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someonestolemyshoes · 3 years

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Off the Record

Hello!! I am super excited to finally post my entry for @levihan-drabbles competition :D The prompt was super interesting and I had a tonne of fun writing this one!

The prompt I received was: Hange posts a picture of Levi somewhere and it becomes a meme.

(For those curious, this is the meme I used for inspiration)

Hange pushed her plate across the table and grinned at him. "Levi! Fancy seeing you here! To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Levi's lip curled.

"You know what," he said. Hange braced her elbows on the table and rested her chin atop her knotted fingers.

"Enlighten me."

Colour rose in Levi's cheeks. For a moment, Hange felt a little guilty. For all Levi's grumbling and grunting, Hange had never seen him angry before.

"That bullshit article."

"Ah. Was there a problem?"

Hange met Moblit in a small cafe a little way down the road from the newsroom. She was in good spirits—her morning had been productive; she'd made steady headway with research for her next interview, finished the final edits for a few smaller tabloid pieces she'd been meaning to brush up, attended three short, perfunctory meetings on tedious company policy, and laid the groundwork for another exciting interview opportunity.

She felt good. And now she had the pleasurable prospect of a hearty lunch, a passable cup of coffee, and perhaps best of all, Moblit's company. His company, and his camera.

Hange threw herself into the seat opposite Moblit the moment she spotted him, hunched over his laptop in a corner of the cafe. He lifted his coffee cup just in time for Hange to clatter against the table, the thin metal frame rattling precariously. She offered him a sheepish grin.

"Sorry," she said, and then, "got anything exciting?"

"I don't know about exciting. Interesting, maybe, but no breaking news."

Hange flagged down a passing waitress with one hand, and waved Moblit off with the other. "Doesn't matter, doesn't matter," she said, then paused to order a drink and her favourite sandwich. "Tell me anyway."

"I got a tip-off from a waiter at Sina's."

Hange's eyes sparkled behind her glasses. She sat forward in her chair, folding her arms on the table top as she leaned closer. "Who?"

"Take a guess."

Hange grinned at him. Moblit was not one to play coy; he did his job and did it well, and reported his findings efficiently. To leave her to question it meant one of two things; he had photographed someone very high profile indeed, or it was somebody Hange was, for better or for worse, well acquainted with.

Or perhaps, if she were lucky, it was both.

"Let me see him, then."

Hange had taken far too much time in the cafe with Moblit. He had given her a rundown of all the details he'd gathered during his field work that morning, and shown her through his extensive photo gallery. It was impressive, the kind of archive Moblit could cultivate with only a 45 minute breakfast window.

Hange had been delighted. Moblit was right; it wasn't breaking news, nothing particularly thrilling, but there was a corner of the Internet, Hange knew, that would delight in a trashy little article just like this. Something quick and simple to bulk up the social media feed for the afternoon.

Plus, there was a series of pictures Moblit had snapped, a cluster he'd thought to be of no real merit, that Hange simply could not pass up.

She could lay down no facts with a story like this one. There was no hard-hitting investigative journalism to be had, but she could at least offer some speculation based on her knowledge of the subjects involved, and spin a tale juicy enough to get people talking.

It took little time at all to put the article together. Hange scribbled up an outline for the contents—the location; Sina's in downtown Hizuru, a luxurious restaurant serving five star meals at every hour of the day. High in quality, sickeningly steep in price. The time of day; 9am. To the best of Hange's knowledge, this was rather out of character for the subject. He was an early riser, but according to their interview last March pending the premiere of his newest movie, he wasn't the type to eat much at all before lunch time.

And then, the company. Eren Yeager was a relatively well-known actor, barely an adult at nineteen. He starred in his first role a decade earlier, and had seen commercial success in multiple movies and TV shows ever since. He had been something of a prodigy in his younger years, bold and precocious, possessing a natural talent many actors years his senior couldn't even hope for. As Hange understood it, he had recently hit a rather troublesome phase. An interesting line of inquiry, but despite his talent and his fame, Eren's presence was simply a cameo, compared to the subject of the article Hange was drawing up.

Levi Ackerman.

Levi is a fan favourite and a media delight. He's attractive no doubt, and his performance in any and every role is almost always met with critical acclaim. Outside of his career, however, he's an elusive thing, silent in any matters pertaining to his private life. He avoids any public event like the plague, and rarely shows his face at premieres or award ceremonies if he can possibly avoid it. He gives interviews only when required by some contractual obligation or other, or else when the journalist in question is so painfully persistent that it is simply easier to give in than to keep fighting.

Little of his personal life is known, but it is impossible for someone in Levi's position to avoid interacting with anybody at all, and even the great Levi Ackerman is not above scrutiny.

There are rumours. Several of them, accounts from fellow cast members, from staff, from directors, and even Erwin, his manager, has alluded more than once to Levi's sour disposition. He is prone, Hange has heard, to fits of anger, and is easily disgruntled by minor inconveniences. His dislike of anything unclean or untidy is the stuff of legends—Hange has seen this first hand, at their very first interview. He had entered the room, scowled at the chair before sitting in it, and given Hange a thorough once over before announcing, with no hint of humour, "your glasses are filthy."

Hange had found him both fascinating and quite delightful, in his own strange way. When he acts, Levi sounds eloquent; he is a master of emotive performance, wringing the last drops of anger, despair, or grief out of each and every word, or else injecting the perfect giddy jitter, or a tremor of humour when the scene called for it. As soon as the cameras stop rolling, though, Levi's tone becomes flat, and without a script, his words are clumsy and crass. He communicates poorly, quick to throw insults and crude remarks. Hange has interviewed him a number of times—she counts herself very lucky that Levi will consent to her requests without too much fuss, these days—and each time she finds herself spending half of their time together translating his answers into something a) family friendly, and b) understandable to the everyday reader.

There is nothing for Hange to translate this time. Moblit managed to speak to the waiter after Levi and Eren had vacated in hopes of gleaning any small tidbit of knowledge regarding their conversation, but the venture had been hopeless. The pair had grown silent upon the approach of any staff member, and spoke in tones too hushed for anyone nearby to hear. They learned nothing they couldn't extrapolate for themselves from Moblit's pictures; Eren looked sheepish, avoiding Levi's gaze in favour of staring into his drink, while Levi—

Levi looked furious.

Every picture featured his signature frown, which, in and of itself wasn't enough to assume Levi to be in any mood besides neutral, but some of the photos show a hint of bared teeth or pursed lips, with his brows pulled lower than normal, the space between them deeply creased. Hange found herself curious as both a journalist and as an acquaintance. They may not be friends, but Hange liked to think she knew Levi a little better than most people, at least. She could find nothing in their past interactions to suggest any relationship with Eren beyond the strictly professional. They had over a decade between them, and though they had worked together on more than one set, neither party had ever said anything to insinuate so much as a friendly attitude between them.

There was no resolution to her queries to be easily found. And luckily for Hange, this particular piece didn't require any. It was a gossip article, something spicy, jam-packed with buzzwords, what-if's and more questions than answers, designed to make people wonder. Levi's name in the title would be enough to draw people in; Eren's name was an added bonus. But the star of the show was Moblit's photography. Hange arranged the images she had chosen in a grid. In context, the pictures were intriguing, depicting a particularly ferocious part of Levi and Eren's exchange. Out of context, they looked a little ridiculous. Both would bring readers onto their home page.

Satisfied with her work, Hange queued the finished article for review, and turned her attention back to her schedule.

The article launched mid-afternoon. Hange watched, somewhat satisfied, as it was received much as she had expected it to be. The activity on their Twitter account skyrocketed, the tweet in question garnering more likes, retweets and replies in the hour after it's post than any other they’d dropped in the last month.

Hange had allowed it to slip from her mind after the first hour or so. She received praise from her bosses, and a text from Moblit, jokingly demanding she pay him even more handsomely for his work than she already had, and her cousin had called her in the evening on a quest for insider gossip she could share with her friends, but that had been the end of it. Hange thought of it no more until early the following morning, when she had stopped by the quiet little cafe beneath her flat for breakfast and her favourite coffee.

She had been polishing off her pancakes when the bell above the door chimed. She had paid little attention to the newcomer, until a shadow passed over her table, and a familiar voice said, "Oi, shitty glasses."

Hange looked up to see Levi Ackerman himself standing over her, his face twisted in a scowl.

There are perks of being reasonably acquainted with Levi. Hange always gets to conduct his interviews, and Levi only ever turns her down if her request is unreasonable. Like that time she demanded he meet her at this very coffee shop for "just a quick piece, about the cameo you did for the new season of Titans", only to show him she'd bought a new pair of glasses—"look, all clean!"—and, when pressed, admitted there was no interview at all. He had been far more hesitant to indulge her in smaller affairs after that, but Hange was still lucky enough to be his only regular interviewer after big releases.

More interviews means more commission for Hange, and more high profile work with other celebrities. Yes, being acquainted with Levi has its bonuses.

But it also has its downsides. Namely, that Levi will not hesitate to turn up at her regular coffee shop to berate her after she has posted some complete and utter wank at his expense.

Hange pushed her plate across the table and grinned at him. "Levi! Fancy seeing you here! To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Levi's lip curled.

"You know what," he said. Hange braced her elbows on the table and rested her chin atop her knotted fingers.

"Enlighten me."

Colour rose in Levi's cheeks. For a moment, Hange felt a little guilty. For all Levi's grumbling and grunting, Hange had never seen him angry before.

"That bullshit article."

"Ah. Was there a problem?"

"You're a piece of shit, you know that?"

Hange sat back in her chair and sipped at her coffee. Levi's face was full colour now, a pale pink flush from his neck right up to his hairline. Hange gave him a measured look, then kicked out the chair opposite her.

"Sit," she said. "If you have issues, I'd be happy to discuss."

Levi looked for a moment like he'd like nothing more than to strangle her. Then he pulled out the chair the rest of the way, and dropped himself into it.

"I don't give a fuck about the article," he said. "It's shitty gossip anyway."

Hange raised a brow at him. She opened her mouth to continue when, without prompt, a young waitress approached their table, practically bouncing on the spot as she stopped and gave Levi a dazzling smile. Her cheeks were flushed prettily, and Hange would have thought she were simply starstruck, if it weren't for the light of mirth in her eyes.

"Good morning, sir. Can I get you anything?" She gave Levi no chance to respond, before plowing on. "Water? Or tea, perhaps? Forgive me, but you seem a little upset. Might a nice tea calm you down?"

Levi grit his teeth. "No, thank you."

Hange almost apologised to the poor waitress on his behalf, but she didn't look bothered at all by his rudeness. In fact, she had barely turned from the table before she snorted in laughter, and caught her giggles in her hands as she scurried back behind the counter. A second passed, before all three waitresses snickered.

"That," Levi hissed, "is your fault."

Now Hange truly was confused. She furrowed her brow at him. "How does that have anything to do with me?"

"You and your stupid article," he said. Hange looked back to the waitress, who looked to their table again before falling into a fresh fit of giggles. Hange turned back to Levi, a little sympathetic.

"I think she just fancies you."

"You're trying to tell me you really don't know the mess you've caused?"

Hange shook her head slowly. Levi watched her closely, searching for proof of the lie, but Hange's earnestness must have shown through, for Levi's anger abated a little, and he slumped back on his chair.

In lieu of a verbal explanation, Levi pulled out his phone. He tapped the screen a few times, typed something out, and scrolled a little way, before placing the phone on the table and sliding it towards her. Hange pulled it closer with a frown.

The screen displayed Twitter, and showed the feed beneath the search for Levi's name. Hange scrolled a few posts, eyes widening little by little as she went.

Levi was right. The contents of the article were of little significance at all. The photo grid, however, had gone viral overnight.

It showed four pictures of Levi and Eren, taken in succession. Each one showed only a portion of the back of Eren's head, but Levi's expression in every frame was more animated than Hange had ever seen him outside of his movie scenes, and each was more distraught than the last. Face tight, jaw clenched, teeth bared, with his finger pointed condescendingly in Eren's face. The second last picture shows his brows arched and his lips pressed into a thin line, and the final one—

Hange had laughed at it in isolation when Moblit had shown her. She had fully expected it to garner a few laughs, but she hadn't expected a photograph of Levi furiously slurping his tea to become a meme in less than 24 hours.

"I see," Hange said, as she calmly slid the phone back to him. "In my defense, you don't help yourself. It wouldn't be half as funny if you didn't hold your tea cup so weird."

"In my defense," Levi snapped, "If you didn't post it online nobody would have anything to laugh at."

Hange crossed her arms on the table and leaned towards him, smiling pleasantly. "In your defense, you wouldn't have been so angry in public if it weren't for whatever Eren had to say. What was that about, by the way? I'm terribly curious."

Hange expected a very Levi response to her prying; a scowl, perhaps a quick kick under the table, an 'It's none of your damn business, four-eyes', if she were lucky.

What she got instead was a haughty sniff, and a gruff, "He's fucking my cousin."

For a moment, they were silent. Either Levi's anger at his new meme status had temporarily disabled the part of his brain that blocked any mention of his private life from slipping past his lips in the wrong company, or something about Eren's indiscretion had rattled him so much, he couldn't keep silent about it. Either way, he looked increasingly surprised—and horrified—at himself for saying it out loud. Hange's eyes were wide, and Levi's were growing wider by the second. Of all the people to slip up to, he had slipped up to her. An entertainment journalist, the one person in his life who thrived on this kind of insider knowledge.

Hange swallowed. Levi was still staring at her like a deer in headlights, no doubt painfully aware that there was no taking back what he had said now.

Hange doesn't take a great deal of pride in what she does. She feels satisfied when her stories receive the reception she'd predicted, validated in her ability to analyse their consumer base and make accurate assumptions about what will hit and what won't, but the work itself feels dirty, at times. An opportunistic scavenger feeding on whatever carrion they can find, no matter how rotten it may be.

This is a perfect opportunity. Salacious details of Levi's interpersonal relationships, right from the horse's mouth. If it were anyone else, Hange would be scribbling every word verbatim in her notebook.

But this is Levi. Levi, who seems jarred by her last article (though Hange will maintain this, at least, is no real fault of her journalism, and also, absolutely hilarious) and was clearly, for whatever reason, incensed by Eren's actions.

Hange brushed her palms over her thighs, and picked a speck of lint from her trousers.

"This is nice, isn't it?" She said, "having breakfast together. We should do it more often. It feels good to just talk, sometimes. Off the record."

Levi blinked rapidly at her. He opened his mouth, but, still too shocked by his own loose tongue to speak, he said nothing. Hange pulled her phone from her bag and fiddled around with it some, tapping here and there, until she found what she was looking for. She turned it to Levi, and said, "I think this is my favourite edit so far."

Levi finally pulled his gaze from her, and looked down at the screen. It was truly something, the way the picture snapped him out of his stunned silence. Hange had never seen someone's face pinch up so rapidly.

"Come on, it's kinda funny. And look! That's Tony Stark, right? People are so creative. And maybe, if we're really lucky, Buzzfeed will do a compilation article of all the best ways people have used your new meme."

Levi rolled his eyes at her. It looked strange, with his face so tightly twisted. Hange chuckled at him.

She nudged his ankle beneath the table with the toe of her shoe. "Lighten up, you look constipated."

"Oi, out of the two of us I'm not the one who's full of—"

"—Full of shit, I know, I know. That honour is all mine."

They lapsed into another silence, this one marginally more comfortable than the last. Hange finished the last of her coffee and checked her emails, while Levi tortured himself some more by scrolling through his Twitter feed. After a short while, he spoke again.

"That...doesn't sound bad," he said.

"Hm?"

"What you said about talking more. Off the record. It doesn't sound bad."

It was Hange's turn to flush. Heat rose in her cheeks, and she occupied herself by rifling through her bag in search of nothing.

"Yeah?" Her voice, an octave higher than usual, cracked around the vowels. She cleared her throat, "will you have more gossip for me? It's almost painful that I can't share it, you know."

"Good. I'll share as many secrets as I've got, if it'll bother you that much."

"Sounds terrible," Hange said. She tore a clean corner off her napkin and scribbled her personal number onto it. She slid it over the table to him. "Text me."

Levi pulled a face at the piece of napkin. "Is that used? Gross, shitty four-eyes." He pocketed it anyway.

Hange didn't know what else to say. Levi didn't seem to either, and so he stood, and tucked his chair back in. Hange turned her eyes down to her empty plate. Her stomach and chest felt strange, almost sickly, but in an oddly pleasant way.

Levi rapped his knuckles on the table. Hange jumped, startled, and looked up at the sound.

"This part is on the record," he said. The corner of Levi's mouth quirked into a small, barely there grin. "I heard from a reliable source that Eren was so scared on the set of Last War that he pissed his pants. Twice."

#Levihan #snk #my writing #THIS ONE WAS SO FUN I would like to revisit this one day #I enjoyed their dynamic hehe

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coloringthegreyscale · 3 years

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Helluva Boss ep 5 and the Stolitz “problem” - SPOILERS

Yes, hello. I’ve watched episode 5 far more times than is healthy since yesterday and now I have... so many things to break down and analyze, TRULY A GIFT!

So I’m going to preface this by saying that I am a Stolitz shipper and I’m not coming for y’all. I’m not even going to criticize the ship, but I am going to talk about some things that I’m questioning and am curious about. So I’m going to put it under a cut so if you want to scroll past this easily then you can.

HERE WE GO!

So of course we start this episode out with the Stolitz content as a vehicle to set up the premise of the episode. We’ve known this scene was coming for a long time, but it is interesting to see what changed about it and how it was ultimately delivered. They played up Stolas being a condescending prick to its fullest in this scene and episode. Which is important - because that’s what he is.

We need to see Stolas as what he is to the story - a ridiculous, thoughtless, and selfish bastard. But it’s also important to note that while he is unlikable, he isn’t necessarily malicious. I’ve got more to say on this later, so put a pin in that.

It’s also important to note that Blitzo isn’t overly bothered by their arrangement as a whole. He doesn’t mind the sex. Stolas is an annoyance, but not this looming master manipulator holding all the cards and leaving Blitzo powerless. This playing field is a bit more level than that and I will also get into that a bit more in a moment.

But first I wanted to touch slightly on what the introduction of Striker does and what kind of perspective it gives us to Blitzo’s storyline.

Striker is shown to be a top tier imp - the epitome of what an imp is capable of doing. And guess what? Blitzo matches him.

I love this shit, because this is what got me so interested in the show to begin with. Blitzo isn’t just some loser trying to succeed at something that’s out of his depth. He’s actually excels at what he does, and starting his business was an ambition that very few imps share. His struggles come from not being given the resources nor the full understanding on how to run that business because they were unavailable to him. His confidence comes from over compensation and when a premiere imp like Striker points out that what he’s doing is impressive, well... look at his reaction. He has to run that over through his head to remind himself that Striker’s right - because so many people have disregarded him simply because he’s at the bottom of the hierarchy.

This episode introduced just how that hierarchy affects Blitzo directly, his perspective, and what he feels he has to do to rise above it - all within the close proximity of Stolas, who has the privilege of being virtually unaffected by it. At least, from where Blitzo is standing.

Because we already have hints from episode 2 that that isn’t entirely true. Stolas, while being an insufferable and selfish prick with the social graces of a potato, has his own cross to bear with his status.

This was very important to see.

Stolas speaks with the grandeur he’s entitled to while Blitzo speaks with the worth he feels he needs to prove.

But what does that mean for them as a whole?

Stolas isn’t the threat. He’s an obnoxious necessity that Blitzo exploits for the sake of his business. The threat is the system that works against Blitzo running that business. But we also learn that Stolas isn’t Blitzo’s only avenue. He’s just the easiest.

Blitzo even says so himself when he stops Striker from killing him.

Without Stolas, Blitzo would have to find and use other ways to run his business. He’s not above doing it, and he’s not incapable of doing it - he just doesn’t really want to. This clarifies once and for all...

Blitzo is using Stolas just as much as Stolas is using Blitzo.

Blitzo has his own game that he’s playing and he knows he’s good at it, and in some sense, from how he reacts to Striker, he’s a bit proud that he’s got it.

But that doesn’t mean he isn’t resentful.

And that resentment doesn’t even fully rest entirely on Stolas and their deal. It seems that Blitzo is more bothered by the fact that he can’t just run his business on his own merit, just because of who he is.

So why didn’t Blitzo jump at the chance to work with Striker?

I think it’s natural for shippers to gravitate towards the idea that he ultimately refuses because somewhere he has feelings for Stolas. That little pause though as he looks on to see Stolas on stage with a crowd of imps watching him makes me think there’s more to it than that.

Because there’s no sure fire way to tell right now that Blitzo 100% knew that Moxxie was there. His heckling of Moxxie could have easily been a cover for him changing his mind. But why would he if not for feelings of Stolas?

Easy. He cares about what Moxxie (and Millie) would think of him if he were to team up with Striker. He prioritizes what they think of him over his own feelings. Not to mention the fact that if he left behind I.M.P., they would be fucked.

While Blitzo would love to be able to prove his worth in a society that deems him worthless, he cares about the well being of his chosen family more.

I think we’re going to see more of this, and I think Stolas has a lot to prove to Blitzo to gain his respect. Though, that slight panic at the suggestion of them being boyfriends sure was... interesting.

Anyway, I have so many more thoughts and I would love to discuss them. What are your thoughts?

#helluva boss #helluva boss episode 5 #blitzo #stolas #stolitz #striker #so many thoughts #ship dynamics #sometimes i have opinions

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

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Hello! I love your writing! I'm gonna send five prompts, I hope at least one of them inspires you and you have fun with them. Prompt #1: Wang Lingjiao (Wen Chao's mistress) interacting with Meng Yao in Nightless City, can be a ship but not necessarily (I... guess you could count shipping it as infidelity towards Wen Chao??? so def don't write ship if it makes you uncomfortable). Preferably WLJ pov, with her making numerous not always accurate assumptions about Meng Yao's role at Wen Ruohan's court, maybe sort of assuming he is to WRH what she is to WC and therefore approaching him with something like ~camaraderie (whether MY plays along or laughs her off I will leave to you)

ao3

Friends were a luxury that Wang Lingjiao had never been well-off enough to have, not when her tenuous position might be lost at any minute by a pair of seductive eyes or a new (not better) pair of tits, but it wasn’t like she was totally without any fellow feeling.

“Well done,” she said to the boy with Nie braids in his hair like he thought it’d make him something he wasn’t.

He blinked, surprised, and fixed her with the same pleasant, competent, I’m-here-for-your-pleasure smile that she’d seen him use on everyone else. “Lady Wang, whatever do you mean?”

Wang Lingjiao rolled her eyes. Sure, he wasn’t doing anything more stunning than getting himself some off-hours food from the kitchens, same as her, but there was no way he didn’t know what she meant.

He knew. Oh, he knew.

“For selling something else,” she clarified, and saw the darkness creep into that bright and clear gaze he was always pretending with, hiding behind; he couldn’t deny that he knew exactly what she was saying now. Personally, she’d rather be on her back in Wen Chao’s bed than helping out in the Fire Palace, but it was the principle of the thing. “And drop the ‘lady’ shit while we’re in the Nightless City. There’s no point in pissing off Lady Ma.”

