#but nothing like fleeing from a difficult conversation uh? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

yoonpobs · 3 years

Text

bad boy good thing iii.

pairing: jeon jungkook x oc

genre: angst, smut, fluff, miscommunication (we hate her lol), pining

warnings: smut, jungkook is really an asshole, the angst hurts a lot tbh, unhealthy relationships (?)

words: 2, 393

summary: a series of drabbles where you're confused and jungkook's confusing

“You’re bailing again?” Taehyung looks up from his stack of books for the first time in the last hour since the two of you have started your study date. Granted, he meant no spite but he didn’t understand what set you to flee. The name that was almost taboo to you; the name that brings more tugs to your heart that hurts than one that’s fond.

You glance up at him with meek eyes, “I have an office hour with my economics professor in half an hour.”

Taehyung purses his lips.

“This is the fourth time this week you’ve ditched.” Taehyung sounds mildly irritated and you don’t blame him. You made a promise months ago before mid-terms coming up that you’d help him with statistics. But before the two of you could ever get into the nitty-gritty details of math; somehow the forbidden name comes up.

“I know.” You say softly. “I’m sorry …” You don’t say anything else because your heart is speeding up in a way that is anxiety-inducing. Because Taehyung off-handedly mentioned that Jungkook would be dropping by in a few; and you didn’t know when he’d turn up and you rather not stick around to find out.

His words still linger in your mind and every time there was any prompt to remind you of his face, or his name—you remember the way his words sounded so assured in the context of the situation first. You remember the malevolence that lied behind his usually kind eyes. But it’s like the eyes filled with desire in a one-dimensional view of your body replaced the youthful mirth you grew up with.

“Look.” Taehyung sighs, pushing himself up to look at you with a stern stare. “If you don’t want to tutor me that’s fine. I can find another tutor. But I’d appreciate if you’d let me know beforehand so I don’t have to come all the way just for an hour then have you leave once the content begins to get tougher.”

Taehyung was by no means being rude or outwardly offensive. He was straightforward and you appreciated that he was honest with you. And rather, you feel guilty of the fact that you bailed for your own selfish reasons.

“I do want to tutor you.” You tell him, fiddling with your fingers as your eyes dart to the doors of the library. “It really just slipped my mind.”

It sounds lame, even to you; and Taehyung picks up on it too.

“You don’t forget things like this.” He says pointedly. “It’s like every time I mention—”

Taehyung stops himself and your eyes dart away, hands already tugging your bag over your shoulder. Maybe if you sped up, he wouldn’t stare at you with an inquisitive stare that looked similar to one of realisation.

“Did something happen between you and Kook?”

You wince. Taehyung is observant.

“Are the two of you—?”

“I’m fine.” You snap, tone defensive and on edge when you hear the bell of the library door ring. You don’t dare to turn to look. “We’re fine.”

“_____ …” Taehyung frowns.

“I gotta go. Okay?” You huff, offering one last apologetic look before you turn to leave. But in your haste, you bump into a solid figure and you’re terrified that it’s—

“Careful.” A deeper, unfamiliar but welcomed voice murmurs.

When your eyes look up, it’s just someone you recognise from Jungkook’s football games. You were sure he was a key player too. His stature was definitely one of an athlete. He was tall, broad, and firm; and the black shirt that hugged his chest only emphasised your guess.

“S-Sorry.” You squeak, looking down.

You brush past him before he can get another word in, and only when you slip past him do you see Jungkook lingering behind with a frown on his face.

“______—” He calls.

You’re able to leave before he can get a hold of you; and that only causes the frown on Jungkook’s face to harden.

When the door rings once more to signal your departure, Jungkook is already sat with Taehyung and the other person that bumped into you.

“What’s up with the two of you?” Taehyung asks.

Jungkook stiffens and responds with a grit of his teeth. “Nothing.”

Taehyung doesn’t look convinced and Namjoon—though recently enlightened with the fact that there was potentially something brewing between the two of you—was also observant enough to pick up on the tense atmosphere that you left with.

“Aren’t the two of you super close?” Namjoon says offhandedly, already shifting through his assignments while he lays them out.

Jungkook wants to let out a dry scoff at the assumption. Sure, the two of you were close. He isn’t so sure about that anymore.

“You’re clearly lying to me.” Taehyung snorts. “So whatever it is the two of you are keeping a secret please just sort it out because I need _____ here to tutor me and you’re getting in the way of my education.”

Taehyung mostly says this as a joke, but it strikes Jungkook straight where it’s vulnerable. He wasn’t going to be the first to break, nor will he indulge Taehyung into what he said to you in the same library they were in at this very moment.

So instead, Jungkook brushes it off like he’s been doing so more recently than ever.

“Whatever.” He mutters.

For some reason, you see Jungkook again on the same day—accompanied by the same person that you bumped into.

You realise that you’ve spent more time avoiding him than dealing with your feelings after what transpired. But you’re weak and you suppose you’ve always been weak when it came to Jungkook.

It was difficult … to say the least. Because while Jungkook’s words were malicious and filled with the intent to hurt and break you; the better (and foolish) part of you wanted to believe that he was angry. Driven by emotions that he wasn’t thinking straight. But while you were naive, you were also substantially aware that there had to be some form of truth to the words he’s thrown at you.

But this was the same Jungkook that you grew up with, the young boy you’ve somehow seen transition from awkward and endearing teen to … to the confident and assured man he was. You didn’t want to make any excuses for him but you’ve always been soft. And you hated that your eyes somehow still linger on his approaching figure when the rational side of your brain tells you to run away.

However, it’s not him who greets you. It’s his friend. The one you vaguely recognise but can’t quite put a name to a face.

“Hey!” He calls out to you.

His smile is easy with a dimple appearing on his cheeks. He looks kind and soft for someone that was easily a head taller than you were, and despite his height—there was something oddly comforting about the way he approaches you as if he knows you.

You try to ignore the coldness from Jungkook’s end and remind yourself that you should’ve felt angry—not the other way around.

“Hi?” You say, or more appropriately ask.

Jungkook’s expression is still blank; every time your eyes briefly linger on his face you wonder how it’d ended up this way.

“_____, right? I’ve seen you at a few of our games.” His friend enters a conversation so seamlessly. “Kook’s never introduced us, though.”

You clear your throat and you hope your face isn’t a dead giveaway of your discomfort. Especially when you blatantly ignore Jungkook’s piercing stare on the side of your temple.

“I don’t … mingle around that much.” You say softly,

And it’s parallel to the image that Jungkook has of you. The quiet, timid girl that’s free time is consumed with books and assignments than a social life to make up for it. You used to think that maybe you weren’t the type that enjoyed large or loud gatherings. But Jungkook’s voice only makes you wonder if you were the problem instead.

“Well, I’m Namjoon.” He smiles at you, offering a grin filled with teeth that you find yourself unconsciously returning, albeit awkwardly.

“Nice to meet you … uh … Namjoon.” You mumble, and your eyes nearly land on Jungkook’s face out of pure habit, but you stop yourself before you hurt yourself even more.

“It’s nice to formally meet you too. I’ve been asking Jungkook to introduce the two of us since forever ago but he seemed dead set on keeping you to himself.” Namjoon jokes lightly. And you almost miss it, but you swear Jungkook stiffens by his side.

“Ah …” You reply lamely, fingering your strap as you shift on your heels.

It feels awkward to not acknowledge Jungkook; you’re wondering if Namjoon picks up on the cold air between the both of you. Namjoon looks like he’s thinking of something, but before he can say anything—Jungkook is tugging his arm roughly.

“We have practice.” Jungkook grits, finally making himself known.

Your eyes dart to your feet, and you hate how small you feel in his presence. It should’ve been easy but this was the hardest part of it all. Pretending like you were objectively okay when his words constantly lingered at the back of your mind.

“Go ahead without me. I want to ask _____ something.” Namjoon shrugs Jungkook’s hand off of him. And this time you catch the venomous glare that he shoots his friend, accompanied by the clench of his jaw.

“Coach will—”

“I’m the captain, remember?” Namjoon snorts, but it’s not condescending. Just a reminder.

Jungkook purses his lips and his eyes dart between the two of you; and you know him well enough to know that there’s something on his mind, especially with the way he nibbles on his bottom lip.

“Don’t be late.” Jungkook grits, stomping off in the other direction without even sparing you a glance.

You frown at him because he was the one that came to you that day unwarranted; treating you like absolutely nothing as if there weren’t years of history behind the two of you.

But Namjoon is large enough to distract you because he quite literally blocks the view of Jungkook’s disappearing body with his own when he stands right in front of you.

“Sorry about that.” Namjoon looks sheepish. “I hope you don’t mind …” He trails off as he scratches the back of his neck.

Your eyes widen as you shake your head, “N-No! It’s fine. Just … uh … what’s up?” You wince inwardly at your horrible social skills and you have a slight understanding of why Jungkook pointed out the things he did. Maybe he was right—

“I—well …” Namjoon mumbles, and he seems less assured than he was earlier. “I think—you’re really—cool?—and smart—you seem nice so … sorry! God.” He rambles as he brushes his hands over his face.

You blink at him.

Namjoon takes your reaction as a bad one as he winces, chuckling lowly.

“I’m sorry. I’m not this … awkward.” He tells you.

You nod your head slowly trying to process his words. And you feel a little guilty knowing that your lack of response probably pushes Namjoon further into his shell. But he has a glare in his eye that shows that he won’t be affected so easily.

“Well.” He clears his throat. “I follow your podcast. And I think it’s really great. You offer some really interesting perspectives on the War on Drugs—or as you mentioned—the disproportionate effects of racial tension that lead to unjustified or mass incarceration rates in the U.S.”

Somehow you know you’ve said the exact same words in the monthly podcast you do with the International Relations department for extra credit. But when Namjoon speaks, it’s as if he’s carefully picking apart the context and nuance of your words so carefully before he quotes it back to you; as if he treats your opinion with heavy regard and not one of the light matters.

You feel flattered.

“Oh.” You blink. “Thank you?”

Namjoon offers you an easy grin. And you recall: captain of the football team, he says? He doesn’t really … fit the stereotype. Besides the fact that he looked insanely fit. He was gentle, that much you could tell. But you also were a little biased when it came to footballers because you only had Jungkook to compare him with.

“Sorry for just springing that on you.” He apologises sheepishly and you’re even more confused as to why he feels the need to say sorry. “It’s just that Kook was always so bitchy about introducing me to you whenever I asked so … I thought why not take the chance myself?”

You gape at him. You don’t know what to do with the set of new information you’re presented with. Firstly, the fact that someone like Namjoon paid attention to a nobody like you? And secondly, the weird revelation that Jungkook somehow gate kept his friendship … or whatever the fuck it was … with you.

“No, no.” You shake your head, “I’m really flattered. Thank you. No one’s ever … told me that before.” You give him a gentle smile because that’s all you can muster.

Namjoon returns it tenfold as he hikes his bag across his shoulder.

“Well, I gotta go now. Practice calls.” He jokes, waving at you. For a moment, he stills; as if remembering something before he fishes out a piece of paper from his pocket and shoves it to you in a haste.

“What is—?”

“My number. You know—if you ever want to talk. About … stuff. I think you’re super smart—and intelligent. They’re synonymous but yeah. If you want.” He rambles.

You blink up at him and before you can muster a response, he’s darting away.

You watch his figure retreat and notice that Jungkook is waiting for him a good distance away. But his eyes aren’t on Namjoon’s somewhat giddy figure—but on you.

He stares at you long and hard, and you feel conflicted. The paper in your hand nearly chafes, but the feeling is easily forgotten when his expression hardens.

When Namjoon reaches him with a clasp to his back, the pair walks off. Not before he gives you one passing glance over his shoulder that leaves you feeling more restless than ever.

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tommysparker · 3 years

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Never Forget You [Chapter 3]

Obi-Wan Kenobi x Jedi!Reader

A/N: hey y’all! thank you for your patience with this chapter. enjoy!! :) [also totally didn’t have this in my drafts then forget to post earlier pfftttt whaaaatt?]

Warnings: angst with a tiny amount of fluff. anakin finally makes his debut in this series. it gets better just stay with me. long italic paragraphs = flashbacks

Anakin Skywalker had witnessed many things over the years.

Giant beasts? At least once a week. Sith Lords? Becoming too common. Droid armies? All year long. Looking death in the eye? Simply another day in the life of a Jedi.

Nothing could ever have prepared him for the sight he was currently witnessing.

Obi-Wan Kenobi, his Master, The Negotiator, the Jedi Council’s most prized Jedi…sulking.

It has been a full week since You returned to the Jedi Temple and Anakin couldn’t help to think his former Master’s mood and your arrival were connected. He was vaguely aware of your past friendship, only hearing bits and pieces of the adventures you had together as Padawans.

During his days under Obi-Wan’s apprenticeship he would often hear about how “a wise Jedi I once knew” would do certain things. He wanted to know more about this oh-so-great Jedi, however, any time the young boy asked his Master would always brush him off with a mournful look in his eyes.

He didn’t understand at the time but now he’s beginning to piece together that perhaps there was something more between the two of you.

“You think Master Y/l/n and Master Kenobi were courting?”

“Keep your voice down, Snips,” Anakin hushed.

“Sorry, sorry. But Master,” Ahsoka lowers her voice, “what led you to that conclusion? I’ve hardly seen them together since Master Y/l/n came back. What makes you think they could be lovers?”

“That’s just it, Ahoska. They’ve been avoiding each other like the Rakghoul plague. Obi-Wan told me they were such good friends, and now that they’re back they can’t stand to be in the same room as each other? I don’t buy it.” Anakin looked back to where Obi-Wan sat with Commander Cody, no doubt brainstorming new battle tactics and liberation plans.

“So what do you suppose we do? Set them up or something?” The look her Master gave her made her regret her words the moment they left her mouth.

“Come on, Snips. It’s a good idea. We get them to stay in the same room so they have no choice but to confront each other and talk things out! It’s genius.” Anakin smiled, his eyes still on his former Master. He had a feeling if Obi-Wan were to find out about this plan he would be in for a major lecture but he couldn’t bring himself to care at the moment. He couldn’t stand to see the old man look so miserable, not if he can do anything about it.

Ahsoka crossed her arms and followed her Master’s gaze. Something was clearly different about her Grand-Master. He had put his full attention into ending the war, which wasn’t new. However, she could tell something was off. He no longer came out to the landing zone to greet returning fighters, stayed away from the meditation and training centers as well as the Jedi Archives which was the most off-putting observation considering that was where he spent most of his time.

Anytime someone needed to find Obi-Wan Kenobi, the first place they would check was the ancient history section of the Jedi Archives.

“I don’t know why you find so much interest in these old books Y/n/n,” Obi-Wan complained from across the table. “Can’t we go practice our lightsaber skills instead?”

You smiled. “Nuh uh, mister. If I won the wager you promised to sit with me during my reading time. Now shush, and read.” You pushed the unopened textbook toward the pouting Padawan. “Maybe you’ll actually learn something.”

Obi-Wan stuck his tongue out in a childish manner, sighing dramatically when you gave him a certain look and reluctantly opened the cover and began to read Tales of The Old Republic.

Safe to say from that point onward, Obi-Wan would join your daily Archive visits with zero complaints.

You close the book, careful to make sure no pages fell out and gently push it back into its place on the shelf. Using the force, you carefully push the ladder you were currently standing on over to the next column and begin nitpicking through the array of old texts.

It took a few days for you to settle in and readjust to the Jedi Temple life. Once you had, however, things quickly took a turn.

Master Yoda requested that you help train some of the younglings who were having trouble advancing into the next stages of becoming a Jedi. In all honesty, you much rather have had the freedom to roam for at least one more week, but the new role presented an excuse to not be around a certain blue-eyed Jedi.

“Looking for something?”

The voice startled you, causing you to jump and lose your balance on the ladder. You yelp as you begin to fall towards the ground, bracing yourself for the hash impact and the bruises that would add to the collection on your side still currently healing.

Instead, you feel a pair of arms catch you, one under your back and the other behind your knees in a classic bridal style. The hold felt secure instantly, and you instinctively clung to the tunic of your savior. You look up to thank the person for preventing any injuries, but the blue eyes staring back at you made your mind go blank.

Obi-Wan stared back, unsure of what to say. This was the closest he has been to you since you left a decade ago. He longed to have you in his arms, to hug you, to regain that safety net you provided he knew he could always fall back on.

“Um...thank you, General.” It came out as more of a question, your mind still reeling from almost falling and also the fact that the man who you had been actively avoiding just happened to be in the same place you spent hours of your youth together.

“Obi-Wan, please. No need for formalities, darling.” The old nickname slipped out, and he was about to apologize when he noticed the light blush that spread across your face. Perhaps not everything about you has changed.

“Right...Obi-Wan. Well, I’ll be on my way then,” You rushed, trying to pass by him but he stopped you once again by the call of your name.

“Y/n/n’s wait. Whatever game you’re playing, frankly I am not a fan of it.” Obi-Wan crossed his arms and furrowed his eyebrows.

“What are you talking about?” You turned around and looked at him confused.

“You were the one who summoned me here,” he stretched his arms out, “here I am and now you’re trying to run away again. I hardly think that’s fair.” He was beginning to get frustrated. He came in with his heart on his sleeve, ready to finally talk to you after so long and find out why you’ve been keeping your distance. Now, all he felt was betrayal and irritation at the ongoing dance you insist on doing around each other.

He preferred to dance like you did in your youth, but alas this was nothing but another sign he needs to get mind out of the past.

You scoffed lightly. “Again? What is that supposed to mean exactly?” You knew exactly what he meant, but you didn’t want to admit it. You’ve been denying it for ten years and Force be damned if you’d admit it now.

“You’ve been avoiding me since your return--” You open your mouth to protest but he ignores you and continues “--and then you send the youngling to bring me here, only to try to flee upon my arrival,” He frowns, lifting his elbow and resting it on his remaining crossed arm. “I know our history can make things...difficult in the present time,” He glanced around cautiously as he spoke,”but I would appreciate it if we make an agreement simply to not speak from now on. No more games.”

You blinked, head tilting slightly as you waited for him to finish. “Obi-Wan, I didn’t ask for you to come here. Nor would I ever involve younglings in personal matters.” He should know that, you thought. But should he really?

His face fell from annoyance to embarrassment, his arms falling to his sides. “Oh.” He wasn’t sure what to do now. It was his own fault for getting his hopes up. I should have known better.

You purse your lips and nodded slowly. “Well, I’m glad we at least came to an agreement. Goodbye, General Kenobi.” You took your leave, forcing yourself not to look back as you felt his eyes watching your figure.

Obi-Wan let out a frustrated sigh, knowing he just ruined any and all changes of reconnecting with you. In his defense, however, you were the one avoiding his attempts at friendly conversation and refusing to meet and make up for lost time.

Still, something didn’t feel right about this.

“What the kriff was that?”

Ah, there’s that something. “Anakin, please tell me this was not your doing.”

Anakin smiled guilty, Ahsoka coming out from behind the bookshelf to stand next to her Master.

“It was Snips' idea.” Anakin shrugged, flinching when he felt her punch his arm. “Ow!”

“You were the one who came up with the plan, and now look! Master Y/l/n and Master Kenobi will never get together--” Ahoska stops herself, realizing she said too much. “Oh no.”

“I beg your pardon?” Obi-Wan looks at them both incredulously. “First of all, Master Y/l/n and I are simply…” he wanted to say friends, but even that was a reach at this point, “acquaintances. We knew each other in the past, and in the past our friendship shall stay. As for ‘getting together’, you both know very well any implication of that goes directly against the Jedi Code.” He crossed his arms tightly as he scolded.

“I can tell you harbour feelings for them, Obi-Wan. You don’t need to lie to us.”

“Whatever feelings I may or may not have for Y/n are unrelated. You must understand your responsibilities as a Jedi. No matter what emotional sacrifice we must make.” He made a point to look at Anakin at the end, knowing he won’t follow the implication but at least hoping he’ll get the message.

“We’re sorry, Master.” Ahsoka looked down in shame not at what they had tried to achieve, but at the cost and clear damage they caused.

Obi-Wan sighed, running a hand over his beard before resting it on her shoulder. “It’s alright young one. You meant no harm. Perhaps some things are better left forgotten.”

Oh, if only it were that simple.

A Padawan approached the three of them quickly. “Excuse me, Master Yoda sent me to tell you he and Master Y/l/n are waiting for you all in the council room.”

Of course, these things never are.

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remsmoonlight · 3 years

Text

— title : just drive

— word count : 1.6k words

— pairing : rick grimes x reader

— summary : never had the inability to drive been a reason to divulge, nor had it been a problem. until a horde of walkers are trailing behind you, that is.

— warnings : swearing, implication of anxiety, mentions of death / potential car accidents, mentions of blood and gore

note: two imagines in two days i can’t believe my productivity, i thought it would be funny that being unable to drive in a zombie apocalypse would be funny because it would be such a useful ability to have ( ahem ahem my non driving ass ) this was meant to be like 500 words but it got away from me, anyways enjoy three hours of my nonsense!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* requests are open ! *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Burning. The sensation is fierce as you fight your own body to force more oxygen into your airways, to power you along to escape the deathly growls that follow behind you. Paranoia stokes its own fire, the feeling that walkers are much closer than they actually are push you to lighter steps in the barren dirt, the only tracks laid into its path are the ones you are currently forming with every inch you put between you.

Exactly how you’d gotten into this situation is not something you mind wants to visit currently, more concerned with your current predicament.

“ We’ll turn left up ahead, we passed a few cars a while back. “

“ That's as good a plan as any. “ You rush out in one breath, the words with a ghostly tone while you try to find your voice. Everything hurts, the idea of more running is not something you find appealing.

You wonder if the walkers are able to run, any thought to distract yourself from the aching your muscles feel at the physical exertion you’re being put through. For a fraction of a fleeting second, you turn your gaze backwards, your eyes running across the line of walkers that want to make the sky above you rain with your blood across the greenery as you flee. They do a very good job of speed walking, the amount of energy they have for being dead is something that unnerves you. Even after you have caffeine in your bloodstream, you have never had this much energy. What is their secret?

Tears blur your sight as you set your eyes on a graveyard of cars, dust that covers every inch of the metal machines show their age.

“ Rick! “ You exclaim, a new flower of hope blooming in your voice as your finger shakily raises to point in the direction of the car park. “ Over there! “

Both of you split instantly as you reach the space, your hands tugging at the handles of the vehicles, wishing with every fibre of your beings that one is unlocked — or at the very least, there is a key to unlock them nearby. Extremely nearby.

“ This one! “ Your voice carries over the distance resoundingly, the door opens with a click that blesses your hearing.

“ Yeah.. We’re lucky today. “ Rick mumbles to himself, flinging the bags that had been weighing on his shoulders into the back.

In the suddenness of the situation, your heart plummets below with a steep drop that you swore will not end. I can’t fucking drive. You gasp at the realisation of it, desperation twisting and contorting around the entirety of your body.

“ Rick.. “ Turning towards Rick swiftly, you pause in your confession. An uncomfortable heat warms your cheeks as you study him, unsure of how he would react during the worst possible moment for the disclosure. “ We need to switch places! “

“ What? “ His brows knit together as he asks you, confusing misting him completely. “ Why? Start the car! “

“ I do — I can’t drive! “

The confession leads Rick to momentarily splutter in response, his words cowering under the veil that is his tongue. Colour drains from his features, a continuous slap against the back of the car’s window from a lone walker ahead of the horde pushes him into a brisk movement. The action is awkward, the lack of space threatening to cause harm in the form of bruises from knocking limbs against various parts of its interior.

“ Just drive! “

With a haggard start, you examine the way your surroundings appear to move, realising that the vehicle is awake and increasing with speed as it puts space between you and the dead. You lean your head against the window, one of your hands moves towards the temple of your head to message some of the tension of almost being eaten away. That had been too close for comfort.

“ Uh, y’know I gotta ask — “

“ How I can’t drive, right? “ You finish, your eyes roll in response, you know he’s going to find too much amusement in making fun of you.

“ And how you made it this far. “ He drawls, humour embedded in his response as his eyes continue to survey the road ahead.

Your teeth bite the side of your cheek, with strength that almost is able to draw the crimson liquid that lays beneath your flesh. Lips purse at the enjoyment you can feel radiating off of his body, as it wishes itself into existence.

“ I don’t know! “ You grumble loudly, your shoulders lift temporarily in response. “ I’m just always with someone who knows how to operate one of these things. “

“ You never learnt before? “

“ I mean.. I always had a fear of driving. No reason, just the thought that one wrong move and.. “ a shudder rips through your body with a blinding pace, your fingers lay tapping at your thigh. “ I could cause an accident, or even be in one would scare me to death! “

“ That’s understandable. “ Rick nods, glancing in your direction before breaking out in a grin. “ Kinda. “

A heavy groan vibrates inside of the car, you throw your hands up in the air as you realise he’s one of the worst people to divulge this information to. Your addition to the group hadn’t occurred as earlier as most of them, they’d been kind enough to accept you into their family after escaping Terminus. On a rare night, nightmares of that cursed location shatters the mirror of a dreamy slumber into a thousand shards that scar your mind for the nights that follow. Echoes of screams from those captured, treated no more than a prize cow that awaits its slaughter to service those with the butcher’s knife.

Truthfully, you’d gravitated towards the man. With the amount of trauma you’d been through, the way that when he speaks, you craved the comfort his words never lost. Certainty and confidence are still with him today, often leading you to believe everything will be alright. Even if the road between Georgia and Alexandria had been filled with gore and tears, everything has turned out fine. So far.

“ You are being so annoying right now. “ Cursing the man, you show him your middle finger.

Rick says nothing, he merely chuckles in response. You almost allow your mind to tread into the murky waters of the man you used to know and the transformation into the man he is now.

“ I just.. “ shaking his head, the cheeky glint in his eyes only sparkles more as it grows in size. “ How d’you not run into this problem earlier? “

“ I don’t know! “

“ It’s nothin’ short of amazin’. “ a gust of air is released from his lips, only now does he realise they’re dehydrating from the amount of running done that afternoon.

Trees and bushes blend into one another, creating a vivid merging of shades, providing a soothing palette to paint the most tranquil of artworks. You envy the way life has flourished under the lack of human traffic, trampling the environment without a care, you wish you could undergo the same change the way it has. The human mind has a way of making obstacles difficult for itself.

“ I just.. Can’t help but find it funny. Drivin’s.. It’s a way of survivin’ when you got more than one of them on your ass. “

“ Well I guess I am an outlier to that rule. “ your brows move with the motions your head makes as you try to muster an air of superiority over the notion.

You find yourself wishing you hadn’t succumbed to your fears, that you’d bit the bullet and studied and practiced as much as humanly possible. The fear of driving hadn’t been the only thing that stopped you from pursuing the ability, but the idea of having to take a written exam and an actual driving test? The two often colliding in an infinite clash of wills that left your insides in a constant, battered wreck every time you thought about the idea.

All you want is to be able to do that one thing, after all, so many had done so before. You’re sure that everyone, minus the children, are able to drive. Such a simple thing, you’d never thought would prove to be such a thorn in your side when you’d take the train to work. Life has a way of stitching together a set of circumstances only to treat them like dominos, destroying the work with little regard as it watches them fall one by one. The carefully nursed structure is a shell of what it used to be, the resting place of what could have been.

