#but i think my brain likes concrete endings to stories

[hollyhomburg]

Before I Leave You (Pt.66)

(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: Wolves always go for the throat, whether they’re cornered or hunting.

Tags: Blood, Guns, violence, near death experiences, everyone lives nobody dies...but someone does die this chapter, horror, non-lethal injury, talks of death and dying, a bit of body horror, Trans! tae, Tae is briefly dead named in this, implied/referenced intimate partner violence, flashbacks, brief suicidality.

W/c: 8.3k

A/N: ahhhhhh <3 we're finally ready for this part of the story <3 i wonder what your guys reactions will be, i'm really glad i decided to split this chapter into two peices! it's much cleaner this way. don't be 🥲 too mad at me.

Previous part - Masterlist - First part

(Four years prior, Hoseok)

Today is the day that Hoseok will meet his future pack, he just doesn’t know it yet.

It always feels like a bit of betrayal but the worst and best days of your life often come close together. Maybe just for contrast. A bit of good in the bad. A slice of cake in a feast of raw meat.

This starts as just another bad day in a long stretch of shitty days. The kind of days were anxiety bubbles up and how afraid you are is all you can think about. Taking one breath and then another like just staying alive means you're guaranteed to get better.

The only place to go from rock bottom is up, and hoseok's sneakers are firmly on the concrete, standing outside of the record store in the rain with no place to go.

Hoseok has been afraid for a long time. He can't really remember even if he thinks hard, the last morning he woke up not afraid.

What hoseok really needs is a day off, but he really can't fucking afford it. He can't afford anything- certainly not a one-bedroom apartment on his own. If he's really really lucky maybe he'll be able to find a closet room somewhere that will cost almost his whole paycheck. Because after today-

After today, Jung Hoseok will be homeless, packless, and alone. His pack dropped the news on him last night…or well ex-pack.

He doesn’t expect that he’ll be moving into the pack's house on this rainy day, he doesn't expect that by the end of the week, he won't be worrying about where his next meal will come from because Jin will be there with it ready. Jimin sometimes too.

He won't be worrying about where he'll sleep because the bed in their spare room that smells like tae tae tae will be his. He'll roll around in it when the door is closed, shy about it because Hoseok has never liked other alpha's scents so much before. And when he comes home and Jungkook has made a nest in it, it will feel like a bit of an impossible silver lining, a bit too much- to have an omega making him a nest, making something special just for him

It takes three weeks for Namjoon to make him a house key for himself. After he gets left outside in a very similar storm to this. The doctor will touch his cheek, thumbing at the dimples that they share. how special is it that each smile gets cradled like a crescent moon? the heavens have left imprints on both of their skin. Freckles for stars and dimples for moon's.

"I don't want you to get sick pup."

"People don't get sick from wet heads anymore hyung."

"They don't. But I want to keep you dry and comfortable in my den. i know you still want to look for apartments but...what if you didn't?"

But neither the weather nor Hoseok knows to prepare for good news. Right now the heavens open up and release its deluge, thick rain the way that only happens at the start of summer. Worms and other wriggly things crawl their way out of their holes to find a good spot to die next to Hoseok's shoes. Worn fancy sneakers that his pack-omega had gotten him a few months ago for their anniversary. They're the nicest thing he's ever owned.

His ex-pack omega.

It's hard to rewire your brain, especially for alpha's. Hoseok is a lone wolf. He hasn't been without a pack in so long, it feels weird to not have someone to call, someone he needs to trail after and cling to. He checks his phone but he doesn't have a single notification from them.

He doesn't have a single notification from anyone.

Hoseok is glad he doesn't feel his instincts as keenly as other alphas do. Otherwise, he might be inclined to gnash his teeth at the people who pass by him on their way to work, umbrellas almost bumping him, perceiving even closeness as a threat. So vulnerable without a pack (lone alphas are always the first to starve in winter).

Hoseok shivers even though its summer, he's soaked to the bone after a few minutes.

He has a key to the record store. He could go inside. Granted- he should be inside already. Opening up shop, making coffee, and letting the place warm up. But standing out in the rain feels too much like penance.

Hoseok likes the rain. The smell of it. The way it makes the whole world ache and go still. He feels every drop on his dark hair, soaking through his thin hoodie. It's cleansing almost, letting the rain soak him through.

(The end of relationships is always hard, let alone the end of abusive relationships, they’re downright terrible).

Hoseok keeps replaying their words in his head, with every slosh of a nearby car, every honk of a taxi. The stoplight red and green bleeding onto the wet concrete. Yellow flashing in contrast with hoseok's dark memories.

“You’re welcome to stay here until the lease runs out, but the four of us need to move back home. You understand Hobi don’t you? We’re just omega’s- we’re just girls- and we think this could be a clean break for all of us. We just don't want to lead you on any longer.”

The worst part is that Hobi had sort of known, had sort of already realized what was happening. he’d seen it in their looks; distant and despondent. Their touches that did not linger longer than necessary, cheeks turned as he comes in for a kiss. The phone calls hushed in the other room that cut off abruptly when he entered.

The lease on their apartment ends today. The place has already been professionally deep cleaned and Hoseok's things are packed in his car in plastic bins. He has 6 of them to his name.

He doesn’t have a place to go yet, he might just sneak into the back room at the record store and sleep there until he figures something out. Hoseok drove to work early because he didn't have another place to go.

This version of Hoseok is not the one you know, this version of Hobi is 23 and hopeless, can’t think about moving back in with his parents a city away, with nothing but a rusted-out Corolla that barely gets him to work let alone through the 200-mile trip. It will die on him in about 6 months and Namjoon will be thankful that Hoseok no longer is driving around in a deathtrap.

He hadn’t even gotten this job by himself, his pack omega- his ex-girlfriend had gotten him this job almost 4 months ago after his last one didn’t pan out. Temporary work for temporary people.

Nothing feels like his. Not his body and certainly not this job.

Hoseok hasn’t smoked in months, but something that feels an awful lot like self-disgust worms under his skin and he can’t resist. Not today of all days. Smoking is something that he doesn’t indulge in often, and hasn’t indulged in since… becoming an alpha to someone. But he guesses it doesn’t matter now without anyone to complain that they don’t like the smell.

The cigarette mixes with the smell of petrichor and Hoseok’s own acidic scent. The smell of a terrified alpha draws him more than a few looks but he pays them no mind. He's thankful for his soaking face, at least the rain keeps out the tears. Cool and soothing against his face.

Hoseok just wants- Hoseok just wants to call them. To talk to someone.

Ending relationships is always like this. You want to keep being good, keep being what they want, but that’s impossible. You can’t act or behave right and dupe someone into loving you. Sometimes the love just isn’t there. (A smaller shyer voice says it was never love at all, you can't possess love, only be given it and Hoseok feels like a cast aside possession. Love and abuse cannot coexist).

Hoseok should have known. He keeps replaying the moments in his head. He’d seen them exchanging knowing looks when they thought he wasn’t looking.He thought he was just being paranoid, until yesterday morning when they’d taken him aside.

“You knew this had to end one day Hoseok" "You knew one day we'd move on." "As much as we appreciate what you’ve done for us, we think it’s time for us to move on.”

“What do you mean? I thought we were leaving next week, you really left me with only a day to find a place to go?”

“We’re sorry Hoseok, your last rut was just too much to deal with. We think it's best if we just stay on our own. It's a clean break this way.”

"Wait, please- I love you."

"We know. We're sorry."

Hoseok is too much for anyone to deal with. He doesn’t call his friends (he hasn’t met up with any of them or returned their texts in months thanks to several pointed words from his pack omega). He doesn’t go inside yet because he deserves the rain. He sits out front of the record store, smoking a cigarette that will probably end up killing him down the line, and thinks Good.

He tells himself the irritation in his eyes is just because of the cigarette smoke blowing in his face, even though he knows it's not. He's not even inhaling right because his breaths come all hitched and pathetic. Anyone would be sad if their relationship of several years had ended. Anyone would be devastated.

Hoseok checks his phone again. Nothing.

Most people on the crowded street ignore him. Though the thick throng of people going about their business, probably going to work at their 9 to 5 jobs that pay enough to afford apartments and packmates. Hoseok is the one soul that stands stationary.

Until one, someone a few feet back stops, tipping their face through their hood to look at him. The only other person without an umbrella.

Hoseok knows his face and his name. It’s just Min Yoongi- his coworker and sort of friend who's coming in for his shift. Hoseok doesn't love Yoongi yet but they're sort of friends already. They might be better friends if Hoseok could get over his admiration and jealousy.

Yoongi has this way of quietly taking care of the people around him. He picks up Hoseok's jacket when it slides off the hook at work, asks him if he wants coffee and even pays for it when he goes to the coffee shop next door. He compliments Hoseok's music tastes when it's his turn to play something, he gives Hoseok the aux frequently in a way that feels a little bit like flirting.

The only two good things about Hoseok's job are the music and Min Yoongi.

He even laughs at Hoseok's shitty jokes when they're stacking new inventory saying cryptic things like "they can't be worse than my omega's jokes."

That's why Hoseok's jealous. Yoongi gets packmates, five of them who make him lunch even when he's only got a four-hour shift. that often linger outside to walk him home or pick him up in their shiney not new not old cars.

(Yoongi's packmates certainly have better things to do than send Yoongi to work with a second packed lunch. "Jin-hyung caught a glimpse of you through the doorway, the only thing that he hates more than Namjoon's snoring is skinny Alpha's.")

Min Yoongi has that look that people do when they're well-loved by packmates. Hair ruffled and neck dotted with bruises that might as well be mating bites for a beta. Beta's don't mate, but these ones certainly keep him close. He wears their scents like a shield. Sometimes so thick that Hoseok can't even smell any of his chocolate scent.

Right now, staring at Yoongi a few paces into the street, all Hoseok can smell is the rain.

When Hoseok had been introduced to him it had felt strange just by virtue of Yoongi's sub gender. A beta? Working somewhere so normal? Weren’t beta's supposed to be like- financial advisors or assistants to the president or something? Betas are supposed to have more important jobs than pushing vinyl and bumping Hoseok's shoulder playfully.

(Hoseok hasn’t seen it yet, the way that the owner hands over little white baggies to people who come in looking hungry for a high that cigarettes or alcohol can’t fix. Hoseok hasn’t yet realized that the record store isn't just a record store. This is just one front business of many that the family has organized across this city and the country for distribution of some of his most precious inventory). Yoongi has worked her for the last year, takes calls in the back for the family. The owner only bows to him when Hoseok's not around.

They only hired hoseok for tax purposes. Having three employees looks less suspicious than just two.

The beta looks concerned, and Hoseok knows he can’t hide the fact that he’s been crying as the beta steps up and pushes Hoseok back under the awning. Out of the rain and into the warmth of the doorway. This kind of movement would make any alpha snap, but not Hoseok. Hoseok just tucks his chin down and starts to cry.

“Oh Hoseok.” Hobi sniffles, and wipes his runny nose on his sleeve. Yoongi's hand curls against his throat, chocolate scent spiking to soothe. “You’re soaking wet."

Yoongi grabs his wrist and Hoseok almost keens at the gentle touch. Whole body shaking, shoulders curling in Yoongi's direction. Yoongi’s lips press into a thin line and then tugs him inside.

~-~

(Now, You)

You hold your breath. Still peering around the corner, watching and waiting for the man to spot you.

But he doesn't, after a breath where his soft footsteps echo, you wait, but nothing happens. You peak back around the corner.

You absorb and catalog the details as fast as you can; the black ski mask, covered by one of those traditional Korean masks, wooden with red lacquer. This one is a little different than the one that Jimin had; not twisted with thick eyebrows in a snarl. This one is white with red splotches on the cheeks, like a ghost sent down from above to rob you of your humanity.

The bulletproof vest stops at the collarbones. The gun itself is a black generic model. The long end is extra bulbous with something that might be an attached silencer. His hands covered in black nitrile gloves, leathery at first glance. There is a knife at his waist along with a barrage of other small things; rope and a knife, duct tape and handcuffs. His heavy boots look steel toed and reinforced.

The man (because it is a man you realize; tall, maybe taller than Namjoon) trains his gun at the landing on the top of the stairs. Pointing it in the direction of Hobi, Tae, and Jin’s hushed voices.

Hobi giggles and it sounds so bright. Echoing off the walls and filling the house with his musical laughter.

There is a phone cord tangled in your hands, long and white. You grip it tight.

This man might be silent but you’re quieter as you slide your bare feet across the smooth floors. Your strides are so quiet. You take one step and then another until you're behind the man, mirroring him.

You remember when Yoongi redid the floors, it was one of the few things that he did right away; before the pack came to live here (to love here). It took him weeks and weeks of sanding before he got them to his liking. Days more of brown dark stain that colored his hands ruddy until the soft matte finish stuck. Every pass with the belt sander and dirty rag a movement of love, a meditation for it.

Yoongi made every inch of this house with the same loving intent; to make it a home for all of you. a place to be safe and nurse your wounds and hearts. You won’t let it become a grave. You won’t let this person stay here and ruin it.

Most people get it wrong; In order to kill it is not a matter of elegance or effort. There is no such thing as a perfect kill either. Emotionless and analytic isn't enough and being justified only gets you halfway. There is no way to do it cleanly. People die just as they live, messy and hopeful and dirty.

Murder isn't a matter or wanting or wishing, It’s a matter of rage.

It’s always been this way. Rage has been chewing a hole through you from the moment that you pulled the trigger with Geumjae. From the moment you said ‘I do’. Rage that these violent things have been done to you, that they continue to happen, that you can’t just get away from all the hurt and trauma.

Rage has eaten you clean through to the bone. Rage has made you skinny and starving, rage has made you timid and fragile. But now you're the hungry one. Right now, only three words run through your head;

How dare she.

How dare she send this man into your house. How dare she point a gun at the upstairs, in the general direction of your nest and your packmates. The altar at which you so desperately cling to, for sweet dreams and sweeter worship (There is no deity above the god of love, not even death. Death cannot take the love from your chest, someone dying does not make you stop loving them).

How dare she even think about hurting the people you love.

There is no courage, no bravery, no thought in your head about how stupid it might be as you step closer behind the man. You are not a trained assassin. You’re just an omega.

The adrenaline rush is an old friend, a thrall both intoxicating and unnerving. Your heart beats loud in your ears. You grip the phone cord in your hands and take a quiet steadying breath. He doesn't see you, he doesn't hear you, he doesn't know that you're behind him.

Wolves always go for the throat, whether they’re cornered or hunting.

The assassin’s foot ascends the bottom step. You don’t let him get to the second before you’re moving, hurtling forward. Footsteps no longer light. Your hands go over the man’s shoulders. The cord no more than a white flash across his vision before you draw it tight across his neck.

The pain and panic are instant as you’re suddenly tethered to a six-foot-four assassin and struggling to stay on your feet as he stumbles back. You’re pulled off your feet and down the stairs, but you keep it as tight as you can and you don’t let go. Fighting to keep your makeshift garrote tight as he scrambles to get his fingers around where it digs into his skin. Spluttering loud.

The hard wire digs, cutting easily through plastic and then your skin as he tries to pull you off. You don’t let go until he backs you into the entryway wall and slams you against it with a dizzying clang of bone and body hitting something solid. Your head narrowly avoids one of the hooks that the pack hangs their coats on. An inch to the left and he'd have impaled your skull on it. An inch to the left and you'd be dead.

A single inch.

His head slams into your face, and you feel something in your nose pop, flooding your mouth with blood so thick you choke.

He slams you against the wall once, twice, and then a third time until your grip goes slack and slippery with blood. It knocks the breath out of you, and he finally throws you off. You both fall to the ground like stones. Both of you gasp and struggle for breath. At least one of your ribs it broken, but because of the adrenaline you can't even feel it.

When the man lifts his black gloves to his throat, they come away glossy with blood.

(It’s crazy how you never notice the change from the day to day, one day you are begging for a reason to hold on, a reason to live, and the next you’re fighting tooth and nail to keep going. Just about gnawing your own arm off to get out. To survive and live to see another day. Another sunrise.)

By that time the air has returned to your lungs it’s enough for you to scream. “Jin! Jin! There’s someone in the house there’s-”

You try and inhale through your nose and blood makes you choke. You push at the floor with your hands, struggling to stand, fingers slippery and tacky with your blood.

The man tries to scramble up the stairs but you latch onto his legs and make him drop. Doing everything in your power to keep him from going up to them, to your packmates. Hugging his ankle to your chest to slow him down (the same way you’ve hugged Namjoon’s arm and Yoongi’s, the way you held Hobi in the nest on the couch just a few shattered days ago).

The man turns the gun on you, pointing it to your head, you flinch, waiting for the shot-

and open them as He heaves a frustrated roar before he wheels away and turns, aiming at the top of the stairs instead of right in your face.

You could have died right then. could have and should have, but you didn’t. Your brain is too messy with adrenaline right now to make sense of it.

Why didn't he shoot?

The gun goes off, a bullet whizzing by Jin’s head. His face, scared, on the stairs flashes ever briefly. Ducking for cover just in time. The doorframe explodes in a cacophony of dark wood splitters. The doorknob sparks and bursts into a million pieces with another shot. metal clanking against the ceiling, the walls, down the stairs.

One second, you’re holding onto his heavy leather boot, and the next it’s colliding with your face and you’re out like a light.

Getting hit in your face is always such a disorientating experience. You’d never gotten used to it, even with Geumjae. Granted it’s hard to get used to the stomach-churning low vision feeling of weightlessness, like vertigo only worse.

"Hobi! don't- jesus fucking christ-"

You’re not quite sure what happens next only that you can’t see for a moment after the boot hits your face, and you take big breaths through your mouth. Blood, you taste blood. And then your vision comes back. Black spots and all and there’s Hobi’s face in front of you. No assassin, just him, helping you up from the floor. You're not on the steps anymore but at the bottom of them.

