, people would say anything for a reaction. You didn't bring it up with Ada. You refused to (openly) partake in mindless gossip on principle, yet you were hungry for information about him.

***********

You'd long forgotten whose wedding you were at. Some loyal blinder, a close friend of the Shelby's, the occasion calling for a large white marquee to be built onto one of Tommy's gardens, fully staffed with the best chef and service team money could buy (from a London restaurant at short notice; when Finn told you the extortionate figure Tommy had paid, your jaw had dropped). The cake, dress and decorations were stunning; you weren't sure exactly what the groom had done for the Shelby's but you could only assume the worst for what they'd splashed out on him.

However, thinking like that only spoilt your night: you'd realised at your fifth club takeover, now you repeated it like a mantra constantly. You'd quickly learnt every excess the Shelby's granted to those outside their circle were due to some perceived sacrifice for being associated with them. Well, that's what you chose to believe after John had sent a junior blinder to your office with a bouquet, the Monday morning after he turned you down. So, it was best to smile and take the shit, get paid, and get out as soon as possible. You were to keep your head down until then.

Yet, keeping your head down was difficult tonight. Ada had treated you to a shopping trip to London for the occasion this morning, Arthur forcing the junior blinders to tag along next to you on the train and trailing less than two metres behind you for hours. You missed the days when it was just you and Ada. It was far more simple without the stares whenever the two of you stepped out. Ada had gotten used to it, she'd devised her own methods of being completely alone; complex plans involving leaving a window open, knotting sheets into a rope and twisting her ankles. Not that she minded, she reckoned the suffocation of being a Shelby was much worse than a few bruised ankles.

You were wearing a clingy emerald green dress from some fancy French boutique you couldn't even pronounce, the diamond necklace sitting along your collarbone and the jewels dangling through your ears were on loan from Ada. You felt eyes unpicking you the moment you entered the after-party. Your arm was linked through Ada's as per usual, she looked equally stylish in a peacock blue number that set off her eyes, her delicate features perfected with makeup.

You'd quickly found your gaggle and began drinking and dancing the night away. Whispers about snow arose from your table, people disappearing to the toilets to rail a line on the bathroom counter, then to the dance floor or to the lap of the poor fucker who'd hold back their hair while they vomited in just a few hours. At least the Blinders were polite about it. Isaiah would kill them if they weren’t. You'd let your arm be tugged on various bathroom trips, treated among your group like secret missions although you weren't entirely subtle about it.

What you weren't aware of was across the marquee, you were being watched by the three men in your life who you'd never want to see you in this state: the Shelby's.

"Looks like Finn's taken your spot, John." Arthur yelled in John's ear over the loud music, gesturing to the youngest Shelby sat at the table next to you who was staring up at you in complete adoration as you chatted across him to Michael, seemingly arguing with him. By the looks of it, you were winning.

John pulled a face at Arthur. “Fuck off, old man. That'll never happen. Finn’s too young for her." He immediately regretted the words that had fallen out of his mouth, revealing far too much for his comfort.

"It's not impossible."

"He's just not right for her, yeah?"

"And you are?"

John didn't bother to bless him with a verbal response, instead flipping him off and downing the rest of his whiskey. "It's not like that."

"What's it like then? Because from where I'm sitting, it's pretty fucking clear, John." Arthur slurred, glass of whiskey sloshing onto his sleeve.

"You're too gone to even know you're chatting shit." John sneered, standing up, "I'm off for a smoke and some fresh air. Try not to fuck anything in my absence, both of you."

His brothers cursed him out as he left. John took a second to figure out his route, purposefully having to cross your path, gesturing for you to follow him subtly. He was surprised you came trailing after him, telling Michael that you weren’t done yelling at him and you’d be back. When you were both only metres from the marquee, he knew you were fucked. You were instantly bored, begging him for a cigarette, which he lit for you, shaking his head at your state.

"You're a fucking mess, love." He said, mouth sloping attractively to one side.

"Takes one to know one, John-boy. Where are we off to, then?"

"Somewhere fucking quiet, can barely hear myself think. Plus, you need to sober the fuck up, lass." He said, softly, as he walked across the dew soaked grass. You followed, heels in hand, holding your dress up as not to ruin it. He sighed, taking the shoes from your hands and wrapping his blazer around your shoulders, linking your arm through his for stability. He kept the distance respectful, but there wasn’t any denying the thick tension in the summer air between the two of you. Ahead, there was a small stone bench sat at the foot of one of Thomas' manicured gardens, and John offered his hand to help you sit. You made small talk and caught up on each other's lives, and you noted John only seemed to glow when you asked about his kids. He talked at length, the drink seemingly unhinging his jaw. There he was again, the John you knew and had admired for so many years. You could sit here forever, watching his blue eyes sparkle in the sunlight. Yet, it just wasn’t meant to be. You wished you could stop time just for a bit, give you enough moments to memorize the freckles on his skin.

"You know the night I first came home?" The alcohol and snow had loosened your lips. You were teetering on the edge of your boundaries, but you couldn't care enough to hold back.

"The night where absolutely nothing happened?" He joked, raising an eyebrow at you, cautious that you'd randomly brought it up in your state. "Sweetheart, this can wait."

He was warning you. For a second you managed to bite your tongue, but curiosity tipped you over the edge.

"But something nearly happened, right?"

"Y/N. Don't." He warned, his tone icy, suddenly distancing from you, hiding between an emotional boundary which he didn't wish to explore.

"John, it's just us. Can't we even talk about it?"

"There's nothing to talk about, though. You were off your face then, and now. That's fine. We know where we stand. It can't happen."

"I wanted to. I do want to."

"You don't. Trust me. You need a nice lad who'll marry you and look after you. Just need to keep your nose clean long enough yeah?" He teased, trying to lighten the mood, blue eyes begging you to move on.

Your head turned to face him, your face contorting in a mixture of confusion and irritation. "You don't get to tell me what I want or need. The last thing I want is to marry any lad, nice or not."

"I didn't mean it like that, right? Look, I just meant you deserve better than Shelby scum. You're going places you know? Don't settle for Small Heath." John responded with a pained sigh. He didn’t want to get into it with you; not here, not like this. He'd thought about it, naturally. You were constantly on his mind, yet only problems ever seemed to appear, never solutions. It was best for him to avoid you. Why the fuck did he drag you out here? Horrible idea.

"Your family isn't scum. Where the fuck did you get that from?" Your face was screwed up in genuine rage. "I-"

"Y/N, fuckin’ leave it."

His face had hardened completely now. He'd snapped at you. His voice hadn't raised, it was just the power he spat his order out with. You held up your hands in mock surrender, pointedly taking a cigarette from his front pocket and light it silently, not saying a word.

"Why are you so bothered, anyways?" He asked, breaking the silence like you knew he would. John always had to ask questions.

"Fuck off with that, John. I'm not in the mood."

"What do you mean?" He looked completely lost.

"We nearly had sex. Just sex, nothing else right?"

John remained silent.

"Would it be the worst thing in the world?" You asked, your voice wavering. It was hard enough to get the words out, let alone imagine the response.

"You're far too wasted to chat about this, love."

"John, I’m not-"

"I'm serious. You're fucking mashed like my brothers aren't you? Like all those other fuckers in there." He sounded genuinely angry. In the glow of the sunset he looked so much younger, so hurt and lonely. Why hadn't you noticed before?

He turned to you, eyes widened and shocked at his own outburst. "You're not the only one gone yeah? Ignore me, I'm fucked, sorry."

You reached out your hand and linked your fingers through his in silence, the warm evening wind ruffling your hair and dress, blocked from your skin by John's suit jacket which was wrapped around your shoulders. Not that anyone would notice or care. As long as Ada wasn't with you, you could disappear for hours without any alarm. There you sat in the tranquil last few moments of the day, your hand linked with John's, both beyond tipsy. You weren’t thinking properly but it felt right. You felt safe. You didn't want to have to return to the chaos of the party, to have to catch up on who your friends were currently trying to screw. None of that seemed to matter anymore.

Was it too much to ask for something to be simple? Maybe you didn't have to fuck him. Maybe just these small moments were enough. You laughed at the thought when it crossed your mind; neither you nor John were known for consistency or stability in relationships, you being admittedly rather inexperienced, only having been with a few men, and he had his fair share of escapades. But he was just so different. You wouldn't admit that he'd gotten your attention in any way than purely sexually (which surprised you to admit) and for fun, but you genuinely enjoyed his presence.

He was right though. It wasn't a good idea at all to hook up. There was far too much baggage for both of you to make it worth it.

Just once?

You glanced over at John. He rolled his eyes at you, but the edges of his lips were slightly upturned, his dimples faintly peeking through his defined cheeks.

Just once couldn't hurt.

***

The sky was streaked with shades of gold, amber and blood. John could feel the friction from your knee barely knocking against his, the pressure putting him on edge. In fairness, he had drunk heavily, and that's what happens when you let your guard down around beautiful women. He couldn't believe you had told him you wanted to have sex with him still. He'd chalked the whole situation down to a drunken mistake that would have progressed into a far more significant drunken mistake. Ada would never forgive him if he went for another of her mates. Especially Y/N. No matter if he said that Y/N could be different, that you wasn't just another conquest. But who'd believe him?

Far better to keep his mouth shut.

Far better to play safe.

As you were called back to the party by the gaggle of girls John vaguely recognised from hanging off the arms of other blinders, he realised (despite his state) that you were right. Having sex with you wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. In fact, it might be one of the best.

Just once?

He watched your figure disappear back into the marquee, waiting for you to turn back and look for him. You do. He would have done the same if it was him.

Maybe just once wouldn't hurt.

***

to be continued!

#john shelby fluff #john shelby #john shelby x reader #john shelby imagine #john shelby reader insert #peaky blinders fluff #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders

570 notes · View notes

literaila · 4 years ago

Text

this undeniable irritable space

spencer reid x reader

this is part 2 to space, which is about a “clingy” reader and a spencer with a need for “space”

and you should probably read that first.. but um you dont have to i guess? if you dont want to?

warnings: angst. lots of angst. spencers really angsty. really really. um.. theres a panic attack so if thats triggering please dont read please. its really rushed, and a lot longer than planned. so? sorry if it sucks. enjoy.

“I love her.”

Insecurities were hard to shake.

Y/N had always had that problem. The things that she despised about herself stuck to her skin like germs. Germs that crawled up her neck and into her mouth and under her skin until they were so far back, so deep inside that she couldn't reach them.

She couldn't get Spencer's words out of her head.

They had talked it out. Spencer reassured her that he loved touching her, that he wanted to feel her hand in his, any opportunity he got. They had decided that what had happened turned out to be a miracle in disguise because now neither of them were afraid. Touching was the way they loved each other, and there weren't any boundaries left.

That didn't mean that Spencer's words just drifted off into the abyss.

Now they seemed even more stuck to Y/N skin, implanted into her thoughts. Y/N knew that she shouldn't care about what he said, he had repeatedly shown her how much he loved touching her in the couple of days that had passed. He made sure to kiss her any opportunity he could, they were constantly cuddling, whether that be in bed while making dinner, on the couch watching a movie, in the shower. There were no limits to their constant clinginess. Both of them loved it, and they couldn't get enough.

But that didn't mean that there wasn't any fear.

Y/N worried that Spencer had just said all of that as to not hurt her feelings, that in reality he didn't like touching her, and he just wanted to make her happy because that's who he is, he never wanted to disappoint anyone, always wanted the best for the people he loved.

It was one of the things Y/N loved most about him, one of the things that drew her to him in the first place, she could see how much he loved all his teammates just by the way he paid attention to them, by the way, he knew exactly how everyone liked their coffee, by the way, he always made sure to thank Garcia anytime she did anything to help, by the way, he always checked on Derek after a case, to make sure it hasn't affected him too badly. Spencer showed it by loving JJ and Henry constantly, he showed it by making sure Hotch wasn’t the last one in the office every night, by listening to Rossi and adding on when he thought it was appropriate. Spencer showed his constant love for everyone around him every day. It was what made him so approachable.

But it also caused Y/N a lot of worries.

She was worried he was so focused on making everyone- making her- happy that he wasn't giving himself the things he needed. She didn't want Spencer to let her cuddle him and kiss him and love him just to make her happy, she didn't want him to pretend to be comfortable even if he wasn't.

So she watched him.

She hoped he didn't notice the way she watched him.

She was constantly looking for a wince, a little second glance, an uncomfortable smile, an irritated look, anything that would prove that what she was doing was wrong.

Apparently, her profiling skills aren't up to scratch though because she didn't see anything out of the ordinary.

Though there was still a tiny part of her that couldn't believe it, just couldn't accept it, she had to keep searching, she wasn't going to miss anything like she did the last time.

“Sometimes though- I just- I want some space”

***

Spencer wasn't oblivious.

Obviously.

He was a genius, and he was prone to remembering things. Which means he noticed when Y/N started watching him. He saw the way she was more cautious in touching him, the way she watched his face more, the way she closed her eyes every time he held her like she was afraid it would be the last time.

He felt terrible.

The things he had said should have never affected their relationship, they were never meant to affect their relationship. In all honesty, he had only said them as a way to vent, as a way to blame something about how stressed he was feeling. And Y/N should have never heard any of it.

It was a ridiculous thing to say anyway as if Spencer could ever live without constantly feeling the warmth and reassurance in Y/N touch.

She wasn't mad, she had made that much clear, but Spencer still couldn't help but worry that she was still upset about what he had said. He was still upset about it so how couldn’t she be?

The hesitation, the crease in her brows when they were millimeters apart, the way she was trying to find the truth in his eyes every time she looked at him, it all made him feel a million times worse.

But there was something about tonight. Tonight was making it worse.

The team had decided to go out together, happy to have a break from dead bodies and insane people. It wasn't rare for them to go out, especially after a hard case, it was strange though that they’d had multiple days off in a row. When Emily had suggested going to one of the bars close to the office as a way to keep the streak going, no one had protested. They all seemed a bit happier.

Of course, the night had been spent checking their phones constantly and talking about their jobs, but that also wasn't unusual.

Spencer was having a difficult time though. Y/N and he had spent their days at the office going over paperwork and sneaking glances at each other from their desks and spent their nights cuddling and making out, laughing while making dinner and savoring as much time together as possible. In some weird way they seemed closer now, but even more afraid. Neither of them mentioned it though, both of them trying to avoid as much confrontation as possible.

But what made Spencer's night difficult was touching.

Derek, Penelope, and Y/N had all decided to make their way to the small makeshift dance floor in the middle of the room- after a few drinks of course- and while Y/N had dragged Spencer out too because there was no way she was going to let him just sit back and watch, he had eventually made his way back to the table where Emily, JJ, Hotch, and Rossi were sat content.

But he couldn't keep his eyes off of her, the way she laughed at both Derek and Garcia, the way her eyes were lit up in happiness, the gentle sway of her hips as she danced to the beat... And the way her face was thrown back and glowing under the dimmed lights of the Bar.

She was beautiful.

There were lots of other eyes on her as well, both men and women staring directly at her, all of them never wanting to look away. It didn't seem like she noticed or she just didn't care, because usually, she wasn't prone to direct spotlight. Either way, she was the catch of the night.

Spencer didn't care about the eyes on her, while he was known to get jealous from time to time, he didn't mind the eyes, they only proved that she was gorgeous, and all his. He knew that.

What Spencer did mind though, was the touching. Both, Derek and Garcia, touching her, freely, her touching back, freely. It wasn't jealousy, Spencer was well aware that neither Derek nor Garcia had any interest in being with Y/N, and even if they did Spencer knew that Y/N was happy with him. It was the way she didn't mind touching them, and they didn't mind touching her.

There was no hesitation in her eyes when she threw her arms around Derek's neck and swayed her hips with him. There wasn't any searching when she looked him in the eyes, just laughter, and joy. When Garcia wrapped her arms around Y/N waist and bopped her head with her, Y/N didn't make any move to check to see if Garcia's body language was off.

She was so carefree with them, so happy, never scared.

It only seemed to make Spencer feel worse. Because she wasn't carefree like that with him, she had to check to make sure he was comfortable with her wrapping her arms around him, she had to check his eyes for any hint of anything but happiness, she couldn't just touch him without checking first. And it was all his fault.

He wished there was a way to take back his words, to simply erase them from existing. He wished she hadn't heard him, he wished that he could have said anything else. Because touching was her way of loving, and he knew that. He knew that she showed her passion and appreciation with her body, with her warm hands, and strong arms, with her legs that were never too far from his. He’d always known that she loved touching others. And the words that came out of his mouth, the stupid words he’d blurted out about space, they were untrue, they were just an attack on her and himself. And they had ruined the carefree way she loved him.

He wished she wasn't afraid to show her love for him.

Spencer sat back in his chair with a glare in his eyes and a frown on his face, angry at himself, but never angry at her.

“Reid?!” Rossi said, louder than the first two times he had called his name and Spencer didn't seem to notice.

Spencer looked over at the four of them his face not wavering from the angry expression he had.

“Woah, Kid. You alright? With the look on your face, we might be profiling you as our next unsub.”

Spencer could tell they were profiling him, and he could see Emily look behind him as if she knew something he didn't. “Yeah, I’m fine, just thinking did you know that around 1.7 million people visit the emergency room due to assault and-”

It seemed that the only thing he could do was take his mind off of it. And annoy his coworkers.

***

There was something off with Spencer. Y/N had noticed it yesterday, after leaving with Penelope to get lunch. She couldn't tell what was wrong, but he seemed to have a frown on his face more often than not. And she figured she could just be blowing it out of proportion, maybe she had just seen him smiling so much in the last couple of days she wasn't used to seeing him without a grin or a smirk or a genuine smile.

Still, something seemed off.

He was mostly fine at home, he never looked upset when they were doing something, but as soon as she left the room and came back the frown was there. It always disappeared quickly, but it still concerned her.

She asked him about it before they had left for the bar, “Is something up baby?” she had said, but he just shook his head and turned around so she couldn't see his face. She tried to pretend that was a normal answer.

Now usually they talked out their problems, usually, they didn't have any problems at all. But not having problems means you don't stay used to talking them out, and it seemed that both of them were out of practice.

When they got to the bar, both of them were happy, hand in hand sitting down with their friends and enjoying yet another night off. The bar was warm and familiar to all of them, and they were all perfectly comfortable.

As the night when on Spencer seemed more and more upset. He never said anything weird, never did anything unusual that tipped Y/N off. But that small frown was still on his face, and he seemed less and less inclined to join in the conversation with all of them.

It wasn't really bad until Y/N had come back from dancing with Penelope and Derek, all of them sweaty and exhausted, ready to down another beer or two. Spencer had tried to smile at Y/N but knowing him as well as she did, it was clearly forced. And she could see the closed-off look in his eyes, almost as if he was looking right through her.

She patted his leg and offered him a hesitant smile, hoping her eyes were conveying the message she was trying to send to him. He only looked at her though, still wearing the same fake smile.

Y/N wondered if something had happened while she was on the other side of the bar if someone had said something, or he had remembered something. But Spencer never said anything so neither did she.

The rest of the team were smiling and laughing, and none of them seemed to notice Spencer's closed-off body language and the look in his eyes, and the small frown, so Y/N figured she was just making it up. Her insecurities were just getting the best of her and telling her there was something wrong.

Like they always did.

Though she did try to keep the touching to a limit, if Spencer was feeling off there was more of a chance he didn't want to be bothered or touched. The insecurity telling her he didn't want to be touched, only seemed to get louder, voicing its opinion, and making her sit her legs leaning away from him, her thoughts filled with not making him uncomfortable.

***

As the night went on Spencer was the same, frowning, distant, and closed off, And as the night went on Y/N stayed the same, cautious, worried, insecure.

Their moods seemed to compliment each other, almost as if one of them was upset the other one had to be as well.

Both of them hoped everything would be fine when they got home.

Clearly, the entire team was trying to keep in their yawns, trying to keep the conversation alive, but Garcia looked practically dead, and everyone was speaking in a whisper.

The bar had cleared out, with only some young college kids still out at two in the morning. When Hotch pointed that out and then said that they all looked too old to be counted as a college kid- which Rossi took offense to making the rest of the team laugh- they decided to call it a night.

Derek had to practically drag Garcia off of the table she was drooling on, and Y/N helped him get her in the car. JJ and Emily decided to share a cab home, both of them waving everyone goodbye before heading off. Rossi and Hotch both reassured that everyone would be alright before getting into their cars and going home. Derek kissed Y/N on the cheek and pretended to kiss Spencer before driving Garcia home.

When it was just Spencer and Y/N, Y/N looked at him and asked “Are you going to drive, or am I?” Spencer, whose eyes looked even more tired than usual, smiled at her- for real this time which Y/N noted- and said,

“Legally I don't think you’re allowed to drive.”

Y/N yawned and handed him the keys, too tired to come up with a snarky response.

They both got in the car, basking in the warmth the heater provided on a cold night. Y/N laid her head against the seat while Spencer put the car in drive, so they could head home.

It wasn't long before Y/N fell asleep. Lulled by the quiet engine and dark night.