“ You didn’t give up, y’kept fightin’. I’ve seen people able to hotwire these things taken down. It ain’t the car that keeps a person alive, it’s them. “ He assures you warmly, as much as he wants to continue to find amusement in lacking what is now deemed as a life skill, it doesn’t take a genius to realise you’re becoming annoyed by the poking and the prodding his humour brings.

“ That’s oddly.. Uplifting. “

“ I do say these things from time to time, no need to sound so surprised. “

“ They’re so rare I forget. “ A smirk lifts the corner of your lips as you eye the man from the side. It is your turn to laugh now.

Light hearted chatter fills the limited space, conversation flowing just that little bit more freely now that danger no longer pursues you in earnest. You’re thankful for a drop of normalcy in a sea of skeletons that surround the world now, you can pretend that — even for a little, it’s a normal day.

“ What d’you say to havin’ some drivin’ lessons? “

#rick grimes imagine #rick grimes x reader #twd imagine #rick grimes fic #twd fic

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patchies · 3 years

Text

Shadows

Pairing: Dream x Reader x ???

Summary: An apocalyptic world where creatures of the night roam all around it. Searching for living beings to satisfy their hunger. Vicious creatures they are. It’s said that one person called upon their wrath in revenge. You awake in this place with another human being at your side. No memories whatsoever of the life you’ve had prior to coming here. In search of a way out, and your memories, you stumble upon multiple people with many personalities. Some can’t wait to meet you. If you take it the friendly or hostile way is up to you, but worry not... Nothing can hurt you. Or can it, now?

Warnings: depictions of gore

Word Count: 1.8+k

Author’s Note: This story is heavily inspired by a dream I had around two months ago and it pushed me into writing it. I haven’t ever thought that I would be writing and publishing a story. Let alone in English since it’s very far from my mother language, but I have to admit I like it way more. As I am pretty proud of it, I’ve decided why not just try? This story is not going to be updated very frequently as I hardly find time and motivation, but I have the whole story mostly planned out and I have plenty of ideas for it! There are 7 chapters written altogether as of now and I will try to update at least once a month. I’ve started writing longer chapters from the 6th and those will take longer to finish, but I sincerely hope you’ll enjoy it!

Wattpad link: here

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Chapter 1: The Awakening

Your eyes are met with complete darkness, unable to perceive your surroundings. The creepy, dusty and smoggy atmosphere isn't making you any less uneasy and confused either. Quite the contrary, actually. An unbelievable sickening feeling takes over your stomach and a great migraine is ever so present. Steering your thoughts to completely different places than they're supposed to. You feel the rapid thumping of your heart and panic floats in your head.

It takes you a few minutes until your dilated pupils get used to the blackness, but when they do, you're able to see the outlines of some demolished furniture. Upon fixating more on your surroundings, you distinctly spot the torn plain green wallpaper and empty broken picture frames hanged up on the wall. The tattered blinds covering the cracked windows tell you it's night and you seem to have gained consciousness in the middle of it.

Though, when you attempt to rethink through your day and previous whereabouts, you come up blank. Something like a heavy fog restrains your memories. A metaphorical lock put around it to secure them away from your conscious mind. As much as you try to concentrate on the past, you're left with nothing. It doesn't only leave you grasping for the forgotten past, but it makes you feel stranded and gasping of any, and very needed, recollection.

A sharp inhale of air makes your head rapidly turn in the direction of the sound and squint your eyes. You can hardly see the body of the person. The dark corner makes it difficult to focus, yet the figure still seems to take notice of you instantly, “Who are you…?”

Speaks up a very groggy voice and you can deduce their voice is coming from the shadows. Utterly hidden by the dark abyss. It sounds masculine, so you leave it at that, not taking too much interest in finding out any more information about the strange human. He seems to be in the same situation as you, but you still decide to be cautious around him. He's only a stranger to you, so you aren't going to blindly trust him. After all, stranger-danger is a rule, right?

You choose to stay guarded for now.

“Why does it matter to you?” You harshly reply. There really isn't anything to go off when it comes to his personality and intentions. As much as you'd like to be happy about seeing another human being, you don't know in what situation you are stuck in and you aren't the stupidest, neither the smartest, in the world. You'd rather stay cautious than die, “I'm surprised you have the audacity to speak to me even though you're obscuring your identity from me.”

“Well, if I tell you my name, will you tell me yours?” The stranger suggests, but you're inclined to not let him get through you.

“It doesn't matter to me. All I want is to get out and find whoever brought me here,” you simply say, “or search for my way home. That, doesn't have to involve you, nor your help.”

You turn your back to his voice, brushing him off with your words. Fixating your sight on the few boxes scattered throughout the room. You're sure he can feel your annoyance, but it's valid. He's making non-significant propositions, which is honestly irritable.

“I could help you. We could have each other's back.”

“What have I just said?” You inquire with an annoyed tint, “You have nothing of value to offer me, and you can't even step out of the shadows.”

With that said you slowly start to stand up from your position and look around for a possible exit. The floorboards creak under your weight as you step from foot to foot. The first thing that comes to your mind is to head straight for the windows for some unknown reason. Upon taking several steps to the blinds, you hear the stranger's footsteps echo. Your feet leisurely continue, but you're tempted to check behind you, therefore you do. Just in case he proves to have any malignant tendency.

There's still no silhouette of the other human, hence why you can't confirm what kind of a movement he's executed. With that done, you turn your head back and concentrate on the task at hand.

Once you get close enough to pull the blinds open, a loud screeching noise travelling throughout the whole street alerts both you and your companion. Blood pumps through your body at faster pace and you begin to be sceptical at heart upon hearing the scream of an unidentified creature.

“What the hell was that sound?” You can hear a slight waver in his voice. Presumably from not being able to decipher the inhuman noise from outside.

It didn't seem to scare you as much as it scared him. Although you did flinch back from the window, your guard has stayed high nonetheless the fright you experienced.

You shrug, but after realising he cannot possibly see you very well, you give him a response, “How am I supposed to know? Do you think I'm a witch?”

“Uh– yes and no?” After those words leave his mouth, your head turns to what you assume is his direction and give him a nasty glare. Offended thoughts swim in your head along with the throbbing pain of a headache.

A relatively loud scoff escapes your mouth and you fixate him with a harsh look.

You're sure he's going to die by either your hands, or he'll serve as sacrifice to the creature.

“You've chosen your destiny now, man.”

The scoff that leaves his mouth this time tells you that he's against the idea or he just plainly thinks you're joking. Either way, he's sold his soul by saying those words.

Cutting the conversation off, you finally get to glance outside the window, and you yell out a curse, which is enough to let the thing outside know of your existence. In the matter of seconds, it flies to your window and starts banging against it. It's long arms slam the panels with surprisingly little force. You fall back and try to scramble to your feet as quickly as you can. Can't go around risking your life even upon seeing the strength of the shadowy figure.

The man, who has chosen to stay anonymous up until now, decides against his better judgement to flee on his own to help you up. It doesn't show much strength, but the window already adores quite a few cracks, so you don't think it'll hold up for long.

“Just hurry up!”

As soon as you're stabilised and on both of your legs, you book it to the door. At first, the handle doesn't let you open them, but after a few sharp tugs it gives out and you fall to the floor again. You let out a curse once more, supporting your body on your forearms and stand up. The stranger only snickers behind you.

You stay silent and get your thoughts and clumsiness together.

“Here! We could hide in one of the other rooms!” He hurriedly tries to tug you to the direction he's talking about, but you don't budge. You can't take any risks when you don't know the house's layout and the person in front of you.

“I don't think it's a good idea,” you ponder over your thoughts, but after you hear glass being shattered, you run to another room and to the closest closet you can find. Completely disregarding the terrified look the man threw your way. You duck to the ground as hastily as you can and cover your mouth just in case. Soon wooden boards start creaking in the hallway and, even though you wished the man would be a sacrifice, you hope he's found a safe place and survives this monstrosity.

A rather loud groan is heard somewhat close to you and you peek through the small gap in the closet doors to see a rather disturbing view. One that you wish you haven't.

The creature has found a dead rat (rather beheaded the poor creature beforehand?) and is holding it to its bloody mouth now. Multiple sharp teeth sink over and over into the freshly killed animal, happily munching on the treat. It's turned sideways to you, so you can very clearly see all the contents of the rodent's body as it eats it. It's guts and blood spilling everywhere on the floor and on the demon itself.

You shudder, avert your eyes, and just look at your curled-up knees. ‘What in the name of hell have I just witnessed?’

It takes less than ten minutes to finish its fiesta and you can see the unidentified creature turn to smoke from your peripheral vision. It stays in that form and floats out of the room and you guess it leaves out the window it broke.

Silent tears start to fall down your eyes and you honestly aren't surprised. The whole encounter was traumatic to say the least. To you, it was as if you were the protagonist in a horror movie, being hunted down by some unknown force. Except this is real life that we're talking about. Your life is currently put at stake and you don't want to die so early. Be at the hands of the creature or some other mythical thing.

This won't be the worst thing to happen to you, Reader. Or will it, now?

Was that demon chasing somebody before I yelled out?

It had seemed to be occupied by something else before you got startled by its presence on the little roof below the window. You can still remember the soulless holes for eyes staring in your direction vividly.

Was it me luring it to us? Could there be more people?

You sit there, contemplating the event that has just happened, for what seems to be forever. Blank stare put onto your hands as you cry and your body succumbs to total numbness. That is until the closet door creak open, forcing you to look up.

There stands a man of average height with messy brown hair. You notice just now how he exactly looks upon not having that much time to do so an hour (was it?) ago.

His eyes convey an emotion close to yours, which is utter fear and confusion. He silently offers you his hand and you gladly, albeit shakily, take it. He pulls you out the door and towards another room with a dusty and an almost broken bed, pulls you into his lap and tucks your head into his neck. Letting you quietly cry while he gently runs his hand across your back. You don't even care a stranger has you in his lap. He lets you cry until you have no more tears running down your cheeks.

Your guarded feelings towards the man begin to crack amidst the comfort you crave right now.

When you're done, you both can't get yourselves to break the silence. You’ve distanced yourself from him, but you both are too afraid to even utter a word and accidentally lure the creature back in. Although, he decides to break it with a small whisper and with an attempt of a comforting smile.

“Do you mind sharing your name with me now?”

#technoblade #dream #sapnap #apocalypse au #reader insert #mcyt x reader #mcyt #techno #dream team #dream x reader #dreamwastaken #l'manburg #shadows #??? x reader

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fanfoolishness · 3 years

Text

The Lullaby (The Mandalorian)

(Din tries to help the Child get to sleep, while needing to sleep himself. PTSD, childhood memories, family feels, no romance. Thanks to the anon who sent me an ask saying “Bruh, Din must be EXHAUSTED” in regards from planet to planet. Set between chapter 8 and 9. 1880 words.)

***

Maybe it would be different this time.

He floated, gauzily, through the old house. Sunlight slanted through transparisteel windows, lining the little things, the ordinary things, with a rich and reddish gold. The breakfast table was a glory. His father’s wooden flutes glimmered. His toys, little silver droids he pulled on strings or pushed on wheels, glowed beautifully as he played. He made silly little noises to himself, whole stories and conversations about the battles they would fight at each other’s side.

But the sounds struck, faint at first, then throbbing in the near distance. Boom, boom. The whine of blaster fire.

Din flinched. It was always like this. Always. He shivered, sinking into himself, wrapping his arms around his middle.

His mother’s arms flailed, frantic as she crossed the living space. His father’s face was pale. They scooped him up into their strong, safe arms, and he wept with confusion, with fear. The toy droids rattled across the floor.

They ran.

***

Din started, breathing hard, and sat up straight in the pilot’s seat. Hell, he hadn’t meant to fall asleep. They were still in too close of an orbit to the last place they’d fled, and he didn’t intend for them to be captured somewhere this backwater. He took a deep breath, trying to center himself, but the exhaustion clung heavy on him.

He’d been tired before, of course. There’d been times as a young man he’d run himself near to death, chasing bounties, getting in over his head, seeking out yet another fight. But there’d been a nihilistic purity to it back then, the promise of a glorious death should things go badly, a battle worthy of the Way. It had been a clean ache, and an empty one.

Now, though, he found himself tired in ways he’d never even thought about.

He battled differently with the child around, always sensitive to the danger the fight posed to the little one; it led to taking different risks, making new assessments, sometimes taking hits that never would have landed had it been him alone. His body groaned with the effort some days, burdened with bruises, pulled muscles, burns from the rare blaster bolts that nearly made it past the beskar. He didn’t mind, patching himself up with bacta and painkillers at the end of each night. It was the Way.

But the exhaustion lingered, not always due to physical causes. Some nights the kid wouldn’t fall asleep, tossing and turning and fussing so that Din never did really rest either Sometimes just the mental calculations of fleeing, hiding, running, searching, were more exhausting than a physical fight.

He thought now that he understood the Creed in a different way than ever before. Battle faded into the background, the warrior’s death a long distant fate. He ached in a way that had nothing to do with physical wounds but that laid him bare all the same, a feeling deeper than mere blood and bone. He thought of foundlings, of care, of sacrifice.

He thought of the kid.

The kid. Where had the little womp rat gotten to? Din craned his head to the side, scanning for the kid through the visor of his helmet, and let out a sigh of relief. The little one was still buckled into his seat, though he looked just as wiped out as Din felt. His ears drooped all the way down to his shoulders, and his large eyes were half-lidded, little hands coming up to rub sleepily at his face.

“Hey there,” said Din. “We’d better get some rest, huh, buddy?”

The child’s face crinkled, his big eyes narrowing. Oh, so he was going to be fussy tonight. The kid let out an annoyed little grunt as his hands curled into tiny fists.

“None of that,” said Din, a mild sternness creeping into his voice. “You need to lay down.” At the kid’s glower, he hastily amended, “We both need to get some rest. Come on, I’ll come to bed with you. Just let me bring the Crest into a better orbit.”

The kid made some nonsense noises that he suspected were an affirmation. Din smiled faintly beneath his helmet. Those little sounds were becoming so familiar, he almost thought he could tell what they meant.

He brought the ship out of orbit, scrolling through options in the navicomputer. His eyelids felt so heavy, though. He took a deep breath through his nose, slowly letting it out through his mouth. Training in his youth came back to him, ways to ask ever more of the body in order to fulfill the Creed. Just a bit further. He breathed deep, struggling to keep himself alert.

He stared hard at the small screen, at his gloved fingertips hovering over its surface. They blurred slightly. He selected a path that would take them into a secluded orbit, far from satellites or prying eyes, and relaxed as he directed the ship along the planned path. He blinked. His vision slid from slightly blurred to doubled.

He was so tired.

His head slipped forward, helmet weighing it down, until his chin rested on his chest. He jerked himself back, shaking his head sharply and trying to clear it. Dank farrik, he needed to sleep.

“Just a little longer, kid,” he muttered. His hands felt faint on the controls, but he straightened up again. Breathe deeply. Bring fire into the very center of your being. Direct the energy outward into a killing strike. Though in this case, the killing strike was just the successful maneuvering of the ship into a new, hidden orbit, and nearly as difficult as any battle technique. At last, though, the navicomputer flashed at him, advising him he’d been successful.

His hands loosened and he yawned, getting wearily to his feet. His hand was sure on the child’s restraints, freeing him from the seat belt. He scooped the kid into his arms, his weight sure and familiar.

“Come on, little guy,” he murmured. The kid fussed in his arms, burrowing his head into the woven cloth of Din’s cloak, a favorite place for him to nap. Din leaned his head to the side, helmet resting against the kid’s cheek, just for a moment.

He took the ladder carefully, keeping the kid pressed tight to his chest, and headed straight to his narrow cot. He sat down on it heavily, making sure to cradle the kid’s head as he did so.

“What do you think, pal?” he asked. “You want your bed tonight? Or do you want to stay here?”

It was about fifty-fifty, which option the kid chose. Sometimes he was happy to go curl up in the new pram Din had found for him, after the one that Kuiil had fixed up was burned on Nevarro. Din had gotten him several different blankets over the past several weeks, and sometimes the kid got real cozy under them, happy as anything.

Other times, more unsettled nights like tonight, the child made it quite clear he wanted to stay with Din, holding onto him tightly with those small arms. Tonight he kept his face pressed against Din’s cloak, and Din sighed, laying down and resting a hand on the child’s back. He rubbed it through the thick robe, small circles lazily round and round, something he faintly remembered his mother doing.

“How are you, buddy?” he asked softly.

The kid’s hand reached up, claw-tipped fingers curling into the cowl of Din’s undershirt, at the spot where neck met shoulder. Scared, then. Din had come to realize that when the kid was this clingy, he really felt anxious about something. Through the tiredness, his chest ached. He wondered, not for the first time, what had happened to him before Din had found him.

“Hey, it’s all right, I’ve got you,” he whispered. “Do you want a story?”

The kid’s ears flicked, twitching upwards. A yes.

Shit. It was so hard to remember any kind of story with his mind mushy and tired like this. He’d gotten pretty okay at stories, to his own surprise; sometimes he would simply tell the kid all about their adventures that day, but sometimes he’d come up with stories he picked up from around. Silly stories he’d overheard Peli Motto or Omera tell the kid; stories of Mandalor the Great riding the Mythosaur; stories about their friends Kuiil and IG-11 who had helped them. But tonight, nothing came to mind.

His eyelids fell shut. For a moment, he saw them again -- his mother, so beautiful and frightened; his father, who’d always seemed so strong, but now looked so afraid --

He blinked, coming back to himself again. He hesitated.

“I don’t really have a story tonight, kid.”

The little one murmured crankily, little hand tightening into a fist, ears falling back down near his collar. Din rubbed his back soothingly, a circle here, a pat of his palm there.

“Uh…’” He swallowed. “Maybe a song?”

The baby stilled, large ears swiveling slightly, the better to hear. Din glanced down at him, saw those big eyes wide in anticipation.

“I’m not much of a singer,” he cautioned. He cleared his throat, closing his eyes, and remembered what his mother used to sing.

The song, halting at first, grew slowly in his mouth and throat. It had been so long since he’d sang, so long since he’d engaged with music. The Tribe had had no music; the noise was too dangerous, too risky, and the little metal they had was all reserved for armor and weapons, not musical instruments. But this was something older than his life as a Mandalorian, something soft and far away and secret.

He didn’t remember all the words. They weren’t in Basic, and he wasn’t sure of all of their meaning, having lost his parents’ language long ago. The melody cracked a little, here and there, his throat rusty when it came to notes higher than his voice could carry. But he knew it was a comfort-song, a happy song, a sleeping-song; it was a song of moons and stars and inky night, and he sang brokenly to the child, his voice small amidst the hum of the Crest.

The last chorus of the little song faded into the ship’s background sounds, and Din felt a curious unloosening in his chest, a weight lifting.

“You know...” he mumbled. Sleep seemed so close. “My mother used to sing that to me, when I was a child. It’s about the stars and moons going to sleep. I used to sing along with her.” He smiled drowsily, trying to remember. “And my father would leave the curtain open in my room, so I could see the moons and stars as they passed overhead.”

He brushed his hand over the child’s ears, gentle strokes. “Don’t forget, kid. You’re not alone out here. ‘S you and me, here amongst the stars,” he said, echoing the song’s refrain. He let out a sigh, more breath than voice. “This is the Way.”

The baby curled against him, his small hand slackening, relaxing. Quietly, he began to snore, and beneath him, Din fell into a deep sleep of his own..

He dreamed not of blaster fire, or fear, or smoke in the streets.

He dreamed of stars of white against a blue-flung sky, of golden moons rising brilliant in the night; and he dreamed of a child’s hand, held safely in his own.

#the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian #noromo mando #din djarin #grogu #din djarin's parents #ptsd #my Mando fic

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sondepoch · 4 years

Text

Hogwarts, Basically (Solomon x Reader)

When you finally leave RAD, the last thing you expect is to be whisked off by Solomon to a human school of magic. What you expect even less is for the white-haired mage to become your dormmate, and to be forced into a life of spells, potions, and wizardry. But what you expect the least is to find yourself pining after the sorcerer, reduced to something akin to a lost puppy, staring at him in longing at every chance you get. Or, correction: What you expect the least is for Solomon to feel the same way.

~Oneshot

MASTERLIST

At the very beginning, Lucifer warned you: stay away from Solomon. Never trust the shady sorcerer. Keep your distance at all costs, and do not interact.

But you never listened.

No, you were convinced that you knew better. That the white-haired mage had good inside him, that he wasn't a demon in human skin with an agenda more suspicious than Diavolo's own. For an entire year, you believed in him, and the two of you stayed by each other's side the whole time you were in the Devildom.

You have so many good memories with him.

The two of you pulled pranks on Asmo. Downloaded TikTok onto Lucifer's phone. Ran a scam where you auctioned your souls off on D-Bay and kept the Grimm. You egged the student council hall on April Fool's day, and you even shared your food with the guy.

So many good memories.

So many tainted memories.

If you had known where it would land you, you never would have allowed yourself to get close to him.

"I fucking hate you," You grumble, darting forward and flopping onto your bed the second Solomon opens the door, groaning as you burrow your head in your pillow. It reeks of magic, much like everything else in this godforsaken place, and you're entirely sick of it, but you're too exhausted to even care right now. "I can't believe you fucking did this to me."

"Oh please, you're acting like this is the end of the world." The mage closes the door, and you hear the sound of shuffling as he puts his books away for the day, taking off his school jacket. His actions are innocent enough, but you're certain he finds amusement in your state, and the very thought fills your lungs with even more resentment toward your current situation.

"It is the end of the world," You grumble in protest. "I'm supposed to be relaxing right now. Playing video games with friends. Hanging out at a club. Wasting time on twitter, sending celebrities stupid pickup lines. Not doing more schoolwork at another fucking school of magic."

Solomon laughs lightly, a warm sound that you wish you didn't like.

"Technically, RAD wasn't a school of magic," He tells you.

"Oh, who fucking cares? This school is! You've kidnapped me and dumped me in Hogwarts, basically, and I hate Harry Potter!"

"How unfortunate for you, then." Solomon grins boyishly as he rolls your body over, eyes twinkling with mirth as he gazes at your utterly unamused expression. "Relax. You'll begin to enjoy your time here, once you get used to the course load. I dare say you might even find it fun to learn about our magical heritage."

"When pigs fly, Solomon," You quip back, opting to ignore the fact that your potions teacher told you that your end-of-year project would actually be to create a solution potent enough to give farm animals wings.

You sigh grumpily and roll over, closing your eyes and relaxing quietly as the sorcerer pats your shoulder, quietly telling you not to nap for too long, so you have time to finish your homework later.

You ignore him, for the most part.

I'll never enjoy it here, you convince yourself. As much as you love spending time with Solomon, you don't have it in you to completely change your life and begin studying magic, irregardless of how much the teachers at this school want you to. Ignoring the sound of scribbles as Solomon begins his own homework, you tell yourself that the mage is wrong, that all you need to do is flunk out during this first semester and then you'll be returned to your normal life in your home country.

What you don't expect is for Solomon's words to be proven true.

One week into your time at the academy, you've just begun to grow used to the course load. The students at school stop raising eyebrows at your face, and as you begin to grow accustomed to the school, it becomes accustomed to you.

Two weeks in, you've already fallen into a loose rhythm.

By three weeks, you've developed what a less apprehensive person would call "friends," and by four weeks, you're genuinely giving your studies your all, learning spellwork and enchantments with an almost-passionate fervor.

By the time the month has ended, you've actually forgotten your plans to flunk out.

And though you're surprised by your change of heart, the never-fading smile on Solomon's face makes you suspect that he predicted this from the start.

You glance up at him from your textbook, momentarily halting your note-taking to study the way the enthralled light never fades from his eyes, even as he glances from book to book while continuing to draw a summoning circle for his demonology class, somehow looking pleased even as he cross-checks his image.

You groan.

You've found yourself glancing up at Solomon more and more often in these past few days, distracted from your own studying by the way his hair falls over his forehead, or the way his chest sometimes peeks through when he undoes the top buttons of his dress shirt, or the way he sometimes bites his lip cutely when going over a particularly difficult passage. Hell, you once spent five minutes staring at the sorcerer's hands, because they looked oh-so-soft as he took notes on the book he was deciphering.

The first few times, you convinced yourself that it was merely because of how eye-catching he was. And that was a fair enough excuse. After all, the colors of this academy are black and gold—Solomon's pale skin stands out against the dark fabrics of the uniform and the even-darker furnishings of your dorm room.

But after catching yourself gazing wistfully at his lips a few too many times, you were forced to confront the truth.

You have a crush on the aggravating, annoying, sassy, difficult, handsome, cute mage.

But that's not even the worst part.

You think he knows.

A warmth creeps onto your cheeks the moment you begin to think about all the instances where Solomon has caught you staring at him over these past few weeks. There are almost too many examples. Early in the morning, when his hair is all messed up. Right after breakfast, when his lips have changed color to whatever potion he drank. On your way back from school, when you walk back to the dorm together. During homework sessions like these. Right after he steps out of the shower—oh, he's caught you gawking at him far too many times after returning from the shower. (You tried to play it off by saying that you were merely studying his pact marks, but you know he knows the truth. His abs are loosely defined, but they're there, and you want to lick them so bad it hurts.)

"MC?" Solomon calls, and you blink.

Fuck, you think, suddenly realizing that you were staring at him while you daydreamed about him.

Add one more to the count, you think with an internal groan, silently wondering how many more times the sorcerer will catch you staring at him.

"You good?" He questions, and you can see the smirk he's trying so hard to fight off his face.

"Uh—I'm going to the library," You blurt, opting to avoid the sorcerer's gaze as you grab your jacket, looping your arms through it with deftness despite how utterly befuddled your thoughts are as you escape the room. You don't have your books with you, or your library card for that matter, but anything is better than responding to that all-too-playful question.

You flee before Solomon has a chance to say anything else, all but running to the stairs and sauntering on down until you're outside the dorm building, the air crisp in your lungs as you inhale sharply.

I'm such a mess, you think to yourself, the lingering warmth on your cheeks beginning to cool as you fold your arms and walk in the direction of what you hope is the library. A few people crossing you nod their heads in greeting, quick smiles thrown your way as you return them, but no one stops to converse with you, and you're left alone to debate your affections for the sorcerer.

You sigh, trying to sort out your thoughts.

Solomon must harbor some affection for you, you know that.

After all, he's spent far too many nights explaining foreign concepts to you, calmly navigating you through the waters of magic where he could have simply directed you to a tutoring board.

Moreover, you've seen how he behaves with other students here at the academy. No matter who has come to your dorm, be two kids it for a group project or a single friend in preparation to summon a demon they're interested in, there's a barrier of cool distance Solomon maintains with everyone else, one that simply seems to disappear around you.

Distance, you think, recalling the awkward way Solomon avoids physical contact with others, using sorcery to do things as simple as handing a glass of water to a guest. With you, though, you've both only grown closer, once-awkward pats now having turned into comfortably leaning on each other whenever one of you is tired. Last week, Solomon even ran a hand through your hair, and though he blinked afterward in surprise, as if he hadn't meant to do that, there was an undeniable feeling of closeness to his actions, something which others would hardly expect to see from him.

Another sound of frustration spills from your lips, aggravated at your situation with the sorcerer. The two of you are closer than others, but still not close. More than casual friends, but hardly intimate. Beyond nothing, but not yet something.

You kick a rock lying on the ground, watching it sail into the grass as you brood over the fact that Solomon is more confusing than the history of magic.