“The kitchen, the kitchen," Blood rushes over your bottom lip. Hoseok wipes it away, inhaling a jagged breath. "He’s-”

He pushes at your shoulders. “The car- get to the car.” It feels impossible. This can be happening in your house. Are you about to have a shoot-out in the street? On your quiet cul-de-sac? But then, in the corner of your vision dark movement.

You tug Hobi’s head down the second that the gun goes off- probably saving his life, definitely saving it as the bullet tears through the banister and ends in a hollow thump in the wall. he may not have shot you but he has no quams shooting at Jin and Hobi. The bullets hit the wall- Maybe 6 inches above your bent heads. Too close, close enough that Hobi trembles in your hold. And he rips something- a piece of the doorway, out of his arm with a wince before he covers your body with his own.

The volley of gunshots are so loud, so vicious as they blow things apart, tearing holes through Yoongi’s coat, the doorway, the banister, and the narrow stairway rungs. Pieces of wood hit your curled forms. Hobi shoves your head down when you try to look.

There is wetness, hot, something hot on your hands, your neck, you know it’s blood before you look. You think it’s from you until the Gunsmoke clears and you realize- fingers skimming across hoseok's forehead, a gash above his eyebrow.

A bullet graze by his hairline thats bleeding profusely. head wounds always bleed a ridiculous amount.

There are more bullets behind you but it’s just Jin returning fire.

Jin’s got Tae behind him. Her face ashy and pink from the shower and panic, her mid-length dark hair such a tangle, cowering behind his back. Jin's gun is so much louder without the silencer. Did he bring one upstairs? Or did he get it from Jimin’s stash?

Jin nearly drags Tae to the three of you, and she clings to you. Your hand finds her face. Fingers are red and bloody smudging against her cheek, blink and you're back there a million moments in the past; dotting red blush across her cheeks with a brush- your fingers- kissing it into place with your lips- painting a line of maroon across her eyelids to bring out the lighter flecks in her eyes- Watching her twirl in a red dress. Pressing your red lips against hers in a quiet dark moment in the library room. With her in Hobi's red car- Everything red.

If it starts with red, maybe it's fitting that it ends in red too.

Jin doesn’t give you time to reminisce. Pushing her shoulder down hard. His bare chest splattered with splinters from the door. Covered in wood fragments that stick to his black sweatpants and damp feet. Shouting, “All of you get down!”

You follow your pack omega’s words. Hobi and Tae With their damn alpha instincts blanket you as Jin fires again. The shots are so much louder in the small space. Another shot, another thunder strike. tae grips your wrist tight, your hands.

When you look down, they look mutilated. you can see bone in one place, deep gashes across the centre of your palms.

Your ears ring and you can't make sense of anything over the noise. Jin returns every bang with a boom of his own, bright flashes lighting up the dark staircase. Casing after casing tinkling down to the floor, rolling across the floorboards

But then, for a second- the gunfire goes quiet.

The house creeks and the three of you hold your breath. Jin's still half-concealed. The air heavy and clouded with gunsmoke and the smell of blood.

Hobi tentatively gets onto his knees and then stands when he doesn't immediately get shot at. You make a small noise in your throat, the loudest that you dare, but he’s looking after Jin, standing in the darkness, hackles raising his angry scent of burning sugar acrid in your nose. His hand slides out of yours, your blood on his palms.

And then you hear the rush of boots, echoing in the living room, near your nest- you’d never unmade it after you and Hobi fucked there. You'd been too busy taking care of Jimin. Hoseok bears his teeth.

Hobi turns, sliding out of your hands quicker than you can grab him. Quicker than you can tell him that he’s being dumb, that he’s being suicidal.

“Not my girlfriend! You asshole!”

The world is a dizzying cacophony of gunpowder, pain, bullets, and shouting. Jin yells Hoseok’s name. But the alpha heads after the assassin regardless of your cries. Jin narrowly keeps him from running headlong into no mans land. the open area by the door that would leave Hoseok a sitting duck.

Tae’s standing up on unsteady legs as you all spill out of the stairs into the narrow hall. Out from her hiding place cowering behind the banister. Your attention isn’t on her it’s on Hobi. Neither you nor Jin are looking at her. You’re running after him on shaky legs. Jin holds you both back, trying to corrall you. The air is cloudy with Gunsmoke, hazy and heavy. Her eyes are wide and pretty like dark marbles as she watches Hobi.

They’re just as pretty when the gun presses to the back of her head.

Everyone turns and goes still. The man has Tae in his arms, hand in her hair making her neck arch. The gun pressed to her jaw. Finger on the trigger.

Her body trembles and she doesn’t turn, frozen still in fear a shallow whine building in her throat.Jin has the gun trained on the man faster than you can make to step in Tae’s direction. But it’s no use.

He must have gone around, run through the livingroom through your pantry. A similar path that you took to surprise him. He must know the floor plan of the house, must have studied it to prevent situations like this. You have no upper hand here with tae in his arms.

Tae’s mouth is buttony and parted, but it settles into a resigned line.

Jin’s never been a good enough shot- not for one like this, even barely 10 feet away. He might hit Tae. Shaky, Jin takes his finger off the trigger and stoops down to put the gun on the floor. His other hand is up, already surrendering when the man jerks Tae's head back by her hair. Rougher than he needs to be.

“Don’t shoot her, please don’t shoot- please.”

The man juts his chin at the gun on the floor. “Kick it away now, be a good omega.” Jin grits his teeth but does as he says.

The man’s voice is rough as gravel. Dignified, but with no obvious accent. Not the quiet cadence that you’ve come to expect from the family. Neither posh nor lowbrow. Something in between. Flat and monotone. You're sure that you've never heard his voice before.

“I have to admit, your file said you’d be resistant, but it said nothing about you being dumb as fuck and a poor shot to boot.”

Jin licks his lips and bares his teeth, “Put that gun back in my hand and then say it again.” The masked man cocks his head to the side and then shrugs as if Jin's fury doesn't mean anything to him.

But He’s bleeding, it trails down to the floor so the words can't be genuine. It's a small wound, a graze on his right thigh. Red bright and hot that drips in onto the floor from his pant leg.

His hand tightens in Tae’s hair. “Line up against the wall. Now. Or I’ll blow her brains out in front of you."

You move first, eyes trained on Tae. But he snaps, eyes unreadable behind that mask, “No- not you. I’m not here to kill you.”

He tosses something to Jin and he catches it. Handcuffs that jingle and clink. Your foot hits an errant bullet with a similar tinkle. “Handcuff Jin to the stairs Hoseok.”

Your names, he knows your names. Your mind races over every detail, every moment trying to piece together a way to get out of this. a way to save them.

“Why are you doing this?” Hobi’s trembling, shaking. “Did Jimin-”

“Jiminie did nothing.” The man croons dragging the barrel of the gun down Tae’s cheek leaving a dark smudge in its wake. It's red on her face, the barrel must still be hot, your blood crusty around her lips.

“Honestly though, you should know he was a shit assassin. Truly piss poor even by industry standards. They always threw him the easiest kills."

The three of you are quiet, if he was hoping to elicit a reaction or more of a fight You don’t give him the satisfaction. Although jin grits his teeth, gnashing anger and an omega's feral instinct to protect their pups.

You step forward hands open, barely two steps from Tae. If you can just get to her maybe you can-

“Please- please don’t kill them."

He cocks his head at you, and you can hear the grin in his voice. “Oh no, you misunderstand me I’m not going to do any of it.”

He taps Tae’s head once again with the gun and Tae starts to truly struggle. You tremble in fury and horror as you realize what he means with a sickening lurch in your stomach.

“This is how it’s going to work Y/n” You still at the sound of your name. “Taehyung here is going to shoot Jin and Hoseok. And then once we’re sure they’re good and dead, I’ll kill her.” He tosses you another pair of handcuffs, these ones are meant for you.

You take one step closer; Jin's gun is between your feet now. But you couldn't pick it up or else he'd shoot Tae. Time, you just need a minute to figure out what to do. How to get them out of this.

Yourself now, that's a different story. If you where in Tae's position you'd turn your face to the side and bite the mans hand.

“And what about me then? If they're all dead what’s to stop me from fighting?” he seems to consider it only briefly, the gun in his hand tilting so that you can see the dark oval where the bullet will come out, where it will rocket through Tae's skull and take all the little worlds she dreams of, all her poems and words and make them nothing.

“You think you're so precious? I’ll just kill you.” he says it like it's nothing. like you're nothing. He nods to the others, appealing to them and not you. “What do you want? All four of you to die? Or just three? What will hurt Namjoon the least? Do you think Yoongi will survive loosing his mate? What do you think Jinnie?”

You think of Yoongi's mating mark, the spot on his hip where your small curved semi-circles sit. You think of them turning black- a brand of a dead mate. You think of Hobi's eyes opening and never closing again. You think of Jungkook nesting without Jin and you. Of Namjoon holding out his hand and having no one to take it without Jin there.

You won't let any of this happen.

The others shoot each other unsure glances but you shake your head. you shake your head because earlier on the step, the man didn't take the easy shot, the easy kill.

If he really had orders to kill you, he would have done it then.

you step forward and shake your head. “I don’t believe you. I know your orders are to take me. That’s what all of this is about isn’t it?” The man doesn’t drop his weapon. Just presses it tighter to Tae’s jaw.

“Handcuff Jin now Hobi. Or else I’ll-”

You see the darkness settle in Jin’s eyes and before you know it he's turning to you, eyes flat. Endless in their darkness, the way they might if-

You don't let yourself consider it. You won't let it get to that point.

“Pup-”

You guess it does make sense, having you kill each other as opposed to the assassin doing the dirty work and implicating Moonbyul. If you really are on that ‘no kill list’ like Yoongi said at the hospital, having you take out each other is the only logical course of action. Once Tae kills Jin and Hobi, she'll be free game. This is the only way retribution won’t fall back on her. This is so similar to what she tried and failed to do with Jimin and Jin. This is a second attempt.

Only-

Only this time, you have a bargaining chip.

You step forward, in front of Hobi and Jin, blocking them from his line of sight. Barely a pace in front of Tae, but from the way he tightens his grip on her you know that you can go no further.

“You can take me; I’ll go with you. Willingly.”

Jin makes a noise in his throat and tries to move, but dares not when the man tightens his grip on Tae’s hair hard enough to rip a bit of it out.

“That’s what she wants, isn’t it? If you just let them live I’ll go with you.”

The man is silent for a second. Hobi trembles and so does Jin. For a second, you truly think that he’s going to take the bait.

But the mask is directed towards the floor, then back up at you. “Those aren’t my orders.” His finger is on the trigger so close to Tae’s head. “Now cuff him, I don’t want Jinnie getting any ideas.”

Hobi’s hands are shaking as he unwillingly shackles Jin to the steps as slowly as he can. He's buying time too. Every second and every heartbeat is precious. Both ends loop around a single rung and click closed. The rung itself is a little loose from a bullet that blew it apart near the bottom, it’s got to be the loosest one. Hobi turns, and you see the pre-meditation in his eyes; he chose that one so that Jin could still get free if he tried hard enough.

Everyone is trying. Everyone is defiant. The quirk of Jin's eyes as he settles, staring with rage at the man, his voice a quiet croon when he says what might very well be the last words he ever speaks.

“Tae you can close your eyes honey, it’s okay.”

"No I can't" She struggles harder against his hold, but it only gets her part of her hair pulled out with how rough the man jerks her, tears clouding her vision. "I can't- don't- please-"

Tae's soul has always been butterfly soft and flower tender. She's not made for this. She's not made for murder or pain or anything that lacks softness. She's never been a killer; Jimin was always that side of their coin. Saint and sinner.

Your body goes cold and for a second, you think you just might pass out, especially when Hoseok grips your wrist. One final squeeze in what can only be goodbye before he steps away and in front of jin. Hair puffed up. Jin is lowering his eyes and no no no.

No.

Tae is staring at you, eyes wide and scared, but you watch in total powerlessness as her eyebrows lower. You see the moment Tae thinks it. Eyes meeting yours, lips mouthing something that you can’t read. Maybe I’m sorry no.

I love you. Sorry.

The truth is that Jimin drilled this with her years ago before she left for college and he couldn’t follow. When Jimin first realized that for the first time in their lives she’d be without him as a constant protector. Delicate delicate Tae with her delicate pink soul. So vulnerable to the world and all its wickedness.

Tae didn't confront him about it until the nightmares were waking him up regularly. They were simple nightmares back then; images of Tae hurt and mugged. Tae beaten and left in an alleyway. Tae stalked through the night. Simple, but enough to keep him awake. Enough to torture him in his wakon hours as well as the nighttime.

If Jimin saw her now he'd pull the heavens down and demand something truly awful in exchange. He'd take one of the knives from the kitchen and gut him from belly button to addams apple. He'd eviscerate him- and Namjoon might help.

Hut there is no one here to do any of that, there is only Tae in the man's hold.

“What are you so scared of?” She’d asked one morning, trailing endless patterns on his chest in an effort to soothe him back to sleep.

“Something happening to you while I’m not there, mostly.”

“Would it make you feel better? If you taught me the basics?”

Jimin's pause is telling, more telling are his eyes, hopeful when he looks up at Tae. “Yes, it would.”

It’s been years and years since Jimin Tae have bothered to drill any self-defense sequences it at all. Since he stopped asking her to refresh the basics with him once a year just to make sure. Jimin never thought that Tae would have to use those skills. Like with most things, you just sort of hope you don't have to fight.

But Tae knows you did fight. It's written all over your bloody face and your bloody hands, tightened to fists by your side. If you fought tooth and nail to save them she should fight too.

Tae has written fight scenes like this before. If she survives the press of the gun to the back of her head, she’s gonna have one hell of a personal experience to pull from for her book. The content will be endless.

She seems to swell in the space, alpha shoulders settling back. Her mouth is moving, mouthing words her eyes on you. Just in case this is the last thing she ever does.

I’m sorry, I love you.

“Be a good boy and pick up the gun Tae.” Tae bends down, syrupy slow. Intentional with her every movement. One heartbeat. Another. Tae's fingers are maybe an inch from the gun when everything goes haywire.

When she's about halfway bent she uses her momentum to hurl her body back, slamming her head into the gun and then into the man’s face. Cracking the mask and from the sound of it, the man’s nose. Tae's almost knocks herself out with the force of her own head colliding with the man’s face.

She turns, she’s not finished, not even close. She might be a woman but she’s an alpha too. Alphas always always fight to protect their pack. She turns and swings.

And drives her elbow as hard as she can between the alpha’s legs.

Hobi can’t stop his flinch. That has to hurt.

The assassin’s gun goes flying, skittering across the dark floor and under the bookcase and Hobi ends up lunging for it. You go after it too but you end up holding Tae instead, crumpling to the floor without anything to hold her up. She’s holding the back of her head, eyes watering.

The traditional mask lyes in pieces around you, shatered by the force of tae's headbut. The man clutches his nose, features still covered by the ski mast. Growling out- "Bitch- fucking bitch! I'll kill you. I'll fucking kill all of you-"

Jin struggles yanking his cuffed hands down as hard as he can- in another minute he might get loose, but not quick enough as Hobi finds the gun and raises it. The bullet hits the molding beside your pantry, missing the man by inches as he dives away to safety. A lucky shot by any standard, let alone for a beginner. Hobi shoots off after him. knocking into the wall before he's up and chasing it.

“Are you okay, Tae, Tae- look up at me.” Tae is clutching the back of her head. Blinking rabidly. That fucking hurt even if it was worth it.

“I’m fine just-” She leans over your legs and vomits, retching loud and horrible. Concussion- she must have given herself a concussion. Namjoon told you months ago how to read the signs of them shortly after the first time Jungkook ever had a seizure in front of you.

You hold her shoulders, watching Jin try and break himself free, yanking his wrists hard enough that it has to hurt. Moving to try and help him.

And then Hobi makes a noise in the other room, a pained ghasp, A thump and then-

Tae is already up and running, stumbling into the wall. You glance at Jin. "Go- just go" Jin grinds out. But Tae has longer legs than you do even concussed.

By the kitchen, Hobi slips on a fallen tangerine. (You remember then, Yoongi clearing the table with a brush of his hands for Jimin, tossing a whole bowl of them onto the floor. Where they've stayed since then) they're fighting, the man must have managed to disarm Hobi somehow because the gun sits under one of the chairs. Both of them are fighting just beside the dining room table. Part of it splintered and broken where someone broke it.

They're grappling on the floor now. Pushing against each other trying to gain the upper hand. you've watched the alpha's wrestle before- small disputes to settle and reaffirm the hierarchy, but you've never seen hobi move like this. You watch the man grasp at his waist reaching for the knife. His hands so slick with his own blood that it clatters to the floor. Hobi may not be trained but he's a fighter too. Gnashing his teeth and growling. Reaching up into the shallow gash at the mans throat and digging in his fingers.

And then he’s got Hobi on the ground and his hands around your alpha's throat. Tae tries to get him off but he backhands her, sending her sprawling to the ground and clutching her cheek. Too dizzy to stand. Big hands that squeeze and squeeze and squeeze Hobi's narrow throat. Spit at the corner of his lips turning frothy as hoseok tries to breathe and can't.

“I didn’t come this far to get killed by a bunch of family rejects; 11 years and 1458 kills later and I will not die. Just give up already- I didn’t come this far to-”

Hobi’s face is turning purple, hands scrabbling, pushing against his face trying to get him off unsuccessfully. Dying there on the floor. Hobi is going to die right there if you don't do anything.

Jin is shouting from the other room and there is a frying pan in the kitchen. On the countertop that you snatch on your way past, winding up for it before you swing it with all your might at the man's head and-

At the end of the day, it’s hard to say exactly what kills him. Whether it's you or Tae who wields the killing blow. It’s more of a group effort between you and her.

