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lovingperfectionsblog · 2 years

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Poetry and Rum

Charles Leclerc x reader

Requested:

Hi! Are you taking requests? If yes, then can you do one with Charles where the reader is a staff for the FIA but isn't allowed to interact with any of the drivers because of some dumb FIA rule. So she starts to send him poem as a secret admirer,Charles starts to like her too. Maybe one day someone learns of his secret admirer and lies about it to get together with him. He later learns the truth about the secret admirer and confesses to her. Angst and fluff☺. Thank you 😊

Summary: A secret note you never intended to send finds it way into Charles hands.

Warnings: Drinking, language.

Word Count: 3670

Authors note: So I am so sorry this took so long to write, but I wanted to make sure I did it justice. I really hope I have done that, if I miss any warnings let me know, I hope you all enjoy and I cant wait to hear what you think 

_____

“You literally just got me this job and if you keep hanging around me you’re going to get me fired” you moved around Pierre, him only following closely behind.

“They can’t fire you, we’re best friends” Pierre tried to get you to stop and have an honest to god conversation with him.

“That’s exactly why they can fire me. Look, babe, I’m thankful and all, but you know the rules” this was a tedious conversation at this point, you’d been strictly briefed by your new boss that there was to be no fraternizing with the drivers, favouritism and all that, and Pierre was hell bent on breaking that rule.

“Not sure your lover boy would be too excited with you calling me babe” a laugh barking out of him as he watched your head swinging wildly, attempting to spot your long-standing crush, praying he was nowhere near the two of you, despite him and Pierre normally being joint at the hip.

“He’s not my lover boy and you know it” you whispered to Pierre, not caring if your bosses saw or not. Although you desperately wished he was.

“Oh, and the poem I saw in your room last night?” The poem. Fuck, he had seen the poem. The poem which you had written for Charles. The poem in which you poured your feelings out to him, the boy who you had fallen in love with over the course of your friendship. The love poem for the boy you were in love with. The poem which you were never going to ever give to him, you just needed to get your feelings out of you head, you know, to help you move on and all that. Although, it had probably only made the pining worse the more you thought about those green eyes that reminded you of the stillness in a forest and how that’s where you had felt most at home and how you loved the blush that settled over the tops of his cheeks and bridge of his nose when he got particularly shy and when he laughed at that really, really bad joke of yours and you watched as his hair fell into his face as he did so and you had to fight every part of you to stop yourself from reaching out to push it out the way and-

-when you woke up, you couldn’t find the poem.

And as if he could read your mind, the widest smile spread over his face, “Don’t worry, I already slid it under his door for you”.

Panic. This was panic. This may also be your need to throw up maybe. Were you going to throw up? You couldn’t throw up at work. Pierre had taken your very secret note poem thingy and given it to Charles.

“Pierre, please tell me you are joking” your job be damned, you were about to have an entire screaming match with your ex best friend, right here, right now, in this paddock.

“Well, it was addressed to him? And we all know you’re too chicken shit scared to actually tell him how you feel, yeah don’t think I missed the fact that you didn’t sign it, so I did what you wouldn’t and sent it for you” this was it, you were going to die and you were going to get fired. You were going to die and get fired right here and now.

“Pierre, you know I’m not allowed to interact with any of you now that I’m working for FI-Goddamn-A! They are barely happy with me being friends with you! Imagine me and Charles ended up-“ you stopped yourself before you could say anymore, before you could embarrass yourself anymore today.

“Ended up what?” the sharp look you sent him did little to quell the onslaught of teasing he was about to rain down on you, “No, I’m going to need you to tell me exactly what, because Lord knows I have been trying to set you two up forever and if it’s only your job at the FIA, that I got you by the way, that’s stopping this literal match made in heaven, well then, I’ll get you fired just as quickly sweetheart”

“So, three things, one, don’t be a dick and get me fired, that’s just, shitty,” the shrug from Pierre showed he truly did not care, “secondly, all of this would imply that Charles felt the same about me as I did him, and before we get all excited, let’s not pretend this is news to either of us, we all know how I feel, and before you even try to interrupt, Pierre, stop, before you try to interrupt and tell me he does feel the same about me, well, the literal models hanging off of him and his complete lack of any attempt to even try and make a move is pretty indicative of the fact that he does not, so that’s that.” There was no use for Pierre to even attempt to fight you on this right now, instead hoping to change your mind this evening over a few drinks, “and thirdly, what’s with the American accent?”

“I was just hanging around Daniel and you know how excited he gets about the Austin race so the accent is coming out more and more” Pierre was only the first victim of this, no doubt the entire grid would be inflicted with it at some point, “but really, Charles does feel the sa-“

“I’m done Pierre, fuck off and let me work, I’ll see you afterwards for drinks” you hadn’t even offered Pierre the opportunity to speak before you were walking away, needing to get away so you could finally have a moment to freak out over the fact that Pierre had given the love poem to the boy you love.

_____

“Pierre, I swear, I know it sounds insane, but like, you know that love letter I got before the Austin Grand Prix? Y/n, I got a love letter before the Grand Prix and now we’re here, but anyway, yeah, no, so I am pretty much obsessed with her because like, I don’t know, I don’t understand why, but I just instantly felt like, this was my girl right? This is the girl I am meant to be with, because the stuff that was in the note, like, she just knew me right, and I obviously asked everyone who it was and fucking no one knew but then she told me who she was!” it may have taken forever, but he had found her. He had finally found her and he was determined to make her his.

Pierre shot his head towards you, wide eyed, genuinely surprised that you had confessed to Charles, but that surprised turned to confusion when despite your eyes never leaving the ground, you ever so subtly shook your head, letting him know that no, it wasn’t you.

“Wait, then, no wait, I’m confused, then who was it?” Pierre’s head swung wildly between the two of you, because if it wasn’t you, then it wasn’t the girl Charles was thinking of and someone was lying to him.

‘So, you know Lando’s one friend, Jade?” Charles had never even shown any interest in her before, even going as far as to avoid her in the paddock before, but now, he looked like he was sure she was the sun.

“No, no, it wasn’t-“

“Pierre! I have to go, walk me out?” You were already standing up by the time he could even look at you, your head tilting towards the door, urging him on, “Bye Charles”, and with that, you walked out too quickly, completely miss the dejected look in Charles eyes as he watched you leave, Pierre shooting him a sorry as he ran after you, Charles assuming both boys were confused by your sudden departure, but in truth, it was just him that was entirely and completely out of the loop.

“Do not tell him!” You hadn’t even given Pierre the opportunity to get a word out first before you were frantically whispering the instructions at him.

“But it isn’t Jade! Why would I not correct him? He doesn’t like her! He is in love with you! This is deceitful!” Pierre was running out of options, and he was fully prepared to out this big ugly secret if he needed to, your feelings be damned at this point, because now Charles was getting hurt, you were getting hurt, this was, all, just everyone was about to get hurt.

“He’s happy Pierre, he’s happy with her. You heard him in there, he had found his girl and he was happy with that being Jade, so just let him be happy, please” Pierre couldn’t miss the crack in your voice, the tell-tale sign of oncoming tears.

“Yeah, yeah, okay, I promise, just, please don’t cry, you know I can’t handle when you cry” and true to his word, he began freaking out and the classic weird head hold that he always inevitably did whenever he thought there may even be a hint of a tear in your eye, and there come the head pats.

“So, I’m going to go and you’re going to go back in there and be happy for our friend okay? And please don’t tell him, please, Pierre” you both knew the pleading was for him to let you go cry, for you to save your shame and experience the full onslaught of your broken heart alone, safe to cry in the ugliest manner physically possible without Pierre having to suffer through the sobs.

You both knew he would in a heartbeat if he asked.

“I promise” with a kiss planted gentle on your temple, he let you run, from everything.

From Charles and the stupid poem he stole and sent on your behalf.

From a stupid stupid Pierre.

____

“Charles!” Pierre stood to greet his friend, “annnnnd Jaaaaddddeeeee, Jades here” an incredulous look was shot Charles way over his new girlfriends’ shoulder, a subtle yet silent ‘why is Jade here?’ thrown along with it.

An equally as silent ‘she’s my girlfriend’ with a non-committed shrug to go along with it came from Charles, before leading you both into the booth, Pierre sat opposite them both.

“So Jade, how’s things with Charles?” Pierre knows he made some promises over the last little while, promises he thought would keep the peace and make everyone happy, the problem though is that no one happy.

Not you, because since Charles has started dating Jade, who lied about who sent the poem, he has had absolutely no time for anyone else and even when he did, he was fucking insufferable because Jade was always there, and when she’s around, he is in the worst mood anyone has ever seen him in, which makes you unhappy.

Charles is unhappy because you are, and because he’s dating Jade. The same Jade who has made him insufferable. Because she is the worst. Especially when he is still madly in love with you.

And lastly Pierre is unhappy, because he is having to deal with all of it. He is having to deal with you refusing to tell the truth because you think Charles is happy (and your job, but he had a plan for that) and he has to deal with you distancing yourself because of Charles and Jade and he is having to deal with a terrible Charles who won’t leave Jade because he thinks this is the girl for him and Charles is actually really in love with you but won’t approach you because you’re avoiding all of them and he misses you and he has to deal with Charles and Jade. And Pierre has to deal with Jade.

“- and so yeah, I’m just really glad you ended up getting my note my love” Pierre was suddenly pulled from his thoughts to witness what might have been the most awkward kiss he had ever seen and in that moment, he felt the most justified anger at this girl sitting in front of him, kissing his friend, who should be kissing his other friend.

“But you didn’t send it though?” Pierre knew he fucked up the second he’d said it, and truthfully, there were going to be a million moments where he could backtrack and make it okay, but he was unhappy, and so were all of you, so Godspeed to him.

“What are you talking about?” Charles looked between his girlfriend and Pierre, trying to work out exactly what his friend had meant.

“Yes, Pierre, what are you talking about” Jade didn’t even attempt to hide the venom in her voice as she repeated the question, eyes shooting daggers into his own.

“The poem, you didn’t send it” Pierre took a sip of his drink, surprised at his own nonchalance at the situation, considering he was about to ruin, well, everything.

“Of course I sent it, obviously” the venom was still dripping, the daggers only sharper.

“So, quote it, because I can, because I have seen it, because I was the one who put it under his door” Pierre didn’t miss how both their eyes swung to him, mouths gaping, a light blush coating Charles face.

“You sent it?” Charles stuttered out, desperately hoping he had misheard and wasn’t going to have to turn his best friend down the day he had decided to come out to him.

“Yes, I did send it and Jade lied” Pierre had not entirely caught onto what he had insinuated, and even if he had, he was willing to go with it provided it got Jade away, whatever it took at this point.

“You lied?” Charles had suddenly turned all of his attention to Jade, they could celebrate Pierre coming out in a moment, this needed to be dealt with immediately.

“I would never lie to you baby” Jade was cupping his face, trying to get Charles to believe her, convinced he would never believe it was Pierre who was the original owner of the note.

“So, quote it” Charles didn’t miss the smug look on Pierre’s face at the demand, nor did he miss how Jade floundered in front of him looking for a response, “I think you should leave round about now.”

“Charles, you can’t be serious right now” despite sounding like she as insisting on staying, she still began packing her back and grabbing her coat over the back of her chair.

“Can’t date a liar babe” he hated that he was trying to hold back his own laughter as he saw Pierre chuckling in his peripheral.

“Yeah well, you have a small dick” and with that she was storming out of the restaurant with a jovial “Bye Jade” from Pierre behind her as she left.

“Jesus fucking Christ I am so glad she’s gone” Charles dropped his head to his hands, wiping them down his face at the relief and freedom he was suddenly experiencing

“How the fuck were you dating her?” another chuckle at the groan that Pierre can only assume came from the very depths of Charles soul.

“Yeah, shut the fuck up” he threw the crumpled-up mint leaf from his drink at Pierre, buying time before he had to bring up the inevitable, “so you sent the note?”

“Yeah, of course I did, who else was going to get it into your drivers’ room?” Pierre laughed into his drink, mentally patting himself on the back for how slick he had been through all of this.

Fuck, Pierre had sent him the note. Step by step Charles. You got to let him know you accept him, that you love him. No matter what, that you’re still best friends, but you are unfortunately straight.

“Okay, well, firstly, I see you and I am really proud that you feel safe enough to come out to me, I will always accept you and this will always be a safe space for you and-“

“No! Jesus! The note isn’t from me! I just sent the note!” it might have taken a moment for Pierre to click but he was very quick to remedy the situation, “and no offense, I love that you’re so chill and accepting, but Lewis and Danny are on that grid, and you think I’d go after you? I’m not even sure you’re the first person in Ferrari I’d pick.”

“What do you mean you wouldn’t pick me? Have you seen me?” Charles wasn’t entire sure why this is what got him, but it did, he was a little touched by this, because if he had to pick anyone, yeah, maybe it actually would have been Lewis or Danny, maybe Pierre was onto something.

“Mate, if it were only out of us two, I’m still not entirely sure you’d be my first pick” Pierre signalled to the waiter for a bottle of wine to go and the bill, all whilst Charles processed through the information he had been handed.

“You’re a dick”

“And apparently you have a little one” Pierre barked out a laugh at the drop in Charles expression, “get up, we’re getting drunk at Y/n” and if Pierre needed any confirmation that he had done the right thing, it was the smile that spread over Charles face at the mention of you.

_____

“You know it’s like 11pm right?” you swung your door open inviting the two slightly drunk boys in anyway, heart clenching as Charles brushed his hand against your own as he walked past, “no Jade tonight?” you needed to remind yourself that she was still in the picture, needed to temper the ever-latent feelings that would always exist for him.

“They broke up!” you tried to shush the shouting that came out of Pierre whilst simultaneously trying to absorbed this newly found information.

“Broke up? Charles I’m so sorry, what happened?” Charles had already grabbed some glasses and was heading out to your balcony to make himself comfortable and continue drinking.