And you might brood some more, maybe even consider confessing your affections to the sorcerer in question, if not for the fact that you randomly look up and the building that greets you is not the school library.

You blink, abruptly turning around to check the way you came, but it is also a road that you've never seen, never heard of, and certainly have never navigated.

"Fuck," You mutter to yourself, realizing your predicament.

You're lost.

***

In your dorm room, Solomon is growing increasingly frustrated over the summoning circle he's been instructed to sketch. His fingers are supposed to be tracing the emblem of Mephistopheles, but it's so similar to Barbatos (and he's so used to drawing the summoning circle of Barbatos) that he keeps messing up at the end and has to restart all over again.

Or at least, that's what he tells himself is the cause for his repeated failures.

Solomon is hardly dumb—he's well aware that the reason for his utter inability to focus right now is caused solely and explicitly by you, and that this would not be happening if he weren't worried for your whereabouts.

But at the same time, there's nothing he can do about the fact that you're already gone, or the fact that he just messed up again on this seal.

A frustrated groan leaves Solomon's lips, inwardly cursing himself for driving you from the room.

After all, he really needs to get this assignment done.

Then again, it's not like he would be doing much of a better job if you were still here.

The sorcerer can never find himself fully able to focus around you, eyes always drawn upward to study you. It feels like if he casts his gaze away for too long, he'll miss something—the way your eyes light up every time you understand a concept, the way your eyebrows furrow every time you don't. It's the little things he tries to pay attention to: how you silently nod your head at the end of every sentence you read to the way you aimlessly fumble with your blanket whenever an assignment bores you.

Solomon is positive that he's successfully picked up on every one of your little quirks, by now. At a single glance, he can tell what subject you're studying by the way you're sprawled out over your bed, and if he looks a little longer, he might even be able to tell how good a mood you're in based on the way you tap your pen against your notebook. Give him enough time, and he's even picked apart how the way you kick your feet in the air relates to how nervous you are for an upcoming quiz.

Yeah, Solomon really hasn't been doing too well in his school, with how much he's been focusing on you.

Of course, you don't notice it at all. No, Solomon cast a spell long ago which makes it look like he's studying diligently even as he gazes absentmindedly at the way you run a hand through your hair when you're tired, making it incredibly easy for him to catch all the little glances you've been giving him these past few weeks.

Does he feel guilty for watching you watch him?

Absolutely.

Does he think about removing the spell?

All the time.

Does that mean he will change anything?

Most definitely not.

The look of shock on your face every time he casually "catches" you staring at him is too attractive for him to stop, especially since the immediate state of fluster it induces is so amusing to watch.

But that doesn't stop him from regretting calling you out just now, because while he's pretty sure you know your way around the campus, he's also well-aware that whenever your head is in a jumble, you lose all sense of awareness.

I'll wait, he decides, rapping his pencil against the outline of the sketch he's working on, reaching for a ruler. I need to finish this assignment, anyway.

But then ten minutes turns into twenty, and by the time Solomon is done with his assignment, the hour is over, signaled by the four loud rings from the grandfather clock on the ground floor.

The mage glances at your empty bed, set just six feet across from his, and he frowns.

I'll wait a little longer.

But one hour stretches into two, and two stretches into three, and nearly four hours have passed by the time the sun sets, and Solomon is pacing back and forth in the dorm, glancing at the door every time he turns, in hopes that you'll walk through it.

Fucking hell, he thinks to himself, grabbing his academy jacket as he flips his book closed and shoves it onto his desk.

He isn't going to torture himself any longer like this.

Hell, he'll confess if that's what it takes to bring you back, because right now, he's going crazy cooped up in this room and there's only one thing that's going to calm him down.

Shoving his keys into his pocket, he yanks the door open, all final hopes of you standing on the other sides crushed when he sees the almost-empty hall, and the questioning eyes of students wondering why he's heading out when it's so close to curfew.

He huffs in exasperation, slamming the door shut as he walks out, long legs carrying him in the direction of where he suspects you got lost.

He's really fallen for such a troublesome person.

Then again, Solomon adores even that part of you.

***

You've never been so relieved to see a clump of white hair.

Or, well, maybe you have—you know, given that Mammon has saved you more than a few times from Lucifer's wrath—but you've never been so relieved in the human world to see a familiar, fluffy clump of white hair.

"Solomon!" You exclaim the moment you set your eyes on the mage, sprinting forward to capture him in a tight hug. He stiffens at the contact, and you inwardly note that this is probably the closest you've ever physically been to him, but you don't care. Maybe it's the instincts that were drilled into you after being surrounded by demons for a whole year, but you had seriously begun to think that you would die out here.

"How on earth did you get here?" Solomon asks incredulously, gazing at your surroundings.

"I, um." You suddenly feel embarrassed. "I got lost, and then I sort of just picked a direction and walked."

"You..." Solomon pinches the bridge of his nose in exasperation, unable to even bring himself to repeat your words back to you. "You do realize that that's the worst possible thing you could have done, right?" The mage shoots a frown your way. "Do you even know how far off-campus we are right now?"

You ignore his words off with a smile, following him gleefully as he shakes his head in disapproval. "Then isn't it wonderful that I had you to come find me?"

You laugh, the sound filling the otherwise empty night, missing the way Solomon fights off an instinctive smile at the sound.

"If you turn tail and run away every single time I catch you staring at me, we're going to have an issue," The sorcerer mutters, more under his breath than to you. You ignore his words, neither wanting to nor knowing how to respond. "Your crush on me is only going to bring more trouble to us, if things continue on like this."

And that gets to you.

(And though you don't know it, the sorcerer is equally mortified by his statement. He certainly hadn't wanted to confront you like that.)

"You know?!" You exclaim, eyes round in horror. You always knew that he must have had his own suspicions, but for him to just come out and say it? You stare at the man with a mouth agape, raw embarrassment warming your cheeks for the second time today.

"Ah, yes," Solomon comments lamely, wincing when he hears how his words must sound. "I mean, ahem, I would actually, erm, consider myself, goodness look at that goose, to harbor similar sentiments.

"You...what?" You ask suspiciously, partially confident that Solomon just confessed but at the same time confused whether his words mean what you think they do. "You like me?" You ask hesitantly, watching the mage's expressions carefully.

"'Like' is such a strange word," Solomon begins. "One might consider it to be an expression of indifference, whereas another would—"

You cut the mage off with a sharp elbow to the stomach and a pointed glare, warning him to stop being around the bush.

"Fine," He mutters, shooting you a sulky glare. "Yes. I like you, okay? Are you happy now?"

A warm smile blooms on your face as you hear the sorcerer say those words, savoring the beautiful pink that swells on his usually-pale cheeks as he averts his eyes and crosses his arms.

"Yes, that does make me happy," You muse, grinning. "For how long?" You probably didn't have to ask that question—but Solomon's evident embarrassment makes it impossible not to milk this situation for all it's worth.

"Since...the Devildom," He mutters, the pink on his cheeks surging with even more prominence.

You blink at that.

The Devildom?

That's even longer than you've liked him!

"Wow," You confess, eyes slightly round in wonder. "I...I had no idea, this whole time."

"Yeah, I...kind of made sure of that."

"What do you mean?" You pause in your walk to glance at the man standing next to you. "How'd you stop me from figuring it out?"

"I, uh," Solomon scratches the back of his neck, glancing away sheepishly. "I may have used magic."

Wow.

Well, that—

Yeah, that was entirely expected.

A huff leaves your throat, and you cross your arms dramatically as you saunter ahead of Solomon, not bothering to acknowledge the fact that Asmo once warned you that, if Solomon ever started liking you, this was exactly the sort of thing he would do.

You pause, glancing right and then left as you approach a crossing, completely unsure of which way to go but unwilling to reduce yourself to asking the sorcerer from help. Not when you can feel the waves of apology radiating off him.

"Are you mad?" He asks when you stop, and the hesitant inflection of his voice only makes you fall for him more because of how annoyingly adorable you find it.

"Maybe," You respond, deciding to keep him in suspense. "But you can make it up to me."

Before Solomon can ask how, you walk in front of him and turn around such that you're facing him, one arm on your hip as you send a confident smirk.

"Given that we both like each other, see..." You trail off, standing in front of him with a devilish grin on your face as you wait for him to piece together what you're hinting at.

You see his eyes widen, the moment of realization dawning in his eyes as he understands what you're asking him to do.

Solomon doesn't hesitate much after that. He barely spends a single moment preparing himself, and then one hand is reaching for your cheek while his lips pull closer, and you savor the sight of his eyes closing as he presses his lips to yours, and then your own eyes are closed, basking in the feeling of warmth as you grin and lean into the kiss, lifting your own arms to his neck, looping them around to play with his hair the way you've thought about so many times.

Something about the situation is undeniably blissful, undeniably comfortable, and undeniably right as you both kiss, and the very notion that you could have ever been so hesitant about doing this makes you both laugh, the two of you smiling and giggling into the kiss like fools.

You lean back slightly, pulling away to beam at the sorcerer with a proud smile, but Solomon chases your lips, dipping his head forward and halting you from going further back by snaking a hand around your waist. Not at all minding this development, you grin as he turns the kiss passionate, slipping his tongue through your lips with a determined force you can't help but be turned on by, and then the lightheartedness of the previous moment is replaced by a sudden passion for more of this, more of the feeling of Solomon's mouth against yours, more of him.

You bring your hands to his chest, pushing him backward and onto a bench that could not be more conveniently placed as you press his body down onto it, and he doesn't bother commenting on how you're wrinkling his shirt when you grab fistfuls of it and straddle his lap. Or maybe he does try, but you'll never find out, because seconds later your lips are back to being pressed against his and everything else in the world disappears.

"Fuck," Solomon whispers, gasping when you part for air, his fingers just about to slip under your shirt as he caresses your waist.

"Yeah," You respond, knowing exactly what he's talking about. When your eyes dart from his flushed neck to his eyes, the look he gives you is nothing short of sinful.

Seconds later, the two of you are kissing again—because really, Solomon can't look at you like that and not expect you to immediately throw yourself at him—and his fingers really do squirm their way underneath your shirt, the feeling of his touch almost electric as his fingers grip your waist firmly.

And then it really doesn't matter that you're both still in public, that you're straddling Solomon on a public bench and that it's almost well curfew, because holy fuck you've both wanted to do this for way longer than anyone should have to wait, and now that you've started, nothing will pull you apart.

Bonus:

From his lovely little cloud in the heavens, Simeon cheers, a warm smile on his face as he watches his two favorite humans give in to the attraction that has always been painfully obvious to him.

He hums peacefully, internally wondering how he'll go about collecting his money from Lucifer, now that he's won their bet about how long it would take for the two of you to grow intimate—but his bliss is short-lived as he watches you tug Solomon's tie off, a light gasp leaving both his and Solomon's lips, though for two very different reasons.

"No!" Simeon cries, gasping dramatically with a hand over his chest as he realizes what is happening. "You're in public! In public!"

He moans in distress, falling to his knees as he sends a prayer up to Father for you both, his horror widening as he catches sight of buttons popping off your shirt as Solomon slips his hands underneath it, both of you starved and desperate for more contact than your clothes can provide.

"Little lambs!" He wails in horror, and all the other angels stop what they're doing for a moment to wonder what has their Simeon in such a twist, nearly every angel in the heavens listening to the sound of his utterly defeated whimpers that follow as he crawls back into bed, trying his best to forget the unholy sight that now plagues his mind.

"Forgive me, Father," He murmurs, fingers darting from his forehead to his chest, then right and left. But then, he thinks of a better prayer: "Forgive them."

Bonus bonus:

Centuries later, Simeon will reluctantly (and drunkenly) recount this tale to Asmodeus, who will immediately cheer in support. The fifth-born will claim to have always sensed the unspoken sexual tension between the two of you, and has always been an ardent supporter of "giving in to temptation," regardless of how public one's surroundings may be. After hearing Simeon's story, he'll order another round of drinks for the bar, paying for it himself in honor of everyone's two favorite humans, the demon cheering both your names loudly and downing a shot before promptly passing out on Simeon's lap.

MASTERLIST

Word count: 4.3k

Notes: Fun fact: originally, the academy that mc and solomon are at was supposed to be RAS - the royal academy of Solomon - just like RAD, but solomon was the headmaster (and there was a corresponding RAM run by Michael in the Celestial Realm) :) Not fun fact: I’m also working on a diavolo fic right now and it feels like every word is a breath of air being ripped from my already asphyxiated lungs :)

Comment & Like

Thank you for reading <3

I do not own the rights to Obey Me! or any of the characters within it.

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joontella · 3 years

Text

achromatic.

Yandere!Kim Namjoon x Female Reader

Word Count: 11.1k

Genre(s): Angst, Slight Fluff, (HORRIBLY WRITTEN) Smut

Trigger Warning(s): Mentions of religion or lack thereof, blood, murder, idk how the human body works, (unknown) consumption of blood, manipulation, stalking, male masturbation (again, horribly written), Namjoon is an asshole, and musical terms because i play music rip, minor character death, slight gore. it gets really shitty towards the end. i’m sorry

Merry Merry! It’s Peppermint! Your gift is finally here, @exhausted-joy! I’m sorry for the wait. I had to make sure that it was perfect. This is my first time doing this, and I really wanted to give it my all. Please forgive me, and thank you for putting up with my antics in the server. I hope you enjoy it!

I also want to thank Saniya (@smeraldos-blog), Mari (@joheun-saram), Hannah (@spicykoreantatertots), Ley (@pars-ley), Avery (@ksmuttherapy), and everyone else who tolerated and/or helped me out! I love you all and thank you so much for the help and support! I’m so happy to have met you all!

ach·ro·mat·ic /akrəˈmadik/

adjective

without color.

“Damn. There goes my chance of starting my winter break with a passing grade.” One woman groaned.

“What the hell are you talking about? You have a solid ‘C’! I’m literally failing everything!” Her friend responded, as her arms waved in a cartoonish rendition of exasperation. “And whose fault is that?” “Not mine! This semester was nothing but a months-long depressive episode. How could I focus with everything that’s going on?”

He so desperately wishes that they would shut up, or at the very least, take their obnoxiously loud conversation elsewhere. Namjoon twirled the ink pen in his hand with a practiced precision only years of being hunched over paperwork could provide. However, those were nothing but pipe dreams as the two students turned their attention over to him. “There’s Kim Namjoon! He’s had the top spot for years now, way before he was enrolled here.” One began babbling quite loudly whilst pointing to the man in question. “I bet he came out of the womb with high marks. I heard that he scored in the 99th percentile for his newborn screening tests.” The other swooned in response to her own musings.

Obviously, these two were much more idiotic than he had originally thought. It didn’t take an expert to read his body language: the way that he twirled his pen faster, as if that could speed up the agonizing conversation he was being forced to bear witness to; the way his jaw clenched so tightly that it could easily break a metal wire; and the position his shoulders held, resembling an animal coiling in preparation to strike or flee. He pleaded to gods he didn’t even believe in for the duo to be quickly eradicated with a swift strike of lightning. According to the calculations he made swiftly in his head, the chances of something like that happening were infinitesimally small. How unfortunate.

Deciding that the best course of action to take would be to leave the two neanderthals to their devices, Namjoon did just that. He quickly snapped his book shut with one hand and a loud, meaningful clap as the pages suddenly collided with each other. If that didn’t make the nuisances jump in surprise, his words would.

“Although I’m a source of inspiration and wonder to many, it’s degrading to hear someone so openly refer to me in a way that one would to an exotic zoo animal,” He began. Namjoon’s tone was cool and even, carrying an air of regality all the while retaining a bitter edge of contempt and disdain for both the conversation and the mere existence of the two original party members.

Finally, the two felt the brunt of the consequences their crimes on Namjoon’s ears had to offer. They both visibly wilted, reminding the tall man of his mother’s daisies being roasted and withering under the dry summer heat. Normally, this would have been more than enough to diffuse the situation and lift him of his auditory burden. However, his heart ached for more. His brain so desperately yearned for more stimulation and a rush of dopamine.

He decided to twist the knife, so to speak.

“Also, you too could rise to the top.” Namjoon said as he began to turn away.

Out of his peripheral vision, he could see the two wilted flowers gain new life and their faces brighten with newfound hope. The loudest of the two even had the audacity to whimper a pathetically optimistic, “Really?”

Twist. Twist. Twist!

“Of course~.” Namjoon purred, deciding to turn to face his victims’ satisfying demise. His heart threatened to beat in double time in anticipation.

Although their anxiously awaiting smiles made his stomach turn, he couldn’t deny the mirth swirling alongside the disgust in his belly.

“First off, instead of blaming your inadequacies solely on the tumultuous events of this year, take responsibility for your shortcomings. Only children avoid blaming themselves.”

He could hear the glass shattering as their faces fell in a tandem that most would find heartbreaking. He found it utterly amusing. Now, he would take his leave. After receiving the reaction he desired and more, Namjoon wanted nothing more than to leave the duo to stew in their humiliation. Yet, one last thing lingered. He had yet to land the finishing blow that would ensure that he wouldn’t be bothered by these two pieces of scum ever again.

Twist. Twist! TWIST!

“Before I forget, avoid talking so loudly. As you may or may not have noticed, I was trying to study. You know, one of the things that facilitates good grades? I don’t know if you’re aware of it, but your incessant bantering made it increasingly difficult to do so. Might I suggest that you follow my example and do the same? Maybe then, one day, you could take my place at the top.”

Namjoon wasn’t even facing them anymore. His back was to the two women, further solidifying his dismissal of them. With a simple and curt wave of his hand, he simply uttered,

“Ladies.”

And he was on his way.

“Exam results will be posted this afternoon. I trust that you all scored high enough marks to keep our university in high regard.” Your professor droned from the front of the lecture hall. “I know that many of you despise the fact that a standardized test is still administered in college, but so far, it is the only way to ensure that Mugunghwa National Academy is churning out bright students worthy enough to contribute to society!”

The students in question couldn’t care less about their scores or the school’s prestige. All they were worried about was getting the hell out of there after two hours of examination and stifling silence. They all stood from their seats and slung their bags across their bodies. A disgruntled murmur rang throughout. Quite frankly, you were no different.

As you hugged your notebook close to your body, your professor stopped you as you reached the lecture hall door.

“Ah, Miss (L/N). A word, please.”

Surprised, you let out a soft, “Sure.” and walked over to the podium where your professor started to neatly stack and organize his papers.

“As you know, Miss (L/N), you are one of the two best students we’ve had at this academy recently.”

You shifted your weight awkwardly at the sudden praise. You felt heat rise to your cheeks as you began to speak. “I mean, I guess? I wouldn’t go that far, but I suppose that records and the numbers do suggest that I’m performing quite well.” Your professor scowled at your response. You were a bright young woman. You deserved to flaunt it and soak up the praise every once in a while, right? He folded his arms and sighed deeply causing your brain to go into overdrive on how you could rectify the situation. “While pride does come short of a fall, you should learn to take compliments when they’re given, (Y/N). I promise you that you won’t become an egomaniac anytime soon as a result.” He said gently, causing your nerves to subside. Right. Maybe you should just accept compliments. A little self esteem boost never hurt anybody, right? “Thank you, professor, but may I ask why you’re telling me this?” You asked, trying to move the conversation along as politely as you could. You had an hour before you were due to go to the college’s radio station and prepare for this evening’s broadcast. Hopefully, your professor would get to the point so you could quickly grab a bite to eat before you started airing.

“Oh yes, of course! I’m sorry! I said all this to tell you that I have your exam results already. Seeing as how you are the brightest in your class, you finished early, giving me enough time to grade yours while your peers were working. I think that you’ll find the results to your liking, Miss (L/N).” He grinned, handing you a white manila envelope with the school’s insignia printed on the front.

You quirked a brow and opened it. You were then greeted by the name of the school, its motto, and yet another print of the school emblem on the header. Your (E/C) eyes scanned the page until you found what you were looking for:

𝑴𝒖𝒈𝒖𝒏𝒈𝒉𝒘𝒂 𝑵𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒍 𝑨𝒄𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒎𝒚 𝑨𝒑𝒕𝒊𝒕𝒖𝒅𝒆 𝑬𝒙𝒂𝒎

𝑵𝒂𝒎𝒆: (𝑳/𝑵), (𝒀/𝑵)

𝑴𝒂𝒋𝒐𝒓: 𝑱𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒎

𝑫𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝑬𝒙𝒂𝒎: 𝑵𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓 21

𝑺𝒄𝒐𝒓𝒆: 98/100

𝑪𝒍𝒂𝒔𝒔 𝑹𝒂𝒏𝒌:

1 𝒐𝒇 300

You stood there, dumbfounded. The paper you once held gingerly and timidly was wrinkling and threatening to tear under your now iron grip. You were now number one. Somehow, some way, you managed to best Kim Namjoon. Mugunghwa’s already carefully balanced and fragile ecosystem was crumbling around you. What have you done?

“I take it that you’re in shock. I’ll leave you alone to celebrate.” Your professor said smoothly as he slung his coat over his shoulder. “Congratulations, (Y/N). Please enjoy the rest of your day.”

“Uh huh… Will do…” You uttered dumbly.

Mugunghwa National Academy ran on strict rules, but most of them were unspoken. For the sake of your sanity and that of the rest of the student body (and let’s face it, staff, too), you intended to follow those sacred and silent rules to the letter.

Rule Number One: Don’t look in the janitor’s closet near the athletics facilities. You may not come out the same way as you came in.

Rule Number Two: If the cafeteria serves meatloaf, avoid it at all costs. Only eat it if you want to get sick and purposely miss class.

Rule Number Three: Kim Namjoon is the best at everything. He is to be number one until Hell freezes over.

Rule Number Four: In order to keep peace and balance between the nations, (Y/N) (L/N) must always come in second. This is the natural order of things.

You were content with being in second place. To be frank, you preferred to leave the pomp and circumstance of being the top dog to Namjoon. He was more equipped to bear the burden, after all. Besides, it wasn’t like your future career was depending on you being the best. You could skate by with a silver medal and leave Namjoon with the gold. You preferred the look of silver, anyway.

Now look at what you've done. There’s no doubt that the records have been updated by now. Your professor did grade yours early, and it’s reasonable to assume that Namjoon’s was as well. You’d inadvertently torn a hole in the gossamer fabric that was Mugunghwa National Academy. With one exam, you signed the collective death certificate of every other person besides Kim Namjoon himself.

May God have mercy on your wretched soul.

“Young Master, your father would like to have a word with you in his study.” The head butler of the Kim mansion stated simply.

For the second time that day, Namjoon clenched his jaw tightly. He shrugged off his coat and handed it to the older gentleman who was automatically waiting at his side to collect the article of clothing. He hadn’t even gotten through the door and already his father wanted to speak with him. This didn’t bode well.

“Seokjin, did he mention why he’d want to see me?” Namjoon asked dryly. Seokjin simply shook his head and hung his coat on the nearby rack.

“He only mentioned that it was urgent, so I suggest that it would be in your best interest to make it there expeditiously.”

This certainly did not bode well. Kim Joonho was a man of few words. Most would say that he’s the very definition of “actions speak louder than words”. Whenever the CEO of Kim Industries did something, people watched in equal parts starstruck awe and fear. However, when the CEO of Kim Industries deemed something important enough to speak on, there was no choice in the matter. You either listened intently or you perished in more ways than one. This was no different for Joonho’s family. In fact, he was worse to them. Working under the guise of caring for his family, Joonho was more stoic to his wife and children.

Regardless of his debatably righteous intentions, it sent the Kim family into delicately managed dysfunction. Simply put, Kim Joonho never spoke to Namjoon out of wishing to connect with his son on a more personal level. Namjoon was the next heir to Kim Industries. Being his son was an unfortunate side effect.

“Sir, I know that I did implore you to hurry, but-”

“What?” Namjoon growled. His nerves were shot to shit today. Anything that impeded his meeting with his father and his goal to quickly get it over with was met with hostility.

Seeming to understand this, Seokjin cleared his throat and motioned a gloved hand towards the mansion’s threshold.

“You know better than to walk in the house with your shoes still on,” The Kim butler began smoothly as he made his way over to Namjoon to collect his shoes. “I do understand that you are upset, but you shouldn’t let your emotions cloud your judgement so drastically that you forget such basic cultural conventions.”

Namjoon sighed sharply and bit back a retort that was bubbling in his throat. Arguing with Seokjin was pointless. As per usual, he was correct. Engaging in such petty conflicts would only worsen things.

“Right. I suppose I was quite hasty. Thank you.” Namjoon sighed whilst peeling off his shoes.

“I do believe that an apology is in order, Young Master.”

Namjoon was already halfway across the foyer, about to ascend the grand staircase leading to the upper floors when Seokjin’s cheeky remark reached his ears. He felt his blood begin to simmer in his veins and his muscles stiffen.

“The fact that I haven’t fired you by now and ruined any chances of you gaining any further employment should be enough of an apology. You’re treading on thin ice, Seokjin. Remember your place in this world.”

With that, he continued his journey to the final boss room within the Kim family mansion: his father’s study. The last he heard of Seokjin was a sly chuckle and the clicking of his polished leather shoes against the floor. Staff were not guests. Therefore, they were not allowed the privilege of removing their shoes. They were expendable. They needn’t get too comfortable.

Despite how much he detested it, Namjoon couldn’t deny that cold chill of anxiety that frosted his entire body. His father never wanted to talk to him. Ever. He could count on his hands the times that Joonho requested his presence. He could count on only one hand how many times Joonho requested his presence to celebrate his son’s successes. Their relationship was solely professional. There was no love to be found, no matter how hard you read between the lines. Even in as high of a position as Namjoon is in, he is still subservient to his father.

That’s the natural order of things.

“Come in, Namjoon.” Joonho’s voice rang from behind the large mahogany doors.

Almost cartoonishly, the hinges squeaked like Namjoon was uncovering the entrance to a haunted crypt. Namjoon decided long ago that was an eerily apt way of describing his father’s study.

Naturally, Namjoon obeyed his father and entered the room. Dead center, there sat Kim Joonho on his throne. Sitting with perfect posture behind the large oak desk, Joonho stared his son down with cold eyes filled with disdain. How Namjoon desperately wished he could gouge them out with his father’s prized letter opener.

“Don’t waste my time. Have a seat. I don’t have all day.” Joonho snapped.

“Of course. How are you today, father?”

The CEO’s eyes narrowed at his son’s inquiry. “Spare me the niceties, boy. Sit down. We have business to discuss.”

Before Namjoon could interject, Joonho was already reaching into a drawer and produced a white manila envelope. Upon closer inspection, one could see Mugunghwa National Academy’s insignia emblazoned on the front. Once Namjoon was properly seated, he reached out and grabbed the parcel.

“May I ask what this is?” “You may not. You have eyes, boy. Read it for yourself.”

The frigid chill of anxiety was soon being replaced with the molten heat of fury. Some tiny part of Namjoon’s mind was concerned that he would develop a fever at the sudden and constant shifts in his body temperature. That wouldn’t do. He couldn’t afford for his health to decline. That would be another thing for his father to berate him for.

“Of course. My apologies, father.” Namjoon whispered as he undid the envelope’s fastening. Once he did so, he pulled the paper out with an air of nonchalance. Surely, it must have been another letter from the school to congratulate him on some academic achievement he didn’t even realize existed. However, in his eyes and in the eyes of his father, it was the exact opposite.