Spencer fonded at her, listening to her soft breathing and smiling silently to himself. Sometimes, he thought, he wished it was just the two of them forever. It seemed that if he could just spend the rest of his life alone with her everything would be alright. Everything was always alright when he was alone with her.

It was a short drive to their apartment, and while Spencer was hesitant to wake her, he knew that sleeping in the car wasn't good for avoiding exhaustion, and he wanted to know she was safe in bed with him.

He carefully opened her door, running his thumb over her cheek, before gently picking her up bridal style, and feeling thankful they lived on the first floor of the apartment complex so he didn't have to carry her up the stairs.

It was hard for him to keep his eyes off her sweet face as he walked to their door, but he didn't want to drop her so he managed to. He unlocked the door, surprised he could even do it with her in his arms. What he didn't notice was her eyes carefully opening and staring at him.

“You’re so striking.”

Spencer quickly looked down at her, his steps halted in their living room, shaking her only slightly, he was surprised by her words, he was surprised that she was even awake.

He cleared his throat trying to not look so surprised, while she giggled at him. “T-thank you, I didn't realize you were awake, I wanted to let you sleep.”

Y/N yawned, bringing her hand to her mouth, then looked back up at him smiling while he opened the door to their room, “I know” she said, keeping her eyes on his soft face.

He gently laid her down in bed, gestured for her to stay there while he headed to their closet. Y/N thought about the way he was so gentle with her, and the way he didn't look as upset as earlier.

Spencer brought her some pajamas and helped her change into them, having already changed into his, Y/N couldn't help but almost fall asleep while he did this, she knew that he would take care of her, and she felt so safe with him and so tired.

Spencer smiled at her, kissed her forehead before moving around the bed to get to his side.

“Spencer?” he heard softly from three feet away.

“Yes?” he said only slightly louder than Y/N.

There was a slight pause before she said “I missed you tonight.” in only a whisper.

“I was with you Y/N…” Spencer felt her move closer to him, cuddling into him and resting her cheek on his arm as to use it as a pillow. He almost thought she was asleep before she made a quiet sound and shook her head, her breathing slowing down and her face blank.

Watching her, Spencer knew that, even if he didn't want to, he needed to talk to her.

***

The next morning, Y/N had slept amazing, and Spencer had only gotten a few hours.

He couldn't stop thinking about what to say to Y/N without making her feel bad or making himself seem like the victim.

For a genius, he was terrible at being in a relationship.

When he wasn't thinking he was staring at Y/N cuddled upon his arm, her breaths constantly reminding him how much he needed and appreciated her.

And when Y/N woke up she could tell there was still something off. There was a feeling in the room, a feeling she didn't like. The anxiety that was building up in her chest was causing her to panic, it felt like a rope was being tied over her lungs getting pulled tighter and tighter the longer the silence went on. Spencer wasn't in the room, his side of the bed wasn't made, and there was something wrong.

This time Y/N knew there was something wrong, she could feel it when she breathed in trying to provide any relief to her chest. She could feel it when she stood up and felt her body sway, her eyes going blurry then black and when she had to sit back down. She could feel it again when she stood up without feeling lightheaded and felt goosebumps all over her skin. She felt it when she stepped out of their room, not finding Spencer in the bathroom, and saw him sitting down at the table.

Everything was fine yesterday she thought, why was she freaking out, everything was fine yesterday they were smiling and laughing and they cuddled. Everything was fine yesterday she couldn't be freaking out today because everything was still fine.

She couldn't get the air to her lungs.

Spencer didn't notice her.

She could feel the tears pricking in her eyes, reminding her how weak she was, reminding her of all the panic attacking her body. She could felt the rope get tighter.

Her eyes got blurry as the tears she tried hard to keep in got bigger.

She was standing in the middle of the room, freaking out, trying so hard to be quiet, trying so hard to not cry, trying so hard to just breathe. She just needed to breathe. If she could breathe she would be fine.

And that was when Spencer noticed her.

He figured she wouldn't be up for a couple more hours at least, while he knew he wasn't going to get much sleep, he knew that she would need a lot more than him. So he got up, he didn't want to wake her up with his relentless moving, and his restless thoughts.

He thought she’d be asleep for a couple more hours.

But his girlfriend was standing in the doorway of their room, her face frozen her eyes wide, her entire body looked like it was closing in on itself, and she was desperately holding on to the doorway like it was the only way to keep herself up.

She looked terrified.

He had no idea what had happened.

Spencer got up, almost knocking the chair over with how quickly he moved, and going over to her, trying to take in everything that was in front of him.

Y/N couldn't stop the tears from flowing down her face, and as Spencer grabbed her face, she gasped trying to grab onto the air she knew was right in front of her face. It didn't work. She tried again, and again and again, she was breathing in and out with so much force Spencer could hear her voice catch every time.

She was having a panic attack.

She couldn't breathe.

Y/N could see Spencer's lips moving, but the rope was pulling tighter and tighter and all she wanted was to breathe, she just wanted to feel the air in her lungs, she just wanted the rope to stop pulling, to stop pulling pulling her away and she just wanted to listen to Spencer, and she didn't know what was wrong with her but she couldn't

breathe

And everything was blurry, and she could feel the tears running down her face, and she felt like she was suffocating from the inside out and suddenly she was on the floor.

Spencer helped her sit down, trying to talk to her, trying to figure out what was wrong, trying to understand.

He moved her head between her knees, needing her to stop hyperventilating, if he could get her breathing then he could figure out how to help her more.

It broke his heart to see her so scared, to see her eyes look so terrified, to feel so helpless with no way to help. He watched the tears run down her face over and over, and he tried to wipe them away but it was pointless because she couldn't stop crying.

She was still hyperventilating, still trying to breathe, still trying to listen, still still still

And then she was asleep.

***

Y/N was fine when she woke up. Spencer had freaked out when she went unconscious, had checked her pulse over and over again looking for any sign that something was wrong.

But within a minute her heart had slowed down and her body had stopped shaking.

She was fine.

When she woke up, her eyes were sore and everything seemed loud.

Spencer explained to her that she had had a panic attack, he explained that she had fainted, but she was alright, you’re alright he assured her.

“I think your body was building up stress, I think you needed some sort of release from all the stress, I’m not really sure but everything is normal now, do you feel alright? Is something wrong? Do we need to go to the hospital? I need you to tell me you’re alright-”

This went on for a while, and Y/N told Spencer she was okay over and over again until he finally stopped freaking out.

They sat in silence for a while.

It was silent until Spencer decided to speak up again.

“Y/N... What happened?”

That was a loaded question. And it took her a minute to answer, Spencer watched as she stared at the wall before finally speaking.

“I could feel something wrong when I woke up. And- and-” she paused and swallowed trying not to cry at the memory “You were gone, and I just could feel something wrong and so I started worrying- and… I’m not really sure what happened after that.”

As soon as she was finished Spencer intervened.

“I couldn't sleep. I couldn't sleep last night and I didn't want to wake you so I went to go think somewhere else. I’m sorry I wasn't there.”

“No Spence, it's not your fault, just a lot of anxiety is all.”

Spencer's eyes were on her face, his hands holding hers, trying to make her feel better, trying to make it all better. They both knew there was something wrong.

“Anxiety about what?” He asked quietly, only a whisper, still looking right at her.

“I-” Y/N tried to think, tried to come up with a good way to explain, tried to come up with something that would help him understand. And eventually, she decided to just tell him the truth. “There's been something wrong, yesterday, I could tell there was something wrong, and when I woke up and I felt bad, I was worried, mostly about you and I just” she paused, finally looking at Spencer, “I think we need to talk.”

Spencer swallowed hard, and nodded, looking down at the floor. They both just sat there for a minute, thinking, just thinking. Neither of them knew how to start but they both knew someone had to.

Eventually, Spencer took the risk. “I don't think we talked enough last week… about what happened. I think we both just- decided? That everything was alright but I think we need to talk some more?”

“Yeah- yes. We do.”

Spencer got up off the bed, pulled her hand up gently and, moved her with him to the couch. He said he was going to make some tea, and get her some pain medication, and then they would finally talk.

***

“I’m- I’m not really sure where to start.” Y/N said looking down at her coffee mug.

Spencer sighed “I think I need to start with I’m sorry.” Y/N made a noise and started to talk but Spencer interrupted “No, really Y/N. What I said wasn't meant to hurt you, I never want to hurt you, but I did. And I’m sorry.”

“Spence, it's not your fault, honestly I know I wasn't supposed to hear, and I know you didn't actually mean it, we talked about it last week-”

“But that's the thing, if we had really talked about it last week like actually talked about it, you wouldn't be scared to touch me.” He looked at Y/N, almost as if he was daring her to disagree.

Y/N was surprised, and she stammered out “I’m- I'm not scared to touch you!”.

Spencer stared at her, his face blank and unmoving. Y/N started to get even more nervous and her hand came up to mess with her hair, a clear tell to her lying.

“Well, not really scared,” Y/N looked down feeling guilty, “I- I just don't want to make you uncomfortable.” She said softly, making Spencer smile at her shy voice.

“You don't make me uncomfortable Y/N.” He said, grabbing one of her hands, the other lifting her chin so she would look at him, he gave her a sad smile looking into her eyes. “I wish I had made that clear, you don't make me uncomfortable. You never ever have. What I said was a lie, that's all it was, a lie.” Y/N almost interrupted him but he moved his hand from her chin to her cheek causing her to go silent before continuing “If I could go back and take back those words, and tell myself how much of an idiot I was-” she almost interrupted him again before she put his hand jokingly on her mouth and stopped her once again “I am a genius, but I was an idiot. You’re my entire world, your hands provide me with more light than the sun ever could. And I promise, hey look at me” he said when she looked down flustered at his words, “I promise what I said was a lie.”

He stopped to smile at her, finally feeling her relax under his hand. Spencer leaned in to slowly kiss her, to slowly show her that he meant what he was saying.

When they broke apart Y/N felt breathless.

“Spencer, it's not that I didn't believe you..” Y/N saw the look Spencer gave her and sighed “exactly.” she emphasized “I believed you, but I was worried that maybe you were just saying those things to make me feel better- hey” she said when Spencer tried to interrupt her. “You got to speak now it's my turn. I just I’ve never wanted to make you uncomfortable. And I was worried that you would be, if I- I don't know- like? Touched you too much? If that makes any sense..” she shook her head trying to come up with a better way to explain to him how she felt.

And Spencer waited, holding her hands and waiting to hear exactly what she had to say.

“I didn't want you to feel like you needed space again. And I know you say that you never actually needed space, but I just wanted to be sure. So I paid more attention and I was hesitant because I wanted to make sure you were actually okay with it- and why are you looking at me like that?!”

Spencer smiled at her, leaning in to kiss her forehead, “You’re rambling sweetie.” he said softly, still looking at her like she was the world.

Y/N felt trapped in his gaze, it was so strange to her that she could be crying and passing out and then completely fine a half an hour later all because of him. It was so strange that he had so much power over her emotions. It was so strange that he could look at her like that and make her feel as shiny and bright as the sun.

It made her scared and so so excited, and she was lost for a moment.

They both stared at each other, almost like it was the first time in days.

“Hey wait-” Y/N said suddenly knocked out of her lovesick gaze “What was wrong yesterday? You were acting strange, and that's why I was so worried in the first place.”

Spencer sighed, and rubbed a hand over his eyes, he felt ridiculous just thinking of how he felt yesterday at the bar, but he was going, to be honest with her.

“When you were dancing with Derek and Garcia, I just- I felt uh angry?” Spencer said, sounding embarrassed, and closing his eyes as to not see her reaction.

“Were you jealous?” Y/N asked, and Spencer opened his eyes to see her brow furrowed and confused.

“Not exactly, I just felt angry that you weren't scared to touch them... Like you never hesitated with them. And I just was wishing you were still like that with me, and there was a lot of anger directed at my stupid-”

Y/N stopped him with a kiss, not wanting to hear anything else about the way he felt about himself. She thought it was crazy he was angry at himself for just feeling.

“You shouldn't be angry, and you shouldn't feel bad. You’re allowed to feel uncomfortable- you’re allowed to just feel things, Spencer.” Y/N said in a small outburst.

“I know. It's just ridiculous that I’d ever think I felt like that. And anyway, you believe me now right?” He asked looking right at Y/N making sure whatever she replied with was truthful.

“Yes, I know I’m the sun blah blah blah-”

Spencer stopped her by throwing her back against the couch.

Y/N squealed as he tickled her, straddling her so she wouldn't let go.

“You are the sun, you’re the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen-”

“Stop stop! That-” Y/N gasped “that tickles!” she said laughing, as Spencer continued to torture her.

“That's kind of the point sweetheart”

“Stop Spencer! Uncle! Uncle! I believe you- just-” she giggled squirming under him “stop!”.

They were both breathless and laughing by the time Spencer was finally done.

Smiles were permanently stuck to their face as they looked at each other, as they finally felt like they were finished with their problem, as they finally talked.

The way they solved their problems wasn't ideal, and they were going to have to practice and learn. But they loved each other, and that was enough to keep them both going.

“Y/N you are the most beautiful thing ever. And now that I’ve known you, I don't think I could ever live without you. I hope to be stuck with you for the rest of my life.”

Y/N smiled at Spencer's words, and she couldn't help but feel like she was on top of the world.

“Well Spencer, you are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. And I know I’m gonna be stuck with you for the rest of my life…” she stopped and smiled at him teasingly “unless of course, you need space..”

Spencer stared at her shocked for a moment, before picking her up and throwing her over his shoulder, as she squealed and laughed for what felt like the 10th time today.

“What are you doing?!?” Y/N shrieked, mock hitting him on the back.

“Oh don't worry my dear, I’m just going to show you how much space I really need..”

A/N:

I: am open for requests :)

thank you for reading. i think you’re so beautiful. take care of yourself lovie.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid smut #spencer reid imagines #emily prentiss x reader #criminal minds x reader

3K notes · View notes

ktffansub · 4 years ago

Text

Bijutsu Techo: Boys Love – Interview: Yoneda Kou

This article was first published in November 17th, 2014. Translated from Japanesse to Bahasa Indonesia by kalengjelek and then translated from Bahasa Indonesia to English by KTFfansub. Source: here

When did you first encounter manga?

I was born in a family with three daughters; while my older sister likes reading Ribbon magazine, I like reading Nakayoshi. It was the era of Asagiri Yuu-sensei, when I was in elementary school. My favorite at that time were Kusunoki Kei sensei’s works and Patlabor. When it came to Shonen, I would say I was more into Shounen Sunday. I also loved Kawaraha Izumi sensei’s works. When I think about it, rather than manga that were full of passion, I’d actually prefer manga that had calm and soothing kind of vibe.

Is that so… What about BL?

When I was in Junior High, my older sister showed me Captain Tsubasa Doujinshi by Ozaki Minami and I was dumbfounded, I thought, “So, there’s also a world like this!”. After that, I started to buy BL manga. At that time, the mangaka who left the most impression to me was Nishi Keikosensei. Her works such as Mizu Ga Koori Ni Naru Toki, Tenshi Ni Naranakya have unique openings, it made me reread them many times. Uida Shiuko (now Kano Shiuko) and Yoshinaga Fumi Sensei are also my favorite mangaka.

When was the first time you draw manga?

I seriously began drawing manga in my first year of junior high. At first, I drew a pair of man and woman, but after page three, I felt something was off. So, I tried drawing BL for the next one. Just like the present, I’ve always loved less expressive and less-talkactive main characters (laughs). But the more I draw, then an attentive senpai with good personality and short haired ones like Togawa in Doushitemo Furetakunai also appeared. At that moment I thought, “Oh, this is it!”

You really weren’t embarrassed, are you? (laughs)

Well, it’s because it was embarrassing, that’s why I’m not really open about my drawing manga activity.

(laughs) But you debut as professional mangaka eventually, how did that happen?

Yes, after that… I worked as office lady. I got married not long after, but then, I was getting through a marriage blues. At that time, I was invested in Kakashi and Naruto shown by my older sister along with Comiket catalogue.

The power of moe beats out your anxiety (laughs)

It’s true (laughs). Escaping from reality, I checked a lot of circles and opened some sites. There I found a work from a novelist (now has debuted professionally) that I really liked. This is why I started writing novel at first, not drawing. I have a lot of ways to accommodate my moe needs. I also once drew Doujinshi but due to my inability to use a proper diction, the result wasn’t optimal (laughs). After drawing slowly and more at ease, I got into Katekyo Hitman Reborn fandom and drew a lot of doujinshi for that series. A year later, I was contacted by Taiyou Tosho publisher.

“With that publisher, Yoneda Kou published Doushitemo Furetakunai which has been adapted into a movie. Since the beginning, Yoneda Kou didn’t draw one-shot but serialization. For the movie, even though it only tells a story of daily lives, but the directing, composition and dialogue are impressive. About 4,5 years later, the second volume of Saezuru Tori wa Habatakanai that had the yakuza neighborhood setting was released. This has completely different feeling compared to Doushitemo Furetakunai.”

My first work was actually published in Drap, so I had it adjusted to be a less-heavy work. That’s why I ended up switching to another magazine.

Was it a demand from the editor?

Of course I only draw what I want to draw. But without realizing, I always draw them to fit the magazine. And it seems like Taiyou Tosho prefers me to draw more simple work.

So, sensei is the type who pays attention to editor’s suggestion. When you wrote the first chapter of Saezuru Tori Wa Habatakanai, did you already want Yashiro to be the main character (for longterm series)?

Right. I didn’t explain it in the first one-shot, but I always believe that no matter how you look at it, Yashiro really loved Kageyama. And (even though he’s drawn like that) he is actually a neko (uke). I think he is an interesting character. When I drew highschooler Yashiro and others, it had been decided that I wanted to write a serialization for this.

And only then the character Doumeki was born?

At that time, the character Doumeki didn’t exist, but I thought very hard about what kind of partner that would be suitable for Yashiro. I took a break from drawing for about two years. I only worked on illustration during that time, until one morning an idea suddenly came to me, “That’s right! Erectile dysfunction!”. I immediately sent an email to my editor: “A perverted impotent man!” (laughs). Afterwards, I finally worked on the first draft.

(laughs hard) Finally, the combination of Yashiro and Doumeki who are the opposite of each other was decided. What an amazing couple that can even make the readers losing sleep.

I do have this particular interest in people’s decision and behaviour resulted from a contrasting relationship that is full of conflicts. Because there are so many characters in Saezuru, I have this excel file compiling the plot for each character chronologically. Otherwise, I would’ve forgotten about it. If I didn’t seriously research (the setting of my own story), I wouldn’t be able to write anything when I made name. But even though I got through it, drawing a family with no blood ties like yakuza was still difficult. If I don’t focus, the story might turn out like Nagara Sakugyou*. That’s why now I’m just focusing on doing Saezuru.

*) nagara sakugyou: other work that being serialized at the same time

Up until now, Sensei has published 5 volumes and all of them have beautiful covers with varied tones.

Actually, the cover color for Doushitemo Furetakunai should’ve looked like red wine, but it seemed like there was an error in printing so the pink was contrasting into it. But it turned out to be good.

Then about the cover for the Saezuru first volume. It’s so impressive! The stepped-on man! All the people around me also had high appraise for this.

Actually, there were so many things happened in the process. By taking the request (it isn’t clearly explained whether it’s from editor/designer) of “Yashiro sitting alone”, I first submitted that illustration to the book designer. However, I couldn’t throw away the idea of Yashiro being stepped on, so, during the next three days I was stressed out. I’ve finally asked them to keep my idea and that’s how the cover of the first volume ended up the way it is now.

I see! For the second volume, it’s totally different, isn’t it? It’s a scenery, but when you do a double take, there are Yashiro and Doumeki!

I always want to give a different vibe in each volume. Actually I’m also a fan of the way Tsumugi Taku-sensei draws scenery.

Hoo-, sensei is a fan of Tsumugi sensei! Talking abough NIGHTS, when you open the cover, there’s a surprise in it!

Yes, if you look at the rough sketches there were 4 pages of picture that were interconnected. In the end, the desainer took picture number two as the cover and number four to put it on the bottom of the back cover. For Soredemo, I didn’t get any guide from the book designer. I combined the the feel of the story with a touch of water paint. At first, I actually wanted to make Deguchi pulling Onoda’s hand to get out of the train, but it ended up looking like Deguchi forced Onoda to stay (with him). So I decided it’s Onoda who’s getting off the train by himself with Deguchi waiting on the platform.

Do you do the coloring with computer? How about the non-colored script?

I use SAI for coloring but for monochrome I usually draw by my hand until the inking, then I do the tone using photoshop.

Do you self-learned drawing?

Well, I at least bought a lot of ‘pose reference’ books often. When it comes to buy things, it feels great, doesn’t it? But when it comes to manga, we draw to tell our moe concept.. well, I love drawing moe concept, but the thing is- I’m not really good at drawing. I like thinking about moe stuff, I also like to combine colors (inside my head) but when I do, I have no desire to draw I, even though that’s the important part. There are often times when I feel like drawing is a handful. In short, I want to draw something that isn’t too troublesome.

But, isnt it because you’re doing manga seriously that it feels difficult?