Tae has read countless books that described love as some gentle force, but this love has not made her gentle. Tae cannot sit there on the floor and watch Hobi die. She'd do anything to protect him and the pack. She’d kill people like Minnie did, would lie just as Jin had, would have sacrificed anything- even herself just like Yoongi.

Love had always been giving in Tae's mind, and she would give countless sins and untold violence, to have this not be the last day with you and the pack.

The gun is just sitting there under the chair. tae hardly has to lean over to get it. (If she makes it out of this alive, she swears to himself that she'll finally start taking those kickboxing classes that Jungkook teaches.) Tae lifts the gun at the same moment that your hand descends with the frying pan.

Tae turns, points, aims, and fires. She doesn’t even think twice about it. The trigger goes down as easily as breathing.

Getting shot in the throat definitely distracts him enough, definitely makes him let go of Hobi, clutching at his own throat instead of his. blood rushing over his hand and down onto hobi's face. So much that it almost splashes.

And then the frying pan hits his head with a hollow final thud.

There is a placid terror in things like this, a quiet as things go and come. The thumping, the sobbing breaths you let out, the descent of your hand, beating out your terror on the body below, a vessel for all of your fear.

The handle of the frying pan is thick and heavy in your hands. You bring it down on the man’s head, the curved edge of the cast iron connects with the plate of his skull with a hollow thud. One second, he's clutching at his blown-apart throat, and the next he goes limp, blood and brain matter splatters loud and heavy along the floor. Falling on top of Hobi like a lead weight.

Hobi's brown eyes are bloodshot and red in his mouth, heaving one big breath that sends the room spinning. Sends vertigo into his veins and panic-running adrenaline. You lift your arms up again and hit him, descending again and again.

His body is still, so still. His chest gives one open shudder and then goes truly quiet. Frozen in time. You are covered in blood, in your mouth, on your hair, on the ceiling. More and more splatters as your hand goes up and then down in an endless loop.

Dark cotton soaks, matted with blood and brain matter, blurry from your tears. A bit of it hits your face, wet and stinky. People never tell you how horrible it smells when people die.

You don’t stop hitting the man, even when it's clear he's dead. Even when you glare down at him through the tears in your eyes and see half a face staring up at you. An eyeball rolls across the floor.

There are arms around you pulling you off of him eventually. Dry warm arms, big and heavenly. One wrist dangles with a pair of handcuffs as Jin yanks you back from the man. The body.

“Pup- It’s done, pup- he's gone- Stop.”

There is blood all over you. On your face, on your hands, around the frying pan. Tae too, sitting just beside you. Half of her body splattered. Hobi's soaked with it and still struggling to breathe. But both of them, the three of them are alive.

“It’s over pup.” Jin sounds like he might be crying. Tae definitely is.

Hobi puts his head between his knees, gasping for every breath but still breathing. Tae's got him in his lap. Holding on to him as he splutters. face so soaked with blood he can't open his eyes without blinking rapidly.

It’s anything but over you think as you let go of the handle of the frying pan.

It clatters to the ground with a bloody and final thunk.

~-~

Please Like, Comment, and Reblog! Every bit of encouragement helps me write the next chapter!

Come tell me what you liked about this chapter!

Series Masterlist ~ Donate ~ Twitter

~-~

Notes:

if the beginning of the chapter feels weird/different in terms of narration that is because it was mostly written 3+ years ago and my writing style has changed alot! kinda crazy! hopefully people will just attribute it to hoseok's internal monologue. it might be meandering but i kept reminding myself that this is hoseok at his lowest you know?

One thing i want you guys to realize is that the m/c may not be smart, but holy fuck can she take a beating and still get up.

Gun shoot outs are uniquely hard to write because like, just bang and it's done right? idk why part of this writing just felt so tedious usually i love writing stuff like this :(

hobi calls the m/c his girlfriend 🥺 did you guys notice???? he's such a cute pup charecter.

i have more notes for this chapter BUT i can't share them until the next one is out because it involves hobi's secret.

i hope you guys see like- how good the m/c actually is at the crime and thinking on her feet shit- i think that this chapter above all others shows her street smarts. she knows to keep the guy talking and distracted- i think it compliments her similarities to jimin and jin like. the trio of them are very capable people you know? vs hobi who just headlong rushes the assassin and fucks shit up. i'm not saying it's his fault- he does the best that he can in this chapter.

I'm trying to pull from my actual knowledge of how guns work but fun fact, silencers are still fucking loud, like still so loud that you need ear protection. and even blank bullets can still cause serious injury at close range.

I'm again at the stage where i can't tell if the gun shooting scene is clunky and too predictable or if it's actually as creepy as i've made it out to be.

This is one of those situations- the bargaining for each others lives, that i've actually never had to handle. it's actually pretty unusual for me to write about things that i haven't experienced in some way shape or form.

i've only written a few scenes in my life that have made me wonder like "huh- i wonder if people might actually think that i've seen a dead body, been around a dead body, or killed someone before?" and ngl, the scene with the assassin dying is one that makes me wonder that... i promise i just have a scarily vivid imagination.

#bts fanfic #bts mafia au #bts omegaverse au #bts polyamory au #bts x reader #bts poly au #bts werewolf fic #bts fluff #bts angst #bts hurt/comfort #min yoongi fic #min yoongi x reader #yoongi x reader #min yoongi #omega! reader #bts a/b/o au #bts a/b/o #bts gang au #bts au #bts werewolf au #bts angst bts omegaverse fic #bts hybrid fic #kim namjoon fic #kim seokjin fic #kim taehyung fic #park jimin fic #jeon jungkook fic #jjk #pjm #myg

[butterfly-lies-chase-them-away]

Hi! I just stumbled upon your profile when I was searching for jonathan crane x reader fics, and can I just say that I loved Behind The Mask so so much! Would it be possible to request a fic Jonathan x reader that is inspired by You are the right one by Sports? If so, thank you so much! 💕✨

You Are The Right One - Jonathan Crane x Reader ONESHOT

Pairing: Jonathan Crane x Reader

Word Count: 8016

Warnings: High School!Jonathan Crane, bullying

Summary: !!Request!! High school was a cesspool of misery for Jonathan. After the cruel prank from his crush and biggest bully, he believed his days would be forever marred by the shadows of ridicule and isolation. Until a beacon of light emerged in the form of one girl who reached out with a helping hand.

A/N: (This gif does not match the vibe whatsoever, but oh well!) Bro, I had never heard this song before, but the second I listened to it AHAHHAH!!! the way this song tingles my brain~ chefs kiss. Thank you so much Anon for introducing this song to me 💚 While writing this fic, I really got into the comic book Jonathan, so the whole time writing this, instead of picturing Cillian Murphy, my brain went off and thought about the lanky ginger Jonathan from the comics...smash. This doesn't really affect how you read it or anything, I don't bring up his appearance (I think) but yeah, fun fact! Thank you so much for the request, Anon, I hope you like it and I hope everyone else likes it as well 💚

-

"Hey! Scarecrow!" The jeering shout pierced the air before a rotten pumpkin collided with Jonathan's head.

With a jolt, he crashed onto the unforgiving concrete, the impact scraping his knees raw and sending his glasses tumbling from his face. Laughter and mocking taunts echoed from the other side of the street, adding insult to injury. Wiping the slimy remnants of pumpkin from his face, Jonathan retrieved his glasses from the ground and carefully replaced them, picking himself off the floor and rushing to his house.

Jonathan hated his time at school, not due to its academic challenges, they were a mere breeze to him. It was the individuals within the school walls who soured his experience. Each day seemed to bring a fresh onslaught of taunts, shoves, and the relentless pursuit to make him feel small. It was an existence he loathed.

Bo Gribbs stood out as the ringleader of torment, his cruelty unmatched by any other. Jonathan couldn't fathom what he had done to deserve such relentless bullying from Bo, but he found himself powerless to retaliate. Physically overpowered and painfully aware of his own frailty, Jonathan's slender frame seemed almost translucent beneath his clothing, a stark testament to his vulnerability in the face of Bo's tyranny.

Yet, even within the supposed sanctuary of his supposed home, peace was still not found for him. If he managed to escape the torment of school, he found himself ensnared in the clutches of his eccentric great-grandmother, whose own torture made every moment a living hell. The irony of her religious fervor contrasted against her treatment of him was not lost on Jonathan.

Though Jonathan's existence felt like a descent into inferno, he clung to the belief that it was merely a chapter in his life, not the entire story. Determined to carve out a brighter future for himself. He vowed to end the torment, one way or another.

-

Walking through the corridors proved to be a difficult journey for Jonathan, each step fraught with the anticipation of another cruel encounter. As he traversed the halls, barely two minutes had passed before a forceful shove sent him careening forward, his body meeting the cold embrace of the linoleum floor. His knees, accustomed to such harsh treatment, absorbed the impact with resigned familiarity.

The clatter of his glasses hitting the ground echoed amidst the cacophony of jeers from passing jocks, their laughter cutting through the air like a serrated blade. With a heavy sigh, Jonathan reached out, his fingers fumbling as they sought the familiar frames now lying abandoned on the floor.

To add insult to injury, the contents of his binder lay strewn across the corridor in a chaotic array of papers and notebooks. With a resigned sense of foreboding, Jonathan began the arduous task of gathering his scattered belongings, readying himself for the inevitable shit day that lay ahead.

Amidst the din of the bustling hallway, the sound of approaching footsteps caught Jonathan's attention, his heart sinking as he braced for yet another harsh confrontation. However, what he beheld was not the expected boot poised for a strike, but rather a figure, a girl, crouched beside him, her hands reaching out to aid in gathering the scattered papers.

Stunned into silence, Jonathan could only watch in disbelief as the girl worked alongside him, her actions a stark contrast to the hostility he had come to expect. Caught in a moment of bewildered confusion, he found himself unable to move, his mind reeling with questions. What was she doing? Was she helping him?

As Jonathan's mind struggled to catch up with the whirlwind of events, he watched in astonishment as the girl collected the scattered papers, her movements somehow appearing graceful. With each piece she retrieved, she seemed to breathe life into the crap that had enveloped his world just moments before. As she stacked the papers before him, Jonathan couldn't help but marvel at the dexterity of her fingers, a stark contrast to the clumsy awkwardness he felt coursing through his own limbs.

When she finally glanced up, her face illuminated by the fluorescent lights of the corridor, Jonathan found himself momentarily transfixed by the sight before him. The delicate curve of her jawline, the softness of her features, and the warmth in her eyes sent a flutter through his chest, igniting a blush that crept up his cheeks. It had been an eternity since he had been in such close proximity to a girl, let alone one this attrative.

Despite the pounding of his heart and the flush of embarrassment that suffused his face, Jonathan couldn't help but brace himself for the anticipated rejection and humiliation. Yet, to his astonishment, the girl's expression remained neutral, devoid of the revulsion he had come to expect from others.

In that fleeting moment, as their eyes met, Jonathan felt a spark of hope ignite within him, a glimmer of possibility amidst the darkness of his reality.

"I'm not sure they're in order, sorry," she offered apologetically, handing the papers over to him.

Jonathan's mind raced, struggling to process the flood of emotions and sensations crashing over him like waves against a rocky shore. His lips parted as if to speak, but no words emerged, his voice lost amidst the thoughts within him. His cheeks burned with a fierce blush, the heat spreading across his skin like wildfire as he fought to steady his erratic breaths.

Despite the turmoil raging within him, Jonathan found himself unable to tear his gaze away from the girl before him. Every delicate movement, every subtle shift in her demeanor, captivated his attention like a mesmerizing dance. He watched as she nervously nibbled on her lower lip, her brows furrowed in a mixture of concern and uncertainty.

A pang of self-reproach stabbed at Jonathan's heart as he cursed his own awkwardness, berating himself for his inability to ease the tension that hung thick in the air. He longed to reach out, to offer some semblance of reassurance, but the weight of his own insecurities held him captive, shackling him in silence.

In the midst of his internal turmoil, Jonathan couldn't help but wonder if he was the cause of the girl's discomfort. Was it his presence alone that had driven her to such nervous agitation? The thought only served to deepen his sense of self-condemnation, a bitter reminder of his own inadequacy in the face of this unexpected encounter.

Taking the papers from her outstretched hand, Jonathan murmured a barely audible "thank you," his eyes remaining fixed on the ground.

"It's okay," she reassured softly, straightening up.

As Jonathan remained rooted to the spot, his gaze fixated on the ground, he felt a sense of regret wash over him as he watched the girl gracefully rise to her feet. Every movement seemed to unfold in slow motion, each subtle shift of her body conveying a depth of emotion that left Jonathan feeling utterly captivated.

The soft rustle of fabric as she straightened her posture, the delicate sway of her hair as she lifted her head, every detail etched itself into Jonathan's memory like a scene from a cherished dream. He longed to reach out, to capture this fleeting moment before it slipped through his fingers like grains of sand, but the weight of his own insecurities held him firmly in place.

As she turned to leave, the sound of her footsteps echoed through the empty corridor, each step a somber reminder of the distance that now lay between them. Jonathan listened intently, the rhythmic sound of her footfalls fading into the silence like a whispered promise lost to the wind.

Only when she was finally out of sight did Jonathan dare to lift his gaze, his eyes scanning the empty space where she had stood mere moments before. The memory of her presence lingered like an echo in his mind, a bittersweet reminder of the connection he had felt, however fleeting it may have been.

-

As the final bell reverberated through the hallways, signaling the end of lunch and the impending arrival of the last period, Jonathan's thoughts were consumed by the memory of the girl he had crossed paths with that very morning. Her image lingered in his mind like a vivid dream, each detail etched into his consciousness with a clarity that was exhilarating and mildly disturbing.

The mere thought of her sent a surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins. He could almost feel the weight of her gaze, piercing through the veil of his thoughts, igniting a fire within him that he struggled to contain.

This crush felt different, unlike any he had experienced before. It wasn't merely a passing fancy or a fleeting attraction. It was a connection that transcended the boundaries of mere physical appearance. There was an ineffable quality about her, a magnetic allure that beckoned him closer with each passing moment.

As he gazed out into the tranquil expanse before him, Jonathan couldn't shake the feeling that destiny had intervened, weaving their paths together. And in that moment, amidst the quiet solitude of the afternoon, he allowed himself to entertain the tantalizing possibility that perhaps, just perhaps, this encounter was the beginning of something truly extraordinary.

It may have seemed naive, even foolish, to harbor such aspirations, but for Jonathan, it was a rare moment of respite in an otherwise shitty landscape. To entertain the notion that perhaps, just perhaps, the universe held something extraordinary in store for him was a welcome change.

Jonathan’s previous crushes seemed like nothing compared to the emotions that stirred by his encounter with the mysterious girl that morning. Recollections of past crushes, like shards of fragmented glass, pricked at his consciousness, reminding him of the superficiality that had defined those fleeting attractions.

Sherry, with her beauty and captivating presence, had been the subject of Jonathan's affections not so long ago. Yet, his admiration for her had always been tempered by the harsh reality of her social circle. Despite the allure of her charm, Jonathan found himself relegated to the sidelines, but he knew he could never have anyone like her anyway.

But it wasn't just Sherry's group that posed a barrier to Jonathan's desires, it was her association with Bo Gribbs, the boy that tormented him every day. Bo's looming presence, like a dark cloud on the horizon, served as a constant reminder of the toxicity that permeated Sherry's world. And yet, despite the danger that lurked beneath the surface, Jonathan remained steadfast in his pursuit, blind to the warning signs that whispered caution in the wind.

It wasn't until Sherry played a cruel prank on him, a twisted joke that left him humiliated and vulnerable, that Jonathan's rose-tinted glasses were shattered, revealing the harsh truth that had eluded him for so long. The sting of betrayal, like a venomous serpent coiled within his heart, forced him to confront the reality of his situation, a reality where he made judgement off appearance alone.

As he reflected on the events of that fateful night, Jonathan couldn't help but feel a pang of regret for the time wasted chasing after hollow dreams. But amidst the ashes of his past disappointments, a flicker of hope ignited within him, a hope born from the promise of a new beginning, forged in the fires of his encounter with the mysterious girl who had captured his heart with a single glance and kind gesture.

This girl, she was unlike anyone Jonathan had ever encountered before. Every detail of her presence seemed to exude an air of kindess, something that he didn’t experience often. 

It wasn't just her appearance that set her apart, it was the way she carried herself, with a confidence that bordered on defiance, as if daring the world to unravel the enigma of her being. There was an undeniable magnetism about her, an intangible quality that drew Jonathan in like a moth to a flame.

And for the first time in his life, Jonathan dared to hope that perhaps, just perhaps, there was a chance for something more than mere admiration from afar. He allowed himself to entertain the possibility of forging a connection with this stranger.

As Jonathan settled into his usual seat at the front of the classroom, he arranged his books on the desk before him. The desks were arranged in pairs, accommodating two students each, yet Jonathan found himself occupying his table alone, a solitude he had grown accustomed to and even appreciated. 

The rest of the class filtered in, taking their usual places. But just as the bell signaled the start of class, the door creaked open to reveal a newcomer, a sight that caused Jonathan's heart to skip a beat. Like a vision materializing, she stepped into the room, the girl who had occupied Jonathan's thoughts since the start of the day.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl as Jonathan's eyes traced her every movement, drinking in the graceful sway of her stride, the subtle tilt of her head as she looked around at the desks before her. It was as if the very essence of her presence infused the room with a palpable energy, setting Jonathan's heart ablaze with a flurry of emotions he struggled to contain.

What was she doing here, in his classroom, when she wasn't supposed to be? The question echoed through Jonathan's mind like a mantra, a puzzle he couldn't quite unravel.

