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neobomb · 6 months

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give into things i (dont) want to [na jaemin]

academic rival! (yandere ish) prev! big ego!Jaemin x reader, hints of library worker!math major!Jungwoo x reader Part of the give into things i (dont) want to series. Warnings: mature themes, toxic/inappropriate behaviour, masterbation, forcing??, implied slut shaming, MDNI, there will be smut in part 2 Word Count: 2.2k Summary: You learn about academic rival!Jaemin's biggest secret. © 2023 @neobomb. Unauthorized copying, translation, manipulation, or alteration of this work is strictly prohibited. All rights reserved.

Jaemin never viewed it as a competition, the rivalry between you and him. It wasn't about outdoing you. More than anything, he yearned for your attention. With time, he faced a truth he couldn't escape: he was deeply, hopelessly in love with you. He adored that confident smirk you'd wear whenever you believed you had the upper hand. The way you'd toss your hair back as you raced to claim your favorite study spot in the library, ensuring he couldn't get there first. Something about you got him filled with excitement.

But for you, every interaction was tinged with rivalry. You hate him so much. With his stoic façade and that penetrating, icy stare, he stood apart. You've always had a distaste for those who appeared too perfect, and Jaemin epitomized that to a tee. Not only was he the top student at your school, but he was also incredibly handsome, rich and popular. The young boy wants to be a surgeon when he grows up. It's almost laughably cliché, like a scene from a cheesy rom-com. Boys wanted to be him, girls wanted to be his.

Senior year of high school was poised to be the most pivotal year of your lives. The first significant exam loomed just after your 18th birthday. You don't regret skipping your birthday celebration, as securing the top score and outperforming Jaemin took precedence in your mind. It’s more important to stay on top, you thought to yourself.

You’re sitting at your favorite spot in the library, a secluded spot framed by expansive windows. You love to sit there because it's hidden and private. The sun rays from the windows fall on your cheeks, as you tap your pen lightly on your notebook. You stare intensely at a specific problem from a past lecture.

“To tackle this problem, one common approach is to use the residue theorem. Consider the contour that is a semicircle in the upper half-plane, C, which is composed of the real line segment from −R to R and the semicircular arc of radius R in the upper half-plane, where R is a large positive real number.” You turned around, confronted by the insufferable smirk you knew all too well. Jaemin is standing right behind you with his hands behind his back.

“Nice try, Jaemin. I don’t need help from a pretentious prick like you.” You refocus on your problem sheet, doing your utmost to block out his irksome presence.

“You just looked like you were struggling so much.” You brush off his comments. They hold no weight for you now. He'd thrown every insult at you, calling you every name in the book, and over time, you learned not to take them to heart. It was wiser to remain unfazed by the persistent negativity, or at the very least, to appear so.

“I’m not listening to whatever you’re trying to say.” You slipped your headphones back on, signaling your intent to shut him out.

"Well, happy late birthday, loser." he remarks before retreating to his usual spot. He always chooses the table adjacent to yours, separated by a sizable bookshelf that obstructs his line of sight. But he'd subtly shift a few books, creating small gaps that allowed him to sneak glimpses of you, desperately hoping that you wouldn’t catch him in the act. He could observe you engrossed in your studies for hours on end.

You have always been really pretty. Sometimes, when you would scratch your legs, making your skirt ride up higher, or when you would unbutton your shirt low enough for your cleavage to be exposed, he would unbuckle his pants, bring out his painfully hard dick, and jerk off to the sight of your delicate body like no tomorrow. He would only be able to bring himself to do such sinful acts in the late hours when only you and he remained in the library.

Occasionally, when you would step away to use the restroom, Jaemin would quickly approach your desk and steal some of your personal items, ensuring he discreetly returned them to easily spotted locations the very next day. His favorite item to steal would be your cherry flavored chapstick. You never thought it was odd how your personal items would vanish, only to reappear by the base of your desk the following day.

It was embarrassing to him, truly. It felt pathetic to be so smitten with someone who calls him a loser, an arrogant snob, someone who would likely never see him in a romantic light.

For as long as Jaemin had been aware of you, you'd mostly been a solitary figure, steering clear of the limelight. A complete loner. During breaks, Mr. Johnny Suh from English Literature appeared to be your sole confidante, as you eagerly exchanged thoughts about your recent reads. Your eyes always lit up with passion when discussing a book's turning points. Occasionally, Jaemin would interject himself into your discussions, eager to catch your gaze. "Such a teacher's pet," you'd silently muse whenever he did that.

But recently, Jaemin noticed a new figure entering your orbit. Your growing closeness with the new library employee, Kim Jungwoo, had him curious about its origins. Jungwoo, a math major from the town's renowned university, and coincidentally good friends with Jaemin’s older brother, Jaehyun.

Always working the closing shifts, Jungwoo often assisted you with your math homework. In return, you'd stay late to help him tidy the bookshelves. Jungwoo, the comedian that he is, often left you bursting into giggles with his endless jokes. On occasions when you felt uneasy walking home alone, Jungwoo offered to walk you home, even though his apartment was on the opposite side of town.

It was clear that it all enraged him extremely. Jaemin is extremely jealous. He detested how Jungwoo would sit beside you in the library to help you with your homework, obstructing his view of you through the gaps of the bookshelf. Jungwoo would keep an eye on your desk whenever you had to use the bathroom.

—

Jungwoo had invited you over to his apartment for dinner, and you presumed it was a date. Your excitement was palpable. Over the recent months, you had developed a crush on him. He was the epitome of a gentleman, brilliantly intelligent, humble and undeniably attractive. Always, treating you with the utmost respect.

As you neared what you believed to be his door, you quickly check your reflection in a compact mirror, touching up your makeup and hair for the hundredth time. Taking a deep breath, you then pressed his doorbell.

In a swift moment, his door opened wide. "Y/N, you're right on time." Jungwoo greets you with a smile, ushering you into his apartment and gently shutting the door behind you.

"I brought your favorite snacks," you mentioned, just as he enveloped you in a warm embrace.

As the evening unfolded, you and Jungwoo conversed for hours on a myriad of topics. He cocooned you in blankets and played your favorite tunes. Yet, you sensed something amiss with him; he appeared somewhat distant, as though something weighed on his mind.

“I feel like you’re holding back on something. Something that’s bothering you.” you voiced, attempting to diffuse the palpable tension.

“I’m all ears. You can tell me anything.” You remind him. He scratches his head before taking a deep breath.

“There is something I’ve been meaning to tell you. The exact reason why I asked you to come over.” He starts. “Since people have been complaining about lost items at the library, I was assigned to watch over some security footage…” He paused, letting the silence stretch.

“And?” you prompted, eager for him to proceed. “It’s Jaemin… I watched him beat his dick to you on the security footage… I think…” You're completely taken aback. The words don't seem to compute. Surely, you would have noticed if anything of the sort had occurred. You simply did not believe what you’re hearing.

“I’m not totally sure since the footage is not of the best quality… But it seems like he’s watching you in between gaps of books on the bookshelf… And it would happen often, like… every other day and it would only happen when you’re there.” Jungwoo continued. He finally meets your gaze. The depth of concern in his eyes reveals just how troubled he is by the situation.

“There is also footage of him stealing your items whenever you leave your desk.” You had often pondered why, since spending time with Jungwoo at the library, your items never went missing or were left behind like it always did previously.

“I never had the opportunity to tell you this because I always felt like he was watching us. Sorry for not telling you about this earlier.” He pulls his arms around you in a comforting hug.

“Please, Y/N. Be careful. I can help you get a restraining order on him. I don’t want anything to happen to you.” Your face is buried in his chest.

“Jaemin can be dangerous, especially if his ego gets hurt. I've known him since he was just a baby in diapers. Please trust me, Y/N.” Although uncertainty lingers about the whole situation, you trust Jungwoo. You take him at his word, believing he has no reason to deceive you.

—

It's been two weeks since you discovered Jaemin's unsettling perverted behavior. The library hasn't seen you since; the memories are just too unnerving. At school, you stopped talking to Mr. Suh. You refuse to put yourself in any situation that might lead to an encounter with Jaemin. Instead, you've done your best to sidestep him, believing it to be the wisest course of action for the time being. Hopefully it will keep you safe for now.

It did not take long for Jaemin to pick up on the unusual habits of yours. Jaemin's anger is palpable. Something prompted your avoidance, and he's had his suspicions from the start. In his mind, it had to be because of Jungwoo. Who did Jungwoo think he was, effortlessly pulling you closer while Jaemin, ever so impeccable, felt sidelined despite harboring feelings for you all these years? It all seemed too orchestrated. He has to do something about it, he thinks and lets his anger completely take over.

As you make your way home from school, nearing a narrow alleyway, a sudden sound catches your attention: "Why haven't you been at the library? Struggling to keep up with me?" Jaemin's voice caught you off guard as he stood casually in front of you, hands nestled in his pockets. Nervously, you tugged away your earphones, a look of unease evident on your face. The library had always been your sanctuary. Jaemin couldn't help but wonder if Jungwoo was the reason for your absence.

"I... um... I have somewhere… uhm… to be," you stammered, attempting to move past him, but he obstructed your exit, moving awfully close to you.

“Why have you been so nervous lately? You’ve been avoiding me, haven’t you?.” Jaemin says with an amused smile. ”You’ve always called me names. Pretending to be so cool. Now you can’t even look at me without shaking to your core.” he continues.

“It’s Jungwoo isn’t it? You like to play innocent but you’re not. You like playing around with older guys, don’t you Y/N? I wouldn’t be surprised if you tried to shoot your shot with mr. Suh." Jaemin's voice pierces the silence, sending a chill down your spine. "I... I don't know what you mean… We’re just friends." you respond, your voice betraying a hint of panic.

“You’re the worst liar, Y/N.” he says he pins you to the brick wall, holding a tight grip on your wrist. Jealousy was written all over his face. “Jaemin, please. What are you doing?” you plead to him. Terror gripped you. The menacing darkness in his eyes seemed to penetrate your very soul.

Jaemin swiftly put his lips on yours, pulling you into a deep and lustful kiss. Tears wells your eyes as you desperately try to release yourself from his strong grip. This feels wrong. So wrong.

Jaemin pulls back from the kiss to search your eyes. He recognizes that expression instantly - the look of defeat. The anguish that twisted your expression only seemed to fuel his satisfaction. He could tell he was causing discomfort, and your reactions confirmed it for him.

He goes in for another lustful kiss to then break away from it again. Jaemin sought your gaze, firmly grasping your face until you were compelled to meet his self-assured, lustful eyes. With each passing moment, his sense of relief grew, sensing your surrender. He could feel the weight of your defeat and the shame of realizing you were powerless against it. This was it. He had you exactly where he wanted you. Perhaps it had been a competition all along, and he had emerged victorious.

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razypie · 9 months

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Colors of Different Hue (You) || Gun Park x Reader

cw: a bit graphic in one of the scenes, wc: ~5.2k summary: gun is a lovesick idiot but doesn't want to admit it third-person pov, fem nurse!reader, ooc gun (my delulu version actually), and reaally fast-paced a/n: heavily-inspired by 'Hotarubi no Mori e' story-telling, so there are lotsa flashbacks hehe

"Oooh, look who’s got a date today!" Goo giggled as he peeked back from the wooden porch facing his partner's backyard.

Gun almost had uncharacteristically gotten on his knees in front of the chairman to let him off on this specific day, and now this weapon freak's presence was about to wreck the day before it started.

"Not now, Goo. Why the hell are you even here?" Gun fixed his tie in front of his wide half-length mirror, scooped a generous amount of gel, and brushed his hair back neatly.

"Oh, come on, I was getting bored. Samuel wasn't picking up because of his Workers' Affiliate BS, and Logan has exams this week. For real? That guy should drop out already, it's no use."

"So you decided to stroll your way here to annoy me instead?"

"You got that right!" The blonde eyesore jumped up and hopped his way on square concrete blocks to one of the bamboo trees lined up along the fence.

"Whatever. You better leave the house before I do, or I'll stick that bamboo shoot you just pulled up your ass." Gun warned his house's intruder, who reached out to one of the young bamboo plants.

"Not everything is a katana, you anime samurai wannabe." He picked up his sunglasses and black coat and made his way to his Porsche parked in the space opposite the bamboo trees.

"Says the guy who bought a Japanese mansion in the middle of nowhere." Goo huffed a childish pout. "Jeez, I was gonna use these for cooking snacks, but you just had to give me a disgusting picture."

He gave the man in the car a side glance and sighed. "I was doing you a favor here, man."

The morning sun radiated a warm glow on the dark sheen of Gun's sunglasses as he swiftly drove through the outskirts of Seoul. The wide stretches of green pastures emerging from both sides of the road whistled a soft tune into his ears.

Unlike most people who want to live in extravagance with cameras shoved in their faces every single moment, there were times when Gun preferred to settle in a remote area, far from the reeks of city lights, where he could be alone with himself, his thoughts, and his hard-earned (i.e. bloodstained) money.

But of course, the nature of his work required Gun to be by his employer's side around the clock else his grand funeral wouldn't be much later.

So he made the best of these hand-picked moments when he could persuade his boss to grant him off-days.

Gun has the whole map of Seoul memorized from his monthly crusades and made that mental map involuntarily take the wheel and let his mind wander off for a while.

He pulled his car to a stop in front of a flower shop. As he got out, he noticed a gray umbrella hanging on a covered shed's railing.

'That bastard still owes me for that… and a shit-ton of money for losing in every bet.' But then again, he wouldn't have met Y/N if Goo didn't break his umbrella.

'Hah. No way I’m telling him.'

It was a stormy night with distant rumbles of thunder.

His eyes landed on a small figure of a lady in front of him and a bit to his right; the two were taking refuge under a mono-sloped roof of a bus stop.

Even with thick layers of bright-colored clothing enveloping her figure, Gun noticed her shivering with her arms crossed to her chest gripping her shoulders.

The man had nothing to do anyways beside impatiently waiting until the rain wanes, and everything else around him was too dull and gray to entertain him. So, his eyes remained on the peculiar lady, the only other color he could see; a color that penetrated even the darkest tints of his shades.

He examined her.

'The hell is up with this woman? It's not even that cold.'

Gun turned up an amused grin at the memory as he stopped over at a flower shop. He grabbed his coat and caught a whiff of lavender-scented detergent he recognized as Y/N's.

'Oh. It's her again.' Gun recognized the woman from the other day who had now crouched down to check his injuries. He tried telling her off but to no avail.

"I knew you were a gangster five meters away, dumbhead, but that doesn't mean these 'scratches' (as you called them) will heal themselves… I'm only here to do my job."

'Okay, lady. Be my pest.'

He yielded and rested his back against the brick wall at the end of an alleyway where this meddlesome woman found him.

A light trail of lavender caught his nose; 'That's odd…” his eyes lingered on the lady. “for someone with a sharp tongue and flashy style.'

Now that she's much closer with her hair tied up in a bun, Gun could examine her more closely. Unlike yesterday, she's in full white get-up now: a clean set of white scrubs matched with white shoes.

'A nurse, huh. Probably an intern because I'm looking at a fucking dwarf.'

…

"Shoot."

Apparently, patching Gun's 'scratches' made her miss the last bus.

"That's what you get for doing your job."

"Oh, shut up."

Droplets of pouring rain halted the bickering that was about the start.