“We went for drinks with Jade, I told them Jade didn’t send it, Charles thought I was gay and now he is simultaneously angry at me for not choosing him to date if I was into guys and for not being willing to tell him who the note ss actually from” the play by play came from Pierre who was already lying face down on your couch, voice muffled by the pillows that were shielding his face.

“Ah” it was all you could get out, both thoroughly confused and weirdly understanding everything all at once, ruffling Pierre’s hair as you walked to join Charles outside.

“And now while Pierre sleeps this off, you and I are going to get drunk and catch up” he lifted the bottle of rum he had taken out your cupboard, disappointed that he and Pierre had already finished all the wine on their walk over.

“I really am sorry about Jade though, for real, I know how badly you wanted your person” that’s what you wanted to say but you were too chicken shit scared to tell him the truth, in case he was disappointed by who really sent the note.

“Its okay, it felt wrong with her anyway, I always assumed I would know my person, you know?” Kind of like how I know you, is what he wanted to say, but how could he tell his best friends’ best friend that he loved her.

“There’s this really great quote that I know, it’s from The Song of Achilles, it goes, ‘I could recognize him by touch alone, by smell; I would know him blind, by the way his breaths came and his feet struck the earth. I would know him in death, at the end of the world’, and I just assumed that’s what it’s like, you know, with your person” It’s how I know you, it’s what you wanted to add, bout you couldn’t, the tightness in your throat refusing to allow it.

You missed the sharp intake of breathe from Charles next to you as he realized, he knew that quote already, memorized it, because it was in that note of his, the one Pierre delivered and refused to tell him who actually sent it.

“Yeah, actually I know it, well, someone wrote it in a love note for me, thought it was some other girl, then thought it was my best friend, but now, I think I might know who actually sent it.” He caught your eyes with his own over the rim of his glass, not missing how calm he felt in this moment

How had Charles just called you out completely, yet you felt entirely calm with him knowing exactly how you felt, like, something just felt right.

“Oh, you do now? And are you happy about who it could be?” it was a shot in the dark, and you knew you weren’t being as direct as you should be, but fear was fear and this was the best you could do when asking him if you could ever be good enough for him, if he could ever love you back.

The silence felt like it had stretched on forever, you assuming it was. So Charles could figure out how to let you down gently, in reality, he was trying to figure out exactly what to say to the woman he has loved for so long, the woman who made him jealous of Pierre simply because of the Friendship she had with him, the woman he had just found loved him back. He needed to find the exact words for how utterly devoted he was to her and her only, and when he finally had,

“So happy, that I am entirely prepared to spend the rest of this evening trying to convince her to go down to the courthouse with me tomorrow morning, to spend the rest of her life with me so I can know her in death, at the end of the world”.

_____

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#charles leclerc x you #f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #monaco #f1 x reader #charles leclerc #pierre gasly #charles leclerc one shot #charles leclerc x reader #x reader

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maiiruo · 4 months

Text

Serenity of Smoke [ iii ]

wc : 1.7k

— [ iii ] —

Yoongi practically strived to keep you safe, to keep your smile on your face even when he could tell you were hiding something.

High school was a debilitating experience for you. Every other month you went through different friendship groups, each one worse than the last. Calling the wrong people your friends, arguing with countless people simply because of their stupidity. Obviously. You found comfort in your books, losing yourself in mere words on a page, creating universe upon universe depending on the book. You and Yoongi were the "quiet kids" but he stayed to himself and you couldn't stand to be alone. Your first interaction with Min was basically thanks to your English teacher, Miss Winhill. You were back at the beginning of your cycle of friendship groups and found yourself alone with your collection of worlds once again, already beginning to look for other opportunities to "connect" with another placeholder—this was your chance to create yet another personality.

Yoongi hated group projects. He hated how teachers put him with the leftovers of the class, how it forced him to sit in uncomfortable silence. You were similar yet the complete opposite at the same time—you loved group projects on the off chance you had a group. Unfortunately for Yoongi, he was put in a 2 person group with you, which was more of a pair, as a result of you both being said leftovers of the class. You knew nothing of him, paying no mind to his presence until now; he wasn't exactly the new friend you had in mind. Neither of you were good at commencing the conversation, his initial plan was to sit in silence and bear the awkwardness until the end of the lesson.

"So...what do you think about the poem?"

"I don't know."

His answers were short, almost devoid of emotion; you already decided you didn't like him, swearing to yourself you would never find yourself speaking to him after this.

To Yoongi's surprise, he found himself feeling some kind of comfort in you. You never forced a conversation, only rarely asking questions based on the work—this was the first time he had comfortable silence with someone, and the same for you. You always felt obliged to your past friends to speak about their beloved topics while you put on yet another facade.

Eventually, you and Yoongi started to consider each other as friends, you exchanging more words than him of course, but simply enjoying each others presence. As time passed he slowly opened up, mentioning his favourite games and shows, you tutoring him in English from time to time, eating Buldak noodles on your lunch breaks. Although he was still considered the "quiet kid", you had a complete different personality around him, one you never had with your past "friends". Yoongi became your best, and only, friend; he was never seen without you and you were never seen without your arm linked around his, your pinkies interlinked—there was no way you weren't engaging in some kind of physical contact.

Despite Yoongi initially thinking you were obnoxiously energetic, he never once thought you were irritating; regardless of your rambling and your pointless "would you rathers" that always left him thinking about his answer for the rest of the day. He noticed you much more than you did him, watching you rotate the class and the different students, your personality shifting depending on the individual. He watched as you went from hearty laughs to dead silence, your smile fading every time you found yourself back in solitude. You didn't know if he knew it, but Yoongi was the first and only person who you didn't have to mould a new personality for. Maybe you were done with your library of personas.

ʚ☆ɞ

"Jesus fucking Christ." The daunting feeling you felt yesterday? 100% correct. Your head was banging, sitting up only made the feeling worse. You rolled over onto your stomach and buried your head in your—or Yoongi's, pillow, groaning at yourself for drinking so much. Thank God you didn't have work today.

"Hangover that bad?"

"Fucking terrible." Surprisingly, Min appeared to be suffering from none of the symptoms you were, waking up earlier than you to leave a glass of water and some painkillers on the bedside table. You could tell you looked terrible. Dried drool across your face, morning breath, bonnet halfway across the globe so your hair looked like a rat's nest; regardless, you weren't worried about what Yoongi would think. He saw you at your worst, including your high school emo phase with uneven liner so bad you'd think you done it with your eyes closed—nothing would top that.

"God, go brush your teeth. Can smell your breath from outside the door." his voice echoed from outside of the room, you replied in a barely understandable voice, your face still buried in his pillow, "Fuck you." After multiple "5 more minutes" you finally dragged yourself out of bed to his bathroom, squeezing toothpaste onto the spare pink toothbrush he always kept for whenever you were over; Yoongi was considerate like that, he bought hair lotion, conditioner, shampoo, gel, combs—you get the idea. This just meant he had double of his shampoo and conditioner, one for you and him, and, despite you not being at his house as much as before he still continued to keep them stocked in their usual basket on the sink counter.

You finished your face care routine and took yourself to the kitchen and sat on one of the 4 chairs planted around the island, still in the pyjamas he lent you the night before. The sun from his unnecessarily big windows shone through the kitchen, straining your not so used to the light yet eyes. Yoongi spent his morning preparing your favourite breakfast, pancakes with strawberries and an insanely unhealthy amount of syrup. Him on the other hand was making his 'famous', his words, banana, blueberry and chicken smoothie. You would never understand or dare to taste whatever concoction that was. Cutting into your syrup drowned pancakes, you squeezed your eyes shut in satisfaction and done your "good food dance" which was some kind of shimmy in your seat with the biggest grin on your face. Speaking between mouthfuls, you congratulated him, "Fuck, this is so good...love your cooking."

He answered smugly but comically, "Yeah I know. Never seen you happier than when you're eating my pancakes."

He was right. Nothing and no one could compare to how happy you were when you ate. Yoongi came close, but that's a stretch.

As you finished the last bite of pure heaven, Yoongi went to go get changed for whatever he had planned for the day. Spoiler alert, he had plans for the both of you. He walked out, dressed in black, slightly distressed jeans with rips on both knees. He loved clothes that basically suffocated him; he wore whatever was at least 3 times his size, so seeing Yoongi wear clothes that weren't consuming him was a feat. Matching his jeans, he wore a slightly loose black shirt that sat comfortably below his belt, accessorized with multiple pearl necklaces and his everyday earrings, 3 in one ear and 2 in the other. Min was an accessory in himself; despite his moderately basic outfits, his looks made up for it; he was feminine in a masculine way, his soft features contrasting his fashion sense.

"Go get ready, if you're finished stuffing your mouth." Surprise surprise, you also had some clothes at his house. For convenience, of course. Not like he was using all that closet space anyway.

"For what? It's my day off, do I have to spend it with you?" He knew you were joking, you wouldn't spend it with anyone else. As if he was reading your thoughts, he said almost the exact same thing,

"It's a surprise. Anyways, who else would you spend it with? Loner." You made your way to the sink to wash your dishes and went to his room, taking your time to appreciate the menagerie of clothes. In the end, you went with a black tennis skirt and one of your favourite band tees, a chunky star necklace complimenting your collarbone. Of course the outfit wasn't complete without one of Yoongi's clothes, it was basically tradition—get dressed in his house, access to his clothes. You wore his oversized leather jacket that fell just around where your skirt ended. You wore your chunky platform boots with sheer tights, which was as basic as it got for you, especially because you still had no idea where you were being taken. For all you knew, you could be dressing up to be kidnapped—not that that was the case.

You finally finished your makeup, walking back to the conjoined living room slash kitchen and meeting Yoongi again who was sitting on the couch, staring into space until you brought him back from whatever planet he was on. You walked over behind the couch, placing your palms on his cheeks, "Earth to Min...you gonna tell me where we're going yet?" Successfully pulling him back to his senses, his dark brown boba eyes looked back at you like a child using puppy dog eyes. He stood up from his seat, looking you up and down before meeting your eyes with his own and smiling, "Thank God I was almost decaying. My jacket looks good on you. And no, I'm not telling you." You linked your arm around his, making the snarky remark, "Looks better on me than you, right?" "Did my pancakes fuck with your head or something...oh my God do you need a doctor?!" Exaggerating every word like he was about to carry you princess style to the hospital himself. You followed suit, pretending to faint into his arms, "Ugh I'm dying, being a girl is too hard." After your terrible show of dramaticism, Yoongi finally grabbed his keys from the hook in front of the hall and locked the door behind you both.

Arm in arm, you both made your way into the streets, half excited and, for some reason, half nervous for whatever this 'surprise' was going to be.

don’t steal, translate or repost my work

©maiiruo

#min yoongi #yoongi series #yoongi fanfic #ambw #ambw kpop #kpop fanfic #yoongi au #bangtan x reader #yoongi x reader #bangtan series #yoongi angst #yoongi fluff #ꨄ︎ masterlist !

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chloe-caulfield94 · 4 months

Text

A Miracle I Chose Not to Perform - a LiS fan poem

On a surprisingly sunny and warm day in October

a genuine miracle was about to happen

In spite of the consequences of their actions

(and fitting conclusions to their character arcs)

emerging from the ocean and coming their way

the following wonderful people would be spared:

A promising young artist would be allowed

to keep making his haunting works

after just a brief three year stay

in an institution run by those

who clearly fail to comprehend

that in pursuit of real art

sacrifices must be made

Some shallow graves simply need to be filled

with whores

I mean sluts

I mean models

if truth and beauty are to be discovered

An ambitious businessman would be allowed to keep

the spirit of entrepreneurship alive

by selling his intoxicatingly enticing wares

to the most challenging customers of all – schoolchildren

And I’m sure that such a nice, hard-working man

would soon find a new, suitably young match

to replace the one he killed with his product

One that would understand

that after a hard day’s work

(and tasting his own stash)

a “man” has the right to explode into a blind rage

A devoted school principal and brave boys in blue

would be allowed to keep supplementing their incomes

(which are absolutely inadequate, when you factor in how much they care about the people they teach, protect and serve)

with envelopes coming from

a pillar of local community

for keeping the young artist’s career

under wraps

A valued member of the student body

would be allowed to teach

many a more stuck-up prudes

a lesson using her phone camera

having never been made aware

that other people have feelings too

All those wonderfully revolting things

would be allowed to happen

for a low tall Price

of just one murdered girl

What is the murder of a single girl

if it allows the putrid entrails

of a scenic Oregon town

to keep on churning

An irrationally angry girl

who had the audacity to confront

the boy who'd merely roofied her

Big deal!

He only wanted to

do something beautiful to her

and he would have

had she not unceremoniously fled

while she was still alive

How rude!

But you can’t expect class

from a scholarship kid in tattered clothes

Forgive my sarcasm dripping from the page

I will now speak plainly

The miracle described above I chose not to perform

I decided that just this once

friendship

should carry more weight

than the cruelty of evildoers

One ghoul pierced her heart

with a bullet-tipped spear

Another placed a red crown of thorns

on her forehead

Conquering her fear she didn’t cry

„Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani”

No, instead she handed me

the final nail

and begged me to hammer it

so that others might live while she would die

But despite her bravery

in the face of oblivion

(or perhaps because of it)

a blue-winged seraph was sent down

to defend her life

Nobody would miss her

the promising artist said

and if I had let her cross be raised

I would’ve proven him right

Nothing ever is worth someone

being murdered

Nothing ever is worth someone

dying alone, abandoned, hopeless and afraid

And for that reason

unlike two millennia ago in Palestine

expiation was denied

to those who required it the most

but deserved it not

I made sure of that

by pulling the would-be Christ of Arcadia Bay

down from her cross

Even though two nails

had already been driven

her hands, feet, heart and brow

bear no holes

My supposed crime is digging out of her heart

a bullet fired by

the promising artist

Shouldn’t the fault lie with the one

who aimed the gun and pulled the trigger?

