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maddiwrites · 3 years

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Let Me Go

Pairing: JJ x Reader

Summary: This was requested! Y/N still lives with the Cameron’s following the death of her brother, but she’s being held there against her will. After many failed escape attempts, Y/N finally gets out of Figure Eight, but she’s far from safe. (The request was long so I’m going to link it here so you can see the full summary of what anon wanted!)

Note: I’m sorry this took so long to get out!!! I literally had half of it written and then it all deleted and I’m so upset because my first attempt at writing it was better but oh well. I hope you like it. Again, sorry for the long wait!

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: MENTIONS OF DRUG ABUSE, CHILD NEGLECT, GUN VIOLENCE, ATTEMPTED SUICIDE. PLEASE DO NOT READ IF ANY OF THESE TOPICS TRIGGER YOU. PLEASE. SUICIDE HOTLINE: 800-273-8255

Masterlist

You weren’t always like this - sitting up in your unmade bed, staring at the blank wall in front of you like you could see through it, unshowered, trembling from your shoulders down to your toes, feeling empty from the inside out.

You forget what it’s like to be free. Following the death of your brother, you’ve been trapped like a rat in a cage. Figure Eight is no longer the luxurious part of the island to you. It’s filled with lies, manipulation, secrets, murder.

You’re still living at the Cameron’s. No, not living. Surviving. Ward refused to give his guardianship of you up. Some people wondered why - why would Ward want to live with the sister of a murderer? Yeah, that’s what they thought - that your brother killed Sheriff Peterkin and tried to kill Ward too. But you knew why.

Ward no longer treats you like a member of his family. He has you locked in your designated room on the third floor that’s basically only used as an attic and storage area. Your own personal prison. Because you know what he did - not only to your brother and his daughter but to your dad.

You felt like you were losing grasps of reality. You only knew fall was approaching because you could hear Wheezy talking about it to Rose outside your door. You guess the time of day by the sunlight through your window and the meals brought to your room.

Of course there have been times you tried to escape. You managed to run away a few times. The first time, you went straight to the police station and tried telling them that Ward was keeping you trapped in his home. Of course they didn’t believe you. Instead, they called Ward to come pick you up. He told the police that you’ve been experiencing delusions since the death of your brother. Without a second thought, they believed him and ignored your cries for help completely. The second time, you tried going to Kie’s, but the police found you first and brought you back to Ward’s now that they think you’re going through some kind of mental breakdown.

By now, you’re exhausted. You’re tired of fighting and arguing and screaming. You feel empty inside, craving some sort of release or embrace of comfort. You haven’t seen your Pogues in weeks, maybe months. You wonder if they still think about you. Do they blame you for leaving John B to go off by himself with Sarah? Do they hate you?

Not only is living inside an enclosed box hard enough, but dealing with the loss of your brother, friend, and father, is killing you inside. You can’t help but feel guilty that you weren’t with them. You and your brother were supposed to be partners in crime and you totally let him go off on his own. You feel like you abandoned him and that keeps you up at night.

Since your ways of coping are limited, you’re not proud to say you found an unhealthy way of relieving your pain.

When you were first locked up, you would scream and kick the door that hid you from the rest of the world, begging for anyone in the house to let you go. Never did it work, but one time Rafe got extremely fed up and raced upstairs to make you shut up. You didn’t know it, but Rafe was on the verge of a breakdown himself. His dad complete shut him out as he tried to fix the damage he caused. He assumed Sarah was dead. And Barry basically owned him, making him do all his dirty work. Maybe he deserved it, but he didn’t live a luxurious life either despite living in Figure Eight.

You took a couple steps back when you heard heavy footsteps approaching your door. Rafe quickly undid the locks and barged in so fast that he almost knocked you down.

“Oh my god. Do you ever shut the fuck up?” Rafe was breathing hard and quickly getting red in the face. You stumbled backwards, suddenly afraid of being alone with him.

You sniffled. “I need to get out of here.”

“You’re not leaving.”

“Please, Rafe. You got to get me out of here. Please!” You never thought you’d be here, begging Rafe of all people for help. Yet here you were. With no other choices left.

Rafe paced the room and raked his fingers through his hair. “You do realize you're not the only one going through something, right?”

You swallowed back your tears and scoffed at the Kook in front of you. “Seriously? Your family is keeping me locked in here like some kind of zoo animal! My brother is dead -”

“Sarah is too!”

“But that’s not my fault!” You screamed. You pointed an accusatory finger in his direction. “That’s yours!” Rafe froze and turned to look at you. You didn’t know where you grew the balls to keep going but you did. “I know what you did. I know what your dad is trying to cover up. And he’s using my brother to do it.” You saw Rafe’s adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallowed. “Why do you think your dad is keeping me locked in here?”

“Shit,” Rafe cursed. Now he knew why his dad gave him strict instructions to never come up to your room. He started shaking his his head and shaking in his skin. “I didn’t mean to - I - I - it happened so fast.”

You could go on and on about how Rafe would never be able to dig himself out of this hole. How he will never be able to convince you that he wasn’t guilty. But you didn’t. Because he’s the only one who could help you.

“Rafe, please,” You begged. “I won’t say anything. I just need to get out of here.”

Rafe sniffled back his own tears and fears and looked out the one window that looked out into the backyard of his home. He couldn’t let you go. He knew it was selfish, but he had to save himself.

“I can’t,” Rafe said.

A new wave of tears hit you and you felt defeated. You fell back on your bed and cried into your hands, hunched over above your knees.

“I’m sorry,” Rafe said, but his apology was as empty as you feel.

“Just go,” You rubbed your eyes hard enough to see stars.

You hear something light hit the bed next to you. “I know it’s not much. But this helps me get through all this messed up shit.”

When you didn’t look at him or whatever he gave you, he took that as a hint to leave and quietly left the room. You listened to each lock being fastened again, each one leaving a crack in your heart.

Rafe offered you something you should have never taken. A small baggie filled with fine white powder. You should have never even considered it. Drugs were never your thing. You wouldn’t even smoke with JJ when he offered a hit of whatever he was smoking. But the idea of anything taking your pain away enticed you.

And that’s how you ended up here. Broken, alone, and craving something only Rafe could supply you with. Literally. He came around every so often, sliding a small baggie under the door for you. It was the closest thing you and Rafe had to a friendship.

Today was particularly a bad day. It was dark and rainy outside and you remembered John B’s birthday should be quickly approaching. You missed him. God, did you miss him. You would do anything to hear his voice again or steal his clothes or go surfing in the ocean with him.

You trudged out of bed towards your dresser that held a faint line of coke left over from yesterday. With a one dollar bill, you sniffed the rest of it up your nose and blinked back the sting of tears that pricked your eyes after you did it. A rush of energy sparked up your body, through your toes and up to your head. You immediately felt lighter and that the world was spinning a little faster. But with that rush came a surge of emotions. You went from being sad to being angry real fast.

You hated Ward. You hated Shoupe. You hated this house. You hated Kooks. You hated yourself. You hated everything about the Outer banks. You just wanted to leave.

You find the closest thing to you, a small makeup mirror, and smash it against one of the locks on the door. You’ve done this hundreds of times and by now the door was scratched and bruised from your abuse, but you didn’t care. You didn’t feel the glass of the mirror slice into your skin as you continued to bang it on the metal lock. You didn’t care if Ward and the others heard you throwing another temper tantrum. You just wanted out.

When you felt the lock stumble to the side of the door, you froze in your place. You stared at the broken lock, wondering if this was all a dream or a hallucination from your high. “No fucking way,” You mumbled. You looked down at the door knob and repeated the same movements until the handle completely fell off and clattered to the floor.

You dropped the mirror and stuck two fingers through the hole in the door where the door knob use to be. While holding your breath, you slowly pulled the door open and couldn’t believe when it moved without any hiccup.

You never thought that you would get this far, and now that you were here, you didn’t know what to do. You felt scared. Cautiously, you stuck your head out to make sure no one was in the hallway. When the coast was clear, you tip toed throughout the house, listening to the eery silence that filled it. No one was home.

When you passed Rafe’s room, you stopped. You were out of supply and you needed more. Rafe owed you anyway, you told yourself. So you ransacked his room. Found about four more small baggies and stuffed them in your pocket before leaving.

As you walk through the halls, you pass Ward’s office and paused. It was open and unlocked. Even before all this shit happened, you never remember it being this way. You didn’t know what it was. Maybe it was the adrenaline from another escape attempt or maybe it was the cocaine, but you walked yourself into that office and looked around.

You cursed at all the accomplishments hanging on his wall, the trophies, and expensive relics of random shit. His desk was neat and orderly despite the major crime he was trying to cover up. You sat yourself in his chair, trying to imagine what it felt like to be him. Motherfucker probably felt like a king.

You went through his drawers, thumbing through random files you had no business looking through - most of it work related stuff and banking information. You tucked that one in your pocket for later.

Then you hear something thump against the drawer when you pull it out. A revolver. Small and silver. Cold against your fingertips. You breath hitched as you brought it up to your face. It felt like you were holding a bomb. An object that could change your life forever. Another fresh set of tears threatened to roll down your face but you shook them away. No. No more being sad.

You shut the drawer hard and walked out with a couple new items in your possession.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The Pogues were spending another dreary day at The Wreck. The September sun might be out, but their spirits were down. Two of their best friends are dead and the other is trapped with two murderers. They were scared for you and have tried everything to get you back. They tried talking to the cops, they tried breaking her out. But each times the cops got in the way. They were running out of hope. At this point, they didn’t even know if they would ever see you again. They just hoped you were okay. They knew you tried escaping a few times and prayed that you would eventually get yourself out of there soon.

“JJ, you gotta eat,” Kie sighed as she watched JJ play with the fries in front of him. If anyone was handing it the worst, it was JJ. Both John B and Y/N were his best friends first. Hell, he was in love with Y/N. Had been since the sixth grade. One of his biggest regrets is that he never told you. Now he didn’t know if he ever would.

“’M not hungry,” JJ mumbled.

The door above the restaurant entrance rang as a couple of police officers walked in for their lunch break. The group of three glared at them as they walked in with their cocky stride and their hand resting on their tasers and guns as if everyone should be scared of them.

“Fucking cops can’t do their goddamn job,” JJ sat back in his seat and flicked one of his fries down on the table. He hated them. More than he ever had. He couldn’t believe these people took an oath to protect this county. Fucking cowards, all of them.

“Fucking assholes,” Kie said and watched her father approach them with a friendly smile.

Pope snapped up when an idea popped into his head. “Sarah’s sister.”

“What?” Kie’s brows furrowed.

“School starts next week,” Pope explained. “She’s starting high school, right? What if you tried talking to her? Maybe you can -”

Pope paused when he heard the sound of the police radios echoing off the walls from their belts.

“Code10-92. Runaway teen last reported on Baker’s Street. Proceed with caution. Last seen wearing black sports shorts and a white tank. Suspect may be armed and dangerous.”

JJ’s head snapped back to his friends with his brows pinched together. Could this be you? Could you have made it out again? But what did armed and dangerous mean? That didn’t sound like you.

Shoupe radioed back to the station. “On our way.”

The officers dropped ten dollars in the tip jar before charging out the door to go to their vehicles.

“We gotta go,” JJ stood up first and stuffed his phone and keys into his pocket. The other two nod and follow him out the door. If that call was about you, they wanted to find you before the cops did. “Okay. Kie, go home. She tried going to your house last time. Maybe she’ll try that again. Pope, go to Heyward’s. She trusts your dad. She might try to find him for help.”

“Where are you going to go?” Pope asked.

“Everywhere else.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You trudged through your old home with heavy feet. Nothing in there felt familiar to you - like it belonged to you in another life time. You first went to your room and stared at the girl in the mirror. You didn’t recognize her. Bones sticking out of your skin, dark bags under the eyes, and cracked lips and dry skin.

Without thinking, you took the gun that’s still in your hand and smashed it against the glass, shattering it all around you.

Ignoring the stinging in your hands from the shallow cuts on your skin, you moved on to the next room. Your brother’s room. It looked like a tornado made its way through here. Everything was tossed and turned from the police and FBI ransacking it during their search for John B. Nothing felt like it was John B’s anymore. Nothing felt private. And that pissed you off.

Next you went to your dad’s office, somewhere you haven’t been since you found the compass. Even now, it felt like you weren’t supposed to be in here. If you believed in an afterlife, you would think your dad would be shaking his head at you.

The office looked like John B’s room did. Whatever belonged to your dad now belonged to the state. The only things left were random files and belongings the police didn’t find of importance. But they were important to you.

The first thing you found was a picture in a cracked frame of you, your dad, and your brother from when you were ten. Your dad was holding both of you as you blew out the candles on a birthday cake. Looking at the picture, you felt your heart being shredded apart. The picture only brought back pain and grief. You wanted that happiness back that ten year old you portrayed in that picture. But you can’t have it. Ever again.

A cry ripped through your throat as you chucked the picture across the room. From there, you went on a rampage, throwing and kicking anything that was in your way. You took one of the baggies out of your pocket and dumped it on the desk in front of you. Without any precision, you fixed the lines up with your finger and took a long whiff. You gripped the roots of your hair and tugged as you sobbed loudly and felt one of the biggest headaches explode in your brain.

You paced back and forth in the office with the gun held in your shaky hands. You were mumbling to yourself about your options and how horrible of a sister and daughter you were for leaving your family behind. You wanted to see them. You wanted to be with them and prove to them you never meant to abandon them.

You didn’t hear the door to the Chateau open or the sound of footsteps following your cries. It wasn’t until you heard his soft, delicate voice that you turned around and stared at your best friend with wide eyes and a startled expression.

“Y/N...” JJ breathed out. He didn’t see the gun yet. He just saw you, crying and broken and not looking like the girl he knew only a few months ago.

“What are you doing here?” He didn’t recognize your voice either. Hoarsed and scared. “You’re not supposed to be here!”

“The cops are looking for you! Okay? We need to get you out of here!”

“I’m not leaving!”

“What?” JJ looked at you like you grew two heads. “What are you talking about. We -”

“No! I said I’m not leaving! Agh!” Your hands flew up to your pulsating head and gripped at your hair again. The pounding in your head was excruciating and wouldn’t go away. Between the cocaine, your cries, and the exhaustion, you didn’t think it would ever go away.

That’s when JJ saw the gun and took a shocking step back. His hands immediately flew up in surrender and he gulped down his nerves. Now he knew why the cops had called you armed and dangerous. Probably because Ward reported a stolen gun. JJ never knew you to be a violent person. It wasn’t in you. You couldn’t even hurt a fly. Which meant you didn’t steal this gun to hurt someone else. But probably...

Then his eyes flickered to the desk where he saw the reside of white powder next to an empty baggie. Now he was petrified because he didn’t know how to get through to you - if he even could get through to you.

“Y/N, baby. Put the gun down.”

“No,” You shook you head. “No, no, no. I need to see them. I need to see my dad and John B!”

“Y/n...”

“I should’ve gone with them. I should’ve - I - I didn’t mean to leave. I’m so-sorry, John B. I’m so sorry.” You were a mess. Tears and snot and running all over your red and puffy face.

JJ kept looking between you and the gun. His only comfort was that he knew you didn’t know how to use it. You wouldn’t even touch the one he stole from Scooter Grubs. But that didn’t mean accidents couldn’t happen.

“I can’t do it anymore,” You continued. “I can’t go back there. I won’t. I won’t. I just want to see my dad.”

JJ took a hesitant step closer to you and nodded his head, keeping his hands up. “Okay. Okay. What if I helped you see your dad?”

“H-How?” You hiccuped. JJ didn’t know where he was going with this. He just knew he had to get that gun out of your hand. He took another step closer to you, but this one made you jump back. “No! No! Stay away!”

“Okay, okay!” JJ yelled back at you. “Hey. I’m here to help you, okay? Whatever you want to do.”

“I want to see them. I want to say sorry. I - I’m so sorry.”

“Y/N, they’re not mad at you-”

“I’m sorry, daddy, I -”

With you distracted, JJ took the opportunity to run at you and tackle you to the ground. He ignored the pang in his heart when he heard you cry harder, wondering if he hurt you, but he cared more about keeping you alive. He wrestled the gun out of your hands and quickly emptied the cartridge. He chucked the multiple pieces across the room and wrapped himself around your crumpled body.

“No! No!” You shrieked in JJ’s shoulder and gripped onto his shirt for dear life. “Please! Let me go!”

JJ held on to your crumbling body as you wracked with sobs. Exhaustion quickly took over you as the adrenaline slowly vanished out of your system. Your throat was on fire from all the crying and the screaming. Your chest felt empty and your lungs heavy. All you wanted was to close your eyes and never open them again.

JJ couldn’t hold back his own silent tears as they ran down his cheeks. He hated seeing you like this. And he hated even more that he didn’t know how to help you.

“It’s going to be okay,” He said as he brushed the hair out of your face. He kissed the top of your head with his soft lips and kept mumbling into your head. “You’re going to be okay. I’m never leaving your side again. It’s going to be okay.”

He didn’t know if he was trying to convince you or himself. He jus knew he had to make you believe it.

About ten minutes later, he felt your body relax against his. When he found you fast asleep, he pulled out his phone and texted Kie to pick the two of you up.

Until Kie got there, he stared at the delicate skin on your face with such admiration. Rage bubbled through this veins as the ideas of what you possibly went through in the that hell hole in Figure Eight.