…

Gun had to admit though, she did a stellar job mending his wounds.

Ego not permitting him to tell her his thanks, he nonchalantly dropped his thick coat over her head instead while noticing blotches of rain wet her uniform.

Recalling her trembling the other day, the self-proclaimed gentleman also offered to drive her home.

Gun's eyes lingered down his coat and figured he hadn't picked it from his wide selection of corporate attires to wear since Y/N returned it; he might've intentionally kept it there to let her fragrance rub off on his other clothes… or not, only he and God knew.

A bell chime signaled his entry to the shop, and a lady from the opposite end greeted him with a welcoming smile.

After paying for a bouquet of white chrysanthemums, Gun bowed and turned his heel to the wooden-framed glass door.

The cashier gave him a concerned look but settled with a short smile.

Gun decided to walk the rest of the way, paced long strides along the stone-paved sidewalk into the busier streets of Seoul.

Turning his head towards ordinary stalls he used to turn a blind eye to as flashes of Y/N’s twinkling eyes with her hand around the doorknob and an arm linked to his tattooed one surfaced.

A grin crept up to his cheeks.

Since their first encounter, Gun found himself driving past the hospital Y/N works at. Later on, it became a routine. Random nights when he stops by and waits for her at the bus stop in front to chat about each other's day or to give her a ride home, especially when it's raining.

But of course, he took account of his schedule. He's a busy man, and his spare time, scarce; all of which however, have been filled in by Y/N the more they hung out:

Mondays to Thursdays, he would take the longer route to HNH Building, to have a cup of morning coffee (or so he says) at a restaurant near the hospital. Y/N would walk in, couple of squints later, then wave at him.

"What a coincidence!" she exclaims. "Yeah." he replies dryly.

Fridays to Saturdays, Y/N's off-duty schedule. She would go to the public library to study for her weekly moving exams. It just so happened that Gun also reviewed for GED exams there (the real coincidence).

Surprisingly, Gun is good at memorization, so is Y/N at general trivia. It was effective mutualism.

Sundays were the wildcard. One is busy. Or both are busy. If neither, Gun would accompany Y/N to a random place she keeps going on and on about for the entire week or they would chill in his house (whether he wants it or not).

It's an actual miracle that Goo didn't catch them hanging out, really. Although, he had suspicions… getting a sweet trace of lavender in his partner's house when he barges in without notice (you don't just put "sweet" and "Gun" together). Or when Gun's mood swings become less and less frequent despite the blonde's incessant annoyance sprees.

Goo was itching to bully him for it, but he needed concrete evidence—the ones that would put the jackpot horrified look on the demon's stoic face.

Gun needs to be more cautious around his pest of a partner.

It won't be too long until Goo sees through his lies of checking into brothels on Sundays.

Ah, about that.

It's been ages since Gun set foot into one.

…

Huh.

Guess he found Y/N a more entertaining distraction from work than any bent back he broke.

They just… instantly clicked after their first encounter–like a string of Fate wrapped each of them in a disgustingly cute bow as a present for each other.

They were inseparable. One was the other's breathing space: from Y/N 's tiring hospital duties and from Gun's major crew business.

They were each other's pieces in the puzzle they didn't know were missing.

Friends... they would call each other. But were they really? Might've been even more if they knew what the force that attracted them to each other actually was.

(Ugh. Fate was having none of this folly.)

Gun stifled a laugh. A lot has happened in the short time he met her, yet there's still a lot to be unpacked for this lady.

"W-wait!" Y/N huffed, holding up a hand between her and Gun. "Not the one to use gender cards here but… go easy on me here, man. Clearly, you have the men's advantage in stamina." Y/N pouted at Gun with what seemed like an attempt to do a puppy face, but she only looked like a constipated shih tzu to him.

He raised an eyebrow but maintained his stance.

"Oh, cut the bullshit, woman. You run around the hospital 24/7. Sparring should just be a piece of cake to you."

"Still–"

"You think those harassing fuckers were the same brats you fought in middle school and go easy on you because you're a girl?"

His eyes scanned her from head to toe. He sneered.

"I bet bruises aren't the only thing they'll leave you had you let your guard down."

"Huh?"

"Nothing."

"Anyway, I don't know why you're suddenly so adamant, teaching me how to fight." Gun didn't answer, earning a glare from Y/N.

"Besides, I only wrestled those wimps back then to keep them from bullying other kids. That doesn't mean I'd actively engage in one now," She put her hands up in the air in surrender and crossed her legs to sit down, to which Gun loosened up.

"...unlike SOME people."

"You did last time at the park." He jeered.

Y/N rolled her eyes. "Well, duh. Those two creeps kept pestering me, asking for my number. I also texted you, but you left me on read. Did it look like I had a choice?" She eyed him daggers.

"Could've at least used your strength for something genuinely helpful, you sadist."

"Which I did, your punches were getting slow, and you couldn't defend yourself for two whole minutes when I got there, so I finished the job for you. Good work lasting for even a minute."

He was lying, of course.

As soon as he read her message, he sped to the location she sent. When he arrived, the fight had just broken out with Y/N caving in one of the creeps' faces with her clenched fist. He saw her give the other one a solid kick on the ribs and counter back with a knee to the face.

He could tell she had fighting experience, despite sluggish, with those limbs; and he just watched her fend for herself until she wore out…

He cringed.

Yeah… he is a sadist.

"You're right. Let me make it up to you by making you tea then." She used that as an excuse to end their training for the day as she stood up and went to Gun's kitchen.

The latter watched her back disappear in the hallway.

With how their conversation went, it seems Y/N isn't interested in becoming his successor at all. She already rejected him before he could even offer it.

"I guess beating people up for money isn't her 'cup of tea.' It's way easier than having a hospital suck your life out."

…

But not long after, when they were on their way to a cake shop Y/N wanted to check out, some weak-ass thief was also on the loose and unfortunately chose Y/N to be his target.

Yes, that's right. Unfortunate for the thief.

Long story short, Y/N's hospital will get another patient.

Gun looked at the disfigured face of the stupid fucker with beaming pride at what his student is capable of (Y/N dislikes the idea of Gun calling her his student, though).

He then turned to his masterpiece with a pleased grin and noticed her with arms across her chest while shaking.

"What are you doing?" No response; she was uttering something with her eyes closed.

"I am safe; I am strong."

…

She seemed shocked.

'Eh. It'll pass. I taught her enough to deal with punks like these.'

The sun's afternoon rays peeked from the thin linings of thick-smoked cumulonimbus clouds. It dulled the shadow of the man walking on copper-bricked pavement.

Gun heaved a deep sigh. A couple of months ago, he was laser-focused on managing their debt-collecting business, then working as Crystal's bodyguard and finding a successor.

That felt ages ago somehow. His recent calendars have been him dealing with Y/N's antics. Not that he was complaining, he found it amusing to know a woman he could see eye-to-eye on things. No strings attached.

There was something about how she looked at him; neither a hint of fear nor looming intimidation.

Just warmth.

Warmth that melts the iciest of his glares. A soft smile that ebbs his turbulent chaos. Words that tear down his barriers, strip him off his 'Shiro Oni' persona, leaving him with just plain Jonggun Park.

He's also seen patterns of her behavior: the way her eyebrows arches up when she looks at him, the glimmer in her eyes when talking about her pets at home, her nose scrunching up as she recalls medical acronyms, her fingers curling up as she tucks strands of her hair behind her ear, her pouty lips and rosy cheeks when he teases her (his favorite). He memorized them all; and still she continues to surprise him with more.

Stitch that with mood swings and annoying outbursts, and you have Y/N!

How can a woman be so complex yet so... normal?

'One moment she gets mad when I keep my clothes all over the place in my own house, but then when I visit the hospital, she's the one who was all over the place herself with stress and panic...'

"The hospital was packed when you came in; it was just bad timing. I'm perfectly calm most of the time." She huffed.

That didn't convince him one bit.

She continued to weave questions into his mind.

'What was this weird fixation on this lady? How very unlike me to have interest in anyone beyond their physical strength. When did I start to…'

She does have a slightly above-average physical strength; he wouldn't have batted an eyelash at her if he didn't see potential.

Was that the reason why he was so drawn to her, though? Did Gun ever really sit down and mull over his odd relationship with the quirky Y/N, who is living a life opposite to his?

…

Oh.

...

That IS the very reason he got attracted to her; the fact that she's composed of a lot of things.

Unlike him, who lived the script laid out for him, she wrote her own.

Unlike him, who has only ever seen the thick crimson stains on his shirt, the light gray smoke he exhales from his cancer stick, and the overall black-and-white world he's caged in, hers was made up of different shades of life, the different hues of people she met, and different flavors of memories she savored.

All of them painted a picture of a woman that spilled color onto anyone she touched--including him.

She showed him what lies beyond his dog-eat-dog world.

"Dude, tell me. You're actually blind, aren't you?"

'Ah, shit. Here we go again.'

"Your eyes were gouged out in a fight and you spent years training with your remaining senses, didn't you? Now, you're hunting to seek revenge on those who wronged you."

Y/N gasped at her eureka moment. "I cracked the code."

"Cool backstory you've built there, but no. How the fuck could see the road if--"

"Or maybe you are a famous celebrity! They always wear sunglasses to hide their identity."

"Ever heard of famous celebrities getting into gang fights?" Gun knows one, though. But Y/N doesn't.

"..."

"There's your answer."

"Ditch the sunglasses then, you hitman try-hard." She pouted in dismay and looked away with her crossed arms on her chest.

"It baffles me how you still wear them even in training. Even now, you look more like my bodyguard instead of a friend. What the hell?!"

"Then, deal with it."

"Gah! You insufferable prick!" Y/N buried her face in her arms on the table.

Gun stared at her small figure with the very eyes that tickled Y/N's curiosity.

He had long forgotten what his inborn eyes looked like… those wretched eyes.

He'd rather gouge his eyes himself had he failed to unlock his unconscious sense.

He hated those eyes.

He hated how they made him look vulnerable and inferior.

He hated how "soft" they were and made people deem him incapable at a young age. Gun eventually made them eat their own words.

But most of all, he hated how they began to resurface around Y/N and became more frequent the more they hung out… he didn't want her or anybody to see his image that's been long since buried.

So Gun dulled them out with tinted shades.

"Hey."

He called to break the awkward silence.

No response.

Gun leaned closer. At the same time, Y/N looked up.

He was caught off guard when she suddenly sandwiched his face between her palms.

"Hehe. Gotcha!" She snickered.

His sunglasses loosely fell down the bridge of his nose. Y/N caught a view of his ebony eyes for the first time, at which her eyes widened.

"Gun, your eyes..." Naked eyes meet each other for the first time. Locked as time stopped. Her sudden perplexion eventually subsided, turning soft as she rubbed his cheek.

"They are pretty."

He didn't know which pair of eyes she was looking at right now. But it didn't matter anymore.

The red string was dusted off to clarity.

He was taught to discard his humanity aside and embrace his pitch-black monstrosity all his life. Since then, that was all he saw--darkness. The void he had ever known engulfed all colors visible in the spectrum.

On the other hand, white emitted them, like how her ridiculously bright-colored clothing pierced his dark-tinted sunglasses. Her comforting rays of light were outstretched for him to latch on.

It was no wonder how he was captivated by her, ensnared in her mere presence.

He was a pathetic moth bewitched by the warmth of her lamp's flame. It was blinding. He knows she is a whole 'nother kind of destructive, and he shouldn't come close, yet her tiny blaze's euphonious crackle, egging on him to inch closer, lulled him into submission.

He was an Icarus flown to her scorching sun. He knew she would destroy him all along, and he let her.

Gun stopped in his tracks at the sight of Y/N 's family nameplate. He collected himself and took a deep breath.

"What a surprise, Jonggun! Are you paying Y/N a visit?" Her mother greeted him with a warm smile.

"It's been months, young man! We missed you!" Her father guffawed, lightly smacking Gun's back.

"Good afternoon, Mr. and Mrs. L/N." Gun bowed his head and offered them a box of cupcakes he remembered Y/N was gushing about. He appeared calm in front of her parents, but he couldn't meet their eyes–not like they'd notice anyway.

Gun snapped his eyes open and landed on Y/N below him; her eyes closed, and her hair sprawled messily around her. She looked ethereal with white draped over her peaceful form.

He got so used to seeing her face filled with intense expressions that her relaxed face seemed fresh as her other features popped out.

It's like falling in love with her all over again.

God, does she look beautiful right now.

She resembled an angel with wings spread on the cold, hard ground.

…

Ground?

…

Color drained from Gun's face as he got pulled back to reality at the sight of carmine ichor oozing from Y/N 's side, seeping through the stitches of her white dress.

It… it all happened in a blink.

She darted towards a lost kid who aimlessly crossed the highway, unknowingly about to get hit by a speeding car. She pushed him to safety and took the hit.

The lady beside Gun shrieked in panic and frantically fished out her phone to call an ambulance.

'She might not make it if we still wait for the damn thing.' He knelt down and checked for response and airway in her system.

She was unresponsive but breathing.

He knew this method. With how frequently he and Y/N were together, how she talked 80% of the time, more often than not, she had run him down the basics of first aid, even if they were out of the blue.

'Must've thought I didn't pay attention, huh? Too fucking bad, Y/N. I always listened to you.'

He carefully roamed his hands on various parts of her unconscious body to check for severe bleeding.

'Shit. Three of her ribs are broken. Her right arm is fractured, and she's rapidly losing blood.' His calloused hands cupped the side of her face where her silky strands loosely hung.

'Her temple is also bleeding, probably from the impact when she hit the ground.'

Blood. All too familiar. It never left Gun as soon as he got his first kill.

The sight of blood shouldn't faze him. But his hands were trembling the more he realized how grave her condition is.

It took everything for him to stop driving his fingers to her hair despite being spotted with dried blood. He withdrew his hands and brushed his stray locks back instead in an attempt to keep his composure.

He was planning on taking her to the hospital himself or treating her in his house (he already has enough nursing supplies for his personal use, but Y/N constantly nagged him to buy more for emergencies). But, in her current state, he couldn't carry her otherwise the issue with her ribs gets worse and affects her internal organs, if they weren't already.

"For emergencies, my ass. Can't use them right now, can I?"

Funny how Y/N remained her composure and even kept their banter going when she first treated Gun. Just goes to show that she IS calm at work.

It's kind of ironic now that they've switched places, though. Even if Y/N taught him all this medical stuff, Gun still couldn't do anything more helpful than wait anxiously for the fucking ambulance.

Gun pinched the bridge of his nose. These injuries wouldn't be a problem for Jinyoung Park. Gun could certainly vouch for that, as he and Goo were regulars in his lab when they were still on probation… when the man was still borderline mentally stable.

He would phone him immediately if he wanted to but decided against it because God knows what that maniac would do to her now at his current state, if he even agrees to tend to her injuries.

Gun withdrew his coat and covered Y/N 's upper body. He rested his left hand on her cold ones in hopes of delaying Death's touch on her.

Honestly, he was at a loss--which was a first; he didn't know what to do with it. But Gun knew he had to stay with Y/N until help arrived.

He curled his hand around Y/N's.

"She is safe. She is strong… She isn't alone."

Gun found himself uttering the same chant again as if in prayer.

He always viewed Y/N as a warrior shielding the weak, a saint devotees pray to for protection. She had always put others' well-being above hers--a trait befitting of a nurse.