I never claimed to be a hero

and if saving a friend's life is a sin

then I’m the greatest sinner

(and unrepentant one at that)

Once you cut out all hope

from your own friend’s heart

and you nail their body to a cross

once you’re smiling over their coffin

bloody knife and hammer in your hands

once you selfishly reduce

the light of their life

to a memory locked away

in your brain

then you can judge me

But know that

I don’t care about the verdicts

of ghouls

Isn’t it written

that whoever saves a life

is considered to have saved

the whole world?

So by digging the bullet out of her heart

I saved her world

my world

our world

the world

She was the Price to be paid

for sparing Arcadia Bay

from its fate

I refused that bargain

because who in their right mind

would pay with the world

for a town?

All the fine people described at the begininng

casual in their cruelty

banal in their evil

learnt an important lesson

(and for some of them it was their last):

sometimes hatred and disdain sown

become a Storm reaped

So on an unsurprisingly cold and stormy day in October

the miracle turned out to be

how such a tiny town could've fit

so much cruelty

before it burst at the seams

and that the seeds of the Storm

sown by its dwellers every day

took that long to yield crop

#life is strange #lis #fan poem #fan poetry #chloe price #max caulfield #pricefield #victoria chase #frank bowers #principal wells #arcadia bay #nathan prescott

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spawnofdeath · 8 months

Text

As promised, since the overwhelming majority voted for wanting to see it, here is my Empires AU main post with all my current notes and thoughts:

Two Sons of Rivendell

(Title borrowed from the poem written for the ending of Empires season 1 by the wonderful @fishy-strawberries on their art blog floweroflaurelin)

AKA me realizing there's two plot relevant reveals of two characters being siblings in Empires 1 and thinking what if I switched them, so Scott and Xornoth get "Hold on now, we're siblings? How did we forget that?" And Lizzie gets "Wait, the demon is my brother?"

Summary:

Scott and Xornoth, rulers of neighboring elven kingdoms Rivendell and Erewyn, rediscover the tales of their people's old gods, Aeor and Exor. What memories have they lost along with the connection to their past?

Meanwhile, in the nearby Grimlands, salmon loving engineer fWhip starts having troubles involving a demonic cod creature. Who is this malicious stranger, and is he connected to Ocean Queen Lizzie?

In no particular order, some notes:

There aren't really just straight forward role swaps exclusively between two characters each, it's all a bit all over the place

I only watched six out of twelve perspectives (Jimmy, Joel, Lizzie, Pearl, Scott and Sausage) so I don't know if I'm missing anything but also it's not meant to be canon-compliant (but also means I don't know how to write the other characters)

This AU is fully falling into the trend of making fanon Jimmy much cooler than he is in canon, but I just think he deserves a proper villain arc (not counting the one he thoroughly failed at in season 2)

Actual story notes:

Xornoth identifies and presents as broadly male-adjacent, and uses he/they

Because there's no possible pun on "siblings" that could work as well as "Seablings" for the purposes of this AU, Scott and Xornoth will be collectively known as "The Twin Kings"

Xornoth's Empire Erewyn (name might be subject to change) is slightly down the mountainside from Rivendell, where it's a bit warmer than on the snow covered peaks (even without their gods, Scott prefers the winter and Xornoth the summer), and has shared borders with Rivendell, Crystal Cliffs, and the Lost Empire (small parts taken off each of those three, but mostly extends into the spawn area, I looked up a map for this so hopefully you get what I mean)

Erewyn exports enchanted books and offers services of custom enchanting for armour and weapons

The Ocean Queen, of course, cherishes all Ocean dwellers, which certainly includes, for most of their life cycle, salmon

Featuring Scott both as one of the Lost Siblings pair and as the guy who falls in love with the demon

Those two plot lines actually might interfere with each other, I cannot imagine Xornoth would be very fond of the idea of his friend/brother trying to date a demon and Scott probably wouldn't take it very well if Xornoth tried to talk him out of it, so it might put a strain on their friendship, but I don't care, it can't be anyone but Scott, I can't make it work with anyone but Scott (the only other option I can think of would be Sausage, and he's already allied with the demon in canon, I don't want him to be in this AU as well)

I'm gonna say Jimmy is also at least somewhat interested in Scott, because, well, he is kind of cute, for someone without any fins or scales, and why not? Some fun on the side, why shouldn't he? There should be more to life than just terrorising people, even for a demon

Farmer (and Fighter) Queen Pearl is far too exited about her new demonic sparring partner and the powers he's willing to share (just to make their matches more interesting, right? This surely won't corrupt her, nooo, how would it?) (Unlike with Sausage, here I actually do like the idea of Pearl still being in a somewhat similar to canon role, except cranked up to eleven to become the role of demon protégé)

Pearl is also involved in this AU's equivalent of the hostage exchange, the other side being Xornoth (Pearl started it by stealing one of Xornoth's owls, but I cannot think of who or what they would have taken from her in return)

Pix as the assassin in that storyline, I think, because it's really funny to me to think that the person who in canon is tracking people's deaths in this AU is causing people's deaths

Lady Katherine of House Blossom, Flower Mage Queen of the Overgrown, tends to what is known as the Memorial Garden

Lord Sausage of Mythland really just wants to be friends with everyone and is always advocating for peace

Xornoth and Shrub have this AU's equivalent of the Cod War (what would that be though? I'd appreciate any ideas)

Joey and Xornoth are the happy couple who had the big royal wedding, with Scott as Xornoth's best man, and officiated by Pearl

Joey also gets the role of the one who's in complete denial of anything demonic going on. Joey cares about two things, his beautiful builds and his beautiful husband, and that's it. Demon? What demon? There's no demon, why would there be a demon? The sudden surplus of cod make good food for the raptors, as such their unusual aggression goes almost entirely unnoticed, piles of slime are buried under dirt to form nice rounded little hills. He can't even see Jimmy during the big arena fight, just Pearl going mad for no apparent reason, like, what's up with her then? (Keep in mind that I have never in my life watched any of Joey's videos, I have not the first clue how to write him)

Who did Pearl build the arena with, by the way? Probably Gem, who starts out being somewhat complacent about the whole demon issue ("Oh I'm sure he's not that dangerous, he's hardly managed to hurt me, and anyways, he's got some very interesting abilities I'd love to study"), but after the big massacre finally realizes it's actually quite serious and also Pearl is clearly not herself and definitely needs help

Random thought, you know how manta rays swim like they're flying through the water? Jimmy flies like he's swimming through the air

Jimmy is short for Jimahinjao, although he doesn't go by that name anymore, and definitely only Scott is allowed to call him Jimmy

Lizzie is short for Lizmoa, which is already one of the shortest merfolk names, but she's always gone by Lizzie, except in situations calling for truly formal adress

I don't know if "something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue" would necessarily apply to a gay wedding, but I kind of want it to in this case because:

I imagine Scott and Xornoth would have similar styles in terms of clothing and accessories, because it's a traditional elven style or because they're unknowingly brothers, who knows. The point here is Joey coming to Scott for 'something borrowed' and Scott going "Ohhh I can make your outfits match, that's gonna be so cute!"

Thus, the four items: an enchanted golden apple found with the help of Joel (because I didn't know what else he could provide), a pendant made of pixandrian copper (paralleling my interpretation of the amethyst Lizzie got from Gem as a necklace), an elven crown borrowed from Scott (matching Xornoth's), and a bouquet of blue orchids from the swamp outside of Mythland (paralleling the fact that in canon, the warped fungus came from the same place as the corruption)

Speaking of the swamp outside of Mythland, it is regarded as a dangerous and possibly haunted place and thus uninhabited (except for Jimmy, who is the reason people think it's haunted)

The crown Scott receives from Jimmy is a flower crown (as a nod to the for this AU rather unfitting official ship name of "Flower Husbands"). It's made from water lilies and has, beyond the mind control, two rather obvious magical properties. One: it doesn't wilt. Two: it's always slightly dripping. Mostly water, sometimes mud, rarely a bit of slime, but it's always dripping something. Scott still wears it anyways

Lizzie and Katherine get kidnapped by Pearl and Scott, and rescued by Joel, prompting that particular romance

As it will eventually turn out, Scott and Xornoth are twins (Xornoth being older by an hour, though there's no real way for them to find it out that exactly)

Xornoth reads in the library about an artifact he's pretty sure is related to the old religion he and Scott are continuing to learn about. The artifact in question is a black iron crown in the shape of a pair of antlers, to be worn by the royal representative of one of the two gods. They resolve to find this artifact.

Meanwhile, Lizzie, in a treasure chest she unearthed, finds what she thinks is probably an interestingly shaped piece of scrap metal. Maybe she can trade it to some fool for something else. Maybe for a channeling trident. She's been wanting one of those. Calling lightning at will sounds amazing.

The Crown™ is still forged by fWhip, and makes the rounds from Joel, who gets killed for it by Lizzie, who, while trying to give it to Shrub, gets it yoinked away by Joey, who gives it away via a treasure hunt which is then won by Xornoth, who gets it stolen by Gem, who creates a quiz for it that's won by fWhip, who gives it to Sausage, who puts on a contest in which Shrub then cheats and kills him to get it

The Ocean Queen gets storm powers that she needs to learn to control, she probably strikes Katherine with lightning by accident and subsequently flees to a deserted island to not hurt anyone else

While Lizzie is gone, fWhip steals the nautilus shell "Jimmy" has been sealed in, prompting her to return when one of her axolotls comes to tell her about it

More notes to possibly come in the future via reblogs

#empires smp #empires s1 #jimmy solidarity #ldshadowlady #scott smajor #joey graceffa #xornoth empires smp #two sons of rivendell au #two sons of rivendell au notes #tsorau #long post

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spectres-fulcrum · 8 months

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I took this screenshot last night and I forget what triggered this face but I love Hassian so much. Once I got him to level 3 friendship he really started letting down his walls. (We're courting now too. Flirting, basically, but also a bit more formalized from what I can tell. Early stages of dating? Idk.)

Some fun snatches of character building I've gotten: As a child, he didn't belong to any village and he kinda misses the feeling of being tied down or something like that. Like he misses being a wandering spirit and not having ties. Also, all he ever wanted in life was a purpose in life(I THINK), a hearth to call his own, and someone to share it with, and why was that so hard to find? Darling... (Cause you chose the wrong woman first, with champagne problems)

(As I delve into the lore I feel Foolish One/Champagne Problems/Message in a Bottle for Tamala/Hassian OH and August. I still think WCS might be on there but we'll have to see)

(I can't wait to see if I'll get more info from Kenyatta and Nai'o when I get to lvl 3 for them. Nai'o has also become super flirty with me and I'm like. I have no interest in trying to steal you from Kenyatta, cool it off, dude. But he's sweet. Reth and Tish are also up to Lvl 2. Very interesting stuff(I know the story to some degree). And Jina and Einar duh. Did you know Hekla didn't know the sun until Jina took her out of storage :( I love this town so much.)

But this was so much fun. WAIT no I remember. I did his lvl 3 friendship quest of finding his poetry and when he asked if I enjoyed the poems I said I loved them and he made this face in shock. Honestly me too bby. Me too when people like my writing. Or show they care about me.

#palia #hassian #too funny not to share #i love this sleepy village #MitB is because of THAT quest #which has the cutest name and saddest endest #The way I just define couples in Taylor Swift songs #It's not at all new #but it's a literal language to me #It's one of my favorite things

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collecting-stories · 1 year

Text

Pablo Neruda - Usnavi de la Vega

Request: no

Summary: reader has a crush on Usnavi and invites him to dinner. Just a bunch of fluff really.

A/N: I don't even know for sure how long this has been in my notes. Literally found it the other day and figured it was high time to finish it and post it here. Even if no one really cares about In the Heights anymore.

Broadway Masterlist

✳︎ ✳︎ ✳︎ ✳︎

The sight behind the counter shouldn’t have been a surprising one. It was more common than not that you would find Marco here, chin just level with the counter despite the stool that Usnavi let him stand on. He thought the bodega was the coolest place on earth and frequently told the owner that when he was Sonny’s age, he too would work there.

His Spider-Man bike was chained up outside, evidence that he’d ridden straight here after school despite your constant reminders that he needed to come home first.

“Someday I’m gonna report you as a missing child…they’re gonna think Usnavi kidnapped you.” You remarked, the bell jangling as the door shut behind you. The fan set up in the corner blew passed you as it oscillated, trying to keep the store cool in the early heat of June. You took quick stock of what you could see, noting the absence of any adult supervising your seven-year-old. “Speaking of, where is Usnavi?”

“The cooler broke again,” Marco replied. The thud of his small feet hitting the floor echoed in the space and he came around the counter to hug you, “I got a gold star on my story about Puerto Rico,” he mentioned, pulling away to go retrieve the paper that had already been pinned up to the bulletin board behind the counter. No doubt Usnavi’s doing.

“Wow, that’s so great baby,” you took the papers that were stapled together, looking over the story that he’d recited to you three times that morning. “You’re like a little Pablo Neruda.”

“Who?” Marco took the papers back, hanging them in their rightful place once more. A couple of his drawings accompanied the story. Once Usnavi had even hung a spelling test up so everyone could see it. You appreciated the sweetness, the willingness to help whenever you needed it, having someone around that your son could rely on, but it didn’t stop the occasional pang of something indescribable in your chest. You didn’t want Marco to get his hopes up…god knows you kept waiting for something you were sure wasn’t going to happen. Despite Carla constantly insisting that Usnavi had feelings for you.

“Yeah, feelings of friendship. Feelings of ‘look at this poor pathetic girl I’ve known my whole life, still can’t make it out, got a kid now cause she was too stupid to see when her boyfriend was lying to her.”

“Trust me, the only thing Usnavi’s thinking with when you come in the store is-“

“Oh god Carla!”

But you couldn’t help feeling more than a little hopeful everytime you saw one of Marco’s tests or drawings hanging up, as if Usnavi was just as proud as you were. As if Marco had a dad (or at least a father figure) who actually cared about him.