𝑴𝒖𝒈𝒖𝒏𝒈𝒉𝒘𝒂 𝑵𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒍 𝑨𝒄𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒎𝒚 𝑨𝒑𝒕𝒊𝒕𝒖𝒅𝒆 𝑬𝒙𝒂𝒎

𝑵𝒂𝒎𝒆: 𝑲𝒊𝒎, 𝑵𝒂𝒎𝒋𝒐𝒐𝒏

𝑴𝒂𝒋𝒐𝒓: 𝑩𝒖𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔

𝑴𝒊𝒏𝒐𝒓(𝒔): 𝑩𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒚, 𝑬𝒏𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒉

𝑫𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝑬𝒙𝒂𝒎: 𝑵𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓 21

𝑺𝒄𝒐𝒓𝒆: 96/100

𝑪𝒍𝒂𝒔𝒔 𝑹𝒂𝒏𝒌: 2 𝒐𝒇 300

For the first time in a long time, Kim Namjoon’s world fell apart before his very eyes. Suddenly the sturdy and imposing columns holding up the large study appeared to crumble around him. The fire that crackled in the fireplace was reduced to nothing but pathetic cinders. He felt the ground split beneath his feet and his father… His father grew to a monstrous size in comparison to his surroundings, suddenly hunched over his son in preparation to strike.

“This must be some mistake! The results must have gotten mixed up! I-”

“Enough!” Joonho boomed. He swiftly slammed his hand down on his desk, successfully frightening his son into silence. “Only children avoid blaming themselves. I thought I taught you to accept responsibility! How dare you blame your inadequacies on the people who made them apparent?!”

Namjoon clenched his fists tightly in his lap and pushed down the urge to go through on his original plan of plucking his father’s eyeballs out.

“Can’t you see? Whoever graded my exam was clearly incompetent. If they had a brain stem, they would know that I am only capable of producing top-class work! Just like you should not be blamed for one measly employee’s mistake, I should not be blamed for the mistake of someone beneath me!” Namjoon exclaimed. Once he finished his spiel, he found himself standing up, but he didn’t remember willing his muscles to do so.

“This entire conversation is pointless. It’s inefficient at best and mind-numbing at its worst! For someone who values time and money more than his own family, I find it quite curious that you’re willing to waste both so frivolously.”

Now, it was Joonho’s turn to clench his jaw and his fists. Despite the utter disdain he felt for the situation, the patriarch had to admit the merit in his son’s retort. His pride would never let him express the sliver of admiration that stirred within him at Namjoon’s courageous display.

Nobody dared talk back to Kim Joonho. That was the natural order of things.

“Regardless of who’s truly at fault, find this (Y/N) (L/N). She usurped your throne, Namjoon. She deserves to be punished for her transgression.”

“Of course. She’s public enemy number one, but she won’t be number one ever again.”

With that, the young master of the Kim household turned his back on the old master and shut the door to the crypt behind him.

“Aaaaaand now, we’re back after our break!” Your co-host chirped from beside you.

The red on-air sign glowed warmly overhead, creating a sense of coziness and heat in the otherwise cold station. You wrapped your cardigan closer around you before adjusting your mic.

“And we’re about to go into our winter break soon. How fitting!” You posited, trying to match your co-host’s energy.

“That’s right! Mugunghwa exams are finally over, and the scores and ranks have already been updated for some! Care to talk about that, (Y/N)?” Taehyung, your co-host, wiggled his sharp eyebrows in his quest to prod for information.

Normally, his rectangular grin and bright eyes would warm your heart. Today, however, you wanted to punch that devilish smirk right off of him. You should have known that Tae would have suddenly caught wind of your latest academic achievement. He’s the university’s most involved (read: nosiest) student.

“Not really… But you won’t shut up until I do, so…” You sighed as you spun around in your swivel chair. Once you stopped your cycle, you scooted closer to the microphone and cleared your throat. “I got a 98 on the exam. My professor stopped me after class and told me the news.”

Not that anyone but you and the sound director, Yoongi, would see it, but Taehyung’s impish smile turned into a disappointed pout. “Ah, listen to our (Y/N). Always dodging the important questions. Such a tease!”

You shoved him gently and laughed at his comment before shaking your head. “This guy… To everyone who dreams of dating him, work with him first. You’ll see how much of a horrible person he is.”

“Yah! That’s slander! Aren’t journalists supposed to avoid that?”

“I’ll kick your ass.” You licked your lips and began to answer the original question in further detail. “Yeah, so… Anyway, I got a 98 and I guess that warranted me becoming number one…?”

Both Taehyung and Yoongi’s faces dropped. From his booth, you could see Yoongi grimace and in your peripheral, you saw Tae stiffen.

“Up next is Still With You by our resident golden boy Jeon Jungkook. We’ll be back soon. Stay tuned.”

Suddenly, the on-air sign was turned off. The song began to play and Taehyung immediately gripped your shoulders.

“You what?!” Taehyung nearly screeched. “(Y/N), do you have any idea what this means?!” “That I took Kim Namjoon’s place and sent the fragile society of Mugunghwa into ruin? Yeah, I do.” Tae blinked for a moment. “No… Although, that does make sense. That seems way more important than what I was gonna say. Huh.”

You were actually going to punch the shit out of him. “Dude, what?”

“Listen, this is your chance! You can finally get recognized as the top-tier person that you are! As long as you were under Kim’s big, goofy shadow, you were going to be pushed aside! Now you can show everyone here how cool you are!”

You felt your throat tighten. That all-too-familiar sensation of a goose egg being lodged in your esophagus rose. You were going to cry. How you desperately wished that you could view the world like Taehyung did. How you longed to see the silver lining of every situation just like he did. All you saw was destruction and despair. All you felt was guilt for damning the entire student body to some cruel fate that only Kim Namjoon could dish out.

“Tae, I love you, but you don’t fucking get it! I’m screwed! We’re all screwed! I broke two of the sacred rules of this school! Kim Namjoon must always be first! I must always be second! I just sentenced everyone to death!”

Taehyung raised a brow, as if what you were saying were the incoherent ramblings of a mad woman. “You describe my cousin like he’s some heinous demon.” Even the usually passive Yoongi had to straighten his spine and widen his eyes at this revelation.

“He’s your cousin?!”

Tae leaned back in his seat with yet another smirk. This time, you couldn’t put a finger on the emotion this specific lift of his lips held. “Isn’t the resemblance obvious? The Kim line has some strong genes. It’s been that way since the Joseon era, I’ve been told.”

Ignoring the historical implications for why such strong genes would still be present thousands of years later (assuming that Taehyung was actually serious), you hurried the conversation along. Jungkook’s silky voice had faded away a while ago, leaving the two of you with little to no time left before it was time to open the floor to callers. This was your last chance to get some useful information about Namjoon before you were dragged into what you knew was going to be a relentless storm of phone calls and incredulous screeches at the news.

Like you had said before, you’d damned everyone. Who wouldn’t want to yell at the person that had the audacity to send an entire population into ruin?

“Get to the point, Taehyung. You’re telling me that you’re related to Satan himself? And I’ve been your co-host for how long?!” You near screeched.

Tae’s ambiguous smirk was now replaced with a blank expression. “I didn’t think it mattered, (Y/N). Why does it even matter now? If there’s a bigger issue here, I think you’re dodging it.”

You froze. He was right. For as long as you knew him, Taehyung had this uncanny ability to pick people apart and leave them vulnerable in an instant. This was especially effective on you, you’ve come to realize. The funny thing was that you hadn’t realized that you were employing tactics to postpone the inevitable inundation of accusatory and furious phone calls being thrown your way. Deep down, you always hated confrontation. Until Taehyung uttered those words, you hadn’t realized how deep that hatred and aversion was ingrained.

“Damn. You’re...good… I guess I am avoiding things. Let’s just get this over with. If we hold it off any longer, things will get worse.” You muttered as you looked towards Yoongi’s booth, motioning for him to put you both back on air.

Taehyung placed a comforting hand on your shoulder and flashed his signature boxy smile. “You don’t even know what they’re going to say. Who knows? News of your latest accomplishment may have brought the (Y/N) (L/N) Official Fanclub out of hiding. I bet that there are going to be several callers professing their undying love for you!”

“Their what now?” You asked dumbly.

Taehyung placed a hand on his heart and slipped into a persona reminiscent of the male protagonist of one the many romance dramas that were plastered on television nowadays. His deep voice rumbled the soundproof padding on the walls and wrapped you in its velvety embrace.

“(Y/N), I’ve been in love with you for as long as I can remember. I’ve struggled with these emotions for so long, but news of your success has given me the courage to confess them. I can’t quite make heads or tails of them, but I want to explore them all with you…” Not that anyone but you and Yoongi could see the exchange, but Taehyung gently cupped your chin with his large hand and looked longingly into your eyes. “That is, if you’d let me.”

Silence. Then raucous laughter from you and Taehyung. (Yoongi was visibly cringing in his booth.) You expected nothing less from the theater major, but you couldn’t help the delicate fluttering that began in your stomach. Was this the fabled Taehyung Effect at work? The two of you turned to your microphones and opened the floor to callers, as per usual for this segment of your show. What was highly unusual, however, was the heartfelt “confession” that was unwittingly broadcasted to everyone tuned in. Unbeknownst to everyone, the red on-air sign shone above your heads, serving as a beacon or perhaps an unfortunately ignored warning. A warning that your lighthearted joke wasn’t going to be a joke to some.

A warning that the harbinger of doom himself was listening in… A warning that he had now collected leverage over his new enemy… A warning that he was going to destroy you, even if he had to use his own relative to do it. He would surely add this to his rapidly growing arsenal of schemes.

The next day, the very air at Mugunghwa was different. Somehow, despite being the enigmatic second-place student, everyone instinctively knew to distance themselves from you. Biologically speaking, humans were still animals, despite the staunch separation that was created over time. There was still a basal instinct to survive. In this case, that instinct screamed, “Get away from the brainlet that dared to tip the scales and anger Kim Namjoon.” You didn’t blame anyone for their decision. You couldn’t. You’d be the world’s biggest hypocrite if you did, and you didn’t want “hypocrite” to be engraved on your tombstone next to “cold-blooded killer”.

Everywhere you walked, people watched you intently with eyes filled with either fear, confusion, or disgust. You could hear thinly-veiled whispers as you passed your fellow students.

“There she is.”

“She’s surprisingly pretty. I expected some ugly broad to be under Namjoon’s shadow.”

Ah, yes. You had forgotten your previously fairly secretive life before the shoe dropped. You were content with living under the radar. After all, it kept the vicious rumors of the poor girl who by hook or crook got her way into an elite university on a full-ride scholarship at bay. As long as you held the number two spot, nobody cared about you. News of your arrival and subsequent theories surrounding it were just a fad that most people shortly moved on from. The drastic and sudden change from peaceful irrelevance to hostile notoriety made you nauseous.

The cold air nipped at your flesh while you made your way to the library. Fresh snow made its satisfying crunching sound as you sped towards your destination. Wait. Sped? Only when you looked down at your feet did you realize that your steps were quicker than usual. Needless to say, you were confused at this revelation. Were things really this bad? Why was your body subconsciously hurrying you along when no danger was immediately present? Then, it hit you: If the Kim Taehyung Effect caused your insides to flutter and your heart melt with glee, the Kim Namjoon Effect caused everyone to cower and hide in pure horror. Maybe it ran in the family. After all, the two were related. How that crucial detail managed to slip past you was beyond human understanding.

Soon enough, you made your way into the campus library. Warmth enveloped you and thawed your chilled skin with each step into the large building. The tall bookshelves that towered over you and the other patrons made you feel safe. The walls of knowledge served as barriers from the predatory glares that were shot your way anywhere else. Here, while not entirely forbidden, hushed insults and remarks were more so. The library was your sanctuary when the dormitories weren’t, and with all the girls and even your RA avoiding you like the plague, it was safe to say that your dorm wasn’t very inviting right now.

Whatever it took, you needed to get your mind off of the Namjoon business. Sitting down in the warm silence served to do just that. You absentmindedly wandered through the various sections of the building. The nutty scent of someone’s morning brew filled your nostrils on your journey, easily putting you at ease in an instant. The rhythmic click-clack of someone's fingers against a computer keyboard kept your body grounded to the Earth. It served as a nice tether and protection from your thoughts that threatened to whisk you away into the stratosphere with every step you took.

Your feet took you past the reference section, the nonfiction section, and even the genealogy section before making its final stop at the fiction section. When you first started college, you found it odd that a library carried such books, but you soon came to realize that an escape into another world was appreciated by everyone. A love for fiction did not have an age limit.

You found yourself engrossed in a high fantasy novel by one Bang Sihyuk. (A very talented author, you decided. You made a note to look into some of his other works when you weren’t staring death in the face.) The sweet sound of yet another page turning and revealing more of the lore slowed your racing heart. The subtle smell of ink and glue softened your muscles, willing them to relax into the plush chair. The floor lamp next to you glowed softly and turned the usually stark clash of pitch black lettering against white pages into a mellow brown against cream parchment.

Even if you knew you had to face the wolves outside your sanctuary eventually, you still savored the solace you had in that moment. What you never considered was that those halcyon days were going to soon fall into utter ruin and despair with a singular human-shaped silhouette.

Everywhere Namjoon went, eyes followed. The air around him crackled with apprehension, but he couldn’t care less if he tried. This was natural. The pitiful prey animals around scrambled away for dear life, functioning solely on the fleeting notion that sticking around would spell their demise. Most of the people here were college students beginning their prime. They couldn’t afford to wither away… Not yet, at least… And certainly not here.

Stifled gasps laced with fear and admiration threatened to strangle the poor Kim heir. How he so desperately wished that they would all shut up! The constant buzzing murmur felt like mosquitoes tiptoeing across his skin during the hot and balmy summer months. It was highly annoying, to say the least.

His piercing mocha eyes landed on a target. A mousy figure was dwarfed by Namjoon’s taller and muscular frame. Pair the size difference with his steely and—arguably murderous—gaze fixed on the piteous male before him, both parties were surprised that the smaller student didn’t go into cardiac arrest.

“I would stay to chat, but I have important business to attend to,” Namjoon began. The timbre of his voice seeped into the small man’s bones and rattled them with each syllable. “You obviously know something, or else you wouldn’t be so pathetically fearful.”

The other male gulped audibly. His dull brown eyes stared into Namjoon’s vibrant cocoa ones. His pupils contracted as a cold sweat formed on his forehead and neck. Deep down, he knew that one wrong move would send him spiraling into horrors unimaginable. This was Kim Namjoon he was dealing with. He only had one chance.

“I don’t know w-what you’re talking about…” He squeaked.

Namjoon narrowed his eyes with clear annoyance and disgust for the situation and the animal shivering before him. This caused the mousy man to gasp sharply.

“Tell me where (Y/N) (L/N) is. It’s a simple request. Even someone of your calibre should be capable of such a mundane task.” Namjoon stated simply. Disdain bled through his words into his tone and seeped into his prey’s already paper-thin psyche.

With a trembling arm, the rodent (as Namjoon decided to call him) pointed in the direction of the campus library. Of course you would be there. It made his blood boil to think that you’d already be in the library after receiving news of your latest feat. Anyone else would be a fool to risk losing such an honor. Studying was the only way to cement your new station as Mugunghwa’s new number one.

Without so much as a half-assed utter of thanks, Namjoon strode off in the direction of the large building. He was so hyper-focused on cutting you down and ensuring that you wouldn’t be a problem again that the signature thud of a body against snow missed his attention completely. The concerned and shocked gasps of onlookers didn’t affect him either.

Soon enough, he was at his destination. The same book-filled shelves and walls that greeted you greeted him at the entrance. Upon seeing his figure, the librarian at the circulation desk straightened in order to greet Namjoon properly. ‘At least one person here knew their place.’ He thought to himself.

“I’m looking for (Y/N) (L/N). It’d be in your best interest to point me in her direction as quickly as possible, Jimin.” Namjoon stated coolly with a tinge of nonchalance. Although he was painfully aware of the importance his little scouting mission served, his seemingly apathetic tone was the result of having said the same thing over and over like a broken record. The sooner he found you and got you to bend the knee, the sooner he could return home to his own studies.

The librarian, Jimin, nodded and swiftly pointed towards the fiction section. His mug of hazelnut coffee threatened to spill at the sudden and crisp motion. “She went that way, towards the fiction books.” He stated plainly. Namjoon couldn’t help the small smile that crept onto his features. Jimin was always such an attentive servant.

Ever since that little incident before Mugunghwa’s annual recital, the dance major felt a deep sense of allegiance towards the older male. He had to. Namjoon was the only reason Park Jimin was able to continue his dream of becoming a world-class dancer, and it was made abundantly clear that what Kim Namjoon giveth, he can just as easily taketh away. Poor Jimin had no idea why you were being sought out by the most powerful student at the university, but he couldn’t help but suppress the gnawing sensation that he was leading you to a painful end.

Once again, forgoing a thank you, Namjoon began the final stretch of his arduous journey to find you and finally set things right in the world. The only issue was that he had no idea who he was looking for, exactly.

Oddly enough, despite your status, you had managed to keep a low profile. Very few people actually knew what you looked like. Hell, your student profile didn’t even have an image of you posted. In fact, the only way people outside of your direct circle of cohorts started to gather what you looked like was because the web connecting (Y/N) (L/N), radio show host and journalism major and (Y/N) (L/N), former number two was finally starting to weave itself. As far as most of the student body was concerned, you were nothing but a faceless placeholder image against a drab gray background. It wouldn’t have surprised Namjoon if you actually walked around with the words, “NO IMAGE AVAILABLE” permanently marked on your body. What he saw, however, was beyond his own comprehension.

There you were, his enemy, his prey. You sat idly in the large cushioned chair with your book nestled delicately in your hands. For the moment, you were blissfully unaware of the danger that loomed nearby. This was almost too easy. Almost as if your presence unlocked a vault to all his plans to destroy you, you looked at him.

And then his world changed. He almost felt sick at the sudden rush of sensory input his brain was forced to parse through. The previously unsaturated hall roared to life with colors he hadn’t even seen before. Warm browns, reds, and hues of every other name shot into Namjoon’s retinas upon gazing at your graceful form. This was (Y/N) (L/N)? This hidden gem? He was meant to demolish this?

He couldn’t. He shouldn’t. He wouldn’t. For the first time in a long time, Kim Namjoon was rendered speechless. His heart began to beat in double-time. If his biological functions were a musical piece, this specific section’s tempo marking would be prestissimo. Beyond vivace, beyond presto.

He couldn’t take it, so for the first time ever, Kim Namjoon ran away.

You didn’t dare move. Fear wrapped its spindly fingers around your heart and clutched it in its icy grasp. You didn’t have to move your eyes off of the page to see who the shadow cast onto it belonged to. Deep down, you knew.

Goddamn it.

You just knew.

Just when you gathered the courage to face your doom head on, he was gone.

“What the fuck…?” You whispered. Your fantasy novel fell to the ground on its spine with a soft thud. Was this it? Were you officially losing it? Was stress causing you to hallucinate and see literal shadow people?! That was it.

Not wanting to have a literal breakdown in the middle of the library, you honed your senses in on the now cold-smelling coffee nearby. The faint hazelnut blend managed to at least tether you down to reality once more. You took a deep breath. Everything was now in focus. You had to leave, you decided. So that’s what you did.

If the library’s other patrons noticed the shocked, glazed over look in your eyes, nobody said anything. You had just come in contact with the menace. You were lucky to be alive. There’s no need to add insult to injury by inquiring about your current situation. Wordlessly, you ambled out of the library door. Jimin’s small eyes followed your every movement until you were finally out of his line of sight.

Soon enough, you made it to your dorm room. Oddly enough, it felt like you’d walked through a wormhole and warped to the private space. It appears that moving effortlessly through time and space was an eerily common theme that day. Not wishing to dwell on it any further, you plummeted onto your bed and let a dreamless sleep whisk you away from all your troubles.

A month had passed since your clandestine encounter with Namjoon. Surprisingly enough, after the first week or so of living in terror, the foreboding feeling of doom had all but disappeared. Like a colony of ants rebuilding their anthill after a sudden rainstorm, so too did Mugunghwa National Academy rebuild anew. As Thanksgiving rolled into Christmas, the student body had learned to accept that you were now at the top of the food chain. The status quo had shifted in your favor. Students that would previously mutter curses after you passed by would suddenly wave amicably once they noticed your presence.

While the sudden lack of hostility was appreciated, you couldn’t help but notice how shallow the whole situation was. A faint sense of disgust settled at the pit of your stomach. Or was it foreboding, after all? After your encounter with Namjoon’s shadow at the library, the Kim Industries heir had disappeared suddenly. He had disappeared without a trace. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. His scores were still updated regularly; his name was still in the mouths of every man, woman, and child that walked across campus; and you swore that you saw his tall figure slither like a snake behind buildings and shrubbery one time after class. While there was solid proof that he still (at the very least) resided within this plane of existence, Kim Namjoon had achieved cryptid status. Just a month ago, he was the dark overlord that ruled Mugunghwa with an iron fist. Now, he was merely a relic of the past, a name synonymous with the Boogeyman. Kim Namjoon was now used to scare freshmen like tales of a monster under one’s bed were used to frighten young children.

The truth, like all things are, was much more complicated than that. After he met you, his goddess, at the library, Namjoon spiraled out of control. Nothing was the same for him. At first, it was a fleeting rush of endorphins, he had decided. Perhaps the sense of victory he felt after finding his long lost rival caused his brain to go into overdrive with glee. With that in mind, he returned home to lick his wounds and rewrite his battle plans.

The next day, everything seemed normal enough. His world was in grayscale once more. Individuals who weren’t of direct importance to him retained their distorted, blob-like features. His senses were mostly dulled once again… Until you appeared. You walked across campus with grace that put the supermodels that his father regularly “worked with” to shame. To be honest, they looked like pitiful crows with snapped legs when put up against your stork-like elegance.

His previously unsaturated world regained its color. His heart rate increased, warmth filled his veins as a result. Everything was crisply in focus when it came to you. For the first time in a long time, Kim Namjoon was terrified… But that’s what intrigued him all the more. Once you left his sight, however, the blooming colors vanished. Everything was blurred again. The warmth had died and left him empty, hollow, and cold. After a few days of this occurrence, Namjoon made his biggest realization yet: he was in love with you.

He was quick to write it off as pure lust. After all, remaining at the top didn’t leave much time for him to indulge in more carnal pleasures. Hell, the only thing he could remember slamming on a table on doing all night long was homework, as old and pathetic as the joke was. Namjoon was a dashing, intelligent young man beginning to reach his prime. Abstaining from such a primal and basic need wasn’t good for him. With that in mind, he immediately began his conquest.

First, it started with the models his father would fuck behind his mother’s back. Despite how carefully manufactured their appearances were, they didn’t quench his thirst. In fact, they enraged Namjoon to the point where it wasn’t uncommon for the women to leave his bedroom bruised the next morning. This charade went on for much too long until he’d had enough.

No other woman could set his heart aflame without even trying. No other woman could bring life to his distorted and achromatic world like you could. So he tried a man. Several men, in fact. He got so desperate that not even his little Park Jimin was safe from his ravenous clutches.

Nothing. Nothing had worked.

Now, as the clock struck midnight in his grand bedroom, Namjoon sat in his bed with his hand wrapped around his cock. He’d been so on edge for the longest time, yet nothing he did could stir him. So, he did the only thing he knew how… Thoughts of you filled his mind as he ghosted a finger across his limp member. The warmth he felt was returning once more…

“Namjoon! There you are! I’ve been so lonely… Don’t you know that I’ve missed you?”

There you were in the Kim manor’s living room. A black silk robe hugged your form perfectly as you bounded over to him. Golden sunlight filtered through the curtains and cast you in its heavenly warm glow. Your (E/C) eyes peered up at him with such admiration, lust, and most importantly, love. Before he could even properly process the scene, you had him enveloped in the warmest hug imaginable.

Namjoon felt a rush of lust and blood shoot straight to his dick.

“I know, darling… But I’m here now. We can be together. I’m all yours from now on.” He replied smoothly.

Namjoon didn’t even think it possible for your eyes to shine any brighter, but they did. And they were all for him. Your eyes, your beautiful eyes, for his eyes only… He gently caressed your cheek, careful not to mark it. The time for leaving marks and bruises would come later on…

“Really?” You asked. Your entire face lit with hope and wonder. “You mean it? Please don’t tease me, baby~. I don’t know what I’d do if you had to go so soon…”

You buried yourself into him, as if you knew that your home was within his embrace. He relished in it. He really did…

Namjoon felt feverish. His hands got to work immediately. Visions of you nestled against him, starlit eyes gazing into his, your form undulating beneath him as he pounded into you with everything he had. Your ecstatic moans and gasps filled his ears and mind, creating a carnal symphony only you could compose.

Sweat beaded on his temples, his arms beginning to burn with exhaustion as they continued to bring him to completion. Musical, “I love you, Namjoon”s and “Please! I’m so close, baby! Fuck me!”s began to crescendo rapidly. The world around him went from a gentle warmth to a blazing inferno. Colors reached their maximum saturation. Namjoon’s heart began to beat erratically. This was it. This was it! This is what he needed!

“Yes, (Y/N). You’re so good to me! Take it! Take it!!”

With an animalistic roar, Namjoon shot his seed. It coated his body and even his blanket that he pushed aside in his lustful fever. The fireworks came to a close. His jagged breaths began to even themselves out. The angels stopped singing. He was alone once more… But he wouldn’t be for long.

Tears filled Namjoon’s vision as he looked at his clock. Time wasn’t important anymore… But you were. He was going to have you, and he was going to become number one again. Kim Namjoon was going to be your number one.

Just like that, the year of terror had come and gone. Now, a new year was upon you and another December along with it. You stared up at your dorm room’s ceiling with a dumb smile etched on your face. After all, that was the only expression you could possibly muster, given the circumstances.

“Damn… What the hell happened to me?” Was all you managed to say as you turned onto your side. Your phone in hand, you scrolled through your photo gallery almost absentmindedly until you reached one particular photo. There you were at a carnival with the Devil incarnate, Kim Namjoon. Your eyes bright with glee at the large plush you held in one arm as you posed with Namjoon for a selfie.

You chuckled and zoomed in on the image with a wistful smirk. While you stared ahead at the camera, Namjoon stared at you with an expression that you didn’t even know that he possessed: pure, unadulterated admiration. You were almost inclined to call it love.

The past year and some change was a whirlwind. Your earliest memory of it consisted of finally coming to terms with the ecosystem at Mugunghwa, only to be faced with Namjoon and your whole world coming down. Students and staff alike scurried away from the dining area, not wanting to be a witness to a crime. You had gained new friends over the course of these months. They simply couldn’t stand to see your last moments on this earth in complete agony.

However, your death never came. Namjoon stood proudly in the now empty cafeteria, as if he relished in the fact that he could clear a room without uttering a single word.

“(Y/N) (L/N). It’s so good to finally put a name to a face… And what a lovely face it is…”

If Namjoon wasn’t going to kill you, the water lodged in your windpipe at his words would. You sputtered, hands waving as you choked on your water. Suddenly, Namjoon came behind you and swiftly patted your back. Once you could breathe again, you wiped at your tear-filled eyes and peered up at him. “I’m sorry… What?”

