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flareish · 3 years

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Anxiety

kuroo x reader

summary: you hide your anxiety from basically everyone including your boyfriend, until he finds out for himself

genre: hurt/comfort

warnings: Emetophobia Warning! description of nausea/vomit, anxiety, bit of angst but ends in fluff

word count: 2.0k

a/n: I tried to make this as close to my anxiety since I hadn’t known anyone with my kind of anxiety(symptom wise) until I was seventeen, which was a good ways into when I realized I had anxiety. So here is some nausea anxiety representation!

masterlist

You tap your fingers in a mindless rhythm. Alternating the fingers and repeating them back and forth, trying to make it a game, a challenge. You did this over and over again to distract yourself from that all too familiar sinking feeling. That feeling like your stomach has managed to twist and knot itself a million times. Each bump of the bus made acid crawl up your throat. You crunched a mint in your mouth hoping the peppermint would soothe some of the nausea. It didn’t, but the thought was there. You just will yourself not to throw up on the bus, anything but that. The thought in itself makes you even more nervous, and in turn even sicker.

You don’t even know why you are anxious. Today is Kuroo’s big game, but it isn’t yours. You’ve been to a hundred of his games before but never before did you feel like this. Normally you get cute little butterflies, not an angry swarm of bees. The worst part is, there is Kuroo sat next to you happy as can be, completely oblivious. He keeps trying to drag you into conversations but you fear if you open your mouth for too long, all that will come up is vomit. So you keep your mouth firmly closed only smiling tightly or shaking your head at his prompts.

It's not exactly his fault though. He doesn’t actually know you have anxiety. It’s not something you really like to talk about. You are all for promoting the acceptance of mental health but you just find every time you tell someone the dynamic changes. Either they flat out don’t believe you since you “don’t seem like the type with anxiety”. Well duh, I don’t have social anxiety, I have situational anxiety. Like here in this situation. That or they suddenly treat me like I am incapable of handling myself. That whenever a slightly stressful event comes up, I am going to melt into a puddle of pure anxiety. Sorry but I’ve made it this far, I may have to throw up a few times on the way but I am still making it.

So you just haven’t told Kuroo. You're just nervous that it will change the dynamic. You also don’t want to steal his spotlight. Today is supposed to be all about him. It's his big game. To suddenly speak up and tell him that his game is giving you anxiety would be selfish. So like you always have, you put a brave face on and face it head-on.

“Hey, are you okay?” Kuroo asks you, now facing you, “You look a little pale.”

“Hmm?,” You also turn to look at him, “Oh I am just a bit tired that’s all. I will be fine in an hour or so.” You hope at least. He nods relieved it's not something worse.

You finally pull into the stadium and everyone is pushing their way off the bus. Luckily Kuroo is right by you to make sure you don't get accidentally pushed down the bus stairs and trampled. The team makes it’s to the bulletin board where they are given their matchups. Nekoma is paired with a pretty hard team. Suddenly, out of nowhere, you dry heave. You knew at the point you were going to throw up and within the next few minutes.

“Hey I think I left something in the bus I’ll be right back.” You say to Kuroo before dashing off. He goes to reply but you are already gone.

You make it around the back of the building before you throw up. At this point you’re kinda out of it, your mind is occupied on emptying your already empty stomach. Then you feel someone pull your hair back and gently rub your back. You don’t even have to look up to know it’s Kuroo. When you finish he hands you his water bottle. You waterfall it and rinse your mouth out of that acidic taste.

“What’s going on are you okay?” Kuroo asks full of concern. You hesitate for a moment, thinking of telling the truth. Then you remember this is supposed to be his day.

“Sorry I must have caught a stomach bug.” He doesn’t completely buy it so you quickly add to it.

“I didn't feel great on the bus but I just thought it was because I was tired.” You feel bad lying, “I also don’t want to distract you before your game.” At that Kuroo quickly pulls you into a hug, “Your not a distraction, I just want to make sure you’re okay.” Your cheek is pressed against his chest and your hands grip the front of his shirt.

“We should probably head back.” You mumble.

“Yeah.” He leans down to kiss you but you duck away. He looks incredibly offended and hurt at this.

“Dude I just threw up I don’t know if you want to do that.”

“…Point.”

The two of you head back inside to the team, you feeling much better after throwing up. Before you know it, the competition has begun and Nekoma has won. You run down and celebrate with the team and it’s a happy day.

On the bus ride home Kuroo has a strange energy about him. Not like he’s mad more just like he’s just realized something. You nudge him and smile hoping to break him out of his little funk. He immediately smiles back and goes back to celebrating with the team. His reaction was almost like putting a mask on. You watch him for a moment before slipping into a conversation of your own.

When you make it back to school you go your separate ways. Him going to shower, and you to get home before it gets too late. A big hug before pushing away. You still refusing to kiss him after throwing up earlier in the day.

You are laying on your bed, exhausted. Anxiety really takes a toll on your energy. Your thoughts are broken when your phone chimes with a text. Leaning over to grab your phone off your bedside table you see it is from Kuroo.

“Can you come over? I want to talk.”

No cute pet names. No slowly easing into it. Actually using proper grammar. Nothing in that message was a good sign. Just “I want to talk” was enough to make the acid begin to crawl again. You knew it had to be about today. Especially after you saw him zoning out on the bus. It had to be your anxiety episode. You knew he wouldn’t be happy you lied but going to this extent. Like he just found out you have anxiety and this is what he hits you with? The world’s most nerve-wracking text message. The only worse place than this would be “we need to talk”. That’s when you have really screwed up. So maybe you’ve only minorly screwed up since he said want not need. Does that mean you have the choice to say no? That was kind of tempting but you knew you would be tossing and turning all night thinking about what might be wrong.

“Okay.” You reply to the text. Short and sweet. Putting on some shoes and grabbing a hoodie, you quietly slip out of your house. Kuroo’s house wasn’t too far but it was far enough. Enough to continue to stir in your intrusive and unstoppable thoughts. You eventually make it to his house and head in going straight for his room. Before you reach the door you hesitate and gather yourself. Preparing for whatever was about to come.

When you go in you find Kuroo sat on the floor of his bedroom, back pressed against the bed. He jerkily looks up and you and gives you a tight smile. None of this is giving good signs. Something is very heavy on his mind. You sit down across from him, your back against the wall your feet almost touching.

“So what was it you wanting to talk about.” You break the silence. He doesn’t respond for a moment. Just as you are about to try again he speaks up.

“Do you still love me?” Your face drops into confusion.

“Why wouldn’t I love you anymore?” You ask, suddenly realizing this wasn’t the conversation you were prepping yourself for.

“You’ve been distant lately. You don’t tell me things like when you don’t feel good. I thought about it when I got home and I was wondering if you weren’t actually sick but just making the excuse because you got caught.” He’s very serious at the moment and his words hold a cold edge.

“What do you mean get caught?” You match his tone. You weren’t planning on fighting but something about how he said it just set something off in you.

“You didn’t want to be there. Ever since this morning you were quiet and reserved. Even after the game, you wouldn’t even kiss me-”

“Yeah, cause I threw up! And how could I be faking it when I literally threw up.” You snap.

“You’ve been like this before though! Like last year’s big tournament you would barely talk to me.”

“That’s not true!” Although it kind of was just not the reason he thought.

“Oh yeah? What about at training camp you wouldn’t talk to me then either, you didn’t even eat with us you just sat on your own.” He threw back.

“Yeah, cause I have anxiety!” The words left your mouth before you knew it. Kuroo looked taken back.

“What?” His brow furrows, “Since when?” He’s not sure what to believe. You’re not surprised since you have worked very hard to hide it from everyone, accidentally sabotaging your own relationship without even knowing it.

“Since forever. I just never told anyone.” You quietly say, ducking your head down.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” You didn’t even need to look up to see the hurt on his face, it was apparent in his voice. You start playing with your finger, tapping them in rhythms.

“I wanted to,” You mumble, “But whenever I do stuff changes and I didn’t want anything to change.” He shifts forward and you think he’s going to leave. Instead, he grabs your hands, stopping the pattern you had going. You look up.

“Did you think I would judge you?” He was staring straight into you, willing the truth to come out.

“Whenever I tell people they either don’t believe me and brush it off or treat me like I’m incapable of handling any amount of stress. I’ve never seen anyone react any differently so I was scared you would fall into one of those reactions and I didn’t know how I could handle that. I didn’t want my anxiety to be the thing to tear us apart. But I guess it still was.” By the end of your speech, your gaze has returned back to the floor, unable to hold eye contact for that long with him staring at you so strongly. You hear him sigh then you are pulled forward and into his arms.

“I want to be your pillar of support. I want to be that third reaction that is one of acceptance, one that doesn’t drive you crazy.” He strokes your hair soothingly, his words making you tear up, “When you are ready I want you to tell me everything. From when you first noticed it, to where it is now, to how you deal with it, everything.” By now you are fully crying, absolutely collapsed into his chest. “I love you so much.” It gets muffled in his shirt but he hears it.

“I know, and I love you.”

It would take some time for Kuroo to get used to this change but slowly but surely he will be different from the rest and he will support you no matter what. Although he also respects your strength and knows you can handle your anxiety on your own, he is always there when you need it. He becomes the third unexpected and unheard-of reaction; acceptance.

#haikyuu imagines #haikyuu oneshot #haikyuu #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x reader #nekoma #kuroo #kuroo fluff #kuroo tetsuro imagine #kuroo tetsuro oneshot #kuroo scenarios #kuroo hurt/comfort #kuroo x reader #hq kuroo

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moeder-aarde · 3 years

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Corona and quarantine have taken a huge toll on all of us and a lot of people have developed depression becouse of this.

The first year of a depression disorder is the most Chaotic and scary, that Is why I want to give you all some advice on how to deal with it.

Extra note, these are things that work for me, everyone is different and experiences depression different so it is possible that my ways may not work for you, and that is okay, well find something that does work.

1. Get enough rest. You are going through a fucking pandemic while dealing with a mental disorder That is from itself already draining your energy. So please make sure to get that extra nap when you need it.

2. Stay active. Maybe a weird one to come after I said to get rest but it's important. When you feel depressed you probably want to stay in bed all day, however this will just make you feel worse. You don't have to walk a marathon everyday, even just sitting outside for a bit can be enough.

3. Hygiëne. Taking care of your hygiene while being depressed is a literal pain in the ass, so don't feel bad if taking a shower or brushing your teeth is too much, go ahead and wear the same depression hoodie for a month. But quickly rinsing your teeth with a wet toothbrush is better than nothing, just plashing water on your face and armpits is beter than nothing. I do Realy recommend trying to wear clean underwear everyday, believe me you don't want to go there.

4. Eat. For most people depression takes away their appetite, that's completely understandable, however you do need food to survive, I recommend that when you manage to go to the grocery store you get some easy meals and snacks. It might not be the most "healthy" but you're focusing on surviving. You also deserve your favorite treat so go get that as well.

5. Also eat. For others depression makes them eat even more. That is completly understandable, you are surviving, so please do not feel bad about the vew pounds you may have gained. You're doing the best you can, you can focus on eating more "healthy" when you feel better.

6. Reflecting moments. Take time out of everyday to reflect on your day and how you're feeling, when you become more aware of your feelings and possible triggers.

7. Keep a journal. To get back to the last one, writing down how you feel is a great way to keep track of your emotions, it's also a amazing way to let go of those thoughts. You don't have to write in it every day, just when you feel like you need to write stuff down.

8. Don't feel bad. Please please please try not to talk yourself down. I know it's easier said than done but it is so important. You are dealing with a mental illness, which is a actual illness. You are doing the best you can. If you can only lay in bed for a week that's totaly okay, if you can only sit and play games, that's great. As long as you're getting through the days you're already doinh amazing and I am so proud of you. Just focus on surviving for now, you'll get to live again one day. I promise.

9. Find stuff that helps you cope. Finding healthy coping meganisms is one of the most important things to do. It will help you through the hard days, I know it's tempting to go for the unhealthy coping meganisms and if thats the only thing helping right now then no one will blame you. But please do try to go for the healthy ones, the unhealthy ones will only course more problems later in life. (believe me, I know)

10. Get therapy. If you have acces to therapy please do seek it. I know it sounds scary and maybe you feel like you can do it on your own but please do find a therapist. Also important to note, find a therapist you like and who actualy helps you. Don't feel bad if you have to send a therapist away, they're here to help you get better and if one of them does not fit you it's in both your best interest to go look for a other one.

I hope this will help, if you have questions or you want extra help do not be afraid to send me a message.

I am in no way a licensed therapist, I am not trained to deal with triggering content or dangerous situations, so if you do want to talk aboht that kind of stuff please put a trigger warning at the beginning so I know what I can expect. Also please do not take my words as the only truth, I'm only human and as I said before, what helps for others might not help for you.

I love you all, I am so proud of you all, I hope we'll all be able to return to our lives soon

#Depression #Mental ilnesa #Corona #Quarantaine #Depression memes #Mental health memes #Mental health #Mentalhealth #covid #covidー19

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polymathemawrites · 4 years

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Restart in Recovery Mode Chapter One

Cw: mentions of past suicide, gore, ptsd, severe trauma, depictions of injuries, drugs

Gordon begins recovering from Black Mesa, not that he’s aware that’s whats happening

4 Hours after Xen

Gordon is contemplating the tangled mess of his hair in his bathroom mirror. He'd had to cut the hair band out and with it had come a mess of dried-blood clumps and tangled hair. This is the last step before he can wash Xen off of him, wash Black Mesa clean from his skin. He's already pried himself out of the HEV suit, each excruciating piece after the other taking more time than the last as he'd gone from extremities to core.

The morphine injection site is a mottled bruised red from the sheer amount of drug the suit had been pumping into his system and it's a brilliant collar that rings his neck. It's the last thing his eyes focus on and the last thing that is sharp clarity when he takes his glasses off and carefully places them on the bathroom countertop. The spray is hard and hot and he closes his eyes against it and lets his body shift sideways till his weight is held up by the frankly freezing shower wall but he doesn't have the energy or ability to keep himself upright long enough for the arduous task of scrubbing away days of trauma. So it's the cold tile wall and the water running down the drain tinged red and slow mechanical movements.

He can't see them clearly for shit, but each swipe of the ragged washcloth reveals new bruises. The HEV suit had clearly kept him alive but at a toll he should have been recovering from in a hospital instead of his rent-past-due apartment.

Fuck that, he wasn't going to a hospital where the government could track him down and put a bullet in his brain.

Predictably it wasn't the state of his body that was the most arduous task to clean up but his hair. Matted up blood, viscera he couldn't even hazard a guess as to the source of, and torn strands all made their way down to the drain to clog it up for Future Gordon to deal with.

Stretching his hands, his hands fuck, both of them God, stretching his fingers through slowly untangling strands felt like literal euphoria. Almost as good at the first hit of morphine from the suit. Which fuck, that wasn't a pleasant correlation to make actually, was that going to be a problem for Future Gordon too? Had he managed to get himself dependent on morphine too?

A week wasn't enough to give him withdrawals most likely, and as the last big mat gave way so did the tangle of his thoughts. The water felt so good, just having something touching his skin that wasn't the skin tight pressure of the HEV suit, to feel the movement and sharp sting of air against him. None of the others had been very tactile and Gordon well, he was, is. Just the sensation of his own hands, of the brush of the cloth over his skin is enough to nearly bring him to tears. Finally managing to wash his hair does, and he cries silently, hanging his head under the fall of water.

He's safe, but he's not safe, he isn't sure he'll ever feel or be safe again. But this is enough for now, this singular moment in time where it is him, heat, silence. Joshua is with his sister in Arizona for the summer, he's safe and far away from Gordon and the mess he's made of his life.

He doesn't bother with a towel, he doesn't have the physical strength to prop himself up long enough to dry himself. Instead he crawls into his bed, wet hair on the pillows as if he could give a single fuck because it's an actual pillow, it's his pillow in his bed, in the relative quiet of his suburban neighborhood apartment in this small not-so-gated community.

Before he's even fully stretched out on the bed the thick scrambling fingers of sleep are reaching up to pull him down. Thick as gossamer, tangling and tugging on his consciousness. There is a moment of strange deja vu as the last thing his blurry eyes register is not the pain-red-brown-green of the bruising of his jugular but a faintly pleasant and nigglingly familiar blue. Sleep has a stranglehold on him and he's down before the slow caress of a hand down the bare expanse of his spine can even register.

18 hours after Xen

Gordon wakes up extremely dehydrated, his head throbbing, stumbling to the bathroom finds the rest of his body is a mess of similar aches and pains. When he's swallowing naproxen via handfuls of water brought from the tap to his mouth by cupped hands, he manages to catch sight of his blurry reflection in the mirror.