He knew it was going to be a long road to recovery. He knew there was a lot of fixing that needed to be done. But he made a promise that he will never let you out of his sights again. Because today was a close call. And he never wanted you to be that close to death ever again.

#jj maybank fic #jj x reader #jj fic #jj maybank #jj maybank imagines #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank one shot #jj mayback x reader #outer banks imagine #outer banks fic #obx imagine

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xo-cuteplosion-xo · 3 years

Text

Party with the PM/ADA HC

Tis a lazy day- so a lazy post T_T (still not feeling 100% better T_T)

At first, there really isn’t anybody too happy about this little “bonding” exercise.

It was organized by both Mori and Fukuzawa since there were so many temporary alliances lately. That and they both wanted a little amusement.

Almost everybody didn’t mind.

Ranpo, Kunikida, Tanizaki, and almost everybody but Dazai and Atsushi were fine with it when it came to the agency.

Then the only people against the little slumber party in the mafia were Chuuya and Akutagawa.

It was relatively easy to get Akutagawa to go. A simple, “Dazai will be there I'm sure you’ll impress him in some way.”

Chuuya… you had to drag him to the location. Of course, this is no easy task because he is the port mafia’s executive gravity manipulator. He’ll go from making himself too heavy to move, to pinning you down, to shoving you into walls.

It takes threatening to get Mori and using slight manipulation. His sense of loyalty is both his greatest strength and weakness. With a simple, “well this is something from Mori, so refusing to go is refusing an order so it’s kind of disloyal?”

He was glaring and grumbling curses, but he was about to go. “I swear if I have to deal with that mongrel I’ll crush you.” he’d probably repeat something like that over and over again.

When you actually get there you're surprised how well set up everything is.

There is karaoke, various forms of liquor, tables, sleeping bags, beanbags, lots of snacks, there were even a few people already here.

You decided to help set up anything that still needed setting up.

You ended up talking to Atsushi a bit, he did find it rather unbelievable he was talking to one of the more feared members of the mafia.

While you could be ruthless, cold, and cruel, you were a kind person underneath all of it.

Dazai showed up before Chuuya, which was unexpected.

No Chuuya means nobody to annoy the living hell out of.

It was either Kunikida or you. Of course, he picked the rarer occasion.

“Will you commit a double suicide with me?” “Such a flower.” “What are you up to.” “Whaaaa you're ignoring meeeee?” he could be quite the pester.

Unlike Chuuya though, you kept yourself level-headed.

“Sorry but I plan on living Dazai.'' Kunikida was amazed at how easily you could hold together. To the mafia this was normal but to the agency, they were all shocked you could deal with Dazai's behavior.

You liked this sort of peace. Even Akutagawa, who was basking alone eating pocky, was gradually interacting with Atsushi. He was nervous and kept a large distance but it wasn’t too bad.

Chuuya was the last to get there, and he was already holding a bottle of wine. He sat down and finished it. If you give him the stink eye, he'll glare. “Just don’t, if I have to deal with this, I'm going to be drunk.” that would earn a chuckle as Dazai starts to purposely anger the ginger.

Eventually, you pulled them apart before they started throwing fists.

“How drunk do you think Chuuya has to be for karaoke?”

“Drunk enough to be on the verge of passing out.” why Dazai knows this is unknown.

When people moved to start karaoke it was mostly those who had already had a bit much to drink.

Despite being waisted, it was still hard to get Chuuya to go up with you. Before you realized it, Dazai was there to shove you to the middle. It was like old times for a moment. The three of you had been close if you could count your partnership as close. Always stepping to break the boys from their fights. Joining in, at times, drinking together after a successful mission. Falling asleep on each other's shoulders.

This felt like those times and for a moment it was as if you weren't on separate sides. “Chuuya’s just scared (y/n) likes me more!” Dazai snickered, pulling you towards him.

Teasing drunk Chuuya was always a big laugh for the two of you. “No! they like me more! I’m not the one always touching them weirdly!” he pulled you back and you sighed.

This was going to be a long night. “How about more wine Chu?” you hummed grabbing your own glass as Dazai snickered.

“Drinking contest!” he hummed.

“Pft, but Chu’s already wasted Daz!”

“You're not though~”

“I don’t drink…”

“Yes, you do!”

“Do not”

“Do to”

“No”

“Yes”

“No”

“Yes”

“Shut up before I squash you both.” he went ignored.

“No”

“Yes”

“Fuck you.”

“Gladly.”

“Perverted ass”

“You said it first~”

“Chuuya, kill him.”

“Gladly!”

“How cruel” cue the dramatic hand placement over his eyes and the hand over his heart. “The princess sent the brute after the prince.

“You're not a prince.”

“More like a slimy mackerel.”

“Ouch”

“Serves you right mackerel.”

“The princess has started using the brute's names!”

“Wait- why am I the princess? (princess here simply implies the one who needs saving, not implying female gender)

“Because I need to save you?”

“They don’t need to be saved”

“Just kill him, Chu. Or I’ll do it first.”

“Eh, actually! I think that would be a pleasant way to die! Kill me already dearest, just do it painlessly”

“Fucking creep!”

And cue both Chuuya and yourself racing to attack Dazai.

And at that point, the dad’s leaders step in and separate their children subordinates…

Crossing your arms like children and glaring you three huff and pout.

“They lasted a whole hour before they started trying to murder one another.” Mori pinched the brim of his nose sufficiently entertained.

Kouyou scolded the drunk Chuuya who decided to pass out finally.

Atsushi is just confused. “Are they always like this?”

Akutagawa nodded scowling. “When Dazai-san was in the mafia he tormented them like this daily. They were destructive and feared. Even if double black was more prominent in the pairing and (y/n)-san did more missions on their own, when they work together… it’s impossible to survive.”

Atsushi shivered. “And now?”

Akutagawa raised a brow. (his almost-non existent ones XD). “I mean Chuuya-san and (y/n)-san do a ton of stuff together. (y/n) gets along with anybody as long as they don't screw up…” if Akutagawa shivered at that then Atsushi was most definitely terrified.

“Their ability?”

“... scary”

“... what is it?”

“Scary.”

“... Akutagawa that doesn't..”

“Weapons never miss a target… never. They can create them out of anything.”

“Even…”

“Even bodies.”

“... scary”

“Mhm”

At least the two of them were getting along… kinda?

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momoliee · 3 years

Text

Tw : self harm and suicide

It’s been a few hours since I’ve read the chapter and honestly I’m only feeling heavier and heavier

He yu is having a full blown episode and it’s very intense from every aspect and literally no one is there to pull him out of it. He’s experiencing all the physiological symptoms full out : the extreme and irrational coldness that seems to inhibit his body, the violent and vengeful wrath and bloodthirstiness of wanting to hurt others, extremely intense fever and restlessness. All of this besides his mind, his mind that’s probably killing him inside out. His mind that’s probably convincing that no one would give a flying fuck if he died, not even himself (and the sad part is, it’s true). His mind is convincing him that he’s better off dead, that the world is a better place without him, that he’d be doing everyone a favor if he was gone. And it’s a full on suicidal episode. It’s a passive suicidal episode that hasn’t turned active yet. And the horrifying part is, these aren’t delusions created by his depression, they’re actually…true and it’s fucking awful

Like it’s really fucking terrible that he’s stuck in an empty house all on his own dealing with almost 20 years of loneliness and abandonment. It’s really fucking terrible that if there weren’t servants in that goddamn ghost house, no one would’ve even KNOWN that he fell for days, probably even weeks lmao. Because his parents see him twice a year for a total of five minutes, and that’s it no one else bothers to ask after him. He hasn’t had a meaningful human interaction in his entire life, he was probably never even held by his mother. He has to live all those years watching others warm up to each other and be so affectionate and exchange love and care while he had to sit there and wonder what that feels like. Not having any friends to invite for his birthday, being so professional with the roommates he literally lives with, even the servants in his house haven’t cozied up to him. And the only proper connections he ever had, one was imagined out of survival (the same way the thirsty on the verge of death in a desert imagines an oasis) and the other turned out to be a lie (at least according to what he knows so far). So of course he acted that way, of course he behaved like this in the recent chapters. That wasn’t him indulging in pleasure, that was him putting up the last bit of struggle to reach the surface before the tide pulls him under and he drowns. It was the last lap of desperation and begging, he was willing to do anything no matter how horrifying to ensure his mental survival even if by threads. He was willing to be beaten and emotionally abused, picked at and be told that he’s the most despicable human to have ever existed as long as it meant just being, around someone, around another human who saw him. People would do HORRIFIC things when they’re on the verge of death to ensure their survival, there are multiple shows that depict that. Similarly, all he yu’s actions lately were because he knew he was on the verge of a mental death he can no longer come back from, he knew his soul was on the verge of being extinguished for good.

So he created a false reality and tried so hard but…the current took him under after all and he ended up drowning and drowning. He cuts himself and doesn’t even feel the pain, slashing and slashing away at his skin so inhumanely. Just imagining the scene is a nightmare. No one deserves that. No one deserves that self hatred and loneliness and and inner pain that causes you to harm yourself like that. And then when he falls, and I think that’s the part that broke me the most, he actually feels relieved. He feels like all the strains previously on his shoulders were cut off, all the burdens drifting far far away, all the pain now meaningless and gone and he can finally rest now. What’s the meaning of living? He says, because he never lived he just, survived through days and days that were in shades of grey. No money or fame or power or even good food could color his days, they were an endless loop where everything felt the same. Every morning and every evening felt the same as those of yesterday. So letting go and being gone…to him it’s a release. He’s no longer struggling to float, he’s just gonna let himself drown as his struggling muscles finally relax, let the water embrace him the way no one in his life ever did.

And the thing is, it’s very true and realistic. Suicidal people are happiest when they’re about to kill themselves, they feel light and finally burdenless after years of pain and misery. They feel like they can finally leave and rest, and get away from this ugly world.

So yes I teared, because that was so heavy and real and no one deserves that. No one deserves to feel like that. God that was so so awful

#case file compendium #meatbun doesn’t eat meat #meatbun #cfc #bab #bing an ben #tw self harm #tw suicide #cw self harm #cw suicide

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reidgraygubler · 3 years

Text

a different type of high (spencer reid/reader) pt 4

Title: A Different Type of High (part four)

Request: no

Couple: spencer reid/gender-neutral!reader

Category: angst in the first half, some fluff in the second half

Content Warning: mentions of death, talks about parent death, relapse scare, suicidal ideation, talks about drug usage and drugs, anxiety/panic attacks, explanations of nightmares/night terrors, swearing, intrusive thoughts,

Word Count: 4,514

Summary: Reader nearly relapses because of the anniversary of her mother’s passing.

A/N: this one does deal with some heavier topics (see CW's), so please proceed with caution. I originally had t his as on big long part, but, uh, it was too long. So it’s two parts… anyways, thank you all for the love and support! check out my masterlist!

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{***}{***}{***}

I sat in the living room with my eyes on the coffee table. Several orange pill bottles sat lined up on the edge. The way the light caught the plastic caught my attention, mostly in a bad way. I was already on edge, and my day was already ruined. Any number of things could have made my day bad, but we can easily put the blame on my mother. And, I’m not just saying that because she’s an easy target. No, I’m blaming her because she died a year ago on this very day.

I was hungry, and not for the food in my fridge. No, I was hungry for the high and the nothingness. The high that was dangerous and could likely kill me. Maybe that’s what I wanted. I mean, the only person I have in life to keep me grounded was Spencer… And we’ve only known each other for a short time. What if he’s faking it all? He doesn’t really care about me. He just says he does. Saying stuff I want to hear.

My body was on autopilot as my hand moved towards the bottles. The grip I had on the lid was tight like my life depended on it. Mostly because, in that moment, my life did depend on it. That was until a slip of paper caught my eyes. An unfamiliar handwriting was scribbled across the paper, but a more familiar name was at the bottom.

Just because I’m at work doesn’t mean I’m not thinking about you! Please call me if you need help with anything!

-Spencer

I furrowed my eyebrows as I looked at the note. I have no idea when he would have written it and put it there. But it was the exact sort of pick-me-up I needed to stop me from making a stupid mistake.

I stood up and shoved the paper and bottle of pills in my pocket before making my way to the door. My keys and a small stack of quarters sat on the side table beside the door, they ended up in my pocket.

My feet moved themselves, and I soon appeared at the laundromat down the street. There were a few people there, and I could tell they

hadn’t been there for very long. I just hope my phone call to Spencer wasn’t too long and they didn’t listen. Although, why would they listen to a random girl’s phone call? They don’t care, they won’t care.

I quickly made my way towards the payphones, going to the furthest one to ensure my own privacy (again, they won’t care). I fished out the quarters as I sat down. It was kind of amazing how quickly I dialed Spencer’s number, and more impressive how fast I remembered it. It was the next number I remembered after my address.

The phone only dialed for a few seconds before he answered. I would have assumed he was busy with work or something. But, I guess, like his note said, even if he was busy, he was thinking about me. I’m pretty sure he was just saying that though.

“Hello, this is Doctor Spencer Reid,” he spoke calmly like he didn’t know what was happening. Well, that was probably because he had no idea I was on the verge of a breakdown. “Hello?”

“It’s… It’s me… Spencer, Spencer, I…” I swallowed roughly as I stared blankly at the wall in front of me. I could feel my heart beating a million miles an hour and hear the beating in my head. It was nearly deafening to me. Being alone didn’t help the anxious feeling. “Are you home?” My voice was a light whisper, and I wondered if he even heard me ask. I don’t even know why I asked if he was at home. I knew he was at work. It’s only 3 pm. Maybe I was just hoping he’d be home, and he could come over and save the day, make me feel better somehow. How though? I’m not sure. Spencer’s a fix-it type of guy, I’m sure he’ll figure something out.

“I’m still at work. But I should be home soon. Why? Is everything okay? Are you okay?” He asked, his voice heavily laced with concern. It was that moment that I realized he did care about me.

I closed my eyes and brought my hand to rest over my mouth to muffle any sobs. “Are you okay? I need you to talk to me. Tell me what’s going on.” He asked again when I stayed silent. I let out a deep sigh and shook my head, even though he couldn’t see me.

“I, uh, I… I want…” I let out another deep sigh, hoping he’d know what I was getting at. “Please don’t make me say it,” I whispered and looked at the counter. My fingers rapidly tapped against the smooth surface. We both knew I had to say it and admit my defeat and the fact that I was sitting in the laundromat, with a bottle of whatever drug I had hidden in my bathroom. “Fuck,” I shouted before slamming the phone down on the hook. The other few people in the laundromat looked at me with caution in their eyes.

“What?!” I looked at them before I tightly tugged my sweater around my body before storming out of the laundromat. The pill bottle in my pocket rattled with each step I took, and it was getting very difficult to move without wanting to take anything. Tears sprung from my eyes, blurring my vision the longer I was outside.

When I finally made it back to my apartment, I stormed to the bathroom. My reflection scared me. I almost didn’t recognize myself. It was a little horrifying, seeing myself as so unrecognizable. So, I stared at myself, my hand in my pocket, rattling the contents inside.

I scoffed before shaking my head. My hand came out with the bottle, and my eyes looked down at it. My thumb fidgeted with the lid, wanting to pop it off and pour the contents into my mouth. But, instead, I chucked it to the sink, the lid popping off and pills flying everywhere, before I ran to my bedroom.

I pulled the blankets over my body to hide from the world. Tears were rolling down my cheeks and face and I knew there was nothing I could do to stop it. That’s a shame too… Nearly two months clean and all I wanted to do was not exist and ruin everything.

{***}{***}{***}

I jumped awake when a very loud banging came on the front door. I looked around my room before swinging my legs off my bed and leaving the room. I dragged my body across my apartment and to the front door, where the banging hadn’t stopped.

I pulled the door open and looked up. Spencer was standing there, looking at me with a frantic expression on his face. I stared at him with wide eyes, my earlier fears and anxieties quickly returning. I had nearly forgotten about calling him too. Damn it.

“You didn’t do anything, did you? You didn’t take anything?” He asked, looking down at me. I took a deep breath and shook my head. I stepped to the side and silently invited him inside. He stepped inside and looked back at me, before looking around my home. He was probably looking for any signs of current drug use. The only real sign was in the bathroom… Where the bathroom had a grenade of pills explode all over the place. We’ll just keep him out of there… For now...

“No, no, I didn’t. I swear I didn’t. I, uh... I took a nap and cried it out,” I rubbed the underside of my nose. I pressed the door shut before turning around to look at him. He was looking at me, he still wore a panicky expression in his eyes and it made me feel sick. He doesn’t believe that I didn’t do anything. I wouldn’t believe me either.

“What happened?” Spencer finally asked as I walked up to him. He opened his arms up and allowed me to hug him. I honestly didn’t want to answer him. Everything about today was already awful, and I just wanted it to be over. “Can you tell me what happened?” He asked after a moment of silence. I let out a deep sigh after he pulled his arms away from me. He noted my deep breath and wrapped his arms back around me.

I turned my head away from his chest so I could have a coherent sentence. Er, well, as coherent as it could get. “My… It’s the anniversary of… Of my mom's death,” I swallowed roughly. Spencer looked down at me before squeezing me harder. I pressed my face into his chest and shook my head. “And, I just…. Wanted to disappear. I don’t know…” I spoke, my words being muffled into his shirt. One of Spencer’s hands cradled the back of my head while the other held me closer to him. “I didn’t want to be alive at the moment,” I whispered.