Namjoon returned to his original position in front of you with a smirk. Pulling out a chair, he sat down with the practiced air of a businessman about to make a deal. “I called you beautiful. I do hope that wasn’t too forward.”

Now, you were suspicious. Satan himself had saved you from choking and was now calling you attractive? Were you dead? Did you imagine Namjoon helping you as a last-ditch effort to survive somehow? Was that the image your brain created as you slipped away into the world of the dead? But this was reality. Something deep down told you that you weren’t dying or dreaming.

“Forgive my skepticism, but I highly doubt that you came to exchange compliments. What do you want, Kim Namjoon?” You asked icily. The male in front of you visibly recoiled at your tone, as if he didn’t factor in the possibility that you could speak with such a tone. He quickly recovered, however, and he began his pitch.

“You’re half right, (Y/N). I didn’t come here to only compliment you, but I came here to have a discussion that is long overdue. At my core, I am a businessman. I make deals, I negotiate. That’s what I’m here to do.” Namjoon stated simply. Looking deeply into his eyes, he didn’t show any signs of insincerity, but that’s to be expected. He’s been trained his entire life to hiding his true intentions behind an amicable facade, regardless of how nefarious his plans may or may not be.

“I see… What is it that you wish to discuss? I’m afraid that I’m not as well-versed in business etiquette as you, so please forgive me for any mistakes or slip-ups that I may make. That being said, this is not an invitation to walk all over me. I may be inexperienced, but I am by no means an idiot.”

Could you be any more perfect for him? A beautiful face and body, poise and grace, and the courage to hold her own in a negotiation? Not to mention, the colors were swirling around you and blooming delicately in such a comforting fashion. He was absolutely smitten.

“I wouldn’t dare make the mistake of calling someone who replaced me as top dog an idiot. Give me some credit. I’m not as vile as the university’s tall tales make me out to be. I’m sure that my cousin, Taehyung, could vouch for me.”

You bristled at the mention of Taehyung. What had he done to him? Did something happen? No, that couldn’t be. You had just finished your show with Tae only a half hour ago. Surely, that isn’t enough time for him to get into any trouble, right?

“Calm down, (Y/N). Nothing’s happened to him. I can see the wheels turning in your head. My cousin is safe and sound. I can even call him up for you, if you don’t believe me.” Namjoon said smoothly, already fishing his phone out of his designer coat’s pocket.

“No, that’s fine…” You swallowed and regained your composure. Once you were calmed down, you returned Namjoon’s gaze. “I’m sure he’s alright. If anything, I’ll call him later. Right now, this is more important.”

Namjoon put his phone away and leaned back in his chair whilst giving a dismissive wave of his hand. Hopefully, the display of nonchalance would mask the sheer excitement and feverish nervousness he felt from being so close to you. Hearing your voice was like hearing the soothing melodies of birdsong in the morning. His heart soared at the mere act of being in your presence.

“Very well. I came here to apologize. You see, I’m well aware of the distress to you and everyone here at Mugunghwa that I’ve caused, and for that, I’m sorry.”

You could have died right there. Kim Namjoon? Apologizing? And apologizing to you, no less?! The infamous heir to Kim Industries, known for the downfall of any and everyone who dared impede his goals was apologizing to you?!

“Please, (Y/N). Forgive me. It’s just that losing to you has put my life into perspective. Yes, I was the head of our class, but what did that mean? Why was I fighting so hard to keep a title that in the long run, means so little? What was the point if I had no one to share it with?”

“What the hell are you getting at, Kim? I fail to see what this has to do with conducting business.”

As precious as you were to him, Namjoon despised your tone. If you were to be his, that sharp tongue would have to be dealt with. Besides, in that instant, you reminded him of his lowlife father. That certainly wouldn’t do. His queen should never adopt the mannerisms of Kim Joonho. Never. Ever. You were to whisper sweet nothings into his ear while he reciprocated. You were to never take such a tone with him ever again.

“I was rambling, so I’ll forgive that insolent remark of yours just this once. Make sure it doesn’t happen again.” Namjoon stated darkly.

Not wanting to push your luck, you relented. You were actually talking to Kim Namjoon. You couldn’t afford to ruin an opportunity like this.

“Right.” He resumed “The truth is that I’ve been watching you for quite some time. Honestly, that’s all I can ever do anymore. You’ve occupied every inch of my mind, and I just wanted to ask if you’d be mine, (Y/N).”

You sat there, slack-jawed. Was he serious?! What was happening?

“You’re joking… There’s no way that you could be serious. There’s no fucking way!”

“I am. I’ve done some soul-searching recently, and I’ve come to the conclusion that you are what I’ve been fighting for all this time. Not a damn class rank. I’ve been fighting for love, affection, understanding… And I believe that I can find all of that in you.”

“You… What…? I- How?”

“February 14, a dozen red roses were waiting for you on your desk in your dorm. With them, was a card addressed to you from a secret admirer. March 14, a diamond necklace was gifted to you for White Day by a secret admirer. And now, these.”

Namjoon produced a stack of envelopes bound by a black silk ribbon from his jacket pocket.

“These are from me. You’re a smart girl, (Y/N). Can you tell me who your secret admirer is?”

That was April. After a few talks with your co-host and having to sit through embarrassing stories of their childhoods, you finally took the leap and went out on a date with Namjoon… And you were the happiest you’ve ever been. The large stuffed animal that Namjoon had won you sat on a bookshelf, next to several other trinkets he had given you over the months you had dated.

You chuckled to yourself at the memory and closed your photos app. After which, you opened up your messaging app to shoot a quick text to Namjoon. That was until, you got a notification reading,

KIM INDUSTRIES CEO, KIM JOONHO FOUND DEAD IN HIS WINTER ESTATE.

Without thinking, you dialed Namjoon’s number and was greeted by a somber moan answering the phone.

“Namjoon, baby, I’m so sorry… I just saw the news.”

A sniff. “Hey. So the news outlets already published the story, huh? I should have known that it wouldn’t take long… They could at least have the common decency of letting his corpse grow cold first before they publicize it.” Namjoon chuckled humorlessly.

You didn’t know what to say. You couldn’t imagine going through the sudden shock of losing your parent, only to deal with the press soon afterward. You sensed that Namjoon needed some time to himself to grieve, and you were more than willing to give it to him.

“Yeah, it’s shitty what they’re doing. And to think that I’m going into that profession. It’s crazy.”

“It is what it is, (Y/N). Besides, I have faith that you’ll be one of the good journalists that don’t try to weave everything that they hear into lies and defamation.” He said earnestly.

Something about the way Namjoon spoke was unnerving. He didn’t sound like someone who was mourning their late father, but then again, he might have been in shock. His apathetic demeanor on the matter must have been a coping mechanism. After all, losing your father so suddenly is a lot to process.

All you could do is hum in response. “I’m glad you think so.”

“I know so, dear.”

A pregnant pause.

“Hey, (Y/N). I know this sounds horribly insensitive, but, can we still have our dinner date at my mansion? It’s just that I can’t bear to be alone right now, and you’re the only person I’ve been able to trust lately. It doesn’t have to be a date. I guess I just want you to come over.”

Your heart shattered into smithereens. He was alone and scared. Namjoon had no one to trust or turn to in his time of need, yet he found it within his heart to ask you. Who were you to refuse?

“Alright. I’ll go. Same time?”

He didn’t have to say a word, but you could hear his dimpled smile some out to play.

“Y-yes, yes, of course! Same time! Thank you so much, (Y/N). You don’t know how much this means to me. I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”

“Alright, see you soon. Bye.”

You hung up the phone with a sigh and faced your closet. You had exactly two hours to get ready for dinner. You had two hours to prepare…

And so did Namjoon.

Once again, Namjoon was summoned to his father’s study. He was expecting it sooner or later. His class rank hadn’t improved since his father sent him to take his top spot back by any means necessary, but you were number one now. Namjoon wouldn’t dare dethrone his goddess from her rightful pedestal.

What he wasn’t expecting, however, was upon opening the large doors a swift slap coming across his face.

“You useless, useless brat! You can’t even eliminate a simple girl?! You can’t even reclaim your title?! How am I supposed to leave my estate and company in such incapable hands?!”

Joonho was fuming. His once pride and joy had betrayed him and disappointed him. How dare he? Namjoon sat on the floor, gingerly rubbing his cheek. He was sure his father’s handprint was burned into his flesh.

“I swear, you’re incompetent just like your brother! He disappointed me, and look at where he is now! I should have known that it was too good to be true.”

At the mention of his brother, Namjoon’s body stiffened.

“All of this. You’re ruining your life and your career all for some girl?! You’re willing to throw away what I’ve essentially bred you for, all for some lowlife pussy?!”

At the mention of you, Namjoon began to see red.

“I suppose I’ve been too lenient on you. I should have known that you would flounder. Maybe I’ll get rid of (Y/N) myself. It’s clear that she means a lot to you. Maybe you’ll get back in line once she perishes.”

That was the final straw. With pure rage fueling his every cell, Namjoon sprinted over to his father’s desk and grabbed his letter opener.

“Say it again, bastard! Say it again!”

Now, Joonho’s figure was dissolving into a crimson blob. All of his human like features were gone in a furious red haze. Kim Joonho wasn’t his father anymore. He wasn’t even human.

He was the enemy.

Without giving his father a chance to speak, Namjoon plunged the letter opener into the older man’s eye sockets. After that, it was a blur. Hours had seemingly passed and Kim Joonho was nothing but a human pincushion. Stab wounds littered his body, and blood was oozing out of every one. With a satisfied grin, Namjoon stood and cupped a crimson hand to his face.

“Seokjin! Seokjin! Come down here!”

The head butler rushed in the study and into the carnage. The older male was mortified at the bloodbath before him, but he couldn’t help the relieved smile and tears of joy forming in his tear ducts.

“Brother, come help me clean up father. Unless, of course, you have some words for him?”

Seokjin carefully approached his father’s corpse and smiled wickedly. He placed a gloved hand on his eyeless face.

“You’ve disappointed me, Joonho. And now look where that’s brought you. My transgressions against you warranted that I were to be stripped of my place in the world as your son, only to become your servant. Your transgressions warranted your death at the hands of your prodigy. Isn’t that poetic justice? Sleep well, father.”

“Master Namjoon will be down in a moment.” A maid stated as she had you seated.

A white cloth napkin was folded and placed on your lap while you got comfortable in the antique dining chair. Staff hurried to and fro to finish preparing for your meal, and it was almost amusing seeing them rush around like busy worker bees instead of the esteemed staff of the Kim Manor.

A few moments ticked away before Namjoon made his appearance. He was elegantly clad in a designer Armani suit, giving a regal and princely appearance as he made his way over to you from the grand foyer.

“Please forgive me, dear. I had some business to attend to.”

Namjoon outstretched his arms, motioning for you to give him a hug. You happily obliged.

“Namjoon! There you are! I’ve been so lonely… Don’t you know that I’ve missed you?” You cheekily giggled. If you ignored the whole dead dad situation, the whole scene would appear wholesomely domestic. You decided to indulge in that notion.

Namjoon’s breath hitched.

“I’m sorry that I’ve kept you waiting. I hope that we can make up for lost time during dinner, yeah?”

You nodded and sat down in your chair. Namjoon was seated right beside you. As if on cue, the staff brought in your dishes. A classic Christmas dinner, consisting of turkey, dressing, mashed potatoes, ham, and vegetables was placed in front of you. On a small dish nearby, some cranberry jelly sat. You tried to hide the grimace at the red jelly. You were by no means a fan of the garnish, but you didn’t want to appear picky or ungrateful, especially considering the reason why you were having dinner with Namjoon in the first place.

Ever the attentive partner, Namjoon was keen on noticing your inner turmoil. “Is something not to your liking?”

“Uh, it’s just… I don’t really like cranberry jelly… That’s all.”

Namjoon looked utterly dumbfounded before letting out a joyful, booming laugh. “That’s all? Oh, (Y/N). You had me worried! I thought that I’d ruined the whole meal for you!”

His fork stabbed into a piece of turkey and he dipped the meat into the red gelatin.

“But, please do try the jelly. My brother and I, we made it for this occasion. I promise it’s nothing like the canned slop they sell in grocery stores.”

Namjoon made this? Now, this you had to try.

“Alright. Since you went through the effort of making it, I’ll give it a shot.”

You copied Namjoon’s actions of taking a slice of turkey and dipping it in the cranberry jelly. With the expression of a chef on Chopped, Namjoon eagerly watched as you placed the food in your mouth.

“Mmm! This is delicious! Namjoon, you should sell this! This is amazing!”

Another laugh came from Namjoon, although, this one had an arguably maniacal lilt. “Why, thank you, but I’m afraid that this specific batch is one of a kind. Besides, cranberry jelly isn’t the most profitable market out there.”

Little did you know that you had just ingested Kim Joonho’s coagulated blood. Perhaps that was why his cranberry jelly was one of a kind.

Merry Christmas.

#bwcssy2

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infinite-xerath · 3 years

Text

Runeterra Retcons: Ruination Episode (Targon)

Targon Part I

You awaken the next morning to find everyone in somewhat dour spirits. Olaf looks to be training alone, Shen is meditating, Riven is idly inspecting her blade, Gwen and Vayne seem to be watching the waves outside, and Lucian and Senna look to be in the middle of a rather heated argument.

Senna: “How many times do I need to say it, Lucian? I’m not staying behind!”

Lucian: “You’ve seen what he can do, Senna! We’re not in any position to take him on!”

Senna: “I know that, Lucian, but that’s all the more reason why we all need to be out there.”

Lucian: “Damn it, Senna, he’s targeting you! You’ve got one of those soul fragments in you too, which means we need to keep you out of harm’s way.”

Senna: “Oh? And what about Gwen? She’s a fetter too, and you don’t seem to want her to stay behind.”

Lucian: “Gwen’s got the Hallowed Mist protecting her!”

Senna: “And I’ve got you protecting me, or do you not have my back?”

Lucian: “That’s… You know that ain’t fair!”

Senna: “Oh really? So it’s fair that I get to stay behind and worry about my husband while you go hunting all over the world for fetters? Lucian, we swore we would always have each other’s backs. You have to stop letting what happened with Thresh hold you back!”

“Who’s Thresh?”

“Uh, is that a bad time?”

Lucian response 1: “…Someone you should pray you never meet, Rookie.”

Lucian response 2: “…No, I’d say your timin’ is perfect, Rookie.”

Senna: “We were just getting ready to set out on our next mission.”

Suddenly, Riven approaches to join the conversation.

Riven: “So… Where are we going next?”

Shen: “Mount Targon.”

Riven: “Ah! Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

Shen: “Mount Targon is the gateway between the earth and the heavens; a bridge into the Third Realm, that of the Celestials. Their power is often revered as godlike, so acquiring their favor may be the key to tipping the scales.”

“Wait, so we’re going to try and recruit the gods?”

“Isn’t Mount Targon like, really high though?”

Senna: “I know it’s a longshot, but either way, the Black Mist is gathering around Targon as we speak.”

Olaf: “Hmm! The gods you say? Perhaps there is a worthy foe among them!”

Senna: “Everyone, gather round! Rookie, fire up the Wayfinder!”

You wait as everyone gathers to the map table, then unleash the Wayfinder’s light to carry you to your destination. You emerge in what looks to be not a Sentinel outpost, but some manner of temple filled with carvings of Celestial bodies.

“Uh, I think something went wrong.”

“Please don’t tell me this thing is on the fritz.”

???: “Halt, trespassers!”

You turn around to see figures in peculiar armor emerging from the shadows, wielding brandishing peculiar silver weapons at you.

Lunari Soldier A: “Who are you? How did you find our sacred ground?”

Lunari Soldier B: “They must be with the Solari! Capture them!”

Gwen: “Um, pardon me, I think there’s been a misunderstanding! We’re not-”

Lunari Soldier A: “Silence! We won’t be deceived by your lies! Lunari, ready your weapons!”

Vayne: “A fine mess you’ve gotten us into, Rookie…”

Targon Part II

The Sentinels fend off their Lunari attackers, the light of their weapons clashing against the silver light of moonsteel.

Shen: “We are not your adversaries! Please, stand aside!”

Lucian: “Damn, they ain’t listening! Looks like we’re just gonna have to blast our way through!”

Lunari Soldier A: “What is this? I have never seen Solari weapons like this before!”

???: “They are not Solari! Everyone, stand down!”

Suddenly, every Lunari soldier halts, turning their attention to the entrance of the temple. A woman with long, pale hair strides into the room, clutching a large curved blade.

“Who are you?”

“Reinforcements?”

Diana: “Forgive them, travelers. My name is Diana, chosen Aspect of the Moon.”

Riven: “Aspect? You don’t mean…”

“You’re a god!?”

“You lead the Lunari?”

Diana response 1: “In a sense… Though I am only a vessel for Her power.”

Diana response 2: “A leader? No, not quite… I only speak the moon’s will to Her people.”

Olaf: “Ha! The gods of the Freljord are said to be titans! Are all of Targon’s god so tiny?”

Gwen: “Olaf, manners!”

Diana: “The moon towers above even your gods, Freljordian! Do not speak ill of her so readily.”

Lunari soldier B: “My lady, these Solari agents-”

Diana: “They are not Solari. These travelers have come far to aid us in our current plight, is that not so?”

Senna: “Actually… You could say that we’re the ones looking for help. There’s a world-wide Harrowing going on, so we hoped you Aspects could lend us a hand in dealing with it.”

Diana: “I see… In the past, Aspects would stand together to fend off the forces of darkness that threatened this world, but now we stand divided. The sun’s faithful, the Solari, persecute the Lunari as heretics! Their Aspect is…”

Diana hesitates. For a moment.

Diana: “She is difficult to speak with. As for the others: War has been killed, Justice is fragmented, and Twilight is nowhere to be found. Only the Protector remains to guard Targon’s peak from the encroaching darkness.”

“Guess we can’t expect any help from the gods…”

“So basically, you’re saying the Aspects can’t help.”

Diana: “…Not quite. It was by the Moon’s will that I came here to greet you. I know what it is you seek, travelers, and I can guide you to it.”

Vayne: “Oh, now this is a familiar set-up. Sorry, but we’ve already fallen for that trap once. It’s not happening again.”

Shen: “It is no trap. She speaks the truth.”

Lucian: “And how the hell do you know that?”

Shen: “The Eye of Twilight is not so easily deceived.”

Diana: “Time is short, travelers. Even as we speak, the Mist scours the mountain, searching for the Ruined King’s prize.”

Senna: “Damn it… I guess we don’t have a choice.”

Vayne: “…Fine, but the moment I even suspect Moonbeams here is going to turn on us, I’m putting a bolt through that glowing forehead.”

Diana: “You have nothing to fear. Now, come with me!”

Targon Part III

You follow Diana out onto the slops of Targon. The skies above you shine with the cosmos, but the land below you is obscured by a thick blanket of Black Mist.

“I can’t even see the bottom…”

“Just how high up are we?”

Diana: “Mount Targon soars into the heavens. Most would perish in an effort to make it this high, but you are fortunate to have had a means to bypass much of that climb.”

Lucian: “Come to think of it, why DID the Wayfinder bring us into your temple, anyway?”

Diana: “That temple did indeed once serve another purpose, but it has since become yet another hiding place for the Lunari to flee persecution. Those accursed Solari… They will forsake any light that isn’t the sun, forcing others to live in shadow.”

Diana descends further toward the Black Mist, leading you all closer to the howls of wraiths.

Vayne: “Seems like the shadows are where we’re headed.”

Gwen: “Um, are we quite sure about this?”

Before anyone can respond, several wraiths leap out of the Mist, ascending the mountain toward your party. You tense up, preparing for another fight, but Diana moves with inhuman speed to block their path. With a single swing of her blade, she lets loose an arcing bolt of moonlight that tears through the wraiths.

Diana: “The Moon’s silver light cuts through even the blackest darkness. You are under my protection now, so you have nothing to fear.”

“That was impressive!”

“Maybe I could get behind this whole moon-worship thing.”

Diana ignores your comments as she leads you further into the mist, wrapping herself in a silver barrier. More wraiths come your way, but Diana makes short work of those that would impede your path. The Sentinels fend of what few manage to sneak by her.

Lucian: “Hot damn, this moon lady ain’t half-bad!”

Senna: “Oh? Taken an interest in the goddess, have we, Lucian?”

Lucian: “Uh, I mean…”

Olaf: “Wait! Look there!”

You look past Diana to see a figure cutting through the Black Mist, striking down wraiths left and wright. His spear and shield glisten with the light of the cosmos and his helmet burns with pure starfire.

???: “Back, foul beasts! Your grotesque forms dishonor the fallen!”

“Who is that?”

“Another Aspect!?”

Diana response 1: “Atreus, formerly the Aspect of War. He fights with the remnants of Pantheon’s power that still linger inside him.”

Diana response 2: “Once, he was Pantheon, the Aspect of War. Now, however, he wields only a fragment of the fallen god’s might.”

Atreus: “Indeed, I am no more than a man! And no less! Whatever remnants of the god may linger, my strength is my own!”

Olaf: “Hmm! You seem like a worthy foe! Perhaps you will be the one to grant me a glorious end in battle!”

Atreus: “Glory comes not from how we die, berserker, but how we live. Now, enough talk! We share a common enemy this day, do we not, Diana?”

Diana: “Yes. We go to the dead god’s temple to find the artifact hidden within. We must keep it from the Ruined King’s grasp.”

Atreus: “So be it! Charge ahead, travelers! I will be the shield and spear at your backs!”

Without another word, Atreus rushes past you, slamming his shield into a wall of wraiths to scatter them.

Gwen: “Oh my, I hope he’ll be alright by himself!”

Vayne: “If I were you, I’d be more worried about the wraiths… Not that I’d ever spare any sympathy for these monsters.”

Diana: “What we seek lies just ahead. Come, Sentinels! We must hurry to the temple!”

Targon Part IV

After a long and arduous trek through the Black Mist, Diana finally brings you to the doors of an ancient, dilapidated temple.

“Phew… What a workout!”

“I need… A minute…”

Lucian: “Shake it off, Rookie! Our job’s not done yet.”

Riven: “So the fetter is in there?”

Diana: “Yes, that is what the Moon tells me.”

Vayne: “Let’s hope the Moon is a reliable informant.”

The Sentinels push the doors open to find the interior of the temple utterly abandoned. Tattered banners hang from nearby pillars and a heavy layer of dust lingers in the air. In the center stands a grand statue of a helmeted warrior clutching a familiar spear and shield.

“I don’t get it, why would a fetter be in a place like this?”

“Somehow, this place is even creepier than the Mist outside.”

Diana response 1: “For centuries, warriors from across Runeterra have come to make offerings here. It must be fate that one such offering would house the remnants of the Lost Queen.”

Diana response 2: “A god never truly dies. Their presence lingers in those whose lives they have touched, and where their memories are preserved.”

Shen: “I sense a growing imbalance. We should not dwell here for long.”

At Shen’s urging, fan out and scour the temple. You find many old offerings on display: trophies plucked from battlefields all over the world across the span of centuries. At first, none of them seem particularly noteworthy, but then your eyes fall upon an old, faded crest resting on a pedestal. You feel compelled to take hold of it and examine it more closely.

???: “I’ll be taking that.”

Suddenly, a shadowy hand snatches the crest from your grasp. You wheel around to see a familiar yordle standing by one of the pillars, her shadow clutching the crest behind her.

“It’s you! Um… What was your name again?”

“What the- How did you get here!?”

Vex response 1: “I never told you my name, but because I know you’re going to keep asking: it’s Vex, got it? Try to remember it.”

Vex response 2: “Ugh, more questions. Look, I’ve got ways of getting around, in case you’d forgotten.”

Hearing the commotion, the other Sentinels race to your aid. As Gwen and Senna draw near, the crest starts to emit a familiar glow.

Senna: “She’s got the fetter!”

Lucian: “Take her down, Sentinels!”

Vex: “Uh oh! Time to bale!”

Vex narrowly evades the bursts of Sentinel light that come for her, using her shadow to dart between the pillars of the temple for cover.

Riven: “She’s making a run for it!”

Senna: “Cut her off!”

Vex’s shadow carries her swiftly toward the exit, but Diana closes the distance in an instant. A massive circle of pale light surrounds her and draws Vex back into the temple.

Vex: “What the!? Hey, no fair!”

Diana slashes at Vex’s shadow, knocking the fetter from its grasp. The crest skids across the floor, landing by your feet.

Lucian: “Rookie, grab it!”

You bend over to do as Lucian says, only to be interrupted by a massive boom from outside. The whole temple trembles and knocks you off your feet.

“What was that!?”

“It wasn’t me, I swear!”

Vex: “Hey, if you guys are gonna bring a god, then so can I!”

Suddenly, the ominous presence you felt in the temple before grows heavier. A familiar figure strides into the temple, his flesh and weapons warped by the Black Mist. A look of genuine fear washes over Diana’s face.

Diana: “It can’t be…”

“Atreus!?”

“Pantheon!?”

Pantheon response 1: “No. I have reclaimed what is rightfully mine! I am Pantheon, and you are intruders upon my temple.”

Pantheon response 2: “Indeed. I am war, I am change, and I am reborn!”

Vayne: “So the Black Mist can even turn a dead god undead…”

Shen: “The scales of tipped even further!”

Pantheon: “Come then, mortals! You will be the first to receive my judgement!”

Targon Part V

Pantheon rushes into the temple, engaging the Sentinels head-on. Diana moves to intercept him, but she is quickly thrown back by the force of his spear into the base of his statue. The entire monument shakes and crumbles, burying Diana under a pile of rubble.

Lucian: “Stand strong, Sentinels! We’ve got him outnumbered!”

Pantheon: “Fool! I am an army unto myself!”

You watch as Pantheon engages your allies, effortlessly deflecting their attacks with his weapons. Shen, Riven and Olaf engage him at close-range, while Senna, Lucian and Vayne support them from a distance. Gwen does her best to support the party with Hallowed Mist, though this proves little more than an annoyance to the war god.

Senna: “Rookie! Grab that fetter and fire up the Wayfinder! We need to get out of here!”

You look to the ground to see that the crest is long-gone, along with Vex and her shadow.

“Damn! She got away with the fetter, again!”

“So, uh, I can follow exactly half of that order!”

Pantheon: “Your fight ended long before it even began, Sentinels!”

With a single swing of his spear, Pantheon knocks all of your comrades to the ground, lashing out with an unholy mix of Ruined and Celestial power. Just as the situation beings to seem dire, however, the statue behind Pantheon explodes into a burst of pale light.

Diana bursts from the rubble, swinging her moonlight-empowered blade at the war god. He turns just in time to block her strike with his shield, though the impact still causes him to stumble a little.

Diana: “Your time has passed, Warrior! Return to your slumber!”

Pantheon: “War is eternal, as am I!”

The two Aspects clash in an inhuman Celestial might, their battle causing the very temple around to you tremble. You and your allies watch, transfixed, at this deadly dance between gods in human form. A silent understanding arrives that any attempt at intervention would only result in a swift and inglorious death caught in the crossfire.

Diana dashes around with inhuman speed while Pantheon pushes with back with titanic strength, though you can’t help that something seems off about the war god’s movements. It looks to you almost as though he’s struggling to raise his spear…

Senna: “Rookie! We gotta go! This isn’t a fight mortals can play any part in!”

You snap back to reality and rush to your allies, Wayfinder in hand. Everyone musters the strength to join you, though just before you can teleport back to headquarters, a scream cuts through the temple. You look back to the battle, horrified to see Pantheon’s spear impaled through Diana’s torso.