“Pablo Neruda wrote love poems,” Usnavi’s voice sounded from behind you. “He’s your mama’s favorite.”

You turned to look at him and he winked as if the two of you were co-conspirators. Like you were in on the same secret and it made your heart pick up speed just a little bit.

“Who else is gonna write me love poems?” You managed to say, rather proud that you’d even mustered a sentence together.

The smile didn’t leave Usnavi’s face, even after you turned back to Marco and told him to get his stuff together so you could go home. While you were used to the moaning and protesting that usually accompanied this request you were rather taken aback when Marco hopped off the stool without question and started gathering his school supplies off the counter.

“Can Usnavi come over for dinner? He said Sonny’ll be here soon to help and that means he wouldn’t have to hang around too…can he?” Marco asked, eagerly, looking to Usnavi, “do you wanna come over for dinner?”

“You’re going to abuela’s for dinner, remember?” It was Wednesday and Wednesday meant dinner with your ex’s mom.

“Well, then you and Usnavi can have dinner.” He suggested, toothy smile (minus a noticeable one in the front).

You thought about saying that you were more than positive Usnavi had better things to do than come over to your place and eat dinner with you but your mouth worked before your brain could intervene and suddenly you heard yourself saying, “what’d you say? Wanna have dinner with me?” to Usnavi.

Maybe it was the heat or the work trying to fix the cooler that had him flushed but you swore he looked almost nervous when he nodded his head, like the offer was too good to be true. “Yeah, definitely.”

Usnavi wasn’t one to get his hopes up. Benny constantly swore that you were basically in love, (“you’re practically raising Marco together, now if you could just get together”), but Usnavi didn’t want to take the chance and look like a fool. Not to mention, he liked Marco a lot and he didn’t want you to think he had some ulterior motive for being nice to your son. He wasn’t expecting you to want to be with him and he didn’t want you to think he was.

You told him seven o’clock and he got there at 6:45, standing at the bottom of the stoop and contemplating the flowers he’d brought. You didn’t say it was date or even imply that this was anything more than you offering a meal while Marco was at his abuela’s. Maybe you just didn’t feel like eating alone. Or maybe you felt bad because Marco had offered dinner and you didn’t want to be rude. Maybe the flowers were overkill, maybe you were allergic.

“You stand outside all night, you’re never gonna get a chance,” Daniela teased as she walked passed him, bumping her hip against his playfully.

“We’re just having dinner,” Usnavi didn’t bother to ask how Daniela already knew about the dinner. No doubt everyone in Washington Heights knew about dinner.

“Yeah?” She plucked a flower out of the bunch, “hoping for dessert?”

Usnavi choked on his reply, swallowing down the last bout of nerves and heading up to the door before Daniela could continue teasing him. You were on the second floor, the black and white tiled hallway was missing a piece right beside your door and when you complained the landlord told you there was nothing he could do. Now a large pot sat over it with monstera growing next to a welcome mat that you changed out for the seasons. It was getting close to valentines and the mat had red and pink X’s and O’s.

The green door was cracked open, a “come on in” gesture that Usnavi had encounter a few times before when he’d offered to keep Marco while you worked and then walked the boy home at the end of the night. He rarely saw you without your son and it occurred to him as he pushed the door open that this would be the first time he was at your place without the seven year old buffer leading the conversations.

“Uh, hey, the door was open,” Usnavi offered as he walked in, shut the door behind him, and walked further into your apartment. He was still holding the flowers, down by his side, their petals directed at the hardwood floor.

“Hey,” you moved away from the frying pan to give him a hug, laughing gently at the sight of the bouquet. “Are those for me?”

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” he apologized, whipping them up so fast a few petals fell off. “Daniela stole one, actually.”

“Well they’re beautiful, thank you.” You took the bouquet from him and Usnavi watched you move around the small kitchen, grabbing a vase and filling it with water and arranging the flowers. He thought about something Abuela Claudia had told him years ago about knowing when he was in love and he turned away, looking around the rest of the small space as if he’d never been in it before.

“Sonny didn’t mind watching the store I hope,” you mentioned, looking for something to say. It felt different without Marco there. Not the sort of different that made it awkward, despite you grasping for something to say, but the sort of different that felt like talking and having dinner were the furthest things from your mind. The sort of different that had you thinking Daniela and Carla and everyone else in the Heights that had an opinion on it was right.

“As long as I bring him back something,” he replied. He’d made it to the bookcase near the front door, looking through all the books at eye level first. Pablo Neruda caught his eye and he took the book down, skimming through the pages.

“Whatca got there?” You asked, coming over to look around his shoulder at the book he was holding in his hands.

Usnavi tilted his head to look back toward you, “estás aquí. Oh, no te escapes," he began, reciting the poem as you stood there listening, dinner forgotten. His voice was smooth, the way it always was but somehow different too. Sweeter, like honey.

That different sort of feeling that you were trying not to fall into settled over you as you listened to him read. You couldn’t take your eyes off him, and when he finally reached the end of the poem and he looked over at you, the fall you were trying to avoid suddenly crashed over you.

“...quiero hacer contigo lo que la primavera hace con los cerezos,” he recited, eyes meeting yours.

“¿Es así?” You were only just barely aware of Usnavi placing the book back on the shelf, the thin volume of poems falling to the floor from its haphazard placement. He turned into your space, kissing you without hesitation.

Benny always said he was too slow, that he overthought all of his actions before he did them, and that what he needed to do was just act. It wasn’t advice he ever actually took. Usnavi just wasn’t the kind of person who acted on impulse. And then all of the sudden he was holding your face in his hands and kissing you in your living room. Impulsive, absolutely. When you finally pulled away, only to catch your breath, Usnavi smiled. That irresistibly boyish smile that always gave you butterflies. “Dinner?” He asked, only to avoid any more impulsive acts like telling you he loved you.

“Dinner can wait.”

The door to the apartment slammed open and Marco came through, kicking his shoes off as he called out, “Mama! Mama!”

Behind him, the door shut, his grandma stepping into the kitchen and looking suspiciously over the food that was left on the counter, still in the pan though the oven was off. The door to your bedroom was open and before Marco could make it that far you appeared in the hall, holding a zippered sweatshirt closed, semi-nervous smile on your face.

“Hey baby, how was dinner?” You asked, hovering near the door of your room.

“Abuela made dulce de leche! I brought you a piece!” He held the tupperware out toward you proudly, “Is Usnavi still here?”

“Uh, he’s...he’s in the...” you floundered, trying to think of something to say. He was very much still there, on the other side of the open door, pulling his clothes on as fast as possible.

“Why don’t we put this in the fridge Marco,” your ex’s mother suggested, taking the tupperware back from you and putting her arm around your son’s shoulders, “wait for your mama and this Usnavi to join us.”

If you didn’t know you’d hear an earful from her about almost getting caught by your son, you would have thanked her for intervening when she did. Instead you just ducked back in your room, closing the door so you could change quickly, clocking Usnavi standing there with a massive grin on his face.

“Don’t smile at me like that,” you whispered. An empty warning, really.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he replied, grin still in place.

“Come on, I still owe you dinner.” You held the bedroom door open for him to go out first, “and now we’ve got dessert too.”

Usnavi stopped in the doorway to kiss you, “I’ve already had mine.” When you smacked his arm he only laughed and continued into the kitchen, Marco’s excited greeting putting a smile on your face as you walked into the kitchen after him.

✳︎ ✳︎ ✳︎ ✳︎

The poem Usnavi reads is Pablo Neruda's Everyday You Play .

Translations:

estás aquí. Oh, no te escapes - you are here. Oh you do not run away

quiero hacer contigo lo que la primavera hace con los cerezos - I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees

¿Es así? - is that so? / it's like that?

#usnavi x reader #usnavi x y/n #usnavi x you #usnavi de la vega x reader #usnavi imagine #usnavi blurb #usnavi fanfiction #in the heights fanfiction #in the heights imagine #in the heights fanfic #in the heights fic #in the heights blurb #collecting stories imagine

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no-where-new-hero · 8 months

Note

I need to know more about this attempt at a fourth Emily book

Oh gosh, I really haven’t thought about this for YEARS, this was a product of me being like 15 and naive enough to try and write an Emily x Dean happy ending without realizing that a purely romantic Dean was neither in the spirit of how LMM wrote him nor very interesting.

Basically, I erased a few of the years that passed between Ilse calling off the wedding and Teddy coming back to New Moon, so that the year after Emily and Teddy married, WWI began. Naturally, both Teddy and Perry would have been drafted. I envisioned Ilse moving back to PEI, and she and Emily would do comic and Rilla-ish things for the war effort. Meanwhile, Dean—who of course wouldn’t have been able to fight—comes back as well. He writes a book of pacifist poetry or something not particularly patriotic, which doesn’t endear him any better to the locals. In my teenaged mind, he and Emily would then resurrect something of romance. Whether or not it’s actively something consummated, Emily would have betrayed Teddy in spirit if not in body.

Now, though, if I were to follow this war-themed plot thread, I think I absolutely wouldn’t go that route. I think Emily’s attitude to Dean and to herself would have completely changed as she grew older and seen more of the world. She would understand him better and perhaps pity him just a little—she was so nearly him, losing the love of her life to someone else. I’m not entirely settled about how Dean would react to this change: On the one hand, I’m tempted to think that he would miss not being able to patronize her anymore (I'm sure he would try and it wouldn't work the way it used to). As with many Gothic pairings, their relationship relied on inequality. On the other hand, if underneath his possessive jealousy he really does care genuinely for Emily—which we might infer if only from the final scene when he admits that she can write—they might be able to negotiate a new kind of friendship, where Dean can claim his corner of her life without it being unnecessarily fraught. Even now, I'm not sure how much of this is possible--despite Emily's newfound cynicism, she still seems a bit naive at the end of EQ about what he intends about claiming a corner of her home--but I do believe that her own literary achievements would be able to help her hold her own against him.

In the end, I always intended Teddy and Perry to come home—as much as I enjoy tragedy, I couldn’t sacrifice either in good faith—though I assigned Perry many heroic war wounds. Emily also would have written a Great Canadian Novel based on the war that would have been set up as a counter to Dean's pacifist poems. In some ways their literary output would mark more than anything the divergence in their lives.

Thinking about this now is really interesting though in terms of our previous discussions of Walter in a pairing with Dean! I’m tempted to start writing fanfic scenarios about this instead now.

#i originally wanted to write an Emily bk 4 because i found another fanfic for a bk 4 somewhere on the internet and hated it #HATED IT #i think i was irrationally biased against it because ilse has a child and in no universe did i think that was in character for her #i did not contemplate the implications of a society before widespread birth control where she might not have a choice #it was just like. ilse wouldn’t be the type to become a mother. ergo she wouldn’t be a mother #tbh I almost think she would be the type to get an abortion but that’s another issue #i'm also convinced that the same fic included an endgame for dean with a character from the anne universe #but it wasn't even a more kosher romance like there was still an age gap problem and that was weirder to me without the tenuous excuse #that in emily dean had found something like a soulmate #lmm lockdown #emily of new moon #emily starr #dean priest #teddy kent

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restlessmaknae · 1 year

Text

silenced

After your best friend disappears and the government doesn’t want to help, lies are discovered and the truth slowly unveils itself as you see your art-rid country for the first time for what it truly is: a land of manipulation, lies and total control.

➳ Characters: Insurgents!Ateez x female!reader/you (best friend!Yeosang and subtly implied love interest!San)

➳ Genre: dystopian, action, the movement-inspired au

➳ Words: 10.2k

➳ Warning: mentions of blood, being shot, guns, protests, manipulation, brainwashing, bullying, corruption, being orphans

➳ Dedicated to: @lily-blue. Have the happiest birthday, my dear! I’m so happy that we can celebrate this day together again ❤️

➳ Ateez taglist: @dat-town, @tranquilpetrichor, @effulgentfireflies, @americanokisses, @kuleo26, @anime-lover-2020, @wccycc, @littlestartonightsposts, @koishua, @squiishymeow

“It’s a lie.”

Those were the last words of your father’s that you could remember. You faintly remembered the creases on his forehead, the sharpness of his jawline, the dark, almost midnight black shade of his eyes and the firmness of his grip before he let go. Had to let go, to be precise.

At least, you liked to think that it wasn’t an illusion, that he was real and not just a made-up version of your father in your head. However, sometimes you believed that this scene was just a reoccurring one in your dreams because according to the ones who had taken you in at the orphanage, you had been abandoned by your parents at the age of 4. The reason for that had been that your parents had been Insurgents, and couldn’t have cared less about a child. Insurgents were the ones called by the government who went against the most basic rule: no art in any form. No music, no dance, no paintings, no poems, nothing of that sort.

Since the Great War of Art when artists and art lovers had gone against the ruling party, leading to great losses including innocent people, the government had banned all forms of art, and did everything they could to detain any last piece of art and silence any hum that could be turned into a song. You could only see art pieces in history books, so that you would know what to look out for to tell the police, but music had long been gone from your country. It was said that art was a fabricated lie; that art pieces only contained misleading, anti-government messages and tainted the truth.

It was a disgrace to be the children of Insurgents, so you had been an outcast at the orphanage and no family had come to pick you up. It had been fine as long as the kids who had known what your parents were had been adopted, but the stigma still lived with you up to this day. There had been only one person who hadn’t cared about that, and that had been Kang Yeosang, a similarly abandoned child of Insurgents. He had come 2 years after you, and he had cried in a closet at nights, muffling his sobs, so that no one else could hear him, but you had, and that’s where your friendship had blossomed from: mutual understanding, shared pain and a sense of belonging.

You two had grown to become best friends as years had gone by, and after turning 18 with still no parents, you had joined the government’s adult orphan program which provided you with a shared flat with someone else - in your case, it was Yeosang - in exchange for you working for the government. You and Yeosang were both administrative specialists, though under different institutions, and had continued living together. Since your housing was taken care of, you had enough to live by and you believed that there was nothing more fulfilling than working for the government that took you under its wing despite who you were.

