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starcrossedxwriter · 11 months

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Built for Love Part 8 (MBJ x Famous Black OC)

A/N: Ummm this chapter has a little bit of everything... Family, fluff, a bit of smut, slight angst. It also has a time jump because we gotta keep shit movingggg. And I could write 100 chapters of fluff with these two butttt we're here for the drama! lol Also another gif that has nothing to do with anything LOL But I imagine this is what our girl wakes up to every day and I love that for her

Warnings: brief mentions of DV

“So Charlie, are you excited to be back on the stage?” Michael’s mom asked as they settled around Michael’s dining room table for dinner.

Though it was a small affair, the table was weighed down by Donna’s decadent and delicious cooking, his mom cooking both he and Charlotte’s favorites for their goodbye dinner. Once his father had said grace, initial conversations had given way to the sounds of forks and spoons clinking against china as everyone passed dishes and savored Donna’s cooking. Though Michael’s family was used to it, Charlotte’s were too busy stuffing their faces to be much conversationalists.

Her face had been drawn up in a bright smile since her brother, Lauren, and Jazz arrived. The tone around the table was a bittersweet one, joy for Charlotte and this opportunity everyone knew she deserved and needed, but melancholy at having two staples of their respective communities gone, even if it was only a temporary absence.

Between the press tour and preparing to leave, the time had flown by and the move that once seemed so far away was hurtling toward them like a high speed train. Charlotte still found herself shocked that Michael was willing to move with her. As the date inched closer and closer, she half expected him to find an excuse not to accompany her. But that never materialized. Instead, he took it upon himself to do all of the planning. Time to find an apartment? Already done and vetted by Michael. Furnish the place? Interior decorator was already on it with images of both of their homes to capture their respective styles. All day, every day, he sent her restaurants and places he wanted to try, some Charlotte had been to and some she hadn’t, or asked her about her favorite spots to add to the list. His excitement was contagious, which counteracted the stress, dread, and anxiety Charlotte felt. For him, this was just the first of many adventures with the woman he loved. For her, it was returning home after running away. And that was never easy.

“Yea I really am. It’ll be an adjustment for sure. Next two months’ll be crazy. But I… really missed it. I’m coming in a few weeks behind in rehearsals but it’ll be good to be back.”

Michael’s hand, which had rested on her thigh since they sat down, squeezed gently to reassure her, soothing her anxiety.

“Only on the choreo. This girl could perform the show and songs forward and backwards right now if she wanted.”

Charlotte smiled. “He might be right about that. But the choreo is the harder part for me anyway.”

“Yea the girl was born with every talent but rhythm,” Jackson called down the table causing everyone to laugh, Charlotte leaning behind Michael’s chair to flip him off without everyone seeing.

“He never gives her credit. Charlie is a great dancer,” Lauren chimed in, not allowing her husband to joke at her best friend’s expense. “Remember the spring production of Oklahoma our freshman year??”

Charlotte groaned. “Ugh don’t remind me! Some of the worst weeks of my life.”

“What happened?” Michael asked.

“There was a nasty norovirus going around campus and Charlie, one of the only freshmen in Juilliard history to play the coveted lead of a spring production, caught it the second day of rehearsals. Was out for two weeks. The director planned on bumping up her understudy.”

“A senior who despised me and was probably hoping the virus would kill me,” she laughed. “Director said there was noooooo way I could learn the staging and choreo in the two remaining weeks before opening night,” Charlotte interjected, rolling her eyes. “He was just worried he took a chance on a freshman only for her to crash and burn.”

“Since I was dancing in the production, I could record rehearsals. Charlotte watched every rehearsal, learning every move, lyric, and note while she was sick. Sis showed up once she was cleared by the doctor and you wouldn’t have even known she missed two weeks of rehearsals. She looked and sounded better than some folks who’d been to every rehearsal.”

“Messed up one or two steps,” she admitted. “But nothing that couldn’t be fixed in the time we had left.”

“How’d you manage that?”

She shrugged. “I just rehearsed and slept in between trips to the bathroom,” she laughed. “My doctor thought I was completely insane but as they say, ‘the show must go on.’”

“Will you have enough tickets for us all to come to opening night or do we need to come at a different time?” Jackson asked.

“I definitely can get everyone tickets for previews, those start mid February. Not sure how many I can snag for opening night though.”

“What are previews?” Michael’s dad asked.

“Oh, sort of a test run? Just an opportunity to perform the show to audiences before the official opening night. Gives you a chance to work out issues and fix things before critics review it. The show ran off-Broadway first so our previews are only a couple weeks. So we have a month and a half of true rehearsals and then previews and then the show premieres March 1.”

“And how long are you all gonna be there again?”

“In total? 8 months I guess with rehearsals? I only signed on to be on the cast for six months though… March to September.”

“Knowing you, you’ll extend it,” Jackson offered with a knowing smile.

Charlotte shook her head. “I dunno. Chris would love that. But doing 8 shows a week for six months is a lot. And gets old after a while,” she admitted. “Maybe I’d do a different show, but I'll probably come back here. I promised Chris six months so that’s all I’m committing to.”

Everyone nodded in understanding, the conversation drifting away from Charlie and to separate topics. Charlie glanced around the table, a soft content smile on her face as she watched the two groups interact. It was not just each family chatting off to themselves. Lauren and Michael’s mom and sister were deep in a conversation about the struggles of parenting young children; Michael’s brother and Jackson were arguing about the Lakers vs the Clippers; and Jazz and Michael were deeply enthralled in a story told by Michael Sr. And everyone seemed genuinely happy to be there and interact. This was their first time truly combining the groups but she thought it boded well for when they all met the rest of her immediate family on the East Coast. If Jazz, Lauren, and Jackson liked them and fit in, the rest of her family would too.

As dinner winded down, Charlotte stood up from the table to bring out dessert. Michael offered a soft peck to the inside of her wrist, which she returned with one to the top of his head, before she grabbed his plate to take into the kitchen. She hummed to herself as she loaded the dishwasher and pulled out the cake his mom prepared earlier that day. It was Michael’s favorite, her rum cake. Charlie could not deny it was one of the best cakes she had ever tasted, hers included.

As she moved the cake to the island, she lost her balance on her heels, almost falling. She was able to sit the cake down quickly, it wobbled slightly in its glass case but remained unharmed despite her clumsiness.

“There you go, tripping over air,” she cursed herself, annoyed and thankful she had not destroyed his mother’s cake. As she moved the holder on the island, a wave of deja vu hit her, a vision of a cake and cake holder smashing to the ground filling her brain. She paused, studying the glass cake stand, her stiletto-shaped nails gliding over it gently. Just as quickly as it appeared, it vanished, the memory too foggy and distant to make sense of. During most of her deja-vu moments or flashbacks, the memories hit her like she was being forced in front of a movie screen. But as much as she racked her brain, she couldn't think of anything related to this moment.

“You ok, dear?” Donna’s soft voice interrupted Charlotte as she zoomed through the Rolodex of memories in her mind.

“Hm? Oh yea, I’m ok,” Charlotte answered, glancing up. she noticed the plates in the woman’s hands before abandoning her thoughts and grabbing them from her. “Let me get those.”

“Thank you, dear. Your family is lovely. They fit right in,” Donna offered as she moved to grab a knife and small plates for dessert.

Charlotte smiled, “Thanks. I’m excited for all of you to meet the rest of them. Everyone else is fairly tame in comparison,” she joked.

As she loaded their dishwasher, she glanced at his mom.

“This was all delicious, thank you. Thank God he picked up your cooking skills or else we’d starve in New York.”

The older woman laughed. “Well anytime you want to learn, you let me know. Though I think you’d give me a run for my money with those desserts of yours.”

Charlotte could not help but beam a bit at her compliment.

Charlotte dried her hands on a dish towel, anxiously twisting the soft fabric in her hands and chewing on her lip as she watched his mom.

“I hope you don’t mind…” she started, pausing as the older woman looked at her with confusion. “M-Me stealing him away for a while. I’m honestly still a bit surprised he wanted to do this at all. But I know it’s probably hard when he’s gone for a long time. I feel kinda bad?” She admitted quietly. “I know he’s gonna miss you guys so much.” She stared at the wall that blocked Michael and everyone at the table from their vision, her face falling a bit as she felt the guilt of pulling him away from his family and community in LA. Even though he offered, she could not help but question whether she should have accepted it, accepted taking him away from his family like this.

“If I may?” Donna’s hands wrapped around Charlotte’s, halting her anxious movements and towel twisting. “I know it hasn’t been that long but I’ve never seen my son as happy as he is with you. One thing you should never doubt is how much that man in there adores you. I dare say he would try to move a mountain if he thought it’d bring you joy. You should never feel bad for accepting the manifestations of his love and commitment. Because I dare say, this is just the beginning.”

Charlotte felt a tear start to fall, not from sadness but from the love, grace, and compassion his mother always showed her. From the moment they first met to today, she never acted like those dreaded mother-in-laws her married friends moaned about. Charlotte’s mother would not be considered a constant presence in her life, a rarity at best. And through everything she had been through, the one thing she had always hoped for but never had was a mom. Michael’s mom did not know about her mom’s absence but she seemed to recognize it was something Charlie still needed, a mother’s love, support, grace, and word of wisdom. And she offered it in droves.

“T-thank you,” she whispered, whisking the tears away just as Michael rounded the corner to check on them.

“Hey, you two alright?”

“Yes of course, baby.” Her face immediately brightened as he entered the room, not even just to hide her and his mom’s emotional moment but just from his presence. “Just hounding your mom for this amazing rum cake recipe so I can make it for you in New York…”

“But… I told her she’s gotta be officially in the family first for me to share it. So get to it,” she whispered to Bakari with a sly smile and a peck on the cheek as she returned to the dining room with the rest of the family.

“Damn, she’s not subtle at all, is she?” he asked as he grabbed the cake while Charlotte grabbed the plates his mom pulled out.

Charlotte laughed, patting him on the chest as she passed him to return to the dining room. “No, definitely not.”

***

Their moans created an orchestra filling his bedroom as Michael kept Charlotte’s eyes trained on his as he fucked her slow and deep.

They rarely had sex in missionary these days, both of them finding other positions far more interesting and fun. However, when they were both in the mood for something slower and more sensual, missionary hit the spot for both of them. It offered them something deeper than pure pleasure. It was an intimacy and comfort they both needed for their last night in Michael’s bed for a while.

Looking into each other’s eyes was a meeting of the minds, beyond merely connecting with their bodies, they connected with their souls. They saw all of each other, all of the excitement, anxiety, joy, and fear of what tomorrow would hold for them. And every moment, every movement and touch between them was an effort to honor those feelings. Every touch and whispered adoration told the other that they were here and they were ready for everything the universe had in store for them.

There would be time for fast and wild later. Tonight, they were just cherishing the moment and each other before their first real adventure as a couple began.

“J-Just li-like that. F-Fuck, I-I love you,” she moaned, having already lost count of her orgasms as Michael pushed her to the edge of another one.

She could tell he was close as he picked up the pace a bit. Her hips rocked slightly to meet his, her core pulsing and tightening around him causing a primitive moan to escape him.

It only took a moment for him to fill her before he rolled off of her.

“You good?” He asked, a question he usually asked when they finished up, whether the session was slow and sensual or had her doing acrobatics. And the answer was always in the same vein: she was more than good.

“Excellent. I could fall asleep j-just like this,” she yawned, knowing that her sleep after sex was always elite, Michael tiring her out to the point where she could not do much else. However, before she did, she got up to go to the bathroom, Michael talking to her as she groped her way through the darkness of his room.

“You ready for tomorrow?” He asked as he found his briefs to slide on and climb back into bed.

“As ready as I’ll ever be, I guess,” she called back. “You sure you still wanna come? Not too late to back out. Well, we signed a lease, on a way too expensive apartment, I might add… so it’s a bit late. But you could still do it.”

Though her tone had the intent of a joke, Michael could still hear it, her hesitation and fear that let him know she was still concerned he would abandon her. He knew she would not truly believe him until they were moved in and settled but he was genuinely excited to go with her. Not just to support her and provide her with some sense of safety while she was there, but to witness this next stage in her career. This was her dream and he saw no better use of his time than watching her fulfill it. He knew why she was hesitant, they had only been dating for mere months. However, when he looked at Charlotte, he saw a perfect glittering gold path to a future he had never given much thought to because he had always been too focused on the hustle, a marriage and a family like the one his parents had built. To him, this was one step down that path and he would never regret taking it. Part of him was annoyed he would have to return to LA in June for another project before her time in New York ended but he decided he would savor the initial six months of uninterrupted time together.

“You ain’t gettin’ rid of me that easy, honey bee. And after living with me in New York, maybe that’ll convince you to move in with me when we get back?” He asked as she washed her hands.

She poked her head out into the room to look at him, finding that his face matched the seriousness of his tone and words.

“What? Y-You want me to move in? Here?”

He continued to surprise her with his level of commitment and dedication overall. However, just as she was about to doubt he truly meant it, his mother’s words floated back to her mind.

"Well, it wouldn't be here forever. Just till we found a new spot… something that's ours," he emphasized. “We’re gonna live together for at least 6 months in New York… if it works out and you don’t absolutely hate me by the end,” he joked, “Why not? What? You don’t think we should?"

She shrugged as she climbed back into his bed. “No, no, I’m not saying that at all. I mean I basically live here as it is,” she admitted. “I g-guess I just didn’t think about what living together in New York would mean for when we got back? Of course, you thought of it though. You think ahead and have a plan for everything.”

Michael was glad she could not see his face as she settled against his chest. She truly had no idea how far ahead his planning went when it came to her.

“Well, I just know what I want and I don’t believe in wasting time. But I’m not sayin’ you gotta decide now or anything. Let’s see how New York goes. I just wanted to see if you’d be interested in it.”

“Yea, I’m interested.”

He nodded. “Now are you gonna tell me what you and my momma were talking about earlier? You looked upset?”

Charlotte chuckled, she turned over so her chest was against his, her ear pressed against his chest. The light thumps of his heart filled her ear like a soothing drumbeat. “I should’ve known you weren’t gonna let that go… I wasn’t upset. She j-just said something I needed to hear.”

She felt his lips press against the top of her head, her eyes falling closed for a moment. She appreciated that he did not press any further for information.

“Yea, I don't know how she does that. It's kinda creepy, honestly… that mother's intuition."

“Yea, its like she sees into your soul or something." Her last words turned into a mumble as she yawned and her eyes fell closed.

All Michael could do was chuckle before kissing her forehead and falling asleep himself, her gentle snores filling his ears.

***

Charlotte glanced out of the floor-to-ceiling window of their new apartment on the edge of the Upper West Side. It was as beautiful and pristine as the pictures Michael had shown her. They were high enough to have a great view of the city from their balcony. It was in the perfect location too for work and there was so much around for her and Michael to do. The furnishings were perfect, the exact mix of her and Michael’s individual interior style. She knew he hired a designer but it was clear the person knew their shit. The house already felt warm, cozy, and safe, all the things Charlotte needed, and they had only been in it for an hour.

“What are you thinking?” He asked from the couch as he scrolled through his phone, both of them avoiding the dreaded unpacking they had to do.

“I’m thinking about my crappy little studio apartment when I first graduated… and my two bedroom with one of my college friends for those few months…” she paused, that apartment was a graveyard of bad memories. “Before I moved. I’ve j-just come up in the world, I guess.”

Bakari beckoned her to him, the young woman leaving her perch against the window to join him. The moment she was in arm’s length, he gently pulled her down onto his lap, Charlotte nestling into him with ease.

“This place is insane, Bakari. I mean I love it but I still think it’s too much,” she remarked, she raised her hands as if to surrender, knowing she was bringing up a touchy subject for them both.

“Aht aht. We came to an agreement on that,” he lightly kissed her bare shoulder.

She nodded, neither of them wanting to fall back into their first true argument of their relationship a few months earlier.

“So what do you think?”

Charlotte laughed. “I think I could fit 5 or 6 of my first apartment in that place,” she gestured toward his laptop as he flipped through photos of a high-rise three-bedroom apartment. “I mean it’s gorgeous but I don’t think I can afford it.”

“Yea but I can. It’s perfect. Really solid security, there’s only one apartment on each floor so it’s pretty private. And it's only 15 minutes from the theaters so when you finish up evening shows, it’s not a long drive. It’s perfect for us. Don’t think about the cost. Do you like it?”

“Yes, I love it but,” she chuckled. “Creed was my first real check in two years, babe. And I still gotta pay for my apartment here. I don’t really have the luxury of not thinking about the cost of things.”

“Ok but I’m sayin’ you don’t have to think about it cause I got it.”

“Well how much do you want me to contribute a month? If we go 50/50, it would be tight but I could swing it then, I guess.”

Michael rolled his eyes. “ I wasn’t expecting you to contribute anything. We ain’t roommates, Els.”

She shook her head, pushing off of the couch to pace in his living room, her annoyance officially rising. Finances continued to be a touchy subject for the pair. However, usually, Charlotte only put up so much of a fight before she gave in. But she could not give in on this, not today.

“It’s one thing for you to always pay for dinners and shit like that but you can’t pay all of our rent while we’re there. That’s ridiculous.”

“Why can’t I?” He asked, his tone signaling that he did not understand the seriousness of the conversation for Charlotte in the slightest. He still did not quite understand her hang up with finances. He knew it was part of the cycle of abuse but he had no problem spending money on her if need be. She had only just stopped fighting him on paying for dates. Though he was not the type of celebrity who blew all of his money on frivolous things, Michael also did not pretend money was a significant consideration in his decisions because it just wasn’t. And he would never apologize for wanting to spend his money on her, for wanting to support her.

“B-Because I…” Charlotte stopped herself from finishing the sentence, Don’t want you to be able to control me that way. But she knew that was not his way.“T-then it’s y-your house a-and not mine. I-I would just feel more comfortable i-if you let me contribute something. L-Let me pay for half? Besides, you’re gonna be in LA sometimes, full time in the summer. You shouldn’t pay the full amount every month like you’re gonna be there the whole time.”

“It’s really not that big of a deal, Charlotte. I don’t need your money and I don’t want it.” His tone signaled that he hoped to get the final word in and end the discussion.

She could not help but feel frustrated like he was not hearing her. But she understood why he did not see this situation through her eyes. “I-It’s not about you n-needing it!” She cried out, Michael suddenly realizing her unexpected outburst meant more simmered beneath the surface than her just wanting to contribute. She took a deep breath, not wanting to start an argument with him. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. It’s just…”

He rubbed her shoulders and nodded, “Ok just breath for a second, babe. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize it would bother you this much. I just.. I wanted you to have a serene, safe place to live and work while you’re there a-and I wasn’t gonna ask you to pay because money wasn’t a factor when I chose it. I just want you to be comfortable while we’re there.”

She sighed and rubbed her forehead. She knew she shouldn’t push him on the finances piece so much. But she refused to ever let a man hold her livelihood over her head again. Where she laid her head was important and even though she stayed at Michael’s most of the time, she could at least retreat to her home if she ever needed it. She did not want the only place she had to lay her head to be not in her control at all.

“Look, I-I appreciate it. That place is beautiful a-and perfect. I love it, truly. But… t-this is the first time I’m living with a guy since Shaun a-and the a-amount of times he held t-the fact that it w-was his h-house instead of mine o-over me…” she exhaled deeply as if she could release the memories into the air with her breath. “I-If I d-don’t contribute something then it’ll be your house and not ours. I k-know you don’t need it o-or want it. But I need it. I need it to feel like I have an equal claim to it. Please.”

At that, Michael decided not to push any further. He understood her triggers were real and legitimate and if it gave her a sense of autonomy and control to pay him, he would not let his ego get in the way of that.

“Understood. I’m sorry,” he kissed her cheek. “I didn’t think about that. This’ll be our home and I want you to feel like it. How about you deal with all the utilities and I get the rent?”

She could not help but laugh a bit at his “compromise.” “Those things aren’t comparable at all, babe,” she muttered.

“Monetarily? Nah. But what’s the point of an apartment without lights, wifi, gas, water?” he listed. “All of those are necessities too and without them, this would be a pretty terrible apartment.”

They squared off for a moment before she nodded, realizing he budged about as far as he was willing to on the subject.

“Deal.”

“We came to an agreement, yes. But don’t think for a second I like it. Anytime you wanna accept that 50/50 split, let me know.”

Michael gave her a peck on the nose.

“Not gonna happen. Let me treat you to this one thing, baby. But what could happen is us christening some of this furniture?” His eyebrow raised suggestively, his intentions clear in his words.

Charlotte smiled slyly. “I like the sound of that… if we start with the counter.”

***

“Charlotte. Baby. Stop eating your breakfast like it’s a drive by. Sit, relax, and eat. You got plenty of time. Don’t have to be there for another hour.”

Charlotte nearly catapulted out of bed that morning, a wrecking ball of nervous energy flitting around their apartment. Michael did not know how she was moving so quickly and chaotically, since all she did was toss and turn the night before. And as soon as the Sun was up, she was out of bed and out on a run through the neighborhood. And when she returned, their bed quickly turned into a wreckage of clothes, the young woman changing her outfit no less than 10 times.

“Did you get any sleep last night?” Michael asked as Charlotte forced herself to sit at the island and eat Michael’s apple cinnamon pancakes, her favorite, and a couple pieces of bacon. Though this was her favorite breakfast meal, she found it difficult to eat, believing her time would be better served practicing or running her lines again rather than just sitting there.

She scratched her head as she stuffed her face quickly, her eyes zooming across her sheet music. “Couple hours. Lots of tossing and turning before I just gave up and reviewed the music again.”

Michael laughed, “You know every song by heart, even the ones that aren’t yours. You’re gonna be great today.”

She shrugged. “I don’t feel like it.” She glanced at her watch and bit her lip before abandoning her half eaten breakfast. “Thanks for this, Bakari, but I think I should go practice the songs one more time. The run in the Act I closer is fuckin’ killing me. I can’t get it just right a-and if Chris has us practice that part today, I don’t want to look stupid.” She paused her ranting to practice the chorus and run right there as she paced by the counter. She sounded flawless in Michael’s opinion but he could tell she hated it the way her whole face scrunched up in frustration. “See? Can’t get it. But you know… maybe I should practice my ballad first though… it would make sense he’d want to start there since it’s earlier in the show. Do I have time to do both…” She was no longer talking to Michael, only rambling and muttering to herself as her questions about which song to use her precious last few minutes to practice started to become inter spliced with actual lyrics from the songs as she studied the music while she walked through their home. “Babe! Have you seen my script?? Maybe I should run through all my lines for Act 1?” She checked her watch. “I s-should’ve used the time last night to do that. UGH.”

Her incoherent stream of consciousness and half singing were interrupted by Michael who put himself in the path of Hurricane Charlotte and their bedroom. Her favorite room to practice in was the bathroom because the acoustics were the best in the house. Imagine his confusion and slight amusement when, the first thing she did when they arrived after throwing her bags down, she started singing her ballad in every single room to test the sound quality before deciding the bathroom was the best option.

It had not been 24 hours yet and he already learned one critical thing about her: she was a perfectionist chaotic nutcase. He had never seen this “behind the scenes” look into her process and work ethic. When they worked on Creed, she showed up to set every day the picture of an actor, in the zone, focused, and ready to work. He had never seen what it took to get to that picture and it was a perfect frenzy that he could not hope to understand or follow if he tried.

And still, he found that her perfectionist nature that drove all the practice and ramblings only made him fall deeper in love with her. He imagined this is what he looked like to his friends and family when he was prepping for a role, so much energy and time spent to become someone else and embody their souls and personas. So much attention to detail and time rehearsing to give each moment in front of the camera your all. This was so much like that, and yet so much harder because Charlotte could not just yell cut to redo something. Every night she got on that stage, she had one opportunity to show her talent at its fullest. He could completely understand why she pushed herself as hard as she did.

“Honeybee… you gotta calm down. No more practicing,” he grabbed the sheet music out of her hand, Charlotte offering mild protests as he walked to her bag and slid them inside, secretly adding a little card of his own. “You still have weeks of rehearsals. Keep doing this and you’ll lose your voice,” he warned, his lips twitching from the laugh he forced himself to stifle at the look of objective horror on her face, as if she had never even considered that was a possibility. But he imagined for her, losing her voice was the worst type of illness she could have. “Exactly. Rest the vocals for a bit. Sit, finish your breakfast and we’ll drive to the theater together.”

With his hands on her hips, he steered her back to the island for the third time that morning and watched her sit down to resume eating, this time far slower and more measured.

