#smiling through the pain re: this episode | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hypnoneghoul · 8 months

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Why Have You Waited So Long?

WC: 4205

Tags: Referenced Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Mentions Of Vomiting, Loneliness, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Sickness/Near Death Experience

Phantom was getting worse. The solitude had made him sick, he knew it would happen. It wasn’t in ghoul’s nature to be alone, his system was protesting, begging Phantom to get help.

Notes: re-posting with both chapters in one post

Read under the cut or on AO3.

Phantom had been summoned over seven months ago. The Ghost project had left for tour, Phantom’s first tour, over two weeks ago.

He’d spent those seven months practising until his fingers bled, until his joints were burning, until his wrist was cramped, until he could barely open a bottle of water himself. He was focusing on his guitar skills, he had to. He couldn’t disappoint anyone when the time to step on stage came. Not his fellow band ghouls, not Papa, the Clergy, the fans, himself, Aether.

He’d rest after the tour, he’d spend more time with his pack after the tour, it was fine. He was going to be fine. He had to do his best, like all of them.

Phantom was telling himself those words all the time, over and over again until his words became shaky and his face wet with tears.

He was so alone.

There were people all around, and Phantom was so alone it physically hurt.

The ghouls were pack creatures, they needed other ghouls to survive, they couldn’t live and function on their own. He had wondered if that was what his pain was, the solitude. He had wondered if he could get sick because of it, maybe die. Maybe it would be better if he did.

After all, there had to be something wrong with him if his pack had rejected him.

The ghouls welcomed him when he was summoned, showed him the basics of living on earth, Aether gave him a guitar to practise on and… that was it. They all just got back to their own lives after a week. Phantom should’ve expected it, barging into an already established pack that was together for years, but… Aurora was taken under the ghoulette’s wings, fully accepted and loved from the very moment she appeared in the summoning circle.

Not Phantom, though.

He knew ghoulettes functioned differently than ghouls, but… didn’t he deserve love too? He had hoped maybe they wanted to give him space to get used to the Topside world on his own, to not overwhelm him but that’s not what he wanted, not what he needed.

Maybe they had found there was something wrong with him?

He was so alone.

The rehearsals had started then. Every laugh that carried through the practice room pained him, every smile, every glimpse he caught of other ghouls touching, being comfortable with each other, loving each other, the content, happy smells filling the room felt like a knife being repeatedly shoved into his heart and twisted, like he was being bled dry.

He held himself together as best as he could and waited until he was physically alone, hiding in his room to cry, to scream, to throw up.

Not that anyone would care if he did so in the middle of the practice stage.

He was so alone, it hurt so much.

But he had enough time to… get used to it, to some extent. Phantom was able to act normal, act like nothing bothered him, pretend he was fine, happy. Even though he knew no one would notice if he didn’t keep the facade up, if he let the mask crack. Let the cracks bleed.

It worked well until the constant pain and hollow feeling in his chest got too much and he’d break. Just once in a while. He wouldn’t have a choice but to give up and cry all his pain and bottled up need out to leave himself an empty vessel. Ready to be filled with sorrow again.

He’d patch himself up as soon as possible, though. He was used to his pathetic little episodes already, too.

“It’ll get better, after the tour,” Phantom was telling himself, “they’ll warm up to me, it’ll get better. They’ll notice.”

No one cared about him, for him.

He didn’t get invited for movie nights, into cuddle piles, no one wanted him in his bed, there wasn’t even any chores for him around the Abbey. It was a miracle he had a plate for himself during meals. Even if it felt like only leftovers were dropped onto it.

He was just a ghost in the den, he was a… a phantom.

Not really there, not in any way that mattered.

He’d tried to not get in anyone’s way when they first left for tour, the bus was already cramped. He kept to himself, spent as much time in his bunk as possible, didn’t bother anyone, rarely spoke and only when spoken to.

When he cried, he did so into his pillow. He didn’t want to wake anyone up, they were all exhausted already, they deserved to rest.

Even when he knew most of them were awake.

He cried when he heard muffled giggles, sounds of wet kisses, sounds of sex, purring.

He could hear the love he was being denied.

Phantom was still so stupidly full of hope. He was keeping himself out of the way, maybe someone would notice and ask him if he was doing alright, invite him to go out into the city they were currently in, invite him to cuddle, propose to touch him.

He needed touch, so bad.

He prayed for it to Lucifer every night, sealing his pleads with tears… and blood sometimes, when his mental anguish reached an unbearable level and he needed to get grounded again. Never on purpose, his claws just… itched to sink into his arm, his thigh, to calm the storm raging inside him using a precisely inflicted distraction.

He had learned to phrase his prayers with more care.

He had gotten the touch, just… not like he wanted to.

They didn’t practise the pre-show hug and bows back at the Ministry. They didn’t practise touch.

There was no touch before.

He wasn’t prepared.

Phantom had panicked when he got dragged into the group hug, he didn’t know what was going on. He didn’t register one word Papa had said, all he could think about was all the points of contact that felt like cigarettes being put out on his skin.

When Swiss had gripped his hand for bows the first time, he looked around and tried to look like he knew what was going on, like he knew what he was supposed to do. Aurora did.

That simple, brief touch, sliver of skin on skin contact had been like an electric shock, like fire crawling up his arm, burning, melting skin and meat off of his bones. It was so warm.

And he never felt colder than when his hand was released.

He wanted to break down and cry right there.

Was this going to be all he’d ever get?

That night he had held his hand to his face and imagined the breath that tickled his tear soaked skin was someone else's, that the soft kisses he placed on himself were from someone else’s lips.

It was so cold.

Some time into the tour he figured out it was expected of him to fit into the dynamics, have his own unscripted stage antics and interactions with his fellow band members. He had to at least look like he was having fun and not an existential crisis.

Phantom came up with something he was telling himself was not selfish. Not at all. It was for the fans, for the show, all the ghouls did it, he was just trying to fit in.

He didn’t need to ask for it, it didn’t have to be earned.

He started initiating contact, begging for touch, anything, even if only through the uncountable layers of their uniforms. He’d slink up to Rain, Dew, Swiss, even Papa, bump into someone, try to interact, to get any attention.

He wasn’t an attention whore, he really wasn’t, he was just-

He was just so broken. It hurt so much.

Every day a ritual was going to take place he had to prepare, brace himself that whole day, just to not collapse under the weight of a sliver of touch when he’d inevitably be subjected to that burning feeling. And then the cold.

Phantom really had hope, so much of it. He had hoped the tour may have changed something, that his pack saw how desperate and lonely he was, how he constantly reeked of anguish. But how were they supposed to know that was how his misery smelled if he had never smelled of anything else?

Nothing had changed, Phantom was stupid to hope for anything at this point. That was his life, he was always going to be alone, there was no changing his fate.

Phantom broke down again, that realisation hitting him like a freight train a few days after they got back from tour. He had spent most of those days in his room, as everyone. At least that was what he had been told.

He had left his room one evening to get himself a glass of water for the night, padded sleepily to the kitchen, mouth hanging open in a yawn, eyes half shut. He had to pass the common room to get there, though, and-

And everyone was there.

Everyone, including Aether and Sunshine, they were all cuddled up tightly together on the makeshift nest on the floor in front of the TV.

Swiss, Mountain and Aether were sitting up with their back against the couches that were moved slightly back. Dew was curled up against Aether’s side, Rain resting with his back against Swiss’ chest. The ghoulette’s were piled up on top and around Mountain. Nine tails tangled together, the movie only a background noise to all their purring

Phantom’s knees buckled, the glass he intended on filling up slid out of his hand and shattered on the floor with a noise that made the ghoul flinch. Just like his heart.

No one had heard neither the glass nor Phantom breaking.

He ran back to his room on wobbly legs, feeling himself slip into paralysing panic. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t see, he couldn’t think.

He barely managed to shut his door before his legs, his whole body, gave out and he fell to the floor. Sobs were wrecking his body, his wails were bouncing off of the walls and slamming back into his eardrums.

It hurt, it hurt so much.

He wanted to hope, one last time, that someone would hear his cries, that someone would feel his pain and come to him, help him, touch him, fix him.

That someone would notice the broken glass and shards of his heart laying amongst the clear pieces on the ground and come to pick him up, glue him back together.

No one heard him.

No one felt him.

No one came to help him.

No one touched him.

The only glue that would be able to fix him had already dried, it had been waiting too long to be used.

Phantom was always going to be alone and broken.

Phantom was getting worse.

The solitude had made him sick, he knew it would happen. It wasn’t in ghoul’s nature to be alone, his system was protesting, begging Phantom to get help.

It wasn’t only his quintessence sounding alarms, trying to hold his small body from breaking with all its might. He saw himself rotting, he was getting paler and paler every day, skinnier too, his eyes were dull, barely any colour left in them, the tips of his horns were cracking and breaking off, crumbling into dust. Every day he woke up with more of it on his pillows.

He couldn’t look at himself in the mirror, so he broke it, pieces of shattering glass assaulting his fist only adding to the sick satisfaction.

He had been barely leaving his room the whole break between European and American tours, only when absolutely needed. To get some food, once every two weeks or so. To sulk through additional rehearsals, pretending he was alive and well.

He wasn’t neither alive nor well.

Phantom felt bad about getting sick, at the beginning, thinking about how his sickness could ruin the rest of the tour. But then he thought Aether could get back, it would be an emergency. Did any of the people that would be met with problems after Phantom’s death deserve him feeling bad about it?

He wanted to say no, but he could never really hate anyone, so he told himself yes. Yes, he was awful for getting sick and yes, he’d be awful for dying, only causing problems.

But Phantom did survive the break. Somehow.

That was even worse than if he wouldn't, now he had to go and act like he was fine not only in front of himself or a few ghouls and Papa, no, now he had to fool thousands.

He didn’t think he’d manage.

He‘d been quiet during their journey, on the bus, in the hotel. He was too tired to speak and no one would listen to him anyway.

The day before the first show Phantom slept as much as possible, forcing his own quintessence to all but knock himself unconscious. He stumbled through preparations for the Ritual, through the soundcheck.

He squeezed out some quintessence that was not concentrated on keeping him alive to give himself somewhat of an energy boost, just before they stepped on stage. He never had any issues with handling the Fantomen, but that night it weighed him down impossibly more.

He just needed to get through the show, he could do that. He’d certainly try.

The lights were so bright. Too bright, even with the darkened lenses of their helmets.

It was too loud, the crowd, the music.

Phantom’s clothes, even being looser than originally because of how much weight he had lost, were somehow too tight, too constricting.

He couldn’t breathe, he felt impossible weight crushing his chest.

It hurt so much.

His head was pounding, vision blurry, the sound of blood pumping in his ears nauseating.

Phantom was sure that was it.

He felt awful for it. He couldn’t possibly be such an attention whore to drop dead in the middle of a performance, could he? He had to hold on, he didn’t want to ruin anyone’s night.

The show seemed to last forever, he thought it’d never end. That it’d be his punishment for being such a failure - being stuck in an endless loop of misery and agonising pain.

But it did end, finally.

Phantom doesn’t really remember chucking a bunch of picks at the audience, getting gifts from the fans, the bows. It was easier to zone out, not remember.

Because he’d have to remember the burning of a hand gripping his own, too.

He remembers getting off stage, tumbling down a few small steps and the thud his helmet made as it collided with the floor.

He made it through that one show… but no more.

“Lus, I- I can’t b- believe, how did we-” Phantom heard someone sobbing. Aurora, he thought, but he couldn’t make a sense out of her choked out words.

Wait.

Where was he?

“I know, sweetheart,” it had to be Cumulus now. Her voice also sounded… wet. “We failed, all of us, but don’t take it out on yourself.”

Phantom was… he was warm? Why was he warm, it was always so cold, what-

“Shhh, don’t freak out,” someone whispered, right into his ear. He panicked, suddenly too warm, too hot, melting. His only instinct was to run away, clawing at what tried to hold him in place. Or who.

Phantom scrambled away and bumped into something that was probably a corner of... wherever he was. He curled into a tight ball, tail wrapped around his body protectively and hissed. He didn’t want to look up, look around. He didn’t want to know where he was, who he was with.

He just wanted to be gone. He didn’t want to hurt anymore.

“Phantom, hey, hey . It’s okay, you’re safe,” was it Swiss? It sounded like Swiss.

Why was saying that, why was he lying?

Phantom lifted his head, just a bit, just enough to peek from behind his arms. It was Swiss.

“Do you want me to get someone else? One of the girls? Rain?” he felt himself shaking his head. It looked like they were in the back lounge of their tour bus, it was turned into a big nest. The multi ghoul was crouching by one end of it, Phantom curled in the corner furthest away from him.

That warmth… was he- was Swiss touching him?

“Breathe, bug, deep breaths,” he said and Phantom was so tired, so weak, he couldn’t not obey. He tried to breathe, sharp inhales followed by shaky exhales, over and over again.

Swiss was watching him like a hawk, barely even blinking. Phantom tried to curl into himself more, to hide from that intense stare, the attention he was not used to.

It seemed like ages had passed before the quintessence ghoul could be considered even relatively calm. Swiss didn’t move, only offered soothing words from time to time.

Phantom wanted to hate him, hate them all, but he was so exhausted and so lonely, he clinged to every single sound that escaped Swiss’ mouth like a lifeline. He was finally getting something, he finally got noticed. He had to treasure what he was getting now, it’d be over too quickly.

“There you go,” Swiss sighed, all sad. Why was he so sad? Did Phantom ruin the show after all? “Are you back with me?”

Phantom nodded. Was he, really?

“Okay, good. Can I come closer?” He thought about it for a moment? Did he want Swiss to get closer? To touch him? He thought he wanted nothing more in the world but what if it… what if it hurt? “I’ll be gentle, I promise, bug. I need you to trust me.”

Phantom nodded.

Swiss smiled softly, even though his eyes were betraying his sadness. He slowly crawled over to the quintessence ghoul, one hand carefully reaching out. It hovered over Phantom’s knee, Swiss searching for any signs of hesitation on the other’s side. He let it gently fall when he found none.

Phantom flinched, there was no way to prevent that, but soon sobbed in something like… relief.

“Good?” Swiss asked and received a nod in return. “More? Would you like a hug?”

“P- please,” he choked out, his throat tight, eyes burning with tears.

The multi ghoul slowly but surely wrapped his strong arms around Phantom’s shaking form, covering him whole with his body. He immediately went limp, wails tearing out of his throat as Swiss held him. “That’s it, let it out. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, bug. I’ve got you now, I won’t leave.”

Phantom could barely breathe, he was choking on tears, body convulsing in Swiss’ grip as he clinged to the multi ghoul like he’d turn to dust and disappear and Phantom would never be held again.

“Everything will be okay, I won’t leave you. I won’t let it get bad again, I’ve got you,” Swiss whispered, rocking them back and forth, doing his best to release some of his own quintessence into the room, even if now crying himself.

How could he, all of them, be so blind, ignorant, awful? How did they miss all the signs, how did they let it get so bad? Why didn’t they take care of him from the beginning? What the fuck was wrong with them?

“N- no, you- you can’t give me h- hope, I can’t hope anymore,” Phantom cried and despite his words clutched Swiss tighter.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so fucking sorry, I-” Swiss sniffled, “there’s nothing I can do to fix it but-”

“Y- you can’t just- just decide to fix it n- now," the quintessence ghoul’s wails only increased in volume. How did they miss how broken he was? “It doesn’t work like that.”

“I know, fuck, I’m so sorry, lemme- please let me try to make it up to you, let me try to make it better, please, Phantom, I’m begging you, let me try.”

“You j- just feel bad I nearly flipped, it- it’s not real,” his words felt like a punch in the guts but Swiss knew how justified it was. He failed so fucking bad.

“No, it’s not- I mean, of course I feel fucking bad, you have no idea how bad. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want you to feel loved, it’s not- fuck, I don’t know what to say,” Swiss’ voice cracked. He thought that if Phantom really did die, he’d go right after him. How did they fail so badly?

“Just… just try, but I-” Phantom was hyperventilating, there was no breath left in his lungs. He hoped it wouldn’t get wasted by the things he wanted to say. “‘M not gonna survive another one, I’m fuckin’ stupid but I- it needs to be real, Swiss. I can’t take any more.”

“Baby… oh, sweetheart,” the multi ghoul sobbed, “I promise you, I’ve got you, ‘m not gonna let anything happen to you, you won’t be alone ever again, fuck, I’m so, so, sorry.”

Phantom didn’t have any more words, neither did Swiss. He could apologise over and over again but it made no sense. He cradled the quintessence ghoul in his arms, tears and snot soaking into each other’s clothes, held him for what seemed like hours. It probably was.

Swiss didn’t know when Phantom blacked out, he thought he did too. He remembers Rain staring down at them from the bus’ corridor with tears flowing down his own cheeks. The multi ghoul nodded at them with a pleading look, silently asking him to join.

Rain got down on his knees and crawled over to Phantom and Swiss, helping the latter to rearrange them to somewhat of a more comfortable position. They then glued themself to Phantom’s back, squeezing the ghoul between him and Swiss.

Some time later they heard socked feet shuffling in their direction. Dewdrop.

Even before he fully laid down behind Rain, Mountain appeared in the doorway, and it didn’t take much for the three ghoulettes to make their way over to the nest too.

They should all fall onto their knees before Phantom and beg him for forgiveness, but he didn’t want that. He may be stupid for still allowing himself that tiny droplet of hope but all he wanted now was love. He wanted, needed, to be loved.

He truly wouldn’t survive more heartbreak.

Fans seemed to enjoy Phantom getting more lively, more confident on stage, finally allowing himself some more… intimate interactions with his bandmates. Finally being allowed touch.

But he couldn’t not feel like all the attention he was now getting was just a way for the ghouls to not feel bad about nearly letting him die. He was fine if he didn’t think about it, but at the end of the day he was just a stray animal that had stumbled into their home and they took him in out of pity, to not feel like they were awful people, to not feel guilty.

It would surely end when they got back to the Abbey, he had to soak all the comfort on the road if he wanted to have any chances at living on.

Phantom couldn’t believe it was real when they did return and he was still being seen. He was being invited for cuddles, for movie nights, game nights.

Never left behind, anymore. Never being forgotten.

Touch didn’t burn anymore, it warmed him both outside and inside in the best possible way.

He was… happier. Way happier, even though he felt like a fraud, like a mismatched puzzle piece forcefully shoved among the others. He caught himself thinking about it all ending, a lot. It was a reasonable fear with how it used to be.

Months later, years, when he’d be alone, he’d be vulnerable to the words the vile voice in the back of his head would throw at him. And he would believe them.

He’d remember his first year on earth and realise his pack had never actually cared for him, they were still pretending, still feeling guilty about his past loneliness, the sickness they missed until it was nearly too late.

But now every time Phantom cries someone hears him.

They don’t let him feel alone, don’t let him be cold.

“What’s on your mind, bug?” Swiss stopped his racing train of thoughts. Phantom burrowed further into his side. Rain, glued to his back, mumbled something incoherent into his neck.

“Nothing,” the quintessence ghoul sighed.

“You sure? Everything okay?” It was no wonder Swiss worried, they all did now. They were all afraid of doing something wrong, of breaking Phantom again.

“Would you mind shutting up? Tryin’ to sleep here,” Dew snarled with no real venom from Swiss’ other side.

“Let them be,” Mountain scolded him, tightening his hold on the fire ghoul.

“I’m sure,” Phantom whispered into Swiss’ chest and let his eyes slip shut again.

His pack would never forgive themselves for neglecting him like they did, they’d keep doing everything in their power to make him feel loved, cared for, cared about.

And maybe in some time Phantom would stop doubting it was real.

#hypnone writes #the band ghost #nameless ghouls #phantom ghoul #aeon ghoul #swiss ghoul #angst #hurt/comfort #fanfiction

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roselightfairy · 1 month

Note

How about DVD commentary on some hurt/comfort bleeding into angst from Ripples in the long, long stream? This bit, in particular:

“Is that better?” came the elf’s voice, as though from a great distance through the rushing of blood in Gimli’s ears. “Do you need” – Gimli took a shaky breath, trembling with relief. “Yes,” he said, letting the leather fall from between his teeth. Gingerly he lifted his arm and rotated it in a slow, careful circle – the pain was not entirely gone, but so much reduced from what it was that he felt almost drunk with it. “Thank you.” “Of course.” Legolas was rummaging in their pack now, searching for the spare roll of bandages they had taken to carrying with them. “Here.” Gimli sat passive, his frustration drained away with the pain, and allowed Legolas to wrap his arm and secure it carefully to his body. “We will get you to a healer as soon as we return. I think any deeper exploration here had best be postponed for now.” “Mmm.” Gimli closed his eyes as Legolas swept a hand over his forehead, all his irritation fled at the elf’s gentle touch. “I trust you.” “That is because you have singularly poor judgment.” Legolas laughed, but his voice was tight. “You are bone white, love.” “Well, nothing can be done for that until we return to Ithilien.” Gimli did not open his eyes, but he smiled at the sound of his husband’s laugh. “The sun will cure me soon enough, but summer is a ways off yet.” “Faultlessly spoken, and yet entirely wrong.” Legolas sighed, but his lips pressed against Gimli’s hairline and his hand was still cool against Gimli’s sweaty brow. “As always.” Without looking, Gimli could feel Legolas moving around him to sit beside him on the boulder. “We will just sit here until you recover your strength, then, and then we will turn towards home.” His voice was obstinate, as though preparing for an argument – but in truth Gimli would not complain at cutting their expedition short. In truth, he still felt a bit shaky; his body did not seem to recover from shocks like this as quickly as it had when he was younger. I am too old for this, he would have jested if it were another of his dwarven companions at his side now – and the words were hovering at the tip of his tongue before he remembered who sat beside him and clamped his lips around them.

I love them <3. Thank you!

Ooh ooh ooh thank you so much! This is the first time anyone has ever sent me an ask for this and I so appreciate it hehehe.

Okay, so as the DVD starts to roll, I do the overall commentary on the episode, which was that I was in the mood for a very specific sweet spot of hurt/comfort: I wanted it to be injury, requiring some kind of improvised solution, kind of random, but not so serious that it would lead to Big Angsty Feels. I settled on "dislocated shoulder," which was partly inspired by a scene from Thundera Tiger's "While the Ring went south" in which Gimli dislocates a shoulder while the two of them are trapped together. The difference is that in that fic they are enemies at each other's throats, and in mine they are, uh, married, haha.

Gingerly he lifted his arm and rotated it in a slow, careful circle – the pain was not entirely gone, but so much reduced from what it was that he felt almost drunk with it. - I had definitely read descriptions of dislocated shoulders before, but I did do some very basic research on the motions required to re-set a dislocated shoulder and how it feels afterwards.

“We will get you to a healer as soon as we return. I think any deeper exploration here had best be postponed for now.” My biggest biggest challenge in short fics like this is feeling like I have to do a huge setup for everything, and then realizing that I don't need to write the entire backstory of how they got where they are. I think (though it's been awhile), I was imagining that Gimli had dragged Legolas out to do some exploring in part of Aglarond that they hadn't really been working on much, or some other cave system, and is kind of at the point where he shouldn't be doing this anymore but isn't ready to admit it. Hence the "deeper exploration" bit.

Gimli closed his eyes as Legolas swept a hand over his forehead, all his irritation fled at the elf’s gentle touch. I just love when they touch each other gently! I just love it. The hand over the forehead, brushing back hair, soothing - You know. The inherent eroticism of a forehead.

Legolas laughed, but his voice was tight. Just - my favorite thing about writing Gimli physical h/c is that I get a side of Legolas angst, which I think anyone who has read ANY of my L/G stuff knows is my favorite thing in the world.

In truth, he still felt a bit shaky; his body did not seem to recover from shocks like this as quickly as it had when he was younger. I am too old for this, he would have jested if it were another of his dwarven companions at his side now – and the words were hovering at the tip of his tongue before he remembered who sat beside him and clamped his lips around them.

And this last bit is one of those things I love most about writing fics like this - so often I start out with a scene I just want to play around with, and then I accidentally stumble into the real truth of it after several hundred words. Initially all I wanted was a little bit of h/c, and it wasn't until I got to this point that I realized what the story was really about - Gimli slowing down, not quite ready to admit it to himself, but forced to do so in a way that neither he nor Legolas can deny - one they can both feel, but aren't quite ready to say aloud to each other.

One of the time periods in their lives that I'm interested in is how their lives must have changed once Gimli really did start to slow down, once the challenge of their situation became a little too much for him, and how they must have navigated that. It's something I want to explore at some point, but haven't figured out how exactly to do it - so little peeks like this might have to do for now.

Thank you so much for asking! It was so fun to revisit this little fic, and I'm so glad that you enjoyed it enough to ask for the DVD commentary! :) <3

And anyone else is welcome to send in a passage, as well!

#my fic #legolas x gimli #navel gazing #sweet readers

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tenderlyrenjun · 2 years

Text

When It Comes To Us

⟿ college!au, friends to academic rivals to lovers, competition, mutual pining, study buddies.

summary: although he laughed at you the first time you met, you were instantly friends, but that five year law program brings out competition, brings out the worst in you. thankfully it takes maybe one or two study sessions to get back into a grove, and maybe one of those study sessions is less about studying.

includes … unprotected sex/pulling out, oral sex (f / m receiving), facial, fingering, hickeys/marking, penetration, missionary sex, dom/sub undertones (re: some slight begging); it’s pretty vanilla sex, sorry.

author’s note ... this is the old fic that I mentioned when I said that the debate episode renjun reminded me of a specific old fic. I also edited to be slightly longer and more cohesive. the formatting was bad on the last one, so i reuploaded it a third time. DO NOT come into my inbox to criticize my fic or tell me that it is written badly.

anger management problems renjun enthusiasts, dni.

network tag: @neohub

word count: 15,8k (sorry)

do not reblog without comments

bots + minors do not interact

You wander around just outside the student experience center, nose buried beneath a campus map, eyes glued to a poorly drawn sharpie trail that one of the “orientation leaders” (air quotes because he seemed as equally lost and inexperienced as you) traced. The library has to be here somewhere, you wonder before glancing up.

But the moment your vision changed scenery, you walk right into a cement column, forehead colliding first with the inconveniently placed architecture, making you stumble ass forward to the ground. As you rub the new, hot mark above your brow, praying to God that no one saw anything, a sirenic laugh calls your ear, soft and throaty – something to make you fall in love at first listen. You peak around the empty space, gaze coming into a playful glare then pout when you spot someone laughing at your misfortune.

He walks over to you with nothing helpful, like an ice pack or magic band aid, except a hand to help you up, but his smile looks like it could heal the deepest wounds, and you immediately assume he came from the science department.

“Hey,” he greets, a small smile tugging his lips and even smaller bow dipping him right below your eyeline. “I’m Renjun. Are you also lost?”

The pain recedes quickly, quicker than you anticipated, letting your stomach fill the silence with little pokes through your abdomen to chest. Hopefully, walking into cement did not leave weird texture along your hairline for this really cute boy to spot; otherwise, God, you might as well perish on the spot.

His half-circle eyes crescent upward with the apples of his cheeks, and future you will swear that you met at night, despite (future) his better recount of this meet-cute taking place during the bright, autumn day – either way, Renjun’s happy features ground you, making focus on everything he has to say, to offer.

“Wait a minute.” You pull your hand out of his, holding up your palm, and you miss the way his eyes briefly follow your motions. “Too?” Your eyebrows come together; head tilted slightly to the right, searching his eyes. “Why? You’re also lost?”

“Yeah,” he nods, biting his lip. You nod back at him, still searching; you don’t feel your smile lose its curve until Renjun pushes his bottom lip through his teeth with his tongue, licking the seam open. “I, um, I was looking for the financial aid office but my RA [resident assistant] directed me toward the library.”

“Oh, thank God,” you nearly moan, reattaching yourself to his thin bicep, like he touched you with The Hand of God. Confusion takes its turn on Renjun’s face, his head flexed to the side again like deepening a kiss with Eris, neat brows coming together over his pretty eyes, so you snap your hands away. “Sorry, I just meant that I’m looking for the library,” you clarify. “One of the orientation leaders handed me a map, then set me off to the second star on the right without further instruction. I’ve been lost for, like, -“ You push your sleeve up your arm, reading your bare wrist, again missing Renjun’s smile. “– 10 minutes, maybe.”

“Well, it’s just around the corner in that direction.” He points behind his shoulder. “Go straight until you see the gymnasium, take a left by the counselling offices, then a right at the education building, and it should be in front of the pharmacy department.” Renjun tries directing you physically, pointing his index finger this way and that, as if touching the map still in your hand. Once he turns back to you, an accomplished smile finishing his thought, you are in the middle of nodding again, mouth falling open, only to inhale. “Or,” he drags out, internally debating for a second as your body perks up, “I could show you where it is.”

You beam at him. “Please? Will you? That would be … amazing, and really helpful.” You sigh, teeth fighting their way to the front. “To be honest, I’m not the best with directions and stuff.”

“It’s not a problem,” he tells you, honestly, his voice partially going up. He gestures out to the path, asking if you are ready.

You surprise him by taking his arm again, curling your hand to his wrist. “Lead the way, Peter Pan.”

“Peter Pan?”

Renjun tilts his head again, not moving despite initiating the journey. He bites his lip again, and he would shrink into his narrow shoulders, but you keep him propped up. Then, you mimic him, subconsciously taking a step back when he makes eye contact.

“Um,” you stutter, swallowing the thousands of thoughts on the tip of your tongue, not knowing where to start, so you pick the middle: “Second star to the right, and all; you did say right … right?” You cringe a little at the syllable repetition, but it makes him throw his head back and laugh, so the warm tinge across your face subsides until completely disappearing when he leads the way. “So …” you say, a little too loudly, abruptly changing the topic.

“So?” he parrots, guiding you onto the inner sidewalk, closer to the buildings, farther from the street.

“So,” you repeat, equal in cadence, bobbing in tune as you drag out the conjunction, not looking at him in fear that your brain might bombard you with a thousand thoughts again – either this can lead to a wonderful friendship or blossom into something more … which makes you kind of nervous, if you were being honest, except you don’t want to be presumptuous. You just met the guy two minutes ago. “How, um, how long have you been going here?”

“Ah,” he responds, open mouthed. His free arm flies behind his head, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s my first semester. I’m a freshman.”

“Oh … but you seem to know, at least part of, the school really well.” You bite inside the corner of your cheek.

“Yeah, my parents moved me into the dorms last weekend, so I had a lot of time to, like, roam around and find out where my classes are going to be on Wednesday, but I’ve literally been looking all over half the campus for the financial aid office today.”

“Huh,” you mumble, a slow eureka. “Maybe, after this, if you’re able to wait, I can show you where the financial aid office is. It’s like right next to my dorm building on the other side of campus. I just have to check out a textbook for property law.”

Renjun beams at you now. “I’d like that a lot.” And he’d like to spend more time with you.

Haechan calls your full name – Funny, since you’ve only heard him referred to by his real name a handful of times, but now, with the alcoholic flush heating your face under the wintery night sky, you cannot, for the life of you, remember his government name. Renjun mentioned it to you once or twice, between ranting about something Haechan did, before he brought you into his friend group a couple weeks ago. He had been meaning to merge you with them, ever since Jeno got a small break from his military service for Chuseok weekend, but things piled up, no one actually free until the second half of autumn term. Jaemin barely got a break from his o chem lab reports; Haechan is taking a small breather between pre-trial motion write ups; Renjun left the library for the first time in, essentially, a week; Chaewon just finished her art project this morning and woke up literally fifteen minutes before arriving at the restaurant; you only finished creating flash cards for property law (those vocab words are going to get you one of these days); and the military doesn’t really let Jeno out on holiday, as it would defeat the purpose of compulsory military service (on the bright side, he won’t have to take a break from school or work like the others; although, Jaemin plans to use his [future] medical degree to his advantage).

