#someone strike me very hard in the head with a blunt object | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

strongerthanafork · 3 years

Text

Foreign Shadows

Karl Heisenberg x Reader: Part 1

Warnings: weapons, blood, gore, kidnapping, torture, cursing, sexual content.

"Ethan, you can't be serious?" (Y/N) calls after her friend. "I am serious. She's missing and I'm going to find her." Ethan shouts, over his shoulder, continuing into the woods. "Its getting late, you can't go out there alone." She says, stomping after him. Ethan turns suddenly. (Y/N) bumps into her chest, inhaling sharply. He looks down at her with desperation.

"Then come with me."

(Y/N) walks beside Ethan, arms crossed. They hadn't spoken to each other for at least twenty minutes. "Look, I'm sorry, okay?" Ethan sighs, breaking the silence. "I know this is hard for you." (Y/N) starts, feeling an uncomfortable shiver run down her spine. Someone was watching. "But this wasn't a good idea. We're out here alone, in that dark, with a only a flashlight. I mean this is classic horror story shit." (Y/N) says. "I know, I know." Ethan mumbles. What sounds like a small branch snapping under someone's foot his heard. They both fall quiet. Ethan looks at (Y/N). Shs looks back wide eyed. He glances around, suddenlt noticing lights in the distance. He pulls (Y/N) to him, whispering in her ear. "There are light down the hill. When I tap your arm, we run, got it." He explains, having a feeling of dread in his gut. (Y/N) lets out a shaky breath feeling him tap her arm. She boots.

Ethan is hot on her tail, as they both sprint down the hill. The lights get closer and closer to reveal a small village. "What the hell?" (Y/N) whispers. Ethan doesn't see her stop running and bumps into her, knocking them both to the ground. "Shit!" Ethan says, grabbing the attention of some people walking the street. (Y/N) groans, sitting up, feeling eyes on her. "Ethan." (Y/N) says, patting the ground beside her. He was gone. She stares at the spot of the ground he once was sitting on. Did he leave her? (Y/N) stands, brushing her hands on her jeans. "Ethan!" She whispers harshly. "Dammit." She mumbles, looking entirely out of place in the village. "Are you lost?" Someone asks, from behind her. She turns, quickly. "I don't- I'm not from here." (Y/N) stutters watching the woman's face light up. "A foreigner! How lovely." She starts. (Y/N) doesn't let her finish. "Have you seen a guy, about this tall," She gestures with her hands, "Blonde hair? He was wearing a green jack-" The woman stops her. "I've seen no man. Please come, inside!" She says ushering (Y/N) inside her home. "Wait, but-" The woman sushes her. "I insist! We never get foreigners nowadays." The woman laughs, eerily. (Y/N) swallows, thickly. "Let me go find my husband, and I'll be right back." The woman says, giving her a creepy grin. (Y/N) shutters as the woman leaves. She rushes to the door, opening it. It slams on the wall as she bolts out of the woman's house and into the square. Where the hell was she? What was going on? Where did Ethan go? What was in the wood? Her breath quickens and she glances frantically around the village for an escape. Villagers stop in their tracks, staring at her as if she were a digusting creature. A dull pain, resonates on the back of her skull. She grunts, falling to the ground from the impact. She turns, seeing villager with some heavy object in hand. (Y/N)'s head pounds. Her adrenaline begins to kick in. The man raises his weapon to strike again and she rolls to the side hearing it clank on the brick below her. She kicks the man in the shin, pulling herself up. "Oh no you don't!" The man yells, aiming a shotgun at her. Where did her get that from? "What do you want? What's going on?" (Y/N) roars, anger filling her. "Where is my friend? What did you do to him-" The gun goes off, the bullets piercing her thigh. (Y/N) falls on her back, crying out in pain. Her hands shoot to her injured leg, holding it. Blood seeps onto her hands. She sobs, looking up through her tears at the man. "Mother Miranda will be very pleased to see you." The man says, confusing the hell out of (Y/N). "Please-" The barrel of the gun comes down the hit (Y/N)'s head.

Darkness.

"Oh, please, that is utter nonsense!" A female's voice booms. (Y/N) winces, feeling cold metal around her wrists. Her thigh is numb and pulsates with her heart. Her head hurts. It's throbbing, aching. She turns to lie on her back. "(Y/N)!" Someone hisses, from beside her. "Ethan?" (Y/N) croaks, quietly. "Thank God. I thought you wouldn't wake up." Ethan says. He's bloody and dirty. "What's going on? Ethan, please tell me this isn't real." (Y/N) whispers. "Ah!" The same female voice says. "They're awake." She chuckles. (Y/N) props herself up against a wall. Oh god. A woman looms above her. She's enormous. She towers over (Y/N) like a tree. She has to crane her neck to see the woman's face. She glances around the room seeing several other figures. Her eyes widen. What the fuck was happening? "Oh, don't be alarmed, darling." The woman, grins. "The worst is yet to come." She says. Someone snorts and (Y/N)'s head turns to see a gruff looking man, smoking a cigar. "What the fuck is going on?" (Y/N) projects, taking all of the strange people by surprise. Ethan feels anxiety bubble in him. "Who are you? What are we doing here?" (Y/N) drills. No one answers. "Answer me, goddammit!" (Y/N) shouts. Cigar man let's out a laugh. It sounded like it came from deep within her gut.

"What's so funny, cigar man?" (Y/N) growls, making Ethan kick her uninjured leg. "Dont provoke them." He mumbles. "Cigar man." The scruffy man repeats. "Don't provoke them?" (Y/N) says lowly. The strange people watch the two humans interact. "Don't fucking provoke them?" She shouts at Ethan, making him flinch. "Some dumbass shot me in the leg and all I was trying to do was get some answers." (Y/N) rants. "You're the one who dragged me out here to find you're precious daughter!" She says raising her hands mockingly. Ethan's face contorts. "Oh so it's my fault?" He says, laughing bitterly. "Obviously! We're in this situation because of you!" She argues, shoving her index finger into his chest. "Me? I'm not the one who-" The tall woman becomes tired of their bickering. "Enough!" She booms, shutting them both up. "Mother Miranda is on her way and she will decide what to do with both of you." She says, obviously annoyed. "I like her." The man says, pointing his cigar at (Y/N). "She's got spunk. Now him," He pauses, pointing to Ethan, "He seems like a pain in the ass, if I'm being blunt with you." He says, ignoring that the two humans were even there, talking to the tall lady. The large woman, sighs heavily. "It isn't your decision, Heisenberg." She says, sitting down. "Now hang on just a minute," (Y/N) says squinting. "Since when am I property?" She glares at all of them. Ethan swallows. "Since you set foot here." A new voice says. It's filled with power. It was quite intimidating. A female figure covered in feathers enters the room. "What the fuck." (Y/N) whispers, eyes trailing her as she walks. The Heisenberg man snorts. Ethan cowers to the wall behind him. Idiot.

Miranda stops at the center of the room. "We will decide your fate, from now, forward." She says, speaking with a kind of grace. "So we don't get a fucking say in this?" (Y/N) fumes. "(Y/N)." Ethan says, weakly. "Don't '(Y/N)' me. I don't want anything to do with this! This is insane. It this a joke? Did my mom set this shit up? She's been after me for years. I knew-" (Y/N) is silenced. "Shut your fucking hole and let the woman speak. Damn." Heisenberg snaps. "I thought you liked me, cigar boy." (Y/N) sneers. Heisenberg rises from his seat, suddenly, making her jump. Mother Miranda sighs. "Now you listen to me, princess." Heisenberg growls, stalking over to her. (Y/N) stands her ground, rolling her shoulders back. Ethan starts to shake in fear. He grabs her jaw, roughly.

"You ain't making the fucking decisions around here." He says. (Y/N) tries to pull her head out of his grasp, but he simply tightens it. "Your fate is already layed out for you. So I suggest to cooperate or you will face the consequences." Heisenberg grins. "Get your hands off me you pig!" (Y/N) says, lowly. A loud crack echos inside the room. (Y/N) falls back against the wall, hand to her face. He just hit her. "Learn your place or you won't survive." Heisenberg whimpers. (Y/N)'s eyes sting with tears. Everything hurt and nothing made sense. "Go to hell." She mumbles. "What did I just say-" heisenberg starts raising his voice. "That's a great show you put on for us, dear, but I think that's enough." The tall woman says, boredom in her tone. (Y/N) slumps back against the wall, defeated. It was no use.

"Ethan Winters." Mother Miranda says. "Your fate has been decided." She speaks with authority. There's a pause. "Lady Dimitrescu will have you." She states. The tall woman grins wildly. Ethan shrinks back against the wall. (Y/N) sits there, a cut on her cheek from something Heisenberg hand on his hand. Possibly a ring. She didn't care. Ethan is carried away by the tall lady she had learned to be Alcina Dimitrescu. "Good fucking ridens." (Y/N) mumbles to herself, watching Ethan struggle. "(Y/N) (L/N). Your fate has been decided." Mother Miranda repeats. "Oh, great." (Y/N) says, voice dripping in hate. "Lord Heisenberg will take you." She says. (Y/N) feels anger filling her. "I'm not going with that idiot." She says, looking at Miranda while referring to him. She hears him stand. Goosebumps rise on her skin, seeing his shadow on the ground as he looms above her. "Get up." He orders. "Fuck off." (Y/N) retorts, still looking at Miranda. "Get the fuck up!" Heisenberg booms. (Y/N) glares up at him. "I said, fuck off!" She yells back. Heisenberg smiles, adjusting his hat. "You're in for a ride, pretty girl." He growls, grabbing her forearm, forcing her to stand on her bad leg. (Y/N) yelps, numbing pain shooting through her ankle to her hip. She pants, pulling at the chains surrounding her wrist. She would glady, for no money at all, kick him in the balls, if her leg was healed.

"Well? C'mon walk." Heisenberg says, in a teasing manner. "I got shot, dumbass! I can't walk." (Y/N) spits. "Guess I'll either have to drag you or throw you over my shoulder. What'll it be?" He says, a glint in his eyes. (Y/N) remains silent. He grabs her by the middle, hosting her over his shoulder. "Put me down!" (Y/N) shouts as he begins to walk. "Oh! I see. You'd rather be dragged on the ground, huh?" Heisenberg says, stopping. "No." (Y/N) says, quickly. "That's what I fuckin' thought." He says, hand resting on the bad of her thighs. It didn't seem like he really cared about the wound on her thigh.(Y/N) starts to feel blood rush to her head. The man was carrying her at an uncomfortable angle. She grunts, wiggling to adjust herself. "Quit movin'." Heisenberg barks, slapping the back of her injured thigh. (Y/N) flinches letting out a pained sound. She dangles from his shoulder like a ragdoll. This was embarrassing to say the least. He was treating her like a sack of potatoes.

After what felt like a month, they reached some sort of plant. A factory maybe? This was all surreal. A whirring sound is heard and (Y/N) is walked through a door. "Welcome to your new home." Heisenberg chuckles. "This isn't my home." She snaps, hitting his back with her chained wrists. "Now you've done it." He says, before throwing her down on the floor. (Y/N) hisses, her leg aching. "Look, this us how it's gonna be." He starts, kneeling down to an eye level stance. "You ain't gonna cause trouble and your gonna do what I say. You hear?" He says. "You may need some trainin'," He pauses, eyes hinting some darkness,

"But you'll fuckin' learn."

#karl heisenburg x reader #karl heisenberg #resident evil #x reader

80 notes · View notes

gofancyninjaworld · 3 years

Text

OPM Mega review (chapters 131 - 148): Part 2 To the side, not the sidelines

A continuation of part 1 of the mega review. This isn’t a narrative account, but rather a look at all the other groups and happenings around where the main battle is raging.

Heroism in all sizes

It’s like the end of the world. City Z isn’t the first city to face near total devastation. But City A was at least gone in a flash. People had almost no time to consider their imminent demise. In City Z, the carnage has had time to build and to come from multiple directions. From vampiric monster roots enveloping and sucking the lives out of inhabitants by the block. From powerful earthquakes splitting and even twisting the ground. From aerial bombardments of gigantic rubble and from the sea itself as the coastline is threatened by a chain of tsunamis. Survivors aren’t bothering to try driving: it’s whatever you can carry as fast as you can.

Those who gave up their beds. The Hero Hospital in City S has come to serve as an impromptu staging post for nearby heroes. Like a middle finger stuck up at face of civilisation, the tower previously buried underground and its glowing red monster is just about visible from the hillsides of City S and draws heroes in like a beacon. First Metal Bat, then Mumen Rider, then the Tank Toppers, then the Blizzard Group, then all the other heroes hospitalised in the aftermath of either the Day of Chaos or Garou’s depredations discharge themselves against medical advice and run in to see who they can save.

just as well they all went -- the roads are so impassable and the situation so volatile that they’re literally the only rescue coming for hours if not days

Swept up in the mood, the martial artists were considering moving out too, only for Suiryu to pour cold water on the notion. It has done me a world of good to see that Suiryu has been inspired by Max and Snek and not Saitama. He finally gets it that a hero is someone who has the courage to step into the path of danger because someone needs help, and not because they’re strong and think they’ll win.

No space for playing hero. It’s very wise that Suiryu advised his fellow martial artists not to play hero. If many have complained about how heroes seem to be blessed with life, no such protections are afforded to non-heroes. The people who went in alongside heroes have suffered grievously, although those who have died did so bravely.

I have a one-person prayer circle going for Sekingar. I pray that ONE will choose to spare his fine non-hero one-eyed, single-handed ass. I have come to like the guy and I’ve been impressed at how he has stayed calm when trapped in City Z, succeeded in encouraging discouraged heroes and even asserting a genuine authority to guide Metal Bat and King. I don’t think there’s too many more like him in the executive of the Hero Association and think it’d be a shame if he didn’t bring his hard-won experiences back to guide them in what’s sure to be a crisis.

The king under the mountain

This arc has introduced us to a lot of concepts and players who are likely to have long-term effect on the world. In this series of chapters, some of these ideas are developed further.

Came for the pussy, stayed for the tentacles. I’m sorry, I’m allowed one double entendre a week and I decided to curse you with it. I wouldn’t have mentioned this but Drive Knight’s comings and goings are almost certainly going to be very plot-relevant later. He was supposed to be gone with his prize of one Nyan, but then he saw the tower emerge and Psykos-Orochi wave tentacles skyward and as much as a cyborg with no discernable facial features can be said to yearn, he yearned. For a sample that is.

He stuck around as long as it took him to get a sample of Orochi and then he was gone, without so much as a ‘thank you for your help’. At present, we’ll just have to see what this is all about later.

When the cat’s away the mice will play. The only way to foment a world ending crisis is to have the guy who can squash it all and wonder what the fuss was about occupied elsewhere. Through meeting Flashy Flash and getting a tour into the deepest reaches of the Monster Association thanks to Manako, and a couple of other things, Saitama is literally trapped in an alternative dimension. Although, being Saitama, if he felt a sense of urgency, he’d break back into the real world without a second thought. Right now he’s curious,worried for his house, but mostly hungry. Some curry would be nice.

The real question is how are the heroes going to hold out until Saitama arrives? I’ve been touched by how genre-savvy Genos and King are about this. It’d be amusing if it weren’t so brutally true.

The formal establishment of extra-spatial dimensions as a feature not restricted to a few unusual individuals. Phoenixman first got us learning about the idea of extra dimensions, in his case a private manifestation of his inner psyche. Neither he nor Child Emperor physically moved.

Ninchirin introduces us to the idea of an extra-spatial dimension that physical objects can be stowed in and taken from.

But nothing takes it as far as ‘God’ with the existence of a pocket dimension with its own timeline that takes people in wholesale. Whether a lot of time passes on the outside (as it does for Saitama and co) or no time passes (as it does for Psykos-Orochi) seems to depend on ‘His’ will.

The formal establishment of ‘God’ as a singular being with a distinct personality. Homeless Emperor first talked about ‘God’ as being a being who tasked him with eliminating humanity after he despaired of living as one. Pyskos expands on that concept. She saw ‘God’ very differently, as a quasi-planetary being rather than as a vaguely humanoid one, but her experience of ‘Him’ as a being who bestowed power and a mission on her bears striking similarity to that of Homeless Emperor.

How people get to talk to ‘God’ becomes clear when we see Flashy Flash and Saitama accidentally summoning ‘Him’ via handling a box. Which leads very naturally to elucidating some of the mystery of Blast.

Finding out why Blast is still the number 1 hero. If the likes of Tatsumaki leave us scratching our heads as to how any hero could outwork her in terms of facing monsters, Blast gives us an answer. He specialises in dealing with non-physical threats, which he does by having some sort of dimension-hopping gizmo. The black box he disposes of identical to that seen in Tatsumaki’s flashback, leading us naturally to think about what business the facility holding her was having with ‘Him.’ Webcomic readers see a gimme as well in the construction of the Ninja Village Flash hails from, along with Blast paying the ninjas a visit.

With Blast having taken Saitama and co out of reality, it’s going to be an unknown while before they pop back into it.

Sleeping is such a nice euphemism for dying

The principle of explosive growth through surviving situations that should have killed one is by this point a well-established mechanic within the story. After seeing Phoenixman come back from the dead, it should perhaps not be a surprise to us that Orochi does the same. In coming back, he’s evolved into a distributed form that can regrow after even extensive destruction and the consequences of his doing so are already covered in part 1 of this review.

Speaking of evolution, what about Garou? We left Garou buried under tons of rock in the wake of Tatsumaki lifting the base. Yet again, he does not die -- thank you Darkshine for your anti blunt trauma vaccination -- and little by little, we see him dig himself out, and transforming himself as he goes as he dreams of a world in which he enforces peace but very unconventional means.

In retrospect, the sequence of Garou’s eyes closing in response to his humanising memory of Tareo is the most ominous as the eyes that open again have not a shred of humanity in them.

It reminds me a lot of what we saw happen to Gouketsu when the latter accepted a monster cell, his human eyes closing as a new set of monster ones opened.

At long last, Garou makes it back to the surface. But what’s this? Where’s the wise-cracking, judgemental little shit we love? What is this near silent, befanged, clawed feral creature beating down on everything he sees? Oh dear. He is not sleeping sweetly, dreaming pleasant dreams of a world perfectly obedient while he waits for the fist of some self-righteous prince to awaken him to his destiny. Garou may perceive it as lapses in consciousness, but it’s the monster within eating him alive. He’s dying. He is under real existential threat of being completely lost to monsterfication and how it is that he can save his humanity is a big point of interest.

In his flawed way, Bang is trying to get through to Garou. I don’t hold out big prospects of him reaching him. And if he does, I hold out even smaller prospects of him actually beating Garou. Barring some interruption, we might be about to see the tragedy of a master beaten down by his student.

I’m going to leave this review here. What comes next is all too soon going to change the status quo of the story, if not for the better, then certainly for the more eventful.

#OPM #review #Snek #Saitama #Garou #Bang #Flashy Flash #Sekingar #a lot has happened #and the heroes working bravely in the background to save as many as they can is indeed heroism at its best #how the supernatural meddling fits in with everything that we see going on we don't yet know #Garou coming back onto the scene is a far more ominous re-emergence than it was in the webcomic #this could get really ugly

22 notes · View notes

remmushound · 3 years

Text

Animal crackers part 2!! @errorfreak88 @digitl-art-monstr

Content warning!! Blood, childhood trama, physical injury

Donatello didn't move from the spot where Raphael had left him, staring off into the tunnel with nothing but the occasional pacing to keep him occupied. Raphael had been gone for hours— that was several hours too long, and it wasn’t like Raphael to miss lunch. Splinter had woken up almost thirty minutes ago to start preparing it. Donatello wondered how long it would take before Splinter noticed that Raphael wasn’t there at his side trying to taste everything and gobble up his share before it was even completely prepared. Splinter only ever got four hours of sleep a day—five if he was lucky—so maybe he wouldn’t notice the absence. Maybe not unless someone brought it up…?

Donatello made up his mind. He joined his father in the kitchen and, before his mind could try and force him to chicken out, he called to his father.

“Yes Purple? Splinter yawned, glancing back at Donatello with the heavy eyes he often had.

“I have something to tell you…”

Even in his deprived state, Splinter could tell something was wrong. He left the food he was preparing on the counter and hurried to kneel beside Donatello. He cupped the four year old's head in his hands to have Donatello look up at him.

“Whatever is the matter, Purple?”

Donatello’s eyes swam with tears, and he finally broke down crying, charging forward to hug Splinter in attempts to gain forgiveness while he explained himself. He quickly told Splinter everything that happened, from Raphael leaving to Raphael knocking him down to how long Raphael had been gone. He tried his best to explain that he tried to stop Raphael and he thought Raphael would come back on his own.

Splinter, despite the anxious knot twisting around in his stomach, only hugged Donatello and gave soft, shushing noises. He pet his paw carefully across the leathery shell and nosed his whiskers against Donatello’s cheek.

“It is alright Donatello…” He soothed. He planted a kiss on the large forehead. “We will just have to push lunch back a little later while I go to find your brother, that’s all. Can you be a big boy and watch the kitchen to make sure Blue and Orange don’t try to sneak a snack?”

Donatello sniffled and wiped his eyes, sitting up a little straighter as he tried to be strong like his dad. “Yes sir!”

“There’s my strong, brave softshell.” Splinter pinched Donatello’s cheeks before heading off.

***

Raphael was scared. At first, he had thought that the human was letting free when he had been dragged out of the net by the base of his tail. In actuality, it had only been to be tossed into another cage, this one smaller and metal and cold. The bars that worked as the floor hurt his feet immensely and, no matter how he shifted his weight, it would hurt all the same.

“I wanna go home…” Raphael whimpered. “Please let me out. My feet hurt…”

“Oh, don’t worry. You'll go home soon enough.” The human said.

Raphael watched the human wash and sharpened something shiny and silver— something metal. He didn't know what to call it, but he didn't want it anywhere near him…

“Why can’t I go home now?” He held his stomach and whined. “It’s almost lunch time. I hungry…”

“Hungry for what?” The man snarled, spinning quickly to face Raphael, holding the metal tool just inches from Raphael’s mouth. “Human?”

“What?” Raphael squeaked and wiped his eyes, “I don’t eat human. I eat peaches. And animal crackers…”

“Sure you do.” The doctor growled, “If there’s one of you, there’s bound to be more of you. Am I right?”

Raphael didn't answer.

“Your silence is deafening, young turtle. You say you eat ‘peaches’ but those fangs of yours say otherwise.”

Raphael brought a hand to his mouth and to his snag tooth. “Is my snaggle toothy. Daddy says its cute.”

“I suppose so. I need to have proof of your existence, but I don’t wanna kill you just yet.”

“What’s kill…?” Raphael asked softly. He flinched and covered his eyes as a bright camera flash blinded him.

“It means you go to a forever sleep like the animal you are. But a live specimen would be worth a lot more to me.”

The human swung the door open. Raphael tried to run, but he was snagged by the leg and lifted painfully and carried over to the table struggling and kicking.

“No! No no no!” He grabbed a chair, but only managed to yank it down as he was still pulled along. “No kill, no kill!”

“Didn't you just hear me? I said I wasn’t— gonna—kill you!”

Raphael was shoved onto a table, still struggling, and was strapped down with a leather restraint around his chest and legs. He reached down and tried to bite the strap, only for the human to grab him by the throat and force his head down.

“They called me crazy, but I knew there was a cryptid hiding in this sewer. I knew of the rat, but not of you. They’ll see, they’ll all see! But I, of course, have to make sure you’re no longer a threat before I show you off. And we can start…”

He forced Raphael’s mouth open and jammed the metal tool inside, locking onto Raphael’s snaggle tooth.