His face didn’t give away any obvious tells, like eyebrows shooting up or eyes going wide, but she could feel that he was surprised. “You – care about that?”

Ma Liyuan was Wen Chao’s wife, officially, and Wang Lingjiao’s official job was as her maid, except of course she didn’t do any maid stuff because she was too busy fucking Wen Chao. Still, she would have thought that this Meng Yao character would know better.

“Born in a brothel, were you?” she guessed, and his face closed up. “Don’t be so squeamish. She told me to do it, of course. If she can’t keep him, better that she control him through me than let someone from the outside sink their claws into him. Doesn’t mean she wants it rubbed in her face or anything, though.”

It wasn’t an uncommon story, and he nodded slowly as she went to pick out some food – she could get better fare when she ate with Wen Chao, of course, but he liked the illusion of her being dainty and pristine, as if you could get tits like hers without having a decent meal on the regular, and so she supplemented in private.

“Someone told me you were from Yingchuan,” he said from behind her. “Yingchuan Wang sect.”

“I am,” she said, tearing at the flesh of an apple with her teeth. “What, the intonation didn’t give me away?”

“It’s not that,” he said. “I thought – Yingchuan Wang is a cultivation sect.”

Gentry, he meant.

“Sure is,” Wang Lingjiao said, and her lips twisted in derision. “What, did you think it was all fun and games after you get brought across the threshold? Did your mother fill your head with dreams of your legitimate father sweeping in and buying your freedom and hers, setting her up in a nice little courtyard and you in disciple robes, then seeing your merit and giving you the respect you deserve?”

He was quiet. Brothel girls, she thought to herself. Always the same old tune.

“My mother was a whore, too, only she did get brought in as a concubine,” she said. “Nice and official, past the threshold and everything. The official wives hated her, of course: shorted her on firewood in the winter and water in the summer, always gave her the worst pieces of cloth to make clothing and no allowance to buy anything else, gave us incense that’d give you itches and food that gave you the runs.”

“That happens everywhere,” he said.

“She got that nice little courtyard,” Wang Lingjiao said. “It even had a nice little gateway to the outside world – not for her to go out, mind you, that wouldn’t be proper for an official concubine. But it worked perfectly well for men to come in, with all the earnings flowing to the family coffers.”

She laughed at the expression on his face.

“It’s one pimp or another,” she told him. “Men always want something from you, always, don’t you know that? And when they think you’re already dirty, they don’t think too hard about what they’re asking. I was born inside the door to a proper legitimate father, never spent a day of my life in a brothel, and they still sold me out just the same as any madam – no, worse. The stuff these righteous bastards ask for is always ten times worse.”

“Worse?” he echoed.

“Isn’t it?” she asked him. “Even a whore that’s lost her charm still doesn’t have to do much more than lie on her back and spread her legs, but look at you – look at me. Running around catering to their every need, doing every nasty deed that they don’t want to do because that’s all we’re good for in their eyes.”

He grimaced.

“I’m in charge of getting new women for A-Chao’s bed, when he’s in the mood for variety,” Wang Lingjiao said. “And for getting rid of any accidents that might happen later, my own or others’. The Wen clan doesn’t believe in them, if you understand me; if he wants kids, he’ll get them through Lady Ma or nobody. And if a woman turns him down, it’s my job to punish her, or else he’ll start saying I don’t care enough, that I’m looking elsewhere…”

She laughed and took a bite of some pork.

“I’d do it anyway, of course,” she said, chewing. “All those little bitches that think they’re better than me, it’s a pleasure to knock them down to size. And surprise, surprise, once they don’t have their looks, suddenly they’re more than happy to come around begging at A-Chao’s door to see what they can get, since now the righteous ones don’t want them anymore…Peel off all that shiny exterior and it’s all the same underneath.”

Meng Yao didn’t like what she was saying, she could tell. Not that she cared.

“Find yourself a fool,” she advised him. “A-Chao’s not bad to me, all things considered. I’ve been by his side for a few years now and his tastes are pretty run-of-the-mill, not like his brother or his father; a bit of ego stroking - ooh, you’re so strong, so capable, I’ve never seen anyone as big as you, that sort of thing - and he likes coming on my tits. Sect Leader Wen, though? He’s too clever. You won’t be able to keep his interest for long, not even with those ingenious little torture machines you keep inventing for him, and then he’ll have you doing the real scut work.”

“I appreciate your consideration,” he said stiffly. Didn’t like his work being compared to someone like her, did he?

Men.

“I hear things about the brothels in Lanling,” she offered, just to needle him. “Not just perfume and flowers and a bit of witty conversation, not for men with all the money in the world; they like getting a little extra. If you’d gotten taken in the way you wanted, I’d bet that’s the job you’d get: you’d be seeing those women every day, bringing the women in smiling and taking them out crying – or worse. Some jobs you aren’t meant to come back from, after all; my best friend growing up ended up that way. You couldn’t even recognize the body as human below the neck.”

He was too well-trained to glare, but Wang Lingjiao could tell he wanted to. Someone like him, who signed up to do torture work, probably wouldn’t mind the bodies, she reflected, and shook her head.

“What’s Qinghe like, anyway?” she asked, nodding at his braids, actually curious. “Secretive sorts, and the one or two times my people acted as hosts to their inner sect disciples, they always turned down any offers for late night company.”

“I wouldn’t know,” he said.

“Stop having a stick up your ass. I’m not saying you provided services yourself, and even if you did I’m hardly one to judge. I just want to know. You were close with that big man of theirs, their sect leader, weren’t you? Sect Leader Wen sure talks about it enough.”

Talked about it the way Wen Chao talked about Wang Lingjiao getting close to a woman he was pursuing, sometimes. There was really no accounting for taste – Sect Leader Wen could have any woman he wanted and often did, her and Lady Ma included, and even sometimes at the same time; yet what he really wanted, apparently, was to hear Meng Yao talk about Sect Leader Nie’s personal habits.

Probably he wanted the joy in breaking him or something. Wang Lingjiao didn’t make it her business to try to guess, though she supposed Meng Yao did.

“No way someone as sharp as you didn’t pick up some clues about what he likes,” she continued. “Come on, what is it? He like beating his whores or something?”

“He didn’t frequent whores,” Meng Yao said. “And he didn’t take lovers.”

He smiled, faintly, probably at her expression of disbelief.

“He liked slaughtering Wen-dogs,” he added. “Rather a lot. See that you don’t end up on the wrong side of his saber. He didn’t make allowances for women.”

Wang Lingjiao tossed her hair – there was no need to bring in blood and war into their perfectly nice conversation! – and huffed. “Oh, I get you. The marrying type, then?” she sneered. “The ones that’ll give you their heart and forgive you for everything, then end up wearing green hats for cuckolds when it turns out the one they like isn’t near as virtuous as them? What a fool!”

“I thought you said I should find myself a fool,” Meng Yao said mildly.

“You still have to be able to keep him,” she mocked. “If you could get someone like Sect Leader Nie on the hook, why would you be busting your ass here?”

That shut him up.

“Well, your loss is Sect Leader Wen’s gain, I guess,” she said, and put aside her plate without washing it. The kitchen staff could clean up for her. “Ugh, I can’t wait for this war to be over already. I miss the discussion conferences! Even though I had to stay back with the servants, at least you got to see some new people…that last one, with the archery, that was a fun one.”

She grinned. “All the sect leaders came here to sit at Sect Leader Wen’s feet, your father included. He asked all three of his housekeeping maids to serve him in bed, you know. All at once. Brave man, at his age…come to think of it, you might want to check the nursery. See if you have some siblings there. Who knows? Maybe they’ll grow up to be competition.”

Meng Yao said nothing.

Wang Lingjiao laughed again.

“Have fun in the Fire Palace, Meng Yao,” she said, sashaying away. “Try not to end up on the wrong side of it.”

See? It was almost like being friends.

#mdzs #meng yao #jin guangyao #wang lingjiao #referenced WLJ/WC #discussions of NMJ/JGY #discussions of WRH/NMJ #my fic #my fics #a little extra #tauremornalome

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ahwait-no-yes · 4 years

Text

Let’s talk about if Saihara hated Ouma

So lately I’ve actually seen a bit more comments on how Saihara doesn’t actually like Ouma and people have gone as far as saying he hates him and idk why people genuinely believe it so here I am about to refute that (I’ve been waiting ages to make this post just so you know so this came out as a horribly unstructured ramble more than anything oops)

some notes beforehand:

I have an obvious bias as I do ship saiouma. although i’ll try to be neutral on what I say here, I can’t hide my bias. I have tried to include what people that hate this ship believe to counter them though, also if you ship other things that’s totally fine?? don’t think of any of this as an attack at your ship and I’m not saying Saihara loved Ouma, I’m just tired of people saying Saihara hated him.

You’re allowed to respectfully disagree as long as you don’t berate me or say I don’t know the game when the majority of the screenshots in this are from my own gameplay, lmao.

and massive whole-game spoilers! Don’t read this if you’ve not finished DRV3!

Glad to know you made it under the cut! now I can begin with where I think people got this idea that Saihara hates him from- the infamous “You’re alone Kokichi and you always will be” line.

I admit this was very cold and still breaks my fragile saiou heart, but to base Saihara’s entire perspective of Ouma on this one line he said while he wasn’t thinking straight is just.. no.. It’s unrealistic. we’ve seen how Saihara is able to adapt his views and grow (I’ll come back to this later), he’s not stubborn in this regard like Momota or even Ouma is, so even if he did mean it 100% (which I doubt because when *anybody* is angry they will say or do things they may regret had they been calmer), it’s not like his view on Ouma from chapter 4 was his final view on him. And that’s what people fail to realise.

So, how does Saihara view Ouma then?

well, I’d say he’s been interested in Ouma as a detective from the moment he met him with his curiosity piqued at Ouma’s claims of leading a secret organisation.

and he remains curious about Ouma throughout, always questioning why Ouma says certain things, what Ouma is lying for, he just wants to figure him out- and this doesn’t just apply to free time events either

I think you get my point there, now, I think if I didn’t ship saiou and read this, I’d argue these are all pre-chapter 5 and before the breaking line so he may have been curious before but not after- that then brings me to my next point

Saihara was confident- dare I say believed- in Ouma, especially after Chapter 5.

how bold of me to say ikr, but this ties in to Saihara’s ability to adapt his views. He’s sort of like a mixture of both Kaito and Ouma honestly, because naturally as a detective he has to be suspicious and think logically as Ouma does, while at the same time Kaito taught him to believe in his friends which has also helped him to advance in trials. I think he might have extended this belief to Ouma, because he trusts that Ouma is doing what he does for a reason.

In fact, I’d argue he’s the only one of the remaining group who wouldn’t readily accept pinning Ouma down as a villain. If anything, it’s the opposite- Saihara fought to clear Ouma’s name, and never stopped trying to understand whether or not his intentions were true or false

i’ll just drop this screenshot here (that i named THIS MAKES ME SO HAPPY.png in case you were wondering)

this is what I mean when I say he wouldn’t accept it as fast as the others and would second-guess it, bear in mind this is the moment Ouma “admitted” to being the mastermind. and it’s not like this doubt was sudden or anything, cause I can recall this moment (that I actually didn’t catch on to on my first playthrough)

which gives me the idea that hadn’t Ouma purposefully messed with everyone and built up his bad reputation, it would’ve been so much easier for Saihara to disprove him being the mastermind at the point he said it.

Anyway, going back to my point- excluding Kaito (cause Ouma directly told him), Saihara is the first to bring up Ouma’s innocence, and this is what I mean when I say Saihara believed in Ouma

note that I say believed in. believing Ouma and believing in Ouma are different, it’s like how loving someone and being in love with someone are two different things, so don’t argue that by saying “he didn’t trust him” because ik that and that’s not what I’m trying to say.

but he did believe that Ouma had his reasons, and he tried to discover and understand them. I mean, take this for example

he’s already on board lool look at him go, but no really look at the confidence

he’s both confident in himself and in Ouma not lying here, then goes back to being curious about his intentions

oh and let’s not forget who it was that searched Ouma’s lab to find clues to prove he is a remnant of despair. Why do you need to search for evidence for something you (and the others even more) think is irrefutably true? the answer is obvious- he was doubtful of it from the start, and needed evidence to convince himself it was true, but then as he found nothing to prove it (and even evidence against it), he had to convince the others of it too- and prove Ouma’s innocence

(the last screenshot was from Hikkie’s playthrough on Youtube)

But as you can see, he’s clearing Ouma’s name as the leader of the Remnants of Despair.

Now, I bet someone would argue that this only proves Saihara was determined to find the truth in general, because he’s mister detective, so I’ll raise you the fact that Saihara didn’t need to try figuring why Ouma does the things he does- he could leave it at just knowing the truth and if he really didn’t like Ouma like people say then there’s not much merit to it.

“So what if I know this now? I didn’t care about him, it’s pointless” he could’ve thought something like that, but no

(I also think the “you’re lying again kokichi, there’s a method to your madness” moment fits here too)

Not only this, but there’s also how Saihara learnt from him.

honestly im still kinda mindblown from this ever since I first realised it, but when you think about it, Ouma hinted to Saihara in his FTEs how to win the game.

(those 3 screenshots are from justonegamr’s kokichi’s FTE video; random fun fact this was the playthrough that i watched while first getting into drv3)

But if you think about it, Ouma tried this again in his own trial in his attempt at ending the killing game and then Saihara also used this to actually end it

Not only that (which personally i think is pretty powerful in itself), but Saihara also tries to take Ouma seriously and picks up hints he leaves and uses them later

as well as

(and generally just)

generally, Ouma will hint and then Saihara will pick it up. it’s been like that for the whole game- why should Saihara give any extra thought to what Ouma hints if he dislikes him?? really, he could’ve just ignored him the same way he did at the end of chapter 4- but again, he didn’t “”hate”” Ouma enough to keep ignoring him, he considered him a friend in the end anyway.

and the end is what I’ll talk about now, too.

first- can we just acknowledge this?

he doesn’t ignore Ouma at all here. even though he didn’t trust him, he was sad to have lost him.

Not to mention the way he thinks about lying at the end of Chapter 6. (like, please this is just- *chefs kiss*)

IMAGINE Ouma was alive to hear him say that omg but Saihara could (and probably would) extend what he says here to Ouma himself- y’know, the ‘embodiment of lies’

by thinking about lies in a different angle instead of at face value like this, he gets a more neutral view on them rather than just thinking “they’re bad!!”, why wouldn’t he be able to do the same for Ouma? especially now that he knows Ouma was innocent and actually hated the game as much as they all did. I mean hey, even after chapter 5′s trial he sort of already thinks about lies differently

and throughout this post, I’ve tried to avoid talking about his free time events or his salmon mode ending because people always say “well they’re not canon” and to that I say not canon to the plot, yes, but still canon to the characters. so yeah, I don’t disregard any of them.

from this point onwards these all technically happen before chapter 5, so it’s not entirely relevant to my point that saihara still liked ouma even after the end of chapter 4, but it’s still something that shows he liked him beforehand at least. I mainly just wanna ramble though haha

one thing I’ve always thought was interesting was how Saihara easily lashed out at Kaito in his own free time event

and Kaito is undeniably Saihara’s best friend who he holds in high regard. If Saihara having backbone means he doesn’t like someone then damn bye bye momota have a nice trip in space

in terms of ouma and saihara though

how about the fact that Saihara willingly sat there and played rock paper scissors (janken pon!) with Ouma 100 times?? bruh I got bored playing that with my brother after 8 rounds yesterday how would Saihara manage 100?? would you really have the patience for that when you don’t even like the person you’re playing with?

how about his third free time event too?

(from justonegamr’s kokichi fte video)

Saihara wanted to spend some time with Ouma, that’s- its literally written there I don’t know what you want from me the guy wanted a nice time with someone he supposedly doesnt like

what I love about this is how “reaching out” could be taken both literally and figuratively. Wanting to understand someone and trying to find a way to but them being too unwilling to trust anyone.. damn 😔👊 also shuuichi either wanted to handshake or hold hands, what else do you do when you reach for someone’s hand come on

oh yes and how about that he’s content with the refusal because it allowed him to figure out a small thing about Ouma? understanding that Ouma has a different way of being reached out to? mhm please think about that for a bit

that parallel in the salmon ending too...

he considered how it’ll be like with him after they get out and how he’ll learn about him, then ultimately decided when ouma reached out to him that he does want this, and even comments on the warmth of his hand... afhskfdlj

his blush when ouma mentions how his lies didn’t bore saihara was also a very cute moment

ooh and what about the love hotel???

there’s that one line “I know i’m meant to be Kokichi’s ideal in this fantasy but when he tells me he loves me I feel like he means the opposite” or something like that- i’d argue it’s because he’s cautious of Ouma for one but also am I getting something wrong here or is he talking about how he, Shuuichi, thinks Ouma doesn’t like him? because I see people argue this is proof saihara doesn’t like ouma but all he’s really doing is just doubting ouma loves him

well in any case

WHY would he want him to stay in a love hotel of all places if he disliked him?! I know I’m just a broken record at this point but I can’t think of anything logical for it. they didnt even need to include that line in the scene at all but they did like they could’ve easily said something to do with realising where he was instead but nah. even after the event’s over, he says to himself

doesn’t he sound disappointed by it? and the fact that he even questions if it was a dream- okay

ooh, something i’ve realised while writing this as well: it kind of seems like Saihara might not want to like him but does anyway; he quickly ‘smothered the thought’ of staying with Kokichi, didn’t want to admit that Ouma’s lies never bored him, and I also thought about how in one of Kaito’s free time events he says to himself “I shouldn’t be talking about another boy like that”- well, maybe it’s similar for how he thinks of ouma? it’s not like Saihara didn’t care for the others’ opinion on him (probably the opposite ngl if you mess up in class trials he says something along the lines of“Ah I screwed up! They probably think I’m a fraud”) and considering nobody else liked ouma (except for maybe gonta) I wouldn’t be surprised if he felt shame for liking him, thus repressing that feeling (especially around the others, there’s that part in trial 4 where he’s trying to convince kaito he isn’t siding with ouma cause he knows by doing that could damage his friendship with his bro)

I mean this is something I only thought of just now, but it could be plausible (i hope?)

One last thing- I find it incredibly funny how in chapter 2 when ouma is literally on top of saihara he doesn’t freak out or scream and everyone else in the room is also completely chill with it and unquestioning. no really they’re just standing there.. and how long was ouma even in that position for??

Now, I think that’s all. So to finish off, I’ll just say

People get the idea that saiouma is bad because some don’t realise Saihara can still like a person without idolising or putting them on a pedestal. Idk if this is gonna sound controversial or not, but I honestly do think he did exactly that to Kaito and Kaede- which doesn’t make what they have with him toxic or bad at all, I just think his view on Ouma is a lot more realistic and less clouded. Heck, if Saihara canonically liked Ouma as much as he does with the other two I don’t know if I’d ship saiouma as hard as I do (it is fun to imagine though).

If you actually read through this then.. wow? I’m surprised you got through this unstructured mess? I hope you can agree with me for some of my points at least but I’m not here to convince you or anything, this has just been on my mind for weeks now I needed to get it out somehow.

I said it at the start and i’ll say it again now too- i didn’t intend on attacking or comparing saiou to any other ships so I do apologise if I seem like it, i’m just terrible with my wording (lmk if something genuinely offended you, i’ll probably change it) but you’re free to ship whatever you like cause at the end of the day it’s just a bit of fun. that being said, I don’t want to actually argue on this so please don’t haha, i’ve contemplated just deleting this but I’ve put a lot of effort into this post even though i cant analyse for 💩

I hope you can enjoy the rest of your day!

have the kokichi gaygun as a farewell present

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supertunanana · 3 years

Note

Thank you for calling me lovely 🥺 I think when there's a sudden change people are naturally curious as to why that change occurred especially considering how close and how often JM and JK chose to ride together. Not just in Seoul but abroad as well. Now since Spring there's been a change and not only that but they chose to ride separately in NY as well. Now of course none of that means they're fighting or not friends anymore but there's a reason for this change and it has some people confused and or curious. I guess in the end it really doesn't matter because it's not our relationship but some of us do care about them and they seem to have such a rare special bond. Some just don't want to see that change for the worst and may be hypersensitive when something like this happens. It might be silly to some but I know a few people who have so much negativity in their life that seeing such a lovely bond between two people may be the only source to have something to feel positive about. Like if something that beautiful exists then maybe there's hope in this life. Any disruption in the norm causes panic and at times anger. Now that's not on Jimin and Jungkook and they can't be expected to do or say things for somebody else's well being but I am just providing why people may feel so invested and care about things staying all good between JM and JK. Thank you again.

Oh no, Anon, I wasn't at all trying to belittle your feelings. I UNDERSTAND the arguments, I do. I get it. I just don't follow this line of reasoning closely because there's just too much conjecture for me to give it credence. It's theory. It's opinions. It's very little fact. Even the facts we think we have we don't really have. We've never seen EVERY car ride, only certain ones. Our sample population is too biased and too small for a real pattern. They've been a band for 8 years, and a trainees for longer, so there must be thousands upon thousands of car rides we've never been privy to. How can we develop a pattern of behavior off of sporadic moments?

We THINK they used to share a car a lot based off of what official content gave us and people snapping pictures at events. We THINK it's changed from what we THOUGHT it was. That's just too many unknowns for my liking. Maybe the volume hasn't actually changed but what we are being shown has? Maybe the volume HAS changed because of COVID so the times we see it is even smaller, so it seems more obvious?

The reason for the change could honestly be anything. It could be, as you said, the company asked them to step back? It could be they live together now and want to spend time with the others? It could be they've grown in their relationship and don't need to be in each other's pockets? It could be they broke up? It could be they were never together to begin with? It's such a small thing that people are placing way too much emphasis on when we've never seen it all nor have we ever understood it all. So why does it trump the selfie? Why does it trump the airport conversations? Why does it trump Hybe giving us "hickey gate" only very recently? Why does it trump "my baby" during Run? Why does it trump the almost kiss? People have worried before and then a behind the scenes drops and shows them it wasn't what they thought at all. My point is, I don't worry about the things I cannot control or have little insight into. I focus more on the point blank things I'm given. And from those, they seem fine. I'm sorry that doesn't give you piece of mind. We place emphasis on different things, I guess. You wanted me to help you untangle it and I cannot do so without forcing a narrative I would be biased towards but have no concrete fact. That makes me uncomfortable. I'm not trying to devalue your feelings and I'm so sorry if it feels like I am in anyway. I just... don't feel the burden of proof has been met to deliberate on it fairly with the argument or evidence given (ie, car sharing or lack thereof = anything of merit). It's all too circumstantial. This doesn't mean I don't understand that their bond matters to people, I'm saying I don't see a problem with their bond at all based on the quantity of time they share a car. Their bond, from what I place emphasis on, seems absolutely lovely and fine. I have a friend who loves their bond and isn't nearly as invested who would say it's still rock solid!

#jikook #ask #it's me

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joonkorre · 3 years

Text

what canst thou give?

@drarrymicrofic prompt: caught

yall cant expect me to watch the witch (2015) and not go insane trying to fit a quote into my work. also, this is the first time i ever write something veering into the 15+ category. so. go easy on me lmao

AO3

“Wouldst thou like to live deliciously?”