You whip your hair around, the inches that have grown since summer almost hitting Jeno in the face, so you lean a bit more into Renjun, who has a slightly buff arm strewn along the back of your chair as you change conversations from one end of the table to the next, the two of you sitting in the middle like Jesus at The Last Supper – which might as well predict your relationship status, almost as if Renjun wants to test you, but you push the thought away. If he wanted to be something more, he would have done something by now; you have known him for, like, two months now, nearly approaching finals. You swear that you picked up on a few close calls, confiding in your roommate, a psych major Dahyun; except, she might be more excited to study your brain like a bug than really listen to the problem. But she did say that this – the two of you going out with his friends (Jeno, Haechan, Jaemin, and Chaewon) could mean something.

And maybe it does.

When all five of you moved from the bar inside the restaurant to a longer table outside (Jeno kept complaining about the lack of leg room because people kept pushing against his chair on their ways to the bathroom; something no none, except maybe Jaemin related to, but eventually, everyone relented), Renjun walked through the door last, having led you, a hand on your mid-back, through the other patrons and busboys. He stopped you from accidentally catching the jacket around your arm on fire; you took it off because Jaemin started grilling one of the side dishes and the bottle of soju you started nursing with Renjun got to your face. It left some skin exposed, skin that he touched. You didn’t have time to analyze him really, a waiter dropping off a complimentary alcohol mix for the discomfort, not like now when Haechan gives you an excuse to check him out.

“Really,” Haechan begs, “why’d you stick to him?” He points a thumb at Renjun, and Renjun takes immediate offense but does nothing other than verbally object, his chest sighing weakly. Haechan flops his wrist, wanting your answer more than to argue – a rare event, considering that half the table is enrolled in the law programme.

“I don’t know,” you answer immediately, mostly as a filler word while you size him up. Over the semester, Renjun started training with Jeno and Jaemin (and Xiaojun from the poli sci department), gradually replacing his daily water intake with whey protein powder. His body has gotten … bigger, noticeably bigger; his shoulders filling out the grey, cashmere sweater, muscles faintly contouring down in bulges to the thin watch on his left wrist. You eventually reach his face again, briefly pausing at his clear jawline, and he raises an eyebrow before knocking back another shot, daring you to say the thought so clearly reflected in your eyes. “I mean,” you start, shifting back to Haechan, who starts pouring your fourth round, as if seducing you into saying something provocative, “he was nice; he is nice. He picked me off the ground, literally, and –“ You throw back the shot. “– you know, we had – have a lot in common: similar taste in movies, same major, he even sang a line from this one OST I used to hear whenever my grandmother watched dramas.”

Haechan, hums, dispensing yours and Renjun’s fifth round and a fourth to everyone else.

“What about you?” Jeno garbles to Renjun, slowly laying his head on the table, Jaemin rubbing his back. “If I were – were you –” He hiccups and points at you. “– I would’ve left as soon as I even heard him laughing at me.”

“I guess I’m just nicer than you,” Renjun laughs, sitting slightly more forward. “Remember when we first met. I thought you were cold as ice.

Jeno pouts.

“And now,” Renjun clarifies, pushing the shots further down the table and grabbing a napkin. His free arm slides down your back for the second time tonight, heat radiating off his hand to your hip; his fingers twitch in the air, inches from your skin, and your breath stops in your chest. You shift a little closer to his belt, rocking left and right until you meet him, and he helps you, too, hand rising above your high-waisted skirt, pulling you closer. Then, he leaves his arm dangling there, elbow caught in the chair’s spine, fingers caging your hip. “Now, we’re best friends.”

You admire Renjun’s side profile as he talks behind your back with Jeno, reclining on the bench, you perched over the table to give him enough space. He smirks at something in the middle of the conversation, head nodding off center, falling even more into your body and continuing to stay there after, sans objection. All eyes eventually lead to Jaemin, when he starts pouring the sixth round, except yours. Yeah, you instinctively moved with the crowd, but Renjun’s lips caught your gaze, licking his mouth open wider for another laugh, shoulders following suit. Halfway through another weak objection (he is already pushing his shot glass to the end of the table before his sentence finishes), Renjun glances your way, lingering back and forth between you and Jaemin, who tends to overpour after two shots, until he stops, staying on your face. He reaches out the same hand that gave a glass to Jaemin, grabbing yours too, then mouths come here, finger curling close enough to make your skin tingle. Still, you comply, and he brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, matting down all the baby hairs floating away from how hot your face burns, knowing that, as a side effect of the law major, appearance is everything. Or maybe he just thinks you’re pretty.

“Oh, leave them alone,” Chaewon complains between drinks, groaning through her fifth and sixth shots. “I think they’re cute.” She wipes her mouth with her sleeve, and you are tempted to do the same, except to Renjun, a little like returning the favor, even though he wiped the pretzel crumbs from the corner of his mouth already. “Besides, their meet-cute is better than spilling that disgusting demon coffee on a stranger at eight o’clock in the morning.” She narrows her eye sat Haechan.

“That was for him!” He points at Jaemin, nearly banging on the table, much to Jeno’s annoyance. “And it will be the last time I ever buy coffee for you!”

“How are you going to repay me for the kimbap I bring you after literature on Thursdays?!”

“You get it from the dining hall!”

“Yeah, on my meal plan!”

“Please, okay! It’s literally ₩3,000!”

“Should we get kimbap?” you hum, leaning into Renjun’s hand, further from the three-person argument.

He trails his fingers under your chin, tickling you until he laughs when you slap him away; he drops his hand on his jeans, rubbing his thigh wider into his seat. You tilt your head to the door into the restaurant, eyes fluttering at your suggestion, pouting. Renjun copies, lips tightened into a contemplative melody. He sighs, stomach growling in agreement. The last time either of you ate was after your 10AMs, barely catching a quick snack from the café in the biochem building, because you had been promised the alleged best samgyeopsal marinated in red wine.

“If our food doesn’t arrive in –“ Renjun pushes his long sleeve far up his forearm, shaking his watch into view. Your tongue salivates. “– 10 minutes, I’ll buy you dinner at Gen.”

It comes by in four.

[Renjun, 3:23 PM]

Renjun time!

[Renjun, 3:23 PM]

Study session at mine tonight?

[You, 3:24 PM]

Yeah, I’m going to finish scanning this civics passage in the library, then head to Starbucks for coffee, but I should be free the rest of the day. Civil procedure got cancelled. Want anything?

[Renjun, 3:25 PM]

Grande mango black tea, light ice, please and thank you. Do you need help studying? Prof Choi will probably give a pop quiz in your next meeting.

[Renjun, 3:26 PM]

Oh, and a double bacon if there are any left. I have constitutional law in 5 btw.

[Renjun, 3:27 PM]

I’ll buy you dinner at Gen on Monday.

[You, 3:27 PM]

Please.

[You, 3:28 PM]

You keep saying that, but we have yet to actually go.

[You, 3:30 PM]

Sit in the back. I’ll sneak in.

Sneaking into Professor Moon’s constitutional law class, which has over a hundred students, is as easy as slipping into a routine with Renjun, if not easier, even after summer break. And this year, you actually have a class with him (!), not constitutional law, obviously, because you took it last year, but legal writing. Ironically, your classes overlap with his – e.g. you took constitutional law spring term, he takes it now; he took civic practices winter term, you take it now. Basic classes, the ones that only go over the law, not how to interpret it, don’t really function like maths classes; they don’t build off each other, just accumulate knowledge, so you and Renjun (and Haechan and Chaewon) will spend the first two years learning the general idea, figure out what specialty you eventually want to pursue, then argue during the last three – which means that, in the long run, you essentially invest in having more time with Renjun … not that he isn’t already attached to your hip. Plus, you can cheat off each other’s notes.

Ice shaking alerts Renjun to your presence before a syllable from your greeting can reach his ear. You slowly drag the chair beside him on the carpet, no loud sounds alerting the professor to your existence (thank God), and set everything down next to him.

“Thanks,” he whispers, sipping the iced tea like every other student in the room does with coffee.

You lean over his arm, simultaneously giving him the sandwich and stealing a pale-yellow highlighter. “No problem.”

Renjun trails your hand, watching you set up to study civic practices on your iPad, completely missing his professor’s plan for today’s class. His smile twitches on the corners of his cheeks. He remembers doing that last year: studying activists who used pamphlets to declare independence from some distant sovereign, and admiring your side profile. The way you ignore him, too focused on Common Sense, let him stare a bit longer, without you making a face to stop him. Some rose-pink color outlines your lips today, a few patches missing in the middle. He asked you, this morning, while catching an early morning bibimbap, why you actually dressed up for civic practices, because no one took Prof Kwon’s dress code seriously. You said something about wanting to get an internship with him for your practicum in two years, and he wasn’t aware that you had started planning that far ahead.

“Pay attention to this next part. It will be an essay question on the next exam.”

Renjun glances at the projector. Justiciability. He has no idea what it means (well, he has some; he vaguely recognizes the abstract concept), so he starts paying attention. But throughout the lecture, he slips his elbow onto the table, resting his cheek over his hand, preoccupied by your distracting pen taps, as Professor Moon sets up clicker questions after each section. He tries to stay focused, adding any random thought to the corner of his OneNote … until he ends up doodling your name; it began as writing something you mentioned in passing last year and didn’t stop … you look so cute right now … if you use all my yellow highlighter, we’re going to the pen shop later … you, you, you. He erases all the evidence though, seconds after he makes it, not wanting to incriminate himself, even outside the law, before he becomes a lawyer.

After the lecture wraps up, you and Renjun walk to the library, partway through campus, iced drinks in hand, catching up on your lives despite having seen each other every day. Surprisingly, you always have a new thing to say, new opinion about whatever you saw, and Renjun always has a rebuttal.

“Oh!” You pull off your straw once he finishes recounting his point of view on Moon’s theoretical federal case. Renjun flutters his eyes up, ducking down to slurp the last of his tea. “Did you hear? Jeno is starting the architecture programme spring term after he discharges.”

“Yeah,” Renjun hums, breaking off his empty drink. Jeno called him about it last night. “I think Haechan is going to see if the housing department will let them room together since there’s an empty bed in his suite.” You nod slowly, contemplative, and Renjun opens his mouth again, to ask you the question he has been pondering since Jeno even brought up living on campus.

Speaking of the devil (well, one of them), Haechan accidentally happens on the two of you, rounding a corner from the psych department. He launches his arms around your shoulders, swinging his legs between you and Renjun, making you both dip down and yelp.

“God, I share more classes with Renjun than you, yet I don’t see him nearly as much.” Haechan lands in front of you, bouncing backwards a few steps to balance himself.

Renjun verbally objects; he saw Haechan yesterday for dinner, so this makes the fifth day in a row, plus they have a grocery store date tomorrow morning; he ran out of satay hotpot soup base after you helped him complete his first draft for legal writing. He flitters a grateful eye when you massage his shoulder. You squeeze his bicep three times, returning the blood flow to his face, and he mumbles a small thank you, with an even smaller smile, before glaring at the intruder.

“It’s almost like you live together,” Haechan shrugs, tucking in his elbows and wriggling between you two.

You giggle when Renjun sighs, his shoulders dropping as his chin tilts to the sky.

“I mean, I was considering it.”

“You were what!?”

Renjun raises an eyebrow, walking slightly ahead of Haechan to see you, and you return it, frowning deeply.

“You never told me that,” you grumble, falling behind Haechan, who copies the both of you, frowning like he did something wrong.

“I mean,” Renjun starts, “Yeah, of course, I’ve thought about it. We’re practically together all the time, like he –“ Renjun points a thumb at Haechan, pausing to glare, then softens back at you. “– mentioned. You have enough stuff in my dorm to live there for a month, anyways, and we’ve had sleepovers before, so –“ He shrugs. “– why not?”

Renjun may not have started planning his fourth-year practicum like you, but he has been thinking about the future, about asking you to move into an apartment with him before the school year ends.

It takes just slightly over two weeks (16 days) to finalize a pros and cons list for living with Renjun. You don’t say a word to anyone about, nearly neglecting your actual studies and opinion papers to really determine if you could do it. Halfway through the pros column, you considered asking your current roommate, a psych major named Dahyun, for help – to see whether you ignore the red flags, or to diagnose with the first thing that snaps you out of this boy craze, but you shook your head and continued writing. So far, the list has more pros than cons, as you expected; Renjun is basically perfect – decent cook (or take-out order…er); clean, physically and environmentally; quiet when important; cooperative; gets along with you; etc. The only con is … is … well, you get along with him too well, so you keep the list to yourself, not wanting that information, specifically, to be leaked. You even cross out the one con with a sharpie and expo marker, ripping it into the shredder before anyone could interpret it.

But Chaewon inevitably heads to your dorm for an extra shirt when Haechan spills yet another demon coffee on her (before 8 AM this time).

She walks out of your private bathroom, wearing an oversized sweater, dabbing a Tide pen into her pale pink shirt, trying to revive it before criminal law.

“Oh, I hate them,” she enunciates about Haechan and Jaemin for the fifth time this week alone (and it’s Thursday). She puts the pen back in your desk draw and blows on the wet patch, trying to get it ready for class, but you saw the black water stain her shirt irrevocably, even from the closet, where you pull out a blazer to go over the plain white pyjama shirt you stole from Renjun. “Oh? What’s this?”

“What’s what?” you ask while sliding your arms through the sleeves. You yank your hair from the back, fluffing it before walking up to her, tiptoeing above her shoulder as she pulls a colorful, small spiral notebook from your drawer.

“Reasons to live with Renjun,” she reads.

Your eyes widen, and you snatch it from her, holding it close to your chest.

“Reasons not to live with Renjun?” She reads the back.

You push her out of the way and shove it back in your drawer, slamming it shut rather loudly.

“You’re going to … move in … with him?” she asks slowly, lowering her head gradually, her voice unusually soft.

You hug your arms around your waist, hands gripping the waistband on your trousers, and study her expression, your own eyebrows furrowing deeply. She brings her hands together, thumbnail clawing at the cuticles on her opposite fingers.

“Yes,” you nod, equally quiet and long. You stand up straighter, tucking your hair behind both ears a few times before opening your desk drawer to organize it; no use in hiding the list now that Chaewon knows and wants to address it. “I was just thinking about it.”

“Are you … Are you sure it’s a good idea?” She puts a hand on your upper arm, and your muscles tighten, everything temporarily paused until the single highlighter you hold starts shaking; you start shaking. Once you inhale twice more, no air expelling until your lungs finally reach max capacity, you turn towards Chaewon. Her hand drops into yours, squeezing it gently. You want to assuage her misplaced guilt, possibly about finding your notebook and involuntarily demanding to know the reason you might move in with Renjun – because the roommate agreement has yet to be written into stone.

But you shrug, rattling her off of you. “Yeah, we’re practically together all the time, and we have stuff at each other’s places.” You pause, recoiling, physically cringing at reusing Renjun’s reasoning.

“What are you going to do when he goes on a date?”

You frown. “Renjun doesn’t date.”

Chaewon raises an eyebrow, her palms weakly slapping her thighs, the sound resonating too loudly in the silence. Your ears ring, like the aftermath of a bomb, and you go back to studying her face, maybe also too long. You tilt your head to the side, something in your chest piling on an extra ton that leans your body to the left.

“I mean, I’ve never seen him go on a date, and I’ve known him for more than two years now.”

Chaewon bites her lip and moves her hands behind her back.

Your shoulders hunch forward. “Oh.”

“I’m sorry,” she says, mostly to the floor. “I thought you knew.”

“No,” you reject, a little forcefully, and she winces. “No, it’s …” you repeat gentler, matching her expression, “It’s my fault for assuming.” You throw your hands low in the air, hands slapping against your thighs, but not as strong since her implications weigh your body down. “Of course, he dates. I just … I just thought …”

Chaewon reaches an arm out again, grabbing your forearm first for your attention, then your hand, squeezing it again, in the same capacity, although now you know what she knows. She evidently knew what you thought, but her breath had to spell out what she knew. You try slinking into yourself, elbows tucking backwards, until she hugs you, accidentally tripping over her feet. It doesn’t make you laugh.

“I just … thought he was too busy, you know,” you lie, obviously too, by the way your nose starts to itch, “like me,” you whisper, finally accepting her embrace, adding your arms around her waist and your chin into her shoulder.

Chaewon pats your hair. “I know.”

But does he?

“Are you even listening to me?”

“I told you already that I didn’t have the time to study with you today. I’m still behind on my second draft for legal writing, and I can’t afford to drop below in the rankings again.”

“Then why did you even come!?”

You purse your lips. Renjun should know, at this point, why you hang out in his single person dorm, oscillating between listening to his overactive imagination about the different animal combinations his brain dreams up and walking to the convenience store near the physics building 160 meters away. He should know why you help each other with the classes you’ve already taken, help him compete against Seungmin in his constitutional law, help him technically get a better grade than you ever did (despite academic standing relying on your literal standing in class among more than 50 people). Regardless, he still looks at you as if meeting you for the first time; or, not meeting you because, when he actually did, he had a smile on his face and laughter on his shoulders; now, he just gives you an uncharacteristic head shake, questions spilling from his tight lips. You grip the page of your notebook that you had been writing on, it standing partway up, then turn it; you accidentally use too much strength and rip the perforations, which makes a hot, deep sigh leave your diaphragm.

It has been almost three weeks (three weeks and two days), since you told Renjun that you cannot move in with him. You initially avoided him, like the plague, lying that you cannot be on top of everything. Well, partially lying. Your classes got harder – more pop quizzes, more mini-essays and discussion posts, more commitment; how he manages to retain information so easily, you will be forever jealous, but it also means that you have to sacrifice your 10 PM philosophical talks to get work done. You l… you lo… You enjoy his company, you really do, but being with him takes an extra 0.5x the effort, slowing down your typed average words per minute until you just stop writing, because he needs you to explain a concept. And you don’t mean to nag; it goes vice versa – it takes him an extra 90 minutes to complete his flashcards when you ask about Enlightenment ideas or to translate his annotations to something you understand. You just … don’t know how to accommodate for his follow up questions, for actually being with him, for all your lies falling through, and it makes your heart drop; if you can’t even improvise with Renjun, how will you be a lawyer?

By telling the truth?

You sigh. “Renjun …” He looks at you expectantly, on the tips of his toes, despite sitting half a table away, on the opposite side of his desk, creating the distance you only speak. “I …” you start, heart never having recovered from that meeting with Chaewon, “I’ve just been busy with school.” His entire chest deflates. “You have too,” you reinforce – partially because it’s true, and a half-truth is better than a lie; it is an omission of the whole picture, which is something arguable in court.

And something he regurgitates to you the next weekend.

You follow up the same thing the next day.

Another month passes, the end of fall term, and saw Renjun maybe three times, at least one of them being in class when he sat next to you, backpack sliding between his legs like a kicked puppy, his eyes, also, somehow mimicking a baby. You nearly cave, turn to him with an open mouth, but he packs his bag and leaves before the professor announces the assignment. It is written in the syllabus anyways.

Spring term comes faster than winter term ends, and you have literally no idea what happened.

Everything stays the same: the grass still retains dew outside the agriculture building; the biochem café still wakes up at dawn; hell, even Haechan manages to spill coffee on Chaewon again, not that you see them so often anymore. She stopped spontaneously dropping by your dorm (you live off campus now, still with Dahyun though), choosing her side like the other three – two if you count Jeno not being informed until three weeks into winter term. But you and Renjun no longer bear the conjoined rumors, whispers about your breakup swirling among the nosy grad students who assign your group projects. And the further you delve into the five-year law program, the smaller the class sizes get, meaning that you eventually circle back to Renjun’s side, just adding the distance he created in his dorm two terms ago. Again, everything stays the same.

Dahyun, your psych major roommate, argued that the competitive school system sets you up to hate each other, and you fell into its scheme (you asked what her major’s scheme was, and she said depression; you refrained from asking anymore questions), inevitably hating Renjun. However, her social psych class did not account for all the sparing matches, during Socratic debates, during the extraneous study sessions set up by the TA Qian Kun, during … every student event really. It never ends because neither of you allow each other to have the last word, to give a final argument, as if holding an arsenal back, waiting to drop the atomic bomb at the perfect moment. It feels like holding the weight of the world, weight of a secret, on your shoulders, and you confessed this, drunk, to Dahyun every night through the end of the year. She tried to offer you more advice, more perspective, adding a shrug here or there to lessen the hostility while still telling you the truth, but you continued to dive further into defensive mode, even when she pointed out that it could be your professors’ faults, posing public rankings rather than private grades, forcing you and Renjun into survival mode to come out on top, if not top three (Seungmin, too, eventually revealed himself as your uncovered nemesis).

All those study dates spent getting to know each other for naught, escalating into passive aggressive battles through your individual essays. If the TAs put your assignment next to Renjun’s, it would read “re:fuck this guy” back and forth despite arguing the same position, just using different reasons. Then, wars break out in the form of debates, the both of you misplacing your anger onto each other (from the rankings, and innocent bystander Seungmin who really wants to work for the international diplomacy office). He would lose his spot at number one in torts, a class you took freshman year; you often did minor corrections, like spelling for him; and you would receive your research papers drowned in red ink, distorting your muddled point without Renjun to move around the sentences for cohesion; he is … was the only one who followed your rapid thought process, almost on the exact same wavelength. Eventually, you two grew better without each other, forcing yourselves to use the student resources like the writing center or your actual professors, and you were happy, elated, that he improved on legal literacy, as he was happy, elated, that you understood social policy on your own, but fuck, it hurt like hell to see each other’s names drop, losing first place when you tried so hard to make it work, even more when one of your friends’s stupidly endearing smile attempted to console you, saying that “rankings do not matter”, even though they clearly do.

Oh, you two saw each other as frequently as freshman year, nothing changing drastically except what kind of feelings you had for each other, occasionally bumping into one another on the street – you caught Renjun slipping on a puddle once and helped him up after laughing at him, only to receive a glare; he also caught you tripping up the stairs in the language department, dropping your tea a flight below. Everything stayed the same, and it felt the same, in those briefest moments, but no longer did the flirting mask the tutoring; no longer did the glances feel heart-stricken, just rallying frustration back and forth, when you think the other isn’t looking, like a trick shot; no longer can you “accidentally” bump elbows in his dorm to look at a textbook that you rented together to save on money.

Unfortunately, you find yourself in Renjun’s legal ethics class winter term of your third year, and truthfully, it functions more like a psychotherapy group meeting than anything else. You swear, every class, that your old professor can read your mind, can see your tiny glimpses at Renjun from the back of the lecture hall, and purposefully relates each module to your lives.

“You cannot equate legal ethics with business ethics!” Renjun argues, voice echoing off the amphitheater, surround-sound encasing all 19 people to accommodate for the 150-max capacity. “Business ethics are not always a matter of law,” he furthers, seeing your ears burn steam, all openness flying out the window. He does not miss the irony, something about the passion for you manifesting in different forms, maybe, if he let himself sit with the thought for long, but he distracts himself with the lecture, using all of his brain, and half of his fragile glass heart, to make a plausible argument that you cannot refute easily. “Yes,” he seethes, “legal ethics might determine what is acceptable, like a morality blueprint, but business ethics do not always have to adhere to the law!”

“Pertain,” you hastily correct, nearly spitting across the fishbowl setting that your professor had everyone arrange from the desks. You almost stand up, to nitpick at his argument, at his choice of words, but restrain yourself; you have some decorum. “Business ethics always have to adhere to the law.” Your voice hitches for a moment, an insult (dummy, idiot, clotpole) scratching its heels on your lips before it can fully pass into audio.

Renjun, though, unfortunately, sees the taunting term of endearment (of irritation). His smirk begs you say it, his tongue licking the seam of his lips open to prod you more, but Socratic seminars have a direct impact on his grade and ranking. He cannot afford to be thrown out of class again for getting too heated in debate.

“If we cannot equate business ethics and law ethics, then do out laws not reflect morality, the moral compass? Do our laws lack in some sense that alleviates business workers from punishment, puts them above the law?” you further, chest rising instead of your legs, asking him impossibly ambiguous questions to which you know that he does not have the answer. He could ask the theoretical judge (your professor) for an objection, but there is no witness testimony, so he would remain invalid unless he can bring a valid philosophical response. “Business ethics have arbitrary rules that would otherwise not hold in a court of law, so how can we determine the validity of their rules?”

You nearly forget about everyone else in the class, spotlight effect enhancing only Renjun Huang; you swear that you see the cogs turning, at rapid pace, behind his exposed forehead, as you pile question after question, trying to undermine and tear apart his dispute on the basis of morals and ethics, as is the name of your fucking class.

His clench fists tell you exactly where you can shove those intangible questions, also succumbing into tunnel vision with only you at the end, as if you were the sole answer to your own insufferable questions, to the universe, to this god-awful class section that you decided to sign up for, simultaneously with him. According to Haechan, there has to be at least two other sections, although it would coincide with the comparative law class you also share with him and his technology and science law class. He and you are not the only ones in this programme, in this class, despite the numerous times neither of you have focused on anyone else; other than Seungmin, who has ethics Tuesday, Thursday, Friday at 11 AM. Perhaps Renjun should have skipped the breather altogether, he thinks, then, you would still be talking to him … well, talking at him, given your disposition … not that he minds … he does somewhat agree with you, simply following the polar opposite because you do too.

Once Professor Jeong dismisses the lecture (after Renjun’s closing argument; you gave the opening argument), determining that both sides presented “enough” evidence for final ments, everyone begins cleaning up, putting the classroom back to the way it started. Only a few of you stay, out of the already few, including Renjun.

You turn to the front of the classroom, pushing the desks into a neat line. Seeing him, even after he essentially became your moral enemy, brings something forward, in you. The best or worst, you honestly cannot determine. Your grades, debates, fleeting relationships. All paled in comparison to what you had with Renjun, your nostalgia glasses tinted rose-gold. You cringe, physically, lips holding back vomit; you hope that your external shudder, too, only reflects the classroom’s 30-degree weather, not your melodramatic young adult life … or its absence. Maybe you have enough relationship experience, or maybe you need to get out more; maybe you need to think about what you actually had with Renjun, because – you look at him now, his thumbs typing fast enough on his phone to get carpal tunnel syndrome – this certainly did not end up being one.

Oppositely, Renjun, himself, cannot place the exact moment your relationship went downhill. Of course, he knows about you being overworked sophomore year and about the quote-unquote natural competition brought upon by the five-year law program, but he never really thought it would be enough to rip you two apart. Sometimes, he even catches himself reminiscing about your rom-com-esque meet-cute during the warm autumn day after new student orientations – the day shined brightly, as he used to correct you, and his heart thumped so loud in his brain that he didn’t register his own laughter until you mentioned it. He ruminates on the moments with you – fixing your hair as an excuse to look into your eyes before you drop eye contact; reviewing concepts he already knows just to hear you talk, uninterrupted; only touching elbows in the library, to verify that the other stays, because students took the longer desks, forcing him to chose the singles with immovable dividers. He ruminates, not because he wants to, but because it plagues him; it makes him overanalyze all your interactions thereafter. And maybe he did overcompensate for his misplaced frustrations … even though some miniscule part of you irritated him, burned this flame inside his chest, like heartburn.

He can make a list too:

He hates the way you talk, so short and easily annoyed with him;

He hates the way you walk into class, wearing those tennis shoes, like you try to mute your steps, even though people will stare at you coming in 1, 3, or 5 minutes late;

He hates the way you spar with him during Socratic seminars, treating the classroom exercise like an actual courtroom or debate, leaving him hot and breathless, feeling as if no one else can match his wit, even though half the class probably shares the same IQ;

He hates the way you are always right, especially in class when he gets the most minute fact wrong and you dismantle his entire case;

He hates it when you lie, when you claim to love the cold so you grab the seat under the vent during every class study session with the TA, so no one else gets sick;

He hates the way you breathe through your mouth when your nose ultimately gets stuffy after the library turns on the aircon;

He hates it so, so much when you stay later than everyone else, and he sees the way you shiver, too stubborn to move seats, to move closer to him.

He hates the way you make him want to wrap you in his obviously warmer jacket, make him hyperfocus on nursing you back to health instead of the lesson at hand.

He hates the way you never look at him, even after all the others have left, and he mumbles the occasional bless you or are you okay?, which scarcely get a response.

Renjun hates the way he has to steal glances at you or ask you for the source material to get you to look his way. And he hates that he currently does it, waiting, like a coward, for even the TA to leave the room last.

“Do you have a copy of Article 6?”

You bury your nose further into the library’s copy of the Constitution. “Yeah, I just read it.” He hates the way he sees something stop in your throat, masked by a cough; you almost said more to him. Silently, you pass him the book. “Here. You can –“ Cough. “– You can have it.” You bring your hand to your mouth, covered by your sleeve, coughs bubbling into it.

He hates the sympathetic look in his eyes, that he can feel, that he can see in the glass reflection, that you do not acknowledge. Renjun hates the way he purposefully brushes his hands against yours despite you having sneezed on it earlier. He threw a disgusted bless you at you, almost standing from his comfortable position to give you a tissue. But you would never accept it, on the basis of mortal enemies.

“Thank you.”

He hates the way you say nothing back, the way you ignore him again. He hates the way that, at this point, he has to wonder if he really does hate you, hate the idea of you, or hate himself for letting your relationship, now lack thereof, get to this.

And so do you.

Another week passes until your TA schedules another study session; this time before the midterm, one that you need to attend because the vocabulary continuously becomes too complicated to understand. Like, academia is already an unnecessarily convoluted foreign language, and you do not want to hear how it is pronounced, especially when it comes from Renjun’s stupidly pretty voice that always has a perfect cadence. Even now, as he answers the TA’s pointless pop quiz, you are compelled to listen, somehow retaining the information better when he says it, too consumed by his tone … that you miss half the class exiting, until you are left alone with him again, and the reserve textbook that the TA checked out for an extra two hours after the session, knowing exactly which two students would probably study near each other before getting kicked out (again) at midnight.

The click of an AirPod case opening snaps your attention, forcing you toward the tangible Renjun five seats away, furthest from the room’s only exit, other than the window you contemplate jumping from.

“What are you looking at?” Renjun snips, micro-jutting his chin toward you like a meaningless threat. He would never spar you … in a library, that is – he really does not enjoy getting kicked out of places. But he goes back to tuning out the world when you fail to respond, so you do the same, with your favorite band’s newest album.

Unfortunately, for Renjun, this meant enduring your off-key, sporadic humming, broken by cracks in your voice as if it were hoarse, vaguely resembling instrumental, much less the actual lyrics. He lets you get a bit louder, equally turning up his volume, until your humming elongates into one dissonant note, and he pulls out your earbud, pausing your music, your singing, and your studying. You un-click your pen, the corner of your eye flittering toward him, sparkling a glare because the angle will not allow you to narrow your eyes at him.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re excused,” he mocks, placing the AirPod on the table by your phone. Renjun returns to his seat just as easily and silent, the sound of his chair scraping the carpet replacing both your playlists. He is halfway through pulling his seat closer to the table when he continues, seeing you oscillate between him and your phone (not even the textbook; wow). “I meant it.” He glares. “If you’re just going to daydream, you can leave. I’ll even encourage you; you can be hung up on that Timothée Chalamet wannabe.”

You roll your eyes and scoff, head turning away. “I’m not hung up on him.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he mutters back, popping open an orange midliner. He doesn’t use yellow anymore. Variations of the color, yes, from orange to orange-yellow, then yellow-green to green. His favorite color is still yellow; perhaps why he holds it in such high esteem, like dedicating little emojis across his Instagram captions to it or detailing small embellishments around his apartment, but not something he carefully looks at every day, like his notebooks.

Equally petty and bitter, you say something under your breath, trying to be unintelligible. Renjun, though, knows about your mother’s speak clearlys, and it comes out crystal: “Sounds like you’re hung up on him more than I am.” And neither of you understand why – why he would think you are hung up on some asshole in your philosophy class who probably thinks Thanos was a genius; why this is a conversation topic; why he even cares.