As she cast her gaze about the room, seeking out an empty seat, Jonathan's breath caught in his throat, a knot of anticipation tightening in his chest. And then, as if guided by some unseen force, her eyes landed on the spot beside him before drifting up to his eyes, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips like a secret shared between them.

The rush of heat that flooded Jonathan's cheeks was as sudden and unexpected as a summer storm, his pulse quickening with a fervor that threatened to overwhelm him. It was a moment suspended in time, a collision of worlds that left Jonathan reeling in disbelief.

He sat there, his heart hammering against his ribcage like a drum echoing in the hollows of his chest. Every nerve in his body seemed to hum with electricity as he watched her draw nearer, her presence casting a spell upon him that left him breathless with anticipation. It was as if time itself had slowed to a crawl, each passing second stretching into eternity.

"May I sit here?" Her voice, like a melody woven from silk and honey, broke through the haze of Jonathan's thoughts, drawing his attention to the question hanging in the air.

Jonathan swallowed hard, the sudden dryness of his throat betraying the ruckus of emotions raging within him. With a shaky nod, he managed to tear his gaze away from her mesmerizing presence, meeting her eyes with a mixture of awe and disbelief.

"Thank you," she murmured softly, her voice like a gentle breeze on a summer's eve as she settled into the seat beside him, her movements fluid and graceful.

"I just moved classes," she continued, her tone casual yet tinged with a hint of frustration, "I had a clash with English and Statistics, which messed up my whole timetable."

As she explained the reason for her unexpected presence in his class, Jonathan found himself captivated by the sound of her voice, each word a symphony of warmth and sincerity that washed over him like a soothing balm.

Jonathan drank in her words like a man parched in the desert, his thirst for her presence growing with each passing moment. He wanted nothing more than to listen to her voice for eternity, to lose himself in the melody of her speech.

"I'm Y/n, by the way," she said, turning to look at him with a smile that seemed to illuminate the entire room with its radiance.

"I'm Jo-" Jonathan's words were abruptly cut off by the sharp impact of a book colliding with the back of his head, jolting him out of his trance with a start.

Laughter erupted throughout the classroom, echoing off the walls as Jonathan winced in pain, his hand instinctively flying to the back of his head, fingers curling around the tender spot where the book had struck.

"Holy fuck! Are you okay?" Y/n's voice cut through the chaos, her hand landing gently on his shoulder in a gesture of concern.

Jonathan's breath caught in his throat at the touch, a jolt of electricity coursing through him at the warmth of her hand against his skin. If he weren't in such agonizing pain, he might have choked on his own saliva at the unexpected intimacy of the moment. "I'm fine," he managed to whisper, his voice barely above a hoarse murmur.

As Y/n leaned in to check on him, neither of them noticed the approach of the culprit responsible for Jonathan's suffering. It wasn't until he spoke that their attention was drawn to him, his smug tone slicing through the air like a knife.

"Sorry, Scarecrow, my hand slipped," Bo said, his voice dripping with malice.

With a heavy thud, Bo's hand landed on Jonathan's back, causing him to flinch and cough in response. Leaning in closer, Bo loomed over Jonathan, his presence like a dark cloud casting a shadow over the room.

"Do you mind?" Y/n's voice cut through the tension like a sharp blade, her gaze locked on Bo with a fierceness that made him falter for a moment.

"Mind what, Y/n? I’m fine, how ‘bout yourself?" Bo retorted, his smirk never faltering, even under the weight of her glare.

"Go be a dick somewhere else," Y/n shot back.

Jonathan's heart swelled with a mixture of gratitude and admiration as he watched Y/n stand up to Bo, her unwavering determination a stark contrast to the fear and apprehension that had gripped him only moments before.

For a moment, Bo seemed taken aback by Y/n's assertiveness, his usual swagger faltering in the face of her unwavering gaze. But then, with a mocking snort, he straightened up, his smirk morphing into a sneer as he turned his attention back to Jonathan.

"Looks like Scarecrow's got himself a little protector," Bo jeered, his words dripping with contempt.

Ignoring Bo's taunts, Y/n turned back to Jonathan, her expression softening with concern. "Are you sure you're okay?" she asked, her voice gentle and reassuring.

Jonathan couldn't help but nod, a surge of gratitude flooding through him at the genuine concern in her eyes. "Yeah, I'm fine," he replied.

As the tension in the room began to settle, the teacher cleared their throat, drawing attention to the front of the classroom. With one last glance at Y/n, Jonathan turned his focus to the lesson.

Jonathan felt a gentle tap on his arm, pulling him from his thoughts. He turned to find Y/n looking at him with a kind expression.

"Sorry, I never actually caught your name before Bo started being a dick," she said, her voice tinged with a hint of apology.

"Jonathan," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

Y/n nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips, before turning her attention back to the front of the classroom.

As Jonathan watched her, a warmth spread through his chest, chasing away the lingering discomfort from Bo's earlier antics. In that brief exchange, he felt a connection form.

As Jonathan sat beside Y/n in class, his mind couldn't help but drift back to her. Her presence beside him seemed to fill the air with a quiet warmth, casting a soft glow over the otherwise mundane surroundings of the classroom.

He stole furtive glances in her direction, marveling at the way the sunlight danced in her hair, illuminating strands of gold like a halo. The gentle rise and fall of her chest as she breathed, the way her eyes flickered with concentration as she followed along with the lesson, every detail of her being seemed to captivate him in ways he couldn't quite comprehend.

He longed to hear her speak again, to lose himself in the melody of her words and the warmth of her smile. But more than anything, it was the way she made him feel, the sense of comfort and ease that washed over him in her presence. For the first time in a long while, Jonathan felt a glimmer of hope stirring within him, a belief that perhaps, just perhaps, there was something special blossoming between them.

As the final minutes of class ticked by, Jonathan's attention remained divided between the lesson and the gentle presence of Y/n beside him. He found himself stealing glances at her whenever he could, savoring the fleeting moments of shared proximity.

When the bell finally rang, signaling the end of the period, Jonathan felt a pang of reluctance as he realized their time together was drawing to a close. He began gathering his belongings, his mind already drifting ahead to the remainder of the day.

But before he could make his exit, Y/n turned to him with a smile, her eyes sparkling with warmth and kindness. "Hey, Jonathan," she said softly, "do you mind if I walk with you?"

Jonathan's heart skipped a beat at her words, a rush of warmth flooding through him at the prospect of spending more time with her. "I don’t mind," he replied, almost too quickly.

Together, they made their way out of the classroom, the bustling halls alive with the energy of students eager to begin their weekend. As they walked side by side, Jonathan felt a sense of contentment wash over him, grateful for the unexpected situation that had brought them together.

As they stepped out of the building, Y/n cast a fleeting glance behind them before returning her focus to the path ahead. "I just really didn't want Bo to bother you any more than he already has. If you don't want me to walk with you, I totally get that," she said, her voice tinged with concern.

"It's fine... I don't mind," Jonathan replied, his words tinged with a mix of gratitude and disbelief.

A smile tugged at the corners of Y/n's lips as she looked at him. "Then I'll walk with you," she said, her eyes sparkling with warmth and sincerity.

As Jonathan processed Y/n's offer, a swirl of conflicting emotions churned within him. 

On one hand, he was overwhelmed by a sense of disbelief and wonder that someone as kind and compassionate as Y/n would willingly extend such a gesture of friendship to him. It was a glimmer of light in the darkness of his daily struggles, a ray of hope that pierced through the clouds of uncertainty that hung heavy over his life.

But as he considered the practicalities of the situation, a nagging sense of apprehension gnawed at the edges of his consciousness. He couldn't shake the feeling that allowing Y/n to accompany him all the way to his house would only invite trouble. Grandma Keeny was not one to tolerate such liberties, and Jonathan knew all too well the consequences of crossing her.

With a heavy heart, Jonathan weighed his options. On one hand, he longed for the companionship and warmth that Y/n's presence offered. But on the other, he couldn't bear the thought of subjecting her to the wrath of Grandma Keeny.

In the end, Jonathan found himself at a crossroads, both metaphorically and literally, as they reached an intersection. With a heavy heart, he turned to Y/n, his expression a mixture of gratitude and reluctance.

"I'm going this way," he murmured, the words stumbling awkwardly from his lips.

Y/n's smile faltered slightly at his words, a flicker of confusion dancing in her eyes. "You don't want me to keep walking with you?" she asked, her voice tinged with uncertainty.

Jonathan hesitated for a moment, torn between the desire to confide in Y/n and the fear of burdening her with his troubles. With a heavy sigh, he shook his head gently.

"It's not that," he began, his voice soft but resolute. "I just don't want to inconvenience you. It's a bit out of the way, and I wouldn't want to make you late home or anything."

Y/n regarded him with a thoughtful expression, her gaze searching his face for any sign of hesitation or discomfort. After a moment, she nodded understandingly, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips.

"Alright then," she said, her tone warm and reassuring. "Just know that the offer still stands if you ever need someone to walk with."

Jonathan felt a surge of gratitude wash over him at her words, a sense of warmth and belonging settling in the pit of his stomach. Though he couldn't bring himself to explain the full extent of his situation, he was grateful for Y/n's understanding and compassion.

With a final nod of thanks, Jonathan watched as Y/n continued on her way, her presence a comforting reminder that he wasn't alone in his struggles.

As Jonathan made his way along the footpath, the memory of Y/n lingered like a gentle breeze, offering a brief respite from the turmoil of his thoughts.

But as he neared his house, the weight of reality came crashing down upon him like a leaden blanket. The giddiness he felt began to wane, replaced by a sense of foreboding dread.

He couldn't bring himself to call it a home, not with the constant cloud of tension that hung heavy in the air. Grandma Keeny's presence loomed over the house like a specter, her disapproving gaze a constant reminder of the hell Jonathan endured within its walls.

With each step closer to the front door, Jonathan's stomach churned with a mixture of anxiety and apprehension. He knew that no matter how hard he tried, there would always be something for Grandma Keeny to find fault with.

But as he steeled himself to face whatever awaited him inside, a small voice whispered in the back of his mind, a reminder of the brief moment of solace he had found in Y/n's company. And for that fleeting moment, Jonathan allowed himself to cling to the hope that one day, he would find a place where he truly belonged.

As Jonathan entered the house, the air seemed to thicken with tension, each creak of the floorboards echoing through the house. He braced himself for the inevitable confrontation, steeling his nerves against the onslaught of Grandma Keeny's disapproving scrutiny.

Sure enough, as soon as he crossed the threshold, he was met with the sharp pang of her voice slicing through the silence like a knife. "You're late again, Jonathan," she scolded, her tone laced with thinly veiled disdain.

He hardly needed to glance at the clock to know she made that up. Jonathan bit back a retort, knowing from experience that it would only incite further wrath. Instead, he offered a mumbled apology, his gaze fixed firmly on the ground as he braced himself for the barrage of criticism that was sure to follow.

But to his surprise, Grandma Kenny's response was not as scathing as he had anticipated. "Don't let this happen again," she said curtly, her voice carrying a tone of warning.

Though her words lacked the usual venomous edge, Jonathan still felt the weight of her disapproval bearing down on him like a heavy burden. He nodded silently, knowing better than to provoke further confrontation.

As he retreated to his room. While he was grateful to have escaped unscathed this time, he couldn't shake the feeling that Grandma Keeny's temporary leniency was merely the calm before the storm.

As he settled into bed, the memory of Y/n's kind smile lingered in his mind like a flickering flame in the darkness. It was a reminder that even amidst the chaos and uncertainty, there were moments of warmth and kindness to be found.

But that moment of rest was short-lived. The tranquility shattered as Grandma Kenny's sharp voice pierced through the silence, demanding that he come downstairs to make her a coffee. Jonathan's shoulders sagged as he rolled his eyes, begrudgingly pushing himself off the bed.

-

Jonathan stood by his locker, the light of the hallway casting shadows across the floor. The low hum of students milling about filled the air, punctuated by occasional bursts of laughter or snippets of conversation. He slowly grabbed each book from his locker, the scent of aged paper and faint traces of graphite wafting up as he sifted through the contents.

With each item he retrieved, Jonathan's mind wandered, lost in the potential chance of Y/n walking past. He imagined the rhythmic tap of her footsteps echoing down the corridor, the soft rustle of her clothing as she approached. His heart quickened at the thought of her warm smile, the playful glint in her eyes that never failed to captivate him.

In his mind, Jonathan pictured Y/n strolling alongside him to class, their conversation flowing effortlessly as if they had known each other for years. He envisioned himself maintaining composure, staying cool, without the usual nervousness that plagued him in social interactions. Imagining her radiant smile directed up at him, he couldn't help but glance over his shoulder, hoping to see her.

Sure, he had only met her the day before and their only interactions were brief. Yet, in those fleeting moments, Jonathan felt a something with Y/n that bet any connection he had ever thought he shared with Sherry. The memory of his last crush on Sherry now seemed trivial and shallow in comparison to the depth of feeling he harbored for Y/n, he cringed just thinking about it.

Lost in his imagination, Jonathan nearly missed Y/n's presence walking through the hallway. She was a vision, just as captivating as the day prior. His heart quickened with anticipation, hoping for a fleeting glance from her. Yet, she passed by without so much as a glance in his direction.

Feeling a pang of disappointment, Jonathan turned back to his locker, cursing himself for entertaining such fantasies. He berated his own foolishness, knowing deep down that she wouldn't notice him. As he watched her move toward her own locker, he couldn't shake the sense of longing that lingered in his heart.

Jonathan couldn't tear his eyes away as he watched a guy approach Y/n at her locker. He felt a surge of jealousy rise within him, coupled with a gnawing sense of unease. His mind raced with scenarios, imagining the worst possible outcomes. What if this guy was her boyfriend? What if she preferred his company over Jonathan's?

He had completely forgetthen the about the possibility that she might already be in a relationship. A knot formed in his stomach as he watched them engage in conversation. He strained to hear snippets of their exchange, trying to decipher their relationship. His grip tightened on the books in his hands, his knuckles turning white with tension.

Jonathan's thoughts swirled with insecurity and doubt. He couldn't shake the feeling of inadequacy that washed over him. As he watched the interaction unfold, a sense of resignation settled over him. Perhaps it was best to keep his distance, to spare himself the inevitable disappointment of rejection.

As Jonathan closed his locker, he couldn't help but overhear the exchange between Y/n and the guy who had approached her. He lingered nearby, discreetly eavesdropping on their conversation.

“I shouldn’t have to tell you every time, I don’t want to go out with you,” Y/n's voice carried a firmness, her words laced with frustration.

The guy persisted, undeterred. “And I shouldn’t have to tell you that I’m not a bad guy. What have you got to lose?” he argued.

Y/n didn't mince her words. “I’ve watched you and your friends bully people, yet you’re gonna stand there and tell me you’re not a bad guy?” Her tone was sharp, cutting through the air with conviction.

With a dismissive roll of his eyes, the guy retorted, “It’s just a bit of fun.”

Y/n's response was final. “Goodbye, now,” she stated firmly, closing her locker and walking away, leaving the guy behind.

Jonathan felt a wave of relief wash over him as he listened to the conversation unfold. Not only did it confirm that Y/n was single, but it also revealed her refusal to entertain someone disrespectful like that guy. Yet, alongside the relief, a simmering anger brewed within him. The audacity of that guy to treat her with such disrespect ignited a fire within Jonathan. Upon getting a closer look, he recognized the guy as one of the same guys who had tormented him before, one that hangs with Bo. Aaron was a real piece of shit. 

Jonathan's gaze must have lingered for too long, for the Aaron turned to face him, his expression twisted with anger. "What are you looking at, Scarecrow?" he spat out aggressively.

Jonathan felt a surge of panic coursing through him, his muscles tensing in preparation for confrontation. However, before he could respond, the bell rang, cutting through the tension like a sharp blade. With a sense of relief, Jonathan hastily made his exit, heading off to his own class, leaving the guy behind in the hallway.

-

Jonathan managed to navigate his classes without encountering Aaron again, a small relief in an otherwise nerve racking day. As lunchtime arrived, he found himself in the crowded cafeteria.

For Jonathan, lunch was a simple affair. His pockets rarely held enough spare change to afford a cafeteria meal, and even if they did, the thought of eating the food they served was revolting in and of itself. Instead, he relied on the sandwich he'd prepared at home earlier that morning. A humble meal, but one that brought him comfort.

In the corner of the cafeteria, Jonathan sat in solitary silence, a lone figure amidst rest. With a library book propped open before him, he stole moments between bites of his homemade sandwich to immerse himself in its pages. The book was a refuge, a small rebellion against the suffocating grip of Grandma Kenny's stringent beliefs.

Jonathan didn’t want to imagine the consequences if Grandma Kenny were to discover his forbidden literary indulgence. Her wrath was legendary, her punishments cruel and unpredictable. From stupid chores to brutal beatings. Jonathan shuddered at the memory of being locked in the decrepit church, surrounded by the menacing caws of circling crows. An ordeal he'd endured more than once for daring to defy her rules.

He barely noticed that person approaching his table. Jonathan's heart jumped in his chest as he watched Aaron's hand descend upon the table with a thud, the sudden noise echoing in the cafeteria. His grip tightened on the book, his knuckles turning white, as he braced himself for whatever confrontation was about to unfold.

Aaron's smirk widened as he snatched the book from Jonathan's hands, flipping through its pages with a mocking chuckle. "What cha reading, Scarecrow?" he taunted, his voice dripping with malice.

Jonathan remained rooted to his seat, his silence a stark contrast to Aaron's brash demeanor. Yet, beneath the surface, a torrent of emotions churned within him. Fear, anger, and a deep-seated sense of vulnerability.

With a swift motion, Aaron swatted Jonathan's sandwich off the table, the force causing crumbs to scatter across the surface. Jonathan flinched at the sudden movement, his fingers twitching as if instinctively reaching out to reclaim his meal.

