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gryfon-spanish-werewolf · 4 years

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Uuh dunno if you would like this prompt : Anna and Elsa as a mythical creatures.

Would love too see what you will write them as ^^

@like-redhead-probably I sat thinking about this ask for a long time, because while I IMMEDIATELY thought of one for Elsa, Anna’s absolutely eluded me. And I know you were probably looking for a story, but I am unable to stop myself from first EXPLAINING my choices xD

I was already thinking about the myth of the Hulder (or huldra if we’re speaking of the creature in general instead of the specific Norwegian myth) for other story-related reasons, and as I did more research, I felt like the Hulder REALLY shared similarities with Elsa.

Generally speaking the huldra is a Scandinavian myth of a pale skinned, blonde or brown haired, attractive young woman who lives in the wilderness, often luring men away with song or dance to be killed or misled, stuck wandering forever. Sometimes she’s connected strongly to water, and instead of making men lost, she drowns them. Sometimes she is described as similar to an elf or fey-like creature, with characteristics related to other Huldufolk (we’ll get to them later) such as living in a parallel world, or a world Underground, and therefore preferring caves or appearing and disappearing suddenly. Sometimes she is depicted as having a hollow back, or a cow’s tail, which she hides out of embarrassment or to conceal her true identity. Which… how cute is that?

Before the 11th century, the myths were focussed more around the Huldufolk, which literally means “Hidden Folk”. There are lots of stories as to why and how the Huldufolk came to exist, but for the purpose of Elsa I think it most appropriate to look at the Christianization of the myths. Why?:

Frozen and Frozen 2 are modern movies made by an American company and Christianity is nigh untanglable with American culture, they take place in ~1840s Norway, F1 has a dedicated place of Christian congregation depicted in said movie, an official royal crowning overseen by a Christian faith leader, and the adaptation of Frozen generally comes from author Hans Christian Anderson and therefore should take his life and society into account, etc.

The Christianized myth says that one day Eve was washing her children (presumably after Cain, Abel, and Seth) in the river, when she heard God approaching. Ashamed that He would see her kids unclean, she hid the half she wasn’t done bathing, and when God asked, “Where are the other children?” Eve claimed that she had all of them present, indicating the clean ones. This gave God pause, but in the end He said, “Then let all that is Hidden, remain Hidden.” The children that Eve lied about became the Huldufolk, unable to live among humans. These people would eventually become characterized as dwarves, elves, fairies, etc., as time and interpretations rolled on, the huldra being just one of many mythical “species”.

So. Who is Elsa? She’s a:

fictional, blonde-haired, blue-eyed, fair-skinned young woman who led thousands of men wlw to wander helplessly into the dark caves and wildlands of social media with a power ballad and a jaw-dropping transformation sequence

Okay I’m joking… mostly…

In fact my interest in choosing the Hulder for Elsa lies purely outside of any romantic or sexual appeal, especially since Elsa as a character exhibits next to 0 romantic or sexual interest across two whole movies and an additional two shorts. Indeed, there’s a reason people headcanon her as either asexual, aromantic, or both! No, the reasons I chose the Hulder are:

Elsa’s name

Her upbringing

Her duty as queen, and

Her general behavior, specifically in regards to Frozen 1, as Frozen 2 Elsa is, at times, an almost completely different character

Elsa’s name was chosen very specifically by the filmmakers because it means “God is my Oath”. Oaths are binding, heavy, and invoke the maker’s or subject’s actions and personhood in the future. In Elsa’s case specifically, it invokes divine witness: perfect for a queen, someone born to rule. A promise to be fair, to uphold, to protect, to lead, to be a dignified and honorable face for the country. And Elsa was so ready to be that… except for the powers of course. Or at least, when they became something other than a magical gift of wonder and joy. When they became dangerous. Then there comes another oath, spoken to powerful creatures of magic, the Trolls, and born from parental fear: “She can learn to control it.”

Binding, heavy, invoking of Elsa’s future. As she grows, Elsa becomes closed off, quiet, hiding in her own home. She still takes her duties seriously, but now that she has been Other’d, taught to hide herself and her curse, she is just as much shadow as person. To young Anna, Elsa must have been almost ghostlike, disappearing right when Anna thought she’d cornered her, only to reappear sometime later down the hall, out of arm’s reach.

God promised Adam and Eve that their children would inherit the earth, even after leaving the Garden of Eden. Then suddenly that changed, due to Eve’s fear and shame of her unwashed children, and some would now inherit Underground, or somewhere else entirely. The lost children of Eve had become Other’d, needing to hide, disappear, and resort to inhuman tactics just to exist. Maybe they’re jealous, maybe they're just tricksters. But it’s not their fault. And it wasn’t Elsa’s either. Another reason they are similar.

Now, it’s not all doom and gloom for the Hulder, or for Elsa. While the Hulder is generally known for her more chaotic and negative attributes - just like our favorite snow queen, there’s a light at the end of the tunnel. There are a few myths that say burning a charcoal fire -instead of a coal or gas one- is most pleasing to the Hulder, that she’ll even watch over it during the night, and wake the sleepers in case something happens. If a traveler leaves supplies behind with a note or offering for the Hulder, they will travel safely. In fact, some people leave caches for her, as though to cater to specific requests. Coming across the Hulder by chance can have a multitude of outcomes, but if an astute observer spots her cow tail and mentions it, she may become shy and run away. Don’t mention the empty back though, that’s almost certain death.

Basically my point is… trade out the word “traveler” for the name “Anna” and we can draw all the similarities we want. Anna did all of those things, in a way. Anna gave Elsa a little gift of their favorite snowman every Christmas. Anna knocked on Elsa’s door and spoke to her, treated her kindly despite the distance between them, literal and metaphorical. It’s not hard to imagine that Anna left little notes around the castle, hoping Elsa would find them, read them, and know that Anna still loved her, still missed her. And, well, hopefully Anna wasn’t setting any fires and falling asleep next to them - but Anna always kept a light on for Elsa, in her heart. And it flickered and wavered sometimes, but it was a strong fire most days. And we know Elsa was always drawn to it, drawn to Anna because she loved her right back. Loved her first, even. And because it was a warmth that pleased Elsa, she tended it, quietly, carefully, warmly. Like putting a blanket over an Anna that had fallen asleep in the painting room, refusing that slice of chocolate cake so Anna could have two desserts, and listening, for hours and hours, days and days, for the sound of Anna’s glorious bonfire-like soul outside her bedroom door. Even when her secret was revealed, Elsa believed that the best way to protect Anna’s life, her flame, was to distance herself, running to a secret, special place all her own - much like the Hulder might run away back to the Underground.

And this last part’s just me, but I’d like to think that if the Hulder was treated kindly, respected, and given dignity, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if someone came across her accidentally. That instead of being instantly drowned, or the Hulder becoming sheepish and attempting to run, it would feel recognized. It could be called by name. And instead of feeling the need to hide it’s Otherness, it could be treated as part of it, and cared for just the same. I don’t even need to be subtle here: Anna called Elsa by Name, really saw her, and reframed her darkness into light. Anna hasn’t fought God yet, but she did walk through hell and back for a sister that everyone else saw as a threat, monster, and sorcerer. A category 9 Other. Too bad for them, Anna’s got a Category 10 heart.

Speaking of. We finally got to Anna.

Anna was difficult to pin down because to me, Anna is so very, very human. That’s what makes her special! Yes, yes, you could throw any mythical creature at Anna and the fun part would be trying to make it work within her personality and characterization BUT since the question was Anna AS a mythical creature, that changes the game! The word ‘creature’ itself tends to conjure something distinctly INhuman. So I…. tried, and cheated maybe a little. Because I picked for Anna the Norse Valkyrie.

Most people know what Valkyries are so this one takes significantly less explaining. Valkyries are women that are warriors, shieldmaidens, and the hands of Odin, and they choose who lives and who dies during battle. Their chosen dead ride with them to Valhalla, while those they choose to live are usually granted honors in life. There are the darker sides of Valkyries that paint them as blood hungry maidens waiting on the sidelines before a war, singing the names of who will die with glee… but generally speaking the version of Valkyries that most people know and admire today are accurate! And thank goodness because attempting to depict Anna the other way would probably give me an ulcer.

Anna, much like the Valkyries, is a woman of valor and strength, who is perceptive, guides others, sees into people’s hearts and reveals their goodness. Valkyries are also warriors of prowess themselves, and Anna in Frozen 2 with that ice sword? We all know she was ready to use that for real. She also exemplifies traits that Valkyries both look for and have! Bravery in the face of danger: hello Marshmallow, Elsa’s own blizzard, Hans’ lethal sword strike, LIVING MOUNTAINS, and a damn collapsing.... dam. She also defends those who cannot do it themselves: saying publicly that, “My sister is not a monster… she was scared, she didn’t mean any of this,” even if that cast suspicion or doubt on herself, and the crown, as a whole. Anna knew and believed in Elsa, despite all the years and heartbreak and anger. Despite the impossible magic that literally just happened before her very eyes. Belief in character, despite appearances. And once they were reunited, Anna made every effort to stay by Elsa’s side because she STILL had that faith in her. Anna’s name means “Grace” or “of Grace”, and damn if she didn’t extend that to the person others found most unworthy, even to Elsa herself. Valkyries see what others don’t, and their decisions are final.

[Deep breath] SO! You asked for Anna and Elsa as mythical creatures. You got… a small academic paper, by social media standards xD. I intend to write a little piece about a Valkyrie who encounters the Hulder on the edges of a battlefield and… realizes she never made a choice about this particular woman. And wonders why she can’t ;). BUT I didn’t wanna leave you hanging any longer. Hope you like my choices!

Oh also, nobody asked, but Kristoff is a werebear. No research required

#there's almost 2k words to this uhhh..... eyup that's all I have to say about that #the inner academic kinda popped out #begging to be utilized after a few dusty years xD #I have links to all this stuff btw if people want them #but now I should REALLY go to bed #or I'll be slowly flame-broiled by a certain someone who is about to find out I'm awake in the worst way possible #like-redhead-probably #mythical creature au #Hulder!Elsa #Valkyrie!Anna #mythology #also yes I know I didn't stray far from Scandinavian territories for the mythical choices I couldn't help it #once I got digging into the huldra I had a hard time looking anywhere else #still I think Valkyrie fits so nicely for anna #she might as well be on irl tbh #Elsa #Anna #my writing #and yeah I'll get to a little short story bc they're so CUTE like this!!

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jaigny · 2 years

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Heart Manor - Side Garden - Brichester

A lone femininely figure strolls idly along the pebbled stone path...

Faith Heart

SHE/HER Mid 20's (YA)

Curvy - Fit

Demi Pansexual

European Caucasian with abit of Selvadorian/Aztec,Indian, Mediterranean race ethnicities

Likes Red,Orange,Yellow and Purple (Sunset colours)

Likes music wise Electronica, Metal and Summer Strut (assumingly pop/hiphop/RNB?)

Likes activities and hobbies wise to Cooking/Baking, Rockclimbing,Mixology,Skiing,Snowboarding,Wellness/Fitness(Yoga) and Research and Debate

Faith's backstory is quite simple, her parents are rarely ever around and always overseas most the time, so the most she ever saw them was during the time when she was a baby til she was 8. Though there were always alot of phone calls and ''zoom meetings'' on ipads or computers/laptops between her and her parents and were always kept in the loop bout her grades academically and such from their trust worthy like family staff.

Still being the only child --- a heir to Brichester's University Founder Family --- was quite lonely in itself. Though as she grew up she became more High Maintence due to the fact of her parents and even the society of Brichester to be a well respected and mannered lady that would eventually take over the University as its Dean/Chancellor and as a member on the CEO of her mother's company and also founder as Volunteer Founder.

But Faith and the lovely manor staff know what she really wants. To live freedom and express herself and not be a cooped up little canary in a birdcage of peer pressure and also learning of her parents secret possible courting for her. She wants to rule her world with her own iron fist and not eventually become a trophy wife to some stuck up snob like Malcom Landgraab.

So Marcia --- her personal maid --- and their butler Watson gave Faith the pamphlet saying that her parents agreed on the conditions that she mind her manners and not do to much of an outrageous crap like binge drinking and drugs and keep herself out of the limelight off camera as much as possible from the press. She'll also have numerous bodyguards with her at ALL times both male and female (for bathroom/bathbreaks) but will be people she is comfortable and grew up with. And that the producers were notified also of these requests plus others that were more for the contract side.

So with an inner eyeroll and cringe behind a polite respectful smile through her parents to the zoom meeting on the ipad, applied for the benefit of not just for her parents but mainly for herself and to maybe find love or atleast in the end make amazing friendships and have a great time.

l hope you enjoy and let explore her wants and have a great time! @wrixie

P.S Feel free to use your own eye genetics and some of her clothing to limit your PC exploding. Her outfit style is mixed. Infront of her parents etc she has to be immaculate and not wear too revealing clothing but behind closed doors she kinda dresses in-between punk/grunge/metal and casual comfortable. Her outfits l hope reflect that! Also if you have hair recolours her hair looks black but its off black/brown but sadly we lack EA swatches so l just have her the new update black.

**FILES**

P.S.S. Since she's an old sim you make need to update like EA lashes remover mod etc but l did make her this ear so she's only a few patch notes behind <3

#the sims 4 #faith heart #eeveeoddseye

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ttttaehyungie · 4 years

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sincerely, but no longer yours | chapter 1

sincerely, but no longer yours | ex!kim namjoon x reader

☘ genre | angst, exes au

☘ summary | It started as a coping mechanism as getting the words out provided a form of catharsis. But now you can’t stop writing these love letters, even with the knowledge that they’ll never get sent. After all, who writes love letters to their ex?