“You don’t gotta take me like a child headed to kindergarten for the first day, dad,” she bemused with a soft smile. “I’ll be good.”

“I know I don’t have to, but I want to.”

She nodded, talk of Michael’s plans for the day filled the rest of breakfast before she grabbed her bag, filled with her script, sheet music, and mid-day snack. Michael had to stop her from triple checking her bag before he slid a perfectly made chai in her hands and ushered her out the door.

He kept his hand on hers as their driver took them the short ride to Abernathy Theater. She had not told Michael but she had performed in this very theater in her very first Broadway production out of college. It felt like a full circle moment to be back there.

“Ok, this is it, babe. You got this,” he kissed her on the lips. “Can’t wait to hear all about it tonight.”

“Thanks, love. See you tonight.” She took a deep breath before gathering her things and exiting the car.

Charlotte glanced back at the black car before she opened the theater door, the window rolled down, to find Michael giving her a thumbs up as if he knew she would need an extra push to walk through the door. She knew her nerves were somewhat foolish. She had spent the better part of her life in theaters and on the stage. And yet, she still felt like a fish outta water. So much time had passed, so much life had happened. Chris thought she still had what it took but would everyone else? She had given up this dream. And though she had never admitted this out loud, she felt so much shame for how easily she had casted it aside and resigned to leaving it to die behind her. As she walked through the theater, her first time in one in over two years, she questioned whether she even deserved this second chance at it after she had squandered the first one, regardless of her reasoning for doing so.

But now as she walked through the theater, taking in the opulence of the insanely tall ceilings and their perfectly preserved murals, the dazzling gold arches and trims, and the sea of ruby-colored seats, she knew one fact to be true. No one and nothing would tear her away from this dream this time. She had breathed new life into it and she would not lose it again.

“Charlotte!”

Her visual survey was interrupted by Chris who waved at her from the stage. She smiled and made quick work of making her way to the stage where he waited.

“It’s so good to see you,” he mused, pulling her into a tight hug. “The rest of the cast is trickling in. But I wanted to show you around personally and introduce you to everyone. I’ll take you backstage.”

He looped his arm around hers and led her backstage, the two laughing and chatting like old friends as he took her around and introduced her to everyone. He was showing her her dressing room when a familiar man’s voice filled her ears.

“The prodigal daughter of Broadway returns… You know I took bets on when you’d be back.”

Charlotte whipped around to find Malcolm Roberts, one of her costars, leaning against the doorway, his usual sly smirk etched on his face.

She sauntered up to him, a similar smirk falling on her face. “And? Is the Tony award winning Malcolm Roberts poorer or richer these days?”

“Richer…” At her surprised expression, he shrugged. “I learned a long time ago to always bet on you.”

She laughed and immediately pulled him into a tight hug, the man lifting her feet slightly off the ground.

“It’s so good to see you. I owe you dinner so you can catch me up on everything,” he said as they hugged. “You look amazing, still as gorgeous as ever.”

Malcolm had been in her last production before she moved. She followed his career after leaving theater and his star had only risen higher and higher, as he deserved. And now, he would be playing directly alongside her and she couldn’t have been more pleased. If there was one person she trusted undoubtedly to act alongside, besides Michael, it would be Malcolm.

“Thank you! Should’ve known Chris would call in the heavyweight champ,” she laughed.

He merely shrugged. “A friend calls and I answer. That's how he got you outta hibernation too?” He asked as they walked to the practice room for rehearsal, their banter drowned out by the hustle and bustle of the team as they worked to build the set and gathered props around them.

“Naturally. One day you’ll have to tell us how you convince everyone to do whatever you want?” Charlotte told Chris who merely smiled slyly.

“Win me another Tony and I’ll tell all my secrets.”

The two actors glanced at each other and rolled their eyes. “As if you need anymore!”

“Does your house even have room for another one and that big head of yours?” Malcolm teased as Charlotte snorted.

“Well, my partner says I can’t convert the kids’ room to a trophy room. So I guess when you two are done sweeping, I’ll have to buy a new house.” He winked at the both of them before grabbing his assistant director to chat, leaving Malcolm and Charlotte alone.

“How was the move?” He asked as he interlaced his arm with Charlotte’s as they walked.

“Oh totally fine. Michael took care of everything, of course. All I did was say yes or no.”

“Ah yes, the new boyfriend, aka my wife and sister’s celebrity crush. Remind me never to invite the two of you over for dinner?” Charlotte let out a deep belly laugh. “But I’m glad to hear it. Looks like you found yourself a good one?”

“Yea… I think I did.”

She raised her eyebrow as he stopped walking to study her for a moment, his face drawn up in a look of pride and something else she could not place. Understanding? Knowing? She could not read it. However, before she could ask him, he merely patted her hand, which rested on his arm and said, “Well no one deserves that more than you.”

Before she could inquire more, they arrived at their rehearsal space, each of them settling into their spots. Chris did quick work of introducing Charlotte to everyone else who she hadn’t met and embarrassing her with his praise. She was thankful when it was all over and everyone started to pull out their scripts and sheet music to run through Act I.

As she pulled out her materials, a small card fell out of the stack and onto the table. She picked it up and examined the card, Honey Bee written out on the front in Michael’s handwriting. She half listened to Chris share notes and information from the last rehearsal as she slid the stationary out of its envelope.

I would say good luck but I know you don’t need it. You’re gonna kill it, as you always do, and remind everyone there today and in this world, who you are. Take a deep breath and remember you, not only deserve this moment but, you were made for it.

Love,

Your biggest fan

If she had not been in a room filled with people, she would have bursted into tears. She slid the note back in her bag after reading it once more and taking the deep breath he instructed her to. She grabbed her phone as the cast started the table read and sent a quick but simple text.

Thank you ♥️♥️

She knew she did not need to elaborate and that he would recognize the meaning. Not a whole minute passed before her phone buzzed with a similar simplistic response.

Anytime.

***

A month later

“Oof, that’s it. That’s the right spot,” Charlotte moaned as Michael massaged her aching limbs. “You got the magic touch, baby.” Her eyes lulled closed as he did the Lord’s work, kneading and massaging the tense spots on her legs and back after another long day of rehearsals. "First show is in two days and I can barely feel my legs.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it.” He placed a soft kiss to the top of her spine before continuing his work.

Though Charlotte did not mind the quiet, the silence that settled over them both as he worked, she found it odd. Most evenings, she and Michael never stopped talking, the pair catching the other up on any and everything from the moment she walked into the door until the moment they fell asleep. However, today, Michael’s head seemed to be elsewhere.

“You ok?” She inquired.

“Y-Yea, yea. I’m good.”

She laughed. “I know you well enough to know when you’re good, Bakari. What’s wrong?” She gestured for him to move so she could sit up. She slid her robe over her nude body and slid into his lap.

“I just had an interesting call with Ryan today.”

“Oh? Got another project for you?”

“Actually, yea.”

She motioned for more details, unsure why he was being so coy and secretive. “Ok… you gotta give me more than that, babe. What’s the role? And why are you acting like he threatened to kill you?”

“It’s a Marvel project.”

Her eyes immediately grew wide. She gracefully tumbled out of his lap and onto her knees, excitement filling her previously lethargic body. While she had only just started to get into anime thanks to Michael, both of them bonded over their love for comics. Growing up with her brother, she and Jackson spent far too much time in the comic book store and she made a point to see every Marvel movie that came out.

“It’s Black Panther, isn’t it??” She squealed, her excitement radiating off of her.

“How’d you guess that so fast??”

She scoffed and smiled. “Marvel’s been talking to Black directors for months for that project. A-and Civil War is coming out soon with Chadwick. Ohh,” she shook his shoulders. “You HAVE to do it, baby.”

He laughed, getting up to go into their in-suite bathroom. “You don’t even know what the role is, love.”

She shrugged, following behind him with an extra pep in her step. She did not understand how he wasn’t more excited about this.

“I mean I could sit here and go through all the Black Panther comic lore if you’d like and guess. But that’ll just make you horny,” she teased, knowing Michael got a little too excited when she put on her nerdy hat and talked comics. “And my legs hurt too much for acrobatics with you today. Why aren’t you excited? You said yes, right?? He wouldn’t’ve called unless the role was yours.”

He pushed himself up to sit on the bathroom counter. “I want to say yes, the role is fantastic a-and his vision is spectacular. I s-spent the whole day reading up on the character and everything. It would be a game changer for sure.”

“Of course it would. But I sense a but coming?” Her hands inched up his warm bare chest and wrapped around his neck as she stood between his legs.

“I’d have to go back to LA for a couple days to screen test with Chad and a couple of the other confirmed actors, meet with the execs… and between Kevin Feige’s schedule, Ryan’s and Chadwick’s… only one week before like June works for everyone.”

At the annoyed and guilty look on his face, Charlotte immediately understood. “Opening weekend of the show?” She prayed she was wrong but at the small nod, she let out a disgruntled sigh.

“Yea. A-and I don’t want to miss that, Els. It’s such a big deal and I moved here to be all in on us and support you. I asked Ryan if we could find a different date or if we could do something out here instead but I dunno yet. I didn’t want to mention it because I didn’t want to disappoint you if it’s not a sure thing.”

“Babe. I so appreciate you and that you even thought to consider me and the show before saying yes. But you can’t put your career on hold for me. This is the MCU, babe, I would miss opening night of my own show for Kevin Feige. You have to go.”

Michael’s jaw almost unhinged at her statement. That was not what he was expecting at all. And when he searched her face for a hint of disappointment or sadness, he failed to find any. Her joy for him was natural and authentic, not the forced type people give when they are trying to hide their own emotions.

“What??”

“I’m joking,” she amended but she quickly shook her head. “Actually I’m not. I would totally ditch schmoozing investors and the nausea of waiting for reviews for Marvel,” she laughed. “Seriously though, I’m gonna be doing 8 shows a week for months. You’ll see me on stage so many times, you’ll get sick of my voice and the show. You don’t have to be there opening night to support me. Honestly, I’d rather have you there the first night of previews in a couple days so you can see me on stage for the first time anyway. Opening night is only a big deal in that critics can finally review the show. And there’s a party for the cast and producers and investors and all that shit. You moved across the country to support me. That’s all I need.”

She walked back into their bedroom and grabbed his phone, her slippers shuffling lightly against the floor as she went.. She held it out to him. “Call Ryan.”

“Babe… I just don’t feel right abandoning you on such a big night.”

She tilted her head to study him. She found that she was not just saying those words because she knew she should not stop him from pursuing an opportunity. She actually meant it. Now that she was back in the swing of things, her anxiety had eased quite a bit. It had only been a few weeks but she had not seen or heard a peep out of Shaun, her promo for the show being reduced to one mention in a Broadway.com article, thankfully. And she knew she would have to handle a few days here and there without him before they got there. It was still early so she was still beyond thankful to have him there, but she could survive a couple days without him if he was needed elsewhere.

“You aren’t abandoning me. You’re following your dreams, you’re moving your career forward. Ryan picked you, the role is yours. Meeting with the execs and a couple screen tests are the only hurdles you gotta clear. And you shouldn't put that off. Would I love to look out into that crowd and see you opening night, sure. But would I prefer to see you snag a killer role in what is already a highly anticipated project, 100%. I know you’ll be there in spirit.”

“You sure you aren’t gonna secretly hate me?”

“I could never hate you. Besides, shit like this is gonna happen… we’re both two busy body ass actors. We aren’t always gonna be able to be there physically but I know you’ll be cheering me on as I will for you.”

His phone still hovered in her hand between them, Charlotte giving him an cocky grin before unlocking it and finding Ryan’s number for him.

“You sure?”

“I’m giving you the push you gave me. Call him and tell him he’s got his Killmonger. Hopefully he doesn’t bust your fuckin’ ear drums like Chris did mine.”

His eyes grew wide. “How’d you do that shit?? I never even said his name.”

She chuckled as she turned to walk back into their room, her shoulders shrugged. “It was a lucky guess… that you just confirmed,” she smirked at him. “Now…” she sexily allowed her robe to open and slide off her shoulders, the silk fabric pooling to the floor around her feet. “Don’t stay on the phone with him too long.”

He raised an eyebrow suggestively, his thumb hovering over the call button. “I thought you were too tired?”

She shrugged. “Consider it the last bit of encouragement you need to make that call.” She winked at him before sauntering off to their bed, delighting in the way his eyes followed her perfect ass as she climbed onto their bed.

***

“Well, I think that part could use a bit more emotion from both of us?” Charlotte remarked as she and Malcolm reviewed their notes from earlier in the day.

The stage was filled with chaos as many in the company practiced off to one side while the staging and lighting folks tried to get everything ready for their last rehearsal before previews started the next evening. Rebecca and Jonathan, the supporting actors in the play, were tucked in a corner just like Malcolm and Charlotte reviewing their lines.

“For sure. We shouldn’t hold back. They haven’t seen or spoken to each other in years. All that pent up aggression and anger and hurt… it really should feel like something is simmering beneath the surface and then an explosion on stage before the number.”

Before Charlotte could agree with him and practice a bit more, Chris’s voice grabbed their attention.

“Heads up, everyone! So don’t hate me. But a lot of the investors can’t make previews tomorrow night but they want a peek before opening night so they asked if they could sit in on rehearsal after the producers’ meeting happening upstairs. Should be wrapping up in about 15 minutes. So we will have a small but mighty,” he emphasized, “Audience today. So everyone should give this their all and we’re gonna do it in our costumes. Go get changed. Sorry for the change of plans.”

Light mumbles and grumbles could be heard through the company as everyone filed back into their dressing rooms. Charlotte and Malcolm merely shared a smirk, the actor whispering to Charlotte, “The investors and producers say jump…”

“And we say ‘how high?” she grimaced with an eye roll before shutting the door to her dressing room. This was the only part of her job she hated, schmoozing people whose only credentials for being there was the hefty check they wrote. Charlotte’s outfit was quick work, a simple dress, cardigan, and heels so it did not take long for her to change.

She sang a few chords to herself, warming up her voice, while she waited for the backstage cue to return to the wings of the stage. When the lights flashed, she made her way to the wings, stopping by Malcolm who had his face drawn up in a grimace. She was thankful to find another actor who also hated the politics of it all. She followed his line of sight to the parted curtains, revealing center stage where Chris stood with a group of men in suits. They quickly reminded her of all of the men she met at Shaun's office parties and events, her distaste had not changed. Most of their backs were turned to them until Chris noticed the entire company was assembled and waiting and waved them over.

“Let the jumping begin,” Malcolm moaned lightly as they all started walking toward the group of powerful and wealthy men.

“And these are the stars of our show, Charlotte Bennett, Malcolm Roberts, Rebecca Sloan, and Jonathan Rivers,” Chris gestured toward all of them, the group turning around to greet them.

However, the bright smile that Charlotte put on as she pulled on her dazzling actress persona immediately fell as her eyes locked with one of the men. Her movements halted, her entire body going cold and rigid as if someone had thrown a bucket of ice water on her.

Everything around her went silent as if someone had pressed the mute button, she could not even hear her pounding heart in her ears. But she could feel it, beating against her rib cage as it threatened to burst out of her chest. She forgot where she was, who she was, as he offered her a menacing and knowing smirk.

Instinctively, she took a step back, increasing the distance between them as the rest of the cast continued forward to introduce themselves. Only one person noticed her change in demeanor, her low, shallow breaths that were drowned out by pleasantries and greetings.

Malcolm touched her shoulder, Charlotte almost jumping out of her skin with shock, finally taking her eyes off of a man she never expected to see here of all places, in her safe space.

“You good? Look like you saw a ghost,” he chuckled nervously, though his eyes were filled with concern.

Her mouth felt bone dry, the words caught in her throat but she forced them out anyway.

“No, no. Not a g-ghost. J-just…” she shook her head. “I… um, just need a minute? Tell C-Chris I’m r-running to the b-bathroom. N-not feeling great.”

She turned and rushed out of the theater, her legs carrying her as fast as they could without breaking into an all out run until she found herself near a concession stand in the deserted lobby. She needed as much distance as she could between herself and him. She stopped and leaned against the counter, her hand pressed into her chest as she tried to calm herself. She wondered if she would have rather seen an actual ghost. That would have been less terrifying than what awaited her back in that theater, a different monster haunting her from her past.

Shaun Parker.

Tag List: @certifiedlesbianbaddie @bangtanxmegan @reelwriter19 @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @hi888888sworld @msniaimani @destinio1 @lynaye1993 @chaoticevilbakugo @blackerthings @pipsqueak-98 @miyuhpapayuh

***

A/N: So good news… we got some fluff!! Bad news… some niggas we don't like have found their way back. Thanks for reading! *drops this off and runs away*

#black writers #michael b jordan #michael b jordan x oc #mbjordanedit #michael b jordan x reader #creed 3 #black panther #adonis creed #michael b jordan fanfic #creed iii #michael b jordan smut #mbj fanfic #mbjedit

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freddie-77-ao3 · 25 days

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random facts about random riordanverse characters from my characters doc:

percy jackson: thalia once dyed his hair neon green (which, he has black hair, so no clue how) and it lasted for two weeks before washing out entirely

thalia grace: actually very close to will solace. he treated her when she first woke up, and reminded her of jason. she's basically a big sister now. she threatened nico about him.

nico di angelo: got so nervous about asking will out he accidentally asked in chinese, before reverting to welsh, and then latin. finally, he stutters it out in a mix of greek, italian, and english (luckily will understands all three). unfortunately, will responds in sign language for some reason??? nico doesn't know sign language.

meg mccaffrey: meg has a horrendous obsession with gatorade. like. she won't drink water, it's gatorade or nothing. apollo is SO concerned because he doesn't know what gatorade is and also it looks VERY unnatural.

leo valdez: not only can he cook tacos, he knows how to make tamales. actually, while on the argo ii, he and percy made most of the food. this man can COOK.

will solace: has a habit of always carrying pens around with him (both as a way of keeping close to michael, who collected pens before his death, and just bc he's in the infirmary so much) and he clicks them ALL THE TIME as a fidget. people forcibly take them from him sometimes.

Annabeth Chase: she's autistic and so is her dad. part of why they have so much trouble having a good relationship with each other. they both have really black and white thinking styles.

Calypso: she's like 7 feet tall.

Magnus Chase: he really likes the chronicles of narnia series. when he was a kid, he dressed up like the lion for three halloweens in a row. his favorite is the lion the witch and the wardrobe.

Alex Fierro: felines are easier than canines in regards to shapeshifting.

Sadie Kane: she likes strawberry ribena the best

Carter Kane: he wants to grow his hair out. when he's in his twenties, he does. sadie helps him braid it.

Clarisse La Rue: after her mission in ttc, she's extremely claustrophobic.

Piper McLean: the reason she was so against feminine stuff in TLH is because she was so sexualized by the media when she was girly. so she openly rejected it.

Travis Stoll: makes oddly specific t-shirts about what happens at camp. like, “I defeated the greek personification of time this summer and all i got was this lousy tee shirt.”

Connor Stoll: isn't dyslexic. loves reading.

Katie Gardner: she drops out of college after her first semester. it just wasn't for her. she owns a flower shop called petal to the metal, where she says "have a punk rock day" to all her customers.

clovis: he doesn't actually need to sleep 24/7, he just doesn't want to interact with people.

Cecil Markowitz: a threesome baby. no, really. he's 25% his mum, 25% his dad, and 50% hermes. he-- he has a lot of questions and no answers, and that's probably for the better.

Lou Ellen Blackstone: she's black, and usually keeps her hair in braids. before alabaster torrington defected he did it (he's white, learned just for her), and after, beckendorf did her hair.

Zoe Nightshade: she's regenerating. she was a titaness, she'll be back.

Lee Fletcher: he dropped out of high school. it wasn't for him. got his GED and took college classes on the side til he died, but personally modern schooling wasn't really for him.

Rachel Dare: when she turns 21 and gains access to her trust fund, she immediately donates the entire thing.

Hazel Levesque: definitely the person who always has a cardigan/sweater for you to use if you get cold.

Frank Zhang: goes back and finds his grandmother after HoO

Jason Grace: jiper was comphet. he's gay.

Reyna: didn't actually join the hunt. i don't think that really is a natural character ending? she is ace though.

Grover: turns out pan passing his spirit on to grover actually made grover a god?? yeah grover didn't realise for //years//

juniper: fought in the battle of manhattan. she just brought a couple of her berries with her.

Chris Rodriguez: following going insane and becoming sane again, he develops anorexia to regain his sense of control over his life.

Drew Tanaka: she's actually aro-ace.

Malcolm Pace: in an effort to always be prepared he sleeps in jeans and street clothes, and always has a bag of supplies on him.

Ellis Wakefield: is from somalia. his first language is somali. he speaks somali, english, arabic, and greek.

Mitchell: went to military school for a bit. has a habit of calling people sir/ma'am after every sentence now.

michael yew: has the gift of prophecy, knew going into manhattan that he was going to die.

miranda gardiner: summer only camper, takes over counselor during the summer (katie doesn't want it. also she's vietnamese. i know thats two facts i just think it's important.

sherman yang: he has two dads. his mortal dad's name is jeff. sherman sees him like, one week every two months? jeff lives in seattle.

jake mason: he's got a fish named bubbles. he says it's because harley wanted to name it. he lies.

silena beauregard: summer only camper, she volunteers at a domestic abuse shelter during the year, and hopes to go into social work.

charles beckendorf: he was 16 when he died, but had finished HS work 2 years early. had been accepted to MIT. he wouldn't have gone, anyway, because of the expense, too far from camp, but-- it had been a nice dream

Nyssa Barrera: she's a year round camper, and always been mad that taking care of harley fell to her.

Lacy: physically disabled. she's got JRA, and is in a wheelchair part time.

Harley: really likes unsweetened cheerios.

26 notes · View notes

horeformilfs · 5 months

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Grieving

Elizabeth Olsen x Fem!Reader

TW: Loss, Grieving Process, Eating Disorder Behaviors, Fainting, Exhaustion, SH

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

You and Lizzie had been dating for a while when you got the news that changed your world. You had been working through a script when you got a call from an unknown number, showing Lizzie she shrugged not knowing whose phone number it was. Picking up the phone and putting it on speaker phone.

"Hello, is this Y/N Y/L/N?"

"Yes this is, can I ask who's calling?"

"My name is Ryan Jackson and I am calling from the New York City Police Department. "I'm calling in regards to your brother Michael."

"Is he alright?"

"I'm sorry to inform you, he passed away about an hour ago."

Your heart shattered and time stopped after you heard those words. He died, your older brother, your protector, your best friend, died. Your body becomes numb as you drop to the floor, letting out an agonizing scream.

Lizzie who was watching the conversation rushed towards you, holding you in her arms as you cried. Your heart is beating rapidly and breathing unsteady. Sobs wracked through your body as Lizzie held you, eyes watering as she saw you break down. "Shh darling, it's all going to be okay," she said, trying to calm you down. "

N-No you don't understand, he was everything to me, he protected me when I was younger, we did so many things together, and now he's dead," you say, voice unsteady from your tears. "I know love, but you're going to get through this, you are so strong, and now you need to be strong for him as well".

You continued to sit in Lizzie's lap while she rubbed your back, whispering assurances in your ear. You felt numb, like the world around you wasn't real. You couldn't process what was going on, there was nothing that you could do to help yourself.

You learned that the funeral was going to be in a week, knowing that your father was going to have a hard time planning this funeral. It had only been six months since your mother died, and he hadn't even had time to grieve over her death, before your brother, his son, was taken from him too.

He confided in you later that day after you heard the news. You had never really been close with your parents. As soon as you turned 17 you moved out, finished high school a year early, and applied to NYU.

You got in and packed up your things, with the help of your brother, who was the only person from your family that you talked to. It was you two against the world. You studied acting and ended up getting the role of Gamora, and met Lizzie on set during the filming of Avengers Infinity War.

Your father had called you to talk about the funeral arrangements, he wanted you to be responsible for planning the funeral for your brother. You couldn't say no to him, but Lizzie was not thrilled that your father put this huge weight on your shoulders. She knew you, she knew that you would become hyper-focused on the funeral and not let yourself process the trauma you just went through.

"Darling, are you sure that you want to take this on? I know that you want to be there for your father, but I also want you to be able to grieve," she said as you worked on your computer, reserving the burial location. "Yeah Liz I'm fine, I promise," you said, assuring her that you were okay.