But that overshadowed the image of blood and bones beneath her soft, paper-thin skin as it was under the guise of a rigid exterior.

Fucked up it may seem, but Gun knows he isn't at fault entirely for what happened: Y/N made her decision, was well aware of the consequences, and still chose to do it.

Even so, he could feel a stinging pang in his chest, telling him that he should've caught up to her had he ran and pushed Y/N and the stupid boy himself. But the four major crews were at peak then, so he ultimately chose to do nothing.

And it tore his heart--something he thought had been long abandoned.

The 'heart' was meant to be just an empty hole where every last bit of tenderness was carved out of his chest. The hollow pit that reminded him of his decision to walk the path of blood… was forcefully filled with infectious laughter, sweet melodies, and soft rhythmic heartbeats of life.

The words "Gun" and "sweet" didn't seem uncharacteristic when put together now, huh.

He gazed at what remained of her longingly, reminiscent of memories they'd shared, despite short.

"You painted my heart in different forms that I can hardly call it my own anymore."

Gun's grip on the bouquet tightened.

"We shouldn't even have met--we're worlds apart, for crying out loud. But Fate decided to fuck around people and chose us, I guess."

But at least he was able to see the world in color--for the first and last time.

He was never meant to have it, anyway.

…

...

"PFFT--"

Gun jolted on his seat as laughter echoed around the room.

Y/N wheezed. "I didn't know you could be so poetic, Gun Park!"

It took a moment for Gun to process his surroundings.

He is currently in Y/N's bedroom. A relatively small space compared to his bedroom, which is infinitely wider. Her room looks more lively and festive than his empty one, though.

Other than her working table, everything else was decorated with strings of polaroids, LED lights, and stuffed toys ranging from tiny crocheted keychains to life-size pillows randomly decorated the room.

Wow. There's a whole new world to be explored in here.

Gun waved his trailing thoughts away and finally faced Y/N, who sat on her bed. Her lively demeanor didn't cover up her poor condition though, which is painfully understandable.

He should've brought medical supplies that were piling up in his house. And cupcakes, really? He didn't go out for a picnic.

Well, it's nothing worse than her in a casket.

He cleared his throat.

"More importantly, how long since you left the hospital?"

"Two months."

"And you never even contacted me once?"

"Well, you've never visited me since… the accident. I thought you simply forgot about me, you being a busy person and all."

He TRIED to forget her, for Christ's sake.

After Kouji tracked the bastard's location with the car's plate number he sent, Gun didn't waste a second and pummeled the hit-and-runner to death.

Then… he carried on to another chapter of his life, as usual.

Gun wholeheartedly believed Y/N was just another fleeting name in his book, just torn scratched pages of requiems lacing love songs that weren't supposed to be written.

So, he let time help him forget.

Spoiler: he never did; he just couldn't. How could he when everywhere he looked, he saw her?

"I was… busy at work."

"See? Anyway, that's okay. Don't sweat it, man. My prank made up for it." She laughed it off.

Gun prepared himself for the worst when he entered Y/N 's house; he felt his stoic façade crack as a flash of disappointment in Y/N's face was conjured in his mind.

Her cheerful welcome (sneaky prank) washed all of his worries away.

In the end, it was better than what he anticipated.

"So, how are you feeling?"

She frowned, an eyebrow arched up in disapproval.

"The Gun I know doesn't give a shit about 'feelings'. Who are you and what did you do to him?"

He deadpanned. "Just… answer the question."

"To be honest, I feel like shit right now. Being bedridden for months? Getting injected with pain relievers, tons of prescriptions and rehab sessions, everyday? Now, I know how my patients felt…"

How talkative for someone feeling like shit. Even so, he let her talk–like how they usually did. It felt melancholic.

"...and I was finally discharged. They said I can go back to work when I'm fully recovered." She sent him a toothy grin.

Her eyes landed on the bouquet in his arms, and cocked her head to the side.

"Are those white chrysanthemums?"

"...Yes." He could almost see a question mark form on her lips.

"Dude, you thought I died or something? Why bring 'mourning' flowers?" She giggled.

"No? But…" He set down the bouquet on her bed.

"I heard that they have other meanings…"

"Oh? What are they?"

He plucked two flowers from the bouquet and inched closer to Y/N.

'Eternal…' he tucked one of them behind her ear.

'...and devoted love.' he pried her hands open and placed the second flower on them.

Gun rested his forehead on her shoulder, his eyes welled up at the contact.

He couldn't say the words out loud.

Not after leaving her when she was at her lowest.

...

Ugh.

This isn't how he planned it to go.

He really did love her--but he was also selfish. Distancing himself didn't do any better for the both of them; quite the contrary.

Would stitching back the torn pages heal their wounded hearts this time? Let their colors paint over the dried stains of their past and turn over a new chapter?

Splashes of rain decorated her bedroom window. The colors in her room desaturated as evening enveloped the sky.

"Gun," Y/N held his arms, squeezing them. "It's getting dark. I'm gonna turn on the lights."

"Let's… stay like this for a while." was Gun's only response.

…

Their close proximity. The familiar scent of her detergent. The nostalgic periods of tapping raindrops. The yoke of her shirt getting wet.

It was similar to their first meeting but a little different.

Y/N felt him shake. She chuckled and rubbed circles around his back.

"What's up with you, dummy? It's not even that cold."

#this sounded better in my head/outline i promise #lookism #lookism x reader #lookism manhwa #lookism webtoon #lookism fic #park jonggun #gun park #gun park x reader #park jonggun x reader #congrats and tysm if you reached the end! you get nothing from it tho (prob a headache) haha #bro's still completely ooc tho 🙇‍♀️#i also don't have a particular writing style so my bad if some of these are ❓❓ lol #also my sht grammar sorry abt that

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husbandomail · 10 months

Text

hello I have returned! thank you everybody for your patience while my family moved; we’re still not entirely settled in, but I’m slowly reaching the point where I can resume writing. so here’s what I’ve been working on!

Idia/reader

in which he can’t see the screen.

“—damn! Again?! Isn’t that the same place as last time, too?” You sighed from your position on Ignihyde’s floor, shoving your hand into a bag of chips as you glanced back over your shoulder at your gaming partner. “You okay back there, Idia? Do we need to stop and level grind?”

As he made eye contact with you, Idia’s face and the tips of his hair turned pink. He shifted on the couch, crossing his legs and lifting his computer into his lap. “There’s no time for that,” he mumbled, chewing on his bottom lip, “The event ends soon, and we still don’t have enough materials to craft another set of that armor—” His voice slowly trailed off as he busied himself with the on-screen menus.

You stretched a bit, twisting your body until it was easier to stare up at him from your little next of pillows on the floor. The two of you had been trying this raid even for hours with no luck. Now, if you had been playing this game by yourself, or even if you’d used the lobby to team up with randos, your lack of success would make perfect sense— but no, you were playing with Idia. That’s what made this string of failures so suspicious.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Idia?”

He huffed, and a strand of hair went flying away from his face. “I’m fine,” he said, although it didn’t sound very convincing. One of his hands came up to comb his flickering bangs from his eyes, but the blue embers were insistent on hanging directly in his line of sight.

No wonder you guys kept losing— he couldn’t see the screen.

Laying there propped up on your side, you watched Idia for a quiet moment, enjoying the soft sounds of his keyboard as he blatantly tried to avoid looking at you. His long blue hair cascading down his shoulders, flickering endlessly as his delicate hands continued to brush it aside, the flames melding at his touch—

Your own fingers twitched. What did his hair feel like?

Idia glanced up at you from underneath his bangs. His hair changed color again, more soft threads of pink appearing when he realized he still had your attention. His painted mouth pulled into a pout. “Don’t look at me like that! We only lost because of RNG— let’s try again.”

“Let’s take a break, actually,” you stretched again, finally pulling yourself up onto your knees, trying to rub the screen-strain from your eyes.

Idia winced at even the slightest rejection, but he nodded, setting his computer down on the couch cushions and vaguely turning in your direction. “—what are we doing now, then? A different game? A movie?”

“Don’t you think you need a haircut?”

Idia jolted backwards immediately, his spine pressed into the back of the couch, eyes going wide as his hair paled to almost the same shade as his skin. “St— hey, stay back! No scissors!”

A beat of silence, followed by a laugh that bubbled its way out of your throat. You almost doubled over at the expression on his face. “That’s not what I meant!” It took a moment for you to catch your breath, but as soon as you did, you waved off Idia’s concerns. “I’m just making conversation, Idia. You should try it sometime.”

Without waiting for a response, you untangled yourself from your nest of pillows sprawled across the floor, stepping over to where you’d dropped your bag hours ago. Idia’s eyes widened yet again as he watched you fumbling through your bag, clearly looking for something specific. “...Hey, you’re not gonna—”

“Calm down,” you said gently. Once your hands closed around what you were looking for, you pulled them from your bag slowly, as if trying not to startle a skittish pet. “I’m not gonna cut your hair.”

“But you do intend to do something.” His eyes narrowed at you. No point in dodging that accusation, because it was true; you held up the bundle of personal treasures from your bag, letting Idia examine them before you made any sudden moves.

Hair ties. Decorative barrettes. That small brush you always forgot you were carrying.

“Let me put your hair up, Idia.”

The dorm leader sat quietly for a moment, his sharp eyes flickering between your hands and your face; if you looked any closer, you’d be able to see his own hands trembling. What kind of dating sim scene is this turning into—?

“Okay.” He immediately pressed a hand to his mouth, as if to catch the word before it fell. You had clearly already heard him, though— your face lit up in a way that made his chest twist.

“Really?! You’ll let me?” Honestly, you hadn’t expected him to say yes.

Idia turned his face away from you as if to hide his blush, although that did nothing against the kaleidoscope of his hair colors. “—hurry up before I change my mind!”

You nodded happily, stepping around the couch to stand behind him. He’d agreed so much easier than you’d expected, so you’d better take the chance while you have it.

Sitting in front of you, Idia shifted nervously; for someone with anxiety, being able to feel but not see a person behind him sent adrenaline through his veins, even though he knew it was just you. He began to turn his head so he could stare back at you over his shoulder, but your warm hands landed gently on the side of his face, directing him to stare forward again. “Sit still,” you chided— and then finally, you began to run your fingers through the ethereal flames he called his hair.

The first thing you noticed was that it didn’t burn. In fact, the flames weren’t even warm. You hummed in vague surprise as you twisted a few strands around your fingers, admiring the texture, memorizing the color. When the sound left your throat, Idia shifted again.

“Wh— what’s that noise supposed to mean?” He tried to sound demanding, but his voice wavered and he winced; talk about undermining himself.

“Nothing bad,” you assured him, continuing to fiddle with the ends of blue strands. “I’m just surprised— it looks like fire, but being able to touch it is just so…”

Idia leaned further back against the couch and tilted his head to look up at you, bemusement painted across his face. The movement sent his long hair shimmering like a waterfall over the back of the sofa. “Of course it’s not as hot as regular flames,” he said, “do you have any idea how uncomfortable that would be?”

You laughed lightly at that and nudged his head forward again.

You took your time running fingers through his dancing flames— never knew if you’d get this chance again, after all. As your nails gently dragged along Idia’s scalp, he let out a soft sigh and leaned back into your touch, his shades of blue beginning to flicker lavender instead. Experimentally, you began to gather as much as you could hold in one hand, to see if a ponytail would work.

When your nails gently scraped against the nape of his neck, Idia shuddered. His eyes flew open— when had he closed them?— and he jolted forward, the movement dragging his hair out of your grasp. “Watch it,” he bit out, although there was no real force behind his voice.

“Sorry, sorry,” you hummed, although it was fairly obvious you weren’t sorry at all. As Idia grumbled and settled back against the couch, you decided to move on from just playing with his hair. He’d get restless if you didn’t actually get to work, after all. You picked up your small brush in one hand, regathering his hair in the other. “Are you tender-headed?”

“...I don’t know,” he admitted, “It’s not like I brush it often.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” you said lightly. Before he could bite back, you ran the brush through Idia’s hair, and any remaining snark died on his tongue. Instead, he gasped sharply, leaning back into the feeling.

Brushing his hair was an odd feeling for both of you. His flames were, of course, tangible enough to hold, but they weighed practically nothing in your hand, and there was no resistance as your dragged the bristles through his blue waves.

For his part, Idia felt like he was actually on fire this time. Since his hair was so fluid, he’d never felt the need to pay much attention to it; the feeling of a brush was already fairly foreign to him, but knowing you were the one brushing it for him sent a current of electricity up his spine and back again.

He squirmed in place, messing up your progress. You twisted a strand between your fingers again, tugging sharply so he felt the brief sting on his scalp, earning a hiss from his throat. “Sit still,” you ordered; Idia huffed, but obeyed.

As one of your hands pulled the brush through his long hair, your other hand came up to play with the shorter strands closer to his face. Some of them were tucked behind his ear, or gathered into place where the brush could drag them along; others, you detangled with your fingers, arranging them to frame his pretty face. Your fingertips gently ghosted along the edge of his jaw and Idia shivered again.

Folded in his lap, Idia’s hands wouldn’t stop fidgeting. He tapped his fingers against his knees, he pressed his fingertips together, he folded and unfolded the hem of his shirt— all the while, his hair changed color back and forth, threads of shy pink and purple following the trail of your hands like waves returning to shore.

“—is this comfortable?” You asked quietly, as to not shattered the gentle atmosphere that had settled over his dorm room, resting on your shoulders.

Idia was silent for a moment, long enough that you almost wondered if he’d fallen asleep. When he did finally speak up, his voice sounded a bit dazed. “It’s fine.”

It was more than fine— he leaned into your touch like a cat trying to convince you it had been ignored all day. When he thought about it— and thinking straight was damn hard, with your hands in his hair— Idia couldn’t remember the last time he’d been touched like this. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been touched at all, actually.

The brush in your hands changed direction all at once. Instead of running downwards to detangle the bright embers, you twisted his hair and lifted it away from his neck, running the brush upwards along the underside, preparing to shape it into a proper ponytail. Idia couldn’t help himself— his eyes rolled, and a soft sound clawed its way out of his throat. You stopped immediately, and he could feel your presence getting heavier behind him as you leaned closer.

“Idia? Was that a—?”

“Shut up!” He bit out. He practically doubled over on the couch, propping his arms up on his knees so he could bury his face in his hands. His hair betrayed him yet again, every single lock of flame flaring the brightest pink you’d ever seen. You had to press a hand to your mouth in order to stifle a laugh.

Idia groaned into his hands. “I want to reload this scene and pick a different dialogue option.”

You bit your tongue in order to regain control of your voice. “It’s okay to enjoy this, y’know. Can I keep going?” You gently twisted another strand between your thumb and index finger, sending a wave of goosebumps across his pale skin. Idia let out a shaky breath— but in the end, he nodded, and you could feel your face light up again.

Gathering his hair in your hand once more, you brushed it into a loose ponytail at the crown of his head, gently tugging it into several different positions to decide which worked best. “Your hair is so pretty, Idia,” you hummed as you set the brush to the side. Before grabbing a hair tie, you took the chance to scratch your nails at the nape of his neck once more, messing with the tiny flickering baby embers. Idia moaned again, much less shy about the sound that time.