☘ word count | 4k

☘ rating | PG-13

☘ warnings | some fairly heavy angst, breakup

☘ a/n | ok SO I’m finally working on a multi-chap for the first time in forever :o and ofc this is the first series that i’m working on in this blog! alsooo am kinda ashamed to admit that i’ve actually NEVER finished a series ever 🙈🙈 sooo this is a challenge from me @ myself 🤭 so yes come along with me for this ride hahahah and pls kick my butt if i leave this series as another one in the unfinished pile

You can have Manhattan, ‘cause I can’t have you -- Sara Bareilles, Manhattan

Pulling your jacket around you a little tighter to keep the bite of the night air at bay and hitching your duffel bag a little higher up your shoulder, you board the bus. The bus conductor asks for your ticket and you let go of it for the first time since you bought it, giving him the flimsy paper that’s now imprinted with the shape of your thumb under the stress of your tight grip as you held onto it like a lifeline. After a quick inspection, he passes it back to you and you take it from him wordlessly.

“Hey.” You look up at the conductor in surprise, gaze finally torn from where it had remained on the ground all this time. “You alright?”

You don’t allow yourself to consider the question lest the tears come and you cause a bigger scene than you already have. With a tight-lipped smile that probably isn’t fooling anyone, you nod at him, and traipse to the back of the bus before he can probe any further.

The comfort of the back corner of the bus brings you the tiniest smidge of relief, especially after you place your duffel bag on the seat next to you, creating a barrier between you and the rest of the bus. Not that there would be many people, if any at all, at such a late timing. Nonetheless, the little bubble created by your makeshift barricade brings you some security as you settle into your chosen seat gingerly, as if you would shatter to pieces if your movements were too rough. Your emotional state sure feels that way, fragile and on the brink of falling apart any time now.

You’re not sure how much time passes before the bus doors finally shut and it begins pulling out of the bay. It carries a sense of finality. You’re really going home. The cityscape, drenched in the black and orange hues of nightfall, goes past as you watch through the window- slowly at first, then becoming a blur as the vehicle picks up in speed. The plans you had for the weekend are now truncated and left behind with the city.

The emptiness hits you once again when the bus pulls onto the freeway and the city sights are completely gone. Only the inky black of the night sky accompanies you now. You are alone. On this bus, yes, but in more ways than that too. You let that fact sink in.

It’s too dangerous to let your thoughts overtake you right now, so you occupy yourself by playing Sudoku puzzles on your phone, which has strategically been placed on airplane mode. The methodical problem-solving that the puzzle requires of you submerges your mind in a sea of numbers. Which is your intention. And before you know it, the bus is slowing down and you look up from your device to the familiar scenery of your hometown. On any other day, it would fill you with warmth, but right now it doesn’t.

Now having arrived at your destination, you gather your belongings and alight from the bus. It’s just a daypack and your duffel bag which is bursting at the seams with how many items you crammed into it. You would have brought a suitcase if you knew, but how were you to predict the events of tonight? Though, you surmise, you should have seen it coming and could have prepared yourself better.

You’re trudging home and you’re maybe ten minutes away when it begins raining. Great. As if this day could get any worse. It makes your clothes stick to you in that cloying way and the chill from the night has you shivering almost violently now. But you plough on home, only focusing on getting one foot in front of the other and repeat, repeat, repeat.

Finally at your front door, it’s a struggle to get the key in the door with how badly your hand is shaking. Whether it’s from the cold or something else, you’re not sure anymore at this point. After countless tries, you finally manage to jam it in and turn it quickly so you can just get into the safety of your home.

The noise that results from the way you throw your duffel bag and daypack down, your rain-soaked jacket quickly following suit to form a messy, wet heap in the middle of the entryway, announces your arrival. Hoseok pops his head out from the archway that leads to the living room, the sounds probably interrupting his late-night Netflix binge.

“____?” You can hear the concern in his voice, and you refuse to look at him, instead focusing on wrenching your sodden shoes off of your tired feet. “Where’s Joonie?”

The mention of his name causes something like a switch to flip in you. Your brain finally, finally catches up with reality, and the numbness you lulled yourself into for the past few hours dissipates just like the pricking of a balloon. It leaves you gasping in pain, the way the emotions suddenly come flooding through you. The hurt viciously demands to be felt.

With a shaky exhale, you look Hoseok in the eye. The gravity of tonight’s events finally cements itself in your brain and the tears you’d been holding back come spilling out uncontrollably as you mumble your next words out brokenly.

“We broke up.”

It’s been weeks since you and Namjoon broke up. The constant cloud of desolation that plagued your every waking moment in the immediate aftermath of the breakup has finally eased up somewhat.

Being a high school senior turned out to be a lifebuoy in some ways, giving you solid things to cling onto in the midst of your emotions of loss and confusion. It’s not healthy, you know, but the academic content provided a sense of constancy that you sorely needed and the rigor of it all kept your mind from wandering too far into the depths of your sorrow.

Yet you knew this could only go on for so long. At some point, these emotions will eat you up from the inside out if not acknowledged and sorted out. Pain is just like that, it will gnaw at you with subtlety but with certainty. Repressing the feelings is just simply unsustainable.

You’re really lucky to have an older brother like Hoseok. That first night, when you finally broke down and let the tears turn into sobs that wracked through your entire being, he’d quickly gathered you up into his arms and had given you a shoulder to cry on. God knows how long you spent in that state bawling seemingly endlessly, but Hoseok had let you just get it all out without asking any questions, the immensity of his patience and quiet strength of his presence lending you a pillar of support that you desperately needed at the time. Later that night, when you were showered and tucked in warm under the covers, you watched through puffy eyes as he unpacked your belongings from your duffel bag and carefully wiped them dry or chucked them into the laundry basket as was appropriate.

When he reached for your daypack, you stopped him. You were barely able to croak out your opposition, your throat raw and wrecked from the earlier barrage of emotions. Still, Hoseok caught it, and nodded empathetically. He respected your wishes for privacy and only wiped the exterior of your daypack down before leaving it in the corner of your room.

And in the corner it remained. Aside from your absolute necessities, which was really just your keys and your wallet, you’d procrastinated unpacking your daypack. Till now, that is.

Not that there was much to unpack anyway. Most of the possessions you’d retrieved from Namjoon’s dorm room that night had been hastily dumped into your duffel bag in the single-minded mission to get out of there as soon as possible. You know exactly what items remain in the daypack- a bottle of water, a pair of shades, some chapstick, surprise tickets you’d bought online to a movie from that fateful weekend that went unused, and an envelope tucked away safely in the inner pocket of the bag.

The daypack and its contents weighed on your mind the same way it sat in the corner of your room- silent, untouched, yet unbudging. It’s plain silly how afraid you’ve been to confront these items, items that are inanimate and void of meaning apart from what you yourself have ascribed to them. In an attempt to hold off the full brunt of your misery, somehow you’d deluded yourself into thinking that leaving the daypack as it is would preserve things as they once were. You lived in self-denial, as if the breakup had not happened. As if the weekend trip just had not taken place at all, and was waiting to happen instead. The daypack was waiting for you to sling it over your shoulders as you head jovially out the door to the city and to the arms of your boyfriend.

But no. You heave out a sigh. Things have changed. You and Namjoon are no longer together. Holding onto a delusion is ridiculous, and you need to move on. And the first step to doing that is to get rid of this centerpiece that your fantasy revolves around.

The items in the bag get dumped onto the carpeted ground of your room unceremoniously as you unzip the daypack, turn it upside down, and shake out the contents. Whatever mystique you’ve built up around these simple items is now shattered as they lay scattered on the floor. The shades and chapstick return to your dressing table, the bottle of water and expired movie tickets get dumped out. And the envelope… you throw it into your desk drawer and slam it shut before the temptation to tear it open overtakes you.

That was the first of many letters that were written, but never got sent.

You never intended to make it a thing. It just… happened one day. Staying focused on school and college applications could only provide so much distraction from the whirling emotions bottled up inside you. No matter how tightly you attempted to keep a lid on it, wistful nostalgia still crept up uninvited.

And naturally so. This neighborhood, your high school, heck even your own house is filled with the ghost of the memory of him. Namjoon had been a significant presence in your life before he was even really yours. You still remember the day Hoseok brought his newfound friend home, Namjoon’s lips pressed tightly together in his attempts to keep his sniffles and tears in, his knees scraped, bruised, and bleeding from what looked like a pretty hard fall on the playground.

“Mum!” Hoseok had called out. “I need band aids!”

“Hello,” Namjoon mumbled when your mum came hurrying out of the kitchen to see what was wrong. “Sorry to be a bother.”

Namjoon had always been a klutz, but it was his clumsiness that had birthed the close friendship between him and Hoseok. After one too many accidents on the playground, Namjoon had been too scared to go home to face the inevitable reprimanding that would come. Hoseok had offered to patch him up at yours instead, and the camaraderie that arose from that incident had sealed their friendship as an unbreakable one. Unfortunately, as big as Hoseok’s heart was, his little seven-year-old hands were not the gentlest. From your spot at the top of the staircase, peering through the grills, you saw how Namjoon winced at Hoseok dabbing antiseptic on his knees, and you came bounding down the steps to rescue the stranger that sat on your family’s sofa and that had somehow wormed his way into a soft spot in your heart with his teary pout.

“Hoseok,” you demanded, your tiny hand outstretched and waiting, voice tinged with petulance. “Give me.”

Hoseok relinquished the first aid items to you and watched as you cleaned his new friend up, your brow furrowed in careful focus, little hands fumbling but your touch delicate. After you applied the twin band aids on both of Namjoon’s knees with all the meticulousness that a five-year-old could muster up, you patted his thigh and smiled at him.

“All done!” you declared. And you’d never forget the sight of his dimpled smile beaming up at you in response.

If only you could. You shake your head, as if it would shake the memories away. The paper before you on your desk remains as blank as it was twenty minutes ago when you sat down to get started on revision. But having known Namjoon for over a decade made it too easy for you to just get swept away by the deluge of memories of him. You tried to keep it in, but it kept leaking out. And perhaps that’s what you need- to just let it out.

The first touch of the pen to paper has you pausing, wondering how you were even supposed to start. But the moment you begin- Dear Namjoon, - everything comes spilling out in prose. Hardly having to pause what with the way your thoughts just keep flooding out onto the paper, the inked words flowing out in streams, you finally let go of the firm grip you’d kept on your feelings up till now and express your frustration, your loss, your confusion all out in one huge cathartic spew. You write till you feel emotionally dry, but in a satisfying way, chest feeling lighter than it had in weeks. But as your ballpoint pen swirls the complimentary closing- Sincerely Yours- you can’t help but laugh at the sardonic humor embedded in it. The sincerity in your words is irrefutable. But you’re no longer his.

Folding it up and sealing it away in an envelope, you chuck the letter into your desk drawer where it joins its predecessor. Now with a clearer mind, and a renewed focus and vigor, you’re finally able to set to work on the mountain of revision materials that await you.

The first letter was a gushing myriad of feelings. But the subsequent letters solidified into one obviously discernible emotion- anger.

Once you came to terms with the fact that he’s not coming back, and that he basically threw away the relationship, it had you boiling mad. How much had you sacrificed for this relationship?! You’d basically shuttled back and forth between your hometown and the city almost every other weekend to visit him on campus, juggling your family and your grades and your friends back home and college applications just to make your long-distance relationship work. And how did he repay your efforts? By withdrawing from you and refusing to talk things out despite your gentle, persistent probing. You’d heard that he’d been in a slump and confused about the future- Hoseok, while his best friend, was your brother after all- but you’d never imagined he’d be confused about you.

And so you took your rage out on paper once again, your words harsh as you wrote candidly. It’s not like he’d ever get to see it anyway.

But anger is tiring. After penning a few letters full of scathing lines you’d never have the guts to actually spit out in person, your wrath was quelled and soon gave way to grief.

In the same way with your anger, you chose not to deny your sadness, but leaned into it instead. The end of your relationship was something worth mourning, you decided, and you let yourself embrace the sorrow fully and deeply. It was especially difficult knowing that he was still in contact with Hoseok, while you had been completely cut out of his life. But you can’t blame either of them- you can’t demand that they revoke their friendship over what happened between you and Namjoon, nor would you ever desire for that to happen. Hoseok, on his part, managed it to the best he could, taking his phone calls in a room separate from you. But you can’t control the wave of dejection that runs through you whenever you spy Namjoon’s name on his caller ID.

You’re used to the routine by now. Whenever the emotions get too overwhelming, whenever there’s just too much that you want to say to him but that you can’t, you engage in the therapeutic act of writing your letters. Then you seal them up, and chuck them away, out of sight and out of mind. The grief gets easier to deal with too, especially with the excitement of receiving college acceptance letters and your high school graduation date that’s drawing closer and closer.

Of course, that in itself brings its own strand of sadness too, as you imagine having to separate from your friends and family and leave your childhood home behind. But the notion of getting to carve out the path to your future leaves a giddy anticipation that overshadows all other feelings.

And in that strange, paradoxical way that time seems to pass in- every hour ticking by so slowly, but the weeks whizzing by in the blink of an eye- it’s just as your five-year-old self had once proclaimed, “All done!”

Your life now packed into boxes that are piled into the car, one last check of your room to ensure that nothing important is left behind, a final look at the place you called home for all your life up to now, and you’re off to college. As you watch the sight of your neighborhood through the rearview mirror pull further and further away till it disappears entirely, you know you’re leaving tons of memories behind. Memories of Namjoon, yes, but also memories of your growing up years with your family and friends who have made you into who you are today, able to venture out and face the world with courage and confidence.

Maybe it’s that experience of individuation that has you finally accepting it. No more whirlpool of emotions, no more anger, no more grief, no more emptiness. Just peace. You’re single, separated from Namjoon. And you’re ready to take on the world and live your life like the boss woman you are.