But he held himself back, his gaze fixed unwaveringly on Aaron. He knew better than to provoke further confrontation, especially in such a public setting. So, with a clenched jaw and a steely resolve, Jonathan remained silent, his eyes betraying none of the turmoil raging within.

Aaron's smirk widened at Jonathan's restraint, clearly relishing the power he held in this moment of dominance. With a swift motion, he tossed the book aside, its pages fluttering in protest before settling on the tabletop. 

"What's the matter, Scarecrow? Cat got your tongue?" Aaron taunted, leaning in closer, his breath hot against Jonathan's ear.

Jonathan's jaw tightened further, his fingers curling into fists beneath the table. He refused to give Aaron the satisfaction of a response, knowing that any retort would only fuel the bully's ego. Instead, he focused on maintaining his composure, willing himself to remain calm in the face of adversity.

As Aaron continued to mock and jeer, Jonathan's mind raced, searching for an escape from this uncomfortable confrontation. He knew he couldn't let Aaron intimidate him, not again. With a deep breath, Jonathan forced himself to ignore the taunts, his eyes flickering momentarily to the scattered crumbs on the table.

Just as Aaron seemed poised to escalate the situation further, a familiar voice cut through the tension like a knife. 

"Hey, Aaron, leave him alone."

Y/n stood at the edge of the table, her expression a mixture of concern and determination. Her presence seemed to catch Aaron off guard, his smirk faltering for just a moment before he composed himself.

"Mind your own business, Y/n," Aaron retorted, his tone dripping with disdain.

"And you wonder why I won’t go out with you," Y/n shot back, her voice unwavering.

Jonathan watched in awe as Y/n stood her ground, her confidence radiating in the face of adversity. He felt a surge of gratitude towards her, knowing that she had once again stepped in to defend him.

Aaron's eyes narrowed as he glared at Y/n, clearly unaccustomed to being challenged. For a moment, the cafeteria seemed to hold its breath, or atleast it did for Jonathan.

But then, with a frustrated huff, Aaron shoved himself away from the table, casting one last menacing glare at Jonathan before stalking off into the crowd.

Y/n exhaled slowly, her shoulders relaxing as the immediate threat dissipated. She turned to Jonathan with a sympathetic smile, offering him a reassuring nod.

"Are you okay?" she asked softly, concern evident in her eyes.

Jonathan nodded, gratitude swelling in his chest. "Thanks to you," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

Y/n's smile widened, and she reached out to gently squeeze his shoulder. "Anytime," she said. “You wanna come sit with my friends and me?” Y/n offered, her voice carrying a warmth that melted away some of Jonathan's anxiety.

Jonathan felt his heart flutter in his chest. Was she really inviting him to join her? He glanced down, adjusting his glasses to hide the nervousness he felt bubbling inside.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to, I just don’t want Aaron coming back to bother you,” Y/n added, her concern evident in her tone.

“I’d like that,” Jonathan replied, his voice soft but resolute.

Y/n's smile widened. Jonathan began gathering his things, carefully stowing his book in his bag before turning to his sandwich. However, his heart sank as he realized it had been scattered across the table, a casualty of Aaron's aggression.

With a frustrated huff, Jonathan began collecting the remnants of his meal, his movements tinged with embarrassment. Y/n watched him with a sympathetic gaze.

“Do you have anything else to eat?” Y/n asked gently.

Jonathan shook his head, a pang of hunger gnawing at his stomach as he disposed of the ruined sandwich in the nearby bin.

“I have some food you can have if you’d like,” Y/n offered, her voice warm and inviting.

“It’s okay, you should eat your food, don’t worry about me,” Jonathan replied, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

“It’s fine, my dad always packs me too much anyways,” Y/n insisted, her smile unwavering.

Y/n reached out a hand towards Jonathan, silently inviting him to join her. He hesitated for a moment, his heart pounding with a mixture of nervousness and gratitude, before accepting her gesture.

As they walked together towards Y/n's table, Jonathan couldn't help but steal glances at her. She walked with an effortless grace, her presence exuding a sense of comfort that eased the tension coiled within him.

Arriving at the table, Y/n pulled out a sandwich from her bag, “You can have this one, I don’t feel like eating two ham sandwiches today.” Without hesitation, she handed it to Jonathan, a small but genuine smile gracing her lips.

Jonathan accepted the sandwich with a grateful nod, his stomach rumbling in anticipation of the unexpected meal. He glanced around the table, noticing Y/n's friends chatting and laughing amongst themselves. They didn't seem to pay him much mind, but Jonathan didn't mind. His focus was solely on Y/n, her presence casting a comforting glow that made him feel at ease.

Settling into his seat, Jonathan began unwrapping the sandwich, the simple act of kindness from Y/n filling him with a sense of warmth that he hadn't felt in a long time. As he took a bite, he couldn't help but steal another glance at Y/n, feeling a sense of gratitude wash over him for her unexpected kindness.

-

It was perfect that he shared lunch with Y/n, not just because Jonathan cherished her company, but also because they had a class together, offering the perfect excuse to stroll side by side. With each step, Jonathan felt a sense of pride swell within him, as if walking with Y/n wasn’t just out of practicality, but because they were together, almost like a couple.

Y/n's lively chatter filled the air as they walked through the corridors, but Jonathan found himself lost in her presence, captivated by her every word and movement. Arriving at their classroom, they settled into their familiar seats, and Jonathan couldn't help but feel a rush of excitement as Y/n's arm brushed against his own, sending his heart into a flutter.

In that moment, Jonathan felt a sense of certainty wash over him. Y/n was meant for him, of that he was sure. Her smiles, her kindness, her very essence seemed to affirm his belief. No girl had ever shown him such warmth, and he couldn't deny the connection he felt with her.

As he sat beside her, Jonathan knew he had to ask her out. It had taken him over a week to muster the courage to ask out Sherry, but with Y/n, it felt different. She lifted his spirits effortlessly, instilling in him a newfound confidence. Though they had only known each other for a short time, Jonathan couldn't shake the feeling that she was the right one.

-

Walking out of class together, their steps echoing faintly in the empty hallway, Jonathan and Y/n exchanged casual conversation. Their last periods were both study periods, which gave them the opportunity to leave school early. As they stepped into the open air outside the building, Jonathan's heart drummed against his ribcage. He knew he had to ask her out. There was no turning back now.

Approaching the familiar corner where their paths diverged, the pair came to a halt and turned to face each other. The soft afternoon sunlight cast a warm glow around them, highlighting Y/n's radiant smile.

"Thanks for walking with me. See you tomorrow," Y/n said, her smile warming Jonathan's heart as she prepared to bid him farewell.

Summoning every ounce of courage, Jonathan spoke up, his words hanging in the air between them like delicate wisps of anticipation. "U-uh, Y/n?" he began, his voice betraying a slight tremor of nervousness.

"Yes, Jonathan?" Y/n replied, her eyes fixed on him expectantly, a gentle curiosity gleaming within them.

This was his moment. Jonathan took a deep breath, steeling himself for what he was about to do. "I-I was wondering… if y-you'd like to go out with me?" he managed to utter, his heart pounding furiously against his chest, his hands trembling ever so slightly with nervous anticipation.

As he observed her reaction, he detected a subtle change in her demeanor. The radiant smile that had graced her lips moments ago seemed to wane, replaced by a hint of saddness that creased her brow ever so slightly. Jonathan's stomach churned with apprehension as he realized he might have misread the situation.

In that moment, he felt like a complete idiot. He berated himself internally for being so stupid, for daring to hope for something more. Jonathan's gaze faltered, his eyes dropping to the ground in a gesture of defeat. He cursed his own foolishness, reprimanding himself for misinterpreting Y/n's kindness as something it wasn't.

"I'm sorry, I never should have asked," Jonathan murmured, his voice tinged with shame.

Y/n's gentle touch on his arm made him glance up, meeting her gaze once more. He was met with a look of sincerity and understanding, her eyes soft with empathy.

"No, it's not that, Jonathan..." Y/n began, her voice tender as she sought to reassure him. "I'm sorry, I do like you, Jonathan, it's just... I'm not really ready to date anyone at the moment," she explained, her words laced with a hint of guilt.

Jonathan felt a mixture of relief and disappointment wash over him. He appreciated Y/n's honesty, but he couldn't shake the sting of rejection. Nevertheless, he managed a small nod, acknowledging her words.

Jonathan's heart sank as he prepared himself for rejection, his mind already forming apologies for his audacity. But then, Y/n spoke, her voice soft yet firm, cutting through the heavy atmosphere like a beacon of hope amidst the darkness.

"It's okay, Y/n," Jonathan replied, his voice tinged with a mixture of disappointment and acceptance. "I understand. Thank you for being honest with me."

Y/n's expression softened, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips. "Thank you for understanding, Jonathan. You're a good friend."

The weight of her words settled over him, and Jonathan couldn't help but feel a sense of warmth blossom within his chest. Despite the outcome not being what he had hoped for, he found solace in the bond they shared and the prospect of their continued friendship.

With a faint smile, Jonathan mustered the courage to meet Y/n's gaze once more. "I'm glad we can still be friends," he said, his voice soft yet sincere.

Y/n returned his smile, her eyes reflecting warmth and gratitude. "Me too, Jonathan," she replied, reaching out to gently squeeze his arm.

Jonathan's heart swelled as she suddenly pulled him closer, wrapping him in a warm embrace. His breath caught in his throat, momentarily stunned by the unexpected gesture. He hesitated for a moment before tentatively returning the hug, savoring the fleeting moment between them.

As Y/n pulled away, Jonathan couldn't help but feel a pang of longing, wishing he could hold onto the moment just a little longer. He watched in awe as she walked away, her figure disappearing down the street. Despite the bittersweet twinge of unrequited feelings, Jonathan couldn't help but feel a sense of admiration for Y/n's grace and kindness.

He knew that she was the one he wanted to be with. Her kindness, understanding, and genuine nature spoke volumes to him, reaffirming his belief that she was worth waiting for.

As he watched her walk away, Jonathan couldn't help but feel a profound sense of connection to her, a feeling he hadn't experienced with anyone else before. He knew that their bond was special, even if it wasn't romantic just yet. And while he longed for more, he was willing to be patient, knowing that good things often took time.

With a wistful smile, Jonathan silently vowed to cherish their friendship and support Y/n in any way he could. He was willing to wait for her, confident that their paths would eventually align in the future. And as he continued on his journey home, he carried with him a sense of hope and anticipation, knowing that she was worth the wait.

-

A/N: Sorry this took so long to come out, as usual, uni shit 💀 (cause I'm a dumb ass doing a double major) I set this after the Halloween party, so Jonathan probably should have been more aggressive and all that shit, but in the comic, he's all shy and all that stuff with Sherry (before the prank), so I wanted to keep along those lines. I really hope I did this request justice as I loved it so much. Thank you all for reading and I hope you liked it as much as I liked writing it 💚

#fanfic #jonathan crane #jonathan crane fanfic #jonathan crane x reader #batman #nolanverse #comic book jonathan crane #comicbook jonathan crane #canon jonathan crane #high school jonathan crane #young jonathan crane #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy scarecrow #cillian x reader #cillian fic #cillian murphy #cillian x fem!reader #the dark knight trilogy #the dark knight #batman scarecrow #batman begins #dc scarecrow #the scarecrow #scarecrow #comic book scarecrow #scarecrow x reader

[ladymarycrawley]

Like father, like daughter - John Stones

Not requested but I've been woking on this piece for a while so there you go 💕 and dad! John is a weakness of mine so yeah (and it's quite long). Feel like dedicating this to queen herself @footballffbarbiex 🤍

Warning: pregnancy

Tag list: @prideofpd, @johnstonesfc, @chelsealover, @masonxomount, @kathb59 (cause she was eager to read it)

Pregnancy is seen in the collective consciousness as a blessed time, where a new life is growing inside of a woman’s body and everything seems good but most people only see the pleasurable side of it, ignoring all the cons these nine long months carry with them.

Of course there’s physical pain (back pain, swollen feet, morning sickness just to mention a few), that’s something concrete everybody can see. What’s more painful it’s the hidden part of this journey, the one that takes place in women’s head: embarking on such a massive change might be scary and sometimes fear overlaps with the joy of welcoming a new human being, overcoming it most of the time.

The most common worry is about not being ready enough to become a parent (as it’s the hardest job a person can do) followed by the difficulty of giving birth: how is it going to be? What will I do if something wrong happens? Will it be as painful as they make it seem in films? 

All of this has an impact on mental health and stability, as all these fears may take a toll on a person’s mind and rely on the most disparate stimuli to give life to the most random scenarios…

"John I'm so scared"

"Of what?"

"There's people who like pregnant women but not in a good sense…"

"In what sense?"

"Like they find them hot and have a fetish for them, that's scary"

That what can be defined as one of the random scenarios mentioned above: that afternoon you were aimlessly scrolling through your phone to stumble upon an article about the most unusual fetishes and you happened to read about people who had the pregnancy kink.

"So what?"

"That's gross and what if these people steal my pics and do vile things with them?"

Your head started spiralling in panic as your hormones and your unstable state of mind was totally controlling you. Too many thoughts in that overworking brain of yours culminated in desperate tears rolling down your face. 

"Your pics are safe and you look so sexy"

"I don't, this thing is insanely big and…and the other day you called me whale" You confessed to him as sobs were making you shake.

"Affectionately though, I'd never call you a whale to insult you…" He wrapped his arms around your waist "You're the sexiest, most beautiful whale ever" John whispered with a husky voice right into your neck

"You're fake, you're just mean"

"I'm not mean!"

The sobs were getting harder and your boyfriend knew the breakdown was getting serious.

"You'll leave me for some beautiful, hotter woman that'll give you no problems and you'll be cheating on me and I'll end up as a single mother and -"

"Hold on, hold on. Calm down and take a deep breath" John tried to calm you, stressing those encouraging words and trying to take deep breaths with you as to show you the priorities you should have considered. 

"You're overthinking"

"What if something goes wrong? What if the birth doesn't go as planned? What if our baby -"

"Calm down"

"I've read a lot of stories of mums that had horrible experiences while giving birth to their babies and what if one of us dies?"

John blurted out his eyes in shock as fear and worry covered his perfect face as well.

"Don't even think about it. We're following literally what the doctor told us, I'm sure they'll do whatever it's in their power for your safety"

Your baby kicked in that moment, as if your worry suddenly became her own and she felt the urge to calm you down, coming to the aid of her dad.

You gulped and brought your hand to your belly as John’s eyes never lost sight of you.

He’d never lost sight of you, not even when you went through labour and you were holding his hand so tightly while following the midwife’s instructions, trying to coordinate your pushes with the deep breaths she was asking you to take.

You were trying not to think about all the fears that piled up during those months but it was so hard when all the contractions trampled over you so violently. He stayed there even when you were squeezing his hand so hard your nails dug into his skin, almost piercing it. 

He was the antidote to all your nightmares: someone who stayed there with you, holding your hand through thick and thin.

John only left at nightfall and only after you insisted for him to go back home to sleep on a proper bed.

You were feeling like a done and dusted whale, all bloated and tired while he was there looking so fine, surely fresh out of the shower as the unmistakable scent of his aftershave tickled your nostrils.

The sight of him entering what had been your room for the last two days made your heart swell and the butterflies in your stomach soar.

The tiredness painted across your face as well as your swollen eyes made your freshly woken up expression evident and John couldn’t help but smile as your tired smile welcomed him.

"Hi"

"Good morning"

He closed the door behind him, approaching your bed and looking at the small crib where your tiny baby girl was sleeping.

"How are you? Did you get some sleep?"

"Yep…slept a couple more hours"

"Good" He muttered while pressing his lips to your forehead.

"And how is she?"

Both your glances fell on the product of your love that was so small she could easily fit in one of John's large hands and looked so cute in her blush pink bodysuit, stretching her little legs as she was probably busy dreaming something. 

"She seems fine, we can't wait to go back home"

"I know…they said you would be good to go today"

"Yeah but they want to check in on us for a final check and then we can go"

"Okay" John was a bit disappointed he couldn't take his ladies with him and leave the hospital right away so he reluctantly nodded and got up to take you something to eat for breakfast. 

"I want a giant chocolate croissant"

"And a giant cappuccino as well?" He asked with a smirk, knowing full well your taste when it came to what to have for the most important meal of the day.

"You know me so well" You exclaimed, happy with those small things that weren't small at all in your eyes; they meant the world to you as him and your baby were now your whole world too.

John smiled, a blush pink tint colouring his cheeks and lowered himself over your seated figure, balancing himself on the mattress with his hands, his lips busy pressing a kiss on your forehead.

"See? Everything went well, you're both doing great" He whispered, referring to your fear of something potentially going wrong during the birth, your biggest fear.

You smiled back at him, watery eyes full of weariness and emotions looked up at him as you moved your head to the side to press a tender kiss to his hand that was soothingly caressing your cheek.

“I love you so much. Both of you”

“I love you more”

That sweet moment was interrupted by a nurse who knocked on your room’s door to check in on you and Iris, as it was time for the last visit before discharging you officially.

John waited outside for it to be over, using that time to buy you the delicious breakfast you have been longing for.

He really hoped they could give you the green light to go back home because that would have meant everything was okay and you were perfectly healthy. So he prayed to hear the good news he was waiting for, to see your baby in that white wooden cot you spent a whole day choosing at the store, paired with that flowery pink bedding set his sister gave you as a gift and that had you crying as soon as you opened the box.

After fifteen minutes or so the nurse opened the door followed by the medical staff who welcomed your boyfriend with a smile, the doctor holding your file in her hands. She complimented John on your newborn and told him what he was dying to hear: you and Iris’s health status was good and you were ready to leave the hospital.

He thanked her and nodded when she gave him some quick advice on how to take care of them during the delicate moments following the baby’s birth.

After saying their goodbyes quickly John rushed back to your room with a big grin plastered on his lips.