You combed all his hair into your hand once more, making sure you didn’t miss any of the longer strands, and then finally snatched up one of your hair ties to secure everything into place. Once that was done, your hands landed on his shoulders, making Idia jump; he tilted his head back again to stare up at you with wide eyes.

“Is that it?” he asked, a hint of confusion creeping into his voice. “That wasn’t nearly as HP-draining as I thought it would be/”

You snickered a bit and tugged on another long strand of his hair, just hard enough to earn yourself a cute little whine. “Hang on, I’ve gotta add a final touch.”

Before he could protest, you’d gathered your barrettes and hair clips and swept his bangs away from his forehead, pinning them in place with a string of colored butterflies. “There,” you said happily, “you should be able to see the screen now.”

Once you’d moved back, Idia scrambled to grab his laptop. It had fallen asleep, so the screen was dark, and he used that to examine his reflection. When he moved, his long hair swished; as he stared at his reflection, his hand came up to run his thumb across the butterfly clips.

Idia turned back to you with a huff and a pout. “Open your inventory again,” he demanded, “I want a different accessory.”

#twisted wonderland #twst #idia shroud #ignihyde #fics #scenarios #imagines #x reader

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uniquetosmbody · 5 months

Note

please tell me what brushes do you use and how do you make your drawings so textured? your artstyle is fucking beautiful and i wanna study it a little bit but I cant figure out how you make the colors have the noise they do

Gonna start with the fact that I’m working in ibis, and one of the brushes was added from the library, but I don’t have a qr code for that one, sorry, you still can try to find similar to it one

I dont use ALOT of brushes, and these four are my basic ones

I use this for sketches and line art

When you see me posting b&w art, it’s probably done using only this brush cause I’m obsessed with it

Coloring with this one, basic dip pen

That one I use to add more texture to the skin and some types of clothes. I usualky use it to create more blush, freckles etc on the multiplied layer or the soft light layer

That one is from the library idk how you can add this specific one, but you can try to find the brush that suits ur style

That one is for the final touches like light, some small shadows, more details, hair etc

Well that’s it! I hope i helped you with this one🫶 my art style is not that hard as you might seemed it is. I think my whole *thing* is rendering, adding lights, atmosphere, more shades of colors etc

Just don’t be scared to experiment with your style! Sending a lot of love 🫂🫶

#valeron #uniquetosmbody #ask_valeron

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barrenclan · 8 months

Note

I’m not sure if you’ve answered this before, but how do you do you pages? Do you use one program or several? I wanna use the format but I’m baffled XD

It’s so good! Also Pinemorant FTW!!🏳️‍🌈

I've briefly discussed my process in making issues, but I can go through the whole thing for anyone who is interested in making a comic like this. It's not complicated at all - I only use one program (technically two, if you count Google Docs), Medibang Paint Pro. It's free to download and I've used it for years, it's a medium-level digital art program.

I'll take a page from the last issue, 26, to demonstrate. So if you haven't read it yet, do that before reading this.

My first step, which is already completed for every issue, is to write a basic summary of the things I want to happen. If I have a specific dialogue I want to use I'll include, but normally it's just descriptions.

I don't always use everything from my summary, or I'll add things in the final written draft. You may notice a line about "he knew of some cat in Fire", which was about Cormorantpaw knowing of Rainhaze but not actually who he was. I took it out because I couldn't seamlessly work it into the conversation.

2. The stories themselves are written in Google Docs, in the format of any short fiction. My process is pretty short - I'll write out a rough draft, leave it alone for a day, then come back and clean it up. Here's the section from the page I'm showing.

If I use speech bubbles on a page, like this one, sometimes there will be descriptive language in the story that's not in the page, like "I said, relenting and leaping up next to him."

3. My first compositing step is to lay down the text and sketches, so I know where everything goes and ensures the page flows nicely. Medibang has a feature called the "Text Tool", which is what I use to lay down text. I can't say my fonts exactly since they're mostly Korean characters, but they're part of the default Medibang font set.

4. After this, I add lines and colors. It's pretty simple.

I have a specific color scheme for borderlines; black is normal, present drawings, reddish-pink is flashback, blue is fantasy/imagination.

5. After color, I draw the backgrounds. All of my backgrounds are painted using the Pen brush and the Watercolor (Wet) brush, sometimes with Acrylic or Chalk for texture.

6. My final step is to add a gradient multiply and overlay layer, since I don't cell shade or paint shade the characters. It saves a lot of time! I also add final cleanup like sound effects, whiskers, and speech bubbles, if they're needed.

And that's a page done!

#ask #advice

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alexanderlightweight · 10 months

Note

hi!!! if you haven't done it yet and are interested, i would love to see undertow magnus having tell ragnor and cat how he accidentally acquired a mate and their reactions

here we go! i hope you enjoy

<3 lumine

—

It isn’t until Magnus is brushing a sleeping Alexander’s hair that he realizes the sudden problem he has.

Alexander fuses sleepily, snuffling the pillow and shifting closer to Magnus. There are creases from the sheets on his cheek and he looks both young and timeless.

Alexander thinks that Magnus has been wooing him towards exclusively, and while most courtships allow for casual sex during, Magnus doesn’t think Alexander is the sharing type.

Magnus isn’t either. Not with this.

So if this is going to work. Then no one that Magnus has slept with during the period of their courtship can continue to live.

Not if Magnus wants this new relationship safe.

And Magnus finds himself suddenly feeling very protective.

—

He calls Cat before his third stop, because the warlock he’s about to take care of is a mutual acquaintance.

And a healer.

Which means that Cat might enjoy access to her library, since Selene has always been famously stingy with her books.

Cat gives him a look that Magnus hardly thinks is deserved when she portals in across from him.

“I thought we agreed to avoid Selene after Ragnor lost that book to her during the whale migration bet. Solidarity and all that.”

“Yes, well Ragnor also wants that book back and it is nearly his birthday.”

Magnus doesn’t actually remember Ragnor’s birthday but he’s fairly certain neither does Ragnor so it’s fine.

They tend to assign each other the closest season as a birthday and that’s worked well enough for all of them.

Cat raises an eyebrow and huffs at him and Magnus sighs.

“You’re better with bloodstains and this could be a bit—“ Magnus wrinkles his nose. “Messy.”

Cat blinks at him incredulously and then she sighs, shaking her head.

“Ragnor’s book doesn’t warrant her demise, no matter how much Ragnor complains.” Cat adds the last part quickly, already knowing Magnus’ response.

Magnus opens his mouth for a moment to bullshit and then stops.

He’s hardly ashamed of his new lover and while Cat might judge his lack of awareness, she also works better knowing the full picture.

It’s with a slightly haughty expression that Magnus explains and he glowers at her when Catarina starts laughing.

It’s belly deep, her head thrown back as she laughs and it’s only because of how dear she is that Magnus ignores the rather obnoxious display of mirth.

— Magnus very specifically always forgets all the times he’s laughed at her in turn —

“Oh Magnus,” Cat finally gets out, wiping at her eyes and nose. “Oh only you. Once you tell him, Ragnor is going to create a list of all the possible clues you’ve missed and spend decades going over it with you.”

Magnus sighs but allows it with good humor. Joy can be a rare thing in their world and Magnus can't begrudge the humor and laughter of one of his dearest friends… even if it is at his own expense.

“Is he part of the queen's court? Or the unseelie king’s?” Cat asks and Magnus shakes his head lightly.

“No, he has no allegiance to any sovereign before me. Alexander—'' Magnus takes a moment, trying to figure out how to explain. “The lake I took him from had claimed him as a protector of sorts. There’s a very powerful, nearly sentient, kind of magic, all through the lake. Different from dominion magic, or from the magic in the seelie realms. It’s what keeps it from being found I think. It created a self contained pocket dimension. A kind of magical ecosystem that used Alexander as a boost and an anchor.”

“Powerful enough to be an anchor but with no allegiance lines, that’s very odd Magnus. How did he manage to stay unknown to any of the courts?”

Magnus sighs and then finally looks at Cat directly.

“He’s half-nephilim, Cat. I’m pretty sure that he was dumped near the lake when his other heritage came out. The memories are blurry, he doesn’t think he was supposed to survive. He remembers them trying to take his runes and fighting back until he got to the lake.

“The magic there lured him and his pursuers in and then the magic and he boosted each other. A symbiotic relationship I suppose. However accidentally, he accepted the wild magics protection and consecrated his vow to it with angelic blood.

“Since then he’s stayed in pretty strict isolation there; especially because he can’t portal. He knows the world, he just hasn’t experienced it.”

Cat looks worried now and she looks over Magnus with careful, protective consideration.

“Poor kid, but Magnus. If he needs someone to get him out of there and set him up, there are plenty of warlocks I know who could help.” That she’d force to help if necessary. “You don’t need to continue the relationship unless you want to.”

Magnus grins at that, because he suddenly knows what Cat’s worried about.

“Ah, I forgot to mention how long Alexander thinks I’ve been courting him. And also the reason why I need to clean things up. Alexander and the magic have tangled so deeply that he’s able to leave the lake and still anchor the dimension. The reason he never leaves is because I was courting him.” Magnus can’t help the wistful sighs he lets out, “he’s waited for me for decades, Cat.”

Cat is watching him carefully, contemplating Magnus’ words as he waves his hands in emphasis.

“I’m also positive that Alexander has very discerning tastes despite his isolation, because he’s killed every other person who found the lake before me.” Magnus can’t help the fact that he’s preening, “And he killed everyone who found it after. Apparently, I am the only person who Alexander has ever registered as ‘suitor’ instead of ‘prey’. He also—“ and here Magnus chuckles, something dark and content in the noise and Cat’s eyes soften at the sound.

“He considered everyone who came after me to be prey still, but he was worried about what I’d think. That I’d consider them suitors, that I’d think he allowed himself to be courted by others. So he killed every one of them even when he wasn’t hungry or interested. And then because he noticed I wear a lot of jewelry, he carved me pendants from their bones. So I could show off that he was faithful and he waited.”

Magnus can’t help the pleased hum he lets out at the memory.

“He waited for four decades, Cat. For me.”

Cat is smiling at him, her eyes shiny with unshed tears and she wraps him in a hug. Her strong arms that have saved countless lives wrap around him, delicate in their tenderness.

“I’m so very pleased for you.” Cat murmurs close to his ear and then she lets him go, presses a kiss to his brow and then she turns on the warded cottage with a raised brow.

“Were you waiting for an invitation? Because she did cheat during that bet and steal Ragnor’s favorite book.” Cat says, snapping her clothes into something more… forgiving to blood. “I only let her get away with it because Ragnor forgot to bring me scones from Lady Gray's.”

“Every book is Ragnor’s favorite.” Magnus laughs out, and he’s grinning wildly and laughing because Cat will always have his back.

And so will Ragnor. After he stops complaining about the inevitable blood stains on his new books.

Cat cuts into the wards with the precision of a scalpel and Magnus follows her, cauterizing the wards once they’re through.

There will be no healing here tonight.

—

Cat accepts a cup of tea with a small smile as Magnus laughs and Ragnor’s scolding gets increasingly louder.

“They were a perfectly lovely invention!” Ragnor is saying. “They should never have gone out of fashion!”

He’s said the same thing three times. Increasingly louder, as if it will eventually shut Magnus up.

Cat sips her —perfect as always— tea and summons a box of biscuits.

Normally Ragnor offers them himself, but Cat will allow the discrepancy. They did find him quite indisposed.

Magnus is still laughing, holding his belly as though it might burst as he slumps into one of Ragnor’s large armchairs.

Ragnor seems to have given up and is grumpily sipping his own tea as he gives Magnus a snotty look.

When Magnus has finally, finally stopped laughing, Cat gives a silent sigh of relief.

And then Ragnor opens his mouth, dooming them all.

“If you must know.” He says with an aggrieved sniff, “it helps keep my horns from rubbing against the headboard. It’s quite annoying to have to polish them so often. Valois mentioned they were looking a little worn at the last gathering.”

And Magnus loses it again.

Ragnor had been napping on an armchair when they’d portaled in. Small round glasses perched on his snoring nose, a long flowing nightgown and a nightcap that hasn’t been used in several hundred years.

It was only several lifetimes spent practicing self control that ensured Cat didn’t burst into laughter herself.

She makes a note to order and send several bonnets to Ragnor, they’re much nicer than the undoubtedly musty nightcap Ragnor probably dug out of a moth-infested dresser in some half-abandoned cottage he forgot about.

Ragnor huffs and gulps half of his cup before Cat has pity and offers him a digestive.

“The cheek on this lad.” Ragnor grumbles, “and what kind of present is this! At least it was well taken care of in that witch Selene’s library. If not tragically undervalued, so why is there blood on my bloody book?”

Magnus is going to give himself a hernia at this rate and Cat is both off duty and not inclined to be nice so she sends him a little zap and gives Ragnor the most mischievous smile she can.

Ragnor immediately catches on and good humor replaces his glower.

“Oh? What’s this? Cat, love! Don’t hold out on me. What’s ducky done now?”

“Guess who has to do a little spring cleaning, because he accidentally courted an un-declared kelpie.” Cat says in a rush, fingers snapping her biscuit in her eagerness to share.

Magnus gives a mock groan, “yes yes, laugh at my hubris. But trust me, a little bit of cleanup is well worth my Alexander.”

Magnus has one of his arms flung over his eyes and doesn’t see the quick, tight look Ragnor shares with Cat. Nor the brief joy when Cat simply smiles and nods, giving her assurance that Ragnor won’t need to make too many contingencies.

“And what does this time of new life and purging entail?” Ragnor asks and this time it’s Cat who laughs as Magnus gives them both a sheepish smirk.

“Ah, Alexander may be under the impression that I have been courting him… exclusively.” Magnus winces, “For the last four decades.”

Ragnor fights desperately not to gawp, and to not ruin his tea with incredulous laughter.

And then he realizes the problem and his laughter fades.

“But you didn’t know.”

Magnus shakes his head, something bitter and angry in his eyes that Ragnor will worry over later.

With sherry and Cat as backup.

“That’s quite a bit of cleanup.” Ragnor murmurs quietly. Because Magnus takes fidelity seriously when it’s offered, “better take it to the last five decades, just to be safe. Don’t forget that orgy you told me about, the one in Dubai that you talked about for weeks in the 70’s. Don’t just do memory wipes, make it clean.”

Magnus nods and Cat sighs despairingly as he summons a notebook and jots it down.

“My, dear overachieving boys. Magnus should just use a ritual. If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it properly. So we need to be thorough. We’ll have to add some element of a geas to the secret, Magnus can use one of his loose ends to power it. We can’t just murder all of them outright, it’s too conspicuous. Are there any spells that the Council needs done that require past lovers?” Cat looks at both of them sternly, “see how much we can brush under the Council’s cauldron and go from there.”

“There, there ducky.” Ragnor tuts and sends over a cup and saucer to a groaning Magnus. “There’s not as many as you think. It’s a much smaller mess than if this happened when you were younger and off sowing your oats.”

‘Sowing my oats?’ Magnus mouths incredulously across his cup at Cat and she bites her lip to hide a chuckle.

“Ah and Camille will need to finally be dealt with.” Ragnor says, so very obvious in how hard he’s trying to be nonchalant. Ragnor is always looking for a reason Magnus can accept and Cat is always hoping it works.

And for once, Magnus doesn’t even notice.