You believed that until one day, your best friend went missing, and even the government didn’t want to help you find him.

Each morning, you started work by listening to the government’s agenda which emphasised why art was toxic, how the government tried to protect you from the lies of art, and how you should always believe in yourself for you could do so much, the government would always be there to help you - to rid of pain, to erase the small cracks in your perfect world, to ease your worries.

However, when you went to report Yeosang missing after you hadn’t been able to reach him for two whole days, he hadn’t come home for the night and he hadn’t left behind anything, the officers didn’t want to help.

“There are no missing people in this country,” the officer told you sternly. His tone was professional, and you knew that you were using this tone while working because it was the guideline, but right now, his emotionless state bugged you. “Everyone has a direction, everyone has a plan, everyone belongs somewhere. If he did leave, he would come back sooner or later.”

“He didn’t tell me anything as to why he would leave, that’s why I’m worried,” you reasoned, keeping your voice stable. You didn’t want to cause a scene, but Yeosang’s disappearance moved something in your heart. He was the closest thing you had to family, and losing him after being an orphan all your life seemed like drowning yourself would be a less painful experience.

“I am sure he will come back. If he does not come back after a week, he has somewhere else to be. People come and go in our lives, that is part of how we grow,” he continued in a practised, calm manner, bobbing his head to emphasise his words.

You let out an aghast sigh in return, not being able to digest the fact that he would leave without saying anything. The flat was intact when you had gotten home the day before after work, so there could have been nothing as outrageous as someone breaking in or kidnapping him. Since the Great War of Art, crime had been nullified, so that could have happened only in the worst case scenario, and Yeosang was no one special - in the most positive way. Thus, rationally speaking, no one could have come to get him.

“Should there be anything else I could help you with, please, let me know. If not, would you be so kind as to let the queue move?” The officer dragged you out of your concerned thoughts and pointed at the line of people behind you. Most of them were probably here to report an Insurgent, pick up their newly printed official documents or register for one of the many exams the government held to help people enter the workplace or higher education.

“Sure. Thank you so much for your assistance!” You bowed out of respect, left your waiting number on the desk and walked away from the office, your heart still as heavy as it had been when you had walked in.

The government had to be right. It was always right, you shouldn’t have doubted them, doubted yourself. Maybe Yeosang had indeed needed to leave somewhere, but he had had a difficult time saying goodbye. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to make you sad, to cause pain. Here, people lived to make this place better and to make each other content. Not happy because happiness was fleeting, it was an illusion often portrayed by art that couldn’t be reached in real life, but content. Contentment ran the offices, the institutions, the systems, and contentment suppressed anger, fear and pain. Contentment was the reason crime was almost non-existent in your country.

At least, that’s what you had learned. That’s what you had been taught. That’s what you kept hearing each and every day by sitting through the government’s agenda before work.

However, there was a tiny voice in your head that told you that either Yeosang had gotten into trouble - maybe by the Insurgents, maybe by something that had caused a crack in the system - or he had indeed wanted to leave. If it had been the latter though, you couldn’t have believed that he had just left without a word, especially after the last conversation you had had with him.

“What would you do if you were free?” Yeosang had asked at the dinner table, over the plate of your government-assigned food. In order to keep people’s health in check, everyone was assigned their own diet and daily menu, picked up in the morning at work and aimed at leaving nothing behind at the end of the day. Your health was monitored monthly by your own set of doctors, and this system proved to elevate the overall wellness in your county, hence promising a longer life that didn’t need so much medication and so many hospital visits.

“What do you mean? We are free. We are out of the orphanage, having a flat, having a job and food on the table. What more could you want?” You had quirked an eyebrow at the boy, not accusing, merely curious. This was your definition of freedom. Wasn’t it his?

“I mean… if you could have any job and live anywhere, wouldn’t you want to do something else?”

“No, Yeosang. The government is working so hard for us to keep such a balanced system. I’m thankful that they’ve given us a new chance after being abandoned by our Insurgent parents,” you had reminded him in case he had forgotten. There had been something passing through his features, but you couldn’t have pinpointed what it had been. It had definitely not been contentment.

“You’re right,” he had said and proceeded to eat. You had left it at that, and asked him about his day at work instead.

It had been nothing out of the ordinary, but maybe that conversation should have meant that he had been indeed intending to leave? You couldn’t have understood the reason why, but you had trusted him that he had made the right decision, and so, you had given up on searching for him.

A few weeks had passed by since Yeosang’s disappearance, and you had convinced yourself that the officer had been right: he had left on his own accord and he was doing fine. Otherwise, you would have heard of him, right? Someone would have called you on his phone that was still unreachable.

Instead of worrying about him, you continued living your life how you had done prior to his disappearance. Working, eating, doing the household chores, sleeping and volunteering to tend to public gardens on the weekends. Listening to the news of the country’s cities becoming more and more prosperous, companies doing well and more people taking the workplace entry exams than a few months before made you a proud citizen. It was a good place to live in. It was where you belonged.

However, the next Monday when you went into work, something happened. The government’s agenda was interrupted. It was usually screened and you listened to it through earphones as well, so you could see and hear your leader as well as possible. This time though, the screen glitched and only jumbled words could be heard through your earphones.

As usual, people didn’t panic at first. You were told and trained to keep calm at all times, and this was no different. However, the more this continued, the more fidgety everyone became.

“Stay in your seats, please! I will look into the matter. I am sure it is just a system error,” the supervisor in the room noted with a rigid edge to his words, then left the room. Everyone became a bit more relaxed, and a lot of them put down their earphones.

However, you were frozen in place, not just by the situation itself but also by what you could hear through your earphones.

“It’s all a lie.”

It was a robotic voice, nothing like the voice you remembered from your memories (or dreams?), but it still struck you as if you had heard your father’s words.

“Do doubt yourself. At all times. The government isn’t here to protect you. It’s here to isolate you from the truth,” the voice continued, and the way it said the complete opposite of the government’s agenda troubled you. Who was this? What was going on? Was it the Insurgents’ doing? But the government said that they monitored them all the time, that they couldn’t disturb the public anymore… So just who was this? Why were they lying?

Despite the racing thoughts in your head, the voice continued.

“The movement is here. You should prepare yourself. Brace yourself to face the truth, and remember: doubt yourself. At all times. Doubt the government.”

The voice was cut off, and suddenly, the screens were replaced with images of art pieces in all kinds of shapes, sizes and colours. You could only wear dull colours - black, white and grey -, so to see art pieces like in those history books of yours in vivid, almost blinding colours made you feel uneasy. Then, you saw people moving in an odd way. It was as if they were possessed, doing the same thing at the same time with the same preciseness. Sounds could be heard too, but they were odd. It was as if they connected. As if there was a flow to them, and absentmindedly, your fingers tapped to the beat of the sound. Could it be music? You had never heard anything as disturbing as this before… Yet, you had never heard anything as touching as this before. It wasn’t even just contentment that you felt. It was something else, too. Something new.

The next sound that registered in you wasn’t coming from the screen or your earphones. It came from outside, and despite the supervisor telling you all to stay in your seats, people rushed to the windows and peeked out by pulling the curtains to the side.

“This can’t be happening,” you heard someone whisper, and as you stepped closer to the window, you realised what she meant: the flying drones that monitored the city at all times were up in flames and falling to the ground, hitting it with muffled sounds.

“Is it the Insurgents?”

“What are we supposed to do?”

“Are we safe?”

The panic that had been long gone from people’s voices since the stabilisation of the system was back, and you had this gripping feeling in your heart for it reminded you of how your father had sounded before he had let go of you in your memories. No. This couldn’t happen. This system was foolproof. There had to be an error, a human error, it couldn’t have been caused by the Insurgents.

However, in between the smoke and flames caused by the falling drones, you could see blue… Blue capes. Those… Those weren’t allowed. You could say that your eyes were playing tricks on you, but you were on the first floor, you could see it well for yourself. Those were blue ones.

In the next moment, one of those who wore the blue cape turned around and looked up. You felt the ground open up beneath you, the sight rendering you speechless. Your eyes must have been playing tricks on you. It couldn’t be… Yet…

It was Yeosang. It had to be. The same warm brown eyes, the same jet-black hair, the same softness to his cheeks, the same dimples hiding behind his lips. However, the confidence he wore was unfamiliar. Or maybe it wasn’t even confidence… but rage?

As he was about to turn back, you didn’t think twice. Even though you had been told to stay in your seat, you had already broken that instruction, and now Yeosang was there, and you just couldn’t let him go without an explanation. So you ran downstairs, out of the building, passing by people asking you to stay inside and stay calm, and ran after the figures in blue.

You coughed constantly through the smoke, and you needed your eyes to adjust to the grainy, hot air, but eventually, you caught up to one of the blue caped figures. However, when you tapped his shoulder and he turned around, he wasn’t Yeosang. These were more fierce eyes with a piercing stare and a darkness sitting in his features that was nothing like Yeosang’s.

On the other hand, when a piercing sound could be heard, you saw a figure falling to the ground, and as he fell back, the hood of his cape fell off and revealed Yeosang.

“No!” You heard yourself cry out even though it seemed unfamiliar - both the emotions in your voice and the high pitch of it. Instinctively, you crouched down to the struggling Yeosang whose hands were going to his bleeding leg.

The sight made you so confused. He had been shot. But by whom? Guns weren’t allowed to the public, only to the government. Why would they shoot him? While it was true that he was wearing blue, he was innocent. You didn’t know who these people were in the blue cape, but he couldn’t be one of the Insurgents. You had known him most of your life. He couldn’t have been one of them, so why had they just shot him?

“It’s okay. It didn’t go too deep,” Yeosang mumbled with a feeble smile as he looked up at you. You didn’t even remember the last time he had smiled at you like that, and it felt so wrong for him to smile at you in such a situation. The sight made you freeze in place. Maybe he wasn’t the Yeosang that you knew.

“We have to go, they are here,” someone behind you prompted, and helped Yeosang to his feet who was seemingly able to walk even though he was limping and he was wincing from the pain.

“There’s a hospital down the street, you should…”

“Do you think they would treat him at the hospital after shooting him?” The earlier boy with the piercing gaze asked, and you were so shocked by his statement that the words you were trying to say died on the tip of your tongue.

After that, it was a mess of screams and smoke and noises that seemed close yet far at the same time, and you were struggling to see well due to the little bursts of fire around and the continuously steaming smoke from the damaged drones. What you saw was nothing like you had ever seen on tv: this was similar to the pictures you had seen in your history books instead. This should have never happened, not just the fire, but the system glitch and of course Yeosang…

You were so conflicted as to what was going on that you couldn’t move. However, someone reached for your arms and started pulling you with them. When your eyes adjusted to your surroundings yet again, and you caught a flash of blue, you stopped.

You couldn’t go with them. It wasn’t right. This was violence. You weren’t a part of this. You had nothing to do with violence.

“Come on! You can get shot here,” a deep-voiced guy told you, and pulled on your arm.

“They won’t shoot me. I’m innocent.”

“Do you think they care at this rate? The moment they saw you crouch down to Yeosang, you became their target, too.”

“But I’m not one of you,” you insisted, still trying to keep your voice calm and void of any emotions even though what you were feeling now was far from contentment. No matter who they were, you weren’t like them. It wasn’t just the blue cape, but the fact that they were out here when everyone was told to keep inside. You should have listened to the supervisor. You had broken the instructions. You had doubted the government.

“They don’t care. Come on!” Yeosang winced as he said the words out loud, and it took another gunshot fired close to you to prompt you to follow them. Despite not knowing what they were or where they were going or why they had Yeosang, seeing the only person in your life who you would call family in pain because of someone who was shooting around here, you followed them. It didn’t feel like it was you though. You were too occupied by the guilt of breaking the supervisor’s order to care.

The place you ended up at was nothing like your government-assigned flat even though it looked like one from the outside. From the inside, it was muddy, no one seemed to take care of it well, and there was such a disarray of things - maps, pictures, newspapers and such - lying around that it unsettled you. Both the sight of it and the thought that you were close to anything as messy as this place. An order was set for a reason everywhere you went; it was to avoid chaos that led to the lack of contentment and that led to the lack of an organised, thriving, flawless system.

They were prepared with a first-aid kit though, so they could take care of Yeosang’s bruise while you were watching in silence, still trying to process what had just happened and matching the names that were thrown around to the faces around you. It was a bit like an out of body experience, so what happened around and what was said, it all seemed like it happened to someone else, not you.

“It seems they aren’t scared to use weapons in public anymore,” the orange-haired boy - Mingi - mused out loud as he was sitting in a chair, occasionally glancing in Yeosang’s direction and also yours. You had never seen anyone with dyed hair, but you doubted that it was his natural colour because the roots of his hair were still black. How did he even colour his hair?

Even though all of these boys looked at you suspiciously, they didn’t voice it out and carried on as if you had always been there. You had no idea whether that was because Yeosang had told them about you or because they were waiting for you to speak up, but you were still so confused about the recent events that your thoughts were more occupied by the questions that the things you had seen triggered in you than the expressions on their faces.

“There weren’t a lot of people around though. It still seems that the government is keeping them under control, and they listen to them,” the leader-like figure - Hongjoong - concluded as he was putting a dressing strip around Yeosang’s bruise. Hongjoong had said after examining it that if the bullet had gone deeper, Yeosang might not have survived because he would have lost too much blood and because the bullet had been too close to his kneecap. In this case though, the blood loss was manageable, yet he would need a few weeks of rest to avoid putting too much pressure on his injured leg.

“Not everyone though. I saw people picking up the leaflets we left behind,” Yunho - a boy with surprisingly soft features to his wide built - mentioned, and you wondered if you had seen leaflets before. Some papers had been flying around, but you had assumed that they had been from the streets in general. It seemed it had not been the case.