Draco’s breath catches in his throat.

“But only if you want to, of course. No pressure at all.”

It’s sweet, that tone, as sweet and numbing as the saliva dripping down his nape. If Draco is someone else, an unfortunate bastard even more miserable than he is, he might have believed it.

“I don’t know,” he replies, the unnatural chill on the back of his bare neck too visceral a feeling. Too real. “I think having to choose between that and rotting in a back alley is at least a little bit pressuring.”

“Not too much, though?”

“Oh, no, never.”

“Good,” Edmund whispers. At this point, Draco wouldn’t be surprised if that’s not even his real name, “good.”

Draco stays quiet. With smooth jazz crooning through the walls of bars and eateries to complete the easygoing ambiance of a mid-autumn night in Muggle London, it seems to be the least likely time of the year to find oneself bargaining for their life. But here he is.

“Now,” Draco’s pulse jackrabbits so quickly he can hear it. A delighted chuckle leaks into the night. “Your answer, please.”

When he doesn’t give one, the canines on his exposed shoulder threaten to break the skin. Unexpectedly, they lift off.

“You might want to think it through a little faster, doll,” the large hand pinning Draco’s wrists against the brick wall clenches around them, then drifts down his chest. Lays flat on his quivering stomach, a persistent pressure against Draco’s thrifted bomber jacket. “We have an audience.”

Draco sucks in the stale air with a hiss. He’s pulled his date this far into the alley because he didn’t want curious onlookers as they snog. Bad fucking idea that was. Still, the thought of strangers witnessing this horrid moment fills him with dread. They can’t do anything to help anyway, only to humiliate him even more.

“What—”

“Don’t look,” Edmund nips his ear lobe, “unless you want further mortification. You mortals are ashamed of the strangest things, I can smell it on you.”

Heat rushes through his body. Draco blinks, dizzy with… with something. He doesn’t know whether he wants to rebel, turn his head, and meet the stranger’s gaze head-on, or just rest his forehead against the grimy bricks and find reluctant comfort in Edmund’s instructions.

“What do you,” Draco murmurs, sour notes of alcohol floating back into his nose, “what do you propose I do then? Just stand here and wait for them to get lost?”

“You can make it easy for yourself and say no,” Edmund says.

Those canines are back on the base of his neck. The arm that isn’t wrapped around his middle slithers across his chest, calloused palm an anchor on his shoulder blade. Draco wonders if this looks intimate, possessive—protective, even—to their observer, when he simply feels choked. A mouse gripped within the gentle loops of a snake’s body.

“You’d look like you’re swooning in my arms while I drink from your,” the tip of Edmund’s nose travels up the length of Draco’s neck, ending at where his baby hairs are matted with cold sweat, “gorgeous, delicious essence. And it’d only take a blink of an eye. Our little voyeur would never know.”

“Merlin, can’t I have a single good date?” Draco grits out. “Just fucking say blood.”

“Oh, but you’re no fun,” Edmund says. “Being poetic has its merits, I think. Makes life interesting.”

“Life will be even more interesting when I get to live it, actually.”

The hand on his shoulder takes its time trailing to his face, and when it does, it tilts his jaw to the side. Draco’s eyes automatically slide shut.

“Oh, you will. Once you get used to the ‘undead’ part of it, life will be a joy to live.”

His hands shift against the grimy bricks, one seeking familiarity and warmth as it grips his other wrist, grounding him.

“You must’ve realized by now how anxious I am to have you by me, by us. If I’m not, I’d just pick you up from a club, drink from you, leave you behind that dumpster over there, and you’d wake up feeling hungover with no memory of me,” Edmund goes on, his face close. If Draco tries, he reckons he can swallow down the intoxicating spice of cologne wafting against his cheek. “But I’m not doing that, now, am I?”

Perhaps it’s not even cologne, perhaps it’s all Edmund.

“You see, the blood of mortals is our life force, yes, but few of them ever smell and taste like anything more than diluted shite. Blood like yours, though, that’s rare. Power like yours. That raw, untapped, repressed power hiding under masks and marks. Given enough time, enough resources, it can be brought forth, and you can prosper.

“It’d be a shame if all of what you are made of withers into nothing, don’t you think?”

Draco thinks and thinks. It’s all one can do when they’re held so firmly, quite literally stuck between a rock and a hard place. A bead of sweat trickles down his temple. Edmund kisses it away with false reverence, dotting another kiss behind Draco’s ear. Draco would have jolted if he has any energy left in him.

He realizes it now. Ever since the day Edmund’s gaze lingered a second too long, it was over. There is no one left to remember him, and if he ‘makes it easy’ for himself and says no, nothing will change. Sooner or later, he’d die without a purpose, alone.

What if he eliminates dying from the equation altogether?

He realizes it now. There has never been any choice.

Only one foggy, crooked path forward.

“Yes.”

Draco’s eyes open with a heavy drag, allowing in but a sliver of light. In the misty blurriness, he sees a smirk. One stark-white canine pulls the bottom lip inward, pierces through papyrus skin.

Draco’s vision darkens as red lips touch his. His nose clogs up for a brief moment, overwhelmed by the onslaught of scents and tastes. With every languid swipe of a clever tongue, copper as bitter as Charon’s obol forces its way into his mouth. A sharp needle of pain pricks his bottom lip. Draco flinches, tries to take a step back but the hand on his jaw keeps him close. One long finger sneaks into his mouth, prying it apart.

Swallowing the harsh tang of iron down, a rich, foreign sweetness floods his senses. It’s the nectar of late-June peaches and lingonberry syrup swirled in chamomile, coating his palate with a luscious glaze. A low moan escapes as his muscles relax. If it’s not for the steady hand on his stomach, Draco’s knees would have hit the dirty ground already.

“There we go,” Edmund whispers. His hands guide Draco to lean against him, back to chest, sending intermittent shivers to rack through Draco’s body. It’s cold, so cold, but he can’t pull away, just lets Edmund takes whatever he wants to take. “Good boy.”

“Don’t call me that,” Draco gathers enough of his declining wit to argue. “Sounds like you’re calling a dog.”

“Ah, you’re cute. The Sisters will adore you.”

“Sisters...” Draco says, the furrow of his brow easily smoothened by another leisurely kiss.

“Sisters,” Edmund says. The hand on Draco’s jaw edges to his neck, thick fingers adding a slight squeeze to the vulnerable valley on either side of his Adam’s apple. Draco sighs into Edmund’s mouth. “Surely you don’t think there’s only one of us out there?”

Not very certain of what to say, Draco purses his lips instead. Edmund lets out an amused hum and indulges him, sucking on his bottom lip. It’s good, so good, until it becomes sickening, like raiding the entirety of Fortescue’s stockroom. Being a creature of the night is rapidly losing its novelty.

“Okay, enough, enough, thanks,” he says, tapping the muscular arm around him and turning away. Edmund only continues his little ministration below Draco’s jaw.

He doesn’t know how long his eyes have been closed, so he opens them once more. It’s like… it’s like he’s been floating on thick water and is only recently dragged into shore. Rubbing the creak out of his neck, Draco squints.

Past Edmund’s sturdy form and angular lines, out in the main street, the thin crowd of pedestrians pass by in chattering groups and pairs. Opposite to the alley, however, one lone figure stands just out of reach of the street lamp. The yellowish light merely suggests their existence as they lean against the restaurant Draco and Edmund exited from earlier. The bright tell-tale red of a cigarette butt is visible but other than that, no detail to be discerned. Looks like someone who’s just minding their own business.

“You must think yourself funny,” Draco says, arching his neck to accommodate the kisses peppering his skin, “using my own shame against me. I doubt people even remember there’s an alleyway here.”

“Don’t forget that when a being has lived for as long as I have, has accumulated this much power, nine times out of ten, he knows what he’s saying. I’m powerful enough to catch the scent of every mortal walking by, even know if they’re actually mortals or not. Our little voyeur? He’s still here. He’s watching. He’s waiting for you, doll.”

Edmund pauses, then:

“And whether he’s a mortal? That remains to be seen.”

Draco pushes away as far as Edmund’s firm grasp allows, which is only a few centimeters away. Whatever his blood did with Draco’s own, it snaps him awake with startling clarity just as swiftly as when it’s reduced him to a little more than a rag doll. Everything is so sharp it’s almost disgusting, like his eyeballs are gouged out, scrubbed clean, then shoved back in again. Draco locks his legs, willing himself not to stumble.

“That makes no goddamn sense,” he says.

“You don’t feel them now, but wait until they set in,” Edmund tries to tug him back, shrugging when he doesn’t obey. “Your abilities. We’ll go back to the House of Collective tonight and when you wake up tomorrow, you’ll know what I’m talking about.”

“I,” Draco says. “Please say that again. With actual information.”

“So demanding,” Edmund leans back and looks at Draco like he’s seeing him for the first time, a hint of humor in his serene demeanor. “The House of Collective is where the majority of us in Britain frequent and reside. The newly Turned are brought there to be with their brethren. Trying to deal with these new abilities alone is what makes them go Rogue and lands them on the front page. Think Jeannette McDermott, the poor woman.”

Jeannette McDermott drained and devoured 6 people in a single weekend. The Aurors got to her first before the news outlets. Being a shut-in and hating being perceived in general—Merlin knows how she got bitten in the first place—the only pictures ever taken of her as an adult was of her mangled body, torn by her own claws and twisted into stillness. It was a once-in-a-century scandal that paralyzed Wizarding Europe for 2 months straight.

Draco frowns. “I’ve always wondered. How did she—why wasn’t she brought back to the House, then?”

“That’s what irresponsible Turning looks like. If we want to Turn someone, it must be carefully considered and planned, for there must always be more prey than predators. Such is the law of nature,” Edmund says it like it’s a walk in the park rather than changing people’s entire lives. “Deacon Frangos was careless—amateur little weakling—and wanted something more thrilling than, say, going to clubs for gullible drunks.

“During the official trial at the House, he confessed that he spent days working through her wards and broke in. Never expected that McDermott was a fighter. She couldn’t get to her wand, but she did have a knife. She stabbed him 3 times as he was drinking from her. Their blood mixed, and Frangos ran off to lick his wounds before we found him. That was Friday.”

“Merlin and Morgana,” Draco breathes, “that quick?”

Edmund only looks at him, silent as he waits for Draco to weigh his decisions. Or lack thereof.

“What about, what about my apartment? My things?”

“You’ll only be at the House of Collective until we get you accustomed to your new life, then you can return home. Or,” Edmund tilts his head to the side, “you can stay. It’s akin to a commune, there’s space for all. It’s in the middle of the woods, too, hidden behind extensive wards and Charms, very private. Don’t you love your privacy?”

“What, do you live there?”

“Yes! Just so you know, I built my own dwelling. It’s stunning, if I do say so myself. Marble floors, 5 balconies. Just added a new pool last month. Plenty of space to… christen, unlike your studio apartment.”

Edmund lets a casual grin grace his face, all jokes. Draco curls his lips. It’s a mystery for the ages as to how he’s ever found this man charismatic.

“I’d rather the, um, the studio apartment. It does have its charms. Checkered bathroom tiles, and, hmm, a working oven. I might paint the fireplace next week, who knows?”

“Big plans, big plans,” Edmund nods solemnly. “However, you will need to pay a visit at least twice a month for resources and news within the community. There are tons; we even have a matchmaking service so you wouldn’t have to explain yourself to some bumbling mortal and worry about lifespans. Isn’t that so very neat? But, you already have me.”

Edmund shoots him a wink. If he’s not, well, Edmund, Draco might think it’s attractive.

“I think,” he starts. His neck is aching something fierce the longer he looks back, so he turns to face Edmund directly, “we need to have a talk about ending this entanglement.”

“My,” Edmund adjusts without trouble, interlacing his hands behind Draco’s waist, just above his bum. “Must you hurt me so? After all we’ve been through in the past three dates, you want to cast me aside?”

“Those three dates were nothing more than bouts of insanity. My apologies, I was in a moment of weakness and was somehow fooled by your… Merlin, I don’t even know. Basically, you were a passing fancy that I will rue ever having for the rest of my life.”

Edmund sighs and lowers his head until it’s nestled where Draco’s neck joins his shoulders.

“My 161st love has broken my heart. Oh, how can I recover from this pain?”

He lifts his head up, meeting Draco’s unimpressed gaze with a smirk. “Perhaps one last kiss will be the balm I need. Come on, just one more for closure.”

Draco gnaws his bottom lip and wets the still-throbbing cut on it. Then, he rolls his eyes, sliding them shut. No big deal.

“You’re so generous, Draco,” purrs a deep voice right at the corner of his mouth. Draco parts his lips, breathing in the hushed words. “Can’t say I won’t miss this. Your blood truly is a delicacy.”

“Hurry the fuck up.”

Sweet, sweet wine.

Draco sags against Edmund’s strong chest, head lolled to the side, panting. They have stopped before it got too much this time, yet Draco still teeters over the edge of insanity with every suckle of lips, every caress of tongue. Edmund has been gentle, large hands cupping Draco’s face like he’s a priceless treasure made of opals and emeralds, combing through the slightly wavy hair Draco has grown out. He has fixed Draco’s shirt as he plucked off every scrap of sense remaining in Draco’s head, has stroked the purple marks in bloom, and covered them with the bomber jacket.

As Draco clutched those broad shoulders and wrinkled the expensive fabric adorning them, he had half a mind to demand Edmund to be rougher, to stop trying to savor it. Stop making it something to go breathless over.

Toying with the shiny button on Edmund’s wool suit, he reminds himself that it was smart to end whatever they had between them. Otherwise, he can see himself becoming addicted, and such a problem has no place in his life.

“It’s getting late,” he says. The street outside is still bustling with people, bursting with sound. The person leaning against the wall opposite is lighting up a new cigarette.

“Oh, doll,” Edmund hugs him tight. “Darling. You’re right, it’s getting late. ”

They stand there for a few moments more nonetheless, clutching each other. Then Draco sees it. Sees him.

As if on cue, the person straightens from their position against the wall. They step forward, one foot after the other, slack and loose, into the buzzing light. Draco can’t observe intricate details from this far away—has to wait until tomorrow, apparently—but he still has eyes.

A pair of snickering women stroll by, and the street seems empty for a split second. It’s enough for Draco to see large, black boots (Dragonhide, the part of his brain that never forgets Mother’s fashion books notes) and dark, well-fitted pants stretching over thick thighs. Sleeves rolled to the elbow, exposing dark arms with a myriad of pink-white scars. White button-up, wrinkled and stained, tied by leather harnesses crisscrossing at the chest, like the wearer has forgone changing after work and instead hurried off to deal with an urgent task. An unusual outfit for urban London, but somehow, it works.

Left hand tucked in a pants pocket, the other tapping the fine ash from a cig into a puddle on the concrete. It lifts to hover in front of full, waiting lips. One sleepy bloke trudges by, a heavy bag slung over his shoulder. A hazy billow of smoke spills forth lazily as the bloke walks out of view, opaque clouds masking an expressionless face before disintegrating into the night.

“Doll.”

Draco glances back at Edmund, who is staring at his lips. His hands run tiny circles over the small of Draco’s back.

“We decided on one kiss.”

“I know,” Edmund’s thumb swipes over the cut, as soft as a brush dipping into paint. “There’s still blood.”

“Obviously,” Draco says with a slight snort, “you bit it. Like a brute.”

Edmund’s reply comes in the form of his thumb pressing against the cut as if wanting to both stopper the blood and squeeze it out. Draco assists by opening his mouth, slipping the finger into moist warmth. And for some godforsaken reason, his eyes travel back to the street beyond.

This time, both hands are in the pants pockets. The cigarette has stopped its light bouncing, now lying still between pillowy lips. Like before, the voyeur is a statue amidst a sea of movement.

Draco swirls his tongue against the pad of the thumb, tasting himself and gulping it down. It’s bitter and sour without Edmund’s blood to sweeten it up, but he keeps licking until all he can feel is the saltiness of skin, the clenched fistful of his jacket against his hip, and—

And green.

“It’s getting late,” Edmund whispers against his forehead, his lips a touch away from kissing his fringe.

Letting the finger fall from his mouth, Draco whispers back.

“Okay.”

The voyeur never stops looking. Draco knows because neither does he.

“We’re never doing this again.”

Draco’s eyes glide back to Edmund. “I never thought you’d be the one to say that.”

“Me, too. But I’m serious,” the man says, but doesn’t clean his finger. “From now on, we keep our hands to ourselves.”

“And mouths.”

“Yes, those especially.”

Draco huffs out a laugh, “Okay. Very well. I’m glad we’ve reached an agreement.”

Edmund shakes his head, then blinks. He looks up at Draco, mischief in his eyes.

“Alright, Draco, you’ve done enough for the night.”

“Pardon?” Draco says, sliding his arm into the crook of Edmund’s. “You Side-Along us.”

“Of course, and I meant. Merlin, you’ve done quite enough. Oh, goodness, that’s pungent.”

Edmund pats Draco’s hand on his forearm and leans toward his ear.

“Say goodbye to him.”

Draco’s fingers tighten around Edmund’s arm in warning. He doesn’t say ‘goodbye,’ but he does look to the street light opposite the alleyway. Before the Apparition wrenches all the thoughts out of his head, Draco vows not to think about the expression on that face.

#drarrymicrofic #drarry microfic #drarry #drarry fanfiction #drarry fanfic #drarry fic #harry potter #draco malfoy #original male character #vampire #vampire draco #auror harry potter?#cursebreaker?#who knows #cigarette #how long can nancy go w/o writing the word ‘vampire’ challenge #there’s no particular purpose for that btw i just wanted to make things hard for myself #‘oh man i dont think im really that comfy w the idea of writing drarry being intimate just yet’#solution: shamelessly abusing the drarry tag to write about another pair that’s not even endgame #had a lot of fun writing edmund #was planning for this to be a lil sexy vampy moment then BOOM plot idea #wait why did i just realize that the house of collective sounds like a house’s name in ballroom culture #ykw it’s very fitting in fact vampires are all very queer #joonkorre writes

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musings-from-mars · 3 years

Note

Welp, part 5 is a must now

Freelance Love Triangle AU - Part 5

Blake wasn’t sure why she’d been so curious about hard seltzer when she already knew she hated sparkling water. But here she was drinking what vaguely suggested that it might be cherry flavored, yet Ruby seemed to like hers, and Blake had already said she liked it. Gotta finish it now…

Cinder was right about it being quaint. Blake usually shied away from late night trips to the bar because the ones she’d been to were the “loud music, pick up chicks” types. This, however, was more easy going, softer music and people here to chat with friends more than anything else. And since it was a weekday evening, it wasn’t very busy (also a rare treat for a city like Vale).

The three of them sat at the bar, the bow tie and vest wearing barman leisurely drying a glass with a fiber cloth as he handed Cinder her cheap glass of red wine. Blake wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting, maybe that Cinder would order something from higher in the big wooden cabinet behind the bar, perhaps to show off her sophisticated tastes. But no, it was just a glass from an already opened bottle of something dark and astringent. At least she was being seemingly authentic.

Blake needed the occasional reminders that Cinder wasn’t the highbrow, high class villainess she made her out to be in her head. She was Blake’s coworker and made no more than she did. Maybe Blake just had a complex, imagining her as an opponent. And Ruby was the prize she felt like they were warring over.

I’m a fucking piece of shit. And dumb. She took another sip of alcohol soda water, accepting it as her punishment.

“Want a taste?” Cinder asked Ruby, sliding her glass to her.

The photographer eyed the dark red liquid skeptically, but she grabbed the stem of the glass anyway. “I’ll try.” She took the smallest of sips, then came away with an expression like she had just bitten into a lemon. “Heghhh…”

Cinder giggled, seeming to be genuinely amused. “It’s an acquired taste.”

Blake reached over, but looked to Cinder for permission to try. Cinder noticed, and for half a second seemed surprised, but then she smiled and nodded. Blake took a sip, and yep, it felt like all the moisture had been zapped from her mouth the moment the wine passed her tongue. She slid the glass back to Cinder. “I don’t think I’ll acquire it.”

Cinder rolled her eye, but continued to smile. Blake took a drink of her seltzer. At least now she knew it could be worse.

“So, uhm…” Ruby began, pausing to sip her drink. “When did you two, like…how’d you become writers.”

Blake looked across to Cinder, and Cinder went first. “It wasn’t my plan initially, but I eventually figured out that I wanted to write for a living. But I didn’t figure that out until I was a third year physics student at my university. Had an identity crisis, had a financial crisis, had a crisis crisis, I’m a journalist now.” She punctuated that with a sip of wine, and both Ruby and Blake laughed. “Blake had a slightly less stressful go at it, if I remember correctly.”

Blake blushed at that, but nodded in agreement. “College was the easy part. It was the after college part that was hard. Urban Valean is, like, the fifth publication I’ve written for in the past two years and it’s the first one I’ve actually enjoyed.”

“I can agree with that,” Cinder added.

“Huh.” Ruby bowed her head a bit. “So I kinda got lucky, huh?”

“Got lucky because of the magazine you’re working for? Or lucky because you’re working with us?” Cinder asked. Blake felt her face warm, both because of Cinder’s obvious flirting, but also because of her use of the word “us.”

Ruby chuckled bashfully and shrugged. Cute. “Both, I guess. You two are really cool, and…nowhere near as mean as I was worried you would be.”

“You thought we’d be mean?” Blake asked, concerned.

Ruby’s back straightened and she shook her head. “I mean, uhh…not you two specifically! I just mean, like, I always imagined I’d get teased, or like, not taken seriously at my first gig. But I liked you both pretty much right away. I’m really enjoying working on this project.” She smiled genuinely, and it made Blake’s heart soar.

“Yeah, you are pretty lucky to be working with us,” Cinder assured her with a chuckle. “And that’s not me being an ass, I mean that. There are a lot of high-strung jerks out there.”

“Yeah,” Blake agreed, then felt her breath catch in her throat. Was she talking about her?

“Blake and I are the types who…you know, we enjoy what we do, but we don’t take ourselves too seriously. At least, most of the time.” And then she winked at Blake. It was a little hard to tell at first because, well, one eye, but that was definitely a wink. She tipped her head in her direction and everything.

At least Blake wasn’t one of those high-strung jerks, then.

“Thank you both, seriously,” Ruby told them, then took the last sip of her drink. “I was so scared when I graduated, because I didn’t know what to do, but…now I feel like I’m on a good track, of some sort. I…” She paused and flinched a bit, then she pulled out her phone, and she went a bit paler. “Oh, shit! I totally forgot!”

“What?” Blake asked.

“Did you leave your other laptop in the oven?” Cinder joked.

“No no, it’s my sister. She invited me over tonight and I completely forgot. I…” She suddenly got to her feet and started fumbling around in her pockets. She finally pulled out her wallet and left a few Lien on the bar. “I am so sorry that I’m leaving so quick, I really would love to stay, but…”

“Don’t worry about it, Ruby. This won’t be our last time hanging out,” Cinder assured her. “We’ll see you in the morning, okay?”

Ruby sighed and nodded. “Thanks.” She turned towards Blake and grinned as she began to leave. “Bye! Thanks again!”