“____,” Hoseok wails, pouting as he approaches you with outstretched arms. You barrel into him, relishing the warmth of his embrace and stowing it away for the days ahead. His eyes rove over you as he holds you at arms length so he can take you in for the last time in a while. He sighs. “My baby sister is all grown up and going to college and away from me.”

You laugh. “I’m still in the country, Hoseokie, it’s not like I’m halfway across the world. You can come and visit anytime.”

“But you’ve never lived further than a minute’s walk from my room. How am I supposed to deal with you being hours away from me now?”

“You’ll get over it soon, you big baby.” You duck out under his arms and slap his butt with the playful affection that’s always characterized your sibling relationship. Your parents are waiting by the door of your dorm room and you go over to give them their share of goodbye hugs.

“Thank you for all the help with moving and unpacking today,” you say, voice muffled as you speak into your dad’s chest. He strokes your head and you lean into his touch and savor it.

“You’ve got one more box there, you sure you don’t want our help with that?”

“No, it’s fine, I can handle it.”

It gets increasingly hard to hold the tears back and the difficulty only spikes tenfold when you turn to see your mum holding back tears of her own. Her perfume and her own natural scent that lies underneath that that you inhale as you hide your face in her neck while the two of you hug very nearly pushes you over the brink. But you manage. Knowing your family, it’s a given that someone will shed tears at some point, and you’re all (barely) holding it together for each other.

Hoseok comes up to hug you from behind so that you’re now sandwiched between him and your mum, which only prompts your dad to envelop all of you in his arms too.

“If it ever doesn’t work out- not saying that it won’t, because you’re super smart and the most driven kid I’ve ever known- but just, IF ever,” Hoseok rambles into your hair, “you can always come home and teach at the dance studio with me, ok?”

“Thanks Hoseokie. But you know I have two left feet, so I don’t think that’s gonna happen.”

“They’ll make an exception for you. I’ll make them make an exception for you.”

You laugh and extricate yourself from the group hug through a series of wiggles that only provides further proof of why you’ll never make it as a dance instructor the way your brother has.

“Ok, it’s getting late and you guys still have a long drive ahead of you.” You shoo them out of your room. After your final goodbyes, you return to your room quickly, knowing that the sight of their figures leaving would be unbearable.

Needing a distraction, you busy yourself with unpacking your last box of belongings. It’s nothing too difficult- your family had spent the afternoon helping you with the major to-dos like wiping things down and setting up your larger decor and lighting fixtures (read: copious amounts of fairy lights strung everywhere) just the way you liked it. All that remains now are some photos with friends, the few pieces of jewelry you owned, your humble make-up collection... and a shoe box stuffed full of letters that you didn’t dare to leave back at home where it would be at risk of being discovered by prying eyes in your absence.

Finding a place for your various items was a simple task to complete. Within ten minutes you were done unpacking, washed up, and tucked into bed for your first night ever living apart from your family. You roll over onto your side- your sleeping environment may be different, but your side-sleeper habits will never change.

As you peer out the window and take in the campus sights that seem foreign now but that you know will become familiar in time, you’re struck with a funny thought. What a turn of events your life has taken.

This is not the dorm room nor the campus you thought you’d be attending all those months ago when you were making your way down to the city. You’d embarked on that trip in gleeful anticipation at being able to deliver the good news to Namjoon, only to have that trip abruptly cut short, and the news remained in an envelope that never got to its intended recipient.

That weekend triggered a rerouting of your life, setting you on a new path that had brought you here to this campus instead. Not that you regret it, or feel like you settled for something less, not at all. You’re at peace with your decisions. It’s just an intriguing thought that things could have turned out so differently if that one weekend hadn’t happened, is all.

On impulse, you clamber out of bed to retrieve the shoe box that you’d shoved into the corner of your closet. Rifling through the stack- wait, did you really write this many letters?- you finally find the envelope you’re looking for.

Tearing it open gingerly, you pull out the sheets of paper contained within. It’s a rueful kind of feeling that washes over you as you skim over the words that you’d written back in what feels like an entire lifetime ago. The excitement you had felt at the prospect of the long-distance aspect of your relationship finally coming to an end after two long years was blatant in your letter.

But when it became obvious that Namjoon had gotten tired of trying to make things work, what you’d initially thought of as the golden ticket to saving your relationship turned out to be fool’s gold instead. You pull up the second sheet of paper- a photocopy of your acceptance letter to the same college your then boyfriend was attending- and you can’t help the ‘what if’s that fill your mind as you run your thumb over the college emblem.

Guess your dreams of a future where you lived in the city and where Namjoon was still in your life would remain just that- a dream.

Or so your naive college self believed.

#btswriterscollective #btswritingcafe #btsbookclub #btswritersguild #ficswithluv #bts fic #bts angst #bts exes au #bts x reader #namjoon fic #namjoon angst #namjoon exes au #namjoon x reader #knj fic #knj angst #knj exes au #knj x reader

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threeletterslife · 4 years

Text

[Finale] 10 | Illegirl

→ previous | next (second book of ly trilogy masterpost)

→ summary: Excelling in every school subject, acing every math test and conquering the academic world is something you do as easily as breathing. As your residential social outcast nerd, you live rather as a recluse, talking to almost no one except for your dear ol’ cousin and that sweet boy in a few of your classes—Jungkook? was that his name? Befriending your ʰᵒᵗ AP stats teacher was the last thing on your high school senior agenda…

→ genre: 90% fluff, 8% crack, 2% angst | teacher!au & f2l!au

→ warnings: profanity, implied, CONSENTED & PROTECTED sex (these adults are role models), mentions of sexual activities

→ wordcount: 5.5k

"But what if they ask how we met?" you say, wiping your sweaty palms on the side of your modest skinny jeans. "What if they ask my age? Oh my god. What if they ask to meet my parents?"

"Relax, Y/N," your boyfriend soothes, taking you into a warm side hug as he guides you up the steps of his parents' rather large home. "You're 18 now, and you'll be in college next month. You're not so young anymore."

You huff, tucking in a strand of loose hair and fussing with the hem of your nicest blouse. "They're gonna hate me."

"It takes a lot for them to hate someone," Jimin laughs, rubbing your shoulder in an attempt to calm you down. "They're just... slightly judgmental. But it's not like they're going to interrogate you! It's just dinner."

"This was a bad idea."

"It won't be, trust me."

You sigh, rolling your eyes. "Is this my late graduation present? Or perhaps an early entering college gift?"

"Kinda?" It sounds more like a question than a sure statement. "I just want them to meet the person I love as early as possible!" Jimin gives you the puppy dog eyes he knows you can't resist.

"Okay, okay! But what if they ask questions we don't fucking know the answer to?" you say, worry lines appearing on your forehead. "Like when we met and shit??"

Jimin hums, lips pulling out in a pout as he thinks hard. After a moment of silence, he grins as if an adequate idea popped up in his head. "We'll improv!"

"Oh, you son of a b—HELLO, Mr. and Mrs. Park!" you quickly say, heart beating violently in your chest. Damn. Off to a not-so-great start. You almost called Jimin a 'son of a bitch,' in front of his goddamn mother.

Thankfully it seems like Jimin's parents didn't hear you. They smile at both of you as they open their front door wider, and your boyfriend noticeably grips your shoulder tighter, in an attempt to remind you to release your inner tension.

"Y/N, is it?" Mrs. Park smiles, though she looks you over with scrutiny. "Don't you look young?"

You flinch as Jimin wraps his arm around you, then saves you from answering. "Yeah, she's 18, mom." He places a hand on the small of your back, ushering you into the house.

"18? 18?!" Mrs. Park gasps, putting a polite hand over her mouth in shock. "Goodness me. You never date anyone more than three years younger! Your exes all had a stable job with high income... she's barely in college!"

Already, you feel quite uncomfortable, especially with Jimin's mother spewing random facts about his past girlfriends and lowkey dissing you. Then you have Mr. Park who had seemed friendly at first but continues to sneak glances at his phone as if he was expecting an important call. You were getting rich businessman vibes from him. No wonder their home had one too many chandeliers and shining glass windows.

"Mom..." Jimin warns, his voice dipping low. "You're gonna make Y/N feel uncomfortable."

"Oh no, it's fine," you quickly say, faking a genuine smile. "Yes, I'm young, but I am pretty mature for my age."

Damn. You're getting good at this lying business if you do say so yourself.

Mrs. Park raises her eyebrow, turning to consult her husband but finding him engaged in a serious phone call. She sighs, shaking her head as she looks you over once more, a warm smile blossoming on her face. "It's fine, dear. Age is merely a number. Come, dinner's waiting."

Jimin's mother waves you and her son over, her inside-wear Louis Watton fur slippers clacking against the white marble floor as she marches over to an extravagant dining room. Even the gilded vase in the center of the mahogany dinner table looks like it could pay for your whole college tuition.

And speaking of college tuition, the moment a steaming hot meal is placed on the expensive table by a couple of servants, Mrs. Park turns to you, a false smile playing on her lips. "So, Y/N, what is your college major?"

You had been looking forward to dipping your spoon into that aromatic soup but you pause, looking up to make eye contact with the older woman. "Uh, I'm gonna major in statistics but minor in mathematics."

Jimin grins proudly next to you, already wolfing down a piece of savory white truffle garlic bread. You gulp next to him, wanting to take a piece of that dish yourself. But Mrs. Park interrupts your inner drooling.

"Really? That's quite interesting. My son is a high school mathematics teacher, you two must get along well, especially if you love arithmetic like him," Mrs. Park hums while taking a delicate sip from her intricate glass of red wine. "Would you like some?" she offers to you. "It's the finest we've got, slightly acidulated with a citrus finish."

There's an awkward silence as Jimin noticeably pauses his chewing and you completely freeze on the spot.

"Oh! That's right, you're underage," Mrs. Park chuckles. "My deepest apologies, Y/N. Jimin? Would you like a glass?"

You duck your head down to stare at your hands, wondering what the hell this woman was up to. Was she purposefully bringing up your age to make the dinner more awkward? Or was it just polite habit that got in the way?

To your surprise, Jimin refuses the drink. "It's fine, mom. I have to drive us home, so I'll pass."

Mrs. Park nods in approvement, sipping on her wine glass with a dainty hand. "Now I wonder what your father is taking so long with. He was surely excited to meet Y/N." She huffs. "Doesn't seem like it to me."

Again, you really don't know what to say or how to react. Conversations, er, socializing has never been your thing. Especially with adults (eXcEpT JiMiN).

"So, tell me about yourself, Y/N," Mrs. Park says, scooting her chair closer as her eyes seem to pierce into your soul. "I want to get to know the lovely lady my son loves so much."

You gulp, taking a nervous look at Jimin who's been sipping his glass of water for quite a long time. Now you're thinking of doing the same, just to avoid talking.

Your tongue is a limp mess in your mouth, and your brain refuses to make coherent sentences. But amidst your panic, you feel a warm hand wrap around yours underneath the table, out of sight. It's Jimin, wordlessly showing his support.

Somehow it helps.

"Well, I really do love mathematics," you start as Jimin squeezes your hand.

"She might love it more than me," your boyfriend adds, giving you a loving glance. You smile. "Oh, and did I mention? Y/N's never had a 'B' in her life! She's the most intelligent person I know!"

You blush, sticking a piece of marinated flank steak in your mouth.

"Oh? Goodness, you must be hardworking, Y/N!" Mrs. Park compliments.

"Hardworking? Did I hear hardworking?" Mr. Park calls as he settles down next to his wife, across from you and Jimin. "I've always wanted a hardworking daughter in law!"

Your eyes widen as you chew on your sauteed asparagus. Daughter in law? What the fuck???

Jimin lightly squeezes your hand. A gesture to try to calm you for sure, and lucky for him, it works.

"Dad, I've already told you we haven't dated for too long," Jimin says, chuckling. "If you keep saying that, Y/N will run away!"

Mr. Park throws his head back and laughs. "Sorry, it's just that I've heard so many amazing stories about you, Y/N," he tells you, a particular glint in his eye. "You're a special young lady, and my son is blessed to be with you."

You're stuttering again, trying to find the right words to thank Jimin's dad for all the flattery. "I-I... O-Oh, gosh. Thank you, but I'm sure I'm the one who's been blessed to have met someone like Jimin." They're true words, not a hint of a fib between the lines.

"Awww!" your boyfriend sings, nudging your shoulder with affection. It's honestly then when it becomes so clear to you. Just a small action, only a small nudge of the shoulder shows you that with Jimin's support, you won't ever have to be uncomfortable. He's the magical key to your safe haven, your very own utopia. Somehow his little actions can make you feel like the two of you are the only ones in the room.

"Y/N. Y/N??"

Jimin's voice breaks you from your thoughts as you perk up looking around to see what you missed.

"You kinda fazed out there, you okay?" he asks, rubbing small circles to the back of your hand.

"Yeah, yeah," you mutter, leaning against him. God. I am so fucking in love.

Mr. and Mrs. Park watch intently with interest as they witness intense love with their own eyes. Even they seem to realize you and Jimin are a match made in the heavens.

"Ahem," Mr. Park coughs, gaining you and Jimin's attention. He smiles warmly at you, then grins proudly at Jimin. "So, enlighten us. How did you two ever meet?"

You jerk your head towards Jimin as both of you erupt in nervous laughter. "Err... long story."

It's a goddamn sin to be stripped of sight. First off, you can't fucking see which is a whole problem of its own. Second off, Jimin's sweaty hands are pressing against your closed eyelids, and you can't help but wonder if they're clean.

You'll take one for the (figurative) team and assume that they are. Besides, you don't want to ruin the romantic night by grumbling your ass off.

"Hey, that wasn't so bad, right?" Jimin whispers, his hot breath tickling your ear. He guides your body, pressing his broad chest against your back to god knows where.