“With that tooth of yours.”

***

Splinter was tracking Raphael by his scent when he heard a scream. A scream far too deep to belong to his son, but a scream that concerned him nonetheless. It wasn’t one of fear-/ it was one of pain. Deep, agonizing pain that Splinter knew all too well.

“Red!” Splinter dropped to all fours to race after the sound, skidding unsteadily into what looked like a makeshift office, with chairs and a desk and tools that made Splinter flashback to his time with Baron Draxum. For a moment, his eyes glossed over, and he was lost in his own memory. Then the yells brought him back to reality and he searched up until he found a man he recognized all too well, and attached at the hunter’s hand was Raphael.

The snapper looked almost terrifying— if Splinter didn't recognize the creature as his own son, he would have been petrified beyond all sense. Raphael’s eyes were glossed over white, a look that Splinter had seen on his sons many times before, but never had it seemed so intimidating. Even though Raphael was taller than Splinter, the turtle wasn’t very large, especially compared to the above-average sized hunter, but at that moment Raphael seemed the biggest in the room.

Raphael’s mouth had locked around the doctor’s wrist and hung on, even as he was struck repeatedly on the head with every blunt object within the doctor's reach. Each hit only seemed to make him angrier, making him thrash his head even harder and dig his teeth even deeper. Blood was seeping out— so much blood. Splinter could never get over just how much blood was in a human body, even after witnessing his own blood pooling out of him time and time again. The blood stained Raphael red and flooded both into his mouth and onto the floor in a puddle that pooled around Splinter and the hunter’s feet, but Raphael held strong.

Splinter gave a furious cry as he launched himself at the hunter, striking his claws against the man’s face and aiming for the eyes, though he just barely missed. The hunter stumbled, trying to strike Splinter with the same hand that Raphael was locked onto, but only succeeded in falling into his cart. His own equipment rained down on him, scalpels and needles piercing into him and other tools crashing down around him. Raphael let go when a hammer hit his head, giving a furious yowl that was almost gator-like as he pulled back to Splinter’s side.

Splinter couldn’t move when he saw the state of Raphael. The turtle was painted red, his mouth hanging open and spilling fresh blood, but from where Splinter couldn’t tell. Not until he saw the absence of the snag tooth and the hole that was left in its place as it had been forcefully extracted. Raphael gave another yell and tried to lunge at the human, but Splinter caught him around the shell and held him firm. Raphael made no attempt to attack his father but made every attempt to try to escape and return to his brutal mauling.

Splinter whipped his tail hard against the hunter's head, stopping the screaming and making the human slump to the floor unconscious. Splinter fell to his knees, cradling his son against his chest and stomach while wrapping his arms tight around the snapper to hold him still. Raphael thrashed and squirmed like a furious beast trying to get free, but Splinter stayed still. He held Raphael there for thirty minutes on his count before the fighting stopped and Raphael went limp in his father's arms, anger turning to pain and fear as his growling turned to tears. He wrapped his arms around Splinter’s to cry into the rat’s fur.

“It is alright…” Splinter closed his eyes so he wouldn’t have to look at son nor the state of the hunter. He wasn’t so sure he could hear the hunter breathing anymore but he tried not to think of it. “I’m here…”

“You weren’t…” Raphael’s voice was slurred with the extraction of his snag tooth, his eyes still white.

“I’m here, my son, I’m…”

Raphael gave a final, curdling cry down the tunnels before he was still, his head hanging. “Raph… alone…”

23 notes · View notes

the-sympathetic-villain · 3 years

Text

L’Appel Du Vide - Chapter 1

AO3 | Next | Masterpost

Description: Logan has been captured by a government agency who researches human with supernatural powers. Able to manipulate the world with his mind and tell what others are thinking, Logan finds himself in one of the most high security government prisons in the country that's run by a sinister Dr. Emile Picani. After several long months of deprivation and torture at the hands of Dr Picani, a devilish-looking man with scales on his face will break into the prison looking for Logan's less than friendly bunkmate, but will he be too late? Prompt by @LoganIsACoolTeacher on AO3

Endgame pairings: Lociet, Intruality, Prinxiety

Word Count: 2401

Chapter warnings: Injuries, Captivity, Blood, Talking about a person as if they were an object, Swearing, Attempted strangling, Emotional manipulation, Drugged person, Blackmail, Solitary confinement, Knocked out by blunt object, Violence in self-defence, brief mention of a gun, Threats of starving someone for their cooperation, restraints, crying, Unsympathetic!Emile Picani

---

Tears burned at the corner of Logan’s eyes as he stumbled forward and hit the hard ground. The taste of iron filled his mouth as he sucked in a breath and spit the blood out of his mouth.

Everything hurt.

The cuts that covered his arms and legs were a burning reminder of the thick underbrush he’d crawled through in his attempt at escaping this nightmare fate. He turned his head to suck in a breath as the pain in his cracked ribs pulled a few choice swears from his lips.

“Didn’t the doc say not to leave that thing alone?”

“It ain’t alone. The skiddish one's there to keep it fed.”

“Didn’t think that one was even still alive.”

“Probably won't be for much longer if this thing’s half as dangerous as the doc said.” The man's voice paused as Logan turned his head and blinked up at the shadows over him. “Now, let’s go. The way this thing looks at me gives me the creeps.”

Logan’s head dropped to the ground as his vision swam. His stomach clenched as flashes of the previous night played over again in his head. He curled his knees to his chest, groaning with a pitiful despair as his new reality started to settle in.

It’s over.

Everything’s over.

Logan curled his hands up over his ears as a wet sob was pulled from his throat. The unnerving silence weighed heavily on his chest as he lifted his head to examine his injuries.

Kill him first.

The foreign thought jarred him upright, sending adrenaline flooding through his veins as he searched the room. He blinked furiously as he adjusted to burning bright, red warning lights. His glasses had been lost in the struggle that had landed him here and his blurred vision made his heart pound as he tried to locate the source of the voice in the seemingly empty room.

Shit, shit, shi—

“Whose there?” Logan called out as the voice continued. The silence was deafening as he scrambled to his feet, shaking as he took in the sterile, metallic walls of the room. A reflective, window of glass spread across the far wall, glinting eerily in the red light illuminating the room. Logan stilled, glancing warily at the two twin cots across the room obscuring his vision.

“Come out, you cow—”

A solid force struck Logan’s side, stopping his words in his tracks and sending him stumbling forward onto his chest. His attacker landed on his back straddling across him and pinning him to the ground. He barely had a moment to react before a thick piece of fabric was wrapped around his throat and pulled taut.

Just hold still—

The strange man's thoughts trailed off in Logan’s mind as his attention shifted to his own survival. His hands reached to his throat as he flailed, struggling for breath against the makeshift garrote closing around his throat.

Panic flooded over him as he fought against his attacker’s iron grip. His eyes strained and bulged as he turned blue, just in time by for his true survival instinct to kick in. The air wavered for a moment as Logan felt his energy shift around them. The subtle change continued until the barrier finally gave way. In an instant, his attacker was blown back into the metal wall with a bone-shattering force.

Logan’s breath caught in his throat as the world went silent. He lifted his head cautiously, pulling the thick strip of fabric from his neck. After a moment, the shock subsided enough for him to rise to his feet and turn toward the sound of his assailant’s rapid breathing.

The impact of the blowback from Logan’s psychic shockwave seemed to knock the breath from the man's lungs and his own pain seemed to hold his attention for the moment.

The man’s unkempt, dark hair covering his eyes contrasted his stark white dress. Logan could see the man was abnormally thin underneath the hospital-like attire, yet it was apparent the muscles in his arms were well-defined, accounting for the strength and precise coordination of his attack.

“Are you—”

“—don't come—closer—”

The man's voice rasped as his head lifted to reveal striking purple eyes. Logan froze in place at the man's glare, staring as the man seemed to flicker in and out of reality before his very eyes. He was disappearing, nearly invisible except where the red light hit him.

He's like me. He has powers.

The realization shook him to the core, nearly making him miss the sound of the heavy door opening behind him amidst the pounding of his own heart in his chest.

“Now, boys. I would hope you knew to behave better than this.”

Logan head spun on his shoulders at the chilling voice behind him. In the entrance stood a soft-looking young man blocking the exit. His brown sweater vest and fluffy, sandy blonde hair contrasted starkly with the sinister smile on his lips as he stepped into the room.

An uneasy silence filled the air as a small, glassy-eyed man stumbled into the room behind him, shoved forward by the two guards blocking the door. The stranger's hands were bound In front of him and wore a similar hospital-like attire to his assailant.

“Pat—”

Logan startled as the man behind him jumped to his feet with a shout, stepping toward the pale man with glassy eyes swaying uneasily beside the guard.

“Now, Virgil.” A dangerous glimmer flashed across the soft man's eyes, stopping all movement in the room. His smile widened in a sinister sweetness that turned Logan’s stomach. “I know you don’t think I'm about to reward you for attacking our new guest.”

“What did you do to him?”

The desperation in Virgil’s shrill pitch sent Logan shrinking back as the man lunged forward at the guard nearest the glassy-eyed man. Logan looked away, narrowly catching the beginning of the brutality of the guard. He heard a shuffle of movement that ended quickly as a sharp crack pulled a sickening shriek from the man with the dark hair.

Logan lifted his head to see the man crumple to the ground, his arm hanging loose in its socket. He felt himself gag as the man moaned in pain, limp as the guard yanked him to his feet and spun him to face the man in the sweater vest.

“I think you've earned yourself a few days in isolation for acting out, Virgil.”

The piercing purple color of the man’s eyes seemed to dull as fear flashed in the man's eyes and his voice became unsteady. “Please, no—Doc, I'll behave—”

“I can't have you attacking the others, Virgil.” The man's voice dripped with a venomous sweetness that sent chills down Logan’s spine. “I hate that you force my hand,, but my rules are for your own good.”

“Please—” Virgil stuttered on his words as he pleaded with the doctor. “—don’t hurt him.”

“You wound me, Virgil.”

Logan watched as a sick smile spread across the doctor's voice as his hand reached around the dazed man's shoulder, pulling him closer. The simple touch elicited a visceral reaction from the man called Virgil as the doctor pulled his friend closer.

“A mild sedative hardly constitutes harm to your friend. It merely makes him more compliant.”

“You bast—”

“Language, Virgil.” The doctor’s voice held a finality cut through the man's swears, leaving him shaking. “I assure you do not want to make this any worse for yourself.”

The man deflated as his bravado melted away and his eyes fixated on the distant gaze of his friend. His gaze dropped submissively and he fell to his knees as the guard’s grip on him loosened.

“That’s better.”

A smirk tugged at the lips of the doctor as he tipped his head to the guard in a subtle nod. A fresh wave of horror filled Logan’s chest as the guard pulled a pistol from its holster and brought it down on Virgil’s temple. He let out a whimper as the man's body went limp between the two men and quickly swept up over the guard's shoulder.

The subtle sound seemed to draw the attention of the doctor. His gaze turned from the guard toward Logan as if noticing him for the first time. The intensity of his stare left Logan’s knees weak as he started to edge back against the wall.

“Oh, hello there.” The malice in the doctor’s voice disappeared as he addressed Logan. “I don’t think we’ve been introduced. What's your name?”

“L-Logan—” Logan whispered, feeling shell-shocked by the doctor’s sudden change in demeanor.

“Speak up now. I want to hear your lovely voice.”

“Logan, s-sir.” Logan swallowed nervously, hating the way his voice cracked as the man smiled at him.

“Sir's awful formal. We’re all friends here. Aren’t we?” The disbelief must have showed in Logan’s eyes, because the man’s sweetness seemed to turn to regret as Logan stared back at him. “I’m sorry you had to see all that, Logan. Virgil can be a bit headstrong at times and it is my job to ensure protocol is followed to ensure the safety of our subject. Assuming you can follow the rules better than your new bunkmate, we'll get along just fine. I assure you.”

The doctor stepped forward and extended a hand to him, smiling as Logan cautiously accepted the unexpected gesture.

“The name is Doctor Emile Picani, head of the government’s department of Preternatural Research and Otherworldly Universal Defense, or PROUD as others have come to know us." The doctor continued as he held his hands together across his chest. “As you are almost certainly aware, your stay here is permanent. Your friends and family will be notified but you will not be allowed to contact them.”

Logan’s heart sunk in his chest. “You can’t—You can’t just keep me here forever.”

“For your own sanity, I suggest that you accept that I can and will do whatever I need to ensure this program continues to run smoothly.” Doctor Picani hummed nonchalantly. “You have been deemed a threat to natural society. Your body is a weapon that could be used to inflict immeasurable damage to the general population, and as such, any rights you claimed as a citizen of our great country have been stripped from you as a matter of national security.”

Logan felt a lump in his throat aa his knees grew weak. He knew the rumors of PROUD but he'd always assumed there was a degree of exaggeration to the stories. The government couldn’t just treat people any way they liked.

“On the bright side, you now have the opportunity to be on the front line of scientific advancement." Dr. Picani continued with and exaggerated excitement. “The data we gather from you and our other subjects has the potential to change society as we know it today.”

Logan swallowed, crossing his arms across his chest as he took as step back. “What kind of data are you collecting?”

“Nothing for you to be concerned about just yet.” Dr. Picani chuckled to himself and the empty sound echoed on the metallic walls around them. “However, I would like to make you aware of our introductory protocol before I leave to attend my other projects.”

Logan managed a stiff nod, unnerved by the man's avoidance of his question but too afraid to press further.

“You will be given three days of total isolation. No meals will be granted until authorized by myself personally.”

“What?” Logan’s voice cracked as he looked blankly up at the unsympathetic smile on the doctor’s face. “Why—Why would you—I haven’t done anything.”

“This is standard procedure, Logan. To condition a proper response time to my requests, I find it helps when our guests have proper motivation to participate in our studies.” Picani shrugged as his eerie grin widened. “Don't worry though, you'll have water. I don’t need you hitting the cactus juice this early on in your stay.”

Logan’s heart dropped at the doctor’s nonchalant attitude. He'd feared the worst, but the flicker of sadism in the eyes of the man in front of him left him weak. “Y-you can’t—”

“Perhaps, another day of fasting is necessary to convince you of your position here.” The man's voice dropped with a hint of irritation at Logan’s resistance. “The research we do here is essential to the health and well-being of humankind. I will not tolerate my subjects acting out of line.”

“I—I won’t—”

“Let me clarify for you—”

The man snapped his fingers and his guard lunged at Logan. He flinched, not quick enough to dodge the harsh grip as he was suddenly forced back onto the twin bed. A pained gasp escaped him as a heavy metal cuff clamped down on his wrist and it was yanked up and attached to the metal frame.

“—the sooner you give up the illusion that you have a choice, the easier your time here will be.”

“Wait—” Panic flooded over Logan as he rattled the metal on his wrist. Don't—Don't do this—”

“A very wise fire lord once said that certain people are born lucky and others are lucky to be born.” Dr. Picani stepped forward, smiling as Logan froze like a deer in the headlights. “There are others yet though that I believe are simply lucky to have survived as long as they have.”

“Please—I'll do anything.” Logan wheezed as his breathing became unsteady. “Don’t leave me alone—Don’t leave me—"

“Consider this a warning, Logan .” The doctor whispered. A hint of a smile spread across his face as Logan lifted his head timidly to him. Dark shadows pooled under his eyes, made eerie by the glowing red light of the room and the manic glimmer in his dark eyes. “If you choose to fight me, the next few days are just a taste of the misery I can cause you.”

Logan’s pleas tapered off to silent begging as his heart pounded in his chest. He felt the doctor slip away as tears blurred his vision. The loud sound of the metal door drowned out the sound of his sobs as he pulled helplessly at his restraints, feeling the weight of the isolation already unraveling the already precarious state of his mind.

---

Author’s Note: I hope you enjoyed the whump. Poor Logan’s having a hell of a day but on the bright side, the next chapter should be out in a matter of minutes so keep an eye out! Also, please let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist as well!

General Taglist:

@justanotherhumanstuff @im-an-anxious-wreck @shadowyplaidpurseegg

#sanders sides #sanders sides fic #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides fanfic #ts logan #logan sanders #ts virgil #virgil sanders #ts emile #emile picani #unsympathetic!emile #tw violence #tw abuse #tw weapons #tw captivity #L'Appel Du Vide #villain writes

19 notes · View notes

hyrule-kingdom-updates · 3 years

Text

“Astor!” Zelda yelled at the hooded figure. She saw his head flinch.

“Listen, I want...” She paused to assess her words. “We can help each other, alright? We don’t have to be enemies in this, no matter what anyone else may say. So—”

The man suddenly dashed towards her, and Mallory attempted to hold her shard in front of her body. But the figure was too fast.

He unsheathed a brilliant, shining rapier, concealed by his cloak on his waist. He shoved her against one of the houses, and held the tip against her neck, pinning his forearm to her chest.

His hood fell down, revealing dark skin, black dreadlocks fading at the ends to a basil green, and a sea green eye, the left one covered by a leather patch.

Zelda looked him up and down, as she squirmed a bit against his arm. “You’re not Astor...”

“Not quite” The boy replied. Boy? Young man? His exact age was hard to tell. He looked older than her at least, maybe Purah’s age.

“My...apologies, I’m—” Mallory was cut off by the rapier moving closer to her neck.

“I accept your apology, Your Majesty. Mistakes happen. Would be unchivalrous to hold such little things against you. We all make mistakes and should be free to learn from them.” His studied her up and down. “But I can’t but feel concerned by the fact that the newly self made Queen wishes to side with a dangerous, dark magical seer. If you would be so kind as to drop that piece of pottery in your hand to answer a question or two, that would be wonderful.”

Zelda glared at him, but followed and dropped sharp beside her. “It’s not like that.”

She paused, expecting him to cut in with some retort. But he just looked at her, patient and waiting for her explanation. He raised his eyebrows.

“Oh! Of course. How rude of me. You’ve complied, so you’re not a threat. No need for all this.” He unpinned her from the wall, and twirled his rapier with practiced showmanship, and sheathed it once more by his waist. The scabbard was a polished silver color, laced with luminescent greens and thin blue lines. A stark contrast to his dirtied tan tunic and dark pants and boots. As his deep purple cloak fluttered with the motions of the blade, Zelda caught a glimpse several large, ovular objects stacked on his tattered leather belt. But the cloak settled back on his back before she could identify them.

The boy put an arm behind his back, and fluttered his other arm in a circle as he gestured for Zelda to continue. “Please, go on, Your Majesty. I’m sure you wouldn’t want to leave a bad impression upon a humble subject such as I.”

Mallory was unsure of how to handle this situation. She could probably run, but she didn’t trust how abnormally fast the boy was, and he certainly was skilled with that rapier. He seemed genuinely polite, but it was still...odd, given the circumstances.

“I...don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“Something we have in common!”

“But if I don’t hurt these people, other people might get hurt, or worse.”

“Ah...yes, that does seem to be a common dilemma for royalty...”

“And Astor is...He’s pretty much the last person I have who knows—” She shook her head. “And even my own allies are accusing ME of being no better than them! Me! It’s preposterous, all of this, isn’t it?!”

He tilted his head to the side and just stared at her, raising an eyebrow. He considered her words for a moment, before shrugging. “I’m afraid I cannot quite understand your circumstances, Queen Mallory.”

She clicked her tongue and crossed her arms. “That’s right, nobody does. Nobody truly understands what pain I’ve been through my whole life, and now that I’ve actually started to care about myself, I’m being made the villain for it.” She rapper her fingers on her arm. “I mean, it’s really only Impa so far, but she’s the most blunt and hard headed out of everyone! Perhaps the others think little of me too! I bet they’re just waiting for the opportunity to tell me how much I suck, just waiting for my next slip up. I’m the only one in this kingdom with her head on straight and Mr. Astor—”

“I will say, in my humble opinion, killing the Prophet of Doom and his accomplices would be generally beneficial for the public. The populous that you now directly oversee, that is.”

Zelda snapped her head towards him, only to find him grinning a toothy grin with brandished confidence. She scoffed, starting to march off.

“Sorry again,” she muttered.

“Well now hold on, Your Majesty, I only wanted—”

A sudden burst of air blew into the alley way, and Zelda hugged the wall and closed her eyes. The boy beside her gripping the pommel of his blade, while blocking both of their faces by holding up the end his purple cloak, dirt and dust sweeping up past their heads.

The winds died as quick as it came. Zelda blinked away dust and moved out from behind his cloak, peering up past the alleyway.

On the roof of the house by the waterfalls was Lady Jou battling a half maliced Revali. She watched him strike an arrow of malice into her stomach, and the impact sent her crumpling towards the ground.

As Revali flew alone above the rooftop, another figure suddenly descended from the towering waterfall, an astrolabe floating in his palm. She couldn’t tell what was happening from this distance, but she watched him say something to Revali, before he flew down somewhere below.

Astor followed after him.

“Oh gods—!” She started running.

“It was pleasant talking with you, Your Majesty!” The boy behind her called out. “I wish you the best of luck! I do not envy the position of the rich and royal one bit!”

As she left, the boy hummed to himself as he continued scouring the empty houses.

“What an interesting character, she is...”

Zelda could feel the adrenaline pumping through her blood. She charged through the courtyard in front of the wooden steps, to find Hylian soldiers running about. They must have been Jou’s escort.

One of the soldiers turn and caught Zelda’s eye.

“Look!” He shouted. “It’s the princess! Grab her!”

As Mallory ran, the other soldiers suddenly became aware of her presence and started chasing after her. She dove under the arms of one guard, and sped past two others who comically ran into each other. However, their numbers continued to surround her.

She felt an sharp pain on her scalp and yelped as someone pulled her ponytail.

“I got her!” A soldier yelled, trying to wrangle her arms back. “I got the kid! Let’s—GAHHHH!”

The grip around her ponytail suddenly loosened, and Mallory toppled to her knees on the ground. She scrambled away as she spotted another soldier going to grab her. But suddenly, he was thrust through a window with a shot of malice.

Mallory snapped her head towards the attack’s source, and locked eyes with him.

Astor lowered himself to the ground.

He wasn’t looking at her, instead his eyes were narrowed with a quiet anger. He was staring somewhere beyond Zelda as he lifted his arm up.

A geyser of malice suddenly erupted beside Mallory, and she looked to find a soldier has crept beside her, sword raised as he attempted to stab at the loose flap of her blouse to pin her. His momentum would never strike the ground as he was thrown upwards by the geyser, screaming all the way, before collapsing into a pile of wooden crates.

“Princess.” Astor said, simply. “Your escorts are doing their jobs wonderfully, it seems.”

The Queen stared him, unsure whether to respond with gratitude or anger.

As the geyser behind he dwindled away, Zelda felt some specks fly onto her wrist. She held up her hand to her face as she observed it. It glistened like onyx, bits of magenta speckled in it like stars.

Mipha had described the feeling of malice to be toxically sweet, like a sugar rush that gave you an eroding stomachache. Revali has agreed with Mipha’s description, but had added on that it was less a feeling of sweet sugar, and more like a warm fire, slowly caressing your body and building in temperature until it boiled you.

But to her, the malice’s sensation...

It felt no different than what she had already been feeling.

“Don’t play with that.” Astor suddenly snapped. “You know better than to meddle with the same substance that—”

“Yes! I do know better, thank you very much!” Mallory stood on her feet. “Don’t play with malice. Says the one with the damn mobile toy!” She angrily gestured to the astrolabe floating above his palm.

The seer frowned. “This is a complex device crafted by Calamity Ganon.”

“Well tell his concept designer to make something that looks a bit more evil, rather than a play thing I could see hanging above my crib.” She tapped her foot angrily and she tried to think of where to steer the conversation.