“You know what, you’re right.” And Ragnor’s gaze snaps to Magnus with a relieved but disbelieving look as Magnus continues.

“She would definitely use any opportunity to get between us.” Magnus looks angry now, instead of the bitter pain that Camille normally brings out. “Putting a geas on her and sealing her won’t be enough.” And then Magnus pauses and there’s a dangerous, confident gleam to his eyes that Cat has mourned the lack of.

“Alexander does look divine in jewelry, and after everything he’s made for me, I should return the gesture. So I’ll need to commission him some.” And Magnus gives a soft, pleased smile. Like some deep wound has finally been healed, “and I have always wondered what the color of Camille’s soul is.”

Ragnor gives a content, pleased smile and nods sharply. “If need be we’ll say you’re cleaning up your court. Camille is a perfect and public example of a traitor being dealt with. There’s always an enemy if you look hard enough.”

#lumine writes #writing wednesday #writing wednesdays #undertow #undertow vs #malec #magnus bane #alec lightwood #shadowhunters #team immortal #catarina loss #ragnor fell

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teaberrii · 8 months

Text

Chapter 20: The Road to Recovery

You've been Cupid for as long as you can remember. You've brought countless soulmates together, yet you've never found love.

When you're assigned to bring two childhood friends back together, it should be simple until you unexpectedly catch feelings for the mysterious and cold Ph.D. student, Dan Heng, the man with a soulmate… the man with answers to your past.

Dan Heng/You

Notes:

Cross-posted on Ao3

Female reader

Chapter index at the end of chapter one

You and two other maids were helping Jing Yuan’s wife with her makeup and attire for an important event with the South. One of the maids was fixing the robes when she brought up the suspicious situation of the king.

“I heard he’s getting worse by the day.”

“Yes… Even I haven’t been able to see him,” Jing Yuan’s wife said, looking off to the side. “It’s strange how no one has been able to pinpoint what happened to him.”

A soft sigh. “Master Luocha has been working around the clock. I saw him just a few hours ago… He looked exhausted.”

One month had passed since you cursed your father. Within the first two weeks, rumours were already running rampant about the king’s strange behaviour. He was cranky, easily irritated, and getting increasingly violent. While some had said that he was having a bad week or a bad day, it wasn’t until someone reported seeing a strange pigment on the king’s skin. Another had said he saw his eyes become cloudy.

Doctors and physicians were brought in, but none could determine what was causing the king’s strange behaviour, including Luocha. When the king harassed one of them, that was when they confined him to his quarters. Only specific people were allowed to see him. However, there were already stories of some coming in… but never coming out.

You were applying the finishing touches of makeup when Jing Yuan’s wife suddenly looked at you. “You’re awfully quiet.” You spared her a glance but said nothing. “Are you not curious?”

"I'd rather not entertain myself with those stories," you said, turning around and putting the brush on the vanity table. " The lack of transparency has everyone frightened. I want to keep my sanity.”

"Don’t tell me you know what’s happening.”

The door slid open, and one of the guards said, “It’s almost time.”

You stepped aside, allowing Jing Yuan’s wife to see the new look in the mirror. Then, one of the maids stepped out, but the other one said, “Oh, I’m just about finished. Please give me just a few more minutes!”

You smiled at Jing Yuan’s wife. “Well, if you’ll excuse me…”

Before you walked out, you glanced at the maid and quietly snapped your fingers. Her lips formed a neat line and her eyes were suddenly devoid of any emotion. It was like you flipped a switch, turning her into a puppet for the short amount of time the spell was active. Earlier in the day, you’d met the maid in private and used magic on her to help you with your operations.

Ever since you caught Jing Yuan and his wife together that night, she hadn’t been too fond of you. You kept your distance, careful not to stir up drama, and that helped ease the tension. However, it wasn’t until you learned about her extensive knowledge of magic that you felt you needed to take action. Thanks to Luocha, it was only recently that other experts started to take her seriously. However, this was where it ended. You had to stop them from finding out more.

It didn’t take long to discover that this maid was one of her favourites, the easiest person who could get close to her without arousing suspicion.

You slid the door open, stepped out, and shut it behind you. There was no one around.

“...This won’t hurt,” you heard the maid say. “Please trust me.”

“Wha—What are you—”

You heard something topple over, and then everything went quiet.

Your eyes open, and you hear the faint ticking of the clock hanging on your bedroom wall. Another dream. Another flashback. You never thought you would brainwash someone to do your dirty work for you.

“Can’t sleep?”

You almost jump at the unexpected voice. You quickly reach over and turn on the light. When you see Lan, you ask, “Did you want to give me a heart attack? What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to see if you were awake.”

“Gosh, that doesn’t sound creepy at all,” you deadpan.

Lan sits on a nearby chair and says, “I’ll knock next time. How’s that?”

“Nanook’s rubbing off on you.”

“The two of us came to an interesting theory, actually.” Lan’s eyes meet yours. “It’s about Young’s mother.”

“Is it more shocking than her also being Jing Yuan’s mother? I don’t think anything can top that.”

“Well, you might be surprised.”

You sigh. “Okay, I'm prepared. Shoot.”

“We’re assuming Jing Yuan knew about concealment spells. It’s likely he used them on his horns instead of cutting them off when he got older.” Your eyes widen, and Lan subtly nods. “It’s because he knew about them that he discovered how to use them on a larger scale… to conceal Young’s execution.”

“...But, he couldn’t have done it without help.”

“It seems like you know something about how concealment spells work.”

“Pom and I talked about it,” you said. “Way back then… he said that Young’s kind had magic in his blood that could make a spell more effective… The older you are, the better the results, essentially.”

“That’s right. The only person who could’ve helped him is his mother.”

You lean the side of your head against the wall. “I’m assuming she abandoned Jing Yuan… So why help him?”

“We believe he tricked her into thinking it was someone else’s execution.” Lan pauses. “...Your execution.” Your expression hardens, and at your silence, he asks, “Do I need to explain why?”

“...No. I see how that’s possible.” You glance down, and Lan can see the gears turning in your head. “She probably knew about Young and me. I don't know how, but it's the only explanation. And... Jing Yuan’s father must be human. Maybe she didn’t want whatever happened with her to happen to Young.”

“That’s no excuse to try to kill you, though.”

You give Lan a little smile. “Gosh, I never thought I’d see the day you’d stick up for me.”

Lan shrugs. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

“We've come a long way, I suppose,” you say. “But, I never thought this is how we’d bond.” He chuckles. “Anyway, I… I don’t remember Young’s mother trying to kill me. Not now, at least. But… I’ve been remembering how I cursed everyone. My father. Jing Yuan’s wife. The next victim must be Young’s mother.”

Lan sees your hands fiddling with each other with a slightly nervous look. “...If it’ll make you feel better, Dan Heng’s awake.”

“How do you know?”

“Because before coming here, I talked with him.” Lan looks at your phone. “...He’s worried about you.”

“I have to say I’m surprised,” Lan said, looking at Dan Heng. “Even after finding out she cursed your mother, you simply trusted that she wasn’t a bad person. To be frank, some people would call that dumb.”

“...I’m surprised myself.” Dan Heng looked ahead. “It was a feeling.”

“A feeling?”

“I felt like I could trust her. If you ask me why, I… can’t give a reason. But, I didn't want to judge her without knowing what happened."

“Still, it sounded like it bothered you. Was that why you asked me if your feelings were because of Young?”

“I went through a rough time because of what happened to my mother. Logically, if she was the one who cursed her, I should be angry at her.”

“...You were confused why you weren’t.”

Dan Heng’s silence gave Lan his answer.

“Whatever happens now, I just don’t want her to be alone.”

Lan looked down and slightly smiled. “Well, Lover Boy, she also has us.”

Dan Heng raised a brow and said, “Lover Boy?" He smiled slightly. "Nanook’s rubbing off on you.”

“Hey…” You’ve just taken your phone off the nightstand when Lan makes you look up. “Have you ever thought about what will happen after you get your memories back?”

“Why do you ask?”

“...Do you know someone named Sampo?”

There’s a short silence as you mull over the name.

Suddenly, you hear a male voice. While you can’t understand what the voice is saying at first, you gradually realize that it’s your name. A sudden migraine forces your eyes closed, and then you see a silhouette in your mind. You assume is a man based on his larger build. He walks towards you, but the upper half of his face remains in shadow. He smiles, and his lips start moving. Yet, you can’t hear what he’s saying until…

“...known as Cupid.”

Your eyes open, and you look at Lan.

“Did you remember something?” he asks.

“The name doesn’t sound familiar, but I saw someone… A man.” There’s a slight pause before you say, “Does he have something to do with all of this?”

That’s what Lan is hoping to find out.

“He’s a mercenary of death who takes up odd jobs about anything that relates to the afterlife.”

“If that’s true, I hope he doesn’t have anything to do with me,” you say quietly.

“Get some rest. Sorry. I shouldn’t have brought him up in the middle of all this." Before you can say anything, Lan says, "Oh, and... perhaps you and Dan Heng should pay Jing Yuan a visit. He wants to apologize."

And then Lan disappears.

At Dan Heng’s apartment, Dan Heng returns to his room with a cup of tea when he hears his phone buzz with a message. He puts his half-finished tea on the table and picks up his phone.

Cupid: ≧◡≦ Hi. Are you awake?

Dan Heng smiles.

You’re lying on your side with your phone when you see Dan Heng’s message: How did you know I was thinking about you?

Eventually, you and Dan Heng end up on the phone.

“...So, Jing Yuan’s fianceé was your second victim.”

You nod. “Going by the timeline… Young’s mother should be next.” Then, you tell him about your assumption that Young’s mother knew about the relationship between you and Young.

“It’s possible. That… would make sense based on what I saw.”

Young and his mother were spending the day together. It was she who had suggested it, but Young had the strangest feeling that it wasn’t just because she missed him.

“I heard that you’ve been sneaking away from the palace. Is there a reason why?”

Whoever it was that tattled must be paying close attention to him. Young thought he had been careful, but apparently someone had been keeping their eye on him.

Young was walking slightly ahead of his mother when he said, “I’ve been practicing magic.”

“In the forest?”

Young looked over his shoulder. “The spells that I’ve been practicing require such an environment.” He had a feeling that his mother didn’t believe him, but he didn’t bother explaining further.

When he and his mother reached a part of the forest, she suddenly grabbed his arm. "Let's turn back." Young didn't understand why until he saw what his mother saw. An unconscious girl was lying underneath a large tree. When Young took a step closer, his mother tightened her grip on his arm. "What are you doing?"

“She might need help,” Young said as if it were obvious.

“She’s human," his mother answered as if the race was a disease. "They can take care of their own kind.”

Thunder rumbled in the distance. “It’s going to rain, Mother. She’s—”

A groan. A short cry for help. Young turned and saw that the girl was looking at him, a desperate look in her eyes.

“Help…”

But Young was stopped again by his mother.

“Stelle!”

A faint voice caught Young and his mother off guard.

“We're leaving," his mother said sternly. "Now."

Young shrugged off his mother's grip. Suddenly, he vanished and appeared in front of the woman. Young got on a knee and muttered something under his breath. Then, he waved a hand over the injured girl and gave her a small smile. “They’ll find you. I promise.”

You almost forgot about Stelle.

“...Stelle?”

Dan Heng briefly closes his eyes. "Has Young ever mentioned her?"

"Not that I remember." However, you're sure of one thing. “I trust that Young wouldn't hurt her, though. No matter how much hostility his mother had towards humans… he wouldn’t do that.”

Is it strange that Dan Heng doesn’t know how to feel? It sounds like you’re talking about another man with such confidence. He quickly shakes the thought away.

“Anyway, his mother had an obvious hostility towards humans,” Dan Heng says.

“...Yet, she supposedly fell in love with a human and had Jing Yuan.”

“It seems like he's the only one who can provide answers.”

You sigh. “Looks like it. Guess we’ll probably have to pay him a visit. Lan said he wanted to apologize... but I guess we'll see when we get there."

A short silence later, Dan Heng says, “...Hey.”

“Hm?”

“...Enough about Young and Jing Yuan. Let’s talk about something else.”

You chuckle. “Um, you aren’t going to pull a cliché on me and say us, right?”

“Does the group vacation count? Gepard found a hot spring hotel in the mountains. March already cast her vote for that.”

“Oh, boy, I know Pom would like that, too.” Then, thinking out loud, you say, “I don’t have a bathing suit, though…” A short pause. “Wanna come with me to buy one?”

“Me?”

You almost smile at the brief fluster in his tone.

“Of course. Who else? Unless… you don’t want to. Then, I’ll ask March—”

“Let’s go.”

“Better not back out last minute,” you joke.

Not in a million years.

◆◆◆

Over the next few weeks, Jing Yuan noticed that his wife was not herself. She was always in a sour mood, and she was eating a lot more. The strange thing was that it didn’t look like she was gaining weight. Rather, she was getting thinner. But what made him suspicious was that his wife seemed to be missing a part of her memory. She could only remember she was attacked by one of the maids she had trusted. But with what? She had no idea.

“How could you not remember?” Jing Yuan asked.

The maid who had attacked his wife was on her knees and hands. She was bowing so deeply that her forehead was touching the floor.

“I-I know it sounds absurd, but please believe me. I… I really don’t know what came over me.” She looked at him with tears in her eyes. “I would never harm her.”

Could he trust her? She looked genuinely distressed, but it might be an act. However, Jing Yuan couldn’t think of a reason why she would harm his wife unless…

“...Black magic.” Luocha, standing beside Jing Yuan, had beat him to it. “But, whoever did this, they must be very experienced.”

Jing Yuan could think of a few people who might want to harm his wife to get to him. However, he was certain they didn’t know about magic as much as him. Truth be told, he couldn’t think of anyone who would have more knowledge about magic than he and Lucoha. Jing Yuan shot the doctor a look.

As if knowing what he was thinking, Luocha looked at the maid and said, “I’d like to run a few tests, if you don’t mind.”

"T-Tests?"

“You were cursed with something… I’d like to see if I can find out what it is or even get access to your missing memories.”

The maid nervously nodded. “Anything to prove my innocence!”

“You can leave,” Jing Yuan said.

The maid bowed, and soon she was out the door.

Luocha glanced at the general. “Don’t tell me you think I did it.”

“It crossed my mind,” Jing Yuan said, not looking at him.

Luocha sighed. “I would gain nothing from cursing your wife. I would’ve stopped at my father.”

“Figures.” Jing Yuan crossed one leg over the other. “I guess that would've been too easy.”

“...There’s one person who I can think of who would have a motive to kill my father and your wife.”

“It can’t be her,” Jing Yuan said.

“You killed Young in front of her,” Luocha said. "My sister would want to make you suffer."

“...She's gone.”

“But you don’t know where. She could be anywhere.”

After a deafening pause, Jing Yuan asked, “How is your father, by the way? The rumours are starting to spiral out of control.”

“Are you sure you want to know?”

"You said my wife's symptoms are starting to look similar to your father's. If my wife is to follow in his footsteps, I want to know no matter how bad it is.”

“The king is now dead… but he’s alive.”

Jing Yuan curses under his breath as he struggles to get up. His past memories are like nightmares, playing like a movie inside his mind. Getting bits and pieces at at time... it's starting to drive him a little crazy. He reaches over, despite the pain, and picks up his phone. After a few rings, the call finally goes through.