"We're going home babies" He cooed, taking the duffle bag with all your personal belongings.

“Not so fast, Stonesy” You chuckled “Help me get out of this bed so we can get ready”

The City player giggled and helped you step out of the bed so you could stand up properly. The standing posture made you feel pain in places in didn't even know they existed and the grimace on your face told it all.

“I’ll take the baby and all her things while you put all your stuff in here” He said, directing his tall body towards the crib where his princess was looking at him with her blue eyes. “Yes baby, you’ll come with dada” 

The moment you dreamt of a lot, that is to say John making his silly little voice to speak to your daughter, finally happened and it brought genuine tears to your eyes: funny how a small, tiny creature that you met for the first time no more than 72 hours earlier, that shared every single second of the last nine months of your life with you suddenly became the most important, priceless treasure you ever put your hands on. 

You thought there were some feelings it was impossible to give form to and love was one of them, but you had to change your mind the moment you took her in your arms because you  realised the human being you were holding was the embodiment of all the love you had for her dad. So some feelings, even the strongest one, had a shape and it was astonishingly beautiful.

“Oh I see you’re already taking the baby and leaving me with the heavy things” You mumbled, feigning being angry at him.

“You had her with you for 9 months, don’t be selfish”

“Me selfish?? Oh I’d have really liked you to carry her in your belly for 9 f-”

“Oi don’t swear in front of the baby”

You laughed seeing him all concerned and covering Iris’ ears as he was glaring at you. You shook your head as you slowly started to collect all your things around the hospital room.

“Give me my breakfast, I’m starving”

“See? Your mum has already changed and uses me as her butler and credit card”

His joke caused you to roll your eyes as you were trying to get dressed while dealing with your yet aching body.

You were in some baggy pants and an oversized hoodie because it was the only outfit you were feeling like wearing as John was there looking as flawless as usual even though his fit was quite simple: a pair of jeans matched with a gray jumper and a baseball cap on made him look hotter than usual. The child seat he was carrying with your baby girl in was making him even look like a real hot daddy and your heart was bursting with love. The right word to describe how you were feeling was blessed.

When you finally stepped foot in your house you sighed in satisfaction as you just wanted to get in your bed and cuddle with your new family in peace, eating some good junk food if possible.

“Home sweet home”

John smirked and carefully put the child seat on the floor so he could take Iris out of it.

“Welcome home, baby” He lifted her up to place her against his shoulder so her head could rest against it, as they showed him in the hospital. “This is your home”

“I’ve missed it so much…I think I’m going to lay down for a while”

Lying down on your own bed, on the bed sheets you chose, in the room you shared with the man of your life gave you that much needed home feeling.

You closed your eyes in the attempt to relax but the level of weariness, of emotions you had experienced recently didn’t make it any easier for you to sleep a little.

"Ok so I'm gonna go"

"I don't wanna see anyone" You mumbled when John finally entered your room, cradling Iris in his arms. When he looked down at her to see she was asleep, he put her in the wooden cot right next to your bed.

He couldn’t help but smile: that sight was the closest to perfection he had ever seen, as that piece of furniture that had been empty for all those past weeks was now full as it should have been, hosting the most important treasure ever.

"Not you, idiot. I just wanna see you and our baby" You grumbled as your voice came out feebly due to your state of tiredness.

John smiled and was about to sit next to you on the bed as your phone started ringing, much to your dismay. You groaned in annoyance.

"Who the fuck is now?"

"Your mum"

"Tell her I can't talk, I'm sleeping"

He nodded and swiped on the screen to do as he was told. You knew your mum was dying to talk to you, to make sure you were doing okay but you just wanted to enjoy the peace of the moment and keep that special moment for you only.

When he finished talking, he finally climbed on the bed and you soon were all over him, wrapping your arms around his body and letting your head rest against his chest with your eyes closed breathing in his familiar scent, the best fragrance in the world to you.

"Are you comfortable? Maybe it's better if you lay on a pillow"

"Nope, you're my comfiest pillow"

John scoffed with a half smile and kissed your head.

"Wanna watch something on Netflix?"

"Nope, too tired" You muttered, cuddling closer to his chest.

John's lips curved in a smile as he brushed his thumb against your right cheekbone.

He then scrolled through his phone, answering all the text messages the people he knew sent him ahead of your baby girl's birth.

"What are you doing?" You really wanted and needed to crack some sleep but your mind wasn't agreeing as the level of adrenaline in your body was still too high, plus you wanted to stay awake to spend some time with John and checking on Iris. 

"Answering all the texts they've sent for Iris"

"Read me some" You wanted nothing more than to bask in the sweet words of people congratulating you, saying how beautiful your baby was and how strong you've been through all the process. After all you deserved all those sweet words: bringing a child into the world is something so brave people tend to underestimate sometimes.

John pressed play on a voice note from Kyle that made you both laugh, then read you one from Jack and at that moment your own phone rang with a notification and you asked John to check who it was from.

"It's from Sasha, she answered the pic you posted with "congrats you gorgeous mama"

"Aww she's always the sweetest"

"Well, you're everything but gorgeous now…"

"HEY" You threw a fist against his bicep with the little strength that was left in you. "I just pushed your daughter out of my vagina, you should be a little more grateful"

John loved getting on your nerves, making your thin-skinned side come to surface. He giggled, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear.

"I know I look awful and I stink as I really need to take a shower but I can't, I'm so tired" The whiny tone you pronounced those last words with was about to turn into a desperate cry but John took action just in time.

"You know I was joking" He took your face in his hands to look right into your eyes "I'd get you pregnant again right now if I could"

"Liar"

He laughed and kissed your forehead.

"I'll help you with the shower later on"

When your baby whined a little in her sleep the little yelp caught your attention as you both turned your heads towards the crib.

"There's the blanket over there, put it over her" You gestured for him to take the pink honeycomb blanket to cover your baby girl's sleeping body.

She looked so cute with that tiny blanketyou fell in love with as soon as your eyes took sight of it on the shop’s shelf and you had no doubt it would have been perfect for your beautiful baby.

“Can you believe we made her?” You asked John in awe as he was lovingly tucking her in. You got up to join him, encircling his waist with your right arm and putting your head against his bicep. "We made her teeny tiny feet, those little hands..."

“Yeah…you know what they say?”

“What?”

“Daughters tend to be more similar to their dads in the looks”

“So?”

“So if she’s beautiful that’s all thanks to me... even Kyle said it”

Another thing the collective consciousness ignored was the post pregnancy period: the danger of post-pregnancy depression was real but you knew you had the most handsome dad in the world who would have helped you along the path, even when the downs would have outnumbered the ups.

“Yeah Stones…I think you and your friend need some sleep too…you’re hallucinating”

And no, you weren't upset at all: you only wished for your daughter to be the carbon copy of her amazing father. So you hoped deep down your heart the Kyle was right.

#john stones #john stones x y/n #john stones x reader #john stones x you #john stones fluff #john stones imagines #john stones fanfic #john stones fanfictions #mcfc #manchester city #manchester city imagines #premier league #premier league imagines #england nt #england nt fics #england nt imagines #football imagines #football fanfictions #footie fics #football writing

[gaymurdersalad]

[in tune to "It's Been So Long" by the living tombstone] Its been so long......since Chribs has posted on gaymurdersalaaaad.....we miss the colored weirdoooos...... 😔

[ HEY GUYS!

You’re right, Dear Asker, it has been so long! I took a little trip into the winding void of liminal hell and had to fight for my very soul, and yes, I do have a slideshow of the sights prepared, but I’m sure you all don’t want to see that. It’s fine. I’m fine.

On a real note my friends, I got hit with the worst workload I have ever had in my entire life. School is a bitch right now. End of the year coming up. Exams. GPA. All the fun stuff of which I’m sure is triggering many an unpleasant sensory experience in your fellow struggling brains. Long story short, I got so busy I could barely draw, then got hyper fixated on a TV show, picked up three others, then stardew valley got an update and I’ve been gnawing the meat off of that poor game’s bones for like the past week now. I’ve been so exhausted that all I can do is play game and watch show when I get home. I’m not promising that this will improve either, but I am on spring break finally, so who knows how that will shape up.

Thank you all for being patient with me. I still check my notifications and I still smile every time one of you reblogs or shoots an ask into the void mailbox. It’s keepin’ me going! When I’m writing essay after essay I think about the blog and everything I’m gonna do once I spare an ounce of motivation and free time and I get all giddy and excited and shit! It’s awesome! I love this place and I love you all very much!

I haven’t got much else to say now. I have indeed spent all day {first completing an essay} watching Wendigoon and playing stardew… So I guess I’m a boygirl of my word in that regard. I hope you all will like what’s coming next! I’ve got some concrete stuff planned and I’ve been playing around with a couple fun things to throw in for. Fun. Possibly. Phone Related. You didn’t hear that from me though.

Goodbye y’all! Thank you all for your patience! Your regularly scheduled programming will resume, uh… Un-Regularly! Alas it shall resume!

Yours Chribsfully,

~ Mod Chribs ]

#not salad

[imperial-agent]

Out of pure curiosity, what do you think is missing from Halsin's story?

after writing it all down, i realized it's not just what's missing but also what's broken, inconsistent and shallow about Halsin, hopefully that still answers your question :)

his backstory in the underdark comes out of nowhere and is never again brought up!! it is, in fact, brushed off as just some silly goofy thing that happened to him once!! hihi haha i was a sex slave for two years. im so embarrased to tell you this, tav haha anyways how about round two with the twins ??? while im standing speechless mouth agape struggling to process the story he just told me. to say it was written and handled poorly is putting it mildly

he is shown to be a shrewd person (with his francesca choice for the new archdruid back in emerald grove) so expand on that! show that he's more than just a pile of muscles! show me he's cunning and has bite! there's so much political intrigue in act 3, have him comment on it, on gortash's plan, have Halsin compare it to some other people/events that happened in the past and how they mirror what's currently happening in baldur's gate, my dude is 3 50, he's seen some shit im sure, even living in the forest the news would reach him so no excuses

he's so closely tied to act 2 i have no clue why he's locked off as a companion till you find daniel (which on my first playthrough was just before attack on moonrise, that almost made my blood boil bc not even 2 hours later orin snatched him up??? and i was like?? ok?? she took who? i barely know the guy?). i think he's too tight-lipped about what happened all those years ago with the shadowcurse and i would have loved to hear more about it (like the implication of him killing isobel and the conflict with the thorms)

I need him to be the biology/nature expert equivalent to Gale with his weave expertise. he should have more to say about the worms!! he should be studying you under the microscope the entire game!!!! literally bring back all the missing EA halsin dialogue!! i should be able to drag his ass into the underdark!!! I WANT HIS KNOWLEDGE! I WANT IT TO BRING BACK BAD MEMORIES! expand on drows and their culture in this game by using halsin as the conduit that tells you everything he learned from spending his time here!! so maybe that info dump in act 3 about him being a slave wouldn't come out of nowhere

i refuse to believe he'd have nothing to say about the elder brain after seeing it. i want him to be absolutely repulsed, terrified but also intrugied by the mindflayer colony under moonrise, i want him to cautiously study every nook and cranny there and offer his insight

absolutely baffled he won't say anything to that one dragonborn druid back in baldur's gate that is trying to keep a tree alive???? for all his distain for the cities he sure is quiet here, seeing nature failing in the middle of it while a guy is desprately trying to keep it alive. maybe make it so these two actually manage to turn this spot into something more beautiful, a lush tree in the middle of a concrete road that attracts people who come over to relax in its shade

if they bring up his hatred of the city life, why not let me turn him into a full on shadow druid (which is already hinted on during one of the conversations with him in act 3), kind of how you can keep shadowheart a shar worshipper or steer her toward selune. plant some seeds of his loathing back in act 2, how nature had to be sacrificed because people had delusions of grandure (the elder brain plot and the thorms) etc

besides wanting to cure the shadowcurse and enjoying whittling there's nothing more to this guy. after the curse is lifted all he's got are the ducks.............. once he'll mention he doesn't like the city life. okay, you've been on this earth good 350 years, my guy, you know how cities are don't act surprised

an alternative ending is missing, you should be able to go with him

personally, i think his personality is missing because he is too flat and frankly, boring. he is too agreeable even if you're a meanie to others. just as long as you don't kill innocents he's a ride or die. it's not his fault of course, he's just badly written, too surface level. which is a terrible shame bc i'm so in love with him but i'd like to fall for his personality too. once there's a fleshed out one. so it's quite hard to speculate on what's missing about a guy there's barely any information on in-game tho :'(

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #reply #halsin #if i sound critical it's bc when i love something i criticize it the most #and he's got the potential #he just didnt get the time to cook in the oven #halsin 🤝 wyll #i didnt proofread it's 11:30pm im going to sleep

[rain-in-the-clouds]

I know this isn’t what I’d normally post, but I’m having transformers brain rot and need to just blah. Anyhow, I’m writing a one shot cus bring rot, and doin my normal thing or drawing what I’m writing, and I’ve hit the square wall. I love drawin the bots, but I always feel like I’m puttin to much effort into the details. But this time, idk I’m happy, but cautious. What do y’all think? They’ll be a snip if from the one shot at the end.

Eh? I like it so far. One shot peek below!

————

Inside the Bunker sat all the bots and humans on the makeshift furniture, gathered together, sharing stories from their time apart, history of both Cybertron and earth. Bee sat with Charlie on the 'human couch' close by his side, a loose servo wrapped around her waist; Sari was on the opposite side, laying on her back with her head propped up on Bee's leg. On the largest 'couch' sat Optimus, Prowl and Bulkhead, Miko was still on his shoulder, but Sam was at his desk on the platform a few feet above (he was bombarding Prowl with all the data he'd collected while they were gone) Jack was also sitting on the platform, his legs swinging out over the edge, Chromia leaning on the wall besides him; something they'd always do to talk and be at eye level. Arcee stood next to the couch's armrest, idly talking to both Bulkhead and Chromia. Mirage was standing a bit off from the group, leaning against the wall that shares the door, optics near burning a hole into the concrete with how deep in thought he was; only brought out of it by Bee chucking an empty paint can at the mech, a whining buzz emitting from his voice box, almost a chuckle.

“What'd'er you tryin' t'do man, make me look worse?” The joke had Bee shaking his head and rolling his optics. But Mirage was admittedly lost in his own helm.

Optimus saw straight through it. “Thinking about Noah?” Mirage optics widened for a split second before he sighed to himself.

“Just missin' the action the dude brought.” Mirage still played it off, though his friends know him well enough that they dropped the subject. However Prime still held that signature look of concern.

But the group stopped in their conversing when the familiar sound of a car pulling into the cave garage called their attention to the Bunker's entrance. But no one came through. Sari, like the rest of the group, followed the sounds with her gaze till it stopped just above the platform. The teen furrowed her brows together, wondering what exactly Y/n was doing now; in this vein of thought, she sprung up from her spot, ran to the front entrance and smacked the lever to shut the door before running up the platform stairs and into the small hidden house. Despite the optics and eyes on her, she bounded forward until she was in the middle of the kitchen. Bee stole a glance to Charlie, who simply shrugged, also puzzled by their daughters antics.

#transformers #transformers rise of the beasts #mirage #mirage x reader #mirage fanart #fanfiction #fanfic #digital art

[regencyofhell-if]

So...I fucked up, but in I think a good way?

Let me explain.

Regency of Hell somehow got turned into a novel instead of an IF, so I've been making attempts to pace back, but rather than redo everything I've already done, I'm thinking of keeping the project a novel instead.

I am fully aware that this is going to disappoint a great deal of you, but I'm in talks with a publication company thanks to one of my friends who is a local legend in the poetry scene recommending my work to them. If I complete the final draft of the book by spring, I will finally have accomplished my lifelong dream of being a published author.

Obviously, I can't name the company I'm working with here, but I will give more information as things fall into place and everything is set into concrete. What I can tell you so far is this:

There will be three books total. That is not changing.

Book one currently stands at 278 pages, and that is before editing. Everything is still in that horrifying stage between rough draft and second draft where I just keep picking it apart like a worn old scab.

I'm still open to recreating this IF as a sort of "choose your own adventure" type of story, but for now, it's all going in a different direction.

Twine is still evil.

It took me a long while to admit to myself that writing interective fiction is not something I can personally do. I tip my proverbial hat to the amazing IF writers out there who can do it, but my pea-brain can't help but make an absolute mess of things when multiple choices are involved. So rather than see the project die, I'm going to just go in another direction and take a shot at accomplishing something I've wanted since I was a kid imagining my name on a book jacket in the library.

I almost didn't want to post this update because I knew it was going to upset a lot of you, but at the same time, I couldn't just leave the page in limbo. So I'm sorry if this isn't the news you wanted or expected. However, I'm still hoping to have your support when I get the publishing deal. It would mean the absolute world to me.

I'm going to end this note here and just say thank you to everyone who has supported RoH thus far. This isn't a closing chapter, it's just a new beginning with plenty more to come.

I love you all and hope you have an amazing holiday season.