“Don’t say that,” he returned the whisper. His voice vibrated in his chest, and it felt good against my head. The way he squeezed me made me feel safer in the moment. “Please don’t ever say that again,” his voice cracked at the end. I bit my lips together as I started to cry. “Don’t even think like that,” his voice got even lower, probably because he was also crying and he was just trying to mask that fact.

“You don’t get to think that way either,” I looked up at him and furrowed my eyebrows. He looked at me as he remembered when he was gone for a week and how he stood in front of several people with loaded weapons.

“This isn’t about me… It’s about you,” he whispered, bringing a hand to my face. His thumb brushed away the tears that were rolling down my cheeks, but that was basically useless because I couldn’t stop crying. But it felt good to cry, to be honest. “You’re still young and have so much to live for. Someone has to save you,” he looked down at me, his hand still holding my face. I feared that he was only doing it to make sure I was still here and alive. Which was a weird fear for me to have, and I suppose for him to have.

“So are you, Spencer,” I whispered as I leaned into his touch more. He swallowed roughly as he kept his eyes on me. His eyes grew glossy the longer he stared at me. “You save everyone… But who saves you from yourself?” I furrowed my eyebrows. Spencer sighed deeply before hugging me again.

“You do,” his whisper was hardly audible, so I was happy I heard his words. I wasn’t so sure what he meant by that. I mean, obviously, I was the thing that kept him sane while he was home. But, I don’t exactly know how I save him though. So, I was unsure as to why he told me that. “It’s just been difficult for me recently. But, I’m working on getting better,” he spoke softly. And, I swear he said ‘for you’, but it was so quiet I couldn’t be sure. Even if he did say it, I’m sure I wasn’t supposed to hear it.

We stayed silent for a while, and we just stood in each other’s arms for even longer. Being in his embrace made me feel safe, and I know I said that earlier. But it’s true. I wonder if he felt the same.

“You alright?” Spencer looked up at me. I looked down at our hands and nodded. “You look like you haven’t slept in a couple of days,” he spoke, his tone was soft and gentle. I could tell that he really cared and was trying really hard not to sound mean. I didn’t mean to take it to heart the way I did, but I did.

“Not really,” I grumbled and looked down at the ground. I shrugged and quickly glanced at him. He was looking at me with an apologetic look on his face, silently telling me that he was sorry for suddenly offending me. I shrugged it off like it was nothing. It wouldn’t be the first or last time someone offended me over something so… small and unimportant. He shouldn’t be sorry, it’s my own fault. He was just asking if I was alright.

“The last few days have been rough for me, ya know? Especially with this whole thing,” I sighed deeply and shrugged again.

“If I stay here, will you promise to get some rest,” Spencer offered, grasping both my hands. I looked at our hands with a dullness in my eyes. I was beginning to zone out because of how tired I was getting. Spencer lifted a hand and gently rubbed my shoulder. I sighed and looked down before looking up at his face.

“I’m having nightmares, and they’re really realistic… That’s why I’m losing sleep,” I whispered. Spencer looked at me before pulling me into a hug. “And they’re about everything. Me, my mom, you, drugs, dying, death… I don’t know,” I mumbled into his chest. I pressed my chin into his chest and looked up at him. Spencer looked down at me with a smile on his lips. We were really close to each other’s face, and I know he noticed that too. “I like when you spend the night,” I noted, changing the subject to something lighter, even though it was that much lighter.

“Really,” he asked, raising an eyebrow and smiling lightly. I nodded and returned the smile. “Why’s that,”

“Because then I’m not lonely, and left with my thoughts,” I whispered as I stared at him. I’ve never noticed how pretty his eyes are, with their golden and greeny color. He looked at me like he saw something, but I was clueless about what he saw. “And, whenever I’m with you, I feel safe and at home, in some weird way. I’m sorry. I don’t know. The exhaustion is starting to hit me now that you pointed it out,” I sat back away from him. I pressed my hands into my face and shook my head. “I just never sleep anymore and I’m honestly used to it at this point. But I’m tired all the damn time,”

“I’ll be here, you can rest. You don’t have to worry about anything hurting you,” he whispered before wrapping an arm around my body. I looked up at him and nodded. “Let’s lie down?” he asked softly. I nodded before going to walk to my bedroom. Before I even got the chance to step a foot away from him, Spencer picked me up and carried me. I looked at his face and furrowed my eyebrows. “I’m fully capable of walking, you know,”

“I know,” Spencer smiled as he readjusted his hold on me. He was carrying me like a backpack, but on his front instead of his back. “But you’re tired,” he hummed as he held me tightly.

“Yeah, I am,” I looked at him with a smile. Spencer laughed at me and shook his head. Our faces were close again, closer than before. And, for some reason, I really wanted to kiss him. Which, again, is weird. He’s my best friend… And I want to fucking kiss him. It just felt like the perfect moment for us to kiss. But, I don’t want to ruin our friendship. I can’t lose the one thing that’s keeping me grounded. And he can’t lose the thing keeping him grounded.

Spencer carefully kicked my bedroom door open and walked in. He laid me down on one side of the bed before going to the other side. The blanket was pulled over both our bodies and Spencer was close to me.

“Please get some sleep,” he whispered, brushing hair away from my face. I looked up at him and nodded. “Do you want me to rub your back?”

“I knew there was a reason I kept you around,” I laughed before rolling onto my stomach. “My bestest friend ever,” I hummed as he started running his hand along my back.

“Aren’t I your only friend?” Spencer joked lightly.

“Ah, not only that. My bestest friend,” I looked up at him and smiled. Spencer shook his head before brushing his fingers across my eyelids, somehow getting me to close my eyes.

“Go to sleep,” he whispered. I giggled and nodded before moving closer to him. Spencer returned the laughter before wrapping an arm over me.

{***}{***}{***}

I wrinkled my nose as I noticed a weight across my body. It wasn’t like an emotional weight like I’ve been so used to waking up to recently. No, there was something actually on top of me while I was asleep. So, when I opened my eyes, I wasn’t too surprised when I saw something on me. However, I was more surprised that it was another person. That’s right, Spencer stayed the night.

His arm was strewn across my torso, and his legs were entwined with mine. His head was resting on the same pillow as me. The way he slept so soundly and restfully made me mildly jealous. How come he gets to sleep so peacefully and I don’t?

I hope he was as peaceful as I thought. There was probably not a bad thing he was dreaming about. Unfortunately for me, I was freaking out because I dreamt that I watched my best friend being killed.

I laid back, pressing my head into the pillow before turning to look at Spencer. His nose twitched as he stirred lightly before hugging me tighter. I held my breath, worried that my breathing would wake up. But, it did. There was no need for worry. He must be having a good dream with all the humming and hugging he was doing.

I looked at his face, mesmerized by the way he slept so soundly. The way his eyelashes pressed against his cheeks, and freckles dotted the bridge of his nose. His lips pouty and slightly parted. I didn’t even realize he was awake and I was staring till he said something.

“Hey,” he murmured, pulling me closer before nuzzling into me more. I smiled softly as I looked up at him again. “You don’t have to go to the bathroom, do you?” he hummed as he closed his eyes again.

“No, I don’t,” I replied back, giving up on any chances of getting up. We might be here for a while, so there’s probably no point in getting out of bed with Spencer holding me hostage.

“Mmm, good,” he opened his eyes and looked down at me. The tired smile on his lips made me feel warm and safe as I looked at him. “How long have you been awake?” he asked, his thumb rubbing circles on my shoulder.

“Not long,” I whispered, looking right at his eyes. He looked back at me and nodded. “How did you sleep,”

“I think that was the best sleep I’ve had in a very long time,” he closed his eyes again, “Something about your bed is very comfortable,” he looked down at me and smiled.

“Is it the bed or is it because you’re sleeping with someone to cuddle with?” I asked myself as I stared at him. “I’m happy you find my bed comfortable,” I laughed lightly. My bed is not comfortable. So I know he didn’t find it that comfortable.

“How did you sleep?” he asked, placing a hand on my cheek. I swallowed roughly as I stared at him.

“Better than the previous night,” I shrugged a little bit. Spencer frowned as he readjusted his hold on me. “Let’s make breakfast,” I spoke out loud before sitting up, pushing his arms off me.

“Breakfast?”

“Yeah,” I smiled as I slipped out of bed and grasped his hand to pull him out of bed. He grumbled before standing out of the bed. I smiled at him before practically skipping out of the bedroom. “I’m sure I have something!” I spoke out loud, knowing I have nothing much for breakfast.

I went right to the kitchen, instantly eyeing up the loaf of bread that was probably a little stale. I grabbed it and opened the fridge, happy to see a carton of eggs. And with that, I made eggs in a basket. I hope that Spencer would enjoy that. Considering it was one of the only things I knew how to make.

“Coffee?” Spencer asked as he slowly walked into the kitchen. I turned around and pulled open a cabinet. A can of Folgers was sitting on the top shelf. I pouted as I stared at the can.

“I don’t think it’s good,” I muttered as I pulled the can from the shelf. “I probably had this stupid can of grounds for an embarrassingly long time,” I spoke as I looked into the can and noted that the grounds were kinda gross and kinda clumpy, causing me to pout. “No coffee,” I muttered, tossing the can to the garbage, only to miss and go over. The can landed with a clang on the ground.

“We can always get some later,” Spencer smiled as he bent over to pick up the can. I raised my eyebrow at him as he tossed the can to the trash, without failing.

“We?” I asked, turning to watch him lean against the counter. He shrugged and smiled.

“Why not,” he shrugged again. I smiled as I looked at him. It was only then that I realized I was burning the food.

“Oh no!” I jumped around to the stove to remove the pan from the stove. “I hope you’re okay with burnt eggs and toast,” I pouted as I looked back at Spencer. He had stepped closer to the stovetop to watch me. He looked very amused with my laughter and urgency with cooking. “Don’t laugh!” I looked up at his face.

“I just don’t think I’ve ever seen you panic over food before,” he pointed out with a smile. I looked down at the burnt food as I carefully moved it to a plate.

“I’m hungry,” I muttered before shrugging. I looked back up at Spencer and shrugged.

“That’s a good thing…”

“Being hungry? How is that a good thing?” I scoffed and raised an eyebrow.

“You have your appetite back,” Spencer pointed out before he lifted me up to set me back down on the counter. It was so effortless as he moved me. I was impressed that he barely strained to lift me (unless, he did and I was just oblivious to it). We were at the same level now, and I was able to look him in the eye instead of at his chest.

“Why’d you do that?” I looked at him before looking at the counter beside me.

“So we can have an eye to eye conversation,” he smiled at me. I rolled my eyes and looked down at the plate of two burnt eggs in a basket. “Can I ask you a question?” he asked, watching as I started picking at the food. He smiled as he stood between my legs.

“You just did,” I smiled, trying to pretend like I wasn’t suddenly anxious. Why ask someone if you can ask a question? Why not just ask the question? That’s like #1 reason why people get anxious.

“I want to take you to the office, so you can meet everyone,” he whispered as he grabbed some food too. I looked up at him with wide eyes.

“You want to take me… To the FBI…” I stared at Spencer. I almost relapsed yesterday and had the worst day of the year yesterday... And, he wants to take me to… The FBI to meet his friends… I could feel bile rising from my stomach. It honestly took everything in me to hold back the sick. So, I slowly lowered my hand and food back to the counter.

“Yeah, they’re my family, and you’re my family… So, that also makes them yours,” Spencer smiled at me. I dropped my shoulders as I stared at him. I really didn’t want to argue his logic there, but I understand why he said that.

“Won’t… They’ll… Spencer, that’s… I don’t think that's a good… They’ll ask how you know me,” I whispered as I looked away from him. He rested a hand on my knee and looked at my face.

“We won’t worry about that right now,” he whispered in a reassuring tone. I stared at him and shrugged.

“What’ll we tell them? When they ask, ya know?” I looked up at him. Spencer stayed silent as he looked around my kitchen. I could only assume he was thinking really hard about what we would say and how we would lie to his family.

“I’m not sure,” Spencer shrugged as he grasped my hands. I looked down at our hands and felt a frown forming. “I don’t know,” he whispered and shook his head. It was obvious for both of us that we would have a hard time being around his friends. Everything about telling a bunch of FBI agents that you’re addicted/was addicted to drugs can be a little (alright, a lot) intimidating. What are they going to do? The worst thing is they arrest me and fire Spencer. “Don’t overthink it,” he looked up at me. I nodded.

“I just won’t think about it,” I forced a smile before shrugging. Spencer gave me a knowing smile. “If they’re your family, Spencer, then they’re my family,” I sighed deeply as I looked down at my legs. I pulled my hands from his before rubbing my hands up and down my thighs. “And, I’d love to meet your family,” I sighed even deeper as I looked up at him. His face lit up a little bit with my words, and it genuinely made me feel happy.

“You’ll love them,” he whispered before pulling me off the counter. I wrinkled my nose before looking up at him.

“I mean, I’ve already met Emily. And, she seemed definitely cool,” I laughed as I grabbed the plate. I looked at the two burnt pieces of bread. I tossed them into the trash and looked up at him. “I just hope everyone else is just as cool as she is, and even as cool as you,” I cocked my head as I looked up at him. He stayed silent before pulling me into a hug. “When would you even want me to go?” I asked once he released me. My stomach felt upside-down as I asked my stupid question. “Whenever you want,” he spoke softly. I looked down at the ground and nodded.

“I should let you get to work. I know you don’t like being late,” I pouted, “I’ll see you later?”

“Of course,” Spencer smiled before hugging me again.

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series taglist: @shameleswhorehourstm, @itsametaphorbriansblog, @bxtchboy69, @sammypotato67, @seninjakitey, @thebluetint

didn’t work: thatsonezesty13, mediocrehamiltrash

#shadow writes stuff #masterlist #matthew gray gubler #spencer reid #criminal minds #mgg #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #matthew gray gubler fanfiction #matthew gray gubler imagine #matthew gray gubler x reader #doctor spencer reid #doctor spencer reid imagine #doctor spencer reid fanfiction #doctor spencer reid fan fiction #criminal minds one shot #criminal minds fan fic #a different type of high

118 notes · View notes

fallout-drabbles-n-stuff · 3 years

Note

Ok but like.. low-key want to see faction leaders and companions react to their faction being destroyed and everything the worked for gone.. feeling angsty today folks

(Angstyyyy)

Danse:

Danse's reaction completely is swayed by when it takes place. If it's pre-BB...I think it's damn safe to say that he will be so crazed and grief stricken that he will do everything in his power to get his revenge..and then maybe take his own life just so he wouldn't have to bare the pain of killing yet another one of his friends because of "duty". However if it is after BB, I highly doubt he would go on that murder-suicide rampage.

Instead Danse would completely shut himself out, choosing to be as far away from people as possible. The solitude, in Danse's mind, is the only comfort he can achieve. Nothing else makes sense to him anymore. He understands that the brotherhood had many enemies, shit..he was one of them too- but that still didn't make the pain of losing everything he worked for and the people he did so with. After all, Danse still considers them his family...even if they all would shoot him dead. If sole were to disrespect Danse's wishes of solitude, then they may just catch the poor man silently crying as he clutches his old holo tags.

It hurts. It just hurts..

Deacon:

His entire life would crumble before him.

Deacon would feel like he was back at square one. All that sacrifice, all the people he learned to never get close to..all of them, dead for not a damn thing. For someone who prides himself in being able to stay composed, Deacon's facade is completely obliterated. All the sorrow, anger, melancholy that he had bottled up just comes spewing out like a volcano of grief. Whoever was responsible for this...they'll wish they had never crossed him.

Dez:

She'll take this as a great failure..nay, the greatest failure ever to have been achieved. It not only hurts to know that so many of the people she loved died for naught, but now she must bare the weight of an entire race being permanently enslaved on top of it all. Life couldn't possibly be any worse than it is now.

Gage:

Typical of a raider, Gage feels nothing but immense rage. It all stems from something he knows all too well, betrayal. Isn't it sickening? He sure as fuck thinks so. You can guarantee that he will find the bastard responsible, break them into nothingness and tear them apart. He never was merciful anyway.

Maxson:

It is highly unlikely that Arthur would still be alive in the event of his faction going down, but let's just say that he is.

First, the once mighty elder maxson would have to face the fact that he no longer lives up to the prestigious Maxson name. But that wasn't really the first thing that came into his mind. Since his faction was just a mere chapter, he would have to return to the Capital Wasteland and go back to the Citadel. The entire time he waits, Arthur can hardly handle the deep agony that starts to build- the faces of all those soldiers and scribes that looked at him like he was some divine being..they wouldn't leave him be. The men and women that cried his name in battle, they were gone and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.

The worst of it all was the squires. Oh god, the squires. Their innocent faces were practically seared into his mind- causing him to sob until no sound would come out, an occurrence that happens frequently. The whole ordeal caused him to drown out his pain with copious amounts of liquor, drinking himself to the point of making an even bigger fool of himself via having to get his stomach pumped or being on the verge of death.

He was finding it hard to care anymore. He just wanted to leave the constant reminders of his failures behind.