“Should I be flattered that you called?”

“Sounds like you haven’t lost your mind,” Jing Yuan answers. “I dreamt about you.”

“Gosh,” Lucha deadpans. “I hope it was PG-13.”

“My wife was cursed after your father.” Jing Yuan looks up at the ceiling. “By then, it sounds like you had some kind of idea of what The Withering did back then.”

"Well, I wish I could enlighten myself then."

Jing Yuan sighs loudly. “This is starting to kill me.”

“You’re the one to talk.” Luocha scoffs quietly. After a small pause, the doctor asks, “Do you remember who you are?”

“I was half human,” Jing Yuan mutters. “Young was my half-brother.”

“...Well, at least I don’t have to get you up to speed on that.”

Jing Yuan raises a brow. “You already knew?”

Luocha looks at his arm where The Withering has spread. “You told me yourself.”

It was the day Luocha had passed his exam. He’d gone to find his family to deliver the good news but found Jing Yuan instead… right after he overheard the maids gossiping about him not being his mother’s son. He and Jing Yuan eventually arrived at a bar in the village where they got a VIP room due to their royal status.

Jing Yuan and Luocha sat across from each other with an open window view of a spacious garden. The general had just popped open another bottle of alcohol and refilled Luocha’s glass.

“...Not your mother’s son?” Jing Yuan asked. “No wonder you looked off. That’s quite a… discovery.”

“It’s just gossip.” Luocha picked up his glass.

“Bur your face says otherwise.”

Luocha looked at the general who had a curious look. “Your face tells me that you had your suspicions and hearing the gossip feels like a sign.”

Instead of drinking, Luocha put his glass back on the table. “I’ve often been told I looked nothing like my mother.”

“...Well, it’s true, I must say. You don’t look anything like the queen.” Jing Yuan leaned back. “If it’s true you aren’t the queen’s son… we’d have something in common. I, too, didn’t know who my real mother was until I was almost of age.”

Luocha didn't hide the shock on his face. Should he be surprised? Jing Yuan had always been a mysterious individual. People knew enough about him to respect him, but Jing Yuan also kept them at arm's length. No one really knew who Jing Yuan was other than his professional status. Once the shock subsided, Luocha began thinking rationally. Why would Jing Yuan suddenly open up to him? Surely, it wasn't the alcohol kicking in.

"Did you ever find her?"

"I did, but I don't know if it was a blessing or a curse."

Luocha downed the alcohol in his glass. " How did you find her?”

“I did my research… pieced things together. But, I had a very obvious hint.”

“...What’s that?” After one quick snap, horns appeared on Jing Yuan’s head. Luocha’s eyes widened as he tried to find the right words. “How…” he finally said, standing up. “How could—”

“My mother… is Young’s mother.”

“You’re fucking kidding me. Are you joking?”

“I wish I was.”

“Then… your father…”

Jing Yuan casually gestured for Luocha to sit. He reluctantly did and quickly downed his alcohol. “My father was a noble at the Northern palace.”

Luocha’s face went pale. "Then... my father must’ve known him.”

“Yes. Your father also killed him after finding out about my mother."

Luocha raised a hand as he felt the alcohol kick in. “H-Hold on a minute. This… this must’ve been a long time ago… before my sister and I were born. Or else we would’ve known.”

“I won’t bore you with the story,” Jing Yuan said. “...But, it wasn’t just your father but also the queen. They executed him.”

"Why are you telling me this?" Luocha challenged.

"I had a hunch like you. Of course, mine was much more obvious. But I'm telling you because I think you want to know the truth. Just like how I wanted to know the truth of who I was. Ignorance is not always bliss."

Luocha swallowed and looked down.

“My dear ‘ol mother who was pregnant gave me up to the humans so she could save face and return to the Middle Kingdom where she could erase her sins and start anew.” Jing Yuan smiled as Luocha slowly looked at him. “I know what you’re thinking, Luocha. I’m not here for revenge.” The lie felt so smooth against his lips. “But, I want you to know that your father is not who you think he is. You think you’re not the queen’s son… that could very much be the case.”

“I’m not dumb,” Luocha answered flatly. “If you’re not here for revenge, why are you here?”

“My mother, Young’s mother, wants to kill every last one of the royals in the northern kingdom. That includes you… and your sister. But I don’t.” Luocha narrowed his eyes. Jing Yuan took a small breath. “I love your sister. Truly. And… you’ve also become an important friend. I also shared my story because I know your sister has been seeing Young.”

“You’re paying a lot more attention to her than my parents,” Luocha muttered.

“If my mother finds out, she won't hesitate to kill her." Jing Yuan quietly says your name. "I want to protect her.”

Jing Yuan never knew there would come a time when telling the truth and being vulnerable would be so useful.

Luocha said nothing but poured Jing Yuan more alcohol.

“I don’t know if I should be disgusted or amazed at my love for this woman,” Jing Yuan says. “Or, maybe I was just a damn good liar. That’s what I’d like to believe.”

Luocha sighs. “...Or perhaps I was too easily fooled.”

“Well, maybe I should find it endearing that our little alliance started out because we cared about the same woman.”

Before Luocha can say anything, Jing Yuan hears the doorbell. He groans as he puts a hand to steady himself as he painfully hoists himself up.

“What’s gotten into you?” Luocha asks.

“That same"—a painful grunt—"goddamn woman we cared so much about?” Jing Yuan carefully gets to his feet. “She tried ripping my heart out. Literally.”

“Didn’t know you had one to begin with.”

“Funny.” Jing Yuan slowly makes his way to the door. “The curse is really bringing out your sense of humour.”

“If I’m going to go crazy, I might as well have fun doing it.”

Jing Yuan hears a familiar voice just as he reaches his door. “Yeah, well, I’m not going to let that happen. Whoever I was… It’s not like I did anything to her now. We don't have proof that getting her to stop hating me will get rid of the curse, but we don't need enemies."

“...Do you have a plan?”

Finally, Jing Yuan opens the door, and he’s shocked to see Pom, Dan Heng, and…

“My God!” Pom says. “You’re lucky it’s us. You’d literally give people a heart attack showing up like that!”

“Maybe I do,” Jing Yuan says into the phone, looking at you who doesn’t really look amused. “I’ll talk to you later.” Once he gets off the phone, he puts an arm on the doorframe and looks at you who clearly doesn’t look interested. “Are you here to take responsibility?”

Pom makes a face. “Asking that question when you aren’t wearing a shirt is a little… um…”

Dan Heng steps in front of you, blocking your view of a half-naked Jing Yuan. “Don’t push it.”

“Maybe we should just leave,” you deadpan. “He doesn’t seem like he’s on the verge of—”

"Hey, wait." A sudden pain shoots through Jing Yuan's body when he tries to move. He doubles over; you watch as he puts a hand over his wound. "I'm doing my best to hide it, Princess."

"Well, good thing we came prepared!" Pom says. He peers inside Jing Yuan's large house. "We're coming in!"

Jing Yuan frowns as Pom steps into his house. Then, Dan Heng extends a hand. "We brought something that might help curb the pain while the wound heals," he says.

"Guess it's better than nothing." Jing Yuan takes Dan Heng's hand, and you watch as your boyfriend helps the man you hate walk to the couch.

You're the last to enter Jing Yuan's house, hoping that this visit won't end with you getting rid of a dead body.

Chapter 21

End notes:

My time of the month came early, and I sat on my couch feeling like a puddle of bleh as I edited this. Just wanted to share my last moments before I curl up in a ball and play some games to ease the pain.

Anyway, some of the events that happen in this are inspired by the K-drama Kingdom. It's so good I watched it twice lmao.

Tag list: @suoshiii @lordbugs @lxry-chxn @seirenspinel @tanspostsblog @theprinceofkhaos @nqctre @lunavixia @akwardbiscuit @kplatzman @sunsethw4 @hiqhkey @n8mareee (I can't seem to find your user anymore :<)

#dan heng x you #dan heng x y/n #dan heng x reader #honkai dan heng #dan heng #danheng x reader #danheng x y/n #danheng x you #honkai star rail dan heng

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mysteryshoptls · 10 months

Note

Hello Ras! I hope that it is okay submitting an ask about a personal story that has not been requested. It is about Cater’s PE Uniform Personal Story/Vignette. The first time I read it would be with the official English version, and I recall being taken a bit aback by Trey’s: “Plus I’m the vice housewarden. You [Cater] and me are tight, but me and Riddle are tighter,” line. I recently have seen some fans online who were taken aback as well. It honestly made me curious what Trey said in the original Japanese and to hear your thoughts when comparing the English line to the Japanese line. Thank you very much!

Sure! Here's the JP and EN line side by side:

Leading up to the line above, in the previous two lines, Cater calls Trey out as a traitor (Trey-tor, hehe) and asks, "Aren't we supposed to be buds!?" Trey responds with, "That's why [I did what I did]. If you lied to Riddle, you would've been in worse trouble later on." Then, in the above picture, the line you mentioned, he says:

"Besides, I'm the Vice Dorm Leader. That also makes me the Dorm Leader's strongest ally."

In giving my thoughts about the original JP line, I think what's important here is two main things: Trey's known relationships with both Cater and Riddle, and the words that Trey specifically chooses to use.

1. Trey's known relationships with Cater and Riddle

Trey and Riddle were friends when they were kids, but they didn't get to see much of each other after Riddle got in trouble with his mother for hanging out with Trey and Che'nya. Their partnership as Dorm Leader and Vice Dorm Leader is pretty strong (although Trey says that all he's doing is working hard so that he doesn't lose his head - Lab Vil's vignette), so although Riddle really doesn't need backup, it would make sense for Trey to be the voice of reason supporting Riddle's decision. Trey and Cater have been friends while at NRC, both third years, were even roommates. Trey is probably one of the only people who can actually read the real Cater, although Cater still tries to hide it from him. They are close friends, built over three years. So, in this vignette example, he basically turns Cater in because they are close friends and he knows how it could get worse for Cater. Cater may not appreciate it in the moment, but you could effectively see that Trey is thinking of Cater's wellbeing by not letting Cater dig that hole any deeper.

2. The words that Trey specifically chose to use.

Trey chooses to say that "as Vice Dorm Leader, I am the Dorm Leader's ally." He has to have Riddle's back, as his right-hand man. Of course Cater is still free to take offense to that, because his friend is "betraying" him. But in the JP version, Trey doesn't say, "[Trey] is [Riddle's] ally," he says "[My position] is [His position's] ally." In the EN version, brushing off Cater's wails by essentially saying that he's not as close of a friend to him as he thinks kind of feels off, in a sense. So I can see why there were people confused.

#ras replies #twst #twisted wonderland #trey clover #cater diamond #twst trey #twst cater #mention: riddle

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sarelcon · 1 year

Text

EVA Foam Detailing

Since I’m currently working on a new panel for EVA foam detailing, sharing an abbreviated version of this so that I actually have some posts on my account. This is definitely not a complete list of every technique that could work, but these are ones that I have used before and found to be quite useful.

Sanding

This is probably the most well-known technique for detailing. A rotary tool is a must-have for working with EVA foam since it’s such a versatile tool. A basic sanding drum is great for beveling edges or carving in battle-damage and weathering. Grinding stone tips can smooth and even out sanding. Depending on how the tips are angled on the surface, you can create a hammered metal look, soft leather-like crinkles, or circles that look like screws or bolts. Sanding is also the single best way to clean up rough seams. Be sure to wear a respirator and eye protection when sanding since the foam will generate a LOT of dust. You will your workspace will get covered with dust.

Burning

A soldering iron or wood burning iron can be used for detailing. These hot tools can be used to engrave precise or geometric lines or can be used to create a feather texture. These can also be used to make more organic textures like wood grain. Very much like a rotary tool, a wood burning or soldering iron has endless possibilities only limited by creativity. The foam can be easily burned through, especially when it is a thinner sheet (1-3 mm). Burning foam creates very nasty fumes so be sure to work outside with a respirator on.

Heat stamping

This is a more subtle technique but can still be very useful. The most common application is using crumpled tin foil to make a leather texture. Once foam has been heated up evenly (using a heat gun), it can pick up the texture of anything pressed against it.

Google eyes

For a cheap and easy way to get rivets or bolts, try using googly eyes. Once these are painted over, they can blend in perfectly (just don’t shake the armor or prop because they will rattle). Though real rivets can be used (that is my next point), googly eyes are easy to install and are very easy to find in a variety of sizes. These can be glued down with pretty much any type of glue.

Metal hardware

If authenticity is the goal, eyelets and rivets can be installed into EVA foam. The key to these is leather hole punches. You can buy these either as a pack of hole punchers or as a single tool that operates a lot like a paper hole puncher. For real leather or fabric, these are normally hammered into the material to generate a hole. Because EVA foam is so soft, a twisting motion works better for cutting a hole without crushing the surface. Eyelets will require a bit of glue but rivets have two separate ends that snap together nicely without any adhesive. O rings and metal buckles can also help with making realistic-looking armor.

Foam clay

Foam clay is an obsession of mine, but I have to admit that it is a detailing material and only works for specific tasks. Foam clay is great for adding organic textures like bone, monster skin, etc. It can be free sculpted some, but is limited due to being such a soft clay. It sticks to EVA foam without any glue required. It can be sanded or burned once it is completely dry to add more texture. It can be used to fill deep gaps in seams. It can also be pressed into molds.

Pre-cut bevels and scales

With cosplay becoming more common and mainstream, specialty products are readily available. Bevels are pre-cut strips of foam that can be used as trim. They most often come as half-round or triangular though some shops may carry less common shapes like low profile triangles or trapezoids. Scales are another great pre-fabricated material that can be bought from cosplay supply shops. They are sometimes sold as individual scales in packs of 50-100 or as scales attached to a strip.

Primer manipulation

I just recently discovered this technique while making Gyurato’s blood sickles. When using a brush on primer that has a slower drying time, it can be manipulated while still wet. Pressing something like upholstery foam or a sponge into the primer can add additional rough texture. I also used plastic wrap to add creases and wrinkles to the surface of the dried foam clay. Another thing to keep in mind with primers is that the finish (satin, matte, gloss) can change out a paint looks. Picking the right sheen, like gloss when painting a metallic, can help with achieving the right effect.

Hopefully these tips give you some ideas for future projects.

#cosplay making #cosplay #cosplay tutorial #evafoam #cosplay armor #cosplay props #cosplay tips #foamsmith

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anticmiscellaney · 1 year

Note

as an aspiring comic artist looking to move from graphite and oil painting to more ink/inkwash/watercolor like you- could you explain your process a bit? any tips for beginners? i love your art and you're at the top of my inspiration list right now :,)

Thank you! I've been using ink and watercolour for a long time, and ink/inkwash is definitely my favourite medium. A key tip for getting started would be to know the different kinds of ink available because they all work differently. The three main ones are:

Dye-based ink - these have their uses, but they are not lightfast at all (fade quickly) and they act kinda weird. The colours are very vibrant, but they tend to dry very fast, not be waterproof (tricky for layering), and stain the paper. I use very few dye-based inks. Some ink brands look like they have a big colour range, but when you look at the boxes half of them say "dye based" - don't buy Higgins those.