Because I’m too serious I feel like the story can be boring. Not only the work but also the author (laughs). I often read comments saying my manga is ‘down to earth’. I guess it’s shown obviously in every each of my works

Sure, there are people who think like, “In real world, there’s no way a wakagashira can be as masochist as Yashiro”, but apart from that, Saezuru still gives an impression of it being realistic. In drawing the important men’s arms and muscles in your work, sensei has done your best. Getting into the story, the characters also put extra effort to look elegant. Despite the young age, in a positive sense, sensei’s works feels like having Showa* vibe.

(*SHOWA ERA: 1926~1989)

I’m no longer young, though (laughs). Maybe this is why my works often get called “JUNE”. Especially Saezuru, I think it really fits (JUNE concept).

Are you an organized person?

I’m actually a person who have no chill (laughs). But I have this side of myself who tend to see things as a whole, look at my surrounding then step on the brake. There is also a side of me that is so energetic in creating my own moe that I turn into a selfish person. I guess that’s also my flaw.

It seems like sensei is the type who has her own editorial meeting inside her head (laughs)

I wish it’s not true, but unfortunately, I’m the type of person who is embarrased to admit that I have a relationship with manga. Even until now I have yet told my close friends about this job (as BL mangaka). I’m not that kind of person who like to share or tell others about my moe situation inside my head. When my moe concept is being visualized in public I would scream, “Don’t look! But if you want to read it, I’d be happy”. Yes, I’m that kind of person.

I wonder if sensei’s works are the manifestation of sensei’s own self-contradictions..

#saezuru #doumeki #saezuru tori wa habatakanai #yashiro #yoneda kou #interview

209 notes · View notes

nameless-shrimp · 4 years ago

Text

BREAKING UP WITH THEM.

Characters: Yuji Itadori, Megumi Fushiguro, Nobara Kugisaki & Satoru Gojo

Type: Headcanons/Small one-shot | GN!Reader

Warnings: Heavy angst/slight mention of sexual content.

Shrimp Notes: I was just casually thinking of writing angst, hehe.

Yuji Itadori

He noticed that you were being distant for quite some time. The majority of the time, his classmates would see both of you close together, it was impossible to separate the both of you. Though, there came a time where you didn't bother to stick close to his side; the usual excuses of "I'm busy" would be thrown out there.

Everyone knew that Yuji had a partner, though it became a shock when you didn't come by the school every once in a while. You didn't have any cursed techniques, but that didn't stop Yuji from falling in love with you.

It was hard ignoring his text messages, but it was best that you'd tell him that you were occupied with your own studies and your own part-time job; it was hard for Yuji to not see you as often, but it was for the best.

You didn't want to break up with him. Truly you didn't. Though, the life of dating a jujutsu sorcerer was dangerous. Nonetheless, he was the vessel for a dangerous curse, and you didn't expect your long-term boyfriend to fall into this scary and risky path, and you were also dragged along with it.

The times when Sukuna would pop out during your dates with Yuji became frustrating, you only wanted to spend time with your boyfriend yet the curse that was within him had to keep teasing and messing with you. It was tiring.

"What?"

His words were barely audible as he stared at you, hands clutching onto the bouquet of flowers that he was hoping to give you since he hadn't seen you in a week (which felt like forever to him). You didn't know what else to say, and you only sighed, placing your hands on his cheeks. You loved him tremendously, it was hard to let him go; the life of a sorcerer was not for you, and you couldn't endanger yourself any longer with the life that he was going down in.

"I will always love you," you spoke, and you felt your bottom lip quiver. Three years of dating this boy will now end, and your heartstrings tugged at the thought. Maybe this wasn't the best decision for you, but you knew it was to guarantee your safety, and your unhappiness in the relationship was growing. "I'm sorry, but I can't do this."

"We can work this out," Yuji raised his voice, clearly desperate to hold onto you. "I'm sorry you feel this way but you know I'll protect you, right? I know that I can be too much sometimes but I want to stay!"

"I can't put myself through this, I can't," you explained. "It's too dangerous for me."

"I'll never let anything happen to you, you know that right?"

"I'm aware," you responded. "But it's best that we go our separate ways."

"I don't want this to happen, please."

"I'm sorry."

It was hard for Yuji to move past the breakup. Many times, he skipped his private lessons with Satoru, and he'd lay in his bed, listening to music that reminded him of you. It would end up with him crying or holding back tears while falling asleep for a couple of hours.

Nobara would try to drag him out of his room but it was pointless. She'd joke about how she'd carry her shopping bags this time, but it was no use to get him crawling out of his bed.

Megumi left trays of food near his door. Eventually, Megumi would barge in sometimes, telling Yuji to try to come to training every so often, but Yuji had difficulty getting out of the bed. Even Satoru would knock every so often and try to give some advice that relationships were tough, but losing you was tougher.

The fact that you weren't in Yuji's life anymore; you weren't there to hold him and to help him through his mental struggles, and that he'd do the same for you when you'd freak out over final exams or the moments when you called because your favorite character died; he missed those moments, he missed you, and you weren't planning on coming back.

Megumi Fushiguro

After finding out that he was a jujutsu sorcerer, the thought of it scared you, but you trusted Megumi with your life. You knew he was capable of handling his own, but when he'd come to see you with bruises and bandages all over his face, there'd be moments where you feared that you'd lose him due to the battles he was in.

While you'd be out on dates with him, he'd get stopped by Satoru with endless calls of a curse that he'd have to take care of. You knew Megumi had priorities, especially with the sorcerer he was, but it was frustrating; you wanted some time with your boyfriend, yet he'd have to leave you every so often to take care of some situations.

Megumi would hardly contact you since he was busy, so keeping in touch was fairly difficult. However, the one night when you cuddled with him in his bed, his arm on your shoulder as he pulled you into his chest, you felt empty and that the feelings you'd get when he'd do small affectionate gestures like this were vanishing.

For quite some time, you knew you were slowly losing feelings for him and that the relationship of a regular human and a jujutsu sorcerer was very difficult. It was hard to fall into the life of someone who was consistently endangering himself and now your life was sucked into that kind of path; you didn't want it. You just wanted a normal, happy life, but when there were a lot of injuries, battles, and dangerous fights, you couldn't find yourself being on that worrisome path.

When Megumi would text you, you'd find yourself responding in bland and hollow texts. You'd make up excuses to not attend any of the dates, such as exams coming up or that you needed to attend some club meetings (Megumi knew you though, he knew that you weren't engaging in so much activity since you always made time for him when he could barely try to squeeze in time for you).

He saw it coming, but he didn't expect it to hurt this much.

"I can't be with you anymore," you spoke, tears falling down your cheeks. Maybe this wasn't the right decision, something good can work out, but it had been months. There would be times where Megumi didn't talk to you for a week or more because you knew that his teacher, Satoru Gojo, would be assigning him these missions, and he'd be too tired to talk to you. The consistent neglecting, yet you couldn't blame him, he was busy and he was growing into a stronger sorcerer every day. "I can't do this."

"I don't want to lose you," he responded, not bothering to make eye contact. It seemed as if he was starting to become lost in his thoughts. "I'm sorry I haven't been the best boyfriend, I just... I never stopped thinking about you."

"I know, but..." your voice trailed off, and you fought back a sob. "It seems as if you aren't putting any more effort into us, and it has been so long; I know you're busy, but I can't keep up with this. The life you have is dangerous and—"

"Every time I'm out there, I think about you," Megumi explained, finally making eye contact with you. "I don't want to lose you. I really don't want that to happen. But—it seems like it is happening."

"I'm sorry, 'Gumi, but I don't think we can do this."

You really had to call him by that nickname. Within seconds, Megumi burst into tears and then hugged you tightly, you felt yourself crying as well and he held onto you as if this was the last time you'd ever see each other. He never found himself to be so desperate before, clinging onto you, and he rested his forehead on your shoulders, pleading inside that you'd change your mind. But he knew you; you had your mind set in stone, and although this hurt the both of you, it was for the best that you'd say your goodbyes.

"I'll never stop loving you," Megumi spoke, words barely audible as he let out a saddening sigh.

"I know," you responded.

Megumi didn't come in contact with a lot of his friends, even his older senpais worried for his sake since he didn't actively try during their training sessions. Satoru would take note of this and attempt to play around with the boy's thoughts, hoping Megumi would try to smile, though when did he ever with his sensei?

Satoru would purposefully avoid having Megumi go on missions, though at some point, Megumi should have been able to come out of his little shell at some point. However, Megumi would look at old photos of you two together, and then he struggled to avoid the memories from flooding in.

He didn't want to admit it but he'd try to stop himself from texting you, not to ask for you back, but he still worried about your well-being after you both said your goodbyes to each other.

Once Megumi began trying in his training sessions, it surprised everyone, even Satoru, but he was glad that his closest student was finally coming to an acceptance prior to your breakup with him. It took Megumi some time, but he was able to accept that you were no longer in his life; still, it would've been a lie if he said that he never thought about you.

Nobara Kugisaki

Knowing her, she'd always make time for you. Whenever she was free or even taking a break from training, she'd send you photos and text messages to keep that close connection. Although, you were losing that sense of touch, and you tried your hardest to stay close to her, but when she decided to move to Jujutsu Tech and be away from home where you both met, long-distance became difficult.

Most nights, it would just leave her falling asleep on calls or her talking about her shopping trips. You'd sit and listen, laying in your bed, wishing she was there next to you, but she was far away now, and you were no longer physically close to her.

The consistent responses of your text messages began to die down; your heart felt hollow, you wanted to talk about how you felt, and when you did, Nobara tended to brush it off, saying that it was because you weren't used to a long-distance relationship. Perhaps she was right, but that connection was slowly fading.

She'd talk about visiting you constantly; she said she'd try to be home for the weekend but it never happens. When you tried to talk about how you felt, she could only sigh and apologize, though it became a cycle. You became used to the false hope of her ever visiting you - it hurt you, but it wasn't her fault. Jujutsu sorcerer life wasn't easy.

You'd ignore her messages and only respond dryly, you'd make excuses that you couldn't attend the calls that you had a ton of homework, or that you weren't feeling good. She'd try to encourage the both of you to talk more, but it always led to her falling asleep from exhaustion, and the sight of bandages on her faces always made you feel so empty.

"I think we should break up," you spoke, words barely audible.

She stared at you, hands clutched on her blankets and it was hard for you to look at the webcam of your laptop. You knew that this choice had to be done; you were losing that spark in your relationship, and you tried to reignite it so many times, but it was difficult due to her life as a jujutsu sorcerer. You weren't as unique as she as in that aspect, she had abilities while you were a student and only worked as a part-time associate. You knew both of you had different paths, different desires, different places to go; one life was normal yet one was dangerous and filled with life-threatening risks.

"N-No," Nobara stuttered, quickly grasping onto her phone before it fell down into her sheets. You could hear her fighting back a sob immediately, and your heart broke at the thought of her crying. "I'm sorry, am I not trying hard enough? I promise I will call you more, next weekend, I will actually come home and—"

"No, stop," you interrupted, fighting back a cry. "I have talked about this. About us. But you're too busy with the curse fighting and stuff. You and I both know we are opposite people here."

"It doesn't mean it can't work out!" Nobara cried out loud.

You gritted your teeth, wanting this moment to be over and done with. So badly, you wanted to end the call right away, but you couldn't just leave the conclusion to be empty and lost. "It's hard being away from you," you explained. "Long-distance is hard; you don't try to keep up with me in calls."

"I try to talk to you as much as I can..." she retorted.

"I don't feel the same way as I used to, Nobara," you sighed.

She was crying; of course, she was. You wanted to hug her, but you knew that you couldn't let unhappiness consume you anymore. You wanted to move on from this, and you knew it was best that the both of you moved on, really.

"I'm sorry," you said, breaking the silence.

She didn't say anything in response for a moment, but then she softly spoke, "it's okay... I love you, I always will," and then you sighed, before wishing her goodbye and that you wished that she would always be safe wherever she was.

The phone screen went black after the call ended, and then you were left with an empty heart, though you knew you had made the right choice for yourself.

Nobara found herself snapping at her classmates every now and then when they tried to have her train, even if it was a simple jog around the track or when they asked her what kind of food she wanted to eat, she'd snap at them. Though, they understood why, and even Yuji would offer to pay for her food or take her out shopping (even hold her bags for her) but she'd refuse or avoid the offer.

She'd check her phone, hoping you'd contact her but no messages or any ring of a notification. She knew it was wrong, but she'd change her ringtone to a song that reminded her of you just so she could try to feel a little close to you.

When Nobara would break down crying out of nowhere, Maki could only try to persuade her to block your number so she could move on and Inumaki only provided a bunch of back rubs as a sign of comfort. However, Nobara wished you were the one comforting her.

She still kept photos of you two together; back at her home town and that big smile on your face kept her going. Eventually, she'd realize that you made the choice for the sake of yourself, but she still missed you endlessly. Needless to say, she was still planning to find you if she ever went back to where she grew up in.

Satoru Gojo

You were dating the strongest sorcerer and you knew that would lead to consequences. But when there would be weeks of him not contacting you due to his overseas travels, it became rather difficult to keep that connection with him. Sure, he'd text you that he loved you here and there, but Satoru was quite the busy man and you accepted that, but the connection you both had was fading out.

Satoru loved you unconditionally, always wanting to call you after he completed several missions and went through multiple lessons with his students, but he fell right to sleep once he hit the bed. It left you alone at night, you trusted him, but you were slowly fading out of the feelings you had for him.

There would be a few moments here and there where he'd say he would make it to your important events, but he wouldn't come. Your dinner with your parents, one of your anniversaries, your birthday, your graduation—he was too busy with his job and his lifestyle; you understood it, but you couldn't deny that it hurt you.

Usually, he'd surprise you when he'd come home, but he'd be exhausted to do a lot of other activity unless it was sex or a small bit of cuddling. You wanted a movie night or to go out for dinner, though he didn't have enough strength for that. Sleeping in bed together was most of what you got, and it became tiring and mentally draining to not receive so much of what you had hoped for.

You felt bad; Satoru provided a lot of gifts, affection, and he comforted you even during your darkest days, but there was something missing. You wanted to reignite the feelings you had for him, but it was slowly dying out; you were both different. You couldn't see any curses, yet he was able to, and he was risking his life every second of each day; both of your paths were different, and you couldn't deny that.

"You're breaking up with me, aren't you?"

He spoke first, and with that look on your face, he got the answer already. He hoped that you weren't serious but he knew you all too well. Satoru knew that this moment was coming, and he dreaded it; he tried to avoid it, but with who he was and what he does on a daily basis, his personal life got in the way of the relationship. No matter what, he did his best, and he knew that.

"I-I'm sorry," you choked out a cry before he came up to you and then hugged you tightly, and you started to rethink your decisions, but you knew this was for the best.

"I know," Satoru sighed, fighting back his tears. "I don't want you unhappy, it pains me to see you in so much pain."

"I wish you could do more," you cried.

He sighed again, deeply this time. "I'm sorry too. I am trying. I always have."

This was a hard conversation to have and so badly, you wanted it to be over, yet you didn't. You still loved him and he loved you. He held onto you tightly, he knew how your mind worked; once you made a decision, you were going to be sure of it, and Satoru knew that as a grown adult, you were capable of making your own decisions. Still, his heart continued to pain as each second passed by.

"I'll always love you," Satoru whispered.

"I will always love you," you responded.

And this was the last time that he'd ever say these words to you, or at least he would try to keep it that way.

Satoru sat on the bleachers most of the time while his students trained and he was lost in his own thoughts. He'd think about your whereabouts and he'd have an itchy feeling in his thoughts, wondering if you were in any danger since he always came to your rescue when a curse appeared and you weren't aware of it or even when someone made you uncomfortable at a store.

He'd look at his phone, occasionally texting you if you were doing alright and the conversation was either dry or you wouldn't respond. Part of him felt childish for thinking that you'd try talking to him again, but Satoru knew that it was best for him to avoid contact with you.

Some days, Satoru was more cheerful than ever, mostly because he tried to keep up that annoying persona of himself to make his students look at him like they wanted to punch him. At least that cheered him up the slightest. But when he was out and about, either assisting his students or exorcising a curse, he'd be reminded of the little things that you liked. If a car was your favorite color, he'd think of you, or the times that you said you loved a specific pastry, and just by eating it, he'd think of the memories he had with you.

Satoru didn't want to admit it, but he'd find himself crying every so often but he didn't sob too much. He knew that it was for the best to let you go and that you made the decision to leave. Perhaps he wasn't capable of a relationship for the lifestyle he had. Though whatever it may be, his heart still tugged at the thought of you, and he yearned for a hug whenever you came across his mind—a hug from you, of course.

#shrimp hc #shrimp os #gojo satoru x reader #megumi fushiguro x reader #nobara kugisaki x reader #yuji itadori x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagines #shrimp imagines #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #shrimp angst

231 notes · View notes

illogicalthinking · 3 years ago

Text

The Burn Within

warnings: Some NSFW language (Remus), blood/ bruises mention, hurt no comfort and self hatred

word count: 1883

authors note: for this fic i used a prompt by @just-another-ts-prompt-blog which can be found: here

hope you enjoy!

Whilst the ‘light’ and ‘dark’ sides preferred to keep their distance from each other, they had to share certain parts of Thomas’s mind. For example, they shared a common area, and the imagination was split into two separate realms, much like Roman and Remus: Whilst one contained multiple castles and kingdoms living in harmony with each other, the other was a prison of living nightmares.

However, this arrangement did not bring them any closer to each other. The light sides tried to avoid the dark sides at all costs. Remus often played pranks on the others such as swapping the sugar out for salt, spiking drinks with inedible products, and stealing utensils.

This made meal times extremely difficult to control: Virgil would hiss and hide, Patton would try and fail to diffuse the situation, Janus would watch in entertainment and Roman was never around to witness. The only side that could keep the sides from murdering each other was Logan.

Today seemed like one of those days.

“Virgil could you please come down from there, Remus did not do anything” Logan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. It was far too early for this, Logan muttered to himself whilst taking a large sip of coffee from his “worlds best mum” mug.

“He walked in whilst we were making coffee, that’s more than enough reason to hide. What if he put baby powder in my drink again? I’m going to die because of him!” Virgil hissed from his place on the top of the fridge, hoodie covering his frantic eyes.

Virgil had been more paranoid than usual after the recent video. He had fallen back into his old habit of hissing at the other sides when stressed. It concerned Patton greatly.

“Oh please sunshine, there is a higher chance of me fucking a woman with 3 arms than there is me spiking your drink again, I just walked in!” Remus exclaimed as he passed Virgil on the fridge to the dining table.

“Whilst Remus vocalized his argument in a very unprofessional manner, he is right, we have been awake for approximately 1 hour and 15 minutes whereas, by the looks of it, Remus has only been awake for around 10 minutes.” Logan made sure to maintain eye contact with Virgil whilst voicing his opinion to ensure Virgil knows he’s telling the truth. “There is nothing to worry about Virgil, you are safe”

“Thanks, L”

“You're welcome, now please come down from there, it is very dangerous to be sitting in places you are not supposed to be sitting”

After the incident this morning between Virgil and Remus, Logan remained seated in the common room, his back straight against the recliner with his laptop placed on his lap. He was researching content for a Sanders side video they will be filming in the evening. He did not do this in his room due to not wanting another incident like this morning. Logan is the only side that is willing to deal with the incidents, while the other sides (particularly Janus and Roman) are too impatient and often make the situation worse.

Throughout the whole day, Logan continued to research the link between intrusive thoughts and depression. Thomas had recently been showing signs of this mental illness and Logan wanted to bring it up to him via a video. However, there was a small issue, Logan would have to have all the other sides present including Janus and Remus. He needed Janus because Thomas listened to him more than Logan (much to the latter's dismay) and Remus represented intrusive thoughts. It would only be fair to have Remus take part in a discussion about him, even if the light sides had a problem with this.

Happy with his research, Logan snapped his laptop shut. Due to none of the other sides entering the common room after this morning's incident, Logan concluded it was safe to retreat into his room because he was not needed to split up another argument yet.

To Logan's annoyance, it was time to film the video for Thomas' youtube channel. After the events of putting others first, Logan had started to dread taking part in videos. This was because Janus proved he could take his role as logic, and remain loved and respected whilst providing the necessary information Thomas needed.

“Enough of the self-loathing, Logan, now is not the time,” Logan muttered to himself as he sank down into Thomas’s living room. This evening is going to be a long one for all of the sides, especially Logan.

Logan didn’t know how much longer he could handle the arguing.

None of the other sides were listening to his facts or solutions, too busy pinning the blame on each other for Thomas’s current problem. Roman and Remus were currently swords to mace, about to start a physical fight, Janus remained by Patton’s side trying and failing to calm him down before he turned back into a frog and Virgil remained curled up on his side, his hoodie covered the majority of him but Logan could still see him shaking.

Something had to shut them up.

I will shut them up, Logan thought to himself. Logan became alarmed by the sudden aggressive thoughts. He may have a short fuse but he wasn’t usually aggressive, not without guilt eating away at him. However, this time Logan had no guilt attached to this thought and he shivered at the realisation.