Preston:

As truly sad as it sounds, he knew it was going to happen. That still doesn't mean that he is "okay" with it- oh no, he is very far from okay. For the Minutemen to be completely destroyed, sole would've either had to die or just refuse being their general..and then the remaining bits of them just would've been picked off after one too many raider attacks.

For a few months Preston would try to convince himself that he still had a purpose, that somehow he could still help others despite how hard he had failed..but it all comes crashing down on him whenever he inevitably gets another innocent killed. After that, Preston would be empty on the inside- unable to do so much as look at the shining sun without feeling this overwhelming sense of despair. Any hope he had..it was gone.

It wouldn't take long for him to lose all will to live.

X6-88:

Confusion wouldn't even begin to describe what he feels.

It's much like a victim being hurt by an abuser, only to feel immense sorrow whenever the abuser has been brought to justice. He wants to find a way to tell himself that the Institute's fall was for the best- but he can't get over how...how pointless everything felt afterwards. For as long as he could remember, X6 relied on the cold, mechanical orders of the Institue. Without them in the picture, he feels like he has been casted out into a vast sea without a lifeboat to keep him afloat.

But you'll never be able to tell, at least not until he finally has enough of the misery and lashes out.

Aaaaand we've all seen how Shaun reacts-

#tw suicide mention #tw depression #tw substance abuse #fallout 4 #fallout #fo4 companions #paladin danse #fallout companions #elder maxson #danse #porter gage #Maxson #desdemona #deacon #x6 88 #preston garvey #Preston

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duelistkingdom · 3 years

Text

you’d come back to me

chapter three: anew

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Summary: Seto Kaiba has been presumed dead for four years after the events of Dark Side of Dimensions. His return causes both unresolved feelings of grief to be brought to the surface and the past to be dragged right back up. In hopes of helping Seto move on and reintegrate back into society at large, Mokuba asks Yugi to work on Spherium II with Seto. Never one to leave a friend hanging, Yugi agrees. Over the course of the project, Seto and Yugi both come to terms with their mutual grief and grow towards a better understanding of each other.

Rating: T

Ships: Yugi Mutou/Seto Kaiba, Mokuba Kaiba/Rebecca Hopkins, Katusya Jonouchi/Mai Kujaku

Warnings: aged up characters, grief, references to suicide

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“I sold the mansion.”

That was the only explanation Mokuba gave when they drove the wrong way home from the hospital when Seto was eventually released. He supposed as far as explanations go, it was a good one. “Then where do you live?”

“In a one bedroom apartment in downtown Domino,” Mokuba said, texting someone. Whoever it was was labeled as ‘loml’. Who was Loml? The person’s grasp on Japanese was shaky and substituted English words in quotes, leading Kaiba to believe Loml was probably foreign. Mokuba had texted that he had picked up Seto. Before Seto could read further, Mokuba pulled the phone out of his line of sight. “Stop reading my text messages or I’ll drop you off at a hotel.”

“Maybe I’d prefer a hotel,” Seto grumbled. He was annoyed that it had taken so long to discharge him. He wasn’t sure why they felt the need to keep him for observation for almost a month. “I don’t see why I have to sleep on your couch.”

“The doctor thinks that you would heal better under supervision from family, since your concussion didn’t heal as well as it should have,” Mokuba countered, exchanging a glance with Isono briefly. Seto still thought the doctor had been off base for insisting that his concussion was still persistent. As far as Seto was concerned, he’d already healed. He felt great. He was certain Mokuba was keeping something from him, but he didn’t know what. “Plus… I’m worried about you. I don’t want you to be alone.”

“And as for why I can’t drive?”

“Your license expired while you were gone,” Isono interjected, another shared glance with Mokuba that frustrated Seto. “You will need to get a new one, Mr. Kaiba.”

“Things like that tend to happen when you’re gone for four years, bro,” Mokuba said, the word “bro” sounding a little strained. Seto hadn’t wanted to notice before that Mokuba seemed a little stiffer than he used to. He noticed now. It was impossible to not notice the way Mokuba was trying so hard to pretend like four years hadn’t disappeared. Every time the missing years were mentioned, Mokuba tried to change the subject. Mokuba forced a grin. “Means you got a lot of catching up to do!”

He didn’t know how to respond to that so he didn’t.

The apartment complex Isono drove them to was clean and modern. It was also a lot more vertical than he would have thought when Mokuba had mentioned living in a one bedroom apartment. He wasn’t certain what he’d expected, but the building looked more like a skyscraper than a place of residence. “I’ll take care of making sure Mr. Kaiba’s things get here,” Isono said to Mokuba. “For now, you should make sure he gets settled.”

Mokuba nodded. “Thank you, Isono,” he said as Isono parked the car in front of a set of elevators. “Come on, bro. The elevators will take us right outside my door.”

“Is that safe?”

Mokuba laughed as he pulled out what looked to be a key card. “You can only get to the floor if you have a key,” he said. “I’ll have Isono get you a key later.”

The elevator doors slid open and Seto was taken aback by how industrial it looked. He followed Mokuba’s lead, though. It was strange to think of Mokuba living in a place like this by himself. Why did he sell the mansion? Was it just too tied to bad memories? Had he always wanted to sell the mansion? A bunch of questions that Seto had no answer for and had no intention of voicing aloud. Mokuba swiped a card that had “home” written on it in someone else’s handwriting and pressed a button for the fifteenth floor. That was high up. It was also… Seto pushed the thought aside.

The entranceway to Mokuba’s front door was grandiose, too. A couple of plants surrounded them on slick marble tiles and a picture of the Golden Gate bridge existed to his left on linen white walls. To his right, a bunch of pictures of various horses were all over the wall with gold placards underneath that he didn’t bother to read. He noted the source of light - a glass chandelier with gold trim. A couple of photos of Mokuba with Yugi and his friends, a couple pictures of a blonde girl that looked a lot like Rebecca Hopkins with her arm thrown around Mokuba… though… When did Mokuba start to like horses so much? Has he always liked horses? He didn’t have long to process the photos when his brother opened the door to the foyer. Natural light from the windows drifted right into the foyer, illuminating that the place was spotless.

It opened right into the living room, which had a massive L shaped couch in front of a large TV. The TV had a lot of game consoles hooked up to it, Seto noted. Another thing he noted was that it seemed like the place was designed to entertain guests. The foyer opening into the living room was just the start of it. The only thing that separated the living room from the kitchen to the left was a bar that had fresh cut flowers and bar stools lining it. Wine glasses hung above the bar and seemed to have a lot of light sources. There was a spiral staircase by the kitchen that led right up into a lofty area above them. “The room’s upstairs,” Mokuba said quietly as he hung his key on a rack. “There’s a guest bathroom over there,” Mokuba remarked as he pointed to a hallway to the left. “But it doesn’t have a shower, so you’ll have to use the shower in my bedroom. Don’t use the bathtub.”

A strange request but Kaiba felt no need to pry. “So you don’t often have people stay the night?”

“Wouldn’t say that,” Mokuba said. “C’mon, I’ll show you where the shower is.”

Once again, he was following Mokuba. There was a series of framed photographs on the wall on the way to the bedroom. One appeared to be a picture of Professor Hopkins and Sugoruko Mutou but… maybe a few years younger? Why would Mokuba have this? A photo of Mokuba with Rebecca Hopkins from the KC Grand Prix was prominently framed in the center of the hallway. In fact, it seemed like all the photos were designed to draw the eye to this one photo. Perhaps his friendship with Rebecca was much closer than Seto had originally thought. Then again… he hadn’t really been paying attention.

Mokuba opened the bedroom door and once again, natural light streamed everywhere. An ornate desk sat in front of the windows with a stack of engineering books and sticky notes that seemed much taller than he would think possible. A bookcase was next to it with thick, heavy textbooks that had pieces of paper sticking out of each of them. One of the shelves had multicolor binders in no particular order that Seto could see. In the middle of the room was a large, ornate, king sized bed with two oak nightstands on either side. One was just as messy as the desk, with a leather bound journal resting on top of the mess with a cup of pens near it. He was surprised the lamp on that nightstand hadn’t been knocked off by the mess. The other was neat with a single lamp on it. Seto frowned as he noted the size of the bed. “Why would you need a bed this size?”

“I mean,” Mokuba said, looking a little awkward before turning away to lead Seto towards another door, “it’s not just me sleeping there.”

Seto frowned, following Mokuba through the new door into the bathroom. Once again, it seemed a little bit much. Two sinks. One sink free of clutter, the other with a toothbrush, a hairbrush, and an eyelash curler left out. “Who else would sleep here?”

“My girlfriend,” Mokuba said as he gestured towards the shower. “Here’s the shower. Towels are in there,” he remarked as he pointed towards a plain white cupboard. “There’s also extra toilet paper. Don’t use her towels. You’ll know they’re hers because they’re all monogrammed with her initials.”

“Right. Those photos of that Hopkins girl.” Seto frowned. “It must be serious if she’s living with you.”

“It is rather serious.” Mokuba seemed on the verge of saying something else but shrugged it off. “Rebecca’s rather finicky with her things. Don’t use them. Anyway, I'm going to leave you to take your shower cause I should get back to work. Isono will be around to check on you and Rebecca should be home when she’s done with her classes. Be nice to her.”

“I see you decided to come back.”

Seto glared at Dr. Reiki. It wasn’t that Seto had decided to come back. “My brother seems to think that before I can be cleared for work, I need to attend these sessions,” Seto said, crossing his arms and glancing out the window. This time, he did not care about whatever game Reiki was playing. He wanted to make it as clear as possible that he did not want to be here. “Thus, here I am.”

“So the only reason you are here is to be cleared for work?”

Once again, the doctor had taken to making this seem like a game. It was impossible for Seto to tell how Dr. Reiki felt about his statement. He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to respond. “Tch,” Seto said as he looked away from the therapist. “I suppose so.”

“I see. If that’s the case, then tell me about your relationship with Mokuba,” Dr. Reiki said, leaning back in his chair. Seto hated that Reiki always seemed so at ease within these four walls while Seto struggled to find his footing. “I know I’ve spoken with Mokuba already but…. I am curious as to how you’d describe it.”

Seto arched his brow at the doctor. “Fine,” he said, carefully choosing his words. “When our parents died, we were shuffled around from relative to relative. None of them wanted extra mouths to feed. They were more than happy to spend our inheritance, however. They kept that but dumped us at the orphanage. I knew it was my responsibility to look after Mokuba because no one else would. I… made mistakes in raising him. I know that now. I regret how harsh I was. I… only meant to protect him.”

He cut himself as he registered Reiki taking notes. Reiki looked up when Seto stopped talking. “Don’t worry about the notes, Seto,” he said. Kaiba squashed down the desire to demand that Reiki be more formal. “This is part of the standard procedure to clear any patient to return to work. Please, continue.”

“Right,” Seto said, glancing up at the degree that Reiki held again. It was from Harvard. He supposed it made sense that Reiki went to a western school for this line of work. This did, in fact, relax Seto a little bit. At least his therapist was the best. “It was just Mokuba and I after my adoptive father died. Only Mokuba really knew the truth of what happened while everyone else…”

“Everyone else…,” Reiki prompted when Seto trailed off. Seto glared at him and glanced around. “This is a safe space, Seto. Nothing you say will leave these four walls.”

“Everyone else believes I killed my adoptive father,” Seto admitted, leaning back, leaving out the fact that there were days when he wished he had. He doubted that would help in his quest to be cleared to go back to work. “Mokuba knows that isn’t true. Still, he knew it was true that I could be, can be… Ruthless. Some people considered me to be cold and calculative, so the rumor persisted. Still persists, truthfully.”

Seto trailed off again, wondering if he was saying the right things. It was difficult to strike a line here. He still had no idea what Reiki was after to clear him for work. The therapist offered no hints.

“It makes sense that you were ruthless. Public record states that you became president of Kaiba Corp when you were only 15,” Reiki remarked. “You must have had to be cutthroat. I would imagine there were plenty of people seeking to take advantage of your youth and naivety - something you more than likely couldn’t afford. Tell me, how did you feel about those rumors?”

For a moment, Seto was dangerously close to answering. Before he admitted to anything, Seto caught himself. “What does this have to do with me getting cleared for work?”

Reiki’s mouth twitched into a smile. “In order to be certain you’re ready to return, I need to get a feel for what your work history is. How you see the company and how it affects you,” he said and Seto resented that he sounded like he was trying to coax a deer to him. “After all, the concern is that work might do more harm than good right now.”

Seto considered this for a moment. Finally, he gave a soft “tch” before crossing his arms. “I didn’t appreciate them,” Seto admitted. “It seemed like everyone was more concerned about the potential soap opera than the fact that I’d been orphaned again. My adoptive father was not a good man and do not misunderstand me, I am not saddened by his death. However… no one seemed to care that I was fifteen and without a father again. That left me, to be a CEO and president of a multi billion dollar corporation, and a father to my younger brother.”

“You considered yourself to be the parent?”

“I had to,” Seto sniffed. “There was simply no one else who would. So I had to step up to the plate to make sure Mokuba was taken care of.”

Reiki frowned as he glanced over his notes. “I will admit that makes sense as a motivation,” Reiki said slowly. “What I’m having trouble understanding is why did you abandon him for four years if you felt that it was your duty to be a father Mokuba? Could it be that perhaps you were following the only model for a father you had?”

Seto bristled. “I did not intend to leave him for four years,” Seto hissed. “That was the result of an error in programming. I was supposed to return mere moments after I left.”

The therapist nodded again and jotted something else down. Again, Seto longed to know what the therapist was writing. He badly wanted to correct anything Reiki may have misunderstood. “Well. I think we have made some decent progress today,” Reiki said. “How about we meet again in two weeks?”

As much as Seto wanted to argue, he wound up agreeing instead.

Yugi had been staring at the code for the AI for the past few hours now. He’d clipped his hair up earlier in a desperate attempt to keep his bangs out of his face. They still liked to land in front of his face. He’d figured it was safe to work on this project now because Mokuba was out picking up Seto. From what, Mokuba never said. He wasn’t expecting Mokuba to come back to work.

It’s why he nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard, “So you know about the AI project Seto was working on before he left.”

For a moment, he wanted to ask how Mokuba knew about it. It was a stupid question. Obviously Mokuba knew more about what Seto had been doing before he left than Yugi ever did. Yugi sighed and nodded. “I stumbled across it a few weeks ago,” Yugi admitted, leaning back in his chair. The code was more complex than he was used to. “Why did Kaiba make it so you have to duel it to leave that room?”

Mokuba sighed, resting against the wall. Yugi thought it was greatly unfair that Mokuba shot up to six foot while Yugi was still stuck at five foot eight. He remembered when Mokuba was only barely shorter than him by an inch. Then again… he also remembered when Seto was willing to die for Mokuba. Willing to traumatize him to save Mokuba. It seemed to Yugi that a lot had changed in Seto. “He was obsessed,” Mokuba said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to shut it down… it was the last thing Seto made before…”

When he trailed off, Yugi couldn’t fault him. Mokuba had managed to deal with the fact that Seto had vanished off the face of the Earth for the past four years. The cracks in Mokuba’s facade were easy to see through but Yugi didn’t want to press. As much as Yugi wanted to help, he knew that it would be better to let Mokuba come to terms with his feelings before unpacking them. “It’s okay,” Yugi said. “I imagine it wasn’t supposed to be easy to find.”

“You know, all the people that had been working on it thought it was supposed to be of you,” Mokuba said suddenly, a light smile as if this was deeply hilarious. “One of them asked me why he didn’t just go down the street and ask you for a duel. Another asked if you were actually that ripped.”

Yugi laughed, shaking his head. “I mean, if they want to believe I look that good,” Yugi said, trying to keep the conversation light. “I was just… noting the differences between how the AI acted and how Atem… actually acted.”

“Seto insisted it was perfect,” Mokuba said, folding his arms over his chest and closing himself off. Turns out, there was little difference between the Kaiba brothers when they were distancing themselves from him. “It was based on his memories of how the Pharaoh acted.”

“Atem,” Yugi corrected, a knee jerk reaction. “That explains why it’s not… it doesn’t act like Atem,” Yugi said with a sigh. “Kaiba never saw Atem outside of a Duel. I did. He… he was conflicted. Complex. He carried a lot of guilt with him. He…” Yugi trailed off as he noted the look on Mokuba’s face. While there was little chance he’d shown his hand, Mokuba still looked sympathetic. Yugi’s face burned as he realized that no matter how much he moved on, the fact remained that he still loved Atem and it must have shown in how he spoke about Atem. Yugi was certain that some part of him would always love Atem. It was unimportant to this conversation, however. “It was just a lot to see something look so much like Atem and almost act like him but… not quite him.”

“You could fix it,” Mokuba noted, a cautious note in his voice. The statement hung in the air before Mokuba added on, “However.... It would be smarter to just leave it, right?”

Yugi nodded thoughtfully. He could, indeed, work with Mokuba and learn the coding behind the AI. He could certainly adjust the AI so it acted more like Atem. All these things were absolutely possible. However… “If Kaiba duels this AI again,” Yugi said slowly, an idea forming in his head, “I could change its deck. I mean, it’d be more like Atem in that sense. Atem and I always built our deck together. So the real way to start fixing how the AI acts is… for me to build it a new deck. Right?”

A grin split across Mokuba’s face. “Yugi, are you suggesting that we fuck with it?”