After putting on his glasses he finds he sort of wishes he hadn't. He looks in the words of a dead extraterrestrial or somefuck entity, a bit shit. He feels worse than he looks. His stomach is threatening to eat itself, his throat is dry, his skin is simultaneously on fire and numb. His nude form is absolutely painted with bruises.

In the bright mid-day light coming in through the frosted glass of the bathroom window he can make out the faintest ring of scar tissue around the circumference of his right arm. While walking around his apartment naked had been the first thing a young adult Gordon Freeman had done when he rented his first apartment solo, he was begining to feel entirely too underdressed and unshielded. After finally getting the damned thing off, not having the thick layers of insulation protecting him against the rest of the world made him feel naked even with the pullover and slacks he pulled on. Summer in New Mexico wasn't a pleasant season to be pulling on a cardigan but he pushed up the AC to compensate, the sound of the overhead vents pushing out recycled air was familiar in a nausteating way.

When he was stuck in Black Mesa all he could think about was getting out, getting free, breathing the sun-baked air of the outside world. Standing now in his living room he could not fathom the idea of going outside. Loud, uncompromising, dangerous. He needed therapy, probably way more help than even therapy, he needed a bleached brain. This wasn't like walking in to the garage to find his father in the family van, brain matter splattered on the driver-side window from where he'd shot himself in the head. This wasn't like the years of moving and pulling up roots, of never making friends for longer than a few months, this was so much more, so much thicker.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, and the quiet is closing in on him, the sound of the AC isn't enough, his own breathing is going fast, his heart feels like a violent creature burrowing into his chest, he's sweating and cold all at the same time. He probably bruises his pelvis slamming against the kitchen counter in front of the wall-mounted telephone but whats one more bruise to a body full of them. His hands scramble against the receiver and the number pad, the dialtone is the counterpoint to his mental breakdown.

"Hello, this is Tommy Coolatta!"

"T-tommy, hey, hey bud it's, it's Gordon." "Hello Mr. Freeman! It's so good to hear from you!" In the background there is a bark, Sunkist.

Gordon bends double against the counter till his forehead hits the faux marble, cool sinking into his skin, he laughs short shaky sounds, his heartrate crescendos, a cresting wave, it feels like rapture when it drops.

"Hey, how are you, how are you doing?" Please don't ask it back, he's not sure how he could even respond, he doesn't know.

“I’m really good! I was about to take Sunkist to the dog park, would you like to come?”

He doesn’t think his nerves can stand it but he says yes anyway.

#hlvrai

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closer-stars · 3 years

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Purple Skies, Pained Things

Member: Jongho Word Count: ~5k Requested: No Genre: Angst. A lot of Heavy things. A little hope in the end. Content: Allusions to depression, suicide ideation, low self worth, a bit of existentialism. This really is just a product of my own thoughts and dips. This kind of came to me while i was listening to christian yu’s album and his ig live that explained his creative process and decisions into making MITO. In a sense this is my mito? lol. I don’t know why I had Jongho in this too but it happened. I kind of compared my struggle with mental health to paintings and skies, colors and the like. So Yes. If this is a little weird, I apologize. It was a little tricky to write this since I had to be in a certain mood/headspace to write this. lol. Note: This is heavy. If you can’t stomach something regarding mental struggles, issues, I suggest you don’t read this. This went in directions I didn’t think it would go but it went where it went. Like Strength, I won’t put the atzff tags on this since this is a personal piece lmao. I won’t do my usual tag list on this since..well it’s personal? if you see it when it’s up, cool. if you don’t well.. you don’t lol. Gut Feeling and other reqs are in the works! Just gonna take Time. Jongho wonders how you manage on your own. Well he knows you’re independent, always treasuring your alone time whenever you can. But he’s not sure of how you manage when you have these dips. He’s actually not sure if that’s the right question, should he ask why instead? Why do you make yourself go through it on your own? Of course, he has his guesses regarding the reasons but it still runs in his mind.

He watches you from across the room, sitting near a corner. To anyone else, it would look like you were just watching the skyline; watching the sky turn from a bright blue to a myriad of colors before settling into a deep blue sprinkled with stars and bright lights. The sky was always pretty at this hour.

The complete opposite of your mind.

The two of you knew better when you looked like that; you weren’t looking at anything. Your eyes aren’t focused on anything but your mind is. Your mind focuses on thoughts that make you spiral down. When your head spirals, you close yourself from everyone. Your mind is like the night sky: it can bring comfort and solace in a time of quiet but it is also dark and vast, seemingly never ending. The night sky can also bring the terrors of the unknown, the unseen, the lack of control that the day brings. Your mind now is just that without the comfort the night brings, but the numbing fear of what’s beyond.

You feel like a tiny speck of dust. that doesn’t really have much use in a world that keeps moving. Maybe a better comparison would be something like a stormy sky; filled with heavy clouds that would spill forth heavy rain showers. The sudden sheets of water makes everyone hide away. Or rather, a sky tinged with the smoke from pollution; unbearable and frustrating. Just like what you’re doing right now, hiding away from everyone because you think that these days you have will bring nothing but frustration to those near you.

So, what is Jongho doing in your apartment? He had his reasons. For starters, it’s been radio silence from your end. He knows nothing of what has happened to you. Neither do your friends-- well to a degree, they don’t. It’s why he’s here, to check on you. He figured you’d be at home. He knows you well enough, just like how he can tell if the weather will be fine just by a glance at the sky. From what he’s seeing, it’s the calm before the storm.

He knows you don’t sleep much either, or rather, you stay up late into the night only to sleep when the sun’s peeking through the horizon. The deep blues slowly turning into a soft lilacs and blues streaked with bright yellows that bring the safety of a new day: a peaceful slumber. You told him in the past that you’re really just a night owl, a habit formed to cope with the hectic pace of life. A way for you to have some sort of grip on your life. He bought the words for a while, but the more he spends time with you. He’s not quite sure. He doesn’t understand why you shut yourself out from everyone when you need them the most. He does understand how hard it can be to ask for help. Carefully, he approaches your unmoving figure.

“Hey.” He murmurs, settling quietly in front of you. Your eyes flutter to his direction. You see him but the fact he’s sitting in front of you isn’t registering in your head. Maybe your mind’s playing tricks on you, your vivid imagination was always one of your assets. It could also be your downfall.

“Go away..” your voice comes out like a sigh. Just as your mind is like the sky, your mind is just as vivid as paintings of years past. But, just like those paintings, it fades, it gets discolored as time passes by. Small cracks appear on layers of painting, no matter how much protection and preservation you put it through: the wear and tear can and will be inevitable. You assume this is just another way for your mind to make you think worse of yourself. Thoughts reflecting itself onto reality. Whatever reality is supposed to be. With that, you look away from the figure in front of you, staring out the window. The sky has shifted into a deep purple, the lights from the neighboring buildings are flickering on, one by one. The purples gradually turning into artificial shades of yellow and white.

He should’ve expected that, being alone with your own thoughts can get tiring. Even if you preferred your own company, these dips can take a toll on you. Slowly, he takes your hand in his. Something flashes in your eyes, dimmed only by the darkening sky above the two of you. “What are you doing here?” You ask. He notices how dry your voice sounds. How long has it been since you drank water?

He has a feeling rain will come tonight.

The sound of consciousness from you makes him quirk the corner of his lips in relief. “I wanted to check on you.”

A sigh slips out of your lips, your eyes fluttering to a close. Your eyes feel dry. You don’t pull away your hand from his hold. You stay like that, unmoving in your spot, and for a moment you look peaceful, but the impending approach of a storm is warned through the marks under your eyes. Jongho wonders how you’ve been sleeping the past few days. He looks at the time. By now, you should be eating.

“Hey, you need to get some food in you.” Jongho gently reminds you, his voice mirrored by how he squeezes your hand to wake you up.

“I don’t have an appetite…” You reason, despite your excuse you slowly move from your spot.

“At least get something in your stomach? Even some fruits will do.” Jongho returns. “Come, I can make you some food.” He lets you settle down on the chair. You let him move around your place, he’s been here so many times that he might as well have lived with you.

“Have you eaten?” You speak up softly, watching him with heavy eyes. This really doesn’t surprise him anymore, how you’re able to put others before you, even when you can barely do so for yourself.

It takes a while for him to reply to the question. If he gives a clear cut answer, it can make your attention shift to him when the main subject here is you. He runs a few strawberries and an orange through water. “I’ll eat with you.” He returns after a moment of thought.

You shrug even if he can’t see you do so. “Help yourself to whatever I have I guess.” So that’s how the night goes, he eats a meal while you nibble on a few fruit slices that he had freely drizzled with honey. It was quiet as the two of you ate. He doesn’t push you to talk about what’s on your mind, not because he didn’t care but he knows you hate it when people push you to tell them your thoughts, no matter how depressing they can get, you hated being forced. Even if you don’t want him to be here, you have no energy to tell him to leave.

You prod a half eaten strawberry with your fork. Even in the mess of your mind, you wanted to know why he’s doing this. He’s seeing a side of you that you’ve tried so hard to hide from him. As much as you want to cover this from him, it seems too late. Your body can’t get itself to stand up and push him out. What happens instead is a question. “Why are you doing this? You can literally do anything else right now, but you’re here wasting time.”

Jongho stays quiet through your tirade of self deprecating comments. On your normal days, these were covered with your dry humor. You always had a knack at being able to throw a few witty comments at the boys and at yourself. Now, he’s seeing it in its rawest form. He doesn’t like how this is how you see yourself: a shame, wasted potential, lost, the list goes on as you talk. What was once a question becomes an exhausted rant of how you find yourself in this fast paced life. At one point, you ask yourself if the choices you made were the right ones. All your decisions have been based on trying to break out of the chains of expectations. You wanted freedom, to explore the world as yourself.

Now, you didn’t really have a proper avenue to release these thoughts nowadays; you can’t really go out. Your usual coping mechanisms aren’t an option now. You’re just stuck at home. Compared to your peers, they’re able to make the most out of the situation. Those who made your life horrible are prospering now. Those who followed what was expected of them are doing well. You? Hell if you know what to make of yourself now.

He would’ve rebutted all these points you’ve raised but he figures that you need to let them out before letting anyone or yourself fix the issues. You’ve always been like that, thinking out loud until you somehow manage to find a solution. That’s why he just listens, replying when needed but letting you know that he’s giving you his full attention. What he didn't expect was a rumbling thunder.

The storm comes earlier than expected. The two of you can hear the downpour outside your apartment. When you notice the heavy downpour, you shift the topic. “You really don’t need to listen to all of that.” You say as you eat your fruits. It’s a little tricky to try and put your upbeat voice back to use after days of being shut in.

Being able to air out your frustrations should make you feel lighter, but it doesn’t. What it just does to you is feel heavier, fearing that he’ll look at you in a not so nice light because of how different you are now.

That’s how it usually goes.

His meal is long done now but he stays in his seat. “It’s okay.” He says. Those two words make you look at him. “You’ve carried it for so long to yourself. I don’t mind helping you...” He continues. He notices how your eyes sparkle a little brighter under the warm lights in your home. It’s not the curious sparkle that the stars bring on a clear night. It’s a sparkle that carries the burden of a pain that’s been carried for years. A star that’s just near the edge of falling through the sky. Your coping mechanisms were really just there to numb the pain, never to address it, you never knew how to address it until recently. Even then, the process was painful. “Have you showered?” He asks you. At his question, you realize you haven’t. “Go shower? I can take care of these dishes.”

There’s something in his words that pushes you to say something. “Can you stay a little longer?” You’re scared of what could be next, him leaving you alone in your thoughts again. You’ve tried to hide your dips from him, but now that he’s seen it, you doubt there’s any turning back now. You just don’t want to be alone, for tonight at least.

“I’ll stay.”

You ease yourself against the downpour of the hot water. It’s a little shock for your body: the cool air outside the shower against the hot water on your skin. Eventually you relax into it, breathing slowly as you hope that the water washes away the thoughts in your head. The constant sound of water hitting the tiled floor and the sight of water running down your body or dripping down the walls numb your mind from dimming your thoughts. The feeling puts you in a trance of sorts, standing under the shower head unmoving for who knows how long.

“Hey, are you still there?” Jongho’s voice comes from the opposite side of the door. The knocking snaps you awake and you clear your voice, grabbing the soap.

“Yeah, I’m doing fine.” You swear it’s not a lie. You try to make it sound not like a lie despite your racing heart. You stand there as you wash yourself up quickly. You didn’t want him to worry about you. Do you really deserve these worries? Clearly, he has other things to worry about. Why did you ask him to stay longer? He has a life beyond you, so why linger here? What if you’re just hindering him from his schedule and free time with your selfish need for company? These thoughts rise up to the surface as you dry yourself up. He can leave if he has to, you’re not gonna stop him.

You step out of your bathroom in a change of clothes, water dripping from your hair onto the towel on your shoulders. You catch your reflection on the mirror; you’ve lost weight, you look tired, your skin hasn’t been at its best, and before your thoughts spiral you tear your gaze away from the reflective reality on your wall.

The place is quiet. A quiet sigh leaves your lips, of course you’re back on your own. What were you thinking? You’ve managed to deal with these episodes on your own, what makes this any different? What were you hoping for exactly?

“Oh hey, you’re finally out of the shower.” His voice makes you jump in your spot, holding yourself up against the wall as you try to slow down your racing heart. He observes your shocked visage with slight guilt. He notes how raw your skin looks, wondering just how hot you made your water to be. It’s not much but it’s something. These episodes were never as quick as a simple shower. It’ll take time and he’s willing to sit through it with you. Just like the paintings on your walls, those took time to be properly cared for, before its original luster shined through.

“If you have to go elsewhere, it’s okay.” You speak up, your voice is a little clearer now. “I forgot how busy you get…” You trail off, berating yourself for being so selfish.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about.” He says afterwards. “I made sure my schedule was free.” He adds, he approaches you carefully, taking the towel off your shoulders. He lets you follow him to the couch.

You look at him, shoulders dropping as more things blur your mind. Why was he doing this? “Why?” There’s something in your voice that reminds him he can’t leave you like this. You follow him like a lost puppy, too tired to think anymore. The sky looks a lot dimmer now, the still constant downpour of rain dimming the bright lights from the streets.

“I want to check on you.” He sits behind you, drying your hair as he lets you look out the sky. It’s the one thing you would do even in your better days. He’s gotten the habit of thinking of you because of the sky.

It’s the blank look on your face that hurts him too. It’s a look that tries to survive and prove itself worthy of independence. It’s a look that reminds him of artworks that look so breathtaking until you learn of the backstory behind the work. How many people have bought this as you just shooting a deadpan look, as if you didn’t need anyone else? “I’m sorry.” A tired sigh escapes you as you turn your head away from his gaze. You were about to reach for the towel that has slowed down from drying your hair, when Jongho taps your hands gently.

“Drying your hair’s my thing.” He reminds you, a distant inside joke from years past.

The reference makes you smile a little but it doesn’t bring you the comfort you badly need. The pain teeters just at the corners of your eyes and you wonder why your vision blurs, mixing the purples with the yellows, with the whites. The greys have hints of purples and yellows. Everything looked so blurry yet so clear. It’s an unflattering color, it’s rare that you look away from the sky.

It’s when you feel two drops of water against your arm that it clicks. You didn’t want him to see you in tears. How easy it was for him to look past your facade. You’ve put up enough walls, saying it was just you being used to being an only child who could only depend on yourself at the end of the day. You’ve lost count of the times you’ve said lies to stop people from getting too close to you at your weakest. How many times has life tried to take advantage of it?

“Come here.” His voice takes on a tenderness rarely heard from him. It takes a few small shifts from you before you face him. You want to tell him that you’re fine, that it’s not a lie. You’re genuinely doing fine, you want to tell yourself that. But the truth is, you aren’t. Admitting the truth has always been nerve wracking for you. Especially the truth that you carry in your head and heart. There, his arms wrap around you carefully, knowing that at any moment you’ll break. “I care about you, that’s why I do this.” He lets you babble words against his shoulder, truthfully, he couldn’t make sense of the words that tumble out of your lips mostly due to the towel that muffles you and because of how they’re all slurred by your overwhelming emotions and tears. He lets you spill everything though. It could help you once you storm through this downpour, he thinks.

On the other hand, you hate how weak you’ve become, your hands grip to him as if he’s some sort of protection from the darkness that swirls in your head. There’s no shade of purple that can mimic how terrifying the darkness is in your head. Not even pictures can give it justice. It just is.