Pantheon: “Now, you too will know what I felt at the Darkin’s blade…”

Lucian: “Rookie, do it now!”

In spite of Lucian’s orders, though, you find yourself unable to summon the light of the Wayfinder. Pantheon pulls his spear from Diana and shoves her toward you before approaching.

Pantheon: “It does not matter where you flee to, Sentinels. There is nowhere you can run, nowhere you can hide, from war. I shall storm your fortress and lay waste to your bastion, bringing a new era of war!”

“Atreus, wake up!”

“Is that really what you want, Atreus?”

Pantheon: “You speak again of my vessel, but he is back where he belongs: under my control.”

“You said that it doesn’t matter how we die, but how we live! Do you want to live as a slave in your own body, Atreus?”

“You’re wrong, Pantheon! You’re the one under Viego’s control, but Atreus wouldn’t submit so easily!”

Vayne: “Rookie, what are you-”

Pantheon: “Enough of this! I… I… Ugh!”

Suddenly, Pantheon’s form begins to flicker, the Black Mist ebbing flowing from his body to show the man underneath.

Atreus: “I am no slave, Pantheon! Not to you OR the Ruined King!”

Pantheon: “What!? You dare defy me, mortal!?”

You watch as Atreus and Pantheon wrestle for control as Black Mist floods into the temple behind you, carrying with it a swarm of wraiths. Suddenly, the Ruination gives way to Celestial light once more, but the Black Mist still clings stubbornly to Atreus’s body.

Atreus: “Go! I shall hold these abominations back, including the one within me!”

Senna: “You heard him, Rookie! Use that damn Wayfinder!”

This time, you do as you are told, calling forth the power of your Relic to carry you and your comrades back to safety. You reappear in Sentinel headquarters, far away from Mount Targon.

Lucian: “Rookie, I don’t know whether to be furious or impressed right now.”

“I know, I lost the fetter.”

“I know, I can’t believe I actually got through to him!”

Riven response 1: “Hey, it’s not your fault. We all know how slippery that yordle and her shadow can be.”

Riven response 2: “I just hope Pantheon doesn’t take control again. I really don’t want a rematch with a god.”

Gwen: “Um, speaking of whom…”

You all turn to see Diana struggling to her feet, clutching her side.

Diana: “Ngh…”

“Are you alright?”

“Hey, take it easy!”

Diana: “It was not I who suffered Pantheon’s spear, young one, but the Aspect of the Moon herself. I… Can scarcely feel Her now.”

Vayne: “So what, you’re telling us that undead god killed the moon?”

Diana: “No… She still lives, but her power is weakened. It will take many nights for her to recover.”

Lucian: “If things keep up like this, I don’t know how many more nights we have.”

Shen: “The balance grows more precarious still.”

Senna: “So much for divine intervention…”

Diana: “Ngh… Though my connection to the heavens is diminished, I can still feel Her will, however faintly. She… Wishes for me to accompany you, if you’ll have me.”

Riven: “You’re saying you want to join us?”

Diana: “I am saying that... I have little choice. I cannot return to the Lunari as I am now. I am the Moon’s voice, her vessel. Without her, I can do little for my people. All I can do is take up arms and aid you in your fight, in the hopes that doing so will drive the Black Mist from the slopes of Targon.”

Gwen: “Ooh, how marvelous! The moon lady is going to join us! Oh, follow me, and we’ll tend to your wounds as well as your wardrobe.”

Gwen leads Diana back into the Sentinel base. Though it takes slightly longer than normal thanks to Diana’s injuries, she soon emerges with the Lunari leader in tow.

Gwen: “Apologies for the wait, everyone! I now present to you all: Sentinel Diana!”

Diana: “May Mother Moon watch over us, and may we all fight our own path through the darkness.”

Lucian: “That’s… Not exactly the standard oath, but good enough, I guess.”

Senna: (Another new Sentinel, but we’re still no closer to turning things around…)

#Runeterra Retcons

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sxvxrxssnape · 4 years

Text

Small Mercies In Poisoned Teacups

Snapetober 2020: Day 3 - Torture a much softer take at the prompt

"Explain yourself."

"I, I don't know what you're talking about, sir."

Severus closed his eyes. He dug two fingers into his temple, trying to ward off the headache that was sure to come if he had to continue this conversation for any longer. He took a quiet deep breath and reminded himself that he couldn't accuse Potter of stealing from him without any real proof.

"You were the last one out of the classroom." Severus finally spoke, opening his eyes and staring at the green-eyed Gryffindor in front of him.

"Is that a crime?"

Severus scowled. "Specifically, you were coming out of my potion stores when I reentered my classroom, Potter."

Potter didn't say anything, merely looked defiant. Fifth year potions had just ended and Severus had been distracted at the door by a question from one of his Slytherins and when he'd turned around to ensure the room was empty so he could lock up, he spotted the fifteen year old slipping out of the supply cabinet. He didn't bother to take stock, he knew whatever the brat had taken would be small enough to miss; he wouldn't make the same mistakes he had during second year, when he had stolen a noticeable amount of supplies to brew polyjuice in secret.

Instead, he had cornered the boy before he could leave the dungeons corridor altogether.

"I didn't take anything, if that's what you're accusing me off." Potter muttered, gripping his bag a little too tightly.

"No?" Severus asked gently, completely derailing Potter's defensiveness with his sudden softness. He wanted answers and he knew just how to get them. "Come with me, Potter."

He led the boy back towards the classroom, back into the potions store. He gestured around the shelves lined with unlabeled phials and jars, at the collection of ingredients.

"I suppose I should be impressed if you had managed to steal from me." Severus mused, watching him carefully. "I would be surprised if you paid enough attention to know what half of these potions even are, let alone what they do. I don't label, you see, to dissuade halfwitted children from stealing from me. The half that do understand are usually intelligent enough to just ask. It's a pity you aren't."

"I didn't think you'd have much sympathy for me, sir." Potter muttered darkly, his voice so quiet Severus wasn't sure it was meant to be audible. Harry was staring intently at a small collection of glass bottles with mismatched labels half-scrubbed away.

"What makes you say that?" Severus asked, keeping his voice flat and neutral. He probably wouldn't have much sympathy truthfully, didn't have much to spare with everything he had to take care of this year. Still, as he stared at the bottles filled with Essence of Dittany, a strange sort of cold feeling washed over him. It was probably nothing - children get hurt all the time. It was the preference to steal than go to the hospital wing that forced his uneasiness.

Harry shrugged.

"What, pray tell, do you need the Essence of Dittany for?" Severus finally asked, masking the uneasiness with annoyance. He noticed the boy flinch in response. "Were you so arrogant to think I wouldn't figure it out? Mr. Potter, your tells are so obvious, you wouldn't fool a lemming."

He muttered under his breath.

"Speak up, Potter."

"I cut my hand, is all." Harry repeated and the angry defiance in his tone had returned.

Severus held back a sigh and led them out of the storage room. He pointed to a chair and waited until the boy had sat down until he spoke. "Then why not just go to the infirmary? Surely a boy of your status would prefer to bask in the attention of Madame Pomfrey than myself?"

"It's really not worth going to the infirmary over."

"Then why steal in the first place?"

Harry scowled. "Madame Pomfrey would make too big of a deal out of it and it would only make things worse. I can handle it on my own, thanks."

"Handle what?" Severus was only growing more puzzled, but he wouldn't let that derail him. He could tell something was absolutely wrong with the situation in front of him and he was determined to figure it out before he punished the boy for having the audacity to steal from him yet again.

He remained silent.

"Don't make me threaten you with veritaserum."

"How original." Harry scowled and then paused. He looked up at the potions master with curiosity. "Actually sir, I do have a question: how difficult is it to get your hands on veritaserum?"

"Quite." Severus answered, studying him carefully. "It's regulated by the Ministry. Unless you know how to make it, of course, but it's also difficult to brew."

Harry nodded. "So if a professor were to use it on their students, they would have to get it from the Ministry….or you?"

"What are you getting at, Potter."

"Nothing really."

"The Ministry would never sanction the distribution of veritaserum to a professor. Any potion they are in possession of and wish to use, can only be used within a courtroom." Severus decided to answer, inferencing the reason for the question. "If a wizard - professor or not - wanted it for petty use, they would have to contact a willing potioneer for it."

"I suppose any teacher here could just ask you for it, then.”

"They could. They would also have to trust that the veritaserum they were given wasn't just a phial of distilled water, wouldn't they?" Severus asked indifferently.

Harry's eyes widened the tiniest bit, but he didn't say anything.. Good. There was plausible deniability that way; he had never outright said he'd given Dolores fake veritaserum when she had banged his office door open last week, but who's to say what really happened?

He eyed Harry carefully and figured they had built enough of a rapport to continue. "Essence of Dittany." he reminded the boy.

"I told you, I just cut my hand."

"Let me see, then." Severus directed as snippets of memory from past years rose up. His job of keeping the boy alive was made unnecessarily difficult by his insistence of constantly getting into trouble. At this point, he wouldn't be surprised if "just a cut" meant "I lost a limb" for the boy.

Again, Harry scowled, but this time he pulled back the sleeve of his robe and presented the back of his hand to Severus.

He blinked.

The back of Potter's hand was red and slightly swollen, streaked with wet crimson from where the fabric of his sleeve had been dragged over the still bleeding corners of the words carved into the skin. The cuts were deep and angry-looking and sure to scar over.

I must not tell lies.

He reached a tentative hand, acutely aware of the flinch he received, and studied the wound closer. It was days old, but it was also fresh at the same time.

"Essence of Dittany was a good choice." he finally spoke up.

"It was Hermione's idea."

Severus nodded, trying to keep his composure but he could feel the anger coiling in his stomach. He could also feel the hum of Dark magic radiating from the wound. Simple healing spells would be useless here, but he doubted Miss Granger hadn't already tried that before suggesting the Dittany. "How did this happen?" he asked needlessly.

He knew the work of a blood quill when he saw it.

Harry took his hand back, pulled the sleeve down until the ugly words were hidden from sight again. "Umbridge had me do lines for my detention," he shrugged casually, as if admitting to a professor torturing him was no big deal, "and she insisted I use a special quill of hers."

Severus' lips thinned. "And you told no one."

"I just told you.”

This time, he couldn't hold back the sigh of exasperation. "How long has this been going on?"

"Three days now." Harry answered. "I have her again tonight. I can handle it."

The anger was only increasing. “You shouldn’t have to handle it.” he gritted out. “You understand this is beyond unacceptable? This isn’t punishment, Potter, it’s torture.” He forced a breath. “Go, go to, to wherever you’re supposed to be right now.” He paused. “You have detention with me tonight now, conveniently at the same time you’re supposed to be meeting with Umbridge.”

“Oh, uh, yes sir.”

“Leave.”

He managed to keep himself composed just long enough for the Gryffindor to flee out of the room. He left the classroom as well and entered his private lab, seething. He would have to tell Minerva of this development, Dumbledore as well, but that could wait for a few hours. First, he needed to calm down before they accused him of caring for the brat.

He was only taking his duty at ensuring the safety and wellbeing of his students seriously. It just happened to include Potter directly, this time, but isn’t that what he’s been doing since day one? So maybe he had gotten the brat out of Dolores’ inhumane detention for the night and maybe now he was distraction brewing while he thought all of the deadly potions he wished he could slip into her morning cup of tea.

That didn’t mean anything.

It also didn’t mean anything that he summoned a house elf when he finished the nonlethal amber brew and handed over the indistinct vial. It didn’t mean anything at all if it happened to slip into Dolores’ teapot the next morning.

Besides, it wouldn’t kill her.

Unlike her, he had some sense of ethics. If it kept her too sick to leave the hospital wing for the week that followed, well, what were small mercies for students he didn’t care for.

---

A/N: the original piece for day 3 felt better suited for a different prompt day so i wrote this instead (late yes) and took a lot of creative liberty with the prompt bc i didnt want to write it, i wanted to write snape & harry interacting :(

also trying to fit entire stories in a singular scene is weird and HARD. i need to write the whole thing and thats why every take ive had an these prompts get scrapped bc i realize i cant write it without devoting like a week to it

#snapetober 2020 #severus snape #harry potter #snapedom #severitus #except not really but i take content in any shape or form that involves sev looking out for harry as acceptable

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getthesamovarready · 3 years

Text

And we're not speaking

Owen×Michelle

Post 2.08

@911couplesretreat day 5: "don't give me that look"+ angst

I haven't even proofed this I'm sorry

For some reason, he didn't expect to see her here. Not once had the possibility of running into her crossed his mind. But she's right there in front of him, sitting awkwardly beside Judd's bed, staring at him intently. Judd is explaining to her what happened, assuring her that they are both going to be fine. "We ain't going anywhere Michelle, we're gonna be just fine."

"You drove off of a bridge Judd." She mumbles wetly.

"If I promise not to do it again will you stop being mad at me?" As if being mad is her problem. "Michelle…" He sighs, smiling at her. "We ain't going anywhere, I promise."

"I don't have a lot of people Ryder, if you go somewhere I'm following you." And her joke doesn't even get to be funny, because her voice cracks at the end of it, and it just sounds dark, and wrong. Michelle may be a lot of things, but she isn't dark.

"You got a lot of people, Michelle. You just gotta let them care about you." Speaking of people, Owen knocks lightly on the door.

And Michelle's back tenses immediately, her head whipping towards him. "Hey." He greets them both. "Can I come in?"

Michelle nods stiffly, jaw set. "Yeah." She shrugs. "I was leaving anyway." She stands from her chair, reaching out to squeeze his hand. "I'll go check on your wife."

She doesn't look at Owen while she practically runs out of the room. "Is she okay?"

"She's just fine and dandy, Cap." Judd rolls his eyes. Because women that are okay are so very prone to fleeing rooms unprompted.

"What's wrong with her?" Obviously something is.

"You made her leave." Judd points out, as if Owen is an absolute imbecile for not realising it. And Owen's confused silence is frustrating the hell out of him. He's in too much pain to deal with this tension right now. "You showed up, it's weird, so she left, I don't see how you don't get that."

"Weird?" It is a little weird, but not run out of the room weird. It's awkward hello followed by a nice catch up kind of weirdness.

"Weird, painful, awkward, whatever you wanna call it."

"Painful?" What could be so painful about running into him? Other than the hospital, but that obviously wasn't the problem.

"She thought y'all were like...friends, or whatever." He quirks his eyebrows slightly. He still doesn't fully understand why Michelle wanted the 'whatever', but she did.

"We are friends." Aren't they?

"Cap, you haven't spoken to her in months. You haven't even called her once since she left the house. You ain't friends." He had kinda been busy, he'd had so much stuff to deal with he hadn't even thought to talk to her. "And it ain't just you, none of y'all have."

Surely….surely somebody had spoken to her in the past few months? "I didn't…"

"Sure you didn't, none of you even thought about it. She wasn't part of your team." That feels a little harsh, but then again, maybe not untrue. "But she's my family, we practically grew up together at the 126, so I can't blame you for not caring as much as I do." Although he does resent them a little bit for how much it hurt her. "And she had a crush on you, so you hurt her a little more than the rest of them."

"She what?" If he had known that…

"Don't tell me you didn't know, you're a dumbass Cap, but you ain't stupid." All the signs had been there. But Judd had always been able to read Michelle like a book. A complicated book, but still. He had learned her language in their twenties. And she hadn't been talking in riddles with Owen, she had been blatantly obvious about everything, not realising that he really does need everything about women spelled out for him. "But then again, maybe you are."

She does the same thing when he goes to check on TK, walking in on her with her arm wrapped around Carlos, the three of them chuckling between them. The laughter dies immediately when he walks into the room. "Dad...hey." TK greets awkwardly, his eyes flicking to a suddenly tense Michelle and Carlos.

"Hey." He lingers in the doorway, deciding against asking them to let him in. Trying not to impose.

"Uh...you should come in, sit down." Carlos offers while Michelle starts to stand. "We should go say hi to Grace anyway." He had thought Michelle had already done that, but he is hardly going to argue with them.

"No, I'll go, it's fine, I'll come back later." He starts to turn, but Michelle stops him with a heavy huff.

"I'm leaving anyway." She pushes past him, trying her damndest not to come into actual contact.

Carlos doesn't follow her immediately, having some kind of silent conversation with TK, who pointedly tells him to go after her.

"She's just going to keep doing that, isn't she?" Owen grumbles.

"What do you expect? You haven't spoken to her in months. She thinks that's what you want her to do." He thought he was pissed at him recently about Gwyn. But that's nothing compared to this. He's obviously been bottling this one up for a while.

"Why would I want her to do that?"

"Because you don't like her?" He does though, he likes her a lot. It isn't his fault that she left. "She doesn't want to hang around when you're just tolerating her, she's too proud." And too damn stubborn. "I shouldn't be telling you any of this, she trusts me too much, and Carlos would kill me if he found out. I can handle you two separately, but this? This is awkward, and she is Carlos's best friend, she can't avoid you forever. So I'm telling you. She's been pretty torn up, realising how little you care about her. But I know you do, so you need to talk to her. Now."

It's said with such authority that Owen has no choice but to turn on his heels, lingering is not an option.

She's sitting in the hallway outside Grace's room when he finds her. "Michelle…" he lingers a few steps away from her, waiting for her to let him approach. She sighs, glaring at him with red-rimmed eyes.

"What?" She snaps, dropping her head to her hands.

"Are you okay?" It's all he can think of saying without jumping straight into an unwanted apology.

"My family, some of the only ones not dead, are in hospital. My best friend's boyfriend nearly got killed. Again. I'm doing just fucking great." She spits at him. "And worst of all you keep fucking following me!" He hadn't meant to do it the first few times.

"You're mad at me." He decides to plop into the seat next to her, sighing when she shuffles away from him. "I'm sorry."

"Don't do that." She huffs. "Don't even think about it."

"Michelle, I've just been...I don't know, a lot happened."

"Yeah, I know. Carlos told me." Because they are actually friends. "Carlos was the only one who told me. Anything." And he should have really thought to tell her about Tim himself. He shouldn't have assumed someone else would. It wasn't their job.

"I'm sorry. I just...you left, and-"

"I left the station, not the country, Owen. You knew exactly where to find me." She starts to fiddle with her fingers, picking at her fingernails.

"Yeah… I just...didn't know how to talk to you after you left." Whatever they had didn't feel like it could stay the same if they didn't work together. It felt like maybe a little too much. "I wanted to, I just… didn't know how." And maybe it did feel a little weird, a little wrong, to call her when Gwyn was around all the time, but he doesn't want to think about that.

"If you had, you would have. It's not that difficult to pick up a phone Owen. It takes two seconds to send a text. So don't pretend that you wanted to because now it's awkward, it's not fair. You'll get over the awkward."

"You didn't call me either, you didn't text. It wasn't just me."

"You know why I didn't want to call you at the start." How could he not, it was written all over her face when she told him she was leaving. He doesn't really want to admit it, but he has known this whole time. But it all seemed so scary, and Gwyn was there, and familiar. And similar enough to Michelle for him to let it happen.

"If I know why you didn't call, then you know why I didn't call." They're the same damn reason, even if he was kind of passing her over for his ex-wife.

"Stop it." She shakes her head, bolting out of her chair. "Don't you dare do that. Don't give me that look, like you might actually want me. Don't talk to me like that. Don't try and...what even are you trying to do? You put your wife on a plane three hours ago. Don't try and pick me now just because she's gone. Don't fucking try to do that." Because there is every chance she would fall for it.

#michelle blake #michelle x owen #owelle #owen strand #911 lonestar #911 couples retreat

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cutelittlestar · 4 years

Text

Lone Wolf: Chapter 2 || Peter Parker x Reader

Summary: You’re struggling to adjust to this distinct and new life. Luckily, Peter is there to help you, and your relationship grows stronger as you spend more time with him.

Word Count: 5.2k

Warning(s): fluff and angst

A/N: Hey folks❤️ Sorry for not uploading sooner! I’ve been so busy :/ But! I hope you find this reading enjoyable! Feel free to give me feedback ☺️ and I will try to respond as best as I can whenever I have free time.

Here’s my Masterlist if you want to see what else I’ve written! Also, I will try to upload the new chapter for Maniac ASAP!!!! (again, sorry for the long wait)

Chapter 1

Source of the gif: captainsamerica

The sound of your screams echoed across the hallway, and Peter immediately jumped out of bed, quickly tossing the blanket to the side and running towards your direction, already accustomed to these nights. He knew you needed him. Peter sped down the hallway, growing anxious by the second as your screams continued to grow louder, an unbearable noise that caused him to shake. Within a second, Peter stood in front of your door, and he wasted no time; he grabbed the doorknob and opened it, swiftly moving into your room, his breathing coming to a halt as he stared at the sight in front of him. The blanket was tossed to the floor, the pillows were messily scattered around the bed, and there were four large gashes on the bed frame.

A burning, painful sensation sprouted itself in his chest, and a lump formed in his throat as he stared at your hunched-over, sweaty body. You sat on the corner of your bed, still as a statue, but Peter could hear how shaky your breathing was. Your hands covered your face as you tried to remember Peter’s words, but to no avail, it wasn’t working. Take a deep breath in, and let it all out.

“It’s not real,” you mumbled under your breath, still unable to shake the night terrors away. “It’s not real.”

“Y/N,” Peter softly spoke, causing you to remove your hands from your face. Despite having the abilities of a wolf, you didn’t even realize that he was in your room. You wiped the tears that streamed down your face, feeling embarrassed that Peter, once again, had to come to check up on you. “My apologies,” you confessed, causing Peter’s face to distort in confusion. Why were you saying sorry? “I didn’t mean to wake you up. I’m alright now, you can go back to bed.” There was a long pause; Peter stood in the middle of the room, feet away from the bed, his eyebrows furrowed, a painful expression on his face. Peter was hurt that your first instinct was to apologize. An uneasiness started to bubble in your stomach as you realized that Peter didn’t move, and you worried that he was growing irritated.

“Can I come closer?” Peter asked, unsure that you would want his company; your eyes gazed at Peter, bewildered by his response, but you maintained a straight posture, nodding your head. “Of course.”

You scooted away from the corner, allowing Peter to take a seat right beside you; you felt your body slightly shake but you tried your best to remain strong for Peter. No words left Peter’s mouth, neither did yours, so there was another moment of silence. Only, this time, it wasn’t as thick or uncomfortable as before. Instead, it reminded you of your time in the woods: serene, blissful, and reassuring. Suddenly, the soft touch of his skin embraced your own as he firmly gripped your hand in attempts to console you; you felt your body freeze, but then you squeezed his hand in return. Once your fingers were molded into each other, you felt a strong flame burn inside you; it was an odd feeling, something you’ve never experienced before, and while this emotion was scaring you, it was something you wanted to learn more about.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Peter inquired, hoping that you would finally open up to him. Your silence sent Peter into a frenzy mode.

“Unless, you don’t want to talk about it—crap, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to intrude into your life—but—uh, I care about you—a lot, actually. You, know what—I think I’ll just leave you alone unless you don’t want that—then I’ll gladly stay.” A grin formed as you continued to let Peter ramble on; he was so endearing, treading so carefully around you.

“I’d rather not talk about it,” you truthfully replied, your lips pulled into a firm line as you stared at the window. You arrived at the facility a few weeks ago, and although you knew that you were now safe with Peter and the others, you still had nightmares. The image of Tsar and his men were burned into your brain, and no matter how many times you told yourself that you were far away from him, you couldn't help but be skeptical. What if he came back? What if he tries to hurt you or the Avengers? You let out a big, deep breath, your fingers trembling as you recalled what Perez said before you were rescued.

Can you imagine an army of shifters? The Avengers wouldn’t stand a chance.

Peter watched your facial reaction, knowing fully well that something was bothering you, but decided not to push you too hard. He didn’t want to make you more distant. While they were unable to hurt you anymore, Peter could see how broken you were; he understood your distrust in everyone, despite that he and the others had good intentions.

“Are you alright?”

You pondered for a moment, dwelling Peter’s question. Were you? You didn’t even know how to respond, and you bit your lip, ambivalent.

“I’m okay,” you slowly admitted, causing Peter to slightly smile, glad that you were opening up. However, the glee was quickly gone as Peter watched your face drop, a frown settling. “Until I’m alone.”

Tears started to well up in your eyes, but instead of trying to hide them, you let them fall. You knew it was gullible of you to believe that your home was in perfect condition, but you clung onto a tiny piece of hope. But, it was time that you faced reality. “My home is gone, Peter. I have nowhere else to go. And I’m all alone,” you professed, leaning your head against his shoulder, nestling your cheek into his shirt.

“I’m right here, Y/N. You’re not alone,” Peter responded, holding your hand tighter than before.

He hated that you felt like this, and he hated that he could do nothing to help you. How can you console someone who lost hope in society? How can you convince them that everything is going to be alright if you, yourself, don’t even know if it's true? Peter’s lips formed a firm line, and his eyes gazed over your body. You let out a sigh, having a difficult time expressing what you were feeling. Sooner or later, you’ll be alone all over again.

“Tsar will be back soon,” you remarked with certainty, causing Peter to tense up. Your voice cracked at the end of the sentence, but you cleared your throat, wanting to tell Peter what was on your mind. “I’m sure of it, and when he does come back, you’ll all be dead. There’s just nothing for me,” your lip trembled and before you knew it, you let out a harsh and loud sob, finally breaking down once you admitted your deepest fear. You were immediately engulfed in Peter’s arms, but you didn’t mind one bit. His touch was comforting, warm, and most of all, secure.

“I just wanna go home.” You whispered, sniffling your nose. Peter placed his head on top of yours, closing his eyes as he heard your quiet whimpers.

“I know,” Peter said, “I know. You’ll be home soon, I promise.” Peter didn’t even think to consider what he said, but the moment the words left his lips, he made a promise to himself, and to you. Although your home was gone, Peter was going to make sure that you’ll be somewhere safe, somewhere far away so no one else can hurt you.

Even if it meant that he won’t be beside you anymore.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

After quite some time, you’ve finally grown attached to the facility and to the Avengers. It could never replace your old home, but you enjoyed the company of others. After being alone for so long, you finally had others beside you. They treated you like family, and although it was a bit difficult to get accustomed to, you liked the idea of calling them your friends. Especially Peter. You barely left his side, but Peter didn’t mind at all; in fact, he loved it. Whether you were in your wolf form or your human form, your presence brought a sense of security and tranquility. Peter was the one who best understood you, and for that, you grew fond of him. Your relationship kindled, and everyone noticed; because of this, Peter was tasked to teaching you the basic concepts of being human, something that you still struggled to learn.

At times, it was difficult. You were stubborn, but you had every right to express resistance. You were forced to flee from your home, and the idea of assimilating into your new environment frustrated you.

“I do not understand...” you replied, stepping back, offended by Peter’s comment as you held onto the blanket given to you by Peter. You had merely walked into his room, wanting to spend more time with him, but when you entered, Peter’s face became entirely red and he quickly covered his eyes. Of course, you didn’t know that walking around naked in public wasn’t normal.

“Shifters are commonly unclothed; there is no need for them to be wearing apparel due to the fact that the fabric will merely be torn into shreds if they need to transform.”

Peter opened his mouth, but no words came out. His face was still flustered, the image of your naked body in his mind, but he got rid of the thought, realizing that it was highly inappropriate. Peter didn’t really know how to start this conversation. You were right, but things are different now, and you had to learn what was considered ‘right’ and ‘wrong’.