But there was just silence as they observed each other.

Mallory sighed. “We don’t have to be—”

“I want to make something very clear, Princess.” Astor cut in. “You and I know that I am not going to kill you...”

He narrowed his eyes. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t harm your friends. If you, or anyone else, stands in my way, I will not hesitate.”

The way he was staring at her, Zelda got the strange sensation that he was trying to convince someone else beyond her.

“I won’t pretend I’m being selfless about this. This is mostly for my sake, I will admit.” He adjusted his sleeves as his astrolabe pulsed with a new soft glow.

“But if you don’t like my methods, you’re going to have to stop me by force, Zelda. That’s the only way you’re going to stop me.”

A blur of black and blue shot above in the sky above Astor. He looked up, and started to float once more. He looked at Mallory, before heading after Revali.

“A part of me hope you do.”

Zelda clenched her hands into fists.

Idiot. Damn stupid, stubborn idiots. Everyone...

A drop of malice on her wrist fell to the grass.

#???#Assivus Hartell #hku spoilers #The life of the party and then death

17 notes · View notes

fe-th-trash · 3 years

Text

uh...hi

so like I’ve never done this before, but I desperately needed a creative outlet while doing my final papers and between playing FE:TH and listening to my playlist instead of studying, I got hit with an idea that’s been plaguing me for days, so please enjoy this likely awful first attempt at this if you’re reading this I’m sorry thank you! WC: 1600ish

CW: Pre & Post Time-Skip, Azure Moon potential spoilers, lil angst, lil cuteness

The sights and sounds of the training room were of the few things that time hadn’t run away with. It’d been five years, five long, painful, years with the Imperial Army wreaking havoc on any land beneath its feet. Countless civilian and soldier lives had been lost and for what? All in the hopes of--

“Oof!” You manage, a strike while you were taking in your surroundings sending you to the floor. “Ugh. I yield.” “You’re distracted.” Felix concludes fairly easily, looking down at you, “That was a terrible hit. I was testing you, you failed.” “Okay, okay. I get it. Maybe a little. I’m sorry.” You sigh, rising and dusting yourself off. “I just...Being here again...I didn’t think it was going to feel this strange.”

He forces air out of his nose audibly, shaking his head, “If you’re dwelling hard enough to let me land a hit like that, you’re going to get yourself killed on the battlefield. Reminisce all you want, some of us are here to prepare for what’s to come. Get yourself together. If you die...I’ll be annoyed.” He remarks, rolling his eyes as he turns, heading towards a training dummy that would undoubtedly be more of a fight than you were. If nothing else had remained, this was still the same Felix, that much is certain.

The same bitter, broken, boy he’d been for nearly a decade. It was almost refreshing that he’d stayed the same. One familiar tongue in cheek remark and the upward turning of his eyes and it’s as though you’re both 17 again, more worried about the Professor’s overloaded tactics lectures and class exams than...well, a war raging on beyond the confines of what used to feel so safe. Of what, despite its dilapidated and decaying structure, still somehow felt safe. After everything it had so clearly been through, it was still standing, and that had to be a sign.

You didn’t know if it was being here again, or being surrounded by familiar faces for the first time in years that was keeping your chest warm, but you sincerely hoped the others were feeling it too. For the first time in so long, despite the current state of ruin that had fallen on Garreg Mach, the fragility of the surrounding circumstances, the rabid bloodlust that had overtaken Dimitri, the uncertainty of what the next few months would hold...

At long last, you could feel it. Something you thought was lost long ago.

Hope.

You consciously tried to remember a time before the war as you took your leave of the training grounds and walked toward the corridor of classrooms. Felix was right, it was useless to train if your mind was otherwise occupied. It was a miracle they were still mostly intact, and you found yourself picturing your Academy days, drifting into a daydream as the sound of your shoes on the cobblestones drifted gently away, replaced by the sounds of a bustling courtyard.

Remembering your first day as a Blue Lion was an easy feat as you took the seat that used to be yours, in the very back of the room, where the professor would often catch you reading instead of listening to their lectures. It was one of those days, where you felt it necessary to do anything but pay attention that you’d find where you belonged, in of all places, detention.

Quietly scrubbing the blackboard thanks to your indiscretions, joined by Sylvain, who had pestered Felix into “accidentally” knocking an inkwell all over him, his desk, and the floor, Felix, who refused to apologize for the action, and Ingrid, peacefully standing in the doorway of the classroom, experiencing great joy at the hands of the two of them. Sylvain, who was meant to be mopping the floor, kept finding “missed spots” conveniently where Felix was working at cleaning the desks, knocking into him with the handle as he’d pass by and further annoying him, Ingrid suppressing her urge to both laugh at the action and scold each of them for being a nuisance to the other. It wasn’t long before Felix had stolen the mop from him and backed him up against the wall, Sylvain both smiling playfully as he looks down at him and holding his hands up, Ingrid shaking her head, bringing you into the world they’d created for themselves, “You’re free to crack either of them over the head with the broom in the closet if they get to be too much. I won’t tell the Professor.” “Tempting as that may be...” You joke, turning to watch along with her, drying your hands with one of the rags. “They are fairly entertaining.” “Don’t encourage them.” She warns, laughing a little as Sylvain sighs heavily, “Alright, alright. Enough. You can’t kill me with the ladies watching, especially not with such a blunt object.”

“Watch me.” Felix grumbles, shoving the handle into his chest with a thud and storming back to put the supplies away, Sylvain sporting a pout and rubbing where it’d hit, “Too far...noted.” He mutters, heading for the assist with extreme caution, leaving you to crack a smile as you take the dirty water out to the bushes, Ingrid assisting despite not being in trouble. “Sorry about them.” “Don’t worry, I find them entertaining. I look forward to the day Felix has finally had enough.” “That...is not a day I’d like to imagine. Planning Sylvain’s funeral won’t be fun, especially when a body can’t be found.” She jokes, the both of you laughing as you head back to the classroom, “Hey, are you two ready to quit quarrelling? They’re going to start serving dinner any minute!” “I never wanted to start. Goddess sake.”

Ingrid went on to invite you to dine with the three of them, something that greatly pleased Sylvain while simultaneously displeasing Felix. If there was anything he hated more than Sylvain’s antics, it was being forced to socialize, especially with people he didn’t already know. He’d chosen civility as a basis, but your disregard of Sylvain’s advances, and the fact you made Ingrid happy, quickly changed his mind. You didn’t know when exactly he’d started considering you a friend, but somewhere between the first time he’d called you a fool out of annoyance and long nights in the library studying by candlelight, you assumed he enjoyed your company, even if he’d never say as much.

“How did I know I’d find you here?” came his voice, startling you out of the depths of your mind. You hadn’t noticed the tears on your cheeks, brought on by days that would never happen again, until you turned toward the sound, him standing in the doorway, softening slightly when he saw the state of you. “I don’t know why you insist on torturing yourself.” he continues, heading inside the classroom, hesitating slightly as he passed his old desk.

“Fe...” You manage, wiping at your face, “It ended so...suddenly. Everything changed so fast. I just want...something to hold onto. You have to know what that’s like.” You attempt, looking over at him once again, him reluctantly levelling with you, sitting in the seat beside and looking across at the blackboard. “I do. And thinking of everything we didn’t get to do will only cause you pain. It’s foolish to sit here and think “what if” when there’s a war going on. If we are going to win, we need to keep our minds clear.” He says, looking to you. “After we’ve won, I’ll sit in the cathedral and help you light as many candles as you see fit. But for now...” he trails, rising once again, “...let me walk you back to your room. It’s dark out.”

You agreed with no words, rising and pushing your chair in like you’d done a thousand other times and taking his hand as he led you off into the night, holding on tightly. If this was yet another dream, you weren’t letting him go that easily.

Knowing you were in need of comfort, and not realizing just how much of his own was needed, he allowed this to continue all the way to your door, dropping your hand and turning toward you, your better judgment leaving you as you stepped forward, wrapping your arms around him.

The following few seconds were quiet as he was tense, his arms eventually finding their place around you. It wasn’t the first time, nor the first willing time, but likely the most necessary time for both of you. And in a few seconds more, it was over. He pulls himself away, clearing his throat. “Sleep off the rest of your nonsense...save it for later.” “You sleep too...if anyone tells me you went back to the training grounds after this...”

“Tch.”

“Exactly my point. Please rest yourself.” You found yourself near pleading. The deaths of those you didn’t know weighed so heavily, you didn’t want to imagine what losing someone so dear would mean. He merely shakes his head a little in response, turning to leave, “As you wish. Goodnight.”

“...Fe?” He sighs, turning back toward you, “What? Need a bedtime story too?” “Do...you really think we’re going to win this?” You question, playing with your hands, unsure if you wanted an answer or just another minute of company as a gently and uniquely sly expression takes hold of him, his arms folding at his chest.

“Do you really think with the four of us together again, there’s any chance we’d lose?” He questions back, the warmth in you returning, that hopeful, optimistic feeling taking you over once again. “Of course not...goodnight Fe...thank you.”

“That’s what I thought. Enough of the foolishness...and get inside. Catching cold also does us no favors.” He says, an irritated tone that you knew by now was code for worry overtaking his voice, leaving you to smile and enter your room, gearing up to face the next day ready for what it throws at you.

All the while, Felix waits idly by to hear the clicking of the lock, the guarantee of your safety, before taking himself back to his own room, gently reminding himself of the pledge for “blades, blood, and battle” he’d made long ago, there being no time for anything but, no matter how it felt to finally hold your hand.

#fire emblem three houses #felix hugo fraldarius #felix x reader #fe3h #fe3h blue lions #fanfic #fanficton #firstpost #sylvain jose gautier #ingrid brandl galatea #fire emblem imagines #fire emblem three houses imagines #imagine #requests welcome #fire emblem x reader #fe16 #blue lions

32 notes · View notes

write-a-bad-romance · 3 years

Text

Holy Woman pt. 2

(A continuation of Holy Woman. Part 1 can be found here)

Ao3 link: Here

Words: 2939

This work features mild spoilers for Jean’s route and a genderbent (female) version of Jean d’Arc.

In this chapter: MC and another suitor appears!

pallida mors aequo pulsat pede pauperum tabernas regumque turres

"Whatever you're thinking, don't." Vlad spoke.

"Whatever I'm thinking?"

The living room was blissfully silent, save for the intermittent crackles from the fireplace. Spring was soon upon them, and most of the snow had thawed from the mountainsides, giving way to lush greens and light-hued bronze.

Charles found the warmer air pleasant. He pictured trekking the sunlit path leading to the field where Sister Joanna cultivated her lilies. Charles wondered if she'd ever invite him to help her till the soil and plant the bulbs.

Damn, I can never get her out of my head, can I?

"What else?" Vlad examined the dainty jar full of homemade strawberry jam in his hand. "I know you've been showing considerable interest in our resident handywoman."

Charles nearly lurched forward straight into the fireplace. He stopped poking the logs and turned to his landlord. "How did you—"

"Ah, so easy to read." He pointed at Charles with a carving knife. His eyes returned to focus on his handiwork, not completely rid of their mischievous glint. "Not only do I see her with you all the time, but tongues have been wagging all over town. Rumors spread fast, you see."

Before Charles could reply, in came a snow-coated vulpine with what appeared to be a corpse in its mouth. Between its teeth was a squirrel, its fur an identical shade of white.

"Oh, no." Charles moaned quietly. "You murdered my best friend."

Vlad chuckled as the fox crept under its master's chair with no care for the grieving youth. The little devil proceeded to devour its prey with its back turned, oblivious to Charles' dismay at the loss of his companion-turned-fox-fodder.

Charles nearly forgot their previous exchange until Vlad called the young man back to attention. "So, I take it you intend to woo Sister Joanna?"

Charles gave no reply as his green eyes stared at the flickering ember.

"I don't think that's entirely right," He wiped a hand over his sunken face. "There's just...something about Sister Joanna that makes you curious about her. But she seems to be very secretive of her circumstances, and I'm not sure if tailing her around is the right thing to do."

"You're blushing," Vlad observed. "Ah, to be young and full of love."

Charles let out a sigh at his insistence.

"Well, no." Charles defended himself. "She's a charming woman, a capable one too. But I'm leaving just before the end of spring, and Sister Joanna... well, she doesn't strike me as someone interested in men or any sort of close companionship. Faust said she wasn't part of the convent, but the way she conducts herself convinces me otherwise."

"Awfully blunt, aren't you." Vlad drawled. "Well, she must have said the same."

Charles's cheeks turned beet red. He contemplated excusing himself and leaving for his room to avoid further questioning from the kibitzing innkeeper.

"But to answer your question, yes and no." Vlad set aside his handiwork as he welcomed the cold-blooded beast onto his lap. "You'd think she's the sort to devote her services in the name of God. I don't blame you. You see her praying by the statue all the time."

"But to my knowledge, nobody has ever seen her step into the church, and if Faust's words are anything to go by," He scratched the yawning animal between its ears. "She was apparently married at some point."

"Married?" Charles's shock stifled an oncoming yawn. Now, this was news. "So she has a family? Where are they now?"

Vlad's ruby-colored eyes were solemn as he watched his pet blithely gnawing his fingers.

"Who knows?" the pale-haired man murmured. "The doctor and the nuns mentioned that her husband died because of war."

A widow. Charles swallowed as he remembered their first exchange at the town square. She was praying for her own departed husband.

" But that matters little to us now, yes? You know what they say about her. Sister Joanna does what she likes " Vlad declared merrily. "If I were you, I'd respect her wishes and keep my nose out of her business too."

While freely putting your nose in mine, Charles thought. It was a shame. Although he'd suspected from the start that no woman of Sister Joanna's age and standing would deign herself to his company, a doctor from the Capital still wet behind the ears.

She must have witnessed enough of the world through that eye.

But Charles was a straightforward, insistent young man. Nothing would stop him from approaching the inscrutable dame, not as a suitor, but as a friend. Sister Joanna seemed to need one —someone other than the morose town doctor and the erratic innkeeper ex-possible fugitive.

An exhilarating warmth bloomed inside Charles's heart as he pondered on the countless outcomes his little project would bring.

"It matters very little whoever resides in her heart, husband, or God," Vlad concluded. "A woman is as good as holy by merit of her own virtue and devotion to her role."

True to Vlad and Faust's words, Charles never saw Sister Joanna within the church's halls on the rare occasion he did join the congregation.

It made Charles all the more surprised when he looked down to see her sitting in the abbey's courtyard one balmy afternoon. She was accompanied by two other people, whose faces were unfamiliar to Charles.

Their attire suggested they were aristocrats. Charles guessed the guests — a man with pearly hair and a woman with long strawberry blond waves — must have arrived from the Capital or another distant city.

Sister Joanna laughed with ease as she chatted with her companions. It sounded wonderfully pleasant and foreign to the young doctor's ears.

This is the first time I've seen her look so chipper. Charles decided to observe the trio, admiring the changes in Sister Joanna's marred features.

It took a while before the trio finally parted. Then the gentlemen shoved a rectangular object into Sister Joanna's hand, and she fell apart.

She enveloped him in a tight embrace, and the man cradled her head as she buried her face in his neck. The other woman didn't seem to be bothered. Just as gently, she approached the hugging couple and caressed Sister Joanna's mauve locks.

Charles felt indecent for spying at their affectionate display. He distanced himself from the stone balusters and went on his way. He needed to look for Doctor Faust.

Charles couldn't banish the image of Sister Joanna, smiling and weaving her fingers with the woman. How often did the nuns in this abbey see her in such a state?

Well, whatever. Charles brushed his face with the sleeves of his coat. It doesn't concern me.

Vlad's words continued to echo as Charles struggled to locate the ill-mannered doctor's whereabouts and resume his business.

They went together in early March. Charles had already been drained of his initial excitement when Sister Joanna suggested he accompany her on her annual flower painting.

He went anyway, unanswered questions and the image of Sister Joanna with the two strangers still fresh and lingering on his mind.

"Poppies? " Charles exclaimed, as Sister Joanna handed him a bag of black and brown seeds. "Not lilies?"

"I thought of doing something different this time around." She quipped. "They should yield magnificent red blossoms come August."

The couple spoke no more until midday. Sister Joanna invited Charles to sit with her under the shade of a nearby tree. They shared between them a bundle filled with sourdough bread and cheese.

"But I'm honestly surprised. I didn't think that I'd be here, planting poppies. With you, I mean," Charles spoke between bites. "I was expecting it to be lilies or roses. If you were going for red, I imagined that you'd be going for roses."

Roses fit you better nearly slipped out of Charles' mouth if not for Joanna's trenchant eye silencing him.

"No particular reason," she whispered, her gaze turning to that of the fields they had just cultivated. "But, maybe, it was our encounter at the statue that led me."

"I beg your pardon?"

Sister Joanna sighed and wiped away the beads of sweat gathering on her brow. Even as perspiration drenched her entire face, she still refused to part with the damned eyepatch.

"Red poppies are often considered a symbol of remembrance for the war dead," she began. "There are tales of blood-red flowers growing near the bodies of fallen soldiers."

A breeze tousled her chopped locks, and Charles marveled at how they shone under the sunlight trickling through the foliage.

"Even on what were once barren wastelands such as these," Charles followed her gaze, "Now they name it the Lily Hills."

How apt. "If it wasn't for your hard work planting those lilies every year, it wouldn't have reached this state. On your own, no less!"

"I'm humbled," Charles could see the ghost of a smile playing on her lips. "It's the least an old woman like me can do."

"You're not that old." Charles blabbed. "Wait, are you?"

Ah, again with the inane questions. Rein it in, can't you, Charles?

But Sister Joanna merely smiled, as if it was an overzealous puppy she was dealing with and not a grown man.

"I don't believe I've ever told you," she answered wistfully. "I'm turning thirty-six this year."

Oh.

"Well," Charles hoped Sister Joanna was looking elsewhere for fear of her noticing his embarrassment. "You certainly don't look that old."

Charles prayed that the Earth would swallow him right then and there. No wonder Vlad's assuming I'm courting her. What is it about her that has me unraveled so effortlessly? She —

"I'm flattered." Her answer was curt if a bit hesitant. "Most would take me for a gnarled hag."

Charles willed the exchange to die as he diverted all his attention back to his meal. Most of their work was finished. They could return to town soon. And Charles would be allowed reprieve in the sanctuary of his room.

Sanctuary. Charles' mind flashed back to that day in the abbey, to an image of Faust, the nuns, to Sister Joanna and her elegant companions.

And then, there was the gold-plated cameo locket dangling from Sister Joanna's neck by a long chain. It made quite the sight, nestling against the fabric of Sister Joanna's sable robe.

He began noticing the locket's existence after the spectacle in the courtyard. A parting gift from her friends, perhaps?

"That's a beautiful locket. My mother sometimes wears them back at home on special occasions," Charles dared himself to ask. "Although hers usually have profiles of beautiful ladies on them. This is the first time I've seen one adorned with a flower."

On the surface of Joanna's locket were ivory roses against an obsidian background.

"I'm not one for icons and such," She sheepishly ran a thumb over the carvings. "I thought my husband would think my preference to be nonsense, but he listened anyhow."

This is the first time I've heard Sister Joanna's mention her husband. "Not lilies?' He joked.

"My husband preferred roses. Not that I complained," Sister Joanna replied matter-of-factly. "He did as he liked."

There was not a hint of sentiment in her voice. Maybe Charles was wrong. Maybe Sister Joanna just didn't think much of her deceased husband. Charles was a fool, for thinking Sister Joanna regarded him enough as a close friend that she was willing to divulge her secrets.

"Was it given to you by your friends in the courtyard?" Charles clutched his sister's handkerchief. How the question had possessed him for so long!

Charles thought that his candidness would earn him her retaliation. Instead, Sister Joanna slumped back against the bark and closed her eye.

"So you saw me," she sighed dolefully. "They're....old friends from Belvedere. The woman was my subordinate in the Order of the Maid, and her husband was a musician I came to know in the capital. I was the one to first introduce them to each other, in fact."

"Oh, that's so sweet." Charles was reminded of how affectionate the couple was to the old widow. "Wait! Did you say the Order of the Maid? You never told me you're a Maid!"

The Order of the Maid was an all-female military unit said to have been formed during the middle ages. Its members, consisting strictly of unmarried young women, were mostly drafted from the peasantry and nobility alike. Under the aegis of the Church, it grew to nearly five thousand strong.

Charles had listened to his mother's tales of women on stallions defending her village's borders and riding out to meet invaders sent forth by the neighboring Monarchy.

It was a shame their nation never considered letting them serve alongside the men beyond the Empire's borders. We can't have our country's most exquisite treasures meeting their early doom, Charles once heard a grizzled colonel remark.

He was the very few who wished the Emperor's appraisal towards the Order during their debut at the Capital's annual military parade was more than empty praise.

Then again...

"You seem rather excited," Charles nearly lost himself to his thoughts that he didn't realize Joanna had shuffled closer. "What of the Maids?"

Charles could feel his childhood fantasies coming to life, free of the malaise brought upon by years of warring and adulthood. "My mother adores and admires them greatly. I grew up listening to her stories about the Maids of her youth and how she wished she could join their ranks."

"I used to admire them. And I still do now," Charles beamed. "Very much so. No wonder you could carry all those boxes the first time we met. And your knowledge of weapons? That's spectacular. I don't think I've had the pleasure of meeting any other woman with such skills."

"You just haven't met with enough women," she deadpanned.

Ouch. "Anyway, I'm glad I met you. I never once dreamed that I'd be talking to a Maid, in the flesh! My mother would be ecstatic. I can't wait to write to her about our encounter!"

"Fiery, aren't you." Sister Joanna huffed. "There's not much you can glean from an old maid like me."

Charles wasn't entirely sure if Sister Joanna was intending to joke or if she realized she'd made a pun at all. Either way, Charles poured himself another glass of water and downed it in one gulp.

"So, how long did you serve within the Order?"

Sister Joanna removed her gloves, revealing lithe fingers with burn scars coiling around each of them. She pocketed the gloves, and Charles couldn't decide whether it was deliberate on her part.

"For long as I can remember," she answered. "There was a time when I thought there was no more to life beyond God and the Order."

"And now?"

"I betrayed both," she ran her bare fingers down the cold comfort of her chain. "And gave in to a man and his fantastic pursuits."

Charles nodded. She doesn't sound too different from Mother.

"Was it as they say?" he went off with his curiosity. "Did they teach you to shoot guns on horseback? Did you help victims of floods and landslides? Ride with the Emperor in the Anniversary parade?"

Her eyes widened in overwhelm. "One at a time," she admonished. "I never thought you'd be this eager."

Charles settled against the bark with arms crossed behind his head. "Of course! I was in the Capital when they joined the Emperor's parade. How old was I? 12? 13?" He grinned like a schoolboy as he did that fateful morning. "I saw the Empress!”

"The Empress," Sister Joanna curled her lips, her leer indecipherable. Her strange turn in countenance subdued Charles.

Am I imagining things? “I mean, that was before she became Empress.” He smiled bashfully despite his discomfiture. “I never missed seeing her at the Parades. I believe I was 10 when I started watching her, way before she became High Commander and began riding at the front just behind the Emperor's carriage.”

"High Commander...." Sister Joanna murmured. "A sumptuous name for what is merely a decorative pawn."

"No, it isn't!" Charles whirled around to face his elder companion. Had he not realized Sister Joanna was a woman of different standing, Charles would have launched upon her and grabbed hold of her shoulders. "Whatever other people say about her, I think she's incredible! She'd been working hard to reach that position, and not a single soul can diminish that fact!"

"That so," Sister Joanna chuckled. Chuckled? "I take it you were one of the broken-hearted lads who cried upon hearing her marriage to the Emperor?"