Blake and Cinder both watched her leave, and then a relative silence fell over them, with an awkward empty seat now separating the two.

Blake heard Cinder take in a deep breath, then hopped into the seat Ruby had just vacated. “Blake, can I ask you something?”

Blake’s heart was suddenly hammering in her chest, both due to the open-ended question, and the sudden reduction in distance between them. “Uhh…you just did.”

Cinder huffed the faintest laugh. “Blake, I feel like we should probably talk about this like a couple of adults.”

“Talk about what?” Blake asked, apparently deciding to play dumb.

“About Ruby,” Cinder deadpanned. “About how obviously we both seem to like her. Unless I’m misreading things horribly.”

Blake sighed and shook her head. “No, you’re just about spot on,” she admitted.

“I figured. I can’t help but feel like you view this as us both competing for her affections, but as much as I’d normally appreciate drama like that, when I’m involved, I’d prefer we handle it like real people rather than like rom-com characters.”

Cinder’s eloquence got on Blake’s nerves as usual, only now she was beginning to examine why. Cinder was so irritatingly attractive, and yet she was exactly right about the whole competing thing. Why did Blake have to view her as an opponent all the time, when they had just told Ruby how they were both just a couple of stressed out freelance writers? She took another sip of hard seltzer, realized her glass was empty, and despite her disdain for the taste, signaled the bartender for a refill.

“I am most concerned about Ruby herself,” Cinder continued. “Whether she’s even interested in either of us in that way, or if she is interested in such a relationship at all. So I believe that’s our most important concern right now. Let’s be upfront with her as well, right?”

“You want us to tell her that we both fancy her,” Blake asked, as a statement rather than as a question. The bartender slid another pint glass of fresh-from-the-can hard seltzer. “I can’t imagine that going well.” Nor could she imagine her blood pressure handling such a situation well.

“But at least then we’d know early on whether our feelings are misplaced or not,” Cinder pointed out, and finished off her glass. She signaled for another, probably mirroring Blake’s failure to adhere to her “only one drink” declaration from earlier. “It would save us the anxiety.”

“For you, maybe,” Blake said with a dry laugh. “I can’t imagine telling her something like that, especially since we’re supposed to be keeping things professional. Imagine if she freaks out and tells Robyn? She’d be in the right if she did.”

“I doubt she would, I have a good feeling, if I’m being honest,” Cinder admitted as the bartender finished refilling her glass.

“I don’t!” Blake said, an incredulous smile on her face.

“It’s up to you, Blake,” Cinder assured her and took a sip of her wine. Blake noticed a faint red tint to her cheeks. “I won’t make a move without your…input?”

“What, like, some sort of bro code?” Blake asked, raising an eyebrow at her. She took a few hasty sips from her drink, as if that would calm her down at all. “We’re not frat boys.”

“As I said, I want us to handle this like adults,” Cinder reiterated, eying Blake’s glass with faint concern. “And I think going behind your back, undercutting you…” She let that linger.

Blake sighed, her shoulders slumping a bit. “Would be shitty, yeah, I got that.”

“You don’t give yourself enough credit, Blake.”

Blake held her breath and looked at her, studying her face as she drank more wine. That came out of nowhere. “What do you mean?”

“You compare yourself to others, or most notably, to me all too often,” Cinder told her, setting her glass back down. “You are a woman of merit, and you shouldn’t hamper yourself with the expectations that other people already deal with. You are just one person. You need to do what you can, and less of what you feel like I can. You’ll stress yourself out far less once you do.”

Blake tried to take in all of that, but at this point, her head was a little too foggy to accept new information for archiving. This hard seltzer wash was more potent than she expected. Or maybe she was more of a lightweight than she thought. “Easy for you to say. You get cover so often…”

“I’ve also been doing this longer than you have,” Cinder pointed out. “You’re putting the expectations I deal with on top of your own by comparing yourself to me. I used to do that all the time, hence the crisis crisis I mentioned earlier? Once I stopped giving two fucks about everyone else, life got easier.”

Blake shook her head. She knew Cinder had a point, but she just couldn’t fathom the full breadth of her testimony. “Well, I guess I’ll start working on giving fewer fucks moving forward.” She finished her second glass all too soon. She shook her head when the bartender asked if she wanted another as he took her glass.

Cinder laughed, which weirdly made Blake feel a little better. “Everyone starts somewhere.”

“Yeah.” It certainly sounded nice, no longer caring what other people thought, or even ignoring her own head and just doing what felt right. But how did that relate to the Ruby situation? The thing that would feel right would be to go find wherever she was right now and proclaim her affections, but even that felt like too much right now. The alcohol wasn’t helping.

Cinder seemed to recognize that and took a few more sips of wine before sliding the almost-empty glass away and pushed herself off of the barstool. “Just put it on my tab, thanks.”

“Are we leaving?” Blake asked, not noticing Cinder had gotten up until she’d gently taken her by the wrist.

“You are, anyway. You need to get home.” Cinder told her as she helped her off her stool. “Lightweight.”

Blake would have argued if standing didn’t make her even woozier. She was in that odd in-betweenness of buzzed and drunk. She felt completely aware of her surroundings but felt like she was controlling all of her body’s movements manually, as if letting something go unnoticed would result in her falling over. Thankfully, Cinder kept ahold of her, though the feeling of her faintly cold hand on Blake’s wrist proved to be a distraction all on its own.

They started down the street. Blake walked as normally as she could, save for the occasional sway that Cinder would correct for her. She felt so stupid for having more than one drink despite what she said before. At least Cinder was being nice. “Wait…”

“Hm?” Cinder asked.

“My laptop,” Blake said. “I left my laptop at the office.”

“It’ll be there where you get there in the morning.”

“No, I need it tonight. I gotta take down my notes and do some preliminary searching for contact information for the artists.”

“It can wait, hun,” Cinder assured her.

“It’s on the way,” Blake half-lied. It wasn’t tremendously out of the way, but going straight home would be quicker and easier, not that Cinder knew that.

Cinder sighed and shook her head. “Fine, dumbass, let’s go to the office.”

Blake might have taken offense, but felt too victorious at successfully convincing her.

Cinder buzzed them both in with her ID card, and sure enough, Blake’s laptop bag was still on her chair. They were the only ones at the office at this late an hour. It felt eerily quiet, considering how noisy it could be during the day. In Blake’s slightly intoxicated state, it was especially surreal.

“Do you…do you need to sit down for a moment?” Cinder asked, her voice lulling.

Blake hadn’t put her bag over her shoulder yet, instead holding the shoulder strap as it rested on the floor. She considered Cinder’s suggestion, then shook her head. “No, I’m fine. Just tired.” Then she swayed a little too far in one direction, overcorrected in the other, and began to stumble. “Huh-!”

Cinder stepped forward quickly and caught her, wrapping her arms securely around Blake’s shoulders in an awkward embrace. “Careful!”

Blake groaned in annoyance, then held her breath when she fully recognized her position, held tightly in Cinder’s arms, face-to-face with her. “Sorry,” she whispered. “I just lost my balance for a bit, I’m fine.”

Cinder shook her head at her. She licked her lips before speaking, as if it was difficult to find the words. “No, you need to sit down.”

“Why?” Blake asked, finding herself unable to look away from Cinder’s lips.

“You’re not fit to walk home yet,” Cinder told her, her voice quieter than before, almost a whisper. She began to slowly lead Blake to her desk chair without letting go of her. “Just sit until you feel better.”

“But…no,” Blake said, almost a mumble.

“Why not?”

“I don’t want you to let go of me yet.”

Blake didn’t realize what she said until noticing the look on Cinder’s face, her eye wide and her mouth hanging open slightly. Blake’s face got so hot she thought she might break out into a sweat.

“You want me to keep holding you?” Cinder asked quietly.

Blake couldn’t meet her face, instead staring at the collar of Cinder’s jacket. At first she wanted to double back and correct herself, but then again…

She let her head drift forward until her forehead rested on Cinder’s shoulder, and she did her best to wrap her arms around her despite Cinder pinning them to her sides. Cinder felt tense, but Blake let herself relax within her embrace, letting out a slow sigh.

“Blake?” Cinder whispered to her, but didn’t continue.

“Just hold me,” Blake said back, voice muffled by Cinder’s jacket.

“Do you like it when I hold you?” Cinder asked.

“Yeah.”

Cinder let out a shaky breath, then chuckled softly. She shook her head as she allowed Blake to sink further into the embrace. “Yeah. I like it too.”

#freelance love triangle au #pawling petals #rwby #ruby rose #blake belladonna #cinder fall #drabble

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purpli-writes · 4 years

Text

Danganronpa: Hope Turned Despair

Summary:

Junko Enoshima, the Ultimate Fashionista and the Ultimate Analyst is up against the Mastermind of the Killing School Life.

Except she doesn't really know what she's getting into.

And she's only going to save herself.

You can read it on AO3 here

Junko rubbed her eyes as she watched Kyoko get executed for the murder of Mukuro, her sister.

“Hey, Junko,” Makoto said, walking up to her. “Are you feeling alright?”

“We are doing fine, Makoto,” Junko answered, putting on a crown. “We just do not understand how someone as low as Kyoko could kill someone like Mukuro.”

“Yeah, it’s kinda hard to believe,” Makoto said. “But it’s not like Monokuma would execute the wrong person.”

“It is quite out of character, even for that peasant-like bear,” Junko admitted. “But even if we are to believe Kyoko committed murder, would Mukuro die so easily?”

“Apparently,” Makoto said. “You’re probably just biased because she was your sister.”

“That would be the logical conclusion,” Junko said, putting on glasses. “But you shouldn’t underestimate Mukuro’s talent.”

“Huh…?” Makoto asked. “I’m not underestimating her at all…!”

“Is that so?” Junko asked, adjusting her glasses. “Then you should know that it would take someone of professional skills to defeat Mukuro.”

“Tch,” Byakuya cut in. “Kyoko was one of the only people here who could’ve taken on Mukuro, which she did.”

“Puhuhuhu!” Monokuma laughed. “Just because you find it hard to believe, Junko doesn’t mean it didn’t happen!”

“It’s not that I find it ‘hard to believe’,” Junko cut in. “I find it borderline impossible, actually.”

“Mukuro didn’t have a single injury on her other than her fatal injury,” Junko continued. “Even if we are to believe that Kyoko could somehow overpower her, are we saying that Mukuro wouldn’t have struggled at all?”

“Why would a person struggling have injuries on themselves?” Aoi asked. “Wouldn’t their attacker be injured?”

“Not always!” Junko said, voice going a few pitches higher. “On a murder show, you see it all the time! The victim has self-defense injuries because they’re really trying their hardest!”

“A broken nail, blood on their hands, scratches…” Junko said, trailing off. “They’re all pretty obvious hints of self-defense!”

“What are you implying, then?” Byakuya asked. “That this trial was a farce?”

“I mean, doesn’t it make the most sense?” Junko asked. “With all the evidence we have here, there’s nooooo evidence here that would imply that Kyoko’s the killer!”

“I mean, it has a good basis,” Makoto said. “But we have no evidence to support your idea either, Junko…”

“Evidence is key, Junko!” Monokuma scolded. “You can’t make baseless accusations! Didn’t your parents ever teach you that?”

Junko looked around, although she already knew that no one was going to agree with her.

“Fineeeee,” Junko whined. “For now, I guess I’m in the wrong, huh?”

“It’s normal,” Makoto said, attempting to comfort. “You just lost your sister, it’s to be expected.”

“You’re fuckin’ right, Makoto!” Junko said, sticking her tongue out. “But don’t think I’m just gonna give up right fuckin’ here.”

“Oh?” Monokuma asked. “Do you have a plan of some sort?”

“What, you really expect me to give up the details this fuckin’ early?” Junko asked. “What next, you want me to flash my fuckin’ tits, you perv?”

“A-are you planning on s-selling yourself out to Monokuma?” Toko asked. “G-girls like you always use what y-you’re given…!”

“I wasn’t actually gonna fuckin’ do it,” Junko said. “Anyway, let’s get the fuck out of here. That stupid bear is cramping my fuckin’ style.”

The class went back into the elevator, going back to the first floor.

“Junko,” Makoto said, stopping her before she could leave. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay?”

“Of course I’m fuckin’ okay, Makoto,” Junko said. “We haven’t seen fuckin’ nothing yet.”

“I know you’re upset about Mukuro’s death,” Makoto continued. “But we already know Kyoko did it.”

“There was no fuckin’ evidence to prove it,” Junko replied. “Unless we’re counting fuckin’ alibies, which is lame as hell.”

“Still,” Makoto said. “There’s no reason for Monokuma to guide us the wrong way.”

“Doesn’t it make you sad, that we have to trust in Monokuma?” Junko asked, looking down with tears in her eyes. “He’s already proven himself to be untrustworthy and yet we have no other choice…”

“Huh...? What do you mean…?”

“Nothing he has ever done has been for our benefit… like most people he only looks out for himself…”

“I guess you’re right…” Makoto admitted. “But still, there’s going to be no evidence.”

“That leaves the hard part up to me…” Junko said. “But somehow I’ll get through it…”

Makoto looked at her, frowning.

“Cheer up, Makoto!” Junko said, putting her hands on her chin. “I mean what’s the worst that can happen? I’m not gonna break any rules!”

“As long as you’re careful,” Makoto began. “You can do whatever you want.”

Junko smiled cheerfully, “Alright, well I’m gonna go to bed! I’ve got lots of work to do for tomorrow!”

Makoto nodded and Junko bounded off, straight for her room.

Once in the privacy of her dorm, the cutesy persona fell right off. Replaced with a look of extreme apathy.

“There’s something odd about the way he carries himself,” Junko muttered, going for her bathroom to clean off her makeup. “He was close to Kyoko yet he doesn’t care at all.”

“It’s probably nothing,” Junko said. “But man, is his optimism or annoying or what?”

After cleaning off her makeup, Junko attempted to go to sleep.

Tomorrow, she’d have to get evidence to prove Kyoko innocent.

It would be a bit too late, but at least they could catch the real murderer.

When Monokuma’s morning announcement played, Junko awoke with a groan. Junko quickly put her makeup back on with a practiced hand.

“Alright,” Junko said, speaking to herself once more. “Where am I going to get any evidence to prove my theory?”

Before she could answer her own question, there was a knocking at her door. Sighing and putting on a crown, Junko met the person waiting for her.

“Finally, you’re ready,” Byakuya said, staring her down.

“Ah, we see you’ve arrived for us,” Junko replied. “But we demand you tell us for what reason you have arrived.”

“Your theory yesterday,” Byakuya began. “I do believe it holds some merit.”

“Ah, so you have come crawling to us begging for answers,” Junko said. “What makes you believe we will give you these answers?”

“Tch,” Byakuya scoffed, looking away. “If anyone needs help proving that theory, it would be you.”

“Oh? You believe that we need help?”

“Obviously,” Byakuya said. “There’s no way you would have any evidence that I haven’t already found.”

“Why do you believe this theory anyway?” Junko said, pulling her hair into a ponytail. “You must know that Monokuma has never had a ‘wrong trial’ before this.”

“Even you wouldn’t make an extreme accusation without some merit,” Byakuya admitted. “I am curious to see how this will turn out.”

“In truth, the evidence I have right now is circumstantial,” Junko admitted. “But the true blackened had to have made a mistake somewhere.”

“Even if there was anything,” Byakuya began. “Monokuma has already cleaned it up by now.”

“We already know we’re being recorded, right?” Junko asked. “In theory, someone has to be watching this for some sort of use.”

“And?” Byakuya asked. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“It’d be pretty boring if nothing else occurred,” Junko said. “If the Mastermind is keeping recordings for their own amusement, they must want something to happen.”

“That still doesn’t explain your plan,” Byakuya said, glaring at her. “Are you planning on offering the Mastermind an ultimatum?”

“Well y’see,” Junko said, voice going a few pitches higher once again. “If someone were to point that out to Monokuma I’m sure he would try to make the recording veryyyyyyyyyyy interesting!”

“In other words, he’d force a retrial?” Byakuya asked. “And what if your plan doesn’t work?”

“It’s going to work, you just have to believeeeeeeee!”

“Tch,” Byakuya said, turning away. “Why do I even bother talking to you?”

Junko beamed at his back, “Aww, you say such mean things, but you don’t really mean them!”

Byakuya walked into the cafeteria with Junko following him.

“Junko!” Aoi began. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Of course I fuckin’ am!” Junko said, crossing her arms over her chest. “Actually, I’m fuckin’ fired up!”

“That’s a relief,” Makoto said. “We were worried about you since y’know…”

“We were worried about her…?” Yasuhiro whispered to Makoto.

“Anyways, since you fuckin’ losers want to believe Monokuma,” Junko began. “I’m gonna fuckin’ force him to give us a retrial!”

“Oh? Is that so?” Monokuma said, appearing out of thin air. “And what makes you think you could force me to do anything?”

“You’re already fuckin’ recordin’ us,” Junko began to explain. “And this is gonna make for some real lame recordin’ shit if you don’t have some juicy twist.”

“And…?” Monokuma urged on.

“So if you wanna have some real juicy shit,” Junko said. “You’ll have a fuckin’ retrial.”

“You’re right!” Monokuma said. “But we have to up the stakes…”

“W-we’re really going to do this?” Toko whispered.

“You’ll have free reign over the school to do your investigation,” Monokuma continued. “But, this will be your last class trial!”

“Our last class trial…?” Makoto echoed. “Huh…? What do you mean?”

“There’s no need for me to spoil it…” Monokuma said, putting his paws over his mouth. “I wish you all good luck!”

“And so begins our investigation,” Junko said, putting on glasses. “I suppose we best get started then.”

“D-do we really have to do this…?” Toko whispered.

“Of course we do!” Aoi answered. “This is our last chance at freedom!”

“You all better not bring me down,” Byakuya said.

“Let’s do our best!” Makoto cheered.

The class split up and Junko decided to see if anywhere new opened up.

“Yasuhiro,” Junko said, as she saw him standing by a newly opened staircase. “Have you been up there yet?”

“Nope!” Yasuhiro admitted. “That place has a bad aura.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in auras,” Junko said. “Isn’t that part of the ‘occult’?”

“Hey…! Am I not allowed to get bad feelings about things?”

“Of course you are!” Junko said, putting her hands on her chin. “But I was just making sure you weren’t replaced by a clone!”

“Since you aren’t exploring this place, do you want to come up with me?” Junko asked. “We could beat this ‘bad aura’ together!”

“N-no way am I going up there…!” Yasuhiro yelled. “That place is probably filled with gh-gh-ghosts…!”

“If you’re so sure…” Junko said. “But you should get some investigating done!”

“Of course I will!”

Junko smiled, heading up the stairs.

What met her was absolute destruction.

“Jesus,” Junko muttered under her breath. “It looks like Hiro wasn’t wrong after all. This place just screams bad.”

Junko looked around, most of the doors were broken or blocked and dry blood occasionally stained the floor.

Passing by a yellow door with a drawing of a giraffe leaving a locker, Junko decided to attempt to open the door.

Surprisingly it opened for Junko, and when Junko went in she noticed a destroyed locker room.

Only one of the lockers still seemed to be intact, Junko attempted to open it with her e-Handbook but got no results.

“Oh well,” Junko muttered to herself. “Seems like there’s nothing useful in here after all.”

Junko left the locker room as quickly as she came, rolling her eyes at how useless entering was.

“Let’s see if there’s anything up here that’s actually worth investigating.”

Junko made her way to a much nicer looking door, making her way inside, she saw Makoto examining the computer.

“Hey, Makoto, are you lookin’ for fuckin’ porn or something?” Junko asked, putting her tongue out quickly. “There’s no fuckin’ reason for you to be starin’ that hard unless you are hard!”

“H-huh…?!” Makoto yelled, quickly turning around to make eye contact with Junko. “Junko…! You scared me!”

“Really?” Junko asked. “I couldn’t fuckin’ tell.”

“Anyway, you find anything fuckin’ interesting, Makoto?” Junko asked, leaning in to make eye contact. “You looked like you were really fuckin’ concentrating, actually it was fuckin’ lame.”

“Yeah, actually,” Makoto said, guiding Junko to the computer. “Looks like the computer still has some search results left on it.”

“So we’re finally gonna get some fuckin’ information.”

“Yeah, but there’s not much,” Makoto said. “There’s only a little information on the Ultimate Despair.”

“Would you care to read it, Makoto?” Junko asked, pulling her hair into a ponytail. “Any information is good information.”

“Yeah, sure…” Makoto said, looking at the computer intently. “‘The Ultimate Despair isn't one individual, but instead points to some kind of group. That group is responsible for The Tragedy, which happened one year ago. They're the worst sorts of people, whose driving force comes from despair…’”

“Interesting,” Junko muttered. “What are your thoughts on this, Makoto?”

“It’s nothing we didn’t already know, right?” Makoto asked. “But I guess it’s better than nothing.”

“Also,” Makoto said, turning his attention onto an indentation on the wall. “There looks to be a secret passage over there but I can’t figure out how to open it.”

“It’s probably from the original owner of this room,” Junko said. “Whom I’m assuming to be the Headmaster.”

“Huh…?” Makoto said. “How can you be so sure about that?”

“Who else would get such a nice room in a school?” Junko responded. “It seems to be the only logical answer.”

“I guess you’re right,” Makoto said. “But what would the headmaster be doing with a secret opening?”

“Perhaps they were doing something they didn’t want their students to discover,” Junko said. “Perhaps our headmaster is truly the Mastermind.”

“You think so…?” Makoto asked. “What would be their reason?”

“The only other option is for one of us to be the Mastermind,” Junko said. “And do you really believe that?”

“No,” Makoto admitted. “I guess you’re right.”

“Chin up, Makoto!” Junko said, voice going a few pitches higher. “We’ll figure this mystery out in no time at all!”

“You’re right!” Makoto said. “I’m gonna go explore a bit more on this floor, but you can feel free to mess around here.”

“Alright, good luck Makoto!” Junko said, waving cheerfully as he left.

After Makoto was gone, Junko decided to check the computer to see if Makoto missed anything.

“Student File: Izuru Kamukura…?” Junko mumbled, clicking on the file. “What could this even be?”

Opening the file, it was a summary of a student named Izuru Kamukura with an attached picture. Below his information was a quick summary. “Izuru Kamukura, a total success. He is the next Ultimate Hope.”

“What does that even mean?” Junko said, closing the file. “A total success…? Ultimate Hope…?”

Shaking her head and filing that information for later, Junko knew there was nothing left for her here.

“If Makoto has this floor covered I might as well leave it to him,” Junko said, leaving the room.

Junko went downstairs, avoiding the rubble and bloodstains.

As she reached the first floor, she found Byakuya waiting for her.

“Junko,” Byakuya began. “I was told that you would be here.”

“Oh…” Junko said, eyes filling with tears. “I’m sorry if you were waiting for long, that would be sad…”

“Don’t start with that personality,” Byakuya said. “I have information that might interest you.”

“If we’re being honest, nothing really interests me,” Junko said. “But, I suppose I should hear you out…”

“There’s a room in the data center,” Byakuya continued, trying to ignore his growing annoyance. “Inside the Monokuma themed door is currently open.”