“Is there something wrong with me?” you wondered, hating that Peter wasn’t responding.

Peter violently shook his head, hoping that he wasn’t giving you the wrong impression.

“No, of course not!” Peter rapidly revealed. “There’s nothing wrong about having great confidence, but it’s not right for you to be completely exposed like that. You can’t do that here. When you’re alone, it’s fine. But not around other people.”

“Oh,” you sadly stated, pausing as you internalized his words. “I see... are there other rules that I must abide by?”

Peter let out a sigh, knowing you were going to hate his response.

“Yeah... there are.”

Peter watched as your eyes narrowed, but then you slowly nodded your head, understanding that the circumstances were now different.

“Then... I sincerely apologize if I made you uncomfortable...it was not my intention,” you conveyed. “Please, forgive me.”

There was a long silence, and you stared at the floor, unable to maintain eye-contact. You mentally began to curse to yourself, dreading to know what was on his mind. Suddenly, you felt Peter’s hand land on your shoulder; you raised your head, feeling your worries wash away as Peter warmly gazed at you. You held onto the cloth, tightly grasping it in your hands.

“Don’t worry about it,” Peter confessed, softly patting you on the shoulder. “You didn’t know, but that’s why I’m here.”

As mentioned before, in the beginning, it was very hard, but as time progressed, you started to learn more and more about the customs of humans, and your resistance started to trickle away. Instead of being upset, you became interested; you wondered why humans did certain things, and just as Peter predicted, you were becoming a natural. Of course, there were still certain aspects that you did not understand, but Peter knew that you were going to be alright.

“What is he doing?” you asked Peter, your eyes focused on the screen as you watched the main character lie to his partners. “Why would he lie to his parents about his health? That is something one should not do.”

Peter slightly turned his head to look at you, and he felt a smirk grow as he watched you deeply analyze the movie ‘Ferris Bueller's day off’.

“So he can ditch school,” Peter nonchalantly said, grabbing a handful of the popcorn and shoving it down his throat.

You diverted your attention to Peter, cocking your head to the side and furrowing your eyebrows, unfamiliar with the word he used. “What do you mean by ‘ditch’?”

“He’s ditching school- meaning that he’s skipping because he doesn't want to go.”

“But, I thought you told me that education was valuable and essential? So, why would Ferris ditch, despite knowing that he has to learn?”

Peter let out a chuckle, finding it adorable that you were heavily concerned that Ferris wasn’t following the rules.

“One day isn’t going to hurt him, Y/N.” Peter reassured you, “he’ll be fine.” You let out a noise of satisfaction, and you leaned against the pillows, focusing your attention back on the movie. After a while, you spoke again.

“Peter,” you called out, continuing to stare at the screen.

“Yeah?”

You grabbed the remote and turned off the television, causing Peter to become confused. You shifted in the bed so that you could face Peter, and he noticed that there was a huge grin on your face. An idea popped in your head.

“Let’s ditch.”

Peter couldn’t hold in his laugher, and he let out a series of giggles and smiles, but you shifted in your spot, bothered by his response. You moved your arm back before landing a punch on Peter’s shoulder.

“Ouch!” Peter remarked, rubbing his shoulder; fucking hell, he thought to himself. Sometimes, he forgot how much stronger you were than him.

“I’m serious, Peter!” you exclaimed, jumping out of the bed and putting on your shoes. “Let’s ditch this place! I want to explore the city.”

There was a long pause as Peter received your words. He was all for the idea, but it would be the first time you would leave the facility; Peter was a bit worried, knowing that if Tony, Steve, and the others realized the both of you were gone, Peter was, for sure, going to be in trouble.

“Pretty please,” you pleaded, intertwining your hands and placing them on your chin, pouting your lips.

“Ugh,” Peter groaned as he stood up from the bed. There was a large smirk on his face but he tried to hide it. “Alright! Alright! Let’s ditch. BUT!” Peter remarked, pointing his finger at you. “If we get in trouble, I’m saying you dragged me with you.”

A giggle escaped your lips before you ran towards your room, planning to change into a ‘stealthier’ outfit- which was an all-black outfit. Once you were done, you came back to Peter’s room, and within an instance, you and Peter successfully left the building without anyone detecting you. It was beyond exhilarating, and your glee grew stronger once it dawned on you that you were going to explore the city that Peter told you so much about. Of course, hearing his stories were great, but being able to experience it- that was something completely different.

And it was just how you pictured it: spectacular, memorable, uplifting, and most of all- distinct.

Peter took you to various locations throughout the city, places that he knew you would love. He took you to a deli shop, named Delmar’s, and it was the best food you’ve ever tasted; the owner was just as wonderful as Peter described, and you knew that you would be back for more. As the hours flew by, you and Peter walked around the city and tried to explore as many locations as possible. The city took your breath away; you were absolutely stark-struck. You never knew that something could be so beautiful, so majestic.

Unfortunately, the evening couldn’t last forever, and before you and Peter knew it, the moon appeared. You stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, tilting your head up and staring at the moon, marveling at the sight in front of you; you released a blissful sigh before closing your eyes and moving your head farther back, sulking in the moonlight. Peter paused as well, but instead of staring at the moon, his eyes gazed at you. The beautiful bright grin on your face deserved recognition, and Peter, too, felt his lips curve upwards. He’s never seen you so happy before, and he’s proud to say that he was the one that caused that to happen.

“We should head back,” you whispered, hoping that Peter couldn’t hear you; you wish you could freeze this moment forever, but you knew you had to go back. Peter took note of how your grin slowly faded; he sensed your fear.

“Don’t worry,” Peter reassured, reaching his arm out, gravitating towards you. He firmly grasped your hand, and you instantly accepted it. “We’ll be back soon. I promise.”

As you walked back to the facility, you began to think of the woods, of your old home. The woods held a special place in your heart, and it will be cherished forever, but the city opened your eyes. It taught you that a home wasn’t just a place you temporarily lived in; home was where you learned, where you laughed, where you were loved, respected, and cared for. Home wasn’t just a building, it was the people that were in your life.

Home meant a new chapter, a fresh start. And you were lucky enough to have Peter by your side.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

“Shh,” Peter whispered, slightly turning his head as you and he walked down the dark hallway; you had just arrived a little after midnight, and everyone was already asleep. You bit your lip, trying your hardest to hold back your laughter, but a snicker was able to escape from your lips. In the darkness, Peter grinned; the sound of your voice was like honey: sweet.

Once Peter stood in front of his bedroom door, he gently grabbed the doorknob and twisted it, opening the door. He ushered you into his room, and he swiftly closed the door behind him. Peter decided to keep the lights off, worried that someone from down the hall would see the light emit from his room.

“Oh my god!” you whispered yelled in the dark, still jittery from your previous adventure. “I can’t believe we did that!” You released a content squeal, but Peter shushed you, telling you to remain quiet despite the chuckle that left his lips.

“I know,” Peter happily remarked, pushing his hair back. “ We can’t tell anyone, okay?”

“Can’t tell anyone what?” a voice said in the darkness. The lamp sitting on Peter’s nightstand was immediately turned on, and you and Peter jumped in fright; a soft yelp came out of Peter’s mouth and you gasped in shock, but luckily, no one heard your voices.

A sly smirk was resting on Sam’s and Bucky’s faces as they sat on Peter’s bed, attentively observing you and Peter. They watched as your faces turned red from embarrassment, and you let out a soft cough, hoping it came out natural.

“H-Hey guys,” you said, pretending that everything was normal. “What’s up?”

“Where did you go?” Sam inquired, narrowing his eyes at the young adults standing right in front of him.

“Nowhere.” Peter quickly piped in.

“Hm,” Sam said, rubbing his chin as he furrowed his eyebrows. “That’s strange because I could’ve sworn that I saw two kids run out of the building this evening.”

“Did you see that too, Bucky?” Sam added on, slightly turning his body to face Bucky.

Bucky bowed his head, a smug expression on his face. “Yup.”

“Uhh...” you replied, unable to think of a witty response. “Fuck. Alright, you got us.”

“Y/N!?” Peter turned to face you, upset that you were unable to maintain the lie.

“What?! Peter, it’s obvious they know! There’s no point in lying anymore.”

“Oh my go-”

“Don’t worry,” Bucky conveyed, causing you and Peter to immediately shut up. “We won’t tell anyone.”

You and Peter let out a sigh of relief, glad that Sam and Bucky were alright with you sneaking out of the building.

“But.” Son of a- “under one condition.” Peter let out a hefty groan, already aware that they were going to ask a favor while you suspiciously stared at the two men, wondering what trick they were trying to pull. What? Where they going to force you to do their laundry for a whole month?

Sam and Bucky looked at each other, a coy smirk on both of their faces before turning their attention to Peter.

“Just tell us how your date went, and we’ll be gone,” Sam wittily remarked, putting a strong emphasis on the word ‘date’.

“It wasn’t a date,” Peter spat out, growing irritated by Sam and Bucky’s intentions. Your lips curved downwards as you listened to Peter’s words, but no one noticed how you slightly moved in discomfort. Although your friendship with Peter was strong, you were a bit hurt by his tone; it sounded as if he was utterly disgusted with that remark, but you brushed it off, swallowing the tiny lump that formed in your throat.

Bucky let out a groan, rolling his eyes as he knew Peter was dancing around Sam’s comment. “C’mon Parker. Just admit the truth, we all know she’s your girlfriend.”

You eyed Peter from the corner of your eye, noticing how his face was turning redder by the second. Frustration. Anger. It was clearly noticeable, and pain started to settle in your chest as you waited for his response.

Peter let out a scoff, anger thrumming through his veins.

“She’s not my girlfriend!” Peter yelled, not caring anymore that someone could’ve heard him. He was beyond aggravated and wanted this conversation to be over.

“What?” you gently said, causing everyone to look at you as you sadly stared at Peter. A melancholic expression was clearly visible on your face, and Peter’s scowl quickly disappeared as he realized what he said.

“Am I not a girl? Am I not your friend?” you said in a monotone voice, trying your best to remain calm, but everyone heard the shakiness of your voice.

“N-no, you are, bu-” Peter tried to explain, but you cut him off, feeling your sadness and anger get the best of you.

“So I am your girlfriend.” you declared, thinking you understood what he was trying to say. Peter shook his head, and you narrowed your eyes, becoming frustrated.

“No, that’s something different, Y/N. You’re not my girlfriend.”

“Then what I am?” you demanded, clenching your jaw as you crossed your arms over your chest.

Sam and Bucky discreetly stared at one another, knowing that they were to blame; they were just joking around, but they instantly regretted it once they realized that they started an argument. Sam and Bucky informed both of you that they were going to give you privacy, but neither of you paid attention to their comments. You were too engrossed in glaring at Peter, you didn’t even notice them leaving the room.

Silence filled the room, and there was a thick tension that was suffocating Peter. He could tell that you were upset, but he didn’t know how to comfort you. It was painful to see you like this, and all Peter wanted was to embrace you. He could feel your strong emotions, not knowing whether to be mad at him or to simply give up. You were silently screaming, but Peter couldn’t bring himself to do anything.

“Uh...” Peter finally spoke, but then he closes his mouth, too afraid to say what was on his mind. Your chin trembled as you gave him an empty stare, and you bit your lip as Peter stood there, not wanting to continue the conversation anymore. His silence spoke volumes.

“Fine,” you morosely said, hanging your head and hunching your shoulders, letting out an exasperated sigh, downhearted that Peter didn’t try to further explain.

“I’m going to leave.”

As the words leave your lips, you immediately headed towards the door, feeling your damp eyes sting as tears silently fell down your cheeks. Peter watched as you left the room, but his feet remained rooted to the ground. A large lump forms in his throat, making it harder to breathe, and an aching pain settled itself in Peter’s stomach and chest. Despite his desire to run after you, Peter didn’t follow.

You sniffled quietly as you headed towards your room, and once you laid on the bed, you begin to choke on your sobs. Tears of pain ran down your face, and it continued like an unbroken stream. You tightly clutched the blanket underneath you, and you began to cry with the force of a person vomiting.

His actions confirmed what you dreaded.

He didn’t want to be anything with you.

Yet, despite your tears, you knew that Peter would come to you. But, as days turned into weeks, your hope began to grow weaker and weaker until finally, there wasn’t anymore left. Peter would avoid you whenever he could, and every time, you wanted to break down. You dearly missed him, but it was obvious that Peter wanted nothing to do with you. All of the unforgettable memories you created with Peter brought heartache and grief, and you were forced to forget them.

Did he not reciprocate the emotions you felt whenever you were with him? After everything you’ve done together, did he not feel one tiny ounce of wonder? Wondering what your relationship could’ve been?

What you didn’t know was that Peter did want to talk to you, but he was terrified. Terrified because he knew that if he spoke to you, the truth will have to come out. Peter wanted something more, but he knew you didn’t want to be with him the way he wanted to be with you. Whenever he would see you, he would panic and leave, too embarrassed to speak nor be near you. He knew he was hurting you, but he didn’t want to admit the truth, despite his desire to be with you again.

One day, Bucky and Peter were sitting in the living room, watching a movie that Peter didn’t even bother to pay attention to; Bucky glared at Peter but decided not to say anything. Yet, Bucky noticed that you were no longer by Peter’s side anymore, and he began to feel guilty, knowing that this was his and Sam’s fault. The sound of footsteps alerted the men, and Peter felt his breathing come to a halt. You awkwardly stood by the entrance before deciding to come closer. You noticed Peter uncomfortably shift around in his seat but you ignored it to the best of your ability. Your eyes lingered on Peter for a few seconds, but then you stared at the screen.

“What are you watching?” you asked, hoping that Peter would respond, but he remained silent. You wanted to talk to him- you needed to talk to him- but judging by the way Peter never even bothered to look at you, you knew it was very unlikely. You bit your tongue as you silently felt the urge to cry, and Bucky took note of your sorrowful demeanor.

“Pacific Rim,” Bucky answered, quickly giving Peter a disappointed look. “You can join us if you want.”

You shifted around, glancing at Peter, but then you shook your head. It was too difficult. “I’m fine. Thank you, though.” Bucky slightly frowned as he watched you leave the room, and once Bucky knew that you were far enough, he turned to Peter before punching him in the shoulder.

“Ow!” Peter groaned in pain, unable to believe that Bucky hit him. “What the hell is your problem?!”

“You’re my problem,” Bucky declared. “She misses you a lot, and you’re fucking ignoring her like she’s nothing.”

Peter remained silent, feeling his chest burn once again. He knew that Bucky was right, but still, the fear prevented Peter from reaching out to you.

“I miss her too,” Peter confessed, taking Bucky by surprise. “But I doubt she wants to talk to me right now.”

Peter rubbed his eyes, feeling the urge to cry, but he tried to think of something else- anything that could make him forget.

“Of course she’s hurt, dumbass,” Bucky barked, hitting Peter once again. “If you want to salvage your friendship, then you need to talk to her. Before it’s too late.”

Within a few moments, Peter stands up from the couch and walks out of the room, ignoring Bucky’s questions and demands. Peter goes into his room for more privacy, and he begins to dwell on Bucky’s words. Peter couldn’t lose you. Peter wants you in his life, and even though it may not be in the way that he desires, he’ll do whatever it takes to make you forgive him. With enough time, Peter musters up the courage and walks out of his room, deciding that enough was enough. Peter begins to walk towards your room, but as he approaches, he stops halfway, already regretting his decision. What if he was already too late? What if you wanted nothing to do with him? The possibility of it happening caused Peter to become reluctant, but then he replayed Bucky’s words over and over again. Peter released a heavy breath before walking.

As he nears your room, he notices that your door is wide open. The fear arises once again, but this time, Peter pushes it away. Peter walks towards your door, but before he can knock, he freezes, puzzled by the sight unraveling in front of him.

Peter watches you fold your clothes before delicately placing it inside a cardboard box. He stays still for a second before knocking on the open door, getting your attention. You turn your head to the side, stopping your movements as you stare at Peter, bewildered that he was near you. Yet, you’re glad that he came forward.

“Hey,” you gently say, placing a folded shirt into the box before moving closer towards him. Peter awkwardly shifts around, giving you a simple smile, and you signal him to come inside your room. Once Peter steps inside, he looks around the room, frowning once he notices that some of your personal items were missing. Peter turned his head to the side, staring at the pile of boxes sitting in the corner of your room.

“What’s going on?” Peter questioned, turning around to look at you. Peter felt a heavy feeling in his stomach, and a sudden coldness hit him in the core. You furrow your eyebrows, confused by his shock, but then you understand his reaction.

Your muscles went rigid and your posture stiffened once you realized what you had to do; you hoped you could’ve avoided the situation, spare Peter the pain, but you needed to tell him the truth. Your eyes begin to glisten with tears, and a frown settled on your face. You attempt to smile, but it doesn’t last very long.

“I thought Tony told you.”

“Told me what?” Peter shakily whispered, feeling disorientated. He grew anxious by the second as you remained silent, but he knew what you were going to say. it was obvious, but Peter didn't want to believe that it was real.

“I’m leaving, Peter. Forever.”

Tag list: @charliestufff

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stringergames · 3 years

Text

Downtime Roleplay 1 - A Gentle Ribbing

Post Episode 2 - No Smoke Without Fire

Set as group take a short rest to recover somewhat from their first experiences in the strange house they’ve found themselves in. Magpie and Jem tentatively discuss the situation, and how they first met. Fox butts in.

Spoiler warnings: references events from the first two episodes of Edge of Night

Content warnings: depiction of injury (broken ribs, minor burns, exhaustion); self-harm (scratching); references to violence; references to inter-party conflict; references to murder; references to fantasy racism; discussion of horror/paranormal elements; swearing

Magpie sits in a corner, leaving the chairs for the others. His eyes are unfocused, and he occasionally winces at the pain from his ribs if he moves wrong. His ungloved hands are half-clasped in front of him, one anxiously scratching at the back of the other, reddening and irritating the skin.

Jem slumps onto the ground next to Magpie, not close enough to be considered friendly, but not on the other side of the room, as instinct says she should. This man intrigues her. Professional curiosity, that's all. But curiosity nonetheless. What kind of person offers help to someone who stabbed them?

"That looks uncomfortable." She gestures towards his hand.

Magpie focuses in on the present, and looks first at Jem, and then down at his hands. He stops picking at his skin, and hides the redness with his other hand.

"Unconscious habit. It's nothing, really." His voice is hoarse, and tends to trail off at the ends of sentences, as though he struggles to get all the words out before his throat gives up.

"I, uh, I guess the ribs don't help either, huh?" Jem has the decency to look sheepish, although her words are far from an actual apology.

Magpie laughs, a slight wheeze to it, and then winces.

"No, they certainly don't, but they'll heal. One way or another. Doubt I look as rough as you do though. How are you holding up?"

Jem frowns. Laughter wasn't exactly the response that she was expecting. Nor was sympathy.

"I'm fine. I don't need your pity." She pauses for a second, considers it, and then adds, "I feel like I haven't slept in four days, and my dress is ruined, so I'm not on my best form, I suppose."

Magpie quirks a smile, and leans back against the wall with a sigh.

"It's a shame, it was a nice dress." He pauses a moment, and then changes tack. "I've heard of dangerous mists, but more in the sense of 'you might not see this cliff edge,' than the mists themselves doing something like this. I wish I knew what was going on."

Jem nods. "It's definitely outside my sphere of reference, but then again so are haunted houses, reanimated boars, and waking up in closets I definitely didn't go to sleep in."

Magpie hums a noise of agreement, and looks over at her. "It's a bizarre place. I woke up in a master bedroom of some kind. Imposing paintings on the wall and everything."

Jem stares at him for a moment. She isn't a sharer. But something about this stranger is oddly compelling. And, she reasons, she's delirious at best.

"I woke up twice. The second time was in the cupboard, but the first time was... somewhere else entirely."

"Somewhere else? Do you know where it was?" Magpie's hand begins subtly scratching at the back of his other one again. He doesn't seem to notice, and is instead looking curiously her way.

"I'm not sure it was a ‘somewhere’ at all actually." Jem notices the scratching, but says nothing, lost in her own anxiety as she considers the deal she made in her panic. "It was just darkness, oppressively warm darkness, like being in a starless desert. And there were sparks coming from nowhere every so often. One got me." She turns her head so that Magpie can see the slight burn on her cheek.

He looks, and quirks an eyebrow. "Very strange. This whole situation just keeps spiralling further into the unknown, doesn't it? What made you wake up here instead of staying there?"

Delirious or not, Jem isn't about to admit to making dodgy deals with voices she couldn't identify.

"Not sure. I don't even know if I could have stayed there. This place definitely isn't any better though. What do you think of the ankle-biters?"

"The children? I don't know. They seem strange. They don't want to come back into the house, sure, but they don't seem as scared as you would expect. Regardless of the fog, and the boars coming back to life, this whole place feels off somehow. The room I woke up in was full of cobwebs and disused. None of us know how we got here. None of it seems... trustworthy somehow, and while I do think we should help them, I don't know what to think of them."

"I'll tell you this much, their concept of time ain't right. There's no way that a family was actively living in this place yesterday. Which makes me doubly suspicious of the fresh food and the fires, they don't match up."

Magpie nods his agreement. "I don't see what else we can do though. We can't leave, and we've got to try something. I don't want to be stuck here forever, so the best we can do is try and effect a change. A monster in the basement looks like a solid start to trying to get rid of harmful fog and reanimating taxidermy."

"I've always found that hitting something hard effects a change of some sort. Positive or negative, it won't be the same."

Magpie's eyes flick down to his chest briefly, and he hums noncommittally. "I think that's probably true."

Ah fuck. Jem decides to give up on making conversation and goes back to concentrating on not falling asleep against the wall.

Magpie chuckles, and nudges her with his elbow. "Look, if you stab someone, you've got to accept it may come up in conversation sometimes, but I'm not angry. We have much bigger problems on our hands I think, and besides, I think you might have done me a favour."

Jem jumps at the contact. "Well, that's certainly a unique reaction. How exactly, if ya don't mind me askin'?"

"I'm right in thinking it wasn't me you were after?"

"If it were, you'd be dead." Jem smiles.

"It could just be where we are, I suppose, but something doesn't feel right." He pulls his sleeve back slightly, exposing more of the white tattoos that can be seen on his face and neck, brushing his fingertips over them and then digging his nails in. "Did you manage it? Or were you caught before you could?"

Jem remembers the sickening crunch of Farthen's boot on Lord Creighton's skull.

"I think it's safe to say that he won't be giving orders or making racist comments any more. I'm good at my job, and I don't often mix business and pleasure, but I can't help but feel like that racist prick is no great loss to anyone."

A bitter grin spreads across Magpie's face, and his nails dig deeper into his arm.

"Good."

His expression brightens a little, some of the darkness that crept into his eyes fleeing again, but a malicious tint still plays at the edges of his expression. "See? You did me a favour."

Jem watches the danger in his grin, and an almost matching smile spreads across her own face. "Then you're welcome, I guess. And for what it's worth, I think you're the least irritating of the lot, so far."

"You're not so bad yourself, for a noble." He laughs again, and then winces, and curls in on himself a bit.

"Ah, yes. About that..." Jem trails off with a shrug. "It's a good cover, but hardly worth it here. I don't think I caught your name at the gala, and I feel fairly certain that the one you got for me was... inaccurate. If we're going to work together for any length of time, we ought to clear that up. I'm Jemima. Jemima Linden."

Fox glances over his shoulder.

"Absolutely shameful," he tuts. "Impersonating a noble. For shame. I, as a Lord, am outraged."

Jemima actually laughs at this. "The hat is fooling nobody, ginger."

Magpie stops halfway through introducing himself as Fox interjects, and catches himself, starting again.

"Magpie. Just Magpie." He looks over his shoulder at Fox, and then whispers to Jem, "I didn't know he was a lord. He definitely doesn't act like one."

Jem doesn't bother to whisper back. "If he's a lord, I'll eat his stupid hat."

"You keep away from my hat. I need some of my lordly dignity preserved." He looks from Jemima to Magpie, and gives a mock bow, almost losing the hat in the process. "Lord Fox Ripley, at your service."

"Oh goodness, well in that case," Jem starts to laugh again. "I'd curtsey, but standing is difficult and also I don't believe you."

Fox smiles, and shrugs. "Believe what you like, Ms. Linden. I've got nothing to prove. And as you say, what's a title mean here anyway? I assure you though, red heads can be lords."

"Do forgive me, my Lord," Jem smirks. "I'm sure you're right. What would a commoner like myself know about such things anyway?"

"I'm sure you'll catch up, Princess," Fox says, matching the smirk.

Jem's eyes flash dangerously at the nickname, but she can't help the small amount of actual mirth that curls around the corners of her mouth as she looks pointedly at his ears.

"I look forward to it, my Lord."

Written by Nick Drew, Francesca Forrest & Rowan E. Madden.

Edited by Rowan E. Madden

Edge of Night is a dnd 5e actual play podcast, brought to you by Stringer Games. It is available on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, Google Podcasts & Acast.

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apex-academy · 3 years

Text

Chapter 5: Caring Is a Hazard to Your Health (#21)

The rest of the day is a blur. Some pool. Some Centipede. Some vapid conversations I barely remember as I’m having them. A cooking lesson that’s more lecture on Japanese sauces than actual cooking.

I don’t run into Aidan again. I’m not sure if I want to. Certainly I’m not going to try anything now, but... I don’t know. I don’t know.

I end up in the sauna dangerously late in the day. The only exit is to the bathhouse, which closes at nighttime... Would I be stuck in here overnight if I stayed too long? Punished? I bet I could stay awake. Wonder what happens in the restricted rooms at night. Cleanup and restocking or something. Maybe I should try staying in the kitchen. Eat some coffee beans straight up to keep from falling asleep and see how the heck Monochap sneaks in and out of there.

But for now, I’m just...

“...”

It is kind of pleasant in here. I may be bundled up a bit too much for a sauna, but it’s supposed to be hot anyway, right? As long as I swig plenty of water after this, I should be fine.

“...”

“After this” might need to be “right now,” actually. No use getting too light-headed. Or, well, I don’t mind having fewer thoughts, but I probably shouldn’t be taking health risks. I can worry about nighttime escapades later. I should... attempt to get some sleep.

After a cold shower. I don’t think I’ll be needing a warm bath after this.

...

"Um, hello! Good morning! It is now 7:00, so the off-limits areas have been reopened! I-I hope you all have a nice day…!"

I wake up again. That’s always good.

But when I make my way towards the cafeteria...

“Sounds like some kind of ruckus going on.”

I open the doors, but...

“.....”

No people, less noise. Uh.

I back up into the hallway and try next door. The gym. Sounds like maybe the hubbub is in here instead? Did I miss a summons to an early morning sports tournament?

Is someone...

“........”

No, that has too be too many voices. Right? If someone had been discovered, the jingle would have played...

“......”

It still takes me a minute to open the door.

People are still talking over each other, but I don’t see any bodies on the floor or fists flying.

Knives, maybe. But not fists.

A thud rattles the still-collapsed bleachers behind Kaichi’s shoulder. In true Kaichi fashion, he hardly flinches.

“Woooooow!”

“I’m next, right? I’m next?!”

“No way, dude!”

“That’s right! No one is going next!”

“What?! Nono I’m next!”

“Wh...”