"I didn't," Charles' flushed face burned a deeper shade of scarlet. "Okay, so I did. But I'm positive I'm not the only one!"

A satisfied smile graced Sister Joanna's lips. It was such a rare sight that Charles wished he could draw well that he could forever commit it on solid paper and not just his fleeting memory.

In that very brief moment, Charles could see the traces of Sister Joanna's younger self, a gallant soldier in the Maids' sleek white uniform, to be yet unsullied by the corrupted realities of the Empire.

Maybe she wasn't too far off about the horrors of leaving the Order and getting married. Ordinary life isn't as peachy compared to their glittering adventure-filled lives, come to think of it.

But neither is facing real battles and not knowing when or where you're going to die. These women DID face enemies even from a very young age.

Sister Joanna gingerly patted a cloth against her damp forehead. “The Empress,” she repeated. "She turned into quite the monster didn't she?"

#ikevam fanfic #ikevam jean #ikevam charles #ikevam vlad #ikevam mozart #riri tries ikevam

31 notes · View notes

inkdemonapologist · 4 years

Note

Okay but I do actually want to know both the things you love and the things you could rant about from DCTL?

OH BOY UHHHHHH okay lets see, I'm gonna see if I can do the "add a readmore after you post it" thing and see if that'll keep it stable.......

But also, much like Sammy, I am incapable of shutting up unless you strike me in the head with a blunt object, so uh, forgive my wordiness:

THINGS I ENJOY:

- DCTL gave us Sammy's ink addiction and like, if you had asked me before all this "what would you most like to see in a franchise?" I would not have answered "one of the characters drinks ink accidentally and then discovers that he can't stop" but boy that sure is my favourite concept that I LOVE to see handled literally any other way than how the book handled it!!!

- I like what it added to Tom and Allison and Norman!! Like, it's not big twists on their characters or anything -- we already knew Tom felt he was doing the wrong thing, so getting to see his CRUSHING GUILT over creating the machine isn't New Information, but it's nice to see and understand more of him; for all of them I feel a lot more attached to them after getting to see more of them as people.

- Like 90% of the "I LOVE IT" category for me is how the book handled Joey, and Buddy's relationship with Joey. The way Joey isn't a Sinister Mastermind Who’s Just Screwing With Everyone but just manipulative in a more mundane way -- someone who thinks of himself as just the guy with the vision to call the shots; he wants what he wants and this is how he's learned to get it; he exploits people not through devious schemes, but just by offering them something that they want or need and asking too much in return, expecting their loyalty for his favours. And the way he interacts with Buddy, making Buddy complicit with him and keeping Buddy off-balance and insecure while making him a favourite and treating him as Special is just PERFECT -- gives a lot of content to kind of extrapolate off of when pondering what must've drawn the others in and convinced them to ignore the red flags. I was initially frustrated with the idea of Buddy not being an artist and jUST DECIDING TO LEARN TO ANIMATE ON THE SPOT ("I've never done this before but I'm sure I can just do an artist's job" is a weirdly common throwaway thing in media and as an artist iTS A PET PEEVE) but actually the way they use his plagiarism to make him trapped in a lie in ways Joey doesn't even realise ends up being a neat echo of other employees (coughTOMcough), who were involved in much graver sins but suddenly felt they couldn't object or they'd lose their one chance, just like Buddy. There's a lot here that I think is really great.

OKAY THATS THE GOOD STUFF, LET'S COMPLAIN ABOUT SAMMY:

- Uncomfortable Bigotry Vagueness that we all knew was gonna be in this list -- I dunno man, a guy committing a microaggression and getting startled and defensive when he's called out for it doesn't necessarily completely ruin his character I GUESS, but the way this was handled is just SO WEIRD AND VAGUE that it's uncomfortable and it doesn't seem to serve any real purpose. "Is Tom black?" is a question I actually have to ask because the text sort of implies he is while also dancing around it and apparently Word of God said he's not??? which makes Buddy's comment nonsensical???? And I mean, you could go that route, since Buddy wonders to himself if Sammy talks to everyone like this -- HE ACTUALLY DOES!! Even within the text of the novel, he uses "Joey" instead of Mr. Drew, which is consistent with his audiologs in the game -- but that makes the writing suggest "this character THINKS this guy might be racist but actually they're reading too much into it and it wasn't racially motivated at all, he's just a jerk!!" wHICH IS SOMEHOW EVEN MORE ICKY??? Anyway like yeah I guess it's not inconsistent with his character that while Sammy Lawrence may not have any specific grudge against minorities he has probably not checked his privilege or done the work to challenge his own internal biases, but “Your Fav Probably Contributes To Systemic Racism In Ways He Hasn’t Considered, As Do We All When Our Assumptions Go Unchecked” is still a wild thing to wade through in a fun story about demonic cartoons

- but yknow so is T H E H O L O C A U S T

- Sammy's voice is wrong. I'm actually okay with him being a weird awkward asshole, I already kind of assumed he was and that's part of why I like him!! but there's so many places he doesn't quite... talk like himself? And not just in terms of word choice, like -- so in his monologue at the end, he's described as talking so quickly that his words are "tumbling out faster than he can speak them," which initially seems fine; like yeah, that's a Standard Scene we're familiar with, the person who's been Driven Mad With Insight becoming more and more manic as they try to convey it -- until I tried to imagine it and realised that Sammy doesn't talk like this. That's a really consistent quality I always notice about his voice; whether he's almost giddily excited in prophet mode, or he’s his irritated and overworked human self, or he's violently angry and his voice has that echo effect -- he always speaks very deliberately. He enunciates carefully. There's some circumstances where I'd buy this as showing that he's Not Himself, but I feel like those would kind of need to be in the middle of his transformation, not at the end of it.

- In fact a lot of the scenes with Sammy kind of have this feeling -- that it's not necessarily an exploration of Sammy as a character, but that he is filling a trope or archetype role here. Once he's fully transformed he excitedly describes the process as more of a mental compulsion, which is in contrast to his weird yeerk-infected behaviour when trying to get ink from Miss Lambert. Both of those scenes don't seem wrong on their own because they fit tropes we know -- but they feel weird when you try to fit them together.

- I also just in general am not a fan of the ink acting like a weird yeerk. It can be a parasite I guess but when it starts overwriting and puppeting people and crawling around to enter their body that's just a completely DIFFERENT kind of supernatural story and it’s not what im here for!!!

- THE FREAKIN!!! HE WILL SET US FREE!!!! WHY????????? SAMUEL LAWRENCE WHAT IS HE SETTING YOU FREE FROM??????? Sammy has No Motive for any of what he's doing, other than just Ink Made Me Do It. The whole thing that was INTERESTING about Sammy as a character is the contrast between this frustrated, ornery musician with no specific love for the cartoons he works on, and the manically devoted cultist he becomes. What happened in the middle there? What made him desperate enough to shift his mindset so much? "Something supernatural made him do things that don't benefit him in any way" is a very boring answer to this question!!! Susie was a victim who implies that her transformation has forced her to do things she didn't want to do, but we can still see her motive -- she wanted to be Alice, so she took a sketchy offer to try to get what she wanted. Even now, her violence echoes that goal -- to be a more perfect Alice. What did Sammy want? WHO KNOWS. Even in his ink-addled state at the end, we don't understand what he hopes the Ink Demon will even do for him, and in fact he seems to be responsible for creating the very scenario he's begging Bendy to reverse in the game.

- [sighs loudly into my hands]

- Overall I'm left wondering if the author just..... didn't like Sammy Lawrence? And I don't mean that in the sense of him being a rude jerk -- like, Joey is not a good person, but the author seems to be interested in him and in what makes him tick. There doesn't seem to be that same interest in Sammy. Sammy's role in the story is that of a monster, transformed into something murderous, unable to prevent or choose it. He's not a victim of anyone but the ink, no one had to manipulate him or figure out how his brain worked or what he wanted or what he feared or give him any reason to do the things he does -- ink got in his mouth and overwrote his personality. And we don't even get to see that change, not really. He starts out angry and defensive and continues being angry and defensive up until his very last scene, denying his ink-stealing but not really much else. We see all his prophetic sketches but we never see hints of this in him, we never see him start to act more excited and hopeful, we never see him seek out the demon he desires to please. Why do we never see Sammy struggling between his dismissive angry front and a building religious fervour he can't quite suppress? We don't get to see any of the in-between. There's no interest at all in why or even what it looked like as Sammy became what he became, when, to be honest, I suspect interest in precisely that is one reason he's such a big fav.

- It's funny, in a "cries into my hands" kind of way, when Sammy is just knocked in the head while monologuing and immediately removed from the story without further mention, like...... that sure is the pattern with him, isn't it, he just tries very very hard and never actually gets to matter, but it also fits right in here, too, in this book that doesn't want to think about his motives -- he rambles nonsensically, explaining nothing, gets one trademark phrase, and then is hastily removed so the story doesn't have to think about him anymore.

...................I think that's most of it.

...

Y'all............ I'm not ready for Sent From Above.......... I'm just not.... I'm not emotionally ready...... like..... Sammy has to be in that right..... he’s Susie’s boss and she has that big crush on him..................................... I’m not ready

#i know you have questions you always do #we all write on the walls #hopefully I have not gotten completely confused on any of these points but LMAO ITS POSSIBLE

73 notes · View notes

inspired-by-the-music · 4 years

Text

Smile

Pairing: Jamin x Reader

Genre: angsty at first, fluffy fluffy fluffy ending!

Warning: y/n is in an emotionally abusive relationship

Word Count: 10k oof guess I went overboard for Jaemin

“I’m so proud of you, Jisung!” You cooed upon learning that your baby brother earned his first part-time job.

Jisung mumbled, “Ah, cut it out,” but he couldn’t fight his smile as he squirmed to escape your embrace and efforts to pinch his rosy cheeks. “I don’t act like this when you make the honor roll at your college—”

“That’s because my academic excellence has become expected, almost unimpressive,” you joked confidently, almost choking on laughter when Jisung groaned at your mock arrogance. “But you—” you poked his arm— “you’ve always been a precious baby, so it’s weird to watch you step into the adult world.”

Having learned long ago that he would always be a baby in your eyes, Jisung didn’t waste his breath arguing that he was kind of, basically, technically an adult. He blinked at you and tilted his head so it laid against the back of the couch. “I don’t think about it like that. It’s just a job at the cafe, and I’m only doing it because my friends are.”

Spending time with Jisung was refreshing because his simple, youthful outlook challenged your habit of overanalyzing. That aspect of your relationship hadn’t changed since you enrolled in the local university. Jisung was still very much your baby brother; yet, as he laid back and stretched his legs over your lap and his socked feet dangled off the arm of the couch, you realized with a gasp that he was growing up. He was growing up, and he didn’t think anything about it while you mourned every second of lost youth. To Jisung, the next steps in life— which terrified you— were fun, a casual adventure with his friends.

What would it be like, you wondered enviously, to be like Jisung?

You wouldn’t ask. Even if you did, Jisung wouldn’t know how to answer.

As he playfully wiggled his toes into your ribs, and you laughed while swatting at his denim-clad legs, a voice sounded through his headset. The words were unintelligible, but the tone was unmistakable: annoyed. They prompted Jisung to sit upright, plant his feet on the carpeted floor, and unpause his video game. Although his gaze was fixed on the flashing screen, he covered only one ear with the headset.

He heard you ask, “Who is that?”

“Jaemin,” Jisung whispered out of the side of his mouth and covered the microphone so his friend wouldn’t hear.

Because he was playing with just one hand, Jisung caused his team to lose. The loss was evident from the crimson text— “YOU LOSE”— filling the black screen, the slackjawed frown on Jisung’s face, and (especially) from the shrieks breaking through the headset.

Jisung chanted, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” but the shrieks rang on.

Your face flushed as rage burned in your gut. “Still Jaemin?”

A mere nod was Jisung’s answer. He didn’t bother to push away the bangs that had fallen into his eyes.

“What is he even saying?” You hissed.

“Nothing really,” Jisung shrugged away from your question.

You were overprotective of Jisung— you wouldn’t deny that. His willingness to defend his buddy despite his obviously flaring tempter fuelled your frustration. Maybe, you thought later, you shouldn’t have disliked that Jaemin kid that much considering you had never even seen him.

Rolling your eyes, you bossed, “Tell him that it’s just a game. You can play again until you win.”

Jisung shook his head and calmly explained, “That’s the worst thing to say to a raging gamer, Y/N—”

“Are you talking to a girl?” Jaemin roared loudly enough for you to hear. “Is that why we lost the tournament? Because you’re flirting with a girl?”

Sensing that you were reaching to snatch the headset to rival Jaemin’s temper, Jisung jumped up, stood as tall as he could on the couch so you couldn’t quite reach his head no matter how hard you stretched, and huffed at Jaemin, “I’m talking to my sister, not flirting, and I have to go!” He disconnected the headset and turned the game off before you could say anything to threaten his friendship with Jaemin.

You slumped down on the cushion. “You must have made some really nice friends while I’ve been busy busting my butt at school.”

“He is nice!” Jisung stepped off the couch. Frowning as you rolled your eyes again, he grumbled, “There’s no point in talking when people are too angry to listen,” before sulking away to his bedroom, embarrassed by his scoldings.

You regretted letting him walk away, but you resolved to comfort him later after tensions died down.

. . .

Because you were determined to be a kind person, you surrounded yourself with people who didn’t boil your blood. So, to tolerate Jaemin— which was as close as you could get to liking him as Jisung wanted— you had to maintain a safe distance. For the sake of peace, Jaemin had to remain a faceless name spoken into Jisung’s headset, and you would try not to roll your eyes whenever you heard it.

Despite what anyone says, you didn’t walk into the cafe that night with the intention of meeting Jaemin face to face. In fact, had you known that he was the friend Jisung followed into the workforce, you wouldn’t have agreed to pick your brother up after his shift. That was childish; since you were already in town after your last class, it only made sense that you should be the one to wait for him in the parking lot.

You were patient at first. Then, minutes passed, and you had to turn the car off to save gas, and the almost-summer heat baked the car until you lost all self-control. Had you rushed into the air-conditioned cafe sooner, before you were seething at the realization that you had wasted over an hour waiting for Jisung (who was still scrubbing down tables like Cinderella well into the night on his first day), you might have missed Jaemin’s lecture that pushed your temper to its breaking point.

You couldn’t have recognized Jaemin by his neatly combed hair or crystalline smile. You knew him by the frustrated tone he used to scold Jisung without looking up from the register where he stood counting the day’s earnings. “You made too many stupid mistakes today, Jisung! I can forgive you for forgetting the day’s special once or twice, but every time you talked to a customer— if you can’t be bothered to memorize something so simple—”

“Ahem.”

The boys’ attention snapped away from their work to gawk at you with wide eyes when you cleared your throat.

“— you can always just look at this chalkboard,” Jaemin concluded less sternly, pointing at an overheard sign that boasted: ‘Today’s Special: Green Tea Latte.’

Jaemin’s bug-eyed stare provoked you to quip, “Is that all you do— for fun and for work? Yell at Jisung?”

“Huh?” Jaemin’s jaw dropped in an innocent schoolboy expression that might have been adorable if he hadn’t already landed on your bad side.

This was your biggest fault: you put too much weight in first impressions. Of course, you could easily apologize after realizing that you had misjudged somebody. You even had a consistent record of forgiving inexcusable offenses against yourself. What you couldn’t forgive or forget were attacks against Jisung, and you had just witnessed Jaemin’s second strike.

Acting as the mediator between your wrath and Jaemin’s confusion, Jisung returned to his task of wiping the table. “What are you doing here, Y/N?”

It was irrational to expect Jisung to raise his voice to defend himself from Jaemin’s scolding. Jisung was subordinate to Jaemin in friendship and especially in the workplace hierarchy. Always, you were proud of your brother’s peaceful temperament. Proud and, at that moment, annoyed.

“Mom and dad asked me to drive you home after your shift that was supposed to end over an hour ago.”

Jisung’s lips rounded into a tiny ‘o,’ and he turned to Jaemin for confirmation of the time.

Jaemin didn’t notice, though. He was quietly studying you with narrowed eyes. “You’re Jisung’s sister?”

“Yeah,” you nodded stiffly. “I’m the reason you lost your little video game tournament.”

Your words were intended as a blunt weapon, but Jaemin laughed. His smile was almost blinding as he swept his hair out of his face with slender coffee-stained fingers. “Oh yeah. Well, don’t sweat that. I forgive ya!”

Before you could explain that you weren’t apologizing— that neither you nor Jisung had done anything to warrant begging forgiveness— Jaemin winked, “As long as you go on a date with me!”

You imagined your reaction looked a lot like Jisung’s: hanging jaws and wide-eyed blinking. Objectively, it was flattering that someone as cute as Jaemin (excluding his temper) would flirt with you even as a mindless pastime. Even if Jaemin hadn’t made two terrible first impressions, even if he wasn’t one of Jisung’s little buddies, even if your pride would allow you to give in to his charms, one dreadful fact remained:

“I have a boyfriend.”

On cue, Jisung rolled his eyes. Grinding his teeth, he dropped his gaze on the table.

“Oh.” Jaemin’s shoulders fell, and his smile barely faltered. The smile, you realized, wasn’t an expression of happiness; his lips were almost permanently set in a toothy grin, even if it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

That must be inconvenient, you thought. Does he smile even when he’s sad? Or when he’s angry?

When Jaemin looked up at Jisung, his eyes crinkled fondly. All traces of past frustration had vanished. “Goodnight, Jisung. I’ll see ya tomorrow!”

Slowing his movements to a near-complete stop, Jisung started, “But I’m not finished—”

Jaemin shot him a pointed look. As quickly as it had calmed, his temper flared. “Don’t keep your sister waiting. I’ll close up.”

Just as you opened your mouth— to thank Jaemin, or to apologize for your impatience, or to offer to help clean or at least sit quietly while waiting for them to finish— your phone rang. Your mother was calling probably to ask why you weren’t yet home with Jisung in tow.

“Come on,” you urged Jisung gently after silencing your ringer and quietly resolving to have him call her once you were in the car. “We should go. Mom is worried.”

After looking at Jaemin once more for permission and receiving a courteous nod, Jisung untied his apron and folded it on the counter before Jaemin. “Thanks. I’ll see ya tomorrow.”

Had Jisung been less mature, he would have teased you for abandoning your decision to dislike Jaemin after seeing him just once and exchanging only a few words. Instead, he focused on returning your mother’s call to recount his day at school (where he aced his first final exam) and his first day at work (where his friend Jaemin taught him how to make all kinds of coffee and pastries while defending him from the jokes of other teenage workers).

Silence fell over the car after Jisung ended the call. You drummed your thumbs on the steering wheel, anticipating that he must have saved some exciting story for your ears only, just as he always had. But no sound came from the passenger seat.

Your heart sank. No, you couldn’t blame him for being mad or embarrassed by you. Not only had you treated him like a defenseless infant— as always— you were also rude to his friend.

Yes, you had walked in on Jaemin lecturing Jisung, but at least he had been considerate enough to wait until the cafe was empty to voice is criticisms. All day, while you were too busy at school to do it yourself, Jaemin acted as Jisung’s guardian and protector. And no, you hadn’t forgotten that Jaemin screamed at Jisung and made his face flush because of a stupid video game, but it was clear from watching their interactions and from hearing how proudly Jisung talked about him that they held no grudges. Who were you, then, to hold on to one on Jisung’s behalf?

“I’m sorry,” you muttered. An apologetic glance over at the passenger seat revealed that Jising had fallen fast asleep. His head was leaned against the window, and his mouth hung agape; faint snores filled the silence.

As you decided to let him sleep, Jisung jolted awake. His face almost crashed into the dashboard.

“Alright there, partner?” You hummed like you used to in the days when you played Toy Story with him from dusk until dawn.

“Yeah.” Jisung nodded groggily as he settled back and reclined his seat. “Did ya say something while I was sleeping, partner?”

Again, you readied your apology, but you hesitated to deliver it as you sensed Jisung’s smile like gentle sun rays illuminating your skin. He wasn’t upset. He didn’t expect an apology. Yet, you felt you owed him one anyway.

He moped, “What’s wrong?”

You shook your head. Although you were sorry, you didn’t have to express that with a long winded speech he wouldn’t understand. You could express it instead through actions. You could express it through jokes.

“I said Jaemin is a real cutie.” Without glancing away from the road, you winked.

Because you expected Jisung to gag— who wants to hear their sister call their friend cute?— you were surprised when he simply warned, “You have a boyfriend, remember?” You weren’t surprised, however, that he choked around the word ‘boyfriend.’

“Why don’t you like him? My boyfriend, I mean?”

Had you looked over, you would have seen Jisung cross his arms and turn his gaze out the window. “Why do you like him?”

Jisung so rarely disliked anyone, his disapproval of your boyfriend made you wary of the romance— if you could even call it a romance. After months of back and forth, he finally decided that you could call him your boyfriend. Because you spent so much time and energy chasing that ideal, the half-formed thought of being with him, you couldn’t quite let it go even though the dull reality paled (soured, even) to the dream.

You should have been able to answer Jisung’s question. It was a dooming sign, your inability to name one reason why you liked your boyfriend that hadn’t been dashed by being his girlfriend. Rather than heeding the sign, however, you clutched the wool over your eyes and turned the radio on.

. . .

“Believe it or not, babe, I’d like to have one date that’s not about babysitting your little brother,” your boyfriend said through a mouthful of rice.

Rejection was an almost daily occurrence, but you reddened nonetheless. “First of all, my brother isn’t that young. He’s eighteen.” Yes, to you, Jisung was a precious baby; but you had to deny his youthfulness to defend him from your boyfriend’s criticism. To mask your blossoming blush, you took a sip of your tea. “Second of all, it’s not a date. I told Jisung I would take him and his friends to the arcade if he got good grades on all his exams. I’m inviting you to be nice.”

To be nice. To try again to be a better girlfriend because maybe that would make him a better boyfriend. To subject yourself, again, to disappointment because maybe that would be the final one to sever your ties.

He had stopped listening, opting instead to scroll through his phone. “Whatever.”

Before he could look up and make his millionth appeal for a date in the privacy of your bedroom, before he could reiterate his rejection, you forced yourself onto your feet. “Yeah. Whatever.”

Although you would be almost an hour early to class, you raced out of the cafeteria. Had you been thinking more clearly— had you been able to breathe comfortably enough to think around him at all— you would have tried again to break up with him. It wasn’t a mystery why Jisung hated him, you admitted to yourself as you dashed through the deserted hallway. He was determined to employ every negative tactic to occupy your every thought; he refused to encourage your interaction with others, even your own brother; he thought only of keeping you to himself.

And yet, he could ignore you for days, leaving you to wonder what you had done wrong to inflict the latest silence. When you would forcefully swallow your dwindling pride to invite him to spend time together, he would reject your advances because they weren’t intimate enough.

Until you were trapped in that cycle, you couldn’t comprehend how hard— impossible— they are to break from. In a few scattered moments, like the one where you sat with your back pressed against the wall and knees drawn up to your chest, it was undeniable: you were miserable. Rather than finding the strength to end the relationship, instead of embracing the uncertainty of freedom, you prayed that he would let you go. If he was so uninterested, why couldn’t he just walk away?

You knew the sickening answer. Nobody ever liked him before you did. Clinging to you— even if it meant breaking you— was the only way he could hold the illusion of self-worth. Putting you down, making you beg for acknowledgment, was the only way he could stand over anyone. You walked into this situation by pining after somebody who never wanted you; maybe, then, you deserved to be unhappy.

As students flooded out of the classroom and into the hall, you wiped at your eyes with ice-cold hands. You weren’t crying; you were just trying to wipe the tired dark circles off.