Yugi turned to look at the AI’s code before nodding. “I am absolutely suggesting that we fuck with it.”

Seto was trying to figure out what he should do since Reiki had refused to clear him to work again. He browsed a few Dueling sites to kill time. He knew that things had to have changed since he left. He knew that the meta for Duel Monsters most likely was different and if he wanted to keep up, he’d have to look into the new strategies.

This was, of course, just a distraction. He didn’t want to check his email. His old burner account had to be worthless by now so he set up new burner account. He was annoyed to discover the user “saggithedarkclown” was taken and the person who owned it wouldn’t give it up without payment.

After a minor argument with himself, he bought the username while mentally cursing them for taking the username in the first place. He supposed the real joke was on him for actually paying for it, though. From there, he was able to poke around at the current meta and see what had changed.

As much as the format of the game had changed, it would seem that Yugi was still the undefeated champion. Still the King of Games. There were a couple photos of Yugi at previous exhibition matches with similar determined expressions and the same leather pants he remembered Yugi wearing at Battle City. Or well… the other Yugi, anyway. Additionally, it seemed like people now paid money to view Yugi’s various decks. Seto didn’t know how he felt about that.

He noted the new support cards for his deck and was disgusted to see that Pegasus had reprint the Blue Eyes White Dragon cards during his absence. It felt almost mocking. As if the minute he turned his back, Pegasus took advantage. He knew it was a ridiculous reaction. They were, after all, the intellectual property of Industrial Illusions and Pegasus was free to reprint whatever he saw fit. It still did not make Seto feel any better about it.

There were also new methods of summoning. He’d found a couple videos of Jonouchi, Yugi, and Mai all using the new summoning methods. He’d have to figure out how they worked. Synchro vaguely reminded him of ritual summoning so that might be the easiest to pick up. As for XYZ and Link, however, Seto couldn’t exactly figure them out. As far as he could tell, special summoning was now a major component of the game.

The deeper he dove, the more he learned about tournaments in the previous four years. It seemed that somehow Jonouchi managed to become a competitive giant. Another thing Seto didn’t know how he felt about. Jonouchi, when Seto had left, was merely a mild irritant who was not as good as he or Yugi. He’d missed seeing a former annoyance climb his way through the ranks. It was a strange thing to realize.

He also noted that Yugi’s last real tournament entry was two years ago. His victory was a surprise to no one. Seto noted that Yugi seemed a little distracted when he won. He wondered what Yugi was thinking at that moment.

Seto was fixating. He wanted to know why Yugi had stopped entering tournaments. Did he think himself too good to Duel? If Seto entered a tournament, would Yugi enter? Did Yugi feel he had nothing left to prove? That would make sense, after all.

A ping pulled him out from his distraction. A message from someone using the handle “kc_blimp” was left on one of his posts about wanting to get back in the game after a three year break . He was surprised to see that the user had left a long and in depth explanation about the new summoning mechanics. He’d have to test them out himself. He was also surprised to see the user noted that Duels tend to be faster with ten turns being “long duels” by modern standards and to expect stall techniques to not work as well as they did four years ago. How much had the game changed in his absence?

Unfortunately for him, there was only one way to have some of his questions answered. He sent the user a private message,

He got a phone call from Pegasus, which he ignored.

For the past few months, Seto had not once seen Rebecca. He knew she came home occasionally because every single time Rebecca had been in the apartment, there would be a messy table left behind. Rebecca had no concept of how to keep a room clean and it was slowly driving Seto crazy.

The door unlocked and Seto expected to see Mokuba enter. He was not expecting to see a blonde woman that was wearing a denim skirt, a bright blue shirt, and a blue headband walk in. She seemed to be carrying dozens of paper bags and had a heavy looking backpack slung on one shoulder. “Oh, hi, Seto,” she said, kicking the door closed with one of her sharp looking heels. “Are you going to just stand around or are you going to help me with the groceries?”

At first, Seto was appalled by the gall of this woman to just walk into the apartment and address him by first name. It took a moment for him to realize that yes, this was indeed Rebecca Hopkins. She… expected him to help? “Why didn’t you get Isono to take care of that?”

Rebecca sighed as she dumped the bags on the dining table and tossed her backpack right at him. It hit him in the stomach and he nearly doubled over. How did she carry this? The bag felt like it weighed as much as she must. “Unlike you, I do not expect others to take care of me,” she said as she began unloading one of the bags. He was surprised to see so many processed snacks. There was no way Mokuba ate that crap, right? “Seriously, are you going to help or what?”

“Why did you buy so many chips,” he said, alarmed as he set the backpack down then headed over to examine the groceries. At least one bag had vegetables and another had fruits in it, thankfully. The next bag was full of sweets, however… “You don’t need this much sweets.”

“How the fuck do you think I’m going to get through this bitch of a thesis paper,” Rebecca retorted, looking at him as if he’d asked her if Luster Dragon was a normal monster. “Not all of us get handed a company at fifteen, you know. Some of us actually have to work for what we get.”

He was surprised at how blunt she was. This was the girl that Mokuba was dating? She seemed a little rude. No, that was putting it too nicely. Rebecca Hopkins was an absolute nightmare. Had she always been like this? He answered his own question when he remembered that of course she was nasty - she was American. He was surprised at how well she spoke Japanese, however. “Since when did you know how to swear in Japanese,” Seto asked. The last time he’d seen her, her go to choice of swear words was ‘goddamn’ in English peppered into badly spoken Japanese. “Why are you here in Japan?”

“I’m getting my PhD in Engineering from the University of Tokyo,” Rebecca said, rolling her eyes as she put the chips in one of the cupboards.

Seto had never opened any of the cupboards in the kitchen. He was surprised to see they were organized. He was even more surprised that Rebecca was following the system the kitchen had.

“I have to know how to speak Japanese in order to attend,” she went on, “considering all my professors speak it. And Mokie taught me.”

Mokie? Did she refer to his brother with a cutesy nickname? Seto was appalled by her. “Sorry, did you say your PhD?” Seto asked as realization set in “Aren’t you nineteen?”

“I started college when I was thirteen.. And I’m actually twenty, so show some respect,” she said, her bright blue eyes glancing up at him sharply and rather dismissively. “Seriously, if you aren’t going to help put things away, why are you here? The meat goes in the fridge, the sweets go in that cupboard, the dips go over there, the wine goes in the wine cooler. Hurry up!”

Since she clearly wasn’t going to let this go, Seto took the bag full of fish, chicken, pork, and what appeared to be a well-marbled steak. Did she cook? She didn’t seem like the kind of person who cooked. He opened the fridge for the first time and noted it was neat. Considering how Rebecca’s desk and nightstand looked, Seto could only deduce either someone was hired to cook or Mokuba cooked. He didn’t know if Mokuba could cook. How could he not know if his brother cooked or not? He made a mental note to avoid mentioning this to his doctor during his next check up, lest they subject him to more tests again. “You do all the grocery shopping?”

“Sometimes Mokie does it since he does all the cooking,” Rebecca said as she started putting away the wine. “But since he’s busy with work, I thought I’d make life easier for him and pick up the groceries. Plus… his birthday’s coming up! I wanted to do something nice for him.”

Mokuba’s birthday was coming up? Had he been back in this world for that long already? He hadn’t bothered keeping track of the days. If Mokuba’s birthday was coming up soon enough for her to be thinking about it… it would have to be June, right? He didn’t want to ask. “So what are you doing for his birthday?”

“Don’t worry about me, worry about you,” Rebecca said, her hands planted on the table as she glared at him. “What did you get him to make up for what you did?”

Seto was taken entirely aback. He wasn’t expecting to meet Rebecca today, much less be confronted about what he’d done. He was nervous now. Were Rebecca’s eyes always this icy? He didn’t know it was possible for one person to look this cold. “Er,” Seto said, stumbling over himself. He looked away from her harsh gaze. “I didn’t get him anything.”

She sighed, shaking her head. “You can pick up the cake, then,” she said, as if it wasn’t up for discussion. He certainly wasn’t about to interject that he didn’t know how to pick up a cake from a bakery. He always had Isono deal with that sort of thing. “I’ve been planning Mokie’s birthday for the past three months and you are not about to ruin it by showing up empty handed. I’ll email you the information about the bakery and where to go.” With that, she’d finished unpacking the rest of the groceries. Seto had barely helped at all but that didn’t seem to matter. She picked up her backpack, tossing it over her shoulder, and moved toward the stairs. “I’m going to go do my homework. Don’t bother me.”

He wouldn’t dream of it.

For the most part, Mokuba really was okay. He swore it up and down to anyone who asked. But there was a strange feeling in his heart when he looked at his brother. It was like he was being ripped apart to see him looking exactly as he did four years ago when he told him “you’re in charge, Mokuba” before leaving him. He wiped away the tears.

He was okay. He would make himself be okay, he thought idly as he glanced at the mirror in the private bathroom attached to his office. Kaiba Corporation CEOs did not cry, he reminded himself. They did not let things like this tear them down. He held himself high, adjusting his tie.

He knew what Yugi would say.

That it was okay to cry. That it was okay to be upset. Well, Yugi was wrong. Mokuba couldn’t let anyone see that this rattled him. He’d seen how Kaiba Corporation CEO’s were supposed to act and he would follow it to the letter even as it ripped him apart. He left the bathroom, striding with purpose. Showing weakness would be the same thing as death.

Rebecca knew something was wrong. She always seemed to know when Mokuba wasn’t okay. Thankfully, her classes kept her busy and he never had to face how he really felt for too long. If she was around more often, she might have demanded that he actually go see a therapist again. He’d been doing so good that he hadn’t needed it. Though, to be fair, he’d already insisted prior that Kaibas don’t go to therapy. He almost grinned thinking about how she’d reacted to that.

Despite this, when Yugi had discovered the AI, it changed a lot of things. For one, he now spent extra time trying to pick apart the code with Yugi in Yugi’s office. It was far more complex than anything he’d ever seen and he was amazed Yugi could even keep up.

Yugi had already proven himself an intuitive coder, though. He supposed it would make sense that Yugi would be smart enough to figure out the strange lines of code. “I think this right here is supposed to be based on one of the Battle City duels,” Yugi said with a frown as he examined a complex string of code that seemed to be its own thing. “Kaiba doesn’t like to organize his codes, does he?”

“I think it is organized,” Mokuba said, sitting down in one of the chairs in Yugi’s office. He ran his fingers through his hair as he tried to work through lines. The flags for the reactions seemed to change on their own, as if the code itself was alive. Or maybe Mokuba was finally going crazy. He and Yugi had already spent so long trying to figure out how to adjust just one facet of the AI’s personality that Yugi had noted was off. “It’s just in a way we haven’t figured out yet.”

“So the solution is to think like Kaiba,” Yugi said with a defeated sigh. Mokuba didn’t get why that seemed to be a problem for Yugi. There was once a time when Yugi could easily dissect his brother and accurately deduce what he was thinking. Unless… unless maybe he was mixing up Yugi and Atem again. “If I were Kaiba and I wanted to build a complex AI that could think for itself while dueling… I might…” Yugi’s brow furrowed. “Hm… what if the reason that’s off is because…”

Yugi did something and strangely, the code jumped down several lines in response. Mokuba sat up straighter as he examined the new spot they were in. “He attached that reaction to that,” Mokuba remarked, a little stunned. “Why would he do that?”

“Same old Kaiba,” Yugi remarked. “I think he may have put a lot of important flags behind the Dueling operation. He really did only intend to use this as a Dueling simulator, huh?”

“Before he left, he was planning on creating a virtual world in which Duelists could enter and challenge virtual Duelists. The project was basically complete but never went past the beta stage,” Mokuba remarked, fiddling with the code just a little bit more. He didn’t know if what they were doing was wise but he knew that if they could make improvements… maybe they could follow up on a project Seto left behind. “A way for everyone to enjoy the game and get better at it. Do you think that it might be a problem if we…”

“Probably,” Yugi said with a shrug. “But if we’re going to give it new decks to play against Kaiba, we need to make sure that the AI can play them optimally.”

“And you don’t think this code could do it?”

He felt offended on behalf of his brother. Yugi had to know that Seto had poured everything into this program. It was supposed to perfectly replicate Seto’s memories of Atem. He was annoyed when Yugi shook his head. “This code’s missing what made Atem such a good Duelist,” Yugi said, a light grin across his face. “A bit of me.”

“This code is designed to perfectly replicate Atem as Seto remembers him and Duel with his exact strategies,” Mokuba said, well aware it wasn’t the best defense of the code. After all… he had to admit that no one knew Atem like Yugi did. “Are you saying Seto doesn’t remember how Atem duels?”

“No,” Yugi said, an odd look crossing his face. “Kaiba dismissed me as a potential rival, remember,” Yugi said, and Mokuba vaguely remembered that. “He probably didn’t think that I contributed much to those Duels, I guess. But we can fix that.”

Mokuba figured that if anyone could fix the AI, it would absolutely be Yugi.

#fic: you'd come back to me #sorry i fell asleep instead of posting the next chapter on time #but hello it is here #rivalshipping #rivalshipping fanfic #myfanfic

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jj-ktae · 3 years

Text

Note II - Aldehydes

Moodboard : Courtesy of the lovely Jacqueline @jaebeomsmullet ! Thank you for helping and hyping and just being here whenever I need it.

› Title : Fragrances › Genre : Angst, Fluff, Romance, Composer!Jungkook x Perfume Maker!Reader › Pairing : Jeon Jungkook x Female Reader › Warning : Mentions of Suicide, heavy subjects, depression (none of these are used with the idea of glamourising mental illness), strong language, smut in later chapters probably. Do not read if any of these trigger you.

› Author’s note : This is another version of the story I wrote a few years ago for GOT7. Some of the events will be different, others will not change just like some paragraphs will be the same and others won’t. Informations, definitions and words are taken from here and here.

› Summary : In the world of Perfume making, it is believed that everyone has their own natural fragrance. It is also believed that everyone has that one scent capable of making them feel a thousand things. You find yours in the form of a composer on the verge of breaking, right when you have to face one of the biggest challenge in your life.

Masterlist | Note I - Ionones |

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Note II: Aldehydes

An aroma chemical that contains a functional group consisting of a carbon, a hydrogen, and an oxygen atom. Aldehydes can be derived from natural or synthetic materials. There are different types of scents associated with this chemical function but the most commonly referred to when profiling a scent as “aldehydic” is a sharp, metallic, crisp, slightly fatty impression often associated with the smell of clean textile or hot iron. One of the first “aldehydic” fragrances is the famous N°5 created by Perfumer Ernest Beaux in 1920 and launched by Gabrielle Chanel in 1921.

Your second day is worse than the first one. Jimin is all over the place, mixing essences and sniffing everything he can. You’re glad though, it makes him go silent whenever he concentrates on something, and you have time for focus. It doesn’t help because you’re still frustrated if not more, but at least you can overburden yourself in peace.

The only light in all that shadow comes from the memory of Jungkook’s scent, precise yet unknown. You try to create something similar, but it’s everything and nothing at the same time and no matter the amount or variety of scent you use, you can’t even get close to it

His scent is a mystery.

It adds to your misery, like a voice mocking you for not being able to recognise a scent while another one forces you to crave for more. It feels like chasing a ghost.

The sound of your head against your office takes Jimin out of his momentum. “What’s happening?” He inquires. He gets up from his own working area to stand next to your powerless soul.

“When is the meeting?” You try because it is potentially the only hope for today. That powerful lady came in early to inform you about an upcoming meeting with the marketing team. The project seems big, because Jimin started to work as soon as she flew out of the laboratory. It’s been one day and he is so open about himself that you can already read his body language.

“3 p.m. I was thinking about a brainstorming. Let’s think about a concept.” He offers because this is going nowhere. You’re about to give up at any minute, and he needs you to be into it.

“What concept? I’m running in circles.”

“Sexy? Provocateur? Romantic? Angsty? Bucolic?”

“All of these have already been worked on so many times...I don’t think they want to go for something as...forthright. I’m quite sure they won’t be satisfied with a mere sexy perfume.” It’s what you understood - if your sudden creative freedom is anything to go by.

Jimin understands, his eyes now wide. He has no idea how to achieve that, but he still thinks you’re brilliant for thinking out of the box. He picks his notepad and starts writing everything you said, his brows furrowed.

“We want to be unique. The concept needs to be appealing to the greatest number without being too cliché. We are free to use what we want.” He notes things down and you find yourself peeking at the words, meaningful yet complex.

“So we need to mix a little bit of everything.” Jimin stops for a minute before a whine escapes his thick lips, “I’m lost, help me.”

“We can’t work this way.” You raise your head slowly, ruffling your wild locks in a nonchalant way. “We have to find a scent and put a concept over it. We can’t force the scent based on an imaginary idea.” This only works when a brand has specific goals but here you have nothing. You can’t possibly force an idea into your head.

Jimin looks pitiful as he puts the notepad away. “It’s going to be harder than I thought.”

And just like the day started, the meeting followed. You were not expecting much of it and you were right. The marketing project came and explained you were free to do anything you wanted. Their main objective was to follow you on whatever you wanted to create, and it’s infuriating.

How many times do you have to repeat that you can’t do it before they start to believe you?

Jimin, who was stressed before the meeting is now dejected and it almost breaks your heart because you feel responsible. You send him home earlier and decide to work on your own. Two hours later you leave the lab with Orchid oil all over your bag and the urge to cry.