“Good. We’ve raised even more awareness, now it’s time to plan the next one,” San - the guy with the piercing gaze - announced as he glanced in your direction for a few seconds. Then, he averted his eyes to Yeosang’s features, and there was such an indescribable expression on his face that you had no idea what to think - what was he thinking? -, but your stomach twisted nevertheless.

“Easy, tiger,” Wooyoung chuckled as he threw his arm around San’s shoulders who casually shrugged him off. “I think we have something else to take care of first,” he added, and now all eyes were on you.

You were not used to the attention of so many people when you didn’t know their intentions. At the orphanage, people hadn’t cared after a while because you were the child of Insurgents. At work, you were just one of the many employees doing the same job, you were no one special. Right now though, you couldn’t decipher whether they were looking at you as if they had wanted you gone or as if they had planned on using you.

However, before anyone could speak up, the door opened from a nearby room and a boy with chestnut-brown hair walked out of it.

“All the cameras are taken care of. No traces are left behind,” he announced surprisingly beamingly, though when he caught sight of the big bandage around Yeosang’s bruise, his smile faded. “Now, that was not a part of the plan,” he hummed, looking a bit more concerned, but it was still subtle compared to the way his eyes widened when he saw you sitting between Yeosang and San. “Nor was she as far as I know,” he looked around, confused, and it took a bit of time on everyone’s part to recall the previous events in order to explain the situation.

“Oh, so you’re the girl from the orphanage Yeosang keeps talking about,” the guy put the pieces together after the explanation, and he spoke so lightly as if Yeosang hadn’t even been there with you. Now it made more sense though why everyone acted so casually around you - Yeosang had talked about you to them. So why had he left without saying anything? “I’m Jongho, by the way.”

You didn’t see a reason to introduce yourself since everyone had already known who you were, so you kept quiet. Not that Jongho seemed to mind because he casually plopped down on one of the unoccupied chairs and bore the silence that weighed on all of you before Yeosang decided to break it.

“Why did you run out of the building back there?”

His question was very much reasonable for you had gone against what had been asked of you. However, as he was looking at you like that - like the person you had grown up with -, you were tormented just yet again if it had been worth it. How had he ended up here with these guys?

“Because I saw you, and you left without saying anything, and I just felt like… I have to see you,” your voice came out hoarse, and you were quieter than you had intended, but there was no judgement in Yeosang’s eyes, there had never been.

“Weren’t you told to stay inside?” Seonghwa mused out loud, and despite his neutral tone, you felt something light up inside of you. It’s not that you had been dragged here against your own will because you hadn’t; you had actually escaped with them because upon the severity of the situation - Yeosang being shot -, you had feared of something happening to you as well. You had never been afraid of death for it was a natural part of life, but in the midst of smoke and fire and the sound of gunshots, something in you had been switched on.

They might have been right; out there the government couldn’t have known that you were innocent. On the other hand, you weren’t even that innocent at all. After all, it seemed that Yeosang had gotten into trouble, and even though these boys might not have been Insurgents, they were surely rebels. Rebels that you should have never ever crossed paths with.

“I was, and now seeing what you’re doing, I regret it. I should go and turn myself in for breaking an order.”

“You did the right thing.”

“What?” You shrieked upon San’s compliment. You couldn’t even take it as a compliment for it was all too wrong to have done something like this. “What I did was outrageous.”

“It was brave. Brave because your feelings for a lost friend were stronger than the brainwashing you had been through, and this is exactly what we need,” he continued, keeping the eye-contact with you, and no matter the fact that Yeosang was on your other side, you couldn’t avert your eyes to look for assurance in your best friend’s eyes because the way San looked at you was pinning you to the ground.

However, the term ‘brainwashing’ triggered something in you, and you bolted to your feet. You hadn’t been brainwashed. It was them who were in the wrong. You couldn’t stay here. It was dangerous. They were dangerous. They were against the government who had raised you.

“No matter what your intentions are, don’t count on me. I’ll leave and tell them about what I’ve done, what you’ve done and…” You warned them as you started walking towards the door you had entered through. You were already reaching for the doorknob when Yeosang’s voice stopped you in your tracks.

“Do you know how your parents really died?”

You turned around, your response automatic. It was a reply you had prepared for anyone asking, and Yeosang should have known better than anyone. You didn’t even see the point in answering, but you did nevertheless.

“They were taken away by the government because they were Insurgents, so I suppose they died afterwards.”

“They were executed for saying the truth, for standing up for themselves. I know you won’t believe me, but you will believe this,” he counter-attacked as he turned to Mingi and told him something about a footage of a particular day. Mingi was searching for the tape for a bit, but then, he put it into the player and the lifeless TV screen came to life, showing people marching down the streets.

You had only seen such a scene in history books, but those were black-and-white, and to see the actual colours made you feel nauseous. People actually wore colourful clothes. People had colourful hair. They had paintings in their hands and they were singing - or at least you guessed so because it wasn’t like talking. It was rhythmic, it was powerful and it was undoubtedly beautiful. The way all those different voices became one. As opposed to the pictures in your books, they were peaceful. No one shouted over the other, no one pushed the other. They were just marching.

“It was taken on the day you said you had been taken to the orphanage. There was a mass protest, and if I’m not mistaken, you’re also there,” Yeosang woke you up from your stupor, and rendered you speechless.

No matter how much you would try to deny, he was right. As the camera zoomed in on the people, you saw him. Your father from your memories. He was holding the hand of a woman and a little girl. You.

You three were content, and you too, you were singing along with them. The way you looked at each other was loving, and seeing the woman by his side - your mother, you could only guess - made your heart churn. You looked so joyful. You had never seen others around you so free, so happy. Yes. Not just content but happy.

Then, gunshots were heard and the idyllic moment was interrupted, panic rose from the rows of people around. The camera zoomed out to show massive cars making a way through the crowd and shooting. Screams and cries could be heard. Groups of people were torn apart. Bloodspots started painting the ground.

“No. This must be manipulated,” you whispered in confusion, looking at the boys around you one by one, but all of their faces were calm as if they had already made peace with the fact that it was true. “Where did you get this?”

“From a neighbouring country’s TV channel,” Jongho explained sternly, and you furrowed your eyebrows.

“But it’s illegal to stream the neighbouring countries’ TV channels.”

“Why do you think that is illegal?” Seonghwa raised an eyebrow challengingly, but before you could answer, he continued. “Because the government doesn’t want you to see the truth. The truth about what happened even before the Great War of Art, the truth about how we’re actually stuck here and other countries around us are thriving, the truth about what art truly means to people.”

The more he talked, the more confused you were. While it was true that it was illegal to stream the neighbouring countries’ TV channels and to travel beyond borders for that matter, you believed that it was because this is what everyone else did. This is what was the norm. However, when Mingi switched to an actual news report about your own country, portraying the employees sitting through the agenda each morning, people walking down the streets void of colours and such, you were totally speechless.

“I don’t understand. Then, why do others know about this and don’t do anything?”

“For the same reason you’re not leaving this country and you rather believe in the government. Because they fear the government here. Because they see what happened to people who were trying to fight for democracy, and because just by having these footages, they are also risking their lives,” Hongjoong elaborated patiently, but you felt like the room around you was spinning.

It was just too much, too much to take in when what you saw on the screen and what you had been told were complete opposites. Then there was the picture of your parents and little you engraved into your head, and suddenly, your father’s words of it being a lie made so much more sense. You had probably been taken away from them during this protest, and that’s how you had ended up at the orphanage on this given day. Still, the fact that the version of your father in your memories was actually real and not just a dream made your stomach drop.

“We’ll give you some time alone now,” Hongjoong broke the tense silence that fell upon the nine of you, and prompted the boys to follow him to the room Jongho had come from. You watched them leave, except Yeosang, still unable to form coherent words, and burst into tears only when the door closed behind them.

You had so many questions - too many questions -, and it was just too much at once. The last few hours from the organised system error, Yeosang being shot, the escape from the chaos on the streets, the footage of your parents and you and everything the boys had said seemed so unbelievable, yet your eyes couldn’t betray you. The missing holes in the government’s messages about the neighbouring countries, the restriction on travel, the intention behind art pieces, the way they had shrugged off a missing person’s whereabouts all seemed to come together, but still, it was difficult to see everything through a new lens; a lens that had been said was wrong.

So may your tears be because of the absurdity of the situation or the fact that you could see your parents for yourself and realise that the scene in your head with your father was actually true and not just an illusion or a dream, but Yeosang didn’t say a thing about them. Even when you apologised because crying was a sign of discontentment and in your country, everyone was supposed to be content, he told you that you were allowed to cry, at least here, with him you were.

“How long have you known about this?”

This meant a lot of things in your case: the footage with you and your parents, the government’s wrongdoings, the truth behind Insurgent family members dying… However, Yeosang was patient enough to tell you everything. Since he had been a bit older when he had gotten to the orphanage and he had come a year after the Great War of Art, he told you that he remembered snippets of music at home, of his mother singing to him at nights and his father keeping some paintings in their basement. They had tried to live a double life - still making art while complying with the government’s regulations -, but they had gotten caught, and that’s how he had been separated from his parents. The government had tried to manipulate him into thinking that it hadn’t happened that way, but he still remembered, and that’s why he had been crying so much at nights - because the memories with his parents didn��t align with what the staff at the orphanage had tried to tell him.

So deep down he had always known, but the trauma of a child watching how his parents are forcefully separated from him and then never seeing them again lingered with him, and he had kept his mouth shut. Until he had met Hongjoong by chance, and after that, he had kept meeting the group, and decided to leave his life behind once and for all - knowing the consequences all too well.

You didn’t need to ask why he hadn’t told you about this beforehand; you knew that you might have even reported him for being an Insurgent a few hours ago, but the recent events had shaken you enough to be cautious. He also briefly talked about others’ stories - how Hongjoong was actually one of those who made drones for the government, hence he knew how to attack them as well; how Jongho got to the databases through Yeosang’s access to the government sites; how Mingi’s parents had moved abroad illegally after the Great War of Art when he had been really young, but he had come back to join The Movement here to open people’s eyes to the brainwashing -, but it was still a bit unbelievable to you.

“What’s The Movement?” You inquired at this point, though you faintly recalled that you had heard of it when they had hacked the agenda video.

“The Movement is what we’re doing, what we’re planning. Ultimately, we want to show people the truth, but the only way we can do that without violence is through actions like we did today. We attacked the drones and not people because we didn’t want to hurt anyone in the meantime,” he explained confidently, and this was such a new side of him. Yeosang was usually quiet, reserved and shy, but he had a certain - different - aura around him this time.

“But then why did they shoot you today in broad daylight?”

“I think they’re sensing that we are powerful enough to do something like this, so they also have more powerful responses. Plus, it’s not like they would show it on TV, or the ones witnessing the scene from the nearby buildings would believe that it’s for anything but their protection,” he elaborated bitterly, but you had to give it to him that he was right. A few hours ago, you would have thought the same.

“Is it safe to be here then? Can’t they track us all the way here?” You blurted out as it dawned on you just how casual they were being here. As if no one could have caught them.

“It’s a building of Seonghwa’s father’s. His father is a government official, and Seonghwa uses the upper floors as his flat. We use the basement as the base of our group, otherwise, his father thinks he uses it as a storage. No one would suspect anything because Seonghwa’s father trusts him and because there are no cameras, no drones here. The privilege of being a government official’s son.”

There was no malice in his words this time, though you could sense that it was more out of respect towards his friend than anything else. It was also very eye-opening to you that there were so many of them actually working for the government or being close to the core of the government and still getting through with The Movement. Just how blind everyone else was - including you - that they couldn’t see the signs, yet these boys could?

You couldn’t ask more because the door of the nearby room opened and Seonghwa walked out of it as if he had heard that you had been talking about him. As opposed to that though, he merely announced:

“I’m going to make dinner. Don’t mind me,” he said as he walked across the room to get to a door that led to a stairway. Oh, so that was how he could move between the floors inside. You remembered getting to this part of the house through a door that was at the end of a downward slope and under some bushes. Very smart, you had to give it to him.

Before you could ask, Yeosang explained that since Seonghwa’s father was influential, he didn’t need to follow his government-assigned meal plan strictly. He could buy as much food as he wanted and make as much food as he wanted given that he still went for the medical check-ups.

“Are you done, lovebirds? Can we get out of here now?” Wooyoung poked his head out of the nearby room, and you had no idea what to do with the implication. On the other hand, Yeosang just laughed at his friend, and it was such a foreign yet warming feeling that you were struck. He reminded you so much of your younger self in the footage that it hurt; was it worthy on the government’s part to create a world void of laughter in exchange for total control? That was when it struck you yet again just how badly you had been brainwashed into thinking that this was the way to live - void of laughter, happiness, art, colours.

“If you’re comfortable with having them around,” Yeosang turned to you, his eyes carrying worry. You still felt a bit numb to everything that was happening around you, so you didn’t actually have any feelings - neither negative, nor positive - to hold onto, so you nodded.

Afterwards, something that you thought couldn’t happen actually happened: you felt comfortable around these boys. They were laughing and joking around, sharing stories, stealing food from each other without actually getting angry and making sure that you felt involved despite not pushing you out of your comfort zone. Seonghwa’s cooking was also excellent, you didn’t even remember if you had ever eaten something so flavourful and truthfully, after the events, you were quite hungry.

You still didn’t trust them fully and you were still shaken up, but they helped you plan ahead because just like Yeosang had been on a secret wanted list that Jongho had discovered ever since his disappearance, you had also made your appearance on that list after today.

“So either you stay here with us and don’t go out there again because they might be coming for you. Or you can act as if we had kidnapped you and still say that you don’t know where our base is because you couldn’t see it well and start a new life. If you feel more comfortable with the latter, we might not be able to protect you as much as we could if you decided to stay with us,” Hongjoong mapped out the possibilities, and there was no point in disagreeing with him.

After all, he was right: you had gone after them, you had gone against what the supervisor had told you, and it seemed that you were on their list that they hadn’t told you about when you had been searching for Yeosang. Alas, you had been the stupid one to ask for their help, though you hadn’t known better back then.