She looked at you skeptically knowing when you were lying but choosing to push it. You continued to work on the funeral reservations, making sure you had a place for the service, a coffin picked out, and wrote the speech that you would deliver. During the week, you had become so consumed with the planning you probably slept a total of five hours combined, and skipped almost all of your meals, all while trying to reassure Lizzie that you were okay.

She didn't believe you, each night you would go to bed together but once she thought you were asleep she would get up and go to work on the funeral plans. She could see you slowly falling apart in front of her, and she felt helpless. The bags under your eyes became darker, your skin pale, and your ribs protruded.

The day of the funeral approached and you and Lizzie were in your room getting dressed. You were wearing a knee-length black dress, black stockings, black heels, and a beige trench coat over it.

Lizzie was wearing a black dress with a cardigan over it, black stockings, black leather boots, and a black coat as well. You both made your way to the car, Lizzie insisted on driving, and you accepted. The ride to the funeral home was quiet, Lizzie's hand intertwined with yours.

Once at the funeral home you go into the room where the service will be held, giving yourself time to have one last look at your brother. You found out how he died, driving drunk and hitting a street lamp.

Lizzie let you have time with your brother, she knew how much you loved him and how close you were with him. She was sad that she never got to meet him. You guys were planning on meeting him for dinner in a few weeks.

"I know he's so proud of you darling," she says, joining you in the service room. Tears start to well up in your eyes, but you didn't want them to fall. You tried your best to conceal the fact that you were close to crying, but your girlfriend knew you better than that. "Love if you need to cry, that's okay, you are going through a traumatic and upsetting experience, it's healthy to feel these emotions," she said rubbing your back.

"I'm fine, we should go out to the main lobby. There are probably people here already," you say trying your best to give Lizzie a convincing smile.

The funeral comes and goes, and your father never actually showed up, which made you want to cry. You had done everything he asked, you had done something that you had never thought you would have to do.

Lizzie was extremely furious with your father, putting you through hell when she knew that going through the grieving would be hard even without planning the funeral, but because he had you plan it, it took away from the time you could have to start the grieving process.

You and Lizzie make it to the burial site, just the two of you and the casket carrying your brother's body. You had some time to say your final goodbyes. As they started lowering your brother's casket into the ground, all of the feelings that you buried deep inside you rose to the surface, causing you to collapse into Lizzie's arms.

When you came to you were in your shared bed, Lizzie holding you in her arms, gently stroking your hair. "What happened," you ask quietly. "You collapsed from exhaustion, you pushed yourself too hard.I know that it was important for you to do this, but you weren't taking care of yourself, and it finally caught up with you," Lizzie responds, worry in her voice.

"Darling, you can't just push these feelings down, grieving is a normal response to a loss, no matter how close they are to you. You lost your brother, someone who you relied on, and now he's gone. And you need to be able to grieve," she says as she pulls you to her chest. "I know, I'm just scared," you respond. "I know love, but it will be good for you, and I'll be here the whole time".

Denial

The following weeks were hard for you to say the least. You tried your best to be present in your daily life, but Lizzie could tell that you were having an incredibly hard time.

You had become numb, you didn't want to believe that he was gone, it was like he was here one day and then gone the next. You tried your best to be present in your relationship but didn't feel like you were being a good girlfriend to Lizzie.

Thoughts spiraled as the days went on, "He's not gone, he's going to call, right?" you ask Lizzie as you sit on the couch. She could tell that you knew that it wasn't true but you didn't want to believe that he was gone. He was everything to you.

Anger

The anger came next, you were mad, mad at the world, mad at the fact that he was dead. "If he hadn't been drinking, this wouldn't have happened," you say as you pace around your room, looking at a photo of you and your brother. Lizzie was downstairs working on her computer.

Your anger was building up, and it scared you. Your breathing grew faster as your pacing sped up, you didn't know what to do, you felt like you were spinning out of control. The built-up anger finally became too much, throwing the photo against the wall, shattering the glass frame, you fell to the floor letting out a blood-curdling scream.

When Lizzie heard the scream, she ran upstairs and straight to your shared room. Seeing you on the floor shattered her heart, she never wanted this for you. She ran straight to you and wrapped you in a tight hug, once you felt arms around you. Startled, you started thrashing around, fighting the person behind you.

"Shh darling, it's just me," Lizzie says, trying to calm you down. "No, let me go," you say, trying to release her grip. "Love, I need you to calm down, I know you're angry, and I know that it hurts, but I need you to calm down". Your breathing starts to even out as you start to cry. "Why did this have to happen to me?" you ask, tears falling down your face. "I don't know love, the world works in mysterious ways sometimes," Lizzie says as she picks you up, bringing you to the bed. "Promise me you won't leave me," you say, clinging to her as she places your head on her chest. "I promise my love".

Bargaining

Three months had passed since your brother's death, you had felt angry about him leaving, but knew that it wasn't his fault. Lizzie was working with you to try to help you work through your anger due to his death. You felt like your emotions were too intense and you needed to be able to feel like you were in control again.

"What if I had gone with him, this wouldn't have happened if I had just gone with him," you say to yourself. You hadn't seen Lizzie in the doorway but she had heard you. "Y/N you can keep blaming yourself, it wasn't anything you could have done," she says as she finishes making lunch for the two of you.

Depression

The next three weeks felt slow, you spent most of your time in your room, not eating, talking, or taking care of yourself. Lizzie started going back to work, filming a new TV show since filming for Avengers was on hold. She would usually get home around 9 p.m. and you would be asleep already. You started up old habits, not knowing how to cope. You always wore baggy clothes and long sleeves.

The restricting came first, you would wait till Lizzie left for work to "eat" and if she insisted on having breakfast with you, you would skip the rest of the means for the day. You started cutting again after being clean for five years, you knew that if your brother knew he would have been upset with you, but he wasn't here with you anymore. You knew that Lizzie would find out at some point, but now you were keeping as best a secret as you could.

Lizzie knew that something was up once you started dropping weight quickly, she wasn't sure how to address it with you, knowing that you have been having a rough time with the loss of your brother but knew that this was dangerous and couldn't afford to lose you.

You were so special to her, you were everything to her and she wanted to protect you at all costs, even if you were upset with her about it. She found out that you were harming yourself when she found a bloody razor blade sitting on the ledge in the bathroom. She could tell something was wrong when you started wearing sweatshirts and sweatpants every day.

She knew that she would have the conversation today, deciding to leave the set early, to get home to you as soon as possible. When she got home she entered the house dropping her stuff on the kitchen counter before walking up the stairs to your bedroom.

"Y/N darling, where are you?" she asks looking in your bedroom, seeing that you were not there, she moved to the ensuite bathroom. Knocking on the door waiting on a response, getting none. Seeing that the light was on, she got a sinking feeling in her stomach.

"Y/N darling are you okay, the light is on, I know that you're in there," she said. With no response, she tried the door to no avail because it was locked. "Darling, I need you to open the door, or I'll kick it down," she said. With still no response she backed up and kicked the door in, finding you on the floor of the bathroom barely conscious. "Y/N can you hear me?" she asked, panic rising in her voice. "Lizzie, I'm sorry". "It's alright darling, I just need to know what happened," she said trying to comfort you. "No, you'll be mad". Lizzie knew that you were scared that she would be mad at what you did, but that was the last thing that was on her mind, she was only concerned with helping you.

"Darling, I'm not mad at you at all, but I need to know what happened so I can help you. "I cut my leg and I tried to stand, but it hurt so much, I passed out," you said. "Okay, I need to see your leg okay," she says, helping you sit up on the bathroom floor. "It's not just my leg," you say looking down at the floor, not wanting to meet her eyes.

"Alright, we will take care of everything, let's just take this one step at a time. You nod in agreement, taking off your sweatpants and sweatshirt as Lizzie starts a bath for you. She helped you up from the floor, not paying excessive attention to the cuts on your arms and legs, only focusing on making sure you are comfortable and safe.

You didn't look up from the bubbles in the bathtub scared to meet Lizzie's gaze. She said nothing, getting ready to leave the bathroom to get you new clothes when you stopped her, "pleases stay, I don't want to be alone right now, it's scary," continuing to look at anything but her. "Okay love, can you tell me what's scary?" she asks to take a seat on the floor next to the bathtub.

"The thoughts, I can't seem to make them go away, I just want them to go away," you say as you lay your head on Lizzie's shoulder, quietly starting to cry. "I know darling, it's so hard, but you are so brave, I know that telling you this may not help you but that's what I'm here to do. I will be here for you, whenever you need me, because I love you," she says, kissing the top of your head. "Now let's get you washed up, we can cuddle and talk after." You nod your head as you stare blankly at the wall.

Lizzie was gentle with your arms and legs, considering they were covered in new and old cuts. Some are scared over, some only a couple days old. After finishing up with the bath she grabbed fresh clothes for you from your closet and helped you into them, making sure to be extra careful.

You sat on the bathroom counter as she took the first aid kit from the cabinet under the sink, taking out gauze medical tape and antibiotic ointment.

Working quickly and carefully she disinfected the cuts for a final time before applying the ointment and wrapping your arms, doing the same steps with your legs. Once finished she put everything back, and washed her hands before picking you up and carrying you back to your room. Whimpering in pain as your legs wrapped around her torso, your face in the crook of her neck.

She sat you down on the bed making sure to grab your favorite blanket before getting into comfy clothes herself, grabbing an extra sweatshirt for you, before climbing into bed.

Acceptance

Lizzie helped work with you for the next few weeks, helping you find a therapist to help you process your grief and help you through any bumps in the road. You had some ups and downs but were overall doing well, you worked with a therapist to help you process your grief, you also had Lizzie by your side the whole time, being supportive as ever.

You were getting to the place in the grieving process that you were starting to accept reality for how it was. You knew that your brother was gone, and while you would still have some days that were harder than others, you knew that he was watching over you.

"Darling, I'm so proud of you, you have been so brave through this whole journey, I know that it was hard, and you felt like you would never be the same, but you are doing so well, and I couldn't be more proud of you," Lizzie says as you lay between her legs watching a movie. You just blush and look down at your hands, fidgeting with the rings on her fingers. Shifting so that you were face to face with her, lifting your chin, so that you were looking at her.

"I know that you have a hard time taking compliments, but believe me when I tell you, I am beyond proud of you. You have gone through so much, faced so many challenges, but you're here and working through your grief in a healthier way. I hope that you can learn to love yourself the way that I love you, unconditionally and forever. You are my everything, and I hope I can be yours." She says the last part a whisper, but you still heard her. You smiled as you saw small tears form in your girlfriend's eyes. "You're already my everything." You say pulling her in for a kiss.

#elizabeth olsen #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen x you #elizabeth olsen imagine #elizabeth olsen x female reader

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notyouraryang0dd3ss · 28 days

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Having a #1 Song doesn't mean SHIT anymore! It doesn't mean the song is a hit.

Let's be so serious rn. Nobody knows any of her damn fault track that keep charting. I asked my mom to name one song of hers and she could name "Shake it off."

Smooth Criminal went #7 in the US.

Remember the Time went #3 in the US.

Heal the World went #27 in the US.

They don't care about us #30 in the US. But it still went viral on tiktok. A song that is almost 30 years old!!

Thriller the song also never went to number one, but ask people to name one Halloween song they gonna name that song.

And what is more impressive, having 1M EAS the first day or still selling 1M EAS 15 years after your passed and more than 20 years after you dropped an album. Longevity is quality. 1M first day sales she's gonna sell that much for years. Hell, she be lucky if she even sold 50k in a year in 30 years.

5 music videos of his that are made in the 80's and 90's are about to have 1 billion views this year.

Billie Jean still gets 1M daily streams on Spotify.

I'm sorry if you aren't an Mjfan and I bring him up but he's the best example I can give you also because Swifties keep comparing her to him.

If people don't like the song they won't keep listening to it. And if Taylors song just stay in her fanbase and they just massstream her shit. Nobody is gonna know this song in 20 years.

Because what is the last hit Taylor Swift had that was known to the general public? Anti Hero maybe? Cruel Summer?

And something that is also funny is that, Remember when her drunk self got on stage and snatched the grammy from Celine Dion and didn't even look at her.

And people were pissed and her team was quick on working getting a picture with her to mend the damage.

Celine Dion has 5 Grammys and Taylor Swift has 14.

But they knew that Celine Dion got more respect from the GP then Taylor will ever have. And that is something you cannot buy. And they know if someone wins out of pure talent or just because of favourism. And let's be real. Most people know these award shows are rigged and they don't care about it.

Like when RollingStone came out with that fuck ass best singers list that put Taylor at #102 and excluded Celine Dion. People were mad that Celine was included but Taylor was.

Or just recently they also called her the better Adele. Nobody from the GP was like oh yeah that is true.

I mean they can try to name her the Queen of Pop in one of the award shows alà Michael Jackson style, but it's not gonna work with her. When he got that name people actually agreed and they still do. Outside Taylors cult nobody will agree with that.

Taylor's Team is aggressive with the Marketing and pushing these numbers onto us because they know outside of it she has nothing to offer. Her talent isn't marketable. Her singing and dancing isn't that impressive. The most marketable things about her career are her wealth and business success. Have they ever talked about her performance while she is on tour. What is so impressive what she does on stage? No they just keep talking about the money she makes.

No I completely get why MJ is a relevant comparison here. Swifties do keep comparing TS to him and for that alone they need to collectively get their asses beat. But you used good examples and I just want to applaud you for that

& you’re right, I can’t name a single vault track. Every time I’m exposed to her its against my will through my recommended (and its usually so out of place too because i watch really weird video essays).

Charts truly don’t reflect cultural impact because Drunk in Love by Beyoncé never went #1 and neither did Toxic by Britney Spears but both are super well known. Anti Hero is probably the last single to go #1 but I genuinely felt harassed by that song 😭 its sooooooooo bad

Yes! The vocal trinity—Celine Dion, Mariah Carey, and Whitney Houston—have done SO MUCH for music and all have less than half of Taylor Swift’s amount of Grammys. Celine and Mariah each have 5 and Whitney has 6.

I didn’t watch the Grammys this year (forgot to) but I heard about the Celine Dion incident I was SHOCKED because the audacity of this woman! Her entitlement shows in everything she does and she’s really starting to believe her commercial success makes her a better artist.

THE ROLLING STONE LIST WAS BULLSHIT. THEY DIDN’T INCLUDE JENNIFER HUDSON EITHER! Their definition of a “singer” was soooooooo bullshit too like that magazine’s merit has gone down so much in the past 20 years it should be regarded with way less status and credibility. And who tf called TS better than ADELE?

You’re right, her moniker will be chosen by the general public (probably from a viral tweet/tiktok/etc).

And she needs aggressive marketing because she really is a below average musician in all respects! She has her songwriting but she should’ve just been a hit songwriter (like Estelle Dean) not a singer. What makes her marketable is very “ordinary” image—which makes her relatable to “every girl, like me and you” 🙄 her soft voice really creates an intimate atmosphere especially with her vulnerable (but superficial) lyrics. She has to be friends with her fans for her success to work. Because there is no way you can justify her being regarded as a “god” the way people do with Beyoncé and MJ otherwise.

🎯 with the Eras Tour coverage. No one ever references or cites a particular jaw dropping vocal performance or dance number. It’s always the amount of wealth she’s generating.

#ask #anon #anti taylor swift #mj #beyoncé #celine dion #artist comparison #eras tour #notyouraryang0dd3ss #mariah carey #whitney houston

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tagthescullion · 8 months

Text

Spies, Traitors, and Chocolate Pranks

Fandom(s): Percy Jackson and the Olympians

Rating: T

Summary: Percy Jackson's come back from the Princess Andromeda with the tragic news of Charles Beckendorf's death. A meeting where nothing is solved and fingers are pointed everywhere leaves Travis and Katie upset after snapping at each other.

Words: 3544

AO3 link

“Let's move on," Percy said. "We've got other problems. We've got a spy."

Michael Yew scowled. "A spy?"

Travis side-eyed his brother.

After a few years, they’d got used to people trash-talking Luke, and if he was honest, most of the time, it was well-deserved. But whenever talk of a spy or an informant came up, it always ended up with the rest of camp distrusting the Hermes cabin.

What’s more, after Chris’ return, proving Luke wasn’t the only child of Hermes on Kronos’ side, Travis had felt himself doubting his own siblings at times. Second glancing at little movements, or paying extra attention to their complaints.

Percy went on to re-tell his conversation with their older-brother-turned-murderer-titan. It appeared Luke –or Kronos, or whoever he was– used a pendant shaped like a scythe as a communication device.

That both reassured and worried Travis.

On one hand, such a piece of jewellery wouldn’t go amiss in the Hermes cabin. Everybody would know who had that, and would’ve tried to steal it –teasingly or not– on at least one occasion.

On the other hand, he was sure he’d seen a pendant like that at some point. He didn’t remember when, or who owned it.

No, he told himself, shaking his head. We must all be thinking the same. Nobody saw shit, but now that it’s mentioned we’re sure we have.

Silena chose that moment to redouble her sobbing.

As Annabeth ran to comfort her, Travis couldn’t help but feel a stab or irritation.

It wasn’t that he didn’t care. Quite the contrary. He adored Beckendorf; he was a good guy, always down for a prank, he took things lightly, he was quick to offer a helping hand or optimistic words, and slow to lose his temper.

But lately, Travis had realised he’d lost the ability to process grief with tears or screaming or a general morose attitude. Every time they heard of a new demigod dying, or going to the other side, or leaving to never return… he just, well, he moved on.

It was awful. He felt awful. But he hurt so much, he just couldn’t care openly anymore.

He saw Connor raise a hand self-consciously.

“We've suspected there might be a spy for years, right? Somebody kept passing information to Luke—like the location of the Golden Fleece a couple of years ago. It must be somebody who knew him well.”

Perhaps unconsciously, or perhaps because she was their leader, Connor’s eyes turned towards Annabeth.

Travis sent him a warning look, the last thing they needed was people thinking they were pointing fingers at people to avoid scrutiny themselves.

Too late, though. The damage was done.

Far from looking away silently, Connor added a quick, “I mean, it could be anybody.”

Annabeth threw both Connor and Travis a murderous glare.

Katie Gardner, who’s been silent so far, and who clearly thought a lot higher of Annabeth than of the Stolls, scoffed.

“Yes,” she huffed. “Like one of Luke’s siblings.”

That made Travis snort.

“Oh, here we go again,” he spat. He was so tired of the same shit every time the councilors met. “Sure, we’re the spies. That’s what we’ve been doing since moment number one, betraying all of you.”

“Can we be sure you haven’t?” Katie argued back.

Travis wasn’t even sure why she was suddenly so against them.

“What evidence do you have that we have so much as spoken to him?” Connor replied angrily.

Travis put a hand on his arm to calm him down.

They had, of course, seen Luke after he’d left camp. More than once, in fact. Always initiated by him, and not since he’d been possessed by Kronos. But giving the rest of the campers ammo against them wouldn’t solve the issue.

“What’s your problem, anyway?” Travis asked Katie. “Why attack us like that?”

“Why’s Connor suspicious of Annabeth?” Katie demanded.

“He’s not,” Travis said. “He looked at her because she’s the one who always has the answers!”

“Unlike the two of you who can’t help instigating pranks and trouble even now, with everything that’s going on.” She’d crossed her arms and gave him a disgusted once-over.

“That’s not true!” Travis raised his voice. “When’s the last time we’ve done anything half as immature as a prank in the middle of a war?”

“How about–?”

“Stop!”

Travis jumped.

Silena had punched the table so hard her cup of chocolate had spilt everywhere.

“Charlie's dead and…” Her voice caught. “And you're all arguing like little kids!”

She started sobbing again.

As expected, they didn’t solve anything in that meeting. Travis wasn’t even sure what they spoke about after his fight with Katie. His blood was boiling with all-consuming anger.

Who the hell did she think she was to accuse them like that?

It really wasn’t the first time the rest of camp had, nor did Travis think it would be the last until they’d caught the spy, but for whatever reason this time it hurt more.

They were friends. Katie and Travis had been on good terms from the moment he and Connor had arrived at camp, and they’d become closer as the years passed.

Her suspecting him like that made him want to punch a wall.

“You look upset,” Connor pointed out as they reached Cabin Eleven.

“Leave it,” Travis said.

Connor raised an eyebrow but said nothing. He took a few steps towards his bed and dropped into it, face against the pillow.

Travis thought it was a valid choice, but he was too tense to lay down and try to relax.

Instead he got a sweatshirt and walked back out into the common area.

A few cabins away, the on-going battle between Ares and Apollo campers could be seen and heard.

Travis scoffed. And Silena had thought his argument was petty and stupid. Why didn’t she shut up and go convince her fucking bestie to call an armistice with Michael Yew, huh?

He shook his head and kept walking.

He thought about going into the forest, to that twisty bit of the creek Luke had shown him ages ago. But no, it would be a reminder of his foolish older brother. And he’d have to cross Zeus’ fist, which he still tried to avoid.

He settled for the beach.

The tide had gone up a bit, and the part where the sand was still dry was narrow. There was nobody to talk to him, just the sound of waves and the feeling of the sea breeze.

He took off his trainers and socks, laid back next to a low dune, threw an arm over his eyes and tried to focus on his senses rather than his mind.

The sand felt cool and grainy between his toes, but the sun hit over his legs, balancing the temperature well.

He tried to take deep breaths, concentrating on the breeze’s salty smell.

He managed to calm down after a while, back into his state of apathy.

He felt the sun move in the sky, disappearing behind the dune he was using as a pillow.

The noise of feet on the sand snapped him out of his reverie.

He both heard and felt someone sit next to him.

“I’m sorry.”

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

Katie went back to her cabin in a foul mood.

She’d been around the strawberry fields after the councilors meeting, trying to burn her angry energy by helping Pollux keep the plants healthy.

She hadn’t meant to be bitchy, but she’d been so stressed lately. And Travis and Connor didn’t help by often being pains in the ass.

She was sure they understood the seriousness of the situation camp was in, so why couldn’t they act accordingly?

Their pranks used to entertain her, but ever since last summer they’d been so intent on her cabin! The last straw had been around Easter.

Demeter’s cabin had a roof where grass grew between the tiles. Soft, full grass. It looked divine when the sun hit in the morning. It gave it a Mediterranean, natural style that made Katie think of travel magazine photos of the south of Italy

Travis –for while Connor took half the blame, she knew it was Travis who wanted to irritate her in particular– had set an army of chocolate Easter bunnies all over her roof!

Being chocolate, and the weather having been way too warm for March –global warming was another thing that blinded her with rage, but that she couldn’t blame on the Stolls–, the bunnies melted faster than Katie and her cabin had managed to take them off the roof.

It resulted in chaos. A chocolatey mess it had taken ages to clean up. It became full of bugs, and Katie hated cockroaches.

Chiron had made the Stolls and a few volunteers from the Hermes cabin help, but that had ended in even more arguments, and Chris Rodríguez having to physically restrain Katie so she wouldn’t punch Travis Stoll’s stupid face.

Katie took a deep breath and tried to relax back into the sofa she was sitting on.

She tried to remember that while the war was tough on all of camp, the Stolls were also dealing with their older brother –Katie knew better than many how much Travis and Connor had idolised Luke– being their biggest enemy.

Well, to be fair to Luke –which Katie didn’t particularly care to be–, it was Kronos who was trying to kill them all. But Kronos was using Luke’s body –that was messed up even by mythological standards– to lead his army.

Either way, at least her cabin didn’t have any traitors. Or so she thought. Or so she hoped.

Screw it all. She’d been tactless, hadn’t she?

No matter what he did, Katie couldn’t stay mad at Travis for too long. And this time, it had been her who’d been out of line.

Groaning, she got up from the couch.

“Where are you going?” Miranda asked, broom in hand, trying to make their cabin presentable for inspection.

“To go find Travis Stoll, as always,” Julieta chimed from a corner, where she was playing on her iPod. She took her eyes off the screen for a second and added, “Charlie from Athena saw him ‘storm angrily’ towards the bitch.”

Miranda snorted. “Juli, it’s towards the beach, hopefully.”

Julieta frowned. “That’s what I said.”

“Not quite.”

“Well, those sound the same to me.”

Katie left them arguing the anomalies of English pronunciation, and left to find Travis.

As she walked down towards the ocean, she thought about what to say.

‘Sorry your murderous brother makes your cabin suspicious’?

She huffed. She wasn’t good at planning. She’d decide what to say when she found him.

She walked the wooden planks that formed a sort of sidewalk from one side of the beach to the other, and finally found Travis under the shadow of a dune.