“Y/N!” Someone called on their way out of the classroom.

It was Jaemin, beaming and waving both hands excitedly as if greeting an old friend— as if you hadn’t treated him so unfairly during your first and only prior meeting.

That pinch of guilt and whatever dread caused by your boyfriend faded when Jaemin slung his yellow backpack onto the floor at your feet before crashing into the space on the bench next to you.

“Gotta leave room for others,” he justified when you raised an eyebrow as he stretched his arm along the back of the bench around your shoulders.

“Right,” you nodded dubiously. “What are you doing here, Jaemin?”

“Ouch— icy—” he winced, playfully smiling all the while. “Just give me a chance, and I’ll prove that I’m worthy of sitting with you!”

“I don’t doubt it.” He blushed at your honest attempt at flattery, and you continued, “But that’s not what I meant. Why are you doing here at my school?”

Jaemin shrugged. “It’s not just your school.”

Your eyes widened. “You go to school here?” He nodded. “Really? I could have sworn you were Jisung’s age and that he met you at his high school—”

“Nope.” Jaemin popped the ‘p’ proudly. “I hope you didn’t reject me just because you thought I was too young!” You laughed, and he winked, “It’s okay if ya did. I’ll give you another chance to date me.”

You shook your head, almost in a futile attempt to convince yourself that your heart didn’t flutter with the growth of Jaemin’s smile.

“Just playing.” He dropped the arm resting behind your shoulders to act as a barrier between your bodies. “Jisung said you really have a boyfriend, so I probably shouldn’t flirt with you.”

Blushing at the information that Jaemin and Jisung talked about you, you blurted, “He wouldn’t mind.” Your hand clamped over your mouth too late to prevent them from filling the air.

“Who?” Jaemin’s head tilted curiously. “Jisung or your boyfriend?” You didn’t answer, so Jaemin tried another question: “Would you mind?”

Eager to escape, you flinched off of the bench. “Sorry, Jaemin— gotta get to class.” As much as you loathed your boyfriend, as much as you were starting to like Jaemin, outright flirting wasn’t right.

You couldn’t control what Jaemin did. Diving to reach your hand, he didn’t seem to care too much that you had a boyfriend. Then again, he probably didn’t have to care; he wasn’t obligated to consider any feelings but his own.

Undeterred by your gasp and smirking because you didn’t yank your hand out of his grasp, he asked, “You’re going to the arcade with Jisung this weekend, right?”

It shouldn’t have been a big deal— touching somebody’s hand— but you couldn’t quite breathe because of Jaemin’s touch. Numbly, overwhelmed with unfamiliar emotions that clouded your thoughts, you nodded. “Yeah. Who do you think is paying for all the tokens and pizza?”

“Huh?” In his surprise, Jaemin dropped your hand. You could breathe again. His eyes narrowed. “Not you. I’ll pay.”

You shook your head. “Jisung is my brother, and I promised to take him and his little friends—”

“Do you even know how many people he invited?” When you responded with another shake of your head, Jaemin counted on his hand, “Renjun, Jeno, Haechan, Chenle, and me. Excluding me— because I’m not letting you pay my way— and including Jisung, that’s five boys you’re promising to pay for. Five boys—” he wiggled his fingers menacingly— “who live on pizza and games.”

Forcing your arms through the straps of your backpack, you chuckled at his dramatic delivery. “If they’re so expensive, why are you so determined to pay for them yourself?”

“Because you shouldn’t have to—”

Your alarm sounded to signal that your class would start in five minutes. “I have to go to class, Jaemin, so we’ll have to bicker about this later—”

As you dismissed the alarm with the tap of your thumb, Jaemin yanked your phone away. “Here. I’ll give you my number.” His eyes twinkled when they met yours, and a corner of his lips flicked upward in a teasing smile as he clarified, “Just so we can discuss this payment business. Don’t get any funny ideas.”

Despite your promise to Jisung not to waste the night staring at the door waiting for your boyfriend, you sat alone at a small table doing just that for at least thirty minutes after Jisung ran into the arcade with his friends. Were you hoping he would show up? Not because you wanted to play skeeball with him or anything. You just wanted— needed— for the silence born after your last conversation in the cafeteria to end. As expected, your humbling texts had gone unanswered; there was no reason to think he had changed his mind about coming to the arcade.

He’s not coming. Again, always, you were caught between relief and anxiety. Your sweaty palms clutched the edges of your seat. I’ll give him ten more minutes. Ten more minutes, and then I’m having fun with or without him.

But it was impossible to have fun with him. That truth was never more blatant than when Jaemin plopped into the chair next to you.

He boasted, “I gave the children money to buy pizza,” in a voice made raspy to emulate old age, “per our agreement.”

That was the compromise reached via texts: Jaemin would pay for all food, and you would pay for arcade access.

Jaemin’s characteristic sterling smile dimmed as he noticed your frown and how you nervously eyed the door and compulsively checked your phone. “Are you expecting someone?” You hesitated to respond, and he warned, “The kids will be here any minute, so you should tell me what’s bugging you quickly. That way, we can work through it while we still have some privacy.”

His earnest stare prompted you to blurt, “My boyfriend.” Noting Jaemin’s frown, you squirmed through your stresses. “I invited him— who knows why— and he said that he wanted to have a date without my brother tagging along— so, obviously, I stormed off— and we haven’t talked in two days— which isn’t that long, but I don’t know what to say to fix things— and he isn’t even here, and—”

Jaemin blinked like Jisung always did when your worries bubbled out of your mouth, so you cut yourself off. Jaemin’s mouth fell open, and it stayed open as he struggled to form a response.

“I’m sorry.” You shrank in your seat. “I shouldn’t have told you that.”

Aside from feeling guilty for dumping your feelings on someone, you hated yourself for spilling them all over Jaemin of all people. Jaemin, who always smiled and didn’t deserve to be burdened with your self-inflicted troubles. Jaemin, who flirted with you, and somehow liked you, and didn’t want to hear about your boyfriend.

“I don’t think you have to apologize. To me or to him.” Jaemin’s smile slowly returned, and guilt eased its clutch around you. “No offense, but anyone who doesn’t want to hang out with you and Jisung is lame. And I’m not just saying that because I like—”

Your soaring heart came crashing down when Haechan cheered, “We come bearing pizza!” The other boys followed behind him, each carrying two boxes of pizza.

After Renjun returned Jaemin’s debit card and the boys claimed a seat— notably, Jisung sat at your side and smiled brightly— Jaemin glared at nobody in particular. “Do you think you got enough to eat? Seriously, guys, ten pizzas are excessive! You can’t just take advantage of my generosity—”

“Jaemin,” you interrupted calmly, fighting the urge to giggle at his nagging with the other boys. “It’s okay. If it matters so much, I’ll pay you back.”

“What?” He gasped. “No, don’t! Besides, money isn’t the point—”

“Generosity!” Chenle cackled and flicked a piece of pepperoni at Jaemin; he dodged the attack. “You just bought us dinner to impress Jisung’s big sister!”

The others, excluding Jisung, chorused, “Ooooh.” All, except the laughing Jeno, partook in flinging pizza toppings at Jaemin.

Burning a faint shade of pink from his neck up Jaemin screeched, “Yah! Cut it out! I dressed nicely—”

Jeno wiggled his eyebrows before sinking his teeth into a slice of cheese pizza. “Jaemin dressed nicely to impress Jisung’s sister!”

And the boys (minus Jisung, who sat quietly at your side, cheeks stuffed full) again sang “Ooooh,” until your face and Jaemin’s both colored crimson.

In what must have been an attempt to defend you from his friends’ teasing Jisung swallowed his mouthful and chirped, “She has a name! It’s Y/N!”

Jisung’s attempt backfired.

“Ooooh! Jaemin and Y/N, sitting in a tree. . .”

As the boys sang their silly song, and you laughed out loud for the first time all night, Jaemin’s annoyance or embarrassment vanished. Grinning, he flew out of his seat, grabbed you by the hand, and pulled you toward the arcade. “Hope you got all the pizza you wanted!”

Although you couldn’t really care less about eating more pizza, you yelled over children’s laughter and game sound effects, “You don’t think they’ll leave me any?”

“Jisung might try to save you some, but it’ll get all cold if one of the guys doesn’t steal it. You and I are gonna be here for a while.” He dropped your hand to point up at a shelf of plush prizes. “Which one do you want?”

The giant mint green llama instantly caught your eye. You fumbled with an answer because, “Jaemin, those cost, like, 5,000 tickets!”

He retrieved a neon green play card from his back pocket, twirled it between his fingers, and winked. “4,902 electronic tickets, baby! Pick your prize, and we’ll get the other 98 tickets!”

“How— why—” You stuttered, flustered by Jaemin’s utterly unromantic use of the word ‘baby.’

“I come here a lot,” Jaemin shrugged, “and I already have a bunch of those plushes. It’s a little childish, but they always make me feel better when I’m feeling down.”

Oh. So this was his response to your rambling about your boyfriend. He wouldn’t tell you to just break up with him if you were so miserable like your girlfriends did before casually moving on to the next topic of idle gossip. He wouldn’t sulk with you like Jisung. Jaemin would go out of his way to teach you to have fun.

“Pick one!” Jaemin urged again, brushing his elbow against your ribs until you went weak with laughter. Before you could trip over your own feet, he secured you around the waist. As he parted his lips, probably to tease your clumsiness, his gaze followed where you pointed. “Ah, the llama. Cute. Let’s go!” He grabbed your hand again and sped to the wall of skeeball machines because, as he explained, that game was the quickest (and most fun) way to earn tickets.

“We don’t have to run everywhere,” you wheezed, doubling over.

Having knelt down to swipe his play card, Jaemin looked up and stole your little remaining breath with his smile. “Come on, Y/N, breathlessness is part of the fun!” Seeing that you were scrambling to pull your card out of your pocket, Jaemin swiped his again through your machine before standing upright.

“Jaemin!” You swatted at him gently, and he spun away from the contact. “I’m supposed to pay for the games! That’s what we agreed on!”

Your scolding elicited a burst of laughter. Shaking his card at you, Jaemin defended, “The points are on my card.” A single eyebrow arched. “If you want that adorable llama, you gotta let me pay.”

Because he turned his attention to his game and started launching ball after ball into the center target before you could reply, he didn’t see your small smile. “Under that cute exterior,” you mirrored his posture as you started your game, “you’re really quite cunning.”

Rather than fixating on the insult, Jaemin noticed the compliment. “Cute,” he mimicked your high pitch. “You think I’m cute?” He glanced out of the corner of his eye to gauge your expression and snorted as your ball sank into the gutter. “Oops! Am I too cute? Am I distracting you?”

To your relief, your blush was washed out by the blinking arcade lights. “You’re not distracting me because you’re cute.” You balanced the lie with a partial truth: “You’re distracting because you’re annoying.”

“Ouch,” He whistled. His game announced, ‘New High Score!’ and he celebrated by pumping a fist into the air before turning to you. “Every time I think you’re starting to like me back just a little, you cut me right back down.”

Well aware of how flirtatiously Jaemin would interpret your words, you decided to say, ‘I do like you.’ The words were dancing on the tip of your tongue, but you swallowed them back at the sudden reappearance of Jisung and his band of friends.

“Found ‘em!” Haechan declared as if you had been playing hide-and-seek.

This is a good thing, you told yourself as your game ended without all the fanfare Jaemin’s high score earned. I would have regretted confusing Jaemin’s feelings. Some true things are better left unsaid.

“Ah, these kids are ruining the experience,” Jaemin grumbled playfully. Shoving his hands into the pockets of light blue acid-washed jeans, he asked the boys, “What do you need now?”

“We just wanted to check in on our favorite budding romance.” Renjun’s jest received laughter from the other boys and a dramatic eyeroll from Jaemin.

While Jaemin suggested, “Find your own girls and stop following us like a bunch of weirdos,” Jisung stepped up to your side.

“Want these?” He held out his joined hands that cupped a rainbow assortment of hard candies. “I won them out of a machine!” Your brother beamed at his accomplishment when you popped a candy into your mouth.

Stuffing a wrapper and a couple of pieces into your pockets, you smiled at him. “Thank ya, Jisung!” The cherry flavored jawbreaker muffled your voice. You nearly choked on your laughter when Jisung bent his knees and leaned forward so you could pat his head of pink-brown hair in proud gratitude.

“Now that the adorable sibling bonding is out of the way,” Chenle said, “we’re gonna play laser tag. We know you two—” his eyes flickered from you to Jaemin— “would rather make out by the skeeball machines—”

You gasped, and Jisung shouted, “Hey!” He stomped to Chenle and towered over him. Jisung’s height alone would have been daunting if he didn’t have the face of a baby even when glowering. “Don’t be a gross pervert! That’s my sister!” Chenle’s hands rose in mock surrender. “I’m not the one making out with—”

“Anyway—” As you facepalmed, Jeno intervened by stepping between Chenle and Jisung. “We’re gonna play laser tag, if you wanna tag along!” Jeno laughed at his own pun, and you removed your hand from your face to flash a polite grin.

Jaemin replied with a shake of his head that sent his bangs falling into his eyes. “Nah, we’re not gonna play. Thanks for asking.”

“We’re not?” You wrinkled your forehead.

You weren’t offended by Jaemin’s eagerness to speak on your behalf; you were just surprised that he didn’t run at the opportunity to explore the arcade with his friends. That was why he showed up, right? To spend time with Jisung.

Ignoring Chenle’s joking, “Ooooh, trouble in paradise!” Jaemin explained through a nervous grin, “We can’t get tickets from playing laser tag. If we want that llama, we gotta stay focused!”

“Huh?” Jisung’s eyes resembled saucers as he sucked on a piece of candy. “Llama? You’re not gonna pay tag?”

You didn’t withstand your brother’s disappointed stare because you wanted to win some silly stuffed animal. This was wrong— now, you thought, you actually deserved your boyfriend’s disapproval— but you enjoyed having Jaemin’s attention to yourself.

That’s why grinned, “Gotta win that llama!” earning Jaemin’s high five.

Teasing you must have lost its appeal; wordlessly nodding, the boys— except Jisung, who stood staring at you— set off to play laser tag. Realizing that Jisung would otherwise be left behind, Renjun ushered him away, muttering, “You’ll understand when you’re older.”

Moments passed without words after Jaemin started another round of skeeball.

The silence ended when Jaemin said, “You don’t have to look so guilty.” His voice, softer than usual, was almost lost amid booming sound effects and laughter and screams of triumph and despair. “Jisung won’t stay hung up on us for long. He’s an adaptable kid.”

You couldn’t explain that the guilt twisting your gut had little to do with the look you put on your brother’s face. Honesty would have required admitting aloud that spending this time with Jaemin was a sin; then, you would have to stop out of respect for the never-present boyfriend who didn’t care to show you any consideration. And you didn’t want to stop. And you didn’t want to ruin the playful atmosphere by vocalizing your distress. And you didn’t want to overwhelm Jaemin’s crush on you if it were as shallow as you imagined.

We’re just having fun, you argued to the voice in the shadows of your mind that demanded an justification for your joy.

The voice in your mind sounded a lot like the one booming in your ears, the voice of your boyfriend, the voice that stunned you stiff. Those defensive thoughts— they weren’t just thoughts; they were also stuttered excuses you forced through trembling lips as he glared down at you, his fingers digging into your arms so roughly that it would have hurt if you weren’t embarrassed— numb. Numb except for the agonizing thundering of your heart.

People were staring. People were listening to him scold, “I wouldn’t have bothered coming to this stupid place if I’d known you were here to hook up with some stupid kid you found at the claw machine.”

He cut his eyes at Jaemin and crushed you with the realization that you were not trapped in a dream turned nightmare. He wouldn’t disappear with the opening of your eyes, yet you blinked once, twice, thrice, in the hope that he would.

Jaemin was a s stunned as you were. Dark maroon splotches welted every visible inch of his skin; his chest rapidly rose and fell under his white t-shirt; his hands were clenched in tight fists pressed to his side; his jaw was forced shut, lips pressed into a thin line.

“He is not a stupid kid.” Emboldened by the instinct to stand up for Jaemin, you didn’t shrink under your boyfriend’s cold, piercing stare. “He’s practically my age, and we aren’t even hooking up—” You liked Jaemin, and that perversion of your relationship made all of your hairs stand on end. “He’s my friend.”

“Your friend.” Your boyfriend’s laugh was hollow. Again, he was going to remind you that nobody was interested in you. Jabbing a finger at Jaemin without breaking your eye contact, he accused, “That kid is no more interested in ‘friendship’ with you than I am.”

At some point, you would have believed it. At some point, those words would have hurt you, but they had been spoken so often that they lost their sting. He had always been like this— cruel— even when you had willed yourself oblivious. Until now, you forced yourself to say whatever might guarantee temporary peace.

What was so different now?

Maybe now that you realized there were people like Jaemin, who would enjoy your company without the promise of anything in return, you couldn’t subject yourself to mistreatment. Maybe Jaemin’s smile broke through the darkness your boyfriend insisted encompassed the entire world; maybe Jaemin’s smile exposed your relationship’s emptiness; maybe you understood at last there was nothing there worth saving with forced silence.

“Let go of me.” You met your boyfriend’s eyes, voice wavering only slightly because the words were unfamiliar in your mouth. “Go away. You don’t want anything to do with me, and I don’t want anything to do with you either. So just— just—”

The tears that pooled in his eyes were inauthentic. Despite recognizing the deliberate attempt at manipulation, you tread that dangerous line between freedom and captivity, between apology and honesty, until he pushed you out of his grasp.

You couldn’t even be relieved; he turned and towered over Jaemin who, somehow, was not intimidated by his size. Jaemin, who stood proudly when faced with the force that had been strangling you, extinguishing you for months.

“Ease up, kid,” he growled, “I’m not gonna hit you.”

Jaemin did not change in his posture, and your boyfriend clicked his tongue in annoyance; you flinched at the sound, and Jaemin didn’t bat an eyelash.

“Whatever. You want her so badly?” Jaemin nodded so wildly that your boyfriend would have seen if he hadn’t focused his eyes on you to watch you crumble as he said, “Take her, then. She’s nothing to me.”

You weren’t winded so much by what he said; you decided just moments ago that he could not determine your worth. But how could anybody spout cruelty so easily? How could he easily turn away from his latest attempt to break you when you could never work up the nerve to gently walk away from him? You couldn’t understand.

And you couldn’t quite process the public break up until after noticing that the once bustling arcade had gone silent safe for the few scattered whispers— all about you. It was not quite real until you felt the eyes of strangers prying into you in search of the worth he could never find. The humiliation didn’t quite dawn on you until you met Jaemin’s gaze— overwhelmed, frightened, saddened.

Jaemin’s stare. That’s what drove you to seek solace on a bench under the moonlight sky.

The unseasonably cool blowing breeze reminded you that you never deserved to hold Jaemin’s attention. What had he even seen in you that day you stormed into the cafe to retrieve Jisung? You had been sweaty, irritable, dismissive of his friendship with Jisung and his inexplicable interest in you. Undesirable in appearance and in deed; yet somehow Jaemin could smile at you. You couldn’t understand.

After that confrontation, he would never smile at you the same way. How weak must you have sounded, stuttering like a fool? How foolish must you have seemed for allowing someone so careless and cruel to stand close to your heart?

Weak. Foolish. Undesirable. Unworthy.

The words you thought of yourself were unfair, untrue, and yet you could not stop thinking them. In an effort to ignore the thoughts you couldn’t control, you wedged your phone out of your pocket. Gifsets were always guaranteed to brighten your mood.

Your mood soured further, though, after dismissing a wall of texts from your boyfriend— well, ex-boyfriend and after reading a text from your friend, who sent you a screenshot of your ex’s Instagram account. The picture depicted a rather tasteless kiss between himself and a girl who wasn’t you with a caption that read: ‘Guess I don’t have to keep the best thing that ever happened to me a secret anymore. Guess Y/N and I were both two-timers.’

The screen went black, and you slammed the phone down at your side. After publicly accusing you of cheating with Jaemin, your ex revealed the reason why he never wanted you, why he preferred to go days without talking, why he never wanted to spend any time with you: there was somebody else. The problem was never you; the problem was always him.

Somehow, deep down, or right at the surface, you had always known. So rather than feeling relieved or vindicated, you hated yourself for ignoring your parents and Jisung and the careful voice in your head that said, ‘let go, run,’ long before you met Jaemin and started falling for his smile slowly and then all at once.

Footsteps slapped on the pavement from afar, and you sucked a breath in. Nobody could see you— not until you had worked through your storm of emotions— so you tugged your legs, bare below your striped shorts, up onto the bench and contorted to conceal yourself in the building’s shadow.

Jaemin found you with little effort. He wasted no time in running to you and didn’t think twice before sitting beside you just as closely as he had at school days ago. His eyes were different now: wide with concern, no longer sparkling with mischief.

Unable to stand how he looked at you— as if you were breaking— you crossed your arms over your knees and buried your face in the bend of your elbow. “Stop looking at me like that, Jaemin.”

Although he had done nothing wrong, Jaemin apologized. “I’m sorry. And I’m sorry that happened, and I’m sorry I caused it—”

“You didn’t cause it.” The urge to console Jaemin overwhelmed the urge to hide. You lowered your feet onto the concrete and, to comfort him, rested your arm on the back of the bench, just behind his shoulders. “That guy— he’s always been a big—”

You wouldn’t have known how to describe your ex-boyfriend if your phone hadn’t interrupted you with a sharp buzz that likely signaled another incoming text from your friend. Jaemin grabbed your phone although you were content to leave the messages unread, and the screen lit up in his hand.

Jaemin’s mouth fell open as he instinctively scanned the message. “He— he had the nerve to scream at you in front of all those people when he’s been kissing—”

Rage tightened around Jaemin’s vocal chords, and he shoved the phone back into the narrow space between your bodies. “I don’t get it. People like that— how do they get anyone to like them? And how can they just treat people— why do they— I—” He raked his fingers through his hair, drawing a deep ragged breath.

Staring up at the moon and willing your voice to stay even, you mumbled, “I don’t get it either. I guess— you know— I read once that we accept the love we think we deserve.”

Did you believe that line you found in a book? Is that why you could never break things off?

Jaemin pulled his legs up onto the bench and crossed them so he could face you fully. “Hey.” He reached for your hand, and this time there was no playful smirk when you didn’t flinch from his touch. Once you mirrored his posture to face him too, he said, “You deserve better. A lot better. And by that, I don’t mean that you deserve me, even though I’d like—”

As if you weren’t leaning into his every word, Jaemin caught his tongue and stared down at his hand holding yours.

When words failed, you returned his small act of affection by curling your fingers around his hand. “I really want to deserve you, Jaemin. Someday soon.”

Had you given into the desire to look at him, you would have seen his eyebrows knitting together. “I don’t know what you mean. If it has anything to do with what that jerk said—”

“It doesn’t,” you said immediately despite your failed efforts to silence his nagging voice in the corner of your mind. “You’re just so bright and beautiful, and I was so quick to judge you for yelling at Jisung—”

“Wait, when did I— oh, are you talking about when I got onto him that time after work?”

You nodded slowly, tracing over his knuckles. “And when you yelled at him over that video game.”

“You actually heard that?” At his feeble tone, you finally looked up at Jaemin. In the pale moonlight, his blush was a glowing pink. He scratched at the back of his neck with his free hand. “I’m sorry. I apologized to Jisung, too. I guess it’s not an excuse, but my temper isn’t all that great when I lose games. And that time after work—”

“I know you weren’t trying to bully him. You were trying to help him improve, and now I know that you just like to nag—”

Jaemin huffed, “I do not nag!”