You don’t like how you’ve become, yet you have no heart to end everything. It’s why you had a terrible phobia of high places. Imagination can only bring you so much but reality was still terrifying in its own right. Life was practically in limbo: wanting escape but not doing it, wanting something better but not being able to acquire it. You see your own life like an unfinished painting, all scribbles, patches of paint but never quite forming an image or a sky that always warns of a storm that never comes.

He feels guilty to have left you alone to deal with this burden in the past but he tries not to dwell in it as he lets you cry. “Do you want to go to bed?” He whispers softly into your hair. You shake your head, not trusting how your voice could shake should you speak up. Receiving nothing but a timid nod, he carefully pulls his arms away from your figure, it’s then that he realizes that you covered your face with your towel. The damp feeling on his skin and shirt were from your hair. Even in your current state, you still find shame in showing your own tears.

He doesn’t let go of your hand as he guides you towards your bed. Now that the two of you are settled down, he made sure that you’re in his arms again. He tries not to force you to look at him. Being at your weakest in front of someone was already a draining experience in itself, but to be in a situation where it’s not being shamed or pushed away was a new experience for you. He hears words come from your covered face and he keeps quiet to strain his ears to understand what you were saying.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Two words, repeated over and over. He looks at your curled figure, how your arm strains to keep itself from shaking as your fingers press against where your eyes are to stop the tears. This hasn’t been your lowest, but it is one of your lowest moments. He shushes you gently, as if consoling a lost animal shivering under the rain. “I got you. It’s okay.” Admittedly, he doesn’t know what else to say. He doesn’t know what else to do except hold you through this. He’ll hold you through the storms and the darkness. Until you come to surface, he’ll hold you through it. No matter how long it takes, he’ll be here.

You wake up with your blanket up to your shoulders. You try to remember what happened yesterday as you lie awake. What time is it? What day is it? Your thick curtains hinder the sunlight from blinding you. When you blink, you feel how dry and sore your eyes are which only further your confusion of what happened yesterday.Your hand pats one side of your bed: your phone isn’t there. You pat the other side: that’s not a phone. That’s a chest, it’s only then that you realize that’s another person next to you that you realize the weight of an arm on your waist. A spark of fear runs through you, unaware of who could be here, so you look over to your side with caution.

Jongho.

He lies asleep next to you. You wonder what he’s doing here but you have no heart to wake this guy up. Everything’s still murky to you. Quite frankly, you don’t really know how much time has passed. All you know now is day and night. Things still feel floaty, like you’re on a cloud but you shouldn’t be there. The thought alone makes your hands clammy. It makes your chest tighten with thoughts you can’t control, that your hands repeatedly clench and unclench as you try to fight to control your head from going under.

A hand slowly laces with yours and you look over at the owner. He’s awake, sleep still weighing down his eyes but he’s awake. “I got you.” He says, voice raspy with slumber that still clings to his mind and it rings you of the previous day’s happening. A shiver of horror goes through you. He shouldn’t have seen you like that. Nobody should’ve seen you like that.

“I thought you would’ve gone home.” You say as you push yourself up from bed, pulling your hand away. You run your hands through your bed riddled hair, a poor excuse to keep him from holding your hands again. It’s not that you don’t like it, it’s just, you’re scared. He’s seen your worst, and you fear for the worst result.

His now free hand rests beneath his bed riddled hair. He’s never been one to push your boundaries. “I don’t think I can go home knowing how you needed someone last night.” He says this without any of his dry nature. “I can’t go home with a peaceful mind until I know you’re alright..” He trails off, because as much as he wants to stay with you for the next few days. He doesn’t want to overstep his boundaries. You never responded nicely to people who pushed your limits more than they should.

“You didn’t have to..”

“But I wanted to.” He says immediately. Mornings were never his best time either. He looks up at you, no remnants of sleep are on his eyes. Rather, his soft protective nature is there. “We worry for you too. At least, let me care for you the way you’ve cared for me?” He asks. Once he pulls the repayment card, you relent. It’s a small step but it’s a step.

Silence draws over the two of you for a few moments. His words float around your mind. ‘I wanted to… let me care for you…’ It’s an odd feeling to have someone care for you. His words make you wonder if people will worry if you did disappear without a trace.

Jongho reaches for his phone beneath your pillow to check the time. It’s already noon time. “Do you wanna eat? I can make some food for us or we can just order something.”

The power to choose was a heavy responsibility for you. You still weren’t in the mental capacity to choose for yourself but you had enough strength to let Jongho stay for the time being. He notices how you’re still not quite here yet, so he opts to cook something up. He knows your favorites but he can only hope you have enough appetite to eat something.

You peek past your curtains. The sky’s clear now. There’s not a cloud in sight, just a vast expanse of bright blue and sunlight. The streaks of sunlight slip past you and into your room, lighting up the rather dim room. “Why are you doing this? I can survive on my own eventually.” You ask from your side of the bed.

Jongho was already out of bed, making himself look presentable or at least awake. “Yeah eventually, but you don’t have to do this on your own.” He returns. He tries not to look over at you too often when he spouts words like this. You never were the type to look at someone when you say something vulnerable. But he sees how you look from the mirror: looking at your hands, mindlessly scratching at your fingers. “Go freshen up while I make up something to eat.”

You didn’t know how to say it, now with some semblance of control in you as compared to the night before. You just knew how scared you were of wasting yourself away, no matter how tempting it was to press Stop on your own life, it was scary. You were scared he’d leave you too after this. Not everyone has the capacity to care for someone like you, you didn’t even have the resources for professional help. Yet, Jongho’s here in your home. Things didn’t make sense and you weren’t really sure of how to make sense of it all. Will he stay with you through it all?

“I will.” Jongho’s voice cuts through your stormy eyes. They spark a little brighter at his voice, only to darken a little in confusion. He watches you for a moment as the gears in your head work. That’s when you realize you were thinking out loud. “I don’t know what lies ahead of you.” He starts, turning to face you but leaning against the dresser. “I do know that you have what it takes to get through this. It’s going to take a lot of time but you’ll get there.” He flashes a small smile, rare were the times that he’s this raw with you or anyone. “We’ll make do with what we got.” He ends it there before heading to the kitchen.

You slip out of your bed, slightly light headed from the lack of food in your system. Shit, okay maybe you need to get some food in you. You look through your closet for something to wear, noticing the laundry you need to do in the process.

Once you got out of the shower, you’re greeted by the smell of-- were those pancakes? You approach the kitchen, confused but also a little excited to have something in your stomach. You didn’t expect that he’d make your comfort food: pancakes with blueberries. He lets himself indulge as well with some pork belly. Go figure. He even got your cold brew out of the refrigerator with his ever loyal iced americano. “You made all of these?” You ask.

He looks over at you, surprised to have you out of the shower already. In that instance, he takes the chance to look at you closely: the heavy shoulders weren’t as apparent as they were last night, there’s a little spark in your eyes too. “Yeah.” He simply says before returning his attention to the still cooking pancake.

It’s only then that you think of preparing the table as the two of you wait for the food to cook.

You eat slowly and carefully. The splash of flavor reminds you of how hungry you are but you remind yourself to not rush. It’s been so long since you ate properly after all. When he sees you drink your coffee, he feels a little relief. Baby steps. It’s small talk for the rest of the meal, just Jongho filling you in on what he’s been up to: the acting, the performing, the competing. It’s all tiring, but he doesn’t mind. Last night was exhausting for you so you didn’t really mind him carrying the conversation for once.

By the time you ate two pieces of the pancakes, you had a little bit of vigor in you though still muted by the hangover that crying gives you. That’s when you came clean with your own thoughts, though still pessimistic and anxious in its roots, it was a little more coherent than last night. If he looked a little closer into the words you say, you left room for a little hope, a little objectivity. Objectivity, in his eyes, was harder to rebut, to be fought against by the small voice in your head that says otherwise. Still, he listens. He listens to everything that you’ve been keeping to yourself with no judgement. He finds it hard to believe how you’ve been able to keep all these to yourself but at the same time, this is you who he’s talking to.

But you’re sharing the worries now, and that’s what matters. There’s a ghost of a smile on your lips. No malice and pain in it but something else. Something a little softer.

Seeing you like this reassured him. You were at your lowest last night and seeing you slowly crawl out of it gives him relief. He can only do so much to help you, to reassure you, to get you to where you were meant to be in life. It really is just one small step after one small step even after tripping, as long as you take a step afterwards, that’s all that matters.

He glances outside your window, the sky still continues to be bright without a cloud hindering the sunlight. Truthfully, he doesn’t know if the next few days will continue to be on a good note but what matters is now. Just like a painting that has gone through so much damage, it’s still possible to bring it back to its original luster. It will take time and effort from not just one person but it’s possible.

As long as you’re able to walk at your own pace, he’ll be with you.

#my writings #kinda eh but wtv

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yandere-society · 5 years

Note

Watching over you while you sleep? Any member. -A

Under His Microscope

Warnings; Yandere, stalker, extreme lack of boundaries, scent kink?? idk if that’s a thing…

Words; 1.2k

“I would like to be the air that inhabits you for a moment only. I would like to be that unnoticed and that necessary.”

You were his favorite film.

He yearned for photographic memory if it meant that he could recall every still frame movement of yours. To burn it into his cerebrum and engrain it into his very dna. To study your little ticks and habits even long after he shared presence with you. His own film projector within the depths of his mind’s eye that never failed to fascinate him.

As if suddenly parched, his pink tongue peeked out to run over his chapped but plush lips. He shifted his weight to lean against the wall a bit more dependently, the prolonged period of standing ultra still having taken a toll on his legs.

Though agile and careful, he didn’t quite calculate the sound of his jeans rubbing against the wall and producing a quiet noise. It wasn’t loud by any means. But in the fragile silence that was easily overwhelmed by any slight sound above a few octaves, it was heard loud and clear.

In a chain of events that caused his heart to drop, you began to shift in our sleep. Unconsciously reacting to the foreign intrusion of peace in the bed a few feet away from him. You released a moan through puckered lips and furiously flipped over to bury your head deeper into your pillow.

Whilst this was happening, Yoongi held his breath and immediately froze. It wasn’t until his feline-like eyes watched your body melt back into the mattress with ease, that he allowed his screaming lungs to breath once again.

Only until he was absolutely positive that you were deep within rem cycle, did Yoongi dare stalk forward to retrieve a closer viewing.

The very shapes and angles of your form was something Yoongi had committed to memory. He knew and worshiped every dip and crevice of your body. Your very being an oasis for his starved senses. Yet the full glory of it was always being kept away from him by flimsy clothing. A mirage of what he could have, but doesn’t. It was tragic in all honesty, to be given a slice of nirvana but never getting enough to reach minimum satisfaction. Yoongi was left always itching for his next fix. On his little nightly visits, Yoongi was always pushing and pushing for other ways to get said fix.

He had only started watching you sleep about a month ago. He knew of your address for a couple months now, but only very recently was he ballsy enough to enter your room through a window to study you. Free from any limitation as the fear of you catching onto him was eliminated.

It started to get progressively worse.

His thirst for you, that is. It was almost more real than his actual human needs.

One week, he went three days without eating. He didn’t even notice it until he nearly fainted while trying to climb up your window that he had been neglecting his needs. Due to this incident, Yoongi now has alarms set up on his phone to remind him of when to take care of himself (eating, sleeping, water, showering ect). He couldn’t risk something happening to him before getting to fully be with you like he was meant to.

On one of his earliest visits, Yoongi was startled by how enthralled he was by watching you sleep. It wasn’t as if he found the action in itself to be spectacular. It was easily deduced that it was because it was you sleeping that he was so magnetized. And like that, little things snowballed into an odd obsession of observing your rest.

When you’d utter something in your sleep that made no sense. (His favorite line being “My waffles are horny~”)

How you’d drool childishly, a stream of it hanging from side of your plump lips.

How some nights you were more active and violent, kicking and punching an unseen person by thrashing crazily in bed.

How you never seemed to be able to decipher if you were hot or cold. One minute, ripping the blankets away. The next, wrapping yourself within their warm hold once again.

His favorite though?

When you had nightmares.

Although he hated it when his baby was scared, he couldn’t deny the sick glee he got when he heard your adorably pathetic whimpers. God, it was his favorite symphony.

The first time you had a nightmare on one of his visits, Yoongi watched like an eager tourist as your face scrunched up in a puppy-like fear. It was too adorable for Yoongi to not want to see again.

He slipped his phone out and carefully captured your face, being sure his flash and ringer were off.

That photo ended up being the first of many, Yoongi finding a new hobby of trying to catch the best expressions and positions he could. He had to be careful with who had access to his device, your sleeping faces were both his lock and home screen.

It wasn’t until Yoongi began to tear his eyes away from you, that he became more aware of his surroundings. There was perhaps no better grounds for getting to know someone than inspecting their room with great focus. Yoongi began to investigate your tiny bedroom, noting the little trinkets and signs of living with fond amusement. Evidence for your hobbies were spread all over, Yoongi was quick to pick up on your love for (subject) and he must say he admired your dedication.

But it was in this period of trying to get to know the person behind the goddess that Yoongi came across his newest addictive tendency.

Your hamper.

Filled to the brim with used clothes that were waiting for their turn at laundry day.

He felt like a sicko, but he couldn’t help it.

Like some demented vulture, he snatched a shirt from the pile and pressed it to his face. And breathed in.

The smell was syrupy like candy but held an underlining of musk that is expected from any mammal. It was in no way gross though, your natural odor being something that was oddly sugary and delightful to Yoongi. If he could make a candle out of it he would.

Now everytime he visited, he was sure to sniff at a shirt or sweater. He never dared touch your underwear however. In some odd twist of logic, Yoongi perceived that as being intrusive to your boundaries. Not keeping in mind that he was technically breaking in, but who cared about pesky details like that?

Yoongi sighed and pulled out his phone to check the time, huffing with disappointment at the lateness of the hour. He had to leave.

But before he did that, he elaborately tip-toed to the hamper.

He needed his fix.

He reached down and plucked out a tank-top before practically shoving his face into the fabric.

He inhaled.

Inhaled. And inhaled.

Never exhaling.

He wished to ingest every molecule of you. As if he thought that if he absorbed enough, you would permanently become a part of him. Hungirly lapping at whatever leftover trace he could get of you. Yoongi would breathe in the blessed clothing until his lungs and nostrils would hum and sting with a vengeance for oxygen. Only then would he pull away.

After the ill deed was finished with, Yoongi swiftly made his way over to your window. He looked back at you, to capture a last lick of his drug before he would flee into the inky black night.

His addiction was never satisfied.

That’s why he made a mental note to bring restraints next time he visited.

A man’s patience can only go so far.

And you had a tendency to get violent in your sleep, anyway.

He couldn’t imagine the hell you would raise when you were conscious.

(Lmao this is kinda bad pls forgive me. Anyway, pls send in anymore requests and this is chinkbihh, 🔮signing off.)

#yandere bts #yandere #yandere yoongi #min yoongi #yandere kpop #bangtan boys #bts suga #suga #bts yoongi #agust d #one shot #horror #suspense #creepy #dark #obsession #admin chinkbihh

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keelywolfe · 5 years

Text

FIC: Beneath an Aurora Sky ch. 11

Summary: The South Pole Station is equipped for research and Edge has always made sure things run smoothly for the inhabitants. His charges are meant to follow his rules and regulations, and in turn, he makes sure they survive in the arctic temperatures. It takes plenty of hard work and determination and Edge, along with his crew, can handle both.

He wasn’t counting on one of the newest researchers. He wasn’t expecting Rus.

Tags: Spicyhoney, First Time, Arctic AU, Hurt/Comfort

Notes: So, bourbon came up with an amazing AU and did some lovely art for it: please look at it and love it.

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four

Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten |

Read Chapter 11 on AO3

Read it here!

~~*~~

The next morning, Edge reluctantly resisted the temptation to go to Rus’s room and check on him. To begin with, it wasn’t really appropriate to show so much favoritism, no matter how amusing it was the others at the station. He was here to keep them safe, not entertained.

His other reason for was more for his sanity. Trying to sleep the night before had been less than successful, his mind was filled with Rus, pretty Rus and his eager kisses, wondering if that eagerness would be extended to other areas, how the soft sounds he made muffled between their mouths would be in the open air. If Edge went to him this morning, he didn’t think he’d be able to resist if Rus invited him in again and he couldn’t shirk his duties no matter the temptation.

Instead, he wasted a shower token and stood beneath cold water until his bones were chilled, dressing briskly before heading down to the dining hall. Deciding to give in to Rus’s charms didn’t mean there wasn’t a great deal of work he needed to get done today and tonight…well, he would deal with that when it came.

The obscene pun that floated through his thoughts was firmly pushed aside, along with the mental picture of his brother grinning at it. A stroke of luck that Red was vanishingly unlikely to be up for breakfast this morning; his healing sessions took a toll and much as Red hated enduring them, he was usually happy to take advantage of the excuse to sleep in.