“I’m not the one who went on a date with him,” Renjun almost bites, in the form of a growl. He remembers almost literally running into your classmate just outside the boba place off-campus behind the math department, like you did with the cement pillar a couple years ago. You also walked out the door, in the same manner he did to go inside the shop (or, really, stop outside it), distracted by complimenting the matcha blend; you also shrugged him off and sauntered the path with Chalamet.

But what does Huang Renjun even know about your taste in men?

A lot, actually, considering that encompasses so much, if not everything, that you want from a significant other: passionate, honorable, empathetic. You would rather die (or shut him up) before you said anything like that to him. Except … you already did. Freshman year, prior to meeting his friends, when you both were still in that weird getting to know each other phase, not the talking stage just yet, you had been in his dorm, sitting on a bean bag he stole from the floor lobby, and he asked you, out of the blue (because he was finishing up a social psych paper), about the things that make someone attractive romantically. You told him the basics – funny, verbally appreciative, trustworthy, etc., then he watched your eyes sparkle outside his window and your hands wrap around your knees, gently rocking as you described the really specific details. He wondered, at that time, whether he could be all that, your fantasized ideal type.

“I don’t know where you get your information, Huang, but Xiaojun and I aren’t dating, nor did we ever go on a date. I don’t know which event you’re probably misconstruing in your mind, but you’re wrong, and I don’t –“

“Sounds like you don’t know a lot,” he interrupts, starting a new argument, running away from the last topic he started. “Maybe you should actually focus on getting back into the top three in this class, or do you want Seungmin to keep taking out spots?”

You purse your lips. “Bold words for someone who can barely spell.”

“Yeah?” Renjun perks his head, shaking it just the one time. “What’s your excuse?” His question is met with silence, and since your eyes downcast again, brows furrowed with harsh lines in the middle, you fail to notice him return to work. “Thought so,” he mutters, in the tone your mother would disapprove.

You wish it was different.

Ethics would be so much easier, just to comprehend, with his help – bouncing ideas and theories off each other, cowriting drafts and outlines, simultaneously shouting eureka after everything comes together. Except, you wish this was also different – the irritation, the discomfort, the … the resentment. You both know why you resent each other, though only internally; he doesn’t know why you resent him, nor vice versa, and it bubbles into these micro-arguments, passive aggressiveness; the both of you too awkward, maybe even timid, to reconcile without your hearts on the line.

Another sigh leaves your lips, hidden under your breath, and no matter how hard he tries to ignore it, Renjun’s ears attune to it, to your every move. He puts his midliner down, contemplating the benefits of talking to you again like … like a friend; he even opens his mouth to say something, anything, but really, what is there to say? What can he say? One of you will have to be more vulnerable, praying on the other’s empathetic, or sympathetic, side. You did it last, telling him that you couldn’t move in with him, something of a sad expression on your face that he made him immediately go to your defence. He tells himself that he forgave you as soon as your lips moved, but you were not so sure … And neither was he.

“H … he … hey,” he calls out slowly, voice growing audibly to coherency as his confidence settles on vulnerability, a harsh 180 from his previous spite. “Hey,” he repeats, even louder. You finally turn to him, lowering your music just enough to hear him but not taking it away completely, in case he just wants to insult you again. He doesn’t. And he hopes his face shows that.

You scrutinize him, staring down from his eyes to his lips, pausing there, maybe hesitating, before trailing up again. “What?”

“Do you understand the implied contract prompt?”

“Mm … hmm …”

Renjun exhales through his nose, slowly rolling his eyes, trying to expel the budding frustration with each rotation. “Can … Will you go over it with me?” He knows that he has to ask a yes-no question, to ask for help in a format that will not have you nitpicking each word to dismantle his entire request like an argumentative statement. And he does not start it with an apology, like he should. He rarely reveals his emotions so easily without a special occasion, though his every feeling writes itself across his face, chokes his throat.

Not that you indicate any consideration – which is probably his fault. Who could even give a warm response to his resting bitch face, or that scolding tone? Who would even want to?

“I can,” you overenunciate, possibly pondering the implications of his question, taking an eternity to say the simple words. You lower your head, again, to your notebook; pen scratching the air above the half-filled page, twitching. He dips his eye to your smallest movements, but when he catches nothing, he returns to your face, still contemplative. You partially inhale, keeping your breath at the base of your esophagus until you make your decision. He waits and waits, falling onto his toes with each millisecond. You lick your lips and exhale, shakily; you take another moment, giving him a bit of hope that you change your mind at last second in his favor. And you do: “… Ye-yeah, I think I will.” You point a finger at him. “As long as you confine your arguments to the texts.”

“Thanks,” Renjun sighs. He breathes again, hand sliding down his chest. “Maybe we can bounce ideas off each other too.”

The corners of your lips twitch upward. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

You and Renjun spend another two hours in the library until a student worker’s voice echoes through the speakers, essentially kicking you both out. You helped each other pack your belongings, then walked down to the first floor together, in silence. He told you that he had to return a book at the front desk, and, despite your better judgements, you waited for him.

“So …” you say outside the library, grabbing both straps of your backpack. You stop first, in front of him, and he skids down, mirroring your posture on his tote bag.

“So …” he copies.

What does this mean? What happens now? What are we? Do we just go back to … You cannot call it ‘normal’, because what is normal? Even before everything, he blurred the line between friends and l… and more, which gave you a false hope that was shattered by Chaewon in just one minute, not that you speak to her so often anymore. You two get together occasionally, every 1-2 months subject to projects and midterms, working on different subspecialty electives – honestly, that itself is nice, not being forced to compete for the same internships, the same classes, the same fields. The same cannot be said with Renjun. Although, he gets it. Despite the way you two collaborate on similar theses, whether you agree or disagree with the hypothetical plaintiff, he validates your stances and vice versa, bringing up evidence to really strengthen each other’s arguments. He just … You just … debate whose evidence is better, which opening statement would be received by the judge (your professors) more positively.

A hundred questions linger on the tip of your tongue, nearly begging you to cross-examine him on the spot without preparation. Maybe lawyers are like this, kind of intense in all areas of their lives, needing the black and white extremes because they deal with the grey areas for days, if not weeks or months. Though, you still have yet to pass the bar exam. You and Renjun, who drops his arms to his sides like the iPhone emoji, his lips sucked inside his mouth.

“I …” You inhale, pursing your lips. “I …” You inhale again and bite your lip to keep the vacuum sealed. “I …” You start again and again, inhaling once more at the start of each sentence, reconsidering where to take this momentum. And Renjun follows your words, heels coming off the ground, leaning into you until he trips. “So …” you settle lamely, eyes drifting away from him, to one of the flickering lampposts in the midnight sky.

Renjun releases his lips into a tiny upward curve, sliding his feet individually into your personal bubble. “We can study at my apartment,” he suggests, “if you want.” And you bite your lip, pushing it out via tongue in the same second. Maybe he feels the same way, doesn’t want this good thing to end. These moments have happened before, after the massive fight move-in dispute, like when he offers you a pen or charger in class, seeing yours dead, or when he shows you that he listens, classroom or not, just like now, reading your body language, probably, and changing the trajectory of the night.

“… Can we?” you ask in a small voice. “I … I still have trouble with philanthropic and ethical responsibilities, and …” You drill your ankle into the ground. “And I think you know Carroll’s corporate social responsibility pyramid better than I do.”

“Right.”

You pick your head up, and he ducks his down.

“I … just … I mean,” he stutters, “If … If you think about it, we have different strengths, so we can … we should rely on each other a bit.” He inhales again, so you study his readable face, looking for all the signs that lead you to his fragile heart. His hands clasp in front of his chest, palms too sticky and perspiring to make the familiar rubbing sound. You try to find his eye, find his gaze, but he finds yours first, boring his widening pupils into you, making you take a small step back, slightly noticeable, given the way his fingers twitch forward, ghosting the outline of your palm. “An … And I’m sorry,” he apologizes. “For the last year.”

You brush your hair back through the middle. “It’s fine,” you breathe, pressing your palm into your stomach. “I mean, it’s … it’s not fine, because, you know … I … I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” he whispers, so quietly that you almost don’t hear it. Renjun clears his throat and looks over your head at the empty quad, lampposts dimmer than the second star on the right. “So, um, my place then?”

You bite your bottom lip again, trying not to show how wide your smile can get, because although this doesn’t cure the past 12 or 14 months of verbal rallying at every glance, it is a start. He still agrees with you on the important things, on the morals and values; he still, like, keeps the corner of his eye on you, in public, in private, in the classroom, everywhere; he still spends time with you, stays in your proximity, your eyeline, your conversation. And you know that the separation is your fault. Renjun talks about communication all the time, as the basis for any relationship, yet you couldn’t give him that. But maybe you can now.

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

The next day saw another study session in his apartment again, like every rom com movie’s college students – sitting on the floor, a takeout box housing rice in your hands while he balanced a bulgogi platter in his, chopsticks replacing the pen that you really should be holding instead. Occasionally, you had to cover your mouth, when he said something witty, else little grains fly into his face, not that his smile would be mad, too consumed by how own laughter.

Then, later, deep into the night, after the styrofoam piles on the garbage bin, Renjun crouches next to you, laying his head above the couch cushions while you yawned toward the open living room plan. He admired your dedication (really your side profile) and asked if you wanted to wrap up for the night, or to take a break, or to nap even, but you shook your head, reclining in his same position, restarting the explanation for your essay question to tell him why your practice exam deserves at least 85%, not 70. You kept talking, between yawns, eyes drooping, chest slowing, until your words broke completely from their last train of thought. Somewhere, you stopped listening too. He was not sure where, because he stopped also, eyes closing after yours, falling onto the floor.

Oh, it happened again, that same week. And the next, and the next, happening every other night for months.

Jeno and Haechan, his roommates this year – the two who replaced you, or made room, spontaneously, for Renjun when you abandoned him – were surprised to see you, that initial night. They enjoyed your company freshman and sophomore year, sporadically, while you had been with Renjun (not with him, just by his side) and the even rarer occasion they saw you separated. Of course you bonded as friends – all six – you, Renjun, Jeno, Haechan, Chaewon, Jaemin, but law school is competitive and, worse, time consuming, restraining your already limited time from people you do not see regularly (e.g. not Dahyun, Jimin, Renjun, Chaeyoung, or Yeoreum) So, as you and Renjun fought more, recoiled from each other, he retreated to his childhood friends, inadvertently distancing you from them too. And slowly, you rebuilt your relationships with them, too.

You rebuilt your friendships enough to walk from the maths department to Renjun’s apartment with Jeno at 7pm on a Thursday after studying alone in the library a couple hours, laughing at the story he told you about the time Jaemin lost his shoe in the fountain by the engineering department, only for you to return it with a senseless debate: how many holes are on a straw?

“You’re insane!” you shout as he opens the door, dropping your bag on the couch to follow him into the kitchen, completely missing Renjun’s small wave from the dining room behind you two; he brings his hand to his chest and stares at his palm while you follow Jeno around the apartment. “The math says it’s one.”

Jeno cracks open a soda, leaning against the counter. He smacks his lips, pondering the debate. You know he took calculus and geometry, and currently he has that topography class he just got out of, so he should be on your side! “It’s like this.” He puts up his finger. “There is one passage, –” He sticks up a second finger. “ – with two holes. There are two places you can enter. If we define a hole as an opening to which you can enter only or leave only, then –“

“What are you two talking abou –“

“– there are two holes in a straw.”

You smack Jeno’s hand down. “This isn’t a philosophical question. A straw is real and tangible in a torus shape, so it has just the one.”

“Can I give my opinion?” Renjun walks to the counter, poking his head above it.

“No!” you and Jeno shout together.

“Okay, then let me ask you this: do you consider your mouth and asshole to be separate openings or just the one hole?”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Technically,” you sigh, “Yes.”

“So you just admitted you’re talking shit!”

You deadpan. “Do you want to die?”

Jeno surrenders his hands, giggling to himself. “There’s a reason I’m not trying to be lawyer like the rest of you.” He puts his can upside down in the sink to drain the soda that wouldn’t fall out and claps his hands. “Anyways, I’m going to bed. I’ve gotten, like, 4 hours in the last three days, and I swear that I started hallucinating concert halls in the middle of architecture, so good night.”

“Yeah, yeah, good night, whatever,” you wave him off.

“Good night?” Renjun half-sings, staring Jeno down the hall.

“Oh!” you shout again, making him whip his head around as you rush to grab something from your backpack. You pull out a paper, small bag, tossing it to him in the same movement. “I got you some gummies from the library café. They were restocking, and I don’t know if you bought any since last night, so … yeah, there you go.”

Renjun pulls out the candies one at a time, sprawling them across the arm of the couch while you take a seat on the opposite, pulling a pillow into your crisscrossed applesauce position. Coca-Cola Haribo, Trolli Sour Brite Crawlers, Vilac peach yogurt jellies – Renjun doesn’t remember telling you about his favorite gummies; though, you might have just been … paying attention. He is not too subtle, he hopes, about it, about anything really. His emotions, he has been told, are written all over his face, involuntarily reacting before he can even think to process them. And with you in such close proximity, with the both of you fixing this relationship, his brain goes fuzzy, rewiring again, slowly coming down from disappointment to hope, but prevents him from slinking to your side again, unsure how near you will allow him to be. Renjun pops a candy bag open, just like Jeno did a soda, then points it at you first. You take two, one for yourself and place the other in his hand, coaxing him closer. The both of you rearrange on the couch until your shoulders are a magazine-width apart, necks reclined on the pillows, legs thrown toward the ground.

Renjun only lets the lull in conversation last a few seconds, maybe less, until his head starts drifting to the side. “Have you eaten yet?”

“I –” Your stomach growls before you can answer, metabolism having been ignited by the gelatin. “I guess I am …” You sink into the couch, pressing your lips tight, trying to hide between the cracks without bumping into him. He gives you space, inching away. “Sorry …”

“It’s fine.” Renjun tucks his pretty hair behind his ears, eyes cast between his legs on the cushion. “We can order food before we start studying.” He pauses, giving you time to think about from which delivery service to order, phone in his front pocket suddenly feeling heavy on his thigh, dropping a little too close to center; he rearranges his phone. And you rearrange your body to look up at the ceiling. Renjun copies you, after a second, after appreciating the glow across your cheeks, no matter how tired you seem. His eyes follow the outline around the apples of your cheeks, walking the same path to his ceiling, head tilting closely to yours. “Is hotpot okay?” he whispers near your ear.

Your shoulders shudder, almost hitting him in the chin, and you turn to him. “Again?” you ask, ending through a sigh. You hug your waist and snuggle deeper on the couch. He almost replaces the cushion with his narrow shoulder; albeit, he has been consistently going to the gym. It might be more comfortable now than freshman year, but he does wonder if you would have that playful smile on your lips again. It appears in your eyes. “Will you actually pour the soup into the bowls correctly, or are we going to have to drop meat into the broth again?”

Renjun smiles for you. “I can’t promise anything, other than it will taste good.”

“It’s hotpot,” you say as if the reasoning were obvious. “It’s hotpot, and more importantly, it’s your taste in hotpot.”

Reminiscing with you only goes as far back as when he apologized in the library this term, but he recalls everything before then too. You never really went to get hotpot with him before now; occasionally, yes, if you were available and nearby when he planned it. Actually, Junhui, one of the PhD students from the biology department, invited you sometime during sophomore year, when you and Renjun were walking around campus for fresh air, sipping melted bubble tea. That was every once in a while, maybe every couple months, but now, you go with him or order out with him every couple days. Your late night study snacks (dinner, really) does not always have to be hotpot, or boba; you also buy gimbap from the convenience store and pineapple juices, when neither of you have the time to dedicate 30-minutes, or an hour, to a full meal. Those moments remind him about freshman and sophomore year, in which school did not consume your waking hours like a ticket counter at an arcade.

“Are you ready for the exam?” you ask, once he sends the order, curling up on the couch.

Renjun flops next to you again, brushing his bangs away from his eyes to see you better. “Partially. There are still a few concepts I’m uncertain about, and I don’t know if I’ll be able to complete the writing portion in time, if Jeong really is going to reduce our time limit to an hour, instead of 90 minutes.”

You drop one leg on the ground again, extending your back on the cushions too. “Should we start going over the last lecture then?”

Renjun nods and reached over the arm of the couch for his backpack, pulling out a fat stack of cardstock. “Yeah, I started making flashcards on Tuesday after the finance PowerPoint. Too many vocab words.” He turns the index cards around his fingers, then looks up at you. Your eyes droop a bit down, wrists waddling on the side of your thigh. He tilts his head to the side. “Or we can eat first.” He would offer to walk you to your apartment, but you can stay over; you have, in the recent past and further. Plus, you usually protest him. Renjun thuds his head on the cushion, pulling a pillow into his lap, flittering his eyes up your face until he meets your gaze. “Do …” he swallows. Your pupils dart around him, but he feels as though you never leave his eye, so he restarts, “Do you … remember … when we first tried to get hotpot?”

“Yeah,” you yawn, slinking onto your shoulder. “I don’t think I trusted your suggestions completely back then, but after Jeong’s brutal pop quiz, –”

“No, um,” Renjun clears his throat. “Back-back then.” Before we broke up.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

A beat passes.

Then another one, both of you just staring at each other, unmoving, unblinking.

You open your mouth, but his chest rises, and you close it again.

He almost takes it back, mentally drawing all the what-ifs, even though he lives in a reality where all of this happened already – his breathing, his question, the fight. Even if he wanted to withdraw everything, he couldn’t.

“Yeah,” you surprise him, fingers pinching the couch. He mistakes the movement for another what-if, another hesitation, and reaches out, slowly threading his fingers under your palm. “I … I …” you stutter, corners of your lips twitching wide. “That was the first time I met your friends.”

“They’re your friends too,” he whispers, sliding his knuckles to meet yours. Renjun tugs your wrist weakly, and you comply. “They like you too.”

You search his eyes, small frown on your face. “… They do?”

Renjun swallows. “Yes, they do.”

Almost 48-hours pass before you see Renjun again, not seeing him during the intermediate day between business ethics. Your other shared class gets cancelled, too, giving you another excuse to avoid him.

You know why you avoid him, and you know when you avoid him – any time your friendship blurs the unspoken lines: talking through dawn, the smallest touches, always finding each other in the crowd. Even after your ‘break’, both of you found each other in your classes, unintentional at first. Everything was by chance this third year of college. Then, you talked to him, and he talked to you. Well, really, you argued back and forth, rallied at each other in class, encouraged by your fellow classmates and occasional professor. But you kept finding each other, preemptively refuting each other’s theses; it was a guess, of course, and it was always right.

Now, too, Renjun finds you outside the building, holding your backpack straps in both hands, twisting the fabric in circles.

“Hey,” he greets softly, jogging over to meet you faster. He catches your elbow, turning you to face him when you, still focused on the law building, bite your lip, dismissing his presence. You release the tension in your body, slinking into his singular hand, as if he were the only thing supporting you. “Nervous?” Renjun raises an eyebrow.

You swallow, then give him a weak smile, your mouth dropping the instant it formed. “That obvious?” You flicker your gaze across his eyes and frown. “Are you not nervous?”

Renjun relinquishes your arm. “No, I am. I just …” He pulls you to the side, away from the door, when other students start walking inside the building. His thumb rubs over your jacket, not that you feel it; you hear it though, like a scratching sound, before he stops, dropping his hand again, one last squeeze on your arm. “I just wanted to check on you first.” He gives you a weak smile, but this time, it does not go away as yours did, staying through the conversation. “Final exam,” he nods to the door. “Last one.”

“Of the term,” you mumble, then cringe, elbows tucking in your sides and lips pursing. If this is his attempt at comforting you, you aren’t being very welcoming to it. “Sorry.”

“How about,” he starts, and your glassy eyes peer into him, “Um,” his voice stutters, like caught between a rock and a hard place, unable to crawl out until you put a hand on his upper arm, resting there, circling around his small bicep like a funerary armband. “H-how about one more competition?”

You tilt your head to the side, frowning, hand slipping away too.

But Renjun catches you, compressing your knuckles in his swift move, then relaxing, slightly, not letting you go again. “If you’re ranked higher, –“ He pauses, briefly losing his train of thought, when you lick your lips open, leaning into his hold almost to the point of you both falling; but he stands solid. “– I’ll buy you dinner at Gen.”

“Gen?”

He brought it up a few times in the past, in the far past, asked you to go with him even more rarely, after a drink or two. And everyone knows the restaurant – a popular (and common) date night barbecue house, given by the candlelit atmosphere and the high frequency of two-person booths. Conversely, you brought it up once, that time you met his friends, dying for a reprieve, or a switching the night into something more intimate, you cannot remember. Although, depending on the day, your definition of intimacy differs; currently, you remember it as wanting to just be with him, wanting to slowly retire from the large crowd, wanting to hide your feelings a bit more, again, when he does not confirm his. Now, too, you counter him with follow-up questions, trying not to get your hopes up again, only for them to be dashed.

But Renjun nods and confirms his decision, his word. “Yeah,” he smiles, “Gen.”

“And …” you hum, tipping onto your toes, getting closer to his face, to his lips. You glance at his heart-shaped philtrum, so filled with love that his body expels it in the smallest details. He traces your eyeline, falling a little behind, just staring at your eyelids until you look back up at him. “… And what happens if you rank higher?”

“Mmmmm,” he ponders, voice a couple octaves higher, as if he had not yet considered winning, at all. “If I win,” he continues speaking slowly, dragging out the hypothetical. “If … if I win,” he restarts, darting through your face for an objection; you give none, instead breaking his personal space, coming just a biology textbook-thickness in front of his chest – far enough to take it all back in a second but close enough to give him more, should he ask. And he does. “If I win, you’ll owe me a kiss.”

[Renjun, 4:51 PM]

Have you checked the rankings yet?

[You, 4:55 PM]

I went this morning. They’re not up yet.

[Renjun, 4:57 PM]

[Renjun, 4:58 PM]

They were supposed to be up yesterday.

[You, 4:59 PM]

I know :( but I can check again tomorrow.

[Renjun, 5:01 PM]

No, it’s fine. I’m heading in that direction anyway. I’ll check right now, and if it’s not up, we can go together tomorrow.

Renjun stands outside your apartment, late into the night, teetering on both his feet, hand rising and dropping over and over again … until you open the door.

“Oh,” you weakly blurt, stopping one foot ahead of the doorframe, almost through the small opening between his legs. You rub your eyes with your cotton long sleeves, the hair loose from your ponytail flopping around your face, framing the yawn escaping your tongue. “What …” You drop your hands to your sides, blinking rapidly at him. “What are you do –”

Renjun wastes no time, letting his body answer for him. He grabs your cheeks, linking his clean-cut fingernails behind your ears, thumbs rolling up the apples of your cheeks. You grab onto him, onto his waist and wrist, bunching your fingers around every surface you can reach. Renjun smacks his wet lips together, having obsessively bit and licked them just seconds earlier. His eyes close halfway, mid-prayer; you copy him, standing on your toes, too. He comes just a hair away, lips nearly brushing yours. “Can I kiss you?”

“Please,” you whimper, so faintly that he almost misses it. Almost. You never leave his attention.

He waits another millisecond, inhaling some extra courage, telling himself that you are more permanent than he thinks, before, finally, bending down. You push your mouth higher, involuntarily tightening your grip on him. Renjun slips his tongue between your lips, quickly, elongating the single kiss so he doesn’t have to ask again. You adjust, easily, even more when he simultaneously moves one hand into your hair, supporting your head, and the other under your chin, thumb lifting your face upward. His tongue tentatively slithers past your teeth, prodding your tongue awake, flicking it unfolded, and your knees buckle, walking him inside your apartment. He presses you against the closest wall, closing the door behind him.

“Does,” you swallow, digging your fingers into his flexible hips, pushing him into a pause, “this mean you ranked higher?”

Renjun steals a chaste peck, head rushing in, then pulling out slower, admiring all the minute details in your face until you open your eyes widely, peering into him. He shakes his head, “No,” breathing the word onto your mouth, lips puckering across the word. “It wasn’t up.” He cautiously steps forward, only by his toes. And when he sees your lack of restraint, he adds another. “I just … I didn’t want you to think that I had any other intentions.”

“Than?”

“Than to date you.”

You yank him even closer, his palm banging into the wall, his heartbeat beating on yours. You tilt your head to the side, too, nose brushing his cheek. “Can I … Can you kiss me again?”

Renjun combs your hair away from your ears, pushing it behind your head. He grazes his lips on the last layer of your vermillion, all the little nerve endings sensing him but not entirely feeling him. “Can I do more?”

“Anything.” You arrest his wrist, contracting like a festival bracelet that will not loosen, also needed for entrance the next day. “Please.” You walk him toward your room, almost like a waltz, leading him first this time. “Please.”

Renjun accepts, taking off his bag and jacket in the same action, dropping them outside your bedroom door – an accident; he aimed for inside, but kissing you takes priority, any day, and he returns his chest, his lips, his hands to you, standing only in his t-shirt and slacks, you mirrored on him with your own oversized long-sleeve and lounge shorts. He spins you around, your back against his torso, you gasping at the suddenness, and nips into your neck, tongue dragging along your skin to mollify it and prevent a mark. For now. One hand holds your jaw, letting him find your perfect pulse point; then travels between your clothed boobs, cupping and squeezing, harder, provoked by your winded whispers. His fingers flick your waistband, tapping into your skin. He moves his lips down your shoulder, peppering gentle kisses coolly.

“Renjun, please.” You sigh into his embrace, his hug, then take off your shirt, giving him more skin to touch.

He kisses your bare shoulder, hands diving into your underwear now, and you grab his bicep even tighter, making him grunt lowly. Your nails dig through his thin t-shirt, dragging him another step forward, his cock nudging your ass cheeks separate. But it’s not enough. The material prevents him from feeling you, from you feeling him, entirely, so he pushes apart your vulva, slipping his fingers over your pussy to your clit, getting you wetter while he single-handedly unbuttons his trousers. They fall to the ground, and he steps out of them. When he stands taller again, he leans forward, fingers slipping entirely, knuckle-deep, inside your wet pussy. You, reflexively, bend over, face sloping toward the mattress, catching yourself on his arm.

“Ah, Renjun.”

“Too much?” he mumbles, nose brushing low behind your neck. He drags his nimble fingers on the crevice between your pussy and leg, drying them as he pulls out to put his hands on your shorts and spin you around, bare chest to bare chest. Renjun stares into your eyes, stooping a bit lower to give you the upper hand. His gaze dips down your face, just briefly, when your lips part, an exhale escaping.

“No,” you shake your head, returning his eyes to yours. You touch the waistband of his underwear, running your thumb along the seam. “I – I want more.”

Renjun nods, just once, letting the sentence seep into his brain, then he nods again, more fervently, his lips running back to you, after he understands/it fully hits him. His palms slide across your body: on the crown of your head, fingers spreading downward to support your neck, and on your lower back, guiding you over the bed. You don’t go down pliantly though, sticking to him, swiftly moving to anchor on his sturdy shoulders, keeping him locked in until he kisses down your face, down the column of your neck, sucking at the base and leaving budding hickeys to decorate your collarbone. He licks between your boobs, tongue covering his bottom teeth as he takes your nipple in his mouth, hands holding your hips down kneading the neglected teat, rubbing his tight fingers along the hard bud like a washboard.

You inhale sharply, picking your head off the mattress to see him better, then drop back down again, back arching, moaning, “Renjun, yes, oh my God.” You pick your hips up, planting your feet on the duvet, humping the air to feel him, feel the outline of his abandoned dick. “Mmm,” you thrash about, knocking him down your body.

Renjun lands above your appendix, adding another mark low on your stomach, before saying, “I’m getting to it.” He picks up his head, smirking. “Or, are you going to argue with me now?” He kisses above your shorts. “Again?”

He sneaks his way into your shorts, under your panties, jerking them down your smooth legs, and diving into your pussy, cold breath igniting the bundle of nerves. You accidentally twitch your thighs, squeezing his face; you hold him there a moment longer, raising your clit to his waiting tongue. When he licks around your vulva, your legs slacken, allowing him to do what he initially wanted. His tongue trails along your inner thighs, gently nipping and sucking. He holds your knees apart, giving himself the space to work, focusing on the outer part of your cunt, tenderizing the area until your legs start shaking, collapsing on the bed – that is when he pokes his tongue through your orifice, resting his cheek on your inner thigh, his wet sloppy kiss returning to him. His nose circles over your clit, scraping it side-to-side as his tongue flutily cleans your walls. He inserts a finger beside his tongue, wriggling it deep inside your cunt, met with your spongey, little spot, then another one, pulling back and forth, sliding his lips onto your clit again.

“Fuck, Renjun,” you whine, twisting and turning, knocking him about. He pushes his free plan just outside your pussy, keeping you down flat, sucking your entire clit between his lips, tongue ruffling the hard nub. “You’re going to make me cum.”

“Mmhmm,” he nods, briefly disconnecting to spit on his fingers. He slowly slides the tip of his palm under your clitoral hood, winding his arm in a half circle, preparing to drive his fingers in you at a faster pace. “That is my intention. Do you want me to stop?”

You shake your head.

Renjun climbs on top of you again, lunging into your face, his head sloped to the side, barely supported on the one hand at your side, repeatedly milling his boxers between your legs. Occasionally, he breaks the kiss, to check on his fingers buried inside your cunt, only to restart his grinding. Your lips split, releasing a moan inside his mouth. Renjun grits his teeth, the tip of his dick getting flicked by your heavy blanket, then smashes his lips on yours, coiling and toiling, exhaling heavily through his nose, onto your cheek. He shoves a third finger in your cunt, so far that your body arches off the bed; he grabs the front of your pussy, roughly wriggling his entire hand and, essentially, pawing at your pussy, your hamstring muscles contracting, toes curling. You clutch his bicep, eyes shutting, knees turning outward.

He repeats long pecks behind your ear, gently nibbling the lobe where you periodically wear earrings. “Can I give you more?” he whimpers, begging, hips knocking a little bit closer, biting his lip.

Your nails dig into his skin, chin jutting to the side, neck allowing him extra access. “Please, Renjun, I’m so close. You’re going to make me cum, you’re going to make me cum. Deeper, oh my God, please.”

Renjun slips off his underwear, using the edge of your bed and his legs. He lines the tip of his dick behind his knuckles, gently prodding his hand forward to give you a deeper sensation like you ask. You peek open your eyes slowly, then stare at him, feeling him kneel high between your thighs; you glance down to his cock in hand, damp head leaking pre-cum like lubricant, and nod, catching his drift. Renjun pushes his thumb onto your clit, rocking it side to side, and slips his fingers out, replacing it with his cock. He groans with you, interlacing his dry (yet soft and moisturized) hand, jaw hanging low, heavy breaths flattening his lungs.

Your free hand snakes into the bedsheets, crawling under a pillow, arm raising to the ceiling. Renjun kisses you again, strangled moans from both of you shaken, not stirred, by your tongues. And the moment his cock buries fully inside your cunt, you gasp, opening your mouth wide enough for him to slip his tongue inside too, swirling yours to the front of your mouth, into his, where he can suck on it. Your body rises in temperature rapidly, chests abrading simultaneously, fervently trying to fuse your bodies together, exploring each other’s mouths. His hand falls close to your cheek, almost slipping and falling completely as the pressure in his abdomen builds.

“Tell me you’re close,” he whispers shakily, legs, abs, biceps trembling. Renjun feels your walls gradually tighten, coaxing the pre-cum from his cock; he can feel that, too, trickling down his shaft, mingling with your wetness. He picks up the pace, hips turning obviously, left, right, left, right, then pelvis snapping up, up, up, joining your pussy whenever he bangs you into the headboard. “Angel, does that feel good?”

You bite your lip, nodding, then let go. “I’m … I’m …” He keeps the pattern: left, right, left, right, left and right, up, up, up. His pelvis drives you through the bedframe, but his hips bring you back down, and you roll your eyes into your head, moaning loudly. You hold onto his wrist, ground yourself through the building orgasm. “So, so good, Renjun. Oh, my God, I’m cumming. Keep going, keep going.” He continues rolling his hips, cock floundering inside your pussy, tip thumping rhythmically on your sweet spot, until your wall spasms slow down, the compressions loosening enough for him to slip through. Your pussy quickly returns to its original tightness in the downtime, and you mewl when he pulls out, tip catching on the stretch.