“That’s so sad that you had to waste your time telling me,” Junko muttered.

“Yes, it is a shame,” Byakuya complained. “Now, get out of my way.”

Junko moved as Byakuya went up the stairs.

“I really have to walk up to the fourth floor, that’s sad…” Junko said, slowly making her way to the data center.

Inside, the data center seemed normal. It still tracked everyone��s movements. But that wasn’t what she was here for.

Trying to open the door, Junko made her entrance with ease.

“Wow, this place looks right out of Star Trek,” Junko commented, right under her breath. “This is where the Mastermind has been controlling Monokuma, then?”

Before Junko could say anything else, Aoi burst in.

“Is Monokuma in here?” Aoi asked. “This is his room… right?”

“Actually, we believe that this is more likely his control room ,” Junko corrected, putting on a crown. “A peasant like the Mastermind couldn’t easily make an AI or tame a black and white bear, it seems.”

“Huh, that’s disappointing,” Aoi said. “I honestly thought he was just an AI…”

“We do declare that isn’t possible,” Junko said. “But it does make us wonder if the Mastermind spends all of their time here.”

“Well, obviously, they don’t,” Aoi said. “They aren’t here right now, are they?”

“Perhaps not, but we cannot be sure of where they are right now.”

“But if Monokuma’s controlled by a person, that makes his reactions a bit weird…” Aoi said. “I mean if he was a robot you could just shrug them off…”

“What are you talking about?” Junko asked, putting on glasses. “He has been in character every time I’ve interacted with him.”

“Well, there was this one time Toko insulted Makoto and Monokuma got all angry!” Aoi said. “At the time I thought he was just glitching but…”

“That is interesting,” Junko said. “I wonder why the Mastermind cared so much…”

“Me too!”

“Perhaps we should get out of Monokuma’s control room,” Junko suggested. “There’s not much investigating to be done here.”

“Alright,” Aoi agreed. “If you’re so sure.”

“There’s no point in being here,” Junko said, affirming herself. Opening the door for Aoi and herself, she took one more quick glance before closing the door.

Shortly after, they heard the door click, signifying that it was locked.

“H-huh…? Did it just lock?” Aoi asked, testing the door.

“Puhuhuhu!” Monokuma laughed as he appeared. “Did you miss me?”

“What the fuck?” Junko asked, crossing her arms over her chest. “How the fuck did you just get fuckin’ here?”

“Obviously the Mastermind was there the whole time!” Monokuma mocked. “I’m surprised you didn’t notice, Junko.”

“You’re fuckin’ kidding,” Junko said, glaring at the bear. “You were in that small fuckin’ hatch?”

“Correct!”

“Hatch…?” Aoi questioned.

“There was a hatch in the control room. Of course the Mastermind would be fuckin’ there,” Junko answered. “God that’s so fuckin’ lame.”

“That may be true, but you’re no closer to solving this mystery!” Monokuma answered.

Looking away from Monokuma, Junko sighed. “Well, we might as well leave this stupid fuckin’ room.”

“Huh…? But the Mastermind is right there!” Aoi protested.

“Behind a locked fuckin’ door,” Junko corrected. “No way we’re gonna get to the lame asshole at this rate.”

Aoi frowned but realized Junko was right.

“We’ll get you eventually, Monokuma!” Aoi yelled, glaring at the bear.

“Sure sure…” Monokuma said, offering a paw. “That’s what you’d like to think.”

Junko left the room while Aoi and Monokuma were still arguing. Now, where was she supposed to go?

“M-master! Please wait up for me!” Toko yelled, running up the stairs.

“Toko, I hate to tell you this, but Byakuya isn’t here at all!” Junko said, putting her hands on the chin. “I don’t know why’d you think that at all, actually…”

“M-master said that he would be up here,” Toko said, breathing heavily as she caught her breath. “I’ll c-catch up to him e-eventually and then he could punish me…”

“Wow, that’s a bit weird!” Junko said. “But I’m telling you Byakuya isn’t here at all~!”

Suddenly Toko sneezed and Junko had no time to react before a scissor was at her throat.

“Now, where am I, and where is my beloved Master?” Genocide Jill asked. “And do answer quickly, I’m not a very patient woman.”

“I already told Toko this,” Junko said. “Byakuya isn’t here at all!”

“You really think I share memories with Miss Morose?” Genocide Jill asked, removing the scissor from Junko’s throat. “That would be sooo bad for my secret boy’s love stash!”

“Wait,” Junko said, pulling her hair into a ponytail. “You don’t share memories with Toko?”

“Nope!” Genocide Jill answered cheerfully. “When it comes to our brain, we only share knowledge!”

“That would explain how Toko could still be scared of dead bodies despite your profession,” Junko said. “Interesting.”

Before Junko could say anything more, an announcement started to play.

“My beloved students! I have something bear-y important to show you in the gymnasium!” Monokuma began. “Your attendance isn’t required but it is appreciated!”

“Oh well,” Genocide Jill said. “That’s my cue to leave, ta-ta!”

Junko frowned as Genocide Jill left.

After Genocide Jill left, she noticed Aoi leaving the data center. “So, did you get any information while you were arguing with him?”

“No, he refused to give up a thing!” Aoi complained. “All he said that if I wanted answers, I’d meet him at the gymnasium and then he just left!”

“That’s odd,” Junko said. “Perhaps we should go down and see what he’s offering for ourselves.”

“Yeah, it has to be something good, right?” Aoi asked.

“Probably.”

As Junko and Aoi went downstairs, Junko was suddenly suspicious of Monokuma’s intentions.

As the two made their way to the first gym door, they saw Yasuhiro exiting. As soon as Yasuhiro noticed them, his face morphed into fear.

“Yasuhiro, are you feeling alright?” Junko asked. “You look a little pale.”

“S-stay away from me!” Yasuhiro yelled, putting his hands over his face.

“Huh…? What’s wrong with you?” Aoi asked, trying to get closer to Yasuhiro.

Yasuhiro broke out into a sprint, running away from Junko and Aoi before they could ask him anything more.

“That was weird,” Aoi said. “I wonder what Monokuma showed him.”

“Well we won’t fuckin’ find out until we go in,” Junko said, sticking her tongue out. “Let’s just get this fuckin’ over with.”

“Alright!” Aoi said, walking into the gym excitedly.

When they arrived, Monokuma was already waiting for them.

“It’s a one at a time deal!” Monokuma said as he noticed them. “Aoi, since you were here first, you get your prize first!”

“Prize…?” Aoi echoed. “What do you mean?”

Aoi walked closer as Monokuma handed her a photo.

“Now remember, this one is specifically yours!” Monokuma said as Aoi stared at her photo in shock. “Now, Junko, this one is all yours!”

“Huh,” Junko said as she grabbed the photo out of his paws. It was a photo of all of her classmates except for her.

“That’s fuckin’ weird,” Junko admitted. “Did they have a fuckin’ party and not invite me? How lame.”

“Well it looks like Aoi left you high and dry!” Monokuma announced. “And now I’m going to leave you as well!”

With that, Monokuma left without any of his usual fanfare.

“I wonder if what Hina and Hiro got were similar to what I got…” Junko muttered. “That would explain why they reacted so poorly.”

Before Junko could ponder anymore on the topic, Monokuma made another announcement.

“Students! It is time for our final Class Trial!” Monokuma announced cheerfully. “Now please make your way to the elevator!”

As Junko made her way to the elevator, she could practically see the tension in everyone except for Makoto.

“This is so sad…” Junko said, looking down at the floor. “Everyone fighting… for no real reason.”

“Shut up,” Byakuya said.

“Junko’s right, you know,” Makoto said. “There’s no reason for all of us to be this tense!”

“Of course you would say that!” Yasuhiro yelled. “You’re in on it, all of you!”

“Huh…?” Makoto asked, scratching his cheek. “What do you mean…?”

“Don’t play dumb!” Aoi yelled. “All of you…!”

As the elevator slowly buzzed down, Junko sighed, this was going to be a long class trial.

As everyone made their way to their spots, Junko stared at the 17th podium which was in front of Monokuma’s chair. Usually empty, Junko was slightly surprised to see Monokuma occupying it.

“Now, is everyone ready?” Monokuma asked. “This is the trial we’ve all been waiting for!”

“What’s the point…?!” Yasuhiro asked. “You’re all the Masterminds anyways!”

“Are you goin’ on fuckin’ this again?” Junko asked, putting her arms over her chest. “It’s fuckin’ obvious that we’re all not the Mastermind.”

“You’re lying and I have proof…!” Yasuhiro yelled. “The photo Monokuma gave me proves it!”

“What are you talking about?!” Aoi yelled. “You’re all the Masterminds and I’m innocent!”

“Actually,” Byakuya cut in. “You’re all the Mastermind and I can prove it.”

“So it looks like we’re all being fuckin’ played,” Junko said. “Everyone show their lame-ass photos so we can get this bullshit over with.”

As everyone showed their photos, Junko noticed one thing in common. The person who the photo was given to was missing from the photo.

“So that’s the fuckin’ deal, huh?” Junko asked. “You show us some lame photos with us missin’, and we just assume everyone else is fuckin’ in on it.”

“N-no way…! Are you saying I got duped?” Yasuhiro asked.

“These photos,” Makoto said, ignoring Yasuhiro. “They’ve got to be fake, right?”

“W-well of course they’re fake,” Toko answered. “W-we don’t remember t-taking them, right?”

“Wrong! Wrong and wrong!” Monokuma yelled. “All of those photos are one hundred percent real!”

“But there’s no way…!” Aoi said. “We’d remember taking photos like these!”

“Not exactly,” Byakuya said. “We must assume that our memories have been wiped by the Mastermind.”

“H-huh…?!” Makoto yelled. “Our memories being wiped…?!”

“That doesn’t make any sense!” Yasuhiro yelled. “Collective amnesia is purely occult and the occult isn’t real!”

“Do you have a better explanation?” Byakuya asked, glaring at Yasuhiro.

“If we are following this theory,” Junko said, putting on glasses. “If our memories were wiped, we must assume that these aren’t the only memories that we have lost.”

“There’s no way…!” Aoi yelled. “We didn’t lose our memories!”

“There is one way we can prove if we have or not,” Junko said. “If I’m remembering correctly, Genocide Jill mentioned to me that she and Toko don’t share memories.”

“Y-you want me to bring out that b-bitch...?!” Toko asked.

“We need her information right now,” Byakuya said, side-eying Toko.

In a few short moments, Genocide Jill arrived.

“Master, did you need me?” Genocide Jill asked, fluttering her eye-lashes at Byakuya.

“Tell me, do you believe that our class’s memories were wiped?” Byakuya asked.

“Yep!” Genocide Jill answered. “Not that I would’ve remembered them, but her head is one hundred percent lighter!”

“H-huh…?” Aoi asked. “You’re not lying…?”

“Just like your milk jugs are huge, I’d never lie to Master!” Genocide Jill answered.

“Stop commenting on my-!” Aoi yelled.

“Shut up,” Byakuya said. “Now that we’ve proven our memories have been stolen from us, we should work on locating the Mastermind.”

“Shouldn’t we assume the Mastermind is the headmaster?” Yasuhiro asked, “I mean they are the only one who would have those pictures and trap us here!”

“I mean, it would be a safe assumption,” Makoto agreed. “We haven’t seen the headmaster at all and we know the Mastermind is stuck here with us.”

There was a sneeze as Toko reappeared, “W-what are we talking about?”

“We’re discussin’ why the headmaster and the fuckin’ Mastermind are one of the same,” Junko said, putting her tongue out.

“Th-there’s no way the M-mastermind is stuck with us…!” Toko said. “They o-obviously fled the f-first chance they got.”

“That’d be fuckin’ smart, but it ain’t the fuckin’ case.”

“W-what…? D-denied so easily…” Toko drooled. ‘Why w-won’t you at least l-listen to me first…?”

“The fuckin’ problem is that Monokuma is lame as all hell,” Junko explained. “The Mastermind needs to be in Monokuma’s control room in order to fuckin’ get him to move and shit.”

“A-and…?”

“That room is located in the fuckin’ data center,” Junko answered. “So there’s no way the Mastermind isn’t fuckin’ here with all their lame-ass energy.”

“O-oh, that d-denial…” Toko moaned.

“Moving on,” Makoto said, scratching his cheek awkwardly. “If we’re assuming the headmaster is the Mastermind… why?”

“And what is the importance of the headmaster anyway?” Monokuma asked. “You’re no closer to ‘solving’ the murder of Mukuro Ikusaba!”

“We hate to admit that he is right,” Junko said. “But discussing the Mastermind instead of the case will get us nowhere.”

“What’s the point…?” Aoi asked. “We already know that Kyoko did it, right?”

“Would Monokuma really be allowing a retrial if that was the case?” Byakuya asked. “In fact, I offer up that the Mastermind is most likely the killer.”

“Huh…? The Mastermind as the killer?” Makoto asked. “Is that really possible?”

“As we see it, the blackened is either Kyoko, Makoto, or the Mastermind,” Junko explained. “Unless you have something to confess to Makoto, there is no other option.”’

“I proved it before, but I’m not the blackened!” Makoto bristled.

“Well then you prove our point,” Junko said. “Meaning the only other option is the Mastermind!”

“You guys must have more proof than that!” Aoi said.

“Well, we do have something,” Junko said. “Remember when all of us were observing Monokuma’s ‘corpse’?”

“Yeah…?” Aoi said.

“Monokuma was not moving at all, and now we know that Monokuma must be controlled in that room,” Junko explained. “Meaning the Mastermind was busy when Monokuma was left out.”

“Huh…?” Aoi said. “I guess that makes some sense…”

“Well even if the Mastermind killed Mukuro, what’s the reason for framing Kyoko?” Yasuhiro asked. “Didn’t they just break their own rules?!”

“Not exactly,” Makoto said. “As it was told to us before, technically a person can kill two people, right?”

“Ah,” Junko said, putting her hair up. “You’re saying that Kyoko was the Mastermind’s second murder?”

“Yes,” Makoto nodded. “It’s the only explanation that makes sense.”

“So now that we know that the Mastermind is the headmaster and the blackened,” Yasuhiro began. “Does that mean we won?!”

“I’m not so sure,” Junko said. “There’s something about this that feels off…”

“I have to agree,” Byakuya said. “This seems to fit a bit too well.”

“Are we so sure that the Mastermind is the headmaster?” Junko asked.

“Huh…? What do you mean?” Makoto asked. “Didn’t we just decide the headmaster is the Mastermind?”

“True,” Junko said. “But remember that file you read me on the headmaster’s computer?”

“Yeah…?”

“If the headmaster was a part of the Ultimate Despair, would they really need notes on it?” Junko asked.

“No,” Makoto admitted. “I guess not.”

“Well, that brings us back to the beginning,” Aoi complained. “We’re making no progress!”

“Wait…” Junko said. “May I see all of your photos again?”

The class hummed in agreement, and Junko examined each photograph. Another similarity that Junko hadn’t noticed before was a person who was just barely out of frame.

They had black hair, and that was the only feature Junko was able to make out.

Suddenly, Junko remembered that boy on the headmaster’s computer, the “Ultimate Hope”.

It has to be him, Junko thought. Izuru Kamukura, was it?

“Monokuma,” Junko said, and for the first time, she was speaking without the pretense of a false personality. “You’re Izuru Kamukura.”

“Wh-what…?” Monokuma asked.

“You’re Izuru Kamukura, you’re Izuru Kamukura, you’re Izuru Kamukura, you’re Izuru Kamukura, you’re Izuru Kamukura,” Junko said. “That’s the only explanation that makes sense.”

“Who…?” Makoto asked.

“On the headmaster’s computer, there was a file on Izuru Kamukura,” Junko said. “There was also a picture of Izuru Kamukura and this person that’s barely out of frame in these photos matches him.”

“Monokuma!” Aoi yelled. “We’ve got you cornered now!”

“Tch,” Byakuya said. “This was painfully easy.”

“Izuru Kamukura,” Junko said. “Are you going to reveal yourself now?”

Monokuma started to blow smoke out of his openings, flooding the room with smoke. When the smoke cleared, left standing in front of them was no longer Monokuma but a man with red and green eyes.

“My name is Izuru Kamukura,” the man said with a cold voice.

“And my name is Hajime Hinata,” the same man said with more emotion.

“And we’re the Ultimate Despair.” Izuru and Hajime said.

“Oh, so there’s two of you in the same body?” Junko asked, voice going a few pitches higher. “That’s got to cause a tonnnnn of problems for you both!”

“Of course, that doesn’t mean we have to care!” Junko said. “But that’s got to be a bit hard for you, right?”

“You both were controlling Monokuma?” Aoi asked. “But why…? What did we do to you…?!”

“It was nothing personal,” Izuru said. “We were just told to do this and so we did.”

“Someone told you?” Byakuya asked. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“So even you guys have a boss, huh?” Junko asked.

“D-doesn’t that imply a s-second Mastermind?” Toko asked. “Th-this isn’t good at all!”

“Why are you even following the second Mastermind?” Junko asked. “What’s your reasoning Izuru and Hajime?”

“We will be loyal to them no matter what,” Izuru answered. “They are our one and only.”

“A-are you in l-love with them?” Toko accused.

“Obviously,” both Izuru and Hajime answered.

“We should be worried about this second Mastermind,” Byakuya said. “Is it possible that they are among us?”

“It’s not just possible,” Hajime answered. “They are among you.”

“H-huh…?” Makoto said. “They’ve been among us this whole time…?”

“Damn, that’s a fuckin’ twist,” Junko said, crossing her arms. “The Ultimate Despair walks among us and we’re fuckin’ left to suffer.”

“H-how are we supposed to k-know who it is…?!” Toko yelled, pulling at her hair. “D-didn’t we just spend a part of the t-trial proving that we w-weren’t the Masterminds?”

“Well, there is somethin’ I wanna fuckin’ ask Makoto,” Junko said. “I think it should clear up my fuckin’ doubts on this.”

“Huh…?” Makoto said, scratching at his cheek. “Ask me…?”

“Why’d Monokuma get his panties in a twist when Toko insulted you?” Junko asked. “You don’t have a fuckin’ deal with him, do you?”

“Oh yeah! I remember that!” Yasuhiro said. “He got all angry at Toko and started insulting her…!”

“It was actually kind of scary,” Aoi said.

“K-kind of…?” Toko asked. “It w-was terrifying…!”

“Well Makoto, do you have a fuckin’ answer?” Junko asked.

“I do, actually,” Makoto said. “I have a slight confession to make…”

“I’m the original Ultimate Despair,” Makoto said. “Although I didn’t think I’d be caught this early…”

“You’re the Mastermind...?!” Aoi yelled, glaring at Makoto. “But you’ve been leading all the class trials!”

“Yeah,” Makoto said. “It’s a lot easier to solve something when you already know who did it.”

“It should’ve been obvious,” Byakuya said. “There was no way for a commoner such as you to solve the cases with such ease.”

“Don’t you dare fucking insult him,” Hajime growled.

“It’s fine,” Makoto said, raising a hand in Hajime’s direction. “He’s always been like that, even in our school days.”

“Our school days?” Junko asked, putting her hair into a ponytail. “So you do confirm those photos are genuine?”

“Hasn’t it been confirmed for a while already?” Makoto asked. “There’s no need for me to prolong this trial with needless conjecture.”

“W-why do you care about the trial length?” Toko asked. “I-isn’t this amusing for you…?”

“Honestly?” Makoto said. “I don’t care about how this trial goes, I win either way.”

“W-what does that mean…?”

Makoto smiled, tilting his head. “That’s for you to figure out!”

“What are we even supposed to do…?” Yasuhiro asked. “Makoto turned out to be evil the whole way through!”

“I told him about how I felt!” Aoi yelled. “I thought I could trust him!”

“Tch,” Byakuya said. “It was stupid for you all to open up in a killing game.”

“What is your angle, exactly?” Junko asked, staring at Makoto. “You don’t exactly scream ‘despair’.”

“Is that so?” Makoto asked. “I mean, I guess you’re right…”

“But,” Makoto continued. “At the same time, doesn’t it make it worse that I haven’t done anything to you guys that you haven’t done to yourselves?”

“That doesn’t make any sense!” Aoi yelled. “You’re the one who started this whole mess! Of course, it’s your fault!”

“But I didn’t do anything at all,” Makoto replied. “Everything you guys did I just watched, in fact, I just cleaned things up during the class trials if anything.”

“So you’re implying this is all our doing?” Junko asked.

“Exactly!” Makoto said. “You guys could’ve lived a normal life in the school as friends, just as you all say you want.”

“Obviously we would want to be free,” Byakuya spat. “You trapped us here without any options.”

“Haha, I’m afraid not, Byakuya,” Makoto said. “You’re a bit wrong about that.”

“M-master is never wrong!” Toko yelled.

“And neither is Makoto,” Izuru replied.

“This is really sad…” Junko said, looking down. “Makoto is refusing to tell us anything meaning we have to figure it out on our own…”

“What’s so sad about that?!” Aoi asked. “We don’t need that jerk!”

“He’s been solving all of the class trials for us,” Junko sniffled. “What are we going to do without him…?”

“Are you really giving up that easily?” Makoto asked. “I mean, it makes sense coming from you.”

“Are you going to pretend to be my friend now?” Junko asked, switching back to her real personality. “You’ve got to have more than that up your sleeve.”

“Huh…? Up my sleeve?” Makoto echoed. “Like I’ve been saying, I haven’t done anything malicious at all. Other than starting the Killing Game, I mean.”

“You keep saying that but you haven’t shown any proof!” Yasuhiro said. “So obviously you’re lying!”

“I guess you aren’t wrong when you say you’re thirty percent right,” Makoto responded. “But this isn’t in the thirty percent you’re usually right.”

“Huh…?” Yasuhiro said.

“If you’re not even going to attempt to guess,” Makoto said, sighing. “I guess I’ll have to lead this class trial one last time.”

“I’ve noticed that people never deal with their own problems,” Makoto began. “They always push them on to others with no thoughts of the consequence.”

“You’re all guilty of it too, so don’t worry.” Makoto continued. “None of you ‘Ultimates’ know how to deal with your own problems and you always push them onto your ‘friends’.”

“S-so…?” Toko asked. “You’re a p-person too if you couldn’t tell.”

“And I do have people who deal with my problems,” Makoto said, smiling at Izuru and Hajime. “During my time at Hope’s Peak, I decided I finally had enough.”

“If humanity couldn’t be happy without inconveniencing others, then perhaps humanity didn’t deserve to be happy.” Makoto smiled brightly. “It’s odd how the world clung to me like I was something helpful instead of harmful.”

“The world…?” Aoi muttered.

“Yep! The world easily succumbed to despair,” Makoto said. “Desperate to take anything they’re fed, the world soon fell to anarchy in my name.”

“Outside of Hope’s Peak, there is nothing but pain,” Makoto explained. “Headmaster Kirigiri attempted to keep our class safe, but he didn’t realize my true nature until it was too late.”

“If the world is such a fuckin’ hell hole,” Junko said, sticking out her tongue. “Why the fuck aren’t you just forcin’ us out there?”