In the dining hall, the large table was already mostly filled, and to Edge’s surprise, one of the benches held Rus. He skipped breakfast regularly and after last night, Edge expected the same, the drunken flock that followed Undyne sleeping off whatever hangover they’d been granted.

His worries earlier about being invited into Rus’s bed now looked to have been for naught. Rus looked rather wan, his skull a shade paler than normal. It was a match to the other scientists who’d been with them the night before, the three of them looking more like extras in a polar zombie film than researchers. Breakfast this morning was a hearty porridge with plenty of topping to add, syrups and jams, berries grown in the hydroponic gardens and a dish of chopped dried fruit. Delicious and filling, perfect for dealing with the subzero temperatures, but those three were stirring their bowls apathetically more than attempting to eat any of it. Rus was slouched over his dish, his skull propped up on one hand and his sockets closed.

Unlike Undyne, who was shoveling in her portion eagerly, her bowl heaped high with all the fixings. She swallowed before flashing Edge a sharp-toothed grin. “Morning, boss!”

“Good morning,” Edge said evenly to the table in general. There were several empty seats he could have chosen. A message was being sent by taking the one directly next to Rus, and while Undyne surely got it from the way her needle grin widened, Rus didn’t seem in much condition to appreciate it.

Edge leaned over to him to ask softly, “How are you feeling, Rus?”

One of his sockets opened with a nearly audible creak, the pale eye light bleary and tinged orange. “thinkin’ about changing my middle name to regret.”

A mumble of agreement came from the others further down the table. Those two were leaning against each other, one holding up the other and Edge felt a faint jealous pang that he couldn’t do the same for Rus. No matter that a relationship with any of the researchers wasn’t against the rules—they were all adults and could choose to share whatever beds they liked—but some decorum was necessary. His command of the others depended on it.

That didn’t mean he couldn’t offer some soothing, and while he was trying to decide where he could safely touch Rus in front of the others, the kitchen door opened. Bonnie emerged, ducking a little to avoid clipping her long ears against the doorframe and carrying a tray of steaming cups. That in itself was unusual; coffee was readily available at all times in vast quantities, one of the largest supplies they ordered. She only set a one of the mugs in front of Rus and the other two in front of those who’d made the mistake of taking Undyne up on her offer of a drink.

What is that? Edge signed, warily curious, but Bonnie only gave Rus a light nudge, pointing to the cup.

Rus sat up straight, blinking, then took the cup and sniffed it. He cringed, his face clearly reflecting what he thought of the contents. He started to sign something, paused, and made a shoving aside gesture to begin again. He was facing away from Edge who only caught flashes of his hands, but Bonnie was watching him, her scarred face twisted with amusement.

When Rus finished, she shook her head and pointed firmly at the cup again. Whatever it was, Bonnie wasn’t taking no for an answer, and Rus sighed exaggeratedly, picking up the cup again. His face scrunched again in distaste, but he swigged back the contents, coughing and gagging lightly as he swallowed it.

The mug was nearly slammed to the table as Rus quivered, scrambling for his water glass and downing half the contents. By now, everyone was watching him, mostly with a sort of dismayed awe, or in Undyne’s case, glee, except the young women from the night before. Their horrified looks kept darting from Rus to their own mugs to Bonnie, who was waiting patiently for them to drink it.

“it does help,” Rus rasped out, flicking his bony finger against the mug. The ceramic chimed lightly. “old monster recipe, you’ll feel a lot better after. only problem is you need to drink it for it to work.”

“Is it safe for humans,” one of the women asked uncertainly. She was peering into the cup, attempting to identify the murky contents.

“oh, sure, it’s fine. you’ve all had a recent tetanus shot, right?” Her head snapped up and Rus laughed. Some color was starting to return to his skull and that alone was a good testimony, “kidding, kidding, yeah, there’s nothing in it that isn’t food-worthy. it’s just not usually mixed together. don’t think about it too hard, get it down the hatch, keep it down, and it’ll help.”

Edge fully expected them to both decline and instead, head back to their rooms to search out whatever analgesic they’d brought with them. It was certainly a surprise, and a pleasant one at that, when both of them clinked their mugs together in a sort of toast before slugging back the contents.

True to Rus’s word, getting it down was the most difficult part. Sweat broke out on their faces immediately, their eyes nearly bulging as they gagged down the sludgy liquid. Everyone was watching them avidly, taking in the latest episode in this ongoing drama as both women managed to swallow it, slamming down their mugs in triumphant unison.

“water,” Rus called, “trust me!”

Again, as one they scrabbled for their glasses, drinking them down and by the time they’d finished, some of their pallor was already receding.

“That actually helped,” the first woman said, wonderingly. She turned to Bonnie and her signing was awkward, one speaking by rote rather than a learned language, but it was still a recognizable ‘thank you’.

Bonnie’s smug expression flashed with shock. Unsurprising, no other researcher who had come to their station ever bothered trying to communicate to her in her own language. They took their food as their due, their heads and thoughts buried in their notes. Rus was the first exception, but a Monster speaking in hands wasn’t nearly as astonishing as a Human. Bonnie signed back ‘you’re welcome’, every movement slow and deliberate, chosen for one who was not fluent, and the Human woman smiled with delight, awkwardly mimicking until Bonnie nodded in satisfaction.

With a huff, Bonnie gathered up the mugs and disappeared back into the kitchen, paying no mind to the astonishing scene she was leaving behind.

Another researcher, one of the climatologists, spoke up, “You said it was an old Monster cure. Do you happen to have the recipe?” He already had a pen in hand, poised over a blank sheet of paper, but Rus shook his head.

“sorry,” Rus smiled wryly. “i can’t boil water without causing an incident and bonnie probably isn’t going to share her trade secrets.” Almost, Edge expected some belligerence, the common reaction when telling a Human researcher that he wasn’t allowed to know something; recipes, Alphys’s research, the Core. But he took it well, only sighing in mock disappointment and set his pen aside.

“If you want to try it yourself, I bet Undyne would be more than happy to help out,” the other woman said wryly. She was starting to show more interest in her oatmeal, spooning up a mouthful.

Laughter rounded the table, Undyne’s the loudest of all, “You bet, come on down to the kitchen tonight, nerd, I’ll show you some real research.”

More laughter, and Edge could hear the warm rasp of Rus’s, throaty and charming, so close to him. The table settled down, everyone digging back into their breakfasts. Even Rus, who began adding brown sugar and berries to his bowl, stirring it into a sugary sludge. He was left-handed, Edge realized, his right hand resting on the table between them as he spooned up mouthfuls of porridge. Sitting next to him was a message of its own and Edge knew that lightly settling his ungloved hand over Rus’s was another, not quite twining their fingers together, allowing for escape.

Rus stilled briefly, his spoon hovering in the air between the bowl and his mouth, dribbling porridge. Then he moved, but not to pull away. He only turned his hand over, meshing their fingers together and if it was slightly awkward trying to eat while holding hands. Edge found that he didn’t mind.

He could feel the weight of Undyne’s stare, her palpable satisfaction, but she said nothing, only helped herself again to the porridge pot, piling her bowl high with fruit and a heavy douse of syrup.

Edge’s own bowl was plain, with only a little dried fruit stirred in, but eating it was satisfying, and scraping up the last of it came far, far too soon.

~~*~~

Today was one of Edge’s days to work in the hydroponic gardens and normally he enjoyed it, picking over the plants for dead leaves, gathering the produce Bonnie requested for the evening meal.

But now with his thoughts lingering on his possible evening, the damp air seemed aggravating, too warm and claggy, clinging uncomfortably to his bones. Edge never claimed to be one of great imagination, but some heretofore undiscovered creative side of his thoughts seemed eager to suddenly prove their skill, offering him sly images of what Rus would look like it his bed, his pale bones against Edge’s sheets.

Ridiculous thoughts; he hadn’t even asked Rus if he would be interested yet. It could very well be that he had time-sensitive research ongoing and he didn’t have time to spare for Edge’s whims. Flirtations aside, that was what Rus was here for and it would be a very expensive waste for him to neglect it in favor of a little indulgent bed play.

The truth of that had no effect on Edge’s libido and while once it had been dormant, only showing itself on the rare occasions that Edge woke in the mornings to find a need for a little self-service, now it was well and truly roused. Demanding satisfaction in the form of a tall, slender skeleton with a soft laugh and teasing smile.

The crackle of the radio interrupted his untoward thoughts, his brother’s staticky voice coming out, “boss, you need to come down to the radar, right now.”

“On my way,” Edge said, already sliding on his coat. He bundled up hastily, hunching against the wind as he crossed over to the main building. The radar was in a room off the main entrance, meant for easy access. There was another in Alphys’s lab and he was sure she was looking at it with the same bleak dismay as Red and Undyne when Edge came in.

He didn’t bother shedding any of his outdoor gear, boots leaving puddle on the floor as he demanded, “Report.”

“There’s a storm blowing in,” Undyne said grimly. She tapped the screen where a large blob of red glowed. “We didn’t get an alert earlier because it wasn’t supposed to head this way. Looks like it decided to take a detour.”

“Who is still out?” Edge snatched away the sign-out sheet when Undyne held it out, scanning it.

“The seal gals are already in, I saw them coming in when I grabbed the sheet, I just didn’t give them a chance to sign off. But boss,” she pulled up the last sheet, tapping the surprisingly tidy signature at the bottom. “Rus went out to Checkpoint #3 after breakfast and he ain’t back yet.”

“He could be heading back right now,” Red pointed out.

“Or he could be standing out there with his ass hanging out and have no idea what’s coming,” Undyne countered. Her voice was sharp as her teeth, rich with concern. “We can’t reach him on the radio, but that station’s behind a ridge, communications have always been shit. Or the snow could already be interfering. Alphys’s been working on it, but—"

“I’m going out,” Edge announced abruptly. He tossed the sign-out sheet down on the table with a clatter as he pulled his gloves back on.

“Boss—“

But he was in no mood to hear their protests. “Even if Rus is headed back, he drives so slowly, he wouldn’t be back in time to beat the storm. He won’t make it if I don’t go out there.”

“you go out now, you’re staying out,” Red warned. His eye lights were dark, implacable. “unless you bump into him right outside the door, when you find him, you get to one of the shelters. don’t try to head back, not even in the cat.”

“I don’t need you to tell me how to handle a rescue,” Edge snapped, turning to the door. “keeping the researchers safe is my job!”

“Our job,” Undyne cut in, stilling him, “and no, you don’t. But you’re pretty damn fond of the fashion victim and you don’t have the distance you usually do.” Neither of them so much as flinched from his temper, following behind him. “Red’s right, you two will be safer in a shelter than trying to head back, you’d do better to shack up. Take one of the Core kits, just in case.”

“they ain’t been fully tested,” Red protested.

“They’ve been tested enough,” Undyne countered. She briskly unlocked one of the storage lockers, pulling out one of the units. It was the size of a lunch box but much heavier, a compact version of the Core that Alphys had been designing and tweaking. At the moment there were only a few locked up and scattered around the buildings in case of emergency. “It can work as a heat source. The shelters all have kerosene heaters anyway, but this works a hell of a lot better and if it doesn’t, you’ll still have the others as a backup.”

He took it, balancing the weight in his gloved hand even as Red eyed it warily. His brother shook himself visibly and said, “if you’re going, you need to get gone, bro. take any of the snowmobiles, they’re all fueled up and checked over. be fucking careful.”

“I will,” Edge promised. He dared to lay a hand on his brother’s skull, gloves scruffing over the knit cap that covered his injuries. But that was all and he turned on his heel, heading back out.

There was nothing but white emptiness on what little view there was of the hardpacked snow that made up the roads, no signs of the headlights of the Cat heading in. He hurried to the vehicle shed and the snow was already falling as Edge turned the snowmobile towards Checkpoint #3, obscuring his vision through his goggles. He knew the route well and didn’t hesitate, the headlight cutting through the darkness as he pushed the machine to its limits, the engine roaring over the sound of the wind.

There was a little time yet and he would need all of it.

tbc

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #beneath an aurora sky

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redfoxwritesstuff · 4 years

Text

Of Dust and Ashes (Chapter 18)

Hello, lovies- it’s Friday and time of the Holidays. I do hope all is well with you.

Chapter warnings: gunfire and implied human trafficking.

Clint x ofc

series Rated: M (for smut, major character death, sexual assault and graphic violence)

I run on Kofi.

Masterlist

Chapter 18: There’s a new King in town

The air was lighter in the truck, as they made their way back home. The truck itself was significantly heavier, loaded with supplies. While they did consider turning back and going home the way they came, Clint felt much better about exploring. Deanna would have preferred to go straight home.

He liked to know what the state of things was beyond the farmhouse and it had been a while since he had gone out this way. She would much rather go home but there was a part of Clint that was still the hero, the Avenger. She couldn't fault him for that. They knew the way they came was safe, why test their luck?

“What’s that?” Deanna leaned forward. The could see the town in the distance but something was blocking the road. “Is that… Is that a roadblock?”

“Looks like it.” Clint’s voice was tense and his knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel.

“Why?” She asked. “It doesn’t look like an accident.”

“Doesn’t look like it, no.” Clint slipped his hand out from under hers and gave her a firm look. “Keep your hand on either a gun or a bow. Keep your eyes open.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Something doesn’t feel right.” He was more focused on scanning the area, trying to keep his eyes everywhere at once.

The truck slowed as they came closer to the roadblock. It was made up of trailers stacked two high and set on their sides. The tops faced them with the wheels pointed in toward the town. Large letters were pained in neat black blocks.

“All hail the new King Jacob.” Deanna whispered, reading the words.

“Well, shit.” Clint threw the truck in park.

“What’s wrong?” He didn’t answer. Instead, he unbuckled his seat belt and grabbed his bow and quiver from where they rested between the seats. It was less threatening than a gun but made it clear still that he had a weapon on him.

“I’m going to get out and speak to these gentlemen. As soon as I get out, I want you in the driver’s seat. Don’t lock the doors and if we need to scram, I’ll jump in the seat and gun it. If something happens and I can’t make it to you- if I say go without me- go. I’ll catch up.” As he finished speaking, he lowered the windows a few inches.

“Clint-”

“No. I said I’d protect you so let me do that.”

“But-”

“Plus- I can’t be behind the wheel and getting information at the same time. Not having to worry about the get away car helps me. So will you please listen?”

When she didn’t say anything, he opened the driver’s side door. As he slipped out, she slipped herself into the seat. It was warm from him and that made her want to cry- though she couldn’t begin to explain why that was.

As she lifted her leg over the cup holders in the middle, her ankle smacked against the hard plastic. She took a hissing breath as pain bloomed to life. She’d been so good about protecting it and being able to walk on it again was a blessing. Still, all it took was one bad move to aggravate it. One bad twist or solid hit and the joint would swell for a few hours and the pain would be worse for at least the rest of the day. If she was lucky, by morning it would be better.

Now wasn’t the time to think about how badly she may have fucked up her ankle. Whatever she did to it, it would heal. As long as she could manage to drive, that’s what mattered. God, she hoped things didn’t go sideways.

“Afternoon, folks.” Clint spoke, his voice carrying loud and clear through the still air.

“What do you want?” The largest of the men yelled back.

“Just passing through. Didn’t expect to find the road blocked.”

“Yeah well. Gotta pay the toll and get permission from the King before you can pass through here.” A lanky man to the left announced.

“I wasn’t aware we had Kings?” Clint cocked his head to the side in thought for a moment before adding, “Do I pay a toll or get permission to pass? Or do I have to do both?” The men looked at each other, waiting for someone else to step up and clarify. “Is the toll more of a fee to have my case heard by the- you said he called himself a King?”

“King Jacob.” Another man spoke, nodding to himself before continuing. “A King for the people when the systems of the old ways and the rulers of old have abandoned us.”

“Oh...Kay.” These guys were clearly off their rockers. Clint decided it was not in anyone’s best interest to point out monarchies were really the government of old. America didn’t really have ‘rulers of old’, since it was a baby country in the grand view. But they did have one thing right at least, the government that was in place was still in shambles.

“So- what’s the toll?” Clint asked, taking a mental side step around that steaming pile of questions.

“Her.” The man holding the biggest rifle pointed the muzzle at the truck.

“The dog?” Clint knew damn well that they didn’t want the dog. “He’s actually male and you don’t want him. Kinda annoying, that one.”

“Not the dog.” The largest man snapped. “The woman.”

“Oh.” Clint really didn’t want to do this but they were going to make him spell it out for them. “She’s not a thing- not a currency. She’s my companion and equal. I will not trade her for passage like livestock.”