“— and I’m sorry that I misunderstood you. It’s not an excuse, but I am too protective of Jisung because he’s the most precious person in the world. I didn’t know that you knew that too. I’m sorry.”

Jaemin blinked, unsure of what to do with your apologies. “I like that you’re protective of Jisung. I like that when some big jerk is yelling at you, you think to defend me from his lame insults. That’s who you are, and it’s nothing to apologize for— especially because I like you.”

He liked you. After all of that chaos, Jaemin still liked you. Such a small word— like— meant so much because you couldn’t remember the last time someone who wasn’t Jisung said it to you and meant it. You didn’t try to fight the smile tugging at your lips.

If you were defined by protectiveness of Jisung and Jaemin, then Jaemin was defined by buying pizza for his friends (and nagging about it), and offering a hard-earned collection of 4,902 tickets to brighten your day with a cute stuffed animal, and holding your hand in the aftermath of utter humiliation.

You couldn’t keep the fact to yourself, and you didn’t want to: “I like you too, Jaemin.”

He looked at you, and silence hung in the air as you stood together on the edge of something new. Should you say something to define it? Would taking that dive dampen the chemistry that formed despite old oppressive labels?

You didn’t agonize long before Jaemin leaped off the bench and extended his hand to you. “Come on,” he implored, wearing that broad smile that gave your heart the wings to soar from its finally broken restraints. “We gotta go win that llama!”

You didn’t hesitate to take his hand; you didn’t hesitate to seize the moment with him, wherever it led.

Had you anticipated when stepping into the warm cafe from the chilly Autumn breeze that there would be so many college-aged students sitting around sipping down lattes and munching through muffins, you would have held onto the sunshine yellow gift bag longer and sought Jaemin at school tomorrow. Having stood in line far too long to just walk away without achieving your goal, you waited patiently, trying to repress your mounting anxiety, until Jeno noticed you from behind the register.

“Y/N!” He smiled and motioned you to the front, deaf to the groans of customers who resented your special treatment. “Jaemin!” He yelled into the kitchen, “It’s time for your break!” After shooting an enthusiastic thumbs up that suspended your nerves, Jeno returned to serving customers.

“Huh?” Jaemin filled the doorway, brow furrowed and lips pursed as he argued, “I’m not scheduled—”

He shrieked at the sight of you and, as you laughed, he shedded his chocolate stained cream apron. Combing his fingers through his hair, he said, “Jisung isn’t here, ya know.”

“I know,” you nodded. “I’m not here for Jisung.”

“Then why—”

At last, Jaemin’s eyes fell on the gift bag, and he presented you with his signature breath-taking smile. “Ah, I see!” He wagged a finger as he crossed the dark tiled floor, linked his arm with yours, and led you out into the golden afternoon.

Sitting on the bench just outside the cafe and jugging you to his side, Jaemin beamed, “You couldn’t resist seeing me on my birthday!”

You teased, “For once, your delusions are spot on.” Too nervous to hand over the bag, you clutched it and glanced around at the browning treeline. “Is this our thing, Nana? Sitting on benches and holding hands?”

The blush that colored his face whenever you called him by his nickname never failed to tickle your heart. “Yep,” he hummed and laced his fingers (warm) through yours (cold). “I’m not gonna have to let go when I open that present, am I?”

His free hand reached out for the gift, and you couldn’t cling to it any longer. Sucking in a breath, you watched as he yanked out the white tissue paper; you released the breath only when his eyes sparkled while he freed the puny pink plush llama from the bag.

“Did you win this from the arcade?” His smile, already too big for this dull world, grew with the nod of your head.

“I can’t take all the credit,” you giggled when Jaemin touched the llama’s muzzle to your face again and again in time with the puckering of his lips to simulate kisses. “The idea was all mine, but Jisung helped me earn the tickets. Obviously, we’re not as good at games as you are—” Jaemin winked at the flattery— “so that’s why the prize isn’t as big as the one you won for me once upon a time.”

Jaemin didn’t seem to think less of the gift because of its size. “Ah, this is the best birthday!” he yelled into the cloudy Autumn sky. He released your hand only so he could hug the llama to his chest. “Thank you so much!”

Your heart softened. “You’re welcome!” Looking into the bag, you added, “I think there’s a card too.”

You didn’t think; you knew there was a card without having to look into the bag for the thousandth time that day. The card— or, more specifically, the note inside— was what made your nerves tremble.

Although you wanted some relief from the pounding of your heart, you couldn’t quite keep your eyes from admiring Jaemin’s face as he laughed at the silly googly-eyed puppy on the card’s front. You couldn’t keep your gaze focused instead on the llama lying face up in his lap because you had to watch the lines deepen around his smile when his eyes darted up after studying your handwriting.

“Ooooh,” Jaemin whistled at having caught you studying him. “You have a crush on me!”

“I—”

“And you can’t deny it!” He flipped the card, and you were faced with your curly pink letterings. Finally, too embarrassed, you looked away. “Here it is in writing!”

Were Jaemin anyone else in the world, it would have been cruel— the clearing of his throat as he prepared to read your confession aloud. He pressed his cloud-soft palm to yours as he recited, “‘Nana, I never thought you would become my best friend’ — after Jisung, I’m assuming— ‘And I never imagined that someone so bright and beautiful could exist in my life and steal my heart, but you have. You have, and I love you, and I’m ready to tell you.’”

Jaemin looked at you again, this time without any trace of playfulness. This time, he waited for you to catch your breath.

He was good at waiting for you; he had been from the day you stomped into the cafe. He especially proved his patience over the last few months by giving you all the pleasures of friendship— all the joys of having an adorable boy to text at any hour, to laugh with too loudly at lunch, to sit with on two-person benches until seconds turned into minutes that turned into hours. He didn’t even seem tired of waiting for your romance to start because, really, it had already started.

But you were tired of waiting to call him yours.

“It’s not a crush, Jaemin. I’m in love with you.”

He must not have been surprised; he didn’t gasp, his eyes didn’t widen, he didn’t miss a beat before responding, “I really want to be your boyfriend. I don’t need the title to love you too, obviously, but I want it as soon as you’re ready. Please.”

You had been ready for a while— for as long as you could remember— but you forced yourself to wait for Jaemin. While Jaemin probably thought that you were testing his devotion, that couldn’t have been further from the truth. Contrary to Jisung’s assumption (that you were waiting for certainty of your feelings), you did not once doubt the butterflies that had not stopped fluttering in your belly since you started cuddling with the mint-green llama to fall asleep.

Maybe nobody else could understand that you were waiting for the wounds inflicted by your ex-boyfriend to heal. You never again wanted to bleed on Jaemin. You were waiting for the day that you could be as bright as the sun too.

And that day had finally come, so you wasted no time in promising, “Okay, Nana. I’m ready.”

Perhaps afraid that you would change your mind if asked to repeat yourself, or perhaps sensing your confidence, Jaemin asked for no clarification or justification of your feelings. After pumping a celebratory fist in the hair, he donned a victorious grin that you couldn’t resist capturing in a long-awaited whisper of a kiss.

BONUS SCENE:

“You’re almost as dangerous in the kitchen as Jisung is,” Jaemin fussed, knocking you away from the oven by colliding into the side of your hip with his own. He made a spectacle of pulling canary yellow oven mitts over his hands. “These keep you from getting burned by 350° cookie sheets, silly!” You rolled your eyes at the reprimand while Jaemin pulled the chocolate chip cookies out of the oven and gingerly set them on the counter. “Yeah, yeah,” you huffed, accustomed to his eagerness to show you up anywhere and everywhere— especially in the kitchen, where years of experience at the cafe gave him a clear advantage.

After turning the oven off and closing its door, Jaemin pointed and giggled at your pout. “Aw, don’t be sulky, baby!” He dropped the shedded oven mitts into their drawer. Crossing the distance between you in two steps, he pressed his palms flat on the countertop at either of your sides. He lowered his face to level with yours. “You’re kinda cute when you pout, though.”

Butterflies fluttered in your stomach as Jaemin’s breath ghosted your lips. It wasn’t fair that you were always the breathless one. Quickly, before he could act first, you stretched to match your lips to his.

His chocolate-flavored gasp was a short-lived reward. Always ready to adapt, always searching for a way to tease you, Jaemin was quick to turn your sweet, playful kiss into something that made your skin burn scarlet and legs turn to jelly.

“Yah!” Jisung screamed upon entering the kitchen, and you pushed Jaemin away with all of your strength. Jisung never failed to slap a hand over his eyes after catching you deep in a kiss with Jaemin. His discoveries were growing in frequency, and his tolerance was wearing thin, as evidenced by his groan. “No place is safe! Not the cafe— not even during work hours; not Y/N’s car when you two pick me up after school—”

Jaemin suggested, “You could take the bus—”

“— not the arcade, definitely not the movie theater after last time, and now not the kitchen! Now, I can’t even walk around my own home without getting jumpscared!”

Jisung so rarely raised his voice, you were stunned silent. Jaemin, meanwhile, encouraged him, “You can walk around. Maybe just knock on doors first,” just to darken your blush.

“There isn’t a door!” Jaemin pressed his back against a wall and gestured with one hand to the empty archway connecting the living room to the kitchen. “And you’re missing the point!”

“What is the point?” You hoped to make Jisung the target of Jaemin’s teasing, so as soon as Jisung dropped the hand covering his eyes to gawk at you incredulously, you wrapped your arms around Jaemin’s aproned waist and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I thought you wanted me to like Jaemin.”

“Not like this!” Jisung’s whine struck a devilish spark in Jaemin’s eyes. Your mission was a success: Jaemin’s eyes fixed on your little brother.

Frowning, Jaemin leaned into your embrace. “That’s not what you said when you gave me permission to ask Y/N out!”

“I thought she would reject you again!”

When Jaemin gasped and pretended to faint in your arms, you laughed. “Well, Jisung, will any of my boyfriends meet your standards?”

“I don’t care that you’re dating.” Jisung tore his eyes away from Jaemin’s theatrics to root through the cabinets in search of a snack. The tips of his ears were blistered pink. “It’s just— the PDA—”

“Here.” Jaemin offered him a cookie and winked as he accepted it, “It’s not PDA if we’re not in public.”

“Not this time,” Jisung grumbled through his mouthful of sugar. “Y/N, when do you think you’ll get tired of kissing Jaemin? I need to know when I can start walking around with my eyes open again.”

Jaemin climbed onto the granite countertop, poked out his bottom lip, and kicked his sneakered feet like a small child. “Yeah! When are you gonna get tired of me?”

There was only one way to answer.

“Never, of course!” You cheered before pecking at Jaemin’s now smiling lips.

“Shameless!” Jisung shrieked, running out of the kitchen with a handful of cookies. “Absolutely shameless!”

You and Jaemin shared in the golden laughter that colored your every day together.

#nct dream drabbles #na jaemin drabble #nct dream drabble #jaemin imagines #jaemin imagine #jaemin fluff #nct dream fluff #jaemin drabble #jaemin drabbles #nct dream au #jaemin fic #jaemin fanfic

135 notes · View notes

heart-eye-harrington · 4 years

Text

the last midnight ~ chapter three

(gif by @harringtown, thank you for letting me steal it <3)

Summary: Every aspect of Prince Steve’s life is mapped out with one objective in mind: become king when the time comes. The day of the ball has arrived, and everyone from the castle and village are making preparations. You and Steve find help from very different places.

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: brief mentions of grief

Author’s Note: Hi! I hope you’re doing well! I’m very excited for this chapter and for the rest of the series as a whole! Thank you for your continued support! ♡

read the last part here

⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★

The day of the ball had arrived, and the castle’s inhabitants were in a fussing frenzy. The servant’s usual buzzing seemed to be amplified to rumbling thunder. Their words roll in through the open door of Steve’s bed chamber and begin bombarding his ears. Things such as the astronomical size of the guest list, the work being done in the ballroom, and the preparations on the royal family’s outfits only amplify the booming cacophony of dread.

Steve does his best to ignore how it goes straight to his pounding heart, hastily throwing on his lounging clothes and combing his fingers through his hair, enjoying the time he has to not be a perfect polished prince. He knows the stylists will come around later in the day to mold him in that image, but for now, he can get away with wild hair and loose flowy blouses.

He looks at himself in the mirror and for a moment, things are okay. He’s just a boy. He’s not a future king, no royal title attached to his name. The weight of the world is lifted from his shoulders, because why should it be there? He’s just a boy.

The anxious cloud slowly rolls in once again, the muffled conversation between guards stationed outside his door dashing the mirage.

“Hard to imagine the prince will choose a bride tonight. Part of me feels bad for the boy. Sure, a princess may grow to like him, but never love. How could they, when their love life is a bargaining chip? He may never know real love.”

Their words were the lightning strike. A menacing storm had been gradually collecting discomfort provoked by talks of this evening, but life could continue despite it. This was the danger that could not be ignored. The pounding heartbeat in Steve’s ears fizzled away, only leaving him with the realization he’d been pushing down for years.

Love was never in the cards for him. It never fit into his parents’ plan. Kings don’t need love, they need power. The only time they need a person beside them is to strengthen that power. To his parents, a queen was nothing more than another piece in the puzzle. They would make the kingdom look more secure, gain allies and resources, and produce an heir, and the vicious cycle continues.

“He may never know real love”

It bounces around his head before eventually sinking to his heart, dragging it down to his stomach. His huge room seems to shrink around him, his feet dragging him out into the corridor before the walls suffocate him. Steve only gets a moment of relief before he meets the guard’s worried eyes emphasized with raised eyebrows. The act of being seen, not merely looked at, is so alarmingly out of place he feels the bile in his stomach turn. He needs to go, and there’s only one place where he feels safe in the castle.

The familiar sounds of clinking metal and hearty laughter lets him know the room’s usual inhabitants are inside. Peaking through the cracked door he sees Robin and her father, both in full practice uniforms, chasing one another around with blunt practice swords at the ready. The sounds of padded running echos throughout the large gymnasium.

The sight before Steve is a break in the downpour, a ray of light through the dark clouds. They were what made this room safe, for in these walls he was just a boy with a friend, a teacher, and a sword. Part of him doesn’t want to disturb them, but any chance of that is dashed when Robin spots the gleam in his eyes through the cracked door.

“Father, I think we may have an intruder” her tone airy and playful. The captain quickly catches on, joining in on her fun. “Oh, well, we can’t have that, now can we? They’ll have to fight there way out of this”

In one fell swoop, he pulls open the door to reveal a giddy Steve and throws him his sword. Steve’s surprised he reflexes are quick enough to catch it before it hits the marble floor. The celebration doesn’t linger, Robin already taking her stance for their battle. Once Steve folds an arm behind his back and extends his sword, mirroring Robin, the fight is on. Robin’s father ducks out fo the room with a sweet goodbye, knowing they don’t need supervision and that this would not be ending soon.

The teens go back and forth, lunging and dodging with expert timing, only fitting for the hours they’ve spent in these walls. As relentless as the fight is, Steve can’t keep his mind from wandering. Dodging Robin’s blade dislodged his guard’s words from the hiding place his mind shoved then into.

As much as he’s come to terms with never finding love, he can’t help but imagine it. Someone laughing at his jokes because they find him funny, not out of courtesy or because they want to impress him. Someone that would look for him first in a crowded room, no matter the crowd’s wealth, power, or charm.

Someone that would reach for his hand instinctively, whether for comfort, out of overwhelming joy, or anywhere in between. With their hand in his everything in the world would be okay, because the person standing beside him is the world now, and they’re so good.

He wanted someone he would miss deeply even if it were just the first day they had been apart since meeting.

Steve keeps finding himself back in the village, kids weaving around him to sit by the fountain. His mind replays the first moment he saw you. The way the sun caught your eyes like they were precious jewels deserving nothing less than to be shown off. Your smile was contagious, not being able to be contained on your face, spilling to everyone who laid eyes on you. The rising sun behind you softened any edges, as if your personality weren’t inviting enough.

One part of your story sticks out.

Before fear grips the prince, the princess holds his hand. In that moment, he knows she’s his true love, and that he would fight any creature to keep her safe, for the touch of a hand cannot be altered by magic. No magic spell can mask or mimic the way a person’s hand makes you feel.

He’s pulled abruptly from his thoughts when he feels Robin’s blade resting against his collar. She’s clearly won the fight, laughing in his face in celebration. Steve pouts, head nodding back and pursuing his lips.

“Wake up your royal highness, you’re in a daze” Robin made sure to emphasize his title, knowing he hates it.

“I’m sorry” his response breathy, almost dream-like. She knows he was distracted, he never let her win this easily. She traces back to the last time they fought last time, and realizes it was before their escape to the town. A mischievous grin pulls her lips as her mind makes the correlation.

“You’ve been off since our adventure” a smug suggestive smile on her lips. Suddenly her gaze is too much for Steve, who turns to the table stationed at the opposite end of the room, stacked with towels for sweat. After hearing her footsteps behind him, he knows there’s no escape, so he gushes.

“It’s the person we saw at the fountain, the one who was telling the stories to the children. I can’t stop thinking about them.”

“Well, there are plenty of people out there.” Robin winks, but Steve is having none of it

“Ah, but their spirit, their goodness.” He can feel the smile creep on to his face just thinking about them.

“You don’t suppose they have a sister, do they?” Robin raises a brow, and Steve can’t help but chuckle, “I don’t know. I don’t know anything about them.”

“Well, hopefully, your mystery stranger may come to the ball. That is why you threw the doors open, is it not?” They both laugh at the memory of his portrait painting and confrontation with his parents.

“Robin, it was for the benefit of the people.”

She raises her hands defensively “Oh, of course. How shallow of me”

After a beat, Steve thinks aloud “And if they come, then what?” Robin mulls it over for a moment, “then you tell them that you’re a prince, and a prince may take whatever partner he wishes.”

“Ha” sarcasm drips from the single syllable.

“Ha?” Robin questions,

“Yes, ha. You know my parents will only have me marry a princess.” Steve groans.

Robin hums, fully aware of their royal highness’s stupid rules, but caring more about her friend. “Well if this stranger from the village is as charming as you say, they may change your parents’ minds. They are a fairy godmother in training. A flick of their wand and boom, problem solved.”

“Hm, problem solved.” A sad smile tugs his lips. If only it were that easy.

“You never know. You know what my father says, words are your greatest weapon. You saw what they can do to those kids in the village, I’m sure they can charm your parents.” She gives a playful nudge but instead of pushing back, he succumbs to it, allowing the soft push to move him. A smile still plays his lips, but he feels numb, as if shielding himself from what’s to come. Hope, he’s learned, is a strong gift. It’s one he’s barely received, ripped from his hands as soon as he’s united the ribbon.

Robin’s quick to wrap her arms around him in an awkward side hug, resting her head on his arm. Neither of them are good at showing affection, their platonic love language shown in jokes and jabs, but how could she not hug him? Steve leans down a bit to rest his head on top of hers, his hands coming up to clutch her arm.

They stay like that, two people who have been thrown into extraordinary circumstances who were able to find one another. They each thanked their lucky stars every night that they had found each other.

A knock comes to the door, and a messenger peeks through. “Sorry to disturb you, your highness, but the style team is ready for you.”

With one last squeeze to Robin’s arm, he nods to the messenger, acknowledging it’s time to go. As he begins to walk away, Robin runs behind him and rustles his hair, “good luck Prince Charming.”

“Thanks, Robin. Can’t wait to see what they put you into.” He jokes, knowing how much Robin hates formal events and the guard’s formal uniforms.

“Oh, it won’t be half as beautiful as yours. I’m sure you’ll knock’em dead.” She sends him off with a wink and a wave. Steve shakes his head, returning the gesture. As he finds himself being passed from hairstylist to seamstress, he thinks of Robin. Not only has she given him friendship, but the gift of hope, and he can practically feel the silk ribbon it’s tied in. With each stitch of a button and comb of his hair, he can’t help but smile, for with each step he’s one step closer to you.

He hoped to see you again soon.

⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★

Your shoes click against the cobblestone streets as you rush back to the bakery. With the prince’s open invitation to the village to attend the ball came a glimmer of hope that you would see Steve the apprentice again. To say you were enormously excited would be an understatement.

You rush through the door, practically skipping as you tell your father the news. He dusts the flour from his hands, placing them on his hips as you ramble on and on.

“Do we have any of mother’s old clothes? I know she had the most beautiful dresses and fabrics, I could easily make something for tonight. It wouldn’t cost much, you know how expensive Esmerelda the seamstress is, especially with such little notice. Oh, father, I can just picture it! I’d have sleeves like this-” as you begin ghosting your fingers over your arms, imagining what you’d look like this evening, your father stops you.

“Sweet pea, we don’t have any of that.” he looks to you with sad eyes, that if you look hard enough you could see his heart breaking behind them.

“W-what?” you don’t want to believe him.

“I know it was wrong, but I couldn’t bear to look at them. I sold all your mother’s dresses and fabrics years ago, right after she passed. Sweet pea, I am so sorry.” his voice a fragile glass, moments away from breaking.

Your first instinct is anger. How could he? She was his wife, but she was your mother. He may have had no use for the clothes and fabrics, but how could he know you wouldn’t? You could grow into them, wear them to keep her close to you. Then you realize what that would do to your father. Seeing his child, the spitting image of his lost wife wearing her clothes. It’d be like seeing her ghost, haunting him. You could never understand his pain or why he did it, as he could never understand yours, but you could try.

“I know father, it’s ok.” you sniffle, quickly trying to hide it with a wipe of your nose. You smile through the stinging in your eyes.

Not another word is exchanged the rest of the day, your father too filled with regret, leaving you to mourn. You mourn your mother and the dream of seeing Steve again. You owned nothing nearly nice enough to attend the ball and would never be able to scramble up enough money to buy something new. So you were left to work the bakery, conversing with excited customers and gazing out the window. You look for any hooded figures with wild hair and curious eyes, but your apprentice friend is nowhere to be found.

With dusk quickly approaching, you know you can’t keep putting off the trip to the waterfall. The thought of walking the same path you had with Steve, but this time without him here, hurt more than you could imagine. You miss deeply, despite having just met him yesterday. It was only the first day you’d been apart since meeting, but it felt like a lifetime.

The forest is beautiful at this time of day. Birds sing love songs, your footsteps on the soft grass adding muffled percussion. Golden orange light breaks through the tree canopy, dancing on the rich green of the forest floor. Soon you hear the distance padding of water upon the rocks, reassuring that you weren’t far from your destination.

Through the trees, you hear a muted cry for help. The voice is weak, urging your feet to run to it faster.

“Hello? Is anyone there?” you yell as you run, equal parts hoping that they’ll answer so you can better find them and alerting them that someone is coming to help.

“Right here, sweetpea.” The use of the nickname makes your stomach twist, but still allowing you to find whoever needs help. You’re able to spot them, at the base of a nearby tree sits an elderly woman. You’re quickly kneeling by her side and asking if she needs any help.

“You wouldn’t happen to have any spare food, would you?” without hesitation you reach into the pocket of your apron where you’d stuffed a blueberry scone for your dinner. You offer it to her with a smile.

“Oh, but my dear, this is your dinner.”

“Please, I hope you’ll take it. You need it more than me.” You fold it into her hand and within seconds she’s gnawing on the pastry. Through the crumbs in her mouth, she laughs.

“Hope, hm. What a powerful word.” You give her a perplexed but kind nod, not expecting such an ominous statement. The scone is quickly devoured, the only signs it was here are the crumbs on the woman’s dress and a burp.

“Now, sweet pea, we don’t have much time.” There’s the nickname again.

“Only my father calls me that. My apologies, but do I know you?” your question innocent.