Acrylic ink - think of this as very liquid acrylic paint. There are a lot of fancy options, many specialty kinds (metallics, pearls, neons), but they aren't going to give you the transparent inkwash look. It's good for drawing opaque lines over colour, and you can dilute it with water for a wash, but it gets chalky. Waterproof may vary (test it first), and it usually has a matte finish. White acrylic ink is well worth having as you can detail over solid black or tint it with coloured pigmented inks, and god knows I love using neons, but I treat acrylic ink like "effects" ink. It’s not my main drawing ink. Daler Rowney is good and widely available (pigment-based is not the same as pigmented ink, this is still acrylic ink), they have a few lines at different prices. Liquitex is decent.

Pigmented/India ink - this is my favourite kind of ink and probably what you want! Pigmented ink dilutes well (it’s a transparent medium like watercolour) and often has a glossier finish depending on shellac content, and it will say on the bottle if it’s waterproof (test that first). It’s good for brush or nib, good for layering, works nicely with watercolour and other types of ink, can be mixed to make new colours/tints...she’s got it all. If you’re in Australia, Art Spectrum is great, I stock up every time I’m back there. If you’re elsewhere, I recommend Speedball for black ink (Blick Black Cat in the US is good). Dr Martins Bombay India Ink has great colours and they’re usually affordable.

There are many brands and everyone has their preferences, and over time you will find your own. I have a mix of different types and brands, though probably fewer than you’d think. Get a small bottle in one or two colours and play around, see if you like it before investing in a set. Don’t buy fountain pen ink or Rapidograph ink for nib/brush, those are best suited to being used in specific types of pens.

The nibs I use are Hunt #512s. #102s (called crow quills) are popular and I like them too, but they are very sharp and will rip up your paper, and can be a little too flexible and hard to control. The #512 is a good all-rounder with a smooth line capable of variation, and I think they’re a solid choice for a beginner. These nibs and holders are cheap and widely available. I don’t buy expensive watercolour brushes because ink will wreck them a lot faster than watercolour will. What you want to look for is the fibers holding a point - the brush should not have bedhead.

My only real advice to someone looking to try watercolours is to not buy the cheapest shittiest kind. You know from oil painting that all paints are not created equal and bad paint is going to frustrate you, especially when you’re starting out. I started with one of these twelve years ago and I still use it in conjunction with other sets I’ve built myself, I just refill the pans from (better quality) tubes when they get low. They last a long time. So do bottles of ink.

I’d like to do a process post, but I’m not sure what would be interesting or helpful to you, and I use ink/watercolour/gouache in a lot of different ways. If there’s a specific piece you liked the look of, I’m happy to demonstrate that method, or I can just go through my favourite approach.

As for comics...the best advice I can give you is pretty general.

Anatomy is a rewarding life-long study, but what really counts for narrative art, over technical accuracy, is GESTURE, EXPRESSION, and BODY LANGUAGE. Look at people. Look at how they move, look at their faces, look at their hands, listen to how they talk. In comics, you are the director and the actors.

Environments are a bonus character in your story and can add a lot of depth and atmosphere! Understanding perspective will make using them a lot easier.

Do not start with your graphic novel idea, start with a short story (under eight pages) and finish it. Finish it. Fucking finish it. Then do some more, getting longer over time. The best idea you never do is worth less to your progress than the worst finished piece.

There aren’t a lot of books that dig into the nuts and bolts of sequential storytelling for artists in a way I like. Filmmaking books are handy, but they’re dealing in moving images and don’t have to worry about page design. There are some good “how to make comics” books (the two Will Esiner did are my favourites), but as a genre it can be very hit or miss. I always look at what the writer/artist has made to see if I want to listen to their instructions - if you hate their art and think the graphic novel they made sucks, don’t buy their how-to book.

Bob McLeod, one of my teachers, gave us all this list:

These rules aren’t inflexible, but they cover the big issues.

For actual storytelling advice, the best one I have read was Directing The Story by Francis Glebas. It’s aimed at storyboard artists, which I was, but it discusses visual storytelling and explains how to approach it and the reasoning behind choices in a way that is useful for anyone making sequential art.

#replied #process stuff

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alexiswritingstuff · 1 year

Text

A Man And His Guard. 1/2

Status: Completed.

Pairing: Gustavo Fring x male reader.

Other appearances: Mike Ehrmantraut.

Summary: During the rise of Gus’ paranoia, Mike hires you in an attempt to ease it. You work where he does, do everything he says and later even learn that you are to go home with him.

Neither of you knew what to expect of each other, but how does one Mr. Fring react when you will not stop making... comments.

Warnings: flirting.

Always be aware that there might be spelling mistakes and such in my writing. I do read over them, but they can just slip under my radar sometimes.

A/N: I think this is the first time I am actually writing a male reader fic so I hope I do it justice. I am a male myself but I rarely use gendered terms with the reader anyway.

Also I’m like terrible at flirting so if the readers lines aren’t great then... my bad ig.

This is a two part series, so begin waiting for the next edition to arrive!

I hope you enjoy!

More Gustavo fics.

It was around the time that Lalo Salamanca was presumed ‘not dead’ when you had gotten the job.

Their crew was sparse, most had been taken up at posts where they surveyed the other properties/places that Mr. Fring usually went to. So Mike reached out with an offer.

You knew him from work done in the past where you had acted as a guard for a person he wanted to meet, for a reason you had later learned, but that specific guy had a target on his back from a lot of local businesses.

For this job, like many others, you had no idea what you were getting into. And even if there was a proper brief, none of it would prepare you for what would actually come.

Gustavo Fring had been a name thrown around many times in your life. A very common thing when working in this particular field.

But, seeing him right there in the flesh, on practically a daily basis at this point, was a thing that there wasn’t any words to describe. Because usually no one lived to even talked about it, or, obviously, they weren’t allowed to.

It was some time in the late hours of the afternoon, the liveliness of restaurant slowly reducing as time went by.

There were barely any customers occupying the booths or the neighbouring tables, and the new people coming in usually just wanted something for the road if they couldn’t be bothered to wait in the drive through.

You were moving amidst the dinning area, the long dust pan and brush in hand as you collected up stuff that had fallen during peoples meals, and swept across the beige tiles that felt increasingly bright in the sun.

The surroundings were still a bit noisy. People were chatting away, cars passed at almost every minute, there was muffled clatter from the other employees as they moved around kitchen equipment as they cooked.

It wasn’t that bad.

In fact, the only thing that you didn’t really like about ‘working’ in Los Pollos Hermanos was the need to wear its uniform.

Being a guard in this side of the business usually enforced the wearing of dark coloured clothes. It was a way to keep up a feeling of mystery, provide the impression that you were a person not to be messed with.

But there you were, stood in an obnoxiously bright yellow shirt which was paired with that damn red visor and a matching apron, to top it all off.

This might as well have been a punishment than a job.

After however long, you completed your round of the dinning area and ducked into the hallway beside the drinks machine, finding the place where you had initially picked up the dust pan and brush to return them.

And you did, a deep breath filling your lungs once the equipment was leaned back up against the wall.

It had been a long time since you had worked around a plethora of people and their own individual personalities, so coming to this work place almost felt jarring in comparison. People were properly polite. Gave smiles that were actually genuine.

The clear of someone's throat emitted from somewhere to the left, and your head turned in that direction immediately, your feet soon following, “Mr. Fring.”

“Has the floor been cleaned?” The way he dressed for work was always so smart, though it kind of reminded you of SpongeBob, and it perfectly matched with a lot of things about him.

You gave him a simple nod, “Yes, it has.”

“There are still a few customers out there, so I’ll do the last round once they leave.” you then explained and turned yourself to face the doorway that lead to the main area, attempting to peer round it so that you could see into the dinning area again and the car park through the windows.

“Any signs?”

The words left you just blinking for a moment. You had thought by taking your leave from the conversation that it would bring on its end. But now you were looking back to the man who hadn’t moved a step.

Anyone else would’ve been confused at what he had meant by that question. but you knew instantly. And even if it was your job to check, it sort of made you feel bad that you had to.

“No one came.” you stated, plain and simple so that it wouldn’t display your pity, and Mr. Fring subtly took in a deep breath, his chin only slightly raising, “Good... Go clean the empty tables.”

Now was when he was about to walk away, probably to go back to his office to make calls as a way to further check if there was any new information, but when he watched your face crinkle up in what looked like distaste at the task he had just given you.

He seemed to become a little distracted.

“Do I at least get paid more?”

Sure, Mr. Fring had a lot of encounters with many different people, each with their own separate way of approaching things, different ways of speaking.

But no one had ever attempted to talk the way that you did. Especially when in direct contact.

It was a thing that could only make him stare, even glare, in an attempt to hide his surprise. But it wouldn’t shake you. In fact all you did was shrug, “Oh, well.” you breathed out, giving him one last glance before you moved to get the cleaning supplies.

“I guess if it’s for you then I’ll do it.”

You found yourself making your way through the many hallways of Los Pollos Hermanos. An amount that after a long day made the building feel like a maze, though the size wasn’t even comparable to one.

Soon, you had located the way to your bosses door, a deep breath sucking into your lungs before you raised your hand to knock against it. The sound was the only thing that filled the hallway.

“It’s Y/n. Y/n L/n, Sir.” you called quickly, realising that at this time he was always expecting to be in danger. A mysterious knock to his door wasn’t exactly going to help with that.

It took a good minute for there to be any kind of response, but after it sounded like an object had been set down, the muffled voice finally came through the gaps of the door.

“Come in.”

Your hand grabbed at the handle, the cool metal almost shocking the warmth of your skin, before you twisted it until the door was pushable. “Hey,” you had began, ready to step into the new room. But that was quickly halted when your eyes fell on its contents.

It was very dark compared to literally any other room in the building. The walls may have been a little darker already, but because of him relying on only the light from the sun and a lamp residing on his desk, it took you a moment to actually see anything.

You cleared your throat when your gaze landed on a waiting Mr. Fring, “Sorry to interrupt-- Lyle said that you wanted to see me earlier?” you explained and finally stepped into the room so that you could close the door behind you.

“I didn’t know I had made such an impact already.”

Mr. Frings eyebrows had twitched in a way that almost wasn’t visible. However, the rest of his face didn’t change, “When accepting the job, did Ehrmantraut explain what it would hold?”

Your shoes scraped the ground as you stopped yourself about a step away from his desk. Your back straightened as you took a moment to think, “He barely does when he has an offer.” you pointed out simply, though your tone changed when you next spoke. “Was I wrong?”

“Did he mention that you would be working for me... personally?”

In that moment, you had paused for about three seconds, even if it had felt like 10 minutes in your head, as a certain word rung through your ears over and over again.

“Personally, huh...” you repeated. It tasted sweet on your lips, your mind running very fast over any of the things that it could mean. “I guess I didn’t quite catch that part... But I like the sound of it.”

Through your now, slightly, dazed state, you had missed the way Mr. Fring had lowered his head just a tad. His lips were pressed together. His eyebrows begging to furrow though he wouldn’t let them, especially when you had spoke again.

“Am I supposed to go get you stuff? Run errands, drive you places-- That kind of thing?”

The man before you almost huffed a laugh. He dipped his head as he slowly pushed back his chair. “In the future, it is possible.” Mr. Fring was now stood up from his seat, his feet taking him round his desk in such a slow pace that it had your pulse raising. “But for now we are going to my home.”

He stopped in front of you, about two and a half steps away, with that strong gaze he always held. Though this time it most definitely felt different as your breath was close to hitching, “Now I really do like the sound of this.”

In about a second, Mr. Frings body had entirely stiffened.

It was unnoticeable to people who had just met him as he was usually quite a ridged person, the wind couldn’t even sway him. But to someone that knew him enough, it was clear as day.

The intimidation he had held on his face had faded as if it had just been wiped off with a cloth. It was almost like he had forgotten how to breathe.

Suddenly, before you could clock anything, Mr. Fring turned towards his desk like there should be someone waiting on the other side. It almost startled you. But soon, a hand of his reached across the surface of the table.

“Mr. Fring?” you had questioned, any and all excitement now being swarmed by confusion.

Just as you were about to move, try to catch the look on his face, his feet had began to twist until the rest of his body urged to follow. And now, he stood, facing you once again.

His eyes were aimed at what you could now see was some kind of sticky note folded in half, and then they flicked to yours.

His chin raised until it was in level with your own and by the next time you had blinked, the note was held out in front of you.

“Read it.” was all he said when you hadn’t taken it, and after just looking at him for a moment, you sucked in a quiet breath, retrieving the paper from between his fingers.

By the time you had began unfolding it, Mr. Fring had turned once again, making his way back to his deskchair when your eyes landed on the word in black ink.

“Lakeview?” The chair squeaked beneath him as he sat, but besides that he didn’t even bother to look up. He simply grabbed a pen and dragged a clipboard in front of his eyes.

“Am I allowed to ask, or is this going to be a game of hard to get?” The urge to smirk tugged at the corners of your mouth when the tip of his pen visibly stilled. Though, when Mr. Frings head slowly raised as if it was in slow motion, that feeling had stopped in a instant.

His eyes were almost harsh when they met with yours, as if they could pierce right through your own. They never moved and as time passed, he hadn’t even blinked. “I’m sure you can figure it out.”

It was a warning. He knew it, you knew it.

So, guess his surprise when the only thing you had done in response was, once again, simply shrug your shoulders.

His whole body froze like it had done before, though this time he hadn’t broken the eye contact.

Every other person he had met, even ones that worked for him, crumbled under his gaze when someone had pressed his patience or authority. They would look away, forget how to speak, or quickly turn on their feet to do whatever he had asked.

But not you.

Your shoes were planted in the same place as before until you wanted them to move.

“You know, I do like a good game, Mr. Fring.” It was so silent in that room that it was like you could physically see your words pierce through the air. A pin could drop and the sound could be heard as if it was played through a thousand speakers. “I think having an opponent like you is going to be great fun.”

That was when you had officially turned on your heel. The smirk broke across your lips the moment you faced the door, and even more so when it had opened.

By the time you were back in the hallway, sifting the post-it back and forth between your fingers, the image of Mr. Frings expression was clear in your mind in a way that made it so hard to not laugh.

His lips were parted. Every muscle in his face looked as if it had been frozen in time, tense. He looked like a deer caught in headlights.

He almost lost the grip he had on his pen.

You ended up back in the main area of the restaurant, your eyes being hit with a much dimmer colour this time as the sun began to hide.

All the tables had already been cleared earlier by you, and Mr. Fring when he couldn’t keep his mind occupied. The customers had gone home, hopefully pleased with their meals, which let an almost eerie silence hang in the air as the other employees had left too.

You moved through the rows of tables, searching for even the slightest speck of dirt or trail of crumbs that would set a certain man off if he saw. But there was nothing.

It had all been more than thoroughly cleaned.

So, you ended up by the table next to the entrance, a slight sigh huffing through your nose. Your body wound round the back of bench closest to the door, a hand reaching for the red blinds that covered the window.

Your fingers parted two of the slats, and you made yourself slightly lean over the bench so that you could get closer to the glass that lay beneath the blinds.

Upon first glance of the world outside, everything seen was slowly being engulfed by the black mass of night. One so deep that it had started to prevent the ability to see the horizon.

The only car in the parking lot was Mr. Frings, coloured in such a way that it would’ve been invisible in the evening light if it wasn’t for the reflections from the surrounding lamps.

There was no one in the car, no one outside of it, and no other vehicle stalking around, as the rest were just general cars that passed by on the main road, and that was now like every 10-15 minutes.