"Interrogation from your parents? No, it was fucking glorious," you say, voice dripping with nothing but sarcasm. Jimin chuckles, leaving a light kiss on the back of your neck, but you pout. "Where are you taking me, Jiminie?"

"It's a surprise." He nuzzles you from behind as if that display of affection would placate you. Normally it would, but you're just not having it today. Something about being temporarily blind sucked all the patience out of you.

"Yeah, well, I hate you and your surprises," you mutter underneath your breath.

"If you hate me so much, why are you holding onto me so tightly?" Jimin chuckles as you flush. He was right. You were gripping onto his tan, exposed arms, hoping they would somehow protect you from the never-ending darkness that seemingly enveloped you as a whole.

"They say one should keep one's enemies close," you say snarkily. You're not backing down.

Jimin chuckles, placing another chaste kiss on the back of your neck. "I'm your enemy now?"

"Yeah, there's a fucking reason why there's a 'my' in enemy. You're my enemy, gotcha?" you giggle, shaking your head at how cheesy you were sounding. How love made you say the cringiest things.

You can't see it, but you know Jimin's beaming... either that or he's considering ditching you. Both are plausible.

"I just think you don't like surprises," Jimin sings in your ear.

"That too," you murmur. "Are we there yet?"

"God, Y/N," your boyfriend laughs. "You're 18, act like it! Besides, you'll love this surprise, I know you will."

"Yeah right, how can you be so su—"

Jimin's hands fall from your face, interrupting you mid-sentence as your eyes flutter rapidly to adjust to sight. Your jaw drops. "Oh my god," you whisper. "Jimin..."

It's that beach house. The same exact one that you two had visited way back when. The embarrassing night (if you recall correctly) when Jimin had quite sweetly apologized for 'sexually harassing' you. Your face reddens at the thought, and you quickly force yourself to admire the rest of your surroundings.

From outside, you can see the hundreds of little candles placed inside the house, lighting up the premises and warming your heart. There are even scented candles leading the way up to the front door. It smells like mint, and a flowery aroma you can't recall the name of.

"I remembered you like this place," Jimin says in a husky voice dripping with rich honey. He takes your hand, guiding you over and unlocking the door to the charming vacation home.

"It was beautiful," you whisper, eyes trained on the hundreds of flickering candles in front of the dimly lit ocean waters. "Even more so now."

Jimin smiles, his pillowy lips stretching perfectly across his glowing face as he tugs you into the house. "Good," he says, "we're here to make even more beautiful memories."

"Memories of what?" You cock your head, staring into your boyfriend's eyes that reflected the dancing embers of the candlelight.

"You'll see." And with that, he pulls you away to one of the larger bedrooms, following the pathway that the candles had offered.

You gasp once you enter the room. With the lack of sophisticated description, you could say that a fucking rose threw up in there. There are scarlet petals sprinkled meticulously across the dimly lit bedroom. Some incense burns in the corner, welcoming you with a sweet, floral fragrance. An aureate bed rests in the middle of the commodious chamber—your favorite kind of bed too, you might add—fluffy-looking with clean, white sheets.

The space takes your breath away. It's nothing like anything you've ever imagined. Romance writers take this!

"Do you like it?" Jimin whispers, nuzzling you from behind.

"Like would definitely be an understatement," you breathe, eyes still glued to the overwhelming scenery. "You planned all of this?"

"More or less," he mutters, tenderly nudging you towards the grand bed. Taking the hint, you flop down on the soft mattress, immediately assuming your natural position of looking like a human starfish. The sheets feel too silky against your hands, almost as if you were undeserving of touching such a delicate object. But it's absolutely perfect.

"God, Jiminie, this is so romantic."

You giggle, reaching out for your boyfriend's hand to pull him onto the bed. He complies, lying right by your side with your hands intertwined. It's silent for a while as you drink in your surroundings, attempting to engrave everything into your memories.

Then: "I'm thinking..." Jimin murmurs, interrupting your own thoughts.

"Really?" you giggle. "Usually one thinks quietly," you tease, rubbing small circles on the back of Jimin's hand.

Your boyfriend pouts as he turns on his side to face you. "At least ask me what I was thinking about." How can you resist when he's looking at you like that?

"Alright, alright, what were you thinking about?"

"You."

"Well, I am the only one here, and—"

"How I want you," Jimin quickly interrupts, his voice low, husky and sultry.

You giggle, moving over to wrap your arms around your boyfriend and burying your face into his warm chest. "But I'm right here!" you protest.

"But Y/N, I need you..." Jimin whispers, slowly pushing you back while maintaining eye contact. His look reflects back to your perception, and you can see the burning desire in them. Your stomach drops low.

Oh.

That look, with all that burning desire. It's what most people would call bedroom eyes. You would've never thought you'd see them up close, in real life. But here you are.

"Do you want me too?" His voice brings chills down your spine, and you gulp.

"No... I need you," you answer softly.

Jimin grins, wrapping a secure arm around you as he moves in. You don't have a second to breathe as his lips engulf yours. He kisses you slowly and sensually, both of your lips pulling and pushing in sync.

It's just the right amount of love and lust.

And when his tongue finds its way into your mouth, the wet figure slightly grazing your lips, you let out a weak breath. Noticing, Jimin smiles against the kiss, pulling away slightly just to flip you over.

"Jimin!" you shriek as your back hits the soft mattress.

Your boyfriend just gives you a breathtaking smile before crawling on top of you. He waits until you impatiently tug on his collar, bringing him in for another intense kiss. In acknowledgment, Jimin lightly bites your bottom lip, then traces his tongue over the bitten mark to soothe it, leaving you writhing beneath him.

He seems to like your response, hand reaching up to tilt your chin slightly upwards, everso deepening the kiss. Your tongues battle for the long-desired dominance, but in your case, winning the competition (that even proceeds to continue in the bedroom).

But even so, everything's taken to leisure and behind every sensual action is love.

You don't want to pull away, you don't want it to stop. Yet you're human and you need some damn thing called oxygen. "Ah, fuck." You softly detach your mouth from Jimin's lips wet as you gasp for breath.

Jimin chuckles. "Already?"

Your face burns at the memory that had happened early senior year, back when you hadn't known you would fall in love with the man above you. But then it hits you. "Wait, really?!"

"No, Y/N," Jimin undertones, giving you a quick peck. "We're not fucking."

"Oh, good. 'Cause I—"

"We're making love."

"Oh." You pause. "Oh."

Jimin notices your hesitation, cupping your cheeks with his hands and he gazes lovingly into your eyes. "You can always tell me to stop."

"N-No. Don't stop. It's just... I'm... Well... Oh fuck it," you mumble the last part under your breath. "I'm a goddamn virgin, Jimin."

Your boyfriend nods. "I know, Y/N. We'll go slow. You know, with an extra side of immense love..." He pauses to see if you're comfortable, tucking in a strand of sweaty hair that clings onto your face behind your ear. "Make me stop when you want it to stop."

You can't help but nod, head reeling with all sorts of thoughts. Then, your legs turn to jelly as your boyfriend leans away to start unbuttoning his shirt. That little shit. He's doing it tantalizingly slow, making sure you get ever glimpse of his smooth, toned muscles. His eyes never leave yours, even when he's lingeringly inching his shirt down, revealing more and more skin.

You think you might go crazy.

"You've seen me shirtless before." Jimin has a proud grin etched on his face, seemingly proud that you're admiring his body in awe.

You sigh quickly, averting your eyes for your own innocence. "Yeah, but not in bed," you mutter.

Your boyfriend chuckles lowly, rushing in to meet your lips. "There's a first time for everything," he breathes heavily against your mouth. You'd normally nod your head in agreement but your thoughts are a bit occupied at the moment. Especially when Jimin's hands are tugging at the hem of your blouse. "Can I?" he murmurs.

Oh god.

You nod weakly, watching as Jimin carefully starts unbuttoning your blouse. He gingerly slides the silky material off of your shoulders, flinging it behind his back afterward. Instinctively, you cross your arms over your bare stomach, averting your eyes off to the dark ocean waters as Jimin's warm hands tenderly dance across your shoulders. It feels so embarrassing to be half-naked in front of someone—even if you're madly in love with the man.

Your boyfriend notices, smiling warmly at you as he pecks your cheek. "Hey, hey, don't be embarrassed. You're beautiful to me no matter what. Don't hide yourself."

"Sorry, I just..." you trail off as you make eye contact with Jimin, cheeks tinging pink. "I have no fucking idea what I'm doing."

Jimin laughs. "No one ever does when they're thinking too much of it. Just go with the flow, don't think. Your mind might not know, but your body does; let that guide you..." His sultry voice does wonders. You don't understand how it's possible to have become weaker than you were before.

Goddamn.

You shock yourself when you tug Jimin back in, his lips crashing down on yours. He groans against the contact, hands fluttering south to graze against his belt. Your stomach drops low. Damn. It's really happening.

"You good?" Jimin mutters against your lips. "Too fast?"

You shake your head. "No it's good," you breathe, gripping his arm as his fingers work to unbuckle the belt. Time seems to slow down as he slips the black band from his jeans, tossing it off the bed.

You can hear your own heavy pants, and gasp when you feel something hot graze against your jeans.

"Sorry, I—" Jimin stutters, shifting above you. But that only makes his (god forbid) boner dig into your inner thigh. Quite unholily.

"O-Oh my god," you stutter as Jimin buries his face into the crevice of your neck. "Park Jimin, your thing inflated." You giggle slightly, cheeks heating up as you feel it chafe against your jeans. "Just thought you ought to know."

Your boyfriend grunts, pouting against your neck. "I'm aware," he says softly, shifting weight from his right to his left, making you groan.

"Let's just... continue," you choke out as Jimin has a shit-eating grin on his face above you.

And just like that, Jimin helps you peel the remaining clothing off of each other. (Somehow he miraculously unhooks your bra faster than you ever could.)

You'd say it would be awkward, but it's anything but. Yet your face still burns red and your eyes keep trailing off to look at the ocean. It's not awkward but you feel so bare. You're not cold at all, especially not when Jimin's holding you so close. But you feel... shy. That's the word. You feel shy.

And it's almost as if Jimin can read your mind. "Hey, Y/N, you don't have to be so shy." He leans in, leaving a chaste kiss to the shell of your ear.

You let out a little whine, hands reaching up to cover up your face. "I'm not being shy," you argue. "I dunno. I'm just... I don't know. If you told me we were going to do the deed, I would've taken a longer shower." You pout behind your hands.

"Y/N!" Jimin laughs. "I love you, no matter how much you smell," he says, kissing your exposed forehead as he sniffles his nose to take in your scent. "And you only smell like a delicious meal to me."

You make a face, rolling your eyes from under your palms.

"Aw, c'mon, show me your beautiful face," Jimin coaxes, his sultry voice replaced with bubbly teasing as his warm hands attempt to separate yours from your face.

You huff. "I don't see where you see the beauty," you mutter, finally giving in and uncovering your face. Jimin immediately peppers your face with light kisses.

"What do you mean? I see beauty everywhere," Jimin chuckles, fingers grazing over your collarbone. "And by everywhere, I mean, everywhere," he whispers hotly in your ear, emphasizing the last word. You flush, suddenly feeling the urge to cover up your chest, but you remember you're in safe, loving hands. "Hey," Jimin calls, his fingers running through your hair, "you ready?"

"I... uh..." Your brain turns into mush at that absolute moment. It's a simple yes or no question, but your mind goes blank, and you utter something completely else. "Wait, is it going to hurt?"

Jimin chuckles, raising a cocky brow. "Well, that depends on how much you can take me."

Your eyes enlarge and you almost choke on your own breath. "Damn. I think I just got unaroused."

Your boyfriend rolls his eyes, though a smile peeks out from his lips. You feel the heat of his body lift from you as he slightly pulls away to reach for something on the elegant nightstand. Looking at him with questioning eyes, you wordlessly ask what he was doing.

"Condom," he answers, hands fumbling with the wrapper. You quickly avert your eyes, almost feeling the need to give Jimin some privacy as he deals with the protection. When he's finished, he slowly crawls back onto you, legs on both sides of your body. "Hey," he breathes, running a soft finger over your cheek, "trust me, alright? Don't be nervous, Y/N. I'll be right here the whole time."

You nod, reaching for his hands. He gladly gives them to you, and the two of you interlock both of your hands by each side of your head. His face is so close to yours that you can feel his warm breath escaping from his lips and caressing your pink cheeks.

"I love you, Y/N," Jimin whispers.

If you thought you knew what love looked like before, you were wrong. This. This look is the embodiment of love. How his eyes are slightly hooded from sexual desire, but how they also glisten brightly with all the adoration in the world. It's the look that speaks a million words. A look to say, 'I can't tell you my love enough, so I must show you.'

It's not that he was going to make love. No, with that look, he wants to give love with you. And you're not one to oppose.

Your eyes can't leave Jimin's, savoring the intimate feeling with him and the last moments of what some people might say your purity. "You and me both," you finally manage to breathe.

Jimin gives you a tender smile, hands still tightly intertwined with yours. And with that, your bodies are one.

You gasp from the foreign feeling, toes curling and head throwing back. Your hands subconsciously grip onto Jimin's and he grunts. "Good?"

"O-Oh god, y-yeah," you breathe shakily, closing your eyes as your lips part involuntarily.

You've never been this physically close with another human being. No one's ever gotten permission from you to invade your space so literally, either. But it's this moment in time where you're in pure bliss. Every movement, every breath, every warm pant that falls from both of your lips is euphoric, making up the utopian world you live in every time you're with your love.

And once it all ends and you're cleaned up, Jimin takes you by his side, cuddling you like there's no tomorrow.

"You know," he whispers sleepily in your ear, breath tickling your baby hairs. He kisses the back of your neck as you snuggle up against him, naked back touching his warm chest. "It was my first time tonight too."

You turn your head in shock, then finding your lips inches away from his. "What?" you whisper back.