“Because I decided to give you all the option to either live here happily or succumb to human urges,” Makoto said. “Of course taking away your memories might’ve made it a bit unfair, but it’s the thought that counts, right?”

“We didn’t want you to do this,” Byakuya said. “We would’ve never wanted this.”

“But really, you guys had nothing to lose,” Makoto continued. “I mean, your families are probably dead, people will be trying to kill you, there’s no stable government…”

“It’s kinda just bad outside!” Makoto said, informing them cheerfully.

“W-why are you telling us this…?” Toko asked.

“I’m willing to give you all the option to stay or leave!” Makoto said. “If you stay you can live a peaceful life but you won’t be able to leave.”

“And if we fuckin’ go?” Junko asked.

“If you go, well, you get to try to rebuild the world,” Makoto admitted. “But that’s only if you don’t die first.”

“You should also be warned that the world isn’t a fan of Ultimates,” Izuru said.

“For good reason,” Hajime grumbled.

“There’s nothing waiting for you out there,” Makoto said, smiling. “At least inside you all can have each other.”

“Why would we want to stay with you ?!” Aoi spat. “You’re disgusting! You ruined the world!”

“I wouldn’t be staying either way,” Makoto said. “There’s more work to be done that I can’t do here.”

“You should die…!” Aoi yelled. “For justice!”

“Why?” Makoto asked. “I never harmed anyone in the Killing Game and there are currently no laws for the outside world.”

“Plus,” Izuru said. “We would never let Makoto Naegi die.”

“If you wanna try, you’re going to get killed,” Hajime informed in a low growl.

“The choice is yours, guys,” Makoto said. “Stay or leave, it’s up to you.”

The class looked at each other, each uncertain.

“I want to stay,” Aoi said meekly. “It’s too dangerous outside.”

“There’s no need to get ourselves killed!” Yasuhiro said. “Plus I don’t have to pay my debt off here.”

“Tch,” Byakuya said. “Then I am staying as well.”

“W-wherever Master goes I follow,” Toko said.

“I’m going,” Junko said, true personality showing again. “There’s no reason for me to stay here.”

That’s not surprising, Makoto thought. Even if she can’t spread ‘Hope’ she’ll at least look out for herself. That’s just the person she is.

“Well, it looks like the majority of you are staying,” Makoto said, clapping his hands. “I hope this place treats you well!”

“For Junko, however, you can follow us!” Makoto said as he walked for the elevator with Izuru and Hajime following quickly after him.

The elevator felt cramped with Makoto, Izuru, and Hajime in it. But Junko didn’t say anything.

“Why did you decide to leave?” Makoto asked.

“Aren’t you supposed to know everyone?” Junko asked back. “I think my reasons are quite clear.”

“You’re selfish, then?” Makoto responded, smiling cheerfully at her. Makoto hoped that his smile was starting to make her feel sick.

“Doing anything else would be fuckin’ lame,” Junko said, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’ll defeat all of you one fuckin’ day.”

“Don’t you dare even try,” Hajime growled.

“Keep your fuckin’ guard dog on a leash, Makoto,” Junko said.

The elevator soon reached the first floor and Makoto led the path once again.

Pulling out the button to open the vault, he smiled at Junko. “After this, we part ways for the time being.”

Junko nodded, “Good fuckin’ riddance.”

Makoto opened the vault door and quickly Junko was gone.

Makoto, Izuru, and Hajime all stepped out of the school. Makoto being quickly scooped into their arms.

With one more press of the button, the door was closed, now permanently.

As Hajime nuzzled his neck, Makoto laughed.

“God, you missed me, huh?” Makoto teased.

“Maybe,” Hajime grumbled.

“I was never in any danger and you guys were watching me the whole time,” Makoto said. “You’re just over-protective.”

“With the way your luck goes, you’d be surprised,” Izuru answered.

“Yeah yeah,” Makoto said. “Can my two boyfriends just get me out of the Future Foundation’s reach?”

“As long as you’re near us, you’ll always be safe,” Izuru promised as he began to take Makoto far away.

Out of everyone in Makoto’s class, only one of them had refused to succumb to his despair. He wondered if he had over-estimated them.

Ah well, Makoto thought. It doesn’t matter either way… But I do wonder what Junko has planned.

#kamuegi week #kamuegi #kamuhinaegi #hinaegi #junko enoshima #makoto naegi #izuru kamukura #hajime hinata #mastermind makoto naegi

41 notes · View notes

weasleyslag · 3 years

Text

i’m not coming home | p.w

summary: A collection of letters between Percy and his girlfriend Penelope Clearwater following his estrangement from his family.

pairing(s): Percy Weasley/Penelope Clearwater

wc: 6.2k (lol I’m sorry)

warning(s): heavy cursing, hella toxic relationship, no happy ending

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30644294

Dear Percy,

See, I told you I would write! I really am so proud of you and your new job. I hope you’ll allow me to come visit your new apartment soon. I know you’re very busy, but maybe not too busy for me? My dad told me he’d pay for my stay in London if you invited me, but I think it’d be more fun for me to stay with you and go to a show or something. I heard there’s some good muggle performances down there, I’d be interested to see that sort of thing. It’d be an good change, I’m up to my head with wizards that think they’re so talented.

Please tell me all you can about your job when you write back! I know it must be super under wraps, being the Junior Assistant to Fudge himself, but I would be interested in knowing the most mundane of things you can tell me, it would most certainly be more enthralling than the highlight of any of my days. I was hoping I’d be promoted to something more dignified by now, but they’ve still got me watching over some of the Ministry workers’ children. You know I like kids, but I’d rather not be a glorified babysitter. There’s not even many learning activities I can do with them, I’m pretty much instructed to do puppet shows and other silly tasks for them all day. Hopefully someone recognizes my potential soon. Maybe since you work with Fudge now, you can say something to him???

I hate to turn this letter sour but Fred and George have gotten into contact with me this week. They’re really worried about you. They said that they’ve all written to you and the letters are always sent back, unopened. You must know this hurts them, why don’t you at least read the letters? You know they love you and I know that you really are kind at heart; you must still have love for them. I know it must have been hard for you to hear that after all your efforts, your dad doesn’t believe you’re capable of receiving such a prestigious job on your own merits. But of course they are all paranoid, what with all that happened last Spring. I hope you can find it within yourself to be the bigger person and reconcile with your family. Maybe they’ve even apologized in their letters, you’ll never know unless you read them. Don’t read Fred’s though, he’s more mad than the rest of them. I’m sure he’s thrown every name in the book at you.

I hope my next letter will be in better spirits. I hope Hermes is doing well and I hope even more so that you will adjust to life in London well.

With Love,

Penelope

Dear Penelope,

I cannot express with words how excited I was to receive your owl. I hope you don’t mind that I kept her for a few days, Hermes adores her and she reminds me of you. However, I also had to keep her back because it took quite some time to give you an adequate response to everything you said in your letter.

Hermes and I are well. He hasn’t adjusted as well as I have, but I understand. The air is polluted and there’s not much room for him to roam. There’s no forests in sight, only a bunch of buildings. If I wasn’t taking your letters, I would send him back to the Burrow. He was happier there and besides, the ministry has provided me a new owl for business letters.

I, on the other hand, am doing the best I ever have been. I am extremely efficient with my work and I appear to be pleasing my superiors. In my off time, I watch live shows and read. I have been getting into some Muggle classics, like War and Peace. Their culture is quite interesting, although ours is clearly superior. I am glad I am nourishing my mind as much as I can, I only wish there wasn’t so much noise outside my apartment. Jackhammers and traffic is all l I hear all day. It gets old fast. I’m not sure if you would like it here, but I would be happy to have you if you wish to visit. Although, I thought about your proposal to stay with me and I must decline. I would love to and I am sure my hormones would have a field day, but your father wants you to stay somewhere else and merely visit me during the day, trying to trick him would be wrong. I am sorry, but rules are rules, even when it comes to you.

I will speak with Fudge about your employment. I am a bit nervous to do so but I think he likes me, so I will certainly try. You’re a very smart girl and I believe if they just took notice of how you applied yourself, they’d move you up the ranks swiftly. It would be a shame to let such an academic be reduced to a daycare worker. That seems like something my mum would do if she worked. And you certainly surpass her when it comes to brains and ambition.

Dismayed is an understatement for how I feel knowing that my family has taken advantage of our relationship to try to shake me. I do not wish to speak to them now, I will only speak to them when they realize that I am right, which I hope won’t be much longer. You’re right, of course, I do have love for them, even Fred and George, but I can not continue a relationship with people that discount my accomplishments and constantly laugh at my expense. Reading their letters is pointless. I read the first letter I received from Charlie and although he tried to be eloquent, he still wasn’t seeing things my way. He was basically just regurgitating everything my dad had said, just in a kinder way. He and Bill have always been the most sensible so I see no point in attempting to read the other letters, they will only be worse versions of Charlie’s. I will admit that curiosity got the better of me, however. A letter from Fred came in the same day as yours. You were right, it was awful. I shouldn’t have expected anything more, however, that boy is barely literate. Here is a snippet of his abomination of a letter (I have fixed the spelling mistakes, there’s no reason to subject you to that):

“You are a massive cunt, you know that? After all mum and dad have done for you. Seriously? I can’t even call you a prat anymore, that’s just an insult to prat’s. You’re a slag for Fudge and we all know it. If you wanted to give him a good rimming, you could have just said so instead of causing us all this grief. Well not me, I don’t give one fuck about you. You could be in a ditch tomorrow for all I care. And maybe you will be, Fudge and his friends would just as well see you there as in an office. How could you choose him over your own mother? I hope you’re happy that you make her cry every night. I hear that you get paid three times dad’s salary and you have sent home not one knut. But twats like you don’t care about their family, huh? Enjoy your cushy apartment, I hope when you open the windows, a pigeon flies in and takes a shit on your head.”

Isn’t it just terrible? And it’s all one huge paragraph too, with unbearably non-flowy sentences. He is a right idiot if he thinks I’d ever want to respond to that. And why would I want to send money to people who treat me like that, anyway? I can’t put myself into his pea brain so I guess I will never know. Please make me take your advice next time so that I won’t have to subject myself to that kind of torture.

As for what happened this Spring, I’d rather not talk about it. The Ministry says that you-know-who is not back, so I’m afraid Harry must have been lying. Perhaps he had a fever and hallucinated the whole thing. I don’t hate him, by the way. I know my family must be trying to convince you of that but it is just not true. I think he is foolish and many adults are using him as a pawn. It’s sad, really. My family has gotten so desperate that they made Hermione and Harry write me letters too. I had already been informed by Fudge himself to turn over any correspondence from Harry, so of course I did that. I do wish I had the forethought to read the letter first, I’m very curious about it now, but oh well.

I care for you very much and hope we can arrange a visit soon.

With Even More Love,

Percy

Dear Percy,

I was hoping this letter would be more positive than the ones we have exchanged lately and that perhaps we could even arrange my trips to London, but I have gotten some terrible news. And I will not believe it until you confirm it.

There is a nasty rumour going around that you are to be court scribe for the Wizengamot in Harry’s trial. Say it isn’t true, Percy! I know it’s such an honor to work so closely with the Wizengamot, you’d be the youngest person in all of history to work as a scribe for them. But at what cost? Harry is your friend. I’ve been spending more and more time with your family and I consider Harry to be a friend now, too. I know the details of the case, and I’m sure you must since you’re apparently working it. Even if you don’t care for him, you must understand that objectively, Harry is in the right, at least morally. He was saving his cousin. The cousin that he grew up with and besides the kid being an absolute terror, he was basically his brother. Wouldn’t you cast magic to save your brothers or sister? How can you work for a case like that when you know you’d do the same as Harry?

I love you, I really do, and that’s why this breaks my heart so much. You’re turning into something that you aren’t for the sake of ambition. Please don’t do this. Come home and if Fudge truly does value you as much as you think, he will continue working with you even after you are on good terms with your family again. You must be missing them, aren’t you?

I will have to postpone the trip to London until you get all this figured out. I hope you understand. I am always open for you to come back here to visit me. We could all meet for dinner at the Burrow, where you belong.

I don’t have much else to say. I’m scared about what’s happening in the world and I’m nervous for you. I miss you, but I’m not sure if the you I miss is still you.

P.S: Tell Hermes I love him.

xxxx,

Penelope

Dear Penelope,

You have heard right, at least about the Wizengamot. I beg of you not to let my family poison your mind. Clearly, they want everyone to think I’m a terrible person. If they had it their way, we wouldn’t even be together right now. It’s not their fault, really, they suffer from cognitive dissonance, but they only think with their heart. That’s not sustainable and most certainly not how the world works. The court specifically wants me to be scribe and like you acknowledged, that is a huge honor. This is really going to help me get ahead even further. You know I have big dreams. I’d like to be the Minister one day and having all this under my belt would be a big help.

I really am not allowed to be discussing the case with the public, but I suppose I will make a tiny exception for you. I can’t help but have a soft spot for you; I musn’t make bending the rules for you a habit. You’re lucky I’m even physically able to say anything. The Ministry is heavily monitoring all the mail that comes in and out from high ranking members, but they haven’t done that with me yet (as far as I know, at least). I guess it must be because I’ve been so loyal and I won’t even receive my family’s letters, so they trust me. Little do they know that I have a weakness for you.

As of right now, I’m not too worried about Harry (of course, they might change when court is in session and I get all the details). I think his case makes sense. I’ve poured through court cases similar to this one, although the defendants were never as much of a public figurehead as Harry (but that shouldn’t matter, the Wizengamot is totally unbiased and will not take Harry’s fame into account when deciding a verdict), and every court case similar to this ended in a not guilty verdict. I am not sitting as a court scribe to try to lock Harry away, it’s just my job. I don’t approve of him, but let’s not pretend like I never want him to see the light of day again. Anyway, I was surprised that someone that possesses your caliber of intelligence relied so hard on pathos to convince me that being a court scribe is wrong. Everyone knows emotion is a flimsy argument and certainly has no place in the courtroom. The fact that he saved a muggle’s life will definitely be brought up in court, but it won’t be because it’s someone he cares for. It’ll be because we have all sorts of laws about self defense and protecting each other, even a few about protecting muggles. I fear you might not have a place high up in the ministry if you continue preferring pathos to logos. And anyway, you trying to my emotion by bringing up my family makes no sense. My family are wizards, so if it came down to it, I could protect them and it wouldn’t be against the law. It’s not my fault that my family is better than those Dursley’s.

I really must beg of you to stay away from my family and especially from Harry. That will probably not end well for you. Do not mistake that for a threat, I’d never hurt you, but I’m being realistic. Harry is off the rails and my family blindly believes him. In my opinion, Harry needs to be in a mental hospital, not roaming around as a public figure where everyone hangs on to his every word. He clearly suffers from PTSD after all he went through as a child between his parents being murdered in front him, a very powerful dark wizard trying to to murder him, and the muggle abuse he endured. And that’s not even mentioning all the pressure the world, especially Dumbledore, has put on him. He’s not a bad guy, he’s just insane. If the adults around him cared as much as they say they do, they’d put him away for a while until he can heal. But they won’t, that’s the problem. And now I hear that little Ginny is in love with him. I have never in my life been so in despair. I can’t help but think how bleak her future will be. Maybe I should write a letter to her. I doubt she’ll listen, but I do need to try.

I really do hope you decide to come visit me. Maybe I can speak with your father and come to an honest agreement about you living with me soon enough. I am really lonely here and I’ve been thinking a lot about the future. It seems my family and I will never get along again and I have no one else besides you. I have all this extra income so I think it might be practical for me to marry you. Then, you wouldn’t have to hear all this rubbish from my family in order to feel close with me. I will speak with him about it soon. It’s not really all that bad here and even if you’re not good enough to have a real job in the Ministry, that’s okay. I make enough money and I do want a lot of kids anyway. It wouldn’t be practical for you to have a demanding long term job.

Love,

Percy

Percy,

Maybe I am a sensitive fool but I found much of your letter to be highly offensive. You essentially called me unintelligent throughout the letter, then didn’t ask but rather told me that you would be marrying me (only caring about what my father would say, not me). And to top it all off, you told me I was to be your personal incubator while you get to have an actual job. It’s insulting, really. What if I don’t want to do that, did you even consider that? I care for you and I believe I always will but I am not in a place right now where I fancy marrying you. I think I’d rather tie the knot with one of twins or Charlie. Besides, I felt unsettling how you alluded to muggles being lesser beings. They most certainly are not, they’re just different than us. I don’t know how I can be with someone that sees a whole group of people as lesser than them.

I must not have too much respect for myself. After all, I felt all those things that I wrote in the first paragraph, yet I’m still writing to you. What terrible damage love can have to the brain. I think I know how this whole thing will turn out, yet I still hope against my better judgement that we will end up together. I will try to put this past me if you can promise to not be so cruel.

Things are the same as always in my life. Spending most of the time with Mother and Father and the rest tending to children. I think I might die of boredom. I have been thinking about becoming a Hogwarts teacher, at least it would be less degrading than playing babysitter for a bunch of toddlers. Curiously enough, I received a letter from Snape about receiving a position, not Flitwick. He liked me well enough back in school, but I definitely didn’t think he would ever think about contacting me for a teaching role. I didn’t think he ever thought much about any student that wasn’t a Slytherin. I think maybe he sees himself in me. You know I was treated pretty horribly throughout school and something tells me he might have gone through a similar experience. That aside, however, he wrote me a letter requesting my presence to a meeting in a few weeks. It’s a meeting with all the current teachers, so I’m quite nervous about it. They want to speak with me about a new class, I think, it wasn’t any sort of curriculum I was familiar with. Still, I’m heavily considering it. It would be a big step up. I am a little worried about moving out there, but I think I’ll be alright.

I know you act like you don’t care about how your family is doing, but that’s all it is, an act. So I will at least tell you the good parts. I’m sure you’ve seen by the addresses of the letters that they’re still sending you (because they care), they have moved. The Order has been restored, we’d all love to have you there, although I don’t have much hope that you would consider joining. Even Charlie and Bill have come back and joined. They miss you and I think they’re more than a little disappointed. Ginny is dating a kid named Michael Corner, not Harry. I’m sure you’re over the moon about that. Ron and Hermione have become prefects. That’s really good news, yeah? I’m not quite sure how Ron snagged it, but he did.

I promised myself I wouldn’t talk about any more conflict with you, so I won’t even bring up what you said at Harry’s trial. Just know I’m disappointed. What, I will say, however, is that it was so cruel that you didn’t even speak with your own father once court ended. I know you knew he was there. Look, I have a really bad feeling about the future and I can’t help but fear that something bad is going to happen and you’re going to regret being such an ass to them.

This letter was all over the place, I apologize. I just have all these emotions and you don’t seem to understand. Or if you do understand, you don’t care. I don’t know which is worse.

Take care,

Penelope

Dear Penelope,

I apologize for my behavior in my last letter. You’re right, I was only thinking of myself. I’ve just been by myself so much that I guess I find it hard to think about what other people want. I hope you can forgive me. Truly though, I think we could reconcile easier if you met me out in London. Of course only corresponding through letters has led to a strain.

Please brace yourself, because I know if you do not prepare for what I’m about to tell you, you will be very mad at me. I consulted with Fudge and we have decided that you shouldn’t become a teacher at Hogwarts. It’s not a good look for me and it’s safe for you. Dumbledore is off his rocker, I’m not going to allow you to be put in harm's way. Fudge has sent a letter to Hogwarts, strongly suggesting that they find a new candidate for their position. I agree that the role is important, kids need to learn, and you would have been a great teacher. But it’s not the right time for you. I know you will probably be royally pissed for a while, but you’ll get over it. I did it for your own good. I hope you will be happy to hear that I have talked to Fudge about you having a proper job in the Ministry and he agrees. He will be writing to you with an offer soon enough. All’s well that ends well, you get a safer, higher paying job. And you can be near me!

Yes, I knew that my family had moved. I hope they move back soon, it’s not safe for them there. You’re right, someone is going to get hurt. I can feel it in my bones. And of course I will be utterly inconsolable, but it will not be my fault if something happens. It will be Dumbledore’s and inadvertently, Harry’s. I would love to give my family advice, but I know they will not listen. Therefore, there’s no point in writing letters. Besides, even if I did want to write to them, I think Fudge would catch on and have someone start monitoring my mail. I trust the Ministry completely, but I still find it’s in my family’s best interests if the Ministry doesn’t know their exact going on’s.

I heard Ron became prefect. I’m very proud. I wrote him a letter, which the Ministry read (and unfortunately a few unkind edits to, but I’m sure it was for good reason), congratulating him. Unfortunately, I don’t think he’s received it. He hasn’t written back. Maybe Dumbledore has started screening letters? I’m proud of Hermione too, although I didn’t write her a letter. You seem to speak with the lot of them often, so please send her my congratulations. She’s such a smart and sweet girl, she’s a good match for Ron (I can tell he likes her). I would have preferred a Pureblood but oh well, she’s better than most muggles. Oh and speaking of people dating, yes I am very pleased that Ginny has found a nice guy that’s not Harry.

Love,

Percy

Percy,

Before I write anything else, I must address your hilarious claim that Dumbledore is monitoring letters. Ron got your letter, read it, then proceeded to burn it. He found it very offensive. He’s not happy with you, so maybe don’t send him more letters.

Fred and George are still mad, more than everyone else. George invited me out last week, I think only because he knew it would get a rise out of you. Fred’s the maddest of them all, as you know so well from his letters, but he’s with Angelina Johnson, so he couldn’t take me on the “jealousy date”. I don’t really fancy George, don’t worry, and I don’t think he fancies me. I must admit, however, that it was a nice time. It was a welcome change to listen to someone talk to me about their interests instead of being obsessed with a job. It was even more welcome that he asked me questions back and seemed to actually care about my responses. My favorite thing, though, was going out with someone that cared so much for their family. Someone that not only understood romantic love, but also platonic and familial love. I’d been missing that part of you for a while. But like I said, I don’t fancy him. I didn’t even let him kiss me. I feel guilty about it all, of course, I’d like to come down to London and try to get things in our relationship to run smoothly again.

Also, yes, I am very upset that you had that letter written to Hogwarts. You totally crossed a line and if I had any balls, I would have broken up with you over it. But alas, I really do want to make it work. This is another thing that I think we need to work on together. In London. Please tell me your thoughts.

With care,

Penelope

Dear Penelope,

Literally, what the fuck? I saw red when I read your letter. You. Went. Out. On. A. Date. With. My. Brother? And the little traitor tried to kiss you? I had half a mind to challenge him to a duel. But you’re right, he’s just trying to get me to act out and he will not get that out of me. There are so many problems with our relationship right now and I cannot bear to let you go, so we must meet and work things out immediately. And I’m not coming home, so you must come here. I’ve taken a week off at the Ministry, please arrive here as soon as you receive this letter. I will not be bested by the likes of George Weasley and a few other misunderstandings I may have thrown your way.

No need to write back,

Percy

Dear Percy,

I am so glad we had that meeting in London! I really do feel like we’ve fixed things. It makes me so happy that you have agreed not to be so unkind with your words in the future. And as promised, I have decreased contact with your family and all the other members of the Order. George has written me about a dozen letters since then, checking up on me and filling me in on what’s going on with your family. But as promised, I have not written back. If I expect you to uphold your part of the agreement, I must hold myself to the same standard.