“This is a completely unnecessary risk! Cease at once!”

“Risk? Surely you don’t mean to question my skill.”

“Seems pretty skilled t’ me.”

“.............”

I always manage to forget I should worry much less about these people dying than just being idiots.

Before anyone can notice I’ve joined them, the knife digging into the stands slowly tilts, then falls. Kaichi manages to pull his foot to one side before the blade clatters to the floor.

“Haha, whoopsie! You okay?”

“Looks like I still got—” he tilts his head down to check—”ten toes, s’. Yeah, sure.”

“That—”

“That makes it clear how dangerous this is!”

“Like, nothing happened, though?”

“That was a matter of luck!”

“Fool! You think any part of this is merely a throw of the dice? No divine weapon of mine will harm anyone unless I bid it.”

“Considering how consistently you threaten everyone, I don’t find that comforting!”

“So, anyway, it’s totally my turn, right?”

“It’s no one’s turn!!!”

I walk inside just as he’s about to blow a gasket. The door falling shut behind me is enough to get a little attention.

“I would ask what’s going on, but I think I have a good enough idea.”

“Ah, Kogamino!”

“If you understand, would you mind talking them out of it?”

“I’m afraid I’m having little luck.”

Another thud interrupts before I can say a word. Ichiriki starts laughing.

“Woooow, that one was super close! Ahahaha!”

Standing stiffly, Kaichi cranes his neck just enough to get a good glimpse of the knife now separating his face from his surfboard.

“Nice.”

“There.”

“Now the next wretch may step up.”

“I’m the next wretch!!”

It’s surprisingly hard to jump in and stop something when you can’t fathom why they started in the first place. Are we seriously that bored? Didn’t we just wake up? At least eat before you start throwing crap at each other, geez.

“Nuh-uh! I’m next!”

“How did this even start?”

“Well, like, Yuks was gonna make omelettes this morning? So we all kinda ordered ‘em or whatevs, and, like...”

“...”

“Amid the conversation as we waited, that one saw fit to issue a challenge.”

“I did?”

“And then things happened, and now we’re here!”

He finishes, as if he’s being the most helpful one here.

“I had been assisting with the cooking when I realized everyone had left, so I peeked out to see what had happened...”

“And you were met with a fun surprise, huh.”

“Yeah-huh! It’s super fun!”

“That’s great.”

“Actually, I just came over to see who got the first omelette? Because it’s finished.”

“Ah, first should have been... Riseiin, I believe?”

“Nice. ’m out, then. Later, brahs.”

“I don’t think the rest are far behind, so if you’d like your food warm, you can come back to this later.”

“I suppose that may be for the best...”

“Consider it a mercy to those of you bound to time, hmm?”

And just like that, the party dissembles to go for the door. Tsunyasha walks—like a normal human being—over to the stands to retrieve her mystical-whatever knives. Mahavir stays back, presumably to make sure she doesn’t kill me while we’re still here.

...I really hope Yuki’s almost finished. Maybe I don’t need to follow everyone over all that quickly.

Tsunyasha gets all her knives put away in quick order, but we’re still the last ones out. Mahavir, as usual, spares me from having to open the door.

As we cross into the hallway, I see Monochap opening the doors to the dorm area. Before I can wonder what he’s up to now, Aidan wheels himself out, with an uttered sound that I don’t think is actually a thanks. Upon seeing us, Monochap gives a little wave and a disturbing giggle before fleeing towards the Main Hall.

Aidan seems a little more pleased to see us.

“Good morning! I hope I haven’t missed anything?”

“Nothing worth mentioning.”

“...”

“Has Monochap been opening doors for you?”

The handicap buttons in this place haven’t been working since we woke up here. I hadn’t spared them a second thought, but now we actually have someone in a wheelchair. Guess that’s how it usually goes.

“When necessary.”

“Unfortunately, my student ID was reset to its original settings before they gave it back to me. But whoever did that also added an option to signal Mister Monochaperone for assistance.”

“It isn’t my favorite recourse, and I’m not sure why it’s necessary when it isn’t that difficult to summon him otherwise, but it can be useful.”

“Ah, to have a demon at your beck and call.”

“Quite fitting for a black-hearted sinner like yourself, hmm?”

“Don’t you start this again...!”

Aidan holds up a hand.

“Calm down, Mister Attenborough.”

“Miss Tsunyasha, I appreciate saving your comments for a more private discussion, but I’m afraid they are still highly inappropriate.”

“You’re entitled to your opinion of me, but I fail to see how repeating it does you any good. I cannot take back what I’ve done, so I would prefer to focus on what I can do at the moment, if possible.”

“Oh? Is this a sorely misguided plea for mercy, worm? You think I must gain something from this?”

“It is merely my job to ensure those of your corrupted ilk cannot walk away from their sins freely.”

He’s not doing much walking at the moment, in case you haven’t noticed.

“You call this walking away freely?!”

“Mister Attenborough.”

“.......”

Aidan turns back to Tsunyasha.

“Whether it’s sufficient for your tastes or not, I assure you I have most certainly been punished.”

“I can’t ask you to approve of my sins, as it were, but if you truly care about doing the right thing, your priority should be ensuring the safety of the other people here.”

I only see a flash before there’s a knife at Aidan’s neck.

“Then I should eliminate you now, yes?”

Aidan stares evenly back at her.

“Do you really consider me such a threat? I am incapable of physical combat, I am unarmed, and I would have severe difficulty engineering anything to kill another in this state. No one here has anything to gain from my death.” His gaze strains towards the knife. “This is nothing but a very rude gesture, and I would like you to stop now.”

“Oh? You still think I would follow a worm’s orders?”

“Why don’t you follow this?!”

Mahavir lunges at her. Aidan winces as the knife skirts along his jaw. Tsunyasha hops back an extra pace, and Mahavir tilts dangerously before catching himself on the wall. Huffing, he doesn’t seem able to push himself back up too quickly. I put myself between Tsunyasha and Aidan for good measure.

“So you’re relying on your little guard dogs, are you, whelp? You truly think they’re any match for a Holy Assassin?”

“I’m not a guard dog, you just need to stop?”

“I am not trying to rely on any physical enforcement here—” a pointed look at Mahavir—“nor am I giving you orders. I am merely pointing out that there is much more to being ‘righteous’ than harassing those you deem to be sinners.”

“So you question my judgment, worm?”

Your judgment is nothing if not questionable.

“More like questioning your ‘righteousness,’ or ‘holiness,’ or whatever else you’d like to call it!”

He finally shifts his weight back onto his feet.

“Regardless of who did and didn’t die, at least Doppler has done everything he can to help us!”

“What have you EVER done for anyone else here?!”

“Stir up trouble, mostly.”

“Hmph. Only just now I was providing you ungrateful whelps with entertainment, was I not?”

“And no one died, if I must remind you of that.”

“As a fluke! You easily could have injured Riseiin! It was only a matter of luck that he didn’t have any toes sliced clean off! And I shouldn’t need to tell you even foot injuries have the potential to be lethal!”

“...What did I miss here?”

“We can worry about that later.”

“The potential, certainly.”

“But a far less sure shot than firing a gun into someone’s chest, hmm?”

“But that wasn’t for amusement!”

“And yet it still happened.”

“I truly don’t understand how you could possibly favor that sinner’s actions, but I suppose your wicked ways are just that far beneath me.”

“It’s because you don’t understand that you’re the only threat here!”

“Oh, I’m quite a threat to those who would dare try taint my holy name. Would you like a demonstration, whelp?”

“No one would like any demonstrations!!”

“Of course you wouldn’t.”

“We get your freaking point, okay? You could stab a serious burn victim and a wheelchair-bound child to death with ease if you really wanted to. Congratulations.”

“You want to prove you’re such a great assassin, how about you wait until practically anyone here is in decent physical condition? You’ve held out this long. I’m sure you can handle a little longer. Or is patience suddenly not one of your holy virtues?”

“Hmph.”

“Don’t think for a moment you can understand the essence of a Holy Assassin, fool.”

“Oh, believe me, I don’t.”

She spins the knife once around the gloved part of her finger and sheaths it.

“Very well. I tire of these pitiful negotiations of yours.”

“I’ve a reward waiting for me, anyway.”

She takes a few steps towards the cafeteria.

“Use this opportunity to think about what awaits you.”

Not an omelette on my end, I’m guessing.

“Any more of this and I assure you, whatever awaits you won’t be a reward.”

“Mahavir. That’s enough.”

“........”

Mahavir stares Tsunyasha down as she walks away. Even when the doors close behind her, he doesn’t turn away.

“......”

I hear a rattle and open my eyes again. Aidan’s started to wheel himself forward.

“Miss Kogamino. Thank you for stepping in.”

“No problem.”

“...”

“I’m halfway surprised you’re not upset about being called a child.”

“Well I don’t appreciate it, but I can understand it was for emphasis.”

“Right.”

He scoots himself closer to Mahavir.

“....................”

“Mister Attenborough?”

“.........”

“...I’m sorry. But she...”

“She can’t just...!”

“I know. She has no right to be making these sorts of threats, but pushing back like that will. Not. Help with her.”

“...........”

“So take a deep breath and come on. We have a meeting to get to.”

“........”

Aidan moves as close to the doors as he can, but Mahavir doesn’t follow yet. Guess it’s not that easy to let it go.

But everyone else is already in the cafeteria, right? No harm leaving him alone to cool down a bit.

I don’t want to think about what could happen if he ran into Tsunyasha again too soon.

[BACK] [NEXT]

#apexplot #apex5 #fanganronpa

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spookyold-saintjm · 4 years

Note

2 and 5 with Dark and a Clumsy Reader, cuz I’ve had my fair share of accidents and injuries while decorating

2: Do you need help hanging up the Christmas lights?

5: I made you some hot cocoa.

From this prompt list.

Anon I feel you on that hardcore. Christmas decorating stresses me OUT, pals. I abbreviated one of the prompts to fit Dark’s voice a little better. Does that mean I lose? LOL.

Hope everyone is having a great holiday season!

Darkiplier x reader

You cursed before you’d even taken enough steps back to see the tree in full.

You were spending your evening putting up a Christmas tree, but you had never done a whole setup by yourself before. You expected it to be fairly straightforward; after all, you’d been doing this almost your entire life with family or friends, so why should accomplishing it on your own be all that much different?

You quickly found that you were mistaken.

First of all, you weren’t using a real tree, so lugging the box with the huge artificial tree from storage was already a chore. Next, fluffing it out was such a pain in the ass you were ready to quit before you were even halfway finished. It just never looked right.

Now, you were working on stringing the lights, but you simply could not get them aligned the right way. You had nearly fallen off the chair you had been standing on while trying to toss them around to the other side of the tree, more than once. Not to mention, you’d nearly knocked the whole damn thing over when you tripped over a stray strand of lights lying on the floor.

You huffed in frustration as you stared at the somewhat lop-sided lights. This shouldn’t have been so difficult, dammit! You took a moment to attempt calm your nerves, steadying your breathing and trying to focus on how the egos would be so excited to see the tree sparkling in the lobby when they arrived back the next day.

You were just about to hop up on the chair again to adjust one of the upper rows of lights for maybe the millionth time when a deep voice behind you nearly made you jump out of your skin.

“Do you need help?” Dark’s voice almost echoed through the room. You flinched and spun around, somewhat relieved when you saw the source of the sound. Somewhat.

Dark was the one who still made you a bit uneasy. Brief explanations and context from the other egos had given you a faint hint as to the turmoil this man carried within, but nevertheless, he kind of, well…alright, he scared you a little bit.

He didn’t speak to you often, other than to ask the occasional question or make a request for you to bring him something during the day. Never hellos, goodbyes, or anything personal, just conversation to get you from one point to the next in the progression of the day’s work.

“Dark!” you exclaimed, taking a small step back. “I didn’t realize anyone else was still here…”

“I had some extra work to accomplish,” he stated. His head took a slight tilt as he peered at the scene behind you. “And it looks like you did, as well.”

You nodded, a nervous smile appearing on your face. “Ahhh, well, I thought it would be something nice to look at for the next few weeks…” you felt your face get warm in embarrassment as you glanced back at the tree, “But it turns out I’m not so good at doing this on my own.”

Dark considered carefully before speaking, his eyes drifting from the tree to you, and slowly back again. “Very well. I’ll help you. You’ll be here all night, otherwise.”

You blinked, unsure if you should be grateful for the help or insulted that Dark made it so obvious you were having a hard time accomplishing the task on your own. “Oh! Uh…well, alright. Thank you.”

The two of you quickly got started, Dark taking charge of physically stringing the lights as he was taller and had longer limbs than you, and could more easily able to navigate his way around and through the branches. You stood back and guided him on placement; you had a good eye for decorating and knew when things looked perfect, but it was the act of doing it that seemed to stump you in this scenario.

Dark stepped over to your side once the lights were placed, studying it for a moment before giving a single, silent nod of approval.

“Thanks again for your help,” you turned to him with a kind smile. “I really appreciate it, I’ll start the ornaments after—”

“You think I’m going to leave before the job is done?” Dark asked, his lips a thin line when he looked back at you.

“I—“ You glanced over at the boxes of ornaments stacked off a few feet away from the now-sparkling tree. “I mean, you really don’t have to do anything else…”

“I said I would help, didn’t I?” he stopped you, already walking toward the boxes. He thoughtfully stared down at the box for a moment, then picked up a single, red orb. “So. How many of these are in this box?”

And that began the process of decorating. You knew Dark was someone of a meticulous nature, but he wholly proved himself in the hour you spent carefully constructing the placement of each ornament on the tree. Your creative minds worked surprisingly well together, and it was definitely nice to have someone with steadier hands and feet and…you know, was just less clumsy in general.

Dark was working on some final touches that you had both agreed to when you stepped out of the room, coming back a few minutes later with two steaming cups of a dark liquid.

“Here,” you offered one of the cups out to him when he glanced over his shoulder at you. “I made you some hot cocoa.”

Your brain sent off a sudden, internal alarm. What do you think you’re doing?! This wasn’t a man you could just offer hot chocolate to. He could so easily destroy you in ways you didn’t even want to consider.

You quickly retracted your arm back towards your body when you realized the absurdity of the offer. “If you like that kind of thing, it’s okay if not.”

Dark stood straight, facing you. He blinked once, his eyebrows furrowed.

“That’s…very kind. Thank you.” Dark slowly reached for the cup, almost seeming unsure, himself. You met his hand halfway, your fingers brushing just enough to send a strange wave of surprise through your body as he took the cup from you.

He stared down at the cup for a beat too long, enough to make you wonder what he was thinking about, before he gently lifted it up to his lips and took a short sip. You took a much longer sip from your own, your entire body suddenly feeling very stiff. Especially because now, the faintest upward curve of the corner of Dark’s mouth had caught your eye.

You smiled back, and Dark’s face quickly fell flat again. You realized he must have not known he was smiling (sort of) in the first place, and you suddenly wanted nothing more than to flee the room at top speed. Dark spoke again before you had the chance.

“It’s been some time since I’ve just…spent time with someone else.” His eyes studied your face, trying to figure you out as if you were a puzzle and betraying the relaxed, casual demeanor he otherwise portrayed. “But, y/n, I must say I’ve enjoyed this evening.

“I—I’ve enjoyed it, too.” Your cheeks suddenly felt warmer as you were flattered at his efforts to be kind to you.

He almost seemed to hesitate before he replied, his eyes finally meeting your own with an earnest stare that could have sucked you in for hours. “In fact, if you’re okay with it…perhaps we could do it again, sometime.”

Your stomach dropped at his words, but there was no second-guessing, no doubt in your answer. You nodded, your smile spreading and your heartbeat rising when you answered him.

“I would like that, Dark.”

That half-smile of his returned yet again, and you stored the image in your mind. It was something you didn’t want to forget any time soon.

#back at it with the wholesome dark content #darkiplier x reader #darkiplier x y/n #darkiplier imagine #requests #writing prompts #holiday writing prompts #darkiplier x female reader #darkiplier x male reader

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speedycubed · 3 years

Text

use the sleeves of my sweater.

summary: luke had been glad when his dysphoria shifted from being in the wrong body to being in no body, but that all comes crashing around him after playing the orpheum.

notes: this story features trans & autistic luke. i draw from my own experiences as an autistic transmasc individual when describing things that have to do with those features. // crossposted on ao3 if you would rather read it there.

triggers: descriptions of dysphoria, unsafe binding (not taking a binder off for extended periods of time & exercising in a binder)

The one thing Luke had been on board with after becoming a ghost was the lessened dysphoria. Without a corporeal body, most of the dysphoria the first few weeks had been about being intangible as opposed to being in the wrong body. It was blissful to have something else to focus on when it came to his body.

But after he had adjusted to being a ghost, and especially after the Orpheum performance, dysphoria came smashing back into his life. It had happened one day in rehearsal. He was jumping around, strumming his guitar as he always did when he felt a pressure on his ribs. Luke stopped jumping around, deciding to stand still, figuring that would solve his problem. A few minutes later, after they finished that runthrough, he sat on the couch, claiming to be worn out. That was when he felt it.

The press of his breasts against his binder.

He had died wearing it and since they didn’t need to breathe anymore and were made of air, he felt no need to ever take it off. After all, the phantoms had been distracted by the fact that they were ghosts with no bodies to speak of to focus on changing clothes. Even after they figured out that they could, it was all just to regain some normalcy in their (after)lives.

But after jumping and sweating for the hours of rehearsal, he was finally feeling it. That was going to bruise.

Luke looked up, noticing the concern in Julie’s eyes. “It’s fine,” he said, waving a hand to dismiss concern. “Just my ribs hurt after all that exercise.”

“Your ribs? That’s weird. Don't you mean, like, a stitch in your side or something like that?” she asked, wanting to make sure her boyfriend was okay.

Fuck. He should have just gone with that. Now he’s stuck between a rock and a hard place. Most people don’t get rib pain from exercise. They get other types of pain, sure, but this is a trans issue.

“Uh, y-yeah,” Luke pointed at her, nodding to cover his shame at almost getting caught, “That’s what I meant. Have a stitch in my side, yep, that’s what my pain is.” Stupid brain making him flap his hands and stutter through the agreement. Now she would know something was wrong.

“Okay. Well, if you can take it, there’s some Tylenol in the bathroom behind the mirror.” She nodded, dismissing herself, a worry still clear on her face, but not wanting to make it worse.

As soon as Julie was out of the studio, Alex was next to Luke, sitting on the floor in front of him.

“Take it off,” Alex said, voice stern.

Luke laughed it off, which only made the pain worse. “Take what off?” His nervous laughter filled the studio followed by coughing.

“You think we didn’t notice?” Reggie said from up in the loft. He tossed one of Luke’s bigger hoodies that still had the sleeves on it over the railing before poofing to be next to the guitarist. “You died wearing it and haven’t taken it off since.”

Luke huffed, crossing his arms. “It’s not like I needed to breathe! And until just now I didn’t even notice the pressure.”

“Breathe?” Alex and Reggie looked up, seeing Julie with a water bottle in hand. The bottle dropped, plastic making it bounce a couple of times before stilling. “And the thing with rib pain earlier…” She walked up to her boyfriend, kneeling in front of him. “You don’t have to answer, but this sounds familiar. I’m so sorry, I wouldn’t be asking unless I figured that knowing would make me able to help more. Luke—” Julie looked him in the eyes, wishing she could hold his hands as she spoke to give some comfort, but that might make it worse. “—are you trans?”

Luke looks up, fear in his eyes. Thoughts ran through his head a mile a minute. How did she find out? Is she going to want to date me anymore? Is she going to quit the band? How will I cope if she leaves? Fuckfuckfuckfuck.

She seems to see his panic and backtracks. “I’m so, so, sorry if you’re not and this makes it seem like I’m assuming things, but with the breathing problems and the sudden need to rest and the rib pain… It all sounds like what one of the boys at school was talking about during one of our gay club meetings. And if you are I want to be supportive and help in any way that you’ll let me.” Her words rush out, apologizing for what she said, telling them that it was rude of her to ever ask and that she shouldn’t have, it’s none of her business, that she wouldn’t have asked without a reason.

The other two boys in the room got it, nodding along to her apology while they tried to comfort their friend.

But the one she was apologizing to didn’t hear any of it. Luke was quiet, his brain still telling him that this was a bad idea. All he could do was let out some tears before grabbing the hoodie Reggie had brought him and fleeing off to the bathroom to change.

Yanking his binder off proved to both lessen and enhance his dysphoria. Now he couldn’t feel the pressure of having his chest tied down, reminding him that he had breasts, but now everyone else could see that he had them. Luke put his shirt back on, slipping the hoodie over his head, and poofed off to the beach where he didn’t have to deal with the fact that he was just basically forced out of the closet by his girlfriend.

He chewed on the sleeves of his hoodie, having chewed the strings out long ago, staring out at the people on the beach. Now everything felt wrong. His skin pulled tight and he felt all of the body dysphoria he thought he had escaped after becoming a ghost.

The corners of his sleeves were soaked in his saliva before he got tired of staring at the people on the beach who all just reminded him of what he could never be. He poofed into the bike shop that stood where the Peters’ house had once been.

There was only one worker, a teenager dressed in all black. But it was the music playing over the speakers that he really noticed. It was classical. Something he didn’t expect from a bike shop, but it helped. Classical had been the only genre he ever listened to before developing his own music taste. His mother and father were both classically trained string players who had signed Luke up for viola lessons as soon as he expressed interest in his parents’ instruments, so their house was always full of symphonies.

As much as it hurt to hear music that he always associated with his parents, it was nice to have something else to focus on. Now Luke just focused on picking apart the instruments used during each section, wondering how he would play it if given the sheet music. It was calming to try and remember each position and each fingering. It was calming to try and pick apart each line, each note, in order to try and find the key.

His concentration was broken by the sound of the phone ringing. The employee sighed, rolling their eyes as they picked it up. At the same time that happened, Luke heard a little “poof” next to him. He turned only to see Alex.

“How did you even think to check here?”

“Saw your silhouette in the window as we checked the beach,” Alex said.

Luke groaned at the “we.” That meant that the others were here.

“Did you tell her?”

“No.”

Luke fell silent once more. A part of him was glad that the boys hadn’t spilled his secret. It wasn’t theirs to tell, after all. But another part of him wished that they had just told Julie. That would have taken all of the pressure off of him.

He looked at Alex as the final notes of Vivaldi’s “Four Seasons: Summer” faded and the host began to introduce the next piece.

“Can you tell her for me? I’m pretty sure that she already knows after earlier, j-just confirm it for her.” The guitarist hated that he had to ask—it put unfair pressure on Alex. Having to ask someone else to come out for him was a coward’s move, but Luke was so, so scared. He didn’t want to have to face Julie, knowing that no matter what she said, it was likely to worsen his mood. And that would worsen his dysphoria as his mind sat in its darkest corners.

“Yeah.” Alex nodded, poofing back out to the beach.

Luke turned around in the bike shop so he could see his bandmates. Even though he couldn’t hear them, he could tell exactly when the words left Alex’s mouth. He could tell because he knew Julie’s body language. He saw her nod and bite her bottom lip before opening her mouth to talk.

He could imagine her voice as she told the boys how she didn’t love him anymore. Logically, Luke knew that this wouldn’t be something that Julie would break up with him over. She often talked about Los Feliz’s gay club (the offical title was the Los Feliz GSA, but no one called it that, according to Julie) and suppoting her non-cis friends. But anxiety is a bitch. The voice in his head said that the reason he saw tears on his girlfriend’s cheeks was because she thought he had lied to her. The voice in his head said that he was about to get broken up with.

Luke decided that the voice in his head was a little bitch and poofed out of the bike shop, landing next to Julie.

She turned to him, wiping her tears. “You know I don’t think of you any differently because of this, right?” Her eyes were wide, pleading him to soak in her words. She loved him and nothing would change that.

I kn-know, j-just…” He pursed his lips, bringing his sleeve up once more. Luke hated his stupid stutter, especially when it came to difficult conversations. He chewed on his sleeves, trying to find the words. “Anxiety.” It was all that he could come up with as an explanation without devolving into word vomit.

Julie nodded in understanding. “Anxiety’s a bitch.”

The group fell quiet as Luke flopped onto the beach. He removed his sleeve for a moment to ask for hugs, which the boys gave. Julie sat next to him and held his hand so she wouldn’t be seen hugging air. They may have figured out how to talk to them in pubic (a pair of cheap earbuds with the wires cut off made for an excellent pair of fake AirPods that made people think she was just on the phone), but they couldn’t figure out how to make her be able to touch them in public without looking insane.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I was out of line, that was an invasive question that I shouldn’t have asked. I keep talking about boundaries and yet I completely broke one of yours today.”

“It’s fine.” His voice was muffled from the stimming, but the words were easy enough to make out.

Julie looked to her metamour, asking for help. Reggie had known Luke a lot longer, so she figured he might be able to get the point across a little better. Reggie shook his head. This was between her and Luke.

“Hey buddy, are you better enough that Alex and I can leave? I think you and Julie need to have a talk—boyfriend to girlfriend.”

Luke snorted. “But you’re my boyfriend, idiot.” His eyes got sad once again, “But you’re right. See you guys.”

Reggie and Alex poofed out, heading back to the studio.

“You may say it’s fine Luke, but that’s not going to stop me from apologizing. I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.”

“But y-you’re my girlfriend… Doesn’t that make it your bus-business?”

“Only if you wanted it to be. If it’s to become my business then you have to be the one to make it my business. You would have had to have told me first.” She shed a few tears, trying to hold back from crying until they finished this conversation. “I’m sorry I took that opportunity away from you.”

“I wanted to tell you, but I figured it didn’t matter anym-more—” he laughed at Julie’s confused eyebrows, “I haven’t felt major body d-dys-dysphoria until t-today. And I’m air, so I haven’t taken off my b-binder all this time.” Julie gasped. “It’s off right now if that’s what you’re worried about,” he glanced at his chest, nervous. “But, yeah, it’s not like I can do anything about it. I’m intangible, so I’m stuck in the body I had when I died.

“I figured that I would t-tell you down the line, after we had m-more time to get used to our relationship. But then dysphoria hit me all at once during rehearsal. Suddenly I could feel all of the things that I got rid of when I be-became a ghost.

“Sorry that you have a broken boyfriend.” He ended his explanation and stared down at the sand, putting a finger in his mouth, nibbling on the tip to give his sleeve a break. He didn’t want to ruin another one of his dysphoria hoodies. A few holes were nothing, but too many would destroy the sleeve.

“You are not broken. Not in any way.” Julie says, grabbing onto Luke’s shoulders so he has to look her in the eyes. At this point, she only cared about getting her boyfriend to believe her, not the people who would think she was crazy as she held onto nothing. “You are Luke, mine and Reggie’s precious boyfriend, a massive dork, guitarist for Julie and the Phantoms, one of the best songwriters I’ve ever met. There is nothing wrong with you—you’re just you. No one is broken, they just have different pieces. Please don't ever refer to yourself as broken ever again.”

“Okay,” he whispered, fear still jostling his thoughts around. “Let’s go home and cuddle pile with Reg.”

Julie laughed softly, sounding like a fairy from Tinker Bell. “Sounds amazing.”

#*writing #iwests #jatp #luke patterson #juke #ruke #tw: dysphoria #tw: unsafe binding #//#sorry about the sudden ending #i just suck at endings that aren't either 'this could be a transition' or 'everyone died. the end.'

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