He was lying there, breathing evenly, making Katie wonder if it wouldn’t be better to just leave him be.

But he wasn’t peaceful. Katie had known him for years, she could see the signs of distress.

He had an arm over his face, and he hadn’t even thrown a hoodie under his head. His hair was all over the sand, which was probably way too itchy to be comfortable.

She got off the wooden sidewalk and dropped ungracefully next to him.

He was startled by the noise, but he didn’t change his position.

“I’m sorry,” Katie said.

Travis took several seconds moving his arm from his face, then sat up without looking at her, hugging his legs with his arms.

“I shouldn’t have said what I said,” she continued. “Everybody at camp knows you two are loyal to us, to the gods.”

Travis ran a hand through his hair, probably trying to get some of the sand in it to fall away.

“But that’s not true, is it?” He huffed. “People suspect us all the time. I can see it when they look at us. They don’t want us near.”

“Travis.” She put a hand on his arm. “That’s not true at all.”

He finally turned towards her.

His eyes were glazed with a façade of emptiness she didn’t believe one bit.

“People don’t think you’re more likely to betray us than anybody else,” she argued. “I mean, come on! Look at this place! Clarisse and her cabin –our strongest fighters– won’t take part in the war over petty pride. Apollo’s kids are in a high-and-mighty phase, thinking they’re owed everything and more. Silena’s been getting worse and worse, and Beckendorf’s death will only make everything harder on her and her siblings. Nobody has time to wonder who they trust and who they don’t. We’re all breaking apart.”

“Percy shouldn’t have said anything,” Travis muttered. “You’re right, we’re barely functional as it is. And we’ve no chance of catching whoever the spy is. They won’t be stupid enough to carry around a scythe necklace now, will they? It was pointless to scare us like that.”

Katie shrugged. “I suppose we should be slightly more careful about what we say and where.” She shook her head. “I hate keeping stuff from my siblings, but maybe it’s better to keep sensitive information to councilors alone.”

Travis started to nod then made a face. “Unless… Unless it’s one of us. A councilor, I mean.”

“No, that can’t be,” she dismissed the thought with a wave of her hand. “We all know each other, it’s…”

But then again, some of the stuff they’d said in meetings lately… they’d agreed not to tell the rest of the campers because it might discourage them. Had they talked about Percy and Beckendorf’s mission? Could it possibly be one of the councilors who was passing information to Kronos?

She felt a warm hand over her own.

She looked up to see Travis’ sympathetic expression.

“I didn’t want to upset you,” he said. “I’m talking shit. Of course it’s not one of the councilors.”

Katie nodded. More to let him know it was okay than out of genuine belief.

Travis took a deep breath. He glanced at her, then turned back to the sea.

“Why were you–” He hesitated for a second. “Why did you point us out like that, at the meeting?”

Katie felt her cheeks grow warm with shame. She really shouldn’t have done that. But, she tried to remind herself, if she had, it was only because she’d been so exasperated.

Instead of trying to explain herself, she asked, “Why do you keep pranking my cabin?”

“We haven’t pranked anybody in ages,” he argued.

“Three days ago, you unleashed a squadron of paper planes as we were passing by,” she said.

“That wasn’t a prank,” he defended himself. “I was checking your reflexes. You can’t walk around without so much as looking around.”

She scoffed. “And a couple of days before you turned all our clothes pink!”

“No, no, that was an honest mistake,” he raised his hands, palms out. “Chiron shouldn’t make us deal with laundry duties with everything that’s going on.”

“And–” She waved her hands, trying to find words. “You’re always trying to bait us. So we’ll argue. It’s so stupid, I don’t understand why you’re doing all this.”

“At most I’ve been sarcastic when you were around,” Travis said, raising his voice, not a lot but enough to be noticeable. “And it’s not even your whole cabin, it’s you. Making you angry seems to be the only way to exchange half a word with you these days.”

“What do you mean?” Katie was confused.

Travis and her had always been close. There was a balance between them: she told him when he’d gone too far with a joke, and he helped her loosen up whenever she got overwhelmed with life. They were friends. She knew they hadn’t been able to talk a lot the past few weeks, but it hadn’t been her fault.

“It’s you who’s been all closed up,” she told him. “As if… I don’t know, as if being an asshole would make everything hurt less.”

He frowned. “That’s not it.”

“Isn’t it?” She huffed. She rolled her eyes. “Listen, I’m sorry it was Luke who fucked up. I’m sorry you feel people don’t trust you and your siblings. I’m sorry our friends keep leaving and not coming back! But it won’t help you feel better to push people away. To irritate everyone until they don’t want to be around you. It’ll only make you more miserable.”

Travis bit his lower lip. His frown had eased only a bit. He looked as if he had trouble finding words to express what he felt.

That she couldn’t blame him for.

“I feel,” he began, turning his head back to the sea. “As if I simply don’t have the energy to care anymore.” He sighed. “All the kids in my cabin, their feelings are always so… loud. Every time a camper dies or goes missing, they can— they cry and sob and demand justice from the universe and I—I can’t help but feel annoyed at them. ‘It’s not fair,’ they say. Of course it’s not fair. What are they expecting? The gods to give a fuck about us?” He bit his lip again. “And that bitterness. That’s what he felt. What Luke felt when he left. And I’m worried because I wasn’t like this. Gods, I was never like this.”

He swallowed, took a couple of deep breaths.

“I wouldn’t betray our side like he did, though,” he added. Katie didn’t need him to justify himself. She knew him well enough. “Not really because of the gods, they can do a lot better if they expect personal loyalty. But Kronos is worse. And I could never do that to my friends.”

Katie took one of his hands in hers. “That’s because you do care. You always have and always will.”

“I mean, of course I do care, but I can’t…”

He shook his head, at a loss for words.

“You can’t process it?” Katie offered.

He nodded. “Yeah, I guess. It’s there, all those shitty feelings, churning in my chest and I can’t make them go away. I can’t cry them off, or burn them exercising, or…” He groaned. “It’s like they poison me. I want them off me. I want everything to stop! Once and for all, make everything stop! The war to be over, or a monster to cut my head off cleanly. I want it all to go away!”

He looked so young when he said that. Vulnerable. He was young. Hell, they were barely eighteen. But he’d been right to say it was pointless to complain about it being unfair. It was, it was a fact. They shouldn’t be in charge of their younger siblings. They could barely be in charge of themselves.

“For better or for worse,” she said after a pause, squeezing Travis’ hand. “It’ll all be over soon. The prophecy says Percy’s big moment will be when he turns sixteen, right?”

To Katie’s surprise, Travis smiled.

“What could possibly be funny about the world ending because of a boy’s choice?”

He looked at her, “Would you believe me if I told you I’ve no idea when Percy’s birthday is? Here we are, having a literal date for either one of the best or worst days of our lives… and I have no idea when that will be.”

“I—” Katie allowed herself a little smile too. “I was going to ask Annabeth, actually.”

“We’re not very nice friends,” he said. “We’ve known the guy for years.”

“It’s in August.”

“Right,” Travis said. “Very accurate.”

“He doesn’t know our birthdays either, I bet.” Katie rolled her eyes. “Then again, our birthdays don’t mean a hypothetical end of the world.”

“It might not even happen.” Travis shrugged. “We thought Thalia would be the prophecy child and she wasn’t.”

She shook her head. “This time it’s for real. Everything’s too much for this to not be the end. Besides, if it’s not Percy, then who?”

“Nico di Angelo,” Travis offered. “He’s the son of Hades.”

Katie had all but forgotten about that kid. “Where is he? We could use a bit of zombie magic on our side.”

Travis made a noncommittal sound with his throat. “He comes and goes, I suppose. I don’t know about zombie magic, but that kid could play a good hand of cards.”

Katie sighed. “Yes, we’ll beat the Lord of Time with a good hand of cards.”

He pushed her lightly with his shoulder. “You forget he’s possessing my brother. Luke could never say no to a card game. His fatal flaw if he ever had one: he could never resist a challenge.”

Travis’ face had turned sad again.

“Come on,” Katie said, standing up. “It’s getting cold here. Let’s go get something to eat.”

Travis stood up without letting go of her hand.

“Thank you,” he said, and Katie could hear the honesty in his voice. “For coming after me.”

She hugged him hard.

“Always,” she promised. “I can’t let you mope on your own like a miserable emo, it’s just too sad.”

Katie heard Travis chuckle and felt him squeeze her tighter.

It wasn’t all right, she knew, but it would. It would get better.

#travis stoll #katie gardner #tratie #connor stoll #silena beauregard #pjo #riordanverse #pjo hoo toa #pjo fic #mis fics #tagthescullion

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yoonieper · 9 months

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Pecattiphilia— Part 6 | PJM

Pecattiphilia is the sexual arousal from performing an act one believes is a sin.

✽ Pairing: Jimin x Reader

✽ Genre: Angel Au, angst, fluff, smut (yep, we’re here now!), this is a slow burn (kinda?)!

✽ Rated: M for Mine

✽ Series Warnings: This series will include discussion of religious aspects such as the afterlife and concepts of heaven and hell (There are no direct ties to any specific religion besides the mention of angels and demons— all aspects of religion was created by me for this series), this series includes a lot of violence (sometimes graphic depictions) and gore (nothing extreme, Jimin and the boys fight monsters sometimes), and mentions of sin (particularly revolving around sexual topics)

✽ Chapter Specific Warnings: jealous Mimi, Mimi’s going through a bit of a crisis, drama!, smutty elements– making out, grinding, etc~ green flag chapter!

✽ Word Count: 12.5k

✽ Summary: Jimin is sent to watch over you and as the years go by he gets more and more curious and sometimes just wishes he could get to know you. But he knows that’s forbidden, it's sin. However, a freak accident somehow causes Jimin and your eyes to meet for the first time with purpose. He knows it shouldn’t happen but he doesn’t want to break away. He wants you to look at him, wants you to touch him, wants you to be with him. The problem is none of this should have happened in the first place… what’s happening to him?

✽ Now Playing…: We Go Down Together by Dove Cameron & Khalid, The Girl is Mine by Michael Jackson (with Paul McCartney), ALL MINE by Brent Faiyaz— visit the masterlist for the full playlist!

✽ Author’s Note: Eeee already, the two parts I hoped to get done this year! Now I also hope to post part 7 this year! It’s already started and I have it all planned out and should be a shorter chapter than these last two~ I’ll let you know more info later on in the year, but hopefully it comes out soon because I hate to have a big gap from where this leaves off 😭 Hope to be back soon guys AND hopefully I’ll finally make the Spotify Playlist before the next part comes out! Also if you see any mistakes this was a tiny bit rushed so I will be coming back and fixing whatever I missed! Anyway, enjoy~

No reposting, modifying. Translating is not allowed unless given explicit permission. Thank you so much :D

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Human vs Angel.

It was a battle that relentlessly raged on with an alarming ferocity in his mind. The damage at this point was catastrophic, no clear winner, only bloodshed and more to come on the horizon.

Human or Angel? Who was he?

It’s not like Jimin or any P2 angel could remember what their experience was like as a human, yet they still weren’t seen as entirely angels either.

That’s because they weren’t.

They still had wants, desires, cravings, needs, and they even maintained the vessel that once contained their souls. Their souls were long gone, now replaced with the angelic light that gave them the power to fight against sin, but that still wasn’t enough. Something that forever confused Jimin was why they still bleed— all higher up angels didn’t bleed, why did they need to? It was messy, unnecessary, red, too human for exalted beings like them.

From the very moment they opened their eyes there was this immediate barrier preventing them from being like the other higher up angels. They sometimes certainly didn’t see them as such— they were impure, sinful, depraved, degenerative creatures who would be better off joining the cycle then working with them.

It was a bit of a shock at first hearing this when their team was first allowed to wander through the winding halls of H.E.A.V.E.N. Celine and Atara had tried to warn them of the higher up angels, yet during their lessons it was hard not to admire them.

Their capabilities were beyond anything they could ever do and they had every right to have the very air they flew through worshiped. Maybe that was why Jimin and the rest of his team were a little too optimistic when Celine and Atara gave them the tour and some would pass by.

They heard the comments— Taehyung had even tried to go up to one in his excitement and was immediately met with the repercussions he deserved.

This first encounter was all it took for their team to want to put as much distance as they could from their human past— a past they couldn’t remember, but resented because they truly took the higher ups' words to heart.

And that proved to be successful.

Their numbers topped many of the leaderboards, the less human they were the better they did— the more they truly helped the goal of maintaining the balance of the universe.

However no matter how well they did they would never be truly an angel. To be so pure and in control to the point where weapons weren’t necessary, a single glance at a sinful creature was enough to vanquish the being from existence.

Namjoon was rare in the sense he was one of the few P2 angels that had gotten the chance to experience something similar. However he still needed the bandages wrapped tightly around his hands to prevent him accidentally blasting a hole through spacetime, doing far more damage than just demon blood on his hands.

He was respected a little more than the rest, but there was always this wall that even he could never cross.

Not entirely human yet they certainly weren’t people. No one could remember what it was like to have a soul anymore.

They were too “human” to be an angel but too powerful and glacial to have that same passion that humans live with.

It was confusing and while Jimin never truly felt like a real angel the gap felt even wider when he was around you. The reason was simple, Jimin would never be able to feel as much as a human could. He was and forever would be detached from the human experience.

That much was just a fact.

He would be called emotionless in comparison, a husk of the vibrant soul that once inhabited this vessel, built solely for the purpose of vanquishing sin from this world. All emotions besides the blissful sensation of purifying his enemies was practically reduced to nothing.

That was how it was supposed to be at least.

With each day you’ve been in his life, it was like a distant memory was returning to him. Never clear enough to fully remember, but the warmth that bathed him whenever he was in your presence was oddly familiar. You’ve given him the opportunity to feel more than he thought he was capable of anymore.

It was a little confusing to navigate through, but you were there to ground him and despite his growing concerns at least he was here with you.

With you this beautiful orchestra of emotions would sing anytime he’d just gaze upon your beauty. You were honestly beyond words, your enchanting presence was enough to rival the angels he worked with. It was mind boggling that you were human.

But as much as Jimin just wanted to ignore the obvious, that more sensible half made sure he never forgot.

He couldn’t even if he wanted to, but that created this strange fire that burned brighter, hotter, and more violent with each and every one of your meetings.

The emotion that seemed to dominate his mind anytime he was with you these days was this searing, unexplainable antipathy— or better put— the closest thing he could experience to it.

Jimin hated you with every fiber of his being and you were completely unaware.

It was obvious as the weeks passed by he needed to talk to you. He honestly had no right to hate you, the issues being completely unestablished to you and there was no way you could have known, but that didn’t matter. Jimin still found this confusing flame growing hotter and hotter and it just got worse each time you’d meet in your dreams.

You didn’t do anything wrong, you still thought he didn’t even exist so of course you would never think anything of it.

You were more so caught in the crossfire of his frustration with himself. He thought he was stronger, but time and time again you proved to be the one human who could bring a superior being like himself down to his knees. It was always so easy for you, you weren’t even aware you were doing it.

Jimin’s tried so hard to make this work.

He saw you every night and he’d always try to plan these elaborate dates to distract his troubled mind. They worked most of the time and proved to be fun just having you by his side. But that didn't completely stop the days you’d stay and relax underneath the big tree you first met under, which was oftentime a request made by you to just talk and admire the clouds passing overhead, but Jimin tried his best to avoid dates that were so casual because they usually never ended well anymore…

Were things different now because you were together? He didn’t know what changed but instead of the tranquil moments where you’d gaze upon the setting sun, Jimin practically had his tongue down your throat every time he’d see you.

One minute you were discussing the most obscene thing ever, mole science it happened to be that time. You had sat up so you could be closer to his face while you examined every dot across his skin and attached this arbitrary symbolic meaning behind their placements. It honestly didn’t make any sense to him, but you were so pretty and cute as you gently poked the dots and explained what each and every one meant.

You must have noticed he was confused because suddenly after you explained what the one on his cheek meant, you leaned down and kissed it. He was left giggling like a schoolgirl when you pulled away, the tingles, butterflies, he just felt so whole in that moment. The cute instance was short lived because the next one you went for just so happened to be on his neck (something that may or may not was on purpose), in a spot he quickly learned was so fucking sensitive the minute your lips met his skin.

He couldn’t even describe what came over him. It was this rush that flowed through his body to pull you close because how were you real and how were you his? You both had been laying on the picnic blanket but suddenly you were on your back staring up at him with those eyes he couldn’t help but get lost in.

All he wanted to do was kiss you, he felt like he had to in the moment, but once your lips were on his the harder it became to pull away. How could he?

The way you made him feel was so complicated, he honestly didn't have words but this fuzzy feeling mixed with just this innate, carnal desire he knew was a vestigial emotion from when he was still human. It was overwhelming almost, the need to have you, to claim you.

It proved to be one of the most revolving yet exhilarating experiences everytime that rush would hit. Your touch, your lips, your body, he just couldn’t get enough.

And each time it was getting harder to stop, to remember it was sin and that promise he made to his team that he absolutely couldn't, under any circumstances, break.

It was so pathetic, he was horrified every time he’d come out of your mind and back to the reality he faces.

What was he doing?

This road was a path filled with sin and he was still choosing to go down it?

What was wrong with him?!

Jimin wanted to have more faith in himself, that this was just the ‘honeymoon’ phase of your relationship and things would settle down eventually, but as the weeks passed it was just getting harder and harder to stop himself.

As much as he loved to pull you close anytime you were near, it was impossible to deny he wanted you closer. He wanted to feel you, touch you, love you in a way he knew how to.

You’d manage to stir awake a beast that had laid dormant for eons and Jimin didn’t know what to do.

The more logical side was saying as much as he loved being with you, this wasn’t healthy and he should stop now before things get any worse. Yet every night, he was back with you.

He couldn’t leave and he didn’t want to either.

Every time you’d fall asleep and that smile on your face when you’d finally notice him, he never wanted to stop seeing that.

It was almost hard to forget the times you’d gaze right through him, never once being aware of his presence. How could he go back to being nothing to you?

You were his and he was yours. He’d find a way to overcome this, if it’s the last thing he does.

That doesn’t mean it hasn’t been hard.

You made things hard.

You and your filthy mind.

You’d think about him all day, it would catch him off guard every time when he would watch over you at your job and you’d be so innocently sitting at your desk, like you weren’t thinking about the night before, in a scenario where you never woke up.

Your thoughts, painfully loud as you shifted in your seat. That date where you both rode on the backs of unicorns, you pictured his physique as you clung onto him that night as you and the herd rode into the sunset. It would just get worse, so much worse as you thought about when you both ended the ride, how he held you in his arms.

You wanted him to take you right then and there. It played so vividly in your mind, just like the countless other sinful fantasies that bounced around in your head all day. And he knew exactly how hot they would make you feel, the special bond you have making it all so clear what you wanted.

It was torture.

Jimin was forced to sit there and he couldn’t do anything about it. He’d even considered on a couple of occasions, merging down to the normal plane just to beg you to take pity on him.

Jimin hated you for it, it was pathetic.

You never realized it was Jimin’s doing, you always would curse to yourself whenever things got too hot and then you woke up in your apartment once more. You simply thought you got yourself too excited and would wake up as a result every single time.

In actuality it was the most speedy way to stop himself from going any further than he has.

He’s tried so hard not to go beyond kissing, so hard, and it was so pathetic that he wanted more every time. Every single time.

One day you had asked Jimin to take you back to the diner because you were craving their breakfast. The date had gone similar to the first time he took you, Laura served you a mountainous amount of food as you chatted about anything that came to mind. You were a little braver this time in getting up to explore the diner, wanting to see the extent your mind came up with the smallest details.

You went over to the jukebox they had sitting in the corner and bet that nothing would play because none of the songs were ones you recognized. Low and behold the random song you picked ended up overcoming the murmur of the other customers at the diner.

You were stunned but that officially meant you lost the bet. Jimin knew you would, but his wish was simple. He just wanted you to dance with him.

He laughed at your defeat but didn’t hesitate in pulling you close as you both began to sway to the soft strums of the guitar and drum of “My Girl,” one of his favorites from when he visited the time period. The moment had been a chance to have you in his arms, the others in the diner disappearing as you both just enjoyed the moment.

It was perfect, you were perfect. A warm feeling spread in his chest as he held you, that Jimin used his hand to make you look up at him so he could just kiss you.

It should have been a perfect, sweet moment— it was all up until your filthy mind was back and he knew you wanted more. The warm, sweet feeling turned into something darker almost instantaneously.

At this point he had it.

Jimin knew you were confused when suddenly you were pinned up against the counter a couple had been eating ice cream at only moments prior.

If things had gone your way he would have taken you right then and there. He would have had your dress bunched around your waist and fucked you so maybe then you would learn to behave.

And he nearly did, he nearly took you right against that counter. His hand on your waist had been shaking because just a thin piece of fabric was in the way of having you like he wanted. And your mind… you just made things worse.

That’s how every meeting would go between you these days. It was horrible and it was all because of you.

If you hadn’t done this to him he wouldn’t be in this position.

If you just listened to me you wouldn’t be in this position.

If he wasn’t so weak he wouldn’t be in this position.

But at the end of the day, he made his choice, and he continued to make the same one every night when he visited you.

No one was forcing him to continue this. You still thought he was just a dream, you would eventually forget about him and things could go back to the way they should be.

You were innocent in all of this, yet this fiery heated emotion was constantly directed towards you. He hated it, he hated all of these new emotions. As beautiful as the orchestra was, all of them felt strange, unnatural, dangerous even.

Jimin shouldn’t be feeling anything. He should be the soldier he was trained to be, obedient and with only one thing in mind— maintaining the balance and continuing the cycle of life in the universe.

A new emotion manifested all on its own as a result.

A gray cloud of gloom would storm, thunder, and pour continuously over his head when he watched over you throughout the day. Jimin couldn’t control it, and that just made things more confusing.

Was it sadness, depression, maybe some watered down version of it? What if it was something else entirely?

As happy as he was to be with you, it wasn’t right, nothing was right anymore.

Jimin had disobeyed the commands of his leader and now he was struggling to keep the one promise that his team had made with each other and had maintained for eons.

Jimin wanted the solution to just be that he had to stay in line, but that line kept being moved and manipulated. He just knew things would only get worse.

Was this what happiness was meant to feel like? All the humans he looked after, was it always this confusing for them? This pain that just didn’t make any sense— no end, no beginning, no wound, no blood, he could never place it… it just hurt all over.

Was this what he wanted when he decided to be with you?

He was happy, he was sad too, he was angry, he hated you, he hated himself more. It was all too much and Jimin felt like a hurricane was whishing and whirling around in his head— his mind was a horrible, tumultuous storm and maybe if he was human he would understand how to navigate this.

If he was human the problems he faced wouldn’t exist, he could be with you no consequences whatsoever. But at least if he was human he would be used to these strange feelings.

Maybe the answer would be clearer.

But every night Jimin came back to you and he never wanted to stop, because through the storm you were his beacon, his lighthouse, his safety, his refuge.

You were the only thing that made sense anymore and he just wanted to be with you, even if it was from far away it was still something.

Jimin hoped it would have stayed that way, he wasn’t entirely content but he respected the boundaries your relationship needed to have.

It was fine, and everything would have continued to be fine if he didn’t exist.

⊱ ────── {⋅. ✯ .⋅} ────── ⊰

You were enjoying your lunch break that day by yourself. Your friend Mina had been at home sick so you were eating your tteokbokki alone and mindlessly scrolling through your phone to occupy your time.

You weren’t truly alone though, you never were.

The cafeteria was minimalistic— the white, sleek, modern walls and tables, contrasted nicely with the bright chairs and accents throughout the room. It was a style something your office loved as they were a fan of bright colors, that being evident even in the office space.

Jimin sat with you at the table in the blue chair and you were in the red one right across from him.

You were completely unaware of his existence or all the rain that flooded the cafeteria as the cloud above his head continued to storm. Jimin was soaked but he’s grown used to it at this point.

He felt numb, but sitting here with you was nice.

Maybe in some other world you both might have been coworkers, a secret romance that blossomed between you two that eventually you couldn’t keep a secret any longer. The storm wasn’t overhead instead you both were sharing a meal together as everyone around you sighed at how single they were.

They were jealous and you would always laugh because you both really were lucky.

He couldn’t help but wonder sometimes, if you met while he was human would you have liked him? What if the only reason why you said yes was because you thought he was a figment of your imagination, your desires making you look past the glaring fact you didn’t find him dateworthy if it were real life?