"Mhm," Jimin hums, pecking your lips and intertwining his bare legs with yours. "First time making love, that is."

It only takes one statement for your mind to flash back to the pleasurable moments you'd shared with your boyfriend. How the once quiet room had become a chamber blossoming with pants, moans and little whispers of endearment. You remember the eyes that Jimin had look at you throughout the night. They had reflected all of your love for him straight back to you. That was the moment when you had known. That was when you'd truly realized this form of unadulterated love was new to your boyfriend as well. Both of you would find your way through the twists and turns of the maze that follows any true relationship, together.

The thought keeps you at peace.

24 is an age you never thought you'd reach.

It's an age old enough to make important decisions. But also an age young enough to get away with doing dumb shit.

You've lived for 24 years. Okay well, 24 years and 220 days to be exact (that's counting 6 leap days). Which is approximately 295.26 months. About 1283 weeks and 5 days. Then 8986 days. Fuck, you're old.

24's the age Jimin was when he met you, therefore it was deemed a magical age and number. Some days you agree with that, some days you don't.

Today though, you full-heartedly agree.

Jimin intertwines his hand with yours, rubbing small circles on the back of it — just the way you like. His strides equal yours, making sure he's walking right next to you, never faster, never slower. He's also wearing an all-black outfit, something that you've mentioned your love for countless times.

And you had left the house together, deciding to walk to the theater to watch Jin's newest play. Your cousin had saved both of you a special seat "on the house," and you were honestly excited to be able to support your cousin (to repay back all the support he had given you in your angsty teen years).

"So, what do you think, Y/N?" Jimin asks, breaking you out of your thoughts.

"Hm?"

"The proof I was talking about for the last ten minutes. Think it's alright to give to my students during winter break?"

"Oh god," you sigh. "I don't know... Nothing screams satanic hell than a five-page double-sided proof. Especially during winter vacation." You look at Jimin for support, squeezing his hand. "You and your students can use a break, you know. Besides, if you assign a five-page proof, you'll have to grade it, and I'm not helping you with that anymore."

"Yeah but —"

"Jiminie, they're college kids. They need to have time to go to parties as much as you need time to hang out with me!" you pout, leaning into your boyfriend convincingly. "Besides, college is stressful as hell."

"Damn." Jimin shakes his head, chuckling. "Ever since you got a job, you act like you have the answer to everything!"

"Oh yeah? Well ever since you became a college professor, you've been giving me less attention!" You swing your linked hands back and forth, grinning wildly. "And for the record, I've always acted like I had the answer to everything."

Jimin scoffs, a teasing smile spreading across his face. "Fine. Whatever, but ever since you turned 24, you think you need all the attention in the world!"

"Mhm, yes, sure. But you're just working way harder because you know I make more money than you." You stick out your tongue at your boyfriend. A childish play, but something you know for a fact that Jimin finds absolutely adorable. "Wanna know the exact math? Twenty-one thousand, three hundred and ten more bucks!"

Your boyfriend rolls his eyes. "Y/N, we've gone over this. We share a bank account, therefore we don't need to compete over our salaries."

You huff, slipping your hand away from Jimin's grip to cross your arms disapprovingly. "That's what the lesser money-maker always says but whatever, I gotchu."

"Y/N..." Jimin warns.

God. You know that voice. You know that voice very well. It's the "shut up right now or I'll punish you in the bedroom" voice. And you don't plan on being dominated today, thank you very much.

"Okay, okay," you sigh, playing with the ends of your hair. "I guess I went too far."

"You guess?"

You scoff. "Okay, fine. I know. Feel happy now, Professor?"

Dom-Jimin is replaced with the smiley boyfriend that you know well. "Just call me Jimin, Y/N... Unless you're okay with some role-playing when we get back home."

He whispers the last part in your ear, making the hair on the back of your neck stand tall. "Jimin!" you shriek, slapping your boyfriend's shoulder in shock. "You're not supposed to talk about that... that kind of stuff in public!"

But Jimin's all smiles as he links arms with you, marching you towards the theater.

"What the fuck??" you announce as you march out of the theater still dazed from what you had just witnessed.

"I know," Jimin agrees, shaking his head in disbelief. "Jin did us so fucking dirty."

"I just can't believe he made a whole ass play about us!" you exclaim, throwing up your hands. Passerbys are giving you strange looks but at age 24, you don't give a fuck. "Illegal Love my ass."

"But you've got to admit, people really digged the teacher-student romance," Jimin whispers in your ear, his hands gripping your shoulders. "Who wouldn't? It's the sexiest kink out there."

You flush red, swatting Jimin's arm away. "That's subjective, Professor," you mutter under your breath. "Besides, you and I both know you're only saying that to get in my pants tonight."

"I'd be lying if I said no, Miss Y/N."

Now you know it's gonna be a fun night. 24's the magical age alright.

At least you think it is.

—previous | next (second book of ly trilogy masterpost)

—masterlist

#jimin #park jimin #jimin fanfiction #jimin imagine #bts #bts fanfiction #jimin fluff #jimin angst #teacher au #jimin crack #jimin fanfic #illegirl

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baby-grayson · 3 years

Note

This is so totally random and kinda silly but for whatever reason nessa seems like the type to knt like imagine her knitting grayson a blanket or something with their college logo on it for christmas or even a birthday present 🥺

It was the first Christmas season they were together: they hadn’t been an official couple for a full three months. The holiday season represented a much-needed break for both Nessa and Gray, as they pushed their hardest to swim through finals season. The last leg of the semester was particularly hard for Vanessa, as it was her first finals season of her college career. Her academic stress was coupled with the choice of whether to invite Grayson to her family’s Christmas celebration. She didn’t voice any of her inner turmoil out loud, afraid of offending Grayson or accidentally causing their relationship to move too fast. Her main fear was meeting his mother and interesting Grayson to her father: both seemed like big steps to take on such a sweet holiday. In the end, Gray and Nessa mutually decided that the best decision was to celebrate their own Christmas in early January: after they came back from break but before classes started.

The decision relaxed Ness enough to confidently handle her exams and cherish the last few days she had with Grayson before winter break. Truthfully, it was in those few days that they slept together for the first time. It was a magical period for both: no stresses, just each other, all day, every day. When they weren’t cuddled up near each other’s bodies, Grayson’s sweatshirts slowly found their way into Vanessa’s overnight bag. They came together to form a serene tranquility.

Ness was sad to leave Grayson for winter break, even though she knew it was what was best. She leaned her head against the window of her dad’s truck. She used a resigned tone to tell her father about her classes and reported on how her exams went. She picked up her head from the window to tell him about Grayson, “Dad, I promise- I really promise, you’d love him if you met him.”

She spent the holidays with her father, four older brothers, and their grandmother who Nessie affectionally called “Nana”. During the night, she was FaceTime Grayson and listen to his stories of Jersey shenanigans. During the day, she was playing referee for her brothers’ games of pick-up ice hockey but quickly grew tired of being tossed around and yelled at. She was laying on the couch, like a blob of a person, fiddling with her phone when her Nana walked in carrying a wicker basket with half a dozen balls of yarn.

“Hey Nan,” Ness looked up from her phone as her grandmother settled into an armchair.

“Nene,” her grandmother greeted her lovingly. The old woman slowly moved a wrinkled hand and tapped the armrest of the chair. “Why don’t you sit with me? Knit with me?” her voice creaked like the hinges of an old door, “It’s been so long since we talked, since you left for school.”

Vanessa’s heart swelled as she left the sofa to sit on the floor Infront of her Nan, “I miss talking to you too Nana.”

The old woman’s wrinkles folded apart to form a smile that wore the same curves as Vanessa’s. “Your father told me you’re seeing a young man, tell me- is he nice to you?”

Vanessa chuckled softly and nodded, “Yes Nan. Yes, he’s very nice to me.”

“Well that’s good,” her grandmother reached into the wicker bin to pull out two knitting needles and a ball of yarn, “You know, when I was your age, I made your grandfather a scarf for his birthday once. He wore it every winter, that was- until- your father spat up on it as a baby but that’s just par for the course I guess.”

Vanessa chuckled and rested her arms on the seat of the armchair, holding her head in her hand, “Tell me more about Pop-Pop.”

While her Nan shared her own love story, she planted the seed in Vanessa’s mind to make something for Grayson, something personal and special. Her Nan was more than happy to teach her how to pearl stich a blanket, taking the opportunity to chat with her granddaughter as the only two women in the house. Vanessa must have spent at least three hours a day working on that blanket to have it ready to give to Grayson by the time she went back to campus.

Nessa knocked on Grayson’s apartment door with a mitten-ed hand, while the other mitten tightly clasped the giftbag. Grayson had barely opened the door when she launched forward, hooking her arms around his neck and swinging her feet above the floor to kiss him. He kissed back sweetly and wrapped his arms around her back, picking her up so she wouldn’t fall. He smiled against her lips, “Hey there,” he scrunched his nose. Nessa’s feet blithely landed on the floor, “I missed you.” She set the giftbag down on his coffee table and started stripping herself of her mittens and pulling her sweatshirt overhead. She had just lifted it off her head when Grayson swooped in, grabbing her by the waist and kissing the side of her face, “I missed you, too.”

Vanessa squealed a happy sound and looked down to find a medium box wrapped in red foil paper with a golden bow on the floor, “Is that my present?” She looked at him with excited eyes that made Grayson blush while he nodded.

“Do you want to open it now?” He offered, picking it up off the floor.

Vanessa shook her head. She picked up the gift bag with Grayson’s blanket inside and held it out in front of her, “You go first!”

Grayson laughed and took the bag from her, “Ness, you didn’t have to.” He dropped to the couch, where Vanessa took a cozy seat beside him and intently watched his facial expression.

Grayson pulled it out of the gift bag and felt his bottom lip swell while he felt the soft yarn in his hands, “Ness,” his voice quivered, “Did you- did you make this?”

She bit her lip and nodded anxiously, “Yeah- I did. Do you think it?”

Grayson nodded and smiled from ear to ear. The only other people who gave him handmade gifts were his mother and his great grandmother. He took this blanket as a sign that Ness belonged on the same pedestal as the other most important women in his life. “I love it,” he stretched it out in front of him, holding the corners taught to inspect the patterns, “I like the colors. The tie-dye is really cool.”

Nessa’s mouth hung open for a minute, wondering if she should nod and lie about her intentions or tell him the truth, “Uh- well- it’s supposed to be,” she held out a hand awkwardly, pointing to different patches of color, “it’s the logo-see—here’s the,” she swooped a finger down, “actually- never mind,” she brought her hand into her hair, “I’m glad you like it,” she kissed his cheek and leaned her head against his shoulder when he brought an arm around her.

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bewaretheidesofmarchyall · 4 years

Text

Soulmate Shenanigans Five: The Order Of The Shenanigans

Hey! Guess who has returned?

Me!

Just the March doing her prompt writing thing, as seen on previous episodes :)

Parts one, two, three, and four here!

Prompt #5

Any intense emotions your soulmate feels you will also experience

Warnings for kidnapping mention and gifted kid “potential” mention

Okay. Not going to lie, I kind of tweaked the concept, but I like how it turned out. The idea of the sides having sides in human AUs has been in my brain, and now it’s in yours!

World Building

At first, the symptoms of having a soulmate was seen as symptoms of witchcraft

It was a reasonable assumption to make, as seeing into someone’s head and emotions wasn’t really a thing that humans did.

However, as the population grew and communication across the globe became a thing, the instances of people finding their soulmates grew as well, and not everyone could be a witch (or, if they were, being a witch was simply being human).

It took a while for the culture around soulmates to shift, but shift it did, and people eventually figured out “Oh, that person is my soulmate, not my eternal enemy that I need to destroy via my demonic powers, which I totally have”

But people’s minds are kind of a lot, and it’s hard to process it all.

So, in modern day, people have learned to separate the pieces of their soulmate’s personality that they get bombarded with into different pieces, or sides

The sides are Logic, Morality/Emotions, Creativity (with there sometimes being a divide between dark and light), Self-Preservation, and Anxiety.

Characters

Roman: Roman is looking forward to meeting his soulmate so much!

Just...later.

When he’s a famous writer and people know about him and he’s evened out his insecurities and he deserves them!

Being perfect for them is going to take work, but most people meet their soulmates over 30, so he’s got at least fifteen years to prepare.

Until then, he was working on his fantasy story and dreaming of the day he’d get published or get the lead in a school play.

The writing club had been his idea, so you could say that everything that happens in the story was his fault. He’d just wanted to be around people who liked the same things he liked!

Roman’s Sides, ranked in order of how much control they have:

Note: Names are hard. Aaaagh.

Magnus, his creativity, romance, passion, etcetera. Magnus is really the one who calls the shots around here. He’s just as goofy of a fifteen year old (if not more) as Roman, but he has the unenviable position of running a mind palace and being the ego of someone who hates himself.

This guy just wants to listen to Hamilton, but noooo, he had to have an evil reflection of himself and self-worth issues.

The Count, his self-preservation and pretty much Roman’s inner Roxie Hart/Velma Kelly. Randomly suggests poisoning their mortal enemies a lot (note: they don’t have mortal enemies).

The most like canon Janus out of any of the self preservations, except instead of “we live in a society” it’s more “fuck it, we’re going to be *famous*!”

The other sides will pay him to stop saying, “that’s showbiz”

The Medic, his morality and emotions. Sort of has a medieval healer thing going on (which means herbs in a satchel, not plague doctor mask).

A lovely person on his own, but when he and The Guard team up, it’s ✨Guilt time!✨

He has the question of “Am I a terrible person?” on his hands, so...good luck to him. He’s trying to hold the five of them into a cohesive unit, but it’s hard!

The Guard, his fears and anxious thoughts. He has a shield and a spear, and is kind of dressed like a (dark and stormy) knight.