There is only one way to make you feel better. You feel ashamed, like you’re addicted to something but you have to admit it.

Jeon Jungkook’s scent is the only thing worth smelling.

When you come back from work, there is no trace of him. His backpack is gone, the bed looks neat, and even the towel he probably didn’t use is dry. There’s still his smell, fresh in the air and it makes you run back outside to find the bridge where you had found him the night before.

He is not there.

You were exhausted, but you’re suddenly on fire. This situation is stressing you more than it should be when you don’t see him. It’s like you won’t ever see him again. You look around all the bridges you can find close to your place. Jungkook is nowhere to be seen.

You open the door of your apartment with a heavy heart. It’s like you lost something precious and it’s making you angry. What the hell is happening to you?

But you open the door and it hits again, like a whirlpool of long lost feelings and dried memories.

Jeon Jungkook is in your living-room, and his delectable scent pounds in the deepest zones of your brain. He is sitting on the floor by the small table, right hand dancing over bright white paper and guitar on his lap so you only see his back, but it’s the biggest relief you had in years.

He doesn’t turn around when you let your bag fall on the floor, he doesn’t move when you stop next to him. He looks absorbed, entranced. His knee is shaking to an unknown beat, mimicking his left hand which is drumming on the soft brown wood of the instrument he is holding.

“God. I thought- I’m so stupid.” You don’t want to share your worries with him, but the thought of him throwing himself off a bridge is still fresh. It stings more than it should, more than the pain you’re supposed to feel when confronted with a stranger’s despair.

“Hmm?” Jungkook doesn’t move toward you at first, but eventually his hand stops, and he glances up at your pallid features and tensed body “What’s wrong?”

“I came back home and you were not here. I thought...I thought you did something stupid.” You let your body fall on the couch. It’s like blood is circulating again into your veins, your skin going back its initial colour.

Jungkook is puzzled, like he doesn’t understand why it would be so dramatic for you. “I went around town after I grabbed some stuff from my place.” It’s crazy but he feels sorry for you. “I’m sorry for worrying you” he trails off, scanning your face some more. He has no idea how to react to a stranger panicking over his disappearance. His own family doesn’t panic when he doesn’t show up. He is lost as to why you would be so affected by anything related to him when no one else barely does.

You snort, not mad at him. You’re high on his smell and it’s all that counts. “It’s okay.” Your eyes find his, and his tilted head looks like it’s searching for any sign of discomfort. He only stares back, with eyes way too shiny for someone as dark as him. He looks candid, like he has everything to discover and it’s a mystery how he turned out thinking about the worst. You have no idea what he might be thinking - excepted that you’re probably out of your mind for reacting like this but he doesn’t question your intentions, for whatever reasons. You finally notice the papers and decide to move on before it gets too disturbing to deal with. “What are you doing?” you nod toward the torn pieces of paper and point a finger at the pile stacking up next to his crossed legs.

He swiftly puts it under his leg. “Nothing. Did you just come back from work?” He tries to change the subject. His voice gets higher and you instantly decipher his anxiety. He isn’t good with facing his own problems and it’s way too early to go into deep talks about lyrics and melodies. He might have agreed to a crazy proposition, but that doesn’t mean he is going to open to you. At least not now.

“I looked for you all over the place.” You admit because it’s a normal thing to do when somebody is in distress. Jungkook is dumbfounded.

“Why would you do this?” The situation in itself is already crazy enough as it is. He doesn’t mind you being friendly with him, even though he is pretty sure he doesn’t need it, but to the point of being dead worried for him?

“You were about to throw yourself off a bridge. I don’t know what kind of life you’ve been living but it’s pretty normal to freak out when something like that happens.” Your outburst shocks him. He doesn’t understand the impact of his actions over his surroundings. He has always thought he was just a detail in everyone else’s lives.

It has always been this way. He writes in the shadow for people to shine. Him not being here shouldn’t matter to anyone.

“It’s my business. I’m staying here because I have nothing left and it’s easier than staying in my empty apartment and facing my failures. It doesn’t mean we have to care about each other.” Jungkook doesn’t want to sound mean but he has to make it clear to you. His distress is by no mean a way to ask for anyone’s pity. He refused to add anyone into that mess, let alone a stranger.

It’s obvious, in a way. You know it’s stupid but this scent, it’s making you go wild. You can’t let it pass until you know what it is.

So you agree, taking the same tone and hoping your voice isn’t wavering. “I’m not here for you, I’m worried about another human being wanting to end his life. If it gives you the illusion that I care, I’m sorry about that.” You get up and you sound mad, something Jungkook notices as soon as you close the door a bit too violently.

No matter how mesmerising his scent is, he is apparently not that friendly. You’re not hurt by his words, because you don’t care enough personally to be affected. You’re being selfish, only thinking about your own benefit and what his scent could bring into your life. Jeon Jungkook himself doesn’t pull you in at all. He is someone you barely know anyways.

He doesn’t move from his spot in the living-room until later that night. He suddenly has too many things to write and too little time on his hands. He decides to stop when his wrist starts to hurt and his body hits the mattress of his new bedroom like a bag of sand hits the ground.

He feels at ease in the small room. Wood is covering the floor, and it is the same colour as the tiny office by the window. The view is peaceful, with buildings popping up from the floor like mushrooms and lights festooning the city in tiny dots. The bed is large and thick with soft bedding. The scent of the washing powder turns Jungkook into a nostalgic boy when he rolls into the bed, stretching his sore limbs. He feels even more stupid for feeling comfort in a seemingly empty room.

He falls asleep right away, exactly 10 seconds after you do. You’re both too exhausted to care about each other, but you both know you’re no strangers to your own common serenity.

And just like you understand the importance of his presence for your brain to function, he notices he needs your place to exist in his creative yet tortured mind. As stupid and as hard to believe as it is.

When you get up the day after, you see him by the kitchen’s table. He is sipping on orange juice that is not yours, and munching on toasts you definitely didn’t buy.

You go to the coffee machine, your head too cloudy to deal with his strong presence.

He speaks first “Want some juice?”. He is trying to make it up to you for his cold behaviour. He just isn’t used to being around you yet. He isn’t used being around anyone yet.

Also, he is the worst when he composes. He needs absolute concentration.

You sip on the hot liquid and nod his way. He hands you a glass with an unreadable face.

“Have a nice day.” He doesn’t know why he says it. He tries to be nice, because there’s nothing much to say to someone you met two days ago. Maybe his pride spoke for him yesterday, or maybe he decided to accept the hand of a stranger, because it’s less burdening than accepting his failures to his entourage.

You drink the fresh juice fast and walk away. “Thank you.” It is too hard to be rational right now, because the smell seems even stronger now. You probably come off as rude when you don’t reciprocate his words but you don’t dwell on it; that boy isn’t going to accept any sort of compassion anyways.

You enter the bathroom and get hit by the scent of his shower gel. Not that scent either.

You get ready at the same time as you build your resolve. Motivation is the key so maybe if you believe in you and your assistant, things might work out. Jimin is already here when you arrive, his citrus smell filling you from the first floor to the lab. He is joyful, like he found something awesome.

“Boss! Have a sit, come come!” His thin hand adds a tiny pressure to your back, leading you to your office.

“What’s happening?” You barely have the time to comprehend; he is already putting a sample in front of your noise.

You freeze.

“Wh-where did you find t- t- this ?” You utter, immediately thrown off by the odour.

“I was looking through essences this morning, and I thought we could start with a base, just to see what we could make of it. It’s...”

“Winter fir and Balsam*.” You conclude. Everything in this base is satisfying but the most important detail is that you remember this base. You smelled it this morning when you entered the kitchen.

You smell the very distinct feelings of comfort, warmth and softness which invades you whenever you’re close to Jungkook.

Jimin added a little twist to it, tho. “You added Cottage Herb Garden**”. The latter grins at you, visibly proud of himself for coming up with such a smart idea. He too gives off that feeling of freshness that is found in that herb. It is serene and woody and gives off feelings of sweetness and sensuality. Cottage Herb Garden fragrances are made using Aldehydes synthetic scents.

“I didn’t add much, but I thought it would go well because they both make great seasonal fragrances. I only put 8% though, how did you find out?” he looks shocked but not surprised, like he was half-expecting you to guess it yet still thought it would go unnoticed.

“The herb comes last. The earthy smell that lingers in your nose, it’s this one. Smell it again.” You tell him and he takes his time filling his nose. He closes his eyes and thinks for a moment before opening them again.

“This is Cottage Herb Garden.” You confirm and his mouth is now wide opened. He can’t believe he is working with such a talented person.

“So, do you think we could try? I feel like we’re using a lot of Aldehydes but at the same time it feels like a soft base note…” Jimin trails off, his fingers playing with the bottles.

You acquiesce, mind already elsewhere. It feels like the first step to Jungkook’s identity and it is energising. You take a sharp breath, startling Jimin who laughs at you because it’s like you found life again.

“You sound satisfied.” He offers the sample along with a genuine smile and for the first time, you smile back at him, thankful.

“You did great. I wonder why they hired me when you’re doing great on your own.” It’s true. Jimin came up with extremely complex scents and came up with a base note you would have never found on your own.

Jimin rolls his eyes and decides not to answer. If only he could have a quarter of your talent. He opens his notebook and starts writing, his eyes now shiny with glee

Base notes: Aldehydes (Synthetic) = Winter Fir / Cottage Herb Garden.

You put the sample in front of you and stare at it. So that was it. You smile to yourself, in a way, it’s like you can almost smell Jungkook.

You spent the rest of your day looking for another element to add to your base and when nothing comes to your mind you feel frustrated, but it’s the best you can do for now. Jimin is exhausted and snoring in a corner of the lab, his petite body squeezed between two cabinets. You shake him to wake his sleepy body and tell him to go home when you give up for the day.

It’s been so long since the last time Jungkook felt this satisfied. He didn’t go out, too engrossed into his lyrics to care about the light of the sun peeking through the opened blinds. It’s leaking off his pen, like he can’t stop the flood of ideas and he feels like a mad scientist, crazy and ecstatic. He takes a break around dinner time and when his stomach starts creating its own music.

He takes out noodles from the food he bought the day before. Living with you meant sharing a flat, but he wanted to provide his own necessities. Participating in daily life matters is only natural, after all.

His phone rings, and the caller ID makes him sigh. He is too hungry to face what is about to come, and his spent brain is screaming for rest.

He coughs, keeping his voice steady “Yes.” His tone is disillusioned. Jungkook barely gets any call nowadays, and except from work, he only knows one person who can annoy the hell out of him so much.

“You remember me? I thought depression AND amnesia hit you at once.” He wants to hang up when he hears the throaty voice. It’s heavy with judgement but then again, when is it not?

“And you wonder why I don’t call you, Yoongi-hyung.” Jungkook finishes the sentence in a sigh. Yoongi is awesome at being a nagging mother.

“You’re too busy being away I guess. Artists are such a handful.” He hears steps and after a while, Yoongi speaks again. “Where are you? I’ve been waiting in front of your flat.”

“I moved out.” Jungkook looks fine with the revelation. It’s like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“What? Where? Why didn’t you tell me?” he hears Yoongi’s car and supposes the latter is already going back to his place.

“It’s been two days. I’m living with a girl.” He blows hair on the steaming bowl of noodles, ignoring his friend’s deep shriek.

Yoongi doesn’t know what’s happening anymore. Jungkook leaving on an inspiration crusade is common, it’s something he does whenever he gets overwhelmed by his feelings. Never once did he actually move out to live with someone else, let alone a girl.

He doesn’t even remember when was the last time Jungkook even dated someone. “Living together as in...romantically?” he tries, suddenly wary because he expected a lot of answers, but not this one.

“I couldn’t write anymore. I’m renting a room in her apartment.” He swallows the food like he has been starving for days. There is not the slightest hint of discomfort in his voice.

Yoongi laughs after a while “You’re living with your landlord. God, Jungkook, I know you people need some sort of inspiration to exist, but to the point of living with some old lady for the sake of music...”

“She’s not old.” Jungkook has no idea why it’s the only part of the sentence he reacted to, but all of a sudden he doesn’t want anyone to make fun of the person who took him in, not when he wrote ten songs in the span of two days. Not when he feels like no one can hurt him in your quiet kitchen.

“Anyways. Lunch with me tomorrow, how does that sound? Shall I check on that woman you’re living with ? How much is she charging you ? Aren’t you being scammed?”

“I can’t.” Jungkook sighs, ignoring the numerous questions because this is so typical of Yoongi to make sure no one is messing with him. “I have to eat with my parents, don’t tell them that I moved out.”

“You have always been doing everything you wanted anyways, what would it change if he was to know?”

Because he is going to crush me down like fine dust.

It has always been the same, and no matter how successful he was at some point, his father was never satisfied. Not when music is not a certain source of income, not when reputation comes before everything else.

“I’m hanging up.” He announces once panic overtakes him and hears his friend objects, telling him he will meet with him no matter what.

It’s not like he doesn’t want to see him. It’s just complicated. Jungkook has always been different from others. He was raised with Yoongi and they had the same nanny when they were young. The age difference rapidly made Yoongi turn into the older brother as time passed, and while he was the one introducing Jungkook to music making, he quickly stopped to take over his family’s business. He never explained to him how he drifted from music, but he is now all about business. Their respective parents were and still are too busy to deal with education, and while Yoongi grew up like the sharks his father works with, he took after a quieter side, the one that tells him to do what he wants instead of chasing money.

Yoongi often tells him he is a fool, that he doesn’t need anything else if he can have a bright future with his father’s company. He often answers that he doesn’t want to work without a purpose, and Yoongi always tells him to stop being a hypocrite and rely on his father’s money if he was to spit on it.

It’s true, Jungkook doesn’t know struggling. He was born in a rich family with a lot of possibilities. He was able to become a lyricist after a lot of failures, and his parents never gave up on him financially. This is probably why he is so affected when he can’t write. He doesn’t know how to deal with difficulties, he who lived with all the good things of the world.

He hears the door opening and your sore body appears before him, surprised to see him home. It’s like you were expecting him to run away, again. You don’t speak when you see him, mouth full of noodles and wearing the same clothes you left him in this morning. The silence is thick, oxygen heavy with uneasiness. Jungkook blinks, slurping on the noodles before wiping his mouth hastily.

“Want some noodles?” It’s hard to catch on the words, but he moves the bowl in front of him, and you understand.

You nod.

No matter how strong the smell of seafood is, his scent always wins over everything else. You decide to stay close because you’re slowly deciphering his smell, and you need more time to know where you’re going.

He goes to the cupboard like he has been living here for years and fills another bowl before sitting back. You’re surprised by his sudden gentleness but brush the worries off. You’re supposed to feel weirded by the fact that an unknown man is now living with you, but none of you are freaked out.

Jungkook is too happy to be productive again. You’re too drawn into your memories to stop everything.

You sit in front of him and after a couple of minutes, he speaks. It takes you out of the now soggy food.

“What’s your job?” Jungkook sounds interested, but you know he is only trying to ease the mood.

“I’m a perfume composer.” You decide not to dig further into the matter. It’s a peculiar world, something that only a few people can relate to. Most people think you mix synthetic molecules into expensive glass bottles, wrapped in glitters and hidden into luxury boxes with frills and furbelows.

And you get offended, knowing fully well that it’s exactly what you think you’re doing.

Jungkook doesn’t sound impressed, you’re not surprised by that.

“Sounds complex.” It is. It truly is, and even more when he is entering your every pore. You don’t know if you’ll ever get used to it.

“It’s not.” you lie, “How about you?” His face lits subtly, and he seems shy all of a sudden. You don’t know this side of him yet, and you wonder where his emo behaviour went.

He coughs, putting the bowl down. “I’m a lyricist. I write lyrics and sometimes I compose, but I mostly write.”

“That sounds complex.” You muse. Jungkook is a tormented artist, then. It explains why he keeps on dreaming on bridges like he is filming a music video.

“Sometimes it’s complex, sometimes it’s a matter of course. I’ve been having a blackout recently.” It’s a confession, and he doesn’t know why he is sharing such a deep problem with you, a stranger.

You forget about the food “That’s why you were surrounded by torn papers.”

He chuckles. “Exactly. I’m getting there, though.”

It feels different to deal with such an open Jungkook. He chats like you’re close, smiles sometimes, he is almost glowing.

That evening you learn that he uses a pen name to write lyrics. He doesn’t want to tell you, but you know too little about the music industry and he finally spills the beans.

JK.

It sounds like some mysterious pen name used by thriller writers but you don’t tell him that. Instead, you decide to go to bed. No matter how comfortable you both seem, you’re not ready to share the part about you being addicted to his scent. He goes to his spot near the small table in your living-room and his hand goes back to a wild dance, covering the blank paper with ink. He is inspired.

He goes to bed right when you get up the day after and wakes up late for his lunch with his parents.

It’s not like he is eager to meet with them.

Plants. Plants plants plants. You look through the samples with haste. You know it has something to do with nature. The base note has to be about something else.

“What are you doing?” You smell Jimin the minute he opens the door, but you don’t let yourself be interrupted. You know you sound like a stalker, but you might or might not have smelled Jungkook’s jacket this morning, and you are sure of a thing: there is only one element left to create a frank base.

You don’t know when you switched from creating a perfume to reproduce his scent, but it doesn’t matter.