After making sure that there was complete satisfaction with the fact that there was not a singular person in the vicinity, you let the slats set back into the original places, stepping away from the window so you could make your way through the restaurant.

Again.

The sigh that left your mouth this time was of relief when you opened the door, to what would be a supply closet for anyone else. There they were, sat in the neatest pile you could be bothered to put them in. Your clothes.

Pretty much the only item of your own that you got to keep during the day was your shoes, so when that sweet sweet fabric was in your hands, it was utter peace. Paradise. Like reuniting with a long lost lover.

Upon imagining how a person would look standing in the middle of a closet and practically cradling a set of clothes, however, you straightened yourself up into the usual guard posture, any remnants of excitement fading from your face.

And then you swivelled on your foot, leaving the closet like you had never even been in there.

By the time you had gotten to the front of the restaurant all over again, the clothing happily held in your hand, it seemed that a certain Mr. Fring had beat you to it.

There was no way to tell if he had disliked having to stand there waiting as his head was directed towards the window you had been look through before, his hands clasped behind his back that made him properly appear like a business man.

Or just an old man.

If you could see his face however, you thought that you would’ve seen that usual, intentionally, blank expression. A theory that was then proven to be true when you had stopped by his side. You cleared your throat, “I take it we’re going to yours now?”

His spine straightened in about a second when your voice found his ears. He had gotten lost, his gaze consumed by the endless possibilities of what waited for him outside the restaurant.

But in the next second, by the next time he had breathed, his body twisted towards you like he had been standing like that the whole time. The previous vacant look that carried across his face was replaced by a smile, though his eyes had not changed.

And that was it. That was all you got.

Mr. Fring passed right by you without another word, his footsteps echoing around the unsettlingly empty room, before he made his way through the door with the exit sign shining above it.

When it had closed again, further encasing the restaurant in a strong silence, you had begun to blink, your brain at least attempting to process what had just happened.

However, the longer you stood there, the further away Mr. Fring became, and by now he was on the path between the rows of parking spaces. Getting closer and closer to his car.

You almost stumbled over your feet as you made your way over to the exit yourself.

The door opened in a flash, engulfing your skin in the night air, and you were about to continue walking... Until you heard the jingle in your pocket. “Shit.”

There was a meeting that you had with Mike about a day prior. He gave a run down of the usual stuff that went down in Los Pollos Hermanos and, at least, the basic duties that the boss would have you do.

You were given a set of keys, each for pretty much any place that Mr. Fring had access to himself. Now it seemed that he was testing your memory.

After glancing back at Mr. Fring, you let out a hushed grunt, pulling the keys out of your pocket from under your apron, and then turned back to the door, locking it in a speed that should’ve gained you an award.

You swivelled round after doing a test pull on the handle and basically began jogging to catch the man who was now very close to that blue vehicle.

But just as the distance was beginning to shorten, a few things began piecing together.

The sudden change, the smile that he used on other employees, something that he hadn’t used on you all day until it was time to leave the safety of the restaurant.

You understood that he would have to put on an act at some point, sure. Though apparently it hadn’t occurred to you what that would mean until now.

He was the boss, and you were just some random guy who had a job in his business.

That doesn’t exactly give the right to catch a ride with him, now did it?

“Uh, Mr. Fring?”

The man himself had just placed a hand on the roof of his vehicle. His eyes were once again aimed into the distance, and it took about five seconds to get himself back as he then turned to you, the same smile taking over his lips, “Yes, Y/n?”

“I believe that I’m supposed to be getting picked up on something called Lakeview. Would you happen to know where that is?”

It wasn’t a name for a person, as you knew for a fact that if the man in front of you had a target of any kind he would just straight up say it, and it wasn’t going to be a place because Mike would’ve at least said something.

It was a pickup point.

Mr. Frings chin slowly raised. And now, with the smile that took over his lips, his eyes seemed to crinkle with it, “Lakeview road?”

Your spine straightened, all the air coming into your lungs feeling like it was on hold, especially when you nodded your head as a commitment to your idea.

Mr. Fring simply turned his head upon the confirmation, and he pointed towards the road on the other side of the main one, which was directly across from the proper entrance of Los Pollos Hermanos.

You squinted your eyes after following the direction, trying to see the road that was partially illuminated by a streetlight as your shoulders attempted to ease from the previous tension.

And then you spotted it. A car parked beside the red fencing.

It was one that you didn’t recognise, but still.

You were right.

In order to keep the smug look off of your face, you lightly bowed your head when your attention went back to your boss. “Thank you, Sir.” you said and Mr. Fring simply copied your previous movement before finally opening his door.

“Have a good night.”

By the time his car had left the grounds of Los Pollos Hermanos, you had made it to the edge of the main road. You were stood on the concrete sidewalk, a streetlight towering over your head as you looked back and forth to gage where any oncoming traffic was.

You only had to do it once for each side, tonight apparently being a night where not many people were aiming to travel.

So on you went, now jogging across the two lanes until you got to the other side like that one chicken did. Your shoed feet were met with a mix of sand and stones this time as there was no sidewalk to even the ground.

And then there it was in front of you.

A blue RAV4.

The driver must have sensed the new presence as within the next second, the door on their side had opened, a scene that had your feet slowing by the time the figure was out of the car.

It was a woman. One you had seen in a picture when Mike showed members of the crew working for Mr. Fring. Mrs. Ryman? Her and her husband were the people ‘occupying’ the safe house.

“Mr. L/n?” she questioned, and as soon as you gave her a nod of confirmation, she immediately proceeded to walk to the back of the car before any sort of question could fall from your lips.

She grabbed the handle on the left side of the door and pulled on it until it was open about half way so that your eyes could cast onto whatever was inside. You almost tilted your head like a dog.

There, in the back of a damn car, laying on his side very uncomfortably, was none other than Mike Ehrmantraut himself.

It all made sense.

It was late at night. Mr. Fring had now left Los Pollos Hermanos, meaning that if anyone was watching him, they would have followed his car to see where he was going next.

None one was watching you.

The urge to laugh was fighting itself way up your throat, but you took a deep breath in through your nose and let yourself walk forward when Mrs. Ryman had turned to you expectantly.

“You didn’t have another one of those sandwiches today, did you?” A grunt followed your words as you practically shoved yourself into the trunk of this random car, and shifted until the left side of your body was fully pressing into Mike’s.

The door was only just able to close again.

The surroundings were plunged into darkness. A few beams of light managed to filtered through the gaps in the backseats and the trunk cover enough so that you could make out the face of the man before you as you dropped your pile of close on your lap.

“I see you worked it out.”

Your body felt like it sunk into the walls of the car though it had barely moved, your hands raising to rub at the skin of your face either in disbelief or tiredness, “I will admit that I thought you were talking about an actual lake at first.”

Mike huffed a laugh at that, the two of you slightly rocking together when the car started backing up. “Well, I’m glad you didn’t try to find one.”

“Me too.”

Despite the fact that you were currently sat, cramped, in the back of a car. There was a feeling of comfort that had been kept from you throughout the day. Especially now that Mike was with you.

He might’ve been a man that has killed multiple people, and is not afraid to do the same to more... but so are you.

When you are on the right side, his right side, he’s just another old guy that you would see walking down the street, or sitting in a restaurant.

Being in this business meant needing to keep connections with certain people hidden so that they wouldn’t end up getting hurt as a result of someone trying to prove a point.

He was the closest thing to family.

Mike let one of those deep breaths seep through his nose, and you swear it almost sounded like the huff of a dragon. His head leaned back into the wall behind him. “How’s Gus?”

Ah. The question you knew was bound to be asked soon.

You shuffled slightly even if it wouldn’t do much, more scared of accidently kicking Mike in the ribs than anything else now. “Obsessed with me.”

The look Mike gave you was one that you could feel even if you couldn’t properly see it, and you tried not to smile as you fiddled with label of the shirt you held. The man most definitely rolled his eyes. “No, no... He’s obsessed with everything else to be honest.”

A sigh passed from your lips into the air inside the car.

Your head shook, a mixture of emotions filtering through your body as your mind reminded itself of Mr. Frings previous behaviour. “He really wants him to just show up already, but... man, I don’t know. I’m not sure if he’s actually prepared for that.”

“Well. That’s why you’re there.”

You tried to fully sit upright, only getting about half way before you looked at Mike with narrowed eyes, “Yeah, about that-- You know, when you said that you needed my skills, I was thinking more along the lines of stakeouts or surveillance stuff, or like... having me fight someone at least.”

“I didn’t exactly prepare to become a janitor.”

The car was most definitely somewhere down the main road by now. Mike’s head remained where it was, not even bothering to tilt it in your direction when he next spoke as he simply closed his eyes instead. “Still part of the job.”

You stifled a scoff, just watching the man when he attempted to cross his arms over his chest. “Gives you more acting lessons too.” Mike then added and you supressed the urge to kick him, more like nudge him, with your foot. “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” It was your turn to roll your eyes.

“You’re still paying me more.”

The sky above was pitch black by the time of arrival on Jefferson Street. The quiet outside, the warmth of the car, and the general darkness worked together in a way that was the opposite for most people.

The distance between Los Pollos Hermanos and Mr. Frings house was far enough that if there was a kid sitting in one of the backseats they would be in a deep sleep.

But as an adult, you were wide awake. Especially when you felt the car begin to slow after a turn.

You attempted to prop yourself up from your slouched position, your eyes trying to find an angle where you could see out the window, despite the fact that it was very much impossible to do from inside a trunk.

“We’ll be out in a minute.” Mike assured, observing your many attempts at moving. You sunk back, mirroring his position when you hit into the wall of the car, “And how do you know that?”

As if on cue, the ride to the house seemed to have come to an end. The car stopped, again slightly jolting the two of you together. “We’re in the garage.” The monotonous edge to his voice was audible more than ever.

You could only blink for a moment as the muffled sound of someone getting out of the car echoed through what most definitely was a garage. “Jeez-- How many times have you had to do this?” you questioned, and it had Mike’s head shaking in a second, a grunt rumbling through his throat.

The door beside you finally opened, and though you had to squint due to the sudden light, you swung your legs to the side, eagerly pushing yourself out of the trunk.

“Oh, man.” you breathed out once on your own two feet, and moved to the side so that Mike could get himself up while you stretched your arms high above your head in a way that your spine needed very much. “Do we really have to do that every time?”

“It’s the safest way.” Mike insisted as he closed up the car and your head shook, “Seriously?” But he ignored you, starting to walk through the garage. “Follow me.”

Even after a ride like that it was immediately work time.

You wanted to complain until you couldn’t speak anymore, but nevertheless you complied and followed behind the man like a duckling does with its mother.

You couldn’t help the way your eyes flickered around the room when Mike opened the door to what was originally a living room, “Hey, Mike.” a man had called, and Ehrmantraut started to spark up a conversation.

However, when your gaze landed on the desk that his friend was sat at, your brain seemed to tune it out.

There was about about seven different monitors on and working. Each screen displayed a shot from wherever the camera was placed. It varied from the entrance and exits of this house to what you assumed was Mr. Frings.

But even then they seemed to changed at the click of a button to an entirely different location.

Maybe he was prepared.

“L/n.”

Your eyes snapped to the door way to find Mike stood about halfway through it. He tilted his head to the side and you began walking all over again when you realised what he meant.

So, now, he lead you through the hallways of the house. You nodded at anyone you passed, seemingly understanding the tired look on their faces though this was your first proper day.

Eventually you found yourself in the basement of the house, and while Mike continued through the room, your feet slowed on the platform before the last two steps, your eyes yet again being consumed by the new atmosphere.

This was where the couple stayed after doing their daily appearance out of the house, as the rest was swarmed by a bunch of dudes.

They had most of the stuff they need. They had cupboards, a kitchen area along the furthest wall, a clothing wrack. There was a king sized bed, and a table to your right where they could sit and do whatever they wanted if they weren’t upstairs at this time.

And though your mind practically begged you to continue looking around. A certain question sprung through your thoughts.

“Listen, I appreciate the fact that there are a lot of things you can’t tell me about this job,” you began, a hand placing down on the little railing, “But am allowed to ask why you have just lead me into a basement?”

Ehrmantraut was now stood in front of the big shelf that sat at the corner of the right wall. It extended to the ceiling but the width was about 4 columns worth. Your eyebrows were quick to furrow when he reached for one of the shelves.

Even more so when quiet beeps sounded from what only could be a keypad.

“Mike?” you had questioned, a mild laziness to your voice as your brain consumed itself with finding the source of noise. And then your feet finally moved, allowing you off of the platform, onto the carpet.

But it seemed you had stopped as fast as you had started.

Your body almost jolted when a mechanical sound pierced through the air, and soon, Mike grabbed onto the middle divider with both hands, beginning to pull on it as hard as he could.

A rumbling rippled through the floor you stood on as the shelf scuffed against the carpet, and despite your disbelief, the mechanism disconnected from the first column of shelf.

It was opening like a natural door would. There was certain things on shelves that shook with the movement, though others appeared as if they had been glued down. Just there for decoration.

It wasn’t until the shelf door was turned as much as it could against it’s hinges that your eyes allowed you to focused on what lay beneath it. Your jaw almost dropped.

It was a tunnel.

There was a goddamn tunnel that connected this house to the next.

“No way.”

Mike didn’t have to tell you twice when he signalling for you to follow him this time, and upon going through the doorway, turning into the passage, it almost gave you chills.

But that was more due to the fact that the temperature was different than in the house.

The walls of the tunnel were a grey concrete. One rose higher than the other leading the ceiling to have to curve to meet with them both, and support beams, the same colour as the walls they were up against, were placed about two steps apart, the lights situated between them.

Not even a deep breath could ease the speed of your heart. In fact the closer the journey was to its end, the faster it went.

So, when the back of, what you were assuming was, the same mechanism as in the previous house was now right in front of Mike, your shoulders fought to lower.

There was a combination of knocks that the man did against the smooth door. A sound that echoed through your ears over and over again the way ripples moved in water.

Mike took about a step back with a sniff when muffled beeps came through the, practically invisible, cracks of the door, and your body instinctively straightened like a soldier in front of their commander.

The door had opened.

There was no reasoning for the way you felt right then and there.

You had met Mr. Fring earlier. You had seen him, you had spoken, exchanged even informal parts of conversation, and have stood beside each other on multiple occasions.

So why, as you stared back at the man who was now revealed in one of his usual suits, was it like your lungs had forgotten their very function.

Mr. Fring gave Mike a nod to which the man did the same, and before you knew it, with a clear of his throat, Ehrmantraut turned on his feet, beginning to make his way back through the tunnel.

Your lips parted as you watched him go, though no words could even try to roll off of your tongue. The scuff of his shoes were the only thing to echo through the air, so when that familiar voice broke through, it had your head turning back within seconds.

“L/n.”

His eyes were already on yours by the time you were back to your original stance.

Your eyebrows were raised, a mixture of eagerness and excitement rumbling through your chest and ears when he tilted his head to the side. A gesture that Mike had used earlier to get you to follow him. “Come in.”

Just you and Mr. Fring.

“I’ll show you around.”

#gustavo fring #gus fring #gustavo fring x reader #gustavo fring x male reader #gus fring x reader #better call saul #better call saul x reader #mike ehrmantraut #male reader #bcs

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