No one particularly likes him, but it’s his job to recognize The Shadow, so they all need him.

He hangs around on the outskirts of the mindscape, ever vigilant.

The Alchemist, his logic. No one listens to the voice of reason in this house. Al isn’t really a fan of this, and being Roman’s logic, he thinks that if he can find a way to prove himself it’ll turn out okay.

The Shadow, everything Magnus discarded. You could call him dark creativity, but he’s a lot more.

They used to call him Rex, when they were kids.

Patton: Patton isn’t thrilled with having to move to a new school, but he’s keeping a positive attitude

The new town is creepy and making friends is harder than he thought, and he just wants to right a sappy love story about ghosts without feeling sad.

But if he keeps his chin up, he knows it’ll all be fine!

And hey, maybe he’ll find people who like him in this writing club thing!

Patton’s Sides, ranked in order of how much control they have:

Patrick, his morality and emotions. Patrick feels all of the loneliness and desperation that Patton feels daily, but pretends he doesn’t feel it, since he has to be there for them!

Them meaning his family, meaning the rest of Patton’s mind, as well as Patton, since he’s kind of an older brother/role model to the guy.

Covering the full scope of human emotions isn’t great when the other half of your job is enforcing the sense of right and wrong (and the general consensus in Patton’s head is showing negative emotions = burden = wrong).

None of them can cook, but that won’t stop him from trying!

The Canary, his fears and anxious thoughts. Constantly popping up to remind everyone that they’re failing. It’s kind of his job.

Stress plays the piano when things get to be too much.

The Gardener, his creativity, romance, and passion. Conjures flowers a lot. Projects wishes for a soulmate into the sappy ghost love story, which he’s mostly in charge of writing.

Hasn’t split yet, but that’s mostly because nearly all of Patton’s negative impulses that would be considered “dark creativity” already come from The Miser.

Dr. Picani, his logical side. Knows everything about cartoons, and tries to be professional, but a complete sweetheart.

Secretly knows his name is Emile, but is waiting for the best moment to tell everyone.

The Miser, his self-preservation and deceitful side. No one’s a fan of him. Patrick is kind of his mortal nemesis (in the sense that Patrick claimed the title and he just kind of went along with it?)

Everyone else in the Pattonsphere refuses to curse, but he says many a “fuck” with ease

Trying to protect The Gardener from splitting by taking responsibility for most of the things a dark creativity would do.

Virgil: Virgil just didn’t want to join the yearbook committee.

It was irrational, maybe, to have a deep rooted hatred of the yearbook committee.

They were just trying to categorize things, design pages-it wasn’t malicious!

And yet, being in that classroom and seeing Amelia’s dead eyes and smile near rang every alarm bell in his system, so he needed a way out this year.

His parents weren’t going to let him not choose an activity, so he flipped a coin and ended up in some writing club.

He came into the club determined to fake some pretentious poetry about death. Just because they say the club’s about expression or whatever doesn’t mean that they can know anything about his comics.

Virgil’s Sides, ranked in order of how much control they have:

Dante, his fears and anxious thoughts. Dante has too many eyes. Dante is lowkey a cryptid, but he’s sadly a cryptid in charge of life decisions.

There’s no way to dance around it. Dante’s a spider-human hybrid.

Dante would prefer they never be perceived by anyone for anything. He does not want to be seen, he does not want to be heard, he does not want to be perceived. Period.

But he’s a very conspicuous spider-human hybrid.

The Competent One, The One Who Can Actually Do Math, Steve, whatever you want to call him, he’s Virgil’s logical side.

His theories are just....

See that image? That kind of sums up his characterization.

Parker, his creativity, romance, and heroic side. He’s the one who got them obsessed with comic books, and is trying to write his own. If people don’t like the comics, he’ll probably just start screaming and never stop

He gets the purple eyeshadow!

Remy, his self-preservation. He mainly just wants Virgil to just...rest

Nap. Sleep. Take a self-care day. This is Remy’s goal.

Also to continue to have the most style out of anyone in the Virgilsphere

Remy has a talent for never being anywhere at the right time, and then popping up at the worst moments, caffeine in hand.

Tam, his morality and emotions. The most into the emo phase out of any of them, since he feels all angst!

Sometimes just hovers and screams. Everyone’s pretty used to this.

Logan: Logan was trying to ignore the things he’d seen

Logan was a scientific guy. He knew that magic wasn’t real, that the fae were just stories.

So, clearly, the nightmarish things he’d seen that night were just that: nightmares. Just nightmares caused by stress over his academic struggles.

That was the immediate problem at hand: academic struggles. Logan was always the top of his class his whole life, and words like “gifted” were thrown around. Lately, however, things have been harder to keep up with and pay attention to, and it’s a bit of a mess.

Logan joined the writing club because he thought it might help him with English class, and he did like speculative fiction.

But, more importantly, he joined it because he thought it would be a simple task he could easily ace, so he wouldn’t have to keep being told that he wasn’t trying.

Logan’s Sides, ranked in order of how much control they have:

Mimir, his logical side. Mimir is pushing himself to take care of all academic matters and keep Logan afloat.

Mimir is over his head, but doesn’t really have anyone to talk to (or so he thinks), so he’s just putting Warby Parkers over his panic and faking cold distance to make everyone think he’s doing okay.

Alastor, his moral side. Half of his job is repressing Logan’s emotions, which isn’t a great thing to be doing, but he think he’s doing it for a good reason.

Kinda strict and blaming Mimir for everything going wrong. He does care about the others, he’s just bad at showing it.

Cassandros, his fears and anxious thoughts.

This dude-

He’s basically just [puts feet on coffee table] “Hey, did you know everyone hates us?? I made a PowerPoint that proves it!”

He’ll get character development, though.

The Chessmaster, his overdramatic self-preservation.

Tries to be clever, walks into walls.

The Detective, his creative and fanciful side. He wants to swashbuckle, but instead he’s restrained to geometry.

But now he has a project in the writing club! He has something to do!

And The Mad Scientist is trying to ruin it!

The Mad Scientist, Logan’s dark creativity.

They never used to care about the creative side one way or another. There was no need to make a dark side when it was already looked down upon.

Now, however, there are things in Logan’s mind that he’s trying not to think about, and so the Mad Scientist has joined the fray.

The Actual Plot

This is going to be an actual fic that I write. So, I’m not going to fill out the entire plot here.

I can, however say a few of the plot lines

Plot One: Everyone’s sides are in a state of constant screaming and must learn to communicate.

They also need to let their main guys figure out they have soulmates, because they’re all repressing that information for their own reasons.

Plot Two: LAMP in a writing club, falling in love and being disturbed by first drafts!

Plot Three: The fae are kidnapping people.

And everyone needs to get them to Stop.

I guess you could call this a trailer??

I JUST REALLY LIKE THIS IDEA

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happy-hollow-rpg · 3 years

Text

Big Rave Feels || MAUI || EPILOGUE

At first Maui couldn’t quite believe his ears.

“She’s… safe?” They were safe? A surge of relief welled up from inside him. “That’s-?! That’s-!” He started to laugh. It was… almost too surreal. Finding out the people who were keeping his mother hostage was the primary reason for coming to learn magic.

“S-So… who were they…?”

RJ...doesn't look too thrilled with that question, really. He has to think about it for a bit, before he just decides to rip off the bandaid in one go. "They were the Swallows."

“Swallows…?” Maui’s smile began to fade. Was he being serious? Of course he was. Maui’s first reaction was to disagree, but a gut feeling pulled him back. His gut kept him alive this whole time (somehow) and this WAS RJ talking, someone he knew he could trust whole-heartedly.

“… That’s… That ain’t right…” Maui muttered. He looked away, taking the time to contemplate RJ’s words. “They saved me. Y-You probably saw… didn’t you?”

"They...didn't." RJ sounds like he's struggling to find the right words to say. He's more than well aware of how much Maui idolizes the Swallows. He doesn't want to be the one to ruin them for him, but... "What your dad said back then was a bluff. Even then, the Swallows were after you guys."

Maui paused. So… things were a bit more complicated than he thought. This was awkward. That Swallow tattoo on his neck was now feeling incredibly itchy. He rubbed it, wondering what to do next.

“Thanks, dude.” He finally said after some time. “Thanks for tellin’ me.” He paused. "... 'Bout my dad... do you know what happened to him?"

"That's..." There's a long pause. "That's something you should ask your mom about."

His mom…? Why would she know anything…? Maui nodded his head slowly, not liking RJ’s reaction to his question. Well, he supposed there was no use worrying about it for now. There was still work to be done. Still things he needed to uncover.

It was a daunting thing, knowing that the people who had been tormenting him had actually been his childhood heroes. How was he going to go up against that? Just how many of them were there? Despite it all, Maui wasn’t… scared. Not anymore. All that running around in the liminal space had boosted his confidence considerably. Plus, he had friends. And very powerful friends at that. It was nice knowing that he had them to rely on should… should he need to.

But maybe he wouldn’t need to. The hard part was over, thanks to RJ. Now, he just had to find them…

——————————————————

After crying over everyone’s revival, Maui made the decision to stick with Treat to continue his magical studies. If… you could call it studying. He was never quite the academic, but he soon found out just how much fun making potions could be. Being able to throw a buncha shit together and doing something productive with it, brought out the inner child in Maui, and he became quite relentless in his testing. Hopefully he doesn’t blow anything up. It’s not like EXPLOSION is his second element or whatever.

While studying, Maui spends much of his time actively trying to hang and chill with everyone that’s still around, including Amelia, RJ, Niro and Sully. He doesn’t make any real effort to talk to Shaela and Santiago given… everything that’s happened. But, he does feel a little bad for calling Shaela a bitch, and even says so while returning her wand back to her. His disdain for her has grown considerably less given how… how everyone ended up NOT being dead after all.

———————————————————

“Soooo, that’s the gist of it. What do y’alls think?” This was probably going to be a long shot. After all… drugs were a bit stigmatized and hell he was practically asking Erika and Elle to help him make one (dont turn your friends into drug dealers Maui). “It would… help a lotta people who would end up usin’ some pretty hard shit anyways… and maybe even OD from it. If we could come up with some sort of safe alternative, wouldn’t that be for the better?”

Erika L taps her chin thoughtfully. "Well, I don't have any real experience with that kinda thing, but I guess I can help you! I mean, might as well give it a shot, right?" If it'd help people... Erika nods. She's more on board with this the more she thinks about it. "Been a while since I made any new potions. What do you think, Elle?"

"It might be a bit difficult. A lot of things can be dangerous, even if they would be helpful in other situations. Medicine and poison overlap often. What could be toxic in a high dose could be life saving for another. However, I admire you for your decision." She offers Maui a sweet smile. "We will have to work hard on this, but I am always up for looking for creative new ways to use my magic."

Maui did very little to contain his excitement. They were on board! “Oh hells fuckin’ YES!” He cheered, pumping his fists in the air and swooping his arms down to give the both of them a quick hug. Any other day, he’d probably get embarrassed from being so forward with his physical affection (especially towards not one… but TWO girls?!) but in that moment, Maui could not give a damn.

“This is gonn’ be great, thank you thank you thank you!! This is gonn’ be good, it’s gonn’ save a lotta people and change the world, I can feel it man, I can feel it in my bones!” There was a twinkle in his eyes. “Now… Hmm... Wonder if RJ’ll be down to test it…”

—————————————

In his down time, Maui continues to return to the rave scene every so often as a promoter, though most of his time is spent running his businesses. He IS the founder of two very popular apps after all. At some point, Maui pops in on one of Dusky’s concerts and has a BALL, sparking the incredible idea of trying to drag everyone, including Taichi, Elle, the Erikas and perhaps even Akira, into one of the raves he’s promoting. If he does manage to convince Elle, the girl spends her time cocooned onto Maui’s back for the night, as he proudly wears the rave sweater she made for him and the bracelet Rada made.

Being an academic failure, Maui had always been drawn to the more bookishly cute kind of girls, hence his blushing around Rada and Elle in weird moments. Sadly for him, they turned out to be ruthless lesbians (not that he’s sad about it). Turns out, the person who was probably best for him was right under his nose the whole time. Despite Sully’s attempts to set them up, Maui seemed convinced that Amelia and him would only ever be platonic. That is… until the two started depending on each other more. Day by day, and little by little, it was only ever a matter of time before Maui realized that the person needed was right there all along.

#endgame #ic #Maui #submission

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thesunshinedissociation · 4 years

Text

A Maria-Centric View of Our System

I realized this morning that my hope when I tell friends about our plurality is that they’ll assume they’ve been interacting with several of us and thus their feelings towards the presumed singlet will just be re-understood as towards at least several of us, if not the whole system. But also as far as I know we haven’t really told anyone how to tell us apart. So, from my point of view, here’s something of a description of each of us. (Thankfully, as far as I can tell, I have a nice spot in the system for this.) I’ll go from most to least active.

Maria: Me. Self-description is probably the hardest, but as best I can tell, I’m the one who’s best able to get desires going. Especially for pleasure. Like, whereas the others will be very lost trying to find something they want, I can be somewhat hedonistic at times. I also do get a lot done, which is good since I also have a lot of energy and a really good tolerance for being alone. Some people don’t seem to like me as much, especially after some of my more reckless decisions. (I just noticed my name is one letter away from mania...) Which has made me all the more aware of how okay I am with being alone. Also, I feel about fifteen years old inside, and it can be kinda scary at times since I still have the responsibilities of someone ten years older. I used to be pretty bad on a stimulant addiction. Lately I’ve noticed I don’t like nicotine. My drug tolerance seems generally lower. But, I also don’t have anorexic tendencies, nor do I have money anxiety. On the other hand, the others don’t love my love of candy and snacks. Nor do they always love when I go on spending sprees. Oh well. At least I enjoy myself. (The near-constant physical pain is less pleasant. As is being constantly overheated. While I’m often derealized, that’s not so bad because it makes the world less scary. I feel myself as very real, which is nice. The distorted perceptions are weird but workable. The ability to give myself a buzz without drugs is really fun.) I imagine I’m usually pretty identifiable by my energy. I’m also more concerned with my aesthetic than most of the others, but my external appearance usually ends up at least somewhat chaotic.