Renjun clenches the base of his cock, fingers replacing your pussy as he pulls out, mumbling, “Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” the syllables of your name also spilling from his tongue.

You sluggishly pull yourself back up, but when you stand on your knees, similar to him, you fall forward. It gives you the perfect position to suck his dick though, and your hands join his single one, tugging on his shaft, twisting your wrists in different directions, at different speeds, spreading your cum all over his length. Tentatively, you stick out your tongue, his cock barely scraping it as he fucks the tiny hole created by your hands and you jerk him off. You cautiously look up at him and find him, eyes closed, pointed toward the ceiling, jaw dropped smally as he controls his breath. His hands comb into your hair, sketching around your ears, gently pulling you further up his cock, making one of your hands disappear.

"Oh, just like that, angel," he moans, "I'm gonna cum. Can I cum in your throat?"

You give him a strangled whine, bobbing your head up and down largely. Yes. You pump him a couple more times, slurp his cock loudly a couple more times, and he cums into your mouth. Renjun pulls his cock out, white cum stringing from his to your lips, overflowing on the corner, onto your cheek and chin, your tongue curving down like a bowl to catch every drop. He cups the beads falling down your face and swipes it into your mouth, persuading you to swallow, which you do, around his thumb.

Silence envelopes the two of you for a second, you and Renjun locked in that final position, breathing heavily, chests still heaving. You lay down first, then gesture for him to join you. He shakes his bangs in front of his face, smiling, and complies.

"Don't you need to use the bathroom?"

"In a minute," you wave him off, nudging yourself onto his shoulder. He lets you rest there, his eyes closing, breathing evenly, also spent, yielding to that end-of-the-term exhaustion. "Can I ... give you something too?"

Renjun opens an eye, then the other, seeing you stare at him. He analyzes your features, darting through the exhaustion, finding your wide eyes and fidgeting hands. "You've already given me everything." He mattes down your hair, brushing the shorter layers behind your ear to see your pretty face better. "Do you want to go again?" he smiles, dropping his arm on your shoulder, clinging closer to you. "I might need a minute,” he laughs.

You kiss him quiet, lips closed, staying on his for a long moment before you pull away, snaking a leg between his. "It's not necessarily the same ... as what we just did," you explain, whispering, "I want you to know that ... that my intentions, too, are to date you."

Renjun beams. "So, how about we get that dinner at Gen then?" You search his eyes, shoulders rising faster. His hand slips onto your upper arm, squeezing and rubbing the naked skin. "No competition," he clarifies, "No winners or losers, just you and me."

"Yeah, okay," you smile back, feeling him scoot even closer. “I’d like that a lot.”

#neohub #nct smut #renjun smut #nct dream smut #nct fluff #nct angst #renjun angst #renjun x reader #nct fanfic #nct dream fanfic

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starlightshadowsworld · 2 years

Text

The Red Knight Part 1

(Few survive the Laxarus pit unscathed but Jason Todd was always a special case so somehow its worse.

Jason couldn't move... He couldn't breathe.. It was as if the world was trying to silence him all over, destroying him from within and dragging him to his knees.

...

Or the Laxarus pit has some spicy ectoplasm in it that doesn't take kindly to back to life Jason. And who put the Ghost King comes to guide this way word soul.... And gets a new Fright Knight.)

. Aka I write a DP X DC fic

Jason breathed heavily as he sat down on his sofa. Silently counting to 5...than 10...than 20...he wasn't sure for how long but when it was over he took another breathe.

This one easier than the other.

These episodes, if you could even call them that came frequently. Moments of his day where he'd suddenly lose all sense of reality. Like the world had pulled the rug out from under him, taking all the air with him. It had been harder with his helmet, just having something covering his face at first had been a nightmare.

But Jason had gotten through it. Now he felt safer having that layer between his head and whatever came launching at it.

He sighed, he was doing that a lot lately and got to his feet. As much as Jason would love to sit around his safe house and complete his 5th re-read of Pride and Prejudice. Gotham never slept so he had work to do.

Jason got to his feet, getting his gear on in record time and headed out the door. Gotham was chilly and the smell of smoke and screams cut through the air before fading into the background. It was a typical night, if you could call anything in Gotham typical.

He stopped a mugging here and there. Getting an old lady to smile at him before she beat the mugger with the purse Jason had returned to her. Gothamites were something else and Jason knew whatever he could've done to the guy was nowhere near as bad as this.

Man he sure loved this city sometimes.

Jason grabbed some coffee, the baristas didn't mind so long as he paid. And even than, no one cared at this time of night if the Red Hood himself sipping coffee in their shop, especially when the man tipped well.

Though the idea of someone calling the GCPD on him was enough to make him laugh. It got him some odd looks but no one dared to comment, he had a reputation after all.

And was very much armed.

He gave a nod to the staff and left without a word. Taking a different route incase someone actually decided to try something.

While it had been humerus, Jason wasn't in the mood for it. The coffee had done its job of waking and warming him up, but being awake meant he was alert to his own body.

Which had decided to turn on itself yet again.

Jason winced as the piercing pain in his head became more apparent. It felt like someone was trying to smash it open, he could say that he knew what that felt like. His body started to feel heavy, and with the gear he was holding he felt like he was carrying a mountain on his back.

Jason sighed, it was probably for the best he was done tonight.

And that would've been it, dragging himself back to his safe house and passing out on his sofa.

But fate never liked to do what Jason wanted it to do.

Because his change of route had lead him right into the path of a dealing. Where someone was trying to deal drugs to someone Jason knew just by sizing them up was a minor.

Jason froze at the sight.

He had one rule.

One damn rule... No dealing to kids.

The familiar feeling of anger flooded into his system, but this feeling was more than it had been years ago. Every single hair on Jason's head was standing on end, his body tensing like a spring ready to recoil.

Anger no... Rage rolled off him in waves.

Jason couldn't remember when he moved but before he knew it he had the dealer on the ground. Someone was screaming, something was breaking but Jason didn't feel any of it.

He felt like he'd truly come alive. His sore and tired body sharpened like a knife as he continued his onslaught. Jason lost all sense of reason, all sense of time, he wasn't even sure what he was doing or why.

It was like he was being pulled along by strings.

He felt someone come forward and he turned to strike but they took his arm before he could land a blow. Their was a gentleness to it he hadn't expected.

"-Hood, Littlewing can you hear me?"

... Dick?

Jason looked up... But that couldn't be right he was taller than Dick right? Had lorded it over his older brothers head that he had outgrown him.

"Jase, hey, you with me? I'm here, I'm not going anywhere."

They were on the ground?

Why, was Jason on the ground? And why was Dick holding his arm?

The smell of blood hit him and he froze.

The feeling of the world rushing back to him, hitting him like a truck and he would've fallen had Dick not caught him.

Jason was shaking, their was blood on his hands... Why was their blood on his hands? He didn't even notice he was shaking until Dick held him, could feel the tremors running through him.

"Oh Littlewing... Its okay."

That's when Jason saw the body.

Or rather part of the body because Dick had gently but firmly moved his head away so he couldn't see it. Any other time Jason would've snapped at him but this time he was greatful he didn't have to look at it.

At what he had done.

The rage was gone, evaporating into the breeze leaving him scared and shaken. Somehow even with his new height Dick managed to haul him up into his arms with ease, gently rocking him like he was a child having a bad dream.

But Jason didn't have the strength to argue or insist he could walk fine, he was exhausted. And so he rested his head on Dock's shoulder as the world went dark.

Dick looked at him in worry. Catching his brother in the middle of a pit rage wasn't what he wanted to see tonight. Or ever if it was up to him, he hated seeing Jason look so powerless and scared afterwards.

Hated how his eyes glowed green with so much pain and anger before melting into terror.

Dick took off to Jason's safe house, it being the closest thing to them and took out the master key he had on hand. He gently undid Jason's gear, leaving him in a t-shirt and jeans, bundling him in the one blanket he owned and ruffling his hair.

He would have to call Bruce, but he would prolong that for as long as he could. He knew the dealer was dead on sight, but Bruce would care about that more than he did.

All Dick had wanted was for his brother to be safe.

He'd failed him once, never again.

______________________________

Elsewhere, a certain halfa's eyes opened. He looked around in confusion.

He had heard a cry.

As if a soul was reaching out to him in desperation before it vanished. It wasn't the first time but he was getting antsy and concerned.

Just who was this lost soul?

Part 2

#The Red Knight #Jason todd #Red Hood #Danny Phantom #Danny Fenton #dick grayson #Nightwing #Fic #Batman #DC

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nostalgiacauseitstrendy · 8 months

Text

Long, Long Time- F!Reader x Kabal

I've been really sad and this song destroys me every time I hear it (the last of us episode didn't help at all). Listen to "Long Long Time" by Linda Ronstandt for full immersion.

Y/n and Kabal were seeing each other before his burns. After the incident, Kabal joins the Black Dragon and pulls away from Y/n. All references to "he" is about Kabal.

--------

When Y/n needed to get anything off her chest, she would go to a local karaoke bar to sing away her feelings. That's where they met a few years ago, when he was just a rookie cop. He used the cheesy, "come here often?" line that made her giggle. They'd spend hours laughing the night away. He would be entranced by her voice. A sudden chill shook her out of her daydreaming.

Sometimes she wished she would run into him. What would she say? Would it matter? Would he show up with someone else? Its been almost a year since she had last spoken to him.

Y/n sauntered up to the stage, grabbing the microphone as if it was routine. Her voice carried across the old, brick bar.

Love will abide,

Take things in stride

Y/n's friends always showed up to support her performances. They were always the ones telling Y/n to get back out there, to start anew. They always spouted the typical euphemisms for getting over him- "there's plenty of fish in the sea," and all that nonsense. All hopes that she'd ever find love again have long since been buried.

Sounds like good advice

But there's no one at my side

Y/n just ignored their words, but stated she appreciated the advice. None of it helped, however. She couldn't imagine herself with anyone else, in reality, didn't have the will or energy to try. No one had ever made her feel the same way he had- and no one would ever again.

And time washes clean

Love's wounds unseen

They always say the passage of time heals all wounds- Y/n found that to be nothing but empty words. They held no meaning- the day he disappeared hurts now as much as it had then. She had tried texting, calling, even showing up outside the Black Dragon. Not a sight, not a sound.

That's what someone told me

But I don't know what it means

No advice, no time, nothing was healing this pain in her heart. A piece of her was missing. Her friends eventually gave up trying to reconcile with her pain and supported her the best they could. Coming to this bar made her feel like a masochist in a way, but it was the only piece of him she had left.

'Cause I've done everything I know

To try and make you mine

She had tried everything. He was hers for a long time. She was his forever, and she hated that now. When Kabal received his injuries, he began pulling away. He thought he was a burden and that Y/n deserved better.

She always reassured him that the wounds didn't mean anything to her. She asserted that he was the only one for her, no matter what happened to him. These words fell on deaf ears, as Kabal was too absorbed in his own grief.

And I think I'm gonna love you

For a long, long time

Before the burns, she first told him she loved him on a date. Walking through town on a clear summer night after a lovely dinner, Y/n turned to Kabal.

The moon shone on her face, her eyes alight with the flurry of the night, she told him she loved him. He froze before smiling ear-to-ear and telling her that he loved her too.

Caught in my fears

Blinking back the tears

She saw him change after the burns. He was colder, more callous. The night he rejoined the Black Dragons is where she pinpoints the beginning of the end. She expressed her concerns to him one night, leading to a major argument. He wanted to re-join the Black Dragons to regain control in his life. She wanted him safe. The argument ended in screams and tears, no resolution.

I can't say you hurt me

When you never let me near

Then one day, he was gone without a trace. She normally would see him after work at her apartment. He was a bit cold the night before, but nothing out of the ordinary.

And I never drew

One response from you

Despite all the texts, calls, attempting to hunt him down, she couldn't find him.

She sent him a text saying, "Really, after everything we've been through, you are just going to pick up and disappear?"

The message was delivered, she never knew if he read it. Not a single response.

All the while you fell

All. over girls you never knew

Y/n knew there was girls at the Black Dragon, all the time. She would overhear Kabal's buddies talking about them, how attractive they were, Kabal agreeing with smiles. She began to wonder if he left her for one of them. Maybe that's why he had withdrawn from her the past few months?

'Cause I've done everything I know

To try and make you mine

At first, she blamed herself. Maybe she wasn't good enough. Maybe she drove him off. Was she not supportive? Did she make him feel like he wasn't good enough?

There was nothing she wouldn't have done to make him stay.

And I think I'm gonna love you

For a long, long time

Not a day goes by when she doesn't think about him. She had to put away many trinkets and collectibles in her apartment- even a certain dvd or cd made her think of him. Gifts he's given her, clothes she's snagged- had to be put out of sight. Out of moments of weakness, she'd dig out some clothes he'd left and hold them tightly. His scent always brought tears to her eyes.

Wait for the day

You'll go away

The song, reaching its climax, made the memories more salient for Y/n, something she valued, but also something she hated. She was reliving the day she came home to an empty apartment.

Knowing that you warned me

Of the price I'd have to pay

She knew the dangers of the Black Dragon, he warned her she'd be endangered due to her relation to him. He would emphasize that his occupation risked her life. She didn't care. She'd risk it all for him. She would have paid any price to keep him near.

And life's full of flaws

Who knows the cause?

None of the adversities they faced seemed worthy of his disappearance in her eyes. Sure, life was unfair, but him leaving seemed the most unfair in her eyes. Why not face it together? Why insist on facing it alone?

Living in the memory

Of a love that never was

That really was it, wasn't it? She was stuck in a sick cycle of her memories. She just kept reliving the past to feel anything at all. Just maybe if she relived it enough it would keep the memory of him alive. Just maybe he would show up again. This caused her the grip the microphone hard, her knuckles becoming more visible.

'Cause I've done everything I know

To try and make you mine

At this point, Y/n felt weak. She really had done all she could. She fought as hard as she could. Her stomach felt uneasy, her knees felt like they would give out at any moment. She felt exactly the same way she had that damned day.

And I think I'm gonna love you

For a long, long time

She had melted into the song at this point. So much emotion, so much pain had driven her to numbness. In the end, that is all she knew- she still loved him. Always will.

'Cause I've done everything I know

To try and make you mine

Someone was in attendance, though Y/n never noticed. He was well-hidden in the back after all. His hoodie, dim facemask, and baggy attire hid his identity well. He had been following her for the past few months, though she was not privy to it.

Her performances usually riled something up in him, but nothing quite like this. He felt tears brimming in his eyes.

He thought he was protecting her by leaving. Surely his connection to the Black Dragon would get Y/n killed. If they caught her on a moment he wasn't there...he didn't want to imagine the carnage. He thought he was a burden to her. She could do better. Why didn't she move on? This would have made it so much easier for him.

Why couldn't he move on?

And I think I'm gonna love you

For a long, long time

Finished and between the cheers, Y/n sat down. She almost fell into her seat, dizzy from emotion. Maybe a few minutes went by before a server came to the table full of her friends and dropped off a beer with a note directly in front of her. The note read, come here often? She turned to look behind her.

--ill write a part 2 if asked.

#mk #kabal #mk kabal #kabal x reader #reader x kabal #reader insert #female y/n #female reader #y/n #mortal kombat x reader

38 notes · View notes

tafeekafee · 2 months

Text

⏳🐿️ Drink up, one more, drink up

Notes: So ... I was just re-watching 'Fever Road' this afternoon. Now I have seventeen pages of this fic instead of other stuff I wanted to write. This is a 'what if' or 'what might have happened' of the time Hongjoong had to drink the fish sauce. Some of the things the members say are direct quotes from the subtitles of the episode.

Hope you enjoy!

Sickie: Hongjoong

Caretaker(s): San and Seonghwa

San was not a fan of the new ‘Fever Roads’ mission. It was bad enough that they left Wooyoung to be taken alone to a scary house – knowing fully well that Wooyoung did not like scary stuff at all – but now? Drinking fish sauce?

Well, Americano or fish sauce. Which was only slightly better.

He reached out first, despite loving his members, not willing to actually drink the sauce. The others quickly reached out to grab their own drinks. San watched as Jongho tried to smell if he could detect fish sauce and Seonghwa stared at his chosen cup without getting an answer.

San glanced over when he heard Yunho laugh, sniffing at Hongjoong’s drink. So their hyung had definitely made the wrong choice. San already pitied him, everybody knew that Hongjoong did not like any bitter drinks (Americano included but that was a different problem).

This could only end in disaster. San grabbed the kitchen roll behind him and handed out tissues to the members. They might be needed to hide their expressions if it was going to be as horrible as San feared it would.

The members kept teasing each other but San kept silent. He didn’t find the mission funny. At all. Yunho was gleeful in Hongjoong’s plight – San couldn’t fault him, objectively it was probably funny. He just didn’t feel it.

Though at first hesitant, Mingi was in luck. It was very clear that he had chosen Americano. With Yeosang, surprisingly, he wasn’t able to tell – though he suspected he had gotten Americano. The other man was definitely not as good an actor to hide if he had chosen fish sauce.

Then it was Hongjoong’s turn. San hadn’t been able to see his facial expression before, sitting next to him. Now that Hongjoong had turned to face the majority of the members there was regret all over his face, and maybe slight panic. Understandably. San really didn’t want to be in his position. He wasn’t sure if the captain was even aware of the grimace on his face.

Then Hongjoong opened the lid and immediately the room started smelling – badly. San felt so bad for his hyung. He couldn’t help but worry about the older man, he could tell that Hongjoong was really not happy under the fake “I’m not happy” demeanour.

Yunho held a tissue to Hongjoong’s mouth but was soon distracted with fake gagging as he breathed in. Jongho, always happy to tease his hyungs, kept telling them to not make it obvious. Like anybody would believe that Hongjoong actually had Americano.

As Hongjoong turned away, trying to get away from the smell, San added sarcastically: “I didn’t know you liked the smell of Americano that much!” San could at least make an effort to act like San though he really didn’t feel like it. Maybe ATINY would appreciate the teasing, then at least it was worth it.

“It’s okay if you don’t act out”, Seonghwa said, also not sounding convinced that this was a good idea. Fish sauce was a condiment, for God’s sake, not a drink.

Hongjoong was still stalling. “Remember we have to save Wooyoung”, San encouraged, hoping that maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t as bad as it smelled. Maybe it would be best to just get it over with.

The captain was smiling through the pain, San could tell, as Hongjoong countered: “Who is that? Who is he?”. Keeping the “six makes one team” joke alive. Okay, Hongjoong could do this.

Their captain pinched his nose closed and drank the whole cup in one go. San was confident Hongjoong, or all of them, really, could keep the act up. Perhaps it was not as bad as he had thought. Maybe he really was just a tad to pessimistic.

The sentiment held as long as Seonghwa muttered an impressed “woah”. Watching the captain closely, San saw how he had trouble swallowing the last part, the taste probably hitting just then. Hongjoong placed the empty cup on the ground and doubled over, coughing.

Yeosang immediately moved his leg out of the way, muttering a concerned “oh, hyung”. For a moment San was frozen, watching their captain cough violently. The only sound other than Hongjoong’s coughing was the other members teasing him, saying the drink “had gone down the wrong pipe” – as if fish sauce needed to go down the wrong pipe to cause this. Again, nobody would ever believe that it was actually Americano.

Suddenly it all went wrong.

Hongjoong spat out some of the fish sauce he apparently still had in his mouth into his hand, the other grabbing the tissue lying in front of him. San reached over, his own tissue at the ready, and held it to Hongjoong’s mouth. He could at least try to cover the captain’s dignity.

The next moment that motive became moot. Hongjoong’s cough turned into a gag. Alarmed the other members looked over; Yunho’s, Jongho’s and Mingi’s laughter going quiet at once. Yeosang who had been rubbing Hongjoong’s back, looked worried, but didn’t stop.

“Shit, I think he is going to throw up”, Seonghwa called from the end where he was sitting, sounding extremely worried out of a sudden.

“Cut the cameras”, a manager yelled out in response..

Hongjoong leaned over even further, looking panicked. His cough was sounding wet, turning into – for now – dry retches every other second. The crew was whispering to each other but San paid them no mind.

“I don’t…”, Hongjoong gasped, his face red from the coughing, “please, go away.” They all knew that Hongjoong was conscious of those things, hating to inconvenience staff and also very easily embarrassed by his own sickness. While he did mostly tell them when he was feeling unwell, the only person he hesitantly allowed to with him when he threw up was Seonghwa. Now there were five additional members in the room and several camera crew, managers and make-up noonas and hyungs. No wonder Hongjoong was shaking so badly.

“What are you waiting for?”, Jongho called at the staff, who were still milling about. It was very rude of their maknae but San understood. This challenge had the potential to go very wrong and it had. The anger was justified and San knew that Jongho was terrified at the change of events though he knew better than to let it out on others, especially staff. They would have to address and rectify that later. Now he needed to get to their poor captain, who was gasping for breath.

“Move over”, San commanded, nudging Yunho, who was still frozen in shock – how had a fun game turned to their hyung struggling not to be sick while on camera? – back. He might have come across as rude, but if Yunho seriously was hurt by his tone of voice they could talk it over later.

“It’s okay, hyung”, San comforted, joining Yeosang in rubbing their captain’s back. Hongjoong gagged again, his whole back rippling from the motion. He was struggling to hold it back, needing his privacy, but he was losing the battle. “If you need to be sick, let it happen. You will feel better.”

San wasn’t sure if the reassurance had helped or if Hongjoong’s stomach was just done with the fish sauce – either way the next second Hongjoong gagged deeply and fish sauce spilled over his hand. The position looked painful, Hongjoong was nearly touching the ground while still trying to be as far away from his lap as possible. Mingi had scooted away, being in the line of fire, looking on wide-eyed.

Not sure what to do or how to help, San glanced at Seonghwa, who had knelt down by them, an unhappy frown on his face. The crew was finally moving out of the room, sadly too late.

Seonghwa grabbed Hongjoong’s dirtied hand, pulling it out of the line of fire. “Yunho, get the rest out”, he said, having found his composure. Seonghwa seemed really surprised by the turn of the events, but San recognized he had switched into oldest-hyung mode now. Hongjoong heaved again, vile liquid spewing from his mouth. It looked so painful and like Hongjoong was barely able to breath before the next mouthful came up. San couldn’t help but wince at the odour, it really reeked.

Yunho nodded and pulled Jongho to his feet, who was still watching in worry. Mingi was coaching Yeosang away so that Seonghwa could take his place. When Yunho tried to get San away, he shook his hand off his shoulder. “Go”, he hissed and, reluctantly, they left the room.

“San”, Seonghwa sighed, but didn’t try to make him leave.

Together they stayed with the captain, comforting him as he kept on coughing and spilling his stomach contents all over the floor. Wave after wave of clear brown liquid had come up but now it was turning into chunks of their dinner. The whole thing had apparently triggered a real vomit effect.

It took a few minutes until Hongjoong was able to calm down. He kept on gagging at the bitter taste that was probably left in his mouth, his back quivering with the force of it all. Tears were streaming down his face – San couldn’t tell if they were caused by the vomiting or if Hongjoong was crying of humiliation.

Finally it was over. Hongjoong took a deep breath and scooted back, away from the disgusting puddle on the floor. Seonghwa and San followed him, but still tried to give him some space. The captain pulled his knees to his chest and pressed his face into his upper arm, softly crying and hiccoughing. The soiled hand dangled at his side, as he tried to keep it away from himself.

San hadn’t ever seen his hyung like that, sad and defeated. It felt like a punch in the stomach, seeing the strong man brought down low. His heart yearned to help.

He grabbed the roll of kitchen towels that conveniently laid next to him and wet it with some water from one of the bottles. Then he gently took his hyung’s dirty hand, provisionally cleaning it off.

Hongjoong let out a deep sob at the touch.

“Hongjoong?”, Seonghwa asked, emboldened by San’s attempt to help. “Can I hug you?”

For a moment they didn’t think Hongjoong would answer but then Seonghwa had his lap full of crying human. Gently Seonghwa rocked them side to side, shushing Hongjoong’s cries and rubbing his back. Hongjoong had buried his face in the crook of Seonghwa’s neck and just kept trembling. Not knowing what else to do except offer comfort, San gently enfolded his hyung’s small hand in his own, bigger one. At first he wasn’t sure if it was welcome but then Hongjoong held on tightly.

Time passed and slowly Hongjoong’s cries quietened down until he was silent in Seonghwa’s arms. When Hongjoong made no move to get out of the safety of his hyung’s arms, Seonghwa, though with a look of regret, moved him so they could look at each other.

“Do you feel better, love?”, the oldest asked, gently as if speaking to a frightened child.

Hongjoong barely reacted, the shrug he gave hardly moving his shoulders. He looked down at his knees as if they were a very interesting, new sight. San followed his gaze to the small, wet spot on his calf where it seemed he had thrown up on himself a bit.

“Let’s get you clean up, okay?”, San suggested, keeping his voice steady despite the tears he felt bubbling up in him.

Together Seonghwa and San helped the captain to his feet, yet Hongjoong just sagging between them in defeat.

Loud voices from the other room had them looking up. “This is ridiculous!”, Jongho yelled, although his voice was muffled by the wall. Several exclamations followed, buzzing together so that they didn’t understand what was being said.

“I’ll go sort this out”, Seonghwa said with a sigh, “can you help Hongjoong-ah, San-ah?”

Without hesitation, San nodded. He wrapped his arm around his hyung’s waist and led the silent captain to the adjoining bathroom. While they hadn’t had time to unpack their stuff, at least their toiletry bags had been placed inside. San couldn’t deny how terribly Hongjoong’s breath stank from the combined forces of fish sauce and vomit, so he was glad for the option of brushing his teeth.

First he made Hongjoong wash his hands with soap, putting on some hand sanitizer for the extra safety. Then repeated the same thing for himself.

He had Hongjoong sit down on the closed toilet seat afterwards, as the older was still a bit unsteady. Next he grabbed Hongjoong’s bag and ruffled through it. Normally, Hongjoong would hate for somebody looking through his stuff. Now he just watched apathetically as San took out his toothbrush, then searched through Seonghwa’s back for toothpaste.

“Here you go, hyung”, San said and held it out to him after he had squeezed the toothpaste on the brush and had wet it slightly, “you’ll see, it’ll help.”

“Thanks”, Hongjoong muttered quietly and began brushing his teeth. At least he had spoken, if not much. It was clear he was still in the process of, well, of processing the events. His face was still flushed red from either shame or the coughs.

San quietly stayed with him, just keeping him some company. He knew that Hongjoong often tried to run away and hide from the younger members when he was embarrassed or sick or just not feeling good, however, for the moment he seemed content enough with San’s presence. If it only helped just a tiny bit it was enough for San. Clearly the captain didn’t felt like being alone at the moment.

Hongjoong finally stopped brushing his teeth just as San was about to suggest he stop before he ruined his gums. The foam he spat out still was tinged slightly brown, so he had been too late, but the motion had clearly brought Hongjoong a little comfort and gave him back control. His strength waned with the action of getting up, however, and he just slumped back down on the toilet once done rinsing his mouth.

Rifling through his bag again, San found a face cloth and ran it under warm water. Then he knelt down in front of Hongjoong and looked up at the elder’s red-tinged eyes and his tear stained cheeks.

“Can I?”, he asked, gesturing with the cloth. Hongjoong nodded, apparently too exhausted to do it himself, so San tenderly wiped his face clean. Hongjoong closed his eyes and sighed, relaxing under the motion and warmth (and presumably the feeling of at last being a bit cleaner). Once done, San wiped a bit at Hongjoong’s soiled jeans, not sure if it actually helped.

San bit his lip in hesitation, no sure if he should proceed. But worry for his hyung - and knowing Hongjoong would never fault him for trying to make sure anybody (him included) was feeling okay - made him continue. “Hyung, do you wanna talk about it?”, he questioned.

Hongjoong sighed, defeated. His voice nearly broke with his next words; he sounded so insecure and hurt. “I don’t know, San-ah. I … what is there even to say? Am I angry that this happened? Yes, of course. Do I feel humiliated and like I just want to hide under my blankets forever? Definitely yes. Will that change anything? No. So what can I even say?”

“Oh, hyung”, San said, feeling tears gather in his eyes. He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Hongjoong, happy to feel him breathing against his neck. They stayed like this for a few moments until San’s knees started to protest his position. So instead, he gently took Hongjoong’s hand in his own. “Ready to get out?”

“Just give me one more minute, San-ah”, Hongjoong said. San just squeezed his hand in a gesture of comfort, happy to wait with him. Hongjoong took a few deep breaths, obviously steeling himself. His face turned a bit harder, blocking out the vulnerability. The pain, however, stayed.

“Okay, let’s go”, Hongjoong said, removing his hand from San’s. “Don’t worry so much about your hyung, San-ah. I’m very happy I have such caring and sweet dongsaengs, but really I will be fine.” San nodded, touched by the captain’s words.

Together they stood up and stepped back into the main room. The members and the staff had also returned and seemed to have stopped arguing (if it even was an argument, San wasn’t so sure). They clearly were waiting for them. Seonghwa had an arm wrapped around Yeosang and Jongho each, the maknae staring down at his feet and Yeosang looking lost. In a reverse of their more natural roles, Mingi seemed to be comforting Yunho. Somebody had already cleaned up the vomit from the floor and the cups had been moved to the side.

As soon as they appeared in view, Yunho looked up and rushed forward, breaking Mingi’s gentle grip on his arm.

“Hyung, I’m so sorry for laughing! I never would have if I knew”, he apologized, looking truly like a kicked puppy. The other members also stepped forward, giving their own apologies. Hongjoong looked startled. “You don’t need to apologize, guys”, he said, “you didn’t know that … what would happen. It was an honest mistake and it probably was funny or will be in retrospect. Really, Yunho!” He emphasised the last part, seeing Yunho still pouting. “It’s okay.”

“Can I hug you, hyung?”, Yunho asked. Hongjoong nodded, stepping forward, and stood on his tiptoes to hug the taller one. San saw him whispering something in Yunho’s ear but didn’t hear and didn’t want to anyway.

“Hyung?”, Jongho said, freeing himself from Seonghwa’s arm and taking a tiny step towards Hongjoong. “I really want to apologize. I really was an asshole.”

“No, don’t say that about yourself, maknae-ah”, Hongjoong replied, walking over to him and gently touching his cheek. “I know you didn’t mean no harm. You were having fun teasing your captain, I can’t have you feel bad for that.”

“Hyung”, Jongho whined but the way his shoulders slumped down showed his relief.

“We are very sorry, too”, the director of the episode added, stepping forward and bowing. “We didn’t know that simple fish sauce could have such an effect on anybody.”

“I accept your apologies”, Hongjoong said formally, though his voice was scarily emotionless.

“However, we do need to keep filming the episode. We informed Wooyoung of … the incident but you still need to finish the mission. We will start where we left off”, the director added.

“Manager-hyung”, Seonghwa injected right away, “you … we can’t.”

“I’m sorry, Seonghwa-yah”, the main manager said, really looking the part, “but director-nim is right. We spend so much time, money and effort on this series, we need to continue. I wish it was different.”

“But surely we can continue filming tomorrow?”, Seonghwa suggested, sounding desperate, “surely one day can’t hurt that much? Or we can continue without Joong-ah?”

The manager shook his head. “Again, I’m truly sorry. We booked something for tomorrow, we can’t rent it out on a different day, so we can’t delay filming.”

The director added: “We need Hongjoong on film, we can cut some scenes or block them differently but we really need him. If he really can’t continue he doesn’t have to, but the … vomiting really was just from the fish sauce not illness, right?”

Hongjoong blushed deep red but nodded. “I’m really sorry about that, director-nim”, he said quietly.