“All the samples are here, right?” The organ is huge and cabinets full, but it’s not enough for you. Jimin throws his vest on one of the chairs and approaches you, stifling a yawn.

“Yes. I think that’s quite a lot, actually.” He peeks from behind your shoulder, and sees your hands going through the numerous bottles, unsatisfied.

“No. No. These are generic scents. You don’t have any rare roots names, you forgot a lot of exotic fruits and most importantly, you don’t have anything uncommon.”

Jimin makes a face. He is not lost, he is adrift. “I’m afraid I don’t understand...”

“Tobacco abs, myrrh, resinoid, Balkans...” You talk but it sounds like a whole new language even for your assistant.

“Well, we have listed a lot of names. Most of them were used by previous composers, but we added more. I didn’t think it needed that much to be completed.” He knows about perfumes, he has a lot of knowledge, but you’re suddenly on a whole new level and can’t be reached.

You’re suddenly talking about tobacco odours and it freaks him out.

“I have a lot of these at home.” This could seriously help you. You barely use these, and most of them were sent by your father and collected on the internet. It’s the first time you can actually put them to good use because you know they could help, but you can’t bring them here.

Also, you think about how much easier it would be to just move work to an environment bathed by that scent which makes you crazy. How stimulating would it be ?

Jimin is expectant, but you don’t say more. He finally waves a worried hand in front of your face and you snap to meet his blinking eyelids.

“Let’s work from my place. This is what I often did.” Your offer makes him take a step back. He is not used to you being so devoted to this project.

“Are you sure? I don’t think the boss would object. We’ve had a few composers with weird demands before.” He doesn’t know what’s on your mind, but you’re a genius to his eyes and the mere idea of him seeing the place where you created such amazing products is electrifying. He can’t wait to know more about your ways.

“Good.” You glance around the room, “I don’t like this atmosphere.” You don’t mind if Jimin sees your place. At some point, you’re pretty much sure you could go with anything as long as you find the missing pieces of this conundrum.

You’re aware that you’re turning into an obsessional mess, but it feels pleasant to have a goal. This goes beyond everything you experienced, it gives you a fuel you didn’t know you could have.

You take the day to gather some samples and ask Jimin to let the boss know about your change of plans. At the end of the day, he helps you carry the numerous samples home. You’re a happy mind, torn between apprehension and excitement.

You open the door and Jungkook sees two huge boxes enter the living-room. He is rubbing a towel against his wet hair but he catches your box before you can let it crash to the ground. Jimin lets his own fall with a soft thud and you’re startled when you hear a dismayed squeal, along with Jimin’s shocked face, his finger pointing at a puzzled Jungkook.

“JK?!”

-------

* Winter Fir and Balsam : This redolent mixture of refreshing natural pine mingled with a sweet, peppery, delicately refined and soft base note of balsam has a soothing and warm character. It evokes particular feelings of warmth and comfort. The mind’s eye (and nose) recalls Christmas trees and sleigh rides and happy times by a fireside or even in a small apartment among special friends or family.

** Cottage Herb Garden : Sparkling blue waters, gentle summer winds and cozy brick cottages nestled in the lush, serene English countryside characterised this green floral scent. Enticing notes of sweet, earthy, star anise, fresh basil, grassy parsley, aromatic wild flowers, fresh garden greens and a woodsy, sensual musk base note comprise this complex aroma.

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tallmantall · 5 months

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#Anxiety #CelebratingYourGiftofLife #JamesDonaldson #JamesDonaldsonnotes:Welcometothe“nextchapter”ofmylife…beingavoiceandanadvocateformentalhealthawarenessandsuicideprevention #JamesDonaldsonMentalHealth #JamesDonaldsononMentalHealth #Leader #Leadership #MentalChallenges #MentalHealth #MentalHealthProfessionals #MentalHealthStigma #MentalIllness #MentalIssues #YourGiftofLife #YourGiftofLife.org #YourGiftofLifeFoundation

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thebluestbluewords · 3 years

Text

Soulmates Aren’t Just Lovers, You Know (chapter 2!! It’s on ao3 now!! For real!!)

(malvie, ~4000 words, pre-relationship h/c, cw for mental health issues including non-explicit references to suicide and a lot of sad bits before the actual comfort)

When Mal wakes up again, there are a hell of a lot more people in her room.

Oh, fuck no. This is not some-- some kind of family meeting bullshit. She is so not down for that. Sometimes a girl just has to have a breakdown on her own, and it’s not anybody else’s business what she does when she’s in the throes of panic after having what might be the worst day of her entire life up to this point. Maybe the worst day period, if Mal has her way with it.

“Hey, Mal.” Evie says. “Good morning.”

Mal lets her eyes flicker over to the open window.

“Well, uh, it’s more like nighttime, actually.” Evie says. “But it’s the thought that counts. I brought you dinner, if that helps?”

She holds out a box from the dining hall.

Mal doesn’t want to sit up and eat dinner and pretend like she’s a real person. She wants to lay here forever until her bones rot and her flesh melts to the bed and she’s left as a discarded husk of a person.

“It’s those fancy potato pockets?” Evie offers, shaking the box a little bit. “And I think there’s dessert?”

Mal sits up. It feels like there’s a weight where her spine should be, but she manages it. “You think?” she asks. “You don’t even know what you got for me?”

Evie has the decency to flush. “When I said I got you dinner, what I meant is that dinner has been summoned for you, and I helped.” she says arily. “It was not meant to be taken literally.”

Mal reaches out for the box. “So, what you’re saying is, the boys brought me dinner.”

Evie nods, sharp. “Yes.”

“We got you apple cake.” Carlos offers. “But if you want something else we have the door code for the freezer.”

Of course they do. Mal knows that. She was there, she’s pretty sure, when they followed one of the assistant cooks around until they could watch her put the code in and take the knowledge for themselves. She’s definitely been there when they’ve gone into the main freezer before, not just the little student one. They don’t keep the raspberry popsicles in the student freezer. She knows this.

“You are….a menace to society.” Mal says, taking the box. It’s still warm. A little bit damp on the bottom, condensation from the warm food inside. It’s weird, to think that it’s been this easy all along. Just come to Auradon, and you can have all the hot food you want. No bartering, no threatening for it. No knives involved at all for the good little kiddies in princess school. Wouldn’t want them to get hurt, finding food for themselves. Wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to the precious little royal brats.

Anger might not be the right emotion, but it’s something other than empty, so Mal’s going to take what she can get.

Evie is kind enough to wait until Mal has one potato pocket in her mouth and another one in her hand before she speaks.

“So,” Evie starts, and Mal spits her potato thing out so that she can cut her off right there, because no, it doesn’t matter that the boys are in her room, or that Evie went to the effort of tracking them down and making them bring her dinner, this is not a family meeting and Mal is not going to sit here and listen to more people tell her that she’s doing everything wrong.

“No.” Mal snaps, and picks up her only-slightly-damaged dinner again. “We’re not talking about it.”

Evie sighs, dramatically. “No right back at you. We have to talk about this.”

“We don’t!” Mal says, around her mouthful of potato pocket. Fuck, but these things are good. “We can just pretend like it never happened, and I can go back to--”

Evie interrupts her. “To being miserable all the time and not telling us?” she asks. “That’s what you want to happen?”

Ugh.

Mal flings an arm out, gesturing to the room, where her stylish little backpack is hanging up, where her princess-appropriate shoes are resting on their little white rack in the corner, where her-- okay, where her clothes are still in piles all over the floor and her textbooks for her science classes are sitting unopened on the desk but that’s fine. That’s normal. Everyone has weeks where their room is a mess, that’s why they have a cleaning staff to come around and do the things that the students are too busy to do themselves. It’s not Mal being lazy, it’s her adjusting. To this brave new world. Of. Being a spoiled rich brat.

Anyway.

“To coping!” Mal shouts, mad at herself and not-- just, so not ready to touch that one yet. “I’m coping. It’s fine. I’m just having a rough adjustment, that’s all. It’s hard, learning all of this new Auradon--stuff.”

“I don’t think you are,” Evie says, gently. “Coping is what we did months ago, when we were figuring out how to get through classes, and how to find sunscreen, and all of that. This kind of feels like, well.”

Ugh. “What.” Mal demands. “Spit it out.”

“Like you’re struggling.”

Oh. That’s-- yeah. That’s pretty obvious. Adjusting to the restrictions of school, to all of the times where back home Mal could go and do what she wanted and now she has to go to class and turn things in and speak in turn and not use her hands and sit up straight and share her things and--

It’s a lot. She’s been working on it.

“Sure.” Mal says, because it’s pretty fucking obvious that she’s putting in the effort. If she ends every day so tired she could cry and wakes up with sandpaper where her eyelids should be, that just means she’s working really hard at doing everything right. “Coping, struggling, whatever. I’ll get through it. It’s fine.”

“Mal, I don’t think it is fine.” says Evie. She looks--

Mal sticks another potato thing in her mouth instead of thinking about it. Emotions are overrated anyway.

Evie sighs again. “Some of the things you were saying, it feels like you aren’t happy here.”

“I--” Mal stutters. Stop. Breathe. “I--”

She’s not happy. Anyone with eyes to look at her right now, hiding pathetically in the bed of a girl who she wouldn’t even talk to a year and half ago, could see that. Mal’s pretty sure the lack of feeling that swallows her up sometimes isn’t the same thing as being unhappy, though. It’s the absence of happiness, not the presence of unhappiness. It’s fine. Survivable. She’s supposed to feel grateful, she knows that. She can show her best smile for the cameras, usually, and tell anyone within earshot how grateful she is for the chance to leave the island, and it’s not even a lie, most of the time. It’s awful being here, and it was awful being there, but at least it’s been a different kind of awful, and that’s got to be worth something.

Mal can convince herself, most of the time, that it’s better to be here. Better to be warm and dry and fed and miserable, than to be cold and starving and interested in her own life.

It’s just hard to remember that sometimes.

Jay shifts, pushing off of the table he’d been leaning on and then stopping, like he’s not sure where to move. “We’re not saying that you have to be happy all the time, or whatever,” he says “I’m not. Evie’s not. We’re-- yeah.” He hesitates. Even now, there’s things they aren’t talking about. “I don’t know what’s up with you and Ben, but he’s not happy all the time either. That’s how people work.”

Mal will not cry. “Ben hates me is what’s up with him.” she explains calmly, like a rational person who isn’t suddenly on the verge of tears over nothing. “ He wants me to give up magic completely and I can’t do that, I just can’t. It’s a part of me and it-- when I don’t use it, I’m cutting off a part of myself.”

“Have you talked to Fairy Godmother yet about the magical theory classes?” Evie asks softly. “Jane is taking them, and so is Aria. You wouldn’t be alone.”

Mal scoffs. “Magic theory. Like that’s good for anything.”

“It could help--”

The tears are back, suddenly. Prickling hot at the back of Mal’s throat, threatening to choke her again. Making her voice wobble like she’s weak.

“It’s not going to help!” Mal shouts, instead of giving in to her other impulse, which is to start sobbing. “It’s not the same thing! I wouldn’t expect you to understand that, but it’s not something I can just-- wish away if I just try hard enough! I need to use magic, and it’s the only way I can be good enough--”

Oh, gods. Fuck. She wasn’t going to cry again.

Evie’s there again, touching Mal’s hand and then her hair, soft and cool and just right in a way that makes Mal want to cry more and not less. Like, Evie’s here, and she’s saying soft words that Mal can’t hear over the pounding in her own head, but it’s got to be just the right thing because Evie always knows the right thing to say whenever Mal is acting stupid again.

“I don’t--” Mal tries. “I--”

Evie wraps an arm over her shoulders and rocks both of them back and forth like she’s a child again. “It’s okay,” she’s saying, or at least that’s what it seems like she might be saying. It’s hard to tell what with the hysterics and all. “I’ve got you.”

Mal holds her breath until there are spots over her vision, and then lets it out. It’s not easy, but it’s doable, which is more than she could have said just a few hours ago.

Jay shifts forward again and actually makes the move to sit on Mal’s other side this time. His shoulder just barely brushes against hers. It’s nice to just have him there. Grounding, or something.

“Hey. We’re not saying you have to give up magic, okay?” Jay says. “What about, like, we find a way for you to use it somewhere that’s not on your royal boyfriend?”

Oh no.

“He hates--” Mal sniffles. “Hates me anyway. Doesn't matter anymore.”

“Yeah. No. He doesn’t. Trust me on this one, it takes a lot more than one spell to drive us guys away.”

“I’ve done a lot worse than one spell,” says Mal. “It’s more like-- a whole spellbook.”

Jay bumps her shoulder. It knocks her over into Evie a bit, but that’s just fine with Mal. Evie is always a good place to be. “He’s gonna forgive you.” Jay tells her, like it’s already happened. “He never shuts up about you, for real.”

“I don’t know if I want him to forgive me.” Mal whispers, low and terrible and mostly to herself. She doesn’t know--

She loves Ben, she thinks. She could love him. She does love him, maybe, but in the same way that she loves her other friends. There’s room in her heart for at least three people, but when one of them is so much more it’s hard to say if there’s any space left over for people who don’t get it.

It takes a long minute of sitting with that thought before Mal realizes that oh, right, she was saying something.

It feels too late to finish the thought. Limited-time offer, already expired. No more talking about boyfriends who aren’t what she needs right now anyway. Better to think about Evie instead, safe and warm at her back, or her boys, steady and bright and sweet in their own ways that Mal already understands. It’s easy to be with people you’ve known since you were children, even if they think more about stabbing and stealing than about treaties and marriage and life after high school and all of the things that Mal is supposed to be thinking about now.

Evie shoves Mal upright. “Okay,” she says, clapping her hands together. “I think it’s time to do something that’s not moping now!”

Mal wants to mope forever. She doesn’t want to rehydrate and rest and do all of the things that Evie is going to make her do. Mal would happily (hah, as-if) stay flopped out in Evie’s bed, draped over Evie’s shoulder forever if she could. It would be easier than facing her problems. Simpler.

Evie pulls a metal dish out of her bag. “We brought popcorn, if you want to do the honor,” she says, clicking out the handle and waving the pan towards Mal.

It’s an effort just for Mal to be sitting up right now. Fire has always come easily, but the act of reaching out a hand might be too much. Transforming her throat to blow a breath of flame wouldn’t just be an effort physically, but mentally as well. It’s easy enough to change her whole shape at once, but there’s no space for a dragon to curl up in a dorm room and transforming her body in bits and pieces is so far beyond what Mal can manage right now that it might as well be impossible.

Mal shakes her head. Nope. All out of fire juice, can’t do it today.

The do have a microwave with a heating element, and at least three lighters between the four of them, so there’s really no need for Mal’s crew to look so fucking stricken.

Ugh. One hot hand won’t hurt too much, and if it can get them to stop looking at her like that, it’ll be worth the effort. “Fine. Give ‘em here,” Mal says, gesturing for the popcorn tin. “I’m doing this because I love you.”

Evie hands it over. “And I love you,” she says back, easily. “Let’s get some Stage Moms going. Let the boys get it set up while we get all cozy.”

Mal sniffles. The popcorn is heating up on her palm, where she’s sending a steady stream of heat up through to the container. It’ll pop in a minute, so long as she doesn’t do something dumb like forget to regulate the heat and light the whole thing on fire. “You don’t have to do this.”

Evie wraps an arm around her shoulders, jostling her close again. “I know. What are friends for, right?”

Oh, Evil.

Evie takes this new bout of tears in stride, pulling Mal close and rescuing the popcorn before it burns and producing a handkerchief from somewhere for Mal to wipe her nose with as she cries. “I know, I know,” she says soothingly, as Mal sobs into her shoulder. “We’re here for you.”

“I don’t deserve you.”

“Shh, hey. You do, Mali. You do, and you always will. Nothing you do is gonna drive us away, okay? We’re your family, and you can’t make us leave even if you try.”

There’s a weight behind Mal, and oh, that’s the sound of Stage Moms up on somebody’s laptop, so the boys must be done getting that set up, and then there’s a hesitant hand patting her back, and oh--

“Um, please don’t try.” Carlos says. “We love you and all. But please don’t.”

There’s a jostling, and then the sounds of someone (Evie) whacking someone else (definitely Carlos, then) upside the head.

“If you need us, baby,” Evie says. “Wherever or whenever or anything. We’re here for you and you can’t change that even if you want to.”

“Even if I’m just like my mother?” Mal asks. She doesn’t want to, but she can’t seem to stop herself. It’s an awful compulsion, the constant need to weigh her actions against her mother’s. Following the trajectory of bright young girl to bitter young woman, to becoming more and more entwined with her magic, until finally she can’t resist the need for power anymore, and she snaps and starts cursing people left and right with no mind for the consequences.

Mal can’t look up. She can’t know what’s going on in this terrible silence that’s going to choke her, even though she wants to know, so very very much, what her crew is doing right now. How they’re going to lie to her when they try and reassure her that she’s not her mother and she won’t ever be, even though the roots are already there.

Evie doesn’t lie to her. “Even then.” she says. “We’d still follow you, Mal. Even if you start cursing people with no rhyme or reason. I’ll always get you back.”

Another wave of hot tears somehow trickle out. “I want to go home.” Mal whispers. She wouldn’t have to worry about dragging her crew back with her if they were home. If they’d never left in the first place. Curse Auradon for making her think about things like morality and goodness and what she could have if only she could be a good girl for a little bit longer. Curse them all.