So you decided to stay for a night at least, but little did you know, it was more difficult to fall asleep than you would have thought so.

After tossing and turning on the mattress they had provided for you for some time, you decided to leave the room and not disturb the others. You were in a room with Yeosang, Hongjoong and Jongho while Wooyoung, San, Yunho, Mingi were in another one, and Yeosang saw it more fit if you stayed beside him (and away from Wooyoung who kept calling you two lovebirds). Seonghwa had also offered to let you sleep in his bed on the upper floors, but that would have been more uncomfortable than this.

The two rooms were neater than the main lounge area with the maps and all, everyone had their own mattress and bedlinen, clothes were semi-organised on the shelves and all the boys had a part of the drawers, so they could store their stuff there. Since you had arrived with basically nothing, not even your phone or your bag, you didn’t have anything to put away, and you could sleep in a change of clothes only because Seonghwa landed you some of his oversized clothes that were clean and smelled of lavender, and since his house was fully-equipped, there was everything for you to wash up properly and all. He also seemed to have a spare one for every item.

You tried to walk out of the room quietly, making sure to close the door behind you with as little noise as possible. Then, you made your way to the couch in the lounge area, and almost sat down on it, but through the dim-light from the nearby lamp that was on, you noticed a figure already there and almost tripped as you took a few steps back. The figure reached for your wrist and steadied you as he rose from his seat.

“Are you okay?” San inquired gently, and since he couldn’t see that you nodded, you mumbled a quiet yes in return. The boy let go of your wrist as soon as he heard your answer, but before you could take that as an offence, he actually turned the nearby lamp to a brighter level, so you could see his features better, not just his outline.

He kept his eyes on you while your eyes were adjusting to the light and your surroundings, then moved to the end of the couch, indicating that you could sit down beside him. You tilted your head, pondering about what he was doing here at this hour, but decided to ask about it while contemplating whether to go back or stay here.

“Are you sleeping here?”

“No. I can’t sleep, so I came out here to let my thoughts race,” he answered genuinely, his voice coming out hoarse. The piercing gaze he had given you the first time your eyes had met was nowhere to be seen. Instead, he seemed a lot more vulnerable and weary. There was a certain degree of softness to his features, yet, there was firmness in them - a growing boy shedding his adolescent self while his more mature features were coming through at the same time. Maybe it’s because of the severity of the recent events, but it surprised you how young he was, and well, how young they all were.

You bobbed your head, taking in his answer as you sat down beside him. Even though you were practically strangers, there was just something comforting about him - about the way he had caught you just a minute ago and how he had just sat there, thinking.

So even when he asked about your reason for occupying the lounge room, you didn’t take it as anything more than genuine curiosity. Despite the fact that you were still fighting with the thought of everything being a lie, you couldn’t deny that they had been looking out for you ever since you had run out of that building.

“I can’t sleep either. Yesterday’s been… a lot,” you concluded quite briefly, though there was so much more you could have added. It was just that you were so used to not complaining since it was seen as a sign of discontentment and that was something the government was trying to suppress, you would have felt guilty for going on about your feelings.

Instead, you let silence take over the two of you, covering you with serenity and empathy. San didn’t push you for more answers, nor did he want to ask you about anything else. Instead, he started talking about himself in hopes of making you feel more comforted (you could only guess).

“I can understand that. I was like that once. When I met Hongjoong, I was angry and wanted to give him up even though he saved me when my classmates bullied me,” he admitted with a resigned sigh, but you furrowed your eyebrows in question.

“But bullying is illegal…”

“Not if you’re the son of a government official, and they were,” he pointed out with gritted teeth, his bitter memories dripping off his words. There was so much rawness in his voice and in the way his shoulders tensed as if he was recalling those days, ready to fight back, that you had no reason to doubt him. Bullying was a serious issue, something that was severely punished by law, but if the children of government officials had targeted him, it seemed that they could have easily gotten away with it. You could have easily questioned San, but seeing how Seonghwa hadn’t been caught hiding his group of friends in his basement, you could believe that it was true.

“My parents were once rich too, but they had to turn their art academy into a general study academy due to the war. That was still not enough for the kids to not pick on me even though my parents had never brought up anything art-related since. And kids can be cruel, it’s just that the government doesn’t want you to see the ugly side of schools. My parents also told me to keep quiet. When I didn’t, the next thing I knew was that the academy was gone and so were my parents. No goodbye, no letter, nothing, they just disappeared.”

One could have said that the boy’s words were cold, but you could see those microexpressions that gave him away - the frown deepening on his face, the way his lips twitched at the mention of his parents, his eyes taking on an even darker, deeper shade and his shoulders not easing up.

“And the government didn’t want to help, right?” You could only guess based on your experience, and the boy didn’t even disagree. Which just made everything even more heart-breaking.

“No. They’ve said I was better off without them and put me up for adoption. That was just one more reason for the kids to bully me, and that’s when I met Hongjoong.”

You didn’t know whether you had any right to ask about his life, but he didn’t seem to mind doing so. It was really difficult for you to accept that someone could be so open about his struggles like him because not even Yeosang had shared about his concerns as he knew that you wouldn’t have believed him, and in your society, talking about your struggles was seen as bashing the system. If there was something wrong with you, it had to be because the government-assigned diets didn’t work or the work system wasn’t successful enough or such, and so people didn’t complain or vent or anything of the sort.

However odd it was, it dawned on you that you didn’t mind listening to his story. It gave you a better picture of what kind of backgrounds these boys had.

“So did you grow up with him?” You mused out loud, not exactly knowing where this fit into his timeline with the others.

“Sort of. It’s not on paper, and he’s only a year older than me, but I did. No family adopted me, but Hongjoong always came by my school to check on me and he also showed me how to fight, how to make stuff and fix objects.”

In a way, it was like how you and Yeosang had found each other despite not being blood-related. It seemed that the children of Insurgents or those who had been wronged by the system somehow found each other. You just had a difficult time believing that it had taken you so much time to see the truth for yourself and believe it.

On the other hand, San didn’t bash you or comment on your past. If anything, his words were comforting and his stories helped you have a better understanding of the boys and how they were working on The Movement. The Movement was a nation-wide chain of organised events with the aim of showing the truth to the public. There had been other instances not just in your city but across the whole country as well, but just like you had never seen anything bad reported on TV or news sources, you hadn’t heard of it before. The previous day would probably not make it into the news either. However, the boys knew that they were growing stronger and stronger because more and more people were searching for the truth, showing up at their events and joining them.

These events were connected, and usually, they left behind clues about the next one - where it would take place and when -, but a lot of times they were merely putting on banners from afar or destroyed drones like today - which could be done from the privacy of Seonghwa’s house just like the day before. However, to make sure that the clues were left behind, some of the boys always went out in their capes. Since Jongho took care of the cameras and drones, their faces couldn’t be seen either, but it was their symbol nevertheless.

The thing was, the government scarcely could prepare for their attacks because just like you had been told earlier, no one would have suspected Hongjoong who was working on the drones for the government, Jongho who was monitoring the system security or Seonghwa who was a government official’s son. There were many others like them scattered around the country, and it was almost ironically easy to destroy the system from within this way.

That night though, you merely took these stories and connections with you to sleep, you didn’t act yourself. However, that seed of rebellion was planted in your heart.

During the next few days, you were still torn over the things you had known (or you thought you had known) and the contrast with reality. Your emotions were all over the place as well, and it was so unlike you to act so troubled that you felt guilty. However, the boys were understanding and patient as they knew that it was part of the process of coming face-to-face with what was going on in your country. So they didn’t take it to heart when you were throwing accusing sentences at them and they didn’t get fed up with your sudden outbursts. If anything, their support throughout this period showed you just how well they knew this feeling, and it showed you that here, with them, you could be yourself with all your different sides and many different feelings.

They were also working on finalising The Movement and its upcoming events. You learned that there were so many groups of Insurgents scattered around the country, and they were using their own phone line to communicate - perks of having someone work with them who knew such things -, so they always knew what was going on in other parts of the country because otherwise, they would have no idea. That was just what the government wanted though.

For instance, Bang Chan and his group of Insurgents were planning on interfering with the public transport a few days later, and they were in your city as well. However, in other cities, there was Keeho and his group who were about to screen some real footage from the past on bridges and at traffic lights where usually traffic information was shown, Sihyeon and her group were about to disrupt the monthly public service exam where usually hundreds of people take part whereas Chaewon and some other girls were testing out displays close to the border that would connect to the nearby country’s TV channels and show what they were screening about your own country. There were all kinds of events going on, you just wished every one of them would go according to plan and they wouldn’t end up in any casualties.

Now that you saw everything from a very different point of view, you could put the pieces together, and realise that having been rid of art, colours and all sorts of freedom of expression - let it be your clothes, your diet, your hair or the way you live - was so that the government could have a better control over the people. Since discontentment was seen as something bad, people feared speaking up even though they might have been struggling or wanted to have a better tomorrow - just like the boys around you and the groups of Insurgents around the country.

“Are you sure you want to be a part of it?” Yeosang asked the day before you were about to join them on their upcoming protest where they would use footage to show government officials’ houses, bullying scenes at school and higher-ups threatening their employees - something that could only happen because these were areas without cameras. However, Hongjoong had directed minuscule flying cameras to these places to record what was going on. They would show these on billboards because it was very likely that they would make citizens angry or at least frustrated as to what was going on.

“Yes,” you bobbed your head, your decision in joining them more firm than ever. You had felt so wrong for how oblivious you had been - for understandable reasons - and for being a puppet to the government when people were rid of their freedom, their money, their dignity and their life around you just because they knew what was the truth.

“It’s unlikely that anyone will notice you, but stick to San. He will help you out should there be any disturbances,” he advised gently, and you let your lips curl upwards. Yeosang had never stopped worrying about you since the day you had run after him and even before, he had been worried that you might end up getting hurt because of his disappearance. However, he had felt like he needed to leave because that was the only way he could be true to himself, and it was best if he hadn’t dragged you into this.

On the other hand, you had stayed on your own accord, and so, he had done his part to look out for you despite still limping and needing rest. All of them did look out for you actually, and more often than not, you found yourself having conversations at night with San who seemed likely to have trouble sleeping for he had too many worried thoughts. Due to his traumatic past, you couldn’t blame him. He had always been shamed for who he was, and just like you, he had been brainwashed into thinking that his parents were terrible people, and that he should have been glad that the government hadn’t disregarded him.

So you trusted San and that he would watch over you because Yeosang had been the one going out with him, but he couldn’t do so now due to his leg. They didn’t even ask you to take his place, but you wanted to. You wanted to do something.

“I know,” you mumbled to Yeosang, glancing in San’s direction who was currently listening to Wooyoung’s whining regarding the T-shirt that had shrunk in Seonghwa’s washing machine. You had no doubt that San would protect you - he had the built for it and he also had the determination -, but it felt odd actually being under his watch. It was odd and unfamiliar, but not in a negative way.

You were ready for this, and now more than ever, you felt like this was the right thing to do.

In a world where there were no vivid colours, it was like seeing the sunrise for the first time when they were slowly re-introduced, the palette spectrum growing wider and wider.

In a world where there could not be anything but contentment, joy, sorrow, disappointment, excitement and curiosity made their way into people’s every-day life, re-colouring their emotions.

In a world where the rich could do anything and the poor were looked down on even for whose children they were, the right social system had to be introduced, treating everyone as equal, and helping the less fortunate.

In a world where art was suppressed, hearing San’s lullabies at night was like a gift of its own, a treasure passed down from mother to son and then onto the other loved ones.

In a world where everyone was put into boxes, where you couldn’t be yourself, where you couldn’t express yourself, the freedom of finally being accepted and even cherished for your uniqueness was unfamiliar, a little scary, but ultimately, something that you would never take for granted again.

Because a new world has to come to erase all the pain, suppression and manipulation, but alas, the past couldn’t be undone, yet the hope for a new and better tomorrow was still there. In unity, in freedom, in love.

Soon, the expression ‘Insurgents’ was celebrated, not punished. Soon, you could be all free. Through months and years of constantly growing efforts, a new world came, and you, you were a part of making it come true.

This was what The Movement was all about.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading the story! It means a lot to me.❤️

If you want to read more stories of mine, let it be for Ateez or for other artists, consider signing up for my taglist here.

Have a lovely day/night!

#ateez #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #ateez x reader #ateez x you #san scenarios #san imagines #san x reader #san x you #yeosang scenarios #yeosang imagines #yeosang x reader #yeosang x you

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darkk-academic · 2 years

Text

From the Shadows

[Five Hargreeves x Reader]

[Part I] [Part II] [Part III] [Part IV] [Part V]

Summary : The fact of the matter is, unrequited love sucks.

Warning : None.

“A mighty pain to love it is, And ‘t is a pain that pain to miss; But of all pains, the greatest pain It is to love, but love in vain.”

Ain't that the truth, you think. Gaze running over the tattered pages of your journal, reading the poem over and over again— as though it might soothe the sting.

Unrequited love sucks.

Your eyes dart up from your journal, fixing on the subject of your thoughts.

Five Hargreeves.

Sitting a seat forward on your left, next to the window. Head tilted down, scribbling away, wholly oblivious to your stare.

It'd caused such a ruckus in the school when 'The Umbrella Academy' started attending. Whispers and wide-eyed stares followed them, like they were stars—which fair they kinda are. It took months before things settled down.

Not that the stares and whispers stopped, mind you, they are still the apple of everyone's eyes, the students just got less starstruck and more subtle.

As for you?

After being paired for a project with Ben in literature class, you'd gotten closer to some of the others, emphasis on some.

Luther had shown clear disapproval at your appearance—something about you being an outsider. Diego too prickly, and prefers to brood. Allison too busy with theater, although you still exchanged polite greetings.

Klaus, Ben, and Viktor, on the other hand, had welcomed you with warmth. Ben and Viktor share your love for literature, and Klaus brings along an impulsive kind of fun with him, which you are all too eager to participate in.