“Ah, enough apologies”, the director said, waving Hongjoong off, “we’ll switch out all the cups so that they have Americano in them and then we can go on. We’ll start again with the others saying the drink went down the wrong pipe and then we’ll go on with Yunho. Look lively. Hwaiting!”

Small mercies but San couldn’t just keep quiet. He had seen first hand how affected Hongjoong had been, how exhausted he still was. “Can we at least take a short break before we start? Hyung should eat a bit before we start again and, I’m sorry to be so blunt, but he still has puke on his jeans.”

“San-ah”, Hongjoong groaned. All gazes were locked on Hongjoong’s jeans now. Oops?

“Well, it’ll look like water or fish sauce on camera, don’t worry”, one of the camerawomen said, a bit of disgust in her voice.

“See, don’t worry. We can’t change his outfit now, chances are people won’t even notice. A garderobe change would raise suspicion”, the director said. The manager did look a bit worried now that these things had been pointed out but he stayed silent. San knew he would step in if they needed him to should the occasion arise. He held on his plan to help the members learn to defend themselves and advocate for themselves on set.

To their collective surprise it was Yeosang who spoke up next. “But, hyung really should eat before we start filming again. Hongjoong-hyung is probably running on fumes.”

“I really don’t feel like eating right now, don’t worry. If I really need to I will eat later”, the captain said, coughing a bit. He looked a bit embarrassed again.

“Alright, alright, let’s start”, the director said, “the quicker we start, the quicker we finish.”

Not at all happy with what they were going to do, the members sat down like in their previous shot. It felt wrong to have Hongjoong continue when he had been sick just minutes earlier and with his clothes still stained. But there was nothing to be done once the cameras started rolling.

Fortunately, they all were good actors and managed to get over the re-filming of the scenes, over Hongjoong fake coughing in the background while the members told the cameras that he had just swallowed wrong in a repeat of earlier so it could be cut together more easily. They all went through drinking their own cups of Americano swiftly enough, since none of them were struggling to keep it down or had to fake their way through it for entertainment purposes. Hongjoong kept coughing a bit throughout and Yunho kept telling him to be quiet though - of course - Hongjoong’s breath smelled fine.

They called Wooyoung, telling him to sing to the elephant. All the while, San kept his eyes on Hongjoong who was suspiciously quiet, all his answer seeming forced. His cough had not gone away at all and his face was still a bit red. San couldn’t help but worry, fear that something was still going wrong gnawing at him.

But they passed the mission, were reunited with Wooyoung and they could laugh at his pictures and video. They got the second puzzle piece. Hongjoong tried to act engaged and looked the part mostly, acting as if he had a headache from the chaos. His hair was in disarray from how often he had run his hand through it, a nervous gesture for sure.

“Cut”, the director finally called, “we are done except for the going to bed scene. Get changed and we will be finished within the hour.”

The members cheered, hugging each other. Out of his corner of his eye San saw Hongjoong walk over to his manager, placing a hand on the older man’s arm and muttering something. San saw the alarm on the manager’s face before he exclaimed loudly: “Hongjoong-ah! You can’t keep something like this secret!”

“Hyung”, Hongjoong whined, though his voice sounded strained, “I was letting you know, that’s the definition of not keeping a secret.”

“What is going on?”, Seonghwa asked, rushing over to them.

“It’s nothing really. I’m just having a bit of trouble breathing”, Hongjoong said, causing a the group to collectively suck in a breath. Seonghwa lifted Hongjoong’s chin to look at him.

“That is not ‘nothing’, Hongjoong-ah!”, he insisted, saying what they all were thinking. “Besides, your face is looking a bit swollen or puffy and still quite red. I think you are having an allergic reaction.” From his position between Yeosang who was watching with wide-eyes and Wooyoung who was clutching San’s hand with a lot of force, San could see what had Seonghwa so worried. Hongjoong really didn’t look good and, now that he knew, San could tell that his breathing was indeed a bit uneven and shallow.

“Come on, Hongjoong-ah”, the manager said, “you earned yourself a trip to the emergency room.” Hongjoong nodded, seemingly defeated and relieved at the same time.

“I wanna go with hyung”, San said, stepping forward but not letting go of Wooyoung. He never would.

“I’m sorry, San-ah”, the manager said, wrapping an arm around Hongjoong’s shoulder and leading him to the door. “I can excuse one member missing for a medical emergency but not a second one. I will keep Joong-ah company and you updated. Have a good night and sleep well!”

“I will be okay”, Hongjoong tried to reassure them, though it was kind of hard to believe. With every minute he looked worse. “I will be back before you know it.”

They stepped out of the door.

The rest of the evening passed in slow motion. The members got ready for bed and spread some cushions on the ground as a sleep arrangement. They were really getting too damn good at acting exited while feeling down and worried all the while.

“Cut”, the director called and the crew bid the members good-night. One of the managers walked up to them. “I just got the message, I’ll read it out: ‘Hongjoong-ah is doing fine. It was an allergic reaction from the fish sauce, as expected, but he got an IV with antihistamines, an anti-emetic and fluids as soon as we arrived. He’ll need to stay until it is done but unless anything else unexpectedly happens I can take him home once it is done. Sleep tight and don’t worry.”

“That’s good”, Wooyoung remarked, having crawled down from the lone sofa the moment the cameras had shut off and cuddling up to Seonghwa. San had laid down on top of Yunho just as quickly, happy to have his hyung hold him. Even Jongho had reluctantly reached out to hold hands with Mingi, while Yeosang had turned around on his sofa to stroke Wooyoung’s hair.

The others nodded at Wooyoung’s comment though their hearts felt heavy still.

“Try to get some sleep”, the manager said, “tomorrow morning is coming awfully soon.”

“Yunho?”, San whispered some minutes later.

“San-ah?”, Yunho slurred back, apparently already half-asleep from the stress of the day, “are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m just really sorry that I was rude earlier.”

“I don’t even know what you mean. Go to sleep. Love you.”

“Good. Love you too.”

⏳

San had tried to stay awake until Hongjoong returned home, he really had. He must have fallen asleep though, because he was awoken the next day by the very captain he had been missing shaking his shoulder.

“Hyung!”, he exclaimed, reaching out to hug him. The rest of the members stirred at his call, waking up slowly. Then San noticed the medical tape over Hongjoong’s left eye. “What happened?”

That woke the others even quicker. Before Hongjoong even had a chance to answer, the rest stared at him, apprehension on their faces and talking all over themselves.

“Relax”, Seonghwa had to call out over them, but using the sudden stop by the others to sneak in between Yunho and Hongjoong to wrap an arm around the captain’s shoulder. “Let Joong-ah tell us what happened.”

“Nothing happened”, Hongjoong said, rolling his good eye, “I am just very unlucky and got a stye. At least I was already at the right place.” Very funny.

“Fair enough”, Mingi said, nodding, “when did you return then?”

“It was close to four in the morning, I think”, Hongjoong said, “I didn’t look at the clock, I was so tired. We entered through the backdoor and the managers let me sleep in their room so we didn’t disturb you.”

“It would have been a happy disturbance”, Yeosang said and pouted. “True, I wanted to sleep next to hyung”, Jongho added, smiling at Hongjoong cutely.

“Well, the good news is that we need to film ‘us waking up’, so I can at least lay down next to you for some time.”

“Wait, hyung”, San said, before Hongjoong could call out to the crew to start filming, “are you really okay?”

“Yes, I’m truly fine.” Hongjoong smiled.

#kpop #kpop sickfic #ateez sickfic #hongjoong sickfic #what if #sick ateez #ateez #hongjoong #ateez fever road #fish sauce #allergies #emeto #kpop emeto #🧚🏽‍♀️#⏳️#🐿️

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ithebookhoarder · 2 years

Text

One Step Forward, Two Steps Back (Obi-Wan x Reader): Part 2

Summary: After Obi-wan’s accident, and Anakin’s brutal words, you left the Jedi Temple to try and let you both move on. However, you soon realise that forgetting your fellow Jedi is harder than you thought...

Part 1 - Part 2

A/N: Well, it’s been a hot minute since I wrote the first part of this and I know people were keen for a follow-up but I always struggled to get the words out. However, I blame the new Kenobi series for utterly re-igniting the flame I have for this character and this came out - finally! That and the fact the third episode has RUINED me today...

Warnings: Angst, mention of injury, implied smut / start of smut

Masterlist:

It had been two weeks since the night you’d left - or, run away, if you were being more accurate.

In fact, despite remaining with Padmé at the embassy for the duration of her stay, you couldn’t help but feel like you were still running. Every time you ignored a message, or a call, or even the very mention of anything to do with Obi-wan Kenobi you felt your heart ache worsen.

Just because leaving was the right thing didn’t make it the easy thing.

You couldn’t just magically forget the past fifteen years or so, no matter how much you wanted to. Maybe then you could find some kind of peace.

Maybe then you wouldn’t be up all night imaging the pain and confusion he must have been feeling, waking up and finding out that he had saved your life, only for you to have left and ended things without a word to his face.

Yeah. You pretty much hated yourself too at this point.

You could only hope it got easier with time.

Until then, however, you were content to bury yourself in your work and the reason you were actually here on this planet - to watch over the woman sat next to you, strapping herself into your ship as you prepared to escort her to the latest in a long line of meetings.

How Padmé could do it day after day, never complaining or showing her exhaustion publicly, was beyond you. In private, though, it was a whole other story. In fact, her tales about some of the long and dreary meetings she’d been stuck in were the highlight of your evenings. Last night had been particularly amusing, with Padmé sharing how one senator had actually fallen asleep during the ten minute rant another had given at the proposal of increasing taxes in the area.

You’d snorted into your tea, trying and failing not to picture it. It was the kind of thing you’d have normally passed on to Obi-wan. For, despite his sometimes sensible exterior, he had a sense of humour like yours and irritating senators, in particular, always made him chuckle.

You’d reached for your comms device, force of habit taking over as you went to message him. However, the sight of the numerous unopened messages already waiting for you on the screen were enough of a reminder for you to put it down.

The soft sigh that had escaped your lips didn’t go unnoticed by Padmé, but she hadn’t said a word. Not until now, anyway.

“You know Anakin called earlier.”

You blinked, tensing for just a moment as you focused on programming your flight plan into the ship’s mainframe. “Oh?”

“Yes. He wanted to know how we were getting along.” Padmé smiled. “Don’t worry, I said we were making progress even if things have been running a bit behind schedule since that storm the other day. He also said Obi-wan is back on his feet again… just, you know, in case you were wondering.”

You paused. You could sense the question in her tone, as if she could see straight through you and the nonchalant way you nodded. “Well… good. I’m glad to hear it.”

“He asked after you.”

“Anakin did?”

“Yes, but on behalf of Master Obi-wan, who says he still hasn’t heard from you since we left.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, oh. I don’t know why you’re surprised. He’s your friend, Y/N,” Padmé scoffed, rolling her eyes at you.

She sounded surprised and a little confused as she looked away from her harness, and turned her chair to face you. To be fair, apathy at the news that Obi-wan was alive and well was not exactly your style.

You might have well as just come out and said that something was wrong. Why else weren’t you dancing with joy?

“I don’t know what happened between you but I know you both. You can work it out. You can only spend so long hiding from your problems, staying with me on this planet and ignoring his messages. He’ll still be there when you get back and he clearly misses you.”

It took everything in you not to break. As it was, you gripped the controls a little tighter than necessary as you chose to prepare the ship for flight rather than meet the Senator’s gaze. “That’s the problem.”

“Problem?”

“Forget I said anything.”

“But Y/N-“

“Padmé. Please.” You hated how your voice cracked. “Drop it.”

Padmé sighed but honoured your request. She didn’t say another word about it, even if you did catch her shooting you pitying looks throughout the rest of the day. Maker knows what she thought was going on between the pair of you.

You didn’t even know how to explain it to yourself. How were you supposed to explain it to Obi-wan? After all, he deserved an explanation and you knew he’d be asking for one the moment he was back on the same planet as you were.

At least he was well enough to do so. That was the thought that gave you comfort as you tried to suppress your pain and focus on the task at hand. You were supposed to be working, after all.

So, you held your head high, doing your best to look the part of a Jedi.

Standing guard as you chaperoned Padmé through her various meetings was a good distraction, as was making sure that there were no possible threats to the proceedings in general; It was hard to think about anything else when you were busy thinking about how many possible weak spots there were in the room for a brave assassin to target.

The answer - as you determined - was 34. 35 if they happened to be under 4 feet tall…

Needless to say, you were glad to make it back to the embassy in one piece as the day drew to a close. A hot bath and a tall glass of whatever alcohol you could get your hands on sounded divine right about then to help ease the pain of listening into hours and hours of diplomatic jargon that made no sense to you.

With a smile, you bid Padmé a goodnight, watching as she went into her rooms across the hall, before you turned to do the same.

However, you’d barely stepped over the threshold before you heard it.

“So, this is where you’ve been hiding.”

The voice made you jump as did the sight of the man sat, waiting for you, on the sofa in your room. Without looking up you knew who it was; you knew that voice anywhere.

“Obi-wan… what? What are you doing here? I thought you were back at the temple resting. Should you even be up?”

“Hello to you too,” he smirked, his usual sarcastic tone oddly comforting. “I’m alive and in one piece, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Thank the Maker for that.

Given the condition you’d last seen him in, battered, bruised, and bandaged within an inch of his life, you couldn’t believe how normal he appeared (most likely the result of Anakin’s diligent care and an impressive amount of time in a Bacta tank). He barely had a hair out of place.

It took everything in you to fight the sudden urge to throw yourself into his arms and prove to yourself that he was indeed alright.

Instead, you took a step closer, trying your best to compose yourself so that he wouldn’t feel the way your heart threatened to burst out of your chest. Then again, it was most likely too late. He’d probably sensed it the moment you’d entered the room.

He’d caught you off guard and he knew it - it had most likely been his plan all along.

“Anakin said as much to Padmé. We were both relieved to hear you were out of the med bay.”

“Were you? I must have missed that message. Then again, something must be wrong with your comms,” Obi continued, his meaning clear as he gestured to your traitorous data padd lying on the caff table in front of him. “After all, I’ve left several messages the past few weeks which have gone unanswered. Needless to say, I was surprised to arrive to find your communicator is, in fact, working.”

“Well, I...” you stammered, feeling the heat rising in your cheeks at his accusation.

Nervousness seemed to have crept up on you, because all you could do was stand there like an idiot, your breath caught in your throat. It felt like you were a youngling again, standing before Master Yoda as he scolded you for whatever mischief you and Obi-wan had got yourselves into.

“Yes?”

“I left a note-“

“Ah, yes,” Obi hummed, rising to his feet. “I was wondering when you would mention that. Would you care to enlighten me as to why you left the temple without a word, other than that note?”

You gulped. “Because Padmé needed an escort and there wasn’t time for me to wait, to tell you in person. I said all I needed to in that note.”

“We both know that isn’t the truth, Y/N. Please. I came here because clearly this is the only way to get you to talk to me-”

“Well, you should have saved yourself a trip because there’s nothing to talk about.” Your voice cracked as you turned around, feeling a wave of guilt wash over your body at the sight of him. He looked so tired, so distraught, and you knew it wasn’t just the accident that was to blame. Yet again, you left nothing but pain in your wake. “Please, Obi. You shouldn’t have come. Just… leave me alone.”

“You know I can’t do that.”

“Obi-Wan-”

“Please.”

His tone almost broke you.

You never had been able to deny him. He had somehow rooted himself deep within you, tethering himself to you with an invisible string that somehow always drew you back to one another. Even now, it felt like he was tugging on your heart, causing a deep ache at the thought of banishing him from your side.

You let out a sigh of reluctance. “Fine, but only because we both know Anakin learned his stubbornness from having you as a Master and I don’t need you following me around until I give in.”

“Thank you.” Obi-wan was quick to nod his head in gratitude (even if he didn’t refute your point).

Somethings hadn’t changed.

You remembered the first time he had tried that tactic on you, constantly shadowing you around the halls of the temple until you agreed to help him steal Qui-Gon’s ship on a dare. You were only ten at the time, but it felt like you had known each other for a whole lifetime - it had been that way since the moment you’d first laid eyes on one another as younglings.

Despite fearing the consequences of what would happen if you two were caught, you had eventually agreed to help, unable to resist him for long.

How simple things had been back then…

You sighed.

“You know, you didn’t exactly answer my question before. What are you doing here? And why do I feel as if Padmé is somehow involved in this?”

“Because you always were rather perceptive,” Obi-wan chuckled, reclaiming his spot on the couch behind him.

He gestured to the seat opposite in clear invitation - one you decided to accept, despite the fact that this was technically your room. After all, it had been a long day and if you were to open this particular wound then you would at least be seated whilst doing it.

You were also relieved, but not surprised, to see he had already helped himself to your tea collection too. At least he’d had the decency to pour you a cup.

“That, and we both know our friend, Senator Amidala, all too well. She simply cannot stand not being able to fix something, including us it seems.”

That sounded like Padmé. Hell, you’d been in that meeting room long enough today to know the true extent of his words. Padmé saw every problem as a puzzle to solve, and nearly every time, she did - even if it meant sticking her nose where it didn’t belong, or getting herself in the middle of trouble along the way.

No wonder she and Anakin were close. They were practically the same person, in that regard, and were more than likely responsible for the few grey hairs both you and Obi-Wan had discovered over the years.

“Us? What - but I - I haven’t told anyone anything -”

“You may not have, but I cannot say the same for Anakin,” Obi smirked, sipping his tea as if to hide the expression. “Nor, his eager apprentice, either. Apparently they may have mentioned to Padmé about our… lack of communication, amongst other things.”

Why were you not surprised?

“Of course they did.”

Maker, you hated this.

You hated that you had acted as judge, jury, and executioner without letting him plead his case.

You hated the echoing chasm that now existed between the both of you.

But most of all? You hated that you left and stayed away for so long.

It shouldn't have been this way; you should have been at his bedside when he awoke, ready to thank him, and celebrate his recovery in person. You should have been helping him heal his wounds, rather than hiding away and licking your own.

“I was a coward.”

Saying the words aloud somehow made you feel lighter, even if you knew it would take more than words to fix this. The guilt was enough to cause your eyes to water, while you tried your best not to look at him.

However, admitting the truth was the first step on a long road to enlightenment, as Master Yoda had once said.

“I was a coward and I ran. I ran from you and the feelings I had for you - the feelings that I know you feel for me too. That crash was too close, Obi. I almost lost you and what’s worse is that it was because of me. I hurt you. Even Anakin knew it. You would never have done something so dangerous and stupid otherwise. You took out that fighter, at cost to yourself, because of me.”

The confession came pouring out of you.

“So, I ran and I left that note because I wasn’t strong enough. I couldn’t say those things to your face without you knowing that I didn’t mean them, because I don’t - and I’m trying so hard, Obi. I want to honour you and the promise you made to the order, to Master Qui-Gon and Anakin… I don’t want to put you in that position.”

“So you left?”

“Yes.”

“You made that decision for me, on my behalf?”

You blinked, sensing the hurt behind his words. “Yes. I did, and I’m sorry... I love you too much to do this to us anymore. I thought by making the choice for you I was sparing you pain in the long run.”

“Well, you thought wrong. I need you to hear me when I say this, Y/N. I choose you. I choose you, no matter what it means for us or whatever our future may look like. I choose you because I love you and I have for as long as I can remember.”

You knew how much he meant what he said when he used that tone. It's the one he used often when addressing the council or when there was some sort of important threat that needed to be dealt with. It was resolute, and left no room for misunderstanding.

“These feelings came to be all on their own, and I could never resent you for them. You didn’t force me to feel this way, nor do you force me to act in any way I would not choose to do myself. Do you understand?”

“Obi-wan… I-" you choked, unable to convince yourself that he was not still angry with you. However, he seemed to know exactly what intrusive thoughts were plaguing you - the same ones that had caused you to flee in the first place. The ones that told you deep down you weren’t enough, that this was a mistake, that he couldn’t possibly be here saying these things to you.

"Tell me that you understand that. Please."

You gnawed at your bottom lip. "I... understand."

Relief flooded in his eyes at your words.

Finally, both of you seemed to be on the same page, but it still didn't erase the shame you felt. Tears rolled down your cheeks as your lips trembled.

“Obi, I'm so sorry... you were hurt and I abandoned you. Seeing you like that, and knowing my part in it all, I let my emotions take over and you didn’t deserve that. I left and I should've stayed. I messed things up-"

The words died on your lips as he took your face in his scarred hands, passionately pressing his lips against yours.

Your mind was reeling but all you could do was hum in the kiss, fighting the urge to pull away.

No.

No more running from this.

On that point, he was right; whatever steps you took next you would take together, and denying this connection was clearly not possible. Not when it consumed you so entirely, your soul crying out for his and causing your knees to go weak.

His lips clashed with yours, his fingers threaded through your hair, tilting your face up. That devious smile grew, and your toes curled in your boots as you saw the smile you’d spent the last few weeks dreaming about. “There’s my darling, Y/N.”

“Obi,” you sighed.

It was odd how much you’d missed this… missed him… even the way his beard lightly scratched your chin as you kissed him made your heart skip a beat. You felt as if you were somehow complete, like a piece of you had been missing but now returned as he took you in his arms, pulling you roughly against him.

You were his and he was yours.

"I'm never letting you out of my sight ever again, you understand me?"

“I’m never leaving you again,” you whined earnestly, a smile of your own escaping your lips as he began to trail his kisses against your jawline and neck. He knew you all too well and was clearly not above playing dirty when it came to reminding you.

Hence his choice of tactic, tilting you both backwards until you lay against the sofa cushion - penned in, with no escape, you were forced to listen as he pulled back long enough to meet your watery gaze once more.

“I need you to remember, it's ok to get scared. It's human. You're afraid of losing me the same way I'm afraid of losing you, Y/N,” Obi stated firmly. "I love you and I'm not going anywhere. Not unless you’re beside me, wherever that may be.”

You stared up at him with a hesitant, watery smile.

His throat bobbed. “I missed you. Every second, every breath. Not just this,” he said, shifting his hips for emphasis and dragging a groan from deep in your throat, “but … talking to you. Being with you. Having you beside me. I missed having you as my friend even more.”

Your eyes burned. “I know.”

As soon as the words left your lips, his arms tightened around you in reply, his forehead lowering to press to your shoulder.

You stroked a hand through his silken hair.

“I know. Never again,” you promised him, and whispered it over and over.

Taglist (people who asked about part 2):

@obiwanownsmyass @tommysparker @graniairish @itscheybaby @blondekel77

#obi wan kenobi #Obi-Wan Kenobi #obi wan #obi wan x reader #obi-wan x you #obi-wan X reader #obi-wan x y/n #kenobi #Kenobi series #Kenobi x reader #Kenobi x you #star wars #star wars prequels #Star Wars x reader #obi-wan kenobi x reader

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owl-with-a-pen · 3 months

Note

I’m gonna start by saying forgive me if I’ve already sent this ask. I feel like I might have but I have a bit of a memory problem so I’m really not sure. If I have ignore this.

That said, if you’re still taking requests I would absolutely love it if you did a scene that would fit into the episode featuring the courage totem where Brainy says he can’t wake Nia but we don’t get to see the process of him trying and realizing this. I saw in the tags of an old post you were considering writing about it so if you’re still interested that would be really cool.

This may be the latest prompt yet, but I just reached this episode on my re-watch and remembered this ask specifically. So again, anon, if you're still out there, I hope you enjoy!

Something was wrong. Very wrong.

The moment Brainy touched down at the Tower, he headed straight for the training room floor. The elevator moved unbearably slow, uncaring of his plight even while he tapped ineffectually at the button controlling his descent.

All the while, his mind continued to work over the last hour’s events.

Alex and J’onn had been affected by something during that altercation – clearly – and yet Brainy was struggling to pinpoint a cause. Indeed, he seemed to be having a hard time thinking of anything. He was still unnerved by the punches he hadn’t been able to evade during the fight. Punches thrown by human adversaries, civilian adversaries, and for some reason he hadn’t seen them coming. Differential calculus had failed him in the moment, leaving him with a dangerous blind spot that had nearly cost him the safety of the citizens he had been meant to protect.

Perhaps he had been unable to predict their moves because they themselves had been dictated by an otherworldly force. Or perhaps this was Vita’s doing, somehow. The Kryptonian witch had been meddling inside his projectors not hours ago, although any trace of her had been expunged completely the moment she’d fled back to her crystal.

Which meant that there was nothing wrong with him internally; no matter how many diagnostics he ran didn’t change the facts.

No. He was missing something, he had to be. And he still couldn’t shake the feeling that things were about to get worse.

And, if that was the case, then Nia needed to be informed. She’d stayed local to the Tower to try and use her dreams to search for Nyxly, and while Brainy hoped she’s made more progress than the rest of them, he couldn’t deny that his main priority was an entirely selfish one.

Simply, he wished to see her again.

Things always felt clearer when he had the chance to talk them out with Nia Nal, and he desperately sought that clarity now. But Nia’s job was by far the most important if they were to gain any insight for the fight to come, and he could not allow his own feelings get in the way of that.

When the elevator doors finally shuddered open and Brainy stepped foot into the training arena made makeshift den, the sense of wrongness twisting his stomach didn’t lift as anticipated. In fact, it only seemed to intensify.

Nia was sat on the other side of the room, mostly upright on one of J’onn’s scavenged antique armchairs.

Brainy’s lips twitched fondly at the sight.

Over the last few weeks, Nia had been spending more time in the dream realm than she ever had before, so much that she’d become impressively adept at appearing otherwise conscious during her meditations.

Only her soft snores betrayed her now.

Brainy folded his arms, ducking his head with another suppressed smile. As much as it pained him to disturb her dreams, their current circumstances had made it something of a necessity.

“Nia,” he said softly, not yet at her side. Oftentimes, that was all it took to reach through to her. The sound of his voice always found her eventually. No matter how far into the dream realm she may have travelled, that had always been a certainty.

Today, however, something was different.

When Nia didn’t stir after the predicted one minute and fifteen second window Brainy normally left for her, a nervousness began to creep its way into his throat. He swallowed it down quickly, crossing the room towards her.

Even his proximity didn’t appear to dispel her dreams. When he was close enough, Brainy crouched down in front of her, tentatively taking his girlfriend’s arm, attempting to reach her. “Nia Nal?”

Nothing. Nia remained perfectly still, her lips half parted.

Brainy frowned, eyes skirting across her expression, intent on finding anything that might account for this abnormality in her sleep cycle. Nia’s brow was furrowed slightly, as though she was concentrating on something very far away. Her fingers were tense, curled inward, impressing strained lines into the leather armrests.

Most worrisome. The dream realm wasn’t meant to cause such an adverse physical reaction. Nia would often wake from a dream disoriented, the physical embodiment of her astral self coinciding with that of the waking world, but that occurred after the dream had dispelled, not before.

Brainy forced his breathing to still, taking his girlfriend’s shoulders, squeezing her with gentle reassurance. He let his eyes flutter shut, focusing instead on his internal enhancements. He had long ago put buffers in place to match up against Nia’s own energy frequencies, though as her abilities had grown, he’d found himself implementing more to prepare for any variations in which her powers might manifest.

He thought he’d known what to expect, but when his attempt at connecting with her was met with a powerful snap of dream energy that lanced down both his wrists, Brainy jerked his hands away with a hiss, shaking them out.

“Sprock,” he muttered, winding a protective hand around his ring finger where her energy continued to smart. He stared at Nia’s unresponsive posture, wide-eyed, a panic flaring inside of him so fiercely that it took every ounce of his self-control not to grab for her and shake her with all his might. Anything that might wake her.

But it would do not good. Nia was protecting herself from the outside world, her energy posing a physical threat against anything that sought to disturb her focus. A soft blue highlighted her cheeks, her gloves glowing a brilliant but dangerous shade. She'd travelled deeper into the dream realm than he'd ever witnessed, somewhere that even Brainy couldn’t reach through to her.

What had brought on such prowess, Brainy wasn’t sure. Had she found new certainty in her mother’s teachings, or perhaps she was responding to a vengeful trigger set in motion by Nyxly?

Either way, Brainy should have known, should have predicted this. By being attentive to her feelings, by being present at all. He was failing her, and he was failing himself by being unable to focus on probable cause, to outline anything at all with absolute certainty. Not with Alex, not with J’onn, not with this…

It seemed he needed… help.

Brainy nearly recoiled at the notion. He hated that feeling, the vulnerability that came with such uncertainty, but he couldn’t deny it any longer. Something was wrong, and if he was going to figure it out, he needed to alert the rest of the Super Friends to Nia’s current predicament.

He balled his hands together nervously before dipping forward, cupping the side of Nia’s face so that her energy bleached his palm. He sighed, pressing his lips firmly to her forehead, taking comfort in the warmth of her skin, the sweet scent of her shampoo.

“I will return,” Brainy promised her, his voice barely a crackle in her ear.

Nia remained unresponsive throughout, though from the tightness of her expression, Brainy knew her battle raged on elsewhere. He only hoped that wherever she was, she might have heard him. Enough to know that he was not leaving her. That he would be back. He would always be back.

He didn’t allow himself to linger a moment longer, otherwise he would never have had the strength to pull himself away. Instead, he headed back towards the elevator, twisting his ring close to his chest, still hot with errant dream energy, and made his ascent known.

#supergirl #supergirl fanfiction #nia nal #brainiac 5 #brainia #querl dox #brainy #my writing #my prompts #my asks #anon #dreamerdox #brainy x nia #trying to capture brainy's uncertainty before he realises he's been affected by the totem was a challenge but I hope it worked lol #but yeah this ask is so so so old i'm so sorry. but when i was rewatching this scene the other day i just had a spark of memory that someon #had once left me this prompt and - being me - i just filed it away for later and forgot about it #it may be years late at this point but i finally answered it. my bad.

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rainchyna · 1 year

Text

𓆩♡𓆪 episode one: OFFER.

SOUR GRAPES RE-DEBUTS WITH A NEW AESTHETIC !! what do you guys think of the newspaper/flyer theme going on?? this chapter is a bit long but everything has been long so far i guess. don’t read this w high expectations lol you’ll disappoint your own self skfkskle, but also the storyline changed so don’t expect the exact same things CHEERS GUYS lemme know what you think n spam my inbox ♡

8:46 am, madison square garden; training.

that headline was a couple months old, but this was your first time seeing it.

“Y/n, put the newspaper down! we’re almost done” Bret Hart called out to you, your eyes scanned through the paper before placing it down.

“coming!”

you’ve been signed with the WWF for almost three months, and so far everything was going great. you were making a lot more friends than you thought you would and the boss wasn’t as much of a jackass as some made him out to be.

you had originally debuted in NJPW, it was a break through debut as the match was given a seven star rating. it was the first match in wrestling history to be given a full seven star rating by Dave Meltzer, and the first in history to be achieved by a woman, so the moment Vince McMahon heard of that, he smelled gold like a piglet smells truffles.

you were trained in the Hart dungeon, which meant a lot of things. you’re definitely talented, a credible wrestler, and had a good reputation for being a professional worker and someone who truly loved the business, and because of how close you grew with the family you were an honorary Hart. being in NJPW made you a bit of a stiff worker. wrestlers over there maintained quite the rough style, hitting hard and often blading to give matches colour, so there was a bit of a worry backstage that you’ll stiff those you work with.

in Bret’s eyes, you were like his little sister, he’s the person who looks out for you the most in this company, especially with how women are treated. he lobbied to help you ease a bit on the stiffness and to help you adapt to the less brutal WWF style wrestling.

he knows your abilities, and has seen you rehearse matches that could’ve been instant classics had it not been for Vince not taking women seriously.

you slid into the ring and got back into position, Bret was teaching you how to lock a firm sharpshooter.

“so what you’re gonna do, yeah, you lean back in on their spine and tighten your grip on their legs” Bret explained. he’s been teaching you the basics of technical wrestling for a a little over a month now.

“like this?” you ask, holding his legs tightly, “exactly, now lean back in on my spine” he says. you lean back a little, afraid that you’ll hurt him. “c’mon now, with you’re whole body” Bret encouraged, and so you lean back tightening your grip on his legs. he holds his breath a bit, bearing the pain before pulling out. “yup! that’ll do it!” he said immediately getting out of your hold.