Evie sighs, and Mal can feel her chest rise and fall with it where they’re squished together on the little island of Evie’s bed. “I know, babe,” Evie says. “You keep saying that.”

Goddess help them all. “I want to go home,” Mal tries to explain. “Not, like, to my mother. I just-- I hate it here. I don’t understand any of the rules and I don’t know how to be a princess like you, Eves. I don’t--” Mal breaks off to swipe a hand over her face. She is not going to cry again, not with almost everyone she cares about still here to watch. “I don’t think I can keep up with everything anymore. I just want a break.”

Evie sighs again, and rubs a hand over Mal’s back, gentle-like. “What if we got you one?” she says, so softly that Mal almost misses it.

She doesn’t though, and that’s what matters. “What?” Mal asks. Tries to demand, really, but it doesn’t come out quite right.

Evie’s hand doesn’t break rhythm. “A break. We can do that. Get you some time to regroup.”

“I don’t-- it won’t help--”

“Hm.” Evie says, and it sounds skeptical even though it’s barely a noise at all. “You don’t think I can do it?”

“I-- no!” Mal says, almost tearful again. Fuck, what’s gotten into her, crying at the drop of a brick like this. “You could-- anything, Eves. You can do anything you want, I’m not doubting you.”

Evie conveniently ignores the final emphasis. “Great!”

Oh no.

“No, ” Mal tries to tell her. “I don’t-- Eves.”

“You said I can do anything I want.” Evie challenges, dangerous even under her sparkly lipgloss. Dangerous because of it, maybe. Like a poisonous moth. Something beautiful that you should know better than to touch. “I’m doing it.”

“You did say that.” Jay echoes, watching Mal a little too closely with those stupid bright eyes of his. “Like, just now.”

“I lied.” Mal says immediately. “I’ve never- I would never say a thing like that.”

“Mmm.” says Evie, petting a hand over Mal’s head. It feels not-so-great, so Mal ducks away. She doesn’t need to be reminded of her hair just now. “I don’t think you did. I think you know I’m right, and you’re afraid to think about what it means.”

Oh no. “Can we not psychoanalyze me right now?” Mal begs.

Just like that, Evie backs off. “Sure.” she says breezily. “We can plan your getaway instead. Do you want to see the mountains?”

“I--” Mal tries, but the words stick. “Sure?”

“I think there’s a cabin up there that I can convince, ah,’ Evie barely stutters, but she does wince, and goes on anyway. Great. That’s perfect. “Nobody in particular! To let us borrow!”

“Eves, please no.”

Evie breaks out into a brilliant smile “Oh yes. Do you think two weeks is enough? An extended spring break, so to speak, and then we can talk about a longer-term kind of thing.”

Running away forever sounds like something that might be good, but forever also implies some sort of continued existence, and Mal’s really not sure if she’s down for that just now.

“I don’t think this is a good idea.” she says, instead of the full thought. “What if it doesn’t change anything?”

“It’s a great idea,” says Evie. “All of my ideas are great, remember?”

“You’re coming with me, right?” Mal asks, hating how pathetic it comes out. She’s not a child, but she feels silly and childish again, watching her best friend plan out how to fix her life.

Evie pauses. “If you want us to,” she says, hesitant for the first time. “I don’t want to put any more pressure on you.”

Oh. The thought strikes Mal for the first time in this awful, no-good, very bad day that maybe she’s not the only one who doesn’t know what she’s doing here. That maybe Evie is scared too.

“I want you there.” Mal says firmly. This, at least, is something she knows. “I want all of you, but please, Eves, I need you there. Don’t send me away on my own.”

“I think we can do that.”

Mal doesn’t want to show her whole soul here, but it’s too easy to just tip her face up towards Evie’s, like she’s a flower reaching for the bright Auradon sun. “Yeah?” she asks hopefully.

Evie brushes a piece of Mal’s hair out of her face, so gentle that it doesn’t even tug on the tangles. “For sure.” she says. “We can go with you.”

“All of you?” Mal asks again, pathetically. “Just for a week, please.”

There’s an intense conversation happening in eyebrows and facial twitching going on over her head, but Mal isn’t ready to follow that just yet, and eventually it seems to resolve itself and Jay reaches over to pat her head. “Yeah, fine.” he says. “All of us.”

Evie lets out a breath. “It’s settled then. An extended spring break, starting next week. Can you do one more week, Mal? We can always call you out sick.”

Mal can’t imagine leaving her room in the next week, much less leaving campus to go out to another unknown place for an extended period of time. “I can do it.” she says, instead of explaining. Classes are the lesser of the two obstacles right now, and besides, she can’t ask the others to take the time off from the classes that they’re finally doing well in. It wouldn’t be fair to them. She’s already-- oh, Evil. She’s asking Jay to give up the university visit he was going to do over break. Fuck. Maybe he can travel down and back, but he hates driving on his own, and she’s already asking so much of them, coming with her at all, and oh--

“We’ll call out early next week.” Evie whispers to her. “One week with everyone, and then we can have a week just for us if you’re up for it, okay?”

Of course Evie already has it all figured out. “Okay.” Mal whispers back to her. “I’ll be okay.”

“Oh, good.” Evie says, at a more normal volume this time. “If you’re feeling up to it, there is one other thing--” she picks up her phone and tilts the screen over towards Mal.

There’s a whole mess of texts, and at least two missed calls that Mal can see already. From a very particular number. Oh, gods.

“No.” Mal says as firmly as she can manage. “No way.”

Evie doesn’t lower the phone. “He’s been calling me.”

“Then tell him to not!” Mal bursts out. “I can’t talk to him about this now!”

Evie grins at that. A full-out, unladylike, evil grin. “Gladly.” she says sweetly, and taps to immediately dismiss the whole mess.

What.

“Really?” Mal asks incredulously. Evie loves being proper and outwardly kind and not telling people to fuck off to their faces. Evie is a firm believer in the idea that insults stick best when the person has to say ‘thank you’ and ideally won’t even question it until they’re back home that night (where they’re most vulnerable, Evie says. It’s just efficiency to make sure that you’re always hurting people while their guard is down).

“Mal. Baby.” Evie says, shifting so she can talk with her hands without Mal’s sad droopy self in the way. “You don’t know how long I have been waiting to tell this boy to fuck off and let you adjust on your own time. You broke up with Uma like, a month before we came here. That’s not long enough to jump right into another long term relationship, no matter what this Auradon boy thinks. You need time, and space, and I will tell him to give you all of that.”

Mal will not stare with her mouth open like a fish. She’s better than that.

“Wow, okay, Eves.” Jay says, almost laughing. Right.

“Go Evie!” Carlos practically cheers. Of course the boys are still here too. They wouldn’t leave the perfect opportunity for drama behind just because Mal is having a moment.

Evie nods to them, graciously. “Thank you, thank you.” she says. “I do take requests.” she hesitates for a moment. “But, um, Mali, do you want to maybe write him a letter? I can drop it off when I make the call. Make sure he really gets the message.”

“Yeah. I think that-- that would be good. I need space. And time.”

Evie picks up Mal’s hand and gives it a squeeze. “Of course.”

“You’ll really do it for me?”

Evie’s eyes are dark and intense and so, so close. “Anything, Mal.” she says. “Just say the word and I’m yours.”

Oh. That’s-- well.

Maybe more than Mal can handle at this exact moment, honestly, but something that is going to be very very important just as soon as she gets her shit together again.

Evie’s face is still very close.

Mal pulls back. “I love you.” she says. It just feels like the right thing to do. “So much, Eves. I love you more than anything.”

Evie’s mouth quirks up at the corner. “More than strawberries?”

“More than strawberries.” Mal echoes back. More than anything, really. “More than chocolate.”

Evie brushes that stupid piece of blonde hair out of her eyes again, and the touch isn’t even a bother this time. “That’s a lot of love,” she says “You’d better be sure about that kind of thing.”

More than anything.

“I’m sure,” Mal tells her. “I love you.”

#descendants #my fic #descendants fic #malvie #mal bertha #evie grimhilde #yes the others are THERE is it also a core four comforting each other fic #descendants fandom #I didn’t include an ao3 link because it won’t show up in the TAGS if I DO THAT #I’ll probably add one when I reblog later #if you’re the sort of person who reads the tags and doesn’t already know #I’m TheBluestBlueBird on ao3!!#there’s a whole first part to this fic over there!

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xseaxwitchxkpop · 3 years

Text

But Not Today

A/N: Hello y’all. This is a heavier fic and is a way for me to channel me feelings as most of my fics are and will be, especially because it comforts me that people out there feel the same as I do and hopefully through these fics find they are also not alone. I struggle with depression and suicidal ideation/thoughts like many of you do and there’s too many fics that glorify and glamorize the hardships and always end with cure fluffy “I’m always there for you.” No, some people don’t have others to talk to and sometimes the mental illness wins. In all sincerity, if you are feeling like you have no one to talk to, no to listen to you, you can always PM me or send me an anon because I know that feeling well and it’s not a good one. If you want a part two, lemme know, otherwise how it ends is how it ends.

Disclaimers/CW: suicidal thoughts, suicidal actions, pills/overdose, drinking, depression (lemme know if I missed something)

Requested: NO

Group: ATEEZ -- Wooyoung

Word Count: 1,847

This month has been absolute hell and is why you find yourself down the rabbithole. Sure, you have friends who have reassured you that they are there to help emotionally but you’ve been fucked over too many times in the past to truly believe any of that.

Which is why you find yourself where you are now.

The TV plays on the background but you process none of the audio. The sounds of the city play like a symphony throughout your apartment, but you don’t smile and sway. No, you, on the couch, hunched over with elbows on your knees, staring at a pill bottle and a bottle of whiskey, is how the music finds you, empty.

You don’t have the energy to cry, you don’t have the energy to move, you don’t have the energy to...exist. Breathing is now too hard, and the stillness of your body is reflected in the stillness of the apartment, save for the television.

A heavy sigh leaves your lips as you rub your hands on your face and then once again take up the staring contest with the pill bottle. After a beat of silence, your right hand moves to take the bottle of whiskey and swig it hard, the familiar burning sensation in your throat doing absolutely nothing for you as it hasn’t been for the past couple of weeks.

Today was a battle that you were on the verge of losing but you don’t know how to accept the loss. Stabbing or cutting yourself is too messy and would you even hit the right vein to die fast enough? You could jump from the apartment complex’s rooftop and would certainly die on impact, but that’s too public, you want to go quietly. Putting a bullet through your brain seemed like a good option, but it’s too much noise and you have no idea the first place to start looking into gun ownership in Korea. You’ve known people you have attempted suicide by pill overdose, and it wasn’t the most effective method of killing oneself, but it was certainly one of the easiest and one of the quietest ways to go, especially if you could die in your sleep.

In this past month, you’ve been distancing yourself further and further from your friends who began to worry about you dearly, but, to you, not enough. None of them bothered to try to see you, come by your place, just shot you texts and a couple of calls saying they’re always there or some other bullshit. But Wooyoung was extremely persistent in this. He knows you liked your space and the last time he tried to help you emotionally you blew up at him and dug into his heart like a knife, attacking him in such a way that left him in tears rather than you.

Tonight, though, Wooyoung decided to blow up your phone at every chance he could between practice with the boys and eating and doing other errands he needed that day. You might have hurt him in the past, but he still cares deeply for you regardless.

However, you couldn’t be bothered to pick up the phone and answer him, so your cell was on Do Not Disturb.

You’re not sure what came over you, but you lift yourself off the couch and shuffle to your door, slowly slipping your feet out of your slippers and slowly slipping your feet into your sneakers, leaning down to loosely tie the laces.

Your grip on the wooden door is gentle, twisting the knob and pulling it open a more caring act than it should have been. As the door shut behind you, you, void of keys, wallet, phone, communication, identification, didn’t look back or bother to double-check if it closed all the way. Guided by something, you’re not sure what, you move forward, your feet shuffling towards the elevator and taking a ride down.

At the first floor you step out, a solemn step that holds no purpose, to you at least. Perhaps fate is guiding you somewhere, perhaps you’re guiding yourself, perhaps nothing guides you and it’s all meaningless.

The streets and sidewalks glisten with water, reflecting the neon lights of clubs, the primary colors of 24/7 convenience stores, storing the sounds of honking taxis, shared laughs of lovers, and the bustling of a street corner and the calmness of another. As life goes, as life is, as life will be.

You can’t say that you’ll miss this -- fake order in a world of chaos. You can’t say that you’ll miss that -- imagined purpose for a meaningless existence.

As you wander, you find yourself taking in nothing at all and everything at once, your alcohol-idled mind creating figures that aren’t there and sounds that don’t exist. Yet when your vision clears again, you find yourself standing at the barrier of a bridge on the highway, looking down into the vast expanse of the ocean; you’ve apparently walked for quite a while.

The depths of the water below look inviting, dark and crashing together, a blanket of sorrow which is oddly comforting to your empty mind, perhaps because it makes you feel something. With your arms folded, you lean your full weight onto the barrier, contemplating whether or not you should jump -- sure, it would be a bit of effort to hoist yourself over said barrier, but it’s a guaranteed death unlike an overdose.

“YAH, Y/N, WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?!” A male voice paired with boots slapping on wet concrete worms its way into your ears, but you have no reaction; the beckoning of the ocean nearly drowns out his voice anyway.

Suddenly, you feel a strong hand grip your upper arm and whip you around, forcing you to stare into the fearful eyes of the owner of the voice. His other hand came up and gripped your other arm just as tightly, searching your face, your eyes, for something...something...a sign of something.

You took a moment to observe this man, taking in the way his eyes were red and puffy, the fear and relief a sharp contrast shaking hands in his eyes, and a shiny upper lip, probably from snot from his crying earlier.

You feel Wooyoung pull you into him tightly, barely allowing you to breathe. He squeezes you with nearly everything in him, the state of your apartment and the possibilities of what happened running through his head nonstop.

It was nearing 11PM and Wooyoung was genuinely concerned that you weren’t picking up. You were not doing well for a while, he could tell by your abrupt and simple messages, declining every chance to hang out and/or catch dinner, refusing to even take a walk together. But this time was different -- you were flat out ignoring him and not answering any of his calls or texts and this had him greatly on edge. It reminded him of a friend he used to have in high school who was so hard on himself that he nearly killed himself right in front of Wooyoung; Wooyoung couldn’t go through that again.

He decided to tell the boys that he’s going to your apartment to check up on you and the other boys, worried about you as well, told him that they’re here to help in any way they could.

He travelled to your apartment, using the spare key you gave him to get through the lobby door and using your access code for the lock on the door. The scene that met his eyes made his heart drop into his stomach and a sense of dread fell over him.

Your kitchen floor was scattered with shards of porcelain from one or two of your dinner plates, he couldn’t tell. The vase of flowers that he sent a few days ago were knocked over on the counter, creating a puddle on the table and a wet spot on your carpet, the lip of the glass vase chipped. The TV was running, some stupid drama that was out of character for you to watch. But the coffee table and its contents is what made him feel genuine fear for the first time in a long time.

The bottle of whiskey was half-full, sitting next to a bottle of pills. He made his way over, carefully, brushing porcelain shards out of the way with his foot, as he sat exactly where you once sat not too long ago. He took in your cell you left on the floor near the balcony windows and the keys sitting by the TV and your wallet laid in front of your bedroom door that was open.

His attention turned back to the pill bottle and he reached out a shaky hand, reading the label and having trouble keeping his eyes dry. He opened it, hoping against all hope that you didn’t open it, that maybe, maybe you changed your mind at the last second.

Uncontrollable tears left his eyes and snot started running down his nose and his breathing quickened and his chest constricted as he found the bottle unsealed, meaning you did something he hoped you didn’t do.

You mumble something and Wooyoung didn’t quite catch what you said, but he could ask later; all he wants to focus on is you, in his arms, very much real, very much alive, very much on planet Earth, very much here. He breathes in your scent deeply as a reassurance to himself and he doesn’t plan on letting you out of his sight any time soon.

Yet you had no reaction. You just stand there, letting him do what he needs to do to convince himself that you’ll still be around after this, that the mix of the pills you took and the alcohol the bottle said explicitly to not take with the pills fogging your mind.

He eventually pulls away, looking back in your eyes for something, something, something. He notices they’re glazed over and out of focus, dread creeping back to him.

He cups your face in one of his hands and asks, “Were you going to jump?” His voice is shaky at best, doing poorly in concealing his fear, his rage, his dread, his every emotion currently.

“Maybe,” is what you answer. You look briefly back at the ocean, craning your neck a little to look directly at the welcoming ocean again then turn your attention back to Wooyoung. “But not today,” you continue. “Perhaps tomorrow, perhaps next week, perhaps next month, perhaps next year. But not today.”

You feel yourself about to collapse from the dangerous concoction in your veins but Wooyoung barely notices, his mouth running about something but you process nothing.

“My dear friend,” you mumble, and the sound of your voice shuts up the man in front of you, grabbing his attention.

“I’m...sleep...slee...wha’s it?...sleepy, yeah...sleepy,” you manage to get out before collapsing onto the boy, your consciousness slipping from you and a huff of air escaping from the other human presence from your impact.

#angsty hours #my works #wooyoung #ateez #ateez x reader #ateez imagine

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