“Who am I? I’d have thought you’d have worked that one out, seeing as the town considers you my apprentice.” A wicked smile pulls her lips thin. You’re left utterly lost. “I’m your fairy godmother, sweet pea.”

“You can’t be.” You laugh lightly to yourself. “They don’t exist. They’re just made up for children.”

“Didn’t your own mother believe in them?” her words take the breath from your lungs. How did she know your mother? As your mind begins racing, the woman stands and pulls a wand from her sleeve. With a simple wave, she’s transformed into a beautiful young woman in an enormous ballgown. Stacked ruffles cascade down the sides of the full skirt, each layer a shade darker than the one above.

“Now, my dear, you can’t go to the ball in that” she gestures to your clothes with her wand. “Let’s get you into something more suitable.”

With a flick of her wrist, a poof of blue dust flicks from the end of her wand and dances toward you. It covers your clothes and begins to glow, expanding, stretching, and fluffing the worn cotton on your body. You can’t help but twirl, laughing as the magic transforms you. When the dust settles, you’re left in a beautiful blue fabric that shines in the glow of the setting sun. The icing on the cake comes when you look at your feet, finding your shoes are made of glass.

“Oh, it’s wonderful. Thank you, thank you.” You know your voice could never convey just how thankful you were. When you meet her eyes you swear you see a bit a sadness, possibly regret, but it’s gone in a flash.

“Now, I just need to whip up a coach and you’ll be on your way.” Another flick of her wrist and a golden coach sits in the meadow. “Now sweet pea, this is a magic coach that doesn’t require horses or footmen. A spell from my spell-book…” She stops herself, catching the slip, “trick I’ve learned in my lovely, beautiful cottage.” All you can do is nod, and follow her as she leads you to the coach.

“Now, sweet pea, all magic comes with a price.” A sudden coldness fills her words and expression. “With the last echo of the last bell of the last stroke of midnight, the spell will be broken and all will return to what it was before.”

“That’s more than enough time. Thank you.” With a final flick of her wand, the coach is moving. You sit back and gaze out the window. With each roll of the wheels and bridge that you’ve crossed, you can’t help but smile, for with each step you’re one step closer to Steve.

You hoped to see him again soon.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington agnst #the last midnight au

34 notes · View notes

80sidecharacters · 3 years

Text

Online Dating For Superheroes

Σημείωμα: το rewrite είναι πλέον γεγονός! Πάρτε ένα κείμενο γραμμένο από την @adastreia-12, γραμμένο στα πλαίσια του the October Project. Η σεξουαλικότητα της Ρούμπι, το νέο επίθετο του Άλεξ, αναφορές στις γνωστές κριντζιές από το παλιό καλό Secret Identity, νέοι χαρακτήρες αλλά και σε ανανεωμένη μορφή οι παλιοί (όσοι δεν διαγράφηκαν τουλάχιστον), όλα είναι εδώ σε ένα sneak peek για το πως περίπου θα είναι το rewrite.

Prompt: This is the third time you have seduced a villain in this month!

“This is the third criminal you’ve seduced this month.” Aaron looks at the photo on her phone, holding it up at an arm’s length, and looks back at the unmasked villain behind the double paned glass. His eyebrows are furrowed and he keeps opening and closing his mouth as if he wants to say something but can’t find the right words. Ruby can’t quite believe this either.

“In my defense, she was cute. And! I didn’t know!” Ruby says, in an attempt to escape the embarrassment. Her cheeks are bright red again and she can’t avoid the heat no matter how hard she tries.

Aaron’s eyes dart between the Tinder profile picture and the woman sitting in the interrogation chair, wrists bound to the table with handcuffs, looking intimidatingly at the glass. He purses his lips a bit and starts again.

“Maybe it’s a hacked version for criminals? I mean, they gotta date, right?”

Ruby shoots him a look, eyebrows raised. Aaron looks at her and throws his hands into the air. “You don’t know! There must be one criminal hacker out there who was getting the lonesies and decided to make something like that.”

Ruby snatches the phone from his hand and shoves it back in his face. “Does this,” she hisses, pointing a manicured finger at the goofy picture of Sam struggling with holding down a huge fish, red hair in a wet mess, “Look like the stuff of a criminal dating app?”

Aaron offers a crooked smile and half a shrug. “Maybe she was trying to show off a softer side?”

She whines, and folds into herself, covering her face with her palm. Aaron pats her back comfortingly.

“It’s okay,” he says matter-of-factly, “It can happen to the best of us.”

“Maybe it can happen to you, but even you couldn’t do this three times in a month,” she sighs miserably.

The beat up couch behind them almost swallows her when she plops down on it and stares up at the ceiling blankly, her legs sprawled in an awkward angle.

“Maybe I’m just not meant to date.”

Aaron sits gingerly next to her, folding his legs under him as he does.

“Oooor, maybe you already have someone you should be going after closer than you think they are, if you catch my drift.”

She did catch his drift. She isn’t particularly excited about the drift though.

She snaps her head back toward him and raises a very accusing index finger, almost bumping his nose with it.

“No. Don’t even think about it.”

“But-”

“No, no. Say it with me. Alex Delikaris isn’t a dating option for Ruby. Say it.”

“But he is a dating option for Ruby! Come on, bro, the dude is completely whipped for you and you’re literally the only person who doesn’t see it.”

She sputtered for a bit, struggling to voice her objection, which was quite intense, thank you very much. Alex? Her roommate? Sure, he could be sweet, but he is also annoying and a bit of a dick. So what if he just spontaneously got her flowers the other day for no reason whatsoever, hedidn’tlikehershutup.

“He’s not… compatible with me? It’s just- I don’t know, we don’t fit together that way,” she says, shrugging and shrinking away from Aaron’s judgemental look. Unfortunately, it is inescapable.

“You’re like an old married couple already,” he deadpans. Ruby’s cheeks flare.

“Exactly,” she tries desperately, “Incompatible.”

Aaron snorts, and shifts to rest his head on her shoulder. “Well, that’s a grim view of marriage.”

Ruby gives a half-smile and rests her head on top of his. “Why risk it then, hm?” she asks quietly with a weak shrug.

A loud crack has them both jumping on their feet in alert, only to look at the door, yanked violently open, with Dwayne looking at them with an amused smirk on their lips.

“Did it happen again?” they ask in the conspiratorial hush of a child passing gossip in the courtyard. Ruby groans as she jabs her palms in her eye sockets and falls back on the couch unceremoniously. She can hear the smile in Aaron’s voice when he says: “Mhm, she strikes again.”

Dwayne bursts into roaring laughter, booming down the hallway, and Ruby hopes the rest of the response team isn’t close by to get drawn in by it, like moths to the flame.

“How!” Dwayne manages to wheeze out between giggles, “Do you keep doing that!”

Ruby makes some incomprehensible sounds and wallows deeper in her embarrassment. Aaron chuckles softly before nudging her, and she lowers her palms from her eyes. She gives him a big pout.

“This isn’t funny.”

“You’re right,” Dwayne says, no longer shaking with laughter, wiping a tear from their eye, “It’s absolutely hilarious.”

“You guys suck,” Ruby pouts even harder, just to guilt them both a bit. It doesn’t seem to work particularly well, as Aaron nudges her again and extends a hand to lift her up from the couch. She takes it, avoiding his eyes.

Once she’s up, Aaron slings an arm over her shoulders, their height difference now extremely palpable, and drags her along.

“Come on, Villain Fucker, let’s get you home to your true love,” he says, and they walk out of the room, Sam and her fiery hair long gone as well, walking with Dwayne down the hall towards the changing rooms where the rest of their team waited.

“Alex isn’t my true love,” she grumbles under her breath as she walks with her friends, cringing inside as they announce her later escapades to the rest of them.

Only, later, the closer she gets back to the apartment she shares with Alex, the more she fixates on him and what Aaron told her. Her true love. He wasn’t that, that’s for sure. But he had been there. He had stuck around when Kazen died, helped her forget the pain for a little bit. He had taken her out for drinks, and he’s shared his jacket with her, and he’d gotten her flowers unprompted.

But he was also rude. Rude, and brash, and blunt and with a complete disregard for her house rules. He left his cup of coffee on random places and it stained, and he refused to wear a stupid shirt. He called her Beetroot and he kept using Greek idioms she never understood in English but wouldn’t explain them to her until she Googled them. He isn’t her true love. But he’s something. Something way more than her online dates ever got to be.

“I’m home,” she calls into the apartment as she takes her boots off, her keys jiggling against the key plate. It doesn't take long for Alex to materialize out of the kitchen.

“Out for another late night escapade, were we?” he asks with a wink, leaning against the wall right next to Ruby, his eyes following her movements as she takes off her coat.

“Oh ha, ha, you’re hilarious.”

“How did the date go, Beetroot?” he asks, and starts following after her as she heads towards the kitchen. She finds a cup containing a steaming hot brown liquid on the counter.

“Let’s just say I won’t be seeing Sam anymore. She was too shady.” An understatement. She looks back at him, and points at the cuppa. “That for me?”

Alex nods. “Strawberry hot chocolate.” Her favorite. Ruby can’t fight a content smile. Her feet are weary and her heart is tired of the embarrassment. A cup of hot cocoa is exactly what she needs. She grabs it and goes to the living room, melting into their worn couch with a sigh. Soon, she feels the cushion dip under Alex’s weight next to her.

“So what didn’t work with her?Be honest, did you just run after them like a Greek grandma telling them to wear a jacket too much? I allow it, but it’s not everyone’s thing, you know,” he says teasingly. Ruby winces. Somehow, she feels like ‘She was a mutant criminal that me and my team of mutant superheroes busted on tonight’s patrol and it was kind of a dealbreaker’ wouldn’t be something she could share with Alex. Instead, she deflects.

“Oh, so it’s your thing?” Okay, perhaps she deflected to the wrong thing, she thinks and her cheeks burn up again.

Alex smirks and tilts his head to the side, somehow failing to look cute while doing so, but rather intimidating. Dangerous.

“Maybe it is,” he says, and it’s barely above a whisper, breathless and tantalizing. She’s tempted to lean in as he does, just to test it. Just to see if maybe Aaron was on to something.

She thinks of the hot chocolate burning her palms, and of his lips, smelling of the coffee he drinks so much. Would she like it if she tasted the caffeine on them? Damn Aaron and his insistence. If he hadn’t mentioned Alex again, this wouldn’t be happening right now.

“Ruby?” she hears Alex’s voice call her as if piercing a glass barrier. It’s soft, and unguarded, devoid of his usual facades. It brings a smile to her lips. She hesitates for a moment, but her Tinder DMs come to mind. She’s gone out with three criminals this month. Her life choices haven’t been optimal. She doesn’t have much to lose, if Aaron is right. At the very least, Alex isn’t another criminal. Might as well make a point to her friends, whatever that point may be. What could go wrong?

#secret identity #writeblr #writing #one shot #writers on tumblr #wattpad #spilled ink #original work #supeheroes #tumblr prompt #villain #crack fiction #humor #fluff #romantic tension #lgbt

7 notes · View notes

spookyboywhump · 4 years

Text

Card Game 3

Tag List: @galaxywhump

While I take a Short Animal Crossing Break here is an Update. I’m planning probably either one more long part or two shorter parts for this side thing.

TW: more noncon touching, mentions/talk of rape/noncon, knives

***

“N-no- no-!” Seven more shocks to go. “No m-m-more-!” Six more. “P-please!“ Five.

He had rolled a twelve and that’s what the poor kid got. Twelve shocks from a stun gun. He had dug the prongs into his shoulder, somewhere he felt sure wouldn’t hurt as much as other places. The ribs were agony, years of shocks to the throat had caused epilepsy, and though it was extremely unlikely, he didn’t want there to be any lasting damage from this.

“Fuck, even his begging is cute!” Vanessa laughed. Zander decided not to respond. The shocks came in quick succession, as brief as they could be without Vanessa saying anything. After the twelfth Zander stepped away and Wren collapsed, for a moment he was worried he fainted but the desperate murmuring continued.

“N-no… more… please… I can’t- can’t… do it…” he mumbled weakly.

“He needs a break, Vanessa.” Zander said softly, looking between them anxiously.

“We’re more than half way through, he’ll be fine.” She said dismissively, drawing her card. “I’m sure he can handle being hit, oh…” She took a moment to roll the die, smiling at her result, “Twenty times?”

“He can’t.” He nearly growled, putting himself between her and Wren when she stepped towards him. “Just give him a short break, please.”

“Zander,” She hooked a finger under his collar, pulling him down so they were face to face, “If you stop me from doing this, you lose, you know that right?” He scowled at that, glancing away from her because he did know but he also knew that Wren needed a break. “Drop the guard dog act and play along, unless you want him to spend the night with me, understand?”

“Please go easy on him…” He said as he finally backed off, but she just laughed, pulling him by the collar back to his chair and ordering him to sit, which he reluctantly did so.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that. I mean honestly, have I ever gone easy on you?”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t go easy on him!” He snapped.

“But it wouldn’t be fair. Now be a good boy and wait for your turn, this won’t take long.” She smiled before turning back to Wren. Zander groaned and put his head in his hands, he couldn’t stand to watch this. He wished he was the one deprived of his senses, so he wouldn’t have to hear fists strike bare skin, so he wouldn’t have to hear whimpers and whines and gasps that became desperate cries as he /begged/ her to stop. He’d be covered in bruises by the morning, and Zander would have to look at him and know that he participated in this fucked up game and he was just as guilty as Vanessa was. He felt very, very sick.

By the time she finished he was sure that had been more than twenty hits, leaving Wren curled up on the floor moaning in pain. He didn’t say anything against her though, he knew it didn’t matter what he said. He simply reached over and drew his card, feeling even sicker as he read the words “Crush their finger”.

“Ooo, that’s gonna hurt.” Vanessa made a face when she saw it. “How’re you gonna do it though?”

“Did you happen to bring a blunt object with all your other toys?” He asked bitterly, frowning as he thought it over. It said to crush his finger, didn’t specify which one. He wasn’t sure he could crush his little finger with his bare foot, and he’d rather do this in one go than make him suffer needlessly.

“I snatched something from Cain’s little torture room.” She said, passing the hammer over to him. He almost winced as he took it, holding it in the same right hand it had once utterly destroyed. He was still surprised it ever healed right.

He glanced up at Wren, naked and curled up on the floor, still bleeding from his back and the bite mark Vanessa left. Trembling and holding back sobs, trying so hard just to survive this, and Zander just had to make it worse. He hoped that just one finger wouldn’t be so bad for him, he knew he handled it fine himself but he also compared it to a whole broken hand, and Wren didn’t have that. It was all new, all terrible, all his fault.

Vanessa watched as he finally moved, kneeling down next to wren and helping him sit up first. Once again he untied his wrist, he didn’t want to risk hitting anything else. He positioned his hand flat on the floor, and Wren let him move him as needed. While he didn’t fight Vanessa he was noticeably more tense and uncomfortable when she did it, and it just made him more guilty to know he trusted him enough to relax even a little bit, knowing he would probably be hurt. He wondered how much longer that trust would last.

He carefully spread his fingers apart, he knew he should just get it over with, the wait must have been agony, but he just didn’t want to do it, he didn’t want to hear the bone break or hear him scream, he was so fucking over this game. He had to give in sooner or later though, finally picking the hammer back up. He reminded himself to apologize later and reeled back, slamming the weapon down on his finger.

Wren howled in pain, jerking his hand away immediately. He felt bad for wondering if it really hurt that bad, reminding himself they had much different pain tolerances. He clutched his hand close to his chest, breathing heavily to try and hold off any more cries. Even though it was the least damage he could’ve tried to cause he felt sick, it was going to hurt him for a while at least and Cain was going to be pissed about a broken bone. All he could hope is that he directed his anger at the right person and not at Wren.

“Oh no…” he heard Vanessa say softly from behind him, he scowled as he turned to look at her. He could tell it was fake, she seemed almost excited really.

“What?”

“Well… it’s just that, I drew the “slice them up” card… but I only brought our knife.” She looked at him, that sweet, deceivingly innocent smile on her face. “You don’t mind, do you?” She asked, brandishing the red handled butterfly knife. Zander was well acquainted with the blade by now, he’d been victim to it countless times before.

“Fuck off…” he muttered, trying to ignore how his blood ran cold at the sight of it. He got up from the floor, backing away from Wren while she got ready for her attack. Rather than approach Wren though, she came to Zander, seeming to smile wider when he was visibly nervous.

“Slice him up, hm…” she murmured, flipping the knife open. He flinched at the sight of the blade, so close to his skin. “Slice him up but where, Zander? Where do you think…” she hummed, trailing the tip of the blade down his chest, tearing small holes into his shirt where it snagged on the fabric.

“Anywhere that won’t fucking kill him.” He said through gritted teeth. She laughed, pulling the knife away from his chest and instead bringing it near his face, enjoying the way he visibly shrunk back.

“You two already have matching brands, what about a matching scar? It’s cute right, matching scars with the little pup?” She laughed, while his breath hitched in his throat as the tip of the blade ran along the scar on his face, a constant reminder of their first night together.

“There’s nothing cute about scars.” He said bitterly.

“Of course there is! Honestly they’re just enhancements on an already pretty boy, I swear I love you more and more with each new scar you get!” She laughed. He wanted to yell at her, to scream at her that that's not love. He’d told her time and time again but at this point he figured in her fucked up mind this was as close to love as she could get.

“Just play your card already, would you?” He tried to shrink away from her, he didn’t want to waste anymore time. He just wanted this all to be over.

“Eager to see the boy cry huh?” She turned back to Wren, looking him over. “The card doesn’t say multiple times, so if he makes a pretty noise I’ll only do it once, okay?”

“The card doesn’t say multiple times, you only need to do it once.” He snapped. “Just get it over with.”

“You’re particularly moody tonight, aren’t you?” She said to him as she grabbed Wren by the hair, holding him in place while ignoring his soft cries.

“I hate you and I hate this game.” He said bluntly. She sighed, gently tracing the tip of the knife down the side of Wren’s face.

“I would’ve thought you’d like to not be on the receiving end for once.” She said. “If it bothers you that much then I suppose Wren can play next time.” She seemed satisfied with teasing him, making sure he was sufficiently terrified before pulling back just a little bit.

It was more of a slash than a slice, a quick movement from her and a cry of pain from Wren, blood spilling down on the side of his face. It was the opposite side from Zander’s, matching scars just like she said. As if the brand wasn’t bad enough there would be a permanent mark on his face, a reminder that Wren would have to see every time he looked in the mirror. By now Zander knew how miserable that could make a person.

Wren was taking heavy, deep breaths, trying not to panic even as blood ran down his face and down his neck. He hoped that it wasn’t as bad as it looked, hoped he’d be fine once the blood was cleaned away. There was no way to tell until the game was over though.

The next movement was quick, before Zander had realized she wouldn’t leave it at that. The slice crossed over his shoulder, it seemed more shallow than the first one. Zander quickly got to his feet, stepping towards them.

“You didn’t need to do it more than once!”

“Oh please, you don’t slice someone up just once.” She rolled her eyes. “But fine, if you’re so eager for your turn then go ahead.” She smiled. He wasn’t eager for his turn, he was eager for this all to end. Wren just had to survive five more cards, he knew he could survive that much. He just wasn’t sure how okay he’d be once he did.

They wouldn’t get any closer to being done if he just stood there, he anxiously drew the next card, grimacing as he saw he’d have to kick him. After being hit twenty times he wasn’t sure how he’d be able to take this, but he’d have to hope he’d be fine. Hell, if he passed out from pain it would probably be for the best. He knew Vanessa wouldn’t like an unconscious participant but at least he wouldn’t be awake to feel the pain, maybe even finish off the game without experiencing it. Zander didn’t bother hoping for good luck though, realistically, Wren was fucked, he was fucked, this whole situation was designed to fuck them over and when he rolled the die he didn’t hope for anything good because hoping was completely pointless.

Five. Only five kicks, he could do that, Wren could handle that. He breathed a sigh of relief, kneeling down behind Wren to gently pull his arms behind him, out of the way. Vanessa hadn’t bound his wrists again and Zander had no intention of doing so, if he could just keep them out of the way for now then it would be fine. He’d considered aiming the kicks at his back but he was already bleeding and the skin was already raw and sensitive, the stomach was the best bet given the circumstances, but as he got up and delivered the first kick he got an unpleasant memory of Wren’s second day there, of Cain kicking him mercilessly for the smallest mistake.

He could tell each blow to the stomach hurt but it seemed like Wren was almost too worn out to even beg or sob. Silent tears rolled down his face, mixing with sweat and blood, the only sounds he made were gasps and sharp whines as he added to the endless pain he was in. He tried to double over but after the first time Zander made him sit back up he did his best to stay still, obedient as always. He wondered if he was always like that or if that was just a result of his time here.

After the final kick he backed off immediately, and when Wren seemed sure that no more was coming he allowed himself to double over, whimpering in pain. Zander felt awful knowing how sore he would be the next day, if things went well he’d have to share some of those painkillers with him. He watched Vanessa anxiously, worried about what she’d get, but she just laughed softly when she drew her card.

“Aww, it looks like he’ll finally get that break!” She smiled at him, and for once Zander was able to relax. “A break and his hair played with, he really is a lucky boy!”

“How long though?” He asked.

“Hmm…” she rolled the die, seeming satisfied with the number, “twelve minutes. Better than nothing though, right?” She went back to Wren, sitting down on the floor. She pulled him closer and easily maneuvered him into position, laying his head on her lap. He seemed uncomfortable but still relieved, this was at least easy on him. Zander sighed and sat down too for the time being, glad that for at least a moment he wasn’t being hurt.

Vanessa hummed softly as she gently ran her fingers through his hair, red manicured nails brushing back vivid red hair from his forehead. Zander could see the roots were showing brown, he wondered if Cain would want him to re-dye it. He figured it didn’t matter but with everything else going on sometimes it helped to focus on something mundane.

“When all this is done I need an hour.” He told her. “I… Wren needs help, he’ll need his back tended to, I… I’ll do whatever you want after, but I need an hour with him.”

“That’s adorable, you’re acting like you’ve already won!” She laughed.

“Even if I lose he’s going to need help before you do anything else to him.” He scowled at the thought of it, if Wren ended up with her he knew he’d never be able to forgive himself.

“I guess you’re right… the poor dear has been through so much tonight…” she smiled, gently running her fingers through his hair.

“Whose fuckin’ fault is that?” He muttered.

“Well… when you think about it it’s yours.” She looked up from Wren. “If you had just let me take him I wouldn’t have made you play this game, he wouldn’t have gotten hurt.”

“No, you just would’ve, you know, raped him. Because that’s so much better.” He said sarcastically.

“That’s really such a strong word.” She frowned. “I mean, look at him, I think he would’ve enjoyed himself.” Wren was almost leaning into her touch, he’d allowed himself to relax finally. Zander couldn’t imagine being so touch starved he’d let himself relax around Vanessa, he couldn’t help but worry about him and what his life was like before all this.

“Trust me, he wouldn’t have.” He sighed. “Why do you think I want you to leave the poor kid alone so bad?”

“I think it’s because you’re jealous.” She giggled.

“I already told you-“

“I know, I know.” She rolled her eyes. “You can keep saying that if it makes you feel better.” She looked down at Wren again, tucking some hair behind his ear. He didn’t seem to mind this, it was obvious he didn’t get this enough and Zander felt guilty that Vanessa seemed to be the first person in a while to offer it to him. He wasn’t sure if that was something he could or should do something about, wasn’t sure if Wren even knew how completely touch starved he really was.