Would Jimin have been a nice human? One your eyes would have been instantly drawn too? Would he have been charismatic, would he have you laughing with each and every joke he told?

He was human once, surely out of all the lives he lived at some point there was one that would make you fall for him.

But here right now? The Jimin you would have met, would you like him?

Jimin’s thoughts were interrupted when he noticed you turn toward the sound of the clicking of shoes against the tiled floor— ultimately looking at the guy who was walking over to your table.

Name: Pyeon Jin-Sang

Age: 28

Occupation: Lead Financial Officer at Divine Pharmaceuticals

He was a fellow coworker and you both had spoken on a couple of occasions. It was mainly about work, you both didn’t see each other much working in different departments.

It was why you were a little shocked to see him coming over to you.

Jimin instantly felt his blood run cold because he knew what he wanted.

“Hey Y/n…!” He was a little awkward, maybe nervous, but he was still cheerful as he took a seat at the green chair in between you two.

Jimin didn’t like him.

“Hi!” You smiled back as pleasantly as you could considering your mouth was full of tteokbokki.

“How have you been?”

“Ummm….” You were definitely confused, you normally didn’t have these casual conversations like this.

“I’ve been ok I guess, things have been a little busy in marketing, but I’m making it.” You were wondering if this was about work or something along those lines.

“I heard things were busy over there. You’re doing ok, right?” Jin-Sang seemed genuinely concerned.

You nodded. “I’m fine, but I think it was a little too much for Mina— she got a pretty high fever after staying late the other day.”

“Is that why she’s not here today?” Jin-Sang asked, looking around.

You nodded once again, taking another bite of your tteokbokki.

“Mmm well, you take care of yourself, alright? Seeing you around the office always puts a smile on my face.” He cheesed, cheeks dusting pink in the process.

You only halfway picked up on the flirting attempt— noticing it, but choosing to ignore it because no way was Jin-Sang trying to flirt with you.

Your face flushed nonetheless.

The conversation grew more natural with the uncomfortable icebreaker out the way.

You both talked a little more about seemingly anything and everything that came to mind, a little work, but you mainly focused on the personal details that you both just never seemed to discuss before.

He was a nice guy and a lot more interesting than you would have guessed from your brief interactions in the past. You laughed as he told you about the time he and his friends went kayaking down the rapids in Australia and how they nearly went down a waterfall after they made a wrong turn.

Jin-Sang was exciting, nice, and really funny.

The more you talked the more you picked up on his shy attempt at flirting with you. It was cute, he was cute.

He wore a suit that nicely fitted his frame, his sharp eyes would crinkle up anytime he’d smile at you, his dark hair neatly styled with a sharp undercut on display, but his cute round glasses and soft pink cheeks just made him look like a teddy bear.

There was no denying it, he was handsome.

You both talked for pretty much your entire lunch break and it was just as you were about to leave when he finally asked you the question.

“Uh… Y/n.” Jin-Sang called out to you as you started getting up. His voice wavered slightly and he quickly started playing with hands.

“You probably already know I didn’t just come over here to talk about my Australia trip or the logistics of blue cheese…”

It had been a strange conversation looking back on it now.

Jin-Sang paused and looked around like he was trying to find the right words.

“Alright, fuck it. I meant what I said in the fact I look forward to seeing you everyday, and even though we only talk on rare occasions, I really want to get to know you more.” Jin-Sang paused once again to gauge your reaction and you couldn’t stop the smile on your face growing even wider when he noticed yours.

“Uhhh…” He giggled as he scratched his head.

“Sorry you’re really pretty…” He tried to laugh it off, but you heard it and you couldn’t deny the butterflies you felt at the compliment.

“I really came over to ask if you wouldn’t mind hanging out with me outside of work.” He smiled at you.

Oh that smile could kill someone.

“Like a date?” You asked, a giddy feeling spreading in your chest.

“Yeah, a date.” You noticed his smile grow wider at your mention of it.

This should have been easy. Obviously there was enough chemistry here that trying things out would be worth it in your opinion. It was on the tip of your tongue to ask him for the time and place and tell him you’d be there.

Maybe things would make a little sense if the only reason for your hesitation was your concern of pursuing a workplace relationship. Those can get messy and there should be a little caution before being ready to take that short of risk. But that’s not why you hesitated.

As much as you enjoyed Jin-Sang’s company, a certain angel that made his way into your head every night was what ultimately stopped you in your tracks. What you actually were about to say, was that while he was a nice guy, you had a boyfriend already.

But that just served as a reminder that Jimin was nothing more than a figment of your imagination. As much fun as you were having with Jimin, at the end of the day, he was just someone who lived in your head.

And maybe this was a sign. You thought you had sworn off relationships for a while, but Jin-Sang was nice and a date or two wouldn’t do any harm. If things worked out then that’s great, but if they didn’t then so be it.

Jin-Sang noticed the way your smile started to drop as the proposition lingered in the air.

“Uh— you don’t have to respond right away! This was pretty sudden so I can give you some time to think!” He panicked and you instantly felt bad. This wasn’t fair.

“Oh yeah… um— can I have your number so we can talk?” You asked and he was quick to give you the digits before you could even open up your contacts list.

It was cute.

He gave you a slightly awkward goodbye as he made his way back over to his table of friends who had been eying you both intently since he walked over here.

As soon as he was gone, the guilt you felt nearly overflowed. To make matters worse you didn’t know who you felt more bad for, the fact you didn’t give Jin-Sang an immediate answer because of a figment of your imagination or… did you feel bad for what you might be about to do to Jimin?

It was crazy right?

Maybe you might have been, but you didn’t know that the Jimin that had stopped you, wasn’t in your head but sitting across from you.

From where he sat the storm that had poured over his head had filled the entire room, lightning flashed, and thunder crashed, as the wind blew everything around.

Jimin could hardly see you anymore, the rage he felt burning from within making a hollow gaze settle onto his blue eyes.

He didn’t scream, he didn’t yell, none of that would have done anything anyway.

Instead he let the embers burn, catching ablaze faster and faster and faster. It was a new emotion— it wasn’t rage, hatred, or anything in between but he knew it came from a place he didn’t like.

His confusion didn’t help but the storm raged on anyway and by the seconds grew even more powerful somehow. He couldn’t think straight, only one thought seemed to pierce through the storm.

You were his.

⊱ ────── {⋅. ✯ .⋅} ────── ⊰

Jin-Sang texted you by the time you made it home for you to tell Mina he hoped she felt better soon and also invited you out for coffee or ‘your preferred drink of choice’ on Saturday. Apparently this new cafe had opened up and everyone was talking about it. You wanted to text him back and tell him you were down and you were excited for Saturday, but it was like this little nagging voice in your head anytime you tried to type anything out would stop you.

Jimin.

It was stupid, incredibly stupid.

You knew Jimin only existed in your head, but sometimes it was so easy to forget that. Jimin was unlike any other person who’s made their way into your dreams, especially as someone you never met before, he felt very… real.

Maybe it was because of how vivid they always were, but Jimin felt like a real person. He had likes and dislikes that didn’t match your own, he had stories to tell you that you don’t remember, and something about the way he’d look into your eyes.

It felt real, too real that you often wondered if you had actually lost your mind.

Maybe you had and Jin-Sang was a sign you needed to wake up.

You had been lying on the couch trying to come up with an excuse why it wouldn’t be a good idea to go out with Jin-Sang besides your make-believe boyfriend, but apparently your mind was tired from the day, too much had happened. It also didn’t help that you had ASMR playing in the background, you were out before you even realized it.

You don’t know how long you were asleep for, but eventually you opened your eyes to find yourself looking out to the familiar field you found yourself at every night.

But things were immediately off.

You were propped up against the tree like you had been sleeping under it, and from this view you could see… well, you couldn’t see.

A thick gray fog covered the field so you could hardly see in front of you, thunder rumbled in the distance, and a light rain steadily started to sprinkle across your skin.

It was pouring though, you could tell in the heavy pitter patter sounds of the rain hitting the tall grass of the meadow, but you figured the large tree overhead was what was giving you a little coverage.

What was going on? The weather was usually so nice when you came here.

You looked around a little confused, things weren’t normally like this. But just as you were about to start calling out to him you were shocked when you finally noticed Jimin sitting around the tree.

He had his knees to his chest and his head was buried down in between.

“I’m sorry… the clouds just seem to follow me these days.” Jimin sighed.

And he was off too. Jimin was usually so happy to see you, always greeting you with a hug knowing how much you love them. It was clear something was bothering him.

You scooted closer so you were sitting right next to him.

“Are you ok?” Your voice was soft as you rested your hand on his shoulder.

You didn’t get an answer right away, instead the rain filled the growing silence once more. Part of you thought he might not have heard you so you were about to ask him again, but slowly Jimin lifted his head to look out to the foggy meadow.

You could see his eyes now, the vibrant blue looked like a violent storm at sea, the waves reached astounding heights and the rain poured overhead— the chaos of nature itself. Yet it was a quiet storm, one not a soul on land was aware of.

“Please don’t tell me you’re thinking about it.” Jimin sounded like all the life had been sucked out of him, his cheery smile gone and instead this plain, dead expression on his face.

For a second you had no idea what he was talking about, but the moment was truly small because of course the Jimin in your head would know about your dilemma with a certain coworker.

“Jimin—“

“You told me you were mine, that we were going to try…” If you didn’t know any better you thought he sounded like he was on the verge of tears, but your angel couldn’t cry, instead a heavy emotion with no way of release was filling his head.

In the distance the rumbling thunder grew a little louder.

You sighed and scooted even closer so you could put your arm around him.

“Please tell me you aren’t going.” Jimin tried again, this time finally turning to face you. For some reason he seemed slightly agitated, his gaze dark but filled with a pain that made your heart ache.

“Jimin… I’ve enjoyed our time together. Shit, you have no idea how much I wish you were real— actually, you probably do, you know everything I think—“

You took a deep breath.

“But you’re not. None of this is real. I can’t go out and introduce you to people. We can’t walk down the street and hold hands. Jimin you don’t exist, you’re just a figment of my imagination.” Your words were a little harsh but he had to understand.

You finally turned to him and you hated the look on his face, you could tell he was hurt. If that wasn’t a sign enough rain suddenly started pouring down from the sky.

It was violent, the cover of the tree wasn’t enough to shield you from the droplets that continuously hit your skin. You were soaked in seconds.

“Jimin!” You exclaimed, just a little annoyed he was reacting this way, but you felt bad as well.

“I’m sorry…” He grumbled the apology yet he didn’t feel bad at all.

He hated you.

He hated you because you were right in a way. He was real but he couldn’t do any of those things with you. To you he might as well be a part of your imagination, this is the farthest your relationship could go.

You could tell he was upset so you scooted closer and wrapped your arm around his shoulders.

“I wish so fucking much you were real and we could do all those things. The fact that I’m even contemplating this date over someone who doesn’t exist should tell you that much.” The pain in your voice, the sobs, you hoped he could feel how much you wanted him. Your tears ran down your cheeks, but you were thankful for the rain to cover it up some.

This was the perfect opportunity.

Everyone was right.

Jimin couldn’t even look at you, the grass that was being flooded by the rain held his attention. He watched as the water would try to soak into the ground, but too quickly there was more to take its place.

The grass was drowning.

This was one of those moments Jimin wished he could cry, something, because the reality of the situation was too much to handle.

He didn’t want to say goodbye, he didn’t want to let you go.

But it made sense.

His other half was right, this was the perfect opportunity.

Jimin knew Jin-Sang wasn’t a bad guy. His intentions were pure and he knew the date you would have would go well. You shared a lot of interest you’ve yet to discover and he would treat you well. He worked a well paying job, he would love you— he almost did already.

Jin-Sang could be the one.

Maybe things would be easier if he was sure, if he was like the higher up angels and he could know what stopping you from going on that date would do. He could be stopping you from your chance of happiness, something that he could never give you.

But he only knew the now and now hurts so much.

He didn’t want to let you go.

“Jimin… say something.” You cried seeing he was just playing with the grass underneath him.

The rain just got harder and harder. You were almost in a hurricane.

Now was the perfect opportunity.

He could say goodbye to you right now. He was only a dream to you. You would forget about him eventually. He could right the wrongs of this situation and go back to his position as it should. He was meant to be your guardian, nothing more.

Things would fall back to line eventually. Maybe with Jin-Sang there you would move on more easily. You would be happy and he would just be forced to watch it happen.

He wasn’t meant to be part of your life.

He didn’t belong here.

It might be hard now, but he would have had to say goodbye to you eventually. This was his opportunity.

It might hurt for a while, maybe even forever, but you would eventually fade into all the other souls he watched over and guided into the beyond.

Things could go back to normal, he could make his team happy, he could finally follow his leader’s orders.

This was it.

Jimin just needed to say goodbye.

But…

The clouds that raged around you almost dissipated instantly, the dark gloomy overcast replaced with the shining sun you were used to.

You looked around confused before turning back to Jimin wondering what was happening.

His head was still buried in his knees, but slowly but surely he lifted his head to finally meet your eyes again.

You certainly weren’t expecting to meet his dark gaze. His light blue eyes that reminded you of the ocean were replaced with something dark, black, a void almost. It’s like the storm itself had condensed small enough to rest behind his sad gaze.

It was scary only for a second.

“You’re right… I just… I don’t want to say goodbye.” He sounded like he was about to break. It’s like you were looking at a dam seconds away from exploding. Even though you knew he couldn’t cry it almost sounded like he was but the tears never flowed.

“Y/n, I’m sorry, it hurts and I don’t— don’t know how I— how to—“ He didn’t know what to say, how to articulate these feelings. All he knew was that it hurt somewhere deep inside to look at you right now.

You quickly pulled him into a hug.

“I get it… it hurts too.” Your voice was shaky as the tears streamed down your cheeks.

Jimin didn’t like the way this felt, you shaking in his arms, the ache he just couldn’t pinpoint in his body. It felt worse than a darkened blade piercing his skin. He wanted to scream but instead he just stared off into the endless meadow you meet every night.

When you pulled away, your tear streaked face made it hurt even more.

He didn’t know what to do, but seeing you like this, he would do anything to take the pain away.

Jimin cupped your cheek lightly and pulled you close. He was so gentle as his thumb lightly wiped away the tears.

You stared into his dark orbs and you could just see the pain on his soft features. It was so hard to remember that look was nothing but your imagination being cruel to you. It hurt worse knowing you were the one who caused this.

More tears slipped past your eyes and Jimin wiped every one away.

He was so sweet and you nearly melted away when he finally closed the gap between you two. His lips were so soft and kissing him felt like touching a live wire at the way your body tingled.

How could you let this go? You didn’t want to—

Suddenly your eyes shot open and you were staring up at your living room ceiling. It took a second to process where you were, to calm your heavy breathing, and to realize the fact you were soaking wet.

You hurriedly looked around and noticed the glass of water you had sitting on the coffee table was knocked over, but you were soaked. Just as soaked as you felt in your dream with all the rain pouring over you.

You looked around confused, but decided not to think about it too much as you steadily got up to grab a towel.

⊱ ────── {⋅. ✯ .⋅} ────── ⊰

“What do you think about Pyeon Jin-Sang?” You ask absentmindedly to your friend who was sitting right in front of you.

You and Mina had gone out to this cute cafe for your lunch break instead of staying in like you usually did.

Mina had been sipping on her strawberry latte, something she claimed was the cure to getting rid of her sickness entirely. You doubted it, knowing your friend, you knew she just wanted something sweet.

“You mean that guy from finance?” You knew it took a second for her to remember who you were talking about.

You nodded, picking up your galaxy lemonade. It had been a new addition to the menu and seeing the pretty colors, you just had to try it.

“Ummm… I guess he’s nice, pretty good looking, I don’t know we haven’t really spoken much. Why?” She was genuinely confused, you couldn’t blame her though, this was coming pretty out of nowhere.

“The other day while you were out sick he asked me out.” You watched her face intently and you see the shock on her features almost double at the news.

“What?!” She nearly screamed, making you quickly need to shush her.

“What?” Mina tried again, this time only a little quieter, emphasis on little.

You nodded.

“And you’re just now telling me?!” She almost sounded a little hurt at this.

“I would have said something sooner, but…” You started but trailed off.

“Are you thinking of not going?” Mina’s attention turned to the little tea cakes you both were sharing.

“That’s the thing, we talked that day and he was really sweet, funny, and I think I’d be willing to try out the date…”

“I’m sensing a but coming.” Mina knew you too well.

You had to think about how to phrase this without sounding absolutely crazy.

“Well there was this guy that I really, really like who I was already kinda dating—“

“WHAT?!” Mina definitely screamed this time as she firmly slammed her hands on the table. “And you didn’t tell me??!! Who is he? Do I know him? Why didn’t you tell me you liked him, let alone dating?!!”

“Let me finish first!” You tried to calm her down.

She had to take a deep breath before finally letting you continue. You didn’t blame her though, maybe this wasn’t the best way to go about this.

“Well he lives far away and as much as I like him the relationship just can’t work.” Your heart pained at the thought of Jimin so far away you can’t reach him. You miss him so much, you didn’t see each other yesterday.

“Oh…” You knew she had more questions but she was letting you finish first.

“Jin-Sang is nice and I want to go on that date with him, but as stupid as it may be, I—“

“Keep thinking about this mysterious man from far away?” Mina finished it for you and you nodded at her words.

Mina took a minute looking out the window, trying to find the right words.

“And you can’t do long distance?” She asked but you quickly shook your head.

If only it was as simple as a few hundred, you would even take thousands of miles in between you and Jimin. Unfortunately he wasn’t of this realm, only accessible through your mind.

Mina had more questions about that but she stopped herself again.

“We broke up when I told him about Jin-Sang.” You threw that in but did you and Jimin truly break up? It just felt like your relationship just started. The words still hurt.

“Oh…”

“Like it was fun while it lasted, but Jin-Sang is here. It’s not worth continuing something that can’t go anywhere.” You doubled down, but your hands were shaking in your lap. You didn’t mean anything you said.

“Well then I don’t know what’s so complicated, go on the date and have fun. One date never hurt anyone and if things have ended between you two it shouldn’t be a big issue. Like you said, you had fun, but if things aren’t going anywhere why waste your time.” Mina made it seem so easy.

Maybe it really was that easy.

It should be that easy.

“I get maybe you’re struggling because you still have feelings for this mystery guy, but they’ll eventually fade and going on that date might be a great start to putting that all in the past.” She smiled at you, taking another sip of her strawberry latte.

You didn’t want to move on. You didn’t want to let him go.

Your mind had been filled with his eyes right before you woke up from your dream, the pain and hurt in his dark orbs. You actually felt like you betrayed him.

But she was right.

You could be missing out on a really good guy for someone that wasn’t real. It was ridiculous.

“But this is the step in the right direction. I’m honestly a little shocked after I thought you said you swore off dating.” Mina recounted with a chuckle.

She had been by your side after your last relationship and had been that shoulder you cried on while you were going through the breakup. She knew how bad things were and the pain you felt that made you swear off from dating entirely.

“I’m proud.” And this was the nail in the coffin for you as she reached her hand over the table and rested it on yours that was playing with the edge of the napkin your drink sat on top of.

Mina was right.

You really have come a long way.

The fact you were even considering going out again was a step in the right direction.

Jimin… you knew he was there because no matter what you said about dating being a thing of your past, you still craved the touch of another human being. You had shut out everyone after your last relationship and after your time with Jimin you truly felt like you could try and let someone back in.

Slowly, you knew the relationship would have to move slowly. You weren’t there entirely yet and especially after Jimin— moving on would still be hard. But you were willing to try.

It just sucks you can’t thank the person who’s gotten you this far.

“It was him.” You tried to smile but your heart still hurt.

“Even though we were separated. He was truly there for me. It just sucks it didn’t work out, but I think you’re right. I should give Jin-Sang a try.” As much as it hurt now you didn’t regret your decision.

This felt right.

You and Mina clinked your drinks together in celebration and on your way back to work she helped you draft up your message to Jin-Sang after you told her how awkward things got after he asked you out.

By the time you were back, you and Jin-Sang were on for Saturday.

Jin-Sang [1:46pm]: can’t wait :3

And as much as you couldn’t stop thinking about Jimin, you honestly couldn’t either.

⊱ ────── {⋅. ✯ .⋅} ────── ⊰

You couldn’t see him but Jimin was right by your side every step of the way. He was there with you and Mina sitting at the empty table beside you both.

For some strange reason he’d hoped your talk with Mina would deter you from going through with this, that for some reason she would say to choose him despite it being impossible. Even in the vague way you explained your situation, she still chose Jin-Sang.

Jin-Sang was the correct choice after all.

Jimin had taken a small break yesterday from watching over you in order to get his head back in the game. That weird pain he felt deep down just got worse anytime he’d look at you.

He’d tried his best to convince himself that this was the right choice, that saying goodbye was what you should be doing. It was easier to accept when he was far away from you, in the refuge of that forest he found himself at whenever things got too hard.

It was easier to look at things objectively and accept that he had his fun with you, but now it was time to say goodbye for good and for things to go back to normal between you too.

Jimin only saw you briefly yesterday, anytime there was a sin that he would detect he was back next to you in a flash and taking all his frustration out on the monstrosity.

Today he thought things would be different, he thought the day yesterday was enough to get past the worst of it and for you both to begin your path to normalcy again.

But hearing you and Mina talk… when you said that you and this ‘mysterious guy you couldn’t be with’ had broken up he nearly lost it entirely.

A violent tornado formed around him in an instant and he just screamed out into the void that he lived in. Hearing those words made the realization hit him so much on how you would go back to staring right through him.

You were so close yet so far.

He would be nothing to you.

He remembered the pain he felt only months ago watching you live your life and he couldn’t be a part of it no matter how much he wanted to.

He didn’t know what to do.

He knew you texted Jin-Sang about the date but he was gone to the forest all over again. His head was swimming with all these unfamiliar emotions and he didn’t know what to do.

He had no one to talk to, he couldn’t tell his teammates— they all thought he was done with you already and certainly if he revealed it now he wouldn’t be granted with the advice he craved for.

Instead in his rage he nearly turned to the most drastic measures.

Alone in the forest, he felt cursed. He detested the life he lived, if he was normal, if he was human there would be no reason you both couldn’t be together.

His handle had turned into a small blade, his shirt had been discarded somewhere in the brush. The words that painted his skin all were blackened out and he still had healing scars from all the repenting he had to do.

At first this was only meant to be a reminder of the reason he needed to leave you, to see the damage you had caused him. But he wanted it to hurt, to hurt more than this burn he felt more from the inside because even then he still wanted to be with you.

Jimin had unfolded his wings and had them resting in his lap with the blade only centimeters away. He’d gotten as far as the knife had managed to graze the delicate feathers and it sent him screaming.

His knife had managed to put a slight tear in one of the feathers and that alone made him pass out.

He’d wanted them off entirely but his wings were too sensitive to try and do it willingly. Apparently his body rejected the idea.

Or really he didn’t want them off, he just wanted to be normal so you both could have your life together.

When he woke up merely seconds later Jimin felt different.

It was strange.

Beforehand, despite all the pain, he was going to try to leave you alone. He was going to try to say goodbye, no matter how much it hurt.

But now… His other half was silent and for once he felt like he could think for himself. Suddenly it all made sense now and what he wanted became so clear.

Why couldn’t he be selfish for once?

You were his after all.

⊱ ────── {⋅. ✯ .⋅} ────── ⊰

It was the big day, Saturday.

Jimin had been watching you as you started getting ready. Your date wasn’t till four but since it’s been a while since you’ve gone on a first date, you were feeling nervous with an extra need to make yourself look presentable so you started the process early so you didn’t have to rush.

Jimin hated the way he felt, he hated the way you felt even more.

You were giddy, eager for tonight— for a man that wasn’t him.

Jimin had no right to be upset.

But he was.

This flame just grew as he watched you get ready steadily. And you looked so good too…

You always did…

The situation just felt unfair.

Why did Jin-Sang get to have you?

The whole argument centered around the fact you thought he wasn’t real, but he existed just like anyone else in the world? Why did he have to give in for the sake of some human?

He would be better to you, he knew he would. So why did he need to be the one to let you go?

It just pissed him off even more. Were you so easily forgetting who you belong to?

You were his and he was yours. Why did he need to suffer and watch you live on? It was unfair, this shit was so unfair.

He’s sacrificed so much for you already and now he was the one who had to give up?

Jimin didn’t like the nasty emotion that just kept growing as he watched you.