I think I will take that secretary job Fudge offered me. It’s not all that you made it out to be, but at least I can be near you. I’m still too wary to marry you, after all it hasn’t been too long since we were falling apart, but I think it would be nice to be physically closer to you. I’ll see what I can do in terms of flats, since you’re too prudish to lend me room in yours.

Love you lots,

Penelope

Dear Penelope,

I don’t have much time to write at the moment, I’m very busy, so please excuse the short letter. I, too, am glad we are doing better. It was impacting my efficiency at work and I could not have that. I’m just glad there’s no more Fred and George, they were trying to hijack your mind and make it theirs. Besides, I have heard from more than one female that has come into contact with them, that they are basically a pair of incubi. I know you think I’m dramatic when I say that, but those two boys have turned evil, I know it. I should have seen the clear signs. It was so obvious from the time that they were little boys, chasing poor Ron with spiders.

Thank Godric that you are coming to join me at the Ministry! I can keep a close eye on you there, make sure you’re safe. I know the job isn’t glorious, but not everyone is as fortunate as me. You have to work your way up. I know you’ll have a very important job in no time. And I never said I wouldn’t let you live with me by the way, I said that I didn’t want your father to become cross with me. You really shouldn’t call me a prude, or do you not remember what all went in London when you came to visit? I didn’t think it was quite that forgettable, but I’ll just have to remind you when you move here.

Love,

Percy

Dear Percy,

I’m sorry for the distance between letters. I meant to write, I really did, but everything went to shit here. I know I said I would distance myself from your family, but George wrote to me and said that your father is in the hospital. So now I’m back to semi-living with them. Did you not read your mother’s letter about it, Percy? She marked it “urgent” on the envelope. Your father was utterly distressed that you didn’t even write, much less visit him. It made his recovery harder and longer. Don’t you still care even a little bit? What if he had passed, wouldn’t you have felt so guilty?

Also, your mother collapsed and fell into a fit of tears when you sent your Christmas jumper back. Why didn’t you just keep it? It would have spared her feelings, even if you think you’re too good for the sweaters now. She made me a sweater, I loved it. But oh well, please think about the repercussions of your actions on others. You’re making it very hard on all of us. Also, Fred wants me to let you know that he wants to bring back drawing and quartering just for you. George is more straight to the point, vowing to castrate you if you two ever cross paths again (by the way, they both thought your incubus comment was very funny, I think it inflated their ego).

I know you are on the Ministry’s side, saying that Voldemort is NOT back, which is horseshit and you know it. But you do know who attacked your father, yes? Surely that should be enough proof for you. You’re very smart, why are you letting an institution think for you?

With peace and love,

Penelope

Dear Penelope,

I am slightly dismayed that you didn’t keep up with your end of our agreement, going back to speak with my family. I do understand, though, my father’s attack was a shock and could have ended tragically. I know he’s better now, though, so please cease contact again.

On a similar note, yes, I did read Mum’s letter and know that he was in the hospital. I sent flowers anonymously, if that means anything to you. And I kept tabs on him from the Ministry. If I felt that things were going downhill and he wasn’t going to make it, I would have visited. But he was fine, so it’s not a big deal. Maybe he will learn to not poke his head where it doesn’t need poking from now on.

As for the sweater, it’s not that I didn’t want to keep it. I love her sweaters, I wear some of the old one sometimes. But keeping the sweater would have sent a completely wrong message and given her false hope. So really, sending it back was a selfless act.

I know you want me to say that You-Know-Who is back. But you just don’t understand. I represent the Ministry now. What they say goes. That doesn’t mean I don’t have my own thoughts, it simply means that I stand with them.

Just wanted to remind you that you’re very beautiful and I miss your kind heart. I can’t wait for you to move here.

Love,

Percy

Percy,

I am most certainly NOT moving to be with you in London after the stunt you pulled. Betraying Dumbledore and holding Harry in place whilst being questioned by Fudge? What a dick move. I don’t know what I expected, you provided me all the warning signs. I guess that when it mattered, you’d do the right thing. Now I see how wrong I was. I need some time to myself, and you need to think over in your heart why you thought it was okay to do what you did. You just better be glad that Fudge sent you out before you got smacked the fuck up by Dumbledore.

From the top of my head to the bottom of my toes, fuck you

Penelope

Dear Penelope,

This is the fifth letter I’ve sent to you in a row with no response, please answer. I know I shouldn’t have done what I did and I’m sorry. I’m embarrassed, really I am, but I’ve dug myself too deep. I miss you, I miss Ginny, I miss Charlie, I miss Bill, I miss Ron, I miss Mum and Dad. I even miss Fred and George. But it’s too late. I wish I had seen it before. They were right, you were right. I can’t let them know that. I feel so ashamed. I want to help them, but I also want to never bother them again. I saw You-Know-Who in the Ministry. I know all along that he was back, but I kept denying it for my job. But now I don’t have my family and I don’t have you, so my job is all I have. Please know that anything you see from me from this moment forward doesn’t represent my heart. You’re right, I don’t remember how many letters ago it was, but you said I wasn’t the person you fell in love with. You couldn��t have hit the nail on the head any better. There’s barely any left of that Percy, just his shell. So really, I shouldn’t be talking to you at all. I’m not the person you committed to. But I still love you. It’s total wishful thinking that I can have you back, but hoping is the only thing that keeps me from going insane. Bill wrote me a letter saying that he was engaged. I don’t want to face my family but I’ll go if I can see you.

Love, Percy

Percy,

I felt like I should write you one last letter because despite myself, I still care. I want to give you closure. It’s clear to me that you’re never coming home, which is clear symbolism that you are never going to do the right thing. You said it yourself in your letters, you’re digging your heels in and standing by the ministry. You’re a filthy coward.

Yes, Bill is getting married in a few months. We’re all very busy with preparations, it seems like that’s the only good thing that’s happening around here. You have an invitation, of course, but you shouldn’t come if you just want to see me. If I see you, I will make a scene and there will be more than just mashed parsnips being thrown at you (yes, Fred and George told me about how you visited just for the benefit of the Ministry. It’s pathetic, really). Your mum is convinced you will show up to the wedding and everything will be magically better. I know you better than that. I wish I was in blissful ignorance and thought you still loved us all, but you don’t. You’re not going to be able to get your head out of your ass until it’s one of us that’s laying lifeless somewhere because of the monsters of people that the Ministry have allowed to roam for so long. I know where you stand and you know where I stand. So there’s nothing else to say.

I’m sending back all the things of yours that I have. You should receive them all with this letter. Please write back if I missed anything.

Sincerely,

Penelope Clearwater

#percy weasley #fred weasley #george weasley #hp #hp fanfic #harry potter

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127-mile · 4 years

Text

Fake love.

Jung Jaehyun x reader | Fake dating!au | +3.4K words | Fluff, angst.

Summary : Your best friends just got engaged, and after years of trying to get you and Jaehyun together, you finally break and decide to start faking a relationship.

Warnings : Alcohol, a few bad words.

A/N : Hi, it’s been a long time since I actually posted something. It’s kind of a mess. And not beta read, sorry for the mistakes.

"We should do it." Jaehyun says, his fingers tapping on the half-empty bottle of beer he had been holding for the past 30 minutes. You look up from your phone, curious about what he has to say. "We should date."

You sit up in your chair, shaking your head. Is this the reason why he has been so quiet since he entered your apartment uninvited ? You put your phone down on the coffee table.

"What the hell are you saying ?" You ask in disbelief. "You need to stop listening to Hansol once and for all."

Hansol was your neighbor back in the days, he introduced you to Jaehyun a few years ago and since then you've been inseparable. This is probably why he and his girlfriend -recently turned fiancée- have been trying to get you together for so long. It is an endless argument between the four of you.

"Hear me out. We can pretend to date for a while, and then we break up." He explains. "We'll tell them we are not compatible on a romantic point and we'll no longer need to hear them extol each other's merits."

Alright, you are not going to lie, this is tempting. It is tiring to hear them constantly brag about what Jaehyun does on a daily basis, right after hearing Jaehyun speak about it himself. And these little whispers between them every time you just exchange a knowing look with Jaehyun or laugh at one of your inside jokes.

"Alright, I'm in. But we need to find something, we can't just shove our relationship in their faces, they'll know something is fishy."

That's the problem of having smart friends. Jaehyun gulps the rest of his beer and he nods.

"Oh ! I have an idea. If we want it to be believable, they need to figure it out themselves. We have to show them only glimpses of the relationship.They are smart, they’ll understand."

It's a good idea, you think. Well, it can be risky but you are ready to do it if it means you'll finally be in peace.

"Yeah, that's good. Do we need rules or something ?" You know that you'll have to kiss him at some point to prove your friends something, and it's not like you have never kissed Jaehyun because of the alcohol or during a game, but it'll have to look true. "I have one. In case we need to kiss. Try to put your tongue in my mouth and I swear to god I will rip it out."

Jaehyun throws his head back, laughing. Yes, he suspected it a little.

"Well, the threat goes for you too ! I'm not an easy guy." You roll your eyes, you know better than to trust some of his words. "So, do we have a deal ?"

He extends his hand, and you take it. Jaehyun is your best friend, you would trust him with your life, you wouldn't do it with someone else.

"We have a deal. Oh, and I'll be the one breaking up with you, I have a reputation to hold."

Let the game begins.

~~~~

And the game did start. Sooner than you would have thought. To be specific, the day after the deal was made. You had agreed to meet Jaehyun in front of the restaurant Hansol and Eunae were waiting, to fine-tune the final details.

"You are late." You mutter when Jaehyun arrives in front of the restaurant, breathless and sweaty. "How are we supposed to do this correctly if you are not even able to be on time !"

Jaehyun stops in his track, startled by the tone of your voice. He is only five minutes late and Hansol never expects him on time, so what's the matter ? He walks toward you, and opens his mouth to talk but you beat him to it.

"So ? Was I convincing in the role of the annoying girlfriend ?" You cock your head on the side, and Jaehyun covers his mouth to muffle a loud laugh. He doesn't want Hansol or Eunae to notice you before you have time to talk.

"You are an asshole, I really thought I was in trouble !" He starts. "I have a few ideas for today, just follow me."

What ? How are you supposed to follow him if you have no idea what is going to happen ? You sigh but nod anyway.

"Let's have fun."

Jaehyun smiles, and he grabs your hand to pass the restaurant's door. He searches for his friends, and his smile becomes brighter when he finds them. When Hansol notices them, Jaehyun waits for the perfect time to let go of your hand. How long did he think about it ? Because Hansol frowns right away. He still tries to understand what he thinks he saw when you sit in front of Eunae, Jaehyun beside you.

"How are we doing ?" You ask the couple. "Sorry to keep you waiting, Jaehyun had a hard time deciding between shirts."

Hansol's frown deepens, and you have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep you from laughing. Jaehyun has a hard time too, but he succeeds.

"We're doing just fine ! We decided to have our engagement party this weekend." Eunae says with a soft smile.

"How nice ! If you need any help with the preparation, I am all yours !" You tell her and she nods. The conversation about the engagement party keeps going between the two of you, and as for the boys they watch in silence. At some point, Hansol nudges Jaehyun under the table.

"Were you and y/n holding hands ?" He asks, and Jaehyun chokes on the sip of water he was about to swallow. Hansol was trying so hard to be discreet, but Jaehyun had to ruin it with his dramatic reaction. "Don't die on me, or I'll have to ask Ten to be my best man and trust me, I don't want to do that."

Jaehyun rolls his eyes, he didn't expect Hansol to be this straightforward, he really was taken aback. He wipes his hand with the back of his hand and he sighs.

"So, the party. Do we have to bring something ?"

Jaehyun knows how to mess with Hansol's mind by changing the subject. While Eunae is explaining everything to Jaehyun, the waitress arrives and you order your and Jaehyun's food. There's is nothing special about it, you know Jaehyun by heart. But now, Hansol is trying to decipher the smallest of detail.

The rest of the meal goes without incident if not Hansol's eyes constantly on you. Eunae gets up to get the check, but Hansol refuses and follows her to the front desk. As you are left alone, you exhale.

"Well, that wasn't so bad. Hansol is ready to have a breakdown." Jaehyun jokes. He talks, his face really close to your ear, in case someone would watch in your direction. "The engagement party will be a good opportunity to make them understand."

The couple comes back pretty quickly to gather their things, and you do the same. You walk out of the restaurant, Jaehyun on your heels.

"I have to go back to work, see you tonight ?" He asks you with a soft smile full of dimples, and you nod. "Hansol, Eunae, see you saturday then ! Please, don't break up until then, I don't want to have to sell your gift."

He quickly hugs his friends, and you but this time he takes a little longer to let go and he goes back to his car. As you watch him leave, Hansol clears his throat.

"So, you and Jaehyun ?" Eunae frowns and suddenly she gasps. "Are you two finally together ?"

Why did he have to wait for Jaehyun to leave to ask questions, now you're on your own. He trusts you, so now it's your time not to mess things up.

"What ? Hansol we already talked about it, Jaehyun and I are just friends." The boy huffs.

"I saw you holding hands in the restaurant, and the way he was talking to you when we left. I am not stupid." Hansol says with a little too much hands gestures.

"I really don't know what you're talking about. I have to go too. Eunae, call me when you need me, and Hansol please stop overthinking everything, you're going to hurt your little head."

You wave at them until you turn onto another street. It is fun and Jaehyun is right, the party will be a great opportunity to blow everyone's mind with your sudden relationship.

~~~~

"For people who are not dating, we do be acting like it." Jaehyun has been lying in your bed with his head on your lap since he came earlier in the morning.

"Don't make me break our friendship." You say, hitting him on the forehead with your index finger. You push him off of your lap when your phone buzz on the bedside table. "Eunae is waiting outside."

You get up from your bed and you look around. If Jaehyun wasn't afraid of being punch, he would tell you that your pout is adorable.

"Oh ! Take off your hoodie." Jaehyun straightens in bed and he obeys, a little too quickly for your liking. "Let me explain before you get any ideas. Hansol bought you this hoodie, so I'll wear it to his place today."

Jaehyun claps and you bow with a proud smile. Of course, you had to think about every little things to make the situation believable. You take the hoodie to put it on, wincing at the smell.

"I don't like your perfume." You mutter and Jaehyun groans, turning on his tummy, face squished in the pillow.

"You gave me this perfume for my birthday. Go now, we all know that mad Eunae is scary."

You take your bag and the few stuff your friend needed for the party's decoration and you walk to the door.

"Don't forget to lock the door when you leave. If you leave."

You do not understand what Jaehyun is saying, but it was probably gibberish. You get down the stairs, and you find Eunae in front of the door, smiling, as always.

"Hello, gorgeous ! " You say.

The walk to the couple's apartment is quite fast, Eunae talks about the oncoming party, and the stress of organizing it. She doesn't mention your hoodie nor Jaehyun, but as soon as you walk through the door, Hansol is on your back.

"That's Jaehyun's hoodie." He says and Eunae rolls her eyes before leaving. "What don't you tell us you are dating ? It's not that hard, and it'd help me !"

It would be too easy, so you shrug and follow the girl to the living room. You can hear him whine behind you, and you chuckle. For the rest of the day, you help as much as you can. At least until the door opens, and Jaehyun's voice makes you jump on the stool you are standing on.

"Hello ladies and gents !" He yells. "Sorry for not coming to help, I was asleep. Yn please get down from the stool, I don't want you to get hurt."

As if you were going to listen to him. Instead, you keep working on the fairylights, but the feeling of hands on your waist makes you stop. You turn around to meet Jaehyun's eyes, and he smiles.

"If you don't want to obey, I'll hold you. And no, you are not allowed to say no." Of course you can't. So you hang the last lights, and you finally get down from the stool, not without the help from your fake boyfriend.

"Thank you." You lean toward him to softly kiss his cheek.

Even if he feels Eunae's eyes on his back, his ears still turn red at the sudden kiss and you giggle. He is absolutely adorable.

"Oh my god !" Eunae exclaims. "What the hell is going on here ? You aint slick !" You bite your lower lip as you avoid her eyes. Is it already time to come clean ? Before you can even look at Jaehyun, he starts speaking.

"We're dating."

In a matter of seconds, you can see a multitude of emotions on your friends faces. It is hard to stay stoic, especially when Jaehyun puts his hand on the small of your back.

"I knew it ! I fucking knew it !" Hansol blurts out. "Now is the time to thank us." Jaehyun sighs.

"In your dreams !"

While the boys are bickering, you join Eunae in the kitchen for a well deserved glass of wine.

"Why didn't you say anything earlier ?" She asks and you shrug slightly.

"I guess we wanted to see how it would turn out before telling you guys. But now you know. Happy ?" She nods a few times, she is absolutely beaming.

"I wish you all the happiness, you deserve it."

Ah, if she knew.

~~~~

"Jung Jaehyun, if you do not come out of this bathroom right now, I will punch you !" You bark to the closed door. On the other side, you hear Jaehyun laugh. "You're such a little shit. Why did you even come here to get ready ? We could've just met at their place."

It is not new. Jaehyun always spends more time at your apartment than his. Even when he knows it will cause arguments. When the door finally opens, you sigh.

"Your bathroom is nicer than mine. And I can use your products." He explains. You look at him and the least you can do is open your mouth. Jaehyun is stunning in his black pair of slacks and white button up shirt. "Do I look good ? I mean, I know it but it's nice to hear it."

He's an idiot so you shove him out of the bathroom to get ready. It is now time for Jaehyun to complain behind the door about the time you are spending for no other reason than to be annoying.

"What are you, five ? Can't you wait like a good boy for more than 3 minutes ?" You grumble and he pouts, yes like the five years old he is and you poke his dimple with your index. "Let's go. I don't wanna be late tonight."

You grab your jacket and the gift you bought the future married couple, and you leave your place. Jaehyun follows you, making small talk during the ride. Once in front of the door, Jaehyun inhales.

"Let's do it, girlfriend." You take his hand before the door opens on Hansol. "Look at you bro ! You look beautiful, I'm starting to understand why she chose you."

You enter the house before Hansol can hit Jaehyun in the face and you join all of your friends. Of course, they already know about your relationship with Jaehyun. Hansol has a big mouth, he likes to talk. The gift is discarded on the table with the others, and a glass of champagne is forced in your hand by your boyfriend.

"Don't drink too much, you tend to say a lot of things because of alcohol." You whisper close to his ear and he nods. "You've been listening really well lately, maybe I should've fake dated you earlier."

"I am a great guy ! Everyone would be delighted to fake date me." He says before sipping on his drink.

Rather than telling him not to drink too much, maybe you should have taken the glass from Jaehyun's hand. Him and your friends started drinking more and more and Jaehyun got handsy. Hands on your hips while he backhugs you, on the small of your back, or playing with your hair with an occasionnal whining every time you tried to get away from his touch. It is funny, honestly.

But you can't criticize him too much, you drank as much as him, so when he grabs your hand to have you sit on his lap, you let him do it. He crosses his arms around your waist, his chin propped on your shoulder.

"You two look cute together, it's almost disgusting." One of your friends comments and Jaehyun giggles.

"We're cute because she is cute." He answers and you roll your eyes, it is extremely cheesy, proof of his intoxicated state. You turn on his lap and grab his chin in between your fingers to give him a small kiss on the lips. It is soft, and chast, what you don't expect is for Jaehyun to blush.

"Oh no, he is cute too. Gosh."

A few more kisses are exchanged during the evening, and when it is finally time for you to leave, when the sun is rising, you feel a little less dizzy. And even if your friends aren't there, you still hold onto Jaehyun's hand to walk home.

You never talked about it again.

~~~~

The following weeks passed more or less in the same way. When Jaehyun is not at work, he spends his time in your apartment complaining about absolutely everything. It is quite endearing. You continue playing your little game around your friends. Holding hands, cuddling, kissing. It's a nice routine, you are not going to lie, but it is time to put an end to it before you or Jaehyun gets used to it.

This is the reason why Jaehyun decided to throw a party tonight. He didn't say anything when you told him it was time to put an end on it, he just sent a text to the group chat and went back to work on his laptop.

All of your closest friends are there, on the couches or on the ground, drinking and laughing together. You wonder how to do it. How to start an argument with Jaehyun without it seeming as fake as your relationship. We say drunk words are sober thoughts, so nor you or Jaehyun drink a lot. You clearly don't want to lose your best friend for words you didn’t want out of your mouth.

Jaehyun gets up from the armchair and indicate you to follow him to the kitchen. You do just that, and cross you arms against your chest when he looks inside the fridge.

"How do you want to do that ?" Jaehyun asks. "We can like.." He doesn't finish his sentence, deep in thoughts.

It is hard, because you never had a fight in five years. Well, just petty little fights between friends. Nothing crazy. And unfortunately it is too late to play the love compatibility card. You played your roles too well during the past few weeks.

"Remember what you told me at the restaurant when we decided to do this ?" You ask and Jaehyun shakes his head. "You told me "follow me". It's your turn to follow me."

You take a deep breath and go out of the kitchen, fists clenched.

"I can't believe it Jaehyun !" You yell. "You really are like everyone else ! And I thought I found someone different this time ! Date a friend they said, my ass !"

Jaehyun goes out of the kitchen and he doesn't know what he is supposed to do right now. Everything is so new, and he sort of loses his confidence when he feels all of your friends eyes on him.

"Oh come on, don't be like that !" He scoffs. "You knew what you signed for when you decided to jump on me !"

You look at him with wide eyes, and it's like everyone in the room suddenly stopped breathing.

"I jumped on you ? What the fuck are you talking about ! You are unbelievable ! I don't even know why I'm still here, you are a piece of shit. We're done."

Someone gasps, and you bite your lower lip when it starts to quiver. You grab your bag, and with one last glance to Jaehyun, you leave the apartment. You make sure to slam the door hard enough for the frames to shake on the wall. You run down the stairs to breath the fresh air from outside, not even caring about the pouring rain.

It was a fun experience. But why does your heart hurts so much ? Why Jaehyun finds himself unable to breath like he's been actually dumped ?

Everything is all fun and games until someone catches feelings.

#cznnet #nct #jung jaehyun #nct imagines #jaehyun imagines #nct scenarios #jaehyun scenarios

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heartslogos · 3 years

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outtakes [1]

Xiao sits there in stunned silence before he speaks.

“I can’t believe someone wants to make a movie out of your webnovels."

“Excuse you! I'll have you know that my novels are extremely popular. They’ve got a very devoted fanbase that’s still growing.”

“They’re just not popular here,” Chongyun says, ducking when Xingqiu swats at the back of his head. “I’m just telling the truth. It’s a very saturated market, A-Qiu. Everyone writes martial arts novels. I could stop anyone on the street and ask them what xianxia or wuxia novel they’ve got open on their phone right now and they could describe the plot to me and I’d mistake it for ten other titles and still not be exactly wrong.”

“Mine are a cut above the rest and you know it. Anyway. We aren’t here to discuss the merits of my novel. Those are already clear by the fact that it’s so popular that Inazuma wants to make a movie out of one of them. At that stage even if I was willing to consider that my novels were, at best, average before I would be forced to reconsider that outlook. It’s just about a done deal. And thankfully they’ve given me oversight on the script adaptation and they wanted to confirm details of certain scenes. That’s where you come in Xiao-ge.”