“was that okay?” you ask, you’ve never seen him pull out of a move so we’re a little concerned. “that genuinely hurt, it’s was more than okay! you executed it perfectly” he complimented you, with a smile.

you immediately hugged him tightly, squeezing him. you may be a little homicidal in the ring, but still fluffy outside it. his smile made you smile as don’t see him smile a lot, slightly annoyed was his default mood. “alright that’s enough, y/n/n” he said patting your hair.

“‘morning y’all!” a familiar voice said from behind you, you turned around and a big smile formed on your face once you saw who it was. “Randy!” you squealed.

there he was, in all his infinite glory and big, colourful, sparkly hat-assery. Macho Man Randy Savage, he was one of those you looked up to a lot. he was like a father figure, “you have too much energy for eight in the morning, y/n/n” he said giving you a hug. “too much coffee” you laughed.

“morning, hitman!” he greeted bret, who returned the greeting. “oh, yeah! y/n, Vince wanted to see you in his office.” Randy said.

“oh okay” you said, you’ve been itching to wrestle so hopefully he wanted to debut you soon.

you look back at Bret, he shrugs at you. “it’s almost nine and will did a lot today, you can go if you want” he says. you definitely should, can’t keep the boss waiting. you quickly gather your bag, water bottle and jacket.

“i’ll see you later guys!” you waved to them as you pulled the door that lead to the hallway open. on your way out you bump into someone and you trip back a bit. they grab your hand and help you maintain you balance, you look up at them …

and you can literally see and physically feel your mood drop.

Shawn Michaels.

you had made yourself a decently tight friend group. Bret, Owen, Jimmy, Randy, Steve Austin, Lita and Chyna. these were great people, unlike Shawn.

Shawn was one of the most annoying people you’ve ever met, you never come across people that pissed you off into laughter but there’s a first for everything.

he was constantly being a dick towards you, extremely rude and sometimes borderline disrespectful. he had a major attitude issue and was ready to pick fights in a heartbeat. one of the several problems you had with him was much of a backstage politiker he was. you’ve seen so many people get their pushes cancelled and have their storylines thrown out the window simply because Shawn didn’t like them.

you’ve seen some get fired too! and you haven’t been here for that long!

however, for some reason, you seemed to be a target that he had. Shawn was quite popular with the other girls backstage, but you clearly weren’t a fan. you weren’t going to stay quite about the shit he would do, he’s tried you multiple times and 9/10 times you had to be pulled away from each other. you weren’t afraid of beating up a man, you’d do it twice without a second’s thought.

what he didn’t like about you was the fact that you didn’t hold back, you always had something to say or an argument to go against his. he’s heard stories of you making grown men and women cry, beating up people that were much larger than you, and how infamous you were for letting everyone know that they will get these hands if that’s what it takes, and frankly - that was very a bit terrifying to hear.

“oh” you breathe out pulling you hands towards you. he just smirks and walks past you. ew.

you rush down the hall way to reach your locker room as quickly as possible, you didn’t want to keep Vince waiting at all. you took a quick shower and put on some clean clothes, gotta make a good impression! not like you’re meeting him for the first time, but still.

you walk back out and make a beeline to his office. you knock on the door and you’re greeted with a deep, raspy ‘come in!’. “morning!” you say, “morning y/n” Vince responds. “how’s your day going?”

“well, y’know. writing and re-writing Raw still, nothing much” he answers, “training?” he asks. “pretty good!” you nod, “heard you were looking for me?” you half ask. “yeah!” he says leaning back, placing his pen down.

“you’re debuting tonight” he nonchalantly said.

your eyes widened and it felt like being a little kid again, “tonight?!” you ask excitedly. “yeah, still figuring it own, but it’s definite!” he says with a congratulatory smile. “g-great! good to know! thank you? thank you!” you smile.

“your welcome”

12:38 pm, catering.

“tonight?!” Jimmy asked, almost choking on his coffee. “i know!” you say. “aw, i’m proud of ya!” Steve said, ruffling your hair. “yeah y/n! i’m really happy for you” Bret pats your back.

you felt accomplished, you still haven’t debuted yet, but it felt great. “careful now, don’t get hiccups while cutting a promo” Owen jokes. you stare at him with a slight frown, “why would you put the thought in my head?”, he just laughed at you.

"don't pay attention to him" Bret said, "and don't think too much of it, you've done this before. you'll do great per usual" he reassured. you smile at him.

"have you picked your gear yet?" Jimmy asked, you slump back into your seat. you completely forgot. "no I haven't" you sigh, "I have a bunch of clothes and I can put something together, but it's eh" you add.

"does anyone have a leather coat by the way?" you ask. Steve perks up, "I do!" he enthusiastically answers. everyone looks at each other, then back at Steve. "I'd expect that answer from Owen, or something, but you?" Bret comments. "what's that supposed to mean?!" the blond brother asks.

"why do you have that?" Jimmy asks, Steve shakes his head. "don't worry about it" he says, you all look at him again. "well.. can I borrow it?" you ask. "yeah, of course" Steve answers.

1:11 pm, y/n’s locker room.

to put together your gear, you needed help from two of your friends. Lita and Randy, both were very well dressed. one had a light goth, rockstar-esque aesthetic, while the other looked like he came straight out of cartoon network.

fun.

Lita had picked up the coat Steve gave you, she seemed fascinated by it. "where the hell did Steve get this coat from? it's very... feminine. not that he can't be into that, but damn" Lita says as she examined the coat. "I could've sworn he stole it from an ex girlfriend or something like that" Randy laughs. Lita looks more concerned than confused, and your facial expression read 'sounds like Steve to me'.

"okay, but what do we think so far?" you ask. you stood in front of your vanity mirror, you wore a black mini skirt that hugged your hips tightly and a black v-neck tank top and you topped them off with 'Steve's' leather coat and black and silver cowboy boots.

"you're wearing all black, what am I supposed to think?" Randy sarcastically asked. "you look cute!" Lita said fluffing your hair. "cute?!" Randy asked, flabbergasted. "you two are walking fashion predicaments! and you don't even wear your pants properly!" he pointed at Lita.

"that's so rich coming from the guy that looks like a Sesame Street character" you counter, Randy gasped with a hand on his chest and Lita was laughing at your comment.

"at least specify which character!"

"Big Bird."

"oh fuck off!"

as you three continued making fun of each other, you almost miss the knock at your locker room door. the knocking is heard again, but louder this time. you quickly jog towards the door and open it, you were greeted by a staff mamber.

"sorry to bother you y/n" she began, "oh on, don't worry about it" you smile, "Vince would like to see you" she continued.

oh.

"okay..? thank you" you said as she walked away. you step back into the room and the laugher instantly dies when Lita and Randy saw your face. "Vince wants to see me, again."

"oh, i hope this ends well.." Randy mutters.

you nervously knock on the office's door. worst case scenario your debut was cancelled. you push the door open and poke your head in, "hey" you awkwardly smile. "y/n! come in please" Vince said putting down some papers.

even though he was the only person in the room, the atmosphere was quite tense. you walk in, closing the door behind you then kind of just, standing there. "come sit" he says pointing to the chair in front of his desk.

you sit down, and your hands feel cold as you fiddle with your fingers. this was stupid, nothing makes you nervous. you're y/n y/l/n, god damn it. you cracked your neck and sat more comfortably, "so, regarding your debut tonight.." Vince began.

okay, maybe this is nerve wracking.

"I have an offer to make."

#rainchyna #sour grapes #THE RERUN IS HERE #SHE’S BACK #wwf x reader #wwf fanfic #wwf headcanons #wwe headcanons #wwe x reader #wwe fanfiction #wwe shawn michaels x reader #shawn michaels x reader #rainchyna’s sour grapes

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aforestescape · 5 months

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kyle ‘gaz’ garrick - lending a hand

a fevered daydream i had while on a particularly achey monthly dip into satans spawn pool and realized that my choco cookies were expired :( anyways, you can imagine for yourself whether reader and kyle are in a relationship or simply friends helping friends out :)

content includes: gender neutral to an extent, blood, the barest mention of period sex, maybe a typo or two

periods are always a pain. even on a good month, when your cramps don’t appear, levels of soreness are low and you’re freshly stocked with period snacks. and this month isn’t as bad as it could be but still a pain. you’re stuffed in a cozy fall sweater, fighting the cold air and the occasional hot flash. snuggled up in a throw blanket on your couch while kyle sits next to you.

your favorite cartoon on which kyle insisted you didn’t need to turn off on his account. you’re enjoying the re-run, laughing and rolling your eyes as if it’s your first time watching this episode. you’re in the middle of giggling when another cramp strikes, a sharp twist of discomfort low in your tummy.

you let out a breath, trying to get through the pain until it subsides. fist clutching your blanket in your spot. kyle looks over to you, eyes immediately filled with concern. he shifts closer to you, hand resting on yours.

“you alright there, love?” you can hear the concern pressed in his voice but don’t reply until the pain is finally gone. you let out another breath, first unclenching as you look over at him.

“‘m fine. just a cramp.” his concern look doesn’t drop as he moves his large hand up to move a few stray strands out of your face.

“you should’ve told me before i came over. i would’ve brought you some snacks and nelson.” nelson being the stuffed bear you won at a fair together some months ago. he flip flops between your apartments like a child of divorce, the poor bear. the thought makes you let out a pained groan.

“don’t say that, now i’m mad. i’ve been craving chocolate and these cramps fucking hurt. and don’t get me started on my damn hips and thighs and back. so damn sore.” you start grumbling, an annoyed look on your face. lips pouting as you think of the ice cream and crackers you could be eating right now.

“i can order some for delivery, we’ve got all day.”

you let out a sigh at his words, frustration growing a bit. “i mean you can but it won’t be here for a whole hour. and i’m legit seconds from crying for some ice cream. and chips. and- oh i’m just doing it to myself now.” he lets out a laugh at your turmoil, that pretty smile of his blooming on his face. you just glare over at him.

he pulls you close to place a peck on your forehead before pulling out his phone. your eyes shifting back to the television screen in time to monologue along with the characters on screen during a scene you love. only paying attention to him again when he wraps his arm around your tummy, applying gentle pressure and lifting the fat of it up to relieve some of the pressure. you let out a sigh at the action, feeling lighter.

he brings his phone up to show you the screen and you see he’s been adding your favorite snacks and drinks to a cart as well as some stuff for him. including a stuffed bear which makes you snort. you nod your head and thank him as he orders it. a few more minutes of idling watching your show until the episode ends.

“alright, pretty. up you get.” you groan at him and look up in confusion as he moves off the couch to stand in front of you. his toned arms stretched out to help you up which you take even if you’d rather be a couch potato right now. “what do you want, garrick?”

he places his hand over his heart with a bright smile on his face. “‘lemme lend you a hand, love. c’mon. to your bedroom.” you let him lead you to your bedroom and gently sit you on your bed. watch as he goes about your room, grabbing your candle lighter and your favorite oils. “lavender or rosehip?” he asks you.

and then he’s helping you out of your sweater. you don’t have it in you to be overly embarrassed, you’d seen each other in less before. namely that one trip up the coast with the rest of the gang to a cabin. you all going skinny dipping and laughing in the warm water under the moonlight.

with the candles lit he turns off the bedroom lights and sets to work. warming oil on his palms before starting on your shoulders. his large, slightly calloused hands adding a delicious pressure to your muscles. you can’t help the moans of approval that slip past your lips.

more spilling as those deft fingers and hands continue to massage over new aches in your body. you could fall asleep like this, with him kneading your skin like dough. and as his hands reach your lower back you find yourself cursing in how good it feels. “mmm kyle- you’re definitely giving me massages more often.” he just chuckles and replies, “only if you make these pretty noises for me, yeah?”

he asks you if you want him to continue, needing permission before he strips you from your sweats. he shushes and placates your worries by slipping a towel under you. you don’t say anything when his fingers graze your tits during the action. just enjoy the feeling of his hands finding your skin again. massaging your ankles, calfs, your thighs.

you have to ignore the pleasure that drums up. the wetness you’re sure is growing between your thighs. and kyle doesn’t seem to mind the possibility of blood, letting his hands work steadily higher and higher up your thighs. you bite your lip, turning your head so you can peer up at him.

his eyes moving from your ass to your face. and there’s that adorable, dimpled smile. it should be illegal for anyone, let alone a man, to look so fucking attractive when smiling. if his slicked up hands that we’re dangerously close to your core weren’t enough to get you wet, that smile definitely is. and he knows it, you can tell by the glint in his eye.

you shiver and turn your head back so you don’t have to see the smile. a shame but you’re trying to control your hormones running through you. that’s when another cramp hits and you let out a pained noise, fingers gripping your duvet. kyle helps lift your hips up and then he’s putting pressure again on your lower abdomen. it feels good, his slick fingers helping alleviate the cramps.

when it’s gone he keeps massaging it for a bit before going back to his previous task.

the massage lasts for some time. kyle taking his precious time to warm up the oil between big palms before moving on to another section of your body. you let out an indignant noise when the next spot happens to be your ass.

“i’m being thorough, you deserve the best massage, pretty. if you’re worried about the stains i can always slip these underwear of yours off.”

and fuck, why’d he have to act so nonchalant about it. his hand already slipping your underwear to one side, kneading the flesh between warm fingers. you relent and lift your hips to help him pull the fabric away. thankful for the towel even more now that you were bare on the bed.

he doesn’t waste anytime, going right into massaging your ass. and if his fingers accidentally graze your puffy cunt, well it was just an accident pretty, he’s sorry. never-mind that when you turn your head again you can clearly see the erection he’s got. your eyes drifting up to his and his hand slipping to graze your cunt again. you let out a sigh, closing your eyes and letting him finish his massage. letting him feel you up, not minding the blood, to his content.

already slipping back into a slumber like state again when he asks if you’ve ever gotten head on your cycle.

possibly, most likely a p2 w just smut and ending fluff

#kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick x reader #kyle garrick x you #aforestescape

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spiralcass · 11 months

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NEW X-MEN: THE ANIMATED SERIES - SEASON 2, EPISODE 1

Season 2 opens in media res as the Blackbird flies toward Genosha. The only ones still on the plane are Storm, Kitty, and Sunspot. While Kitty panics and screams, and Roberto tries in vein to assure her it’s going to be okay, barely maintaining his own plastered smile, Storm is communicating with Captain Britain, who thinks she shouldn’t have left, but Storm insists her priority needs to be getting all the kids home so they can be tended to properly, and securing Nova.

All three of them uncontrollably go silent as they arrive at their destination and look out the window, Genosha has been completely annhlated, reduced to ash and rubble, with smoke filling the sky. 16 million people, almost all Mutants, potentially including Scott, Jean, Emma, Magneto, and Kitty’s dad, are all dead.

With Storm blowing away and working to clear the smoke, the three heroes, wearing respirators, rush onto what’s left of the once great Mutant nation. All around them, they seed wrecked buildings and corpses, and Sunspot accidentally steps on and breaks a bone.

Kitty and Sunspot are barely holding it together as they stand on the site of a holocaust, unable to believe so much death could have taken place so quickly, and struggling to not cry or puke, but Storm, somber and sullen, but keeping her emotions in check for the moment, tells them they can’t break down yet. They have a job to do. There’s a chance some people may have survived, and are just trapped under rubble. They have to do everything they can to find them.

Before they start searching the whole island, however, Kitty “needs to know”.

Back at the school, Tag, Wind Dancer, Wolverine, and Bling! stand outside the medical bay. Laura’s face is practically right up against the glass, while Brian has a comforting arm around the nearly-sobbing Roxy’s shoulders.

Inside, Beast, as well as Dr. Cecilia Reyes, who was called in to help treat everyone else who was wounded in the global battles with the sentinels, are tending to the kids. Cessily and Sooraya are still unconscious, but are stable, Noriko is awake in bed, but can’t stop shaking and looking at her gauntlets, even though all the blood has been cleaned off of them, and Julian is being prepped for surgery. Betsy is also having her wounds treated, with Rachel hugging her, relieved she survived the battle, but disturbed by what Betsy told her happened.

BRIAN, to Roxy: “Hey, Cess is gonna be okay. You heard what Dr. Reyes said, right?”

Roxy just hangs her head.

BRIAN, to Sofia: “You don’t need to worry either, Sofia. It’ll take more than some sentinel to keep Julian down.”

Sofia maintains her blank expressions, staying silent, and tiny whirlwinds surround her fists.

Brian sighs and walks over to Laura.

BRIAN, to Laura: “You know, a sentinel did come by here. Ms. Grey was all ready to take it out, but I tagged myself so she could get rid of it away from the school. It wasn’t much, but it made me feel pretty good. And I was just thinking about how good all of you must have been feeling taking out a ton of these tincans.” Brian punches the glass. “I’m such an idiot.”

It’s unclear if Laura heard a word Brian said as her wide eyes continue to stay focused on her injured friends.

On Genosha, Kitty drops to her knees. The site of her father’s old home has been completely annhilated, along with the rest of its surroundings. It doesn’t even look like there’s a skeleton.

KITTY: “Daddy…Daddy, I’m sorry. Daddy, please crawl out of there. Please!”

Storm and Beto try to comfort her, but they phase right through her.

KITTY: “Did you know in Judaism, it’s believed that cremation results in pain after death? Even if someone makes it to Heaven, the pain doesn’t stop. How could I do this to him? He was my Daddy.”

SUNSPOT: “Kitty, you didn’t–”

Kitty breaks down in tears, hysterical. Storm sheds her own tear, wishing there was something, anything she could do for her daughter. But there’s nothing she can do but push forward. Ororo instructs Beto to stay with Kitty, and get her on the Blackbird once she’s calmed down. She’ll handle the search by herself.

We get a brief montage as Storm scours the island for any signs of life, but is met with death at every turn. She’s almost ready to break down in tears herself when she hears something rumbling.

Flying up, she clears away the rubble around where the sound heard like it was coming from. Underneath, she finds Emma Frost, with Cyclops unconscious in her arms, a blank expression on her face, and sporting a new look - diamond skin.

Storm swoops down and swiftly takes Scott from her, checking his pulse and breathing a sigh of relief that he’s alive. Ororo demands to know what happened here, and what happened to her.

Emma…isn’t doing okay.

EMMA, in a monotone: “The path to Hell is paved with good intentions, but over brimstone we must walk to reach paradise. Do you hear them, Ororo? Do you hear the children’s screams?” Emma forms a tiny smile. “I do. And I feel all their pain. How many children are there? As many as the grains of sand on a beach?” Emma’s face falls as she hangs her head. “Yes, Daddy, I am a bad, worthless girl.”

Storm has no idea what to feel here, or what to stay, so she simply instructs Emma to follow her.

In the medical bay, Sooraya’s eyes flicker as she wakes up. She struggles to sit up, seeing that Cessily is still unconscious, before she’s told to lay back down.

SURGE: “The others are waiting outside, but aren’t being allowed in yet. You should rest.”

Sooraya lays back down, grunting in pain as she expresses how much everything hurts. She then notes that Noriko doesn’t look like she was hurt at all.

Noriko bites her lip as she looks down at her hands and generates a small amount of electricity between her fingertips. The Sentinels weren’t fast enough to hit her. Physically, she got out of the fight completely unscatched. But seeing her and Mercury nearly get killed? Watching Julian get his hands blown off, and having to grab his bloody nubs to cauterize his wounds so he didn’t die too? It was too much. She’s not okay.

Dust doesn’t respond for a moment, just staring at Nori.

NORIKO: “What?”

SOORAYA: “Julian…lost his hands?”

Noriko swears under her breath, having forgotten she was down by the time that happened, and confirms to her what went down.

SOORAYA: “I see.”

Noriko narrows her eyes at Sooraya.

NORIKO: “Okay, what’s your deal? I know being all calm and zen and peaceful and quiet is your shit and all, but you should not be that way right now. You almost died! Where’s the panic?!”

Sooraya sighs. She really wishes she hadn’t woken up next to Nori.

SOORAYA: “I was hurt physically, yes. And I lack experience in all this directly. But nearly dying? No, that’s not enough to get me. Not with what I’ve seen before. Not with what I’ve done before.”

Noriko falls back, slamming her head on her pillow.

NORIKO: “Shit, Soo. I forgot. I’m sorry.”

Sooraya smirks.

SOORAYA: “The fact that you’re apologizing for your foolishness at all is a clear sign of progress.”

NORIKO: “Aww, thanks.”

PAUSE

NORIKO: “Oh, screw you.”

On the Blackbird, which hasn’t taken off yet, Cyclops is still unconscious, Emma has passed out, and Kitty is curled up into a ball. Storm and Sunspot are awake and sitting up right, but they need this brief moment of silence.

The silence is broken as the ship shakes. Storm and Sunspot leap to their feat, unsure of what’s going on as, from an exterior shot, we see the ship being raised into the sky on its own. Storm tells the others to stay put for a minute while she goes to investigate.

Ororo flies out of the ship and quickly finds the one responsible for its movement: Polaris.

ORORO: “Lorna…”

Before Storm can say anything else, Lorna throws the Blackbird, wrapped in green magnetic energy, right at her. Ororo just barely dodges the attack, shouting at Lorna that they aren’t here to fight, and, over the coms, shouting at Kitty to get everyone off the plane.

As Lorna takes another shot at Storm with the Blackbird, Kitty phases herself, Beto, and the unconscious headmasters out of the plane and onto the former shore of Genosha, while Storm summons a fierce lightning blast to annhilate the Blackbird in one shot, denying Polaris her weapon.

Storm tells Polaris that she can’t imagine what she’s feeling right now, but she assures her slivers of that pain are shared by them all. Polaris just continues to shout in rage as she drags up rubble from Genosha to throw at Storm.

POLARIS: “You X-Men killed our nation! It’s only fitting the nation kills you!”

On the shore, Kitty and Beto are panting. Beto tries to tell Kitty he knows Lorna from his time here and he’ll talk to her, only to be decked across the face by an equally pissed, super fast Quicksilver.

Knocked to the ground, Roberto is covered in ash. He freaks out as Pietro gets on top of him and begins punching him over and over again. Kitty doesn’t move, only crying out for him to stop.

In the sky, Storm is exhausted both physically and mentally from the day’s events. She fights against Lorna to the best of her ability, but she quickly runs out of steam and is overwhelmed.

As Roberto is beaten to a bloody pulp and Lorna traps Storm in a metal cocoon, ready to crush her, Kitty continues to shout, begging for everyone to stop fighting.

The fighting is brough to a halt, but not by Kitty, as a single blast of red energy flies into the sky.

Cyclops, having woken up, rises to his feet.

All eyes turn to him. There’s a silent moment of tension before Polaris and Quicksilver release Storm and Sunspot from their respective grips, flying and running over to Cyclops.

QUICKSILVER: “You have five seconds to tell us what happened here in a way that makes us want to spare your lives.”

Scott, standing tall and proud, looks around at his surroundings instead of answering.

QUICKSILVER: “SPEAK!”

Pietro slugs Scott across the face, knocking out a tooth, and sending him to the ground.

QUICKSILVER: “SPEAK NOW!”

Tears stream down Scott’s face.

Quicksilver is about to give him the same treatment as he did Roberto, but Lorna puts a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

POLARIS: “One chance, Cyclops.”

Scott swallows.

CYCLOPS: “Magneto is alive.”

Pietro and Lorna are baffled by how that could possibly be true. Everyone here died! Scott tells them that he and Emma were here when the attack happened. They only survived because Emma developed a secondary Mutation, enabling her to transform her skin into diamond. He only lived because she shielded him from the blast. And before the attack happened, Magneto had disappeared from where he’d been fighting sentinels.

Pietro calls him a liar. He’s just trying to protect himself this way because he knows this is all his fault!

Cyclops agrees that he shares blame with Cassandra Nova. Cassandra Nova, who, from the fact they’re here right now, he knows his team defeated. He knows his team defeated her, while he and Emma were saving the world, even if they couldn’t save Genosha.

CYCLOPS: “Nova wasn’t the first mad woman to try and kill us all, and she won’t be the last. Whatever I’ve done, the mutants of the world still need the X-Men. And you both need us and our resources if you’re ever going to find out what happened to your father.”

Pietro, breathing heavily, thinks about his offer, before still electing to go in for the kill. However, Polaris holds him back by his metal belt buckle. Lorna agrees that he and his team are still needed, but they will never be forgiven for this.

CYCLOPS: “I wouldn’t expect to be.”

With the situation calming down, Storm approaches, offering to do whatever they can to help pay tribute to their fallen.

LORNA: “If you wish to respect our dead brothers and sisters, you’ll leave this place now, and never return.”

With no more words, Storm summons a calm wind to lift herself and the rest of the team away, and begin the long flight home. Beneath them, Lorna breaks into tears and cries on Pietro’s shoulder as he holds her.

CYCLOPS: “Ororo…”

STORM: “Not now, Scott. Not now.”

In a private room inside the Institute’s medical bay, Hellion has gotten out of surgery and is awake. All the usual life and energy from his face are missing, replaced by a dower scowl. That’s not the only part of him that’s missing, as his nubs have been wrapped in bandages; they couldn’t re-attach his hands.

There’s a knock on the door, with Julian growling not to come in if this isn’t a doctor. Beast enters, happy to see him stable, and asks if that attitude applies to ALL non-medical personnel.

BEAST, with a sly smirk: “Your girlfriend wants to speak to you. She’s been positively worried sick.”

Julian’s eyes widen, but only for a moment, before he shuts them, clenches his teeth, and shakes his head.

In the hallway, Sofia and Laura sit outside the private room, both in complete silence. Beast comes out of the room and informs Sofia that, unfortunately, Mr. Keller doesn’t wish to speak to anyone right now.

BEAST: “I’m sorry. But I’m sure you can imagine what he must be going through.”

Sofia glares at Beast, small whirlwinds once again surrounding her fists and expanding rapidly as a breeze fills the hallway. Beast is concerned, but before things can do any further, Sofia breathes and halts the use of her powers.

SOFIA: “I understand, Dr. McCoy. Thank you.”

Beast, still not entirely at ease, acknowledges her and walks away. Sofia tries to hold Laura’s hand, but, without looking at her, Laura bats it away.

With the sun rising as a new day dawns, Emma’s woken up and is completely composed, but Storm is still flying her, herself, Cyclops, Kitty, and Sunspot home. Everyone is silent, until…

STORM: “What happened to Jean?”

Scott takes a moment to answer. He informs her that she’s gone. She wanted Genosha dead, and she wanted them dead with it. Then, she flew off into space. Even if she does come back to Earth, the Jean they knew doesn’t exist anymore. Now and forever, she is Phoenix.

Storm finally allows herself to breakdown and cry over the loss of her sister on top of everything else. Scott wipes his own tears from his eyes with his arm.

EMMA, telepathically to Scott: “It isn’t the type of advice I usually give, but if there were ever a time to let your emotions out freely, it’s now.”

SCOTT, telepathically: “You’re not my therapist, and I don’t want your advice on anything. Especially when you’re not even following it.”

EMMA, telepathically and mockingly: “Oh no, you caught me, I’m as devastated on the inside as the rest of you. I have a heart. Sew me. But I do what’s best for me, and you should do what’s best for you.”

SCOTT, telepathically: “You don’t know the first thing about what’s best for me.”

Emma scoffs.

EMMA, telepathically: “A “thank you” for saving your life would have been nice.”

As Storm continues to sob, Kitty hugs her. She was comforting her all night, and she wants to return the favor. But she also needs help. Her father’s body may be good, but he still deserves a funeral as soon as possible, as per Jewish tradition.

KITTY: “Maybe working on that would help keep our minds off everything else?”

Storm sniffles as she smiles and nods.

STORM: “Yes, Kitty. I’d be happy to help.”

In the back of the pack, Roberto is literally steaming, hate in his eyes.

Storm, completely exhausted, lands the team in Central Park. They can walk from here. However, as the other four members of the team start heading toward the school, Beto walks in the opposite direction.

CYCLOPS: “Where do you think you’re going, Sunspot?”

SUNSPOT: “Relax. I’m not quitting or anything. But you’ll excuse me if I need a couple weeks to myself. I’ll be back soon. Try not to miss me too much.”

Scott calls after him as he departs, but he doesn’t have the energy for that right now, and let’s him go.

In the medical bay, Roxy excitedly hugs Cessily, thrilled her new girlfriend is okay. She does accidentally hug a little too tight and hurt her though. Brian is also inside the medical bay, helping the still injured Sooraya in getting into position for her morning prayers. Noriko is noticeably no longer here.

Sofia floats above the school. The bodies outfront have all been cleaned up, but the foul stench remains, causing her nose to wrinkle.

LAURA, over the winds: “Hey.”

Sofia turns her head and sees Laura, out of costume, standing on the roof.

SOFIA, over the winds: “Hello, Laura. I’m glad you’re speaking again.”

Laura takes a deep breath.

LAURA, over the winds: “I…I’m so sorry.”

SOFIA: “Sorry? For brushing me off before? Do not worry about it.”

LAURA: “No. No, not for that. I’m sorry I took you all out to fight. None of you were ready. And most of you were hurt. Especially Julian. Because of me.”

Sofia tells her that’s not true, and no one’s thinking that, but Laura snaps back that she’s not a telepath, and none of them are stupid enough to not know she’s the one to blame.

Sofia, keeping her cool, flies down to the rooftop to look the brooding Wolverine in the eyes. Wind Dancer insists if what happened was anyone’s fault, it’s her own. Laura wasn’t entirely wrong. Herself, Surge, and Dust? They WERE ready. Hellion and Mercury weren’t though. If she just followed Kitty’s orders and got them out of there instead of encouraging them to fight, they wouldn’t have been harmed.

Laura counters that Sofia can’t blame herself. She’s just a student. She was the X-Man there, and she should have been more responsible.

LAURA: “I wanted to keep you all safe. But I didn’t want you all thinking I didn’t trust you. You’re some of the only people I do.”

Sofia appreciates that, but reminds Laura that SHE’S a student too. She may be the best there is as what she does, but there’s still a lot she doesn’t do. But she will. And they’ll learn. Together.

Laura continues to hang her head in shame in spite of Sofia’s kind word, only to start giggling uncontrollably as Sofia uses the wind to tickle her nose.

LAURA, giggling: “Stop that.”

SOFIA: “I would, but I like it more when you smile. I’d rather not have to force it.”

Laura laughs for real as Sofia takes her hand and flies them off the room.

SOFIA: “Come. Brian texted me Cessily woke up. We should go say hello.”

As Sofia flies them to their destination, Laura makes puppy eyes at her. She clearly still isn’t over her.

In his office, Scott is being swarmed with phone calls. As much as he’d love to be resting, he can’t sleep yet, even as he’s barely keeping his eyes open. Xavier’s old friends and allies demand to know what’s going on, parents are hearing about what happened on the news and are worried about their kids’ safety, old X-Men are freaking out just as much (Cannonball is the one we hear calling, with him worried about his sister Melody), and mixed into all of this are the usual prank calls Scott receives from anti-Mutant bigots, with them today calling just to shout that the rest of the Muties are next.

Scott is working with multiple phones and computer monitors and trying to keep track of everything, but it’s all too much. Sweat drips down his face, his heart pounds against his chest, and it seems like the worst may be about to happen.

Before that can happen, however, his seat is rolled away from his desk, forcing him away from all his screens. Emma, as she’s one to do, leans against the doorway with a flask in hand.

EMMA: “You’re not going to do us much good if you kill yourself, darling.”

Scott knows he says this a lot, but right now, he really does NOT have time for her. Emma laughs, coming further into the office. He can’t seriously want for things to go back to how they were between them, can he?

SCOTT: “What we did caused all of this happen. All of those Mutants are only dead because of us.”

EMMA: “No, they’re dead because your mentor loves his secrets, his bitch of a sister is a monster, humans hate us as much as they ever have and were happy to do all her dirty work, and your wife is a vengeful god whose been ready to snap at the slightest provocation.”