Which brings you back to— Five. You still don't know how you became friends with him.

All you know is one afternoon you were waiting for your friends in the empty library, only to receive a text that they were bunking. You remember saying—

"Damn you, Klaus!"

"I share that sentiment," a voice spoke, startling you.

You turned around, eyes settling on the culprit. Five Hargreeves. He stood, leaning against the bookshelf, hands shoved in his pockets.

You'd talked to him a handful of times, during class, or when with his siblings. Acquaintances at best, still you both never tried to initiate a friendship or conversation.

"Seems someone was ditched," he continued, an easy smirk on his face. "I feel like I should ask you to join me," the smirk grew, "out of the goodness of my heart."

"And why, exactly, am I being showered in such kindness?" You retort. Lips curling upwards as you stepped towards him.

"Haven't you heard?" He tilted his head, a brow rising. "I'm a superhero. Benevolence is kinda our thing."

"Is that so?" you asked.

He gave a nod, mirth gleaming.

"How will I ever repay for such generosity?" Eyes widening dramatically.

"Well," a mocking frown, he pursued his lips. "You can promise to stay quiet as I work? Not too much, is it?"

You couldn't help the chuckle that escaped past your lips. You looked at him, taking note of the tiny curl of his lips.

"Lead the way."

And that was that. After that, talking to him became a routine, and before you knew it you'd grown much closer to him than Ben, or Klaus or Viktor.

It's been two years since you both became friends. Almost a year since you realized you're in love with him.

It feels like it happened all of a sudden and simultaneously, as though every second and every moment spent with him led to it.

Everyone knows. Your best friend. Ben, Klaus, Viktor. You have a suspicion that even Diego knows. And yet, it's a secret.

A secret that protects itself. Only from him.

You are a coward. You don't—can't fathom confessing to him. So, you stay in the shadows. And your love stays there with you.

You and your love.

From the shadows.

Your gaze clears at the thought—stepping out of the reverie—and locks on him again.

The sunlight filtering through, tracing his skin, making him even more mystical. A blue hue in his eyes as he concentrates on whatever he is working on. The furrow of his brow, the twitch of his nose.

Him in his entirety. Extraordinary.

You sigh. Extraordinary sounds like such a beautiful compliment, but not to you. To you, him being extraordinary means he's that much out of reach. Your reach.

Like, no matter what, there's always going to be an invisible line between you two. Separating you.

"You are staring," a voice cuts through. "Again."

Tell me something new.

You turn in the direction of it. Peering at your best friend. "Yes, Lila," you deadpan.

Lila, your best friend.

"It's pathetic."

Lila, your childhood best friend who has no filter.

"Yes, Lila," you agree. Honestly, at this point you're devoid of shame.

"Seriously, what do you even see in him?"

You open your mouth to question what she sees in the brooder, but your attention diverts.

Gaze narrowing at the feminine hand that has curled around Five's hand, to draw his attention. And yours inevitably.

Dolores.

You almost dismiss her. Almost.

It's Five. He'll brush the girl off. It's what he does. Has always done.

Not this time, it seems.

Because Five smiles.

A seed of dread plants itself in your stomach.

You look between the two of them. The smiles on their faces resonates a sinking feeling in your heart.

Yeah, unrequited love sucks.

..................................................................................

A/N :

Hello!

The poem at the start is by Abraham Cowley. Beautiful isn't it?

I really wanted to write an AU like this tbh, unrequited love kinda one. Angsty. So here it is. This one will have more parts btw.

Also for those who're waiting for Ballerinas & Brellies, I'm working on the chapter it's taking a bit longer, sorry about that.

I'm considering making a taglist, so like if you guys want to be added let me know.

Hope you enjoyed this.

Thankyou! ❤

..................................................................................

#five hargreeves #tua five #number five #five hargreeves x reader #five hargreeves x you #five hargreeves imagine #tua #the umbrella academy #tua season 3 #tua3 #x reader

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statisticallymorelikely · 1 year

Text

Happy birthday @ironpe!

Witcher au edit: Older Bard Chris Pine x Jaskier

Jaskier meets Older Bard Chris Pine in university, the other being a few years older and an absolute breath of fresh air among the drab scholars in academia and Jaskier naturally gravitates to him. He’s fun, flirty, charismatic and speaks so passionately about stories and love and beauty that fellow students would gather around him whenever he cared to share his musings.

He and Jaskier spend hours reading together in the library, silently penning poems on a piece of paper they pass back and forth, eyes shining with mirth, lips turned in smiles secretly shared. Jaskier has what he calls ‘the tiniest crush’ on him but what everyone else calls a ‘debilitating infatuation’. Some nights, Older Bard Chris Pine sneaks wine into Jaskier’s room and they pull the most beautiful melodies from thin air, drunk half on wine and half on the joy of creation, flushed with laughter, convinced of their own genius, skin tingling as they sit shoulder to shoulder.

Jaskier often imagines him whispering poetry into his ear while he fucks him into the bed.

But alas, nothing further happens between them, Older Bard Chris Pine graduates and soon enough Jaskier does too. He stays for a while to attempt life in academia, gets bored out of his wits and sets off for adventure. He meets Geralt, gets into all sorts of trouble with him and creates his best songs. It’s a pleasant enough existence, seeing the world, traveling with his best friend he’s kind of in love with but who never even acknowledges their friendship, sleeping under the stars, grabbing inspiration from anywhere and everywhere.

Most times, it’s enough to see Geralt’s sharp eyes watching him from across the campfire, something akin to longing in that gaze, but sometimes, he misses the touch that came with the easy camaraderie he had in school, elbows digging into his side, knees knocking together, fingers sliding clumsily against each other on the lute. He can’t hope for that from Geralt, not yet, maybe not ever, since the only time Geralt has ever touched him is to push him out of the way or to save his life.

Needless to say, Jaskier has some needs that aren’t being met. And that’s not even counting his desperation for something soft to sleep on. Witching jobs have been hard to come by lately so Jaskier has become very familiar with his bedroll and the cold hard ground. It’s this desperation that drives them into town one night, looking for shelter.

He hopes to get a room in the inn and pay for it with the money he earns singing. Geralt will be going to the alderman first thing in the morning to look for jobs but who knows if he’ll get paid at all. Unfortunately, there’s already a bard playing when they enter. Disappointing. Jaskier suggests they try a different inn but as they’re leaving, someone calls out his name.

And of course, it’s none other than his crush from back at school, only he’s nearly silver now, a little more muscle, weathered by adventure yet somehow even more attractive than before. His eyes crinkle when he smiles and Jaskier’s knees threaten to buckle when he realizes that smile is all for him.

Jaskier tries very hard not to get hard when Older Bard Chris Pine pulls him in for a tight hug, big, warm hands sliding around his waist. He feels a flush creep up his cheeks but there’s a lingering unease at the back of his neck, waves and waves of anger pouring in from one direction. Jaskier looks back and Geralt looks absolutely murderous, more so than usual, but he doesn’t say anything, just glares.

Jaskier pulls away, quickly introducing Geralt to his senior from Oxenfurt.

“So! You’re the muse, huh? The infamous White Wolf,” says Older Bard Chris Pine, cheerfully extending his hand. Jaskier has to admire his courage, not many people would shake hands with a Witcher, and a grumpy one at that. Jaskier tracks Geralt’s gaze to the arm casually slung around his waist and fights the urge to explain and placate. Geralt looks like he’s going to break Older Bard Chris Pine’s arm off, and that kind of possessive reaction stirs something hot in Jaskier’s chest, but if he really wanted to, Geralt would have already done it, so the hesitation dampens Jaskier’s hopes.

Jaskier is jostled from his thoughts when the hand on his waist tugs at him, focus drawn back to blue eyes. “What?”

“Oh, darling, you haven’t changed, have you? I was asking if you wanted to catch up. In fact, I insist on it. These fine folks can do without music for a night, right?”

Jaskier opens his mouth, sees Geralt’s furious expression once more, closes his mouth for a moment before opening it again. “Of course! Nobody’d miss your scratchy strumming, anyway.”

A bright smile spreads on his old friend’s face. ��Great! Dinner’s on me!”

Surely, there’s no harm in agreeing to this.

Except his old friend seems to be doing everything he can to drive Jaskier insane. He parks himself next to Jaskier in a tight cramped table, pressing his thighs against his, looping an arm around his shoulder, leaning close to laugh so his breath tickles at Jaskier’s neck as he tells Geralt embarrassing stories of Jaskier at school. (Enough ale has passed through their table that Geralt’s loosened up slightly, and seriously, if you let him talk enough, Older Bard Chris Pine can charm the pants off anyone and now, Jaskier wants to claw his own eyes out because he’s suddenly imagining him with his pants off.) Jaskier is extremely aware of every point of contact, each of them sending pleasant buzzes across his nerves.

Then there’s also the way he looks at him, like Jaskier has always wanted in the past, the way he smiles so fondly at him, gaze holding something hot behind those blue, blue eyes, drawing him in and holding him captive. When he absently licks his lips to chase some ale, Jaskier’s eyes flick down and he has to fight the urge to lean forward and taste him himself. Gods, every single embarrassing daydream he’s ever had is all coming back to him and it’s all too much.

He needs some air.

So, he excuses himself to get some, reassures Geralt with a look and steps out into the cold night so he can gather himself together. He stays in the alley next to the inn to brood and untangle his mess of feelings because what is going on? It’s frustrating how hot and bothered he is. It’s like he’s gone back in time to the pathetic besotted student he used to be. He blames Geralt and his missions because he hasn’t had a decent wank in a while, they’ve been so busy.

Normally, if he likes someone he just goes for it (barring his thing with Geralt, of course, that matters too much to be handled casually), a predator in his own right, but now, he feels like prey. Maybe it’s just him regressing to his younger self. He used to know next to nothing about the world and about pleasure but now, he’s more experienced and confident but one smile and all that goes flying out his head. Maybe he's just horny and wants to get taken care of once in a while. Maybe it’s because his friend actually wants him, unlike someone else in his life.

He's so close to a realization when he's knocked out of his own thoughts by a rumbling laugh next to his ear. Older Bard Chris Pine is leaning right next to him, and Jaskier wills himself not to startle.

“Where’s Geralt?”

“I offered him a room with a bath, and he took me up on it.”

“Oh.” That answers that question then, Jaskier thinks. Maybe he should stop feeling guilty about this if Geralt isn't going to care in the first place.

“Y’know, it’s been wonderful catching up with you, Jaskier. Really made me remember the good old times, our afternoons huddled together in the library, or nights in your room.” Older Bard Chris Pine murmurs softly enough that Jaskier has to lean closer to hear him. “I still remember the pretty picture you painted, sunlight in your hair, and pink lips curled around your pen.”

He runs his fingers gently against Jaskier’s fringe, down his cheeks, thumb running against his bottom lip and Jaskier sighs. He’s had enough.

He fists a hand into Older Bard Chris Pine’s coat and reels him into a kiss. It’s hot and heavy and when Older Bard Chris Pine slips his tongue in his mouth, his brain finally gives up. He had every intention of being aggressive and redeeming his pathetic demeanor all night, but then Older Bard Chris Pine is pressing him into the wall and his knees go weak.

Jaskier scrambles, fisting his hands in his friend’s hair as he starts to suck on a soft spot on Jaskier’s neck, right over his pulse. They’re pressed so close, chest to chest, thigh to thigh but he wants more, wants to get impossibly closer. This is everything he used to dream of and by gods, he’s going to get justice for his younger self! Older Bard Chris Pine shifts and slots a thigh between Jaskier’s legs and he doesn’t have enough willpower not to rut into it.

“Fuck...”

And then the rumbling laugh is back in his ear. “Be glad to.”

They fall into bed in a separate room from Geralt’s and Older Bard Chris Pine takes care of him gloriously, taking him apart with his mouth and his fingers and his cock. Jaskier gets to have his old fantasy come true. He gets fucked into the bed with poetry in his ear and it’s much, much better than he ever dreamed because it’s poetry about him, and if this is what worship feels like then no wonder the gods get drunk on it.

They fuck for hours and by the end, Jaskier is thoroughly owned and marked, all covered in bruises and love bites and his hole is so sensitive he’s thankful Geralt won’t let him ride on Roach. He’s sticky with sweat, sated and exhausted, and falls asleep in a warm embrace

In the morning, he wakes up to Older Bard Chris Pine half dressed and getting ready to set off. But when he sees Jaskier awake, he stops his packing to go crawl up the bed again and kiss him senseless.

“I have to go, my party’s leaving by noon,” he says, genuine regret in his voice.

Jaskier is a little sad but he never expected anything different anyway. He knows this was a one night affair and he’s glad he had it. For younger Jaskier’s sake. Maybe his present self too.

But there’s still a few hours before noon and he bets Geralt has already gone to see the alderman for a job. There's no sense in wasting this time overthinking, so he seduces Older Bard Chris Pine for one last tumble in the sheets and gets enough orgasms to last him a few more cold months with his hand.

Before he finally leaves though, Older Bard Chris Pine looks Jaskier over in all his debauched glory and grins widely, pleased at his own handiwork. Jaskier can just imagine what he looks like, hair all over the place, love bites scattered all over his body, lips bitten red.

“Yes, that’s gorgeous. You’re gorgeous.” He runs his thumb against one particularly violent bruise right in Jaskier’s pulse point in his neck. “This one. You can’t cover this one up.”

His grin widens, smug. “Your muse is going to be furious.”

And with that he swans off and leaves Jaskier to wonder what he meant by that and how he knew because Geralt was indeed furious.

#the witcher #the witcher netflix #jaskier #chris pine #witcheredit #geraskier #if you squint #this is such a silly thing #i love you bebby #happy birthday!!!#btw this is not meant to be chris pine's dnd character #i have not watched that yet #throwback to when i absolutely lost my mind when that pic of chris pine dropped #witcher au edit #au edit tag

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