“But she is.” The largest man trained his gun on Clint. “Drop your weapon and hand over your woman. If you do it quick enough, King Jacob may grant you passage without confiscating your supplies.”

“Yeah- thanks for the offer. Let me just-” He cocked his thumbs back toward the truck and started walking backwards toward it. These were not men he wanted to turn his back on.

Inside, Deanna got ready for whatever was going to happen. There wasn’t a moment that she thought Clint would sell her to them. It was rather surprising to her to realize exactly how much she trusted him.

Clint walked backward, not taking his eyes off of the men. He looked calm, relaxed even but there was a tension that radiated off of him, hiding under the surface. It was the same tension that she saw back when they first met.

“When I jump in the bed, you floor it.” His voice was low, measured.

“Bring us your woman.”

Clint smiled and waved, “Just a moment!”

“Floor it?” Deanna hissed when Clint’s eyes turned back on her. “But there’s a massive roadblock?”

“Fine. Floor it in reverse. Turn around when you can.”

“What if you fall or-”

“Don’t worry about me.”

That was the last thing Clint said before walking backward a few more steps. There was an air of calm around him. He held himself as if men didn’t have powerful guns trained on him. It was like he didn’t care. It was like he saw himself as invincible.

He wasn’t though, and that’s what scared Dee. He was only a man with only a bow and arrow. Could he take these guys? All of them while he was surrounded and out in the open? Sure, he had been an Avenger but still, Deanna had her doubts.

If something happened to him, if he died- she didn’t know what she was going to do. Sure, she could walk and drive now though with pain still and only for short periods of time but where would she go? She didn’t even know if she could get back onto the property without Clint.

“Stop stalling and get your woman out.” A man demanded. Clint’s hand tested on the rim of the truck bed. He put a smile on his face and tightened his grip.

“Yeah, sorry fellas but I spoke to her and she politely declines your invitation. We’ll be getting out of your way now.”

As Clint hauled himself into the bed of the truck, landing on boxes and cans, packs of bottled water and almost Trust as well, Chaos erupted around them. Dee, for her part, gave the truck a rush of gas as soon as Clint’s feet were off the ground. The truck surged back with squealing tires as men began yelling.

Threats were thrown their way. Demands of retribution before that gave way to simple gunfire. Clint wasted no time, crouching low in the bed and nocking an arrow. He seemed unfazed by the fact that he was being shot at, that they were being shot at.

A part of Dee wondered how many times Clint had faced situations similar to this. Sure, they wouldn’t have been when the world had actually ended but still. How many times had Clint been crouched in the bed of a truck, showered in gunfire and praying that the driver didn’t get shot.

“Turn around up there.” Clint yelled, completely unsure of Dee could actually hear him over the roar of the engine and the shower of gunfire.

She did. He was thrown against the side of the truck as she made the maneuver quickly, jerking them around. The moment he had a clean line of sight, Clint nocked an arrow and let it fly an instant later. It hit its target and detonated on impact, killing one man at injuring at least two others.

Dee kept driving, going as fast as she dared until she was sure she couldn’t hear the gunfire in the distance. When the world around them fell silent, she still kept driving, putting mile after mile between her and King Jacob’s crew. Short breaths shuddered through her. Her knuckles were white and she was vaguely aware of the ache in her ankle.

Her stomach turned and suddenly, she slammed the breaks. There was a solid thump as Clint and Trust both where thrown against the cab of the truck and plumbed with canned goods, boxed foods and water bottles. Dee didn’t notice though, as she threw the truck into Park and shoved the door open. She flung herself to the ground, landing on her hands and knees and promptly emptied the contents of her stomach.

Absently, she heard the sound of Clint’s boots on the gravel. He was by her side before she had finished, holding her hair back and rubbing her back. He didn’t say anything for a while.

He waited as she dry heaved a few more times and struggled to get her breathing under control. He waited to see if she would fall into a complete panic attack or pull herself out of the spiral. And he wouldn’t be able to blame her in the slightest if she fell to panic.

“I’m okay.” She groaned the words. Clint handed her an uncapped bottle of water wordlessly and she took it with a mumbled thanks. First she rinsed her mouth a few times, each time spitting the water to the ground. Part of her, that small part that came to life when the world ended, hated letting the ground have the valuable clean water. It was overruled by the part of her that needed the taste out of her mouth.

After warring with himself in silence for a bit, Clint asked, “How’s the ankle?”

“Sore. Probably will ache in a bit for a while.” He helped her to her feet and when her ankle buckled under the pressure of standing, he was there to support her.

“I’ve got you.”

It was a relief to sit in the passenger seat again. Clint pushed Dee’s seat back and propped her foot up on the dash. He promised that if she took it easy on the foot now and rested it, kept it up and when they got home- iced it, she would likely not see much healing undone for more than a day or two. She hoped he was right.

“So...” She drew out the word, letting it hang in the air until Clint looked at her. In front of them, the gate was quickly come into sight. They had been driving for many hours now and the sun was hanging low in the sky. The path they had taken home was full of twists and turns on the off chance that they were somehow being followed.

“So?” Clint finally asked.

“What’s going to happen?”

“What do you mean?”

“What happens to the world- to America if people are just naming themselves King? Carving out territory?” It was a version of something she’d asked before. It was something she tried not to think about too much. But facing it down on the road, it was hard to ignore the question of what was going to become of the political world in the long term.

“Well… more than likely, large countries like us will splinter and fracture into smaller groups. In time as the government regroups and things return to what they were like, or something similar.”

“How?”

“Well, the gaps in the government will likely end up filled by those who control territory now. State lines may end up getting rewritten to accommodate the new territories. Federal laws will probably end up reworked to avoid civil wars in some areas. Depends on how much of a military those claiming power hold and how much the government is able to regain control of our military.”

“Will they call on you guys- the Avengers- to restore order? Or to try and return the governments to what they were?” Deanna whispered.

“Maybe. Probably, at some point.” Clint shrugged. “I don’t think- I don’t know if I would go. I think- I kind of want to just be for a little while. Or a long while.”

“Just be?” The farmhouse was coming into view in the distance now. Being inside the gates was enough to take a weight off her shoulders. There was safety within the gates. Sure, she felt safe with Clint but outside of his property, there was a tension even with him as he tried to watch everywhere at once.

“Not a part of the team. I just… I can’t be a part of them. Not right now. Maybe not ever.” He shrugged, as if he could shrug off the weight of the conversation. “I really don’t care what government is calling the shots as long as I’m left alone.”

“So, someday, when the world rights itself- stay locked away on the farm?”

“Why not?”

~~~~~<3

The turkey was too large to roast in the RV oven, much to Deanna’s dismay. She’d made it a good while without having to cook in the farmhouse but now there was no way around it. Well, in truth, she could have had Clint dismantle the turkey and roast it in pieces but that would ruin the spirit of the event.

And so she set to work, trying hard to ignore the kitchen that belonged to another woman, to ignore the home that belonged to a family that she wasn’t a part of. That family was gone. All that remained of it was the man, doing his best to carry on as the ashes of what had been settled around him.

She told herself there were many things to be thankful for this Thanksgiving. She was thankful for the butter, Clint had been able to trade for it the day prior. She was thankful for the fresh herbs from their garden and for the garlic from his root cellar. She was thankful for Trust, her ever loyal companion.

“It smells amazing, Babe.” Clint came in, cheeks and nose pink from the cold air. He wrapped an arm around her waist and nuzzled his cold nose into her neck making her flinch away. “Got a heater going in the coop for the chickens.”

“How’d that go?” Dee asked, mixing a box of stuffing into a pot of water and butter. His touches had grown more affectionate over the last few days and it still surprised her.

Clint whined, “Tony bit me.”

“Again?” Dee laughed, turning in his arms after she took the pot off the burner. There wasn’t much left to do but wait for the turkey to finish. She indulged herself and allowed her arms to drape around his neck.

“Yes again.” He pouted.

“Why haven’t we eaten Tony yet?”

“Because I want chicks. If we can get a few breeding- we can have eggs, chicken and maybe even trade some.”

“So thought out.” She reached up and kissed his cheek. “You think this- whatever- will last long enough for that?”

“Don’t know.” He admitted. “But if it does, I want to be set. And if it doesn’t- the more self sustaining the farm can be, the better in my book. I had always intended it to be a refuge. Laura-” Words trailed off, the name making him doubt himself.

“It’s okay.” Dee whispered, resting a hand on his cheek. It was hard for her, to be in their kitchen with him, talking about the wife he still very much loved. It wasn’t something she would ban Clint from speaking of. It wasn’t something she wouldn’t gladly suffer if it would mean putting his mind at ease.

“She- ugh, She didn’t like it so much. But humored me, since it was to keep her and the kids safe. Lot of good that did though.”

“Hey.” She waited until his eyes were looking down into hers. “You did the best you could. You didn’t fail them. The others did. Not you. You did the best you could.”

“This year,” Clint whispered, voice thick with emotion. “I’m thankful for you, Dee.”

His lips met hers in a sweet kiss. One that was chaste and full of undefined affection and care. They still hadn’t labeled this thing, that was growing between them and Deanna told herself that it was okay. They didn’t need labels in this new world. Labels didn’t matter. What mattered was that it was her and him, against anything and anyone who challenged them.

“I’m thankful for you too.” She whispered when they pulled apart.

~~~~~<3

The tag list is always open. Feel free to drop me some love- lord knows I run on praise.

Tag list: @usedtobegoodfriend96, @acoholic-muffin (I swear to god, if you ever change your username and picture at the same time I will be so lost), @theoneanna, @alexakeyloveloki, @toozmanykids, @j-u-s-t-4, @missaphrodite23, @winterisakiller, @bambamwolf87, @nonsensicalobsessions, @tinchentitri, @xoxabs88xox, @queenoftheunderdark, @carissime72, @myoxisbroken, @coyotesongwriting, @wegingerangelica, @faemapfae, @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123, @tnystrk-exe

#clint barton x oc #clint x reader #Clint Barton x Female Reader #clint barton x reader #clint x original female character #clint x ofc #clint x original character #clint x oc #clint barton x ofc

28 notes · View notes

empmoniitor · 3 years

Text

2021 UPDATE: PRODUCTIVITY TIPS FOR EMPLOYEES WHO HATE PRODUCTIVITY TIPS

It might not come to you as a shocker, but we all hated being lectured for getting started on our assignments on time back in the college days. In the end, it was just a matter of scoring better CGPAs, and none of these were going to help!

Notice the anomaly here- traditional approaches of staying focus does not work for everyone. Reading productivity tips when you know you can’t follow them is equivalent to watching a DIY Christmas Cake tutorial- who’s going to cook it?

Then why read this blog?

Because I’m in your shoes!!

BEING UNPRODUCTIVE IS A MYTH!

BEING UNFOCUSED IS THE TRUTH

Here’s a little secret- you can NEVER be unproductive when you’re all happy and gay (though overwhelming happiness may distract you). As you might already decipher, the most dangerous productivity killer is the lack of focus. It roots from various factors like a lack of motivation, discipline, a highly distracting environment, etc.

There are numerous ways to know if you are unproductive, but let us break some of them down to understand if you fall on this side of the spectrum.

09 UNPRODUCTIVE HABITS YOU NEED TO ASSESS

One might have a few of these habits, but a total of more than four of these is a CODE RED for your work zone, sergeant. And you might want to skip to the productivity tips ASAP. Okay, so here are the non-productive habits:

1. PROCRASTINATING

The more you keep putting something off, the less likely you would feel like doing it any soon. In the end, you might think you can complete your tasks on time, but you would still be running late every time you have a deadline.

2. NOT HAVING STRUCTURE AND TAKING TOO MANY BREAKS

Sergeant Crazy might think it’s a good idea to have a rigid structure, but to be honest, it is more of a flexible thing that revolves around your circadian rhythm. Being a night owl is not a punishable offense, after all, but you got to organize your day accordingly.

3. NOT SETTING ANY GOALS OR SETTING TOO MANY GOALS

Oopsie doopsie! And you wonder why you need productivity tips? :3 Setting goals for a day can be confusing, especially when you’re new. But if it has been months and you still feel stuck, boy are you in trouble!

BTW, HERE ARE

04 TIPS TO MOTIVATE YOUR REMOTE EMPLOYEES

4. DROPPING EVERYTHING FOR OTHER PEOPLE

You are in complete control of your life and your time- so respect it. There’s no harm in sparing some innocent minutes out of your working hours in assisting a colleague. But, always remember, once you actually start working on their behalf, there is no going back! Adios, amigo.

5. SUSCEPTIBLE TO DISTRACTION

How often do you keep your hands off your doggo now that you are working from your home? WFH comes with responsibilities and distractions, but you cannot keep falling for it every damn time.

6. CLASHING PERSONAL AND PROFESSIONAL LIFE

Keeping your social life off the table should always be the protocol when working- unless there’s something urgent. You cannot be communicating with your client while having dinner with your family. Crossing the narrow boundary between your personal and professional life is another CODE RED.

7. STARTING SOMETHING AND NOT FINISHING IT

The last 10% of every project takes about 90% of our energy, and it’s fine. But you don’t have to feel so intimidated by it that someone else would have to finish it for you! If you can relate to the second part of this paragraph, you are in for some serious trouble.

8. CONSUMING UNNECESSARY INFORMATION

Mental clutter can be more overwhelming than physical clutter- in both work and personal life. Thus, if you’re frequently drifting off to random answers on Quora while marketing your content, you might as well proceed ahead with the productivity tips.

9. FAILING TO ADMIT MISTAKES

A little birdie lived in denial and never learned how to fly. Denying and failing to admit your mistakes is only going to make it worse. Worst case- blaming it on others- is going to do nothing. Do you have this habit? (Don’t worry. It’s safe to tell me.)

HOW TO BE MORE PRODUCTIVE?

07 BEST PRODUCTIVITY TIPS

Here comes the pep talk. No. I’m not going to preach anything about getting started early with your day and taking a walk. Sleep all you want, but not at the cost of your pretty, pretty JOB!!

So, here is your productivity tips for becoming a better, more focused employee at work:

1. ASSESS YOUR PRODUCTIVITY GRAPH

Every person has a different circadian rhythm (an internal process that regulates the sleep-wake cycle). You need to assess yours to know your peak productive and non-productive hours.

There are various ways to detect it, like the AutoMEQ Test, Daniel Pink’s 3 Questions Test, or you can use productivity tools like EmpMonitor to understand and assess your individual and team productivity graph.

This way, you can understand when and how you work. You can take up new tasks accordingly and work on the old ones at your own convenience.

2. SCHEDULE IMPORTANT AND UNIMPORTANT TASKS

Once you understand your productivity graph, you can schedule your emails to the least productive time of your day- say the afternoon. Then you can work on your most time and energy-consuming tasks in the evening- or whenever you have your productivity spur.

However, you must never confuse the concept of urgent tasks with time-consuming tasks. It doesn’t matter if you’re feeling like a boiled potato right out of the pot- you have to start working on the urgent project and put away that damned email for the moment.

Here’s how you must prioritize your tasks:

1. Important, urgent.

2. Not important, urgent.

3. Important, not urgent.

4. Not important, not urgent.

3. TAKE BREAKS. NEVER TAKE TOLL ON YOUR HEALTH

When you’re out of breath, you’ll have far less energy to work further. You can’t keep pushing through to complete an urgent task by delaying a break. One of the best productivity tips is to take breaks at scheduled hours and never skip them- come what may.

Drink more water. Don’t be dehydrated. Work in 90-minute blocks with 10-minute intervals to recover and refuel. It works for a lot of people. Some people tend to get carried away with their work- but it will only make things worse.

For starters, you will get tired in the first half itself. Plus, you will lose motivation and focus. In the long run, you may even lose creativity. How are you even going to continue for a day, little fella?

AND OH, HERE’S A LITTLE

WFH UPDATE: HOW REMOTE WORK CULTURE AFFECTS SENSITIVE SECTORS

4. SET GOALS. ALWAYS MAKE LISTS

Apart from a “TO DO” list, you must always have a “STOP DOING” list as well. Hear me out- Steve Jobs said that what made Apple Apple was not so much what they chose to build, but all the projects they chose to ignore.

So you must know what you choose to do and don’t for the day. Laundries? Yes. Groceries? No. Emails? Yes. Instagram? No.

When you check for the things you accomplished for the day, not only do you have a sense of satisfaction, you also feel more in charge of yourself. This way, you can stay more organized about the work you do every day without worrying about the deadlines (because you’re always aware of it!)

5. MAKE MORNINGS BEARABLE WITH RISEUP

Night owls, hear me out- I know it sucks being awake at 11 already. I’m one of you. Hello! How you doin’?