This time was different he reminded himself and with that thought, Logan snapped

“Will you all shut up and listen to what I have to say for once!” Logan all but screamed at the top of his lungs, ensuring he was heard over the arguing.

The silence that came after was enough evidence for logan to continue:

“People who suffer from depression often get stuck with a single or even several intrusive thoughts that arise frequently. These types of repetitive intrusive thoughts are known as 'rumination'.”

“The whole point of me organising this stupid video was to bring this statement to Thomas’ attention and guide him with the help of Janus to seek professional help. You all arguing like a group of immature school children was not part of the script, now if you would excuse me I am going to make myself useful for once and leave” Logan huffed, glad to get that out of his system. Even after snapping, the guilt never choked him like it usually would, which disturbed him greatly.

“Logan, wait!” Virgil pleaded, but it was too late.

“I said I was leaving, now fuck off and leave me alone” Logan hissed at him, the guilt still not reaching him.

Happy with this statement. Logan sunk out of the living room back to his room, leaving six shocked and petrified individuals behind.

“What just happened?” Thomas said to nobody in particular.

“I do not know but it’s best to leave him alone, let’s just get this shit show over and done with” Virgil muttered, far too anxious about Logan to care about the video.

Logan what happened to you. Virgil thought.

When Logan rose up into his bedroom he could not hold it in anymore. All of the pent-up frustration from being ignored for months became too much for the logical side, causing him to slam his fists into the nearest wall. However, without realizing it, Logan’s fist struck a family photo of all the sides surrounding a very happy Thomas.

For some reason seeing the shattered photo frame on the floor and the glass sticking out of his broken skin caused something within him to break.

For the first time in months, Logan allowed himself to cry out all of his frustrations.

After what seemed like hours, Logan finally got up from his place on his bed. He noted that his eyes were swollen and his hand was covered in dry blood and bruises. He did not want to get up and clean his mistake, but he knew he had to because the others would ask questions and he did not want that. Logan did not want the other side’s sympathy. It was a little too late for them and Thomas to care about him but he had to stay because Thomas needed him. They needed him.

“Do they need you though, Logan? Come on, you’re just as useful as me right now and you know it.” A harsh voice sneered into the cold room. Logan immediately knew who it was.

“Be quiet Orange, no matter how much Thomas tries to push me aside, I won’t leave because I am his logic, and Thomas needs his logical side.

“Come on Logan deep down you know I am right, let me prove it to you”

“Let’s just say you were correct in your hypothesis, what happens after that?” Logan sneered. He was far too exhausted to deal with this right now, and he just wanted to sleep.

“Let me show you”

“If I trusted you I would be breaking trust with the others and Thomas and I cannot do that. Thomas’s welfare is my number one priority and I cannot cause any harm to them, no matter how much they have hurt me”

“Oh please Logan, Thomas has not given a shit about you since the beginning. Where is your video, Logan? All the other sides have an episode focused on them, even Remus! And Thomas hates the guy! Do something for yourself for once in your life and listen to me, I can make them listen to you but you have to trust me,” Orange whispered to Logan. Logan knew deep down that what orange was saying was correct, he did not just want to admit it to himself. Until now, that is.

“Fine, what do you have in mind?”

It has been approximately one hour since Logan had sunk out of the video, and Janus was getting worried. No matter how much he tried to get a hand on Logan and summon, he couldn’t. Logan was unreachable

The twins were arguing and Patton and Janus couldn't find a middle ground. Finally, they summoned Logan, needing an impartial side. But when he appears, something is different.

He was wearing a long-sleeve dress shirt, much fancier than usual. He had streaked eyeliner and his glasses were different. He was not wearing a tie.

“Logan? What happened?” Thomas asked, hesitant like he almost doesn’t want to know.

Patton had his hand to his mouth. He spoke up after a moment, “Logan, you look like… like a dark side. What did you do?”

Logan’s voice was quiet and soft like if he spoke too loud he might break. “I didn’t do anything. I didn’t try to do this, I-” he cut himself off, taking a deep, steadying breath. “I have become obsolete.” His voice broke on the last word and he clamped his mouth shut.

“No, Logan!” Thomas immediately disagreed. “We need Logic!”

Logan nodded, eyes still trained on the floor. “Yes, you do need logic. But . . . you don’t want me”

And with that, Logan sank out for the second time that night, leaving nothing but a cloud of smoke that soon vanished, just like he did.

The others could not do anything but feel the burn within.

What had they done?

#logan angst #logan sanders angst #logan sanders #Janus Sanders #remus sanders #virgil sanders #character!thomas #sanders sides

90 notes · View notes

pumpkinpaix · 4 years ago

Note

Hello! Feel free not to answer this question if it is in any way too much, but I've been wondering about something concerning the "western" mdzs fandom. Lately, i have seen multiple pieces of fanart that use what is clearly Christian symbolism and sometimes downright iconography in depicting the characters. I'm a european fan, but it still makes me vaguely uneasy. I know that these things are rarely easy to judge. I'm definitely not qualified to do so and was wondering if you have an opinion

Hi there! thank you for your patience and for the interesting question! I’ve been thinking about this since i received this ask because it?? idk, it’s difficult to answer, but it also touches on a a few things that I find really interesting.

the short answer: it’s complicated, and I also don’t know what I feel!

the longer answer:

i think that this question is particularly difficult to answer because of how deeply christianity is tied to the western art and literary canon. so much of what is considered great european art is christian art! If you just take a quick glance at wiki’s page on european art, you can see how inextricable christianity is, and how integral christian iconography has been in the history of european art. If you study western art history, you must study christian imagery and christian canon because it’s just impossible to engage with a lot of the work in a meaningful way without it. that’s just the reality of it.

Christianity, of course, also has a strong presence in european colonial and imperialist history and has been used as a tool of oppression against many peoples and nations, including China. I would be lying if I said I had a good relationship with Christianity--I have always faced it with a deep suspicion because I think it did some very, very real damage, not just to chinese people, but to many cultures and peoples around the world, and that’s not a trauma that can be easily brushed aside or reconciled with.

here is what is also true: my maternal grandmother was devoutly christian. my aunt is devoutly christian. my uncle’s family is devoutly christian. my favorite cousin is devoutly christian. when I attended my cousin’s wedding, he had both a traditional chinese ceremony (tea-serving, bride-fetching, ABSURDLY long reception), and also a christian ceremony in a church. christianity is a really important part of his life, just as it’s important to my uncle’s family, and as it was important to my grandmother. I don’t think it’s my right or place to label them as simply victims of a colonialist past--they’re real people with real agency and choice and beliefs. I think it would be disrespectful to act otherwise.

that doesn’t negate the harm that christianity has done--but it does complicate things. is it inherently a bad thing that they’re christian, due to the political history of the religion and their heritage? that’s... not a question I’m really interested in debating. the fact remains that they are christian, that they are chinese, and that they chose their religion.

so! now here we are with mdzs, a chinese piece of media that is clearly Not christian, but is quickly gaining popularity in euroamerican spaces. people are making fanart! people are making A LOT of fanart! and art is, by nature, intertextual. a lot of the most interesting art (imo) makes deliberate use of that! for example (cyan art nerdery time let’s go), Nikolai Ge’s What is Truth?

I love this painting! it’s notable for its unusual depiction of christ: shabby, unkempt, slouched, in shadow. if you look for other paintings of this scene, christ is usually dignified, elegant, beautiful, melancholy -- there’s something very humanizing and humbling about this depiction, specifically because of the way it contrasts the standard. it’s powerful because we as the audience are expected to be familiar with the iconography of this scene, the story behind it, and its place in the christian canon.

you can make similar comments about Gentileschi’s Judith vs Caravaggio’s, or Manet’s Olympia vs Ingres’ Grande Odalisque -- all of these paintings exist in relation to one another and also to the larger canon (i’m simplifying: you can’t just compare one to another directly in isolation etc etc.) Gauguin’s Jacob Wrestling the Angel is also especially interesting because of how its portrayal of its content contrasts to its predecessors!

or! because i’m really In It now, one of my favorite paintings in the world, Joan of Arc by Bastien-Lepage:

I just!!! gosh, idk, what’s most interesting to me in this painting is the way it seems to hover between movements: the hyperrealistic, neoclassical-esque take on the figure, but the impressionistic brushstrokes of the background AAA gosh i love it so much. it’s really beautiful if you ever get a chance to see it in person at the Met. i’m putting this here both because i personally just really like it and also as an example of how intertextuality isn’t just about content, but also about visual elements.

anyways, sorry most of this is 19thc, that was what i studied the most lol.

(a final note: if you want to read about a really interesting painting that sits in the midst of just a Lot of different works, check out the wiki page on Géricault’s Raft of the Medusa, specifically under “Interpretation and Legacy”)

this is all a really long-winded way of getting to this point: if you want to make allusory fanart of mdzs with regards to western art canon, you kind of have to go out of your way to avoid christian imagery/iconography, especially when that’s the lens through which a lot of really intensely emotional art was created. many of my favorite paintings are christian: Vrubel’s Demon, Seated, Perov’s Christ in the Garden of Gethsemane, Ge’s Conscience, Judas, Bastien-Lepage’s Joan of Arc, as shown above. that’s not to say there ISN’T plenty of non-christian art -- but christian art is very prominent and impossible to ignore.

so here are a few pieces of fanwork that I’ve seen that are very clearly making allusions to christian imagery:

1. this beautiful pietà nielan by tinynarwhals on twitter

2. a lovely jiang yanli as our lady of tears by @satuwilhelmiina

3. my second gif in this set here, which I will also show below:

i’m only going to talk about mine in depth because well, i know exactly what i was thinking when I put this gif together while I can’t speak for anyone else.

first: the two lines of the song that I wanted to use for lan xichen were “baby, I’m a fighter//in the robes of a saint” because i felt that they fit him very well. of course, just the word “saint” evokes catholicism, even if it’s become so entwined in the english language that it’s taken on a secular meaning as well.

second: when I saw this scene, my immediate thought was just “PIETÀ!!” because LOOK at that composition! lan xichen’s lap! nie mingjue lying perpendicular to it! the light blue/white/silver of lan xichen in contrast to the darker robes of both nie mingjue and meng yao! not just that, but the very cool triangular structure of the image is intensely striking, and Yes, i Do love that it simultaneously ALSO evokes deposition of christ vibes. (baxia as the cross.... god..... is that not the Tightest Shit) does this make meng yao joseph of arimathea? does it make him john the evangelist? both options are equally interesting, I think when viewed in relation to his roles in the story: as a spy in qishan and as nmj’s deputy. maybe he’s both.

anyways, did I do this intentionally? yes, though a lot of it is happy accident/discovered after the fact since I’m relying on CQL to have provided the image. i wanted to draw attention to all of that by superimposing that line over that image! (to be clear: I didn’t expect it to all come through because like. that’s ridiculous. the layers you’d have to go through to get from “pretty lxc gifset” --> “if we cast nie mingjue as a christ figure, what is the interesting commentary we could do on meng yao by casting him as either joseph of arimathea or john the evangelist” are like. ok ur gonna need to work a little harder than slapping a song lyric over an image to achieve an effect like that.)

the point of this is: yes, it’s intentionally christian, yes I did this, yes I am casting these very much non-christian characters into christian roles for this specific visual work -- is this okay?

I obviously thought it was because I made it. but would I feel the same about a work that was written doing something similar? probably not. I think that would make me quite uncomfortable in most situations. but there’s something about visual art that makes it slightly different that I have trouble articulating -- something about how the visual often seeks to illustrate parallels or ideas, whereas writing characters as a different religion can fundamentally change who those characters are, the world they inhabit, etc. in a more... invasive?? way. that’s still not quite right, but I genuinely am not sure how to explain what i mean! I hope the general idea comes across. ><

something else to think about is like, what are pieces I find acceptable and why?

what makes the pieces above that reference christian imagery different than this stunning nieyao piece by @cyandemise after klimt’s kiss? (warnings for like, dead bodies and vague body horror) like i ADORE this piece (PLEASE click for fullview it’s worth it for the quality). it’s incredibly beautiful and evocative and very obviously references a piece of european art. I have no problem with it. why? because it isn’t explicitly christian? it’s still deeply entrenched in western canon. klimt certainly made other pieces that were explicit christian references.

another piece I’d like to invite you all to consider is this incredible naruto fanart of sakura and ino beheading sasuke after caravaggio’s judith. (warnings for beheading, blood, etc. you know.) i also adore this piece! i think it’s very good both technically and conceptually. the reference that it makes has a real power when viewed in relation to the roles of the characters in their original story -- seeing the women that sasuke fucked over and treated so disrespectfully collaborating in his demise Says Something. this is also!! an explicitly christian reference made with non-christian japanese characters. is this okay? does it evoke the same discomfort as seeing mdzs characters being drawn with christian iconography? why or why not?

the point is, I don’t think there’s a neat answer, but I do think there are a lot of interesting issues surrounding cultural erasure/hegemony that are raised by this question. i don’t think there are easy resolutions to any of them either, but I think that it’s a good opportunity to reexamine our own discomfort and try and see where it comes from. all emotions are valid but not all are justified etc. so I try to ask, is it fair? do i apply my criticisms and standards equally? why or why not? does it do real harm, or do i just not like it? what makes one work okay and another not?

i’ve felt that there’s a real danger with the kind of like, deep moral scrutiny of recent years in quashing interesting work in the name of fear. this morality tends to be expressed in black and white, good and bad dichotomies that i really do think stymies meaningful conversation and progress. you’ll often see angry takes that boil down to things like, “POC good, queer people good, white people bad, christianity bad” etc. without a serious critical examination of the actual issues at hand. I feel that these are extraordinarily harmful simplifications that can lead to an increased insularity that isn’t necessarily good for anyone. there’s a fine line between asking people to stay in their lane and cultural gatekeeping sometimes, and I think that it’s something we should be mindful of when we’re engaging in conversations about cultural erasure, appropriation etc.

PERHAPS IT IS OBVIOUS that I have no idea where that line falls LMAO since after all that rambling I have given you basically nothing. but! I hope that you found it interesting at least, and that it gives you a bit more material to think on while you figure out where you stand ahaha.

was this just an excuse to show off cool (fan)art i like? maybe ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

(ko-fi)

#Anonymous #asks and replies #art #fanart #art history #christianity #mdzs #mdzs meta #meta #mine #mymeta #cyan gets too deep in the weeds #lmfao this post is a mess ive been staring at it for like a week and at this point im just gonna post it to the wall and keep moving asldfj #hope you enjoyed

318 notes · View notes

winterscaptain · 4 years ago

Text

roots.

Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader a joyful future fic

a/n: another one from 2026! aaron retires from federal service this year, at 57.

words: 2.4k warnings: kids!, missing haley hotchner hours, language

summary: “Every day the increasing weight of years admonishes me more and more, that the shade of retirement is as necessary to me as it will be welcome.” ― George Washington, Farewell Address. au!october 2026

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | ajf faq | requests closed!

SSA Mallory Kagan asks you to outline your career with the FBI - purposefully using your first name instead of using your title. It keeps the students guessing and paying attention.

Plus, the payoff when they figure out who you are is the best part of the whole lecture.

“My career at the FBI is more like a big tree than a path or a journey.”

You look out over the classroom - blue shirts abound - and take a deep breath to center yourself.

You’re used to giving this lecture with Aaron, but this is your first fall without him, which also means that this is the first academy class who won’t know him in person.

They’ll only hear tell of the legend SSA Aaron Hotchner was stabbed nine times, lost his wife to a serial killer, and kept going. You know they’ll hear stories about his severity, his general lack of sunniness, hear rumors about the way he laughs with his children, his wife, and nobody else.

You know the older agents tell stories about you, too. They say you ‘tamed’ Hotch, made him a little nicer. They might even say they’ve seen him smile at you, or they’ve seen you give him hell in public.

Aaron Hotchner is practically a myth, now, only supported by your reputation, tall tales from academy classes of yesteryear, and his own legacy.

That retired bastard currently sits in your house with your kids, right on his fine behind, very likely falling into boredom-addled insanity.

“Everything that I am - a parent, a wife, a friend, and an agent - is because of my work with the Behavioral Analysis Unit over the past nineteen years. My unit is my family, and I can’t get rid of them. Just like our own families, we love to hate each other.”

The room laughs, and you know you have them hooked.

“Jokes aside, I would encourage you to get to know your colleagues. Each relationship I built within my unit put a root into the ground, made the proverbial tree stronger - to extend the metaphor. I work with very few of the same people I started with, but I feel as steady and supported as I did back when they called us ‘The Elite Eight.’”

You chuckle a little, clicking through your introductory slide to showcase a photo of the BAU in 2012. You point to each of them as you speak.

“SSA Emily Prentiss, current unit chief of the Behavior Analysis unit and former head of the Interpol London office, responsible for taking down one of the most prolific international arms dealers in modern history.”

The room is quiet, a little awestruck, so you add, “She’s a bit of a big deal.”

They laugh.

“SSA Derek Morgan - you’ll probably hear stories about how he survived the Boston bombing with SSA Gideon in 2005, but don’t worry. He wasn’t there. He was with his momma in Chicago, celebrating her birthday.”

Another laugh.

You’ve honed this routine over the last five years, knowing what to add, when to pause, what to cut if the students lose interest.

“That said, SSA Morgan is one of the best profilers I’ve had the pleasure of working with. Today, he’s a consultant for DC Metro SWAT and is otherwise retired.”

Continuing down the line, “SSA Jennifer Jareau - JJ. Former communications liaison for the BAU, State Department, and DoD. She currently serves with the BAU as a profiler. If any of you are interested in PR or media relations, find an opportunity to speak with her about her experience. Her husband, Will, is a detective with the DC Metro Police and has plenty of stories of his own.”

A student raises a hand, and you give her the go-ahead.

“Sorry for interrupting -“

You stop her. “You didn’t interrupt. You raised your hand. Don’t apologize for taking up space.”

She smiles a little. “Okay. Um, I’m curious. How many people in your unit are married and/or have children? My understanding is that the work-life balance can be difficult in heavy-travel positions like the BAU.”

“It can absolutely be a challenge.” You look back at the photo. “In the course of my career, six of my colleagues have been or were already married and all of them went on to have children.”

“And you?”

You laugh a little, forgetting you’re alone up here. “Right.”

The class laughs, and you point yourself out on the slide.

“I still had my maiden name when this photo was taken, but now I share five children and a last name with SSA Aaron Hotchner.” You throw your thumb at Aaron’s likeness on the screen again for good measure.

You check in with SSA Kagan to make sure you can share everything you usually do with Aaron present - your marriage was often the punchline of your lectures, letting you toe the line of humor a little farther than you normally would.

She nods, a little smile on her face.

“While I wouldn’t necessarily recommend dating your unit chief or marrying your section chief -“ you pause, holding your hands up in surrender to the echo of laughter “- even if they are the same person - you can certainly find the best people without looking too hard.”

Hands shoot up into the air, but that always happens. It’s around this time people start asking the good questions. The people from their course materials and the people in front of them start to link together.

They also figure out that you’re Agent Hotchner. That Agent Hotchner - the one married to the Agent Hotchner.

You look out over the crowd again. “I know you have lots of questions, and I’m happy to confirm or deny any rumors about myself or my family, but,” you pause for dramatic effect. “Hold them for now - you’ll want to know the players before you ask the questions.”

Hands drop, but pens start moving. You continue down the line, skipping over Aaron.

“SSA David Rossi, a founding member of the BAU in the late 1980’s. He worked closely with SSA Jason Gideon, developing a database that we use to this day - one that outlines signatures, modus operandi, and victimology of modern serial killers. SSA Rossi is also well-known for his books - ten of them, in fact, that cover what we do in a kind of…”

You search for a word.

“Conversational format. He retired a couple of years ago, and is a full-time grandpa to all 16 of the BAU offspring.”

A few scattered chuckles pass through the room.

“And then we have Dr. Spencer Reid - I could enumerate his degrees, but we don’t have that kind of time. He’s the smartest person I’ve ever met, and remains an asset to the BAU in the field today.”

You click to another slide - a photo of all of you taken a few weeks ago.

“SSA Matthew Simmons - retired from the United States Army and former member of the FBI International Response Team, or IRT. He’s been with the BAU for ten years now. Like Dr. Reid and SSA Prentiss, he knows multiple languages - which comes in handy.” You look out and raise your eyebrows. “I hope all of you did well in your Spanish classes in high school - you might need it.”

Another laugh.

“SSA Luke Alvez and Technical Analyst Penelope Garcia are another pair that come from, shall we say, nontraditional backgrounds. While Garcia is no longer with the BAU, SSA Alvez is also celebrating his tenth year with us this fall.”

A student raises his hand, and you call on him.

“Isn’t Penelope Garcia the hacker known as The Black Queen? I learned about her work when I was at MIT.”

You snort. “Nice way to slip in you went to MIT, there, bud.” You pause, waiting for the ruckus to die down as the student in question turns bright red. “But yes. Her experience was invaluable to our team. Just to keep up, we stole an analyst from the NSA to replace her - nobody else could cut the mustard.”