Natalia: The caretaker of the group. We’re really close, usually able to talk to each other at will, switch with each other almost at will, and when one of us come around, the other is rarely far away. She’s pretty protective of all of us, and has run into conflict a few times when keeping everyone away to keep us safe. Our roomates say she’s remarkably responsible. Which is fair; most of the stuff that has to get done like cleaning the house or putting food in one of the anorexic/depressive alters falls on her. Sadly, she’s not as good at having fun. But she says she’s usually content. Which, hey, if being caring is what makes her happy, that seems alright. I appreciate having someone around to keep me calm when things go awry. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if half of my coping skills were just to turn to her for help. She’s also usually pretty easy to identify by behavior alone, I imagine. Like, her primary drive is to take care of anyone she cares about. She usually keeps her appearance more tame, but it’s not super important.

Victoria: Sometimes she can feel really great, but it’s pretty fragile. On any day she’s out, there’s a good chance she’s going to crash hard. Usually because she can’t handle being alone, and will very quickly suspect that she’s too socially inadequate to carry on. She’s also more isolated in the system, especially since her falling out with Natalia and Lizzie a few months ago. (But they weren’t very compatible to start with.) I’m not sure how much she has going for her besides some attachment problems. Either her appearance will be too depressed to even wear clean clothes or else when she’s doing well socially (or when ego-inflated by other means) she’ll make herself as attractive as she can. Which makes sense given her felt need to be attractive. (Thank goodness we all reflect externally enough to keep track of all of our problems.) If you look at the DSM entry on BPD, all nine criteria fit her pretty well. Though also she’s often tormented by Natasha. Her access to the rest of the system is pretty bad; she’s especially prone to amnesia, and she’s a bit in denial, still.

Natasha: The arch-persecutor. She’s angry and violent, usually towards us. She doesn’t really trust anyone outside the system, so she abuses us to keep us safe from them. I can’t remember her fronting for a long enough period of time to really have much to say about how she acts outside. We’re learning to work with her. I hope someday she can be okay. As much as we fight, I do care about her. I understand why she’s easy to dislike, though.

Jeanine: She’s a bit farther away from me in the system so I don’t know her very well. I can see the playlist she made for herself on Spotify is totally the most unique. (We all share one account, and most of us have playlists for ourselves.) She can be way more fight-y than most. I used to think she was just basically the protector that followed Jasmine, but she’s spent enough time out on her own that I’m not so sure. (While interactions go in all sorts of directions, I seem pretty close with Natalia, Jasmine with Jeanine, and Victoria with Natasha.) She’s not as mean as Natasha, not as self-assured as I or Natalia, not as responsible as Natalia, not as energetic as me, but she is nonetheless aggressive, energetic, self-assured, and responsible. The hard rock/heavy metal section of our closet basically only exists for her.

Jasmine: The other teenager in the system. Except she’s also about as sad as Victoria. Thankfully instead of having outbursts, she’ll just glue herself to a couch and sleep for two weeks excepting when she absolutely has to get up. And even then, while most of us can pull it together for a social obligation (like, Victoria can attempt suicide, fail, and then go to work or a party or whatever), Jasmine will actually call off. Which I guess means when we actually need a break for whatever reason, she is the best-equipped to handle it. She’s also either aro/ace or close to it, so she’s useful for romantic failure. Though the intensity of her platonic feelings can be a bit much. As I write this, I’m realizing who’s going to be handling all the writing we have to do. Hint: It’s mostly me, featuring Natalia. Victoria will help when she’s not crashing. Jeanine and Jasmine are less helpful since their life ambitions are more artistic than academic. (Which is another good hint as to who’s out: We don’t even have the same long term ambitions!) I’m pretty sure she’s still the only one with her hairstyle. It looks good, so I wouldn’t be surprised if someone else uses it sometimes. That said, she also easily puts the most effort into her appearance. (We make a good team, what with me having the will to buy nice clothes and her wanting to wear them. If only we got to be together more. Someday, hopefully.)

Emily: The child of the system. She’s seven years old, and she can’t talk. She also pretty much only comes out deep in the night or when there’s a fight. I imagine her childishness and silence is pretty identifiable. Everyone except maybe Natasha cares about her a lot. We do our best to take care of her, though admittedly we dream of someday someone else caring about her, too. Best I can tell, she’s stuck in a neverending flasback of trying to get help but finding nobody. I don’t know what trauma she’s holding, and I’m a little intimidated by the idea of finding out.

Lizzie: She used to be out more, I think. She wanted to get into politics and redirected our life in that direction for a bit. We all call her the bleeding heart of the group, though she’s less into the direct and forceful caring like Natalia and more into standing up for people and being a force for more widespread good. She also had quite the incident a few months ago in the inner world with Natalia and Victoria. She stopped coming out as much as Natalia picked up where she left off. Someone else will have to fill in more on her.

Olivia: She’s not out much, but also I know she feels pretty good about herself. Probably at least as good as I do about myself. She used to use our legal name, though mostly because she felt the most strongly connected with it. Like, she said for once she actually felt like that person. We realized her using that name is super confusing, though, and led people to think she’s the “core”, “original”, or otherwise the One Alter Worth Saving. Which is, on the one hand, just false. Maybe she was the first, but maybe Emily was! Or maybe I was! All being first means though is being the first one to form out of the not-yet-unified infant mind. If we ever do fuse, that will be removing the barriers between us, not destroying any of us. But that’s like putting a jigsaw puzzle together--there’s no “core piece” of a puzzle that all the others fuse to. Anyway, I don’t know her super well because she’s not very active, inside or out. So I’m tapping into stuff from like six months ago. But hey, if we do get her out, she does at least know how to handle the social professional world pretty well. Or maybe her confidence and assertiveness just works to her advantage in our current setting.

Marina: Last seen in September, she’s not out much, and she’s incredibly intense. She’s closest to me, and I don’t see much of her. I imagine if I’m in dire need of someone to unleash hell outwardly, she might pop in? She really doesn’t like the system as a whole and will actively thwart others’ efforts. I think ever since I stopped being so apathetic towards the others she hasn’t had her chance to come out, since usually we’d tag team, me taking advantage of the system and her just destroying it. Now I take care of ourselves. (Maybe someone else will have a better view of her, though. Maybe I’m wrong about being closest with her.)

Adrianna: She hasn’t been around much lately, though she used to be. Only one who had to have a name assigned to her since her self-esteem is so low she wouldn’t give herself one. (She called herself “nameless” in our notebook. And if it wasn’t clear from the Olivia paragraph, some of us are trying to actually run this system instead of continuing the complete chaos that came from having a mysterious personality roulette for years.) I don’t remember her super well. I think she’s a bit more of a pushover than anyone else, at least. Like, Victoria may get attached, but she does at least know how to speak up for herself. Adrianna is good enough at handling troubling emotions to stay functional while keeping her suffering hidden. Though she does talk to us a lot when she’s out.

Angelica: I know she exists, because she made a note of it in our notebook, but I don’t really know her. Not around much, to my knowledge.

-Maria

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hysterialevi · 6 years

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Lotus pt. 3 (Batjokes)

Author’s note: I’m honestly blown away by the amount of support you guys are giving me, and I’m overjoyed that you’re loving this story so much. I don’t think any of my fics have ever been this successful, and I’m glad to see that this is as exciting for you as it is for me. As always, enjoy :)

From John’s POV

THE FUNHOUSE - ONE DAY LATER

“I’ll always have your back, John,” I mimicked in my lowest voice possible. “I promise! You can trust me -- Bruce Wayne. You know, the guy who betrayed you on the bridge when you needed me most and turned out to be an undercover agent? Yeah, nothing shady about me whatsoever! It’s not like every word I say is a complete lie or anything! I’ll be your best buddy forever! Pinky swear!”

Willy peered at me from a nearby table, interrupting his game of cards with Frank as he eyeballed the doll.

“How long are you gonna play with that thing?” He whined. “It don’t even look like the man that much. It’s also kinda creepy.”

“Shut up!” I exclaimed back at him, pointing a finger. “Brucie and I are having a very important conversation at the moment, and you are not invited. Not to mention it’s rude to call him creepy. Then again, it’s also rude to cut fabric from someone’s suit behind their back just to make a doll of them, but I’m his friend! There’s an understanding between us, you got that?”

Frank jumped in. “His friend? I thought we were trying to kill Bruce.”

“Not kill,” I specified. “At least, not yet. Just...beat to a pulp. If that’s even possible. Besides, you’re telling me you’ve never wanted to kill any of your friends before?”

Frank flicked his eyes around the room awkwardly, unsure of what to say. “Um...not really, no.”

I scoffed, leaning back in my chair. “Then you’re not truly friends.”

I turned to the doll again, tidying up its yarn hair. “Sorry about that, buddy. Tsk, people can be so inconsiderate sometimes. It’s like no one has manners these days. I think it’s something in the water. Gotham’s always had a weird smell to it. Anyways -- where were we?”

Before I could continue, a woman’s voice called out to me in a sing-song tone. “Yoohoo! Puddin!”

I rolled my eyes at the second interruption, letting out a breath.

“Can’t a man and his arch-nemesis just have a chat in peace?”

Harley walked up to me, crossing her arms in annoyance. “Well, if ya love him so much, then why don’t cha go talk to the real Bruce? We’ve been sitting here for ages. I’m getting bored, sweetie. I want some action. And more importantly, I wanna find that survivor.”

I pouted, flopping the doll onto the table’s surface out of frustration. “I don’t know where he is though! No one’s seen him for the past three days! And he’s definitely not at Wayne Enterprises. It’s not like him to just...hide when there’s so much crime running rampant. I wonder if he’s okay...”

I gasped, slapping a hand over my mouth as a worrying thought struck my mind.

“Oh no--” I blurted out, “what if we accidentally killed him with the bomb?”

Harley glared at me. “What about it? Why does it matter? Good riddance, I say.”

“Erm -- right!” I quickly covered, clearing my throat. “I just...I just wanted to play with him a bit more, y’know? No fun in winning by default.”

Harley’s glare didn’t disappear, but she let the subject go.

Pushing myself away from the table, I stood up and held a finger in the air as an idea popped in my mind.

“I know! I’ll check if he’s home -- pay a visit at that fancy manor of his. I’ve actually never been inside. It’ll be interesting to see.”

Harley took my seat, resting her feet on top of the table and kicking the doll aside. “What, you think Bruce will just let ya in?”

I prepared my gadgets, including the Batarang Bruce gave me a while ago as I felt my heart sink at the sight, attaching them all to my belt.

“Don’t you worry about me, babe,” I assured, winking confidently as I headed out to my car. “He’ll never know I was there. I’ll be as quiet as church mice.”

WAYNE MANOR

Pulling up to the colossal, gloomy manor and parking in the spacious driveway, I instantly hopped out and made a beeline for the front porch, admittedly eager to see my ex-friend for some reason.

Despite our past arguments and all the conflict that was currently going on between us, I couldn’t help but kind of...miss Bruce. He had been a part of my life for so long that, it just felt weird to have him suddenly drop out. I wondered if he was ignoring me on purpose. Trying to act like I meant nothing to him. Perhaps he thought that would push me away? Or maybe he thought I would just get bored of chasing him eventually.

Well, he was terribly mistaken. As much as I cared about Bruce, someone had to pay for his betrayal on the bridge. We used to be in the same stitch -- best buddies for life -- but now, he had gone and torn us apart. I wasn’t going to let him get away with that. Not even justice was above being sentenced, and it was high time he learned that.

Peeking in through the tall, luxurious windows, I didn’t see any sign of Bruce -- or of anyone else for that matter -- and his butler, Alfred, had made himself scarce. The inside was actually rather dark, and it looked like no one had been home for days. It almost looked...abandoned.

I was starting to get anxious. Where was he? Was he even still in Gotham? Or did he find a way to escape? I decided to investigate the area for clues.

Using the Phalanx Key we stole from Bruce’s vault, I unlocked the front doors and subtly slipped inside, quietly shutting the entrance behind me as a gust of wind rushed through. The temperature seemed to drop by ten degrees as soon as I walked in, and this unsettling feeling of loneliness sat heavily in the air. It reminded me of the subway station, and I hated it.

Aimlessly wandering around the manor for a while, I gazed upwards and admired the eloquent designs on the ceiling along with the number of chandeliers dangling around, my mouth hanging open in awe. The furniture alone in this place could’ve bought a second manor, and the building itself just screamed “Gotham royalty.” I wondered if anyone ever helped Bruce “fill up” the space. After all, the women in this city seemed to adore the billionaire playboy, and it honestly surprised me that Bruce had never been married. The guy had to love someone.

Then again, they could’ve been dead or something. It seemed like most of his friends were.

Accidentally stepping on a remote that had been sitting on the floor, I jumped as a large TV suddenly flashed on, the news rambling on about all the havoc blowing up in Gotham right now. Robberies, murders, people not daring to step foot outside because of the Lotus threat...it was all music to my ears. I explored the manor more.

Averting my focus to an impressive bookshelf standing behind me as the news carried on, I found myself strangely intrigued and began to explore its contents, trailing my fingers along the books’ spines.

Judging by the almost perfect condition of a lot of these books, I assumed that Bruce hadn’t actually read most of them...and I didn’t blame him. These genres were atrocious. Banking? Academics? Budgeting? What was a billionaire doing with a book about budgeting? These must’ve belonged to his father, back when he was still amassing his insane wealth by picking the entire city clean. I moved on from these texts, travelling elsewhere in the bookshelf.