Anytime you’d text Jin-Sang about later he felt like he wanted to slam himself into a building. He felt an even greater urge to fly over to his apartment and set things straight. He didn’t know what came over him.

This was meant to be the right choice yet it didn’t feel like it.

And then…

Though he was here with you, he knew at the moment Jin-Sang was on the phone with his friend about whether it was weird to bring condoms on the first date or not. Jin-Sang was saying “what if she thinks that’s the only thing I want?” but his friend was saying to bring them “just in case, you never know how this date might go.”

Jimin wanted to go over and slap him for even thinking about it, but again he had no right. It just made him think back to what things were like with your last boyfriend. It was hard then to manage, but now… now…

Anger cursed through his body the closer the time got because it wasn’t fucking fair.

You were his. He was your boyfriend, you were his girlfriend.

He should be the one you’re so giddy to see later, he should be the one you’re so tentatively getting ready for a date for. It should be him, it should be him, this wasn’t fair.

Because it truly wasn’t.

If things were different— no fuck that.

Jimin should have left, given himself another day, maybe to cool off. Maybe even a more official break would have been the best thing to do to give himself time to reset. He shouldn’t have stayed but it was that same strange, nasty emotion he hated that brought him into a whole new problem.

It was only a few hours to your date and you were chilling on your bed, a silk robe the only thing covering your body. You’d already showered and done all the pampering you needed to. You even had your dress laid out on the bed beside you after you spent nearly two hours on the phone with Mina about what to wear.

You both decided on something casual enough since you were just going out to coffee, but still was sophisticated in its slight pretty elements. It was a simple, black, short sleeve dress that had cute heart shaped buttons going down about halfway, its white collar and the way it gently hugged your curves gave it that level of spice that Mina said it would be perfect for the date. You also had this tiny white purse and fun, cute shoes that also had hearts on it to match.

It was very different to how you dress at work but that was exactly the point.

All you needed to do now was get your clothes on, do your hair and makeup and then you were out the door. It might seem like a lot, but you knew you wanted to give yourself some time to make sure everything was perfect.

Laying here though after all the hectiness of trying to get ready, it was only for a split second did you feel sleepy. You didn’t think too much of it though, you were about to get up soon anyway, but it’s like this wave suddenly overtook you and before you had time to react you were out cold.

You didn’t even realize you had fallen asleep until suddenly your eyes shot open and you were back underneath the tree you used to find yourself every night under. It had been a few days since you’d last seen Jimin, nearly a week at this point since that emotional fiasco happened last time.

Even though you’d tried to end things with Jimin, you were honestly glad to find yourself back. Last time just didn’t feel like the right place to leave on.

You looked around a second wondering where he was until suddenly you heard footsteps on the other side of the tree. You moved around and low and behold there was Jimin leaning against the tree with his arms crossed.

“Jimin?” You tested already sensing something was off.

“So you’re really doing this…” His voice was low and you sensed the attitude behind his words.

“We talked about this already, as much as I want to be with you, you know that can’t happen.” You sighed, slightly annoyed you needed to repeat yourself but understood this was hard. But why was your consciousness doing this to you?

Jimin finally looked over to you and he was staring at you with that same dark gaze that you saw last time. You could still see the raging storm in his eyes, you could see the pain and hurt you’d caused.

Jimin started walking closer to you.

“And after everything we've been through, you still think I’m not real?” The question seemed to ring in your head as the words settled in the air.

Jimin kept moving closer and you were just stunned because you didn’t know what to say. Of course this wasn’t real… it couldn’t be real.

You never stopped him as he came close enough so your back was against the tree, his arms coming up by your head, effectively caging you in.

“You really still think that…” He looked shattered as he stared into your eyes.

“Jimin…” His name fell from your lips unintentionally, it was almost a sob seeing that look in his eyes. He backed up slightly, disappointment written all over his features. He paced around for a few seconds.

“Or is that what you want that to be the case?” Jimin suddenly turned back to you, he was angry, malice laced in his words.

“What?” Your eyes were teary but you were confused. Where was this coming from?

“Jimin you know—“

“Do I?” He laughed.

“You just keep telling yourself that I’m not real so you don’t feel guilty about doing shit like this.” The accusation was insane and entirely unfair, but Jimin wanted it to hurt as much as you hurt him.

You had been sympathetic at first, but that quickly was wearing thin the more he talked, because this made no sense.

“What the fuck are you talking about? For someone who’s always in my head, this one time you’re choosing to ignore any it and make these stupid fucking claims?” Now you were angry, more than that actually because why was Jimin making this so hard for you?

“Hard for you?! Do you even know—“ Jimin had to stop himself real quick, the pain was overwhelming at this point. Why did this hurt so much? He didn’t know how to handle this at all.

“You promised we’d try…” You don’t know how much those words meant to him back then. To hear that you’d be willing to put up with his incompetence when it came to this type of relationship, it meant the world to him. He’d been so scared of messing things up, he’d already had but you’d so easily forgiven his mistakes and he thought things were going good so far.

“I did! But… Jimin we tried, and we tried as far as we could. I love the time we spent together and I wish, Jimin please hear me, I wish we could try more— into the real world. I wish I could go out and introduce you to people as my boyfriend, but I can’t! Look around, we’re in my head! This isn’t real, none of this is real and as much as I’ve enjoyed my time with you Jimin this is just a sign I need to move—“

The pain just got worse and worse.

“That would make things so much easier.” His attention wasn’t on you anymore, he couldn’t look at you, instead he stared down at his bare feet in the lush green grass.

“What are you sayi—“ Before you could finish he took a step closer to you once again.

“It wouldn’t hurt as much seeing you go off with him.” He’d gotten real quiet, but you could hear the quiver in his voice.

He took another step closer so he was standing directly in front of you. His hand came up steadily to intertwine his fingers with your own, so soft and gentle.

“I’m sorry… it just hurts so much and I don’t know what to do.” He steadily lifted your hand so it was resting on his shoulder. He finally raised his head to look up at you and you could have broken down right there seeing how dark his eyes had grown.

“Jimin…”

“I’ve never felt like this before and it just hurts so fucking much. I’m sorry.” He truly did feel bad about what he said. It wasn’t right to take this out on you. But he was still mad, this was all so unfair.

“I wish— I wish things were different.” You looked up at him with sad eyes, hoping he could sense your own pain in this.

“Why couldn’t you be someone I knew— a coworker, a highschool classmate I forgot about, a stranger I pass by everyday on the way to work— anything.” You sighed, frustrated honestly.

Even if the real life Jimin wasn’t anything like the one who’s made his way into your dreams every night, it still would be a relief to know he was there, that you could actually reach out and touch him, that you haven’t gone absolutely crazy over a person who didn’t exist.

“Why do you keep saying that?” Jimin cried once again in your head when he shouldn’t be.

“Because it’s the truth—“

“I wish this wasn’t real! If I didn’t exist then I wouldn’t have to live like this— watch you run off with some other guy because I can’t be with you. Maybe then it wouldn’t hurt so much…” It really would be better.

Every time you’d leave the dream he wouldn’t know what was happening, he would cease to exist until your mind conjured him up once again. Things would be so simple, wouldn’t it? He wished that was the case. Did you seriously not know?

He already knew that answer.

“Jimin… you seriously can’t tell me you think this is real?” Your eyes were sympathetic as you lightly ran your finger over his shoulder, before moving up to rub his neck.

Your words flipped a switch inside, you saw it happen with your own eyes, his sad gaze turning dark all in a second.

Suddenly Jimin started leaning in close, he was only centimeters from your lips.

“Is that what you want?” His voice was low, dangerous, like that was a challenge.

“Huh…” You were out of it, you couldn’t concentrate with him so close.

“Is that what you want— you wanna run off with him?” He was pissed again and back with the outrageous claims.

“Jimin—“

Suddenly you felt your other hand being lifted to rest on his shoulder as well, to which you finally wrapped your arms around his neck.

“This isn’t real?” He looked you right in the eyes.

“You’re trying to tell me what I feel for you isn’t real?” You hurt him again and you didn’t know what to say. Of course to him this was his reality but for you—

“Stop doing that!” He exclaimed, his gaze staring right through your soul.

You didn’t know what to say and Jimin didn’t want you to anymore, instead he finally closed the gap that was between you. His soft, plump lips melted against yours as you felt that fiery explosion of butterflies you did every time you and Jimin kissed.

You tried to pull him as close as you could, you wanted him to feel how no matter what, you truly did wish you could be with him.

But then he pulled away enough to separate the kiss, making a whine escape your lips.

“You’re mine.” He breathed out as his hands traveled down to rest on your hips.

“Jimin—“ Before you could finish you were silenced by his lips on yours again.

“Shut up— please, please shut the fuck up.” He sighed in between kissing you.

And this time you listened. For all you knew this might be the last time you’re seeing each other and there was no point going back and forth like this. Instead you wanted to leave this off on a positive note.

“You’re mine.” Jimin reiterated again because apparently you weren’t understanding.

This just made you kiss him harder. It quickly grew hot, heavy, and needy because you just wanted him close and this just wasn’t cutting it.

“Fuck—“ You moaned as he hurriedly pulled on his sweater.

“Do you understand? You’re mine.” He needed you to understand. He was tired of playing the act that he was fine with letting you go— no you were his. It was just that simple.

Jimin had your back pressed hard into the bark in the tree, one hand on your waist the other sliding up your arm to finally cup your cheek to angle you just as he needed you.

His body was on fire faster than he could handle and he didn’t know why. This strange rage just made him want you even more than he could process. It almost hurt— he needed to slow down—

“Jimin, please— fuck, please!” You cried needing more. You didn’t have to ask again before suddenly you were falling once again and your back was against the soft grass with Jimin hovering right on top of you.

Your breathing was heavy as you stared at each other, his dark eyes staring right into your own, a pained expression on his features.

But the moment apart was short lived as Jimin dove straight down to your neck, hastily planting kisses across your hot skin.

“You’re mine.” The grit in his voice, it was almost if he growled right in your ear and you nearly lost it all together.

Your legs hurriedly came up to wrap around his waist to pull him closer.

It was then when Jimin panicked a bit— you were so close— sin, so much sin, he needed to stop he should stop but—

Jimin’s lips were back on yours in a hurry, you moaned lightly as you felt him start to rock into your heat. So good, it felt so good.

Your hands, your hands coming up to quickly tangle in his hair, this— then your lips were on his neck, kissing, sucking, marking him up like he hoped it would.

Jimin let out a pained moan because the words on his body were burning so much it hurt but you felt so good. This strange mix of pleasure and pain had his body confused and he bucked faster into you because fuck—

He should have stopped, he needed to stop but it just never felt like it was enough. He needed you to know who you belonged to.

By now he would have stopped because the longer you kissed the more excited he knew he was getting. He never wanted things to get that far, scared he might reach a point of no return, but something about today was different, he wanted you to feel just how much he wanted you.

And it didn’t take very long for that to happen…

It was too much. Every touch, every kiss he gave to you, he could feel it all. The connection you shared allowed him to feel for the both of you and it quickly got overwhelming.

He couldn’t control it and it just made that fire burn uncontrollably as your fervent hands ran down up and down his back and through his hair.

He loved kissing you, he loved touching you and he loved how it felt when you did it back. And to think this was sin— it was, it had to be in the way you practically bewitched him.

“Jimin…” You moaned softly because you could feel it now.

Jimin broke away from you slightly to grab your hand and trailed it down over the fabric of his toned chest, down to his waistband of his sweatpants, and then you could feel the outline.

Jimin groaned as he lightly rubbed himself along your hand.

“Does this not feel real to you?” He could hardly get it out, his mind was fuzzy and he was screaming at himself not to push this any further but he just couldn’t stop.

Your eyes stared right into his with pain because as much as you wanted to—

“Stop doing that!” He whined, your hand was right there.

He couldn’t think straight anymore, he wanted to fuck you, he wanted you to understand how much he wanted you, he wanted you to realize it.

Jimin quickly pulled your hand away and was kissing you once again with even more ferocity. He had to make you understand, he couldn’t lose you.

He pushed into you, faster, harder, so fucking desperate.

You weren’t quite understanding the situation, you honestly thought that this was just going to be a heated goodbye. You thought this was your consciousness giving you one last hooray with Jimin before you needed to come back down to reality.

You just knew if you both weren’t naked in the next thirty seconds you were going to lose your mind. But Jimin thwarted any attempts you made at pulling down his sweatpants, even taking off his sweater proved to be an impossible task and you might have been more confused if Jimin didn’t make sure your attention stayed on him nonetheless.

You had never felt this turned on yet sexually frustrated simultaneously, but you enjoyed the grind, the hurried pace he set and you just wanted him too—

Suddenly a pain whined left his lips and you felt his hips falter slightly.

Oh? Was he close?

You pulled him closer, needing him as close as he could get.

If only—

You were so distracted by Jimin you hardly noticed things started to change around you. The beautiful meadow in your mind slowly started to drift away but all you could focus on was Jimin’s moans and his lips on yours.

It didn’t dawn onto you until it steadily started to realize you didn’t feel the grass against your back. The thought was brief compared to the feeling of Jimin hastily pulling off of you.

You finally opened your eyes and you were shocked to see you were staring up at what you quickly recognized as your bedroom’s ceiling.

You blinked a couple of times before you finally turned beside you where all the commotion was coming from.

Someone was beside you.

It almost sounded like they were in pain at their low groans and how they almost seemed curled up beside you. And it almost sounded like—

You hesitantly sat up and low and behold you saw Jimin’s pained face as he was clutching onto one of your pillows.

It was Jimin but he looked slightly different, gone was his blue hair, matching sweater and sweatpants— instead he was wearing a white, short sleeve shirt, with matching white flowy pants, he was also blonde again.

What was going on?

“Jimin?’ You finally said something.

The longer you sat here the more you realized something was off. That haziness, dreamy, whimsical feeling you always felt when you were with Jimin wasn’t here.

You looked down and you weren’t wearing your pretty white dress, instead your silky olive green robe you had thrown over the lingerie you had put on.

You looked around more and in fact this was your room, it looked exactly like your room eerily similar. Even the clothes you had set out for your date crumbled up underneath Jimin’s feet.

This seemed real… too real.

You felt awake.

“Jimin…?” You tried again, this time lightly placing a hand on his shoulder.

You weren’t seeing things, you could feel him, and at your touch he finally looked at you for a split second.

Light brown eyes looked back over you.

You could touch him, he was warm, and his pained whines…

Suddenly your whole conversation came back to you.

“And after everything we've been through, you still think I’m not real?”

You sat there waiting for you to wake up for real but the more you stared at Jimin the more you felt like that wouldn’t happen.

“Are—are you happy now?” His voice was muffled beside you by the pillow.

“I told you, you were mine…”

Suddenly it slapped you in the face.

You weren’t dreaming… were you?

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ghostradiodylan · 2 months

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What type of music would the counselors listen to?

I know some of my mutuals have answered this question before and I'm sure my headcanons will be influenced by theirs, AND I'm also significantly older than the counselors so they're probably listening to gen z stuff my late millennial ass doesn't even know about but here goes nothing!

Laura So much SIØBHAN! Just kidding. Laura feels like two completely different characters in the game so I have a hard time deciding what I think spunky but straight-laced, ‘this is my first cop,’ over-achieving pre-vet student Laura Kearney would listen to vs badass avenging murder spree Laura Kearney (but maybe she always had that inside her). Part of me wants to say, like, 80’s pop (Prince, Blondie, Tiffany, Michael Jackson, Pat Benetar, etc.) and part of me wants to put her in the hard rock/metal zone with Ryan. Maybe she’s a bit of both.

Max I believe it was Addie (@insertlovelyperson) who said Max would listen to country music where women murder their cheating or abusive husbands. That tracks to me. Maybe it's the use of Alma Cogan's version of 'Fly Me to the Moon' in the game, but I also tend to associate him with crooner type singers of the 40's and 50's (Frank Sinatra, Perry Como, Dean Martin, etc), which is what I said he'd choose for karaoke. And because of this fanart I have no choice but to HC him as a major Ariana Grande fan, he's probably the one who chose the music for the drive to camp. So. Max has range.

Abi is the K-Pop/J-Pop stan to me but I know so little about that music beyond the crossover bands like BTS that I can't speak to it a whole lot. I think she'd also like some emo, pop-punk and moodier alt/pop. Avril Lavigne, Paramore, Melanie Martinez, Florence and the Machine, Metric, Lorde, Halsey, Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Billie Eilish, Phoebe Bridgers/boygenius, etc. I feel like she's really into female fronted bands for some reason.

Jacob likes pretty much whatever is on the radio. He's a top 40 guy and has no shame about his enjoyment of Ed Sheeran and Justin Beiber, or about ugly crying to Taylor Swift and Coldplay. He rarely listens closely to the actual lyrics (and often gets them humorously wrong), he just goes on vibes. He discovers half the music he listens to via TikTok (not that there's anything wrong with that).

Emma is a theater kid through and through and loves broadway musicals. She goes through phases with each popular one. She's had a Waitress phase, a Mamma Mia phase, a Wicked phase, and a Hamilton phase, of course, and now she's into Mean Girls, Heathers, and Hadestown. Beyond that, I think she'd be a dedicated Swiftie, big Adele fan, and a lover of Britney Spears's entire body of work from the 90's through today.

Nick probably listens to stoner bro music. Like jam bands and psychedelic rock and stuff. He probably likes Dave Matthews Band and the Grateful Dead/Dark Star Orchestra, Sublime, Widespread Panic, Tame Impala, and O.A.R. Googling jam bands to remind myself which ones exist led me to the knowledge that there's an Australian psychedelic rock band called King Gizzard & the Lizard Wizard and that name is so bonkers that I've decided without listening to more than a few bars that it has to be Nick's favorite band.

Ryan is a little bit emo and a little bit goth and a little bit old school punk. He needs music that's loud and moody to help sort out his feelings about life and drown out all the excess noise inside his head. He's into metal, the harder side of emo/screamo, goth rock, hard rock, punk, and post-punk. He definitely listens to Nightwish, GOJIRA, Mastodon, Lacuna Coil, Linkin Park, Rage Against the Machine, Bauhaus, Joy Division, Nine Inch Nails, Deftones, Thursday, Alkaline Trio, My Chemical Romance, AFI, Bad Religion, Black Flag, Minor Threat, The Misfits, Ramones, etc. He doesn't hate more accessible pop and rock music, but the closest he gets to choosing it for himself is probably something like The Cure or The Smashing Pumpkins or Depeche Mode, maybe some of the creepier Weeknd songs and Muse tracks too heavy to go on the Twilight soundtracks. He and Abi listen to Babymetal together.

Kaitlyn classic rock and 90's alternative. This girl likes the Stones more than the Beatles, though she'll listen to both. Led Zeppelin, Joan Jett, Pink Floyd, The Doors, Black Sabbath, the occasional hair band. She especially loves the 90's girl rockers like Alanis Morisette, Garbage, Hole, Veruca Salt, and No Doubt (Kaitlyn can't believe Gwen Stefani is married to pop-country dork Blake Shelton who sings that song about being your honey bee, because Gwen used to be so cool [I'm definitely not projecting]). I feel like she'd also love Bikini Kill and Sleater Kinney, Le Tigre, and The Donnas.

Dylan is the Music Guy ™ (and my personal bias/url namesake), so I've admittedly thought about his musical tastes more than most of the others'. The official Quarry website mentions his 'deep musical knowledge' and I imagine he has pretty broad views on what constitutes good music. He's got kind of a vintage vibe to him, maybe it's the reproduction band shirt from 1988, or the fact that he's into analog technology, or both, but I've noticed he's often depicted playing Queen or Bowie or something of that era in fics, which I think is realistic. This kid goes to the used record store and just buys whatever looks cool.

Fun Fact: According to the datamine, the chapters originally had literary or musical quotes at the beginning of each, and Chapter 5: White Noise (the radio hut chapter) was originally headed by the opening lyrics from Queen's 'Radio Ga Ga':

He's also the only character we see play music in canon, so we know he likes... songs from random compilation albums with inexpensive royalties. XD Just kidding, but these are the diegetic (in-universe) songs we get to hear from Dylan's playlist at the bonfire party:

All pop music of varying subtypes, so we know he appreciates a well-crafted pop song. I honestly am a fan of all of these. I think Dylan genuinely listens to everything but he seems like the type to especially like alt and indie pop, classic rock, garage rock, a bit of the more melodic side of punk, emo, and pop-punk, new wave, synth pop, electronic, and a little bit of hip hop that’s sufficiently nerdy white boy friendly (probably Beastie Boys, Run the Jewels, Post Malone, emo rap like Blackbear, etc). I also tend to gravitate towards early-mid aughts indie for him, like MGMT, Arctic Monkeys, The Strokes, OK Go, LCD Soundsystem, etc. Just seems to match his vibe. I think he'd really like BØRNS, Hozier, COIN, Mitski, and K.Flay and probably have a fair amount of overlap with Ryan's more melodic picks (MCR, Muse, The Cure, etc). Dylan probably hates Morrissey but begrudgingly loves The Smiths and definitely cranks up The Killers in his car. He’s also listening to bands right now that you’ve never heard of but will be huge in a couple years. He can probably tell you the difference between subgenres like chillwave, dream pop, and shoegaze but don’t ask me about it because I have no fucking clue.

Since we’re on the subject, here’s my absurdly long and ever-growing Rylan/Radioheads playlist because I have a problem.

And my Sweet Summer Jams playlist, that’s just a bunch of random songs I think would be clean enough to play at a summer camp as long as the kids/your boss don’t ask too many questions.

#the quarry #I just really love music okay #one of the many reasons I relate so much to Dylan #I don't actually listen to every artist mentioned but... a lot of them yes #I spent way too long on this #hacketteer headcanons #Hackett’s quarry radio hut #dylan lenivy #ryan erzahler #kaitlyn ka #abigail blyg #jacob custos #emma mountebank #laura kearney #max brinly #nick furcillo #ask bunny #hello beautiful anon #bunny blathers

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helloaugustmoon · 2 months

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this is so classic wattpad plot but I literally do not care

Michael Jackson x she/her!reader

·˚ ◌༘͙[Keep The Faith] ! ˊ

Fishing has been one of Michael’s favorite hobbies for some time. Not in the traditional sense - he cannot sit still for long enough to actually go fishing - but rather by his own definition. Whether it be peering at the faces in the crowd at a concert, seeing faces pressed against the windows of cars and buildings he’s in, fishing is a term that Michael dedicates to peacefully viewing pretty creatures that appear just to see him when he’s passing through. In no way is it dehumanizing; he views it as comparing people to other beautiful things in nature, and in a comical sense too, of course. By now, his team is well aware of his traditions when it comes to fishing, only laughing along and agreeing with his comments pertaining to ‘nice fish’, all in jest and never something he’d consider seriously pursuing; he’d feel he had too much power over a fan that it wouldn’t be fair or just, it would be taking advantage, and that’s not something that sits well with him.

That is, until your face catches his eye.

Fan after fan came and went, greeting Michael and taking pictures while he signed their copies of ‘Bad’ and gifted him their most sincere praises. It was certainly lovely, never something he takes for granted, but to an extent, the social scale of the event can become quite tiring. He’s grateful the line is nearing its end, hoping that soon enough, he’ll be able to rest. But when Michael lifts his gaze from the table in front of him and his eyes meet yours, when he sees your smile- he swears to every holy thing he’s ever known, his heart stops. You aren’t screaming or hyperventilating, but you are trembling in a way that stirs the gentleman in him, wishing the circumstances would allow for him to perhaps offer his jacket to you. The smile on your face as you look at Michael is reflected right back at you, and his previous idea of having any power over a fan is single handedly erased by the existence of you. In that moment, had you wished it, he’d have dropped to one knee and ripped his own heart out to offer it to you. One word from you, and he’d do anything for you. All you had to do, was-

“Hi, Michael.”

And he’s yours.

Your voice is the sweetest melody he’s ever heard, and he already knows it’ll inspire more songs than anything ever has before. You are the siren to lull him to sleep, to guide him to the pearly gates of heaven someday, and he is nothing if not a devout worshiper at the altar that is you.

“I don’t want to take up too much of your time, you’ve already been here so long- but, I just wanted to thank you for the music you make and the message of love that-“

Is now and has only ever been meant for you, he realizes.

Words continue to fall from your lips like a steady stream, a peaceful and thought-out poem that touches every part of Michael’s very soul. And he sits there, smiling up at you as you stand before him, in absolute awe of you. The stars of the night couldn’t hope to hold a candle to the ones in your eyes.