Do you want to make the mornings a tad bit easier? Here’s your trick. Follow the RISEUP acronym:

Refrain from snoozing the alarms.

Increase the first-hour activity.

Shower or wash your face after brushing.

Expose yourself to direct sunlight.

Upbeat music will lift the mood.

Phone a close friend.

Okay, so here’s a catch- everything that I mentioned above is going to manipulate your circadian rhythm into thinking that you were awake for REALLY long. As a result, you won’t feel dizzy. You’re welcome.

BONUS, READ-

05 BEST WAYS TO MEET DEADLINES WHEN YOU’RE NOT A MORNING PERSON

6. STOP MULTITASKING

Dividing your attention between multiple tasks increases your overall mental stress and decreases your focus. As a result, You can never complete the assigned tasks on time if you work on all of them parallelly.

Begin with the most urgent one that sucks the least of your time and effort. Once warmed up, start working on the task that is urgent as well as time taking. Take frequent breaks and organize your day in a way that you can complete all the tasks before the deadline.

Multitasking is one of the worst productivity tips that one can give you. Always focus on one task at a time. Never jump from task to task whenever you’re bored, or you will soon run out of motivation for the day.

7. LIMIT YOUR DISTRACTION

Easy to preach, hard to follow- I know. But isn’t it quite obvious? Jassie Gill might light up your mood once in a while, but does he let you work for at least ten minutes straight? Listen to music only when it doesn’t distract you. Try to limit your social media interaction during your working hours.

Logging out of Instagram isn’t a viable solution- you will crave more for it. Check your notifications only during breaks. Also, avoid binge-watching television and Netflix when working.

Set your laundry timings and other chores for your lunch hours. Visit the market in the evening or on the weekends! Long story short- keep yourself from getting distracted- one of the most effective productivity tips. It’s easy to fall for all these, then why take a chance?

QUICK REVISION

Here comes a ghost hug for all the beautiful people who are still reading.

Below is a list of habits that an average non-productive person might have:

1. Procrastination

2. Not Having Structure and Taking Too Many Breaks

3. Not Setting Any Goals or Setting Too Many Goals

4. Dropping Everything For Other People

5. Susceptible To Distraction

6. Clashing Personal and Professional Life

7. Starting Something and Not Finishing It

8. Consuming Unnecessary Information

9. Failing To Admit Mistakes

Here’s a list of the BEST productivity tips:

1. Assess Your Productivity Graph

2. Schedule Important and Unimportant Tasks

3. Take Breaks. Never Take Toll On Your Health

4. Set Goals. Always Make Lists

5. Make Mornings Bearable With RISEUP

6. Stop Multitasking

7. Limit Your Distraction

ALSO READ,

15 PRODUCTIVE THINGS TO DO WHEN WORKING FROM HOME

HOW DIGITAL FORENSICS CAN HELP TO INVESTIGATE DATA THEFT?

7 WORKPLACE MONITORING LAWS OF DIFFERENT COUNTRIES: LEGAL RESTRICTIONS & BEST PRACTICES

BEST STRATEGIES TO IMPLEMENT TEAM WORKLOAD MANAGEMENT

THE BOTTOM LINE..

All those productivity and motivational quotes might look great on your status- but let’s be honest here. You can only achieve true success by working on yourself and being honest with your work. A day or two may go unproductive when you’re going rough with your life. Rejuvenating with fun activities might help, in that case, and productivity tips might not. In the end, it’s a matter of how well you want to improve your workflow.

SEE YOU LATER, ALLIGATOR!

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!

Originally Published On: EmpMonitor

#Employee Monitoring #Employee productivity #Employee Management #Employee Monitoring Software #Employee Management System #Productivity Tips

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matskreider-blog · 6 years

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prompt 5 with tuukka/pat/brad?

5. “Just breathe.” normal verse. content warning for this one: k*ne features for a brief moment, f slur used by him, typical hockey misogyny.

It’s not a secret that Tuukka doesn’t like to talk hockey at home. He really doesn’t like blurring the lines between work and pleasure, despite the fact that he’s dating two of his teammates. Patrice was good at following the unspoken rule, and more often than not appreciated being able to shrug off his leadership role in exchange for good food and sleep. They could all benefit from spending some time away from the rink.

Brad, however, often found himself caught up in whatever transpired on the ice. Sometimes it was hard for him to check his jersey at the door and let it go. He had enough respect for Tuukka to not talk to him directly about it – especially if he was beating himself up over his own game play, because there was a chance Tuukka would bluntly reaffirm whatever he was saying, before letting him know that there’s always chances to improve – but it was hard not to talk to Patrice. He wanted to, and sometimes he could, but he had trouble understanding grey spaces, and didn’t know if Tuukka’s definition of “home” included his actual house as well. As if he was going to somehow hear them through the shower upstairs and unleash hell if Brad so much as breathed the words “overtime loss.”

It wasn’t that dramatic, it never was. But there was a part of Brad’s brain that wondered, What if? He lived to push the envelope, but this time the envelope can push back. He didn’t really want to see the tears that inevitably formed, but maybe if he just kept it to himself he wouldn’t spill over the edges. He wouldn’t become something that he didn’t want others to see.

So he learns how to internalize it all, learns to seal it up and let it out on the ice, or how to shove it so far away from the surface that no one will have to deal with it, ever. The problem is, if you shove enough things under the carpet, eventually the carpet won’t cover them all. Eventually, it gets easier to tell. Eventually, it paints a target on your back.

They’re playing the Hawks, which is a hard game in and of itself, and Brad’s at his chirpiest to distract from the mental toll of the game. They’re up 2-1, it’s a fragile lead, and there’s less than five minutes left in the second. He’s gunning for the puck in the back corner, racing by Tuukka in his crease, and he’s boarded by Kane. He struggles a bit, just trying to get the puck free from between their skates and the wall, when he hears Kane’s voice in his ear.

“Bet you like having a guy on top of you, huh? Fucking pussy,” he growls into Brad’s ear. “The team slut, aren’t you? Fucking fag.”

He’s not really aware of what’s happening, and he can only vaguely hear the sounds of the whistle going and hands trying to pull him and Kane apart, black and white mixing with red as the players pair off to keep each other from intervening. He gets separated, pushed back by a linesman, and he feels another player behind him. He turns around, ready to start swinging again, but Tuukka catches his wrist before he can do something stupid, like try to punch through a goalie mask.

They stare at each other, Brad’s face flushed a bright red, blood running down his face from a cut by his ear. Before they can say anything of consequence, the linesman is dragging Brad away to the box, the other taking Kane to his. The fucking bastard has enough wits about him to grin as he sits down in the box, while Brad stares straight ahead and tries not to rise to the challenge.

He doesn’t talk about it in the locker room, just accepts medical attention to get the bleeding to stop. He doesn’t bring it up on the bench, and he doesn’t bring it up on the ice. He keeps chirping because that’s what he’s supposed to do, and he doesn’t say anything as they board the team plane for their flight out of Chicago back to Boston.

Patrice sits next to him and doesn’t pressure him, just pulls him in tight against his side. Brad tries to stop his shaking, and by the time they wind up back at the airport, he extracts himself from Patrice’s arms, mumbling something about going back to his own place.

“Are you sure?” Tuukka asks, his brows furrowed. “We were kinda hoping that…” As he trails off, Patrice continues.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but we’d really love it if you came back with us…please,” Patrice continues. “And maybe you could talk about what happened? If you wanted?”

Brad feels stuck, between two impossible options: go back to his own place, empty and cold as it was, and spend the night in self loathing, or go to Tuukka’s place and have to shove all of this deep down inside because he wasn’t supposed to talk shop when at home. Even though they’d won the game, he shouldn’t have anything to complain about, right? And he doesn’t so he just picks up his bag and wordlessly waits. Patrice takes his arm and Tuukka slings an arm over his shoulders, and the three of them walk that way through the Boston cold to get to the car.

The ride back is quiet, and coming back home at the early hour of 2am usually means going right to bed. But Brad still feels like the inside of an airplane, and so he quietly excuses himself to the guest bathroom to shower. He makes it about 5 minutes under the hot spray of the water, the sting from the cut above his ear, before he starts crying.

He doesn’t even know why he’s crying. It’s not like he hasn’t heard worse before, and he knows that it’s an occupational hazard, especially with the stuff he does on the regular. It’s the smallest thing, but added onto everything else that he’s bottled up over the years, it just pushes him right to the edge.

An unknown amount of time passes, with him just sobbing into the shower spray, mechanically cleaning himself, before he’s just standing under the water as it slowly turns cold. Then the shower door is opening and a hand is shutting off the water before a warm towel is wrapped over his shoulders and down his body like his mom used to do when he was a kid.

He’s being picked up, then, and he burrows into the embrace, feeling so small and so raw. Hands dry him off and help him get dressed, and then he’s just crying into whoever is holding him. Somehow, he winds up in that someone’s lap, sitting in their bed, a set of hands trying to gently detangle his hair, with another rubbing down his side and back, soothing his hiccupping sobs.

“There you go, just breathe. Gotta let yourself calm down.” Tuuks, his mind helpfully supplies.

“Doing so well for us, petit amour.” Patrice.

He doesn’t have words for this right now, but he thinks he’s talked enough. It’ll pass, and he’ll tell them what happened later. When he does, they’ll be outraged, and Brad will feel like an idiot once again. But they’ll let him know that they aren’t mad at him, but at the situation itself. And it might not do much to erase the pile of wrongdoings, stuck in jars dating back to being twelve years old, sealed up so tight he doesn’t even know how to crack them open; but it is a start.

#kay answers #enskuensku #kay writes #ot3: sinner; saint; somatic #why this one turned out this way i have no idea #it does calm down but basically #brad continues to be a ball of pain #and the moral of this story is fuck the trashhawks

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crookedmoonlight123 · 6 years

Text

The Rain Woman Chapter 11 - Raindrop Ascending

The Rain Woman – Chapter 11 – Raindrops Ascending

A/N: Thankyou for all the lovely reviews last chapter! This Chapter was originally over 8000 words so I have split the chapter about 2/3 the other 1/3 will be Chapter 12!

Gray sighed, his raven black hair covering his eyes, gaze cast down towards the only dry patch of ground, underneath an evergreen tree, the wind was whistling through the trees around him whipping cold, wet, rain along with it. Grays’ clothes were soaked through – he felt sorry for those who didn’t have his resistance to the cold. The icemage balled his fists together, it had been over 48 hours since he had left that cell he was being held in by mistake, and yet, still no sign, no clue of Juvia. Gray had searched every inch of the town, scoured almost the entire surrounding area of the town, he was exhausted, and his body ached from sleeping on the hard floor under whatever leafy tree he could find, he really should have brought a tent. Lifting himself off the ground he cast his gaze to the grey sky above closing his eyes, feeling the pitter patter of the rain landing on his face. Juvia, where are you? There was one place Gray wanted to check, he had come across a path which lead to a woodland but then stopped at its entrance, like it was supposed to lead somewhere, but there was no knowing the density of the woods, he had been sure that she was closer than that to the village.

Swinging the tote bag over his shoulder Gray headed off back to the area of woodland he had yet to search, stepping out the security of the trees and into the never ceasing rain, the icemage trudged through the muddy path, his shoes were engulfed by the brown substance before squelching their way out again, every step getting heavier as his shoes became more and more weighed down by the earth but Gray didn’t care his only thoughts were finding Juvia.

All Juvia could hear was silence. Was she dead? All that was in her mind was an empty blackness, a never-ending darkness but she didn’t feel scared, she felt carefree and light swimming through the abyss, no worries, no enemies, no stress; just peace. What was she supposed to be doing? Who was she? Where was she? Where were her friends? Did she even have friends? The questions in her mind seemed to make the endless darkness fold in, like it did have walls, like she was trapped, but why would she be trapped? Surely if these questions were going to make her peace disappear then why would she pursue them? Disappear? Was something missing? Was the darkness really this inviting? Concentrating, she tried to remember what she’d lost, the walls closing in around her as a single snowflake fell from nowhere landing in her hands; it was cold, ice cold. Ice. An image appeared, a well muscle man with raven black hair and eyes to match, half naked, ice was coming from his hands, he was badly injured, blood pouring out of gashes on his skin, but he still looked determined about something, not that she cared. Was it ice magic? She delved a closer look into the mans eyes curiously floating closer to him, sucking in air as their eyes locked. GRAY-SAMA?! Juvia panicked as the image disappeared, the darkness folded over her, engulfing her, hurting her snapping her eyes open – her real eyes, the eyes that saw through the purple liquid into the room around her, her ears listening to the sound of the machines she was wired to. As everything came into focus and the watermages dream or haze completely subsided she was struck with the all to familiar sensation of pain, sharp pain that shook her entire body, flailing her arms and legs about as much as she could manage with the brace, rods and needles attached to her, she tried to scream, the mask slipping from her mouth, but only muffled bubbles escaped her throat, swallowing some of the ghastly purple liquid. The black abyss kept coming in and out focus, her heat beat so loudly and violently in her chest Juvia was sure it was about to burst or exhaust itself but there was nothing she could do to relieve the pain, it made her feel angry, pure anger.

The darkness appeared more frequently accompanied by what started as red blobs turning into rivers, rivers of blood. Bursting into consciousness again Juvias body twisted at unnatural angles, shaking tremendously from the pain, her muscles spasming, her eyes rolling back, her toes curling up as her head snaked sharply backwards, the suffering became too much to possibly bear – as she reached her absolute limit, or had she actually reached it before, even unlocking her second origin hadn’t been anywhere near as torturous as this. Finally, there was a hot fiery feeling in her veins before the pain subsided blissfully – she was pain free now, both emotionally and physically.

Voices could be heard, happy voices at least by the higher tone they must be happy, looking through the glass she could make out a number - 200%, what did that even mean? A whirring noise could be heard above as the watermage was hoisted out of the tank and down onto the cold hard steel floor where the brace, rods, mask and dome were removed leaving her feeling lightweight no longer bogged down by the weight of metal and liquid. A man she recognised stood infront of her, a man with blue hair but as she tried to remember not just him but anything she felt lightheaded.

“Juvia needs to rest and be healed!” The man shouted as he supported her, Juvia just stared on through half closed lids. She heard scraping of chairs on the floor and the thundering sound of many feet headed in her direction. The watermages muscles bunched in reflex but she was too exhausted to move. “You’ve done well Juvia, you exceeded expectations. Now you need to rest. 24 hours in there must be tolling.” Juvia closed her eyes and drifted off into a dream.

Red rivers snaked towards her no matter which direction she went, more red rivers and darkness, Juvia ran and ran trying to escape when a thought struck her, why is Juvia scared? Juvia turned back to the crimson waters boldly.

“JUVIA IS NO LONGER SCARED!” Shouting fearlessly at the tidal wave of blood red water, water couldn’t hurt her no matter its origin. The tidal wave engulfed her but didn’t move her, it simply washed through her leaving a dark feeling, the water cleared and the man with blue hair appeared before her as piece of the puzzle clicked into place. He was her father. He must have saved her.

Juvia awoke sweating from the dream, she felt like her brain had been fried but she felt better, physically strong. Taking a deep breath Juvia felt she was getting a stronger hold on her mental health.

The watermage sat up in the bed assessing her surroundings, this room was a much nicer one than what she had previously stayed in. The image of the cell presented itself into her mind and Juvia held her head in her hands, her life flashing through her mind all the pieces of the puzzle reassembling. Phantom Lord, Fairy Tail, her mother, her father. Juvia looked up, all the memories were there but not the feeling, she knew she had felt pain and happiness, but now it all felt like she was looking at it in the third person. Deciding to focus her attention elsewhere Juvia stood up to explore the new lodgings.

The walls here were a lilac colour with white skirting boards, she had a cream sofa to match the soft plush cream carpet, the sofa resembled that of the old lady’s house she had visited with the black cat. The watermage walked over to a door across the room from her on the right, it was a white door with a silver round knob. Turning the smooth metal doorknob in her hand which felt like it hadn’t ever been used Juvia turned the light on and found it was a walk-in wardrobe, sticking with the theme it was lilac and cream with spotlights in the ceiling and a large mirror on each of the three walls at the end. Her dress coats were hanging neatly on a rail and Juvia noticed there were new thigh high boots for her along with clothes she hadn’t had with her when she came here; dresses, skirts, blouses, sweaters, hats, nightgowns and pyjamas, heels, flat shoes and sandals. Everything anyone could want. Switching the light off as she left, Juvia ventured to the next door, it was a bathroom, white tiled walls and floor, it was the biggest bathroom Juvia had ever seen, to her left stood a stack of shelves filled with towels of different colours; blues, yellows, reds, purples and whites, bath towels, hand towels and towels for your hair. Selecting a purple bath and hand towel the watermage took in the rest of the room. A large sink with a rectangle mirror above followed on the left from the towel shelves, a counter was next to the sink for whatever products Juvia would want to put there. A radiator was on her right, this room again had ceiling spotlights giving it a luxurious feel.