You look back, stepping forward and pacing as you speak.”And finally, Dr. Tara Lewis. Formerly working in the FBI Counsel’s office as a forensic psychologist, she joined our team on cases where specific pathologies were in play before becoming a full-fledged member of our team.

“So, as you can see, there are so many varied qualities we look for in profilers, and your own path will be informed by the skills you develop, your temperament, and your dedication to the work itself. There’s no right way to be an agent, and when you leave the academy in five weeks, the whole world of the bureau will be open to you.”

Clicking back to your introductory slide, you turn to the front of the classroom. “I know all my colleagues well enough to take any questions you may have about their careers and paths through the bureau. For any questions I can’t answer, I am happy to direct you to them with the understanding they may not get back to you due to our caseload. I’ll take your questions now.”

Hands shoot up into the air, and you specifically call on the student in the back - the one you know has a question about Aaron.

“So, when you say SSA Aaron Hotchner, you mean the same one that worked the Boston Reaper case for ten years?”

SSA Kagan checks in with you, ready to shut him down, but you call her off.

“That’s right. SSAs Jareau, Morgan, Prentiss, Rossi, Dr. Reid, Miss Garcia, and I worked that case in its final year as well.”

“I have a follow-up if that’s okay.”

You tacitly give him leave to continue.

“How do you handle cases that get that… close? I know there were considerable...” He searches for the right word. “...challenges. How did you guys deal with that?”

Good question.

Returning to the podium, you lean heavily against it, lacing your fingers in front of you. “You’ve all read the Reaper case file, yes? It’s still included in the MCRT training courses?”

There are nods around the room, but you check in with Kagan anyway.

“The declassified version is covered,” She says. “They’re familiar with the full scope of the case.”

“Okay. So, as you all know…”

You remind them what happened, from 1998 to 2009, finally landing where the students want you. “And on November 23rd, 2009, Haley Reneé Hotchner was George Foyet’s 40th and final victim. She was thirty-nine years old. And she was my friend.”

The room is dead silent, all eyes on you, somber and attentive.

“The case was personal. It became personal because Foyet forced our hands. He attacked Agent Hotchner in his home and then targeted his family. So, the question is, how do we deal with that? Right?”

Even Kagan’s watching you closely. It’s the first time you’ve covered this case without the rest of your team. In your joint lectures with Aaron, the case is off-limits for questions. She’s never heard you tell the story in your own words.

You take a breath. “And the answer is… you don’t.”

There are some confused faces, so you elaborate. “There isn’t anything you can do to push the case away from you - that’s how people get hurt. In the meantime, you make adjustments. Agent Hotchner placed Agent Morgan in an interim unit chief position until the case was over, for the sake of his health and sanity. We chased down every lead, understanding that the faster we caught Foyet, the faster Haley and Jack, Agent Hotchner’s son, could come home.”

A young woman in front tentatively raises a hand, and you open a hand to her. “Yes?”

“What happened, you know, after?”

“We moved on as best we could. Going back to my original point -”

You leave the podium and take your place in the center of the floor again.

“- the trust you have in the people you work with can carry you through a great many things. And not all of you will see horror every day - but some of you will.”

You pause for a moment, hoping this is the part that really sinks in for them.

“Always have something to come home to. Always have something or someone that brings you peace, that can take you away from the work.”

+++

You set your things down and walk through the door, immediately accosted by two almost-eight-year-olds and their over-eager little brother.

“Momma!”

You haul Elliot onto your hip and kiss Sophia’s head as Caroline burrows into your side. “Hi, darlings! Did you already have dinner?”

Sophia moves to answer, but Aaron’s voice shoots around the corner. “Yes!”

With a smile, you seek him out, dragging the girls along with you. Lo and behold, Aaron’s at the sink, washing dishes. Isaac’s supervising - sitting on the counter, swinging his feet.

Aaron gets a kiss on the cheek from you as you pass and he turns over his shoulder, chasing you until you peck him on the lips, Elliot squished between you. Your son squirms, and you set him on the ground to chase after his sisters. Isaac hops off the counter likely off to investigate the happenings before retreating to his room for the rest of the evening.

For once, you’re left alone.

“How was your lecture?”

Your arms free, you wrap around him and rest your full weight against his chest as he backs himself into the counter. “Went well. Missed you, though.”

The corner of his mouth tips up. “Did they ask about Foyet?”

“Mhmm. It was a good segue into trusting your team and building each other up, knowing when to step back, etcetera.”

He nods. “Good way to bring it back around. How’s Kagan?”

“She’s good, loving it, as always.”

“Think she’s ever gonna retire?” He asks, tucking into your neck.

You laugh as he presses kisses to the underside of your jaw. “Probably not.”

Aaron leans back to look at you, bringing his hand to your face to brush over your cheekbone. “Are you ever gonna retire?”

“Probably not.”

“What if,” he says, his hands slipping into your back pockets, “you retired in…” He does the math in his head. “Thirteen-ish years and I make it worth your while.”

“Oh yeah? Worth my while? And you’ll be, what, a hundred years old?”

His eyes roll so hard you’re sure he could see his own brain. You pull him down for a kiss, but it doesn’t stop him from mumbling, “Give me a fuckin’ break,” against your mouth.

“Never.”

+++

tagging: @writefasttalkevenfaster @quillvine @stxrrywildflower @hurricanejjareau @ughitsbaby @rousethemouse @criminalsmarts @genevievedarcygranger @ssaic-jareau @hotchsflower @hotchslatte @risenfox @mrs-dr-reid @mrs-marcus-moreno @pan-pride-12 @sunshine-em @jdougl-love @dreila03 @forgottenword @aaronhotchnerr @ssa-morgan @tegggeeee @abschaffer2 @ssacandice-ray @ellyhotchner @lotties-journey-abroad @mrs-joel-pimentel-23-25 @mooneylupinblack @ssareidbby @qvid-pro-qvo @mandylove1000 @jeor @wakatoshislover @word-scribbless @bwbatta @capricorngf @missdowntonabbey @averyhotchner @joanofarkansass @popped-weasels @evee87 @nuvoleincielo @ssahotchnerr @this-broken-band-girl @winqhster @reidtomestyles @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @the-falling-in-the-danger @softbibxtch @iconicc @mangoberry43 @andreasworlsboring101 @kerrswriting @mac99martin @itsalwaysb33nyou @baumarvel @messyhairday-me @ssworldofsw @deagibs @crazyshannonigans @moonshinerbynight @jhiddles03 @teamhappyme @mendesmelodies @starsandasteroids @unicorn-bitch @ambicaos @itsmytimetoodream @pinkdiamond1016

#aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #tali talks cm #tali writes fanfiction #a joyful future #a joyful future fanfic

287 notes · View notes

izzabeean · 4 years ago

Text

Chapter 12 : Uncertainty

SUMMARY

A new situation presents itself that causes you to rethink a couple of things.

pairing : ushjima x f!reader / oikawa x f!reader / iwaizumi x f!reader

genre : angst + fluff

word count : 3,299

content : profanity, slightly suggestive nsfw

tags : alternate universe - college/university, post-break up, friends to lovers, pining, slow burn

a/n : another late chapter because it's been a bit difficult to sit myself down and write this one, it's a bit of a long one. I know no one is meant to address weaknesses but the dialogue is so hard for me to write! but anyway please enjoy xx

masterlist

<< prev | ch . 12 | next >>

Alone, at last.

The serene silence of the apartment fills you with relief as Oikawa left you by yourself to go out for a jog. Seeing as you haven’t had much time to yourself since moving in with him, you weren't extremely grateful to be able to sit back, relax and watch your favorite show for what seems like the zillionth time.

But this surge of anxiety rumbles from within while your mind seems to spiral wondering where Iwaizumi could be. He still hasn’t come back from his outing, hasn’t even updated when he will be back. And your attempt to distract yourself isn’t remotely engaging as you continue to check your phone for messages.

Maybe there’s a personal reason why he is taking so long.

Yes, he’s with friends, yet the word ‘friend’ could be defined so inconsistently on your tongue. For instance, a friend could be the beginning of a possible more-than-friends scenario or the description of a secret relationship. Perhaps a girl he didn’t want to tell anyone about or perhaps even a promised fuck-buddy agreement for when he visits.

You grind your teeth wishing you could stop the worry festering. And because you’ve started to rummage in what if delusions, you decide that the only cure is to light a smoke.

Oikawa hasn’t been out for long and told you he’d be gone for an hour or so. So, you take the chance to keep your secret still a secret, by looking for the cartridge stashed in your jacket.

Weird, you think sifting through the pocket to which you find nothing. Even when searching the rest of your things, other pockets, and bags, you can’t seem to locate the pack. It’s been a while since your last smoke and try to trace your tracks to where it could possibly have gone to. Obviously, it wouldn’t get up and leave...

Usually, it wouldn’t aggravate you this much to find something, often you were used to misplacing things and having them show up eventually. However, this down-right pissed you off. You eye up your jacket persuading yourself you have enough time to go out to the corner store and grab a pack. The nearest shop is a couple of blocks away and you can have it out there instead of at the apartment where Oikawa can definitely catch you.

But in your head, the plan seems too risky trying to play it out. And instead, you let out a yawn grabbing a textbook off your desk remembering that you should probably be a good student instead of pursuing bad habits.

Walking into the living room, you lower the television volume to create some background noise so the place isn’t totally quiet making you vulnerable to the slightest floor creek. The apartment sounds aren’t what you’re used to and you most definitely predict your paranoia will obliterate your concentration.

That’s not all that does though.

The warm cozy lighting in the room starts to relax your mind a bit more while you start to take notes. It could be the fact you’re reading a piece of text from one of your most boring classes or due to another long day, but you find yourself reading the same paragraph over again, and over again, and over again trying to absorb the content on the pages. You pinch yourself to stay awake whilst your vision starts to blur and slowly your eyes slowly close…

------

You’re in your apartment bathroom.

It’s not quite the same sleek compact room you’re used to-- the walls are covered in water damage, with the paint slowly peeling off some parts and the floor is torn up exposing the old floorboards.

The new decor doesn't phase you though as you lean in towards the mirror touching up your lashes with a thin coat of mascara. Once you back up to take a look at your reflection checking for any flaws, you notice a sense of familiarity in this inspection. Like you've lived this all before. A part of you chuckles thinking you're just paranoid, but an unexpected knock echoes the room causing you to jump.

You freeze, listening closely as you try to quiet your breathing wondering if you were just hearing things. You must be.

Analyzing your reflection more, you notice you're dressed up in the same clothes you were going to wear that night you and Ushijima were supposed to celebrate your final year at university together. The same night he broke up with you.

Curiosity mixed with fear causes your eyes to glaze over not wanting to relive that moment again.

Another knock sounds.

Before you could persuade yourself to stop, you walk out into the hallway to answer the door. The anguish in your chest grows stronger and stronger while the suspense heightens upon getting closer and closer. All you ever wanted was to be happy with someone who accepts you for who you are. Someone that would be there for you through thick and thin. And here you are once again reliving the thing that haunts you the most. You don’t know if you can take the rejection again, but your body can't stop. It wants to see Ushijima.

Reaching for the cold knob you turn the handle slowly opening the door that emanates Ushijima's daunting aura. Horror that once filled your eyes almost instantly vanishes though because instead, you face Iwaizumi.

“What are you doing here?” you breathe. “I’m supposed to--”

You're cut off by an aggressive push from Iwaizumi into your apartment. You don't flinch as your entire body freezes in shock from him pressing you up against a wall. It’s dangerous how close he is, you can see his pupils dilate as he pulls in closer, bending down to nuzzle his face into your neck. You feel a rush of electricity that tingles from the top of your head to your toes.

“You’ve been wanting this for a while now,” Iwaizumi hums. “Haven’t you?”

His teeth graze against your neck as he forces his knee between your legs and slides it upward. You let your body melt into it with a soft gasp as your nerves excite.

He pulls back and you’re dying to see the look he has on his face, but notice you are no longer looking at Iwaizumi… No, now you’re looking at Oikawa.

Your eyes widen as his face dips down towards you, but you dodge and push him in an attempt to free yourself. He doesn’t budge leaning in closer tilting your chin up with his hands so he can look you in the eyes. His touch is gentle, not threatening but his eyes are drunk with lust.

“I thought it was me you wanted,” he purrs, eyes searching in yours for an answer.

But your throat squeezes shut restricting you from forming the words you wish to and his face inches closer closing in the space between you. You thought you’d be more reluctant for this to stop, but the thrill igniting inside you pushes you further as you slowly slide your hand into Oikawa’s hair. Closing your eyes waiting to be entangled in each other, but the kiss doesn’t connect.

When you open your eyes, you’re in your room sitting on your bed next to Ushijima. Everything feels lighter contrasting to the enticing atmosphere from before.

He pushes the hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ear. You can’t look away seeing as this is the closest you’ve been to him since you were together.

It feels like home. It feels right.

He runs his thumb over your lips as he leans in sealing his lips over yours.

No, we shouldn’t, your brain screams, but you let yourself indulge in his warm soft kiss as he holds you close.

------

The act instantly jolts you awake.

You blink still feeling the essence of Ushijima’s kiss linger on your lips and the traces of his hands holding you close. But it looks like you’re not alone as you find yourself facing Iwaizumi who’s holding up a blanket.

“D--did I wake you?” he asks, straightening himself up, startled by your sudden rouse.

“No, no,” you say, before sitting up. Your heart almost skips a beat as you immediately envision Iwaizumi pressing up against you. And, as if on cue, your ears start to burn up unable to actually look at him before rubbing your eyes hoping to hide from the sheer embarrassment plastered all over your face.

“How did it go… With your friends?” you express, in an attempt to change the subject to leave behind your suggestive dream.

“It was good,” he sighs, taking a seat beside you on the couch. “Had a lot to catch up on. You should meet them actually, I feel like you’d all get along.”

“That’d be cool,” you smile.

Then it occurs to you this is the first time you’ve been alone together since the kiss. Your options could be to completely avoid the topic as if it never happened, but a little voice inside keeps reminding you to say something. But how can you when even speaking about your actions is deeply embarrassing? Why didn’t you just think before you act? Then perhaps, this awkward conversation you’re about to have wouldn’t have to happen.

“But maybe warn them, if you plan to kiss them,” he teases.

“Um…” you feel your face grow hot at his words wondering if Iwaizumi can read your thoughts. “About that…”

“Hm?” Iwaizumi blinks.

“I’m sorry if it came out of nowhere, there was just a lot going on in such a and I just -- It was uncalled for… I didn’t mean--”

Iwaizumi lets out a laugh causing you to pause.

“What?” You suddenly feel stupid for bringing this up, thinking you’ve missed the reason as to what’s so funny.

“Sorry,” he shrugs. “You were just trying to make your ex jealous, right?”

Yes, you were, but there was more to it than that.

“Mm,” you reply, unsure of what else to say.

“Don’t you think Oikawa would have been a better contender to piss Ushijima off?”

“I mean… I think it was more than that,” you begin, but lose your courage to confess anymore as Iwaizumi gazes at you with an unreadable expression. “Cause you know, you’re new and he’s never seen you before and so it’s more… Mysterious?”

It sounded more like a question as if you were trying to convince yourself too, but Iwaizumi doesn’t ask further.

“Of course,” he replies so a matter of factly, you feel stupid. Like you’re self-sabotaging yourself.

“I guess it did sort of work seeing as he punched Oikawa,” he adds.

Your face softens at Iwaizumi’s remark in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“I mean, if it really worked he would’ve punched you,” you joke. “Oikawa persuaded Ushijima all on his own.”

You both laugh and you know, now, that it wasn’t such a bad idea to talk about it.

“Well if you ever need to get Ushijima off your back, I can pretend to be your boyfriend.”

Huh?

You weren’t quite sure if you heard that correctly, seeing how nonchalant he is. And when you don’t reply and continue to gaze at Iwaizumi wide-eyed, he’s quick to reply.

“I mean, if you need one,” he continues.

You laugh nervously. At this point, you’re definitely not sure what he’s thinking about, but the fact he so blatantly offered such an outlandish task, makes you wonder if he’s on the same page as you. Is it so obvious to him, that you think he’s hot, that you enjoy spending time with him?

“I’ll hold you to that,” you say, as calmly as you can, trying to suppress the excitement bursting inside. “When’s your last day?”

“Next week.”

“That sucks,” you spit out. “I mean! It’s cool you get to go to school in California, but just sucks you’re going to be leaving”

“We can still keep in touch,” he replies softly.

“You better,” you tease. “I’m jealous you have it all figured out.”

“You will too.”

“Doubtful,” you groan. “But I’m trying to stay optimistic.”

“You’ve got lots of time,” he sighs.

Silence encompasses the space between the two of your time limit with Iwaizumi worries you more. You’re happy he gets to pursue his dream, but you wonder if there's more to why you got to see him again. It feels wrong for wishing him to not leave, the essence of selfishness rolls through you as your conscience nags for you to stop.

"I hope so."

------

It’s the beginning of a new week and you’ve finished your morning class.

But it's very hard to forget the conversation you had with Iwaizumi about the kiss, about him leaving. As much as you’d like him not to leave, to see where things could go, you know it isn’t your best interest to start dating someone new so. You’re not like Ushijima. You’d much rather die than ever admit that you are the same as him. Luckily, you are not. You have morals and you’re a much, much better person than him.

Your name rings down the hall as you stroll towards the exit and turn to see Sara trying to catch up to you. You haven’t seen her since the evening Oikawa swung at Ushijima and honestly had been avoiding her since. Though you did know, you’d have to face her eventually, you preferred it being during class where you can gently brush her off.

“How are you, I haven’t seen you since the other night,” she breathes, trying to catch her breath from basically booking it down the hall.

“I’m fine,” you grunt, unapologetic to how cold it sounds, yet Sara pays no mind to it as she continues to beam with excitement.

“I just wanted to apologize.”

“For?”

“For inviting Ushijima,” she replies, her voice unwavering. “I didn’t find out until later that he’s your ex.”

“Did he tell you?”

“Well, he did that night,” she chuckles, then clears her throat when you raise your eyebrows at her in displeasure. “I was mortified that he didn’t even tell me. I told him who would be there and he didn’t say anything.”

You're quiet, trying to make sense of Sara's explanation. Why is she even telling you this? Is it because you're in a group together? She could have just pretended nothing ever happened and keep things strictly school-related. If this were you, you'd be: 1) pissed your significant other didn't tell you about an ex and 2) would avoid the ex like a plague. Yet here she is, standing in front of you, apologizing. Nothing seemed to add up.

“And you didn’t get mad?” you ask, unable to comprehend Sara's reasons for confronting you.

“Oh my god no, why would I be mad?” she laughs again.

“I thought you were close?”

“Close? I guess, but he’s just been showing me around.”

"Huh?" you blink.

“He’s part of a program here, to help new students.”

You blink again.

“Y/N? You there?”

“Yeah… I just-- you were-- I thought… What’s the program?”

“Um, he's assigned to a new student to help settle in for the first week on campus...”

Your mind flashes back to the other day when Ushijima showed up at your apartment wanting to tell you something, then to the time he tried to chat with you at the restaurant. Was that it? That it's just been a misconception all this time.

"... One time he showed me around the city, but that's about it," she continues, forcing you out of your thoughts. The keyword showed me around the city rings setting an alarm to when you first saw them together. That day, it felt like your heart got ripped out and thrown on the ground with your entire body submerged in an unfathomable sense of agony. You were destroyed.

“So... you normally just hang out with him at school?”

“Yeah. He's the only person I know on campus,” she snorts. "That's why I invited him, as thanks. Regardless I feel like a complete idiot. I’m so sorry I invited him, I totally didn’t mean to put you in an awkward situation.”

You feel perplexed and look away, trying to figure out how to take the information.

Nothing and everything makes sense at once. As if you had stepped into a dream world and your body is separately itself from reality as you trying to mull the information you've just absorbed.

“Forget it," you say, forcing a smile. "I-- I have to get to class.”

“Oh, of course. I’ll talk to you later?”

“Yeah,” you smile, walking in the opposite direction. "I'll see you around."

You sigh realizing you misjudged Ushijima entirely. No wonder he wanted to speak to you and all you've been doing is giving him a cold shoulder. Maybe, guilt can describe the feelings swimming in the pit of your stomach, completely blinded by wrath. You had to tell Oikawa--

Buzz!

Scooping out your phone from your pocket you check down to see a text from said guy. It says: just finished class. you on campus?

You quickly send a reply then your eyes flicker up to a familiar figure walking towards you.

Iwaizumi.

“What are you doing here?” you say.

“Came to drop off Shittykawa’s books," he replies. "He forgot them for his next class.”

“I can take it to him, I was just headed to meet up with him,” you smile.

“Thanks,” he grumbles, rubbing the back of his neck.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I was kind of hoping to run into you….”

------

I’ll be in the courtyard.

Oikawa reads a text from you and gives a small smile walking in the direction of the destination. Your company is always something he admires especially to kill time between classes. But it was never killing time with you. Instead, it seemed to always go by too fast, like he never had enough of you. His heart starts to race as he nears the courtyard and he doesn’t know why but he’s feeling extra giddy today. Perhaps he woke up in a good mood or perhaps it feels like for once he’s getting somewhere with you by the fact you’ve opened up to him and have been a lot friendlier than usual.