The twelve minutes seemed to pass too fast, he needed a longer break but at least he got a break at all. Zander reluctantly drew the next card, eyes going wide as he read the words. As soon as she saw his expression she shoved Wren off of her, jumping to her feet and eagerly coming to see what he got. While his expression was one of horror, hers was pure delight, six words filling him with dread.

Carve your name into their arm

“Oh! I have the perfect thing!” Vanessa said happily, snatching the same knife from before off the table. “You’re really getting to try all new things today huh? First you get to play the game, now you get to use our knife? It’s really a special night!”

“Shut up…” he almost felt numb as he accepted the knife from her, moving from his chair to kneel down with Wren. He wasn’t sure he could do this, mark him with his name. He could hope that if the cuts were shallow enough they wouldn’t scar so clearly, but no matter what once the blindfold came off he’d see Zander’s name, brutally carved into his arm.

He took his left arm in his hand, keeping a firm grip on his wrist as he pulled his arm towards him. Was this really better, would Wren think so, he wondered, bringing the knife to his skin. Was this worth it? Would he just come out of this hating Zander too? Wren hissed through his teeth at the first few cuts, forming the letter “Z”. He wanted to apologize, he wanted to tell him why he was doing this, that he wouldn’t do it if Wren could’ve told him otherwise, but they didn’t have that luxury, and he had no choice but to decide for Wren what was better. He tried to jerk away as he finished the letter “A” and went on to the “N”, trying to be slow and careful so he wouldn’t hurt him more than necessary. He just held his wrist tighter, wishing he could tell him he was so fucking sorry for this.

By the time he finished Wren seemed more confused and distraught than hurt, the shallow cuts were nothing compared to everything else he’d been through, but he seemed to know something was off, know there was more to it than just a few cuts. Zander couldn’t look away from his arm, six bleeding letters, his name, carved into him like he was property. Wren had been branded, marked as Cain’s already. Vanessa had scarred him the way she did Zander, a scar that told her “this one is mine”. And now he had Zander’s name carved in his skin, and he didn’t even know what that meant because this whole situation and this whole game was just wrong.

“Well, at least you know the pup won’t ever forget you.” She laughed, going to draw her card. “I can’t believe we’re almost done, I’ve been having so much fun…” her voice trailed off at the end of the sentence, something was off. He turned around to look at her, her expression almost mirroring his with the previous card. Wide eyed, almost… nervous. It wasn’t a look he saw on her often, and he wasn’t sure if it was bad or not.

“What did you get…?” He asked, getting to his feet. She didn’t answer, scowling at the card in her hand. It had to be bad if she seemed uneasy about it. He tried to come around to see it, but she slammed it face down on the table, taking a deep breath.

“I can’t do it.”

“What?” He rose an eyebrow. “There’s something even you won’t do?”

“Normally, I would.” She sighed, crossing her arms. “But he already has a broken finger, and I don’t really want to hear from Cain about all this.” At this point he was too curious, reaching over and snatching the card up. He made a face seeing the words “break their arm”, but really he should’ve been relieved, she was giving up.

“You… if you refuse to do it then we’re done.” He had to resist the urge to grin. “If you won’t do this one, then I win.” He shouldn’t be so glad to “win” because given the circumstances it really wasn’t much of a victory, but it felt better than letting her have her way with Wren.

“Actually, neither of us win.” She said stubbornly. “You only win if you get eleven cards, but if you want to look at it this way, yes, you did win. I’ll leave him alone, and I’ll give you an hour with him, fair?”

“Fair.” He put the card down, focusing his attention on Wren. He found his discarded clothes before helping him get dressed first, he had a feeling that’s what he’d want to start with. He ended up leaving his shirt off, not wanting to disturb the lash marks before he could tend to them. He carefully removed the blindfold, Wren blinking against the sudden light. As his tear filled eyes focused on Zander he raised his hands towards his ears, waiting till he nodded to pull the earplugs out.

“One hour.” She reminded him as he helped Wren to his feet. He was shaking, lower lip trembling as he tried to keep from breaking down all over again. He just nodded to Vanessa, carefully helping him out of the room, trying to get him alone.

He didn’t even worry about what was waiting for him after that hour was up. He’d won that sadistic fucking game, even if it was because she more or less gave up, he wouldn’t have to hurt him anymore and she wouldn’t get her hands on him. Knowing that Wren would be safe from that was a victory all it’s own to Zander.

#whump #my writing #my oc's #Wren #Zander #Vanessa #oh boy #electric shocks #beating #kicking #broken bones #cutting #knives #noncon touching #tw rape mention #sadistic whumper #reluctant whumper

75 notes · View notes

hphm-tanaka-chung · 4 years

Text

HPHM Profile - Emmett Chung

Template by @hogwartsmysterystory (condensed for conciseness) || Aesthetic by hufflepuffmystery on Instagram

Identity:

Name: Emmett Chung

Gender: Male

Birth date: March 13, 1973

Age: 16 as of June 1, 1989

Blood Status: Half-Blood (witch mother, Muggle father)

Sexuality: Bisexual (leans towards girls)

Ethnicity: Half-Chinese, half-British

Nationality: British

Residence: Cambridge, England

MBTI: ESFJ

Magic capability:

Wand: Hornbeam and Dragon Heartstring, 11 and ¾ inches, unyielding

Animagus?: In the canon game, Emmett is a dog animagus.

Magical Abilities: In the canon game, Emmett is a Legilimens.

Boggart/Riddikulus: Emmett’s Boggart is an impostor pointing a gun at his head, barrel pressed to his temple. It’s not just of the fact that he’s being ambushed and threatened for his life, but also from the close uncomfortable contact, unfamiliar flesh against his own, that constricts his breath in his throat. In the Riddikulus form, the impostor would turn into a man made entirely out of colourful inflated balloons, with a balloon gun that fizzled with air leaking out from the end. Well, what’s not to laugh about a useless balloon dummy?

Mirror of Erised: Emmett sees himself as an older man in the mirror with a weapon in his hand, a smirk on his face. It was an image of payback on those who hurt him long ago, and for him that was enough.

Patronus: Emmett’s patronus in the game is a leopard.

Amortentia: If Emmett were to get a whiff of Amortentia, he’d smell freshly made sugar doughnuts, ground basil, burning metal, and petrichor. If anyone were to smell his scent, they’d smell a whiff of barbecue sauce, honeysuckle, burning wood, and crushed pine needles.

Appearance:

Face claim: Song Wei Long

Voice claim: Josh Hutcherson

In-Game Appearance:

Height: 5’8”

Weight: …?

Physique: Very fit. He has defined biceps, fairly defined abs. On average otherwise though.

Eye Colour: Sky Blue

Hair Colour: Black

Skin Tone: Pale

Body Modifications: N/A

Scarring: a small red mark about the size of a pea on his collar bone from the time his family was ambushed by complete strangers armed with a gun. The hole had been stitched long ago, but the memory of the gunshot still remained

Inventory: (what do they carry on them?)

-a few extra quills and ink

-a bottle of pigeon feathers

-a box of frog spawn soap

-three glass marbles from his mother

Fashion: A more casual style is what Emmett prefers--he can’t exactly stand t-shirts, though, so he puts a jacket of some sort over it. With one layer he feels vulnerable. Add on a pair of jeans and sneakers, and that completes his look.

Allegiances:

Hogwarts House: Slytherin

Ilvermorny House: Thunderbird

Affiliations:

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry (Slytherin House)

Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes (Ministry of Magic, London)

Order of the Phoenix (UK)

Professions:

Ministry of Magic Employee (Dept of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes)

Spy (Order of the Phoenix)

Hogwarts info:

Class Proficiencies: Astronomy (E), Charms (E), DADA (O), Flying (E), Herbology (E), History of Magic (A), Potions (E), Transfiguration (E)

Electives: Care of Magical Creatures (A), Divination (A), Ancient Runes (E)

Quidditch: Slytherin Keeper (3rd-6th year)

Extracurricular: Duelling Club

Favourite professors: Professor McGonagall, (previously) Professor Rakepick

Least Favourite professors: Professor Snape, Madam Hooch

Relationships:

Best friends (canon): Rowan Khanna, Penny Haywood, Bill Weasley, Nymphadora Tonks, Tulip Karasu, Barnaby Lee, Chiara Lobosca, Jae Kim, Liz Tuttle, Diego Caplan

Rivals: Merula Snyde, Ismelda Murk

Enemy: R, his father’s ‘friends’

Love Interest: Torn between Tulip Karasu and Penny Haywood. While he did have a crush on Penny in first year, it was dampened in 3rd year when he learned of Tulip’s backstory and pulled a few pranks with her. He took her to the Celestial Ball and their first date...but then Penny came slipping through the cracks again...

Dormmates: Rowan Khanna, Barnaby Lee, two other male Slytherins

Pets: Mewy (cat); Hoppy (toad)

Closest canon friends: list above

Closest MC friends: Rose Tanaka

Familial relations:

Mother: Carlotta Chung (nee Trenton)

A woman of British descent and from a family with reputable wizarding ancestry, she attended Hogwarts and was Sorted into Ravenclaw. She was a fine pupil in her day, and eventually landed a job as a Ministry worker, working in the Department of Mysteries.

Father: Wallace Chung

A man with a long family background delving deep into banking and business, he graduated with an honours degree in economics at Oxford University. How he met his wife Carlotta was a mystery--in fact, his entire relationship with Carlotta was kept under wraps. However, he remained very faithful to her, even when the family was being pursued by Snatchers for a rumour that surrounded them since the eldest son’s disappearance.

Brother: Rodney Chung

Eight years older than Emmett, Rodney doesn’t know his younger brother as much as he would want to. The only memory he had of Emmett was that he was almost fatally shot when he was only 5--by someone armed with a gun and his head hidden with a wide-brimmed hat. He ended up going absolute berserk and detached himself from his family the moment he stepped into school.

Background/History:

Emmett’s childhood was very black and white--loved to bits by his mother and father, but constantly living in his brother’s shadow with the only wish that he got to know his brother more and why he was acting so distant. When he was 5, the family was ambushed by a group of Muggles belonging to a Mafia group, the claim being that his father owed them a huge sum of money for ‘breaking a deal’. Enraged, Emmett’s father tried to drive them away, but the group did not leave quietly--they raised hell in the home, shooting multiple bullets and wrecking a lot of things. One of the bullets entered Emmett’s body, striking him in the collarbone and narrowly missing his heart. It was Rodney who drove them away in the end with a stash of dungbombs--and eventually the family had to move to a private estate in Cambridge, living in fear. Emmett was sent away to a hospital to recover from both his wound and the trauma.

(The Mafia group in question was actually Emmett’s father’s ‘friends’--the deal was that as long as he was friends with them, he would not find himself someone to marry. He had no idea that they intended to end his family line, and got married in secret anyway.)

Rodney disappeared two years before Emmett began his journey at Hogwarts. While the rest of the family worried for him, Emmett resented his brother’s decisions. Even if he wanted to bring Rodney back home, he knew he had a lot to owe the family.

Hogwarts Mystery unfolded.

Once Wallace’s case was cleared up, Emmett began to leave home more often, not just for his job at the Ministry (and he did love working in the same place as his mother, don’t get me wrong) but for hanging out more with his friends. He became less and less closed up, and eventually found a place to live on his own, though he always paid his parents and Rodney a visit just to hear Rodney’s full story and to try and mend the broken bond between them.

Emmett joined the Order of the Phoenix as a spy in early 1996.

In May 1998, Emmett joined the Battle of Hogwarts, but he did not survive. He was killed by a heavy pillar pinning him to the ground while running through the corridors. He was honoured alongside all the rest of the fallen, survived by his brother who already had a family of his own.

Personality:

Is it appropriate to say that Emmett has trust issues? Other than his parents, whom he cared for deeply, Emmett had a hard time opening up to new people. Rowan was the first to break through that shell, though, showing him that not all people are as disloyal as he had been led to believe. Sometimes he still retains some venom which he doesn’t hesitate to spit out in his retorts--some people had to help him monitor that. He speaks with no filter, preferring to be blunt and straightforward with his opinions and preferences. Despite his bully-like attitude, however, he’s very studious and works hard. His ambition laid in getting justice for his father.

Misc:

Emmett’s a popular boy with the girls at school--first pointed out by Penny, whom he once had a small crush on despite their polar opposites. However, he couldn’t stand being an object for girls to ogle at, and at one point he snapped at one of the girls for staring starry-eyed at him.

Very few people knew about Emmett’s scar. Only his dorm mates knew, and once he was comfortable enough with his friends they would know of it too.

More facts to come.

#I legit used no effort I am so sorry #hogwarts mystery #hphm emmett chung #hphm #mc profiles #hogwarts mystery mc #about emmett chung

10 notes · View notes

yandere-daydreams · 5 years

Text

A follow-up of that NSFW Villain!Katsuki oneshot, now featuring Dabi, thanks to a lovely commissioner. Someone remind me to write down my thoughts on the villain au, one day, because I have *way* too many thoughts on everything and anything that could throw out favorite kids into the deep-end.

Word Count: 2k

It was hard, finding friends when one’s career is made out of torturing people, arranging bombings, killing heroes, and a long, long list of other atrocities that Katsuki tried not to think about most days. Not to the depth he should. On most days, he didn’t mind. It was lonely on the field, but he had his girl back at home, and underlings to kick around whenever he reflected on his current life too much.

But, lately, that hadn’t been a problem. To his and his latest punching bag’s relief, he’d managed to find a friend… of sorts.

The two were laughing as they crashed into the abandoned warehouse, the door (barely still hanging on its hinges) swinging shut behind Katsuki as Dabi fell onto a stack of crates and palates, the blonde following shortly behind him. Both were laughing, palms still throbbing and smoking from the police they’d just fought off. It’d been fun, more fun than it should’ve been. Having someone else to mock the pitiful attempt at ‘back-up’ the Pro’s had decided to call-in to handle two major villains just made the experience all the more interesting, Katsuki guessed.

It took them a moment to catch their breath, a comfortable silence falling over the room after their laughter slowly trickled out. Dabi was the first to break it, speaking absent-mindedly as the sound of sirens faded into the distance. “Damn, we fuck ‘em up bad. I don’t think I’ll be getting back to my side of town for a few days.” He paused, stretching casually. Despite his earlier nonchalance, the man was covered in bruises and cuts, with a particularly brutal stab-wound in his shoulder. He wouldn’t be fighting anytime soon, to say the least. “Guess I’m bumming it ‘till things die down.”

Katsuki wasn’t sure what he felt towards Dabi, exactly. It was a platonic attraction, for the most part. There was a certain respect to their relationship, a degree of admiration that Katsuki was bitterly happy with. But, it was the kind of feeling that led the boy to smirk, waving off his companion’s concerns. “Don’t even fucking think about it. My base isn’t too far, and you look like shit. I’m not letting you go three more days without a shower.”

Dabi let out another chuckle, this one a little more tense. Obviously, he was testing the waters. “I don’t know, you sure you don’t want me intruding on you and that… darling of yours. I know I was being pretty weird earlier, so I wouldn’t blame you-”

“I said not to fucking think about it, didn’t I?” It was blunt, but Katsuki’s tone was still light, a sign Dabi was quickly catching onto. “I see the way you look at her, always doing that creepy ‘undressing her with your eyes’ thing,” He explained, watching as Dabi glanced away, clearly guilty. It was nothing Katsuki hadn’t been planning for, though. “You want to fuck my baby.”

“Hey, man, I never claimed to be a saint.” He held up a hand defensively, his voice hesitant, but curious all the same. “I mean, you’d be cool with that kind of thing? No offense, but you kinda strike me as the jealous type.”

“We’re friends, aren’t we?” Katsuki laughed, propping his cheek up on an awaiting fist. He slouched in his make-shift chair, getting a little more comfortable. They’d be here for a few hours, at least. “I think we can arrange something.”

You missed Katsuki. More than you’d like to admit.

He wasn’t gone often, not in the scope of things. Even when he stumbled into your room in the middle of the night, with barely enough energy to rip off his clothes before collapsing into bed, you’d still wake up to your… your boyfriend, you guessed (the words felt uncomfortable, but not wrong, much to your discontent), making breakfast a room over and ready to brag about how many heroes he took down between apology kisses.

But, he’d been away for… a while, now. A few days, three or more, for a mission in a town a few hours over. For once, you wished he trusted you enough to give you a phone. You didn’t know you could miss someone’s voice so much.

And, you supposed, you missed… other parts of him, too. Parts that left you twitching and blissed-out, and oh so frustrated without him. Katsuki wasn’t a treat to be around, that was guaranteed, but you never thought you’d resort to one of the many ‘gifts’ he’d gotten over your time together. Most of the assortment he’d managed to collect were novelty items, bought for the sole purpose of making you blush and stutter while Katsuki attempted to coax you into actually using a twenty-inch dildo of questionable structural soundness, but there was one silver lining.

And Katsuki got to see that first hand.

It took more self-control than it should’ve to rip your hand away from your mouth as the normally bolted door swung open, swallowing the moans that were still threatening to tear at your throat. You knew how you looked, hair messy, face red, sheets bunched up around your waist and one of Katsuki’s dress shirts clinging to your skin, barely big enough to stay closed around your chest, but it wasn’t like you could run for cover. Your heart only dropped further into your stomach as your eyes darted towards the door, an unfamiliar, dark figure lingering behind Katsuki as he rushed to greet you.

“You never knock,” You muttered, barely able to spit the words out before Katsuki’s arms envelope you, pulling you into a tight, crushing hug, and practically shoving his tongue down your throat as soon as he was close enough. He pulled away quickly, leaving you panting and gagging as he laughed, resting his forehead against yours all-too-tenderly. You wanted to hug him back, or at least melt into the gesture, but you couldn’t keep your eyes from drifting to the mysterious stranger now standing much too closely for your comfort. “Suki… since when do you bring people home?”

Momentarily, he let you go, scanning over your form with a gaze more hungry then you were used to. His words was slow, drawn-out. Mocking. It didn’t help that his hands trailed down your arms as he spoke, you grip unconsciously tightening around the small object in your hand. “I don’t know, since when do you try to do my job?” Without warning, your fist was pried open, the small, silver bullet vibrator you’d been trying desperately to hide soon hanging from two fingers, on display for everyone to see. “Babe, you can’t replace a flesh and blood dick with this shit, don’t you know that?”

You couldn’t prevent the scowl quickly working its way onto your lips, nor the reflexive move you made to grab the toy out of his hands. But, Katsuki just jerked it back, sliding the slick-soaked device into his mouth so casually, you could hardly help the way you flinched. “You see, love, the fucker over and I made an agreement,” He continued, voice slightly stifled by the... object. “He’s real interested in my pretty little darling, and since I’m so considerate, I thought it’d only be fair if I gave him a try.” Katsuki paused, fishing the bullet out of his cheek. He took his time, licking a long, teasing stipe up the toy’s length, before throwing you a grin and tossing it to Dabi, who slipped it into his pocket without a moment of hesitation. “Sharing is caring, right?”

A brief silence hung in the air as Katsuki took his leave, patting Dabi’s shoulder and wishing him the best as he left. Saying you were stunned, shocked, would’ve been an understatement, your hands know clenched around the sheets, mouth struggling to close, even as Dabi took another step forward. By the time he was standing in front of you, a smirk plastered across his lips that rivaled Katsuki’s own, you’d only just registered his presence. You forced yourself to glare up at him, trying to keep your voice even as you spoke. “You’re not-”

Dabi didn’t hesitate, practically tacking you. He cut you off directly, his lips crashing into yours in a toothy, messy, wet kiss, biting at your lips whenever you refused to part them. “You know how long I’ve been waiting for this, babygirl?” He asked, ripping the sheets away from your lower half, quickly grabbing your thighs, forcing your hips to meet his and grinding violently. You could feel the buttons of Katsuki’s shirt pressing into your skin, your wetness soaking into the fabric of Dabi’s pants… soon, all that frustration you tried to repressed was returning in full-force. And Dabi wasn’t doing much better, growling against your lips. “Fucking weeks. It’s been hell, having to look at another man and know he’s the one making you scream.” Finally, he moved away from your mouth, peppering your jaw with short, quick, painful nips. “Let’s fix that.”

With that, Dabi pulled away, his back straightening and allowing him to stare down at you. Feeling a plea form in your throat, you reflexively moved to cover your mouth, but Dabi just grabbed your wrist with his free hand, pushing you back down into the mattress. “You know, I had a long talk with that boy-toy of yours,” He started, his hands soon leaving your wrist, trailing to your cheek so slowly, you almost wanted to lean into his touch. Fortunately, you didn’t really have a choice for very long. His thumb slipped into your mouth shamelessly, pressing against your tongue as you closed your eyes, if only out of embarrassment. “He went on for hours, making you seem like such a good little slut. The perfect little whore,” He chuckled, pulling back to grope at your chest. He was so much rougher than Katsuki, lacking any of the gentle touches and so much of the affection. And fuck, you loved it. “You’re gonna be a good girl for me too, right?”

“N-No! You’re not my Katsuki.” Your voice was unsteady, louder than you meant it to be, but you still shook your head, attempting to sit up, if only to show that you weren’t going to just take this. And yet, that certainly didn’t mean you were surprised when a scarred hand landed on your chest, shoving you against the headboard.

“We’ll see how long at attitude lasts…” Dabi trailed off as his head dipped between your thighs, nipping at your skin as he moved lower. Your legs threatened to close around his head as he pressed the flat of his tongue against your cunt, licking at a gentle, leisurely pace. It didn’t take long for him to pause, savoring the taste and forcing you to let out a high-pitched, needy whine. He moaned at the sound, the vibrations only making things so much worse. Dabi didn’t have any intentions of letting you win, either, sucking on your clit so lightly, when he wasn't tracing random, delicate patterns against your entrance. Instantly, you could feel the pressure in your stomach, sparks building up so quickly but never reaching the point you needed them to.

When you found your voice, it was low, quieter than he should’ve been able to make-out. “Please…”

He hummed, only making you squirm under him. But, that didn’t stop Dabi from pausing, kissing the inside of your thigh between breaths, sucking and kissing and biting until there had to be a mark. “What was that, babygirl? Wanna speak up?”

“Dabi,” You whined, reaching over to rake your hands through his hair, pushing his down ever-so-slightly. “Please, Dabi, I need you. Please make me cum!”

“Isn’t that sweet? See, I knew you’d be good for me.” Another laugh, this one deeper, darker. But, you were past the point of caring. The only thing you could think about was how good it felt when his tongue slid into your cunt, a hand suddenly rubbing hard circles into your clit. You came undone with a sob, a moan catching in your throat. As he pulled away, you attempted to catch your breath in short, shallow pants, only to be interrupted by something hard and long thrusting inside of you. Your moans turned to whimpers, Dabi’s cock fucking into you without giving you a second to adjust.

“Don’t-” You complaints were kissed away, sloppier than before, but just as passionate, Dabi burying his face in your neck a moment later, groaning into your skin as his hips moved sporadically, not resting until you were clenching around his dick, clawing into his jacket just to keep yourself stable. You weren’t sure how many times you climaxed, or if you came at all, before he twitched inside of you, barely slowing down as he came.

Both of you were still as he damn-near collapsed on top of you, thrusting one more time just to see you tear-up. You let yourself close your eyes as he pulled out, barely bothering to re-adjust himself before pulling you into his chest, letting you curl into his warmth despite your best intentions. You could hardly hear the purr he let out, so tired, so ready to just shut your eyes and sleep.

Little did you know, that might be the only time Dabi was nice enough to let you rest. Per their ‘agreement’, Dabi just got a week to spend with his favorite new toy, before Katsuki got you back for the rest of the month. He’d get to see you again, of course, but he never tended to be very patient with something so adorable.

And as long as he had anything to say about it, you two weren’t going to waste a second of your time together.

681 notes · View notes