SCOTT: “Do NOT talk about Jean.”

EMMA: “I’m not insulting her. I’m calling it like it is. We played a role in Genosha’s destruction, yes. But it was a tiny one. We did not destroy Genosha. Like you told Magneto, WE saved the world.”

Scott stands up and walks over to Emma.

SCOTT: “You don’t believe a word you just said.”

EMMA: “Excuse me?”

SCOTT: “Exactly what I said. You’re blaming yourself as much as I am. You’ve never forgiven yourself for the Hellions or Synch and Skin, and I’m supposed to believe you don’t wish you’d died with the rest of them like I do? Please.”

Emma tries to maintain her front, but her wall is broken down as she hangs her head in shame.

EMMA: “If we’re stuck going on, we owe it to the four million of us still alive to do everything in our power to protect them.”

SCOTT: “I couldn’t agree more.”

EMMA: “Good.” Emma picks up her head, and, with it, puts back on her usual game face. “Then scootch over and let me handle half those screens so we may share the weight of the burden.”

Scott hesitates before agreeing and making room for her behind his desk.

SCOTT: “Thank you, Emma.”

EMMA: “You’re welcome, Scott.”

PAUSE

SCOTT: “Scott?”

EMMA: “We’re a little past, “Mr. Summers”, don’t you think?”

The two share a smile for just a moment before they get back to work.

Surge walks through the school’s hallways. Word of what’s happened has spread, but with the details only known by a select few, rumors are mixed in.

“Is Genosha really gone?”

“They can’t all be dead, right? No one can kill Magneto.”

“I heard it was aliens.” “You mean like the Shi’ar?” “No, stupid, Mutants are friends with the Shi’ar!”

“How long before we’re next?”

Noriko arrives at her destination and knocks on a door. Kitty tells her to come in.

Surge enters Kitty’s bedroom, which Noriko mutters under her breath could be confused for any teen girl’s here if not for her wall of degrees. She and Storm are seated on her bed, binder on their laps, deciding what to do for Carmen’s service.

Noriko tries to say hi and ask how they’re doing, but it all ends up coming out super fast and incomprehensible.

Kitty gets up and hugs her, Noriko’s uncontrolled electricity phasing right through her.

KITTY: “I’m living. More importantly, how are you?”

NORIKO: “I…really don’t need a therapist right now.” Nori pulls away. “Shit sucks. We all know it. We’re all scared. We’re fucked and probably going to die. I was kinda hoping I could just hang out with you and take my mind off things. Not like any of my squad are up for that.”

Kitty, first off, promises her that they aren’t going to die. The X-Men aren’t going to let that happen. But right now, if she needs a distraction, this isn’t the place to be.

KITTY: “My daddy lived on Genosha. He’s gone now, just like all those Mutants. Storm and I are just trying to figure out what to do for him.”

To Kitty’s surprise, Surge jumps at the chance to help. As Nori explains, Kitty’s always been better to her than any other teacher here besides Dani. Even when she was a bitch to her. And she wants to support her in turn. Plus, a task to focus on is a task.

Kitty smiles, and Ororo offers Noriko to come take a seat with them. Kitty and Nori sit down, and the three get back to work.

Still alone in his private medical room, Julian seethes with his eyes clenched shut. Opening them, he attempts to telekinetically bring a cup of water left for him up to his lips, instead of bending over to sip, but he ends up dropping it and spilling the water all over himself.

JULIAN: “DAMMIT!”

Julian re-shuts his eyes and is about to start crying when the door creaks open. He tells McCoy to go away, but Beast isn’t here.

“I do hope that isn’t a desire to give up I’m sensing, Mr. Keller.”

Julian opens his eyes and sees Emma.

EMMA: “After all, you still have so much potential. It would be a pity to waste it.”

Julian rolls over on his side and asks how she could possibly still think that looking at him now. He’s a damn cripple! Emma is quick to remind him that the founder of this school, and one of the most powerful and accomplished Mutants alive is wheelchair bound. Especially with the gifts he possesses, there’s nothing he can’t do now that he couldn’t do before.

Julian brushes that comment off and asks if they’ve told his parents what happened. Emma tells him she just got off the phone with them. The hung up as soon as she confirmed he was still alive.

JULIAN: “Yeah. Sounds right. Bastards.”

Emma tells him that, while this specifically isn’t something she’s experienced, she can imagine how he’s feeling. To go through such horrible trauma and pain, with your parents not giving a damn. To feel like all is lost and it’s not worth it to keep going. She knows these feelings well.

EMMA: “But you have something important that I did not. You have friends who care about you. Who’d do anything for you. You have Sofia. When I was at my lowest, I hardened my heart so that I could never be hurt again. Doing so only served to make me even more miserable. Don’t repeat my mistakes.”

She believes in him. And from Kitty’s report of what she witnessed in his battle with the sentinels, she knows she can still make a hero out of him a yet. A great one.

Julian seems like he’s gotten the message, but remains despondent. He thanks her, but he’d really like some privacy. As she leaves however…

JULIAN: “Wait…what ended up happening with Nova? And Ms. Grey?”

EMMA: “...get some sleep.”

We cut directly to Cassandra Nova. She’s in a secured jail cell, fully restrained, with a device on her head to block her telepathy. In spite of this, she has the widest grin on her face.

Scott and Emma enter this underground level of the Insitute, where they find Betsy and Rachel, who’ve been guarding Nova. Rachel in enraged upon seeing her dad and flies over to him, encased in her fiery aura.

RACHEL: “You have a lot of nerve coming down here with her.”

SCOTT: “There’s work to do, Rachel. Right now, we need to speak with Cassandra. But…please stay. I was actually hoping you might–”

RACHEL: “Dad, if you’re about to ask us to stay here and join your team, I’ll burn you where you stand.”

Scott hangs his head once again, while Rachel’s angered is somewhat quelled as a purple aura surrounds her, her wife mentally comforting her from a distance. Betsy then walks up to her and hooks her arm around hers. If they have this covered, they’ll be taking their leave now.

BETSY: “Well done proving you’ll never be anything but a bitch, Emma.”

EMMA: “Thank you, Captain. It’s what I strive to do everyday.”

As the two telepaths depart, Betsy telepathically tells Scott that she and Rachel will be returning to protecting the rest of the multiverse.

BETSY: “Do try to not let this one universe burn on your watch.”

With that, Captain Britain and Prestige leave.

Scott sighs. Emma tells him Rachel will forgive him one day. Ideally by then, she’ll actually understand what her deal is.

Scott and Emma enter Nova’s cell and confront her. She opens the conversation with mockery, asking how the ashes of Genosha smelled. Oh, how she wishes she could have smelled them herself. Losing to Storm and the others was very much not part of her plan, she wasn’t going to stop until all Mutants were dead, but she’ll just have to settle for slightly over 75% of them.

NOVA: “What ARE you planning on doing with me now? Hmm? Are you just going to keep me locked up here forever? Surely you could never trust SHEILD to keep me secure. Or maybe you’re going to kill me. Just like you did Stryker, Cyclops. Just like you have COUNTLESS people, Emma.”

Scott asks if he she truly feels no remorse, with Nova answering that she isn’t capable of feeling such a thing. Say, has he TOLD anyone what he did to Stryker yet? She imagines that will be a fun conversation.

She cackles.

NOVA: “Hmm. No. No, you haven’t. And that’s not all I’m sensing.” She looks right into Emma’s eyes, with hers bulging out. “You have no intention of leaving this room with me alive. Are you going to let this happen, Scott?”

Rather than answer, Scott has one more question for her. Her plan HINGED on Dark Phoenix. If she’d just unleashed those sentinels without her present, they would have been able to stop them, AND take her down much more easily.

Nova cackles. Oh, she’s so glad he asked.

NOVA: “Did you think the Purifiers popped into thin air? No, no, no. My plan began over one year ago. Just after the old X-Men broke up. Not only did I make contact with Styker and begin building my army of gullibe expendables, but I made contact with someone else - the Phoenix. While you and Jean were enjoying your vacation from do-gooding, I was speaking with the primal force inside her. It respected my power, and way I’d fought to cling to the life I was owed. And in turn, I respected it. The most powerful force in the universe. The most perfect. And I was sure to remind it of this. How it was beyond all other beings. And how if it was going to choose to continue living among humans, it deserved the best from them. Slowly but surely, it began to influence Jean more and more. And you didn’t even notice. Because while she may have been acting too good to be true, that was how every single one of you saw her already. All it would take now would be one good push to send her flying over the edge. One betrayal.”

Nova cackles again as a horrified look of realization materializes on Scott’s face.

NOVA: “I had no way of knowing you and Emma would sleep together though! That was Christmas morning for me! My plan was just to have William break you and force you to kill him, and let that one act slowly break apart your relationship, but then you went and betrayed her in such a more personal way that very same night! All of this was inevitable, but thank you so much, Cyclops, for speeding up my timeline!”

Nova continues to cackle. And cackle. And cackle. And cackle and cackle and cackle and cackle.

Until she can’t cackle anymore.

With a single blast, Cyclops blows her head off.

Scott is frozen. He shows no signs of regret over what he just did, but he needs a moment to process it. Emma holds his hand.

EMMA: “There was no other way.”

CYCLOPS: “Nothing she said changes anything. We’ll never know if her original plan would have worked, or if she only succeeded because of us.” Scott pauses. “You don’t need to take the fall for Stryker’s death. Or for this. I’ll tell them everything.” He pauses once more. “Thank you for saving my life.”

Emma weakly smiles and rests her head on Scott’s shoulder. Scott rests his head on hers.

With sunset having arrived, Storm, Kitty, and Surge are gathered in the school’s cemetery. There was no body to bury. They couldn’t even tell which ashes were his. But they could at least give him a tombstone.

Wrapped in a tallit, Kitty reads from a Hebrew prayer book, while Storm and Surge struggle not to cry. The prayer ends with them all saying “Amen”, and Kitty’s mother and student holding her.

In his room, Julian is eating dinner, struggling but managing to use his form with his telekinesis. Once more, there’s a knock on his door. He sighs and tells whoever it is to come in. He knows they will anyway.

His eyes widen as Sofia enters.

Julian starts asking her not to look at him like this, but she cuts him off, exclaiming how fully of joy she is that he’s okay.

JULIAN: “Okay? Do I look okay?”

Sofia flies over so that she’s next to him.

SOFIA: “You are alive. That is all that’s important to me.”

She slowly places a hand on his face and tells him she’s going to help him get through this. His whole crew will. Things will be better soon. And then they can resume training to assure their bright future. She’s so sorry she pushed him to keep fighting when he wasn’t prepared to, but she saw how excellent he was when he did join the battle. She never wants to go into battle without him at her side.

Julian nods. He hears her.

And then he telekinetically removes her hand from his face.

JULIAN: “I appreciate the apology. Now fuck off.”

SOFIA: “Wh…what?”

JULIAN: “Leave! You hear me?! We’re through!”

Sofia instantly begins crying.

SOFIA: “You…what are you saying?”

JULIAN: “Suddenly so dumb you forgot how to speak English? I’m over you! So get out of my life.”

Sofia is fully sobbing.

SOFIA: “You do not mean this. You would never be so cruel to me.”

JULIAN: “Surprise! Ashida was right! I’m a jackass, and you never should have gotten involved with me!”

With her face red and puffy, covered in tears and mucus, and her makeup ruined, Sofia flies out of the room, blowing a powerful wind behind her that knocks over some equipment, and knocks Julian’s dinner onto him.

JULIAN: “Fuck. Fuck!”

We cut back and forth between an X-Men team meeting, and a school assembly. In the assembly, Scott makes clear the tragedies of all that’s transpired clear to the students. The world will always hate them. No one is coming to save them, even after this. But that’s why the most important thing they can do is protect each other.

While he’s speaking, we see Julian still in bed, not present at all, Cessily and Roxy in attendance, holding hands in fear, Sooraya seated next to them with more firm confidence, Noriko and Brian ditching to go work out, and Sofia, alone in the dark her room, crying into her pillow.

In his office, Cyclops has Emma, Storm, Kitty, and Wolverine gathered. He’s just finished telling them about Stryker and Nova’s deaths.

While Laura is surprised by Scott going against everything he’s been teaching her, “X-Men don’t kill” and all that, she has no issue seeing why these two would be exceptions. Storm to Scott’s relief agrees with Laura, while Kitty continues to be disappointed in him.

That all said, there’s the issue of the future of the X-Men. They must continue. They must protect the 4 million of them left, and see to it that they can restore their numbers, no matter what it takes. However, he completely understands if the team doesn’t want him and/or Emma to continue being a part of this. Or, even if they do, if they’re prefer Storm be put in charge of both the team and the school. Beto gave his right to vote by not being here, so it’s solely up to Storm, Kitty, and Laura.

CYCLOPS: “Emma, first. What do you all want?”

The three take a moment to think. Laura is the first to answer. Yes, the two did a bad thing. But it was a bad thing largely unconnected to the mission. They had no idea what would happen. And from the sound of things. Nova’s plan would have gone off either way. Tactically, Scott is their best tactician, and Emma their most powerful fighter left, alongside Storm. She gets all three of her votes out of the way, wanting both Scott and Emma to stay, and for Scott to remain in charge.

Storm is quick to follow Laura’s vote. She wants Emma gone. Regardless of everything else, it’s undeniable that this wouldn’t have happened if she’d never come here. Scott never would have done something like this if she’d never come here. It’s time for her to leave.

Emma’s fate is left in Kitty’s hands.

KITTY: “You’re a bitch, Emma. You’re a monster. For most of my life, you were what I pictured when I thought about the concept of evil.” She sighs. “But Laura’s right. You’re one of our strongest. And with Betsy and Rachel not staying, you’re the only one left who can operate Cerebro. Finding new Mutants and keeping them safe is more important than ever. To say nothing about the kids. They just lost one headmistress. It would just scare them even more if another one disappeared. And with Hellion in the condition he is right now, he needs you most. I hate having to say this, but we need you.”

Emma grins, delighted that her staying here is settled.

As for Scott, Storm and Kitty make it unanimous that he should stay, but only Storm votes for him to stay in charge.

KITTY: “I’m sorry, but I don’t trust you as much as I need to right now.”

Scott understands. Still, that’s 2-1. He thanks Ororo for HER trust.

Storm knows he’s made mistakes before, but the Scott Summers she knows, the Cyclops she knows, learns from them. And she trusts him to not be duped or manipulated by witches again. She also clarifies that her vote comes with a condition. If Emma MUST stay, she may continue to help run the school, but she wants it very clear that SHE is second in command of the X-Men. Scott easily agrees to this.

SCOTT: “Thank you, my sister.”

ORORO: “Do not let me down, my brother.”

Scott takes a breath. This isn’t going to be easy, but he knows they’ll make it through this. It’s time to get to work.

SCOTT: “To me, my X-Men!”

#New X-Men: The Animated Series #New X-Men #Academy X #Scott Summers #Emma Frost #Ororo Munroe #Kitty Pryde #Roberto Da Costa #Laura Kinney #Bobby Drake #Sofia Mantega #Julian Keller #Noriko Ashida #Sooraya Qadir #Cessily Kincaid #Brian Cruz #Roxanne Washington #The Stepford Cuckoos

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demonscantgothere · 2 years

Text

Bedside bonding, it is.

With Music That Scares the Profane by Helholden

Fandoms: The Lord of the Rings: The Rings of Power (TV 2022), The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types

Warnings: Teen And Up Audiences, No Archive Warnings Apply, F/M, Complete Work

Relationship(s): Galadriel/Halbrand (The Rings of Power), Galadriel/Sauron (Yes, you read that right. It’s more obvious in this one.)

Tags: Galadriel, Halbrand (The Rings of Power), Elrond Peredhel, Sauron, Elf/Human Relationship(s), Denial of Feelings, Nature Versus Nurture, Existential Angst, Existentialism, Good and Evil, Tragic Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt, Doomed Relationship, Unresolved Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Hints of Sauron!Halbrand, But Can Be Read As Just Halbrand, If You're Not Down With That Train, Post Episode 7: The Eye, OTP: Keep It With Me Always, OTP: Bind It to My Very Being

A/N: So, apparently, I can't let go of this Sauron!Halbrand thought. Such sweet, sweet sacrilege. Elrond makes an appearance.

Summary:

The room, if it could even be called that, was high-vaulted and hued like that of nature in first bloom. The walls were of elegantly twined tree trunks still young and green despite their age. High above him and made of thousands of crisp leaves was a roof; through it, beams both yellow and gold shot down from the invisible sky somewhere beyond them. It was, plainly put, a little piece of paradise hidden within Middle-earth. There was a pang in his heart; for it reminded him of the home he had forsaken so long ago in order to go on a perilous journey that never ceased to come to an end.

This, he knew, was the home of the Elves.

* * *

I have passed from the outermost portal To the shrine where a sin is a prayer; What care though the service be mortal? O our Lady of Torture, what care? All thine the last wine that I pour is, The last in the chalice we drain, O fierce and luxurious Dolores, Our Lady of Pain.

Love listens, and paler than ashes, Through his curls as the crown on them slips, Lifts languid wet eyelids and lashes, And laughs with insatiable lips. Thou shalt hush him with heavy caresses, With music that scares the profane; Thou shalt darken his eyes with thy tresses, Our Lady of Pain.

—Algernon Charles Swinburne, “Dolores (Notre-Dame des Sept Douleurs)”

* * *

In the midst of a reverie, a light ripple and splash filled his ears from the left. Halbrand rolled his hand to the side and opened his eyes, which took more effort than he expected of it.

This, he knew, was the home of the Elves.

“You are awake,” came a voice from the left, followed by what sounded like the trickle of raindrops into a pond.

Halbrand cast his gaze toward it, and he smiled when he saw the blur of Galadriel’s golden tresses come into view. He had to blink away the distortion, bringing her face into clarity before him. Her brow was lined with worry; in her hand, a clean linen cloth dampened with water from a silver basin at his bedside. She wrung it between her fingers, more drops of water slipping down from whence they came.

“Alive, more like it,” he said, his voice sounding hoarse. He looked right, and then left again. “I don’t remember getting here. What happened?”

“You fell,” Galadriel informed him. “Off your horse. I had to carry you the rest of the way.”

Halbrand chuckled, though his chest hurt from it; sharp spasms shot through his abdomen. “You,” he managed to say, trying to sit up with effort that felt futile, “carried me?”

Galadriel placed one hand, still dampened, onto his chest to usher him back down onto the bed. “Rest now,” she murmured. There was a tiny smile on her lips. “You are not as heavy as you look.”

Halbrand snorted. “I forget,” he offered, looking at her pointedly. “Elves.”

“ . . . Elf,” she corrected him. Her smile did not falter.

Halbrand coughed, let his head fall back to the pillow beneath him. He stared up at the vaulted ceiling of leaves as Galadriel took the cloth in her hand and placed it upon his brow. The water was cool and refreshing against his skin. He closed his eyes briefly before reopening them, looking back at Galadriel once more. She was so focused on the task at hand; a simple gesture of kindness that could be read as something more if he allowed himself to entertain that notion. He entertained it; his hand reached up to catch her wrist, wrapping his fingers around it slowly.

Galadriel lowered her gaze from his forehead directly to his eyes. “Let me finish,” she urged, and his hand fell away from her. He closed his eyes, allowed her to touch the damp cloth to his temple and against his hairline. When she finished, she brought forth a silver cup. It gleamed; the drink within smelled both floral and sweet. “Drink this,” she told him. “It will help you heal.”

Her free hand slid underneath his head and helped him rise. Halbrand drank the liquid; it was languid for it tasted sweet, but it was as clear as water. Galadriel helped him down once more, and he felt his eyelids growing heavy. His head lolled to the other side. The world blurred yet again. “ . . . What was in that?”

“If I told you,” Galadriel said with a small bit of humor in her voice, “I may never hear the end of it.”

Halbrand’s hand shot out to grab her arm. “Please,” he asked her, “stay.” A twinge of fear filled him as the world slipped away from him. His vision grew dark, frightening him. For loss of control was his greatest fear, and now his senses were leaving him, one by one, trickling away like the water from the cloth in Galadriel’s hand. His heart sped up even as the world slowed down, and he felt Galadriel place her hand upon his cheek, her thumb a gentle caress against the darkness that clouded his vision.

“Be at ease,” she whispered to him, but in the darkness there was no ease. There was no peace. He had learned that a long time ago, and he feared it with every fiber of his being.

“Galadriel—”

She shushed him. “Be at ease,” she repeated, and the world before him darkened into blackness that overtook his mind as night overtakes day. The last thing he felt was her thumb brush across his cheekbone, and then he knew no more.

* * *

When Halbrand awoke again, he was in the same bed as before. He was not so sure how long he had been unconscious, but the golden tones had left the light which bathed his surroundings. Everything shone like a mist of silver, and he knew it was nightfall. Whether he had been gone for hours or days, he could not tell. Thirst parched his throat, and he tested his strength by pushing himself up on his elbows; that much he could manage with ease. Days, he surmised. There was no way only a few hours had him feeling as healed as he was at the moment.

Upon his bedside table was a silver pitcher and chalice, the cup already filled with sweet scented liquid. He scooped it up and smelled it first. It was different from whatever Galadriel had given him before, and he gulped it down quickly, some of the liquid spilling over onto his chin. Using his sleeve, Halbrand wiped it off. He put down the chalice, and surveyed his environment. Not another living soul was present, and he glanced down at his torso.

Pulling back the blanket and lifting up his tunic, his bandage-wrapped middle appeared to be clean through the white cloth. He lowered his shirt, rising from the bed. Surely, there was food available somewhere. The pangs of hunger resonated deeply in his stomach. He had to have been asleep for days. There was no other explanation for it. Halbrand took a step forward, and stumbled; his hand grasped for purchase on the nearest surface—part of a tree, or a piece of it, but it looked and felt like no tree. Its smooth bark shot ever upwards, and his eyes tried to follow it, but the sight became dizzying, and he lost his balance once more.

“Lord Halbrand,” came her faded voice from one side. He felt her hands steadying his waist; a slight being, and yet filled with strength. Her touch kept him upright, and instead of fighting it, he leaned his shoulder into her. “You should not be standing.”

“Where did you come from?” he asked, his voice sounding slurred. All right, so he wasn’t fully back to normal just yet.

“I went to find you something to eat,” Galadriel informed him. “I thought you might be hungry when you woke. You had been on the edge of waking for a few hours, tossing ever fitfully in your sleep—”

“I didn’t ask where you were,” he said, interrupting her. “I asked where you came from. I didn’t see you—” He stumbled again, grabbing Galadriel’s shoulders to remain upright in her embrace. He had such astute vision compared to her. How did she sneak up on him? His mind swam, vision swimming too, and his grasp on her tightened.

“You need your rest still,” was all Galadriel said in response, and she urged him back toward the bed. “You are not yet well enough to be walking—”

“I am,” he argued, pushing against her guidance. His force tumbled them both against the smooth bark of a pillared tree. Her back collided with it, and he, with her; she was so close to him, she filled his senses all, and his hands slipped from her shoulders to find her face, palms cupping her cheeks. They were warm to the touch; her breath was hot.

“Lord Halbrand—”

He put a single digit against her lips. “Shh,” he said. He had nothing to say; it wasn’t for that he requested her silence. He merely wanted a moment to absorb this finely into his memory, etch it out in painstaking detail the way her golden strands fell across her face to frame it, how her lips parted ever slightly in surprise, how her breath caused her chest to rise and fall shakily. How the fabric of her dress ruched together with each breath, and how temperate she felt pressed against his body. His wound burned suddenly, but he ignored it. He leaned in to kiss her, and she let him.

Everything was silent. Not a chirp from a bird, nor a sound of walking foot abound. He heard only how their breaths mingled as he kissed her, and she tilted up to him, both of them forgetting his injury for the moment.

It panged again, causing him to break the kiss and look down. He pressed his forehead to hers. Only instead of seeing his abdomen, he saw her chest, for they were still pushed up against each other. Halbrand’s fingers fell from her face to trace the outline above her bosom where her skin was bare, and Galadriel’s breath hitched in her throat.

The reverie was broken with the clearing of a throat—not Galadriel’s, and certainly not his own. Halbrand glanced up, lifting his head.

Standing at the other end of the room was an Elvish man, robed in fine green velvet with chestnut hair and sharp features. Even sharper were his eyes. He held one arm across his chest, brow furrowed at the compromising sight of them. Halbrand felt Galadriel put the gentlest amount of pressure against his shoulder, and he pulled off of her, nearly stumbling. She had to catch him once more, and he had to grasp her as well to keep his balance.

“Elrond,” Galadriel addressed the stranger, guiding Halbrand back to the bed. Halbrand allowed her, but kept his eyes firmly fixed on the other Elf.

“ . . . Galadriel,” the Elf greeted her back. He, too, kept his eyes on Halbrand. Halbrand could read the distrust in them, and it angered him. “Lord Halbrand,” Elrond finally said, never breaking eye contact with him. “Galadriel has told us much about you as we healed you as best we could. I hope you are feeling well?”

Halbrand slowly released a held breath. “ . . . Yes,” he said at last. “I am well. As well as can be expected,” he coughed. “Where am I?”

“You are in Lindon,” Elrond informed him. The Elf began to walk towards them, taking his time. He never took his eyes off Halbrand. “Should I ask them to bring you some food? You must be terribly hungry . . . ”

“I have brought him something to eat already,” Galadriel intervened. Halbrand glanced up at her. His eyes fell to the small wooden table at his bedside. Atop it, there was a wrap, neatly tied shut, and the warm smell of baked Elvish bread emanated from within it. It was the first time Halbrand had smelled it, even though it was fresh. “Thank you, Elrond, for your concern. I can see to it from here.”

Elrond didn’t seem as though he wanted to let it go, or leave them alone again. Halbrand wondered how much the Elf saw before making his presence known. It wasn’t like it was accepted, or even encouraged, for their different kinds to mingle. Tragedy, they said. That was how it usually ended, did it not?

“Are you sure?” Elrond continued, keeping his gaze firmly fixed on Halbrand, though he addressed Galadriel. “They had made some splendid—”

“Yes, Elrond, I am sure,” Galadriel interrupted him. Her voice was firm, leaving no room for argument. Halbrand watched Elrond carefully, his own fingers seeking out the fabric of Galadriel’s dress as she stood beside him next to the bed. He wrapped his hand in the cloth, grasping it in a tightly clutched fist. Elrond’s eyes fell down to it, catching the subtle movement. The look on the Elf’s face flared with fury.

“I can bring at once—”

“Elrond, that will be enough,” Galadriel demanded, and finally, the Elf looked between the two of them in something that spoke of both resentment and defeat.

“I will come back to check on you later,” Elrond said at last, this time to Halbrand, and he bowed ever slightly. He never broke eye contact. “See to it that you get proper rest,” he told Halbrand, casting his gaze one last time to Galadriel. “When you are done here, High King Gil-galad wishes to speak with you concerning the . . . Man.” His voice held a twinge of disdain as he spoke the final word, but he bowed to Galadriel all the same.

“Of course,” she agreed, bowing her head in his direction as well.

When the Elf was out of sight, Halbrand waited a little while longer before releasing the ruched fabric of Galadriel’s dress from his hand. He looked up to her; she was frowning at him.

“You did that to antagonize him on purpose,” she said carefully.

“What if I did?” Halbrand asked, feeling a small smile pull at the corner of his mouth. “The Elf probably had it coming . . . ”

“It is not like that,” she disagreed. “He is my cousin.”

“Oh,” Halbrand said halfheartedly. “Well, in that case, I have nothing to worry about.”

Galadriel’s eyes darkened. “What would you have to worry about?” she inquired, and Halbrand lay himself back down onto the bed; it was as soft as a cloud, and he hummed in response.

“ . . . Do you really have to ask?”

He glanced up at her, wondering at the expression on her face. She seemed to be regarding him herself, her gaze roving over his form before looking him in the eyes. Galadriel sat down on the edge of the bed beside him, laying a hand upon the coverlet just an inch away from his own hand. “I do not know what this is,” she admitted without fear, but Halbrand caught the way she swallowed against a lump in her throat. Ever so subtle, but it was there.

His hand sought out hers on the coverlet, and he twined their fingers together. She let him. His thumb traced little circles over the warmth of her skin, and he saw the color rise in her cheeks. Halbrand smiled at that.

“I do,” he murmured, lifting her hand to his lips and placing a kiss atop her knuckles. He rested their hands upon his chest after that, still smiling at her.

It unnerved her. He expected that. Her breathing quickened, and her cheeks flushed pink. He loved it. Every moment she tried to fight it, he loved watching it unfold behind her stoic eyes. She allowed her hand to rest with his; did not try to pull it away from him. Her chest rose and fell; her expression saddened before him, and he saw the slump in her shoulders as she let out a small sigh.

“What is it?” he asked.

Galadriel only shook her head, though; she would not deign to answer him. Leaning over him, she placed the softest of kisses upon his brow. When she pulled back, there was pain on her face. It was true; their different kinds were doomed when intertwined; each story in their history spoke of the tragedy that befell those who sought it out. Either she was not there yet, where she could no longer bring herself to care, or something still held her back for other reasons. It still mattered to her, her fate. His fate. Together, entwined, it would be disastrous.

Or would it?

They were both told that, from the very beginning, but it did not stop those before them from resisting the pull. He remembered Melian and King Thingol, Lúthien and Beren . . . such tragedies they left behind them. Such sweet tragedies. But, at least, for what brief moments they had it, they had embraced their doom in full knowledge of what might come forth due to their actions. From the fall of great kingdoms to this little moment between them, there were a thousand and one reasons not to go down this path. Would he be able to pull himself back from the precipice should he fall, or would his doom be sealed along with all the rest that came before him?

He was not ready to let this go so easily.

“Rest,” Galadriel whispered against his brow, cupping his cheek with her free hand. “In the morning we will have time to speak further on such matters . . . ”

“You Elves always say that, I bet,” Halbrand quipped. His voice turned solemn, though, when he spoke next. “Morning does not always come for the rest of us.”

Galadriel pulled back from him, gazing sadly at his face. She brushed his cheek with her fingers, pulling them away at last, leaving cold tendrils in their wake. “Morning will come for you, Lord Halbrand,” she assured him, and she left it at that, rising from the bed and untangling her fingers from his. She smiled at him one last time, turning away at last and leaving him by himself.

Her words caused him to swallow against the dryness in his own throat. He closed his eyes, shutting out the light.

Hopefully, she was right.

#galadriel x halbrand #halbrand x galadriel #haladriel #my fic #otp: keep it with me always #otp: bind it to my very being #ffs steal my soul #galadriel #halbrand #sauron!halbrand #the rings of power #rings of power #trop

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fridayyy-13th · 8 months

Note

Timothy Stoker n Sasha James for the blorbo bingo :]

@three-magpies-in-a-trenchcoat

Tim:

so just the other day i got to MAG 065: Binary in my re-listen and i completely forgot about the argument Tim and Jon get into at the end of the episode. may i just say. ow. Tim's storyline hurts my soul beloved i'm so sorry :(((( his downward spiral is so painful to listen to; i hope he's having fun on his kayaking trip with Sasha. in both Tim and Sasha's cases, my opinion of them was fairly neutral in my first listen-through (moreso for Sasha, since she got so much less mic time), but in aforementioned re-listen i have now cried over both of them. specifically in MAG 039 and 065. and i likely will again. giving Tim a big ol' hug.

Sasha:

she!!!! :D :D when i re-listened to MAG 024: Strange Music and got to the calliope pronunciation bit, i literally could not stop smiling. my girl!! i love her!!! i treasure every single second she's on-audio, especially the two snippets we get in 161 and 162. she's so fascinating, certainly one of the most reckless of the archives crew (she snuck into a graveyard at midnight, without telling anyone where she was going, because a monster told her it wanted to help her save her friends, not to mention the fact she risked a wormy death to save Tim), and i am shaking her by the shoulders as we speak. and tbh, i'm real sad about the way fanon has warped her character, so a while back i went and listened to every scene she's in and made a whole list of observations about her Actual character and personality, so i knew how to portray her more accurately in my writing. fanon!Sasha my beloathed (and fanon!Tim too).

thank you both for the asks!! :D Tim and Sasha my beloveds <3 <3

(ask game)

#friday chats #ask game #the magnus archives #timothy stoker #sasha james

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letstalkwhump · 1 year

Text

Let's Talk Whump

Welcome to Let’s Talk Whump, a series of interviews that spotlight the amazing people in our whump community! I’m Malice and I’ll be your host today.