Standing on my tippy-toes, I noticed a lone, intricate music box occupying the very top shelf, hiding away from sight. It appeared rather new, actually, and it looked like no one had used it yet. I took the music box into my hands.

What was this? I asked myself, gently placing it on a nearby end table. It looked like a gift for someone. Maybe Bruce did have a significant other, after all. Who was it though? The cat lady? Probably. Or it could’ve been for his new best friend, Agent Avesta. I carefully opened the music box and wound it up, examining the inside as I listened to its haunting yet beautiful melody.

The song it played sounded like a romantic waltz for two ghosts, and the emptiness of the manor only enhanced its eerie chimes -- but I couldn’t deny that I felt at peace when I heard it. It was almost like...Bruce thought of me when choosing this song. It fit perfectly.

As for the music box itself, the outside had been decorated with a smooth coat of black paint, and there were highlights of silver designs tracing around it, sort of like a frame. The inner parts however, were much more vibrant. In the center, there was a small, spinning ballerina holding a rose close to her chest, and the space around her was cushioned by purple and green velvet. As for the upper lid, I could see a short, engraved message shimmering in the dim light, reflecting the velvet’s colors. I squinted my eyes, reading the silver calligraphy:

“You’re my light outside of Arkham. --Bruce”

I paused, scratching my head. Why did that sound so familiar? Where had I heard that sentence before? I could’ve sworn someone else said that once. I backtracked through my memories.

Wait a minute.

That was what I said to Bruce back at the cafe, when I pretended to be talking to Harley. Why did he write it down here? He wasn’t...he wasn’t trying to steal Harley away from me, was he? With my own phrase, no less. I laughed to myself. She would never pair up with someone like him. Especially not after the way he betrayed me.

But...what if it wasn’t for Harley? What if...what if it was for--

“--Breaking news,” the TV suddenly blurted out, interrupting my thoughts and causing me to jump again. I turned towards the wide monitor, curious to see what happened.

The same old reporter, Jack Ryder, adjusted his glasses in a grim manner, clearly upset about something.

“This just in,” he announced morosely. “Billionaire and CEO Bruce Wayne has been confirmed dead after battling with the Lotus virus -- a result of the Joker’s attack on Wayne Enterprises three days ago.”

My heart froze in place and I nearly fainted on the spot, taking a second to comprehend what I just heard.

What did he say? B-Bruce was...dead? No, no. That couldn’t be right. They had to be mistaken. I hastily changed the channel, only to come across another news station. There were two reporters this time, sitting side by side as they read off the teleprompter.

“--Well, enough about the weather,” one of them said in a joking manner, switching the subject, “I think all you folks out there joining us today will be far more interested in another topic. A topic relating to one of Gotham’s most prominent citizens. You see, mere moments ago, the CEO of Wayne Enterprises -- Bruce Wayne himself -- was confirmed dead after falling victim to the notorious Lotus virus. Apparently, he managed to survive the virus’s fatal symptoms for an entire three days before finally succumbing to it earlier this morning.”

I hurriedly changed the channel again, the remote trembling in my hand as I shivered from shock, unable to process the news. There was no way Bruce could be dead. The man was practically invincible. A puny little virus couldn’t kill him...right?

But no matter how hard I tried to escape, or how many different reporters I listened to, every single one of them talked about the same thing. In fact, I was flipping through the channels so fast, it started to sound like they were finishing each other’s sentences.

“Philanthropist and entrepreneur Bruce Wayne has passed away--”

“--he was killed by the Lotus virus--”

“--The Agency is still investigating the attack--”

“--who is the Joker, and why did he kill Bruce Wayne?”

“--A service will be held at Divinity Church--”

“--What will happen to Wayne Enterprises now?”

“--no survivors were accounted for during the Joker’s assault--”

“--yet another life taken in this tragic war. The only question now is--”

“--We all have to wonder--”

“--Bruce Wayne’s death has left the city wondering--”

“Who will the Joker go after next?”

Steadily backing away from the TV in horror, the remote slipped from my grasp as my body came to a halt and I felt myself struggling to breathe, my entire world collapsing around me within a matter of minutes.

I. Killed. Bruce. I actually...killed. Bruce. This was all my fault. He died because of me. This was all. My. Fault.

Burying my face in my hands, my eyes began to water as I slid to the floor out of helplessness and suddenly realized why Bruce had been missing for so long, the thought stabbing me right through the chest. He was never hiding like I suspected. He wasn’t playing games with me, or trying to trick me like my paranoia insisted. The whole time, my closest friend had been dying...and I did nothing to stop it.

I mean, I wanted him to pay for what he did to me, and I was still beyond furious...but I never meant for this to happen. I never actually wanted him to die. I violently shook my head, nearly ripping my hair out. Oh god...what had I done?

“...Bruce,” I whimpered, as if he could hear me, “I’m...so sorry. I just wanted...I just wanted to be loved by you. I never thought it would go this far. I’m so sorry.”

Curling up into a ball, I shut out the world around me and rocked back and forth as the music box’s melody continued to echo throughout the manor’s walls, softly lulling me to sleep. Bruce bought the box for me, didn’t he? I could see that now. I was Bruce’s light outside of Arkham, and I let him die alone in the dark when he needed me most.

I clenched my fist, tears streaming down my face.

Even though there was no one else to blame for Bruce’s death but myself, I still felt the sudden urge to make Waller pay for all the pain and suffering she put him through. I didn’t know why, but my gut told me the Agency had something to do with this, and I intended to bring them to justice. The right way this time.

Waller killed the Riddler, she nearly killed me, and now, I was more than certain she killed Bruce too. It was high time someone put her and her corrupt organization down, and I was going to do everything in my power to make sure that happened.

Not for me, and certainly not for Gotham...

...but for Bruce.

#telltale games #telltales batman #the enemy within #bruce wayne #john doe #joker #batjokes #fanfic #story #lotus

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ecotone99 · 4 years

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[SF] Outside

It was a roll of the dice that changed the world, heralding the end of what we'd lovingly call the Last Great Era. As far as our best minds can tell, had the genetic sequence finished A-G-T instead of G-A-T then SARS-CoV-2, the Coronavirus -- covy to the likes of you and me -- would have gone down in the history books as nothing more than an unexplained and short-lived lethargy observed in populations of domesticated pig.

From where I'm sat on my formafoam couch, staring blankly at a wall-filling Standard Display that's doing it's best to convince me I'm in the Austrian Alps, it's pretty clear that at some point, one-hundred and fifty-six years ago, God decided to try his hand at playing dice.

My job feed terminal chimes a flutter of cheerful bells that have no doubt been crafted to coax a dopamine response from whoever hears it. The irony isn’t lost on me as I drag its screen towards me, the articulating tube that it’s mounted to squeaking in a way that sets my teeth on edge. The chimes are somewhat discordant with the work that’s on offer. Data cleaning. Three petabytes; immediate start.

It’s the kind of grunt work I’ve come to expect and I’m used to it now. I figure it’s pretty much what the old sanitation workers used to do back in the Great. Y’know, those guys and girls who cleaned the streets. But instead of cleaning up after someone who couldn’t be bothered to find an appropriate refuse point, I’m cleaning up after a group of Domain dev-heads who couldn’t be bothered to dee-com their redundant broadcast nodes.

I know what it’s going to be: four hours of gloves-on, elbow-deep groping through the Domain’s equivalent of a corporation's asshole. If I’m lucky, I’ll spot the nodes that are tainting the rest of the data and filter them out with one or two partial intelligences I’ve got hanging around that just love this kinda work.

I reach over to the job terminal keyboard, worn predictably blank by too many keystrokes and even more routine. I click accept.

Did they know? Back in the Great? When this all started? I’ve watched pretty much everything the 21st century had to offer. News bulletins, parliamentary debates, documentaries, exposé’s, talk shows, comedies. You name it. Hell, I even watched a bunch of Domain advertisements to try and gauge sentiment. I’ve run them through every iteration and permutation of socioeconomic simulation I can imagine. I even managed to call, well, trade in a favour and run my sims on the tertiary adjunct to my local unimatrix. That's big boy's toys. Cost me almost eight minutes to tell me what I already knew.

But did they know it would lead to this? The real people of the time. It’s a splinter. A piece of grit under the skin, whatever that feels like. No matter how many times I run the sims, no matter how many trillion facets of life I emulate; no matter how mundanely accurate I try to model things, they will always be just that. Models. Simulations. Eerily accurate approximations of what went before, but approximations nonetheless. I’ll never, truly know what it felt like to be there. To feel the tug of history all around you. Feel the weight of the machine of State grind its massive gears whilst being helpless to resist. The fear. The hope. The isolation.

The Outside.

That infinite blue sky. The endless chatter of birds. The smell of so much green. It’s a drug. One that we can’t live without; one that we can’t live within. When covy hit, the industrialised world was slow to respond. But eventually reality won out around the globe, and even the most orange-faced effluent-geysers couldn’t pass off the rising body count as ‘fake news’. So we went indoors. And there we stayed for what must have seemed like an eternity at the time but was, in retrospect, a three month weekend compared to what came next.

Well, if I was being accurate I’d say ‘what three things came next’. And since I’ve got enough EdMerits to make me a social scientist, and the fact I spend most of my life in a windowless box with roughly 50 square metres of floor space, I’m going to be accurate. Humour my inner, failed, academic if you will:

Firstly, and best I can tell, the people’s imagination was captured when an innocent post from an emissions monitoring company posted about how much the air pollution had dropped over mainland China since their lockdown. I mean, it's fine now, but back then the state of the environment had people worried. I guess this is the part where some commentators call it things like zeitgeist.

Second thing was the Great Ingress of 2020 and the subsequent transformation of all commercial activities to Domain-compatible. Everything went digital after covy, fuelled by the primitive proxies for presence that folk back then put up with; flat, low quality streams and pathetic audio. Apparently all we needed to do was see a smile and that made the world feel just right.

And finally covy’s mutation, bifurcation and subsequent mutations. This was the kicker. With the combined brainpower and focus of the entire freaking planet, we were churning out vaccines and antigens faster than ever before and solving a whole bunch of other, minor problems along the way. Like Ebola, HIV and even the common cold all fell to the medical onslaught. But covy? Nah. Every time we knocked her down three more of her would get up and start swinging back.

My terminal gives me another hope-filled chime, breaking my brood to tell me I’m halfway through my job download and I’ll be able to start working in ‘less than five minutes’. Another irony that’s not lost on me. Time is what I’m working for. One of the more subtle changes that worked their way in since the Great. I’ve read a bunch of lit’ from back then, too. Time is money they used to say. But they got the emphasis wrong. Time is money. It’s the ultimate currency and the cheapest commodity; everybody’s got some to give. Over the years it surpassed every other natural or manufactured resource to become the lifeblood of our metastasized economic system. But I, and a couple billion others spend our time gladly to get some outside.

Outside.

They took it for granted back then. Couldn’t they see? The gradual restrictions in movement. Why didn't they resist? The control over who you can meet. They could have stopped this. Forcing you to communicate digitally. Reducing the places you can go to. Controlling what you can buy and how much. Even taking on the job of paying you for your work. It was the largest coordinated peacetime high jacking of a civilization in history. But they did it with some serious freaking deftness. I’m talking a subtlety of manoeuvring that’d make an Icer weep. And those guys don’t make face salt easy. I mean the sharing of resources is one thing. Yeah, we’re all people under one banner and that kind of crap. International cooperation must have been a huge morale boost to the cats getting used to their cages. And when the third strain came out and we gladly, globally signed off on consolidating national powers, oversight and coordination to an international body, well the United Nations would have looked like the perfect fit.

Desperate times, I guess. And no one back then could have seen the fifty years of misdirection and positioning that had taken place, infiltrating what should have been the highest, most benevolent authority we had. So we handed them the keys and a full tank of gas. And a century and a half later, I’m sitting here in a thermosteel block called 'home' a mile off the ground with around twenty thousand other gen-pops trying to scratch out a living for… For what? A slightly larger box near the ground floor, where you get real outside breeze? Maybe I’ll get a Workers Union promotion and move to a whole new tower, even. Or stay here and save some more. What was it they used to say? ‘Do some travelling’. Ha!

I bring up the job details, my fingers navigating the screen subconsciously. I select the title and expand the details. Data cleaning required for three petabyte facility management control system. Blah. Alphabet Enterprises. has a fantastic opportunity. Blah; everything’s AE in this part of the world. I keep scrolling, listening to the emulated ambience of the alpine sublime about me, my eyes absently searching for the paragraph I’m looking for.

Remuneration: 00:18:00

Eighteen minutes. Of pure outside. To spend how I like. And I can take it in advance. If I add that to the two hours thirty I’ve tucked away over the past couple of months then I may just have enough...

I switch my attention from the terminal to the Standard Display. It senses my intent and brings up a chat box with my most recently contacted first. I scroll down a little past the recent work-related calls I’ve had to make until I see a name and user id that’s almost as familiar as seeing a face. Nervous, I open a line, speaking to the room and letting the chat intelligence do the whole talk-to-type thing; speaking and writing are different things, and will always be it seems. I sound like me, but it’s not how I speak.

Things have changed. Just got some time. Let's go for a walk. Now.

I send the message. It’s abrupt, I know. But real walks are. And I don’t have a huge amount of time to play with. I know I’m gonna have to split the time between the two of us if I’m to even have a chance of executing my plan. But that’s why I saved. That’s why I spent all these months wallowing in the crud. All for this. Now is the time.

Before I let my doubts get the best of me, I look down at the antique, silver-and-diamond ring nestled in the cushion of an old, threadbare velvet case. Allowing myself a rare smile of something that feels more genuine and real and meaningful than anything in this world, I send a follow-up:

Don’t worry, babe. The walk’s on me.

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