Nik

#regency of hell if #update

[blinkpen]

hmmm self motivational rambling yaaa

i will survive, i have such a passionate and surreal character-driven story to finish sculpting and share and i don't even want to get stupid rich off it, i don't want the kinds of algorithmic fame an investor would demand as a goal, i don't want the eyes on me specifically or whats the biggest household name starpower i can attach to myself, so much as i want the story to exist and finally be as concrete an expression it can be that exists outside of myself, as someone whose strange brain struggles to communicate outside the vehicle of their art, and feels outright alien at times, but in spite of it all, wants to have at least this method of interaction, and maybe even to be understood

i don't want it to exist just to eventually pump out merch and expanded universes and more merch and more of itself for its own sake,

i value the integrity of my work and what it has to say for itself, and i want to remain a recluse to a degree, like bill watterson, an inspiration in this regard

i want my work to inspire emotions and thoughts and self reflection, i want the horror to unsettle, but the resolutions to satisfy, i want it to tear into some and bring healing to others who might not have even known they needed it, to inspire other people to understand the strange, and inspire the strange to survive should that fail, and survive as kindly as we can manage, if we can manage it

but also survival can require throwing hands and we're not going to lie and pretend it doesn't bc this is written for Actual grown ups

another thing i want is to actually respect the intelligence and free will of my audience to form their own opinions; and of course, hope they recognize when i gave them these discussions about these characters and their actions intentionally, that some situations have ambiguity for a reason (another aspect of why i'd like to remain a recluse in a way is to avoid being treated as a combat summon in overheated headcanon battles, when a situation was clearly left ambiguous/up to the audience to sit n digest on purpose

bc it is indeed a whole lot about these characters and how they think and behave and navigate the nigh-apocalyptic obstacles they regularly face over the span of two particular characters' lives from basically the day they met onward, because there was, in fact, no era of their life boring enough to just skip or get reduced to flashback

so we dont see years of hardened characters with a hint of a soft side hidden away and then we learn why they're like that. i mean we get that for some, but largely, we are watching the hardening process (or the universe sure trying its absolute gosh darn fatherpegging best in that regard) happen in real time.

until you have to start worrying Which random ambiguously malevolent force of the week is going to be the camel's spine-breaking straw, possibly when they aren't even the biggest threat this quarter but entirely by chance of showing up when the wrong fucking character was in the wrong fucking mood for whatever Effect that creature has to cause havoc, and that's it

what would normally be the angsty backstory, be The story we watch unfold in real time. really getting the feel for the characters as multifaceted and carved into the shape they are by their experiences, vs just kind of popping out of the ground ready to fill the role they're in for the roster. like entire dynamics change and shift. characters have their opinions changed (or don't). some characters yoyo in some intentionally insufferable but believable ways. some you will be doomed to watch only ever get worse. not all of them! but some. and some aren't so much doomed to only ever get worse, but you'll probably start threatening to burn my house by the end if they don't catch a fucking break already, and the right when it seems like its time to get the flamethrower,

oh shit

a kitkat bar! just for them! fuck yeah [bites into it horizontal like its a square cookie to the absolute horror on onlookers]

yknow. stuff like that

also becoming friends and possibly making out with whatever the hot fresh minty hell this Thing is (her name is Mulu, and if applebee's existed in the setting, she'd love going there entirely because she'd like the imaginary bug conjured in her mind in response to hearing the name, and why yes, she would share a cup of sugar and/or Gender with you)

#sporadic warbling #oc babble #this work exists for me first n formost? but i also don't want people to only find it in full while clearing possessions once i bite it #i want to have a functional support network/the resources i need to prevent creator breakdown influencing things too much #dare we call it 'dodging henry darger'-core

[moodyseal]

Tell us more abt your hyacinthus winter soldier au 👀👀

HELLO thank you for giving me an excuse to talk your ear off about it, you will probably regret it <3

To be completely honest I still haven't planned anything that's worth of an actual fic (who do you take me for? An organized person? HA) but I would lie if I said that I didn't think about it a lot, so

As you know, somehow in this AU Hyacinthus came back to life and started working for the emperors

The dynamics of how, exactly, it all happened are pretty undefined as of now, but that's secondary information and it's not really important. (Maybe.)

What you need to know though is that Commodus is the one who takes him in, because of course he does. Hyacinthus is the perfect revenge against Apollo, after all, both because he's known to be his greatest love, and seeing him side against him would hurt Apollo a lot, and because, whatever happened, Commodus would always have leverage against Apollo, in a "You don't want to do what I tell you? Well look what I can do to your precious little flower" sort of way

He also uses this as an excuse to get back at Hyacinthus himself, too—something that is a direct result his festering inferiority complex and the can of worms that are, again, his feelings upon seeing the one man Apollo's name is always associated with

Hyacinthus is a better man and fighter than him even when he's brainwashed and he just CAN'T stand it

It all worsens once he sees how much Lester is still attached to Hyacinthus, and how hard he tries to get him to snap back. He never cared that much for him after all, did he?

On Hyacinthus' end this all borders less on the side of drama and more on the side of comedy LMAO

While not being able to discern right from wrong atm, as he's been coerced into absolute obedience through very shady means, he has this unexplainable feeling inside him that he really, really doesn't like Commodus (which intensifies every time Commodus starts another one of his long rants about how bad and evil and selfish Apollo is and about how he'll absolutely get his revenge) and he expresses that through little jabs he makes in his direction that Commodus can't really do anything about because they are worded in a way that makes them seem innocuous

On the other hand, he's on civil terms with the rest of the "staff", so to speak, and some even respect him because of how skilled he is (specifically Lityerses) so he does have some allies there

They don't actually know who he is though since, while he works for the emperors, Hyacinthus is never referred to by his own name, but always by some sort of epithet

(This is why Meg never made the connection either, despite knowing the myth well enough to inform Grover that Hyacinthus was Apollo's boyfriend)

It's mostly a measure they take so Hyacinthus doesn't remember his past before they're actually done using him

As for Apollo and Hyacinthus' relationship in this, it's a bit complicated, because Apollo changes his stance and tries to get him on his side the moment Hyacinthus' disguise drops, while Hyacinthus doesn't remember him. At all. So his efforts don't really work

Which results in a lot of frustration and hurt feelings

Despite this, Hyacinthus' unexplainable feelings persist. And he's very confused :)

I'm still not sure when this would be set—I wanted to either limit this to The Dark Prophecy or make it a "he appears occasionally as a spy or something until they find out who he is" thing that spans over the five books (without actually retelling the whole story though because holy shit that would be exhausting) but that's something that can be figured out later oof

Anyway, keep in mind that this is all just a result of my daydreaming, so if I actually write something concrete about this, some plot points might change!! And also the dynamics!! And the vibes in general!!! My brain is just a dumpster fire tbh so expect a lot of mental U-turns here

#trials of apollo #toa #pjo #apollo #lester papadopoulos #hyacinthus #au #lonely thoughts #ask #i hope i managed not to tom holland myself #and reveal too much #i just can't shut up sometimes you know #sigh #sometimes i also say too little though #so lmk if there's anything specific you wanted to know!!

[carionto]

Making everything canon is gonna bite me, oh well - time to steal from H.P. Lovecraft!

All the little pieces of writing I've done are part of the same verse I'm cobbling together. My brain is like an army of chimps with rocks on typewriters. I probably don't have the capacity to keep everything in mind and consistent, but I think attempting to do so would be a good mental exercise. I have decided, at least for now, not to describe or name any aliens, they just serve as a perspective character to witness Humans being an exaggerated version of themselves, and as a means to give Humanity something more to do. At least I have put in some restrictions - no time travel for one, that's a mess even good writers struggle with, and I'm just some random scribbler. But, I think I want Cthulu as well. I mean, I sorta already have something similar with the in-between vague monster, but I don't know what I'll do with that, and I want a more concrete thing, so it's happening:

____________________________________

In the lowest pits below the surface that lies beneath the endless pressure of the watery grave, a rumbling disturbs a being deeper still in a slumber from before the counting of eons.

It does not wake so easily though.

Many more thumps and bumps and thwacks and booms scarcely make their way down the webway of cracks and tunnels and caves and crevices that stretch across this insignificant pale blue dot.

It cares for not one of them.

A flicker unlike all others. One being stares at another. Still slumbering, yet fully aware and staring back. For such beings eternities pass by without notice, and moments of import last beyond the span of the cosmos within the confines of their impossible minds.

Neither blink. The flicker ends, and so does their contest.

Gently nudged by a bigger boom, then a small hole appears and begins to vent some soothing pressure. Disturb any beings rest and the consequences are dire, this one has yet to decide to awaken. Yet another flicker soon after, will the other dare stare at it again?

No. The other gazes at nothingness, past the being.

What is over there?

Many nothings. So many as to make the whole less than nothing. Perhaps a something that should be a nothing. Now the nothings are spreading out, the whole becoming closer to nothing yet again. Then a distant something is beginning to end before it should. Now an eye gently opens just a little. These matters are for beings to decide and no others.

Who is acting out of turn?

_____________________

Relevant stories for context: Disturbances The "flicker" Something is ending

#humans are deathworlders #humans are space oddities #humans are space australians #humanity fuck yeah #humans are space orcs #cthulhu #story #scifi #carionto #worldbuilding

[annarts05]

What if your story is predictable?

You’re writing a story, and you feel like it’s predictable. Like the readers can guess the ending before they’re halfway through. Or that twist in the middle? Nah, not a twist if they see it coming, right?

Okay, let’s analyze this. First things first. 

Ask yourself if it really is predictable, and do you have concrete evidence of that?

It might just feel predictable to you because you know how it ends, and you’ve scrutinized your work to the point your brain might explode. 

If you’re writing a cheesy romance akin to a Hallmark Christmas movie, then I think we all know the ending from the start. And yet, people still watch them...food for thought. 

Which is an important idea.

It’s not all about how the story ends; it’s about the journey to the ending.

People typically fall back on comfort and familiarity when they feel stressed. It’s safe, warm, fills them with fuzzy feelings. If a story is easily guessable, it follows those well-worn grooves and the readers can sense how the story will end without even really thinking about it. 

But even those who spoil books/movies for themselves will still watch or read it because they want to find out how the characters got to the end.

What obstacles did they crash into on the way? How many sweet moments did my two favorite characters share? Were any stomach-turning, heart-wrenching secrets revealed?

Unpredictable doesn’t always mean better. It has to make sense. 

What’s the point of adding plot twists if it annoys or confuses the reader? Don’t do it unless it’ll add something to the story, and compliment existing plot points, characters, and themes. It has to make sense, progress the plot, and/or change something in a character (part of their arc).

If the readers guess the plot twist, it simply means you lay the groundwork correctly. 

You followed the grooves. You hid the correct hints or did the math and got an A. It’s making sense. Why wouldn’t the reader think that’s what’s coming next? Is it not the most logical conclusion?

There’s nothing wrong with the tried-and-true and common tropes. There’s also nothing wrong with being creative and utilizing funky elements of your story to make something unique, as long as it all makes sense.

#writing #writing tips #writing advice #writing reference #creative writing #writing community #writing side of tumblr #writers #writing rants

[dracowars]

hi! can I make a request where reader hid that she’s a member of dumbledore’s army to draco and draco only knew when they got busted ? thank you very much! i love your works !!

step on my heart | draco malfoy

pairing: draco x reader

word count: 1,4k

summary: where y/n lies to draco about dumbledore’s army

a/n: it’s been a while! thank you to everyone who is still here, reading my fics <3

warnings: angst, mentions of blood, cursing

universe: harry potter

The moment a deafening bang rings out through the Room of Requirement, you recoil in fear, dropping your wand on the floor in shock. Rocks that broke off the wall due to the sudden explosion fly through the room, dragging a huge layer of dust behind them. Standing still, you have to endure how several pieces of the concrete wall hit you painfully, cutting your skin open. The dense dust swirling around the air blocks your view momentarily, making you violently cough several times as it works its way into your lungs. Your school uniform is covered in fine dust, as is your hair. You press your lips together in pain and look at the palm of your hand, which you used to shield yourself from the dangerous projectiles. A red deep scratch runs all the way across it, allowing a little blood to spill. Your brain not quite grasping the situation yet, you look in the direction where the door to the secret room would usually be but is now replaced by a gaping hole in the thick wall of the castle.

Only minutes before everything was fine. You stood in a circle with your friends, almost all of whom you met through this organization, laughing at a story by Luna Lovegood while other students from all different houses busily practiced their Patronus Charm with the mechanical death eaters. You were above all clouds today because you finally managed to summon your own Patronus in the form of an animal. It was breathtaking, seeing the blue sparkle jump across the air. You have always had extreme difficulties in summoning it and had almost given up hope, but Harry believed in you and so you finally succeeded. You could not be happier.

At least until the fog of dust in front of you suddenly clears and this feeling of ecstasy that was just running through your veins is completely extinguished in a heartbeat.

Professor Umbridge is standing in the newly created hole that is now replacing the large door. She is not alone, however, because not only Mr. Filch is with her and looks at you angrily, but also her lackeys, or as she likes to call them, the Inquisitorial Squad. Unfortunately for you, your boyfriend is also between them, and you catch his eye as he pulls Cho Chang into your field of vision. As soon as your eyes meet, he lets her go.

The disappointment and utter disbelieve you see in his eyes instantly breaks your heart and the pain that follows, stretching across his features, almost kills you, taking you the air to breathe.

You wanted to tell him, but you could not. And now it is too late.

As Umbridge’s voice rings out to you from afar, tears well up in your eyes. You can literally see Draco is trying to deny what just happened, what he just saw and found out. Namely that his girlfriend is a member of Dumbledore’s Army, a member of exactly that group he is trying to destroy as a member of the Inquisitorial Squad. But the worst thing is that you did not confide in him and lied to him at the same time. ‘I am going to study with Hermione in the library’, you told him after he asked you this morning if you wanted to do something together, to spend some time with each other.

You lied to him, with all the coldness you could muster, and that is exactly what Draco is realizing in this moment, which is why he does not even wait for the end of Umbridge’s victorious speech and disappears, shaking his head in disapproval. Without thinking about your next steps, you run after him, past Umbridge and her lackeys, who are yelling something at you. But you could not care less right now.

Loudly, you shout after Draco, who disappears around the next corner, and you pick up your pace to reach him. He stops at the end of the aisle as you call out to him again, hearing the sadness in your voice as you reach out for him as if this would make it easier for you to get a hold of him.

“What the hell do you want from me, Y/N?!”, he immediately yells at you, briefly startling you even though you know full well that you deserve every single bit of his anger and that it is the only natural reaction to your behavior. The only real reaction to betrayal, lies, insidiousness. To pain.

“Listen, it is not like th- I wanted to tell you”, you stumble over your own words as you draw closer and fall into his unyielding gaze. You have seen him upset or sad many times over the past years, but never like he looks right now. “I- I was not allowed to..”

“Oh, yes? And you expect me to believe you?”, Draco replies angrily, but the pain is clearly evident in his unsteady voice.

“I never had any intention of hurting you, that is the last thing I would ever want, Draco. You have to believe me!”, you say desperately and feel a stab in your heart when you want to grab his hand and he pulls it away abruptly, immediately taking a step back to bring distance between the two of you.

“And yet you took my heart and stepped on it like it meant nothing. I trusted you and this is how you repay me that trust? By betraying me?”, he replies, hurt, sadness slowly taking over the seething anger.

“I wanted to do something good. Umbridge is a wicked witch and Dumbledore’s Army gave me safety, a sense of belonging and-”

“Dumbledore’s Army? You even have a name for this pathetic group?”, Draco interrupts roughly, frowning at your words.

“That woman has forbidden us everything, she-”

“She has forbidden that no student organization or team or group or club exists without her knowledge and approval! You broke her rule”, he interrupts you again, only adding to your emotional outburst as he does not even let you finish a single sentence.

“That may be the case, but according to her stupid rules we are not even allowed to be within six inches of each other!”, you yell at him now, angry, not being able to keep your emotions under control anymore because he seems to have been blinded by her to the extent that he does not even question anything anymore, only accepting and carrying out any orders she might have. “Do you even realize what you are supporting?!”

“Are you?”, he asks you seriously, his eyes cold as he watches you search for an appropriate answer, a bit taken aback by the coldness in his voice.

“Yes. I support the good. And if I have to break a hundred other of her rules to finally change something, I will”, you explain to him sincerely, although you doubt that he will understand. Because he is way too stuck in his own beliefs to believe you, the only person he ever trusted, who just incurably broke this trust.

“I have no idea who is standing in front of me anymore”, Draco breathes softly and painfully, avoiding your gaze for a moment, apparently not expecting such an answer.

“Neither do I”, you reply promptly, without batting an eyelid. “Ever since that malicious witch got here, I do not recognize you, Draco. Where is the boy I fell in love with? I made a mistake and I know I should have told you. I know that and I sincerely apologize for it. However, joining Dumbledore’s Army was not a mistake.”

“So you are choosing these people you barely know over me?”, Draco challenges you, tears forming in his eyes despite his anger at not being able to shut down his deepest feelings for you.

“Draco, do not go there. Please. Do not put me in this positi-”

“Me or them, Y/N?”, Draco asks again, his pupils darting wildly between yours as he hopes for what he thinks is the only right answer. Stunned that he is actually making you decide, not even realizing how much better this group of people made you feel when he was not where he should have been, you clench your fists, but stay strong and do not look away. The moment you open your mouth, you both know what words will leave your throat, what pain you both will have to endure. In that exact moment you know it is over.

“Them.”

#draco lucius malfoy #draco malfoy #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy os #draco malfoy fic #draco malfoy ff #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy imagines #draco malfoy one shot #draco malfoy angst #draco malfoy fanfic #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x y/n #draco angst #draco os #draco one shot #draco imagine #draco imagines #draco ff #draco fic #draco fanfiction #draco x reader #draco x y/n #hp imagine #hp fanfiction #harry potter one shot #harry potter fanfic #harry potter imagine #harry potter fic #harry potter os

[fairymascot]

i imagine quite a few followers of mine, over the last few days, have been looking at my blog and wondering to themselves, 'what is milgram, and why won't she shut up about it?'

well, lads, this post is for you.