“You don’t need to thank me, it’s my pleasure. It brings me joy to know that my music brings you joy, too.” He answers, his own voice softer than he’s ever heard it.

Your smile turns shy, then, and Michael wishes he had the kind of magic to seal this moment in a bottle, or lock it away in a drawer, so that on the lonely nights he foresees in his future he might gaze upon this moment again. You.

“What’s your name?” He asks you, the question feeling more like a desperate plea than a general curiosity, and when you do tell him your name, it’s immediately stitched into the very fabric of his being.

He wants to compliment your name for how pretty it sounds, how well it suits you, how he’ll close his eyes and whisper it to the sky before he falls asleep and wishes for you without being capable of waiting for a shooting star to do so. He wants to, more than anything. But for risk of seeming too forward, Michael only allows his smile to widen, tells you it was wonderful meeting you, that he hopes you’ll have a pleasant rest of your day, and then passes you back your copy of his album - signed with his name and a kiss that he simply couldn’t resist leaving for you.

Michael’s team exchange glances when his eyes linger on you, watching you leave until you are completely out of sight. At which time, he releases a sigh that is impossible to mistake as anything other than a swoon. With his longing being so obvious, a member of Michael’s team steps forward.

“Would you like us to ensure tickets for tomorrow night’s show, Sir?” The security guard offers, and is surprised when Michael only shakes his head, not offering a verbal answer as he turns his attention to the next person in line.

That night, Michael is ringing up an impressive phone bill from his hotel room, rambling to Janet about every shade in your eyes, every intricacy of you, every cadence you spoke in. After an hour, he finally leaves enough time for his sister to actually respond.

“So you made certain she’ll be at the show tomorrow, right?” It almost sounds rhetorical, not to mention sarcastic, coming from Janet - not that either would surprise Michael.

“No, no,” He shakes his head, leaning against the wall as he holds the phone to his ear, careful not to step too far from the cord. “I don’t want to enforce or engineer anything- that’s not love, that’s a script. If I’m meant to see her again, I will.”

Janet sighs at this, knowing Michael’s mind is set and that means he’ll be too stubborn to consider any alternative; his views on love and fairytales are so absolute, he’d rather spend a lifetime waiting for you and loving you anyway, than use the powers at his disposal to set up a meeting that could lead to a love story.

That said, Janet also knows that for you to have captured Michael’s attention so, you must be some girl. Women have thrown themselves at him from the moment he entered the spotlight - for him to not only notice one amongst the rest, but yearn for you so obviously and without any trace of hesitance, you must be something special. For that, Janet can only pray alongside Michael that somehow, some way, you will find your way back to him.

During rehearsals the following day, Michael finds himself envisioning you in front of the stage, using the idea of dancing to impress you, to woo you as his motivation for giving the performance tonight everything he’s got. No matter how bright the overhead lights of the stadium are, he can picture your smile widening when he dances around onstage, pointing at you as a means of dedicating the song to you, and you alone. He intends to do so regardless of the fact you won’t actually be there. Perhaps he’ll point at the stars, lest you see the footage and misunderstand that he’d ever point at another girl again.

The screams of the crowd do little to quiet the thoughts of you that continue to whirl around the mind of a lyrical genius, even when he runs out onstage to greet them. Breaking into the first song of the night, Michael puts his all into his performance as he always does, but can't help feeling that tonight he has a heavenly blessing in the form of your smile lingering in his thoughts, pushing him that little bit harder. It isn’t until the end of the first song that Michael stops moving for long enough to scan the faces he can actually see from where he stands, the distance from the stage to the front row being further than he’d like. Pausing only momentarily for a brief interval of fishing, Michael’s eyes trace over the front row. And then, he does a double take.

His heart must have been playing a trick on his eyes, surely.

He looks back again, feeling an irregularity in his own pulse when he struggles to find you in the sea of faces again, until whoever had been cruel enough to temporarily block the view of you happens to move just enough for Michael to see you again. Front row, clinging to the barricade like your life depends on it. And you’re smiling at him just the same.

His eyes lock with yours, the band behind him exchanging confused glances. By now, Michael should have given the cue for the second song to start, but the perfectionist has been entirely distracted by the very definition of perfect that he’s been waiting his whole life for. It takes several seconds for him to accept the reality that you really are right there, but as soon as he does, the smile on his face is so big he’s concerned it’ll split his face in half. Giving the cue for the second song to start, Michael points right at you.

“You knock me off of my feet now baby, HOO!”

Throughout ‘The Way You Make Me Feel’, Michael’s gaze connects with yours, and he doesn’t shy away from devoting the song to you in every way he can. If it weren’t for the rehearsed role of the woman onstage that he’s barely even noticing, he’d have pulled you up here with him. Instead, Michael settles for pointing at you, winking at you, and holding your gaze while singing lyrics and dancing in ways that leave no room for misinterpretation.

He continues this for the remainder of the setlist, a plan forming in his head over the course of the next few songs. Because now that divine intervention has resulted in you being right here with him again, who is he to stand and do nothing in the face of that? Of you?

With the instrumental for Liberian Girl beginning behind him, Michael sets his plan into action. Against the better judgment of his security, he jumps from the edge of the stage, making a beeline for where you stand in the front row, every face except yours blurring into his peripheral vision, the increasing volume of the screams of the crowd fading into nothing with the way your smile brightens, the closer he gets to you. Realizing how disastrous this could be, Michael’s security lunge forward to lift you over to the barrier, holding back the other fans that try to climb over with you. And then, Michael’s hand is taking yours, holding it so gently, his free hand bringing his mic back to his lips.

“Liberian girl, you came and you changed my world, a love so brand new…” He sings, eyes holding yours with reverie as he guides you by the hand until you’re standing onstage with him.

The very second there’s enough time in between lyrics, Michael lifts your hand to kiss your knuckles, and that shy smile he’s already dreamt of appears on your face again. With the gentlest movement, he pulls you closer to him, inviting you to erase the distance that he’s desperate to be without, and you’re hardly going to hesitate. You let go of his hand to instead wrap both of your arms around his neck, and Michael has never cursed not having a headset more than on the occasion that he can now only hold your waist with one arm because he’s required to use the other to hold up his microphone. Sometimes, the world is too cruel to comprehend, he thinks. Still, a man can't complain about getting to hold you in any capacity.

“More precious than any pearl…” Michael sings, his voice soft in your ear, intimate despite the scale of the concert itself that surrounds you.

Unable to resist the urge a moment longer, he starts to sway with you in time with the music, melting into the most perfect slow dance on a stage with an audience of thousands, but feeling like the only two souls in the universe.

When the song draws to a close with notes that have you ascending to an astral plane, the crowd screams with enthusiasm like never before, and Michael lowers his microphone. Wrapping both arms around your waist at long last, he leans to your ear to ensure that you can hear him.

“I prayed I’d see you again.” He tells you, his voice so sincere.

“You must be on pretty good terms with God, then.” It’s all you can do to prevent yourself from collapsing in his arms at words like the ones he just spoke.

“I think I must be.” Michael chuckles. “Now, I owe him more than ever.” His arms tighten around your waist, and your heart splutters in your chest.

Knowing that this moment is one that needs to be put on hold for now, Michael sighs, moving one hand to hold the back of your head.

“Would you mind waiting for me, backstage?” He wonders, and when you shake your head into the crook of his neck, his entire body relaxes with relief.

“See you after. Break a leg.” You wish Michael luck, surprising him with a kiss on his cheek and then stepping away from him.

His hand trails down your arm, to your wrist, and holds your hand for every microsecond he can until you slip from his grasp, but his smile is unwavering. Michael watches you leave, waiting until you’re safely situated backstage with his best security guard at your side, and then he blows you a kiss that you catch in an instant. With an effortless, expert kick in the air, Michael breaks into his next song. And he cant help looking over at you longingly every so often, just to check the perfect vision of you is still there, still waiting for him. Still smiling at him.

#michael jackson x reader #michael jackson imagine #fanfic #fanfiction #imagine #imagines #x reader #headcannon #headcannons

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jewishbarbies · 3 months

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I keep seeing Swifties talk about how people are always rooting for her downfall and honestly as someone who was a fan of Taylor for the better part of a decade, that’s just not true.

2006-2009 there was absolutely no hate towards her. She was just a lil country singer that if you liked her great if not then you just didn’t listen to her.

2009 is when she became more of a household name because of the Kanye drama. And yes Taylor is successful in her own right but that moment changed the trajectory of her career and ultimately helped her career in the long run. Now this probably lead to her receiving some hate but truly not A LOT.

I do remember a shift around 2010/2011 towards her where people would actively speak about how they didn’t like her but again nothing truly horrendous.

I think 2012 when she made her transition into pop music was when people really started to get hate from the media and the general public.

I also think if I remember correctly it was around 2011-2013 where if you were a fan of Taylor you would be BULLIED for it. And I mean BULLIED.

2014 was personally in my opinion the moment where most people started to get on the Taylor train and unfortunately this also means hate increases but again she was far more loved than hated. It wasn’t till the Kanye 2.0/Kim drama that made people turn on her. And they really turned on her. She went into hiding because of it. But in hindsight it was a snake emoji. I’m sure she disappeared for more of the embarrassment of the way Kanye spoke about her in his song and then his video. That was gross.

But she came back with Reputation and idk what happened here but it unlocked something in A LOT of her fans. This is where I started seeing a shift again with how the media and general public reacted to her. They were on her side. They were rooting for her. And that’s pretty much how it has been since. Plus the craziness of her fans has only escalated since 2016.

The only minor shift in public perception I’ve seen is the last year or so. That is mostly due to over saturation or TS going against people’s personal morals. She’s had what two days or bad press and Swifties are saying she’s ones of the most hated celebrities. It’s just not true. Having genuine criticism over a public figure isn’t hate. Watching the way the media and her peers are talking about Taylor with constant praise (whether that’s genuine or fear of Swifties is another conversation) is so drastically different than what so many other stars have endured.

Now I’m not saying that she hasn’t had hate and I’m not saying that she doesn’t deserve to be treated better because no one should have to go through bullying or hate of any kind. I’m more concerned and annoyed at the way Swifties treat her like a perpetual victim. When there are other stars that comparatively have it so much worse.

Britney Spears. Miley Cyrus. Madonna. Michael Jackson. Justin Bieber. Basically any celebrity that was super famous in the 00s. Just to name a few that have endured genuinely some of the worst treatment a person in the industry could receive.

I’m sorry this was so long. I really only came here to say that it’s infuriating that Swifties complain about the hate she gets when it’s not even that bad compared to some others and that most people are afraid to say anything bad against her because of how the Swifties act.

#Asks #anonymoose #anti taylor swift #swifties dni

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tsarisfanfiction · 8 months

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A Single Drachma

Fandom: Percy Jackson and the Olympians Rated: Teen Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Friendship Characters: Michael, Clarisse, Chris Alone. Injured. Hunted. Michael doesn't know where he is, but he knows he's running out of time, and he's only got one shot at calling for help. He's got to make it count. I'm a bit late posting it here because rl, but this was a fic written for @pod-together and my podficcer partner for the event was once again the amazing @stereden, who I also worked with for this event last year and once again had an absolute blast with! I pushed the boat out rather further this year in terms of length (there is actually a lot more to this story planned, but it became unrealistic to podfic... that being said I am still hoping to finish writing it at some point, for all that this does currently work as a stand-alone). We both had a lot more free time this year, and we definitely made sure we used it! I've lost count of how many times I've listened to Stereden's various takes on the podfic but it's been so much fun to work with her on this again this year! I was in a massive Michael&Clarisse mood when the event first started, and Stereden is a fantastic enabler who was more than willing to let them be the focus of the plot for our project, so here we are, and I hope you all enjoyed reading and listening to this as much as I did creating it! You can find the podfic to listen to here (go, listen to it! It’s amazing!)

After so long in darkness, the light of the sun was blinding. Michael’s tolerance for bright lights had always been higher than most, just like his siblings, but as he staggered out onto the street, limping heavily and doing his utmost to ignore the various signals of this fucking hurts different parts of his body were sending to his brain in discordant harmony, his eyes narrowed into a blurry squint. He stumbled, biting back a curse as his leg protested loudly at the bulk of his weight being forced onto it, and raised a dirty, shaking hand to shade his watering eyes from the worst of the glare.

Where was he?

With a wince he couldn’t hold back, he limped a few steps forwards, impatiently waiting for his eyes to adjust to the brightness, until he almost collided with a wall. Knocking his shoulder - the less-bad one, the one that was only bruised and not taunting him with fears of dislocation - against it, he awkwardly shuffled until he was leaning heavily against the painted brickwork, shifting his weight until it was off of his right leg.

It still had the audacity to fucking hurt, and Michael could feel his left leg trembling from the strain, less injured but no less exhausted than the rest of his body, but there was nothing he could do about it except lean harder on his shoulder, shoving as much of his weight as possible onto the building.

He needed to keep moving; he knew that. His arm stung, his newest injury still bleeding sluggishly. Michael could hear the slow yet steady drip, drip, drip of the liquid onto the ground. He’d run out of useable fabric to tear into makeshift bandages a while back - his clothes were in tatters, and stained with so many things he didn’t want to think about that using them to wrap an open wound was probably begging for a dose of tetanus, as though he needed any more problems on top of everything he had already.

Leaning against the building was the most relief he’d had in days, though, and Michael was at loathe to give it up. He glanced towards the sun again, still blindingly bright and near-impossible to look at. Hi, Dad, he thought, his mental tone somewhere between bitterness and despair. Apollo hadn’t contacted him for a long time, not since the night before they left for Manhattan, and Michael missed his father’s dream visits. He didn’t understand why they’d stopped - he’d feared, for a while, that Apollo had fallen to Typhon , that despite the lack of Kronos stomping around suggesting that they’d won the war his father had been lost for good.

Deep down, he still feared that - despite the freak saying things to the contrary - because if it wasn’t true, if Apollo hadn’t been destroyed, then that meant his father had been ignoring all of his pleas for help.

Apollo had been answering him reliably since he was a small kid, before he’d even realised the guy he dreamed about frequently was real and his father. There was no good reason for him to have stopped.

And yet he had.

Where the fuck are you, Dad? he thought at the sun. And where the fuck am I?

He lowered his hand, squinting against the bright light of the sun as it inflicted a fresh assault on his eyeballs, and took stock of his surroundings.

It was some sort of side street. Not enclosed enough to be an alley but no major thoroughfare - Michael could see a busier street, if he squinted against the shadows and too-bright sun hard enough, running perpendicular to the end of the street he was in. People passed through with purpose, none of them batting an eyelid at a messy, injured demigod leaning against the painted bricks and no doubt leaving some crimson stains behind. Was that the Mist at work, or was he somewhere where no-one even noticed bleeding teens?

Michael didn’t really care. Both options were far better than where he’d been, where he was running from.

He needed to keep moving, no matter how much his body protested, but first he needed a plan. Running blindly wouldn’t help; he hadn’t shaken his pursuers despite his best efforts so far, and he wasn’t naive enough to hope he’d shaken them now, either. But now that he was out, he had a chance.

His hand tightened its grip around his precious prize, the one small shard of hope that had crossed his path amongst the pain and fear. Firm edges pressed into his palm in a way that would be almost painful, if his body’s resting pain threshold wasn’t currently up around ten out of ten, a reassurance that he hadn’t lost it, hadn’t dropped it as he ran.

Michael had no weapons. He had no way to fight off his pursuers, no way to make them stop following him for good. Hand-to-hand had been out of the question even before the injuries started stacking up; he’d never done well enough in that during training to treat it as anything other than a last, desperate, resort. Here, where defeat meant getting dragged back to the freak, it was even lower on his list of non-existent options than normal.

But what he did have was one, single golden drachma. A stroke of luck amongst everything else, because drachma meant communication, and communication meant help. He could call Chiron, ask the old centaur to send someone his way, and warn him about the freak while he was at it.

Once he knew where he was.

He only had one drachma, one chance to make a call. He had to make it count.

It didn’t take Michael long to come up with a plan, if it could even be called that. Step one, find out where he was. Step two, find a rainbow and make the call.

Don’t get caught in the process.

He’d lingered too long. He knew he had. With a groan he forced his body upright again, biting back a scream as his right leg buckled and almost collapsed, and shoved himself away from the wall. The movement pushed him into a run, one leg in front of the other with no pause to think, for all that they both threatened to crumple beneath him as he staggered forwards, each step sending a bolt of pain up his right leg.

Michael stumbled his way towards the busier street. He didn’t know if it was a major enough street to have helpful signs like “welcome to”, but it was the best shot he had at finding where he was.

Several times, he almost fell, barely catching himself on the building walls, but he made it to the larger street without picking up any more injuries.

It didn’t have a “welcome to” sign, or any other defining characteristics that might have at least given Michael a clue. Cars drove past him without a second look, not that Michael intended on getting in one, anyway. It would be infinitely easier than walking, but the freak had a lot of influence. Michael couldn’t trust anyone not to be part of his many, many circles. Until he made contact with Chiron, he couldn’t risk talking to anyone.

The street ran east and west, as straight as an arrow, and Michael barely even had to think before he was turning east, glancing up at the sun as he did so and sending yet another silent and rushed prayer his father’s way.

Apollo had guided him to safety before. Why couldn’t he do it again?

Passing mortals paid him no more attention on the major street than they had on the side street. Michael still didn't know if that was due to the Mist concealing the various injuries and blood dripping from hastily wrapped (and in some cases unwrapped) wounds, or if they really just didn't care in this place. Not that the why actually mattered; at least no-one was stopping him.

It was only going to be a matter of time before they found him again, and Michael needed to have figured out where he was and called Chiron by then. If they caught up to him here, he didn’t stand a chance.

The thought spurred his protesting body on, legs screaming and lungs hauling in as much air as they could stand. There had to be some sign, somewhere, to tell him where he was. A café name, roadsigns, billboards. Something.

He reached an intersection just as the lights turned green for the cars. A glance behind him didn’t show any obvious pursuit but Michael couldn’t risk it. He dashed forwards, dodging honking vehicles, and felt his leg buckle halfway across, but he snarled and pushed on, refusing to let it surrender to the break just yet.

Not until he was safe.

It was probably more luck than skill that got him across without being knocked down by a irate driver, but Michael didn't pause when his feet met the sidewalk once more, leaving the cacophony of chaos behind him as he kept running. His lungs were starting to burn; no demigod endurance could keep going forever, and Michael had been fleeing for days, weeks, he didn’t even know. He’d long since lost track of time.

There were more than a few near-misses with crashing into mortals on the street, his legs not quite up for intense manoeuvrability and reliant mostly on other people getting out of his way, and more side streets crossed - more than one involving a game of chicken with cars and the accompanying soundtrack of blaring horns and swearing drivers - but Michael didn’t let himself stop. Couldn’t stop.

Where was he?

His eyes scanned the streets as he ran, desperately searching for any sign, a familiar name to latch onto, but his dyslexia kept jumbling anything that might be helpful and he didn’t dare stop long enough to decipher it. He couldn’t hear any pursuit yet, but he knew with a certainty deep inside his bones that they’d come. If he hadn’t lost them in there, he wouldn’t lose them here.

Another intersection - complete with more cars and horns, and Michael almost collapsing in the middle of the asphalt as his leg buckled alarmingly - and the buildings sharply receded on the other side of the street, leaving a large lawned area with a broad paved path leading directly up to an impressive building. People milled about, sitting on the edge of the cacti-infested planter that ran up the middle of the path, signifying it as a public place, and Michael made a snap decision.

It was the first thing he’d seen that seemed like it could tell him where he was, and further down the street he could see a fountain.

He clutched the drachma tighter, certain it had to be leaving jagged red marks in his skin, and ploughed across the street, his run disintegrating into more of a rapid limp as he dragged himself towards the building. There were words emblazoned above what was clearly the entrance, and flapping banners covering the outside of the second floor windows, more images than words.

When he drew to a stop outside, chest tight with pain and almost all his weight on his left leg, which trembled frantically as it desperately tried to bear it, he blinked at the large words, willing them to arrange themselves in a way that made sense.

AZRINOA STATE MEUSUM

No, that wasn’t right.

Arizona State Museum.

Arizona.

Michael had never been to Arizona before in his life, but the state name triggered an immediate memory of crackling spears and loud, abrasive words.

Clarisse.

He’d had a lot of time to think, while the freak had him. Time to get angry at the daughter of Ares, time to shout and curse her existence, to blame her for the battle going wrong, for the hellhounds tearing Nathan apart, for the shockwave that had sent half his siblings cascading off the shaking bridge-

But then time to go hollow, time to remember that the Ares cabin was never going to be stationed with the Apollo cabin, that the deaths wouldn’t have been prevented.

Time to realise that it wasn’t Clarisse’s fault. That in the grand scheme of things, their argument had been petty and inconsequential.

Gods, but the Fates had a sense of humour, dropping him in Arizona, of all places.

Michael didn’t know which city held the state museum, if it was Phoenix or Tucson or somewhere else entirely, but… Clarisse would know.

Clarisse, for all that they’d never got on, had always been a strong leader. She might hate him, might have told him she hoped he died (and he almost had and that still stung, a little), but she was prepared for trouble and Michael had never seen her without at least two visible weapons on her.

Hades, he’d been on the receiving end of them a few times, when their arguments got too heated. Lee, and Emily before him, had always told him off whenever he landed in the infirmary again after a fight with her.

The drachma felt heavy in his hand.

Michael turned away from the museum and pushed his body to start moving again, a walk that turned into a jog until he dragged it into a full run again, leg screaming in agony but something almost like hope starting to bloom in his chest.

He just had to reach the fountain. The Arizonian sun blazed down above him; there had to be a rainbow shimmering in the droplets somewhere, and then he could call for help.

The back of his neck prickled as his staggered run took him out of the museum grounds and back onto the street, and the blooming hope stuttered before it had much of a chance to grow. He threw a glance down the street, back the way he’d come, even as he pressed forwards towards the fountain, glistening in the sunlight. No sign of pursuit, but that didn’t mean anything. Michael hadn’t survived this long by not listening to his instincts, and the sudden tenseness at the top of his spine told him he had to run.

So he ran.

Jagged agony shot up his broken leg as he pushed it further, stumbling but refusing to fall even when tears of pain started leaking from the corners of his eyes and his breathing took on a whine of desperation that rang in his ears.

He almost crashed into the edge of the fountain, hands reaching forwards to brace himself against it and absorbing the impact. The drachma in his hand dug in deeply enough Michael wouldn’t have been surprised if it had drawn blood, but he’d take that a thousand times over dropping it now, so close to being able to use it.

Exposed and with no cover, if he lost it and the cry for help it afforded him now, it would be over for him.

Dashing away the tears of pain with the back of his hand, and wincing as the salt stung open scratches, he glared at the fountain, desperately searching for the glimmer of colour that had to be there, somewhere. The sun and the falling droplets of water were present, he just had to find -

There.

It was halfway around the fountain from where he’d stopped, and he clawed his way around the edge, leaning heavily on the white stone rim and letting his right leg abandon his weight. His left leg, and the arm he was bracing himself with, both trembled angrily, but Michael wouldn’t fall here. Not now.

The rainbow shimmered in front of him and he forced his fingers to unfurl from their death grip around the drachma, streaked red with angry lines where the coin had imprinted almost every detail onto his palm.

“Oh, Goddess, accept my offering,” he mumbled. His voice rasped in his ears after however many days it had been since he’d last had a reason to talk out loud, hoarse in his throat - maybe he should’ve taken a drink from the fountain first, but there wasn’t time for that - but hopefully the words came out clearly enough for Iris to understand. He tossed the drachma into the rainbow with a shaking hand.

“Clarisse La Rue.”

Fuck.

He hadn’t planned on calling Clarisse.

Even if he was in her home state, Chiron would know where things like the state museum was, and crucially, the centaur had never told him to die .

But the drachma was gone, the only one he had, and he’d said the name now. He dashed more tears - pain, frustration - away and stared at the rainbow, waiting for the call to go through and knowing he wasn’t at all prepared to talk to Clarisse, but that he had to.

Nothing happened.

The rainbow shimmered, glistening in a way that didn’t quite seem natural, and Michael stared at it in horror.

“C’mon,” he muttered, glancing back the way he’d come. Still no signs of pursuit, but his instincts were screaming at him. “C’mon, connect, why aren’t you fucking connecting?”

The rainbow pulsed lightly, as though it was still waiting for something, and realisation crashed over Michael.