Then he sees you. You’re easy to spot. And he starts to talk a tad quicker, but as you become more in view, he sees you talking to Iwaizumi. His entire body freezes.

------

“I was hoping to spend my last day… With you,” Iwaizumi mumbles. “Oikawa has class during the day and I wanted to see if I could snag you.”

Oh.

Your eyes widen with surprise and excitement as the words echo in your head.

“If you’re available that is,” Iwaizumi quickly adds.

You grin at him. “Yeah, of course. I’d like that!”

“Awesome, I look forward to it,” he says casually before turning around to leave.

“Iwaizumi…”

He stops and turns back to you.

“The books?”

“Oh right, I totally--”

He rushes back over to hand them over, yet the books gently graze your finger and fall to the ground. Both of you react by swooping down to pick them up and from your eagerness accidentally bumps your forehead into Iwaizumi, making loud bonk.

“Oh my god are you ok?” you ask while holding your forehead from the surprise collision.

“Yes, are you ok?” he chuckles while rendering a small smile.

“Yeah,” you giggle. “Sorry I got excited.”

Your face feels hot from how close he is and his contagious laugh. It’s nice and feels... exhilarating. Unlike anything, you’ve felt before from someone.

Suddenly your moment is interrupted by the sound of your phone going off.

It’s your mom.

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu angst #haikyuu fluff #haikyu x reader #Iwaizumi Hajime #iwaizumi x reader #oikawa tooru #oikawa x reader #oikawa x y/n #ushijima x reader #ushijima x y/n

55 notes · View notes

wlw-lovestruck-fiction · 4 years ago

Note

“Vivienne x Mc, where Mc gets injured and falls unconscious and later Vivienne taking care?“

Pairing with:

Mc x Vivienne - QoT Mc was really close to an explosion during a heist, causing her to permanently loss her hearing. You can include the other members too because I want to see how will they handle future heist when one of their has been injured, how does Vivienne react? Will she let mc continue or not? And how does mc feel? Does she feel she cannot as much as before lost her hearing?

HEY... how do you think Vivienne would deal with a deaf MC? im deaf myself 😳😳 headcanons work if they're easier!

QOT MC gets caught up in the blast from one of Jett’s explosives, and now has severe burns acrros her face and other parts of her body along with slight deafness. Could I get a fic of Vivienne comforting her, and telling her she’s still beautiful? Thanks!

…

Warning: Writer’s first time writing a hard of hearing character.

TW: Panic attacks. Mentions of injury. Mentions of scarring.

Introspection-heavy fic.

…

The explosion was one of Jett’s finest work up to date.

Vivienne could feel it rattle her very bones, even though she was quite a distance away. The building crumbled easily and readily, becoming nothing but a sour-tasting memory. She nodded approvingly, letting out a small sigh in relief. There it went, up in smoke, all the incriminating evidence Benicio had gathered on them. And, as a bonus, most of his fake career.

“Ha! That was amazing!” Jett laughed, his voice bright with happiness, high with adrenaline. The rest of the Poppy soon joined in, albeit in less boisterous chuckles.

Coming down from the building she was in was child’s play. She abandoned Benicio’s unconscious body for the authorities to find, humming to herself as she made her way over to Leon, just barely paying attention to the conversation of the rest of the Poppy.

It doesn’t take long for her to notice that something is wrong. That something is missing.

She balances on top of the balcony she’s on, dread creeping over her body like lead, making her feel sluggish.

“Has anyone heard MC?”

The idle chatter stops. Vivienne can feel the shift in the atmosphere, can practically hear it become tense and chilly.

Amidst the muttered ‘no’ of the rest of the members, Zoe’s voice sounds surprisingly clear, a tinge of panic and worry that makes Vivienne lurch forward, desperate to reach the ground. “I lost her signal. Something must have happened!”

“But Benicio is out cold this time-”

“Nadia backed off, right? She couldn’t have-”

“And there is no way Francesca would-”

“Maybe,” Jett’s voice sounds hesitant, an echo of his usual self. “She got… caught by the explosion.”

Remy scoffs. “There’s no way that could have happened, MC knew the dangers!”

“Keep an eye out for the police, Zoe. We need to look for her,” Nikolai commanded, his voice as cold and hard as steel, immediately cutting through the panicked chatter.

Vivienne lets her teammates handle the distractions to stall the police a bit longer, her mind set only on making sure MC was all right. She hadn’t felt so frightened since everything that happened with Isadora, and she refused to let anything even remotely similar happen again. She couldn’t lose anyone precious to her. She couldn’t. One more person, and her soul would have been shattered beyond repair.

Not to mention, the whole issue with Benicio was her fault in the first place. If MC got hurt… god, if she got hurt…

“Ambulance! Can someone call an ambulance?”

Her head whipped around, eyes wide. There was a man shouting desperately a few meters away, making frantic motions to something behind him. Mouth dry, Vivienne relayed the situation to the rest of the Poppy. Her legs felt like jelly. She wondered if she’d crumble into an unrepairable mess when she got close enough, but no such thing happened. She moved forward as if possessed, dropping to her knees near two bodies. One was a small child, and the other was MC, cradling the child as if she was trying to protect him from the entire world.

They were both unconscious. Vivienne’s eyes trailed MC’s exposed skin, painted an angry red down to its very core, from her left shoulder down to her thigh. Her clothes were ruined, charred beyond recognition, sticking to MC’s body like a second skin. Vivienne’s first instinct is to throw her cape over her, just to cover the burns. Her hands are shaking so bad it proves to be quite the difficult task.

The child MC is holding seems fine, his burns less severe than MC’s, which eases Vivienne’s worry somewhat.

Jett was right. She had been caught up in the explosion.

…

“I had to pull a lot of favors to erase our trail, but at least the police won’t find us for a while. We can lay low while MC recovers.” Zoe informed them, a few nights later, exhaustion sipping from her like water out of a waterfall. Nikolai is in a similar state, sitting near Zoe by the couch, one hand covering his face and the other gripping his knee so tightly his knuckles are almost white.

“And the boy’s father?”

“He’s been trying to locate MC, but I don’t think we should worry about him. As for the boy, he’s much better than MC. His hearing wasn’t as affected, either. She really saved him…”

“Then again, if it hadn’t been for him, MC wouldn’t be like this in the first place.” Vivienne icily mutters, tightening her hold over her glass of wine. Nikolai and Zoe just give her a glance, too tired to pick a fight with her. “If he hadn’t rushed in recklessly-”

“He was scared, Viv.” Remy says, from somewhere in the kitchen. “He wasn’t thinking clearly.”

Vivienne’s scowl deepens. “Yes, but who runs into danger? You’d think the fire alarm would have gotten him to run the other way.”

“Someone who didn’t know there was going to be an explosion, that’s who.”

The seductress growls, a dark expression over her face, bitter frustration raging inside her like a chemical reaction about to explode. It just doesn’t make sense. Everything that boy had done that day was simply moronic, and MC – the angel she was, putting others before herself as she often did – had suffered dearly for it. The burns would leave scarring, no doubt; they had become angry red lines and spots that Vivienne mapped with a careful touch every time she had to apply the ointment the doctor had recommended. She had to watch how MC flinched at the contact, how she bit back a cry of pain, hiding it behind a shuddering smile and glistering brown eyes.

Vivienne couldn’t stop thinking about her expression. About how everything had changed, suddenly and without warning, all because of a boy. She can’t help but think about what Remy says and seethe in anger at the sheer absurdity of the boy’s actions, but she decides to stay quiet. The last thing the team needs is another fight.

Zoe speaks again after a few moments, voice soft.

“How is Jett?”

“He hasn’t left MC’s side,” Vivienne answers, after taking a deep breath. “His guilt is practically eating him alive.”

Zoe gives the couch a mournful, exhausted look, but gets to her feet nonetheless. “I’ll go check on him.”

No one blames Jett.

Ever since she had regained consciousness, MC’s sole focus had been on him. Vivienne didn’t mind. It felt relieving to walk inside her room and find them close, enjoying life, doing Art Club activities or laughing over some funny meme. Or, well, trying to. Jett’s laugh was muted, worried, tinted with sadness and regret; it was a sound that haunted Vivienne wherever she went, something that mirrored her own conflicted feelings. MC’s laugh was restrained and also wistful and a little distant. Sometimes she grimaced in the middle of it, her happiness crumbling in a burning flash of pain that made Vivienne’s heart clench and drop.

But they were trying. They were doing their best.

They would get through this. They all would.

…

Changes are inevitable. MC stands through it all like a stubborn rock holding its ground against a current, taking everything in stride. Vivienne had always found the artist fascinating, a fantastic enigma that Vivienne had foolishly thought she had cracked a long time ago.

MC always surprised her. After everything, Vivienne couldn’t help but feel awed by her. True, the first few weeks were hard, but MC had accepted her condition sooner rather than later, while Vivienne still cautiously danced around it, not sure what to think or feel or do.

MC had lost 65% percent of her hearing due to the explosion. Her left ear was slightly better, only at 50%, but the doctor had warned them she would lose more as the years went by. And while Vivienne had once again thrown herself into a bitter spiral of resentment against the boy, that damned boy, MC had pursed her lips with a determined expression and thrown herself into learning sign language and working around everything.

Everyone had agreed early on that MC couldn’t participate in heists anymore. She’d still be their forger, of course, but she’d stay with Zoe when the heist was underway.

“It’d be too dangerous,” MC had admitted, distractedly playing with the hem of her black jacket. She had this solemn look in her eyes, hollow and heavy with resignation, but it wasn’t defeated. It had this quiet intensity to it, like a volcano about to erupt; no one had dared to say anything as she explained. “I can’t even tell where sounds come from anymore, so I wouldn’t react properly to a threat.”

Vivienne couldn’t really wrap her mind around it. MC had described sounds as muted, fuzzy, distant, as if there was a giant wall of glass between her and the world, and on top of it she was underwater. Sounds simply became a cacophony in the background, nothing for MC to really pick apart. It was disorienting, at first, mostly because Vivienne hadn’t really fully processed everything yet.

Sometimes she would turn towards MC with her usual flair and dramas, all but spinning on the chair of her vanity like the typical movie villain, only to find MC engrossed on her work and not aware at all of the dramatic sigh Vivienne had delivered not two seconds ago. That was, perhaps, the biggest change. It didn’t take long for Vivienne to get used to it, no, but there had been something special in calling MC’s name from across the room and watching her reaction unfurl, be it an amused smirk or a heated stare.

MC carried on, not considering her hearing loss a disability at all. It made things different, but not impossible, something Vivienne had irrationally feared in the beginning. She loved MC and everything that entailed, be it scarring or hearing loss or grumpiness or that annoyingly stubborn personality of hers. There was no in-between, no extremes. There weren’t moments where Vivienne had loved her more or less. One day she had woken up to realize she had fallen hopelessly in love and she had never quite managed to get back up after that.

So these changes? Vivienne would accept them. Welcome them. No matter what.

…

The hearing aids helped. A bit.

MC had put them on, frowned for a second, and then beamed at Vivienne saying: “Oh, I can tell your voice apart from all the sounds now!” And that was it. No magically being able to hear everything again, no magically being able to pick apart the words. There was just a vague tone piercing a muted world, an anchor making lip-reading easier, but nothing else. Zoe had looked. Oh, how had she looked, but that was it. Everyone had accepted that. MC was just happy to her their voices again, however fuzzy they were.

Now, Vivienne could actually come sashaying into the room and call out to MC, and MC would look up and search for her – she still had a hard time telling where the sounds came from – and then roll her eyes with a fond smile at her girlfriend’s antics.

Something Vivienne had discovered about hard of hearing people: they listened. No, really. Somebody else would be distracted by something that happened around them, or would look at their phone or watch or hands or anything else before rejoining the conversation. Small things, really. MC didn’t do those anymore. Her attention was solely focused on whoever was speaking, watching their lips, interpreting their words. Or watching the signs, the body language, everything she could do to figure out what was going on and answer accordingly.

It was only at night that MC confided how difficult and exhausting and frustrating lip-reading was. The Poppy made an effort to sign, they had all gotten quite good at SSE, but sometimes they would go out and encounter somebody that didn’t know how to sign or somebody that wasn’t aware of what had happened to MC. It was all sort of situations, but MC took in stride.

“Baby?” MC’s drowsy voice cut through Vivienne’s thoughts. The pronunciation was a bit off, but charmingly so. MC had been horrified when Zoe commented on it, trying to correct it as soon as possible, but privately Vivienne didn’t really see why she worried so much over it. Her voice was beautiful no matter what. Or maybe Vivienne was just far too whipped. Hm.

She smiled against MC’s skin, feeling the heat of it call out to her like a siren’s song. She shifted a bit, so she could rest her head over MC’s chest, snuggling under the covers. It was a cold night, after all.

“Yes?” She mumbled, internally screaming in joy over the pet name. The vibration of her voice was all MC needed to know she was awake.

“I don’t think I’m up for seeing Jace tomorrow. Think we could reschedule?”

Vivienne hummed, toying with the thought. “I think so.” She finally drew the words on MC’s skin. Her fingers slid over the charred, dry zone that had been burned and she frowned a little, wondering if she should apply more ointment in the morning.

“Great.” MC said, softly. “And… we could… maybe we could watch a movie? There’s a new one that just began airing – I’ll ask Zoe for a subtitled version tomorrow.”

“Lovely.” Vivienne drew back.

“I love you.”

The little heart that was the seductress’ reply tingled in MC’s skin like invisible ink, pure and happy and warm like the first few rays of the sun, something that would linger for many days to come.

…

In the morning, as she had been doing this past month, the first thing she did when she woke up was straddle MC under her.

MC blinked owlishly, staring at her with a soft smile. She let Vivienne move over her, sighing contently at the soft touches from her lover. Vivienne made sure to stay in sight, so MC could see her lips.

With all that done, Vivienne began her worship.

Her hand cupped MC’s cheek, tracing the cheekbone down to the soft angle of her jaw, adoring. Long fingers then glided over her throat, down, down so she could move over her collarbones, one hand to the right, one to the left.

One hand slid over smooth, soft silk, while the other traveled against rough and dry edges carefully. MC’s eyes shifted at that, always hesitant over the marred skin, and Vivienne leaned down to place a kiss just above where the burns had been, as reverently as an astronaut would kiss the ground after months away from the Earth. She hovered there for a few seconds while her hand moved from MC’s shoulder to her side, finally coming to rest over her hip.

“You are beautiful.” She mouthed, leaning back. MC’s eyes flickered to her lips, catching the words, her smile stretching just a little bit more.

Vivienne continued, leaving a trail of kisses over that side, as she often did.

“These tell a story,” she said, and MC listened, brows knitted in concentration. “Of a brave woman that was too caring, and of a silly boy.”

MC starts to shake her head, aware of Vivienne’s resentment, but Vivienne is quick to place a finger over her lips to shush her.

“A silly boy,” she repeated, and for once her voice carried no venom. “That would have had a much difficult condition had that brave woman not intervened. These scars tell a story… and its outcome, filled with obstacles and changes and that one stubborn woman in the center of it all. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone more determined in my entire life. But here you are, MC, here you are…”

She shudders with delight, her smile widening even more. One of her hand comes up to rest over Vivienne’s heart, to feel the vibrations of her voice.

“A warrior, an angel. You are the sun my thoughts spin around, always, forever. You came into my life and gave me a reason to become the woman I am today. You are always so optimistic, so breathtakingly beautiful, with you I-” Vivienne cut herself off, remembering to breathe, to pace herself. MC gave her a grateful nod, her expression soft with affection. “With you I feel like I might soar. You’ve taught me so much. You’ve taught me how to be accepting. To accept mistakes. To not run from them. And now, you’ve taught me the importance of not giving up. I admire you, you know?”

Vivienne looked at the scars again.

“The story these tell… It’s awe-inspiring. I’ll look at them every morning and remember how strong you are. Beautiful isn’t perfect skin and perfect hearing. It isn’t daring heists and life on the edge. Beautiful is you, are you are now.”

The kiss they share is gentle, loving, pure.

#Anonymous #answered #lovestruck #lovestruck qot #queen of thieves #vivienne tang #vivienne x mc #fluffy angst #lovestruck vivienne #qot vivienne #queen of thieves vivienne #tw explosion #tw scarring #miscellaneous monday #angst

85 notes · View notes

thewhiteroseofvermilion · 4 years ago

Text

Moving Forward

Hello everyone. It’s been a long time since I’ve last spoken to you all, and an even longer time since I’ve last updated this story. Over the months and years, my absence has saddened, frustrated, and even angered many of you. Despite my own valid feelings of how—to put it bluntly—I don’t owe any of you anything as this is something I do for free and in my own free time, I still recognize how it must feel for you all to see something you enjoy so much slowly lose momentum and eventually grind to a halt. Furthermore, my habit of making enthusiastic yet empty statements in between didn’t help either.

As such, a proper and honest explanation is due, as anything less would be unkind. This will be lengthy, but please bear with me.

For the past four years, it’s been increasingly difficult to find the time, energy, and motivation for me to properly sit down and write. Seemingly gone are the early days of this story’s life when I was able to publish a new chapter every month or so, or even every two weeks when I was at the top of my game in terms of activeness. Even though I had an immense workload due to being a double major in college, leading me to adopt the best work ethic I’ve ever had, I still led a sheltered lifestyle where I didn’t have to worry about the many looming, inevitable adult responsibilities that were ahead of me.

Those tranquil years of course came to an end when I graduated, and I soon felt immense pressure to shift my attention to finding work, living independently, and working on things that would further my career. While I received support as an aspiring writer from the majority of my family, those being my mother and sister, the both of them commented more frequently as time passed by that my “fanfiction” wasn’t something that I should be spending so much time on anymore. After all, it’s not like I could sell the work as my own, and the fact that despite fanfiction absolutely being a valid artform, it wasn’t something that the world of professional employers cared about.

Nonetheless, when I did eventually find work as a film freelancer, I still tried to persevere and write on the side. My goal back then was to work in film in order to sustain my pursuit in writing. Film was something I went to school for, greatly enjoyed, and even saw a possible future career for myself in, but it was the writing aspect of it that I was truly after, that being primarily screenwriting.

After two years of living at home, I felt the need to try and live independently as I outgrew my tiny room and my mom started dating a man that I didn’t particularly like. I knew it wasn’t financially smart of me to do so when my mom allowed me to live with her rent-free. But at the time I thought that it would help me to become more mature and productive, as I would have to force myself to work in order to put a roof over my head and food on the table—as opposed to living a sheltered life at home where everything was taken care of for me. Essentially, I was longing for the lifestyle I had in college, thinking that once I returned to it, I would be able to reacquire that once incredible work ethic I had.

So, I became roommates with a friend from college and together we rented a townhouse together. Rent wasn’t terribly expensive, but it wasn’t cheap either. Regardless, I was able to make ends meet. My greatest challenge however, was to live up to my family’s spoken and unspoken expectations. On one hand, my mother was sweet and understanding, naturally giving me her full support. My father, on the other, always thought that it’d be better for me to pursue something safer and more lucrative, and to not risk being a starving artist. But the one I had to prove myself the most to was my older sister, who was wildly more successful than I was—financially and professionally. My pay compared to hers was like a drop in a bucket, and I felt both indirect and direct pressure from her to be more “professional” like her. Therefore, I threw myself into my work, which is when things slowly began to go downhill.

As a film freelancer, my work hours usually averaged between 10-12 hours a day, and with my work taking me all over my home state of Maryland and even into neighboring Washington DC and Virginia, my commute time to and from work ranged anywhere from an additional 1-3 hours. It became incredibly common for me to wake up for work anywhere between 3-6 AM and not get home until 8-10 PM.

Unbeknownst to me at the time, I slowly slipped into a routine where when I did have the “time” to write, I had zero energy or motivation as my work was so taxing. I reached the point where I had to drink two energy drinks with 300mg of caffeine to get myself to and from work. I saw less and less of my roommate and friends. I spent an alarming amount of money and gained weight from ordering take-out so often because I hadn’t the energy to cook for myself when I got home late from work. There would even be days when I fell into what felt like comas, sleeping up to two days straight at one point. My physical, mental, and emotional health was in serious decline. And yet I didn’t see it that way, as I had become obsessed with trying to prove to my family, my sister in particular, that I wasn’t a failure and that my pursuit of writing wasn’t a hopeless one.

During the first month of COVID-19′s outbreak last year, I finally had a much-needed vacation. This was undoubtedly the best time for me to have returned to writing—but I didn’t. At this point, so much time had passed since my last proper writing session that the few times I did try to write, I found myself completely unable to write anything. I was so out of practice and so out of touch with what I had written. This honestly frightened me, and I soon began to doubt if I could ever be able continue the story with the same quality that so many readers fell in love with. Regrettably, I fled from this revelation long enough for a full month to pass by, and I soon found myself busy with yet another distraction: unemployment.