“Wrong.”

Xingqiu raps his knuckles on the table between them. “Come on. Your dear to your heart shidi is asking you for help.”

“Who’s shidi?” Xiao raises an eyebrow, arms crossing over his chest as he leans back in his chair.

“You had to be at least a little curious why Xingqiu called you out,” Chongyun says. “I mean. He asked for your help and you showed up, didn’t you?”

“I had free time and I was curious.” Xiao pauses. “Also one of you texted Ganyu and she commented about it in the group chat with Shifu and shushu. If I didn’t show up I’d never hear the end of it.”

“Ganyu-jie to the rescue. I told you that you should have just asked Ganyu about it first,” Chongyun says to Xingqiu.

“Forgive me for thinking that I should attempt being straightforward.” Xingqiu rolls his eyes, brushing part of his fringe out of his face. “But listen. I really do need your help.”

“I’m not a stuntman.”

“I know! But if you could help me choreograph some of the fights, and maybe oversee some of the practices to make sure they’re done right it would be a real big help.”

Xiao points at Xingqiu and then at Chongyun. “You are both martial artists. As I recall the Guhua school’s main styles are ‘light piercer’ and ‘rain cutter’.”

“How boring of a movie would it be if everyone used Guhua arts? It's fine when it’s on paper because it’s up to the reader to imagine what things look like. They can be picturing all sorts of things happening — crane or mantis, maybe even horse style fighting. But on screen it’ll be obvious! And it doesn’t make sense.” Xingqiu leans forward. “And if it’s just Guhua school arts it will be so dull.”

“There are two of you."

“A movie with two fighting styles? They might as well just film me and Chongyun sparring and send that to the box office to tank. Come on, Xiao-ge. You know more types of fighting styles than both of us — even ignoring work with pole arms.”

Xiao sighs, pressing his knuckles to his forehead as though he could bully away the headache.

“You should ask Shifu. I learned most of it from him. I’m sure he could help. Besides, I also have a job. I can’t just take off for Inazuma for a week or two. The Goldets are understanding people. I do not want to take advantage.”

“Please, they love you.” Xingqiu waves his hand. “They’ll bend over backwards to keep you. Did you know that their reviews have steadily been going up since you became the night guard? And almost all the comments on about them are about how safe and reliable it is there.”

“That’s — “ Xiao sighs. “No. The answer is still no.”

“I’ll pay you.”

Xiao jolts, eyes narrowing at Xingqiu. “No!”

“Just name a figure!”

“I can’t.” Xiao turns a little pink. “I’m not allowed to take money for my martial arts. Shifu made Ganyu and me swear never to trade our martial arts skills for mora when he began teaching us.”

“Huh,” Chongyun blinks, turning to Xingqiu. “You should work that into one of your next novels.” He looks back to Xiao. “Wait. What about all the competitions and the prize money you won?”

Xiao doesn’t exactly squirm in his seat, but he gives the impression of wanting to. Xiao props his elbow up on the table, turning his face into his hand and looking off to the side.

“Shifu had us pick a charity to donate it to,” Xiao mumbles. “I think Ganyu still gets letters from one of the wildlife preservation ones she used to pick out a lot.”

“I have so many questions,” Chongyun says, sounding awestruck. “But I know that if I ask them we’ll never get back to Xingqiu.”

“Be strong and hold them in for me to ask at a later date.” Xingqiu shakes Chongyun’s arm. “Alright. No money. Could you just — alright. How about this. Can you and Chongyun go through some scenes for me and let me film it? There’s going to be a stunt director and a choreographer. I can show the video to them and see if they can work with it.”

“It’s Inazuma,” Xiao replies. “What would they know?”

“Don’t look down on them just because they’re from Inazuma,” Xingqiu chides, “Master martial artists are everywhere.”

“No. I mean — why bother using multiple Liyue style martial arts when you’re filming in Inazuma where most people wouldn’t be able to notice some of the more subtle differences?”

“You’re thinking very small, Xiao-ge. Sure it’s being filmed in Inazuma. But it’s a movie. You think people from Liyue aren’t going to be streaming illegal uploads of this? I’m telling you. I’m a very popular novelist.”

“You know, the more you say it to try and convince people that you’re popular the more it sounds like you aren’t.” Chongyun suffers through the sharp jab Xingqiu aims at his ribs, holding still so he doesn’t accidentally spill his drink.

“Who’s side are you on?” Xingqiu hisses.

“Yours, probably.” Then he grins at Xiao. “Dage want to join the ‘Victims of Xingqiu Alliance’? So far it’s me, his brother, Keqing, and Xinyan.”

Xingqiu raises his hands, rolling his eyes towards the ceiling. “I am being conspired against.”

#heartsfic #genshin impact

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paradife-loft · 4 years

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Close reading all the Jin Guangyao scenes: episode 10

Episode 11 | Episode 22 | Episode 23

So, when I was talking to @fatalism-and-villainy the other day, I mentioned how while doing this third watch of The Untamed, I was feeling really quite tempted to make a semi-liveblogging project out of doing a close analysis of basically every episode where Meng Yao/Jin Guangyao has a substantial scene.... Their response was only to encourage me in this further obsessive descent, and well, here we are.

I’m starting with episode 10 where we are in this watch right now, rather than going back to episode 4, because while ep4 is utterly delightful, I don’t really feel like I have a lot to say about it that hasn’t already been hashed to death.

Meanwhile, episode 10... oh boy! So much going on here. This episode is most interesting to me because the main theme we see in a majority of Meng Yao’s scenes, is how wholeheartedly invested he is in advancing the cause and prominence of the Nie Sect that he serves. Particularly in light of how we see him later giving the same loyalty and effort to the Jin sect, it’s a really cool (and tragic, tbh) precursor that shows a lot about how much he’ll make a point of doing well by those who’ve elevated him in turn.

So he first shows up with Nie Huisang, when WWX/LWJ/JC are all discussing with Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen what they ought to do with Xue Yang. Noticing the latter two (who are established already as being well-known heroes throughout the cultivation world), he asks if they wouldn’t come along to Qinghe to figure out how best to punish Xue Yang, and also what the best course of action would be for dealing with the Wen sect. Xiao Xingchen and Song Lan rebuff this offer... because they understand, accurately, that what Meng Yao is suggesting/asking about is for them to establish a relationship tying them, however informally (for now), to the Qinghe Nie sect.

(^This, incidentally, is the face he makes when they say “yeahhh, but no thanks,” or specifically, “We give less value to blood heritage and more to like-mindedness. We don’t want to depend on any cultivation family.” This is the face of “oh, okay, tell me no in such direct terms, when I went to the trouble of phrasing my suggestion a bit more obliquely, thanks so much,” and also, “Wow, doesn’t that sound nice to be able to do :/”)

Then a few minutes later, we get this wonderful facial expression! ...which I don’t actually have a whole lot to say about, except that I take it for... curiosity, mostly, about someone who’s had such an outsize effect on the local area, what with murdering a handful of minor cultivation clans? Interest in what inter-clan strategic advantages could be gained in one way or another with Xue Yang as a bargaining chip, source of information, etc.? Possibly also interest in the sense of, this is also someone who came from nothing and has been able to get a lot of important people to pay attention to him (even if not for a good reason), depending on how much he’s heard about Xue Yang as a person? There’s a lot of possibilities this is opening up, and I think he’s basically curious to see what happens.

Again, we just have him being very good at working the angles to get an advantage to the Nie sect (compared to the Wen sect in this case). Jiang Cheng even comments on him being thorough and formidable! (And Huisang mentions that Nie Mingjue really admires him; and Wei Wuxian says it looks like Jin Guangshan doesn’t know how to recognise talent... anyway.)

Mmmm, yep, douchebags gonna douchebag.... Nothing terribly interesting here that hasn’t already been noted a zillion times, since the basic fundamentals of his character relate to how poorly others treat him for his birth. (It is noteworthy though, I think, how the condensed timeline & events for Meng Yao killing his superior and ruining his relationship with Nie Mingjue in the process compared to the extended version in the novel, alters the first bit of screen time we get here seeing what Nie Mingjue is actually like as a leader. In the novel, his men in the army have a bit of a nasty gossip problem, but the person who mistreats Meng Yao and takes credit for his ideas later is a part of the Jin clan; in the drama, various Nie sect disciples have a gossip problem that he berates them for, but even so he still is, at best, ignorant of how his men’s mistreatment of the person he promoted and thinks highly of has continued.)

Oh boy, here’s where it starts to get fun! This is Meng Yao’s face as Wen Chao has just threatened to do “housecleaning” of the Nie sect if they don’t hand over Xue Yang, and it’s looking as though Nie Mingjue won’t be able to contain the conflict in a single one-on-one duel with Wen Zhuliu. It’s curious - he has a smirky face looking over toward Huisang when NMJ initially throws Baxia out in front of Wen Chao, like he’s thinking clearly the offered duel would go their way. Was he expecting the duel to be between NMJ and Wen Chao, who he’d clearly clean the floor with, and Wen Zhuliu stepping up instead took him off-guard? - Because that’s when he looks down thinking very quickly for a couple moments, and then tells Huisang he’s going to go check on Xue Yang.

As @veliseraptor and @ameliarating and I hashed out as this scene continued: what makes the most sense here is that, seeing how things might be going downhill for the Nie sect very quickly if something isn’t done to get the Wen sect off their backs, Meng Yao makes the snap calculation that the best course of action to keep them from getting massacred would be to free Xue Yang to hand him over. He doesn’t really look happy as he heads away from the entrance here; he looks like someone making the unpleasant decision to let a known murderer avoid justice because it will be better for his immediate concern of preserving the sect and clan he serves. Mingjue is uncompromising, but Meng Yao will look for the most advantageous option he can see and go for it, even if it’s a bit shady and perhaps not what his sect leader would prefer. Nie Mingjue respects him and listens to him well when he explains, after all, so with so much at stake, taking this gamble is probably worth the risk.

Aaaand, then we get to the part where he quite deservedly stabs the army commander who’s been treating him like shit for the past while! It’s not terribly clear (especially at this point) the exact chain of events that occurred before NMJ showed up, but from the number of other bodies in the back of the scene, I do think it’s quite plausible that Xue Yang actually did kill most of the dead Nie disciples there, as that would be... a lot of people for someone with a weak cultivation base to off very quickly. And the commander himself - I take that as a highly relished stroke of opportunism, honestly. Meng Yao picks up a Wen sword to use to kill him because he is good at quick thinking to avoid self-incrimination, but I don’t think he’d been intending on multiple homicides when he initially went back to grab Xue Yang before Wen Chao ordered his men to attack everyone and all hell broke loose.

Oh, ow! NMJ is getting ready to attack him, as Meng Yao frantically tries to talk him down - and Meng Yao still instinctively jumps in front of a sword for his sect leader! Like, truly, honestly, I do believe he had great regard for and loyalty to Nie Mingjue at the very least up through the end of this episode. Whether or not this particular sword thrust could have been fatal to either of them, it still says quite a lot about how he values Chifeng-zun’s person more than his own, even as he’s quite possibly gearing up to kill Meng Yao for what he’s done. That is just... a real intense instinctive sense of obligation and value differential between the two of them that he has, here. Ouch, ouch.

When they resume in the throne room, I think there’s a lot that’s already been said and/or is obviously central, with the line about “fame for merit” and how much it matters to him being the big one. (Why should being recognised for your merit matter so much??? says the one who essentially always has been - lining up one of the central conflicts that continues between the two of them until the ends of their lives.) But I do think it’s pretty fun and telling how seamlessly (performance-wise) Meng Yao slips in the definite lie about the army commander freeing Xue Yang, amongst all the other (pretty certainly true) reasons to condemn him, and then claims it’s all true. I think it definitely speaks of... familiarity with being in a position where others won’t take your own actual reasons for doing something as a good enough justification, and so you develop an intuition of how to mix in motives that also target and appeal to the person you’re talking to as well, to avoid harsh punishment.

Also... hmmmm..... >>>

Hey look, I’m just saying there’s some interesting thematic comparisons going on in this show regarding moral worth and who a person considers to have enough ethical standing and goodness in them to judge them for their actions and have them accept it, okay?

Jin Guangyao and Wei Wuxian are amazing narrative foils and I am probably never going to get tired of saying it.

Bonus round!

(When you’ve just been stabbed but you’re still really worried about the attack on the Cloud Recesses that Wen Chao has just revealed, because of what it means could be happening to one incredibly wonderful person! Better go make sure he’s okay, right?? ~*~ XiYao feels intensify ~*~)

#holy fuck this was a lot more than I was intending on writing at least for a first post here :'D #BUT HE'S WORTH IT <3333 #jin guangyao #meng yao #the untamed #meta #op #long post for ts #no good things for the poor sad cultivators #CAN'T STOP WON'T STOP

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bellatrixobsessed1 · 3 years

Text

From Chin To Yon Rah (Part 18)

Azula had blown it. She had gone there to track them down and came away with nothing but heartbreak and repressed memories. She curls up on the bed and wonders how long it will take before they tire of her. Before they finally stop coddling her and demand that she gets on with her life. When they will tell her to get a job and stop taking up space in their infirmary.

And yet she can’t get herself out of bed. Fresh out of fury for revenge, she has no reason to do so. Nobody to get up for and, by Agni, she doesn’t want to get close to anyone. Not ever again. Not when they will be taken from her or grow to resent her upon finding out who she is. Hajime and Atsu were rare gems, she can’t imagine that she will come by anyone else who would be willing to accept her. She isn’t sure that she wants them to.

She knows for certain that they have no more compassion or patience for her a few days later when they inform her that they need bed space for several new patients. When they offer her only shrugs and pitying looks when she asks where she can go.

Life becomes so terribly unbearable after that. It was hard to cope with before.

Now, people don’t even look at her. They go out of their way to pretend not to see the pathetic, shivering, dirty woman asking for a place to stay or something to eat. They put an effort into taking no notice of the ratty woman infested in body with lice and in spirit with survivors guilt.

With any luck, she won’t be a survivor for long. There is only so much a survivor can survive before the instinct burns out.

There is just enough of a flicker of that instinct for her to seek out a job, a way to make some coin. But the people of Chin know her too well already; they know that she is crazed and dirty. They have no interest in working with someone who’d earned a reputation for hallucinating a healthy pregnancy.

She still feels the kicks. She still hears the cries. She now knows...accepts that they aren’t real. But she still covers her ears.

They avoid her with all of the effort they put into avoiding those afflicted with disease. That is the company Azula keeps now. On occasion she talks to the lepers and those with smallpox. She keeps her distance mostly conversing from the opposite end of the alley, though she doesn’t particularly care if she falls ill herself.

They are nice enough but she doesn’t get attached; their time is short.

Go-Hara is her favorite among them. Her face is swollen and bumpy, her hands puffy and disfigured. She has less time than the rest of them. Allegedly, she has been afflicted with leprosy since early teenhood.

Not a soul has spoken to Go-Hara, so she claimed, not until her. “You’re not afraid?” She had asked.

“Not at all.”

“I am a monster.” The woman had brought those puffy hands to her lumpy face.

“No more than me.” Azula had declared, though her rot and ugliness comes entirely from within.

Go-Hara had laughed, hoarse and unpleasant, more like a death rattle than a chuckle. Right after Atsu’s screams and Hajime’s last breath, it is the worst sound she has ever heard. “Pretty girl, you are. Pretty face…”

“So what?”

She laughed again.

“I’m not afraid of monsters because I’m one of them.” She had thought of Hajime of how he’d always reassured her whenever the doubts had crept in. She hurt all over again, thrice over.

“You don’t fear the disease?”

“I wish it would take me.” She had said. Azula knew that Go-Hara was worth speaking to when the woman laughed at this too. She still isn’t sure of exactly what was so funny about her death wish.

Today, she sits at the other end of the alley and tosses Go-Hara one of the mangos she had snatched from one of the traveling merchants. “Come closer.” Azula demands.

“I will not.” Go-Hara says again. Azula is still leprosy free and to no credit of her own. Go-Hara avoids close proximity with her as though she is the leper and not the other way around. The woman bites into the mago. “Very good. Thank you.”

Azula nods. Sometimes it is a silent day, they will just sit at opposite ends of the alley and enjoy having the company. When Azula finds herself staring up at the sky she knows that today is a silent day.

That is fine with her, she doesn’t have much to say anyways. But apparently, Go-Hara has different intentions. “Can I tell you about my family before they abandoned me?”

“Go ahead.” She is a seasoned listener after enduring so many after work dinners with old man Ojihara. It dawns upon her that she misses his irrelevant boyhood tales. “Please, go ahead.”

And Go-Hara does. It is very different from Ojihara’s tales. The old man was all logic and lessons--each of his tales ended with some sort of cautionary lesson; don’t go hippo-cow tipping because it isn’t as funny and lighthearted as many young folk think it is, stealing possum-chicken isn’t a funny prank either.

Go-Hara’s stories are all whimsical and nonsensical. Oftentimes they have no point and Azula wonders if they really happened at all. She supposes that, that is why she enjoys them so well.

Sometimes it is nice to hear about something so absurd that it has to be true despite such surreal overtones. She can very easily see a pre-teen Go-Hara making her way into a badger-mole den and causing a stampede of singing gophers.

“Your turn!” She declares when her story is through.

“My turn?”

“Humor me. Tell an old woman a story. It doesn’t even have to be true.”

And because her time is so short anyways, Azula tells her a story. She tells her a story about a fire princess who could have been something remarkable. Go-Hara mentions it to no one else. Azula hadn’t expected her to.

That day she learns that some of the best people are the shunned people.

.oOo.

Sokka isn’t sure what to make of it. He has been analyzing and overthinking their conversation for hours now. He is almost certain that she had implied, several times, that she is in love with him, or at the very least, that she is getting there.

And he thinks that, that is a fragile place to be with her.

He finds her in the garden again. He is fairly certain that she is just out there to be out there, he can’t imagine that the seeds would have sprouted that fast even with the palace’s rich soil.

“Hey.” He greets.

Azula turns her head. “You’re up early.”

He shrugs. “I get the prettiest views in the morning.”

“You’re welcome.” Azula replies.

“I was talking about the--”

“Princess of the Fire Nation?” She interrupts. “I know.”

He laughs, he is glad to find her in better spirits. Her gaze is fixed upon the gold-blue of the sunrise as it throws shadows over the garden. “We should add strawberries to the garden.”

“Strawberries?” She quirks a brow. “Next to the turnips? Sokka, that make no sense.”

“It’s your garden, you can arrange it how you want to.”

“Yes.” Azula agrees. “And I would like to keep the fruits with the fruits and the vegetables with the vegetables.”

“Or you can spice it up and lay it out in a fruit, vegetable pattern.”

Azula shakes her head. “I know that there aren’t any crops in the tribes but I think that it is common sense, that the fruits and vegetables are kept separately.”

“Can you say that with confidence?”

Azula nods. “I’ve traveled to various parts of the Earth Kingdom and have passed many farms. Not one of them arranged their crops in a fruit, vegetable pattern. It is because they know that that’s a ridiculous idea.” She adds for good measure.

“Alright fine, we’ll put the strawberries all the way on the other side of the palace. Happy?”

Azula shakes her head, “that is too much unnecessary walking. Optimally the strawberries would be placed…”

He had forgotten how carefully she likes to lay out every detail. How concise even some of the most trivial things must be. But then he might not have truly know that to begin with, he has only heard Zuko mention it on occasion.

“And that’s why it’s important to keep the strawberries near the watermelons.”

He flushes, realizing that he hadn’t been listening at all. Though he isn’t entirely confident that strawberries and watermelons have the same growing season. “Azula, can you answer something honestly?”

She nods.

“Do you even know what you’re talking about?”

She thinks for a moment. “Not entirely. Seukhyun usually helped me with my gardens. I can’t quite remember everything he was trying to tell me about it.” She pauses. “I suppose I can ask the palace gardner…”

“Or we can figure it out together through trial and error. Don’t you think that, that would be funner.”

.oOo.

She supposes that it could be. She’d had a nice time the last few times that he’d taken her somewhere new. Spontaneity isn’t exactly her first choice but it has its merits. “That’s a strange way of asking if you have permission to plant your strawberries next to my turnips.”

He bursts out laughing again. The sort of barking laugh that includes holding his hands to his belly until the fit passes. He wipes a tear from the corner of his eye. She didn’t think it was that funny. “So is that a yes?”

Azula sighs, “fine. But only because I can shift the blame to you if my turnips don’t turn out well.”

It is quite therapeutic to do garden work. She thinks that if they had let her give it a try at the institution that she might have received it better. But then, she wasn’t exactly ready for something like that then. At that point, gardening was still entirely a peasant’s work. She supposes that it kind of still is. And she knows it by the curious looks she is given throughout the day, particularly when she re-enters the palace with muddy pants and dirt smudged hands and cheeks.

“New hobby?” Zuko asks.

Azula nods.

“I remember when you were burning things in the palace garden for being ugly.”

“My garden is going to be too pretty to set on fire.” She declares. “I have come inside for lunch and tea.”

“It’s almost ready.” Zuko smiles.

“Where are Mai and TyLee?”

“They went for a stroll around the capital. Where’d Sokka go off to?”

“He’s on his way inside.”

“You’ve gotten...close.” He notes.

“Yes.” She replies. “What of it?”

.oOo.

He shrugs as he sets out a few teacups, “I guess that it’s just nice to see that you’re making friends. It’s just…” he trails off. It’s strange. Surreal. Unexpected among other things. It isn’t the bad sort of strange and unexpected, not that he can see. In fact it is very much a relief to know that he won’t have to listen to constant bickering and mediate between she and everyone else.

Generally, she seems like she is doing significantly better.

“Did you finish reading it?”

It takes him a moment to connect the dots. “Almost.” He replies. Truth be told he has been hesitating to finish reading the journal. He knows already what is going to happen, he just isn’t ready for it. Doesn’t want to know the details and the how’s. Atsu is...was a sweet boy and he doesn’t want to flip the page only to find that he has died.

Agni, if he can’t even read it… He looks at his sister. At the scars on her neck and the very subtle bags under her eyes. He can’t even begin to fathom it.

She takes her teacup and cradles it in her hands the way she always had since they were kids. Sokka walks into the room and suddenly her eyes don’t seem so weary and tired. “I’m glad that you’re doing better.” He says finally.

Azula nods, “thank you.”

Sokka comes to stand in front of her, “you got dirt all over your face!” He declares boldly. “Let me just…”

She takes one look at his hands and grumbles, “Sokka, don’t you dare.”

Despite her protests, Sokka rubs the dirt from her cheek. By rubs, Zuko meant smears. He doesn’t just smear the dirt, Zuko thinks that he has added more to. His suspicions are confirmed at the crinkling of Azula’s nose.

“Zuzu, come here.”

Zuko steps closer. Honestly, he doesn’t know what he was expecting. She takes his sleeve, his lavish Fire Lord regalia and rubs her cheek clean. “Better, thank you.” She remarks.

#Avatar The Last Airbender #Azula #Sokka #Sokkla #Fanfiction

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