Venturing further in the vast expanse of the room Juvia noticed a bath along the back wall, it was a square design at a glance but upon closer inspection she could see it had jets along the inside. The watermage hadn’t noticed that the room curled around to the right leading up to a wooden structure, Juvia opened the door to find a wet room. Deciding she wanted to shower after waking up sweaty, Juvia left her towels and clothes on a rail outside the room and bolted the door behind her, turning the shower allowing it to wash off the remnants of yesterdays events and the nights terrors. Juvia had been so wrapped up in a trance like state she hadn’t realised the lavender scent of the shampoo and conditioner she had been using, the scent seemed to sooth her overworking mind.

The bluenette mage turned the water off and walked out of the wet room wrapping the towel around her body and one on her hair, picking up her clothes as she made her way towards the door into the bedroom. There was a coffee table she hadn’t noticed in front of the cream sofa and a cream dresser against the back wall next to it were windows which were currently covered by thick dark purple curtains – which Juvia pulled open tying them back allowed her to look out onto the garden, her father’s garden, the plants looked vibrant and healthy even in the rain drizzled overcast sky. Thinking nothing more of it Juvia walked over and into the walk-in closet to change into her usual attire.

After changing, Juvia walked out of the bedroom and down the hallway towards a staircase making her way down the stairs gracefully each step light footed, like she was walking on water. The smell of food wafted over to her as a familiar face approached her, that lilac hair and violet eyes could only belong the woman who always seemed to be hovering around wherever Juvia went.

“You’re awake earlier than expected, he will be pleased.” She motioned Juvia to a pair of big brown doors, they must be the doors to the dining room the one that Juvia has never seen the outside of before. The smell of food was one thing that gave it away. The lilac haired woman pushed both the big brown doors open for Juvia to enter. “Master, Juvia has awoken.” She bowed as Juvia entered the room, hands at her sides not like her usual hands clasped in front of her.

“Good afternoon Juvia. You recovered quicker than I expected. How are you feeling?” There was a glint in his brown eyes as Juvia took a seat, there was one less chair at the enormous table thanks to her breaking it.

“Juvia is fine. Feeling well rested.” The watermage selected what she wanted to eat, picking up her silver knife and fork to dig in.

“Good. I’m glad to hear it.” He paused, assessing her expression, her manner. He cleared his throat. “I have paid and released your mother. And that boy.” Jimquin put an emphasis on the word boy.

Juvia looked over to him, navy eyes staring into his brown ones, “Juvia thanks you.” A trickle of relief swept through her, her conditions had been met. She couldn’t dwell in the past.

“We will start training your magic straight after lunch.” It was a rhetorical question as he pushed his plate to one side, taking a sip of water, Juvia nodded but didn’t answer.

The plates were taken and Juvia followed her father out the front door and down into the basement she gathered was the same one from yesterday, the smell of damp and metal was recognisable followed by the familiar groan of the doors opening and closing. The two of them walked through the stone room through the metal door past the machine which she had spent 24 hours in through to another room, this room was made of stone and completely albiet for a few cannon type things in the wall.

“This where we train your magic.” Her father gestured into the expansive room.

“Juvia can handle her magic just fine.” Her voice was icy as her eyes darted around.

“You might be able to ‘handle’ your old magic Juvia, but our experiment worked – better than we had hoped actually. Well, you’ll see for yourself.” The door opened, another person walked into the dome shaped chamber. “You will train against Mitch and the magic discs which will fly out the cannons in the walls.” He smiled, Juvia would’ve thought he was proud of her but he wasn’t he was just proud of his experiment with dark magic.

“Before Juvia begins, why choose Juvia? Except for Juvias water bloodline. You could’ve used any wizard with a pure line.” She turned and spoke directly to her father.

“You were always destined for great things. Your mother told me about your rain, then you became The Rain Woman. Jose tried to tell you of your powers. He was secretly trying to unlock your dark magic and use you as a weapon, why else would he have been so eager to take you in? An orphan, and into the Element 4 of all things.” He paused allowing the information to sink in. “Have you ever felt like a darkness has overcome you when you were angry or upset? Like you were a completely different person?” A smile played at his lips as Juvia remembered her fight with Meredy on Tenrou Island, she had threatened a guild member, one whose name she didn’t want to think about. She was dark then, consumed by her anger, she had felt a similar feeling when she was ganged up on by her father minions, she had felt the darkness trickle in then.

“You were always going to use it, give in to it one way or another Juvia, there was no escaping it. We just sped up the process.” Jimquin finished. He is right. Juvia thought, Juvia always felt something was missing, maybe this was it. “Are you ready to start training?” Jimquin tapped his foot impatiently.

“Yes, Juvia is ready.” Juvia replied with a monotonous voice, she was intrigued to try out her new magic.

The watermage strode forwards to meet Mitch in the middle of the dome; the dome like the rest of this underground basement was a greying yellow stone colour with moss growing from the walls a side effect of the damp making the air thick with a stale taste, like it hadn’t moved in years. The light source was old traditional oil lanterns – electricity in this room would be a very bad idea especially with the puddles. When the watermage got close enough she assessed Mitch; he was 6ft2, slim which implied speed, his hair was green and his eyes a light playful blue, but he had shadows under his eyes and what would’ve been a friendly smile looked cruel from the scars which they carried.

“Ladies first.” Mitch smiled at her, one side of his mouth turning up as his eyes grazed over her.

Juvia jumped backwards to create a gap between the two mages. “Water whip!” Her left arm became a tendril of water that lashed out towards Mitch menacingly, but Mitch was fast he jumped up in the air and twisted his body around the whip like a high jump landing squarely on his feet. Juvia gritted her teeth narrowing her dark navy eyes at Mitch. Let’s see if Mitch can handle this! “Water slicer!” Juvia threw sharp blades of water at the wizard as he slipped between effortlessly as each one embedded itself deep into the wall. Just how thick are these walls? Juvia wondered ceasing her attack. What sort of wizard is Mitch to dodge Juvias slicers.

“Not so confident looking, now are you?” Mitch chuckled. “Are you sure your machine worked boss? She doesn’t seem any different.” He looked towards her father.

“Oh yes, it definitely worked. Her magic is running on default at the moment, when she unlocks it. Let’s just say you’ll know about it.” Jimquin was gloating as he clapped his hands. “Let’s spice it up a bit eh?” He pressed a button on a remote he had pulled out his yellow and black tartan suit pocket.

A whirring sound filled the room echoing around the mages when suddenly disks flew out of every direction Juvia only just managed to dodge one which exploded with fire when it hit a wall only to find another one was already hurtling towards her.

“Now you have to dodge these and fight each other.” Jimquins voice was muffled as he stood behind some sort of barrier.

Juvia kept up with her dodging again and again for what was feeling like an eternity, beads of sweat lining her forehead, damp hair sticking to her neck, Mitch seemed to be doing the same, it was exhausting her feet and legs were aching, if she didn’t attack and finish Mitch off they would stay dodging but if she stopped to attack she would be hit by a disc and they all had different magic powers. Juvia has to try !

“Water cyclone!” Juvia pushed both of her arms forwards creating a cyclone of water from the palm of her hands jetting towards Mitch who was caught off guard by the attack as it slammed him against the wall threatening to bury him. Juvia cried out as a disc of earth magic crashed into her striking her violently towards the floor onto her knees, she glanced up as Mitch jumped down out the crevice in the wall made by the cyclone. “Water slicer!” This time Juvia created a semi-circle of slicers an attack he would not be able to dodge.

“Reflective Defense!” Juvia watched in shock as a barrier formed around Mitch reflecting the slicers back watching as they hit the discs instead. Juvia glanced behind her as three discs were now heading her way. The watermage sprung upwards leaping into the air to avoid the discs as another one from a higher cannon slammed into her cutting into her waist exploding as it released a powerful shock of electricity. Juvias mind flew back to the machine and the pain she felt, she never wanted to experience that again. Paralysed by shock more and more discs flew at her.

Juvia thought she heard Mitch shouting “Boss! I think she’s in trouble!” but the sound was muffled as a series of explosions hit her at every angle.

Come on Juvia! Jimquin thought his arms folded across his chest as he watched his daughter caught in the middle of a cross-fire, explosions could be heard but Juvia wasn’t screaming. We might’ve unlocked her magic power, but she needs to use just once, that’s the last test, she’s already disregarded emotion, if she can tap into that dark power that will become her default magic.

Juvias cheeks flushed a deep red, her eyes narrowing as the blasts kept on coming, her fingertips started to tingle as a familiar sensation creeped into her. The battle of Tenrou appeared in her mind, the all-powerful feeling she had felt then, the raw energy. Another electric disc hit her this time in her stomach making her choke. The darkness came, and everything went quiet, Juvia felt as if she was falling, the sensation in her fingertips had now spread all over her body she could feel it trickling into the last normal part of her; her heart which didn’t really belong to her anyway she had given that up a long time ago. Coming back into reality the pain stopped but the discs were still hurtling towards her, spinning discs of no mercy.

As Juvia landed on her feet, she felt that forgotten power, she felt unstoppable. “Water Lock.” She didn’t need to shout the words to amplify her power, she was power. The words were cold as was her water magic, the discs of water were now suspended in the air, all individual water locks, “Water Seal.” Juvia sealed off the cannons so no more discs could escape.

“Woah.” Mitch commented. “That’s impressive control.”

Juvia didn’t really hear him as she flicked her hand up and back sending the discs flying back into the cannons which were already starting to smoke and shake as they tried to release the discs that were now built up in the shafts. The saucers crashed into the cannons each one released from its water lock as it hit to make sure it exploded but it wasn’t enough. Juvia dug deeper feeling the power burn inside her.

“Dark Tidal Wave!” Juvia shouted this time relishing in the power, her hands raised up as all the water around her mixed with her magic rose up with such force it created its own wind blowing her blue hair around, the water encircled Juvia tightly gaining power and velocity, the sound of the rushing water fuelled her even more. Another flick of Juvias wrist and the water flung itself at the walls of the dome with a huge crash not only breaking the cannons but tearing through the dome walls to into the earth. Juvia looked down at her hands as the wind subsided leaving her stood in water, she was cut and bleeding all over and her clothes were torn. The power she had felt hadn’t left her it still rippled through her hungrily. The watermage turned around but no one was in sight. Has Juvias dark tidal wave torn and washed them away aswell?

As if on cue Mitch peered through the door into the room. So, they both snuck out. Juvia thought as the blue-eyed boy walked in followed by her father.

“Juvia- that was incredible.” Jimquin nodded to her. “Your control was impressive.”

“Impressive! That amount of power in one person is insane.” Mitch commented. Will she be consumed by it? I hope she can keep check on it.

“Juvia is a strong character Mitch. She will be fine.” Jimquin spoke absentmindedly to Mitch as his eyes on Juvia. “How do you feel Juvia?” Her father asked, he wasn’t concerned about her wellbeing.

“Juvia feels fine.” She was still looking at her hands. “Juvia feels….” Her next words were that of confidence. “Powerful….” The watermage trailed off. “When can Juvia train again?” She balled her fists and looked to her father and Mitch. Juvia doesn’t have full control yet.

“You and Mitch have been training for 5 hours Juvia. You need to rest.” Jimquin left the door open and walked out. “Meet me in the dining room for dinner.”

“He’s right you know.” Mitch shrugged at the blue haired mage. “Even if you’re not tired energy wise, your body is wrecked; you’re covered in really deeps cuts and bruises. Not to mention there’s little left of your clothes after those discs tore away at it.” He smiled at her, a genuine smile but it didn’t make Juvia feel any different.

Juvia was handed a dress to change into as she exited the training room, she was obviously wanted at dinner, so she wouldn’t have time to shower and change first. Changing into the dress in a closet which held cleaning equipment, discarding her torn clothes in what looked like a bin the watermage walked out the little closet into the room with the machine then back the first room where she had eaten cereal, before walking up and out the basement where her cell was, up the next staircase into the fresh air hitting her like slap in the face, it was cold, so very cold and wet, as stormy as her mood. Juvia hurried along the stony path to the front of the mansion, promptly greeted by the lilac haired lady who showed her to the dining room.

“Juvia. I’m glad you can so promptly!” Her father sounded almost happy, even his eyes seemed to have more spark.

Juvia took a seat her stomach groaning, she hadn’t realised that she was hungry, the power of Juvias magic must have distracted her Juvia thought as she spooned baby potatoes and roasted beetroot on her plate followed by chicken and gravy.

“So, father what is your plan?” Juvia took a big bite of chicken as she looked across the table at her father his brown eyes settling on her.

“My plan?” He echoed the question back to her thoughtfully scratching at his blue hair.

“Yes, now that Juvia has unlocked her dark magic. You must have some kind of plan?” The watermage asked curiously swallowing the chicken a little too early reaching for the glass of water in front of her quickly before she choked.

“My plan…” Jimquin interlaced his fingers. “I think we’ll head over to Midi first, it’s half the size of Fiore, we can gain some followers there.” Juvia flinched. “Are you okay Juvia?”

“Juvia is fine. Juvia just felt a chill in this dress.” She lied, she had no idea why she flinched, her father eyed her cautiously as they ate the rest of their dinner in silence.

Returning to her room to shower and change Juvia walked straight across without so much of a glance in any direction into the bathroom like a whirlwind undressing before entering the wet room turning the shower on hot, she must’ve been cold after all… as the watermage washed her body with the vanilla scented soap she noticed the deep cuts all over her body they were red and raw. She didn’t want to think about them it would only bring pain. Pain she had rejected.

The watermage quickly finished her shower, there was a hairdryer in the bathroom now which wasn’t there this morning, turning it on Juvia dried her hair not really noticing the woman in the mirror. When her hair was dry she walked soullessly into the walk-in closet turning the lights on, picking out her nightwear she unwrapped the towel and looked in the full-length mirror, seeing all the cuts and dark purple bruises which had made a home on her body, the watermage sucked in breath, she really had taken a beating like Mitch had said. Juvia stared in the mirror again barely recognising her reflection, she remembered the old her, but it felt like a lifetime ago and Fairy Tail a dream.

The hole was still there, the one she thought would be filled by her new power, it ached in her chest, not constantly though, only when she let her mind wander, she had always taken such care in her appearance before but why? The blunette pondered the question as she pulled out a pale pink nightie slipping it on before returning to the mirror. The subject she would never allow herself to think about. That was the reason she always used to try and look her best, but now she was released from that burden. Juvia is better now than she was then. Juvia affirmed that in her head, feeling annoyed with herself the watermage decided to take the healing potions on her dresser and get an early night.

Gray walked through the woodland it was carpeted in an eerie thick fog which swept across the ground like a thick cotton blanket, one that would suffocate you. The strange thing about this forest was that it was made up of entirely evergreen trees which to Gray seemed highly suspicious. Sure a few here and there fair enough. This woodland however felt like it was here to hide something or someone. Grays thoughts pulled him to Juvia, the plushie she knitted him in the tote bag over his shoulder.

“We’ll find her.” Gray found himself looking back over his shoulder to talk to the plushie in the tote bag. Great, her craziness is catching, she’s a bad influence on me. Gray found himself smiling as he thought about the plushie she had made of him for herself, she brought it on their missions together and would talk to it at night and not let it go under any circumstance. His smile faltered, when would he see her again? Would they ever go on missions together again? Would he see her sweet smile again? NO. I WILL see her again, that was one promise I made to myself. I will find her no matter how long it takes. Looking up from his daydream (another thing he decided he got off Juvia.) He was startled by a sudden flock of birds flying out a nearby squawking a cruel deep sound, their black feathers beating against the wind above the sheltered trees.

The icemage had been walking for a good few hours now and it seemed night was drawing in, it came earlier and earlier each day. Gray had checked in with the master when he first started walking into the woodland so he wouldn’t have to check in until tomorrow now, truthfully, he was struggling for excuses, Gray had exhausted ‘ I spoke to someone who has a lead’ or ‘I have more to search I got side-tracked’ or ‘sorry the lacrima crystal is breaking off’ before turning it off, he couldn’t bear the thought of admitting to the master exactly how far and thoroughly he had searched, he didn’t want to hear the master tell him to stop and go back to make a plan. No. Gray knew he was better out here, looking for her without Natsu distracting or annoying him.