WHAT IS MILGRAM, AND WHY I WON'T SHUT UP ABOUT IT: a masterpost

milgram is a bit difficult to explain. here's the short version: imagine the popular reality show 'survivor', only instead of real people, it's anime characters. instead of a desert island, it's a magical jail that makes you sing. and instead of an assortment of swimsuit-clad hotties, it's ten highly unstable individuals who have all been, to some degree, involved in a murder. does that clear things up? no?

well, here’s the long version:

a teenager called es wakes up in an eerie, mystical prison, in a guard's uniform, with no memory of who they are or why they're here. the helpful mascot character, a talking rabbit named jackalope, explains that this prison is called milgram, and es is its sole guard and jury. the prison contains ten prisoners, all of whom had committed some sort of murder, although the prison's definition of 'murder' can be a bit loose. none of the prisoners are quite sure how they got there, either, but it's clearly detached from the outside world, and they have no means of contacting anyone from home.

es' job is fairly straightforward. they have to get to know each prisoner, and then decide whether to 'forgive' or 'condemn' them. (this is often translated as voting 'innocent' or 'guilty', but rest assured, everyone is actually guilty. the question is not whether they've committed the murder -- it's whether they're considered justified in doing so.) there will be three trials: for each one, each prisoner will offer their testimony, and receive their verdict. their future in the prison will be affected accordingly.

the prison has a nifty schtick: the prisoners don't testify, exactly. instead, they're connected to a special machine that takes their innermost thoughts, feelings, and memories... and turns them into absolute bangers, paired with epic anime music videos. yes. their fate is decided based on the music video produced by their brain. what happens to those forgiven, and those condemned? well... that will be revealed in time.

that's that for the in-universe setup. in reality, milgram is an interactive multimedia franchise that delivers its story primarily through a series of youtube music videos. the songs are composed by renowned vocaloid producer deco-27 and the videos produced by otoiro. if you're into vocaloid at all, that's probably all you need to know it looks and sounds awesome. (if you're not: i'm telling you that right now.) each character's video has a distinct visual and musical style tailored to their personality, which makes for a very unique and diverse experience. and seriously, all those songs slap.

but the key gimmick is this: es is you. after each character's music video is released, a poll goes up where the viewers can vote to decide whether to forgive or condemn. the majority vote is then canonized, and future story developments will be affected by it.

milgram also explicitly urges you not to vote based strictly on morality. you can vote for whatever reason you'd like. maybe you just find this character cool, and want them to have a good time. maybe they annoy you, so you want them to suffer. maybe you just think this particular verdict would make for some really neat story developments! there's no right or wrong, which makes for some really fun and varied fandom discussions.

another aspect that makes it really engaging to me, is that the music videos -- meant to be the fruit of each character's subconscious -- are rarely straightforward. most of them require some degree of analysis on the viewers' end, and there's no concrete canon explanation provided for most of them. this creates really rich and interesting community discussion! nothing like watching a video for the first time, having no idea what to make of it, and scrolling down to read some passionate fan's frame-by-frame, 5000 word breakdown. it's awesome!

with ten prisoners (plus es, who is not nearly as much of a blank slate as the story would initially have you believe), every fan is guaranteed to find their own little blorbo. each character is incredibly fucked up in their own special way! they're all professionally voice acted and, in addition to their songs, have accompanying voice dramas where you can get to know more about them.

with the first two trials (=seasons) out of three complete, now’s a good time as any to jump in!

OKAY, SO HOW DO I GET INTO THIS THING?

first, a warning: in case that wasn't clear from all the murder, this is not a feel-good series. your favorite blorbo will inevitably turn out to be a horrible person who does horrible things, and will have horrible things happen to them. the videos include, in addition to the obvious violence and murder, themes of abusive relationships, bullying, suicide ideation and child abuse. and that's just off the top of my head.

TRIAL ONE

T1 MUSIC VIDEOS:  you can find every video from the first trial, in order, HERE.

they're all in japanese, and have CC in (just slightly broken) english. this is the main meat of the canon! if you've watched it all and still want more, here's some extra content:

T1 VOICE DRAMAS the character voice dramas can be found in the single release of each song, on spotify, youtube music, or apple music. here are translations gathered from various fans across the web. (i’m linking both youtube uploads and text-only translations, in case any of the links get taken down due to copyright stuff.)

00. es (video / text) | 01. haruka (video / text)| 02. yuno  (video / text) | 03. fuuta  (video / text) 04. mu  (video / text) | 05. shidou  (video / text) | 06. mahiru (video / text) | 07. kazui  (video / text)  08. amane (video / text)  | 09. mikoto (video / text) | 10. kotoko (video / text)

TRIAL TWO

T2 MUSIC VIDEOS: you can find every video from the second trial, in order, HERE.

T2 VOICE DRAMAS 01. haruka (video / text)| 02. yuno  (video / text) | 03. fuuta  (video / text) 04. mu  (video / text) | 05. shidou  (video / text) | 06. mahiru (video / text) 07. kazui (video / text) | 08. amane (video / text) | 09. mikoto (video / text) | 10. kotoko (video / text)

additional resources

milgram official site & twitter - news & updates (japanese)

milgram en on twitter - additional translations (website updates, character blurbs, comics)

rochisama on wordpress - translations of background text in the videos & character interactions from the official app

@milgrammer - sadly no longer active, but has lots of translations, including character bios, cd dramas, and voice actor interviews

@onigiriico​ - currently active translator who’s been doing awesome work on the cd dramas

have fun, and happy judgement!

#milgram #text #long post #PLS WATCH MILGRAM I NEED MORE FANDOM FRIENDS

[the-slasher-files]

SLASHER FLIES' BLOOD FEST: WEEK TWO

GIVE IN [Michael x fem!reader x Corey]

prompts: GORE. TOYS. FLUFF. CNC.

keywords: COLD. RAPTURE

"oh come on, it will be fun! Kind of like that movie It,"

"You mean with that weird shapeshifting clown monster?"

"Haha, yes, the weird shapeshifting clown monster"

You held hands with your boyfriend, playfully shoving each other and the natural banter always seemed to flow with you two. You were both glad just to have the day off to spend together, although this wasn't his idea of a fun date but the rumours and stories drew you in, especially so close to Halloween. Traversing down the dried-out river bank and through the broken trees you finally came to what you had been looking for; The open sewers of Haddonfield.

"Oh my god, yes!" You excitedly exclaimed, turning on your phone flashlight, already stepping foot into the tunnel before you felt a tug on your arm.

"You cannot be serious" He looked at you with the same look a stern father might give you but that was simply ignored and you pulled him into the dark.

"Yes. I brought you all the way here to just look at the sewers and not go in," You sarcastically snarked back "Now let's go, I just want to see if the rumours were true"

Lighting up the dreary sewers the walls were concrete with cracked bricks, pipes dripped above you and cobwebs shimmered in the low light along with the small stream of water beneath your feet. Slowly it began to open up with a maze of tunnels, some blocked off with metal grates and others leading into an endless pit of darkness.

"Those stories you've been texting me about when I'm trying to be sleeping?" He teased, brushing his shoulder against yours and instinctively he pulled you a little closer as you two walked.

"You know that's always when my brain thinks about weird things," The corner of your lips twitched in a sassy smirk "But yes. Apparently, a bunch of satanic shit happens down here and rituals and I don't know some story about a girl being murdered but I honestly couldn't find much on that one" You rambled on a little, passing a tunnel that turned off to the right

"Wait, wait, wait. What?" Your boyfriend asked with a furrowed brow and he paused, jerking your hand a little so you would look at him. "Babe, yo-"

Suddenly he was cut off by the sound of wet squelching and his eyes went wide in terror and pain. His lips opened to say something but only a trickle of blood began to flow and he gurgled, sputtering words at you that sounded like jibberish as his eyes faded. Reaching out to you, his body jerked back and in one movement a blade came out of the shadows, slitting your boyfriends throat almost to the bones. White cartilage peaked from the strings of muscle that had been forced apart, his head hung back allowing a river of crimson so deep it looked black cascading down his body and meeting another wound; The initial wound where something had been plunged through his stomach and you screamed. An echoing barrage through the sewers made something stir in the shadows but all you were focused on was your boyfriend bleeding out in front of you.

"OH MY GODDDDD!!" You wailed, dropping your phone into the growing puddle of blood and his body collapsed revealing the cold smile of the killer.

"Ssshhhh... You'll wake him" The man whispered and began to laugh quietly, stalking forward.

It was him. It was Corey Cunningham. You two had been talking for about a month now and things were only getting more and more heated between you two, especially recently at the Halloween party thrown by some friends. You stuck to your word however, you had a boyfriend and needed to end it with him first before jumping into something else, and that would be hard with his painted reputation. He was labeled as the boogeyman as the town needed someone to blame for everything that went wrong after the true boogeyman of Haddonfield had disappeared into a blood-drenched night. You never really believed the towns talk about him but the sight in front of you told the truth; Dark navy mechanics jumpsuit splattered in viscera, large butched knife in his right hand, curly waves hanging down on his bruised forehead and his eyes were black with a deep thrill.

Stepping back, your breath was heavy "C-Corey, Corey please. What the fuck are you doing?"

Your question only made him laugh louder, licking the corner of his lips where some blood drops landed "We can finally be together now. I promised you I would light that match for you... Watch the world burn," he paused, opening his arms in a way for trying to get you to see he was no threat as he stayed quiet until the word that followed was in a yell "REMEMBER?!"

It made you flinch, not just by the way his voice reverberated through the tunnels but there was something in him now like a poison, and you couldn't help but be drawn to it.

"Cor—" Unexpectedly your words had been cut short in your throat as something bigger, stronger and with a dark destructive energy hit your back when you were walking backwards.

"Don't be afraid," Corey whispered, coming face to face with you now he brushed some hairs out of your face with bloody fingers "Don't you feel this between us? Feel that we are the only ones for each other?"

His questions were in a desperate ask, searching your eyes for the need to have him. The look in his brown eyes made you sick but God, there was that sweetness like a soft puppy behind them and you leaned a little forward, his nose brushing against yours.

"...Give in"

Heavy breaths fell out of your open lips unsure of where this whole thing was going, not only were Corey's hands on you but now a set of larger hands were too. You didn't speak for no words could even come out. Lost in a haze and shock that held you frozen in place only feeling what the two men were doing; Groping, pulling, pushing adjusting their hips, sliding hands up and down your body like a new toy they got for Christmas. One was more gentle than the other and your eyes fluttered once the man behind you adjusted his leg to be between yours and you looked back seeing the burnt, chipped and greying mask. His eyes were black but burning into your skull like a predator reborn. Instantly the fear bubbled up inside you and your instincts kicked in, RUN. However, the shape behind you felt that instinct, sensed it and was one step ahead, roughly grabbing your throat in one hand and the other held your hip in place, even pulling you back further to be straight against him feeling all that you were doing to the beast.

Corey's cheek rubbed against yours softly, beginning to sweetly kiss along your hairline with a small chuckle, "Baby, I wouldn't do that... I promise he won't hurt you, especially when you're being such a good girl for us,"

That praise was honey coated but dripped in a lie, knowing he could never control the man behind you, "You're so fucking sexy like this,"

Slowly, Corey's warm and soft hands wet with blood slipped into your jeans. He was so gentle with you that it was almost disturbing against the roughness of Michael squeezing your throat and bruising your hip but you couldn't help yourself from rolling your hips back on the shape's leg.

"That's it, babygirl. That's it" Corey's fingers circled and rubbed softly your pussy "Aw, you're so wet already, huh? Aching for us? Being such a needy girl?"

Like those words were a cue, the hand that was on your hip disappeared and you heard the dragging of a metal zipper. What you were feeling came free, pressing along your back there was a small whimper in your throat signally Corey to unbutton your jeans and he tugged them down along with your soaked panties. Michael adjusted his legs, shifting your hips so his cock was rubbing your sex.

"Give in, pretty girl... Give in" Corey trailed kisses down your body before getting on his knees in front of you.

Brown eyes looked up at you, pulling your shirt up and licking small trails along your stomach whispering over and over "Give in"

Slowly you did just that, allowing your head to fall back and one of your hands drifted into Corey's curly locks as Michael shifted, pushing himself inside you. A choked gasp fell into a moan echoing through the hidden tunnels. He was so big, filling and stretching you like you had never experienced and mixing with Corey finally giving one lick made your legs weak.

"Ffffuck, you taste so good" He growled as Michael began to move faster, finding his own rhythm. "Such perfect little pussy getting stretched so good, huh?... Let me hear those moans, baby"

Sweet words met deep guttural groans behind you feeling your body get lost in the rapture, being served on a platter to two wolves that needed you in many different ways; One just for necessity and the other for deep need to have someone. An orchestra of moans, whimpers, growls, groans and praise could be heard through the night in blood and need. You were now in the monster's hell that was just lying beneath the ground.

#ok seriously i love this fic #also VERY excited to write for corey #my writing #horror #slasher #slashers #corey cunningham #Michael Myers #halloween ends #x you #slasher x reader #slasher x s/o #corey x michael x reader #slasher fandom #slasher fanfiction #SFBF

[sybilius]

Okay, I don't think anyone that I've seen so far has written meta on this exact metaphor that's obsessing me in Same as Cash. So there's two layers of story going on here. On the action front, we're seeing (through someone else's eyes) Jenny debate with herself about holding on to her car:

You were still attached to your Civic sedan Although the brakes always needed repair You were headed out to buy some supplies You could smell the threat of rain in the air I can only see the scene second-hand I can only try to understand How a small amount of pressure in the right place Breaks the strongest link in the chain

So that's a pretty concrete story -- Jenny loves her car, but her car is falling apart a little. Then we get the chorus:

In your car with your head in your hands At the far end of the Walmart parking lot Trying not to buckle under the strain

Okay, so Jenny's not doing well! She's carving out time for herself in the car, head in hands, at the parking lot for supplies. Then we get to the verse about the car salesman:

Every single night after prime time Loud enough to hear in your sleep The salesman from the lot half a mile from here Yelling down the hood of his Jeep I'll take anything that the others won't I can see the value where others don't Just a small amount of pressure in the right place Two fingers to the temporal vein

I bolded the text because -- honestly, it feels bold when it's sung, doesn't it? This is where the story makes it clear what Jenny is about, what her raison d'etre is. She wants to take in those who are forsaken, she can see value in them when no one else can. We get another hit of the chorus, and then:

Striking a bargain with the imp in your brain Prepared to take another knock for the short gain But you can ask any veteran running back Eventually your joints complain

Okay, so this was the one I really really wanted to talk about because I think it's maybe some of the most clever wordplay ever, and also one of the most apt pieces of writing about the perils of taking on other's pain as your main response to most problems in life. The "striking a bargain with the imp in your brain" -- it feels like the narrator is aware, that Jenny is making a short-term deal (selling her car) because she's worried about supplies they need.

But there's also the layer on which taking on more strays -- more people, more community, more pain that she doesn't have capacity for -- that's also a short-gain distraction. I don't know how to explain this to people who haven't been there, but other people's pain can be addictive. It can genuinely feel like, okay, listening to your problems for a minute, giving you what you need -- that's vicariously giving me what I need.

That's why the line "prepared to take another knock for the short gain" is so goddamn clever. It's a knock, as in a blow to Jenny's self to sell her car off for the Kawasaki. But the literal knock of someone else at her door who needs shelter is calling to her, for the short gain of vicarious relief (instead of having to face up to her own needs).

Anyways. Jenny's house of hard knocks. that's the post thank you for coming to my ted talk <3

#tmg #jenny from thebes #lyric analysis

[aheathen-conceivably]

Hi! I’m a huge fan of your work (Josephine, in particular, has my heart! Gio, I tolerate… sorry 🫣), so, firstly, thank you for sharing your lovely creative mind with us.

Second, I hope it’s okay to ask a question! There’s a specific story idea that’s been rattling around in my head for ages now, but try as I might, I can’t seem to make it into anything concrete. I have a few things down (mostly snatches of dialogue, basic facts like character names, and start/end points - i.e. “z and a start as enemies but eventually fall in love”) but I’m struggling to connect point a with point b and actually make it, yknow, a story. Do you have any sage advice/pro tips/divinely-inspired guidance for making a handful of loose ends into something real and fit for Tumblr consumption? Lol.

Thank you in advance!

Hello, there! First and foremost let me apologize for some particular writer out there (ahem, it is me) who may have just gotten herself out of a real bad slump by making Gio a main character 😂

I am SORRY y’all I wasn’t supposed to like him this much I was a Jo girlie forever but now, well, the heart wants what the heart wants. Make no mistake Jo still has my heart but…can’t a girl have both? Y’all out here taking sides already oh my goodness I can’t wait to see y’all for the rest of this decade 😜

Now WHEW! Let me also say I appreciate your kindness about the story. I wish I had more advice for you, but I’m afraid I fell into this without much creative or really any writing background at all, so I’m not sure I’m the source for sage advice. Other than going on my resource page for other tricks that might be helpful, what I will tell you is to write every damn thing down. Like I mean it, one line of dialogue, one idea, one thought. I have stuff everywhere, under to do lists, in massive documents, in scribbles on the back of bills. Eventually I do try and organize it (and this would probably be the time to tell you to maybe not put it in random places where it’s hard to find later 😅), but I’m often shocked at what a small little tidbit later turns into.

As far as connecting those tidbits (which bravo for having them, that’s already more than I did for some parts of the story!), I honestly just feel like the more you write and inhabit the mindset of your little world, the more it comes to you when you aren’t thinking about it. Thanks to my boy Gio (please see above oops) I have been writing nonstop. Chopping onions, folding clothes, driving, just trying to live my life and a scene is playing out in my head. Now mind you, this comes after over a month without a single thought of the story, so it is a process that waxes and wanes.

I would also say not to get frustrated with yourself too early, as again, I think the process of getting into your story is a snowball effect. My early decades had much less going on, and that’s very much for a reason. The process moves with you. That means that I don’t really think there’s a benchmark for “fit for Tumblr consumption.” Doing it is practicing it, and the community is very welcoming to changing style and voice as your work goes on.

Just write my Nonny friend, write whenever your brain tells you to and don’t be afraid to share. And then fall in love with Gio with me 😙

#ask #answered #resources