Here today to talk all things whumpy is the brilliant @another-whump-sideblog!

We’re thrilled to have you here! Do you mind starting us off with an introduction?

You can call me Cam, my favorite color is green and I have a snowglobe collection!

Let’s get straight to the point! What does whump mean to you?

To me, whump is any media that focuses on pain (of any kind) and how the characters cope (or don’t cope) with it.

And how did you find the whump community? What made you want to join?

I first got super into whump during a depressive episode. I’m not sure exactly why, but it was comforting. I read pretty much all I could find in the fandoms I was in, and then I just started searching whump in general! I actually don’t remember the first whump fic I read, fanfic or OC, or else I’d shout it out. For quite a while I was reading a lot of whump without interacting at all, out of fear of people realising I was into whump, but eventually I got over that and even started sharing some of my own whump writing!

Do you think your view on whump has changed since you joined?

I’ve gotten a lot more into OC whump and less into fandom whump as time goes on. I’ve also gotten less afraid of publically liking whump.

Everyone’s favourite question: Favourite whump tropes!

I like pet whump and torture whump a lot. I also like long recovery arcs with imperfect caretakers. And I’m always a big fan of unreliable narrators.

Do you have a favourite piece you've written?

I really like the first chapter of Jane’s Pets. The style is pretty fun and I think it’s a good introduction to the series.

I love the format and second person pov! It’s a really intriguing idea! What does your writing routine usually look like?

I tend to write at complete random, whenever I’ve got a free moment. I write in my phone’s notes app, which is a bad choice but it would take too much work to switch over to something else at this point.

Do you find that some things are easy for you to write? Is there something you struggle with writing?

I’d like to think I’m pretty good at describing characters’ inner feelings, and I know I’m not great at setting a scene or describing how things look or feel or things like that. I love writing dream sequences because then things can not make sense physically and I can purely focus on the emotion. I also struggle with editing. I tend to edit only very rarely, and usually only after I’ve already posted something. I just known that if I say ‘I can’t post this until I’ve edited it’ I would post things very very rarely lol.

And is there anything you're working on at the moment?

I’m working on the season finale of season two of Jane’s Pets right now! I’ve also been trying to work on describing the world outside of my characters’ heads and not starting every single scene in medias res.

Do you have a joke or pun you would like to share to spread some smiles today?

Did you hear about the performer who fell through the floor?

It was just a stage they were going through!

I haven’t heard that one before, it’s good! Is there any writing advice you’d like to share?

Just have fun! I guess I don’t really have advice for professional writers, but for those of us here just writing stuff and putting it on the internet for free, there’s no need to get bogged down in what you ‘should’ be doing in your writing. Just do what makes you happy!

Shout out to your favourite writing/whump blogs, bffs or people who've inspired you.

The first friends I made in the whump community were @whumpyourdamnpears and @whump-in-the-closet! Both are great people who I’m glad I’ve gotten to know!

Finally, is there anything you'd like to add?

Thanks for interviewing me, this was fun!

Thank you so much for joining us , @another-whump-sideblog !

And to all you swell folks at home, have a whump-derful day!

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eveningstar1516 · 1 year

Text

The Adventures of Leviachan and the Case of the missing Ruri!`

Irritated at still not being able to find his figurine, Levi almost snapped at MC. He paused when he saw what they were holding. Blinking a few times, he blinked away his tears of frustration and wiped his eyes.

“R-right! Satan plays detective all the time when he loses things. We can do that too!”

Prompt: Detective

My written contribution to this year's unofficial Leviathan collab ^^ Thank you to the Moderators who organized it and for letting the fandom be a part of it!

Pairing: Levi and MC (Sheep-chan)

“This is not the last you will hear from me, Ruri-Hana! I will have my REVENGE!!!”

The sea monster on screen sunk into the whirlpool Ruri had created with her wand, disappearing below the water's surface before it became calm once again. Ruri floated above the waters safely, smiling triumphantly.

“No, Mr. Sea Monster. Not if I have anything to say about it! Ruri-Hana will always save the day!”

Levi had stood up with Ruri and flashed her iconic pose as she delivered her lines. Ruri-Hana and the Threat of the Seas had only been out for 3 days and within those three days, Levi’s already memorized the movie script word for word. The writing, graphics, animation, all of it drew him in and held his attention in a vice, and Levi, wouldn’t have it any other way.

The movie ended with Ruri flashing her iconic pose and the screen erupting in a burst of colourful flowers before the end credits. Levi reached over for his mouse to rewind the movie and start it again. It was a shame there was no end-credit scene, but that just meant he didn’t have to spend the next year worrying about a cliffhanger. While a second movie was teased, there wasn’t anything to back it up. Just as he was about to hit play, his DDD lit up with a text to come down for breakfast before he was late.

Levi quickly checked the time on his computer. The numbers 7:30 lit up the screen. He looked at his DDD again to double-check the time. He’d been up watching this movie all night… Groaning, Levi stretched in his gaming chair. Hearing his joints pop after spending hours in the same position was simultaneously reliving and painful. He could probably watch a regular episode from the series before- His DDD lit up with an incoming call from Satan. What could his brother want at this hour? Picking up his DDD, he answered the call. “Sa-“

“So you are still alive. Good to know. Come down for breakfast before Beel eats it all.”

“What- It’s 7:30. We still have half an hour before-“

“What “half-an-hour”. You didn’t forget about the meeting this morning, did you?”

Levi blinked a few times in confusion as he pulled up his calendar on his desktop.

“Levi…” a heavy sigh could be heard from the other end. “Get ready. I’ll save something for you. We’re leaving in 15.”

Satan hung up the call, leaving Levi dead silent on the other end. He was startled out of his shock when his DDD pinged with a message from Lucifer. Jumping off his chair, he grabbed his uniform hanging on the front of his closet and ran into the bathroom. He’d completely forgotten about the meeting for quarter-semester check-in. After struggling with his tie and buttons for a solid minute, he finally got his uniform on and grabbed his bag on the way out of his room. He texted Lucifer on his way down the stairs that he was coming and very nearly slid down the last step before catching himself.

Making it to the dining room, he avoided Lucifer’s stares and took a sandwich bag from Satan for his breakfast with a mumbled “thanks”. Grabbing his headphones, he plugged them into his DDD and put them on for the walk to RAD as he ate. Scrolling through his Impify playlists, he finally found the specific soundtrack from the Ruri movie and selected it; setting the rest of the playlist to play on shuffle.

Finally arriving at RAD, Levi didn’t bother taking off his headphones until he sat down and Diavolo began speaking. He pulled out the papers he needed for his part of the reports – progress on the afterschool curriculars for the tech department – and set them on the table. He half-tuned out the meeting, playing out scenes from the movie in his head and occasionally inserting himself into the scenes to fight alongside Ruri. He didn’t notice the meeting was over until Satan elbowed him to get his attention. Looking up, he could see the entire table looking his way. He blinked a few times before Lucifer cleared his throat, causing Levi to shrink into his seat after being put at the center of attention. “Umm… Yes? What was the question?”

Lucifer sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head.

“If you could pay attention now, Levi. I had asked if you had any improvements you’d like to recommend to your departments.”

Levi shook his head.

“Nothing I didn’t already bring up, no.”

“Alright then, I believe that settles all my matters. We’ll meet again next week, same Bat Time, same Bat Channel.” Diavolo grinned and settled his hands on the table, looking at the brothers as crickets chirped in the background. Varying degrees of confusion on each brother’s face.

“My Lord…?-“

Diavolo waved his hand dismissively. “It’s a human saying, Lucifer. Never mind. I’ll text Lucifer the meeting date and time for our next check-in. You’re all dismissed.”

The brothers all got up and broke off into their own smaller groups. Various conversations mixing as they left the council room. Lucifer stayed behind as he organized his papers. He glanced up at Diavolo from the corner of his eye.

“That was very… spontaneous, even for you.”

Diavolo pouted and put on his best puppy eyes. “Aww, but Lucifer, Levi’s into that stuff, isn’t he? I’ve been watching human animation to prepare myself for his party.”

Lucifer shook his head with a sigh and a slight smile. “That is the wrong genre of animation, Diavolo. He’s more into Japanese animation and their mobile Gacha games. Believe me, it’s not worth devoting too much of your time to.”

“Now now, Lucifer. Isn’t that something for me to decide?” Diavolo rested his elbows on the table and his chin atop his hands. His head was tilted slightly as his voice jumped up an octave as he questioned his friend. He smiled as Lucifer seemed to stiffen and swallow his wanted response.

“Right, it was not my intention to overstep, my Lord.”

Diavolo rested his arms and turned around in his chair to face Lucifer, one arm resting on the table, the other in his lap. He chuckled quietly and kept his aloof smile.

“I was only teasing, Lucifer. You needn’t stiffen up. Speaking of Leviathan’s birthday, what are you planning for it? I know you always try and do something special for your brothers.”

Lucifer filed away his papers and while he had every notion to cut this meeting short, he wanted to get back at Diavolo, and what better way than to tease him back? He smirked and glanced at Diavolo through his peripheral.

“There’s a little something, yes. I guess you’ll have to just wait and see, my Lord.”

Lucifer couldn’t help but chuckle at the immediate pout from his response. He stood up and adjusted the strap of his shoulder bag.

“I guess I can give you one hint. It’ll be quite, magical~ I’ll see you tomorrow, Diavolo.”

Levi shut off his alarm, groaning in annoyance to having been woken up. Snuggling into his body pillow, he mumbled about sleeping in for 5 more minutes when his door burst wide open, a shrill scream escaping him as a result. Mammon however was undisturbed by Levi’s scream and marched right over to the bathtub, effortlessly lifting his younger brother out of the bathtub.

“C’MON SLEEPY HEAD! TIME T’A-AAAHHHHH”

Levi’s tail had wound its way around to smack Mammon square in the chest, knocking both him backwards toward Levi’s door and the wind out of him.

“WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU!? YOU DON’T JUST WAKE SOMEONE UP LIKE THAT YOU IDIOT! YOU STUPID MONEY-GRUBBING SCUMBAG IDIOT OF A BROTHER! DO YOU EVEN KNOW WHAT-“

“What’s all this ye-“, Beel had popped his head through the door. He heard screaming on his way to breakfast and got curious.

“This idiot decided to break down my door and just grab me out of my peaceful sleep-“

“You were awake-“

“Shut up, Mammon!”

“He was making sure you weren’t missing your breakfast, Levi… We told him to make sure you were awake before I ate it all…” Beel tilted his head in confusion, but didn’t help Mammon off the floor. “Did you forget?”

Levi stared at Beel, blinking in confusion as he tried to remember what was so important about today that they actually arranged this. Before he could come to an answer, Beel provided it for him.

“You knew you’d sleep in since we don’t have RAD today and you knew Mammon was the most annoying out of all of us-“

“HEY-“

“So you asked him to make sure you didn’t miss your birthday breakfast. You don’t remember that?”

Birthday… Breakfast…? Levi grabbed his DDD off the charger and checked the date. His eyes widened when he realized that Beel was talking about his birthday. It was already the 9th!?

“Satan’s breakfast smells so good….” Beel drifted away from the door, quickly making his way downstairs toward the kitchen. They already made sure that Levi was awake so if he didn’t get to the food in time, well, that was Levi’s fault.

“W-WOAH! WAIT UP BEEL!” Levi in turn had rushed out of his room. Satan had told him his present would have been Ruri-inspired meals of Japanese food for breakfast and dinner. He wasn’t about to let Beel just devour it all before he could even get a taste!

Levi raced downstairs, his demon form disappearing as he made his way to the dining room. Satan was coming out of the kitchen with Beel practically towering over him, waiting for breakfast to be served. An entire spread containing everything from omelettes with Azuki-tan drawn with ketchup on them to miso soup with flower cutouts of tofu were spread around the table while the brothers filed in.

“Just sit down, Beel! This is for Levi. I have more for you in the kitchen.” Satan plated the last of the omelettes with a sigh, placing a hand on Beel’s chest and pushing him back. His other hand pointing towards the kitchen “Kitchen.” Beel quickly turned around and went back to grab his portion of breakfast while the rest of the brothers, sans Lucifer, sat down. Levi was too busy admiring the spread that he didn’t notice Asmo coming up behind him until he felt the 5th born throw his arms around him. Startled, Levi yelped and seized. Asmo only giggled and nuzzled his cheek against his older brothers.

“Happy Birthday, Levi! Oh your skin’s feeling so rough- you haven’t been staying up all night binging and gaming again, have you? I’ve told you over and over again that you need a good night’s sleep to keep it nice and clear. Your eyebags are starting to form, dear.” Asmo had grabbed Levi’s face with both his hands, squishing his cheeks and frowning over his complexion. “Come to my room after breakfast and I’ll give you the Birthday glow up~”

Levi grabbed Asmo’s wrists and slowly brought them down from his face. “My skin’s just fine, Asmo. And I don’t have eyebags. They form after a week up anyways…”

“What was that,” Asmo tilted his head as Levi mumbled the last bit.

“N-nothing!”

“Not to interrupt, but you might want to eat it while it’s still hot and before Beel finishes his own breakfast.” Satan addressed the two with his hands on his hips. Belphie was already asleep at the table and Mammon had just made his way downstairs.

“Were y’a just gonna leave me there on the floor!?”

“Where’s Lucifer?” Completely ignoring Mammon, Asmo sat down and reached for an omelette and pulled out his DDD to take a picture while Mammon continued to gush over the food. “Oh Satan, these little drawings are just adorable!”

Satan smiled proudly and took his own seat, reaching for a bowl of miso soup. “The designs were simple enough. Ruri’s design though, man that took me 10 whole minutes. Drawing cats on my omelettes make good practice though.”

“Shtiw Shweeping,” Beel joined the group while carrying an armful of various dishes and some rice in his mouth. He didn’t want to eat alone in the kitchen after all. Placing his plates down, he nudged Belphie awake and gave him some boiled buffo eggs before swallowing. “He was up late last night. I could hear him sleeping when I passed by his room.”

Satan rolled his eyes and scooped up a spoonful. “Tch, of course he couldn’t even be up for this.”

“Easy Satan, you don’t know what he could have been doing last night-”

“I know what he was doing, Asmo. I’m just saying.”

Levi wasn’t paying much attention to the conversations around him. He was too busy with the breakfast in front of him. He took out his DDD and took a few pictures of the little customizations Satan mixed in with the breakfast. He wondered how much prep this would have taken. If breakfast was this nice, he couldn’t wait for dinner to see what Satan would come up with. “It’s even better than the official Ruri themed snacks and official meals. Thank you, Satan.”

Satan looked up at his brother and smiled. “Wait until you see dinner. Today and today only, alright, Levi?”

“Yes,” he laughed and grabbed a fork. He had taken the omelette with Ruri’s chibi face on it and with a heavy heart, cut into the design. Just as he did so, he felt something bump into his leg. Looking down, he noticed MC walking around looking seemingly half asleep. Picking them up, he set them in his lap. That immediately earned him jealous looks from the rest of his brothers. He smirked and grabbed a small bowl of rice for them to start with while he ate his eggs. It was his birthday and he intended to keep MC to himself today.

Lucifer did eventually show up near the end of breakfast looking like he’d spent all night marathoning his paperwork on the computer. Asmo immediately launched into a spiral over his appearance and invited him to join him and Levi in his room after breakfast for a spa day. Levi swallowed down his bite with some tea and blinked at Asmo. “I never agreed to that-“

“You didn’t say no either,” he waved his hand dismissively, “Ne- Lucifer, what do you say? A little one-on-one time with-“

“I’m busy, Asmodeus. Another time.” Lucifer walked by the dining room toward the kitchen to brew himself some coffee. Hearing the coffee pot going, Satan rolled his eyes.

Levi finished his breakfast and grabbed the soup MC was drinking. With MC in one arm and their soup in the other hand, he slipped out of the dining room back to his room. He knew his brothers would have some sort of party planned for him today, but that wouldn’t be until later tonight. He specifically requested not to do anything this afternoon. He wanted time to relax and prepare before socializing later with his brothers, Purgatory hall, and the royals. Everyone was invited and he was praying that someone told Solomon Satan was taking care of the food. The last thing he wanted today was food poisoning from Solomon’s cupcakes…

Sitting himself down in his gaming chair, he reached over to grab his headphones and a smaller set for MC. He gave them their soup and set the headphones atop their head. They could just listen to him game for now. He’ll pull up something 2-player later. Logging into his computer, he opened his game and wound his arms around MC on either side of them to reach his mouse and keyboard. Grinning as the game started playing.

About an hour later, he felt MC squirm in his lap a few times. “The round’s almost done MC. Just a second.” A few minutes later, the victory message played over the screen. A triumphant ‘Yes!’ could be heard as Levi pumped his fist. “Alright MC. What do you want to play? Devil Kart? Demon Crossing? There’s Demon Boy and Angel Girl? Oh! How about this new retro game I found? Immortal Combat! Apparently it used to be a big arcade game back in the human realm.”

Levi pulled up his browser to search for the website he found the game on when he felt MC tug at his sleeve. “Huh? Just a second MC, let me pull it up. Unless you had something else in mind?”

MC shook their head and pointed to Levi’s desk shelf. Several figurines, gaming controllers and accessories were organized on the shelves. Levi turned his head slightly in confusion. “You want to play with the console instead of keyboard? Sure- “

MC shook their head again and hopped out of Levi’s lap. They pointed to an empty section of the shelf. A small spot where there was no dust. A ring of a clean base could be seen, like something was removed. Levi rolled over and looked over the shelf. His eyes widened when he noticed that his special edition figurine from Ruri-Hana’s new Searise Monster Movie was missing! Bolting up from the chair, he started looking around the area in a panic.

“No no no no! It was just there yesterday! M-maybe it fell somewhere? MC, help me look for it! It’s a brand new special edition figurine- only 50 were made and the first 5 were signed copies! There’s no way I lost my signed copy of the figurine!”

He took everything off that specific shelf, looking through every single one of the shelves around the room. Around the computer. Behind it, under it, under the desk and his chair. He even took his blankets out of the bathtub to look for it! MC didn’t have any luck either, and feel Levi’s frustration and panic rise with each passing second, they padded over to the costume bin. They knew it was likely Mammon either took it or Levi just misplaced it, but they didn’t want the 3rd born running around the house in a rampage and summoning Lotan… Grabbing a hat and magnifying glass, they walked over to Levi and tugged on his pant leg. Irritated at still not being able to find his figurine, Levi almost snapped at MC. He paused when he saw what they were holding. Blinking a few times, he blinked away his tears of frustration and wiped his eyes.

“R-right! Satan plays detective all the time when he loses things. We can do that too!”

He grabbed the hat and magnifying glass from MC and went over to his cosplay trunk before pulling out a trench coat, a monocular, and a smaller magnifying glass for MC. He put the trench coat on and helped MC put on the monocular. He stood back with his hand on his chin, thinking. There was something missing… browsing through his shelves, he looked for something in particular…

“Aha! Yes!” Grabbing an Azukki-tan pin, he pushed it through the chain of the monocular and fastened it before grabbing one for himself and pinning it to the brim of his hat. “There we go. All set! The Mystery of who took the Special Signed Edition of Ruri-Hana Searise Monster Movie Figurine will be solved and the figurine returned to its rightful spot on its shelf! Let’s go MC!

Running out of his room, he looked behind him to make sure MC was following him. They were padding after him; looking through the magnifying glass. He couldn’t help but smile and blush slightly at how cute they looked like that.

“First, we’ll need a list of suspects! Now, let’s see. I was alone in my room all night yesterday. No one came to see me. I don’t remember if it was there when I woke up or not, which means someone must have stolen it between then and breakfast! No one was left alone in my room besides,” he looked down at MC for a minute, the two of them nodding their heads, “Mammon!”

Together, the two marched over to Mammon’s room, Levi taking the lead by busting down Mammon’s door much like he did with his this morning. “MAAMMMOOONNN!!! WHAT DID-“

MC cut Levi off by tugging on his trench coat and folding their arms. Shaking their head, they pointed to their magnifying glass. Levi looked down at the matching one in his hand and remembered. There were a few questions that needed to be asked first. Looking back at Mammon – who was still seated stunned on his couch – he pulled out a notepad from one of the coat pockets.

“Where were you this morning between the hours of- what time did I go to sleep last night…”

Mammon blinked at Levi for a few seconds before he realized the 3rd born was expecting an answer. “How the hell am I supposed t’a know!? I passed out after 11 last night cause I knew I had t’a be up to wake you up early today!”

“Okay so you weren’t in my room when I was sleeping. Then- What were you doing while we were all at breakfast between the time you came to wake me up and came back down?”

Mammon blinked once again at Levi, confused as to what the hell was going on and where all this came from. “Are one of yer things missin’ again-“

“Aha! I never said what was wrong! Only the guilty would kno-“

“Y’a only act like this when one of yer things are missin’, Levi. ‘Sides, why would I steal somethin’ from y’a if I’m gonna give y’a a gift anyways?” He rolled his eyes and went back to counting the Grimm on the table in front of him. “I didn’t take nothin’. I got off my ass- thank you for knockin’ it flat, by the way, then came downstairs t’a eat before Beel ate everythin’.”

“Is that so… And where did all this money come from, hmm? My Figurine is worth at least double so if-“

“I got paid yesterday, Levi”

Silence stretched throughout the room for a full minute before Mammon looked back up at Levi from the corner of his eyes. “Levi…?”

Levi was looking around Mammon’s room, stunned by his older brother’s responses. Hearing his name, he shook his head to clear his mind.

“Are y’a good?”

“You really didn’t take it?”

“I may be ‘scum’, but seriously Levi. No I didn’t take nothin’. Maybe tomorrow but- owww! The Hell!”

Levi narrowed his eyes at Mammon and struck him in the head with the bottom of his magnifying glass. Scoffing, he rolled his eyes and sighed. “Sorry… Do you know who it could have been?”

Mammon rubbed the top of his head and looked up at Levi with one eye before opening the other. “Y’a should be sorry. An’ no, I don’t. Ask someone else.”

Frowning in defeat, Levi looked at the Grimm on the table and took a small handful. Mammon jumped to his feet, tensing and trying to reach out to swipe the Grimm back from Levi. “HEY! Y’A DON’T-“

“You still owe me 300 Grimm for last week, Mammon. Don’t forget that.”

Leaving Mammon alone in his room, Levi left the room and shut the door once MC was out with him. He scratched the top of his head. “Okay but if it wasn’t Mammon… who else could it have been?”

He walked around the house with his chin in hand, thinking aloud. “I haven’t seen Asmo all morning. Satan was busy making breakfast. Belphie’s always asleep… Beel was by my room this morning! To the kitchen!”

Levi started speedwalking toward the kitchen when the sound of Beel’s stomach caught his attention from the living room. Coming to a stop, he backtracked to the living room and peeked over the sofa where Beel was sitting with Belphie asleep in his lap.

“Beel?”

“Satan won’t let me in the kitchen… can you get me something to eat, Levi? I’m hungry and Belphie fell asleep on me. I don’t want to wake him up…” Beel gave Levi his best puppy-dog eyes. He really was hungry but Satan won’t let anyone into the kitchen so they don’t eat the food he was making for dinner.

“Buddy I don’t think you’ll wake up Bel-“

Beel gasped as MC handed him a bag of popcorn. From where they got it, no one knew, but Beel now had some food. He reached down to hug MC tightly. “Thanks! Now I don’t have to wake Belphie up!”

Levi shrugged and took out his notepad. At least now he could have Beel’s attention without him focusing only on his stomach. “Where were you between last night and breakfast?”

Beel’s chewing slowed down as he thought about it. Swallowing, he tilted his head. “I was watching the New Super Devil Bro’s with Belphie last night, went for a midnight snack run, went to sleep. Woke up for more snacks because I was hungry, went back to sleep. Woke up for my morning jog, came back, tried to get a snack, but Satan had already started breakfast and wouldn’t let me in- he did give me a bowl of poisonberry’s though, so I ate those, took a shower, then found you yelling at Mammon in your room. Then we went to have breakfast.”

Levi put his notebook down about halfway through Beel’s recap of last night and this morning. There was nothing telling from any of that. “And you didn’t go into my room at all?”

Looking up at Levi with a bit of confusion, Beel shook his head. “No… is something wrong, Levi?”

Groaning, Levi sat himself down forcefully, hitting his head with the open notebook, mumbling into it. “Someone took my special edition figure and it wasn’t Mammon… Whenever Satan plays detective-“

“IT’S NOT A GAME!” Satan’s voice could be heard shouting from the kitchen. He came out with a hand towel, leaning against the doorframe. He smirked at the looks he got from the 3 in the room. “Demons have good hearing. You lost your figurine?”

Levi nodded and leaned back against the couch, turning his head to look at Satan. “How do you normally find things when you play detective?”

“Like I said earlier, I don’t play detective. I become a detective. It’s not the same. When did you lose it?”

“I don’t know… I’m pretty sure I had it last night. I didn’t even notice it was missing until MC pointed it out.”

“So it went missing between last night and this morning?”

“Yes, but Mammon didn’t take it. I checked. He and Beel were the only ones in my room…”

Satan smiled and slung the towel over his shoulder. “Are you sure?”

Levi tilted his head at the 4th born. “What’s that supposed to mean? Of course I’m sure.”

Pushing himself off the doorway, he waved as he went back to the kitchen. “Then good luck searching.”

Levi groaned and facepalmed, sinking further into the couch. “Yeah. Big help, Satan.”

“ANYTIME!”

“Why do I get the feeling he knows more than he lets on…”

“Maybe ask Asmo if he’s seen it?” Beel munched on the fistful of popcorn. He already seemed to have finished half the bag. Levi got up and slid his notebook back in his pocket. “Yeah- might as well. Detective Levi will find a clue somewhere! …It sounds better when Satan says it.”

“OF COURSE IT DOES-“

“SHUT UP SATAN! Geez, come on MC. Asmo should be in his room.”

Pulling out a granola bar, MC handed it to Beel before hurrying after Levi. Walking through the halls, they felt bad over how dejected Levi seemed to be with each dead end. Pressing themselves against his leg, they looked up at him. Levi looked down to see MC’s face. He pouted and pet the top of their head. “Don’t look at me like that… you’ll make me feel sorry for feeling sorry.” Laughing quietly, he gave MC a small smile. “We’ll find it today! Don’t worry!” Whether he was trying to cheer himself up or MC up, he didn’t know. He just wanted to find his figurine. He didn’t think he’d be able to enjoy his birthday party if he was too busy wondering where it was.

Reaching Asmo’s door, he lifted his fist to knock when the door swung open. The front of his shirt was grabbed as he was dragged inside. “W-WHOA! What the-“

“You actually came! Don’t worry about anything, I have the whole setup spread out! Oh we’re going to make you look perfect for your party! I just knew you’d come! MC darling, have a seat right there. I’ll get to you once I’m done with Levi, kay~?”

MC climbed up onto the vanity stool and kicked their legs, stifling a laugh as Asmo started doting over Levi. Pulling out their DDD, they pulled up Mononoke Land to pass the time.

It was about 2 hours later before they were finally released by Asmo’s clutches. Levi sat in the corner while he finished up with MC. “So you really have no idea where my figurine is?”

“Levi hun, I didn’t even know you had one-“

“Of course I had one! I’ve been talking about this movie a month before it came out!”

Asmo put down the brush and let MC hop off the vanity before packing everything up. “I don’t know what to tell you. I’m sure it will come up when you’re not looking for it anymore.”

“Jee… thanks… Let’s go MC.” Levi stood up and left the room with MC. Feeling his DDD buzz, he opened it up to the group chat. Everyone else began arriving for his party, but he wasn’t really feeling it. He looked down at his companion. “If I don’t show up, do you think anyone will notice?”

MC looked up at Levi, blinking twice.

“Right- of course they’d notice. I’m the Main Character for tonight.” Sighing heavily, he made his way to the living room. “We might as well see what Satan whipped up for dinner.”

Walking into the living room, he took off the coat and hat, laying them over the arm of one of the couches just as the Purgatory Hall residents came in.

“Happy Birthday Leviathan! Oh? What has you so down?” Simeon held a wrapped present but placed it on the table when he saw the look on Levi’s face.

“What’s with the costume?” Solomon held his own gift, gesturing to the coat Levi just took off.

“Hey guys, thanks. Oh, it’s nothing.” Levi shrugged and sat down. He could smell Satan’s dinner, but Diavolo and Barbatos weren’t here yet, so the food wouldn’t be coming out soon. Satan himself did pop out of the kitchen though. He looked over at Levi sitting dejectedly on the couch. “Still haven’t found it?”

“Found what? Did you lose something, Levi?” Luke perked up. He’d brought some cupcakes, carrying them over to Satan so he could store them safely in the kitchen as it seemed Beel hadn’t been allowed in there.

“My Special Edition Signed Figurine of Ruri-Hana’s Searise Monster Movie model is missing. I’ve been looking for it all day- well, MC and I have been looking all day.”

“If by lookin’ y’a mean harrassin’ us for it, then y’a, you were. Y’a still haven’t found the thing?”

Levi shook his head and glared at Mammon. He wasn’t really in the mood to celebrate as the others in the room exchanged looks on what they could do to cheer him up. In that moment, Lucifer came in with Diavolo and Barbatos behind him.

“The House of Lamentation, quiet? How often does that happen?” Diavolo’s cheerful voice carried through the room. “Happy Birthday Leviathan! Another wonderful year with the rest of your brothers and many more to come!”

Lucifer raised a brow at Levi’s lack of response. “Leviathan-“

“Right, right. Thanks Lord Diavolo. I guess…”

Lucifer sighed and shook his head. “Levi, what’s the problem.”

“He misplaced one of his figurines. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you, Lucifer?” Satan looked at his older brother and raised a brow, knowing full well but wanting Lucifer to say it instead.

“Ah, this figurine perhaps?” Lucifer smiled and revealed the signed movie figurine from his inner coat pocket. Levi looked up and sprang to his feet when he saw it. His eyes widened as he looked between the stand and his brother.

“YES! Wait- how- when- Why did you take it!?”

Lucifer chuckled and held up a hand to calm his younger brother. “Easy, Levi. I simply had to borrow it for your gift. Now she’s still fragile and only lasts for a few hours. She might not be a perfect copy, but it was the closest I could get. You can come out now.”

From behind Lucifer, a small child sporting 2 twin piglets and a bright pink and white dress stepped out. Big purple eyes looked up and around the room in curiosity before her eyes landed on Levi. “Leviachan..?” She walked over to the demon and tilted her head to the side before reaching out to touch him. “You are Leviachan, right?”

Levi stood rooted to the spot the moment he saw Ruri step out from behind Lucifer. His eyes darted between her and his brother, as if trying to figure out if this was real or not. When he felt her touch him though, he felt his face turn a bright red before his knees buckled. Simeon just barely managed to catch him before he hit the ground.

Ruri looked down at Levi with a tilted head and confused expression. “Oh… did I scare him? Hmm? Oh hi, what a peculiar companion.” Ruri looked at MC who seemed to be handing her the Azuki-tan pin Levi had attached to their monocle. Looking down at Levi, they summoned some cold water to splash onto his face to wake him up.

Mammon stared wide eyed at Ruri for a few moments before looking at her and Luke a few times and snickering. “Hey- she’s shorter than the Chihuahua. Y’a ain’t the shortest one today.”

“I’M NOT A CHIHUAHUA!”

#leviathanbday2023 #Obey Me Leviathan #Obey Me Levi #Happy Birthday Levi

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