Finally, Gray reached a clearing his eyes going wide at the sight before him, a huge mansion lay back before him. What the hell is this thing doing all the way out here?! And it has its on freaking moat and bridge! Even the bridge has a garden to go through before I reached it. The mansion was surrounded by the most amazing flowers Gray had ever seen, the colours made you feel like you were looking through a kaleidoscope. There were topiaries of animals, horse heads and one of what Gray imagined would be the owner of the house, it was a colourful topiary with flowers intricately grown in the correct places, orange flowers made up the colour of the owners’ face, rows of wire for the mouth, the eyes were dark brown wood and the hair was blue – a blue he recognised anywhere, the blue of Juvias hair. The way the icemages heart sped told him he was getting closer to her.

Gray approached the bridge looking around cautiously, the rain had flattened his hair almost to scalp, his clothes stuck to him like a skin-tight suit but none of those things mattered, just Juvia.

The icemage heard footsteps and took a fighting stance as 3 cloaked figures emerged in front him.

A/N: The real heart wrenching events happen over the next few chapters so stay tuned!

Read & Review!! ---> https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12261807/11/The-Rain-Woman

CrookedMoonlight

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kittysmile · 4 years

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It’s almost been 2 years: February 20, 2018.

Welcome to your little black book you pathetic, little dreamer. This is where you’ll write all the negatives down until eventually you’ll live your life in positives!

Refer to yourself in any person (Illeism included) in this because you are your own person, but the question is... Who are you?

Well to start, you are very insecure. You don’t love yourself enough. You can’t look in the mirror without makeup and say to yourself, “I love you.” The only time you think you look bearable is when you’re high or 10-15 minutes after you get out the shower. Feeling refreshed after that shower? Did you cry while in there to drown out the sound with the running water? Cleanse yourself. I once read somewhere that if you ever decide to cry while in the shower to only feel bad when in there, but once you get out feel new and refreshed again after washing away your bad juju.

I don’t know why I can never believe all the good things said about me from both the old and new people in my life. That the bad ones are the ones that stick to me. That the words of affirmation keep me sane.

Recently I’ve been sleeping late, but for some reason last night I couldn’t sleep at all. Toby died today on February 20, 2018. He was 10-14 years old. The people who offered to hang with me I didn’t want to, but those I wanted to weren’t really there like I wanted them to be. I’m literally crying for attention, but at the same time I hate crying. Why am I like this? Who am I actually waiting for? Why can’t I just do things myself? Be alone with myself. Love myself.

Why is it that whenever I decide to write it’s always at the wrong times? All my thoughts come to me at night when I’m all alone with my feelings creeping into my mind like the darkness that surrounds me. Why are people afraid of the dark? Is it because what’s hiding in it or what you make out of it?

Silence is the complete absence of sound, but when alone with your thoughts it’s actually really loud. Deafening. When you have silence it’s hard to keep stuff out. It’s all there and you can’t get rid of it. That’s why I hate being alone because my inner demons reveal itself.

I’m grateful to be alive though, so don’t get me wrong. I don’t know why back in middle school I thought about suicide. I had nothing in comparison of what I had to deal with in the future, but maybe I should’ve. I wouldn’t have hurt those who I love over and over again. Sometimes I don’t learn. I could never go through with it though. I can’t stand cuts or being burned. The easiest way would be pills to feel numb, but I can already turn off my emotions. Good or bad impacts I wish I wouldn’t have been born at all. People probably would’ve been better off without me.

I’m lucky to still be sane. I’m lucky my parents are still together although I’m not sure if they love each other like from the first time they met. I’m lucky to have never been in an abusive relationship. Even though I wasn’t in a physical one the emotional and mental took its toll on me during my adolescent years, which could’ve drove me insane. Those nights of mental and emotional breakdowns could’ve fucked me up way worse. I could’ve ended up a bigger bitch than I am now, but what would’ve been the safer route? Right now I feel like the safe route. The easy girl; I’m too nice, but what guys am I trying to attract? Obviously the wrong ones. The ones who aren’t good for me.

What do I want? Who do I want? I hate routine. I live my life day by day with no end in sight. Where do I see myself in 5 years? 10 years? I’m boring. I have no favorites, no goals, and no passions. My heads always in the clouds, but what are you looking up to you stupid Aquarius?! Your head is cloudy with dark skies that need to be cleared up.

Look, you’re single now. Fix yourself. No ones holding you down anymore. You’re free to do the things you want, but again the question is what do you want? Why are you so hung up on who do you want? Shouldn’t that be an easy answer? Why are you making it harder on yourself that it is? Don’t half ass anything anymore.

Why do you fill yourself with pain? You’ve given up on yourself. That’s why you don’t like to tell people about your negatives because eventually just like how you’ve given up on yourself they will too. The more negativity you spread they’ll start to believe it just like you have. You’re a walking, living, and breathing white lie. People assume you must be happy all the time like you present yourself. You never want to be anything less because you’ll scare them away. Everyone always leaves eventually. Why can’t what you show on the outside reflect what’s on the inside? How are some people overly positive all the time? It might be annoying, but that’s something envious too. I would rather be happy all the time compared to what I’m feeling now.

Why am I so good at procrastinating? I can honestly always find something else to do rather that what I’m actually supposed to be doing. Why do you always fuck things up? Honestly you play a self destruction games like how long can you last in a situation before you fuck it up?

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sir-awen · 5 years

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Chapter 1 Meeting Nell

Commanders office matched the rest of the city. Plain. Nothing to it. Consisting of three colors. White. Tan, and grey. The commander seemed to favor white; it seemed to glow in Nell's perception, making her eyes water, just another reason to hate the commander. She even wondered if he did it by design, hindering her just that little bit. Never did there seem to be room for decoration in the blaring emptiness. Ahmeethian design was simple and clever only in the way that you it didn’t waste a single thought on it; though that’s all the Ahmeeth needed to do to change it. Ameethians evolved with their technology connecting mentally with almost everything. Most of their furniture and interior walls consisted on what Nell called hard-light. She could conjure most anything as well as any Ahmeethian with the hard-light; even choosing its density; though you could never harm any living thing that didn't mean she didn’t want to.

Nell shook her leg, letting the scrape of fabric against her knee to fill in the room with something. Besides the commander's desk, his chair and the chair Nell sat in there was nothing else in the vast whiteness. As Nell evolved, she grew grateful for its simplicity; recalling vividly how assaulting the outside world pulsated with thunder on her senses.

She had done everything she could over the last year to assimilate. She even smelled Ahmeethian. Her goal was freedom, having been, what she sarcastically called, ‘special guest prisoner’ in the city walls it had begun to take its toll. Her keeper, Greyis, could hardly contain her though she would never attempt an actual escape, she enjoyed being the mouse to his cat. Spontaneously darting off around the corner, or never letting him in to her home. It dulled the boredom enough to stop her from acting rash. It may have crossed her mind that he probably disliked her for it, but he disliked her from the get-go. They all did.

Despite this she liked the city, Uptun, and didn’t really see much of the downside to staying. Happily, she’d live the rest of her years as the abnormality. Ahmeethians were the most advanced civilization in the known universe; five separate galaxies. Nell had to admit the commodities that the city offered where far better than anything she could remember from the first 7 years before she was kidnapped. Every individual was fully and well provided for. Everything from the food to the showers was perfect. Clean, even though Nell’s superior senses never could she find any dirt. Its people glowed golden in the morning rays when Nell watched the city’s skyscrapers bellow her spin through the cosmos towards the sun. Nell always watched the sunrise from her apartment window, intently, with her full range or perception. If she focused, she could hear it. Hearing was the only English, or any language, word (get rid of English) that fit the description close enough. It was more of a vibration, humming at her chest, and the flesh within her ears would itch. But it was the sound of the universe. As if to perceive it you must first start from the very beginning of your individual perception. Nell could feel the memory of it in etched into her DNA from her first cell, knowing she would never know what it told of itself. Forever a whisper left examined indifferent.

Uptun was Ahmeethia’s largest city, taking up over half the continent it was built on. Ahmeeth didn’t name planets, or solar systems, or anything with on a much larger scale. In their perception the entire galaxy might as well been the state of California. They only named their cities. Able to know it’s relative position. The invention or portal technology was their first great achievement in the new era. It was the Fraxions, from their neighboring galaxy, that invented the second greatest, trading it for the portal technology, Pods was Nell’s English word. Tiny space worthy vessels connected with one another, communicating location, speed, even how busy the traffic is in any particular hub. The Fraxions invented and built Ahmeethias galactic highway. All people in the galaxy can travel from one side to the furthest in roughly 6 hours. Everyone possessed one.

She was fully aware of how lucky she had been, not only was she actually rescued from some obscure planet in an even more obscure galaxy. She was told about the torturer and experimentation she endured to become what she is now and having the added benefit to remember the last thirty days in the facility, she believed it, the sudden shift. Blessed to not remember the 15 years prior to her rescue.

She didn’t like the commander, or any Ahmeethian for that matter, but she was always on her best behavior. Freedom. Freedom. Nell shook her leg with more ferocity, having more strength than any human was capable, she wondered if the chair would buckle under the shaking. She could hear his footsteps coming down the hall. The asshole new how serious this was too her and yet he maintained a nice leisurely pace. She fought the urge to stand up and holler out the door for him, but she shouldn’t have been able to hear him. All Ahmeethians had superior senses and built their buildings to be sound proof even to them. She couldn’t let them know how advanced she’d become. With a deep breath she calmed her leg, of course she couldn’t break it, it was built by the Ahmeeth. Now that she evolved she was better than them. Two months ago, she only had twenty color cones tucked into her eye balls, now there were thirty-two. Ten more that the average Ahmeethian.

The wall dematerialized and the echoing of his feet was exponentially louder. He was in the room. He walked over and sat at his desk looking at his computer screen as he sat down. Every citizen is given a small tablet, it is clear and just smaller than a piece of paper. No one can see what is on the tablet unless the owner wills it. A large screen appeared much like the tablet.

Nell thought it was odd that she could see what the commander was typing. Once he was done the screen went back to its translucent disguise. He looked up to her a timid smile at the corners of his lips. . The commander had dark hair and was well fit like all Ahmeeth. He had a strong jaw line and his blue eyes nearly pierced through her when she first met him, still having a near effect. Nell would never get over how perfect every Ahmeeth looked, or just was.

“Hello Nell.” His voice was velvet and deep as he spoke to her in her native tongue, English.

Nell gave a tight nod, staring at him, his hair was the only relief she could find in the bright room. She could only dull her senses and dilate her eyes so much. She didn’t appreciate his language of choice either, it was her language, she should be the only thing in the known universe to know it now, now that Earth was destroyed.

He perked up his lips a bit more, trying his best to replicate the human emotion in his eyes.

Nell thought the gesture was adequately kind, still knowing it was nothing more than a reflection of the emotions he learned from her.

“I’ll tell you straight Nell. You cannot stay.” He shifted as Nell’s pupils fastened on him, first constricting to search with clarity then widening as it found him. Nell didn’t bare an iris, only black pupil against a large white. It was unnerving being a pray to a human

Nell’s brow twitched, unable to speak, if she spoke she’d scream, if she screamed, she’d lunge for his throat.

“You are human Nell.” He had been used to Nell enough by now, able to hide the outward signs of her affect. His hearts remained calm, and the perspiration on his hand left unnoticed by Nell.

“You’re scared.” Nell inhaled deeply through her nose almost intoxicated by his fear pheromones. She stared at him, mouth opening a bit, breathing in through her mouth as she licked her bottom lip.

“Bitter, you taste bitter.” Nell finally spoke now choosing to look at his hair line, realizing anger would do no good to advance her cause.

“The sooner you leave the better. THe ” Her gaze, though it may seem less threatening, still shook him. His voice was higher pitched and scratched.

Nell stood up in reaction to the venom in his words, the chair pushed back silently. She leaned into meet the commanders gaze, hoping she had reined the anger from her face. Taking a deep inhale through her nose, smelling his fear one more time, hoping it would help calm her, it did. “Much like your show of emotions now.” Nell dipped her head slightly looking at him under her brows. She couldn’t stop as her eyes took the predator gaze and she quickly realized the smile on her face took a devious turn. Nell looked down, thinking, confused. They were all scared of her. She understood that when provoked she let off an air of ominous. But still this race prided themselves on emotional intelligence and reacted to her always with so much emotion. She began to wonder if she reminded them of their humanity, how volatile it truly was. That is why she couldn’t stay.

“I’m sorry.” Nell looked back at her chair pulling it closer as she sat back down. This time she let her head hang low, still tasting his bitter fear. She’d lie if she said she didn’t want to taste it more. There was something in her telling her that was wrong, and she listed even if she didn’t know why.

“Nell, you cannot stay here. You are not welcome. That does not mean we will not take care of you.” He measured her response, nothing. He took a deep inhale, readying himself for the next bit of news he would deliver.

Nell stood up again, careful to look only at the ground. She let her long dark hair cover her face as she began to pace in front of his desk. She tucked her hands under her pits, doing everything she could to come off as docile. The commander watched her through his dark lashes. “I just don’t understand. I won’t bother anyone. Keep to myself. Where would I even go? You can’t let me out there, they’ll get me again, and they will use me.” Nell took a breath fighting the urge to glace up pleading, but she didn’t trust her face when so much heat pumped through her.

“You will go with Athon. He and one other. Attilo. They will keep you safe.”

Nell fought back huff. Simple Ahmeeth she thought. Did he really think the Lothians would stand a chance against her, that she’d let them take her? Only willingly. Sure, they had her before, but that was when she was weak and broken. Now though Nell was the closest thing to a god she knew.

That is the moment it all changed for Nell. Budding to a spark, the flame yet to come. She would go insane if she had to live out the rest of her 1,300 years here. She’d been confined to a floor in the tower and she was only fighting to roam free in the city. At what cost? A word sunk in. Athon.

Nell finally looked up after pacing for a few moments, deliberating. “Athon. You want me to go with Athon.” She looked at him, her anger boiling through her eyes, she seen it reflect in the commanders as she focused on him. “Fine.” She said quickly and turned to leave. The wall broke away around her, without hindering her hastily leave.

With her head low and her shoulders sloughed, attempting to hide her mental state, though she still stood, and walked ridigid. Greyis was careful to keep his distance, not willing to look at her completely, though he walked behind her. He could smell her, the rage. It was a rather normal occurrence and previous incidents showed nothing bad happened when her pheromones tasted like this. He kept his distance and if he looked at her, she would know.

The halls from the commander’s office leading to the hub where tan, light like sand dunes. The floors and celling the same shade, it was easier on the eyes, not reflecting back nearly as much as the white. It felt like a direct contrast and Nell let out a breath of air to the relief. It would have been impossible for the old Nell to see the crease of black where wall met floor and ceiling. When she first arrived at the city, she was hesitant, always following because she couldn’t see the crease, she couldn’t tell if she was about to walk into a wall. It felt like walking through a color, or empty space with a color blanketing around, having no clue how far out it rests still. No sound but feet, and nothing to smell through the pure air. It really drove home the idea that these people where beyond her perception. Now though, she surpassed them.

It was a five-minute walk to her apartment. Her room was simple like all the other homes in the city. The lighting was natural and beamed in from large windows, the size of which she chose. The wall color always reflected her emotions, they flashed something; once the wall rematerialized behind her. She let out a long breath, as she scanned the color. Only partially perceived by Nell. Before she knew it, they were her preferred blue, the kitchen and bedroom being tan. To the left was large room with a small sitting area, one couch and two large chairs that divided it between living room and dining room. Though there was no table just a simple dark wooden desk with large heavy drawers holding it up. She modeled it after her father’s desk. It sat against the wall. The kitchen, directly in front of her when she walked in the front door; it was humble, but Nell liked the trinkets that personalized it. They were all fake she thought bitterly. Things she remembered her parents having through her childhood home. She kept it simple still but couldn’t help but have a vase of flowers here, or a picture of the city hang longways above her couch.

She never dared to put photos of her family up. Nell may had lost her memories beyond coming home from school to see her parents slain bloody and disjointed on the floor. There was another presence in the house and when she looked up to see it…blank. 15 years later she’s in a cement cell. Since Nell evolved, she could remember with perfect clarity, as she does now, her seven years on earth, even still unable to comprehensibly perceive the other presence in her home.

Now though, Nell put all her thoughts towards packing. She assumed she would be leaving soon; the Commander wouldn’t give her time to plan anything. After her tantrum in his office she had proved him right. Logically leaving the city was a blessing. She had a chance no other human thought possible. Travel through the know galaxies. Still, it was not her decision. Nell didn’t have a choice, and that pissed her off; more than she cared to admit. She’d already met Athon and Attilo when they rescued her from the prison and a good impression she did not make.

#Original story #I know my writing is terrible but this story is HUGE #nothing like this exist #Little bit of everything in thin #Also I can't grammar #also I can't spell

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