I was out of work for about 4.5 months, from the middle of March to the beginning of August. During this time, I had to rely on state unemployment, which earned me great scorn from my older sister. Our relationship had always been uneven since we were kids, but it was becoming increasingly toxic as of late since our college years. I felt so ashamed to tell her how much money I made in a year from my job as a film freelancer, and how I barely managed to move to a better position after four years of work. Riddled with guilt and disappointment in myself, when work became readily available again in August, I frantically threw myself back in harder than ever before. In the past where I had turned down the occasional job to give myself some time to relax or in order to make it to a social outing with friends, I now accepted every job thrown my way, only declining those that would make me double-book myself. I earned a lot of money during those months as a result, and I was so happy to finally distance myself from the stigma of being “unemployed.” However, I once again failed to see that I was yet again sliding back into the lifestyle that had been slowly poisoning me for the past two years.

After essentially working non-stop from August to March, my body, mind, and soul soon returned right back to the brink of collapse. It wasn’t until then at my lowest point when I finally realized how I initially went from working to sustain myself in order to write, to not writing at all and only working to sustain myself to work even more. It was truly scary to see myself fall victim to a brutal cycle of unfulfilling work that could have trapped me for years to come if I hadn’t broken free first. That’s when I realized that my lifestyle was personally unsustainable, and that something had to change.

Henceforth, I’ve made the difficult decisions to both transition out of film freelancing and to soon return home to live with my father. At the end of April, the homeowner of the townhouse my roommate and I had been living in for close to three years gave us our 30-days-notice to vacate, as they no longer wished to rent but to sell the property. As my roommate had been planning on finding a place of his own with his girlfriend for quite some time, we split amicably at the end of last month in May and I’ve since moved into a temporary apartment with a friend who has traveled back to Maryland for seasonal work.

Regarding the change in my career, I’ve been looking into applying for writing positions for something that I’ve grown to enjoy over the past few years, which is to write reviews for media such as film, anime, and videogames. This of course is not what I truly want to do in life, but I think that because it actually involves writing, it would be both good practice in terms of practicing my writing and experience in terms of resume-building. Furthermore, a stable “9-5″ job as such would be good for me, I think, as it would introduce some desperately needed structure back into my life. Being a freelancer was definitely fun as I had the power to choose my own schedule, but it unfortunately fostered a lot of laziness and procrastination when I wasn’t completely burnt out.

I’ve shared with you all this information, a great deal of it being very personal, in the hopes that it helps you better understand who I am as a person and what I’ve been going through these past four years.

I understand that my word may be difficult to trust due to my history, but I sincerely wish to let you all know from the bottom of my heart that I do plan on continuing writing The White Rose of Vermilion until it’s completed. My fears and insecurities may have alienated me from that promise, but not once did I ever entertain the idea of fully dropping the story. And I promise you, I never will. It most likely will not further my career in any way, bring any revenue in, and will continue to consume a great deal of my precious free time—yet I still choose to pursue continuing it because I can’t see a future where I don’t finish it.

It is after all my most cherished project; the reason that I was able to truly find my calling as an aspiring writer, its success also ultimately being the proof to my mother that I had some skill as a budding writer, who then gave me her full blessings to pursue it as a career. But most important of all is that it’s the reason why I was able to experience first-hand one of the most important and beautiful discoveries in my entire life. That being the incredible phenomenon of how art is like a beacon—its bright light is powerful enough to reach out and inspire others to create art of their own. From Monty Oum to Nancy Phetchareune to myself, I was blessed enough to see readers create wonderful fanart to show me or tell me in a review that reading my story had inspired them to create something of their own.

I am officially leaving behind my prolonged hiatus and returning to working on The White Rose of Vermilion. While I am extremely hesitant to even estimate when the next chapter will be published, please know that I am genuinely trying to leave behind my habits of old and returning to a more consistent schedule.

The White Rose of Vermilion will return in:

Arc II, Chapter Twenty-Seven: Stranger in the Night

#TWRoV #The White Rose of Vermilion

41 notes · View notes

tobiosmilktea · 4 years ago

Text

where orchids grow — kageyama tobio

2.1k words | genre/s: hanahaki!au, angst, hurt/comfort | warning/s: mentions of death, mentions of depression | pairing/s: kageyama x reader, platonic!tsukishima x reader

↪︎ in which an innocent little crush led to your downfall

a/n: i wrote this almost a year ago when i first started this blog. i thought the writing was really mediocre so it has been sitting in my drafts ever since,, BUT it’s finally getting to see the light of day cause i’m cleaning out my drafts :)✨ pls be easy on this one ewbd

it haunted you in your dreams, squeezing and grasping and clutching at your lungs until your final breath gave way–until they shriveled up into nothing as flower-torn chest had killed you. well... not yet at least.

no matter the amount of effort you had put into suppressing your feelings for the setter until it was nothing but a withered memoir, you couldn’t help but lay upon your bed, restless, as you recalled the flashing images of bloodied flowers that had been freshly thrown up from your lungs earlier this evening. you liked to think you’ve learned to control your emotions and feelings around kageyama well enough that the aching feeling of growing flora in your chest wouldn’t effect you that much, but of course the feeling was still evident. however, it was earlier this evening when the setter split half of his meat bun for you after a practice game and the sheer look of care and admiration in his eyes forced a rose to travel up your esophagus.

it was so horrifyingly beautiful, a disease growing flowers within its host, wrapping until it plants itself to the point of rupturing the owner’s heart and lungs due to unrequited love. you hated it—despised for that matter as the memories of your past self screeching in pain and heaving to breathe. your face turned alabaster.

your heart thudded against your rib cage as the feeling of suffocation of chrysanthemums, daises, roses, tulips, cherry blossoms, and dandelions echoed within you. your hand rested upon your chest. the feeling of such ghosted atop your rib cage where you could faintly feel the growing stems of flowers and weeds.

there was an evident aching within your heart that wasn’t from hanahaki, rather from the thought of how brutal it was caused an immense pain to compete with the actual disease. the first incident of you throwing up bloodied flowers was the moment you got home one day. you were walking home with kageyama after hinata went ahead as he had his bike with him, leaving you two to your own demise (he had a little hunch about your feelings for the raven-haired boy, but he never bothered to confirm it). it was then you two reached the entrance to your house in which you two bid a farewell. you were so enthralled with how beautiful he looked with his dark blue eyes that shined thousands of stars.

it was game over for you.

you stumbled through your front door to which your mother worriedly asked if you were okay. you could barely mutter out a response as the roses and daises and chrysanthemums fought their way out of your system, throwing up your one-sided feelings in hues of thick crimson and hollow chests.

from then on, you had routine check ups at the hospital. in fact, you had an entire team of doctors taking care of you due to how rare the condition is. you see, hanahaki disease only occurs to those so massively in love with another, whose feelings can compete against the strongest love of all, that a simple little crush wouldn’t cause all this commotion. unfortunately, friendly love wasn’t enough to ease her homemade raptures.

they also said it was long term illness, well... long term taking into account how well you can endure the pain. occasionally there are those who can endure the pain their entire lives, yet there are the majority who simply die from the excruciating pain within a few months. the only true way to cure yourself from hanahaki was to either get kageyama to match your feelings or to get surgery to remove the constantly growing flora.

the thing is with surgery is that the moment you get it, your feelings for that person completely disintegrate. you can you no longer feel the same love as it is permanently gone. you can never regain those feelings ever again.

that was the fact that scared you the most.

despite knowing you can no longer take the pain and that you needed this surgery, there was a twinge of hope within your aching psyche that perhaps there was a chance. a chance that kageyama tobio would look at you for once that wasn’t just a friendly gaze. a look in which he would come to realize that he was in love with you. and because of this, you endured the pain a little longer.

the only downside was that no one else besides your family knew about your condition. not even your friends. and yet, with most secrets that are difficult to keep, eventually it will get out. tsukishima found out sooner than you’d had hoped.

you and tsukishima shared the same class and one day kageyama had visited your classroom during lunch, giving you his favorite milk from the vending machine as payback for helping out the volleyball club and with tutoring. it then when you felt your cheeks burning cherry red and the infamously familiar sting within your lungs. he then gave tsukishima a melon bun that he owed and the moment kageyama walked away, the blonde middle blocker immediately noticed the pain written across your face.

you pushed the carton of milk in his hands when you dashed down the hallways towards the restroom. fortunately, you were able to make it in time, locking yourself down in one of the stalls and profusely throwing up sticky and bloody flowers with hot streaming tears pricking at your eyes and threatening to spill. you immediately wiped them up. you couldn’t let anyone see you like this.

you flushed the toilet and watched the water turn red to clear when it went down the drain. you sighed, leaving the stall and looking upon yourself at the mirror. you looked absolutely terrible. from the dark circles under your eyes from nights filled with insomnia due to the aching pain, to your eyes still red from sobbing in the stall, and now to your hollow cheeks.

and because of the constant radiating pain, it became increasingly difficult for you to eat proper meals, leading for you to loose an unhealthy amount of weight. yachi was the first one to notice the sudden weight loss and the constant state of indifference. she knew there was something wrong, but she was too afraid to ask you. eventually, she asked if you were depressed one day and somehow you couldn’t bring yourself to say no.

afte leaving the restrooms, you were surprised to see taukishima waiting outside the doors and you were immediately trapped. the harsh glare staring down at you and his more than worried voice eventually led you to finally confessing what was wrong with you. and for the first time in your life, you’ve never seen the middle blocker so worried and caring. that his usually harsh demeanor and signature teasing remarks were softened because the thought of losing you scared him deeply. besides yamaguchi and yachi, you were the closest friend he had and he would hate to lose one his friends.

he would often ask you, “are you considering the surgery?” to which you wouldn’t know the answer to and that you were still waiting for the rare chance kageyama could’ve like you back.

it surprised you the sudden look of disappointment that etched across his bespectacled face.

during practice or during games where you suddenly get coughing attacks whenever you were around kageyama and talking to him, it was tsukishima who would immediately pull you away from the others and take care of you. he was the one to help you clean you after yourself and wipe your tears. eventually, the rest of the school believed you two were a couple.

however, there was the day were the pain was too insufferable. you had hanahaki for six months at this point where the disease would get into the most dangerous stages that one day you called tsukishima up one and finally made the decision.

“i’m tired of waiting, kei.” you muttered harshly as your voice was getting more and more hoarse each day. it was getting worse. you two sat nonchalantly on some random playground swings. the sun was setting and the blond was carefully gazing at your eyes that was soaked in honey. “i’m getting the surgery this weekend and I want you to come and take care of me.”

“of course.”

it felt like everything was going to be okay when he said that.

you woke up to hush chattering, as if a a big group was in the room trying to speak softly, yet failing to do so.

“guys she’s awake!” a voice exclaimed. It sounded like hinata.

suddenly a whole herd of volleyball players came surrounding your bed, their expressions had looks of smiley relief melted upon their faces as they didn’t hesitate to bombard you with questions. the poor nurses could barely get past the towering high school kids as the thought of you being okay was more than enough to fuel their adrenaline.

“i’m glad you’re okay now, (y/n).” sugawara beamed at you.

“yeah!” cut in tanaka loudly, “i can’t bare to lose my favorite first year all because of a stupid crush!”

your eyes suddenly widen. the rush of fear and worry filled you as you looked at tsukoshima who was standing at the end of your hospital bed.

“i had to tell them, they were threatening me.” he scoffs lightly.

“we don’t know who your crush was though, so you’re okay!” added nishinoya who patted your shoulder gently.

daichi then cleared his throat, capturing the team’s attention. “we should probably go and let to the nurses take care of her. we have practice too.”

the room was suddenly filled with loud ‘yes, captains!’ as they all piled out of the room, leaving only kageyama to stray behind slightly. tsukishima looked at the you two briefly before closing the door. this was something that you and tobio had to discuss.

there was a feeling of soreness atop your chest, possibly from the stitch that ran down your center of your torso that was in the process of healing. tbe tall setter approached your bedside, scratching the back of his neck. usually whenever you looked at kageyama an itchy feeling would arise in your throat and your chest would feel tight, and yet the moment you laid eyes on him, you felt nothing.

“tsukishima told me what happened,” he starts. the initial fear of confrontation diminished into nothing but acceptance. you couldn’t hide your previous feeling forever. “you should’ve told me.”

you sighed, “i was going to... but then i started getting the symptoms and i knew that there was no point in telling you when you didn’t feel the same way.”

“but if you told me, maybe there was a chance i would’ve helped you get better.” the setter tried to state, only making you want to roll your eyes and scoff.

shaking your head, you pulled your hand out of his. “that’s not how it works, kageyama. your fake feelings would only make it worse and i don’t want to be with someone who’s dating me out of pity.”

“but i don’t pity you, i—”

“it doesn’t matter, now.” you shook your head and cut him off, “you don’t have to worry because the surgery removed my feelings for you permanently. you don’t have to feel guilty about it anymore.”

kageyama gulps, nodding as straighten his posture. “but i almost killed you.”

“i’m here now, aren’t i? i’m okay.”

the setter still couldn’t help but feel his chest tighten and his gut wrench. “are we still friends despite all this?”

you nod. “of course, that’s not even a question.”

before their conversation could continue, one of the nurses knocked upon the door and opened it slightly. “sorry to interrupt, but all visitors must leave now. the visiting time is up.”

“oh, alright.” the volleyball player swiftly bows and waves goodbye to you before leaving the hospital room.

he cleared his throat the moment he stepped into the hallway, all uncomfortable and itchy. quickly catching up with the rest of his teammates that waited for him at the entrance, he quickly grabbed a water cup from the waiting room and gulped down its contents immediately—yet the feeling didn’t stop.

“kageyama, hurry we need to get to practice.” hinata calls out to him.

drinking one last cup of water in the desperation to heal his scratchy throat, he threw the disposable cup aside.

“i’m coming!” yet his voice was far too hoarse to be heard.

general taglist: @yongboxerrr @tanakaslastbraincell @kellesvt @kitsunetea

#kageyama #kageyama x reader #kageyama tobio #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu oneshot #haikyuu fanfic #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #kageyama angst #kageyama imagine #kageyama scenarios #kageyama oneshot

109 notes · View notes

ephemerlskies · 4 years ago

Text

constant craving 03 | jjk

⇢ pairing: jungkook x reader

[other members - seokjin]

⇢ genre: drabble series, ANGST, bestfriend!au, unrequited love, the same idiocy just in a different font

⇢ word count: 4k

⇢ warnings: explicit language, alcohol consumption (drunk jungkook makes his first and final appearance enjoy it while you can), vehicular misdemeanor (drive the speed limit kids), an all out emotional and verbal brawling, a lack of communication on one end and a communicational vomit on the other, seokjin appearance for about .02 seconds, the entirety of this is just.... angst

⇢ summary: your dates with Seokjin had become a somewhat consistent fixture in your schedule, however, jungkook's itinerary seemed to clash with yours when he called you after a night of drinking for reasons you assumed to be him helplessly pleading for a safe return home.

♪ playlist: constant craving - k.d. lang, bad religion - frank ocean, misunderstood - lucky daye, neu roses - daniel caesar ♪

╰ series index: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 (final)

a/n: whew, okay.... this was probably the most argumentative fic i have ever written so prepare yourself. i hope you all enjoy this god awfully angsty installment of the series! also, yes, jungkook is a sentimental drunk and you all know it

part three: i love you

It's true. It's always the biggest pills that are the most difficult to swallow. And if you could compare someone as elusive as Jungkook to anything, it would be the largest pill imaginable. The kind that hurts the first try, then when you drink half your body weight in water, the Jungkook-emblazoned pill forces down your esophagus no easier than the first gulp. You were still holding it in your mouth, pretending that pill wasn't about to dissolve and stain your mouth forever.

And that was the whole process, just to get over Jungkook. Because getting over him wasn't a one-step program. It was waking up everyday, training and retraining your mind not to think of him first thing in the morning. It was resisting the urge to press the send button on multiple texts and funny videos you knew would make him laugh. It was refusing his calls and every memory that would saunter in your mind and compel you to ask him to watch a movie or order takeout.

It was saying yes to Seokjin when he asked you on a date. And, it was doing your best to sever that instinct of yours to ask Jungkook for advice.

But old habits die hard, and this one still clung onto the bit of breath it wielded. That explained why your idiot of a best friend was sitting on your couch, offering half-hearted nods whenever you would walk out draped in a new outfit.

"Okay, this one?" You twirled around, as if doing so would make you any less skeptical of how you looked. And you were never one to scrutinize your appearance so closely, but this was the date. The one that might light the torch to a brighter romantic future and lead you to someone other than the man who could never be yours to begin with.

"Yeah. Cool." At this point, five outfits in, he wasn't paying any attention at all. He couldn't even bring himself to pretend, his eyes lazily fixed onto your dvd player.

"Jungkook, you didn't even look! Let me guess. You wanna play video games. Is that why you're giving fuck-me-eyes to my T.V. set?" You knew a laugh was far along, but you hoped that would get some sort of reaction out of him. Unfortunately, your words were barely registered for a good ten seconds, though, it felt much longer.

"Hm? Oh, sorry. Just tired, I guess." Jungkook said through barely parted lips. You knew when he couldn't even pronounce his words properly, something he took more seriously than others due to the hauntings of a certain speech impediment, there was definitely something wrong.

Things felt off from the moment he walked into your house. Judging from the way he avoided your hug, that alone suggested a sort of imbalance. It was a casual greeting exchanged between the two of you so often that when you lifted your arms to embrace him, it was born of reflexive association. Like Pavlov's dog, trained to hug him the moment you saw him. But the oddity of him almost discretely walking past you before any contact could be made wasn't where the tension bordered.

Following his arrival, he would have littered a few snarky remarks about how messy your kitchen was, while already scavenging through your fridge, just to get a rouse out of you. And Jungkook wouldn't call himself a connoisseur of all things fabric and fashion, but he surely would have a few thoughts consisting more than two-worded responses. But he just sat on your couch, armed with a face any poker player would commend, and gave you insincere cool's or nice's when need be.

"Okay, what's up? Is it Irene?" You sat down since taking a break to figure out what Jungkook was thinking felt better than continuing your self-absorbed fashion show.

"Kinda... We broke up. Well, she broke up with me or... I don't know. It was weird." It bothered you a bit too much that he didn't even look at you. But if he had, then you would have seen a film of red dousing his eyes.

"I'm so sorry, Kook. Is there anything I can do? Anything at all? Want me to egg her house?" This time, he did laugh. You felt relieved he could at least ease slightly back into his expressive self, even if it was just a fraction of what he usually was. A fraction of Jungkook was more than enough for you.

"Nah, no need to go to jail for me. It's not like I didn't see it coming, and apparently she felt the same. Whatever." He let out a sigh that sounded trapped in for a while, then sat up. "We have more important things to worry about."

"I'm sorry, but I don't believe that. Jungkook, literally a week ago you told me she was the love of your life! And now you're just like 'yeah, whatever, I saw it coming.'" You used your notorious 'man voice', which was just yours lowered a few octaves, knowing it would crack another smile along Jungkook's lips. "Come on, I know you love her. This must hurt a lot. I wish... I wish there was something I could do."

You knew exactly what you were doing. Self-sabotage under the guise of consoling your friend. Clearly, it was selfish and regressive to use Jungkook's heartbreak as a means to avoid doing what you could never do before, what you knew deep down you probably would never be able to do: swallow that pill. And what felt even more pathetic than that was the stale, yet persisting hope that he would ask you to stay.

And that's when reality gave you the most gutting and obvious sign. Jungkook was your best friend, the man you had to lug home when he was too drunk to drive, let alone speak coherently or stand. He was the person that buys you ice cream when you're sad, but just as quick to cancel plans with you when Irene needed him. He was just a friend. You'd never be the person he chose, and it nearly made you angry at him for not seeing it all this time.

So, what he said next made everything he was most likely unaware of all too clear to you.

"No, you go have fun. I'll just... chill here?" It was his avoidant way of asking to stay the night, because you knew him to never sleep alone when he had an ache in his heart. "Maybe raid your pantry and use your Netflix account to binge some shows?"

"Fine. Only 'cause I can't say no to you when you're like this." His smile was reimbursement enough for all the food you'd have to restock and the electricity bill that would be higher than usual.

But what he did next, you could almost never forgive him for. It was so subtle, as though it could have passed as an accident or an act he was trying to perform secretly, without any intention of you even noticing. And how could you not notice? The far too temporary and entirely disarming linger of his hand on yours.

Now, you were always one to decipher his most subtle mannerisms, but this one felt beyond the reins of your perceptiveness. It could have been a small gesture of a thank you, but the gentle, and what one could even describe as sentimental, way his skin pressed against yours bore no semblance of a mere expression of gratitude. And it wasn't possible this was a caress of love, because he was already low on currency in that field, spending it completely on Irene.

So, what was it?

How would you describe the way he rested his hand on yours, as if asking you to stay without words, yet punctuating it quick enough to justify it a coincidental form of contact, that your hand just happened to be where his hand was?

"Well, I'm gonna go eat through my problems." Jungkook stood up before you could bat away the wetness in your eyes from your momentary refusal to blink, as if that would somehow help you visualize the meaning of what just happened.

"Oh- Okay. I, um... I should get going." So you did. You walked out your door, and made a decision beyond the demands of your devotion to Jungkook.