“Fuck.” He hadn’t said where Clarisse was - where was Clarisse? He didn’t know, didn’t know if she was even still alive, let alone if she was at camp or if she’d left camp now, or... “Fuck. I don’t- Where the fuck is Clarisse? Iris- fuck- Lady Iris, please.” His hand clenched into a fist as he leaned forwards and rested almost the entirety of his weight on the rim of the fountain. Breathing was supposed to be easier than that but the air kept getting caught in his throat and distantly he realised he was panicking, sensing his hope slipping away from one slip of the tongue. “Clarisse La Rue at… fuck, I don’t know. Camp Half-Blood?”

His right leg buckled and he clamped his mouth shut against the cry of pain as broken bone fragments slipped against each other. More tears welled in the corners of his eyes and he turned his head, wiping them away frantically in the dirty remains of the fabric on his shoulder.

When he looked back up, Clarisse La Rue was staring at him out of the centre of the rainbow, eyes wide in shock.

She looked older than when he’d last seen her, hair semi-neatly chopped around her cheeks and small scars he didn’t remember peppering across her face. She was bigger, too, always broad-shouldered but now easily twice his width, and Michael was pretty sure she was even taller.

“Clarisse,” he rasped, too relieved to even care how frantic he sounded. “Help. ”

“Michael?” she asked. “You’re dead.”

The bark of laughter that erupted from his mouth wasn’t humorous in the slightest. Fuck, camp thought him dead? It made sense, explained why no-one had ever come looking, but-

Fuck.

“Not fucking quite,” he replied hoarsely. The back of his neck tingled again and he glanced back the way he’d come. Still no sign, but that didn’t make him feel any safer. “Not yet.”

Her brown eyes sharpened, narrowing from wide-eyed shock to the assessing daughter of Ares Michael had seen so many times before. “What happened to you?” she demanded. “And why are you calling me?”

“Fuck if I know.” He looked around again, and caught sight of movement in the distance. Movement that didn’t seem natural for mortals going about their day. “Fuck. I’m in Arizona, don’t know where the fuck except the state museum’s just down this road and if I don’t find somewhere safe to hide - or at least some fucking weapons to fight back with - now I’m fucking dead for real.”

“I know where you are,” Clarisse said. Michael saw her glance away from the IM for a moment, then nod firmly, a familiar stubbornness settling into her expression. “There’s a big building behind the fountain.” He looked up and nodded. “That’s the state university. Get around the back of it then follow the boulevard east through the campus. Once you’re out of the campus, keep following the street east for six blocks, then go left, then get to the park on the right. There’s an unused building in the far corner; mortals think it’s locked but it’s not. It’s one of my safehouses. You’ll find weapons there.”

Through the college campus and then another six blocks. Michael’s leg throbbed in protest but he set his jaw and nodded. He could do that.

He had to do that.

“Thanks,” he rasped, glancing back again. The shapes were clearer, bulky individuals that clearly hadn’t figured out exactly where he was yet but were searching. “Fuck. Gotta go.”

He slashed an arm through the rainbow, cutting off Clarisse’s “Mi-”, and pushed himself away from the fountain.

Time to run.

Michael knew that his leg shouldn’t be able to keep moving, let alone running. A mortal could never have managed it, and he was pretty certain most demigods couldn’t, either. Being the son of Apollo had its perks, but that didn’t stop it sending vicious stabs of pain up through his body with every step, reminding him loudly and furiously that son of Apollo or not, he wasn’t doing it any favours and sooner or later it was going to run out of endurance.

Oblivious college students didn’t even seem to blink as he ran past them, adrenaline flooding his body and pushing him further, further, faster. Fear of being caught and the hope of safety ahead of him worked in tandem to urge him on, slamming away the pain with extreme prejudice and forcing his legs, both the broken one and the merely exhausted one, to keep going, one foot in front of the other and jarring with every step. The campus stretched out before him, seeming impossibly long, and in the back of his mind a small voice despaired that he’d never make it.

He told the voice to shut the fuck up and kept going.

The sun beat down as he ran, sweat joining with blood to leave a trail behind that he was painfully aware of but could do nothing about. All he could do was hope that he had enough of a headstart to outrun them to Clarisse’s safehouse. And that Clarisse would think to tell Chiron, because fuck, he’d forgotten to tell her to.

The first sounds of active pursuit reached his ears as he passed a set of tennis courts near the end of the campus, lungs burning, chest heaving, legs screaming, and he glanced over his shoulder to see students being pushed out of the way by larger, armed and dangerous, figures.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

His body had nothing left to give but Michael wasn’t going to let it surrender. Not now, not when he finally had a chance to get away. He ignored the voice in his head that said that a safehouse wasn’t much good if they saw him go into it, and that he didn’t stand a chance in combat even if he did get his hands on weapons, because it didn’t matter how true it was, it was still all he had.

He accelerated again, finding speed he didn’t know he was capable of even with two intact legs and not on the cusp of exhaustion, and bolted across the last few yards of the campus, hurtling across the street without stopping and forcing cars to swerve to avoid hitting him, and kept going.

One block.

Behind him, more car horns sounded and drivers started shouting. Something sounded like it hit something hard.

Two blocks.

Something went crunch and the shouting abruptly stopped.

Three blocks.

Michael’s lungs were on fire. He couldn’t even feel his legs any more, which definitely wasn’t a good thing.

Four blocks.

Fresh shouting started up, low and guttural and undoubtedly aimed at him.

Five blocks.

His lungs transitioned from on fire to non-operational, each breath a constricting choke as he ploughed on.

Six blocks.

Michael skidded around the corner, crossing the intersection to more irate cars and almost toppled over at the change of direction. He caught himself on a wall and all but bounced off of it, lurching down the sidewalk and knowing it was too much to ask that his pursuers hadn’t seen him make the turn but part of him begging whichever gods might be listening that they’d missed it anyway.

The park on the right, Clarisse had said, and Michael almost stumbled over his own feet as he caught sight of greenery after a moment of desperate running.

A javelin sailed past him, missing only because his leg buckled and listed him to one side for a heartbeat, and Michael’s stomach leapt up into his throat. Not now, not now he was so close.

He threw himself into the greenery the moment it opened up, using the shrubbery for what little cover it could give him, but it was barely moments before he heard the leaves get brushed aside behind him. Guttural cursing in a language Michael didn’t know but had got used to hearing was far too close as he frantically scanned the far side of the park for the building Clarisse had mentioned.

Where was it where was it where was it where the fuck was it-

There!

On the far side of the park, sheltered by trees on multiple sides, was a building that looked old and rundown. Chains and padlocks wrapped around the door, but as Michael focused on it, they shimmered and fell away.

He hadn’t known Clarisse could manipulate the Mist that well, but he wasn’t going to complain.

He didn’t have time to complain.

There was still half the park to cross and he wasn’t going to make it unless he found another burst of speed from Hades-knew-where. He choked on more air, willing his legs to go faster, but he still couldn’t feel them, not even the pain from the break, and he definitely wasn’t speeding up.

If anything, he was slowing down.

Fuck no. He wasn’t going to get caught, not here. Not now . He leaned forwards, desperate for just a little more speed, and felt something snag his feet.

He landed on his front hard enough to see stars, every part of his body compressing in a way that made him feel sick, or perhaps that was the knowledge that he’d never get up and away in time. It didn’t stop him trying, pushing himself upright on arms that were shaking almost too much to bear his weight, one shoulder screaming as it reminded him it probably wasn’t in its fucking socket, determined to fucking crawl if he had to.

Electricity crackled.

“Back off!” a female voice roared , footsteps running towards him from where he’d been trying to get to. Michael’s first thought was that he must have hit his head when he fell, because that was Clarisse’s voice.

He dragged his head up just in time to see a figure jump over him, barely an instant before there was the clash of weapons behind him.

Rolling over was marginally easier than trying to stand up. It brought with it a reprise of pain from his broken leg that jolted back into awareness so quickly he barely choked down a cry, but more importantly gave him a front row seat to Clarisse La Rue in nothing but jeans and a t-shirt wielding a familiar electric spear with a vengeance against the freak’s employees as they found themselves on the back foot, clearly not expecting to face anything more than a desperate, injured demigod they’d already run into the ground.

A skilled daughter of Ares with a weapon gifted to her by the god of war himself was not a desperate, injured and run into the ground demigod.

Michael had seen the Germani fight before, when the freak wanted entertainment. They were skilled and powerful, far more so than most demigods - but Clarisse was not most demigods, and had surprise on her side.

He pulled himself backwards with trembling hands, away from the fight, until his back hit something solid. A panicked glance upwards revealed that it was the trunk of a tree - not a rogue Germani trying to get around Clarisse - and Michael reached up with his less-bad arm for a low-hanging branch to haul himself to his feet with, much to the protest of his entire body.

If one of the Germani did get around Clarisse, he refused to be vulnerable on the ground. He could still run to the safehouse if he had to, leg be damned .

For the moment, he let the trunk of the tree take most of his weight, keeping his right leg off the ground and gripping the trunk with white knuckles to stay upright while he watched Clarisse fight.

She’d always been an impressive fighter, but the demigod in front of him here was a whole different class to the one he remembered from before Manhattan. The IM hadn’t deceived him - she was slightly taller and muscular since he’d last seen her - but there was a confidence to her that felt different, almost more natural.

Or maybe he was just so relieved to be saved that his mind had entered delirium. That was certainly possible.

Whatever it was, Clarisse clearly needed no help in finishing up the fight, her spear whirling around and dispatching the startled Germani in a typically child-of-Ares display of aggression, until the last one disintegrated into dust.

Michael was not ready for Clarisse to turn and face him, towering over him the way she always had done and racking him over with narrowed brown eyes. There were some bleeding scratches on her front, and a rather more considerably bleeding gash on one arm, but she didn’t seem to notice them as she stepped towards him. Instinctively, Michael straightened, his weight automatically transferring back to both his legs, and provoking another blinding protest from the right one.

“Clarisse,” he croaked.

“What happened to you?” she demanded, voice sharp and unyielding. “You died in Manhattan.”

“The fuck I did,” he protested. “Some fucking emperor-god-wannabe fished me out the river and dragged me off.” At least, that was what he’d gathered after the fact. He didn’t remember anything between the bridge collapsing and waking up in the freak’s floating villa, which had taken far too fucking long to escape from.

He didn’t expect Clarisse to believe him, though. It sounded fantastical, he knew it did, wouldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t lived it himself. But it was the truth.

To his surprise, Clarisse’s gaze sharpened. “Emperor-god?” she demanded, and there was something in her tone that made Michael’s default defensive snap back falter briefly, because it sounded like she did, somehow, believe him.

Still, “that’s what I fucking said,” he retorted after a few seconds, the familiarity of arguing an unlooked-for comfort washing over him even though he didn’t want to argue, still needed Clarisse’s help badly. “Freak said he was one of the Roman bastards despite the fact they’ve been dead for fucking millennia. Called himself Caligula.”

The soft shit that slipped out of Clarisse’s mouth seemed like a reflex, and Michael blinked as she set the butt of her spear on the ground. “Let’s move,” she said, glancing around. “We can talk once we’re somewhere more secure.”

That, Michael agreed with, and he took a step away from the trunk.

His body did not agree.

Enough, said his leg, at the same time adrenaline drained away, leaving his head lighter than air.

He crumpled.

“Shit!” Large, warm hands caught his shoulders in a grip of iron. “Michael!”

Michael snarled weakly and tried to get his leg under him again. “I’m fine,” he insisted, knowing it was a lie. He wasn’t fine, but he hadn’t hit his limit yet - he refused. He dragged his head up to meet Clarisse’s searching gaze.

She snorted. “Pull the other one, Yew.”

To his surprise, she sank down in front of him, and by the time his brain realised what was going on he was slumped over her shoulders, pinned in place by an arm around his leg and hand clamped around his wrist.

“The fuck, La Rue?” he yelped as she grabbed her spear with the hand not holding him in place and straightened up. “I can fucking walk!”

“This is faster,” she said. “Instead of slowing us down, keep an eye out for more of Caligula’s people.”

Michael tried to be offended, but as she broke into an even jog, he had to at least privately concede the point. The movement jostled his broken leg, thankfully not the one she was using to hold him in place, and he fought back whimpers, but after so long running under his own steam, it was a relief not to have to, anymore.

Even though it meant a fireman carry from Clarisse.

It was easier to let his head hang than try to hold it up, and his matted hair made a curtain that was difficult to see through, but Michael had no desire to be ambushed by more Germani - more of Caligula’s people, and he was starting to wonder how much Clarisse knew about the freak, how she knew anything about him in the first place. He squinted past his hair, watching the park behind them as Clarisse jogged forwards, and then the street as she passed the safehouse without pausing.

“Where’re we going?” he asked, watching the building get smaller for a moment before flicking his attention back to the street.

“My apartment,” Clarisse said shortly. “It’s more secure than that.”

Clarisse’s apartment? “Your mom’s place?”

She snorted. “No. My apartment. You just ran through my college campus.”

It hadn’t occurred to Michael that Clarisse would be in college, now. Fuck, they were the same age; if she was in college, then if it wasn’t for the freak, he probably would be, too - if he’d ever decided what the Hades he wanted to do.

“Huh,” was the only noise he could summon in response, followed by another muffled whine as his broken leg jarred again. Fuck, he missed the pain numbing properties of adrenaline. Clarisse’s grip on his wrist shifted, and he realised that she’d heard it. She didn’t mention it, though, just kept up with the jog as though he didn’t weigh a thing.

In his current state, he probably didn’t as far as she was concerned.

Wherever Clarisse lived, it felt a long way away. Maybe it was because she wasn’t running in a flat-out sprint, but the journey seemed to take forever. More than once, Michael found his eyes starting to slide shut, exhaustion fighting for dominance, and forced them open again, unwilling to risk missing a threat.

Nothing attacked them. Michael could feel the tension in Clarisse’s shoulders rising the longer they went without being attacked, but she drew to a halt outside an apartment building unchallenged.

“Still awake?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he muttered.

“Good.” She turned around, looking back the way they’d come for herself and giving Michael a clearer view of the building, complete with the flight of stairs they were no doubt about to go up. Seemingly satisfied that he hadn’t missed anything, she then turned back and continued towards what was clearly her apartment door.

Michael’s leg did not approve of the stairs. Clarisse went slower than he expected, the rise and fall of her body minimal, but still his leg complained and more than one hiss forced its way past gritted teeth on the ascent. Her grip on his wrist tightened, but she still said nothing. Michael appreciated it.

Eventually, they came to a stop outside a plain door, indistinguishable from the rest of the apartment doors. Michael wasn’t sure how Clarisse was planning on opening it with her spear in one hand while the other kept hold of him, but he wasn’t expecting for her to call, “it’s him.”

The door was yanked open so fast, Michael half-expected it to fly off the hinges.

“Michael?”

He forced his head to raise, his hair falling mostly out of his face so that he could see over Clarisse’s shoulder.

“Chris,” he rasped, not liking the way the son of Hermes was looking at him in horror. “Take it you two are still together, then?”

“Yeah,” Clarisse confirmed as she walked past her boyfriend, who shut the door behind them. At the click of the catch falling into place, Michael let his head sag again. “Down you go.”

Michael didn’t manage to brace himself before spilling out of Clarisse’s grip, but he didn’t have to as he was gently laid on a throw-covered couch, his limbs limp and boneless as he sank into the fabric.

It felt heavenly.

“Gods,” Chris breathed, kneeling on the floor next to him, dark eyes surveying him from head to toe. Michael heard the quiet click of a catch opening and his eyes flitted to look at the floor, where Chris had a large plastic box cracked open on the rug. “Eat.” A small square of ambrosia was held up in front of him. Michael forced a shaking hand to take it from him and slipped it into his mouth, instantly feeling the relief that came from eating the godly food.

Hades, how long had it been since he’d last had ambrosia? The freak certainly hadn’t ever given him any.

He let his arm fall heavily back onto the couch as he savoured the taste.

“Let me treat your wounds,” Chris insisted. He was already pulling on gloves, and Michael eyed him in surprise. The son of Hermes huffed. “I know I’m not an Apollo kid, but my dad is still a patron of medicine, even if he’s not strictly a god of it. I might not be able to instantly heal you but I can make sure you don’t die of sepsis.”

It wasn’t like Michael could do much more for his own wounds than he had already; he healed fast but not instantly.

“Fine,” he agreed, and Chris broke into a relieved look. Clarisse shifted her weight.

“I’ll make sure the perimeter is secure,” she said, grabbing a small vial of nectar and taking a sip from it.

“Could you grab Michael something clean to wear before you go?” Chris asked her. Michael felt him gently take hold of one of his arms, then hissed as he gently dabbed at the exposed cut with antiseptic. “These clothes are filthy.”

“Fuck you,” Michael muttered, well aware that he was right. They weren’t clothes he was attached to - the freak had got rid of his clothes after Manhattan and replaced them with some sort of sailor’s outfit, which Michael had had no hesitation about tearing up for makeshift bandages.

He was still furious about the loss of his camp necklace, though.

Clarisse headed further into the apartment without another word as Chris wiped down the skin around the gash before peeling away one of Michael’s makeshift bandaging attempts and getting to work treating the wound underneath it.

“You know I’m right,” Chris replied. “Those rags need cutting off, anyway.”

Michael bristled. “I can-”

“I know a broken leg when I see one,” Chris overrode him. “I don’t even want to think about how much damage you’ve done to it running around - or how the Hades you managed to run around on that - but it won’t thank you for moving it again.”

Clarisse returned before Michael could come up with a retort, dropping a bundle of fabric over the back of the couch. “I’m securing the perimeter now,” she said.

“Be careful,” Chris replied, and Michael watched as she stalked out the front door, shutting it with a loud click behind her. “Okay, let’s get these rags out of the way.”

Chris’ hands were gentle as they tended to each cut, scrape, gash or worse. It wasn’t the same as one of his siblings, but it was enough to make Michael feel halfway human again, if completely helpless.

“I’d run you a bath now but I think you’d fall asleep in it,” the son of Hermes told him as he probed gently at the probably-dislocated shoulder. As much as Michael hated to admit it, the older demigod was once again right; he was well aware of the exhaustion doggedly gnawing away at him now that the adrenaline had faded away. “I’ll do that later.” He frowned at Michael’s shoulder. “This, on the other hand, I’ve got to deal with now.”

One good thing about the encroaching exhaustion was that Michael’s muscles couldn’t tense up too much, even if they wanted to. He grit his teeth as Chris carefully manipulated his arm into extending, before slowly starting to rotate it. The earlier ambrosia was not enough to completely muffle the sensation of the joint grinding back into its socket; some whimpers slipped out past his clenched jaw. Like Clarisse earlier, Chris had the tact to not mention it.

Even worse than the dislocated shoulder, predictably, was the broken leg. That was by far the worst part of the treatment as Chris gently poked and prodded at it before resetting the bone. The ambrosia was no more effective as a painkiller for his leg than it had been for his shoulder, and Michael couldn’t help a short, high-pitched shout as it shifted back into position - thankfully also passing unacknowledged by the son of Hermes.

“No walking on it,” Chris said firmly as he fitted a splint to keep it in place. Michael grumbled a string of curses under his breath as it was secured. “It - and the rest of you - needs rest.” It was obvious that he wanted to ask about what had happened to Michael, much in the same way Clarisse had, but to Michael’s relief, he wasn’t actually broaching the subject.

Then again, Chris knew a lot about traumatic experiences.

Once all his wounds were treated properly, Michael pulled on the spare clothes Clarisse had dug out for him, begrudgingly accepting Chris’ help. Unsurprisingly, they were all far too big for him - Clarisse was easily twice his size, now, and Chris might have been rather lither than his girlfriend, but he was far taller than Michael. The only advantage was that it meant they were easy to pull on over the various bandages and even leg splint, which didn’t negate Michael feeling like he was swimming in fabric.

“I’ll get you something that fits better soon,” Chris apologised as Michael flaked back down again, finding the couch far more comfortable than it had any right to be.

“Whatever,” he muttered.

The apartment door opened and Clarisse strode back in, bolting it behind her and propping her spear up beside it. “Secure,” she reported, heading for them. “Done with the first aid?”

“Done,” Chris confirmed. “He won’t be walking on that leg any time soon, but otherwise it’s mostly exhaustion.”

Clarisse sat down on the rug; with Michael laying down on the couch, their heads were at similar heights. “So what happened after Caligula grabbed you?” she demanded. Chris’ sharp intake of breath at the name told Michael that they definitely knew something about the freak. “That was nearly two years ago.”

Michael grimaced.

“Couldn’t get out,” he admitted, glossing over the gloating, the leering Germani and the self-important big-eared pandos, to say nothing of the fucking horse and the freak himself. They’d found his attempts amusing. The freak had even dared him to get out, promising him that he couldn’t.

The freak had said a lot of things, and Michael still couldn’t shake the shivers at the promise that he would be the new sun god. It was delusional - it had to be, Apollo was the sun god and wouldn’t be usurped by some fucking wannabe - but the freak had always sounded deadly serious when he’d said it, like he fully believed he would . He’d said Michael would help him, too.

Michael’s attempts to escape had always got more frantic whenever he heard that gloat.

He didn’t say any of that, didn’t think he could if he tried. Neither Clarisse or Chris pressed him for details.

“Had a fucking boat villa. Never let the thing near land.” He’d managed to get on one of the boarding boats, once. Mortal security guards had spotted him and dragged him back, citing some nonsense about the boss’ son not being allowed to leave. “Took for fucking ever to get off.”

Eventually, one day, the guards had been distracted by something. Michael still didn’t know what, but it had been enough for him to finally slip past them, onto land for the first time in eighteen fucking months, and run for it.

It almost hadn’t been enough, he’d almost been caught, but a door he’d run through had ended up in tunnels and more tunnels and more and more and more fucking tunnels with monsters with claws and teeth and other appendages they shouldn’t be allowed to fucking have that wanted a piece of demigod flesh and-

“Michael, breathe.”

A hand rested on the couch, not touching him but enough to catch his attention. His eyes snapped to it, then followed the arm up to a shoulder and up again until he was looking at Chris’ face. The older demigod’s brow was furrowed in concern, and Michael realised he was breathing too fast, air not actually reaching his lungs.

Fuck.

Michael closed his eyes, only to be assaulted by memories of being tracked, hunted, and snapped them open again, focusing instead on Chris’ face as he tried to wrench his breathing under control.

“Don’t push yourself,” Chris told him gently as air started to reach his lungs again. “It’s okay if you can’t talk about it.” Michael glanced at Clarisse, still sat on the rug behind her boyfriend but frowning, face all twisted up.

“No,” he said, hating how thin his voice sounded. “I- fuck.” If it was anyone else, he’d take the invitation to stop talking, because they wouldn’t understand, wouldn’t get it. But these two…

“Fucking Labyrinth.”

Chris’ face paled, and Clarisse moved, putting her hand on the son of Hermes’ shoulder. Her knuckles were white.

“It got me away,” Michael admitted, because it had; without its twists and turns and traps absolutely everywhere the freak’s men would have caught up to him within a day.

He didn’t know how many days he’d been running through the fucking thing before it finally spat him out in Arizona.

“But- fuck .” He’d never been in the fucking thing before, but he’d seen what it had done to Chris, how pale and shaken Annabeth had been when she re-emerged alone after her quest. Had seen the monsters spill out of it into camp, had seen Lee’s head smashed open-

The fucking thing was supposed to be destroyed. Why was it back?

He could’ve done without experiencing the inside of the fucking living nightmare for himself.

“You made it,” Chris told him, voice shaky but assuring. “You made it out, Michael.”

“You’re safe,” Clarisse added, tone firm and leaving no room for debate. Michael looked at her, remembering too many arguments and disagreements and threats from the daughter of Ares but seeing only pure sincerity and stubbornness there now. “Those shitheads won’t get you, and you’re never going in there again.”

Michael swallowed around a lump in his throat. “Yeah,” he agreed, voice shaking just as much as Chris’. “Yeah.”

He was out. He was safe.

The knowledge settled over him, heavy and warm as it finally sank in, and with it came a looming darkness his battered, aching and exhausted body finally stopped fighting and instead welcomed with open arms.

potentially tbc...

#riordanverse #riordanverse fanfic #percy jackson and the olympians #percy jackson fanfiction #trials of apollo #trials of apollo fanfiction #michael yew #clarisse la rue #chris rodriguez #toa caligula #tsari writes fanfiction #stereden #podfic #podfic of my fic

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