Because it probably meant nothing, and he was your best friend, after all.

---

It was easy with Seokjin. And surprisingly enough, that wasn't a bad thing.

You had come to realize everyone craves that passionate kind of love because, in the movies, that's the blueprint for what love should feel like. But that's all it is, something pretty and shiny enough to work into a film. Make believe. And it could never extend beyond the realm of silver screens, where best friends don't magically fall in love and passion awarded more broken hearts than you could count.

Besides, your heart was worn.

See, your heart is a muscle. It works itself to the bone keeping you alive, willing your lungs to breathe, administering blood to each vein and so on. To strain it for someone who was already in love was functionally inefficient. The heart, like any other muscle, grows tired. It can exhaust itself the same way your hand aches after writing for too long.

You needed a break from the gripping emotional aerobics that is and was loving Jeon Jungkook. So, it sufficed that Seokjin was easy. No more overexertion, no more aches and pains and residual soreness occupying your chest, no more of any of that. Because you knew Seokjin liked you, which was safe and easy knowing there was no point mapping out the possible meanings of every inflected word or shrug or smile. They were simply words and shrugs and smiles with him.

And yet, the thing about giving your heart a 'break' is the period succeeding it. When you were finished resting, you knew who would be waiting for you. Who you would always wait for.

"___! Hello?! I can't hear you! It's too loud!" It wasn't really that loud, your idiot of a best friend was just that drunk. You couldn't tell what concerned you more, the fact that his hearing degenerated when he was, from the sound of it, seven shots deep or that this was the third of alcohol-induced call for this week.

"Where are you?" You asked through a sigh, eyes trained on your Twitter feed and ears occupied with the urgent voice blaring through the speaker phone.

And since it was the third time this week, you were not even half-amused by the repetitive stunt he was pulling.

"I don't know... I walked out and now I'm out and I don't know." The hiccup following his messy sentence was comically textbook 'too drunk'. “Hey, we should take a trip! We should, like, go somewhere!”

“The only place you should be going is home.”

“See, I would totally do that, but I have no idea where I am. Why are these street signs so hard to read?” The end and beginning of each word blended together, rendering that sentence one long, slurred word.

By now, the step by step plan synthesized by you had been memorized. And even though you labored your brain to rewire any feelings leaving you at his beck and call, it clearly hadn't been proficient since your keys had already been gathered and his whereabouts programmed in your GPS via his location services.

"You're so annoying." It might have been rude of you to want him to feel guilty, but it was just as rude of him to interrupt your one night off, which was supposed to be spent with Seokjin, with his intoxicated antics. "I'm coming to pick you up."

"Yo- u are? I love you sooo much. You're the best friend ever, ya know that?" Overly emotional professions was your que to drive fifteen miles over the speed limit so he didn't do something stupid enough to land himself in an ICU.

"Okay, I'm almost there. I think I see you. Wave for me?"

The slumped silhouette you were squinting at began to frantically throw its arms side to side, making you both laugh and pull over so he could drag himself into your passenger seat. And, if you were being honest, he looked better as the blackened shadow of himself.

Jungkook, in all his glory, had his shirt almost fully turned backwards, hair ruffled into a mess, and face as red as the time you and him laid on the beach until your skin punished you with a second degree burn. And all those factors didn't amount to how he smelled like he bathed for hours inside a hand sanitizer bottle.

"God, you're a mess, Jungkook." You said that as jokingly as possible, but meant the sternness embedded in each word. Jungkook was a mess, physically and mentally.

"Hey! You're judging me! Stop being th-o mean, ___." Whenever he was this drunk, his lisp made more appearances in his speech than when he wasn't.

You hated how easily it reminded you of when you were in middle school and he was still navigating and rehearsing through his speech patterns. In middle school, when he was the sweet boy with his only fault being his lisp, who gave you his hoodie and a compassionate smile upon meeting you because your current bully plotted the embarrassment of a lifetime with that piece of chocolate on your seat. In middle school, when Jungkook was the only person in your grade who was kind enough to be kind and true to his word when he pledged his loyalty as your best friend. Forever.

With just one word, you were that timid little middle schooler again, helplessly and unconditionally in love with Jungkook.

Hauling Jungkook, who was more muscle than bone and flesh, over to his door was an art form you had trained, practiced, and mastered about thirty or so times before this one. He weighed about twice as much as you could normally carry, and nonetheless, he was out of your car and in his house in no time.

After you locked the door, you turned around to meet Jungkook, rendering the door frame into a crutch and effectively detaining you between his body and the solid wood behind you.

If you weren't so reminiscent in the car seconds before this, then the vodka-scented souvenir on his breath would have gagged you. However, being this close to him, feeling the warmth of his body consuming and overpowering yours, just made you want to sink into him even more and give him everything you had to offer.

His head was hung so when you looked up, you were greeted with Jungkook's lazy smile that gave his lips a boyish asymmetry and draped his eyelids halfway down his irises. And he had you spooled around him so tightly, this look just made him all the more appetizing.

"Kook, we gotta get you to bed, buddy." You tried to ward him off by weaponizing the most strictly platonic nickname you could think of, partnered with a neighborly pat on the back.

It was mostly to remind yourself that this man, who was an inch too close to your face, was your friend, and that in less than ten minutes you were expected to see Seokjin, but from the way he was looking at you, as if he reached into the depths of your heart to devour all your feelings for him and make them his own, you had to remind him of the universally accepted best friend boundaries.

No deep, romantic gazing into each other's eyes. No intimate activity that could be a precursor to anything more affectionate than a hug. No doing exactly what you two were doing as of now.

"Don't call me that." You hoped his aggression against what you said was merely his inebriated irrationally talking, and as always, his emotions were far beyond his control.

And, shamefully, you also hoped it was because he actually did feel the way you felt. What if he wanted the date that Seokjin was going to get tonight and he wanted all the hand holding and none of the back patting, a 'baby' instead of a 'buddy'?

"What? You're drunk-"

"Don't." Before you could drag him by the arm to his bed, a firm palm settled on your torso and closed the gap between you and the door while widening the gap an inch further between Jungkook and his bed, where he would fall asleep without the warmth of the only person he wanted. "___, please."

His voice was strangled with desperation and Jungkook was depleted of all resistance. He just needed to drink you up. To fill himself with the nourishments of your lips, your body, you.

"What-" He could have silenced you easily with a 'shh' or a finger to your lips. Or anything to your lips except his lips.

His lips. They were greedy and giving all at once. Making soft and intimate ministrations against yours as he kissed you before you had the chance to register what was going on. And even when you did, you let his tongue slide into your mouth. This moment was brimming with all the spontaneity you could ever be prepared for, and though it was new, there was no denying that kissing him felt like finally coming home just from the amount of times you had played this moment out in your daydreams. Plus, Jungkook seemed to ease his tongue along yours a bit too confidently for this to be the first time the idea of kissing you has ran through his mind.

You're being stupid, you told yourself and Jungkook, but that didn't matter when you were finally allowed a taste of what it felt like to be kissed and touched and possibly even loved by Jungkook.

Your shirt was bunched halfway up your torso, his body pressed to your front a reprisal for the chill of the door against your back. Jungkook was, admittedly, a phenomenal kisser even when the lens of sobriety wasn't available to him. The way he ran his hands along the bare of your back like some desperate pilgrimage to discover the undiscovered parts of your body and took your bottom lip between his teeth like it was his to begin with was nearly enough to undress you from all your defenses, from all your clothing, from every single barrier that kept you from Jungkook for the past twelve years and let him have you. And finally have him. It was nearly enough.

Your hands divorced his body from yours before your lips and heart were ready to let go. It was painful, but the heartbroken look wringing his face into a tearful frown was even more so.

"No." You pushed him away further only to walk past him and seek refuge in the open space of his living room. "You don't get to do this."

"What? What does-"

"You don't get to drunkenly kiss me, Jungkook. You don't get to hold me and kiss me like you love me. It's not fair."

"Hey-"

"Because you don't. You don't love me..." If you weren't too busy finally permissing the hot words to boil over from pure anger, then you would have felt the even hotter tears wetting the expanse of your cheek.

"Well, how the hell would you know that?" His voice drowned out the loud pumps of blood beating in your ears like a drum.

"Because it would have happened ten years ago, Jungkook! Jesus, it would have been obvious from the beginning. So if you love me, if you really love me, then it wouldn't be happening now, like this. When you were drunk out of your mind and still vulnerable from Irene."

"You don't know anything." If that were the case, then Jungkook somehow knew even less than you.

"Yeah, clearly. I didn't know you'd stoop this low. I thought I was a lot of things to you. But I never thought I'd be some rebound."

"A rebound? You think that's what this is?" Jungkook seemed upset, but to your knowledge he had absolutely no reason to be angry with you.

He was, as always, displacing the burdens he didn't feel like dealing with on you, moderating you into an emotional punching bag. But what hurt more than those scrapes and bruises, was the aftermath of letting him fuck his worries away which would have consisted of him telling you the next morning that it meant nothing, expecting you to nod demurely, maybe even console him, and act like your chest hadn't been emptied and filled with his baggage in the most murderous way.

"Fuck you."

"Wow. You're really being like this? You really wanna talk about this now?

"You know what? Yeah I wanna talk about it. I wanna talk about the years. The years, Jungkook, that I've spent loving you! I- I wanna talk about the amount of times I've spent thinking about you when you were with her, and I probably didn't even cross your mind. Or how about the fucking thousands of times I've spent crying over you because I knew I was never going to be the one you'd want to wake up next to! And I had to watch! I had to fucking watch you fall in love over and over and probably wonder why I didn't fall in love either. It was you. It was always you, Jungkook."

"___, I-"

"No." His attempt to intervene was quickly denied. You were too angry to let him speak, too tired to carry these grievances any longer. "You don't get to talk. It's all out there. I loved you. I still love you! Fuck, I'm trying to get over you. And it's like you know. It's like you can read my mind or something and strike right when I'm about to recover from the last wound."

Your breathing was as heavy as Jungkook's was shallow. He could only stand, breathlessly, only curse himself for ever being so blind and regret taking advantage of your love even if it were entirely unknowingly, just to let his heart sink deeper until it fell completely out of his chest while his tears fell just as heavily.

"I'm done, Jungkook. I'm tired of trying to outrun you in this race that you're not even competing in. I'm tired of loving you. So, I'm done."

All the words Jungkook wanted to say, the words pleading for sound, carving deep gashes in his throat and leaving him vocally impaired, could never amount to the apology you deserved. Maybe this once, he wouldn't leave you wounded. He would gather the nobility to shut up and let you move on from him. Because you wouldn't know from his lapse of silence that he was empathizing with every bit of pain he caused you, and he hated himself more than you did right now for allowing such a pain to ever fall in your hands. But, where you knew you could someday forgive him for it, he knew he would never forgive himself.

He could scrounge for a few things to respond with, pour the weight of his emotions into the scarcity of his words, but he needed to let you leave and be selfless for once in his life.

"I should go. Drink some water before bed, okay?" You mumbled to choke back your tears, though it wouldn't matter letting a few more tears escape since you were previously sob-ranting and he'd seen you cry like this a hundred times before. He was the shoulder you never thought you'd have to miss leaning on, but walking out of his door punctured a hole in you. An empty space in your heart designed for the one person who had crushed the rest of it.

If this were a movie, with star-crossed lovers and a fiery infatuation blooming into what everyone secretly wants: true love, then Jungkook would have ran out of his door and held you close, professing his undying love for you. He would have won you back, reassembled your broken heart into fullness, kissed you beneath the brilliance of the moon, and lived happily ever after.

But this wasn't a movie, and he did none of those things.

Instead, he stumbled his way into his kitchen. He poured himself that cup of water you advised. He thought about how even when you swore to him you were done, you spared a bit of compassion to remind him to take care of himself. He wondered how deserving he was of everything you are. He touched his lips, searching for the echo of yours. He fell into his queen-sized bed meant for two, alone, and whispered the words that were ever eclipsing to the space beside him where he longed for you to lay so you could hear them for yourself.

"I love you."

a/n: sorry to put you through that, but the idea was born and i am but a humble vessel to bring it to life <3 hehe thank you all so much for reading and like i said, don't worry there will be a happy ending!!! (and possibly a longer-than-drabble final chapter to this series)

#bangtanarmynet #btsgoldnet #ficswithluv #bts fanfic #bts x reader #bts angst #bts writing #jungkook x reader #jungkook fanfic #jungkook angst #jungkook bestfriend!au #bts drabble #jungkook drabble #constant craving #rubycoast

462 notes · View notes

dianapana · 3 years ago

Text

SH Day 3- Addicted to your touch

Day 3 – Addicted to your touch Separation Anxiety

WARNING: MENTAL ILLNESS

Disclaimer: I am not a therapist, the advice I gave in this piece might be very faulty, please take it with a grain of salt.

Modern AU, OOC

@sasuhinamonth

It all started small, when one day Sasuke announced that he’d be gone for 2 weeks due to work, the news alone made Hinata’s heartache but she smiled and wished him good luck on the project and a safe trip. Each day the feeling of missing him would grow and grow and grow until it was too big for her body to contain, and the feeling turned to pain. Her longing made her physically sick by the end of the second week.

The next stage was composed of excessive calls and texts, Hinata constantly needed to know where he was, what he was doing, whenever he’d take too long to reply the longing would come back and she’d either sink into sadness or lose herself to anger, both feelings she had not experienced much since dating Sasuke. Whenever he’d reply after a longer break, she’d ask him to come over to her house and stay the night.

That was the case on August 3rd. Sasuke came straight to her house after a long day at the office and Hinata ran to hug him, all of the negative feelings almost forgotten the moment she laid her eyes on him. His touch alone made all of her worries disappear. That was the feeling of home, in his arms.

They spent the night normally, eating dinner while watching a movie, changing and going to bed because they both had work in the morning. The issue came with the sunrise, for Hinata refused to let him leave. She cried and begged and screamed the moment he brought up work, she tore his shirt apart reasoning that he couldn’t go to work without one. The moment the white fabric hit the ground; silence fell over the room. Both of them were shocked, unable to speak due to her outburst of emotions.

Her cried aggravated, she fell to her knees and crawled to where he was, hugging his waist, apologizing over and over again. Sasuke was in deep thought, remembering all the small signs over the past month and a half. It hurt him to think that he had hurt her in any way to drive her to this moment, he patted her hair lovingly, took a deep breath and said in a broken voice “I think there’s something wrong Hina”

She looked at him with big round eyes, they were glossy and red, she blinked and looked down at the floor. “There might be…” Sasuke picked her up by her armpits and placed her in his lap, continuing to run his hand through her hair. He continued doing so until she calmed down and fell asleep, her emotions must have exhausted her. He didn’t move her from his lap for fear of waking her up, however, he picked up his phone from the nightstand and send Itachi a message telling him that he will not be going to work, he proceeded to text Kurenai as well informing her of Hinata’s absence at work too.

He spent the following few hours reading about similar situations, which mostly led to the same piece of advice, that a specialist was needed. So, he went on to search for therapists in Konoha, texting them all, asking whether any of them were free that day, two of them didn’t reply, another one was full for the week and could only see them next Wednesday, thankfully the last one agreed to meet with them after closing hours at 8:30.

Having all of that plan, all he needed to do was find a way to approach the topic when talking to Hinata, she had to agree that paying a visit to therapy would do them both good. Hinata had been asleep for about two hours now, so Sasuke took the liberty to move her onto her side of the bed and go to the kitchen to make some food for when she’d get up.

He managed to make scrambled eggs and toast and was about to go and wake her up when a cry of distress came from their room. He hurried to her side, Hinata was holding onto his pillow on the verge of tears.

“You weren’t here when I woke up” Her voice was meek and trembling. “I could hear movement in the kitchen, I knew you were there. So why, why does your absence hurt this much, despite me knowing you are here?”

He wished he had the answer, but he didn’t. He moved closer and sat on the edge of the bed, cupping her face with one hand, slowly brushing the skin under her eye with his thumb. Sasuke leaned in slowly to hiss her nose, cheek, forehead and finally the corner of her mouth. “I think to find out why, we might need some help from the outside” he closed his eyes and sighed, his breath fanning over her lips. “I talked to a man named Iruka, he’s a therapist and agreed to meet with us later today, would you be open to this idea?”

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

Hinata looked at him, searching his eyes and expression for any malice or negative feelings, but there was none, his openness and desire to help led her to agree to his plan, maybe they did need help.

“From what you’ve told me, this is a severe case of separation anxiety,” Iruka said, he looked kind and bore no ill feelings, Hinata had been afraid of the judgmental look he’d give her after hearing about her actions, but his eyes remained warm and understanding. “This usually manifests itself in small children, they are afraid to part from their caregivers even for a moment. In certain cases, it is believed it could appear in pregnant women as well, and usually the caregiver is their partner. Is there any possibility of this being true?”

Both Sasuke and Hinata’s eyes opened wider at the word pregnant, there was most certainly a possibility of that. They were always careful while having sex, however, Hinata was not on birth control, for they affected her badly whenever she took them as a teen so their method of contraception were condoms alone. There’s always the possibility of one breaking, a faulty one, or just them being part of the 0.01% of the population for which condoms did not work perfectly.

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

“I suggest you take a pregnancy test as well. As I mentioned, this is known to happen now and again so do not worry too much; however, this anxiety can affect you negatively” Iruka continued while looking at Hinata “the best way to deal with this is steady growth. In the early stages constant contact is preferred. Think of this as building up trust once again. Constant reassurance is important, always keeping promises, separation needs to happen slowly over time; from constant touch to simply being in the same room but at a safe distance, then being in separate rooms, then Hinata being alone but in a familiar and comfortable space for short periods of time. Of course, this process takes months. For some women the anxiety dies down with the birth, for others in continues after but through steady built of trust it can disappear”

They followed Iruka’s advice and went to Hinata’s gyno the next day and Iruka’s assumption proved to be true, Hinata was indeed pregnant in week 7. They were currently in the first stage of their trust-building, being in the same room, always touching. Hinata sat in his lap while they watched a movie, they held hands whenever they were outside, they’d keep bumping feet under the table as they ate. Sasuke had basically moved into her apartment, neither of them went to work. Sasuke was able to do most of his job remotely, however, Hinata applied for medical time off. Everything was going great, Hinata no longer experienced that painful longing, however, her pregnancy turned out to be a quite difficult one, as soon as they found out she was indeed pregnant, her morning sickness started, she had constant back pain and her appetite was very volatile. They’d often wake up in the middle of the night and drive around the city to find one of her cravings. During a particularly bad night 2 months after, her craving for watermelon in the winter proved difficult, to add to the issue her back pain was excruciating so she could not stay in the car for however long it would take them to find watermelon.

“Do you think…you would be all right if you stayed here and I went to find it for you…?” they had barely moved on from the ‘always touching’ stage, the process was slow but it was there.

“I…don’t know…”

“What do you want me to do Hina? You can’t even sit up properly, being in the car for maybe an hour would we awful, but being here alone would too…but it’s unwise to not follow your cravings either” He was spiralling, the situation was stressful and all he wanted was to be able to help her, he wanted to take her pain away, he wanted to give her everything she’d ever want and more.

“I think, I will be fine” Hinata finally said after thinking for a bit longer. Almost in slow motion, he nodded, ‘ok, ok, ok’ he murmured to himself as he put his winter coat over his pyjamas and stood on the bed to put his boots on. “I’ll go find you watermelon, ok? I will be back as soon as I can. I love you” he kissed her cheek and then the top of her head. She smiled and waved, but the moment his back turned to her, her smile wavered. Would she really be ok…?

Sasuke ran down the stairs to the car, he wanted to be away for as little as possible. He pulled out of the driveway and sped up as much as possible. Firstly, he’d look at the local non-stop supermarket, at the ‘exotic’ or ‘out of season’ shelf, if it wasn’t there he’d go to the local Korean market and buy some watermelon flavoured things, just in case there was nothing else anywhere; before he could think of where he’d go next his phone rang. Seeing Hinata’s name he answered immediately.

“come back…please” she was trying not to cry, he could hear it. He did an illegal U-turn and sped even more towards their apartment “I’m coming, I’ll be there in 5 minutes” Hinata replied with an ‘ok’ however she didn’t hang up, she needed to at least be on the line with him. Sasuke didn’t hang up either, not when we pulled into the driveway, not when he stopped the car, nor when he ran up the stairs. He only hung up when Hinata was in his arms.

“I’m so sorry, I thought I could, but you left and I…” she was sobbing so hard it was even difficult to understand her. “It’s ok, it’s not your fault, we moved too fast. Iruka said it’s slow. It’s no problem Hina, we can just start over” If her constantly touching him was what made her feel safe, he’d hold her close until she was ready. No more rushing of things. Once Hinata calmed down, Sasuke called Itachi.

“I’m sorry to wake you up but I need some help…could you look for some watermelon?”

#sasuhinamonth #sasuhina #sasuhina fanfic #shmonth #sasuke #hinata #hinata hyuuga #susake uchiha #hyuuga #uchiha #dia story #diawrites #naruto #day3

31 notes · View notes